by Allison Lane
Drawing in a deep breath, he continued. “X chose Higgins because everyone considered him an absentminded scholar who paid little heed to those around him. Higgins ignored his parish, spending most of his time in his study. X made only one mistake. He didn’t know that Higgins was a poet with a sharp eye for character. Perhaps his depiction of your childhood can offer solace for his seeming neglect.”
“He didn’t kill himself,” she murmured wonderingly.
“No. He didn’t.”
She rose, her sudden joy revealing just how painful she’d found the manner of his death. “He didn’t abandon us to the workhouse.” Tears filled her eyes.
“He would never have done that, Eden. He loved you.”
She tried to say more, but her voice broke.
Alex pulled her against him, letting her weep onto his shoulder. For ten years she’d carried the burden of what must have seemed the ultimate betrayal – a parent who callously condemned his children to a living hell. Now, at last, she was free.
But Alex wasn’t. He’d failed. Miserably. Not only had he meekly followed a trail laid out by a killer, accepting false clues without thought or protest, but he’d left Higgins to face that killer alone, consigning Higgins’s family to years of pain. Their suffering was his fault.
He was a fraud. His entire career was a fraud. And continued to be a fraud, he admitted as he pulled Eden closer, needing her warmth to counter the ice building in his chest. He ought to pack his bags and leave.
Yet here he was, clinging to her under the pretense of offering comfort when it was he who needed it. Even now, he wanted to tear away that unattractive gown and drown his sorrows in her woman’s warmth. He was a cad, a scoundrel, a lecherous rogue unworthy of her touch. Yet he couldn’t stop. As her sobs slowed, he brushed away her tears and kissed her, savoring her sweetness, invoking her passion to drive away his pain.
As usual, touching her ignited fires that swept him from head to toe. She was like no other woman he’d known or imagined. Her taste made the richest sweets seem sour. Her fragrance put the most elaborate summer garden to shame. And her response—
“Don’t Alex,” she begged hoarsely, panting. “Not here. I have to think of Olivia.”
He shook his head clear of fantasies and reluctantly pulled back. But he couldn’t stop himself from placing one more kiss on the end of her nose before releasing her.
“Thank you.” She picked up the journal, dropped it on the floor, then stumbled against the table, shock turning her as shaky as she’d been that morning at the inn. “It is best if I retire. And perhaps you should do the same.”
Before he could respond, she was gone.
He stared at the door, then paced to the window, frowning. She was right. Much as he wanted to, touching her in this house was wrong. Sir Richard had likely planted suspicions among the staff about her morals. And until Alex could atone for leaving her father unprotected, he should not touch her at all.
But how could he atone for ten years of pain? Not a single idea formed…
So he would concentrate on identifying X. The bastard must have watched as Alex interviewed Higgins, then killed Higgins the moment Alex left.
Again he cursed. Realizing that he’d played puppet to a master planner churned his stomach. He’d never once considered other possibilities, discarding several clues because they hadn’t fit the trail he was following – just like Sir Richard.
Fool!
Twice a fool. And might still be. How many other cases had he twisted by overlooking evidence? Had traitors continued plying their filthy trade because he was too incompetent to find them? Had innocent men died on the gibbet because he’d ignored facts?
His legs gave way. Bile rose. Minutes passed – or maybe hours – before he managed to thrust the horror aside long enough to rise.
Tomorrow he would start the search for X, but first he must write to Sidmouth.
Chapter Fourteen
Eden slammed her bedroom door and leaned against it, furious that she’d done it again. One touch and she’d wanted to rip his clothes off. One kiss and she was ready to pull him to the floor, abandoning the responsibility she’d accepted in Olivia’s infancy. And why? So she could feel his weight pressing down on her as he pounded deep into her core. So she could experience the soaring sensations he could arouse so easily. So she could find the ecstasy—
She couldn’t. It was one thing to destroy her own reputation. Harming others was quite different. Society was right to fear emotion. Succumbing to temptation was the first step toward turning her back on duty, a step that could only end in dishonor.
She stared in the mirror at the stranger whose hair was falling down, then poured water in the basin. This wasn’t her, she assured herself, splashing her face. Wantonness was an aberration triggered by shock, grief, and God knew how many other pressures. Finding her home invaded and her husband murdered had jarred her senses, which had run completely wild after enduring a carriage accident, Peterson’s death, and an inn fire. Just the last hour had produced so many shocks that she could hardly breathe. Euphoria over her father had shattered her control.
Ten years ago, she had numbly accepted John’s offer because the workhouse would have killed Olivia. She’d spent hours, days, weeks of that first year searching every memory, convinced that she could have saved her father’s life if only she’d been less concerned with her own affairs. Had his bouts of irritation bespoken a melancholia strong enough to incite suicide? Had her ridiculous infatuation driven him to despair? Had the expense of outfitting her for her visit forced him to confront his precarious financial state? If only she’d been there… Countless other hours had gone into preventing Olivia from bothering John lest he, too, escape them by killing himself.
