The beastly man had gained weight since Cassandra had last seen him, and she suspected he wouldn’t have fit his fine evening attire without a corset. If Edward hadn’t stood directly behind her, Cassandra would have fled at first sight of Harcrumb. She’d steeled herself from the impact of this meeting, or so she thought.
The line moved too quickly, and Edward had to push her forward. “Head up,” he whispered in her ear.
He was right. Harcrumb couldn’t hurt her any more. She lifted her chin and tried to give him her most haughty stare. He bent over her hand in French fashion, and she thanked providence for her pearl encrusted gloves protecting her from the touch of his lips.
“It’s been too long, Lady Wayte.” He released her hand with a sneering grin.
“Not long enough,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. No need for pretense. She gave him a curt nod and moved on, permitting herself to breathe once more.
Putting a false smile in place, she passed through the reception line, wondering again why she’d been invited. That reason would be revealed in good time, and she would at least enjoy Edward’s company until then.
The house was done up to excess, as was common with the untitled rich. Heavy baroque furniture from the past century mingled with spindly Chippendale. Gilded wallpaper covered the walls, culminating in a fresco ceiling. Chandeliers hung low, heating the rooms to an uncomfortable level.
Cassandra followed the other guests into the drawing room where her high heeled slippers sank into the rich carpet.
The gentlemen gathered at the sidebar—all but Edward who stayed at her side. “May I get you some punch? It’s decidedly warm in here.”
“No, not yet. I really don’t know why I was invited.”
“Possibly because I was.” His smile was disarming. “I shouldn’t have come myself except that I wish to introduce you to Lady Jersey. I intend to secure you a voucher to Almack’s before the Season.”
Tawny brows rose with her smile. “You are ambitious, your grace. Have you always been so?”
“Yes, and I always win in the end.” The look he gave her left no misunderstanding that he meant more than an invitation to Almack’s.
Lady Pugh sat in the chaperone’s corner, laughing at some joke.
Lady Ashford flitted and flirted, enjoying all the license and freedom of a widow with an entourage of admiring gentlemen.
Cassandra danced with Edward twice. A third dance would be a faux pas duly noted by the society matrons. As she went through a rill with Charles Galloway, her glance kept traveling to Edward who partnered Lady Ashford.
Daphne did her best to take advantage for each turn of dance that brought them together, but Edward’s eyes kept sliding in Cassandra’s direction. She caught each glance while trying, without much success, to attend to what Charles said.
No sooner had the dance ended when Mrs. Harcrumb gathered the ladies. “I’ve received word Lady Jersey is in route.” Excitement bubbled in her voice. “I suggest we all go upstairs and repair our coiffures. She makes note of a shabby appearance.”
They swept Cassandra along with them, Daphne hooking her by the arm.
Edward stepped forward. “I see nothing wrong with the appearance of any of you ladies. Might I have a word with Lady Wayte?”
Daphne laughed. “Later, your grace. You must learn like every man that a lady’s appearance matters first, last, and always. We won’t be overlong, and I know you wish to present Lady Wayte to Lady Jersey.”
That scowl on Edward’s face showed he wanted to argue, but he held back, and Cassandra let the ladies pull her along to the room set aside for the ladies to refresh themselves.
As they entered the room, three maids shot forward, curtseying deeply. Cassandra sat at the first toilette table staring at her anxious reflection. What did these devious women plan for her? Her hair was as perfect as it was ever to be.
Nevertheless, the cheerful maid fussed over her as the other ladies preened and chatted.
After a short while, Mrs. Harcrumb appeared from behind Cassandra. She caught the glint of the woman’s eyes in the mirror.
“Only look, ladies,” Mrs. Harcrumb gushed. “Lady Wayte has an admirer who’s left a rose and a note. How romantic.”
“I wonder if it’s from the duke.” Daphne rushed to join them, along with Millicent Wayte, her mouth twisted into her typical sneer.
