This time he laughed with pleasure, as if he found her words truly amusing.
“In point of fact, the name is Herman, and although it hardly matters, you’re not much of an actress.”
She blinked; his expression went flat and cold again.
“We’re going for a ride, Vivian. We’re going to walk out of here together, get into my carriage, and ride.”
Her world started to reel. She retreated another foot and this time her hip struck the edge of a short wooden table, jarring her.
He smirked. Then with a quickness she’d never anticipated, he latched onto her upper arm and leaned toward her. “You’ll come with me now, Mrs. Rael-Lamont,” he enunciated in a thick whisper she read on his lips more than heard.
The fog of fear within began to take a solid form as she fought the urge to simply run and chance escape. He must have read her thoughts, for at that moment he yanked her toward him, against him, and she couldn’t mistake the sharpness of a blade at her waist.
She had never anticipated this, and neither had Will.
Will… How I need you now.
As Gilbert grabbed her around the shoulders to usher her through the nursery and toward the side gate, she glanced around furiously, trying to think of something. Anything—
He tightened his grip. “You scream, Vivian, you try to escape, and you die, right here among all your pretty little plants. I am in charge now. Remember that.”
“My staff—”
“Won’t even realize you’re gone for at least an-other thirty minutes or so,” he cut in quite casually. “That’ll give us plenty of time to leave the city.”
Shivering, she gazed up at his smooth, deceptively handsome face. “Bastard,” she spat between clenched teeth.
He grinned again, proudly, and in some very odd gentlemanly manner, lifted his free hand and wrapped his coat around her, hugging her against him, to protect her from the pelting rain.
“Yes, true,” he replied as he led her through the tall wooden gate and out to his waiting carriage. “And I don’t even need to act.”
Reluctantly she stepped inside the dark enclosure, hoping for rescue, unsure if she could fight him or if the knife he carried would wound her mortally. One thing she didn’t doubt anymore was that he would use it.
As they rode west out of town, without interruption or cause for concern by any onlookers, it became apparent to her that she was now very much on her own.
Chapter 18
Darkness of night had arrived in brutal slowness. After the heavy rain of late afternoon, the sun had peeked out from behind a low cloud line on the horizon just as it began to set over the ocean. Will stared at it, unmoved, standing at the tall French doors of his corner music room that faced the western sky, noting with interest how the streak of brilliant gold gave way to the seldom seen flash of green as the blazing orb dipped at last into oblivion.
This room had been Elizabeth’s. She had played the piano, and beautifully, too, and on several occasions these last few years he’d thought he’d heard the faint, melodic tones of a Bach minuet drift along the dark and ever-silent corridors of Morning House. Sometimes the euphony would seem so real it would catch him off guard, making him close his eyes and wish again for the time when a woman’s laughter and songs of joy encircled him, enriched his life. But always the music faded. As the day did now.
Will finally lowered his gaze to the turbulent ocean, then closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass of the beveled French doors. It felt icy cold to the touch, hard and hindering should he want to escape the empty confines of a home that had become the center of his life.
A home with no warmth, no laughter.
No love.
“Pardon the interruption, your grace, but I have urgent news.”
Hastings. God, he didn’t need this now.
Will felt his entire body tense, his fingertips clutch the thin, wooden panes between the squares of glass so tightly his nails whitened. In all of his thirty-five years of life, he’d never regretted his station more than at this moment.
But as in all things, duty called, the nature of the title with which he’d been born and raised prevailed.
Standing tall, eyes opened, he pivoted so that he looked at his investigator directly.
“Yes, Hastings, what is it?”
For a moment the older man seemed perplexed, glancing around suddenly as if just realizing he’d been brought to an entirely different room, and one rarely used.
“I— May I sit, your grace? I’m a bit winded.”
Will gestured toward the yellow brocade sofa in the center of the room. “Please.” He didn’t bother to move away from the French doors, instead spreading his feet a bit wider apart, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hastings lowered his form onto the cushion, sitting uncomfortably, his spine perfectly straight to contort to his usually tight waistcoat, though for a change his choice of color was a rather subdued brown. What Will noticed as most unusual, however, was that for the first time, his agent of inquiry didn’t reach for notes.
“Your grace, I’m sure you realize now that Gilbert Herman evaded us at the pub,” Hastings began gravely.
Will could swear he felt an invisible hand rip a slice through his chest with a dagger. “I assumed as much,” he said coolly.
Hastings squirmed a little, his pudgy forehead creasing in a slight frown. “There’s a bit of important news about which I need to inform you.”
“Go on,” he insisted without pause.
“Yes, sir, well—” he cleared his throat, “I probably should have found this information before, and quite honestly, if you feel the need to withhold any payment for my services I completely understand—”
“Hastings, please get to the point,” Will said with only a vague attempt to keep exasperation from coating his words.
“Of course.”
The investigator reached into a breast pocket and pulled out his notes. Will almost smiled. Some things were simply predictable without question.
