Twice Tempted by a Rogue (34 page)

“He’s in hiding. Why else would any man of means live all the way out here, in such humble accommodations?”

“Perhaps because he enjoys the bracing sea breeze?” An unfamiliar, cultured voice.

Rhys’s gaze jerked to the doorway. There stood Peter Faraday, he presumed. And God, he could see what Cora meant. Faraday truly was the spitting image of Julian Bellamy. Or at least, a strikingly close resemblance. On examination, Faraday’s hair was a dark brown, not jet black. He stood an inch or two shorter than Bellamy. His complexion was notably more pale. But in a darkened alley, the two would be virtually indistinguishable from one another.

“Gentlemen,” Faraday said, leaning against the doorjamb, “to what do I owe this pleasure?” He wore a simple banyan over a shirt and loose-fitting trousers. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed to greet them and had no intention of going anywhere, anytime soon.

From the looks of him, Rhys would wager he hadn’t been out of bed in weeks.

“Believe me, there’s no pleasure in it,” Bellamy said. “And if you’ve seen the token, you know exactly why we’re here.”

Faraday’s gaze sharpened. He remained absolutely still. “Do I?”

From his seat on the divan, Rhys shook his head. “If the two of you mean to be coy, we’ll be here all day. Faraday, it’s your house. Have a seat.”

“Thank you, I’ll stand.”

Rhys leaned forward, eyeing the man. “Not for much longer, you won’t.” Faraday looked ready to swoon. So much for any plan of pummeling the truth out of him. Rhys might be a violent brute, but it simply wasn’t in him to beat invalids. Faraday had obviously already taken his share of blows.

He said casually, “Sit down. Does that old fellow rattling his chains around know how to make tea? We’ll all gather round and talk this out.”

Bellamy shot him a look. “In case you’re wondering, that would be a complete and utter failure,” he whispered, “at being menacing.”

“Oh, come along,” Rhys said. “Look at him. The longer he stands there, the more color drains from his face. The man won’t even move, he’s so stiff.” He nodded at Faraday. “How many bones did you break, when you and Leo were attacked?”

The man paused. “My hipbone. Three ribs.”

“That all?”

“My left wrist.” Faraday raised the appendage before his eyes and peered at it. “I think there was a small fracture in one of the bones, but it seems to have knitted well on its own. Lost a few teeth. Other than that … just bruises, but they’ve long faded now.” He cleared his throat self-consciously. “I was the lucky one.”

Surveying the man’s posture and pinched expression, Rhys could tell he wasn’t lying. If anything, he was understating the extent of his wounds. In that moment, Rhys was convinced of the man’s innocence. Of all people, he knew what a trial it was to recover from injuries so severe. There was no way a man would willingly incur them just to mask his own involvement in a crime.

He stood up and crossed the room. Without a word, he slid a hand under Faraday’s arm and lifted, transferring the wounded man’s weight from the doorjamb to his own shoulder. Then he slowly walked him the three paces to a chair and helped him sit.

“Thank you,” Faraday said, giving Rhys an amused look. “That was rather forward of you.”

“If I’d asked, you would have refused the help.”

“True.”

Rhys went back to his own chair. “The mending hurts worse than the breaking, I know. I’ve snapped a bone or ten myself.”

“So I gather.” Faraday tilted his head a fraction. His gaze trained on the scar on Rhys’s temple, then slid to the fresh split in his lip. “You must be Ashworth, the great war hero. Still doing battle, it would seem. Any teeth left?”

“Most of them.”

“Good. Giles makes excellent shortbread.” He called over his shoulder. “Giles!” When the ancient manservant appeared in the doorway, Faraday instructed, “Tea, Giles. And shortbread, and a few sandwiches if you can muster them.”

“I don’t suppose you have chocolate?” Cora asked hopefully from the corner.

“Well, hullo there.” Faraday gave the girl a rakish smile. “I thought Giles mentioned a pretty girl. Was beginning to think he’d gone dotty and mistaken Mr. Bellamy here.”

“Wonderful,” Bellamy muttered. “Tea and shortbread. It’s a regular party.”

Faraday settled in his chair. “I thought you loved nothing more than a party. That was always the word around Town.”

“Your use of the past tense is appropriate. I don’t get around to so many parties of late.”

An ironic smile crooked the wounded man’s lips. “That makes two of us.”

“So what happened that night?” asked Rhys. “Start from the beginning.”

Faraday took a deep breath. “I went out to the East End for the boxing match, just like everyone else. Afterward, I happened to cross paths with Leo in the street. He called me over, and—”

“That’s not the way Miss Dunn tells it.”

