He flattened his palm on his chest. “Goodness, such concern, Elinor.”
She positively hated him. “So what is the plan, dear brother?”
For the first time since his arrival, she noticed a rather grave look shadow his strong features.
“She sent a note to the theater yesterday, requesting a meeting Saturday afternoon to exchange the manuscript for the original letter I purchased from her solicitor. Gilbert, of course, agreed and selected his regular pub, The Jolly Knights for the exchange because it would… assure her that she would be safe in a public place.”
Elinor watched him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You and Gilbert, you and Gilbert…”
He relaxed in his chair again. “As a team, he and I work far better than you and I ever did.”
She brushed over that as well. “So I don’t understand the need for violence. We get the manuscript back and she can go back to planting flowers none the wiser.”
For a moment or two he just glared at her. Then his lips turned down snidely as he slowly shook his head.
“You’re so goddamned stupid, Elinor.”
Immediately, she became incensed. “How dare you insult me,” she hissed, jaw set, fisting her hands at her sides to keep from lunging at him. “Getting the manuscript back from the evil man who murdered our sister was my idea—”
In the flash of an instant, he cut her off by springing from his chair and towering over her, planting his large palms flat on the chipping tea table between them.
“Plans change,” he murmured very softly, his face only inches from hers. “Ideas are often faulty. You of all people should know that the Duke of Trent would never simply give that manuscript away for a toss or two in bed, nor does he need the money he would gain by selling it. What he’ll offer instead, through the lovely Vivian Rael-Lamont, is a very grand forgery.” Quickly he stood up again, pulling down on his fine waistcoat as he leered at her with nothing short of contempt. “But he likes the woman, Elinor, and for her, he might pay.”
It only took seconds for her to come to full term with her brother’s intentions. “Nobody needs to die, Steven,” she said again quietly, as a calm river of dread for the woman, for all of them and what was at stake, began to course through her body.
His expression went flat as he clasped his hands behind his back. How very odd that at that moment, Elinor decided he looked quite like the gentleman he was born to be yet rarely revealed.
“Listen to me well, dear sister, for I’m only going to say this once.” He continued to look down at her, his voice low as it held a cautious note. “We are no longer playing by your rules. I am in charge from this moment on.”
She said nothing, but neither did she look away. He evidently took her silence as a form of agreement.
“If you stay out of this,” he continued, “we will end up with more money than you can comprehend.” He took a step toward her, his finger pointing at her for emphasis. “If you do as I say, this time next year you will be relaxing on the sunny coast of any country you choose with any man you desire.” Again, he grinned wryly, looking her up and down. “Or of course you can attempt to wed and bed the pretty Earl of Demming. I frankly don’t care. Just leave well enough alone and let Gilbert Montague do what he does best.”
With that, he stepped over her skirts and walked to the door of the study. Pausing, he turned and gave her a lovely, heartfelt smile. “If’s good to be home. Tell Wayne to take care of my horse, will you? I’m in desperate need of a nap.”
Elinor sat on the settee for a long time, staring vacantly at the cold, clean fireplace, all the while picking at the fraying fabric of the cushion with her nails until the aging feathers inside began to poke through.
Chapter 15
Stretching out on his cool, cotton sheets, Will stared at his bedroom ceiling, painted dark green and brown to match the foliage design of the textured wallpaper. It struck him so strangely at that moment to consider that if Elizabeth had lived here she wouldn’t have approved of such a dark ceiling, but Vivian most certainly would. He didn’t doubt that for a minute, though how he knew such a fact, he couldn’t be sure since she’d never been inside his private bed chamber in Morning House. Knowing things instinctively about another person was simply one of those oddities of life, he supposed. And lately he’d begun to realize he knew many things, intimate things, about the Widow Rael-Lamont.
