In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it had not been a coincidence. The blackmailer must have sought to eliminate the major obstacle that stood in the way of unlimited access to Lady Caldecott's purse. He had long assumed that it was the blackmailer who killed Hirst—and if that were so, why would the fellow hesitate to kill again?
His impending wedding pushed aside thoughts of Hirst's murder and, to a lesser extent, his mother's blackmailer. Unfortunately, he could see no way he could accomplish anything in either direction until after the wedding. He frowned. He supposed he could find out if his most likely suspect, Ellsworth, had returned to town—Nigel would know.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror the next morning, Patrick decided that he more resembled one of the river pirates who prowled the wicked confines of Silver Street in Natchez than a respectable gentleman visiting London. He couldn't remember a time, even in his most decadent period, that he had looked quite so, er, colorful.
His eye was at half-mast, surrounded by a most impressive circle of black and purple, along his jaw ran a lurid bruise, and across his cheek there was a scarlet scrape that gave him, he told himself with a grimace, a rakish air. The livid prints of his assailant's fingers around his throat were hidden underneath his carefully tied cravat, as were the other more painful reminders of his frantic leap from the hackney.
The inclination not to venture forth and reveal to the world his battered features was strong, but there were things that he must do. And one of them, he reminded himself, was to find out from Nigel if Ellsworth had returned to town.
Seeing Patrick's face when he came to call, Nigel was horrified. Several minutes were wasted as Patrick assured him that he looked far worse than he felt.
"By Jove," Nigel muttered, when Patrick finished an account of his travails, "if what happened to you isn't reason enough to remain safely drinking inside one's club with one's friends, I don't know what is!"
Patrick smiled—painfully. "At present, I can hardly argue with your sentiments."
"I would certainly think not!"
They were in the sitting room adjacent to Nigel's bedchamber—Nigel having struggled from his bed not many moments previous to Patrick's arrival. Gathering his thoughts, Patrick took a sip of his coffee. He was not in the mood for delicate probing or conversation—just as well, since Nigel appeared as if he could barely recall his own name.
Setting down his cup, Patrick asked, "Since you seem to know everything that goes on... have you heard whether Ellsworth has returned to town?"
Nigel's eyes bugged. Stupid he was not—even after a night of hard drinking. "Never tell me you think that Ellsworth had something to do with what happened to you!"
Patrick shrugged. "What makes you think that?"
Nigel snorted. "Because you ain't one to take that sort of thing without inflicting some sort of retaliation. And here you are bright and early the next morning wanting to know about that cawker Ellsworth. Even a fool could have figured it out. I ain't a fool!"
"Suppose I did think it was Ellsworth," Patrick murmured. "Would that surprise you?"
"Yes and no. Ellsworth is a dirty dish—told you that," Nigel replied with relish. "Worse—he's a coward." Nigel's eyes narrowed. "What happened to you sounds more like the work of Yates. And it wouldn't surprise me if Ellsworth hired Yates to take care of matters for him." His lip curled contemptuously. "Just the sort of chickenhearted thing he'd do."
Patrick nodded. "You may be right. But in order to hire Yates he would have to see him—I don't think he'd be stupid enough to put such a request in writing. So do you know if Ellsworth has returned to town?"
"Not that I heard." He shot Patrick a look. "Why are you so interested in Ellsworth?"
"No particular reason."
"And I wonder why I have trouble believing you," Nigel said as he picked up his cup and took a long swallow. Setting aside the cup, he fixed Patrick with a stare. "You're up to something. Said so before. What is it?"
Patrick sighed. He and Nigel had been friends for a long time, he trusted him, and Nigel deserved some sort of explanation. Smiling wryly, Patrick said, "I cannot tell you—it is not my secret to share."
Nigel studied him for several seconds. "Thea? Is she in some sort of scrape?"
"No—not that it is any business of yours. And if I think about it long enough," Patrick drawled, "I might just take offense at your conclusion."
