Lord Libertine

by Gail Ranstrom

  No. ’Twas just her imagination. She shivered, realizing for the first time that she’d be safer in the darkness than on the lighted path where she made an easy target. The shadows offered safety, anonymity. They would not frighten her if she became a part of them.

  She veered off the bridle path and found sanctuary behind a row of oak trees. All she need do was follow the course of the path in the dimness until she could cut across St. James Park and thence home.

  Clever girl! Andrew watched as Lace slipped seamlessly into the darkness. She had good instincts. It had not taken her long to realize the danger she had put herself in. With the slightest hiss of her hem against the grass, she was gone. If he tried to find her and follow her now, he’d give himself away, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. No, he couldn’t let her think she had the upper hand.

  She must not have realized that in her haste, she had dropped her handkerchief. He went forward, all reason for stealth gone now, and bent to retrieve the item. The dainty square was of fine Irish linen with a tatted lace edging of the same sort that had been on her gown tonight and the domino the night before.

  The little piece of linen was damp. From the dew, or from tears? Why the thought of her tears upset him, he couldn’t say. Women cried. It was a natural state of affairs. Nevertheless, he lifted the article to his face and inhaled the faint floral scent. Not quite the same as she’d worn tonight, but similar.

  A corner thickened with embroidery threads drew his attention. The letters C O in an elaborate script were formed from pale-blue silk thread. CO? So, was Lace’s real name something as mundane at Caroline? Charlotte? Catherine?

  Whatever her name was, she would be his. Once, for a week or a month, or until the novelty wore off—the length of time did not matter. The simple fact was that he would know her in the biblical sense. And she would know him. She might think she was in control of the situation. She might even think she had a choice. But she had no idea who she was dealing with.

  Bella closed the door with a soft click and turned the lock. She leaned her forehead against the panel and sighed, vowing she’d take enough money to hire a carriage next time. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched, and it had followed her all the way home.

  She dropped her reticule and shawl on the foyer table before tiptoeing to the sitting room sideboard and pouring herself just the smallest amount of brandy.

  “I thought that was you,” Gina said behind her.

  She gasped in surprise and turned to see her sister rising from a chair in the corner of the room. “Must you wait up every night?” she sighed.

  “What do you expect, Bella? I’ve already lost one sister, and my mother might as well be gone. You refuse to tell me what you are doing, where you are going or when you’ll return. You refuse my help. And then you wonder that I am waiting up? Please, Bella. Give me credit for common sense. Should something happen to you, I will be responsible for Mama and Lilly. I have a right to know what you are doing.”

  Poor Gina. She was right. At least Mama and Lilly had the luxury of not knowing that she was sneaking out at night. She drank her brandy and sat on the brocade settee, patting the seat next to her. “You have always been sensible, Gina. I…I just thought it would be easier for you if you did not know the particulars.”

  “Nothing about this has been easy.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I want to help. I want to be doing something. But, day after day, we just sit here with the curtains drawn, hushing our conversations so Mama can rest. Even Lilly is feeling the strain. We sigh and cry, and no one actually does anything. Except for you. Let me help, Bella. Please.”

  She sighed. Should she tell her sister what she was doing and risk her scorn? Or lie to her and do even more damage to her conscience? If she could find some way for Gina to help—some way that would not put her at risk….

  “Tell me, Bella. What is it you do every night when you go out? You say you are looking for Cora’s murderer, and yet you do not say how. Do you know him?”

  “No,” she confessed. “I only know that he has dark hair and eyes.”

  Gina gave her a disbelieving laugh. “Dark? Oh, that must make the search easy, indeed. I am certain you will find him anyday now.”

  “There’s more,” Bella admitted, staring down at the floor, unwilling to meet Gina’s eyes. “Cora said he was taller than Papa, and that he…he licked his lips after he kissed her as if she were some tasty treat. And that he was a gentleman. A member of the ton. You know our Cora would never have dallied with someone beneath her.”

