Wicked Promise (29 page)

The shorter man, Mr. Whitehead, pierced her with a glare. "Since Lord Ravenworth is currently not in residence at his town house—and it would seem that you are his current mistress—we believe that he is here."

Elizabeth said nothing. The words refused to leave her throat.

"There is no way for him to escape without being seen," Constable Evans put in, "so you may as well go and get him."

Elizabeth's nails dug into the palm of her hand. "But I... but he ..."

"It's all right, Elizabeth," Nicholas said gently, stepping through the door of the drawing room in the same dark blue coat he had worn the night before. "I am certain these two ...
gentlemen
. . . are the height of discretion." There was infinite warning in his voice and murder in the icy glint of his eyes.

Murder
, Elizabeth thought, and fought hard not to swoon.

"Lord Ravenworth, I'm Constable Alfred Evans. This is my associate, Constable Whitehead. I gather you were listening to our conversation."

"Yes. You are here because my wife is dead."

"That is correct. The countess has been most foully murdered, strangled, in fact. Since that is the case, there are some questions we would like to ask. I'm afraid you will have to come with us, down to the police magistrate's office." Evans, the taller of the pair, thick-chested with a hard-edged smile and cool, perceptive eyes, tipped his head meaningfully toward the door.

Nick ignored him. "I'd prefer to speak here, unless I am officially a suspect. If that is the case, I should like to summon my attorney, Sydney Birdsall."

Evans smiled coldly. "Perhaps, then, it would be best if you did."

Nick clamped down on a growing sense of alarm. Across the way, Elizabeth made a small sound in her throat and came up off the sofa, crossing the room to his side.

"It's all right, love. Under the circumstances, there are bound to be unanswered questions."

"I'll send Elias for Sydney. He can meet us at the magistrate's office."

Nick took her hand, felt it trembling. "Go with Elias. Tell Sydney what has occurred. I want you and Elias to wait for me at Sydney's office."

Elizabeth's eyes flew to his face. "But I'm coming with you! There might be some way I can help."

He squeezed her hand but shook his head. "Get Sydney. It's the most important thing you can do." He didn't want her involved in this. He didn't want her dragged through the mud of an investigation. He remembered the way it had been before, what it had done to Maggie, and his stomach knotted.

Elizabeth looked as if she might argue, but instead she nodded. "If that is your wish, my lord."

He left with the men, but said nothing on the way to the magistrate's office, worried he might somehow make things worse. He was clearly a suspect. His past would be a factor. Innocent or not, he had to be careful.

Murder
, he thought, his mind in turmoil. Images arose, gruesome scenes of Rachael lying dead on the floor, haunting memories of Stephen Hampton, of the seven long years he had spent in prison, of heat and loneliness and despair.

He thought of Elizabeth, of the beautiful night they had spent making love, of the plans they had made for their marriage, uncertain now, until the matter of Rachael's death was resolved.

Who had killed her? Why had they done it? And what would Elizabeth believe? Surely she wouldn't think he was the one who had killed her.

Nick stared out the window, fighting his growing fears, his awful memories of the past, trying to harness his desperate need for answers.

Elizabeth reached the magistrate's office, Sydney Birdsall in tow, half an hour later, the traffic being heavy through the crowded London streets. Nicholas was waiting in a small win- dowless, airless room, his coat off and hanging over a ladder- back chair. He came to his feet the moment they walked in.

"Sydney, thank God—" He broke off when he saw the woman who entered behind him, "Elizabeth, what the devil? I thought I told you to wait for me in Sydney's office."

Elizabeth straightened. "I can hardly help you if I am there."

"I don't want your help. I don't want you mixed up in any part of this sordid affair."

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I am already mixed up in it. I am here to help and I intend to stay—whether you wish it or not."

His jaw clamped. A muscle jumped in his cheek. Then he sighed. "Little hoyden. Someone needs to take you firmly in hand."

She smiled for the first time that morning. "You may have the privilege, my lord, as soon as we put all of this behind us."

