Wicked Promise (36 page)

"Seeing you married to Tricklewood was the last thing I wanted." He looked as though he would kiss her again, glanced at Elias and instead leaned back against the seat. "Since you have planned this so well thus far, I assume you have also arranged a place for us to hide."

"Yes. Mercy took care of that small problem."

"Aye, milord," Elias put in. "We'll be staying in rooms above the Pig and Fiddle. 'Tis a place at the edge of the city. Odds are, the watch will be expectin' the two of ye to be running, 'opin' to get outta the country. They'll not think to look so close at hand. And Mercy swears 'er cousin can be trusted."

Elizabeth toyed with the folds of her skirt. "I just hope Aunt Sophie doesn't encounter a problem."

Elias grunted. "I wouldn't be worryin' about yer aunt. Best be worryin' about those guards if they give 'er any trouble."

"What have you planned?" Nicholas asked.

"If Aunt Sophie isn't home in a couple of hours, Mercy's to contact Sir Reginald and tell him the three of us went to the prison and never returned. Hopefully, he can handle things from there."

Nicholas leaned back against the deep leather squabs of the carriage. Clasping Elizabeth's fingers, he brought them to his lips. "It would seem, my love, you have matters well in hand. Since that is the case, I shall entrust myself into your care for the balance of the journey."

Ignoring the rumble of the wheels and the rapid clop of hooves, he closed his eyes and in seconds his dark head eased down against her shoulder. Elizabeth's heart went out to him. The smudges beneath his eyes and his too-gaunt features said he was deeply fatigued. She ached for what he had suffered. Dear God, she loved him so much.

He had said he would take her with him. He hadn't said he loved her, but perhaps as her aunt had said, he didn't yet know what loving someone meant. Hope rose inside her. She brushed the raven-black hair from his face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

For what was surely the first time in days, Nicholas was fast asleep.

Rand Clayton accepted the latest copy of the
London Chron¬icle
from one of the two men who had just arrived in his study.

He eyed the Bow Street runner, whose expression looked grim, then turned his attention to the headline on the front page of the paper: RAVENWORTH ESCAPES WITH MISTRESS. In smaller print below it read,
Assaulting an elderly woman and several of the guards, the Earl of Ravenworth escaped from Newgate Prison in the early hours of the evening by disguising himself in women's clothing.

Rand finished reading the article then crumpled up the paper and tossed it across the room. "Bloody hell."

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Your Grace." Bromwell Small, a runner in his forties, spare and ruddy com¬plected, was honest and hardworking, and extremely good at his job.

" 'Tis hardly your fault, Brom."

" 'Twill certainly complicate matters."

"I'm certain it will." Rand's hard gaze swung toward the second man in the room, this one tall and thick-chested, with a coarse black beard and curly black hair. Still, he spoke to Brom. "My friends are in a considerable amount of danger."

"True, but you can't really blame them. He would have hanged for certain."

"Yes," Rand said, still staring at the tall, black-haired man. "But Mr. Gibbs is going to change all of that—aren't you, my friend?"

Tanner Gibbs, the tavern keep at the Swan and Sword Inn, shrugged a pair of massive shoulders. "If telling the watch that Kendall weren't really at the pub all the time he claimed, then I suppose I am."

"They'll want to know why you lied. They won't be happy about it. They may want to press charges."

"Small said you could fix that. He said you could see they let me go, long as I told 'em the truth."

Rand fixed him with a hard, dark glare. "And you're quite certain that's what it is."

Another slight shrug. "Kendall paid me a goodly sum to lie. You're payin' me a whole lot more to tell the truth."

"Which is... ?"

"His bleedin' lordship come to the tavern, drank enough ale to get hisself drunk, and left about half an hour later."

"Leaving plenty of time to return to Castle Colomb and strangle the Countess of Ravenworth."

"I wouldn't know about that. Only that he was there at the Swan and Sword only 'bout half an hour. He paid me to say it were longer, but it weren't."

