Verity waited by her side, occasionally pacing to the window or the door, whining. The big brown dog wanted her master to come home. Amanda could sympathize with the mastiff’s sentiments. Then she thought how lucky Rex was to receive such unconditional love, from anyone.
A dog did not care if its owner was guilty or innocent, of high birth or low, wealthy or impoverished, brilliant or as dumb as a brick. People were far more fussy and far less faithful. Amanda contemplated having a love that lasted, dreaming of a gentleman who did not care that her reputation was gone, along with her dowry. He would not mind that her hair was cut as short as a sheep’s, or that her fingernails were broken, her education incomplete. He would love her anyway, with his mind and his body. He would love her for who she was, not what she looked like or what she could bring him, and love her when she grew wrinkled and gray, or big with child, or seeped in scandal.
Her chances of finding such a constant companion were poor to nonexistent. Unless she got herself a dog.
Then the dog drooled on the sheet she was mending, shed brown hairs on her pale skirts, and left a dirty paw print on her slipper. Perhaps she needed a cat.
Verity cocked her head and perked her ears, as if she could somehow recognize which carriage passing by carried her master. “Silly dog.”
Then the carriage stopped, Verity barked, and the front door opened. The dog was not so silly after all. Rex was home.
Verity bounded to his side, then Daniel’s, barking in excitement, leaning against Rex for a welcome pat and almost knocking him over in her exuberance. One would think he’d been gone a month, instead of a day.
The hours had seemed that long to Amanda, too, and she hoped she did not seem as obvious in her welcome. She might want to throw herself at Rex, rub her face against the wool of his uniform, drinking in his scent, wriggling for his touch, craving his attention and his approval.
“Good girl, Verity.”
Amanda was a lady, not a dog. She rang for tea instead. According to Nanny, tea was best for removing those tired lines from his face, the worried look from his eyes. The starchy butler had not been eager to serve her, so Amanda had fetched her own meals from the kitchen, but Rex was Lady Royce’s son, and a viscount, and Dodd’s employer for now. Besides, she did not want to leave his presence, not when he looked over from the dog’s ecstatic greeting and smiled at her.
Good girl, Amanda. She thought—half hoped—he might come pat her curls, or scratch her neck. Then she blushed at her wayward thoughts. Where was that tea tray anyway?
Rex thought Amanda looked exquisite, her hair shining, her skin glowing with health. Her eyes had lost the purple shadows beneath them, her face had almost lost the gaunt sharpness. In just the last few days she had gained a bit of rounded softness to the bones at her neck above her gown’s collar and at her narrow wrists. Lud knew Verity must have added a few pounds now that she did not have an entire estate to patrol. The unmannered beast had almost shoved him over, which would have made him look like a clumsy cripple to Amanda.
“Down, Verity.”
The dog obediently sat near Daniel, as if it knew food was coming soon. Rex made his careful way to a seat in the parlor, concealing his limp as much as possible, knowing Amanda was watching. Then he chided himself for foolish vanity and put his leg up on the footstool she thoughtfully slid over. He thanked her and waited for the tea to come, then watched her pour it out with the elegance he had come to expect in her graceful movements. A man could get used to such domesticity.
As usual, Daniel complained about the dearth of raspberry tarts, macaroons, or poppy seed cakes. He made do with toast fingers and jam.
Dodd fussed with the silverware and the serviettes, obviously hoping to hear what news the cousins brought, but Rex dismissed him, sending the man for heartier fare for his cousin. After all, Daniel had not eaten for at least an hour.
When the butler had gone, and Daniel had shut the door firmly behind him, they could finally discuss the day’s discoveries. Rex mentioned the notebook and the money in the globe, now in the bank waiting for Edwin Hawley. He explained his theory of an organized crime cartel, although Daniel still clung to the idea of other sons and daughters. Rex explained about needing a motive that might lead to a suspect, and recited the initials to her from memory. Other than Breverton, Amanda had no guesses as to identities. Sir Frederick never spoke to her about his affairs or interests or acquaintances.
