Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  “Why is Aylesbury here?” Strickland whispered.

  “He insisted. Who am I to refuse a duke?”

  “He has a pistol on him, I hope you know.”

  “Does he? I’ll be damned.”

  Ives and Strickland bent their ears to the door again.

  “You will do no such thing,” Padua said. “It is not in your interest to harm me. I have your equipment. I have your plates and your paper, and a large amount of printed notes. If you get it all back, you can continue on. Two thousand is a small price for the fortune you will make.”

  “I don’t pay for what is already mine. All I needed to know was you were here, and wanting to bargain, for me to figure out where it all was. I should have guessed. Or this fool of a woman should have known. They were working right here, under your nose, and you did not realize it, Emily. Is your brain going soft?”

  “I’m not here often. I’m never in the garden at night, being as how I am busy. No one is, considering the trade here.”

  “Two thousand,” Padua repeated. “For that I return your belongings, and I will not object if you continue using that cellar. Except for the unfortunate development with my father, the plan your men used worked very well.”

  “Not his men,” Emily mumbled. “He made them bring him in, then took over. Didn’t you?”

  “Be silent, you old whore.”

  “Threatened to bring the government down on them if they didn’t agree.”

  Ives stiffened. Ever since he began listening, something had struck him as oddly out of place about the conversation. He suddenly knew what it was.

  He glared at Strickland. “That is Crippin in there. I swear, if you or anyone else is trying to trap Miss Belvoir I will—”

  Strickland waved his hands. “He is not working for us in this. He isn’t!”

  “That is what you said when I caught him outside Langley House.”

  “He wasn’t then either. I kept telling you that.”

  “Here is how it will be, Miss Belvoir,” Crippin was saying. “Right now I’ve my men looking into that carriage house. I think we will find everything there, just as the others left it. There is no way a woman, even an Amazon like you, could carry a press out of there, or a box of plates, or a large amount of paper. I won’t be needing your permission to continue use of the cellar either. I’ll be telling them that matter that you tried to sell me more notes that you found on your father’s property. The authorities trust what I tell them, you see. My information should put you in the dock beside that old fool.”

  “Have you heard enough, Strickland?” Ives asked.

  Strickland nodded.

  “I certainly have,” Lance said.

  Ives pivoted. Lance stood at his shoulder. He pulled a pistol out from under his coat. “I’ll carry this visibly, so we don’t waste time with fisticuffs and such.” He looked down pointedly at Ives’s clenched hand.

  “Let’s do it, then.” Lance pressed down the latch, threw open the door, and marched in with the pistol pointed upward, held high near his head.

  CHAPTER 24

  The house swarmed with constables. A few other men, not officially there, huddled in the office. Crippin and Emily Trenholm waited in the dining room under the watchful eye of Lance and Hector. The young ladies had all retired.

  “Look what I found,” Strickland announced. He led a small parade in from the garden. Bringing up the rear, Gareth kept a pistol trained on the two men they escorted.

  “Put them to the dining room, with the others,” Ives said.

  Strickland stuck his head into the office. He closed the door, and came over to Ives. He whistled a little tune of astonishment. “Did you send for Sidmouth?”

  “Lance did. As a courtesy, he said. Peer to peer.”

  “I wish I could have read the message he sent.”

  “As I recall, he wrote something about the immediate danger of both Sidmouth’s reputation and that of the Home Office being engulfed in excrement. He gave him one hour to arrive, or he would feel obligated to next write to the prime minister, and the prince regent, lest a scandal that would shake the government erupt.”

  Strickland chuckled. “Sidmouth looks stricken. One of his own agents takes over a counterfeiting ring—you must admit, that is rich. I think I will go join him and my colleagues from the Home Office, and enjoy the show.” Strickland walked to the door of the office. He dropped his smirk before entering and replaced it with a pensive frown.

  Lance and Gareth came out of the dining room. “Hector is in there. No one is going anywhere. He has his knife,” Lance said. He looked at the office door. Loud voices penetrated. “He came?”

  “Oh, yes,” Ives said.

  “I should go help them. They are bound to miss the obvious solution unless I point it out.”

  “They are not stupid, Lance. They will see it.”

  “The problem is no one will want to voice it. It will sound too much like what it is. A compromise of honor to avoid humiliation and scandal.”

  “Perhaps a little scandal would do them good. Rein them in. Crippin was inevitable. Eventually men given leave to disobey the law will do it without permission.”

  “Neither they, you, Miss Belvoir, or the realm can afford that. Lest Strickland be thinking such nonsense, too, I had better be Aylesbury.”

  He strolled to the office door, opened it, and made his ducal presence known. “Gentlemen,” he said as the door closed behind him. “This is a fine mess, isn’t it?”

  “Where is Miss Belvoir?” Gareth asked.

  “She went above, to see Mrs. Lavender. She is worried that an innocent was harmed by our scheme.”

  “Bold of them, to have that Trenholm woman make her sick. It is good you realized he would not go up those exterior stairs after all.”

