The Infamous Duchess
Page 27
Viola sputtered before managing to say, “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Scranton pursed her lips. “Well. It would give you the advantage of being a Lowell and ensuring that you have the full strength of his entire family behind you,” she said while Henry felt like protesting. Not because he disagreed, but because he didn’t want anyone’s interference when it came to his future with Viola. “As his wife, you would be a more difficult target.”
“Because I and all my worldly possessions would belong to my husband,” Viola said with a dull note that made Henry want to pick his grandmother up and carry her out of the house before she said something else to undermine his efforts of winning Viola.
Lady Scranton sighed. “Having seen the two of you together, it is clear to me that you care for each other.”
Henry squeezed Viola’s hand and addressed his grandmother. “Will you excuse us for a moment? I would like to speak with Her Grace alone.”
“By all means,” his grandmother said.
Henry stood and waited for Viola to do the same. She moved slowly, but her hand never left his as he led her from the parlor and back to his library. Entering the room, Henry glanced around to ensure that none of his servants was present before closing the door and turning to face Viola. His nerves jumped in response to her hesitant expression, and although this was not how he’d planned to propose, it was time for him to do so.
“She’s right,” he said, and took a step forward. Reaching up, he pushed a loose strand of hair from Viola’s brow and tucked it behind her ear. His knuckles grazed her cheek as his hand fell away, stirring his senses on account of the sigh with which she responded. “As my wife—”
“Everything I own would belong to you.”
“Not necessarily. I can have papers drafted granting you full control over everything you bring into our marriage.”
Her eyes misted with wonder. “You would do that for me?”
He smiled. “I have no interest in acquiring your assets or in taking away your independence, Viola. All I want is you, the woman I’ve fallen in love with.”
When she spoke again, her voice scraped her throat. “I love you too.”
His heart swelled with joy. “So you’ll marry me then?”
“Yes.” She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him as if she meant to fuse herself to him forever.
He kissed her back with the desperation of a man who’d just been given carte blanche to ravish her completely. Except his grandmother was just down the hall, still waiting for them to return.
That put a damper on his passion.
He broke the kiss with reluctance and eased her away. Her breath was just as ragged as his, her eyes wonderfully dazed. “I cannot promise a positive outcome in court, but at least you will have my family’s support. An earl and three dukes isn’t so bad.”
“I’d say it’s quite good.”
He cleared his throat and retreated a step to stop from dragging her back for additional kisses. There would be time for that later. “They’ll show the world they accept you and I’ll show the world that I love you. Together we’ll fight the scandal that’s bound to arise when Robert reveals your mother’s identity to the papers.”
Concern tightened her features. “Are you absolutely certain you want to face the consequences of marrying me?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything else in my life, Viola.” His voice was level and sure. “As my wife, your chance of winning the case will also improve. You’ll be more than the woman accused of taking advantage of an old man on his deathbed. You’ll be Mrs. Lowell, the future Viscountess Armswell, respected and adored by her husband and in-laws, which is bound to undermine Robert’s claims about you. And if we can do that, the case might just fall apart.”
“Do you honestly think so?”
“We would have to consult with Steadford to be certain, but I do believe it’s our best chance. Either way, my feelings for you won’t change. I want to marry you no matter what, Viola.”
She smiled with adoration in her eyes, and it took every ounce of restraint on Henry’s part to remain where he was. “We’ve a lot to do then, don’t we?”
He grinned. Between investigating Olivia Jones’s death and planning a hasty wedding, they would have time for little else in the coming week. “We should probably return to the parlor and inform my grandmother of our decision.”
Viola turned toward the door but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. He could not resist after all. “One more kiss.”
Her willingness to accommodate him was evident in the haste with which she flung her arms around his neck and rose up to meet his mouth. Henry drew her against him, molding her perfectly against his solid frame. His back hit the door with a thud but he ignored it. All he could focus on at the moment were her lips, her scent, the feel of her fingers teasing his hair.
His hands trailed down her back, then lower until he could clasp her more firmly against him. A slew of wicked thoughts stirred his imaginings. God, how he wished they could simply surrender, right here, right now. The nearby sofa would do rather nicely because by all that was holy, he wanted Viola this instant.
Something soft moved against his leg. A sharp meow followed.
Viola grinned against his mouth. “I think Newton wants to remind us that this is not the proper time or place to get carried away.”
Henry silently cursed the feline’s unwelcome interruption, even though he supposed it had come at the right time. He glanced at the sofa on which he’d begun to imagine some rather scandalous things.
Right. Time to collect yourself and pretend you’re not ready to chase every fantasy your brain has been contriving since the moment you first clapped eyes on this woman.
“Your grandmother is waiting for us,” Viola added.
Bollocks!
Hadn’t he just said as much seconds earlier? Yet somehow the kiss had made him forget. It had driven all thought from his mind and replaced it with one singular goal. “I think we need to acquire a special license posthaste,” he muttered, while sending a quiet apology to his nether regions.