Daniel wiped a dab of jam from his chin. “The fellow had deuced few confidantes, it seems.”
“So we are no further along to finding his murderer?”
“A bit further,” Rex told her. “But not close.” Then he set his cup aside. He hated to be hard with Amanda, but he had to know. “Do you understand what would happen if you fled the country?”
“You mean if I ran away? I expect everyone would believe me guilty, if they do not already.”
“They would be certain of it. But they would also put up reward posters with your picture and send bounty hunters to track you down, for the rest of your life. You would never be free, not really, no matter how far you ran. There are other aspects you might not have considered, since they affect you less. If you took flight, you see, I would be found guilty of reneging on my vows to produce you for trial. Sir Nigel has sworn he will prosecute me if he is denied his day in court, although I doubt it would come to that. I do not care about that worm. I do care about my honor.”
Amanda bit her lip. How could she swear not to flee, if the alternative was hanging or deportation or life on the prison hulks? What sane person would not run away if the alternative was inevitable death? “I understand that a gentleman’s word is his bond.”
“For my family, especially.”
Daniel nodded around a mouthful of toast. He fed a slice to the dog, then said, “Very honorable, the Royce name, for centuries back.”
“We have always defended the innocent,” Rex added, “no matter the consequences. We are already mistrusted and feared for our, ah, beliefs. My father lives as a recluse because of his love of the truth. Since the murder of a baronet has become so sensational, so would your escape from justice. The Crown would demand satisfaction, urged on by Sir Nigel, I do not doubt. The earldom could be attainted, which would kill my father. Lady Royce, your godmother, would suffer also, for harboring a killer.”
“I . . . I do not understand why you are saying all of this. I thought you trusted me. Have I not said how grateful I am? Do you not realize that you, and you, Mr. Stamfield, are the only ones who have stepped forward to help, the only ones who believe me.”
Amanda was upset and hurt. Last night he’d said he liked her. Now he was treating her like an actual criminal. She looked from Rex to Daniel, to find both of them staring intently at her. “Have you found something that leads you to disbelieve in my innocence, in my word to you, in my own honor?”
Lord Rexford was the one to ask the question: “Will you tell me about the man you met at night?”
She could not meet their similar eyes, Rex’s so vivid a blue, Daniel’s a bit paler, but both with dark rings surrounding the irises. “No.”
Rex tossed his toast to the dog. “Then how can I trust you?”
She laughed, without humor. “You can trust me because I am at the mercy of the courts, and you. You know I am reliant on you for everything, your rescue, your investigation.”She picked up a sliver of toast. “For my very food. My stepfamily—what there is of it—has not replied to my pleas. Flee? I have nowhere to go, and no wherewithal to get there.”
Rex stood with effort, his leg gone stiff, and poured the jewels into her lap. “Now you do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Amanda held up the ruby pendant and its matching earrings, then the diamonds. “But these are my mother’s. She is wearing this necklace in the portrait I have. I do not understand.”
“Your man of business was holding them for you.”
“But Sir Frederick claimed they had been sold. To pay
for my mother’s nursing, he said.”
“He lied, most likely so you would not have them, either, or make awkward inquiries of the solicitor.”
“But how?” She spread out the sapphire set, and thought the deep blue looked very much like the color of Rex’s eyes, but without his tiny flecks of silver.
He was looking over the treasure in her lap, as if assessing its value. “Your mother realized she had made a bad bargain, according to the solicitor. Her widow’s portion and settlements from your father were long gone, but she still had her jewelry. The ones here were hers by right, belonging to no estate or entailment. They were hers to leave to her daughter in her will, which is what she decided to do, instead of giving them to you outright. She made the lawyer take the jewels away for safekeeping before she died, before Sir Frederick could get his greedy hands on them. The solicitor swears her will was ironclad, witnessed and filed with the authorities, which was how he kept the gems from your stepfather.”
“And from me.”
