by Win Hollows
Reginald meowed from his perch on a chair across the room. Grayson looked at the cat and chuckled. “I’m not sure he approves as your chaperone. Perhaps it would be more productive to learn more about each other before letting ourselves get carried away in that regard.”
“That would be preferable. Thank you,” she said, hopefully not too gratefully.
“Gia has told me that you are quite adept at using certain devices. I believe she mentioned a camera of some sort, which produces picture images. I would love to see some of the things you’ve captured using it,” he smiled encouragingly.
She was going to murder Gia. So much for secrets. “Well, it’s not exactly an acceptable pastime for…someone in my position,” she said carefully.
He smiled, his lips curving in a way that reminded her of the kiss she had just participated in. “I don’t think anything you chose to do would be unacceptable. Surely it’s the rest of the world that is under a misapprehension about the nature of the activity.”
Laura laughed. “I couldn’t agree more, Mr.- that is, Grayson,” she corrected herself, feeling he deserved some small gesture for that remark.
“Well? Care to indulge a besotted man with your hobby?” He smiled beseechingly, yet ever calm, as if he would accept any answer she chose to give.
She knew it was unwise, but the temptation to share her plates with someone else was too much. “I’ll be right back,” she told him, quickly dashing from the room.
When she returned to the drawing room, Grayson flipped through the stack of photo plates, asking her where each was taken and how she had managed to achieve the scope of the photographs and the lighting. “These are very good, you know,” he told her, eyebrows raised as he examined a plate depicting a stand of tulips with her childhood home wavering in the background.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. His approval meant quite a lot at the moment. No one else seemed to be lining up to give her compliments these days or even a chance at a simple conversation.
“Do you have any others plates of your time here in London? I noticed you didn’t have very many images of the city. Or is it that the country is simply more picturesque?” He quirked the edge of his lips.
“Actually, it’s more the fact that I’m not supposed to have the device at all that’s the deterrent. In the country, no one is around to see me use it, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t recognize it. But here…” she shrugged.
Grayson frowned, looking at the plate of tulips. “It seems a shame that something so beautiful must be hidden. Like music- it shouldn’t be wasted on ears that can’t hear its depth.”
Laura smiled. “I think that’s an apt analogy. If only the world would catch up with technology. What a wonderful place it would be!”
“I wasn’t referring to the pictures, Laura,” Grayson said in a low voice.
Laura looked up, startled, to find his golden eyes locked on hers.
After studying her for a long moment, he took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out carefully, looking away. “It seems I am not as patient a man as I had thought,” he admitted ruefully.
Laura didn’t know what to say to that. The uncomfortable feeling of both tentative elation and tendrils of shame flowed through her in equal measures. She didn’t know if she could give this man what he needed. But in time…
“Which is why,” he cleared his throat. “I would like to invite you to my estate for a visit. It’s only an hour’s ride from Mayfair, and I can promise you will have all the privacy you desire to document your time there,” he said, nodding at the plates spread on the tea table before them. “It would be a chance to see if life with me would be…agreeable to you.”
She gulped. “I…I would like that,” she said, a roaring in her ears not quite managing to block out the screams of protest being uttered from her heart.
Not like this. Not this path. Not him.
“Hush,” she murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Laura smiled.
But the screaming continued.
Chapter 15
Whatever that infernal screaming was, it had to stop.
Rem had been waiting for over five minutes in a chair in the antechamber of his solicitor’s office, which was more than he’d ever had to wait before. From the sound of things, his solicitor was dealing with a client prone to wailing, as every few seconds, a desolate keening sound filtered out from behind the heavy oak door. This was concerning in itself, as doors such as that did not generally allow any sort of noise to through, so the sound someone was producing had to be inordinately loud to defeat the purpose of the specially-made walls and door. In fact, Rem had chosen this solicitor based partially on the promise of absolute discretion- hence, the currently beleaguered door.
After a few more moments of screeching, the door opened and out scurried a large woman dressed head to toe in black, head down with handkerchief in hand. She pushed past Rem, sniffling and muttering incoherently.
“Have a nice day, then, Mrs. Caruthers,” Rem’s solicitor called from the doorway.
The woman didn’t reply, slamming the door to the street behind her.
Rem raised a brow at Chismond, his long-time solicitor, as their eyes met. Chismond smiled and stood back from the door with a welcoming gesture.
“Mr. Chismond will see you now,” the secretary said from her corner desk, completely unaware of her redundancy and anything unusual.
Rem blinked in return and rose from his seat to follow the solicitor’s invitation into his office.
Clayton Chismond was a cheerful chap with a methodical doggedness to his work that Rem was grateful for ever since he had come of age into his numerous titles, including the run of his family’s Brighton properties. No matter the legal issues Rem had brought to his attention over the years, Chismond had gone pleasantly, but determinedly about assuring the outcome was a favorable one, never once having disappointed Rem in the proceedings. He seemed to have an almost naive confidence that he would eventually conclude things in a satisfactory manner, no doubt due to his vast knowledge of every nook and cranny of the legal system.