Now, thanks to Alex, the anger was gone. It was Fate who had abandoned her to a pile of debts and an eight-year-old girl. Her father had not ignored his responsibilities yet again. Thus her tears. She’d known Alex would comfort her. Tears didn’t discommode him in the least. And she’d known he would remain in control no matter how far she pushed. His control was what had made it possible to explore her sensuality.
But when he’d kissed her this time, something had been different – not his control, but something else…
Pain.
That was it. He was suffering pain. Knowing it was wrong to drive him to distraction, she’d pulled back. But now that she could think straight, she had to address his pain. If she had caused it, she must make amends.
She dried her face, inhaled deeply to calm her nerves, then returned to the study.
He sat at the desk, writing. But this wasn’t the Alex she knew. His intensity was gone, leaving him broken, almost shriveled.
“Is that a report for the Home Office?” she asked softly, closing the door behind her.
“In a way.” His face seemed haggard. “They must re-examine all my cases. I am too gullible to be trusted. Who else did I falsely accuse? How many traitors remain free because I did not ask the right questions? Sidmouth must tell the Regent that rewarding me would insult the crown.”
“Rewarding you?”
He shrugged. “He wants to give me a barony.”
A barony? It made sense. She knew he’d saved the crown much embarrassment by quietly removing French sympathizers from sensitive positions.
But as he raised his eyes to meet hers, she gasped. Instead of the pain she’d expected, they swirled with despair, ghosts, and so much more. Curses at her stupidity filled her head.
Tonight’s revelations might have removed her own burdens, but they had stabbed Alex to the core. Beneath the façade of a larger-than-life god who could solve any problem and right any wrong lay a wounded mortal. His power stemmed from believing in himself, but that belief was fragile – hardly a surprise, considering his family. Admitting one mistake had shattered it.
Her heart ached to see him so battered. His many successes had given him confidence, letting him shrug off Stratford’s rejection and Palfr
y’s hate. Now he had nothing.
She covered his hand as he bent to sign his missive. “Don’t be hasty, Alex. Confronting a mistake is a shock, but this does not negate years of exemplary service. You are not to blame for what happened ten years ago. X is a cunning schemer. It is no surprise that his false trail worked for a time. But now that you know the truth, you will bring him to justice.”
“I would like to think so, but he is more likely to fool me again.”
He sounded so weary that tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away, suddenly furious at Stratford. The man had denigrated his son for years, never satisfied with anything Alex did. Now the doubts he’d planted were strangling the pride Alex ought to feel for a career that even the government felt needed recognition. It had to stop.
“Of course you will bring him to justice,” she said sharply. “This is merely a temporary setback. No one is perfect, Alex. Mistakes are part of every life, as I know all too well. Remembering the first tea I hosted for the ladies of Papa’s parish still makes me shudder. I’d been overseeing the parish for five years by then and had planned every last detail to make sure it was perfect.”
“What happened?” Interest flickered across his face.
“What didn’t? No one had told me that Mrs. Stokes and Miss Gimling were sworn enemies who could not occupy the same room without causing a scene. Since no one ever invited them together, I had not observed the problem for myself. Each assumed the other would be absent, of course – hostesses alternated their invitations so as not to choose sides. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Miss Gimling arrived late, so the others had already eaten before the fight sent them fleeing.”
“Bad enough?”
“I’d been careless collecting the chestnuts for the biscuits.”
“Not horse chestnuts!”
“I’m afraid so. No one died, but the apothecary did a brisk business that evening. Believe me, I never made that mistake again.”
“You can’t have been more than fifteen. Too young to be blamed.”
“I could say the same. Ten years ago, you were also young. Don’t judge yesterday by the knowledge of today. We learn every day of our lives. Mistakes are inevitable, but that is not always bad. They provide life’s most potent lessons, one of which is that even following the rules does not guarantee success.”
He raised his brows. “On the contrary. Rules prevent mistakes.”
“Usually, but even the most rigid rules have exceptions – as Olivia learned two years ago. A friend shared a confidence after swearing her to secrecy. Being honorable, Olivia kept her word despite her disapproval, so she remained silent until it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“Amanda was slipping out to meet a beau.”
“Unsuitable, of course.” He shook his head.
“Who else would demand secret assignations? Since he treated her like a princess and never pressed improper attentions, Amanda considered him honorable. Yet he did not seek marriage to a spoiled heiress. His true goal was wealth. He accepted a princely sum to depart – and to give him his due, he said nothing of Amanda’s indiscretions. But she had been careless. Olivia wasn’t her only confidante. So her reputation died. Olivia was appalled, for if she’d spoken up sooner, she might have saved her.”
“Or maybe not. Amanda sounds a peagoose.”
“To some extent. My point is that Olivia faced a situation in which two rules collided. She had given her word to remain silent. Yet a friend was flirting with danger.”
“I don’t see a problem. She chose wrong, to be sure, but only because she forgot that safety takes precedence, even over honor. My mistakes are unforgivable. While investigating a crime in my official capacity, I ignored evidence and failed to ask pertinent questions. It is time to remove the blinders and accept my incompetence. Now if you’ll excuse me—” He again picked up the pen.
