A Scandalous Bargain

by Burke, Darcy

  “Yes, my lord. Do you require anything?”

  “Strength? Patience?” Thomas summoned a placid smile. “Everything will be fine, Baines.”

  Thomas went into the sitting room. The three visitors, and Thomas assumed they were all constables, were spread about the room. One was near the door, another in front of the windows, and Dearborn stood in front of the wall where the portrait of Thomas and Thea used to hang.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” Dearborn said. He inclined his head toward the wall. “What happened to the portrait of you and your wife?”

  Whether it was due to irritation or a simple need to just be honest, Thomas said, “I tore it apart and burned it.”

  Dearborn’s eyes widened, and the man near the door coughed.

  “I see,” Dearborn said. “Well, I suppose that answers our question about your penchant for violence.”

  “You came to question me about that?” Thomas asked irritably.

  “Actually, no. As you know, we searched your house yesterday. We were still looking for that penknife.”

  “And you didn’t find it.”

  “No. We did, however, find a substance in a container in your upstairs sitting room. It was in the cabinet where you keep the liquor. That’s why we came back yesterday to search the entire house.”

  Thomas tried to think of what the man could be describing, but had absolutely no idea. He rarely opened that cabinet. There was always a bottle and glasses on the top—and that was all he needed to pour a drink. “What substance?”

  “We weren’t certain what it was, but we’ve since determined it to be hemlock.”

  Why was there poison in his bloody liquor cabinet? Oh no… Thomas felt as though the air around him had thinned. He could see precisely where this was going. “You think this is evidence,” he said softly.

  “It’s poison.”

  “Lady Rockbourne wasn’t poisoned. She fell.”

  “Hemlock can cause paralysis. Perhaps she was poisoned and that contributed to her falling.”

  “That’s a great deal of supposition. In fact, that’s all you have. She fucking fell. After she came after me with a knife, intent on stabbing me. She hated me, was a horrible wife and mother, and I’m relieved she’s gone. If that makes me guilty of murder…” He clenched his fists. “No, it doesn’t make me guilty of murder. It simply makes me guilty of despising her in return and lacking in regret at her passing.” He was perhaps not as horrible as her, but he wasn’t blameless. Neither was he trying to pretend he was.

  “There is evidence,” the constable near the door said. He was older than Dearborn, probably around forty, with gray-and-black hair and a slender frame. “The letter from Lady Rockbourne, testimony from your household as to your temperament that isn’t, shall we say, completely favorable, and the hemlock. You also lied to Dearborn at the onset of the investigation. We will disinter Lady Rockbourne’s body and test her for hemlock.”

  “You can’t do that,” Thomas said through his gritted teeth.

  “Her mother has already requested that we do. It will be done.”

  What did it matter? They wouldn’t find anything. Unless Thea had poisoned herself. Why the hell was there hemlock in his house anyway?

  Thomas suddenly knew. She was going to use it on him. He thought back to how that evening had started. She’d been alarmingly pleasant, offering to pour him a brandy. Surprised and disturbed by her uncharacteristic charm, he’d declined. Now that he recalled the event, he realized she’d been disappointed. Things had escalated quickly after that, and now he knew he’d pricked her temper by frustrating her plans.

  “Fine,” Thomas ground out. “She wasn’t poisoned, and you’ll discover that soon enough.”

  Dearborn came away from the wall and walked to the center of the room. “Why was there hemlock in your sitting room?”

  Thomas still stood just inside the doorway. “My best estimation is that Lady Rockbourne planned to poison me. She wanted a divorce. Desperately. I refused to give her one.”

  Frowning, Dearborn crossed his arms. “Another thing you neglected to tell us. What else are you hiding?”

  “I was trying to protect the memory of a woman who didn’t deserve my concern. She wanted to be free of our marriage. She was a terrible wife and mother. I didn’t want my daughter to ever know that.”

  “She doesn’t need to.”

  “Except that this investigation is already the latest gossip.” Thomas took a modicum of pleasure from the look of surprise in Dearborn’s features, followed by disappointment.

  “We do not share information,” Dearborn assured him.

  “You also can’t promise that information won’t become public. Especially if I’m arrested.” Thomas glanced at the other two constables. “Is that what’s happening here?” He tensed.

  Dearborn’s face twitched. “I haven’t decided yet. However, I would like it if you would come to Bow Street so we may question you formally. That way, you’ll have an opportunity to provide everything you may have omitted. Including the name of the woman with whom you’ve been having an affair.”

  “I told you, I am not having an affair.” At least, he hadn’t been. Not when Thea had died.

  But was he now? God, he hoped so.

  “Will you assemble the household, my lord? We’d like to question everyone briefly,” the older constable asked.

  Thomas glowered at Dearborn. “Perhaps you could at least introduce me to your colleagues.”

  Dearborn flushed. “Of course, my apologies.” He gestured to the older man, who was closest to Thomas. “This is Mr. Woodward and that is Mr. Mercer.” Mercer was younger than Woodward and altogether more intimidating. He was shorter, but he was stocky, with a thick neck and a head like a block. Thomas wondered if he could be knocked down and doubted it very much.