Which was why it was surprising that the woman leaving his office had clearly been distressed. “Clientele isn’t what it used to be, eh?” Rem said curiously by way of greeting.
“Oh, well,” he waved a hand dismissively, taking a seat behind his cluttered desk. “’Spose not everyone reacts the same way to pennilessness,” he explained jovially.
“And here I was under the impression you didn’t allow your clients to get into that state.”
“Oh, Mrs. Caruthers? Not a client, actually,” he replied with a smile. “Her late husband was my client, and he saw fit to not leave her a thing upon his untimely demise. Probably had something to do with the fact he knew his untimely demise would be her doing.”
“And was it?”
“Oh yes. Very much so,” he intoned cherubically. “Poison. I suspect the police won’t be too long in knocking down the door of the house she doesn’t own any longer.”
“And she was upset with you because-?”
“She wasn’t upset with me, of course. Just the fact that I wouldn’t change the will and wouldn’t keep evidence of her perfidy from Scotland Yard. But, she’s not a client, you know,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders.
Rem thought about this. “Are you saying you would keep evidence from the police if she were a client?” he asked curiously.
“Now, I would never impede an investigation, my boy. Just…provide alternative options in the interest of my clientele, who couldn’t possibly have been involved with something so distasteful. I’m sure you know what I mean. You’re an upstanding sort.”
“Good to know.”
“So what can I help you with today, Viscount Rothstone? I was about to send a note round your way in any case. Nothing poison related today, I hope?”
Rem leaned back into the tufted leather wingback. “Not quite. I’m her
e to retrieve the picture.”
“Of course.” Chismond went to the wall-safe behind his desk and turned the combination dial. Once opened, he took out a small envelope and handed it to Rem.
Rem opened it immediately, the urge to look at it too great. The familiar, glowing outline of his first embrace with Laura caused his heart to pound, even now. Since she had told him there was no hope, he had needed to have it in his possession once again, even though it was still dangerous should it be seen by the wrong person. He needed something tangible to prove she wasn’t just a dream he had conjured up and lost to a nightmare later. Something to prove every encounter had been real and had affected her as well. His thumb gently grazed the surface of the copper alloy. He didn’t know enough about the composition of the image to want to risk smudging its precious contents.
She had refused to see him again this morning, as she had every morning for the past several weeks. But today, he had been informed by Lady Parrington that she was at the Fennimore Estate for the day to visit the man’s gardens with her camera. That was fine, as Rem knew Fennimore to be a level-headed sort from the few times he had played cards with the man. He wasn’t the type to take advantage of a young miss, and he was rarely at his estate anyways. Laura deserved all the joy she could wring from such an outing. If Fennimore didn’t mind a disgraced debutante taking illegal pictures in his gardens without being present, then so be it. He certainly hadn’t been able to keep the tears from her face lately.
In the silence, Rem cleared his throat and looked up, cognizant of the other occupant in the room once again. “I was wondering if you had heard any word from your contacts about the Honeymoore murders.”
Chismond had been deliberately smiling off into space for the past couple of moments. “Ah, yes, as a matter of fact. Just this morning. That was the subject of the note I mentioned. Nothing as breaking as an arrest, but now the report states that one of the employees at Honeymoore Manor recalled speaking to a man regarding the whereabouts and activities of you and Miss Parrington the day you were there. It wasn’t immediately connected to the murders since it was assumed the both of you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it appears he was interested in you after all. It might be nothing, but I would caution you against any further trips to the isolated countryside in the near future until it’s determined whether or not you are in danger,”
This might change everything. Rubbing his chin in thought, Rem ruminated on the events of the last few months. Things made more sense that way, he realized. The shooting in Hyde Park, the Honeymoore incident…
But it wasn’t Rem someone was after. It was Laura.
Bidding Chismond a hasty farewell, Rem sped his team of four towards Scotland Yard. They had been investigating this from the wrong angle the whole time. The horsemen were never the target. They had just been in the way of getting to Laura out in the countryside -where accidents abounded and law enforcement was scarce. He should have put it together if he hadn’t been mooning over the way her golden tresses captured the sunlight or the way her lips felt like velvety pillows beneath his.
Someone had shot at her in Hyde’s Park, for Heaven’s sake.
Now that his head was finally out of his arse, he had to make sure everything possible was being done to protect her. He had almost headed directly to the Fennimore Estate, feeling the need to keep her in his sight to assuage his fear. Yet how could he protect her if he didn’t even know where the threat came from?
The other question was, why hadn’t there been any attempts after Honeymoore? What had changed? Perhaps the person had assumed he had finished the job then, but if they read the papers at all, they would have seen she was still alive and kicking.
For now.
His heart pounded as he raced through the streets and had to abruptly slow his phaeton due to a crush of carriages and pedestrians navigating through an intersection. At the rate things looked like they were going, it would be faster to walk, but he couldn’t just leave his gig in the street. Wares were shouted from vendors on all sides, and the smells of refuse, soot, and horse droppings invaded his senses on the unseasonably hot day. Growling in frustration, Rem pulled out his pocket watch, which also partially drew out the picture plate he had stashed in his inner pocket, rather uncomfortably.