“In all the checking I did with regard to Gilbert Herman’s past, I never thought, until just recently, to check into his father’s business dealings as a financier,” he continued, his voice slowly changing into one of excitement as he consulted the writing on the paper. “Then last week I assigned two men to do just that and they found something rather startling, sir.”
Will waited, watching, absorbing the news without movement on his part.
Hastings loosened his neckcloth with two stubby fingers. “David Herman, it seems, was a shrewd banker, and being in the city, was able to easily obtain a certain list of clients, many of them noblemen. As we looked into that aspect of our investigation we found one name in particular we thought you might find interesting.”
“What was the name?” he asked, feeling only negligible curiosity.
The investigator grinned wryly. “Chester.”
It felt to Will as if the French doors suddenly flew open and a frigid winter wind slapped his face with clarity.
It was all starting to come together now. David Herman was Elizabeth’s father’s personal financier.
Oblivious to his employer’s immediate unease, Hastings continued his good news.
“We found that Richard Chester kept a great deal of money in Herman’s institution in exchange for small favors—erasing small gambling debts, early knowledge of changing interest rates, that kind of thing,” he remarked lightly, his plump cheeks pink from a certain thrill of discovery. “They were actually quite friendly toward each other and they knew each other for years.” He paused for effect, then whispered, “So did their children.”
How odd that at a moment of sudden comprehension like this, Will stopped to consider the fact that Hastings hadn’t checked or looked at his notes even once.
Moments ticked by in deathly silence. Then, “Your grace?”
Devoid of perturbation, Will drew in a heavy breath and clarified, if just for himself. “So, as I under
stand it, the children knew each other well, and the blond woman who met Gilbert in the pub was none other than Elinor Chester, my late wife’s sister.”
“That’s correct, sir.” Hastings frowned minutely, apparently confused, as if he expected more reaction than simple acknowledgment. He continued undaunted with a scratch to the back of his thick neck. “Gilbert Herman and Steven Chester were fairly good friends growing up, and I believe it could have been either Chester or Herman who initially thought of the blackmail. If’s my opinion, sir, that once considered, they both concocted the intricate plan, perhaps as far back as the untimely death of your wife.” Hastings paused again, then said, “What I’m not certain of, however, is how they gained knowledge of the manuscript. Could your wife have told her sister that you possessed such a document?”
Will actually smirked. “They all knew I owned it. The manuscript was Elizabeth’s. It was her wedding present to me.”
And it had been a marvelous one, he remembered.
She’d told him it was a family treasure before they were even betrothed, but the gift itself had been a complete surprise. That was when she had loved him.
“I see,” Hastings said quietly.
“Evidently Elinor Chester and her brother Steven want it back.”
“It would seem so, sir.” He folded his notes and stuffed them back into his pocket. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to ask you for it, or offer to buy it back from you themselves? Seems more reasonable than blackmail.”
Will did smile then, a fraction. “Yes, but I would never give it to either of them. I detest my wife’s family.”
He knew the investigator wouldn’t ask him to clarify that point. Such a question would be unseemly, and beyond his need to know to complete his assignment.
Will rubbed his face harshly with his palm. “So this was a very well-organized and intricate plan. And since I know for a fact that the Chesters are nearly destitute, by their standards, of course, obtaining such a priceless treasure would be a sure access to wealth, assuming they could find a buyer who would keep his mouth shut.”
“I suppose so, yes, sir,” Hastings agreed.
He knew he was rambling, expressing thoughts aloud as they came to him. At this point, he decided, it hardly mattered.
With an anxiousness he could no longer contain, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and began to pace around the covered grand piano in a slow circle.
It all made perfect sense at last. Who else would know him so well, know his weaknesses? Elinor Chester was cunning, and he nearly kicked himself for not seeing the connection sooner. When he had known him, Steven Chester would never have lowered himself to speak with, much less associate himself with, a common actor, but then he hadn’t spoken to Steven since the humiliation of his trial. What absolutely enraged him was that even after the man had accused him of murder, despite the family knowledge of Elizabeth’s very unstable nature, he still sought to use him for his own selfish means. What hurt the most, what made him want to break things of unspeakable value, was that they had all gone through his heart to achieve their goals. His hatred had never been so focused as it was now.
At last he stopped pacing and turned to look at his agent of inquiry over the flat piano top.
“Hastings, thank you for the information. I need to consider all that I’ve learned tonight, so that will be it for now,” he informed the investigator with a tip of his head. “I’ll send my final payment.”
“What of Mrs. Rael-Lamont?”
Just the sound of her name hit him hard. He swallowed, remembering the hurt he’d felt slice through his body at the discovery of her deceit, at the final realization that after all they’d shared, after all he’d given her, he couldn’t control this outcome.
He was alone.
With a tightened jaw and a tone of stone, he replied, “I’m sure the Lady Vivian can take care of herself at this point. Good night, Hastings.”
It was the most formal, curt dismissal he’d given in a long, long time. But he couldn’t help the bitterness he felt at that precise moment from flowing through his words.
Hastings took the cue without resentment and immediately stood, offering a low bow. “Good night, your grace. I shall send word if I learn anything new that would be of interest to you.”
