The Last Wicked Scoundrel

by Lorraine Heath

  “It was very well thought out,” Claybourne said. He turned his attention to William. “All this conjecture seems rather pointless. Why do you think he’s returned?”

  “Because Winnie—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “The Duchess of Avendale believes she’s seen him.”

  Catherine gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. “No, it can’t be. He’ll kill her this time.”

  Suddenly Graves was concerned he was raising the alarm a bit prematurely. It did seem unlikely that the man could escape and make his way back here. “She can’t be sure. She saw him at a distance, thought it was a ghost. But there are other things. Items being moved around. His scent wafting through the house. Things she can’t explain.”

  “She’s told me none of this.”

  “She feared she was going mad.”

  “Perhaps she is,” Jack said. “If he did manage to return, I think he would march into his residence and announce that he had bloody well returned.”

  “No,” Catherine said quietly. “I think he would strive to take his revenge by driving her mad. At least for a time. He’s had three years to ponder retribution. He’s the sort who enjoys pulling wings off flies rather than smashing them.”

  Claybourne placed his hand over hers. “Do you want to tell the duchess what we did?”

  Slowly, Catherine shook her head. “She would never forgive me. As horrible as he was, she wept when I told her that he died. As for the rest of you, if she told anyone of any consequence, you would all be ruined, possibly imprisoned. No, we swore three years ago that we would bear the burden of it and it would remain our secret. We must keep to that vow. But how do we protect her if we don’t tell her that she’s in need of protection?”

  “We could be getting ahead of ourselves here,” Swindler said. “First, we need to discover if he is in fact here. I would like to have a look through her house.”

  “I’ve actually put something into play,” Graves said. He explained about the sapphires and the safe. “She won’t be surprised when I bring you ’round to examine the safe.”

  “We’ll need more than that,” Claybourne said. “We’ll need you to spend more time with her.”

  “Jack has brutes he can send over to keep watch on the residence,” Graves said.

  “The outside of it, yes. But as it appears Avendale may be lurking about inside, we need someone inside to watch and, if needed, to protect her. As the rest of us gents are married, I’m afraid it falls to you.”

  Not precisely what Graves wanted to hear. As their earlier walk in the garden had proven, his desire for her was on a weak tether. Her husband had taken atrocious advantage of her. Graves had no wish to put himself in the same league, but everything he’d worked so hard to attain was at risk.

  “Do we need to be concerned that he’ll hurt the boy?” Frannie asked.

  “His heir?” Catherine questioned. “Not likely. He had two other wives before Winnie and neither produced a child, so I suspect he won’t risk Whit. He never hurt him before. His preferred target seems to be women.”

  “What happened to his other wives?” Swindler asked. Graves wasn’t surprised that he had homed in on that particular aspect of Catherine’s words. The man was a demon for justice.

  “They died,” Catherine said. “One took a tumble down the stairs, the other a fatal blow to the head when she fell from her bed.”

  “Where was the bed?” Swindler asked. “On the roof?”

  Catherine gave a hint of smile. “You understand now the depth of our concerns. If he is here, he will try to destroy us in his own manner—no matter how long it takes or what is required.”

  While Graves was a man dedicated to saving lives, he could not help but believe that they would all have been better served if Claybourne had simply killed Avendale when presented with the opportunity. Now far too many people could be made to suffer.

  Winnie most of all.

  Winnie thought she should be terrified of the huge hulk of a man who stood in her entryway, but there was a gentleness in his smile that was reassuring. It also helped that William stood beside him. She was familiar with Inspector James Swindler. He had quite the reputation for solving crimes, but they had never been formally introduced as they were now.

  “Bill says you’ve had a bit of a problem with items disappearing from your safe. I’d like to examine it.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s in my bedchamber.”

  He held up a finger. “When we get there, don’t tell me where it is. Allow me the fun of ferretting it out for myself.”

  As she climbed the stairs, Swindler followed behind while William walked beside her.

  “He’s very good at what he does,” William said.

  “So I’ve heard, although I do find his notion of what constitutes fun a bit odd.”

  William chuckled low. “He loves solving a good mystery, even if it’s little more than searching for a safe.”

  “Well, I do hope he solves our mystery quite quickly. I couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep after I returned here last night.”

  She led them into her bedchamber. William stood beside her while Swindler stepped into the room, gave a quick glance around, and walked straight over to a painting, lifted the frame off the nail, and revealed the safe.

  “How did you know?” she asked, as he leaned the painting against the wall. “There are other pictures about.”

  “Yes, but they were placed with the intent of complementing the décor of the room. This one was placed to hide something, so it looks slightly out of place. Who all has a key?” he asked as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small pouch. Opening it, he removed a couple of long, slender instruments.

  “Only I do.”

  “None of the servants? No one else?”

  “No.”

  “Has anyone else ever possessed the key?”

  “Only my husband.”

  He and William exchanged a glance.