Something flickered in his eyes, then it was gone. He turned his attention to Sydney. "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a bind, my friend. Perhaps it is not as bad as it seems, but I didn't want to take any chances."

Sydney set his leather portfolio on the scat of a second wooden chair. Except for a battered oak desk and a dented whale oil lamp, it was the only furniture in the room. The walls needed painting, Elizabeth noted, and the place smelled of rancid tobacco.

Sydney snapped open the latch on the satchel. "You did just the right thing in calling me. I am not adept at criminal matters, but I believe I can help with the basics. If it comes to it, we shall find the best barrister in the city to defend you. For now, tell me exactly what happened when you went to see Lady Ravenworth."

Nicholas did, simply and completely, explaining that he left the rubies with Rachael to be certain that she would not have second thoughts.

"I wonder if they know why you were there," Sydney pondered, placing his monocle in his eye to peer down at the notes he had just taken. "If they've guessed you were after a divorce, that gives you a motive for murder."

"But Rachael had already agreed. I had no reason to kill her. If the rubies are still there—"

"If?" Sydney glanced up. "You are thinking that perhaps the rubies were stolen, that perhaps they were the motive for the murder?"

"It seems a good possibility."

Sydney let the monocle fall from his eye. "Yes, well, the first thing we must do is ascertain exactly how much the authorities know. From there we can begin to formulate a defense."

Nicolas's face looked grim. A muscle throbbed in his cheek. Elizabeth's heart went out to him. Dear God, this couldn't be happening!

He raked a hand through his hair. "They know about Elizabeth and me. It is not too great a leap to see the benefit Rachael's death would have been to me."

Sydney tossed a glance to where Elizabeth sat on the wooden chair. "Yes, Elizabeth has informed me of your . . . relationship."

"I'm sorry," Nicholas said. "I know how disappointed you must be. I can only tell you I never meant for it to happen. Neither of us did. Now you can see why a divorce was so important."

Sydney sighed. "I have to be honest, my boy, this doesn't look good. We shall have to proceed very carefully. We'll begin by telling them only the facts. You were there to see your wife on a matter of personal business. You were there— how long?"

"Less than an hour."

"Once your business was concluded you returned immediately to London. There wasn't time to go back and commit murder."

The lines of Nicholas's face went hard. "Unfortunately, that isn't quite true. There was a delay of several hours when a wheel broke on my carriage."

Sydney, frowned. "Several hours, you say? Who can vouch for your whereabouts during that time?"

"My coachman, Jackson Fremantle."

Sydney arched a brow. "But I thought. . . is he not one of the men you knew in prison? Is he not a convicted criminal?"

"Jackson is a convict That doesn't make him—"

Elizabeth's hand on his arm cut him off. She could feel the tension running through him. "Sydney is not attacking your friend's character, Nick, merely considering his suitability as a witness. Surely you can see the difficulty it might pose for you."

Nicholas sighed, rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes. "Yes ... I see what you mean. Unfortunately, Fremantle's word is all I have. No one saw us. He pulled the carriage some distance off the road into a copse of trees to work on the broken wheel."

Sydney replaced his monocle, scribbled a few more notes. "I'll speak to the authorities, see what they know. For now we shall simply lay out the barest facts and see where it leads."

Nicholas turned to Elizabeth. "I didn't kill her," he said. "You must believe me, Elizabeth. She was alive when I left the house."

Elizabeth went into his arms, tortured by the bleakness in his eyes. "Of course I believe you." Time and again she had doubted him, wondered at his motives, let her own insecurities make her believe the worst. In this, she hadn't the slightest doubt. "You are innocent. In time, they will discover the truth."

Nicholas lifted her chin with his fingers. "Thank you," he said softly. He stared into her eyes a moment more, then gently set her away. "I'm ready when you are," he said to Sydney, who nodded gravely and led him out of the room.

Elizabeth did not follow, fearful her presence might make matters worse. All she could think of was Nicholas, the pain he was suffering, and the future they might never have.