“You were, what, seventeen when your mother died? Sir Frederick would have had them out of your hands and to the pawn shop before you could count them. Your mother knew that. She meant her bequest to come to you when you turned twenty-five, or when you wed.”
“When Sir Frederick could not keep me from leaving his household and his guardianship. But you say the man gave them to you now, for me. Does he not think I will live the three years until my twenty-fifth birthday?”
Rex sat back down again, looking at his cousin, debating what to say. “He, ah, thought you could use the jewelry to finance an escape.”
“Oh. In case you cannot find proof of my innocence. Now I see why you were so concerned.” She did not deny the possibility of bolting, but went back to sorting through the necklaces and bracelets, putting matching sets together on the table beside her chair, next to her forgotten teacup. She started to sniffle as she raised each glittering piece to the light, recalling her mother going off to this ball or that dinner party wearing the beautiful baubles. She remembered being allowed to play with her mother’s jewel box as a small girl, thinking she had never seen such glitter, such glory. They were tokens of her father’s affection, her mother had always said, although her favorite gift from Lord Carville was Amanda herself. Amanda would have better someday, her mother had promised.
“I never thought to see any of these again, not even the emeralds, which had been my grandmother’s, handed down to the first daughters of my mother’s family. I was left with nothing from either of my parents but my pearls.” She fingered the strand around her neck. “I suppose they were not valuable enough for Sir Frederick to bother about. Or else he thought he’d have to purchase me some piece of trumpery if he took these, to make me look fashionable and prosperous enough in front of my mother’s friends.” She sniffled again, louder.
“Great gads,” Daniel swore. “You ain’t going to cry, are you?”
“Of course not,” Amanda said, tears running down her cheeks. “It is simply so . . . so heartening to discover how much my mother cared, how much effort she took to look after me, even years later, when I need it the most. She did not want me dependent on Sir Frederick or anyone else, and now I need not be. I can pay my own way, hire my own barristers. This is like a gift from heaven. I am happy, truly.”
“Damn, you don’t look happy.” Daniel spoke with a brother’s bluntness. “All splotchy and red-faced, in fact. I cannot stand to see a female cry. Makes me blubber myself, don’t you know. And makes me hungry, too. I always eat when I am sad—disheartened, that is. Ask Rex.”
“He’s hungry when he’s happy too, so ignore the gudgeon. And there was never a question of affording the finest barrister in the land. Lady Royce can afford it, for her godchild.”
Amanda nodded, but kept dampening the heirlooms with her tears.
Daniel jumped up, scattering crumbs, and headed for the door. “I know just the thing. An ice from Gunter’s always cheers me up, it does.” He whistled for the dog. “Come on, Verity, let’s go find some better fare than butteredtoast. We’ll come back with a pail full, if it doesn’t melt.”
“Coward,” Rex whispered as his cousin rushed past him.
“Every time,” Daniel admitted, handing over a spare handkerchief. “You’re going to need this if she’s anything like my sister.”
Amanda was sobbing openly now, her shoulders shaking, without pretending otherwise.
“Shall I ring for Nanny? Would you take some laudanum?” Rex asked, helpless. “What can I fetch for you? What do you need?”
“I . . . I need a dog.”
A dog? The woman had a death sentence hanging over her head, a fortune in jewels at her side, and she wanted a dog? He decided the events were finally too much for her fragile senses. At least they could plead guilty by insanity if all else failed. “I think you need the laudanum. Perhaps a brandy?”
“No, I need someone to love me, the way my mother did. The way your dog loves you.”
“You might not have noticed, but the traitor scampered right after my cousin at the first mention of food.”
“But Verity will be back. All I have are these cold stones from my mother.”
They were worth a king’s ransom, but Rex could comprehend her meaning, at least he thought he could. “She loved you very much.”
“I have never missed her more, but you will not understand that.”
She was wrong. He did understand, all too well. “My mother left when I was a boy.”
Amanda did not know the whole story; no one did. All she could say was “I am sorry.”