“I quite agree.” Her eyes, he saw, were filled with a mixture of understanding, regret and desperate longing. “The sooner we do, the sooner we’ll start doing . . . other things besides kissing.”
Henry reached behind him and yanked the door open. “After you,” he said. She chuckled low and sensually, and Henry prayed he’d have the strength to survive until their wedding night. He followed her out of the library and back to the parlor, his gaze feasting on the gentle sway of her hips as she moved.
Viola wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and he could not wait to make her his.
Chapter 24
“You made the front page news,” Diana told Viola the following morning. Standing in Viola’s bedroom doorway, she wore an apologetic expression.
Viola stared at the dreaded paper in Diana’s hand. “How bad is it?”
“Well, there’s a caricature of you selling sexual favors to a long line of men, including your husband, Mr. Lowell and Tremaine.” She held it up for Viola to see.
Viola sucked in a breath. “Dear God.”
“I think you may be the center of attention for quite some time.”
“Really?” Viola made no attempt to hide her sarcastic retort. She rubbed her hand over her face in frustration. “Henry has been ridiculed. Peter too, Lord rest his soul.”
“You need to hold your head up high now. If you present yourself as weak, those who wish you ill will take advantage.”
Viola nodded. “I’m not ashamed of who my mother was.” She crossed the floor, accepting the paper from Diana. A quick glance at the caricature made her insides contract because of the effect it would have on Henry, his family, the case. “She did what she had to in order to survive, just as you and Harriet once did.”
“Neither one of us chose our path willingly. It might have been the same for your mother.”
Viola consider
ed her suggestion before saying, “It doesn’t matter. She gave me life when she could have chosen not to. I will always be grateful for that.” She gave the paper a final glance before tossing it onto her bed. “There’s too much to do for me to worry about inevitable gossip.” She grabbed her spencer and followed Diana out of the room. Henry would arrive soon. If she meant to have a slice of toast and a cup of tea before he did, the time to do so was now.
“Ignore them,” Henry advised her an hour later when they alit from his coach on Bow Street and passersby stopped to stare.
She heard someone mutter, “Courtesan,” and “Fallen woman,” before she preceded Henry into the Bow Street office. The door closed behind them, silencing the crowd. Viola expelled a breath and glanced up at Henry. “I am trying.”
He gave her a warm look of encouragement and stepped forward to address a man seated behind a wide desk. The man looked up. “How may I help you?”
“My name is Mr. Henry Lowell and this is the Duchess of Tremaine. We’re here to open an investigation into the murder of a Miss Olivia Jones.”
If their names meant anything to this man, he showed no indication of it as he stood, his expression a mask of complete inscrutability. “Wait here one moment please, while I confer with one of the officers.” He departed through a doorway directly behind him.
“Have you ever dealt with the Bow Street office before?” Viola asked Henry as she glanced around the reception. It was sparsely furnished with only the desk and a chair to go with it. A long case clock to Viola’s left conveyed the passing of time.
“Last year, after helping Florian and Huntley save Juliette from Bartholomew, I informed the officers here of what had transpired so they could come to the scene and investigate. They brought the chief magistrate with them and showed extreme professionalism.”
The man from earlier returned. “Officer Ericson says he would like to speak with you directly. If you’ll please follow me.”
Viola and Henry were shown into a tidy office that indicated Officer Ericson’s preference for order. A young man with neatly combed brown hair, he stood as soon as they entered. “Your Grace.” He offered Viola a stiff bow before turning to Henry. “Mr. Lowell. My secretary says you wish to investigate a murder.” He extended his hand toward two vacant chairs and waited for Henry and Viola to sit before resuming his own.
“That is correct,” Henry said. “The victim’s name was Olivia Jones. She was stabbed to death in the St. Giles area five years ago.”
Officer Ericson frowned. “Time destroys evidence. It won’t be an easy investigation.”
“We realize that,” Viola said. She leaned forward slightly. “Is it possible her death was reported when it happened? Perhaps you have notes to look back on, an examination of her body or an interview with her family and friends?”
Officer Ericson regarded her with a shrewd gaze. “Can you offer any information about her, like age or appearance?”
“She would have been under the age of thirty, perhaps even twenty,” Henry said. “We believe the Duke of Tremaine had a hand in her death so—”
“Hold on one minute.” Officer Ericson looked at them each as though they were barking mad before pinning Viola with a discerning gaze. “Are we speaking of the man who’s so intent on proving you to be a social-climbing charlatan that he’s willing to drag you to court and have your husband’s will contested?”
“You keep appraised of the news, I see.”
“It is part of my job to do so.” He stared straight back at her without flinching.
“We would not have come here unless we believed our suspicions about Tremaine to be accurate,” Henry said.
Officer Ericson shook his head. “Do you have any idea how this will look if the papers get hold of it? You’ll be accused of sullying a duke’s reputation on top of everything else.”
“That’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Viola told him.