Mrs. Harcrumb held up a hand. “Pray, don’t set upon her, ladies. It’s surely a personal matter. Let’s leave Lady Wayte to her privacy.” She laid an arm across Daphne’s shoulder on one side and Millicent’s on the other and walked them to the door where she craned her head. “Mary, Letty, Tabitha, you’re dismissed until Lady Wayte takes her leave.”
The maids scattered and Cassandra tossed the blood red rose on the vanity table. From Edward? Not likely. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper and read.
Dearest Cassandra, I request your presence in the library at once to discuss unfinished business. If you refuse to come, I shall have to send the magistrate to arrest you for spiriting my servants away before they’ve paid off their debts. Make sure you will be charged as their accessory. As you know, I do not suffer fools. Giles Harcrumb
Her spine straightened like a steel rod. His tactics didn’t surprise her, but how did he know she was behind his servants disappearing. Servants? They were more like slaves or worse, but the law didn’t see it that way.
The law wasn’t on her side. Indebtedness was a crime, and any who hid the debtor was probably responsible. She didn’t know the law well enough to say, but it mattered not. Harcrumb must die, and murder was a crime.
She crouched before the vanity’s skirt, reaching underneath to pull her pelerine from inside where she’d surreptitiously hid it earlier. After getting to her feet, she shook the garment. She’d worn the pelerine instead of a pelisse because the short cape was more ornament than protection against the weather, and it wouldn’t call attention to her if she wore it inside the house.
And because it contained a deep inside pocket to hold her pistol.
The weight reassured her the weapon remained in place. She donned the pelerine, and the pistol pressed into the soft flesh of her underarm. It didn’t bear thinking about. Too much thought would lead to vacillating, and she might change her mind. Still, she almost recoiled from her own reflection in the vanity mirror. The hardened features and the coldness in those blue eyes frightened her more than the task she’d set before her.
Then her glance fell to Harcrumb’s note lying on the table. She snatched it, crumbling it in her hand as she hurried to the door.
As she descended the stairs, the hum of voices mingled with laughter assaulted her ears. Lady Jersey had arrived. She gave the hallway a wide birth as she passed the drawing room where everyone had gathered.
She picked up her stride, and the hard soles of her evening slippers tapped a rhythm over the marble floor leading to the library—and Harcrumb. Then heavier footsteps sounded from behind, more rapid than hers. Should she run or stop? Before she could decide, a hand reached out to grab her arm—the one that shielded her gun.
A gasp tore from her throat before she jerked around to face. Edward. “What are you doing?”
“Where are you going, Cassandra?” His troubled eyes raked over her.
“I…I was going to see the library, but why should that concern your…you?” She tried to sound indignant, but the words came out in a breathless gush.
“Indulge me for a moment. I would have a word with you.” He still held her in a vice grip.
She could do nothing but follow him as he turned and escorted her back down the hall. He wanted her to meet Lady Jersey. That must be his purpose in detaining her. Cassandra couldn’t imagine a more inopportune time. Yet instead of taking her back to the drawing room, he halted at one of the French doors that led to a small courtyard.
A full moon hung directly above them, softening the night, as did the lanterns placed along the front drive.
Edward closed the door, shutting off the human noise drifting through the house. In the stillness, crickets chirped, but they too, soon fell silent. She and Edward might be marooned on some island, alone.
The night air chilled her, but not as much as the scowl on his face. Anger flashed in his eyes, though she couldn’t fathom why. He towered over her. Perhaps she should fear him, but she didn’t. She didn’t trust him either. “What is the meaning of this, your grace? If we were discovered out here. Alone.”
“It would cause a great deal less trouble than what was about to happen.”
He knew? How could he know? She wanted to run beyond the lantern lights and let the darkness swallow her. Perplexity tangled her thoughts, and she couldn’t think what to say, so she let her stare sweep over him.
Nothing made sense except he was devastatingly handsome in his evening attire. The black coat molded his broad shoulders and ended in tails at the knees. Black silk breeches revealed muscular thighs.
