Leila opened her mouth to announce that her sensibilities weren't at all delicate. She shut it, and headed for the sofa. If the man was willing to talk, she told herself, the least she could do was accommodate a chivalrous request.
Esmond wandered over to the bookshelves behind her. Langford positioned himself at the near end of the fireplace and clasped his hands behind his back.
His story began as she and Ismal had surmised, with the garter episode, and Fiona going to the duke for help. He'd already begun putting his plan into action when Sherburne came to him.
"He was appalled by the nasty scene he'd made in your studio," Langford told her. "He said that if something weren't done soon, Beaumont would surely drive someone to worse, and you didn't deserve to be the scapegoat. He also pointed out that Avory was in a similar position, being the man's bosom bow. By that time, I hardly needed the warning. I simply apprised Sherburne of my plans and promised he'd have a chance to settle his own score, as long as he followed orders."
Fiona was ordered to get Leila out of the way at the critical times, he explained. Sherburne was to do the same with Avory. The next part fit Leila and Esmond's theory: New Year's Eve, Helena scouting the house—and finding the herb bag. She duly reported to Langford, and final plans were laid. Fiona arranged a weeklong visit for Leila, to allow for possible failure on the first attempt to get the papers.
"Helena set out on the very first night you were gone," Langford said. "The Sabbath, I'm sorry to say. Which brings me to the more distasteful aspects. But I think you understand strong measures were required."
Leila assured him she understood.
"I had Sherburne with me, and two sturdy fellows whom I trust implicitly. Helena lured Beaumont into our ambush. While we took Beaumont off for a private discussion, she went on to do her work at the house. We kept Beaumont until nearly dawn—to give her plenty of time—and meanwhile taught him a lesson."
"Your sturdy fellows were professionals, it seems," Esmond said. "There were no recent bruises on the body."
"We shan't discuss the details," the duke said. "Enough to say Beaumont was made to understand his orders. He was to settle his affairs forthwith and leave England permanently. He was not to take his wife with him. Fiona had insisted upon that, and we all agreed. We certainly weren't going to let him relieve his spite on you," he told Leila. "I made it very plain that he must be gone before you returned from Surrey."
"No wonder he was so incensed when I came home early," Leila said, recollecting. "But it wasn't altogether rage, I see now. Panic, more likely."
"I can tell you Fiona was in a panic when you left Surrey on Tuesday," Langford said. "Unfortunately, by the time I received her message, Beaumont was dead, and your house was overrun with law officers."
That did explain why Fiona had plagued her to stay at Norbury House. And it was just possible Fiona had encouraged Esmond to follow for the same reason: she'd been frightened for Leila's safety.
"Indeed, the timing of his death was most inconvenient for you," Esmond said from somewhere behind her.
"Not his death, but that infernal woman servant's howling about murder," the duke answered. "We knew the house would be searched. That's why I attended the inquest. Wanted to know what they'd found. Wanted to be prepared, you see, to do the right thing by Helena. After all, I made the plan and gave the orders. The rest of us were safe enough. Alibis, that is, for the entire night. Until half-past five o'clock, the night before his death, the servants had been in the house. No visitors, they testified. From half-past five to eight, my troops were with me at Helena's, celebrating. We burned the letters and didn't spare the champagne. Sherburne and I saw Fiona home right after. Her servants can vouch for her whereabouts from then on. Sherburne went on to the Dunhams' and I stopped in at my club for a while, then went home."
He took his neglected brandy glass from the mantel. "Does that satisfy your curiosity, Mrs. Beaumont? Are you sufficiently enlightened?"
She was so relieved she wanted to hug him. She clasped her hands tightly together. "Yes, certainly. Thank you. Indeed, you have been very kind, very patient, Your Grace."
He looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable. "Helena said you were a piece of work. I quite agree. Mending marriages. Matchmaking. Hunting thieves and murderers." He frowned at the empty snifter in his hand. "I don't think the last is wise. But one must assume Quentin knows what he's about, and one knows better than to interfere with his delicate contrivances. I should be content with what small enlightenment I have received—and, of course, to offer my paltry services, should the need arise."