  “You want my entire household assembled? Minus my daughter and her nurse. I won’t have my daughter subjected to any of this.”

  “We would like to speak with the nurse as well,” Dearborn said.

  “Then you’ll have to allow me to go up and be with my daughter while that happens.”

  Dearborn looked to Woodward, who gave a slight nod. “That is acceptable.”

  Without a word, Thomas turned and went into the entry hall, where Baines stood stiff and straight. “My lord?”

  “Assemble the household. Here. I’ll send Miss Addy down.”

  Woodward had followed Thomas into the hall. “Lord Rockbourne, perhaps this doesn’t need to be said, but I would be remiss if I did not make it clear that you are not to leave the house.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Thomas said with more sarcasm than was probably smart. He was too angry to censor himself completely.

  He only hoped he was able to keep his temper under control. Now was not the time for whatever parts he possessed of his father to emerge.

  Chapter 17

  Harry leaned against the corner of the hearth in the garden room, his face drawn in deep contemplation. Beatrix and Selina had just finished telling him everything. Mostly everything. They’d left out the part where Beatrix was quite desperately in love with Tom, instead saying that they’d “become close.” Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew what that meant.

  “I should go to Bow Street right now,” Harry said.

  “Are you going to tell them there’s an eyewitness to what happened?” Selina asked. She glanced over at Beatrix, who sat beside her on the settee.

  “I can’t, not without naming the party. For now, I think we should avoid that.” He grimaced, then looked at Beatrix in sympathy. “I appreciate your reluctance to share this information in order to protect Selina—and yourself.”

  “If it wasn’t for Selina, I’d go to Bow Street right now.”

  Selina gently patted Beatrix’s hand.

  Harry’s features relaxed. “Of course you would. Let me see what’s happening, and we’ll decide what to do.” He rubbed his hand along his jaw. “It seems I chose a poor time to
get married and take a respite from my position.”

  “Don’t say that,” Beatrix said. “This is all just an unfortunate situation. Lady Rockbourne’s death was an accident, and her mother needs to accept that.”

  Harry nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Selina stood as he came toward her, and they exchanged a brief kiss before he left.

  Beatrix rose, nervous energy making her pulse pick up speed. “I hate waiting.”

  “I know. It won’t be long. Do you want something to eat?”

  Glancing at the clock on the mantel, Beatrix saw that it was half four. And it was Thursday. Precisely the time and day her father went to the park for the fashionable hour. Which meant he wasn’t home. Furthermore, it was the afternoon when several members of his household were given free time.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Beatrix said. “I think I just need to rest and try to get my mind off things.”

  Selina narrowed her eyes at Beatrix. “You are going to rest?”

  Beatrix didn’t even bother arguing—Selina knew her too well. “I can try. I’ll probably just pace.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as Harry returns.”

  “Thank you.” Beatrix would need to hurry. Which she would—all she had to do was replace the genuine demi-parure with the fake one she’d put there Monday night. She’d gotten in and out quickly then and had no reason to expect things would go differently today.

  Except that had been late at night. Today, it was still light, and she would almost certainly be seen. It was a good thing she had a plan.

  * * *

  Beatrix managed to get away from the Spitfire house without encountering anyone. Dressed as a maid, she made her way quickly to Grosvenor Square. Instead of stealing through Tom’s garden and climbing the wall into the duke’s garden to gain access to his house, she would boldly enter through the servant’s entrance. With her cap pulled tight about her head and a scarf tied around that, she prayed she would escape notice. She was also especially grateful for the knowledge she had of Ramsgate’s house and his servants.

  It was just after five when she stealthily made her way into the entrance on the lowest floor of the house. The sounds of the kitchen permeated the corridor as Beatrix hurried to the stairs that would take her straight up to the first floor, where the duke’s chambers were located.

  On the way, she noted an open cupboard. Inside were cleaning supplies. She grabbed a broom before continuing to the stairs.

  Upon reaching the landing on the first floor, she hastened along the narrow corridor to the last door. It led directly into the duke’s dressing chamber. Would his valet be present? Beatrix briefly closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that he would not.

  Clutching the broom and holding her breath, she carefully opened the door. She peered inside and, upon finding it empty, exhaled.

  On her last visit, she’d had to find the jewels in this very chamber. She’d known precisely what she was looking for—a purple-velvet-covered box. She’d run her small fingers over the soft velvet countless times as a child.

  Today, however, she thankfully didn’t need to waste time searching for the box. She went directly to its location in the bottom drawer of a narrow dresser in the corner.

  She leaned the broom against the wall, taking care to be quiet in case the valet was in the bedroom. Crouching down, she eased the drawer open. The box sat where she’d found it, to the left side.

  She opened the case, and the faux emeralds winked up at her. Moving quickly, she scooped up the pieces one by one and stuffed them into her left pocket.

  “Thief!”

  Beatrix squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t turn. Her heart thudded, and sweat broke out across her neck and brow. Trying to remain calm, she reached into her right pocket and removed the real jewels. “Here they are. There’s no theft.” She set the jewelry into the box, her hands shaking.

  “Which maid are you? That new girl in the scullery?” The man—presumably the duke’s valet—grabbed her by the arm.