"Wouldn't matter if you did—I ain't about to let you provoke me into a meeting," Nigel said complacently, picking up his cup again.
Patrick laughed and rose to his feet. "Just as well—you are nearly as good a shot as I am."
Patrick was smiling when he left Nigel's home on Albemarle Street. Standing at the base of the steps, he glanced up and down the street, considering his next move. He supposed he should call on his mother and his betrothed. They both should have a private moment to get used to his rainbow-hued features before the wedding.
He kept his suspicions to himself and told his mother that he had been the victim of an attempted robbery. She was appalled when she heard his tale, but he was able to leave her fairly convinced, even when she raised the issue, that what happened had absolutely no connection to her blackmailer.
Dealing with Thea was not quite so simple. Standing before her in the small sitting room where she received him, Modesty seated on the sofa beside her, he told his story once more.
Her eyes never leaving his bruised features, when he finished she took a deep breath, and said, "It was the man who murdered Hirst, wasn't it? He tried to kill you, didn't he?"
Modesty gasped. "Of course! It must have been."
Patrick grimaced. So much for hoping that they would dismiss it as merely a robbery gone bad. He should have known better. His darling was far too astute for her own good.
Sitting down across from them, he said, "It could have been, I cannot pretend differently. But the important thing is that I was unharmed."
"This time," Thea said hollowly.
Patrick glanced at Modesty. "May I have a moment alone with her?"
"Oh, of course," Modesty exclaimed, rising to her feet, exited the room.
Seating himself beside Thea on the sofa, he took one of her hands in his. "Sweetheart, we don't know that what happened last night had anything to do with Hirst's murder."
Her eyes searched his. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
Patrick started to lie, but staring into her intelligent features, the words died stillborn on his lips. "You don't, do you?" she repeated.
His expression wry, Patrick shook his head. "No. Like you, I think whoever attacked me has some connection to whoever murdered Hirst."
Thea's breath caught, and her hand tightened on his. "There is something I must say to you before we discuss this matter further." Her face averted and her voice low, she said, "I have thought of little else but what transpired between us at Mrs. De Land's Wednesday afternoon." She swallowed and her features pale and set, she continued, "It should not have happened, but once it had, I should not have implied that you acted as beastly as Lord Randall. I was unkind and unfair. I apologize."
Feeling lower than dirt, Patrick turned her face toward him. His eyes caressing, he murmured, "Sweetheart, it is I who should be offering you an apology. You were in my keeping—and I am, to my shame, far more experienced than you could ever dream. I should never have touched you. I am the one who is grievously at fault—not you. Never you." He smiled ruefully. "What I said then is the blunt truth—when I am with you, I cannot seem to keep my hands off of you... and knowing that, I should never have allowed the situation to develop as it did. What happened was solely my fault."
A smile peeped at the corner of her mouth. "If you continue to apologize so handsomely, I believe that I shall find you a most acceptable husband."
What could he do after that but pull her next to him and kiss her soundly? She returned his kiss enthusiastically, her arms winding around his neck.
All too quickly Patrick felt passion rise and, with an effort, he lifted his mouth from hers.
Her eyes were bright with desire and he groaned, pressing a swift hard kiss on her rosy mouth before setting her from him. "If you continue to look at me in that fashion," he muttered, "I shall not be responsible for my actions."
The most delicious sensations spreading through her, Thea was half-a-mind to throw convention to the winds and see just how strong his resolve really was. Only the thought that Modesty could return at any minute stopped her.
"I wonder if you shall show so much restraint after tomorrow?" she teased.
His eyes darkened, and Thea felt a thrill flash through her. No. He definitely would not show any restraint once she was his wife.
Looking down at her pale amber skirt, she said, "Your gift arrived yesterday afternoon. Thank you."
Patrick smiled. "What? You are not going to throw them in my face?"