"There are employees in the tavern who have also now come forward," Brom said. "They're willing to corroborate Mr. Gibb's story."

Rand nodded. "Take him to the magistrate's office. See that he tells them his tale. I'll take care of the rest."

Brom arched a brow. "And you, Your Grace? If I may be so bold, what will you be doing?"

Rand smiled thinly. "Speaking to Greville Townsend, of course. I am eager to see if his lordship's story changes along with that of Mr. Gibbs."

The Pig and Fiddle wasn't as bad as a lot of places Nick had been. It was constructed of brick, stood three stories high, and the rooms were clean. But it sat at the edge of a district north of the city called Saffron Hill, one of the toughest areas in London.

It was a dangerous place, prone to pickpockets and footpads. Whores lived down the hall from their quarters in the garret above the tavern, a small attic room that was clean but spartan, and smoke and bawdy laughter seeped up from downstairs through the cracks in the floors. Mice made scurrying sounds in the walls at night and the food was bland and badly pre¬pared.

In truth, it was hardly the place for a lady, certainly not a woman he cared for as much as he did Elizabeth Woolcot. That he was the reason she was there ate at his conscience and left a foul taste in his mouth.

"You are pacing again, my lord." Elizabeth's soft voice dragged his attention from the attic window that looked down on the bustling dirt street. With her fiery hair glinting in a small patch of sunlight, she was such a contrast to their dismal surroundings that something tightened in his chest.

He sighed and glanced away. ''I'm sorry. My mind was wandering, I suppose." Wandering from their grim abode to the equally grim future ahead of them, forced in the direction of reality and away from thoughts of Elizabeth's slender body, of his fierce need of her, of the desire he had been fighting since the moment she had stepped into his dingy prison cell, determined to help him escape.

He closed his eyes but he could still see her standing a few feet away, her lush breasts rising above her peasant blouse, the tiny curve of her waist, the small slippered feet beneath the hem of her brown wool skirt. He wanted her with a need that drove him insane, wanted to strip away her simple clothes, to lay her down on the rough-hewn bed in the corner, to spread her legs and thrust himself inside her. He wanted to take her so hard and so deep he could absorb the very essence of her.

Instead, he remained aloof as he had since they had arrived at the tavern, refusing to succumb to his unbearable craving, knowing it wasn't the time or the place. Knowing it was his fault her life had taken such a terrible turn, that he had failed her yet again, and that she was now in even more danger.

"Your mind has been wandering all morning. What is it you are thinking?"

That I want you. That if I come near you, I will take you and I don't deserve it
. Guilt trickled through him as it had a dozen times since they had arrived in this place. His con¬science refused to let him touch her, wouldn't let him ease his needs with the comfort of her body. Not when he had allowed her to risk herself as she had. She should have married the viscount. If she had she would be safe.

"I was thinking that I shouldn't have let you convince me to leave the prison. I shouldn't have let you put yourself in jeopardy as you have. It was wrong and now it is too late to do anything about it."

She moved toward him, frowning slightly. "That is what you have been thinking? You are worried about me? I thought you were thinking of the murder, trying to figure out who might have killed the countess. Worrying about me will do neither of us any good."

He sighed and shook his head. "I can't help it. It seems I have made your life miserable from the day I first met you."

She went to him then, slid her arms around his neck, pressed her soft figure the length of his. Heat slid through him, and a burning need so strong it made his body go rock hard.

"You are wrong, my lord. You have brought great joy into my life. Whenever I look at you, my heart expands with love, and I thank God and my father for placing me in your care."

"Ah, God, Elizabeth ..." Then he was kissing her, taking her mouth as he had wanted to do every hour, every day, they had been apart.

"Nicholas ..." She said his name as if she sensed his need, as if she needed him as well. "I've missed you. Dear God, every day was agony without you."