“Miss Dunn?” Faraday folded his hands with a careful air of indifference. “Who is Miss Dunn?”

Bellamy gestured toward Cora. “Miss Cora Dunn, the prostitute who found you after the attack. The one you directed to transport Leo to my address.”

“Oh.” Faraday blinked at the girl with new interest. “So sorry, dear. I didn’t recognize you. It was dark that night.”

“She says you were the one who called out to Leo.”

“Really?” He worried the edge of his fingernail and shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps I did. Honestly, I don’t remember. I don’t see how it’s important.”

“If you’re lying to us,” Bellamy said, his voice a low threat, “that is important.”

“What did you and Leo discuss?” Rhys asked. “Cora says she heard arguing, shouting.”

“Oh, yes. Leo was vexed with me. You recall, I’d lost my Stud Club token to the Duke of Morland a few days earlier. Leo was angry with me for wagering it. He knew Morland was out to collect all ten and disband the Club, and he’d warned me not to play with him.”

“But you did.”

“I did. As I told Leo, I’d grown weary of his silly Club. With the likes of you two for members, it wasn’t fun anymore. And I don’t even breed horses.”

“What
do
you do with your time?” Bellamy asked contemptuously.

“Much the same as you, my friend. Spend money, when I have it. Perfect the art of leisure. Work at being very good at being good-for-nothing.”

“So,” said Rhys, “if that’s your life’s ambition, why have you come all the way out here to the edge of England?”

“I needed a place to convalesce. I’m my uncle’s heir, but for now I have no property of my own. This place came to mind. I once brought a sweet little blond here for a very pleasant summer holiday.” He swept Cora with a gaze that Rhys did not appreciate. “The rent’s cheap, and the servants are discreet.”

Giles entered the drawing room, carrying a tea service that rattled precariously on its tray. Cora accepted the duty of pouring and began to distribute cups of the steaming brew to each gentleman.

“Why the need for discretion?” Rhys asked him. “You were injured in a violent attack, and yet you fled the scene, leaving Leo in the care of a stranger. You left Town in secret, squirreled yourself away in this remote cottage, and never once attempted to have your attackers identified or brought to justice. Why?”

Bellamy snorted. “Because he’s hiding something, obviously.”

“Thank you, love.” After taking his cup from Cora, Faraday cautiously sipped his tea. “What would I be hiding?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here, now would I?” said Bellamy, growing agitated.

“Tell us about the attack,” Rhys interrupted. “What exactly happened in that alley?”

“As I told you, Leo and I were having words about the tokens while Miss Dunn over there waited just round the bend. From the other end of the alley came two ruffians. We were taken unawares. Before we knew what was happening, they were upon us, slinging fists. We made our stab at defense, but the men were … large. And determined.”

“What else can you tell us about them?” Rhys asked.

“Cora said one was bald,” Bellamy said. “And the other …”

“Was Scottish, from the sounds of him,” the girl put in. “I’m almost certain of it.”

Rhys leaned to the edge of his chair. “Would you know them again, be able to identify them if they were caught?”

Faraday put his hands to his temples. “Honestly, once the beating started, I remember little. Bald or ginger, Irish or Scot, pug-nosed or six-fingered … I’ve no recollection. If I didn’t even recognize Miss Dunn, how would I know those brutes again? There was no time to get a proper look. They didn’t even go for our money before they started in on us.”

“Well, if they weren’t cut-purses, what were they after?”

A strange look crossed Faraday’s face. “Don’t you know?”

Rhys and Bellamy looked to one another, nonplussed.

“I’ll be damned. You truly
don’t
know.” Faraday rubbed his eyes for a long moment. Then he gave a throaty chuckle as he reached for a piece of shortbread. “You, Mr. Bellamy. They were after you.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Bellamy paled. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I meant just what I said,” Faraday replied. “That attack was meant for you.”

Bellamy leapt from his chair. A teacup crashed to the floor, and Cora flinched.

“Easy, there.” Faraday quirked a brow at Rhys. “Your friend’s hotheaded, isn’t he?”

Raking both hands through his dark hair, Bellamy paced the room with agitation. Every few seconds, he punctuated his steps with a muttered oath.

Faraday watched him with a dispassionate gaze, leaning back in his chair. “You have to admit, it only makes sense. Everyone expected Leo to be with you that night, and the two of us share a strong resemblance. In the dark, we could easily be confused. The brutes weren’t after money, just blood.”

Rhys frowned. “Even from that, you can’t be sure—”

“Leo was sure.”

“What?” Bellamy stopped pacing.