He’d awakened with a strong erection this morning, thinking of her and of the erotic way she’d willingly touched him three days ago. He’d thought of little else since that afternoon by the shore. This morning, however, he’d been dreaming of her hands on him, stroking him as she’d done, arousing him beyond sanity, bringing him to climax. When he woke only a few minutes ago to an empty bed and brilliant sunshine, he actually felt regret. He wanted her here, with him, and most shocking to his sensibilities, it made him consider what it might be like to wake up with her by his side every single morning. He couldn’t begin to imagine that sort of contentment after years of being alone, but after her reaction to him and his desire for her days ago, he was beginning to believe she would welcome the closeness herself. And she wouldn’t care about the dark ceiling.
Groaning, he turned over onto his stomach and shoved his arms under his pillow. The hands on his mantel clock read half past eight. He hadn’t slept so late in years that he could recall, but the dream of her and her nude body teasing his had kept him deep in the realm of fantasy. Yet Clement Hastings would be here in less than an hour and he needed to wash, dress, and get his thoughts in order before meeting the man. He’d received a note late last night by messenger informing him that his agent of inquiry had urgent news he needed to relate in person, but couldn’t be here until after nine this morning. So although Will’s marvelous thoughts consisted of the pink-tipped perfection of Vivian’s breasts, he knew he had to concentrate on the more important matter of the moment.
Finally he rolled onto his back again and sat up, running the fingers of both hands through his hair.
He’d already decided it wasn’t fair to compare Elizabeth to Vivian, for they were so different in every way imaginable. Yet he found it difficult not to do so. They were the only lovers he’d had in his life who mattered to him more than a quick and mutually enjoyable bedding.
Elizabeth had been sweet and young, innocent and soft, beautiful, starkly feminine, and temperamental. Vivian was mature, bold, luscious in her beauty, and although just as outwardly feminine, she was inwardly smarter, her thoughts controlled by a wisdom that certainly comes with age. Yet she was far from old. She carried herself with so much dignity and grace, so much passion for everything— from the mundane planting of flowers, to touching him intimately just for the thrill of watching him respond. Elizabeth had been well-bred and graceful, but Vivian was the epitome of charm and dazzle. Loving Elizabeth, at least in the beginning, had been a joy, an easy attachment to sweetness, a pursuit of discovery, a feeling that required no effort. But loving Vivian…
Will swung his legs over the side of his bed, rubbed a palm harshly down his face with an aggravation borne of confusion, then opened his eyes to stare at the blandness of his oakwood floor.
God, if he loved Vivian, and she loved him in return, it would enrich their lives like the gift of laughter. It could be the ultimate discovery for both of them, the final enchantment, the best effort. Not a joy, but the joy. Yet why did that seem so much better to him than the love he’d once felt for his wife? As he considered it now, he realized that in a very strange sense, loving Elizabeth had been the beginning of what should have been a delightful journey; loving Vivian would be like… coming home, the journey’s end. And nothing was ever more comforting, more satisfying, more marvelous than that. If he loved her—and she loved him back.
Clement Hastings had already taken a seat in the library when Will arrived, clean-shaven, bathed, and dressed in a morning suit of deep blue. Hastings, on the other hand, wore a suit of plum and tangerine, standard attire
for him, actually, especially with the corsetüke waistcoat in purple plaid. Will no longer found it worth his contemplation. The investigator simply had strange taste or an even stranger valet.
He decided against sitting at his secretary this morning, instead choosing to relax on his sofa where he could pour himself a cup of tea. Hastings, he noted, had already drunk a cup and sat nervously on the edge of the cushion, a piece of paper in hand.
The investigator cleared his throat to speak even before he was asked.
“Your grace,” he began, “there has been some news.”
He knew that, of course, but didn’t repeat it.
“Yes,” he replied simply, adding a trace of cream to his cup.
“Actually,” Hastings continued, “news on two fronts. I’ll start first with Gilbert Herman.”
Will took a sip of the steaming tea, freshly brewed and delicious as always. “Proceed.”