“Put the letter away,” she ordered. “Sleep.”
“Sleep?” His voice cracked. “This problem will not disappear overnight. You should throw me out and thank Providence that you discovered my faults before my incompetence kills more of your family. Your father and John are dead because of me.”
“Stop it!” She slammed her palms on the desk. “What stupidity is this?”
“My carelessness left your father at X’s mercy. If I’d found X ten years ago, John would not be dead.”
“Fustian. You are not responsible for the ills of the world, Alex.”
He spoke over her. “My reputation is nothing but arrogance and lies. That alone makes me ineligible to help you. My conclusions are faulty, my observations suspect, my—”
“Are you God?”
“What do—”
“You are a man, Alex,” she continued now that she had his attention. “Men make mistakes. Do you expect Jeremy to be perfect?”
“Of course not. He’s a green cub.”
“So were you ten years ago. At twenty-three, most men care for nothing but the cut of their coats and the latest gossip. Just because you’d moved beyond that doesn’t—”
“I was a trained professional,” he ground out, his scars white against a purple face. At least his intensity was back.
“How many of your cases involved the subterfuge X employed?”
“That was the first,” he admitted.
“Had anyone warned you about such schemes?”
“No, but—”
She spoke over him. “Put the letter aside, Alex. We will seek X in the morning. After he is apprehended, you may post this if you wish. But it is dangerous to make a serious decision when you are reeling from shock and weary from days of hard travel.”
It was a measure of that shock that he slumped in defeat and left. She scooped up the abandoned letter and burned it. It would not do for the servants to see it.
Then she finished the letter to Kit that should have been posted that morning – the fire had driven it from her mind. It was more important than ever that Alex heal the breach with his family. As long as they eroded his confidence at every turn, any setback would tumble him into a melancholia from which he might never recover.
* * * *
Alex stared out his bedroom window, exhausted but unable to sleep. Moonlight sparkled across the dew-drenched lawn. A nightingale trilled from the trees. But nothing lightened his heart.
He ought to be packing his bags, but he was too weak to even make a stand. Abandoning his letter. Following orders.
He wanted to believe her, but it was impossible. Eden was an idealist who continued to see the world as benign despite her own tragedies. So she ignored that he was incapable of learning from mistakes. Even admitting them paralyzed his mind, releasing memories of every beating he’d received in childhood and every verbal flogging he’d endured in the years since. The only way to survive was to cling to the certainty that Stratford was wrong, that Alex Portland was canny, intelligent, and talented, with instincts that would lead him to the solution no matter how confused the evidence. No one was better than Alex Portland. No one!
He sagged, his conviction gone. He was an arrogant fool, blustering his way through life, convinced that only his way was right.
Just like Stratford.
He blinked away the moisture collecting in his eyes.
Stop this, demanded his conscience, sounding far too like Eden. Concentrate on business. You promised to resolve John’s murder.
He closed the shutters and sank wearily onto the bed.
Maybe he could carry out that vow. He wasn’t the lone investigator this time. Whatever information Terrence sent would be reliable. All he had to do was make sure his own evidence was sound by moving methodically, avoiding intuitive leaps, and double-checking everything.
Was that possible? He’d never worked that way before…
* * * *
Eden bolted upright in bed, panting, one hand clutched to her breast to keep her heart from escaping. It was pitch black outside. What—
Thud.
Someone was in the collection room below her bedchamber.
A squeak followed, softer, but clearly audible now that she was awake.
An intruder.
It might be Alex, of course, but he had no reason to blunder about in the middle of the night. So it must be the man who had followed them. The man who’d burned an inn down around her.
Fury nearly choked her. She wanted to draw him, quarter him, hold his feet to hot coals, choke him until his eyes popped—
Leashing her rage, she slid silently to the floor and tiptoed toward the stairs, grabbing the poker as she passed the fireplace. If she could hear the intruder, he might hear her.
She’d been so emotional last night that she’d neglected to order more than the usual locking up. Criminal negligence, now that she thought of it. She knew someone was after her and would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.
Slipping cautiously down the stairs, she tiptoed toward the collection room, heart pounding in her throat when she heard rustling.
Thud.
Gripping the poker in both hands, she charged…
Her knees crashed into a chair. The poker clanged as she hit the floor.
Hinges screeched.
“Stop! Thief!” She lurched to her feet.
Bursting into the collection room, she scrambled to the open window as the moon broke free of a cloud.
A shadow raced across the formal gardens toward the distant woods.
The chair again crashed as someone else fell over it. “Damn!”
“Who is it?” she called, raising the poker.
“What the devil are you doing down here?” demanded Alex, rubbing his shin. His nightshirt bunched above hastily donned pantaloons. Simms puffed up behind him, carrying a night candle and a poker.
“Someone was in the collection room.”
* * * *
Alex glared at Eden’s poker while he waited for his heart to settle. If she’d heard a noise, why hadn’t she wakened him? She was too independent for her own good. It didn’t matter how well she ran Ridley, she was no match for a killer. Or didn’t she trust him to deal with it? Despite her soothing words, it was deeds that revealed truth.