He took out the plate and looked at it again. Laura’s dress shimmered in the moonlight, though the rich green color he had to recall from memory as only shades of gray were depicted in the image before him. The trees and shrubbery surrounding them reached out tendrils of delicate branches, forming a frame of sorts around the two. Well, three. A more solid version of Laura sat on the bench behind them, looking into the distance with a tilt of her head. He followed the line of her hem that was so close to the outstretched leaves of a nearby ornamental cherry tree.
“What the devil-?” he said aloud, the sound lost in the raucous noise that was London at midday.
There, behind her left slippered heel, was the tiniest shape of what appeared to be…a hand, sticking out of the rosebush, palm up. It was almost indistinguishable from the plants and the size of a pin-head, but there it was, now obvious once he had seen it. It was easy to miss, but for all the time he had spent looking at the thing, he should have noticed it. More importantly, he believed he had just discovered the motive for someone’s attacks on Laura.
Someone thought she had evidence of a different attack, and more than likely a fatal one, given the degree to which she had been pursued over it.
It had been in his own home, right under his nose and everyone else’s that night as the revelers had enjoyed the ball. Rem didn’t need to wonder how no one had noticed the occurrence. No one would have been back in that part of the house to hear a commotion, all the household staff having been reallocated to attend to the festivities. And the ball had been too loud for any strange noises to draw attention. Laura had simply chosen the scene of her picture poorly, not realizing what had happened there, possibly moments earlier.
Turning his horses sharply, he swung the conveyance in the opposite direction, earning angry shouts from other drivers and hacks that clogged the street. Home was now his destination- more specifically, the orangery. If someone had been killed there, it was time he knew about it.
Before Laura became the next victim.
Laura had to admit, she wouldn’t mind living here. The thought fluttered in and out of her mind as she took tea on the terrace of Grayson Fennimore’s manor. The back terrace overlooked a softly sloping hill that led down to a maze garden, at the center of which resided a large fountain depicting water nymphs gamboling through the streams of water. Beyond that was a tall green meadow with a small pond on the outskirts, finally giving way to trees in the distance. Flower gardens wrapped around the sides of the house from where she sat, encompassing her in warm scent. The manor itself was lovely, she had seen, as Grayson had taken her from room to room inside its lichen-covered gray walls. Everything here was perfect.
If only it were the scenery she found lacking instead of the company.
Not that Grayson hadn’t been the perfect gentleman the entire day. When he and his coachman had come for her that morning, she had thought that at least there was one benefit to being a social pariah. Nobody would blink an eye at her accompanying a gentleman to his estate without a chaperone. Her parents hadn’t even protested, which she thought was more due to the fact that they were desperately hoping she would make a match with Fennimore at this point than a lack of concern for her safety. After all, Grayson had been nothing but courteous and polite every time they had spent time together, never overstepping his bounds inappropriately.
She was sure if she had been here alone with Rem, he would have ravished her twice over by now. Possibly more. She wasn’t quite certain how those things worked. And, what was more, she probably would have let him.
But she wasn’t here with Rem. She might never even see him again if this afternoon went the way she suspected Grayson wanted it to.
> “Laura?” his voiced penetrated her musings from where he sat across from her. The breeze ruffled his hair, and for just a second, Laura found herself wanting to touch it, to see if it would feel as soft and thick as Rem’s did when she wove her hands through it.
“Yes, sorry. Just thinking,” she reassured him, smiling.
“I understand. And I suppose, while we’re on the subject, I’d like to give you something else to think about.” He took a box from his jacket pocket and opened it, setting it on the table in front of her.
A ring was nestled on a black satin cushion. Laura noted with dispassion that it was really very pretty, a round-cut diamond surrounded by tiny opals. She tried to school her expression into something unreadable, perhaps pleasantly surprised, but knew that she had never been good at that sort of thing. “It’s lovely.”
“It was my mother’s,” he told her. “And her mother’s before that.”
She felt the weight of his scrutiny and the significance of the gesture settle on her with a tightening of her throat. “I am honored, truly.”
Grayson tilted his head and said softly, “But?”
His perception was accurate, but Laura had come to the conclusion that there wasn’t anything to hesitate about, really. Her future with this man would be better than any she was likely to find elsewhere, given her circumstances. The fact that she was in love with someone else didn’t factor. That could never be. She might as well consider it a fevered dream that had no more basis in reality than the wisps of aching one sometimes experiences after such a trance.
And so she would try her best to make this man happy, closing off the part of herself that had felt alive in the arms of someone else. Many successful marriages had been built on less resolve than what she intended to maintain. She had been happy before she met Rem, hadn’t she? There was no reason to think she couldn’t eventually get back to that state with time and distance.
“But nothing,” she said, putting her hand atop his. “I would like to accept your offer, Grayson. I would like to marry you.” She smiled, hoping it contained the requisite joy at such a pronouncement.
