Sleepless at Midnight

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  But what on earth could he possibly want from her? Surely not information. What could she possibly know that he’d be interested in? Nor could his motive have anything to do with desiring female companionship, for if so, he’d certainly turn his charm toward either Emily, Julianne, or Carolyn. No, there must be some other reason. But what?

  She didn’t know, but she needed to remain wary. Keep up her guard. But dear God, it was difficult to do when he was looking at her like this. As if she was something precious and rare. And very, very lovely.

  His gaze dipped to her lips. “When we were in my study…could you tell how much I wanted to kiss you?”

  Could you tell how much I wanted you to? The words rushed into her throat, begging to be spoken, and she clenched her teeth to contain them. Heart pounding, she shook her head and her glasses slid down her nose. Before she could push them up, he reached out and performed the task. Then he gently cradled her cheek against his warm palm.

  “Can you tell how much I want to kiss you right now?” he whispered.

  Words failed her. Indeed, her lungs seemed to fail her. It felt as if fire licked beneath her skin, melting her insides, arrowing heat to every nerve ending. An insistent, impatient throb pulsed between her thighs. And he hadn’t even kissed her. Had barely touched her.

  She moistened her lips and noted how his eyes seemed to darken at the gesture. “I cannot imagine why you would wish to do so, my lord.”

  “No?” He frowned and brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Perhaps that is part of the reason. Because you can’t imagine why. Because you don’t expect it. I find you remarkably refreshing.”

  “I assure you I am completely unremarkable.”

  “I disagree. But even if you are, I assure you it’s in a most refreshing way.”

  Utterly confused, embarrassingly flattered, she forced herself to say, “I think perhaps the bright sun has addled your wits, my lord. I’m certain you’ve only to raise a finger and women flock to you.”

  His gaze searched hers with an intensity that curled her toes inside her sensible, sturdy walking shoes. “And if I raised a finger, Moorehouse, would you flock to me?”

  In a heartbeat. The words echoed through her mind, and seemed to shove a lifetime of common sense and propriety aside with a single push. Dear God, this man’s effect on her was unsettling in the extreme, to the point of being frightening. She was normally so sensible, but right now she felt the complete opposite of sensible. She wanted him to kiss her again—so badly she ached. Wanted to feel his touch. His hands on her. Her hands on him.

  She shouldn’t want those things. Those things were not meant for her. Most especially not with a man like him. A man who could have any woman he wanted. A man she wasn’t even certain was trustworthy.

  Yet in spite of all that, she did want those things. With an intensity that shook her. It was as if the dam behind which she’d trapped all her secret longings had sprung a leak, flooding her with desires she’d tried so desperately to contain and ignore. She wanted to again feel the wonder, the awakening, she’d experienced when he’d kissed her. And when would she ever have another opportunity?

  Never, that deeply buried part of her whispered. You’ll never have another chance. Never with a man like this.

  “Lord Langston, I—”

  The sound of approaching voices cut off her words. Looking beyond his broad shoulders, she noted the group walking across the lawns. Leaning back, she said, “The ladies have returned from the village.”

  He didn’t glance over his shoulder. “That isn’t what you were going to say.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I—”

  “There you are, my lord,” came Lady Gatesbourne’s high-pitched voice. Sarah noticed her ladyship quicken her pace, the feathers in her turban bouncing in an eye-hazardous manner. Seconds later the entire group descended en masse on the terrace.

  Lord Langston stood and offered the ladies a formal bow. “Did you enjoy your visit to the village?” he asked.

  “Oh, it was most exciting,” exclaimed Lady Agatha. “Indeed, the entire village is buzzing with the news.”

  “What news is that?” asked Sarah.

  “It concerns a Tom Willstone, the blacksmith.”

  Sarah noticed the quick flash of interest in Lord Langston’s gaze. “What about Willstone?”

  Lady Gatesbourne dotted her glistening face with her lace handkerchief. “He’d been missing since the night before last but was found early this morning, just outside the village.”