She stood between his splayed legs and he could feel every soft inch of her body. "I need you," he whispered, the words thick with longing. "God, I need you so much." He captured her face in his hands and the kiss turned hard, demanding. He was conscious of her slight weight against him, the pressure of her breasts and thighs as his tongue swept into her mouth, stroking deeply, claiming her as he so desperately needed to do.

She didn't fight him, just kissed him with equal demand, urging him on, making the fire in his loins burn hotter. With a groan of defeat, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, placing her there on the mattress, then coming up over her.

It was too late to remove her clothes as he had wanted to do; he needed her far too badly. He simply shoved up her skirt and white lawn chemise, unbuttoned his breeches, found the core of her, and sank himself in.

A groan escaped at the hot wet heat and the tightness, and some of the tension ebbed from his body. He was where he had longed to be, where he so desperately needed to be. He rested there a moment, basking in the feel of her warm flesh wrapped around him, the soft heat of her body. Her fingers slid into his hair and she pulled his head down for a kiss.

"I've been waiting for you," she whispered, and desire flooded into his groin. "I've wanted you so badly." His body clenched, making him harder still. He tried to be gentle, to show her how much he cared, but his muscles shook with the effort and sweat broke out on his forehead.

He wanted her now, wanted to drive himself deeper inside her, wanted to possess her. Elizabeth must have sensed his urgency for she shifted on the mattress, arching upward, fitting them more closely together. He cupped her breasts, felt the tight budding of her nipples, and a ragged sound tore from his throat. Elizabeth wrapped her legs around him, taking even more of him, and at last he gave in to the fire scorching through his blood.

Pounding into her, he drove harder and faster, the rhythm increasing, heat sweeping over him until he could no longer think. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He knew that now without the slightest doubt, but he had never said the words, had never really believed in love, and he wasn't certain how to say them.

Instead, he thrust into her, allowing his release to come, letting it pull him into a deep, bottomless pool of pleasure. Elizabeth followed him down and they remained in the silvery depths for seconds that seemed hours, until the world around them began to right itself, and gradually return to focus.

Propped on his elbows, his hardness still inside her, he blinked at his surroundings, the shabby room that was the same, yet somehow different. Amazingly, the garret seemed less dingy, the air less stifling. He knew it was Elizabeth and the closeness they had shared.

She cupped his cheek with her hand. "If you wish it, my lord, we can give up the search, find a ship, and leave the country. There are places we can go, places where we will be safe."

He smiled then, feeling lighter inside. In the time he had lain with her, hope had somehow been resurrected. As long as they were together, life was worth any sort of risk.

"We'll do that if we must, but not yet." He rolled over, curling her against him. "First, we'll assess what we know of the murder. We'll list those things we think are probabilities, things that are only possibilities, and so on. Then we'll go over them until we discover what it is we might have missed."

Elizabeth looked up at him and smiled. "We should have made love sooner. Your best ideas seem to come when you are content."

Nick laughed. It was the first time he had done so in days and it felt remarkably good. "Come, love. It's time we went to work." Urging her up from the bed, he helped her adjust her clothes and inwardly he smiled.

She'd had her chance. She would never escape him now. He had only so much chivalry and where Elizabeth was con¬cerned he had long ago used up the final measure.

Tricklewood be damned—he would never have her now. Elizabeth belonged to him and, whatever happened, Nick meant to keep her.

Rand had met the young man only once, but he had thought him likable and imagined that women found him attractive. He was also hot-tempered, and he could be jealous and pos¬sessive. They were interesting traits, under the circumstances. Could they drive a young man to murder?

Hearing tales of a duel Grey had fought over the daughter of a baron, Rand was more and more convinced it might be so. He was eager to confront him, but Kendall had retired to his home in the country.

Rand left the city early the following morning, riding his blood bay stallion out of London toward Kendall's estate, con¬veniently situated on the road that led to Castle Colomb. Con¬venient—or in this case, not so convenient, if Kendall was indeed responsible for Rachael Warring's murder.