She laughed. "I did consider just that, but I could not. Modesty thought you'd sent them because we'd quarreled—she knew something was wrong when I came home from Mrs. De Land's, but she has no idea what really happened between us. She convinced me that the jewels were far too expensive to be tossed back into your face—or the gutter." She hesitated. "So I gave them to her."
Patrick choked. "You did what?"
"Well, you couldn't have expected me to keep them, could you? Not when I was furious with you?" she asked in such a reasonable tone that he grinned.
"No, I suppose not," he admitted wryly, thinking of the small fortune he had spent on those topazes and diamonds. Lifting her hand, he dropped a kiss on it. "I trust in the future that when I buy you gifts that you will not give them away."
"Only if I am not furious with you at the time," she murmured, her eyes dancing. Her mood changed in an instant, and, reaching out, she laid a gentle hand on his bruised face. "Do you doubt what happened to you last night is connected to Hirst?"
He shook his head, sighing. "No. I am convinced that whoever was in that hackney was either the person who murdered Hirst—or our intruder."
"You don't think that they are the same?"
"Of course they could be, but we cannot assume that they are." With his mother's blackmailer in mind, he added, "It's possible that there are two different forces at work—and we, I, am caught in the middle."
Thea looked fierce. "We must expose whoever is behind all this." For a moment she considered sharing with him the contents of the note she had received prior to their visit to Mrs. De Land's. A pang of guilt smote her. Was she being unfair, withholding information from Patrick? Perhaps she should tell him.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Not waiting for an answer, the door swung open, and Edwina tripped into the room.
She looked charming. A wide-brimmed bonnet trimmed in lace and feathers sat upon her head; a few gold ringlets had been coaxed to dangle near her cheeks. Dainty rosebuds embroidered the white gloves she wore, and her rather plain blue-muslin gown trimmed with tambour embroidery called attention to her curvaceous body. She was smiling as she walked toward them, but her smile vanished when she caught sight of Patrick's face. An exclamation of alarm escaped her, and she rushed forward.
Sighing, Patrick stood up and explained how he had fallen foul of robbers the previous night. Edwina was both outraged and fascinated by his recital. "You are to be congratulated on your near escape, sir," she said, when he finished. "Indeed you are most fortunate." She looked at him admiringly. "It was very brave of you to leap from the hackney. I am sure that I would have fainted dead away if I had been so confronted."
Patrick made all the polite replies and was relieved when the subject was dropped. Turning to Thea, Edwina said, "I did not mean to intrude. With Hirst gone from the city, I was feeling lonely this morning and thought to spend some time with you." Her lids lowered and she added in a mournful tone, "Of course, I see that you are otherwise occupied and do not need my company. I shall be on my way."
"Oh, don't be so theatrical," adjured Modesty, entering the room behind her. "Sit down and stay—after all, that was what you were angling for, wasn't it?"
For a moment it looked as if Edwina might take offense, but then she laughed, and confessed, "As always, dear, dear Modesty, you are perfectly right." Looking at Thea, she asked, "You truly don't mind if I stay, do you? I shall leave immediately if I have interrupted anything."
Thea shook her head. "No. Patrick called merely to tell us of his misadventures last night."
Standing beside the sofa, Patrick said, "And having discharged my errand, I think it is I who should be leaving. I am sure that you ladies have much to discuss." He grinned at Thea. "Wedding gowns and such."
"Oh, indeed, we do," agreed Edwina. "I went with Thea yesterday for a fitting at Mrs. De Land's—her gown is simply sumptuous—I am green with envy."
"You have no reason to be," Modesty said dryly. "Didn't your sister arrange for Mrs. De Land to make a ball gown for you at a later date?"
Edwina had the grace to look guilty. "Er, yes she did." She beamed a smile at Thea. "My sister is the dearest creature imaginable."
Edwina stayed only a few minutes longer. She had been gone for several minutes when Tillman came into the room. He looked uncomfortable. "Miss, I apologize for interrupting you, but this just arrived." He frowned. "It was delivered by a street urchin."
