by Amanda Quick
Leo stared at her. “The one in the novel I read lived in a subterranean crypt, for God’s sake.”
“The Curse.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Beatrice cleared her throat discreetly. “I believe the title of that particular horrid novel is The Curse. At the end of the story the hero moves upstairs into the sunlit rooms of the great house. The curse had been lifted, you see.”
“You have read the novel?”
“Of course.” Beatrice smiled coolly. “Many people in town read Mrs. York’s books. Do you know, I would have thought that a gentleman who has made a career out of researching genuine legends would have no great objection to reading a novel that takes an ancient legend as its theme.”
“Bloody hell. Mrs. York invented the legend she used in her novel.”
“Yes, well, it was a novel, sir, not a scholarly article for the Society of Antiquarians.”
“Just because I study arcane lore, Mrs. Poole, it does not follow that I relish outlandish tales of the supernatural.”
Beatrice glanced at the greathound Elf, who was sprawled in front of the fire. “Perhaps your intolerance for horrid novels stems from the fact that you have been the subject of some rather unfortunate legends yourself, my lord.”
He followed her gaze to Elf. “You have a point, Mrs. Poole. When one finds oneself featured in a few tales of supernatural mystery, one tends to take a negative view of them.”
Beatrice turned back to him and leaned forward intently. “Sir, I want to assure you that my interest in the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite is not in the least frivolous.”
“Indeed?” He was fascinated by the way the firelight turned her hair to dark gold. He had a sudden vision of how it would look falling loose around her shoulders. He shook off the image with an effort of will. “May I ask how you came to learn of the Rings and why you are so determined to discover them?”
“I am in the process of making inquiries into a private matter that appears to touch upon the legend.”
“That is a bit vague, Mrs. Poole.”
“I doubt that you would wish to hear all of the particulars.”
“You are wrong. I must insist on hearing all of the details before I decide how much time to waste on the subject.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but one could mistake that statement for a veiled form of blackmail.”
He pretended to give that some thought. “I suppose my demand to hear the full story could be viewed in that way.”
“Are you telling me that you will not help me unless I confide certain matters that are very personal in nature and involve only my family?” Beatrice raised her brows. “I cannot believe that you would be so rude, sir.”
“Believe it. I certainly do not intend to gratify what may be only idle curiosity.”
Beatrice rose and walked to the nearest window. She clasped her hands behind her back and gave every appearance of gazing thoughtfully out into the night. But Leo knew she was watching his reflection in the glass. He could almost feel her debating her course of action. He waited with interest to see what she would do next.
“I was warned that you might be difficult.” She sounded wryly resigned.
“Obviously the warning did not dampen your enthusiasm for a journey to the wilds of Devon.”
“No, it did not.” She studied him in the dark glass. “I am not easily discouraged, my lord.”
“And I am not easily cajoled.”
“Very well, since you insist, I shall be blunt. I believe that my uncle may have been murdered because of the Forbidden Rings.”
Whatever it was he had expected to hear, this was not it. A chill stole through him. He fought it with logic. “If you have concocted a tale of murder in order to convince me to help you find the Rings, Mrs. Poole, I must warn you that I do not deal politely with those who seek to deceive me.”
“You asked for the truth, sir. I am attempting to give it to you.”
He did not take his eyes off her. “Perhaps you had better tell me the rest of the story.”
“Yes.” Beatrice turned away from the window and began to pace. “Three weeks ago Uncle Reggie collapsed and died in somewhat awkward circumstances.”
“Death is always awkward.” Leo inclined his head. “My condolences, Mrs. Poole.”
“Thank you.”
“Who was Uncle Reggie?”
“Lord Glassonby.” She paused, a wistful expression on her face. “He was a somewhat distant relation on my father’s side. The rest of the family considered him quite eccentric, but I was very fond of him. He was kind and enthusiastic and, after he came into a small, unexpected inheritance last year, quite generous.”
“I see. Why do you say that the circumstances of his death were awkward?”
She resumed her pacing, hands clasped once more behind her back. “Uncle Reggie was not at home when he died.”
This was getting more interesting by the minute. “Where was he?”
Beatrice delicately cleared her throat. “In an establishment that I understand is frequented by gentlemen who have rather unusual tastes.”
“You may as well spell it out, Mrs. Poole. I am certainly not going to let you get away with that meager explanation.”
She sighed. “Uncle Reggie died in a brothel.”
Leo was amused by the color that tinted her cheeks. Perhaps she was not quite so much the woman of the world after all. “A brothel.”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
She stopped long enough to glare at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Which brothel? There are any number of them in London.”
“Oh.” She concentrated very intently on the pattern in the Oriental carpet beneath her feet. “I believe the establishment is known as the—” She broke off on a small cough. “The House of the Rod.”
“I have heard of it.”
Beatrice raised her head very swiftly and gave him a quelling glance. “I would not boast of that if I were you, sir. It does you no credit.”
“I assure you, I have never been a client of the House of the Rod. My own tastes in such matters do not run in that direction.”