"That is exceedingly kind of you," Leila said.
"Most generous," said Esmond.
"Least I can do." The duke stalked back to the worktable, set his glass upon the tray, and bid Leila good night.
Surprised at the abrupt leave-taking, she bolted up, and managed a creditable curtsy. "Good night, Your Grace. And thank you."
He was already heading for the door. "Esmond, I want a word with you," he said. Without a glance back, Langford strode out.
Leila stood in the hall waiting until the front door shut. Then she hurried down to the landing. "What did he say?" she whispered.
Ismal paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced over his shoulder toward the door. His silken hair glimmered in the light from the wall sconce. Something glimmered in Leila's mind: a thread of a thought, a memory, but it vanished the instant he turned and looked up and smiled.
"Ah, nothing," he said softly as he began to ascend. "The usual thing. I am not to trifle with your affections. I am not to make a scandal. I am to protect you with my life—a task he tells me would be much simpler if we were wed."
Damnation. He was going to persist. "Very well," she said. "If you want to talk about it now—"
"Also, I am not to waste my valuable time checking Avory's alibi. Those two sturdy fellows watched him, day and night, from the time the duke made his plans with Helena until the day your husband died. The duke saw to his heir's protection, you see. Avory was nowhere near your house, neither on the Sunday nor the Monday."
He joined her on the landing. "We have worked two months, only to learn we must discard all five of our prime suspects."
"Maybe I'm not such a good partner after all," she said.
He took her hand and led her up the stairs. "You are an excellent partner. Did I not tell you at the start that these matters require patience? This is not the first time I have traveled in circles and had to begin again."
"Do you really think we'll spend the rest of our lives on this case?"
"The prospect does not dismay me." He led her on up to the second floor and into her bedroom. As he shut the door, he said, "At the very least, it will keep me occupied these next interminable ten months. And during that time, I shall prove to you what an agreeable husband I will make."
"You might also learn what a disagreeable wife I'll make," she said. "You've never been married before. You don't know what it's like."
"Neither do you. You were married to Francis Beaumont." He began to unfasten her bodice. "At least you are aware I am a more entertaining companion dans le boudoir."
"That isn't everything."
"I am much tidier."
"Oh, well, that settles it."
"Nay, we have not discussed my flaws." His hand closed over her breast. "I am bad tempered sometimes. Moody." He kissed her neck. "Also, I am very old fashioned. My tastes do not incline to perversions."
"But you know all about them. About tying people to bedposts."
He drew back. "I see. I have made you curious."
She fixed her embarrassed gaze on his neckcloth. "I thought...perhaps...it needn't be uncomfortable."
He considered for a moment. Then, with a low chuckle, he took off his neckcloth. "As you wish, ma belle," he said softly. "Only tell me, is it to be you—or me?"
Chapter 17
Two weeks later, Ismal was still brooding over the events of that d
ay and night.
There was no question that, dans le boudoir at least, Leila trusted Ismal not to hurt her. Still, as she had said, lovemaking wasn't everything. In marriage, there were many other ways to hurt one's partner, as she had learned the hard way. He couldn't blame her for being cautious. He knew well enough he hadn't earned her full trust. If one expected trust, one must be willing to give it. And he was not ready. He, too, had a fear he couldn't reason away: that in trusting her with the truth, he would lose her.
He stood beside her in a corner of the Langfords' crowded ballroom. While he watched Avory dance with his betrothed, Ismal wondered how the marquess had endured those long months of believing his beloved was lost to him. Beyond doubt, he had more than paid for his present joy in suffering. Ismal was glad for his joy, yet it hurt to watch. Unlike Ismal, Avory might hold his woman in his arms, for all the world to see.
"I wish we could dance," he muttered. "It has been months since we waltzed together."
"Later," she said. "When we get home. You can hum in my ear and whirl me about the studio."