“He said, ‘Tell Julian,’” Faraday said. He blinked a few times, cleared his throat. “Those were his last words to me. He said them twice, as a matter of fact. Clear as day. ‘Tell Julian.’ Why do you think I gave Miss Dunn your address?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Sinking his weight onto the windowsill, Bellamy put a hand to his eyes. “I knew it. I knew his death was my fault.” His voice broke. “How will I ever look Lily in the face again?”

Faraday said, “If you value her safety, you’d best stay clear of her entirely. Evidently, you’re a dangerous man to be around. Leo never did know how to choose his company. This is what happens when you start a club and open membership to just anyone.”

Rhys gave their host a scrutinizing look. “If all this is true, why didn’t you wait for Cora to return? Go with her to Bellamy’s house? Instead you slunk off and left Leo alone.”

Bellamy said, “He’s right. That makes no sense.”

Faraday gave a defensive shrug. “I don’t know … I suppose I panicked.”

“What did you have to fear?”

“Questions. Suspicions. Being found alone with a dead man.”

“But if your story is truthful …” Rhys began.

“If,”
Bellamy emphasized.

“If your story is truthful, you would have nothing to fear from an inquiry,” Rhys finished. “Not to mention”—he eyed the man’s legs—“you walked back to your carriage with a broken hip?”

“No.” Faraday winced as he said the word. “I crawled.”

That answer didn’t sit right with Rhys. The man had dragged a broken leg and his gold-threaded waistcoat through the gutters of Whitechapel, rather than wait for assistance?

Faraday absorbed Rhys’s skeptical look. “As I said, I panicked. And …” He blew out a slow breath. “I knew he was going to die. And I didn’t want to watch him go. Just couldn’t.”

“So you left him to die alone,” Bellamy choked out. “In a dark, filthy alley, with a whore for company.”

Faraday picked up his teacup and stared into it, hard. “Do you know, I believe I’ve had enough society for today. Miss Dunn, once again your pretty face has improved a very bleak occasion. It’s been lovely, but I really must ask you all to leave.”

“You’re a lying bastard,” Bellamy snarled. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell us the truth. I want answers.”

Faraday’s eyes snapped up. “I’ve given you answers. A good many of them. Here are some more. What are my parents’ names? Jason and Emmeline Faraday. My childhood home? In Yorkshire. Where did I have my education? At Harrow and Cambridge. I’m just full of honest answers to those kinds of questions, Mr. Bellamy.” He set his teacup down with a crack. “What about you?”

“My history has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, I suspect it does. And I think I deserve to hear it, considering that I’ve spent the past months recovering from blows meant for you.”

A tense silence saturated the room. Bellamy tapped Rhys’s shoulder and jerked his head toward the corner. Taking the hint, Rhys rose from his seat on the divan and followed him.

“What?” he said.

“Time for muscle,” Bellamy whispered.

Rhys shook his head. “For God’s sake, the man’s already injured.”

“You have to see he’s lying.”

“I suspect he’s not being entirely truthful.”

“Call it what you want, he’s hiding something. If you hit him hard enough, you’ll shake his secrets loose.”

“Perhaps.” Rhys gave him a cool look. “And if I hit you hard enough, I could shake loose all of yours.” He let the threat sink in a few seconds before adding, “But I’m not going to do it. I’m not a bully, as someone reminded me recently.” Someone he missed more acutely with each passing minute.

“Goddamn it, Ashworth. Leo—”

“Leo,” Rhys interjected, “wouldn’t want me to hit him. I’m certain of it.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“No, you won’t.” Rhys put a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. Then he tightened his grip, by slow degrees, until he was sure the man comprehended his meaning.

“Mr. Bellamy,” Faraday said, bracing his hands on the armrests and struggling to his feet, “I assure you, I’ve given you all the help I can. If you want to find Leo’s murderers, there’s really only one question that needs answering.”

“Oh, really?” Bellamy said. “What’s that?”

“Who wants you dead?”

“Who wants me dead?” Bellamy muttered to himself from where he’d sunk into the corner of the coach. “The better question would be, who
doesn’t
want me dead?”

“I don’t want you dead,” Rhys said. Then he added honestly, “But then I’m rather ambivalent to your general existence.”

His teeth rattled as they jounced over a rut in the lane. “Weren’t you with a woman that night?” he asked. “A married lady, if I recall. Thought she was the reason you cried off the boxing match. What was her name again?”

“Carnelia. Lady Carnelia Hightower. But if her husband intended to murder her lovers, I’d be holding up the end of a very long queue.” Bellamy sighed. “No, it wasn’t him. But there are others.”