  She reached for the broom and jabbed him in the stomach with the handle. Yowling with pain, he bent over. But Beatrix didn’t wait to see what happened. She dropped the broom and bolted for the door to the back stairs. She didn’t bother to close it behind her before racing down.

  By the time she reached the kitchen level, she was panting heavily. She’d heard shouting but hadn’t been able to make out what it was. If she made it out of the house, it would be a miracle.

  She glanced toward the kitchen before dashing forward into the corridor—and straight into a hard chest.

  Out of breath, Beatrix looked up into the dark, narrowed eyes of what was probably a footman, judging from his livery. “I was just about to run an errand,” she said. “We need…salt.”

  The footman didn’t believe her obvious lie. His gaze slitted further, and he grabbed her by the arm. “Upstairs with you.”

  Beatrix tried to pull away, but it was no use. The man was a bloody tree.

  It seemed she was out of miracles.

  He steered her back to the stairs she’d just come down, then up to the ground floor, following close behind her and keeping a tight grip on her elbow. Reaching around her, he opened the door and awkwardly pushed her into the staircase hall. They emerged from under the stairs and came face-to-face with her father’s haughty butler.

  Behind him stood the valet, one hand wrapped around his middle, his frame slightly stooped. “That’s her, the chit who jabbed me with the broom and stole His Grace’s jewels.”

  The butler regarded Beatrix with unveiled contempt. “I know you. You’re that insolent woman who dared visit His Grace recently.”

  Damn, it was too much to hope that he wouldn’t recognize her. Instead of answering, she lifted her chin and gave him her own most arrogant stare.

  “I’ve already sent for His Grace,” the butler said. “We will await him in the sword room.”

  The what?

  The footman began to pull her, but she dug her feet into the floor. “Please let go of me. I don’t require your assistance.”

  “If you run, he will do whatever is necessary to catch you,” the butler said frostily. “Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.” Beatrix pursed her lips and continued to stare at him defiantly.

  The footman released her, and she immediately massaged her elbow.

  “Follow me,” the butler directed before leading her into the round entry hall. He turned to the left and gestured for her to precede him into a room decorated with…swords.

  “We’ll wait here for His Grace.” The butler took a position at the door, and the footman stood on the other side.

  Beatrix went to the window because it was as far away as she could get from them. She could also see the front of Tom’s house. What would he say when he learned she’d been arrested?

  The reality of her situation made everything go fuzzy around her for a moment, as if she’d fallen into water. She gasped, taking air into her lungs.

  Perhaps the duke wouldn’t want to prosecute her. She’d returned the demi-parure, after all. And she’d promise to leave him alone forever.

  Of course he was going to prosecute her. There wasn’t really a doubt in her mind. Would her half brother help?

  Her thoughts came to a crashing halt as she saw Tom walk down the steps of his house. He was in the company of three men. One of them, a slender gentleman with black-and-gray hair, seemed very familiar. She was sure she’d seen him, but where?

  At the Brown Bear across from the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court where she and Selina had met Harry one day. The man was a Bow Street constable.

  And Tom was leaving with them.

  Beatrix spun from the window and rushed toward the doorway. Both the butler and footman stepped in her way.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” the butler asked.

  “Outside. Next door. I need to speak with someone. I promise I am not running away. Come with me, in fa
ct.”

  “Sit down,” the butler barked.

  “No.” She tried to remain calm despite the frenzy careening through her. “There are Bow Street constables right next door. I must speak with them. You can tell them anything you want. Please.”

  The butler eyed her skeptically, but the footman reached for her arm once more. “I’ll take her. You talk to the constable.”

  Beatrix nodded eagerly. “Yes, take me. You can hold on to me the entire time, if you like.”

  The butler narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know they’re constables?”

  “Because my brother-in-law is a constable,” she said with considerable exasperation. There was no hiding her identity now or that of her family who wasn’t even really her family. Perhaps she could admit that too, and quietly skulk away without affecting Selina.

  If only it were that easy.

  The footman led her outside into the bright afternoon. Tom stood on the pavement with the three men.

  “Tom!” Beatrix shook her head slightly. “Er, Lord Rockbourne!”

  Tom looked past the men surrounding him, his brow furrowed. “Beatrix?” His gaze went to the footman clutching her arm. He stalked toward her, and the others followed, looking alarmed.

  “Unhand her,” Tom demanded, his eyes spitting fire at the footman.

  “She’s a thief,” the butler said from the other side of Beatrix.

  Tom’s gaze softened as he turned his attention to her. “What did you do?” he whispered.

  “I am not a thief. I was replacing something that I, er, borrowed.”

  That sounded horrible even to her. Because she was a thief. And she could no longer run from that fact.

  She looked up at Tom, her heart breaking that she’d disappointed him like this. “I’m sorry, Tom.” Glancing toward the men behind him, she asked, “Are you going somewhere with these constables?”

  “To Bow Street. They want to formally question me.”

  The older constable whom Beatrix recognized came forward. “Are you accusing this woman of a crime?” he asked the duke’s butler.

  “Yes. She was caught stealing jewelry from His Grace’s house.”