Home. He wished it were, truly: that they could sleep together and wake together and share breakfast. He hated his predawn departures. He hated them more lately, because Eloise had reported that Madame suffered bad dreams. Twice in the fortnight since Langford's visit, Eloise had been working on the second floor and heard her mistress's cries of distress. Leila had cried Ismal's name...and he had not been there for her.
"I think instead I shall put you straight to bed," he said. "You are not getting enough rest lately. Eloise says you wake screaming—"
"I do not scream, and everyone has bad dreams," she interrupted. "It's just because of this provoking mystery. I didn't mind any of our five favorite suspects running loose. But now our villain has become a faceless monster. I need the face of a real person, and we haven't got a one."
He knew she was evading the issue, but he didn't press. She would not discuss her dreams. He suspected it was because she'd rather be shot than admit she was frightened. She wouldn't want to give him any excuse to keep her out of the inquiry—not that they'd accomplished much lately.
Since Langford's visit, Ismal and Leila had reviewed the list of Beaumont's acquaintances several times, but no one stirred their interest. They attended at least one, usually more, social affairs each evening, and talked and listened until they were dizzy. Each night, they returned to her house, put their heads together, and produced nothing.
They tried making love first and handling business after. They tried the reverse. They tried business-love-business and love-business-love. It made no difference. Their intellects simply whirled uselessly, like spinning wheels with no wool.
Though he was beginning to wonder whether they were wasting their time, he wasn't ready to give up. The notion that anyone could outsmart him was intolerable. Never in his career had his prey been able to elude him for long. In any case, he felt sure that the cleverness of their prey wasn't the real problem.
From the start, his mind had not been working with its usual cool efficiency. He knew why. The reason stood beside him. Until matters were fully settled between them, he couldn't attend properly to this case or any other.
He watched her tawny gaze move restlessly from guest to guest.
"I can't believe that not one name has even jiggled my intuition," she said. "Most of the Beau Monde is here, and not a single face stirs anything. I feel nothing."
She turned back to him. "I even wonder if we stuck to those five because we sensed they were 'safe' somehow. Don't you find it odd that we persisted, even though something didn't fit in each case: circumstances, character, means."
"You will give yourself a headache," he said. "Leave it alone for tonight. This is a joyous occasion, celebrating a betrothal. Assuredly, their happiness will continue. They are admirably well suited, are they not? Miss Woodleigh fully appreciates Avory's many superior qualities, and he hers. Also, the strengths of one character neatly balance the weaknesses of the other. But you were aware of this, I think, the instant I told you he was in love with her."
She rewarded him with a smile. "I shouldn't have browbeaten poor Fiona otherwise," she said.
"Poor Fiona" at the moment was detaching herself from a small crowd of admirers. She made directly for Leila and Ismal.
"I count half a dozen hearts crashing to the floor and splintering into pieces," Ismal said as she joined them.
"They recover quickly," she said. "The instant they discovered Leila was out of bounds, they latched onto me. I daresay they'll latch onto someone else soon enough."
"I do not think Lord Sellowby will," he said. "That one looks like a man whose mind is made up."
Leila followed his gaze. "Most observant, Esmond," she said.
"Don't be tiresome," said her friend. "Sellowby is a rattle, and a confirmed bachelor. Not to mention I've known him this age—lud, since the nursery, I think. He might as well be another brother."
Ismal gave his partner a conspiratorial look. "Madame, it has been weeks since you made a match," he said. "You will not wish your skills to rust through want of practice."
"I certainly don't."
"Leila, you will not—" her friend began.
"Yes, I will. I owe you this, Fiona."
Leila had but to look Sellowby's way to catch his eye. Then she lifted her fan and beckoned.
Remembering a certain night in Paris when Lady Carroll had summoned him, Ismal watched Sellowby respond in the same unhesitating way. This man, too, knew what he wanted, judging by the intent expression in his dark eyes as he joined them. Clearly, Lady Carroll's days of freedom were numbered.