  Lord Langston’s brows puckered in a frown. “Did he explain where he’d been?”

  “I’m afraid not,” broke in Lady Agatha, who was all but twittering. “He was dead. Apparently murdered.”

  Lord Langston’s features turned to stone. He glanced at Carolyn, Emily, and Julianne, who all nodded, their expressions grave.

  “’Tis true, my lord,” Carolyn said quietly.

  “Murdered?” he repeated. “How?”

  “It appears he was bludgeoned to death,” reported Lady Gatesbourne with ill-concealed relish.

  “Then buried in a shallow grave near a copse of trees,” added Lady Agatha.

  Sarah went perfectly still as an image flashed through her mind. Of Lord Langston. Returning home in the rain. The night before last. Carrying a shovel.

  Chapter 9

  Matthew entered his private study followed by Daniel. The instant he closed the door behind them, he headed toward the decanters and poured two generous drinks. He handed one to Daniel then downed a hefty swallow of the potent liquor. After drawing a bracing breath, he told Daniel what he’d learned moments ago about Tom Willstone.

  Shaking his head, he concluded, “We might not know what Tom was doing when I saw him the night before last, but now we know why he never returned home. When I saw him, I was more suspicious of his motives for being on my property than concerned for his safety.” His fingers tightened on his snifter. “Someone murdered him, most likely quite soon after I saw him.”

  Daniel studied him over the rim of his brandy snifter. “Please tell me you’re not blaming yourself.”

  He shook his head. “While I’m sorry he’s dead, I don’t blame myself for his fate.”

  “Good. What do you suppose happened to him?”

  “There are a number of possible explanations. Maybe he fell victim to a robber.”

  “That is indeed a possibility. Village gossip has it that Tom always carried a gold pocket watch. From what you’ve said, it apparently wasn’t recovered with his body. People have killed for lesser trinkets.”

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed. “But not usually in Upper Fladersham. Perhaps the murder had something to do with his brother-in-law Billy Smythe’s assertion that Tom had a lover. If this other woman had a husband or brother or another lover besides Tom, any of them might not feel too kindly toward him.”

  Daniel nodded. “True. You’ll recall from my recounting of my visit to the Willstone cottage, Billy wasn’t too happy with him.”

  “No, he wasn’t. If the allegations of a lover are true, Tom’s wife wouldn’t have been happy with him either.”

  “And lovers have been known to seek revenge, especially if they are no longer wanted.”

  Matthew nodded slowly. “Yes, but Tom was a big man. Although I suppose even a big man can be felled if he’s coshed hard enough.”

  “Right. Like on the back of the head with a large rock. Or a shovel that could then be used to dig a grave.”

  “I cannot imagine a woman burying him.”

  “It was a shallow grave,” Daniel pointed out. “Not impossible for a woman to carry out.”

  “Not impossible, but not likely either.”

  “Perhaps she wasn’t alone. Maybe the wife and the brother-in-law did Tom in.”

  “Perhaps. But…” Matthew looked into his brandy, then raised his gaze to meet Daniel’s. “While it’s possible that Tom
was spying on me, another possibility is that he wasn’t—that during an innocent stroll home he stumbled upon someone. Someone who was watching me.”

  “Someone who wouldn’t have wanted to be seen spying on you,” Daniel said.

  “Exactly. Which means the poor bastard could be dead simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Which means Tom’s murderer might know you’re looking for something.”

  “Yes. And might be just waiting for me to find it.”

  “So he can kill you too. Then take it for himself.”

  Matthew winced. “Not a pleasant thought, but one we must consider.”

  “Well, it’s a damn good thing no one saw you wandering around that night carrying a shovel from your digging expeditions or you might be a suspect in Tom’s murder.”

  Matthew’s hand paused halfway to his mouth and he went perfectly still. I saw you returning to the house late last night. Carrying your shovel.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.

  “Someone did see me returning to the house that night.”

  “Who?”