  “But he’s dead,” she felt compelled to add.

  “Do you know where his key is?”

  She rubbed her forehead, where an ache was beginning to take hold. “No, I don’t. I went through his belongings, but I don’t recall seeing it.”

  “So someone might have taken it,” he answered distractedly as he worked the instruments into the keyhole. She heard a snap and the door opened a crack. He opened it further. “A rather simple lock system. Anyone could have broken into it.”

  “And relocked it?” William asked.

  “That might have proven tricky. We’ll see about replacing this with something that will guard your valuables better.”

  “I suppose there is some comfort in knowing anyone could have run off with it,” she said. “But why didn’t they?”

  Swindler shrugged. “That I can’t answer, Your Grace. Bill says you don’t suspect your servants, so it’s quite possible someone managed to get inside without anyone seeing. We’ll want to change the locks on all the doors as well.”

  “Yes, all right. Have you had other reports of incidents such as this?”

  “Something similar, yes. But not to worry, Scotland Yard is on it.”

  Swindler left, but William stayed, suggesting that Winnie show him the plans for the hospital she’d mentioned the night before. She took him to her study. It was much smaller than Avendale’s, the furniture more dainty. It looked out on the gardens. With the draperies pulled back, sunlight poured in. She’d never felt comfortable in Avendale’s library. Everything was so dark, the furniture bold and intimidating.

  “After the success of last year’s ball, I took the liberty of hiring an architect.” She went behind the desk, picked up a scroll, and began rolling it across the top of her desk. “I know I might have been a bit premature—”

  “It’s fine, Duchess. You’re providing the funds. You can handle the building of the hospital however you wish.”

  He came to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. Good God, he was so wonderfully tall that he was p
robably peering over the top of her head. She arranged a marble paperweight on one corner of the parchment. Leaning over, he reached toward an inkwell. She was acutely aware of the press of his chest to her back, the curve of his body around hers. Very slowly, as though they had the remainder of their lives, he set the glass container on the opposite corner of the scroll. Then placed his hand on the other corner to stop it from curling up.

  “That should be all we need,” he said quietly, and she felt the brush of his warm breath across her temple.

  She could think of a good deal more that she needed: a touch, a kiss, a caress. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she fought to concentrate on the lines spread out before her. “I’m not sure of all the details, but it has surgical rooms and a separate area for isolating those who are contagious.”

  “I like that idea. What do you think of having a separate wing for children? It seems as though they should have their own area.”

  She felt a tiny bubble of joy burst within her chest. Avendale had never asked her opinion on anything. He’d always told her how things were to be. She especially liked that William was thinking of the little ones. “It’s a splendid notion. I think it should be right here.” She placed her finger on the far end of the building. He wrapped his hand around it.

  “I can think of no place better.”

  Her voice tried to lodge in her throat but she wouldn’t have it. She wanted to speak to him, she wanted to tell him everything. “And gardens. Lovely gardens where people can walk as they’re recovering. I remember the walks you would take me on, insisting I needed them to regain my strength.” Hesitating to say the next words, she swallowed hard. Avendale would have laughed at such silliness, but William wasn’t Avendale. Still, if he laughed, she would be incredibly hurt. But she had to risk it. She had tried to shape herself into what Avendale wanted and failed miserably. She needed someone who accepted her as she was. “They became my favorite part of the day.”

  Tenderly, he curled his hand below her chin and turned her face toward him until he was able to capture her gaze. “They were my favorite part of the day as well.”

  She didn’t know quite what to say to that admission. After last night, she’d dared to hope that she meant something special to him, but they were so very different in rank and purpose. She considered suggesting that they go for a walk now, but she didn’t want to move away from where she was. So near to him. He smelled of sandalwood. His jaw and cheeks were smooth. He’d shaved before he came to see her. His hair curled wildly about his head, and she wondered if he ever tried to tame it, then decided he wouldn’t look like himself without the wildness.

  With his thumb, he stroked her lower lip. His blue eyes darkened. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. Leaning in, he lowered his mouth to hers. She rose up on her toes to meet him, inviting him to possess, plunder, have his way. She became lost in the sensations of his mouth playing over hers, vaguely aware of his twisting her around so they were facing each other. As she skimmed her hands up over his shoulders, his arms came around her, drawing her nearer. He was a man of nimble fingers, skilled hands that eased hurts and injuries and warded off death. He had mended her with those hands, and now with his lips he was mending her further.

  Suddenly changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss, his tongue hungrily exploring, enticing her to take her own journey of discovery. He tasted of peppermint. She could well imagine him keeping the hard candies in his pocket to hand to children in order to ease their fears. Snitching one for himself every now and then.

  He folded his hands around the sides of her waist and, without breaking his mouth from hers, lifted her onto the desk. Parchment crackled beneath her. She knew she should be worried that they were ruining the plans for the hospital, but she seemed unable to care about anything beyond the wondrous sensations that he was bringing to life.