Rand passed through the village of Upshire, a small town not far from the castle. The Swan and Sword Tavern sat on a narrow side street, but Rand didn't bother to stop. He had the information he needed to confront Grey Townsend, and now that his friends were in even deeper trouble, he wanted to see it done.

A butler led him into the impressive entry of Kendall Woods, the palatial Townsend family estate. Grey greeted him in an elegant drawing room done in deep green and gold. From what Rand had learned, the viscount was a wealthy man, and the house reflected money and taste.

Aside from that, the first thing Rand noticed was the younger man's appearance—thin and hollow-eyed, his com¬plexion slightly sallow, no longer the handsome, arrogant young lord, but a man who looked haggard, whose hands shook as if he had been taking a good deal of comfort from drink.

Kendall bowed politely. "I am honored, Your Grace, though I cannot guess what errand might have brought you into the country."

Rand absently slapped his riding gloves against his thigh. "I am merely the first of several visitors you are likely be having in the very near future."

Kendall arched a brow as he moved to a carved wooden sideboard, heavily gilded with a floral scene painted on the front. "Something to drink? Brandy, perhaps, or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Nothing, thank you."

Kendall motioned him toward the sofa, but Rand just shook his head. "You said you couldn't guess why I am here. Per¬haps if you think very hard you can figure it out."

Kendall sipped his brandy, his face a study in control. "I heard you'd been asking questions, that you had a runner sniff¬ing around the tavern."

Rand smiled thinly. "Mr. Small is extremely adept at his job. So adept, in fact, he was able to discover that you were lying about the time you spent at the Swan and Sword. It wasn't several hours as you claim but merely half an hour. Since that is the case, your alibi for the day of the murder is no longer valid. You had plenty of time to return to the castle. Since you had reason to lie, it would follow that there is every  likelihood you are the man who killed Rachael Warring."

Kendall took a long sip of his drink. When he raised his eyes, there was a bleakness, an expression of utter defeat, that seemed to mire him in despair. It was followed by a look of resignation. "I wondered how long it would take before some¬ one found out. I was hoping they wouldn't, of course. I am young yet, and I wanted to live. On the other hand, I am apparently more noble than I had believed. The guilt has been eating at me as if it were a flesh-and-blood being. I don't know how much longer I could have gone on, even if you hadn't arrived."

Rand forced himself to go slowly, but his heart was racing, his thoughts running ahead to where the viscount's words could only be leading. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

The glass shook in Kendall's hand. He took another long drink of his brandy. "I didn't mean to kill her. I loved her. We had a raging fight earlier in the day—just after Raven¬worth left. Her husband wanted a divorce. I was happy be¬cause I thought that now we could be married. Instead, Rachael told me she didn't want to see me again."

He took a long, calming drink, but his hand continued to shake and some of the liquor spilled onto the Persian carpet. "I was angry—and terrified that this time I had well and truly lost her. I stopped at the Swan and Sword and started drinking. It didn't take much to convince me to return."

"And...?"

"I came in through the back, an overgrown passage I often used in order to be discreet, Rachael was sitting on a stool in front of her dresser, admiring the jewels around her throat." His eyes looked vacant, as if they turned inward to study the scene. "She looked so beautiful... so incredibly beautiful. I wanted to take her right there."

"But this time she didn't want you."

Grey shook his head. "No. She was still angry, determined to end the affair. We argued and I lost my temper. We strug¬gled. The last thing I remember was wrapping my hands around her throat. I squeezed and squeezed. By the time I let her go, she was dead. I left through the passage, climbed on my horse and started riding. I took a back road away from the house and nearly rode my horse into the ground getting back to my estate."

A hint of moisture glistened in the younger man's eyes. Rand couldn't help a twinge of pity. "I loved her," the vis¬ count said. "I never meant to hurt her. I loved her more than anything in this world."