"Would anyone care for a drink?" Beldon drawled in that deep voice of his. "I certainly need one, and Nick, old boy, you look as though you could use one, too."

"No ... no, thank you, Rand, not right now."

Sir Reginald studied his notes. "All right. In our favor, there is now another suspect. Viscount Kendall has come forward. He has admitted his presence at Castle Colomb the afternoon of the murder. Unfortunately, he claims to have left while the countess was still living. Lady Ravenworth's servants confirmed the fact, and he was later seen at a tavern some distance away."

"And Kendall knew I wanted a divorce," Nick said darkly.

"Yes. As her 'great and good friend' he was privy to all sorts of information."

"She was obviously his mistress," Maggie said bitterly. "Rachael was discreet but extremely self-indulgent."

Beldon took a drink of the brandy he had poured. "The fact that Kendall came forward of his own accord lends credence to his tale." His gaze swung to Nick. "He is certain you killed Rachael and he is screaming for your head."

Elizabeth's face went pale. "How could he possibly believe that? If he knows Nick asked for a divorce, he must know about the rubies. Why would he think Nicholas killed her?"

"Apparently because the rubies are gone," Rand said. "He believes Nick had second thoughts about giving them up, that he came back, killed her, and reclaimed the gems."

"Time is the only problem." Sir Reginald turned to Nick. "So far they haven't discovered the missing block of time while your carriage was broken down. Once they do and they have had a chance to pull the evidence together, they are bound to arrest you."

Elizabeth's eyes darkened with pain, and guilt assailed Nicholas. He had hurt her from the moment he had met her. Good Christ, he should have left her alone.

"We won't let them arrest you," she said, her eyes fiercely intent. "We'll find a way to prove your innocence before that can occur." Coming up off the sofa, she crossed to where he stood, stopping just in front of him. "You don't have the rubies. Rachael's murderer is obviously someone else."

"There is only his lordship's word that they are not in his possession," Sir Reginald gently reminded her, "and only the word of a convicted criminal to support his alibi. Coupled with the fact he has been convicted of murder before—"

"He killed Stephen Hampton in self-defense," Elizabeth broke in, and Nick felt a tug at his heart. He reached out and took her hand but resisted the urge to hold her. He had no real claim on Elizabeth. She was his mistress, nothing more, it occurred to him how very much he had wanted that to change.

"It's all right, love. As you said, I am innocent. There has to be a way to prove it."

"There is a way." Beldon strode forward with his usual magnetic force. "We shall simply have to discover who the real villain is."

Hope lightened Elizabeth's features. "How? Where do we start?"

"The task is at hand as we speak," Beldon said. "I imagined this affair might be a bit more serious than Lord Ravenworth at first wished to admit. I've hired a Bow Street runner—several, in fact." Beldon sipped his drink, glanced at Nick and smiled. "And Lord Ravenworth has posted a substantial reward for information leading to the apprehension of the countess's murderer."

Nick smiled faintly. "Thank you. I should have done that myself. I'm afraid I haven't been thinking very clearly."

"Understandable, under the circumstances."

"So what do we do now?" Elizabeth asked. It bothered him to see her so upset, bothered him more, even, than his uncertain future.

"We wait," he said softly. "For now that is all that we can do."

Sir Reginald spoke up from a few feet away. "You have all been extremely diligent in your efforts, but there is something I must ask of Lord Ravenworth and Miss Woolcot."

Unease filtered through him. "What is it?"

"I must insist that you and Miss Woolcot refrain from any further contact until this matter is re-solved."

"B-but surely—"

"No," Nick said flatly. "I won't agree to that."

"You must. The headlines you saw in the
London Chronicle
may have seemed brutal—" Indeed they had. COUNTESS OF RAVENWORTH DEAD—HUSBAND, FORMER CONVICTED KILLER, SUSPECT. "I assure you that will be child's play should they learn you had a motive—that you are currently involved with the young woman who is legally your ward. So far the authorities have been circumspect in their dealings with the press. Should the information leak out, public opinion will turn completely against you. People will be certain that you murdered your wife to marry Elizabeth Woolcot. You must not see each other—not until this matter is ended."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and he felt her sway against him. "Sir Reginald is right," she said. "We must not be seen together, not even by the servants. It is simply too dangerous."