“I see,” Beatrice muttered.
“It is, I believe, a brothel that caters to men whose sensual appetites are sharpened by sundry forms of discipline.”
“My lord, please.” Beatrice sounded as if she were on the verge of strangling. “I assure you, it is not necessary to go into great detail.”
Leo smiled to himself. “Carry on with your story, Mrs. Poole.”
“Very well.” She whirled around to stalk toward the far end of the library. “In the days following Uncle Reggie’s death, we discovered to our great shock that sometime during the last weeks of his life he had gone through a great sum of money. Indeed, his estate was on the very brink of bankruptcy.”
“You had counted on inheriting a fortune?” Leo asked.
“No, it is vastly more complicated than that.”
“I am prepared to listen.”
“I told you that Uncle Reggie could be very generous.” Beatrice turned and started back in the opposite direction. “A few months before he died, he announced his intention to finance a Season for my cousin, Arabella. Her family has very little money.” She broke off. “Actually, no one in my family has a great deal of money.”
“Except Uncle Reggie?”
“He was the exception, and the inheritance he came into last year could be called only modest at best. Nevertheless, it amounted to considerably more than any of my other relatives could claim.”
“I see.”
“In any event, Arabella is quite lovely and perfectly charming.”
“And her parents have hopes of marrying her off to a wealthy young gentleman of the ton?”
“Well, yes, to be frank.” She scowled at him. “It is not exactly an unusual sort of hope, my lord. It is the fondest dream of many families who are somewhat short of funds.”
“Indeed.”
“Aunt Winifred?”
“Lady Ruston,” Beatrice explained. “Aunt Winifred has been widowed for several years, but at one time she moved in the lower circles of the ton. She is the only one in the family who has any claim to social connections.”
“So Arabella’s parents asked Lady Ruston to take your cousin into Society this Season.”
“Precisely.” Beatrice gave him an approving glance. “My aunt and my cousin are staying with me. I have a small town house in London. In truth, everything was going rather well. Arabella managed to catch the attention of Lord Hazelthorpe’s heir. Aunt Winifred was in expectation of an offer.”
“Until Uncle Reggie collapsed in a brothel and you discovered that there was no money to pay for the remainder of the Season or to fund Arabella’s dowry.”
“That sums it up rather neatly. Thus far we have managed to conceal the true facts of Uncle Reggie’s estate from the gossips.”
“I believe I am beginning to perceive the outline of the problem,” Leo said quietly.
“Obviously we cannot hide the situation indefinitely. Eventually my uncle’s creditors will come knocking at our door. When they do, everyone will discover that Arabella no longer has an inheritance.”
“And you can all wave farewell to Hazelthorpe’s heir,” Leo concluded.
Beatrice grimaced. “Aunt Winifred is beside herself with worry. Thus far we have managed to keep up appearances, but our time is running out.”
“Disaster looms,” Leo murmured darkly.
Beatrice stopped pacing. “It is not amusing, sir. My aunt may view the alliance in financial terms, but I fear that Arabella has lost her heart to the young man. She will be devastated if his parents force him to withdraw his attentions.”
Leo exhaled slowly. “Forgive me if I do not seem overly concerned about your cousin’s heart, Mrs. Poole. In my experience, the passions of the young are not necessarily strong foundations on which to build the house of marriage.”
To his surprise, she inclined her head. “You are quite right. I am in complete agreement. As mature adults who have been out in the world for a number of years, we naturally have a more informed perspective on the romantical sensibilities than does a young lady of nineteen.”
They were in full accord on the subject, but for some reason Beatrice’s ready willingness to dismiss the power of passion irritated Leo.
“Naturally,” he muttered.
“Nevertheless, from a practical point of view, one cannot deny that an alliance between Arabella and Hazelthorpe’s heir would be an excellent match. And he really is a rather nice young man.”
“I will take your word for it,” Leo said. “Did your uncle lose his money at the gaming tables?”
“No. Uncle Reggie was considered an eccentric, but he was definitely no gamester.” Beatrice went to stand behind a chair. She gripped the back with both hands and gazed at Leo down the length of the room. “Shortly before he died, Uncle Reggie made a single very expensive purchase. There is a record of it among his personal papers.”
Leo watched her closely. “And that one purchase destroyed his finances?”
“From what I have been able to determine, yes.”
“If you are about to tell me that your uncle purchased the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite, save your breath. I would not believe you.”
“That is precisely what I am telling you, sir.”
She was deadly serious. Leo studied every nuance of her expression. Her clear, direct gaze did not waver. He thought about the rumors he had heard.
“What led you to believe that your uncle acquired the Rings?”
“Some notes that he left. The only reason I have them is because Uncle Reggie kept a detailed appointment book. He also kept a journal, but it is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Thieves broke into his house the night he died. I believe the journal was taken by them.”
Leo frowned. “Why would common housebreakers steal a gentleman’s personal journal? They could not hope to fence it.”
“Perhaps these housebreakers were not so common.”