  “Cora kissed him?” Gina’s green eyes widened, but she collected herself quickly. “A dark man above six feet tall? Well, that is a bit more to work with. But how would you ever discover if a man licks his lips…Bella! You are not kissing every dark man you meet?”

  She took a deep breath and turned away. “What other choice do I have?”

  “Oh! Then this is why you are so insistent that you haven’t a future in the ton? That your reputation is sullied? You poor thing! No wonder you are drinking.” Her sister jumped to her feet and began pacing. “We must think of another way. Even narrowing the possibilities to tall dark men, there must be more. Think, Bella. What else did Cora say?”

  She shook her head. “That he tasted bitter, then nothing more before…”

  Gina said, “I have wrestled the thought this way and that for the past week. Cora was beaten. Mutilated. What sort of man kills a woman he has vowed he loved? Further, what sort of man betrays that trust in such a foul, cruel manner? What sort of monster?”

  “A man who is tall, dark, charming and cunning. One who cajoled and cozened our sister into trusting him. A man who is a part of society and yet keeps his true nature secret. A rake and a rogue of the very worst kind.”

  “Barely human,” Gina agreed.

  Bella nodded and went back to the sideboard. “You have not told Mama and Lilly the details of Cora’s murder, have you?”

  Gina joined her and poured a very small dram of brandy for herself. “Never. That would surely be the end of Mama’s sanity.”

  They raised their glasses in unison and drank. Gina grimaced and her eyes watered, but she sighed deeply when the liquor settled. “There is one thing you have not considered in your search, Bella. The killer is all those things Cora said but, most important, though he hides his true character, it must reveal itself on occasion. His closest friends will be like-minded. Rakes, rogues and villains.”

  How had she overlooked that detail? She’d known enough to look in the ton, but she hadn’t narrowed her search to the very dregs of it. “So, to find him, I should kiss only rakes, rogues and scoundrels?” she mused. “Yes. They become apparent fairly quickly, and they tend to flock together. So in order to find him, I shall have to go where rogues and scoundrels go. G-gambling dens and other unsavory places.”

  “No! That is too dangerous. You mustn’t imperil yourself.” Gina’s widened eyes filled with tears.

  Bella sighed. “In the past week, I have forfeited something of my soul. But I have my promise to Cora to keep. If I do anything less, I will not be able to sleep at night. No, I intend to do whatever I must and I would advise you to keep out of my way.”

  Gina opened her mouth as if she would argue, then closed it again and shook her head.

  “Try to understand,” Bella pleaded. “The only other choice I have is to let our sister’s murderer go free.”

  “Oh, I understand,” Gina said, determined lines settling around her narrowed eyes. “I feel the need for justice, too, and I know the getting of it can be dangerous. I am only trying to think how to help you.”

  “I will not take you with me.”

  “I did not expect that you would. But I can help ensure that Mama and Lilly will not find out. I can keep them occupied.”

  “How? We are in mourning and will be for another six weeks. Social events are forbidden. They cannot call on neighbors or attend teas. We are
trapped in this house until Mama is better and we can go home.”

  “Lilly is becoming restless. She needs outings. I think short walks and a trip to Hatchard’s bookstore for reading materials might be in order. She has been asking for another of Miss Austen’s books. And a little shopping for mourning apparel would be appropriate. Yes, and a healthy glass of undiluted wine with supper will keep her soundly asleep at night. We needn’t worry much about Mama, yet. She is barely coherent from the laudanum she is taking in the evening. She is bound to make an effort soon, and when she does, I shall be ready.”

  Amazed, Bella watched as Gina began pacing, tapping one finger against her right cheek in an attitude of thoughtfulness. “And we shall have to concoct some story about what keeps you out evenings, should they discover you gone. Companion to a dowager? Reading to a blind neighbor? Caring for an ill friend?”