Her gaze jumped back to his eyes and found they’d softened. Showing anxiety. Concern. Love. Somehow that frightened her more than a show of anger. She stepped back.
He moved forward and took her hand. “Cassandra, Sir Harcrumb, his wife, and yes, Daphne and Lady Millicent, too, were playing you for a fool. They intended to lure you to the library, so the women, along with Lady Jersey could discover you in a compromising position with Sir Harcrumb.”
Edward didn’t know her intent. He’d come to warn her. Drawing in a deep breath, she caught the scent of roses, and that brought to mind the bud Sir Harcrumb had sent with his threatening note. She swallowed the nausea rising in her throat. “Pray forgive me if Lady Ashford’s scheming doesn’t surprise me.”
“If you suspected, why were you going to meet Harcrumb?”
“I had my reasons, now may we return to the party before they discover us in a compromising position.”
He refused to release her, and she jerked away, an action that dislodged the pistol. It hit the brick pavement with a sharp crash.
Despair crowded in, threatening to crush her. She dared not look at him, so fixed her gaze on the ruby twinkling from the snowy folds of his cravat.
He bent to get the pistol and slipped it into his pocket. She stiffened, preparing for his dressing down, but he said not a word. Instead his arm shot out, encircling her waist. Then they were moving across the lawn toward the line of conveyances where his crested carriage stood in front. She had to run to keep up with his swift, long strides.
With his free hand, he opened the carriage door and all but lifted her into it. She couldn’t make out what he shouted to the driver. Within the time it took for her to draw in a breath, he’d taken the seat facing her, and the conveyance surged forth so quickly she fell against the leather cushion.
The carriage light flickered over Edward’s countenance. His jaw clenched so hard the cords of his neck stood out, and his fiery look scorched her.
Cassandra couldn’t hope to challenge him. She spread her skirt and adjusted the pelerine as a bird might fluff its feathers to intimidate. She even dared a smile. “Where are you taking me, your grace?”
***
“Home. Where else would I take you, Cassandra?” Edward rubbed the tension from his neck. She looked for all the world like a lady taking her ease without a care in the world. No, she had no reason for agitation other than the prospect of committing murder.
“Cassandra, are you crazed? Did you give a thought to what you were doing?”
“You think me mad?”
“To attempt to kill a man with a house full of people watching?” He let the scorn drip from his voice. “People have been sent to Bedlam for less.”
“I wasn’t aware that Lady Ashford intended to take an entourage after me. Thank you for saving me from that scene.”
Edward leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Did you give no thought to the consequences? If you care nothing for yourself, didn’t you consider what this would do to those who care for you? What it would do to your godmother? To Sarah?”
Cassandra pushed further back to put distance between them. “Even if I were caught, Gama now has friends who’d look after her. As to Sarah, she’s young and…and she’d get over any distress. She’d forget easily enough.”
Did she understand how callous that sounded? He leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “What about me, Cassandra? Would I get over it?”
“You?” Her warm breath carried the scent of the peppermint tart they’d had for dinner.
“Yes, I care about you. I thought I’d made that clear.”
Brows rose, puckering her forehead, but a new light came into her widened, dark blue eyes, still glistening with tears.
Her moistened lips opened but shut again as her eyes softened, not with passion, but with yearning for assurance. Of what, he couldn’t fathom.
He released the breath he’d been holding, but her gaze clouded before he could get a word out.
Her blonde head shook in a frustrated gesture, and a tendril escaped the perfect coiffure. “I thought I’d made it clear to you I’m unworthy of your concern.” She couldn’t trust him yet. Or wouldn’t. “You don’t understand, Edward.”
He moved back to give her space, his anger abated. Why did she think herself unworthy? Because of her low birth? Women married up all the time, and counted it a major feat. He sighed while excuses for her marched through his mind. “Then tell me, Cassandra. Tell me what I don’t understand.”
