The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4)

by Grace Callaway

  “We’ll wait in here until they pass.” He tugged her into the dark labyrinth of bookshelves. Positioning her behind him, he stood on guard at the mouth of the aisle, peering around the shelf to monitor the entrance to the library. His senses strained to catch what was going on outside.

  “Carlisle.” Her urgent whisper came from behind him.

  “It’ll be all right.” His eyes were trained on the door. “They’ve passed us by—”

  “Never mind them. There’s someone else in here. With us.”

  He swung around, saw her pointing shakily toward the far end of the aisle. Squinting, he made out a form in the gloom… someone sitting on the floor against the shelves? The back of his neck prickled.

  “Stay here,” he said tersely.

  He went to grab the taper she’d set on the table earlier and headed back down the aisle. She ignored his instruction—of course—and followed right on his heels.

  The flame cast an eerie mix of light and shadows over the aged spines, and as he neared his destination, the form on the ground took the shape of a woman. Crouching, he held out the candle: Madame Monique. His gut iced over. She was slumped like a ragdoll against the shelf, eyes staring out of her bloodless face, hands balled at her sides.

  He heard Violet’s sharp intake of breath. “Dear Lord, is sh-she…?”

  He placed his fingers on the acrobat’s throat. Cool skin, the flatness of nothing.

  “She’s dead,” he said grimly.

  “H-how did this happen?”

  He raised the flame higher, saw blood streaking from a wound on her right temple. He ran the light over the rest of her; something glinted within her furled fingers.

  “Hold this.” He handed the taper to Violet. “I see something…”

  Reaching down, he gingerly removed the object from the dead woman’s grasp. His breath rammed into his throat as he lifted the distinctive signet ring, the ornate initials gleaming.

  No, it can’t be...

  “Gadzooks.” Violet sounded as shocked as he felt. “That ring… it belongs to Wick.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ambrose Kent didn’t take vacations often, and now he wondered why. The verdant meadow was paradise. He was having a picnic with his wife, the scent of honey wafting on the summer breeze, birdsong echoing in the blue skies. And that wasn’t even the best part of it.

  With his back against the sun-warmed blanket, he stared up into his spouse’s gorgeous face. The two of them were as naked as Adam and Eve. Marianne’s pale blond tresses streamed over her shoulders, one end curling around a lovely coral nipple.

  His hands tightened on her soft hips.

  “Ride me, my selkie,” he urged.

  Emerald eyes heavy-lidded, she obeyed, rolling her hips, teasing him by rising until her pussy clamped just the tip of his cock… and then sinking down slowly. She took his turgid shaft all the way, her swollen lips smacking wetly against his bollocks.

  God, yes.

  “Faster, you little tease,” he growled.

  With a sensual smile, she obeyed. Her rhythm was exquisite, mind-blowing, nearly drawing his fire. But he wouldn’t come—not until she did. Gripping her hips, he slammed upward as she came down, the intensity of the penetration wringing moans from them both. Seed swelled in his balls, his climax building. The breeze grew stronger, and the birds began to squawk, some damned woodpecker knocking with distracting insistence…

  He blinked, chest heaving, disoriented by the dimness. He was lying on his side, his wife’s plush backside tucked up against him. Groggily, he took in the strange bedchamber… then it returned to him. The damned house party.

  Being a man of simple tastes, he preferred hearth and home. Marianne enjoyed doing the social rounds, however, and for her sake, he would make any sacrifice. Lifting the blanket, he peered down and saw his fiercely erect cock wedged against her bare buttocks.

  Maybe this won’t be a wash after all.

  Of late, they’d dealt with constant interruptions at home. Between the antics of their nine-year-old son Edward, the theatrics of their eighteen-year-old daughter Rosie, and the adventures of the rest of the family, he and Marianne had hardly had a moment alone. Now that they did have some blessed privacy, he wasn’t going to waste it.

  He nuzzled his wife’s neck, his palm sliding forward to cup her full breast. She made a sleepy, sensual sound, all the encouragement he needed—

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Darling?” his wife said drowsily. “Is someone at the door?”

