Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  Solomon shook his head. “Before I do anything that drastic, I will get the lead investigator looking into this.”

  Percy’s brows shot up. “Thomas Wolcott? He has an incredible grudge against you. How can you ask him?”

  “Very politely.”

  “I do not seriously think he will consider working for you. He despises you if you haven’t forgotten.”

  “Everyone despises me, Percy,” Solomon replied dryly. “And Wolcott snubbed me in public just last night.”

  “Then what makes you think he will investigate your claims of being defrauded? The last I heard, he is investigating you for the death of the Baroness Beulieu.”

  “Her wretched husband killed her,” Solomon retorted hotly. “Everyone knew she was terrified of him, spoke of how he constantly threatened her. It is only a matter of time before Wolcott has him arrested.”

  “It also could have been one of her other many illicit lovers,” Percy admitted. “She did enjoy her bed activities.”

  “One of the reasons I broke it off with her,” Solomon said with a faint grin. “I wasn’t liking the competition.”

  “So how will you get Wolcott to agree to help?” Percy asked. “He cannot be bribed.”

  “I will be courting his sister.”

  Percy dropped his fork. “To get Wolcott to help you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, Your Grace, please do not. I know you don’t care about what people think of your affairs, but this is dishonorable.”

  Solomon grimaced. “I know, Percy, I know. I feel terrible about even considering it, but what else can I do? Miss Wolcott is indeed lovely and intriguing and I know I would enjoy her company.”

  “And then what? Once you get Wolcott to find your thief, then you will break her heart? That’s not like you.”

  “No, it’s not. I don’t know what else to do to get Wolcott to help me.”

  “Find another investigator.”

  Solomon shook his head. “None can be trusted, and Wolcott is above reproach. If word got around the city that I knew someone was stealing from me, then the thief will merely stop for a time, then start up again later.”

  “And you broke off all business ties with Lord Oakshire and Mr. Crane?”

  “Not until I know which one is the thief. They both have helped me make money, and I do not wish to insult the one who is not stealing from me.”

  Percy chewed his lip as he thought. “Miss Wolcott’s name gets tossed around in the mud from time to time. Are you even sure you would want to be seen with her? I’m told she is unstable emotionally.”

  “She suffers from anxiety when she is stressed or in crowds,” Solomon answered, leaning back in his chair. “Quite understandably. But she is witty, highly intelligent, and speaks her mind.”

  “And a bluestocking, do not forget. I have heard she enjoys debating government issues and is a loud advocate for the poor.”

  “And this is bad? If a man did it, he is noble. If a woman speaks up about the conditions of the poverty stricken, she is branded a bluestocking and a troublemaker.”

  “All in one’s perspective, I suppose, eh?”

  “Exactly. Which is why she intrigues me. I like her, Percy. While I have difficulty with relationships, is it truly that great of a wrong to use her to get her brother’s aid?”

  “Again, it is keeping it in perspective. If you tell her, then you are still behaving honorably. If you do not, and use her and harm her emotionally, then yes, you have done a bad thing.”

  Solomon stared at his nearly empty plate. “I have to do this, Percy,” he said, his tone low. “I have to have answers here, justice for these wrongs and stop my business from going down. Unfortunately, even at the cost of Miss Wolcott’s heart.”

  Chapter 5

  Miss Teresa Wolcott

  “If we have a son,” Amelia said, sitting in the breakfast room with Teresa, “Thomas wants to name him after your father.”

  “And if you have a girl?” Teresa asked, poking her needle into the cloth she was embroidering.

  “We do not know yet.” Amelia sewed a christening gown for the infant, adding white lace to a white cloth.

  “What about naming her after your mother?”

  Amelia grimaced. “I cannot abide the name Mathilda.”

  Teresa laughed. “I suppose I can understand that.”

  The household’s maid, Elsa, knocked on the door, then entered with a small curtsey. “A letter for you, Miss Wolcott.”

  “Thank you, Elsa,” Teresa told her accepting it and gazing at it curiously. A man’s heavy script had scrawled her name on the envelope, and in turning it over discovered the emblem of the Duke of Thornehill stamped into the wax. “It’s from the Duke,” she gasped. “Oh, my.”

  “Oh, no.” Amelia frowned. “Perhaps you should send it back unopened.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  Tearing it open, Teresa read the contents. “He wishes to take me for a carriage ride in Hyde Park. Tomorrow.”

  “Now that will further destroy your reputation.”

  “Not if I have a chaperone. Will you come?”

  Amelia dropped her sewing in her lap, gazing at Teresa with sorrow and anger. “No, sweetheart, I cannot. I cannot condone you seeing a man of such ill repute. Please tell him you refuse.”

  “He is a Duke. A Duke who wishes to see me. How can I turn that away?”

  “Because he is nothing but trouble and potentially a murderer. You displease him and then he will kill you as well.”