"I'm sorry to trouble you," Leila told Sellowby. "But I was telling Esmond about your race across the Mediterranean. Lackliffe described it to me, and I do recall that it was amazingly swift—but I can't remember exactly how long he said it took."
"Gad, ancient history," Fiona muttered.
"Indeed it is—a decade ago," Sellowby said. "One of the follies of my youth. A month—six weeks—perhaps more. Frankly, all I recollect with any clarity is beating Lackliffe by a hairsbreadth and finding London perishing cold."
"I collect you were drunk most of the time," said Lady Carroll. "Time passed in a pleasant haze, no doubt."
"At any rate, time passed," he said. "You must not twit me with the foibles of my youth, Fiona. You were hardly a paragon of decorum then. When you were Letty's age—"
"It's exceedingly ill-mannered to call attention to a lady's age." She briskly fanned herself.
"Ah, well, you're not so old as that," he said. "Not quite decrepit yet."
She turned to Ismal. "As you see, Esmond, chivalry is stone dead in England. I vow, directly after Letty is shackled, I shall take the first packet to France."
"That would be just like you," said Sellowby. "To hare off to a country on the brink of revolution."
"You'll never intimidate her with threats of riot," said Leila. "On the contrary, you've only made the prospect more exciting."
"Riot, indeed," Her Ladyship said scornfully. "You are not to take his side, Leila. You know as well as I there's no imminent danger. If there were a hint of it, Herriard would never have left Paris without his clients."
"What the devil has Herriard to say to anything?" Sellowby asked. "Has he been made ambassador while I wasn't looking?"
"He does have the confidence of several members of the diplomatic corps," she said. "He would know if there were immediate peril, and if he knew such a thing, Andrew Herriard would haul his crew of English exiles home by main force if necessary. What do you say, Leila? Who knows Herriard better than you?"
"It's true," Leila said. "He wouldn't leave until he'd done his duty—until every last one of his charges was safe away."
"And all their affairs tied up neatly," said Lady Carroll. "Every ‘i’ dotted. Every ‘t’ crossed."
"Precision," Ismal murmured. "The hallmark of a superior legal mind."
"Everyone knows
how Herriard is," said Lady Carroll. "Even you, Sellowby. Come, admit your error like a man."
"I shall do better than that," he said, his dark eyes glinting. "I shall spare you the filthy packet and take you to France on my yacht."
The fan went into violent motion. "Will you indeed? Drunk or sober?"
"I shall want all my wits," he said. "Sober, of course. But you may be as drunk as you please, my dear."
A short while later, Sellowby was whirling a flustered Fiona about the dance floor. Leila wasn't looking at them, but at Ismal. She didn't want to think what she was thinking. She certainly didn't want to say it. To her dismay, she saw she didn't need to. She recognized the predatory glint in Ismal's blue eyes. She had seen that look before, the first time she'd met him, in Paris.
"Every 'i' dotted. Every 't' crossed," he said, confirming her fears. "All neatly tied up, in perfect order."
"It's not the same," she said.
"Your house was in perfect order when you returned, you told me. I examined the bedroom myself. Even upon the dressing table, the objects were arranged with military precision. Avory does this—but only when his mind is troubled and he tries to sort out his thoughts. It is not a personal habit, for his servants do everything for him."
"We haven't a motive," she said, while her heart told her they'd soon discover it.
"We have the character," he said. "The precise legal mind. Cool-headed, quick to note detail and use it to his advantage. Discretion, too, is the hallmark of the superior lawyer. He is the keeper of family secrets."
"He couldn't have been in two places at once. He'd already left for Dover, and he was on the first packet to Calais. Otherwise he would have received my message."
"If you truly believed that, you would not be so agitated," he said gently. "But your mind has leapt just as mine has, because the way is clear for the leap. The others' problems, the obvious problems, are out of our way. We fixed on them for a reason, as you said. I believe, in some way, we sensed their difficulties were connected. Perhaps that puzzle solution itself is a clue. But first, we should examine the alibi."
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