The carriage jolted to a stop, but he had no intention of letting their conversation end. He trailed behind her to the front door and, not waiting for an invitation, followed her inside.
Cassandra didn’t protest. “You may retire for the night, Carswell,” she told the frowning butler.
“Very good, m’lady.” The butler bowed stiffly, being too well trained to indicate his disapproval.
“You know this will occasion talk—of you as well as me.” Cassandra spoke over her shoulder as they moved to the drawing room. “You may find yourself in quite a hobble with the Ton.”
“I don’t give a hang about the idle talk of the Ton. I’m not leaving until you answer my questions.”
She waved a hand to the grog table. “Would you care for some refreshment? I never partake of strong drink, but help yourself.”
They might both benefit from a strong drink, but he declined. “No thank you. May we sit?”
He waited until she sat on the edge of the blue velvet settee, hands fisted at her sides as if ready to jump up at any moment.
Moving an adjacent wingchair a few feet closer, he sat and studied her for a several long, uncomfortable moments. “Now explain your hatred of Sir Harcrumb and pray don’t try to spin some farrago.”
She lifted her chin. “Very well, I won’t spin a farrago. Harcrumb murdered my husband.”
The passion in her voice assured him she believed what she said. “How do you know that?”
“My former ladies’ maid, Lucy, saw him.”
“The account I heard of Lord Wayte’s death made no mention that Harcrumb was even at Waytefield.”
“Mrs. Harcrumb was visiting Millicent, and Sir Harcrumb came by to bid her farewell because his ship was to sail the next day.”
“What did Lucy see?”
“From the open doorway, she saw Harcrumb enter Lord Wayte’s bedchamber at one of the clock. My bedroom adjoins, of course, and she’d come to put a foot-warmer in my bed. She waited in the shadows for perhaps ten minutes until Harcrumb left the room. Thinking he’d gone, she exited my bedroom, but he was standing in the hallway and saw her.”
“Who found Lord Wayte?”
Cassandra closed her eyes. “I did. I was at the Albright’s ball. The supper was late, nigh onto twelve. It was almost three before I got home.”
Edward could see how distraught she was, but he had to hear the whole of it. “You found him when?”
He could almost feel her tension. The hollow in her throat move
d in a swallow. “I went into his chamber and noticed the pillow was lying beside him. I tried to lift his head to put the pillow in place and…and realized he was no longer with me.”
With an unseemly disregard for convention, Edward moved to her side and laid his arm across her shoulder. “Cassandra, I’m so heartily sorry, my dearest.” He pulled her to his chest and let her soak his shirt.
She sniffed and raised her head. “That’s why I was under suspicion…because of the pillow. The doctor said it might indicate he was smothered.” She turned her gaze on Edward. “And he was smothered. By Harcrumb.”
“But Harcrumb wasn’t under suspicion?”
“His wife and Millicent said that Harcrumb had taken his leave before I left for the ball, and before the valet had left Lord Wayte very much alive.”
“But why didn’t Lucy come forth?”
“She was afraid for her life and fled that next morning. I knew nothing of this until she sought me out months later. I set upon the authorities to do something, but they said they could do nothing until Sir Harcrumb returned from sea, and then only if Lucy would testify against him.”
What a dreadful coil. He could spare her the rest of it. “And Lucy drowned before Harcrumb left his ship.”
“Harcrumb escaped the law, but he must die for his crimes. I shall not rest until I’ve found a way to make sure of that.”
Edward searched his brain for words to persuade her against such madness. A plea to put it out of her mind wouldn’t suffice. “He’ll pay for his crimes, but you must promise me you’ll allow me to help. We’ll work together to bring him to justice. Mark my words that we’ll do something about that poltroon.”
“We?” The word came out in a squeak. “I can’t allow you to become involved. You can’t go against the law.”
“We’ll work within the law. It’s true that we can’t prove Harcrumb’s guilt in Lord Wayte’s death, but it might well be possible to prove he killed Lucy.”
The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Page 14