  Ives counted it as a close call. Had he not fathomed Crippin’s plan, Strickland and Lance would have been deep in the garden when the servant came for Padua, and not waiting at the top of the stairs. He had needed Strickland to hear what transpired. He needed a witness other than Padua and himself.

  “Here she comes,” Gareth said, looking to the stairs. Padua was walking down. “Take her out to the garden. I will inform them that you are there, if anyone looks for either of you.”

  “Tell Strickland to find me before he leaves.”

  * * *

  Ives guided Padua into the garden. No one remained in it now. She had watched a good deal of confusion out there earlier, as constables poked into shrubbery and dragged a big box out of the carriage house.

  They sat on a stone bench up against some boxwood. Ives removed his frock coat and set it around her shoulders.

  “Did they find everything?” she asked.

  “It was all still here. I thought to remove it, but decided it would be easier to remove you. Alas, you proved almost unmovable.” He embraced her with one arm. “Is Mrs. Lavender out of harm’s way?”

  “The physician thinks so. It might have been tragic. Poisons are not to be used carelessly. Emily could have easily put enough in the food to kill her, not incapacitate her.”

  “You know about such things, do you?”

  “It is just chemistry.”

  She laid her head against his shoulder. She had calmed, but it would be some time before she knew real peace. “What will happen now?”

  “There are men inside the house who want nothing more than to have all of this disappear. They will do anything to keep the truth about Crippin quiet.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “If they want it. The constables will be sworn to secrecy. Hector and Mrs. Lavender and the ladies will be threatened. Crippin will be offered the noose or exile. Emily Trenholm will receive a similar choice. Should Hadrian Belvoir even go to trial, which would surprise me, since if he does it will all come out, he will be adjudged a victim of his own befuddled confusion.”

  “My father is neither befuddled nor confused.”

  “No, he is not. However, he will be fr
ee, Padua. It is not an outcome to be quibbled over.”

  She hung on his words with hope. Would it all end this way? Could it? “What if those men do not do any of this? What if they decide to send everyone to prison or the gallows?”

  “Then that is bad news for Crippin and Mrs. Trenholm.”

  “And my father?”

  “He will fare the best. I am told he has an excellent prosecutor who will ensure justice is done.”

  “You think too highly of your colleagues, I fear. You cannot be sure that this man will arrange it so justice is done.”

  “I can be very sure, since I am the prosecutor.”

  She sat up and turned to him. “I thought you withdrew.”

  “It appears I neglected to post the letters.”

  “When did you decide this?”

  “After I spoke with him. I saw he was the worst kind of defendant for a prosecutor. He is incapable of dissembling. He exudes honesty and a childlike innocence. Also he shows just enough befuddlement to appear incapable of knowingly committing a crime. A jury would love him. If he spoke for himself, my histrionics would have at best even odds of gaining the conviction. As it is, my position as prosecutor is influencing events right now. Strickland is telling them I can never be convinced to leave out half the story.”

  She took his hand and kissed it. “Thank you. Another might have been so convinced.” It could not have been easy for him to decide this. His sense of honor must have rebelled. He probably still wondered if she planned it so he might indeed do less than his best.

  He pulled her back into his arms. “He told me something else that day, Padua. I think you should know what he said about you.”

  “He talked about me?”

  “After I heard his story, I asked him why he would rather die than let you know about that house. After all, he had shown little interest in you for years.”

  Her throat tightened. The disappointments had been many, and still pained her. “What did he say?”

  “He wept, darling. He explained it was not lack of love that made him keep his distance. It was because seeing you broke his heart. You look just like her, he said. You look just like your mother. He has never stopped mourning her, or loving her.”

  She held in her tears, but they burned her eyes and throat. Ives must have felt them in her, because he pressed a comforting kiss to her head.

  Footsteps heralded another person in the garden. The moonlight reflected off fair hair.

  “Over here, Strickland,” Ives said.

  The man who had burst into the office with Ives and Aylesbury joined them. “It is done. Your brother proved eloquent in describing the repercussions if it became known a government agent had become a rogue. Sidmouth looked ashen when Aylesbury finished talking. They are taking Crippin and the Trenholm woman to a place of confinement, until arrangements are made for them to go away.”

  “And Belvoir?”

  “There were a few curses about the bad luck of having a stickler like you on the case. It will take some doing to find a story the magistrate will swallow, but they will fix it.”

  “Thank you for your help.”

  “I enjoyed every minute.” He took his leave and walked away.

  The garden fell silent. And the house. “I think they are gone,” Padua said.

  “Then we can be too.” Ives stood and offered his hand. “You will not stay here tonight, or any night again, Padua. You will come with me now.”

  * * *

  He took her to his house on Lincoln’s Inn Fields. His man Vickers only blinked once at her arrival before announcing he would bring some refreshments.

  “I think we have shocked him,” Padua said.

  “We have certainly surprised him. I do not bring women here.”

  “You should not have brought me either.”

  “I have some things to say to you, and they are not appropriate to an inn or a carriage or that house. Come to the library.”

  She loved the library. Everything about it spoke of comfort and informality. Good chairs, a plump divan, a big table, and a handsome fireplace filled a good-sized chamber lined with books. One wall held law books, but the others showed a wide assortment of tomes in leather bindings.