  “Ignore them.” He nipped at her earlobe, tweaking her nipple lightly. “They’ll go away.”

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  “Ambrose? Marianne?” It was Violet’s voice. “Are you awake?”

  “Bloody hell.” He inhaled for patience.

  “You should get that,” Marianne said.

  With a grumbled oath, he released his plump bounty.

  “I’m coming,” he said through clenched teeth. And not the way I wanted to.

  He shoved on his dressing gown and cast a longing look at the bed, where his better half was now sitting up. Her breasts were on spectacular display as she stretched her arms, yawning.

  Soon, he promised himself.

  He stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Violet, this had better be an emergency…”

  He trailed off—because his sister wasn’t alone. Viscount Carlisle was with her.

  Pulling his sister protectively to his side, Ambrose said tersely, “What’s going on? Why are the two of you together? And at this hour?”

  “We happened upon each other in the library. It was, um, a coincidence,” she said.

  His middle sister had never been an accomplished liar; he didn’t believe her overly innocent expression for an instant. More damning yet was how disheveled she looked: her frock was rumpled, her hair bound in an untidy braid.

  His gaze swung accusingly to the Scot. Carlisle’s face was set in grim lines, his posture tense. Before he could interrogate the bounder, Vi blurted, “But that’s beside the point. Ambrose, we discovered something terrible in the library. Madame Monique—she’s dead.”

  “Dead?” he said, astonished.

  Violet nodded, her eyes wide.

  Ambrose’s surprise didn’t last for long. For a man in his profession, it rarely did.

  “Tell me everything,” he said briskly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Violet paced the length of Billings’ study. Located next to the library, where her brother was presently examining the scene of death, the room had the same old-fashioned ambience with dark paneled walls, mullioned windows, and an ancient hearth crawling with stone roses and vines. A burgundy Aubusson added a splatter of color…

  Monique’s face, streaked with blood, flashed in Vi’s mind. Horror penetrated her veil of numbness. Her throat thickened.

  What happened to you, Monique? How can you be so full of life one moment… and gone the next?

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Marianne was standing by the window. Dawn’s watery light highlighted the fine lines of worry around her eyes. “Perhaps you’d prefer to go upstairs—”

  “I’m fine,” Vi said at once. “I want to be here.”

  Determination anchored her. There was no way she was going to miss the upcoming meeting. It was bad enough that Ambrose had barred her from revisiting the library. Her big brother had put his foot down, saying that she’d seen too much as it was; he’d taken Carlisle, Emma, and Strathaven into the library with him, and Billings had joined them. Violet had been made to wait in the study like a child under Marianne’s watchful eye.

  Annoyance warred with guilty unease. What’s taking them so long in the library? How is Carlisle handling the situation? Is he following through with our plan?

  After stumbling upon Monique, she and Carlisle had faced a difficult dilemma. If they revealed that they’d found Wick's ring in the dead woman’s hand, they’d be incriminating Wick—something neither of them wanted to do. She an
d Carlisle had gone directly to find Wick and clear up the matter… but his room had been empty, the bed still made.

  Where on earth had Wick gone?

  Since they could tarry no longer, Vi had made the only proposal she could think of to protect her friend: she and Carlisle had to keep Wick’s ring a secret for the time being.

  Carlisle’s features had been even starker than usual. He’d looked as if he were grappling with an army of inner demons. “I cannot in good conscience embroil you in my brother’s affairs. To ask you to lie for him,” he’d said flatly.

  “We don’t have a choice,” she’d replied. “We can’t risk endangering Wick.”

  As much as she hated keeping anything from Ambrose, she hated the idea of Wick being accused of murder even more. Her chum might be a reckless rake, but he was no killer.

  Carlisle’s ravaged expression had spoken volumes about his moral conflict. Protect his brother by lying… or tell the truth and condemn his sibling? At times, being Lord High Horse couldn’t be easy.