Rand said nothing.
Love.
It drove men to murder, drove countries to war. As he had a thousand times, he swore he would never fall prey to such a destructive emotion. "They'll be coming for you. It would be better if you went back on your own."

Kendall nodded. "Yes, I'm certain it would."

"I'll go with you, if you don't mind."

A sardonic smile curved Kendall's lips. "Of course." He left for a moment to retrieve his hat and gloves, then together they walked out to the stables.

It's over,
Rand thought as he swung up into the saddle, and though he felt a trace of regret that young Kendall's life would be forfeit, he couldn't suppress a sense of satisfaction. The charges against Nick would be dropped. He and his lady would be able to go home, make the life together they de¬served.

All in all. it was the first time Rand had felt a sense of accomplishment in a very, very long time.

"It's over!" Elias grinned as he stepped over the threshold of the small attic room above the Pig and Fiddle.

Elizabeth glanced up from the long list of notes she had been studying, information they had assembled about the mur¬der.

Nicholas stared in his friend's direction. "What the devil are you talking about? What's over?"

Elias just kept grinning like a fool. "Kendall did it. 'Tis the gossip on every tongue in the city."

"Kendall!" Elizabeth jumped to her feet, her heart begin¬ning to pound. "Kendall murdered Rachael? But surely Bas¬comb—"

" 'Twere Kendall," Elias repeated. "The duke—'e figured it out."

"Beldon?" Nicholas stood up, too, his black brows rising in amazement. "Beldon found the killer?"

" 'E went to see Kendall and the viscount confessed to the murder. 'Is Grace brought the bloody bastard in." Elias ex tended the newspaper he clutched in a scarred, meaty hand. "I brung ye this. Can't read it meself, but they tell me it says they ain't huntin' ye no more."

Nicholas accepted the folded-up paper, spread it out on the table and began to read. Standing on tiptoe, Elizabeth peered over his shoulder.

"My God, Nick, it's true! Kendall's confessed—though it says here he claims it was an accident. They were arguing and he lost his temper. He didn't mean to kill her."

Elizabeth reached out to Nicholas and he dragged her into his arms. "It's over," he repeated, spinning her around, grin¬ning from ear to ear. "Sweet God, Bess—it's well and truly over." He hugged her against him and she felt his heart pounding even harder than her own. Sinking down in a chair, he drew her onto his lap and she wrapped her arms around him.

A miracle, she thought. A miracle in the guise of the Duke of Beldon, to be sure, but a miracle just the same. Elizabeth stared at the newsprint, which began to blur behind the tears that sprang into her eyes. "Rand is a wonderful friend. We'll never be able to repay him."

"No," Nicholas agreed. She could feel him smiling as he kissed the side of her neck. "But we can certainly thank him." He turned to Elias, who couldn't seem to stop grinning. "I don't know about you, my friend, but I've had just about enough of the Pig and Fiddle."

Elizabeth sat next to Nicholas in the duke's private drawing room, both of them still dressed in their simple clothes, a con¬trast to their lavish, gilded surroundings.

"So on top of being eternally indebted to you," Nicholas said dryly, "I have missed my sister's wedding."

Beldon laughed in that husky way of his. "Perhaps, now that you will soon be home and safe, she will make him marry her again."

Nicholas smiled at Elizabeth. He hadn't let go of her hand since they had left the Pig and Fiddle. "If she does, we can make it a double wedding." She gazed up at him and he brushed a kiss on her lips. "There is nothing to stop us now, my love. You refused to marry Tricklewood—that leaves only me. You said yes before and I am holding you to it."

Pleasure warmed her insides. He loved her. In her heart, she truly believed he did. Perhaps one day he would say it. "I suppose, if I must..." she teased.

"There are a few things you'll have to do first," Rand re¬minded them. "You'll have to speak to the authorities, straighten a few things out."

Elizabeth smiled. "You mean like Nick's assault on poor Aunt Sophie."