  “That’s absurd. I will have Elsa as a chaperone if you will not come with me. But perhaps if you did, you would see the true man there, not the scandals.”

  “I believe he is playing you for a fool, Teresa.”

  Fury poured through Teresa. “How dare you,” she snapped, standing and glaring at her sister-in-law. “I do not have wealth or a title, but that does not mean I cannot attract a man. Who are you to say he is not truly interested in me?”

  “He will hurt you, Teresa.” Amelia glowered back, not giving an inch. “Whether it be to break your heart or to harm you physically, he will do you great hurt. If you will not take my advice, then there is nothing I can do.”

  “You would rather believe what the scandal sheets say about him than me. I witnessed his kind heart, I looked into his eyes and you did not. This might be my one chance at marriage and you would have me throw it away without even trying to see if we might suit each other?”

  “This is hardly your one chance at love. There are other well connected men who would adore marrying you.”

  “Of course,” Teresa replied, bitter. “All those men who will not even say hello at the parties because they believe me unstable.”

  “Now you have a solution for your anxiety. If you attend balls and soirees without panicking, the eligible men would see the change and be quick to court you.”

  “You do not even know it will work a second time,” Teresa retorted. “It did once, but what if it never works again? Then I will be a spinster all the rest of my life.”

  Amelia glanced away. “I do not know what to say to that. I have no desire to see you hurt, Teresa. I am afraid for you.”

  “If His Grace does hurt me,” Teresa murmured. “It will be my fault, not yours.”

  “That does not make it any easier, sweetheart.”

  “If he gives me any reason to believe he is not sincere in his attentions, I will stop seeing him. Will that help?”

  “It may. It is telling me you are going into this with your eyes open, at any rate. You are a very intelligent girl, and are no fool. Just be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  ***

  Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill

  Solomon reined in the single horse drawing the open carriage to a halt in front of the Wolcott townhouse. Like many others in the row along the busy avenue, it indicated moderate wealth and social status for the occupants. He knew Thomas Wolcott’s sharp business acumen and
abilities as an investigator kept himself and his family well endowed with funds enough to elevate them to the higher circles in London.

  Leaving the carriage, he tied the horse to the iron ring along the sidewalk, then strode up the steps to knock on the door. Expecting a maid to answer it, he felt no little shock when Thomas himself opened it. Already an expert at shielding his thoughts, Solomon gazed at him with a bland expression while Thomas fought to shift his darkly tense countenance into something resembling politeness. He bowed stiffly.

  “Your Grace.”

  “Mr. Wolcott.”

  Extending his hand to shake, Solomon half expected that to be snubbed as well. Thomas glanced at it, then slowly gripped it as his thinned lips tilted upward in a small smile. “Please, come in. My sister is very excited to take this drive with you.”

  “Miss Wolcott is a lovely young lady,” Solomon replied, stepping over the threshold and glancing around at the rich and tasteful artwork hanging on the walls, a few marble statues on pedestals. A stairway led to the upper floors while the first level contained a wide expanse of rooms. Thomas indicated with a gesture he was to accompany him into a formal dining room.

  “Yes, she is,” Thomas agreed, his manner more stiffly formal than the occasion warranted. “I hope your intentions toward her are honorable.”

  Ignoring the small nudge of guilt that rose at the word “honorable”, Solomon offered him a tiny smile. “I am intrigued by Miss Wolcott and her wit. At the moment, all I am seeking is the opportunity to know her better. Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Yes. Though I disapprove of your methods, I do wish to thank you for helping her at the Whittaker ball. I have never seen her so happy.”

  Thomas glanced aside. “And her joy at being in a crowd, dancing with you without anxiety, is the only reason I am permitting this, Your Grace. I believe you to be a scoundrel and a villain, and I hardly think you suitable for my sister. However, her happiness is what I care about.”

  Solomon bowed his head briefly. “Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Wolcott. I understand your concerns for your sister, and believe me when I say I wish her no harm. I also wish you to realize I had nothing at all to do with Elize Beaulieu’s death. If I may suggest, please consider her husband as your prime suspect.”

  Thomas pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Yes, I have interrogated witnesses who claim that he threatened to kill her numerous times.”

  “I am no saint,” Solomon added. “But I am no murderer. I liked Elize, though I did not love her.”

  “Nor were you the only one to, shall we say, visit her in private. I know. She had many gentleman callers.”

  “And the Baron vowed his revenge.”

  Solomon hesitated, thinking this might be an excellent time to broach the sensitive subject he wished to talk to Thomas about, but Miss Wolcott entered the room before he could. He and Thomas both turned to her at the same time, gazing at the sight of the beautiful young woman. Solomon drew in his breath and held it. He had not flattered her unnecessarily that night at the ball.