  “ Moorehouse.”

  Daniel pondered the information for several seconds then said, “Those bloody spinsterish types seem to spend an inordinate amount of time peeking out windows. Why do you suppose she was awake at that hour?”

  “Said she couldn’t sleep.”

  “Well, let us hope that Moorehouse doesn’t add one plus one and come up with the wrong sum and assume that just because you were traipsing about in the rain at an ungodly hour toting a shovel that you’re a demented murderer.”

  “The picture of me you paint warms my heart. And I wasn’t traipsing about, I was walking. Surely she wouldn’t believe me capable of murder.” Would she? Come to think of it, it seemed as if she had given him an odd look just before he’d left the terrace to find Daniel.

  “Who knows what sort of insane notions women get into their heads?” Daniel said with a dark frown. “Their minds are like vipers’ nests, writhing with all sorts of unpleasantness and poison.”

  “You, my friend, are far too cynical.”

  “And you, my friend, are—for reasons I cannot fathom—suddenly not nearly cynical enough. Tell me, was the night before last the first time you sensed being watched?”

  “Over the course of the past eleven months I’ve dug countless holes and never sensed it before then.”

  “Is it possible that the presence you felt was that of Peeking-out-the-Windows Moorehouse?”

  Matthew shook his head. “I was not near the house.”

  “Perhaps she’d ventured out into the rain.”

  “She didn’t tell me she had.”

  Daniel’s brows rose. “Perhaps she didn’t want you to know.”

  “Why would she spy on me?”

  “Who the bloody hell knows why women do half the things they do? But since you hadn’t sensed being watched before that night—the first night after Moorehouse’s arrival, by the way—then I’d venture to say chances are this situation with Tom has nothing to do with you. But you’d best keep up your guard. Certainly if someone is waiting for you to find what you’re looking for, you’re safe until you find it.”

  “A very comforting thought,” Matthew said dryly.

  “Do you intend to search tonight?”

  “I intend to search every night, at least until my yearlong time limit runs out.”

  “Which is in approximately three weeks.”

  “Twenty-eight days to be exact.”

  “At which time you’ll be getting married.”

  Matthew’s fingers tightened on his snifter. “Yes.”

  “Which means, in that short time span you’ll need to”—he ticked off items on his fingers—“decide on a bride, ask her to marry you, gain her and her family’s permission and approval, and, since time is so short, arrange for a special license.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how is that all progressing?” Daniel asked in an innocent voice.

  “Very well, thank you for asking.”

  “Indeed? Have you accomplished even one of those things?”

  “As a matter of fact I have. I’ve already procured the special license. Did so last month.”

  “Excellent,” Daniel said with an approving nod. “Now all you need is someone to stand beside you and speak vows that shall join you together until one of you cocks up your toes.”

  “What a quaint way to put it.”

  “Until the cold, clammy hand of death separates you.”

  “I understand, thank you. Have you always been such a pain in the arse, or is this merely a recent phenomenon?”

  Daniel ignored his sarcasm and asked, “Have you spent any time with the most likely bride-to-be candidate, Lady Julianne?” Before Matthew could answer, Daniel rushed on, “Why no, you haven’t. Although from what you’ve said, you were engaged in a very cozy tête-à-tête on the terrace with Peek-out-the-Windows Moorehouse.” He raised his brows. “Care to explain?”

  “There is nothing to explain,” Matthew said, forcing his suddenly tense shoulders to relax. “We were having tea. Not a tête-à-tête. As I told you, I think she has secrets. I want to know what they are.”

  “A good idea, given she saw you sneaking back into the house carrying an incriminating shovel the same night a man was murdered.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking.”

  Daniel regarded him for several long seconds then said quietly, “I’ve no idea what you see in her, but regardless, you’d do well to recall that she has no money.”

  “I am well aware of that.”

  “Good. As I have your best interests at heart, I spent some time chatting with Lady Julianne and her mother at breakfast this morning. Would you like my opinion?”