A corner of Beldon's mouth kicked up. "Among other things, the guards, for example, that Elias coshed in the head."

Nicholas chuckled dryly. "That, no doubt, will cost me a pretty penny."

"Ah, yes, but worth it," Rand said. "If Kendall hadn't confessed, at least you could have left the country."

"Speaking of the viscount," Nicholas said, absently toying with a lock of Elizabeth's hair, "what did he do with the rubies?"

Beldon sighed. "I'm afraid, old boy, you're out of luck on that score. According to Kendall, he didn't take the necklace. It was still draped around the countess's lovely throat when he fled the castle."

His dark hand went still. Nicholas leaned forward. "Kendall didn't take them?"

"He is wealthy in the extreme. I don't think he would want to make things worse by lying about such a thing."

Tension crept into Nicholas's features. Elizabeth suppressed a shiver as she followed the train of his thoughts. "If Kendall didn't take the rubies," he said, "where are they?"

Beldon shrugged his powerful shoulders. "One of the ser¬vants must have stolen them. They would certainly pose a tremendous temptation. Perhaps we can question them, force the thief to come forward."

But Nicholas's jaw remained tight. "I don't like this, Rand. Something doesn't feel right It all seems too easy, too neatly tied up. Kendall might have killed Rachael, but if he didn't take the rubies..."

"If he didn't take the rubies," Elizabeth said, her voice suddenly strained, "then someone else was there when the countess was murdered. If it wasn't one of the servants—"

"It could have been Oliver Hampton," Nicholas finished darkly.

Beldon's face showed only a hint of surprise. "The thought has occurred to me, as well." He strode to the wall and tugged on the bellpull, ringing for a servant. " 'Tisn't so hard to be¬lieve if you consider the very convenient broken wheel on your carriage. Or who might have had something to gain by Rachael's death—and it certainly wasn't Grey Townsend."

Elizabeth's unease heightened. "Bascomb has had a spy in Nick's house," she said. "Elias believes it is the coachman. If that is so, Bascomb would have been privy to enough in¬formation to commit the murder and make it look as though Nicholas was the one who did it."

A knock sounded just then, interrupting them. Rand strode to the drawing room door and pulled it open.

"You rang, Your Grace?"

"Bring us some refreshment. We may be in here a while. And take a plate out to his lordship's valet. He is visiting a friend in the stables."

"God, I can't believe this," Nick said, raking a hand through his hair.

"Let us hope we are wrong. In the meantime, it is imper¬ative, my friends, that you discover the truth of all this. If Bascomb is in some way connected to the murder, you won't be safe until the whole truth is unearthed."

Nicholas sighed. "I pray I am wrong, that Elizabeth will be spared more grief, but my instincts tell me Bascomb is some¬how connected to Rachael's death. What I can't understand is why Kendall would lie."

"I don't think he would. I believe he is telling the truth-— as far as he knows it. If your theory is correct, however, Bas¬comb may have been there, as well. He may have gone there to threaten Rachael, to insure, perhaps, that she didn't agree to the divorce. He could have taken the jewels simply because they belonged to you and he knew how much they meant to you and your family."

"Rand is right," Elizabeth said. "Whatever the truth, we have to know once and for all if Bascomb was involved."

Nicholas worked a muscle in his jaw. "I know one thing— as long as that man draws breath, there is a question of your safety." He came to his feet, his features hard and determined. "I'm going to call him out."

Rand tossed him a glare. "Don't be a fool. You'll only wind up where you were before—back in a cell in Newgate Prison."

"Not if I'm careful. If there are enough reliable witnesses to the duel—"

"If you kill him you will never know the truth and you will never get back your rubies."

"Damn the rubies."

"There is a way," Elizabeth put in, gently touching his shoulder, "something we can do that will not put you in dan¬ger. If we are careful, we can discover the truth of your coach¬man's loyalty as well as the facts about the murder."

Both men turned in her direction. "How?" they said in unison.