His chest squeezed painfully. His stomach felt tied in knots. He didn't give a damn what the public thought—it was Elizabeth he was worried about. The scandal she would face as the mistress of a suspected killer would be unbearable. He felt like a selfish fool for wanting her with him when the consequences could be so devastating to her.

And Maggie. God's blood, his sister's life would be mired in scandal—again. This time she would be completely ruined. No decent man would have her.

"You're right, of course," he said to the attorney. "It wouldn't be fair to Elizabeth. I'll stay away from her until this is over."

Sir Reginald nodded. "That will be all for now. The best thing each of you can do is try to get some rest. The days ahead will be taxing." He glanced sidelong at Nick. "And Lord Ravenworth is going to need your strength."

The invitations stopped arriving. Callers failed to show up at the house. The days of basking in the ton's acceptance had come to a crashing end. Maggie hadn't thought she would miss it, but she did. And though she was loath to admit it, even more than she missed the presence of people she had begun to think of as friends, she missed Andrew Sutton, Marquess of Trent.

In the drawing room as the evening wore on and darkness masked the late summer light, Maggie sat down at the pianoforte, lifted the lid, and settled her fingers over the keys. It had been years since she had practiced, not since before she went into the convent. She used to love to play, had spent hours learning new music, listening to the entrancing rhythm of the chords.

Now her fingers felt stiff and disjointed as they tried to form the notes; the once graceful movement of her hands now seemed clumsy and inept. Still, she forced herself to continue, needing the distraction, craving the solace from thoughts of her brother, the terrible fear for him that drowned her in despair.

He had gone out for the evening—she didn't know where. He wasn't with Elizabeth. He was determined not to see her, not to hurt her any more than he already had.

Maggie looked down at the keys, trying her best to concentrate. A sour note collided with a brisk knock at the door. With a sigh of frustration, uncertain whether to feel angry at the interruption or relieved she wouldn't be forced to continue, Maggie made her way to the drawing room door.

Pendergass stood just outside. "Beg pardon, my lady, but His Grace, the Duke of Beldon has arrived. He asks if he might have a private word with you."

Beldon was here. Her heart beat uneasily. Had something happened to Nick? "Show him in, Pendergass, if you please."

"Of course, my lady."

Rand strode through the doors with his usual brusque efficiency, his long, muscular legs moving with power and precision.

"Your Grace? Rand—what is it? It isn't Nicholas? Something hasn't happened?"

He captured her hands, felt them shaking, bent and kissed her cheek. "No, my dear, it is nothing of the sort. I have come to see you, that is all. Nick mentioned you would be in residence this evening. I know J should have sent word, but I hoped that you would indulge me, since the reason I've come is important to us both."

"Of course, Your Grace. You know you are always welcome here."

"Rand," he gently corrected. "That is what you usually call me. There is even less reason for you to be formal tonight."

Her unease was rising again. "Shall I ring for tea, Your— Rand—or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Something stronger, I believe. A glass of brandy, perhaps a sherry for you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just moved to the sideboard and prepared them both a drink. Maggie hid a smile at the way he always took charge.

He handed her a sherry and she inhaled the nutty aroma. Rand took a sip of brandy from the snifter he cradled in one of his big hands.

"Why don't we sit down?" He seated her on the sofa, then took a place beside her. His glance strayed a moment, to the marble-topped table in front of the couch. Bending forward, he plucked up a copy of the Whitehall Evening Post that sat atop a stack of several other papers. The headline read, SEARCH CONTINUES. HAS RAVENWORTH KILLED AGAIN?

"The papers have not been kind," Rand said, tossing the newsprint back on the table with a disgusted flick of his wrist.