  “Gina, you are truly diabolical.”

  “I know I cannot stop you, but I do not mean to lose another sister, Bella. You are about to enter a dragon’s den. And where you will be going, you will need all the help you can muster.”

  A little shiver shot through her at the fierce expression on her sister’s face. Just how far would Gina go to help her?

  Chapter Four

  The soft click of his brother’s library door closing behind him was somehow comforting to Andrew. Being in the house he’d grown up in made him feel a part of the family again.

  His brother looked up from his desk, gave him a slight smile and gestured to an overstuffed chair by a tea table.

  “Pour a cup of tea, Drew. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Tea? He glanced at the clock in one corner of the room, the swing of the heavy brass pendulum measuring the seconds. Two o’clock. He glanced at the decanters on the sideboard, then sighed, poured himself a stout cup of tea, laced it with sugar and sat to wait quietly.

  Lockwood scribbled a few lines, then pushed the paper aside, stood and stretched. “Good to see you, Drew,” he said as he poured his own tea and sat across from him. “I do not run into you as much anymore.”

  “You’d have to leave your house to do that, Lockwood. I gather this means you are still wallowing in wedded bliss?”

  Lockwood grinned. “Have you come to mock me? Or is there another reason?”

  “Wanted to know if you set Wycliffe on my heels.”

  “Ah, Wycliffe.” His brother lifted his teacup and regarded him with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “No, actually. He came to me, Drew, after he’d already made up his mind. He said he was going to ask you for some help and a bit of expertise in the less-savory side of society activities. Is it any wonder your name came to his mind?”

  The logic was inescapable. “I suppose not.”

  “And Wycliffe said he needs discretion. Though your behavior is somewhat less than discreet, I have never known you to discuss your women or your affairs with others. I agreed that you were the ideal candidate. Do you have some objection to helping the Home Office?”

  “I suppose not,” he said again, disliking his own churlish attitude. There was, in fact, not much he did like about himself these days.

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “I do not like having others depend upon me.”

  “Drew…” Lockwood began, putting his teacup aside. “It has been a long time since the war. Do you not think it is time to talk about it? I am your brother. No matter what it is, you can trust me.”

  Not with this. Never with this. “Who said it has anything to do with the war?”

  “You were changed when you came home.”

  “War is not an experience that leaves one untouched. If I recall, even you took a few years to put things in perspective.”

  “But you were in—”

  “I do not need you to remind me where and how I served. And I did not come here to talk about my service to the crown,” he interrupted. Blast! Why did Lockwood have to hound him on this? Did he think confession was good for the soul? Not in this case. Never in this case. Only Dash knew. And only because Dash had been there.

  “So you just came to complain about doing something constructive?”

  Andrew took his teacup to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of sherry. To hell with sobriety. “I came to ask if you set Wycliffe on me or if using me was his idea,” he reminded Lockwood. “And I need information. Do you recall a scandal that took place years ago? Before we were born? Something back in the 1760s?”

  “The Hellfire Club?” Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. “The scandal that almost brought the government down?”

  He nodded. “Were they Satanists?”

  “They were reprobates of the worst sort, Drew. Scoundrels and wastrels to a man. They liked to think of themselves as dedicated Satanists, but they were more interested in sexual licentiousness and excess than any real worship. The pity of it was that they were men of influence, not ignorant superstitious bumpkins.”

  “And what do you know of witchcraft, Lockwood?”

  “I know it’s balderdash. Casting spells. Laying curses. Child’s play.”

  “Some take it seriously.”

  “What have you gotten into, Drew?”

  He took a bracing swallow of his sherry. “Don’t know. Just that something nasty is going on right under our noses. Wycliffe suspects a cult of some sort and I am inclined to agree. But it’s not my business. I’m just to keep my eyes and ears open and report what I learn to Wycliffe.”

  “Can you leave it at that?”

  “Why not? You know how I dislike getting involved.”