“Do not be. We managed. I had my father and Nanny; and my aunt, Daniel’s mother, lived nearby.”
She cried harder, for him, for her. Hell, he thought, she might be crying for every motherless urchin in the streets, there were so many tears.
Any gentleman would gather her into his arms so she could cry against his shoulder. But only a swine like Rex, he decided, would be glad of the excuse to hold her. “You are not alone, my dear. You have me. It’s not much, I admit, but I am here, by your side.” Actually she was now in his lap, on the sofa, which did not follow any gentlemanly code of conduct that Rex knew.
Nor was his embrace comforting, obviously, because she kept crying. Damn. Relegating his rising heart rate to the pigsty, Rex stroked her back, he rubbed her shoulders, he said “There, there.” Still she kept crying. She had every right to weep and wail. Time was rushing by and he hadn’t found the real killer. Now he’d warned her not to run off. He was failing her, and he felt like sobbing himself. “We’ll win, I know we will. You’ll be free to have a happy life, get a dog if you want.”
She sniffled. “With my reputation?”
“Dogs don’t care about that rot. Oh, you meant your happy future? With Lady Royce’s sponsorship, you’ll be a success.” He promised the countess’s cooperation without hesitation. “The gentlemen will see you shine as bright as those diamonds.”
She blew her nose with the handkerchief he held out, Daniel’s, as large as a tablecloth. “I suppose I can purchase myself a husband with a necklace or two.”
“You will not need to buy a match. The dolts in London cannot be that stupid.”
She gave him a watery smile. “Thank you. You are so kind to say that, no matter that it is far from true.”
“I do not lie, I told you that. And kindness has nothing to do with it. You are beautiful.”
“Now that is stretching the truth, especially today! I must look a fright. Your cousin ran away, didn’t he?”
“You look beautiful,” Rex insisted, wishing she could see the truth the way he could. Because she could not, and because he had no choice, no more than he could have left her in prison, or left her alone and ill, he tipped her head up. No, there was no choice. He might never have had a choice since his father sent him to London. He was not a firm believer in fate, but having Amanda in his lap, pressed against him, felt ordained, inevitable, and exactly right. He lowere
d his lips to hers.
She met his lips with a soft moan that reminded him that, written in the stars or written in sand, kissing Miss Carville was still wrong. She was still a vulnerable young female, under his care, under his mother’s roof. Rex started to pull back but she had her arm around his neck and would not release him. So he kissed her again, longer, deeper, expressing without words more of his own wants and needs and loneliness. She was so sweet, so soft, so giving; he could feel himself lost in that kiss.
She moaned again.
So did his conscience. Good grief, the woman was his responsibility, his to keep safe. What the hell was he doing, kissing a female who was so beset with woes that she sought solace in the nearest arms? Since when did he let his passions rule his head? He was a gentleman, which meant he did not take advantage of those weaker than him. He did not seduce maidens. Most of all, he did not believe in marriage for misfits such as he. He did, however, believe that a man who ruined a virgin was duty bound to wed her.
She was willing, though. She was distressed. She was dangerous. His better instincts were at war with his baser ones.
Nanny won the battle, coming to tell them that dinner was almost ready. “There you are, dears.”
There they were, suddenly sitting side by side on the sofa like naughty children. Children did not feel their lips on fire.
Rex was furious with himself and the tightening in his groin. He was a rake and a cad. He had no scruples. What must poor Amanda think of him?
Amanda was furious with herself and the quivering of her fingertips. She was a fallen woman and a fool for dreaming. She had no morals. What must the poor viscount think of her?
He thought he owed Miss Carville an apology. “Please excuse us, Nanny. We need to speak a little more about the case.”
“Of course you do, lovey. Do hurry though. You would not want the roast overdone or the cock-a-leekie soup to grow cold.”
No, but he wished his blood would cool so his brain could work. Rex waited for Nanny to shuffle out of the room before saying he was sorry.
Truly Yours Page 16