“Was anything else of value removed?” Leo asked sharply.
“Some silver and such.” Beatrice shrugged. “But I think that was done only to make it appear that the housebreaking was the work of ordinary thieves.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “But you don’t believe that.”
“Not for a moment.”
“Impossible.” Leo drummed his fingers on the mantel. “It defies credibility.” But he could not forget the tales of the Rings that had come to his attention. “Did your uncle have an interest in collecting antiquities?”
“He was always interested but he could not afford to collect them until he came into his inheritance. After that he did not purchase many, however. He claimed that most of the items that were for sale in the antiquities shops were fakes and frauds.”
Leo was impressed in spite of himself. “He was right. It sounds as if your uncle had good instincts for artifacts.”
“A certain sensibility for that sort of thing runs in the family,” she said vaguely. “In any event, Uncle Reggie apparently believed that the Forbidden Rings were the key to a fabulous treasure. That is what compelled him to pursue them.”
“Ah, yes. The lure of fabled treasure. It has drawn more than one man to his doom.” Leo frowned. “Did he go to the House of the Rod often?”
Beatrice turned pink. “Apparently he was a regular client of the proprietress, Madame Virtue.”
“How do you know that?”
Beatrice studied her fingers. “Uncle Reggie made a note of the visits in his appointment book. He, uh, treated them rather as if they were visits to a doctor. I believe he suffered from a certain type of, uh, masculine malady.”
“A masculine malady?”
She cleared her throat again. “A sort of weakness in a certain extremity that is unique to gentlemen.”
“He was impotent.”
“Yes, well, in addition to his appointments at the House of the Rod, he was apparently a regular patron of a certain Dr. Cox, who sold him a concoction called the Elixir of Manly Vigor.”
“I see.” Leo released his grip on the mantel and crossed the room to his desk.
For the first time, he considered seriously the possibility that there had been some truth to the rumors that he had heard. The notion was absurd on the face of it. The tales stretched logic and credibility to the limit. But what if the Forbidden Rings had been found?
Beatrice watched him intently. “I have told you the particulars of my situation, sir. It is time for you to keep your end of the bargain.”
“Very well.” Leo recalled what he had read in the old volume he had consulted after the antiquities dealer had contacted him. “According to the legend, a certain alchemist crafted a statue of Aphrodite some two hundred years ago. He fashioned it out of a unique material that he had created in his workshop. Supposedly the stuff is extremely strong. It is said to be impervious to hammer or chisel.”
Beatrice’s brows drew together in a small frown of concentration. “I see.”
“It is also said that the alchemist hid a fabulous treasure inside the statue and sealed the Aphrodite with a lock fashioned from a pair of Rings. The statue and the Rings disappeared shortly thereafter.” Leo spread his hands. “Treasure seekers have searched for them from time to time down through the years, but neither the Rings nor the statue has ever been found.”
“Is that all there is to the tale?”
“That is the essence of the matter, yes. There have been a number of fakes produced over the years. It is quite conceivable that in spite of his instincts for antiquities, your uncle fell victim to a scheme designed to make him believe that he had purchased the actual Forbidden Rings.”
“Yes, I
know that it is possible he purchased some fraudulent artifacts. But I have no choice. I must pursue the matter.”
“Assuming that he somehow managed to obtain a pair of Rings, genuine or otherwise, what makes you believe that he was murdered because of them?”
Beatrice released the back of the chair and went to stand at the window again. “In addition to the fact that his house was torn apart the very night he died, Uncle Reggie left some notes in his appointment book. They indicate that he was becoming quite anxious about something. He wrote that he thought someone was following him around London.”
“You said he was a noted eccentric.”
“Yes, but his was not a fearful or overanxious temperament. I also find it rather suspicious that he died shortly after purchasing the Forbidden Rings.”
A chill of dread stirred the hair on the back of Leo’s arms. Control yourself, man. You study legends, you do not believe in them. “Mrs. Poole, if, for the sake of argument, you were to find the Rings, what would you do with them?”
“Sell them, of course.” She sounded surprised by the question. “It is the only way we can hope to recover at least some of my uncle’s money.”
“I see.”
She turned away from the window. “My lord, is there anything else you can tell me about this matter?”
He hesitated. “Only that it can be dangerous to get involved in an affair that lures treasure hunters. They are not a stable lot. The prospect of discovering a great treasure, especially an ancient, legendary one, has unpredictable effects on some people.”
“Yes, yes, I can well understand that.” She brushed his warning aside with a graceful flick of her wrist. “But can you tell me anything more about the Rings?”
“I heard an unsubstantiated rumor that a while back they turned up in a rather poor antiquities shop operated by a man named Ashwater,” he said slowly.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I already know that much about the business. I went to see Mr. Ashwater. His establishment is closed. His neighbors informed me that he had left on an extended tour of Italy.”
It occurred to him that she was losing her patience. He did not know whether to be annoyed or amused. She was the uninvited guest here. This was his house. She was the one who had descended on him without a by-your-leave and demanded answers to questions.