  “I suppose I might as well say yes, as I’m certain you’ll give it to me anyway.”

  Daniel smiled. “How well you know me. Lady Julianne is a lovely young woman with a horribly overbearing mother who all but smothers her. She is agreeable and amenable, and based on the cordial way she treats her mother, she has the patience of a haloed saint. If you could get her away from that termagant, she’d make an acceptable wife. Certainly one who wouldn’t argue with you or complain about being shipped off to a country estate. However, if that dreadful woman is to become your mother-in-law, I’d strongly advise you give her as wide a berth as possible.”

  “Thank you for that information. Although I’m curious—if Lady Julianne is so lovely and amenable, why don’t you want her for yourself?” He shot his friend a narrow-eyed look. “Are you interested in someone else?”

  Was that a flicker in Daniel’s eyes? Before he could decide, his friend said lightly, “It’s clearly missed your notice that I’m not shopping for a bride. My only interest is in helping you secure the wife you’re so determined to have. And even if I were to suffer a severe blow to the head and decide I wanted to leg shackle myself to some woman, I’d certainly not choose someone like Lady Julianne. Virginal innocents are not to my tastes. She’d bore me to tears within a week. Still, she’ll suit nicely for you.”

  “Because I don’t mind being bored to tears?”

  “Because you’re desperate for a wife and she has to be an heiress. And young enough to bear children. I really don’t think you’re in a position to be all that choosy. A bit of boredom is not a terrible price to pay for all you’d stand to gain. But you’ll be better able to form an opinion of Lady Julianne after you’ve spent some more time with her. I’d suggest you begin with dinner this evening.”

  “Dinner?” Matthew frowned. He’d intended to seat Moorehouse next to him.

  “Yes, dinner. You know, that meal we eat after the sun goes down. Sit Lady Julianne next to you. Relegate me to the far end of the table, where, on your behalf, I’ll do my utmost to discover Miss Moorehouse’s secrets and determine whether she believes you’re a shovel-toting murderer, thus leavin
g you time to charm the lovely heiress you need so badly. Unless you’d prefer to sit Moorehouse next to Logan Jennsen once again? Based on how famously they got on last evening, neither would complain at the arrangement.”

  Matthew’s entire body was seized by an unpleasant feeling that resembled a cramp. “I’ll seat Jennsen next to the lovely Lady Wingate. That should keep him occupied.”

  For a fleeting second Daniel looked as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Better yet, seat Jennsen between Lady Gatesbourne and Lady Agatha. That will keep both ladies well occupied.”

  Yes. And it was no more than Jennsen deserved.

  At dinner that evening, Matthew sat at the head of the table with Lady Julianne on his right and Berwick on his left. He glanced down the table, noting Logan Jennsen engaged in conversation with the loquacious Lady Agatha, who was no doubt regaling him with the grisly details of Tom Willstone’s murder. Lady Gatesbourne, who sat on Jennsen’s other side, watched the man with avid interest, her eyes glittering with undisguised avarice. No doubt calculating how many hundreds of thousands of pounds Jennsen was worth. A smiling Lady Emily was holding court with Hartley and Thurston, both of whom had regained their good humor after their losses on the archery field.

  Daniel was seated next to Moorehouse, and Matthew trusted his friend to draw her out as best he could. So all was well. He should have been relaxed and enjoying himself and focusing on the beautiful Lady Julianne. But he wasn’t.

  No matter how hard he tried, he could barely keep his mind on their conversation. Thank God Berwick seemed happy to chat with her across the table, as Matthew had once again dropped the conversational ball.

  His gaze refused to cooperate and remain on Lady Julianne and instead kept straying to the opposite end of the table, where it seemed Daniel and Miss Moorehouse were getting along very well. At that moment she smiled at Daniel, a lovely dimpling smile that reached all the way to her eyes, making them glow behind her spectacles with amusement. He heard the deep rumble of Daniel’s laughter and his shoulders tensed.