by Laura Landon
“Do they still live there?”
She felt decidedly uncomfortable talking about her family. Especially her sister. Especially to the man her sister had loved. “I thought you were interested in Rogers.”
“I was. I am.” Roarke shifted in his chair. “Mark it up to being an investigator. You become curious about everything and everyone. So, what about Rogers? What was he like as a youth?”
Millie smiled. “You talk about Rogers as if he’s an old man with his youth far behind him. He’s not, you know. He’s probably only a year or two older than you.”
Roarke smiled, too. “You’re right. He’s just so serious a man that he seems older.”
“He wasn’t always. When he was young, he was quite popular. Every girl who knew him was in love with him.”
“Did he ever marry?”
Millie shook her head. “We heard once he was in love with someone, but not that they ever married.”
“Do you know what happened?”
She shook her head. “Why this interest? If you don’t suspect him of being involved in your investigation, why do you want to know about him?”
“Just attribute it to too much idle time lately and a natural curiosity.”
He shifted in his chair again, and this time there was a look of discomfort when he moved.
“Would you like to lie down?” she asked
“I believe I would.” He attempted to rise but sank back into the cushions. “I never thought a soft chair could get uncomfortable, but I guess I’m not as healed as I thought I was.”
He tried again to get to his feet. This time Millie was there to help him.
“Thank you,” he said, when he gained his balance.
“Put your arm around my shoulders. I’ll help you to the bed.”
Millie wrapped her arm around his waist, and Roarke placed his arm across her shoulders. They slowly made their way across the room.
His touch was like a warm shawl over her shoulders. His nearness a fire that heated the blood in her veins. Why did being close to him do this to her? Why couldn’t she control her feelings for him? She knew what he’d done. Knew that he was only capable of using anyone who got close to him. So why was she such a fool where he was concerned?
They reached the bed and she stepped in front of him to help him sit. Before she could get in position to assist him, he placed his finger beneath her chin and raised it until her gaze met his.
His gaze lowered to her lips and she knew he was going to kiss her.
A voice inside her head told her to step away from him before it was too late. Another voice argued that it was already too late. That this is what she wanted him to do. That this is what she’d dreamed of since he’d kissed her the first time.
He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She met his kiss with matched passion. She accepted the mating of their lips with equal fervor.
He opened his lips and she allowed him entrance. His tongue touched hers, became one with hers. He deepened his kiss and a surge of passion raced through her. Her body was more alive than it had ever been before.
Her heart thundered in her breast. Her blood roared inside her head. And it seemed as if she had to rely on Roarke for every breath she took.
He tilted her head to gain better access and kissed her again.
Her legs weakened beneath her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She needed him for support. And suddenly she realized she needed him in ways she’d never needed anyone before. He possessed a part of her that had been missing. He filled a void inside her that had been empty for too long. He— A knock at the door startled them. They separated, but not fast enough.
“Mr. Livingston. His lordship—”
Millie turned. Her gaze focused on the shocked expression on Rogers’s face. She saw the disappointment. The anger.
The disgust.
“His lordship wondered if he might have a few words with you. I’ll tell him he can come right up.”
Rogers cast her a final disparaging glance, then left the room.
“Millie,” Roarke said, but Millie raised her hand to stop him from making any excuses.
She knew what Rogers thought. He had every right to think the worst of her.
Millie rushed from the room and closed the door firmly behind her. Just as she tried to close the door to her heart from any thought of Roarke Livingston.
CHAPTER 10
Roarke walked the distance to Mack Wallace’s house on Bedford Street, even though it was more than a mile from Lord Strothum’s town house. He needed the exercise. He needed to build his strength.
He needed to think.
He hadn’t seen her since the day Rogers had walked in on them. She was avoiding him, and he didn’t blame her. He never should have kissed her where someone might walk in on them. But he hadn’t exactly been thinking straight at that moment. All he wanted was to hold her in his arms and love her.
Love her.
That word had never entered his mind in regard to a woman before. Never with any of the women he’d known—and he’d known several. At least he had before he’d changed. Before he’d vowed to leave his life of drinking, and carousing, and womanizing behind. He never thought he’d find a woman he’d want to include in his life. Not one he cared for enough that he’d use the word love when he thought of her.
Roarke ignored the stitch in his side and walked through the gate that led to Mack Wallace’s front door. He knocked twice, then waited for the door to open.
Mack opened the door. His wife, Cora, was beside him.
“You walked?” Mack asked.
“Yes, I’m trying to build my strength. I’ve been lazy too long.”
“Come in. Come in.”
Roarke entered the foyer and Cora greeted him with outstretched arms.
“I need a hug,” she said, stepping close to him. “And don’t tell me I’m too big for you to get your arms around.”
Roarke brought her as close as her extended stomach would allow and hugged her tight.
“You’ll never be too big for me to get my arms around,” he whispered when he had her close.
“You gave us quite the scare,” she said when he released her. “Mack spent several sleepless nights because he was so worried about you.”