Hastings adjusted his rotund body in the chair, looking now to his notes. The man kept meticulous notes.
“I’ve had Herman followed for the last two weeks, sir, on your orders,” he started, delving into the matter at hand. “As you know, his routine is rather ordinary, though for the last week he’s been working late nights at the theater in preparation for their final few productions before the theater closes and the troop declares its hiatus for the coming winter season.”
Will nodded and leaned back against the soft cushion, lifting one leg and resting his ankle on his knee. This was all very predictable. “Go on,” he pressed, taking another sip.
“Well, sir, at your request, I observed Mrs. Rael-Lamont after the production of As You Like It three nights ago, where she met Mr. Herman, or as she thought, Mr. Montague, to inform him she would be presenting him the manuscript. She appeared a bit agitated, which was to be expected, and he seemed his usual calm and arrogant self. They spoke only for a moment or two, then she left.”
“Left the theater?”
“Yes, your grace. She left and went home alone where she remained for the rest of the evening.”
“I see,” he responded matter-of-factly.
Hastings pulled at his collar, loosening it with two fingers as he looked down once more to his notes, forehead creased in concentration.
“Now, sir, Mrs. Rael-Lamont was followed by one of my men; I followed Mr. Herman. He stayed at the theater until nearly one in the morning, where he then proceeded to The Jolly Knights. He met with the usual barmaid of his choice, drank two glasses of ale, and followed her upstairs.”
“Isn’t that rather typical of him?” Will asked.
The investigator nodded. “Yes, sir, although he’s usually not so late in arriving.”
Frowning, Will leaned forward in his chair and placed his feet flat on the rug. Elbows resting on his knees, he held his cup and saucer in front of him and stared down at the remainder of his tea. “I’m not sure I see the importance of this, Hastings.”
“Yes, of course, sir. I’m getting to that.”
For a few seconds the man studied his notes. Then unexpectedly, and quite surprisingly to Will, he folded them and tucked them into his coat pocket. Leaning forward to face the duke directly, Hastings followed Will’s lead by sitting with elbows on knees, hands clasped in front of him.
“Your grace,” he maintained, his tone grave, “there are two things I’m going to tell you that you may find to be a bit disturbing.”
The investigator eyed him for a moment, his thick brows drawn closely together with concern as he waited for a response before continuing. Will suddenly began to feel a tinge of uneasiness settle into the pit of his empty stomach.
Gradually, he leaned forward and placed what remained of his tea on the table between them. “Tell me everything.”
The investigator nodded negligibly, lowering his gaze for a moment to study the plush carpeting at his feet, then raising it again, his eyes sharply focused, his face pulled back in a grim line of determination.
“I and one of my men were in The Jolly Knights, watchful of the interactions around Herman and the other… patrons. The pub was crowded, certainly, but I wasn’t neglectful of my duty by any means—”
“What happened?” he interrupted, his own concern threading his words. He’d never seen his agent of inquiry so unsettled before.
Hastings cleared his throat again. “Well sir, it seems as if Gilbert Herman, for a short time anyway, disappeared from under our noses.”
His eyes slowly narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘disappeared for a time’? I’m not sure I follow.”
Hastings began tapping his fingertips together in front of him. “Your grace, precisely fifteen minutes after his arrival and the completion of his ale, Gilbert Herman took the barmaid upstairs with him, but he never came back down. For a time we thought little of it, until we began to wonder what—if you’ll forgive me—was taking so long. Finally, after more than an hour, one of my men went looking and he simply wasn’t there. There were no windows, and only two extra rooms for the women to entertain guests, I assume, and both were windowless and empty as well. Timmons, my man, found the barmaid asleep on a cot and when he questioned her, she rudely informed him that Herman was only with her for fifteen minutes.”