  Taking pity on him, she’d said, “Why don’t we do this? Let’s at least wait until we have the chance to talk to Wick. Once we ascertain his innocence, then we’ll tell Ambrose everything.”

  Sin first, beg forgiveness later—not exactly a new strategy for her. Although Carlisle hadn’t been entirely convinced, he’d relented. She’d changed quickly into more proper attire, and then together they’d gone to Ambrose.

  Which brought her to now. What was taking them so long in the library?

  “Pacing a trench into the Aubusson won’t get them in here any faster,” Marianne said mildly. “Do you want to talk about what’s troubling you?”

  Vi went through a mental checklist of her problems. Concealing evidence in an investigation… no, she couldn’t talk about that. Engaging in repeated intimate acts with Carlisle… mum’s the word on that as well. Discovering desire for the first time and with a man who utterly confounded her… right.

  “There’s nothing I want to talk about,” she said truthfully.

  Just then, the door opened—at last—and Billings marched in first. He was a small, wiry man with thinning grey hair and papery-looking skin. The others filed in behind him, their expressions somber. Carlisle brought up the rear and closed the door.

  Despite the situation, Vi’s pulse skipped faster at the sight of him. His smoky gaze met hers, and awareness thrummed between them. After the steamy interlude in the library, there was no point in denying their animal attraction. With a flash of insight, she realized that the perilous secret they now shared bound them together as well. They were… co-conspirators.

  “Did you find anything?” she blurted to the group.

  Ambrose nodded gravely. “Why don’t we sit first?”

  Billings took his position at the large mahogany desk which dominated one end of the room. On the wall behind him hung a rather grisly painting of dead, glassy-eyed pheasants lying in a heap, waiting to be plucked. Everyone else gathered around the desk. Violet was glad when Richard chose the chair next to hers.

  Ambrose remained standing, taking the place next to their host.

  “I’ll begin with a summary of what we know thus far.” His tone was brisk and professional. “Madame Monique was discovered in the library at approximately three this morning by Violet and Carlisle. By the state of the corpse, I would judge that the victim had been dead no more than an hour or two before she was found. She suffered a blow to the right temple.”

  “Dear heavens,” Marianne murmured.

  “I can’t confirm that the blow killed her,” Ambrose went on. “We’ll need a medical man for that. But the shape of the wound suggests that it was caused by a long, thin object. When I searched the library, I found traces of blood on the ledge of the stone mantelpiece. It’s likely that Monique hit her head there.”

  “An accident… or do you think she was pushed?” Marianne said, her brows knitting.

  “There’s no way of knowing for certain at this point,” Ambrose replied.

  “But the fact that she ended up in the bookshelves is highly suspicious, don’t you think?” Em’s brown eyes were pensive. “If she hit her head on the mantel, how did she wind up halfway across the room? And don’t forget the dust on her gown. It looked as if she’d swept the floor with her skirts. She was clearly dragged into the shelves.”

  Gadzooks. The image of Monique’s limp body being hauled through the library released an icy trickle down Vi’s spine. Her hands grew clammy in her lap, her lips trembling.

  She felt a brief touch on her shoulder. Carlisle—somehow he’d sensed her disquiet. The warmth of his hand lingered, and his gaze was steady, reassuring.

  “The windows to the library were locked,” Strathaven was saying, “and there were no signs of forced entry. If the victim was attacked, whoever did it was already inside.”

  Ambrose gave a decisive nod. “We’ll convey all this information to the magistrate who takes on the case.”

  “No.” Billings spoke up for the first time. “I don’t want the magistrate involved.”

  Ambrose frowned. “We’re likely talking about a murder, sir. You don’t have a choice.”

  “Like hell I don’t,” Billings said. “I know Jones, the local magistrate, and he’s a damned zealot. If I give him free rein, he’ll run roughshod over the place and inconvenience my guests.”

  “Tiresome business, murder,” Strathaven said with irony.

  Emma’s forehead furrowed. “I’m sure your guests will understand, Mr. Billings.”