  Avendale had never kissed her with such enthusiasm, such resolve. She felt as though William were determined to devour her, and that it would be one of the most wondrous experiences of her life.

  Hiking her skirts up over her knees, he wedged himself between her thighs. Very slowly, he lowered her back to the desk until she was sprawled over it like some wanton. On the desk! She had never known this sort of activity could occur anywhere other than the bed. It was wicked, exciting, intriguing. Surely he didn’t mean to do more than kiss her, not that she was opposed to him going further.

  She’d gone so long without a caress, without being desired, without having passions stirred. She felt at once terrified and joyful while pleasure curled through her.

  As he dragged his mouth along her throat, he began undoing buttons, giving himself access to more skin. He nipped at her collarbone, circled his tongue in the hollow at her throat. She plowed her fingers through his golden locks, relishing the soft curls as they wound around her fingers.

  More buttons were unfastened. She sighed as he trailed his mouth and tongue along the upper swells of her breasts. Heat pooled deep within her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking surcease from the pressure of him against her. He moaned low, more a growl than anything as he pressed a kiss in the dip between her breasts.

  God help her, but she wanted to feel his touch over all of her.

  Peeling back her bodice, he began loosening the ribbons on her chemise. In the distance, someplace far far away, she thought she heard a door open.

  “The count—” Her butler began and stopped.

  “Winnie?” Catherine’s voice brought her crashing back to reality.

  Mortified, Winnie knew the heat scorching her now had nothing to do with passion.

  William calmly lifted his head. “Excuse us, but she’ll need a moment.”

  A moment? Dear God, she’d need the remainder of her life to get past the humiliation of being caught sprawled over her desk with a man who was not her husband licking at her flesh. She was vaguely aware of the snick of the door closing.

  Very slowly, very carefully, as though she were delicate crystal that could easily shatter, William placed his hands beneath her back and helped her sit up. Then closing his arms around her, he held her near, and she buried her face against his chest.

  How could his heart beat so methodically when hers was jumping all around, bouncing off her ribs?

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” William said quietly. “Although you might instruct your butler that he needs to knock before entering.”

  She nodded jerkily. “I want to die.”

  “Winnie, you are not at fault here. The fault is mine for being unable to resist your charms.” He tucked his finger beneath her chin and titled her head back until he was gazing into her eyes. “Invite me to dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes, you know. That meal that takes place in the evening, a few hours before bedtime.”

  “Are you not at all embarrassed by being caught?”

  “I’ve been caught for worst offenses, and there’s no punishment to be had here except for the abrupt ending to something that I was enjoying immensely.” He gave her a wicked smile. “I’ll promise to behave this evening if it’ll put you at ease.”

  As wrong as it was, she wasn’t certain she wanted him to behave. Still, she nodded. “Yes, please join me for dinner.”

  “I’ll be here at half past seven.” Leaning in, he took her mouth hotly, but swiftly, before giving her a seductive wink and grin. “Now button up.”

  As he began striding from the room, she slid off the desk and began to do as he suggested.

  Catherine Langdon, Countess of Claybourne, paced the hallway just outside the door to Winnie’s study. The butler’s announcement of her arrival was only a formality that he insisted upon. She knew the duchess would always be at home to her, as did the butler, so she had merely followed him into the study. She should not have been surprised by what greeted her. William Graves might have been a respected physician, but he was also a man, a man whose friendship with her husband had been forged
during their youth. She knew the upbringing they’d had and their dislike of convention. But Winnie had always been so terribly proper.

  But then so had Catherine upon a time. Scoundrels tended to have their way.

  The door to the study opened. Graves closed it behind him and acknowledged her. “Countess.” Then, with long strides, he carried on down the hallway as though that were sufficient.

  She hurried after him. “What the devil were you doing in there?” Catherine demanded.

  He spun around, and she was taken aback by the anger burning in his blue eyes. “If you have to ask then Claybourne is not the man I thought he was.”

  Obviously he’d not appreciated being interrupted, but the truth of it was that there should have been nothing going on to interrupt. “I know very well what you were doing. I was asking why you were doing it.”

  “I was doing as ordered, ensuring that the lady would want to keep me close.”

  She took a step forward. “You cannot toy with her affections.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Countess. Either you tell her why she needs to have someone watching over her or I provide her with a reason to want to keep me near.”

  “And when the reason no longer exists?”

  “We’ll deal with the aftermath. I promise it won’t be worse than a hangman’s noose.”

  Spinning on his heel, he strode toward the door. She wanted to call after him, wanted to demand more of him, that he not hurt Winnie. But the only way to ensure that would be to do as he suggested: tell Winnie the truth.

  Her friend would despise her. She might even decide that Avendale should be welcomed home. Then all would be for naught. She would again be at the mercy of a brute. And those who had been involved in his false demise could very well be introduced to prison or, as Graves had implied, the hangman’s noose.