"No... no, they haven't been kind at all. In truth, they have all but crucified my brother." She didn't say they had also rehashed every cruel detail of Stephen Hampton's so- called murder nine years ago, including speculation as to why the act was committed. Which meant Margaret Warring's name had also been dragged through the mud.

"The papers are part of the reason I am here—the gossip, the damnable scandalmongers and their bloody vicious tongues."

Maggie glanced away. It hurt just to think of it. It hurt to hear the words people whispered behind her back, to feel the burning looks as she walked past them down the street. For the first time, she remembered why she had gone into the convent. The thick walls kept the burning hatred away.

Rand smiled gently and the slight indentation of a dimple formed in his cheek. "But gossip is only part of the reason I am here. The second part is purely selfish. I am in need of a wife and I have come to believe that you would make a very good one. I am hoping you will marry me."

If the ceiling had opened up and the stars had fallen down, Maggie couldn't have been more stunned. "Good heavens, Rand, what on earth are you talking about?"

"I am asking you, in my own indelicate way, if you will be my wife, Lady Margaret, the next Duchess of Beldon."

For a moment she was too astonished to speak. She looked into his dear, handsome face and knew in an instant exactly why he was there! In that moment she almost wished she could say yes, that she was in love with him, and he was in love with her.

She wasn't, of course, and neither was he.

She reached out and took his hand, felt the strength, tempered with gentleness. "Randall Clayton, you are truly the dearest man. No one could ask for a better, more loyal friend. My brother and I are the luckiest people in the world."

"Then we are agreed. Very good. I shall see the banns posted on the morrow."

Maggie actually laughed. "You are also the most arrogant, domineering, overbearing man I have ever met—worse even than my brother."

He dragged her hand over his heart. "Maggie, my sweet— you wound me."

She chuckled softly. "You know it is the truth. And the answer is no—I will not marry you. I wouldn't do such a thing to so dear and wonderful a friend."

Rand simply frowned. "I came to you first before I spoke to your brother. I realized that you have a mind of your own, that you make your own decisions. Perhaps if I speak to Nick he can convince you—"

"No. The answer is no and it shall remain so. I care for you greatly, Your Grace. I know you are doing this in an effort to protect me and I will always love you for it. But I will not marry you."

"Maggie—"

"No, Rand. You deserve a woman who will love you as Elizabeth loves Nick. I love you as a dear and trusted friend."

Rand grumbled something she could not hear. "Are you certain, Maggie? Sometimes love between friends can grow."

Maggie smiled. Without warning, Andrew Sutton's handsome face rose into her mind. They had spent a good deal of time together in the days before the murder, always with friends, never alone, and yet, she had thought in some way he was coming to care for her. She closed her eyes against an unexpected feeling of loss.

"I'm sure, Your Grace, very sure." She rested her hand over his. "I'll make it through this, Rand. As long as I have friends like you, I shall certainly be all right."

But Rand's expression said he wasn't so sure.

And in truth, neither was Maggie.

The headline read: DID HE STRANGLE HER TO MARRY HIS MISTRESS? NEW FACTS UNEARTHED.

Elizabeth crumpled the newspaper and tossed it into the fireplace. She sank down on the sofa, fighting not to cry. Someone had leaked the story. Lord Kendall? Someone in the constables' office? Or was it someone else?

At least I can see him
, she thought, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.
It will make not the least difference now
. She had missed him desperately. And she had been so afraid.

"My dear, what has happened? I can tell it is something untoward by the look on your face." Aunt Sophie waddled into the drawing room, clutching a tapestry bag that contained her embroidery.

Elizabeth absently rubbed her temple, where a headache was beginning to build. "The newspapers have discovered my involvement with Lord Ravenworth. It gives him a motive for the murder. They are clamoring for his arrest."

Aunt Sophie sat down heavily in an overstuffed chair, reached over and took the paper. "That poor, dear boy. Surely he has suffered enough without this."

Elizabeth ached to think of it. "I just keep thinking over and over, who could have done it? Why did it have to happen just then? Nicholas believes it was a thief, but I am not so certain."