  “Not my business associates. They are important people, do you understand? They’re used to making their own rules, and they have no liking for authorities. If the magistrate comes in with guns blazing, I’ll have a revolt on my hands—and my reputation will be ruined.” Sweat beaded on the banker’s upper lip. “Under no circumstances will I allow that to happen. My guests were promised a party, and they must not be disappointed. So name your fee, Kent.”

  “My fee… for what?”

  “Your services,” the banker said impatiently. “You’re an investigator, aren’t you? The best in London and I know that first-hand. Thus, I am retaining you to clear this matter up as quickly and discreetly as possible before Magistrate Jones takes over.”

  Ambrose’s brows slammed together. “I have no authority over the magistrate—”

  “No, but your excellent reputation has sway, and it goes all the way back to when you were with the Thames River Police.” Billings’ eyes glittered with determination. “You leave Jones to me. I’ll tell him I have a man on the case, one of the best, and you’ll keep him apprised of everything. Of course, you and I will know the truth: that you’re working for me to resolve this business with all due haste.”

  “A woman has died, sir, and she deserves justice.” Ambrose’s tone had a steely edge. “Her death is not a fact that can be swept under the carpet nor should it be.”

  That’s my brother, Violet thought with pride.

  “That’s not what I’m suggesting. Do what you must,”—Billings waved impatiently—“but do it with discretion. That’s all I ask. Can you do that?”

  “Until I pursue the matter further, I don’t know yet if the victim’s death was the result of an accident or foul play. Given the circumstances, I suspect the latter. Which means I’ll have to interview potential suspects—including your guests.”

  Billings gave a terse nod. “Conduct your interviews with tact, and keep me informed. The investigation mustn’t interfere with the party or diminish its pleasure in any way.”

  Vi couldn’t refrain from speaking up. “Don’t you think the fact that a woman was found dead in the library will dampen the party spirit?”

  “Leave it to me. Handled properly, the guests will have nothing to concern themselves over.” The banker smiled humorlessly. “To be frank, half of the guests see death every day and will think nothing of it. The other half see Madame Monique as naught more than a glorified servant—and thus will think no
thing of it.”

  Disbelief and indignation made Vi speechless.

  “So we have a deal, Kent?” Billings said. “I’ll double your usual fee.”

  Ambrose growled, “You can take your money and—”

  “If you won’t do it for the money, do it for Gabriella. My daughter claims you are her staunchest allies, her… friends.” The banker spoke the last word as if it were in a language foreign to him. “We all know that she is a wallflower, and her reputation is riding on the party’s success. It’s her last chance to gain a foothold in Society. So will you help her—or let her fall?”

  Although Billings’ assessment was uttered without emotion, to Violet it had the ring of truth. Gabby did need the Kents’ support. But even more important was gaining justice for Monique. If anyone could discover what had happened to the acrobat, it would be Ambrose. And by finding the true killer, he’d ultimately be clearing Wick of any wrongdoing as well.

  “Please take the case, Ambrose,” Vi blurted. “For Monique and Gabby.” And for Wick.

  “I’ll help,” Emma said immediately.

  Beside her, Strathaven let out a sigh.

  Marianne placed a hand on Ambrose’s arm. “I think your assistance is needed, darling.”

  A silent exchange passed between the two; Ambrose gave a reluctant nod.

  “All right.” Turning to Billings, he said evenly, “I will conduct this investigation, but I will do so on my own terms. Know this, sir: I will pursue the matter to its end—even if the result is not to your liking.”

  “Just keep me apprised and act with discretion.” Billings stood. “Now I must make arrangements to have the body removed.”

  “It would be best to move the victim to a cool place, to preserve the body as much as possible,” Ambrose said quietly. “I want a colleague of mine to examine her.”

  “As you wish.” Billings was already heading toward the door, his stride brisk. “Carry on.”

  The door closed behind him.

  “Bloody hell.” Ambrose dragged a hand through his unruly hair. “What did I just sign on for?”