“Other jealous husbands? Or other enemies?”

“Both. What do you care?”

Rhys shrugged. “I suppose I don’t. Where are we headed, then?”

“I’m for Town. I’ll have to go to ground, skulk around a bit and see what I can find.”

“What about the girl?” Rhys asked. “I can’t offer her protection anymore.” He’d go to London, too. See his solicitor there, discuss arrangements for the estate and George Lane’s pension. Then he’d think about what to do next. Perhaps the army again. He could buy back his commission. Or there was mercenary work, if he wanted a change of pace. England wasn’t currently at war, but surely there was something that needed destroying somewhere. Preferably somewhere far away. Maybe if he put an ocean between himself and Meredith, this fierce ache in his chest would ease.

“Kindly don’t discuss me as if I’m not here,” Cora said, hugging her arms across her chest. “I should think I’d be free to do as I please, now that you’ve found Mr. Faraday. And I want to go back to the Three Hounds.”

“Why would you want to return there?” asked Bellamy.

“I like working at the inn. I like the villagers, and they like me. I was happy there.”

The coach took a sharp curve in the road, and they all leaned into the turn.

Bellamy said, “This is about that Gideon Myles, isn’t it?”

“Not completely,” the girl replied, blushing. “But yes, in part.”

“Nothing good will come of it, you know. The man’s a petty smuggler.”

“Smuggler or no, he cares for me.” She glanced at Rhys. “There’s someone in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor who cares for you too, my lord. Don’t you want to go back?”

Rhys sighed and turned his head to the window. The carriage had turned off the coastal lane, and he caught one last glimpse of the dramatic Cornish cliffs as they began the gentle climb back to the main road. Gravity tugged on him as they made their way up the grade, and he slipped toward the edge of the rear-facing seat. He propped one boot on the opposite bench, bracing himself. “It’s not a matter of whether I
want
to go back. It’s a matter of what’s best for everyone.”

“Exactly,” Bellamy said. “Listen, Cora. It’s nice that you want to settle down. But pick a better man to settle down with. A scoundrel like that will bring you nothing but trouble. Believe me, I speak from experience. I’ve lived a devil’s life, and now someone’s out to kill me. I wouldn’t wish myself on any lady, much less the one I actually—” He broke off.

Rhys finished the thought for him. “I think what Bellamy here is trying to say is, if Gideon Myles truly cared for you, he’d leave you alone.”

Cora sat up on her seat. “What nonsense,” she said hotly. “What absolute cowardly rot.”

“Cowardly?”
Bellamy and Rhys spoke as one.

“Perhaps he has done some bad things in his life,” she said. “But why can’t a man change? I changed. I’m not a whore any longer. I want an honest life now, and maybe Gideon wants the same.” She shook her head. “‘If he cared for you, he’d leave you alone,’” she muttered, mimicking Rhys’s deep voice. Her bold gaze met his. “If he truly cares for me, he’ll stay. And do better.”

Rhys stared at her, surprised. Was this the same girl who’d trembled in his presence not a few weeks ago? He wasn’t sure about Myles’s prospects for an honest life, but he felt certain Cora wouldn’t be any man’s whore again. The girl knew her own value now. Good for her. Meredith’s influence was to thank, most likely. She had a way of letting people know their worth.

Maybe Cora was right. Maybe he
was
being cowardly. Back in Devonshire, there was a woman who loved him. Loved him enough to risk her own life to save his in a split-second decision, then devote the next fourteen years to coping with the consequences. Caring for herself, her father, the village. And she would do it all again.

Of course it terrified him. How could it not? The whole tragedy still traced back to him—but it wasn’t the result of Rhys being unwanted or worthless. It was the result of his being loved. Meredith thought saving his life was worth every sacrifice, and if he wanted to be with her, he would have to somehow find the courage within himself to
agree
. Christ. And he’d thought accepting her gift of a shaving kit was difficult?

He’d never run from a battle in his life, but Rhys was running like hell from this.

The ache in his chest intensified. He couldn’t understand why being loved hurt so damn much. And it didn’t help matters any when the carriage gave a violent lurch.

“What’s that?” Cora asked, flinching at the loud crack of a whip.

Rhys tensed. “I don’t know.”

He heard the coachman shouting at the horses from the driver’s box, urging them forward. The entire carriage gave a violent shudder. There was another jolt, this one more jarring than the first. Rhys nearly lost his perch on the seat as the carriage came to a dead stop.

Bellamy looked to Rhys. “Would it help if we offered to walk?”

“Perhaps.”

They never had a chance to act on the idea. With a low, foreboding creak, the carriage began to roll.

Backward.