Officer Ericson hesitated briefly and then went to examine his bookcase. He pulled a large leather-bound volume from one of the shelves and dropped it on top of his desk. “Let me check my records.” He leafed through the pages, pausing occasionally before continuing. Viola held her breath until he finally stopped. “Here it is. Olivia Jones’s report. Her parents verified her identity. They came here to inquire about her when she went missing and were interviewed by Officer Jarvis.” Ericson looked up. “He’ll be in later in the day, so I’ll be sure to have a word with him about this.”
“I’ll pay fifty pounds plus expenses for any information linking Tremaine to this crime,” Henry said. He produced his calling card and handed it to Ericson. “I trust you’ll keep us informed?”
Ericson nodded. “Of course. But I cannot guarantee the result you’re hoping for. Not with a duke involved and not with the number of years that have transpired since this happened.”
“Understood.”
Viola and Henry took their leave. “You didn’t tell him why you believe Tremaine might have killed Miss Jones,” Viola said when they were back in the carriage.
“Neither did you.” He reached for her hand and she twined her fingers with his.
“I wasn’t sure if it would be helpful.”
“Probably not. Carlton Guthrie is not a reliable source.”
“But you believe him.”
Henry kept quiet for a long while before saying, “When I consider Lady Beatrice’s unlikely death, the way Robert has treated you, the ease with which he can fly into a rage and the demimondaine whose face I believe he once bruised, I am increasingly inclined to trust that what Guthrie says could be true.”
Satisfied, Viola leaned her head against his shoulder. “Where are we off to now?” She’d failed to hear him give instructions to the driver after he handed her up into the carriage.
“To see the archbishop about a special license.” When she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, he captured her mouth in a tender kiss that made every tight muscle in Viola’s body relax into supple languor. “After that,” he added with a murmur, “we’ll find a vicar with a minute to spare.”
“Are you sure you want us there?” Harriet asked. She and Diana were helping Viola dress for her wedding which was to take place at St. George’s in little more than an hour. “We’re not very respectable.”
“Nobody needs to know that save me and Henry.” When she’d told him what her companions had once done for a living, she’d been prepared to fight his insistence that she distance herself from them completely.
Instead he’d been curious. Furthermore, he’d said he respected and admired her for choosing to help Diana and Harriet instead of turning her back on them. “Just be cautious,” he’d advised. “Keeping their past a secret is in their best interest as well.”
She’d agreed with him wholeheartedly.
“You are my friends,” she said in response to Harriet’s comment. “Celebrating the most important day of my life with you would mean a great deal.”
“We shall miss you,” Diana said as she placed the last pin in Viola’s hair. Viola reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We will see each other at the hospital every Monday when you host the women’s support group and whenever you wish to visit for tea.”
Viola stood so she could look at herself in the cheval glass. A smile tugged at her lips. The image reflected back at her was no longer of an unremarkable woman with dull eyes and lifeless hair. Right now, dressed for her wedding, she saw that she was really quite stunning.
Turning, she embraced both her friends. Once she was married, she would be going home with Henry, which meant these were her last moments in the house she had shared with them.
“Thank you, Viola, for all you have done for us,” Harriet said.
Viola forced back the tears that threatened. “Indeed it is I who should thank you for advising me and listening to me when I needed it most.”
“Even though we warned you against becoming involved with Mr. Lowell?” Diana asked with a smile.
“We were wrong though, weren’t we?” Harriet said.
“We all were,” Viola agreed. Henry was not the scoundrel the rumors claimed him to be, but rather the most perfect man she had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Marrying him felt right and she looked forward to every second of it with fervor.
“Relax,” Yates whispered in Henry’s ear when he finally stood at the altar awaiting his bride.
Continuous tremors rolled through Henry, disturbing his nerves and making him restless. Where was she? He drew a deep breath and shifted his feet while making a desperate effort to maintain a calm appearance. According to Yates, he was apparently failing in that regard.
“I am trying,” he muttered, to which Yates responded with a stifled bit of laughter.
And then the doors at the end of the aisle opened and Viola appeared, dressed in a simple white gown. She was holding a pretty bouquet of various flowers that Henry failed to register in detail because his eyes were fixed on her beautiful face. Swallowing, he clenched his hands and inhaled slowly to quiet the sudden urge he had to run toward her and carry her out the door so they wouldn’t have to wait one additional second to begin their lives together.
But there was protocol for them to adhere to and of course the necessary service, which he did want to get through, though preferably at an increased pace if at all possible. Another deep breath had the blessed effect of slowing his heart ever so slightly, which allowed him to focus with greater ease on how lovely she truly looked with her rosy cheeks, her eyes glowing and her lips dimpling prettily at each corner as she smiled at no one but him.
Overcome by emotion, he felt the sting of tears press firmly against his eyes. Christ, she was perfect and she would be his and he knew . . . he simply knew without any shadow of a doubt that the rest of his life would be flawless from this day forward.