Hastings paused to take a deep breath then looked directly at him once more. “As I said, the pub was very crowded last night, your grace, but the fact still remains that there was absolutely no way for that man to get past us on the main floor without us noticing, and yet that’s exactly what he did, sir. He had to have walked right out of there without our knowledge, right under our noses.” He finished his statement with emphasis. “The man simply vanished.”
Without clear thought, Will replied, “He’s an actor.”
“Yes, indeed,” Hastings shot back quickly in agreement, “and the oddest thing about this, your grace, is that he was back at the theater for another performance the following day.” He scratched his side whiskers. “If I may be so bold, I’d like to suggest the man is working with someone else, one or both of the men are wearing disguises, and together they have planned this blackmail for months, maybe more than a year, and very, very well.”
Seconds passed in silence. Then, placing his palms flat on his thighs, Will raised himself quickly and began to pace in front of the fireplace. “But what you’re suggesting, Hastings, is that Herman purposely paid off the barmaid to stay upstairs for a time to dupe you, then changed his clothes, maybe his appearance, and left for a short time only to… do what?” He turned to the investigator and paused in his stride.
“I don’t know. Meet with his accomplice? Confuse us because he knows we’re following? But I do think we’re being manipulated, either for pure enjoyment or some more sinister reason.”
“I see. Then that’s the proof that he knows he’s being followed.”
Hastings nodded. “I believe so, yes. As I was afraid of, sir. He’s toying with us.”
Toying with us.
Will shoved his hands into the pockets of his morning suit and started walking again, head down. “He’s enjoying himself.”
“I think he is, yes.”
“Could his accomplice be the blond woman?” he asked after a moment.
Hastings leaned back in his chair. “I’ve considered that possibility, but I don’t think so. When I saw them together the first time at the pub he was clearly disturbed by her presence.” He shook his head. “No, she may be involved, but this is a complex scheme planned by men, and probably men who don’t want her talking. I think that if it got ugly, she would be a liability.”
“As Mrs. Rael-Lamont could be,” he murmured.
The investigator hesitated, then said crisply, “As Mrs. Rael-Lamont certainly is, your grace.”
He stopped pacing at once and stared down at the man, feeling a chilling dampness break out on his neck. “You think she’s in danger?” he asked, his voice low, controlled.
“Yes,” the man replied without prevarication. “Not imminent danger because there ha
sn’t been a transfer of property or information. She is the manner or means that he’s chosen to achieve a goal, to get something he wants or feels he needs, and he hasn’t received it yet.” Hastings nodded again minutely. “But ultimately, yes. She is in the way.”
Will suddenly felt as if he were thinking in a circle of fog, confusion blending with certainty, theories mingling with facts, and all of it getting them nowhere while they groped in the darkness, perilously closer to the edge of some great abyss.
“Your grace, keep in mind that right now he has the upper hand, he’s smart, he knows he’s being followed, knows we can’t accuse him of anything because there is no proof that he’s done anything even socially improper, much less illegal. He knows he’s being followed and not only does he not care, he taunts us. It’s a most careless thing to do, and yet I can’t help but think he knows this as well, and that it’s some point he’s attempting to make. He’s purposely shown us incredibly abrasive and reckless behavior on his part.”
Hastings leaned on one leg and pointed to the ground to make his point. “The important thing to remember then, your grace, is that he’s overconfident in the extreme. If we proceed with caution, plan our moves very well from this moment on, as he’s done until now, he’ll eventually make a mistake. They always do. And when he trips, we catch him as he falls.”
Such a reassurance seemed arbitrarily vague, and it was no real comfort either, Will thought, staring now out the conservatory windows to the blue sky beyond. But the one thing of which they could be absolutely certain was that Herman had no idea how much they’d guessed about his plan. Will just hoped to God they weren’t missing anything. Hastings was the best in the business, but even he had been outwitted by a man who made a living on pretense.
Will inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second or two before turning around to face his investigator again.
“We’ll have to assume he’ll suspect I’m giving him a forgery,” he said.
Duke of Sin Page 16