  Her long, richly dark hair was piled atop her head in an attractive coif, her pale blue eyes contrasted with it delightfully from a heart shaped face. Her high cheekbones held a hint of a blush, accented by her sweet smile. Dipping into a graceful curtsey, Miss Wolcott’s bosom, encased in her bodice, offered him a daring glimpse of her pale flesh above it.

  “Your Grace,” she murmured, her eyes flashing with good humor. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

  Picking up her hand, Solomon bowed over it and kissed her knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Wolcott.”

  Another woman appeared behind her. Miss Wolcott turned, her hand still in Solomon’s. “This is Elsa, my chaperone for today.”

  Solomon nodded as the woman curtsied. “Very good. I would hope to keep your reputation intact, Miss Wolcott. With your permission, Mr. Wolcott?”

  “Yes.” Thomas dipped his head in a brief bow. “I am trusting you to return her home by this afternoon.”

  “I will earn your trust.”

  Solomon extended his arm toward the front door. “If you are ready?”

  “I am.”

  Under Thomas scrutiny from the front steps, Solomon assisted the chaperone into the back of the carriage and the seated Miss Wolcott in the front beside him. Picking up the whip, he set the horse to trotting down the street, merging into the traffic of other carriages, wagons, and riders heading in both directions. Solomon glanced at Miss Wolcott.

  “I am truly glad you accepted my invitation,” he said. “Even more so that your brother permitted it.”

  She smiled up at him. “It took some convincing, I will admit. Thomas can be a bit over protective sometimes, but he means well.”

  “He is an honorable man.”

  “He is also considering you as the suspect in the case of the dead Baroness Beaulieu.”

  “Indeed he is,” Solomon replied with a smile. “We spoke of it just now.”

  Miss Wolcott gazed around at the passing traffic. “He must not truly believe you are the guilty party or he would never have consented to my taking this ride with you.”

  “Just as I suspect you do not believe it, either, or you would not have agreed to come out with me.”

  Her blue eyes appraised him. “I am not an investigator, nor am I a fool. I do believe, however, that a guilty man would behave differently.”

  “How so?”

  “For one thing, a guilty conscience reveals itself in small ways.” She gestured with her hands as she tried to find the right words. “The body can reveal small hints in its own language – tension, stress. A man who murdered another person would of course hide it. But if one watches closely enough, signs of lying might be noticed.”

  “That is, of course, if your murderer has a conscience, Miss Wolcott,” Solomon replied easily. “In my opinion, someone capable of such has no conscience, and would also be an expert at lying. Such a person can hide those signs.”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed, “but I see no such in you, nor any indications that you do not have a conscience. Would a murderer help a common child in a market?”

  Solomon nodded. “If he wishes to appear as a good individual while hiding a black soul, yes.”

  Miss Wolcott grinned. “Can he hide a black soul behind kind green eyes?”

  “That I do not know,” Solomon replied with a chuckle. “A poet once said the eyes are the windows to the soul, so I imagine that what can be seen in the eyes is the truth.”

  “That is why I am not afraid to be seen with you, nor do I believe you to be a killer. I do not believe a bad man would show me such kindness as you have, nor a stranger in a market place.”

  “Your instincts for people are very strong,” he said, guiding the horse down another road that led to Hyde Park. “No, I did not kill the Baroness, though I confess to a private affair with her. Does that not trouble you?”

  “It is my opinion, since you asked,” she answered, her eyes on his, “that what one does behind closed doors is private and of no one else’s business.”

  “Ah, but there is the rub.” Solomon grinned. “What if murder is done behind closed doors? Is that not everyone’s business?”

  “Now you are twisting my words and the intent of them,” Miss Wolcott exclaimed with a laugh. “Not fair. No, I mean what happens between two people that does not involve physical harm and is consensual.”

  “That is much clearer.”

  Delighting in the pleasant conversation and the light debate, Solomon tried to remember the last time he had enjoyed the company of a woman outside the bedchamber. While he and his lovers had conversed, they had always kept their opinions rigidly to themselves and spoke only of the current high society gossip. To find a woman who relished in the debate as much as he did was both refreshing and interesting.

  “However,” he went on with an amused glance at her. “Adultery is not exactly a crime these days but is considered a sin. Does that not make your argu
ment about it not being anyone’s business rather wrong?”

  “I do not believe so,” Miss Wolcott replied with a sniff. “People have been intimate creatures since the dawn of time. If you consider history, the Romans believed in the freedom of these activities between consenting adults to be normal. It may be a sin in our current society, but that is between God and the sinner, is it not?”

  Solomon, wondering what Miss Wolcott’s chaperone thought of their conversation and the direction it was taking, shot a swift glance over his shoulder. The maid stared away from them, yet her face had flushed a bright red. Miss Wolcott caught the direction of his gaze, and grinned, then shrugged.