  “Because you’re here asking questions, not just keeping your eyes and ears open. The problem has engaged your interest, has it not?”

  Andrew considered the question. Yes, he supposed it had. Between Wycliffe’s assignment and Lady Lace, this was turning out to be a banner season. He shrugged. “Aye, ’tis mildly interesting. More for the oddity than anything else. But do not get your hopes up, brother. One sparrow does not make a summer.”

  “Ah, but I do hope that one day you will turn the corner and step back into your life.”

  Andrew tossed off the last of his sherry and stood, giving Lockwood a cynical smile. “I wouldn’t take wagers on it.”

  “Now you’ve engaged my interest, Drew. This is quite intriguing. Satanists, witchcraft and some sort of problem that involves the Home Office? ’Tis enough to draw me out of retirement.”

  That was the last thing Andrew needed. If something should happen to Lockwood now that he had settled down and had an heir on the way…“Keep out of it, Lockwood. I can handle this without you.”

  “I know you can, Drew. I’ve never known you to shy away from doing what had to be done.”

  “Hate to dash your hopes, sir, but I am what I am.”

  “What you are is a good man, Drew.”

  He couldn’t contain his snort of laughter as he closed the library door behind him.

  Martha O’Rourke waved her hand listlessly in front of her face. “Take them wherever you want, Bella, as long as you keep your eye on them.”

  “Couldn’t you come, too, Mama? We will wait while you dress. The fresh air will do you good,” Bella said, without any real hope that her mother would agree.

  “Fresh air? Is that what you think I need? As if that would change anything.” She dropped her hand into her lap and gathered her dressing gown tighter at the neck. She glanced at Gina and Lilly, hovering behind Bella. “You should be in proper mourning. ’Tis disrespectful of Cora to have you prancing all over London as if nothing were wrong.”

  “No one is ‘prancing,’ Mama.” Well, except for her, and she was wearing proper mourning. She tried again. “Lilly and Gina have barely been out at all.”

  “Nor should they be. Why, in my day, ladies did not leave the house for months. Months, Bella.”

  But her mother had not allowed her that luxury. Someone had to deal with the details, and with Mama unable to cope with even the smallest matters, that task h
ad fallen to Bella. “I…I will take Gina and Lilly to a dressmaker for mourning clothes, Mama. Will three each be enough? A walking gown, tea gown and dinner gown?”

  “Yes. Yes, three each. And you too, Bella. You look absurd in my cut-downs.”

  Bella glanced down at herself. Was it true? Had people been laughing behind her back? Mr. Hunter hadn’t seemed put off by her appearance, and she would imagine he’d be a severe critic. “Yes, Mama. We shall be home before tea.”

  Martha collapsed against the chaise cushions again. “Mind you, do not let them out of your sight. Cora would be alive if only you’d paid attention.”

  Bella winced. Guilt had become her bosom companion without Mama’s frequent reminders. She turned and followed her sisters from their mother’s private parlor.

  “…wish it had been Bella,” she heard her mother tell Nancy, the maid. “Cora was always so sweet.”

  The quick stab in the pit of her stomach was back again. That was happening more and more frequently these days. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and a thick lump formed in her throat. She would not cry again. She would not. Oh, but in a deep, secret part of her, Bella wished it had been her, too. Anything would be better than this constant purgatory she was living in.

  “She didn’t mean it, Bella,” Gina whispered as they left the town house, Lilly trailing as she tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet.

  “Yes, she did. She’d rather it had been any of us but Cora. She was always Mama’s favorite. That is why she thought she could do as she pleased. And now Mama can scarcely bear to be in the same room with me.”

  “She has always been harsher with you, Bella. I think it is because you are like Papa—smarter than she, and stronger, even though you are her daughter. And yet, what would she do without you? We’d still be moldering behind closed doors after Papa’s death if you hadn’t coaxed her from her bed and pushed her back into society—and that was seven years ago!”