Will nodded negligibly then turned to stare out the French doors once more, into the quickening darkness beyond, seeing nothing.
Chapter 19
“What the devil happened to the light?” Will jolted at the shockingly loud voice of Colin Ramsey, one of his closest friends in the world, as the man spoke to him from the doorway. “What time is it?” he asked gruffly to the shadowy figure that moved into the piano room in search of a lamp.
“Nearly midnight.”
God, how long had he been standing here? “Oh.” Colin chuckled. “Oh? That’s all you have to say?” Irritated by his friend’s jovial mood under such strained circumstances, Will fairly snorted. “Wilson just let you in here?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Colin replied at once. “I woke him, I’m assuming, as he was none too pleased with the interruption.”
“No doubt.”
Colin nearly knocked over an empty ceramic vase as his hand searched for the lamp on the end table. “Dammit.” He found the switch and turned it on, then righted the vase beside it.
The sudden bright light made him squint, his head begin to pound. He needed a drink.
“Want a brandy?” Will asked, his manner brusque as he turned toward a sidebar.
“Of course— God, you look a mess.”
Will said nothing to that as he watched his friend sit comfortably on the sofa, in the same spot where Hastings had been roughly an hour ago, or perhaps it had been two? He couldn’t remember.
“So answer my questions,” Colin maintained. “Why are you standing here in the dark and what happened to the elusive woman you’re after?”
The woman I’m after. Jesus.
Colin removed his frock coat, tossed it over the back of the sofa, then rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt. “And where’s Sam? I thought he would be here with you.”
Will turned the unnecessary lock in the oakwood door of the sidebar and cracked it open, reaching for a decanter of dark amber liquid and two crystal snifters. After blowing out what little dust might be inside, he poured for two, filling Colin’s glass to a respectable half, his nearly to the brim. He needed more than anyone tonight.
“Sam’s chasing her down, no doubt,” he replied wryly as he set the decanter on top of an embroidered doily. “Probably lost.”
“Chasing her down?” Colin took the snifter he was offered, though his eyes remained keenly on his friend. “What happened?”
Will shrugged and took a long swallow of expensive whiskey. “It’s not brandy. Sorry.”
“What happened?” Colin repeated, his tone sobering as he began to realize something was very likely wrong.
Will raked his fingers through his hair, sitting hard in the padded yellow rocker that faced the sofa. “I discovered how stupid I’ve been, that’s what happened. And how every woman I’ve grown… fond of, shall we say, has tricked me with her lies of undying affection.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed as he took a sip from his glass. “Women tend to do that, which of course is why I don’t enjoy the danger of becoming personally… involved with any. On a general basis, that is.”
Will began to rock without thought, staring into his drink as he swirled the contents around in the snifter. “It was all a setup, you know,” he said very quietly.
After a second or two, Colin asked, “What was a setup?”
He shook his head fractionally. “Everything. From the day she walked into my life.”
Exasperated, Colin placed his whiskey on the tea table before him. “I don’t follow. What the devil are you talking about?”
Will raised his glass and quickly took two large swallows, downing half of what remained. It burned his mouth and throat t
erribly, which felt oddly comforting at the moment. “The good Mrs. Rael-Lamont, or as she’s secretly known, the beautiful Lady Vivian, married but willing.”
“That’s rather crass, don’t you think?” Colin remarked dryly. “I thought you cared for her.”
Her eyes, her sensuality, her laughter, her thoughts…
“She certainly had a way with flowers,” he returned nonchalantly, hoping that clipped answer would satisfy.
Colin placed his elbows on his knees and tented his fingers and thumbs together in front of him. “We’ve been friends for years, Will, and I’ve never seen you like this, so—shaken. Or something. You’re not giving me an explanation as to why you asked me to watch her covertly, for her safety, and now that I arrive here, you’ve taken a sudden dislike to the woman. Does this have anything to do with the fact that she wasn’t at the pub tonight where I waited for her?”
Unsure where to start in explanation, and suddenly feeling quite embarrassed about involving both of his friends in a scheme that had completely duped him, Will practically jumped from the rocker and stretched his neck in both directions before walking again to the French doors, his hands crossed over his chest.
“It’s all about money,” he said after a moment or two, staring out the doors, feet spread wide.
Colin groaned. “Isn’t it always, where women are concerned?”
He snickered at that, but didn’t add anything in disagreement.
Seconds ticked by in silence, then Colin said, “Uh… are you going to explain all of this to me or are we waiting for a late supper to be served?”
Will found no humor in his friend’s attempt at lightening the tone of this most serious conversation. He closed his eyes and bit down hard before expounding, “I have to decide if I want to have her charged with a crime.”
Colin let out a slow breath through his teeth.
It took a long time, it seemed, for that notion to sink in and penetrate the corners of his mind, and yet he’d been the one to say it. It just seemed a more realistic possibility when verbally posed, and he felt his hands fist beneath his arms of their own accord, a cringing inside that left him numb.
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