Premonition flashed through Thea, and, taking the folded piece of paper from the butler, she dismissed him. Aware of the other two watching her, she opened the note and read the contents. She blanched, and a gasp escaped her. Wordlessly she handed the note to Patrick. His face grew grim as he read:
You were unwise not to keep our appointment on Wednesday. Fail again and the next time your handsome husband-to-be will not escape so lightly.
Chapter 14
"And what," Patrick asked in a level tone, "appointment did you not keep?"
Thea swallowed and looked at Modesty.
Modesty held out her hand. "May I?"
His gaze never leaving Thea's face, he handed the note to Modesty.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Modesty as she read the contents. "This is terrible." She glanced at Thea, her expression a mixture of commiseration and "I told you so."
Patrick cast a look at Modesty. "Apparently, I am the only one who does not know about the meeting the note refers to. Would one of you like to enlighten me?" A caustic tone crept into his voice. "After all, I did suffer the results of your failure to keep that meeting; I think it is only fair that I understand why."
"Modesty wanted me to tell you when I received the first note, but I—" Thea stopped, filled with guilt and a little uneasy at his manner. "But I didn't want to," she said in a low voice.
His expression giving nothing away, Patrick asked, "May I see the first note?"
Thea nodded and rang for Tillman. When the butler arrived, she asked that he have one of the servants bring her the small flowered porcelain box from her dressing table.
The three of them waited in silence. When Tillman returned, he handed the box to Thea and departed. Opening it, she gave Patrick the folded note.
Warily Thea and Modesty waited for his reaction. He was quiet for several moments as he considered the situation.
Looking at Thea, he finally asked, "Was there a particular reason why you didn't tell me about the first note? Other than the fact that you were simply being your usual foolish, headstrong, aggravating self?"
Thea's chin lifted. "I didn't keep the meeting—at least I wasn't that foolish," she flashed, temper sparkling in her eyes. "And since I did not keep the meeting, there was no reason to tell you about it."
There was a glint in his eyes that boded ill for the next few minutes. But apparently thinking better of whatever he had been about to say, he turned away and prowled the room for several minutes, fighting to get his temper in hand. It wasn't that her actions had resulted in his taking a beating last night that had him angry, so much as the fact that she had obviously not
trusted him. He took a deep breath. But then, why the hell should she trust him? She already thought he had trapped her into marriage, and she had only his word to go on that she had not killed Hirst. He also, he admitted with a grimace, had refused to share with her his own reasons for being at the scene of Hirst's murder. Considering everything, she had shown remarkable restraint... and trust. He smiled ruefully. Far more restraint and trust than he would have under the same circumstances.
He glanced again at the two notes in his hands. Walking back to where Thea and Modesty sat, he asked, "Did the first note arrive in the same manner as this one?"
Thea shook her head. "No, Wednesday morning countless people came to call. Tillman found the note after most of the visitors had left."
Patrick sighed. "Our culprit seems to leave us with no clues as to his identity." He looked over at Thea, his face softening. "There is no use repining over what happened." He slanted her a smile. "Believe me, sweetheart, I would far rather take any number of bruises from last night's villains than to have had you meet that coach on Wednesday afternoon."
Thea looked perplexed. "What do you mean? The note only demanded money—I wasn't in any danger. Besides, I can stand the nonsense."
"No doubt you can, but I have a dislike of being plucked—whether I can afford it or not. And I find that I have an even stronger dislike of the woman I am about to marry being blackmailed—especially when I know that she is guilty of nothing more than a reckless nature."
"Thank you for that," Thea muttered, uncertain whether to be charmed or insulted.
Patrick frowned at the notes. "It appears, at least, that both notes were written by the same hand, but other than that, they tell us little." He glanced at Thea. "I really wish I had known about the first note."
Swear by Moonlight Page 24