  She toured it all, taking in the appointments. She realized Ives watched her. “It is perfect,” she said. “Just the right size. Luxurious, but not overwhelming like the one in Langley House.”

  He took her hand and led her to the divan. He sat and pulled her down on his lap. “I am glad you like it. I will show you the rest of the house tomorrow, to see if it suits you as well.”

  “What matters is that it suits you.”

  He quirked a half smile. His gaze drifted lower. “I’ll be damned. I had not realized this before.”

  “Realized what?”

  “Due to your height, when you sit like this, your breasts are most conveniently placed.” He kissed one, to show what he meant. “A bit of unfastening and unlacing and I can drive you mad from the comfort of my favorite chair.” His hand toyed with buttons on her pelisse to show what he meant.

  “Mr. Vickers—”

  “Damn. I will have to wait until after he brings the refreshments. Until then . . .” He kissed her breast again, and caressed the other.

  She looked down on his fine hand moving on her body. A most contented arousal purred. Perhaps one more time—she kept saying that, didn’t she?

  “Padua, we must speak of serious matters now.”

  “Perhaps you should stop doing that, then. Soon I will be incapable of thinking at all.”

  “I will leave you with some ability. Enough. But I am inclined to keep at it, to make you pliable to my will.”

  “Are you going to propose another game?”

  “It is no game, I promise you.” He looked up in her eyes. “I broached the idea of marriage once before. You did not want to hear a proposal then. It was tainted by obligation. I would like you to agree to hear one now. I think I have a right to that.”

  She thought he had a right to much more. “I will listen.”

  “We suit each other, Padua. Not only in bed. In all ways. I enjoy your company, your mind, your laugh. I am never bored when I am with you, and I am often vexed when I am not.” He kissed her breast once more. “You have stolen my heart, Padua. I do not want you for a mistress. That is not good enough. Or a lover alone. That is not permanent enough. I want us to marry, so I can love you forever.”

  She filled with light and happiness. She lay her hand against his face and kissed him. “That was a perfect proposal, Ives. Far better than I ever expected to hear. Not one word about the notoriety that will still attach to the name Belvoir even if my father goes free. Not even an allusion to all of the trouble I have caused you.”

  “None of that matters, if you say yes.”

  “I am not sure that I should.”

  His expression fell. “If you do not feel the same, I understand. However, with time perhaps—”

  “Oh, no. Oh, dear. Do not think that I do not feel the same. I have loved you for so long. I cannot contain my love sometimes and I want to shout or weep from it. It is only that—my father has owned a brothel, and been in Newgate for a month on suspicion of the worst crimes. You may be able to spare him future suffering, but the past is already written in indelible ink.”

  “It will take more than a few ink spots to dissuade me, darling. Or to affect my position. And if I am wrong, that is my choice, I think. Having you is worth it to me, as so much else already has been.”

  Love spilled out of her heart. She did not think it possible to be so happy. “If I say yes, is that all there is to it? We are engaged?”

  “The rest is just formality.”

  “Then yes.” She kissed him. “Yes!”

  A discreet cough interrupted. She looked around, but could not see its source.

  “Yes, Vickers,” Ives said.

  “The refreshments are in the dining room, sir.” The voice came from just outside the do
or.

  “We will find them. You should retire now.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Padua giggled into Ives’s ear. “Do you think he was listening?”

  “Undoubtedly.” He set her on her feet. “Let us see what he prepared.” He walked over to a writing desk, and made a stack of some paper and two inkwells and pens.

  “What is that for?”

  “The formalities.”

  Vickers had prepared a little supper of ham, cooked eggs, bread, and cheese. A pot of coffee and another of tea waited as well. Ives divided up the paper while they ate. He set one inkwell near her, and kept one for himself.

  After their meal he tapped her paper. “The solicitors will handle most of the settlement, but we should have our own. One that considers things other than property and pin money.”

  She stared at her blank paper. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Write down your expectations. Anything at all, that you want in this marriage. Except the right to take lovers. I will not agree to that.”

  “I would never demand that.”

  “No, of course not. You are nothing if not loyal.” He looked at her most seriously. “It is one of your finest qualities, and one reason I love you so much.”

  His flattery touched her. It was rare, to see something of yourself through another’s eyes. “And you, Ives. Will you take lovers? Will you still have those opera singers?”

  He took her hand in his and held it firmly. He looked right in her eyes. “I cannot blame you for asking, even if I am wounded that you do. No, I will not, Padua. I love you. I hope you come to know how much, and how deeply. You are my only lover now, forever. I promise you that.”

  It was one expectation she had not dared to have. She learned then and there that her love could still grow, despite the way it seemed to fill her, because it took on a new depth and confidence while they held hands in that pact.

  She lifted her pen and checked its tip. “Do all lawyers do this when they get engaged?”

  “I doubt any do, but they should.” He dipped his own pen. “I grew up in a house that knew little happiness, Padua. I think that unfulfilled expectations caused a lot of that grief. Indulge me, please.” He gestured to her paper.