“I’m fine now,” Roarke said. “It will take a while until my strength is back to where it was, but I’m making progress.”
“You must be if you walked all the way here.” Mack placed his hand on Roarke’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Cora simply smiled.
“Take Roarke to the parlor, Mack,” she said. “I’ll bring the coconut cake I just frosted.”
“Coconut cake?” Roarke smiled. “You didn’t forget.”
“Of course I didn’t forget. I know what each of Mack’s brigadesmen’s favorite dessert is.”
Cora left for the kitchen and Roarke followed Mack to the parlor.
“Have you found out any information on our man named Beecher?” Roarke asked when they sat.
“We may have. Have you heard of Joseph Whitworth?”
“Of course. He created the Whitworth rifle. It’s one of the most accurate rifles made.”
“Yes.”
“Surely you don’t suspect Whitworth of being involved in this.”
Mack shook his head. “No. Whitworth is above reproach. But not all of his employees are.”
“And one of his employees happens to be a man named Frederick Beecher?”
“Yes. He’s been with Whitworth for several years and according to some of the men who work under him, he’s a man to be watched.”
“So he’s our link to Jimmy.”
“Yes, but according to the information Miss Shaw gave us, Jimmy didn’t know Freddy Beecher until about six months ago.”
Roarke sat back in his chair and considered that information. “This means that someone from inside Lord Strothum’s house connected the two.”
Mack nodded. “And t
he reason is a possible contract with the British army. Armstrong’s not the only one who has patented a breech-loading gun. So has Whitworth. The War Department wants to test both guns as soon as they’re ready. The one the British army chooses will get a substantial contract.”
“So you think someone from Whitworth’s company wants to steal the design.”
“What better way to compare the competition and make sure your weapon is superior?”
“But you don’t think Whitworth is behind it?”
“No. His integrity is impeccable. And his fortune isn’t in the balance. He has other means to assure his wealth continues.”
“But not everyone wants to risk losing a government contract. Especially someone who is helping themselves to a share of the profits.”
“Exactly,” Mack answered. “And that would be Frederick Beecher. Rumor has it he’s been skimming more than his share of the profits for a long time.”
The men looked up when Cora opened the door and entered with two huge slices of coconut cake on a tray along with a pot of tea. Mack rose and took the tray from his wife and placed it on the table in front of them.
“I won’t bother you,” Cora said. “I know you have a lot to discuss. But don’t you dare think of leaving before we’ve had supper, Roarke.”
Roarke smiled at Mack’s wife. “I wouldn’t think of it, Cora. Thank you.”
“And I expect to hear all about the young lady who’s stolen your heart while we eat.”
“There’s no—”
Cora lifted her hand to halt his words. “None of that. Mack’s already told me that her name is Millie, and from the forlorn look in your eyes, she’s making you work for her attention.”
Roarke sat speechless as Cora turned and left the room. “How does she do that?” he said when she was gone.
“I don’t know,” Mack answered. “But I learned a long time ago not to even try to keep anything from her. It’s no use.”
“I feel for you, Mack.”
Mack laughed. “Oh, don’t feel too badly for me. I’m the luckiest man on earth and I know it.”
“Yes, you are.” Roarke took the piece of cake Mack handed him. “Now, what else have you discovered?”
“My guess is that Beecher has a contact inside Strothum’s house. Whoever it is recruited Jimmy and told him what to do.”
“Do you have any idea who that might be?”
Mack shook his head. “Do you?”
Roarke hesitated. A nagging voice inside him wanted Mack to investigate Lord Strothum’s butler, Rogers. Except there was nothing that suggested that he was connected to what was going on.
Roarke shoved Rogers out of his mind. Just because the man was a friend of Millie’s, and just because his actions since he’d walked in on them kissing had been hostile, that didn’t mean Roarke should suspect him of being involved in a plot to steal the plans from Lord Strothum’s safe. Besides, if he was working for the man who wanted the plans, why enlist Jimmy? Why not search for the plans himself? He had more access to what was in Lord Strothum’s study than anyone.
Roarke finished the cake on his plate, then spent the next hour finding out everything Mack and the investigators had discovered since they’d last talked. The fact that they had a name meant it wouldn’t be long before they could tie things together.
It also meant it wouldn’t be long before he would be gone from Lord Strothum’s house.
Away from Millie.
. . . . .
Roarke returned to Lord Strothum’s later than he’d expected. That’s because Cora insisted that he stay for supper. She’d made a delicious beef stew and had warm bread just from the oven. And of course there was more coconut cake.
When he was ready to leave, Mack brought the carriage around. Roarke was glad. He’d been on his feet longer today than any day since he’d been attacked. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to walk all the way back to Lord Strothum’s town house.
Rogers held the door open for him when he arrived. His attitude hadn’t changed since Roarke left. Rogers gave him a curt nod when he walked through the door, and refused to look him in the eye, then closed the door and left Roarke standing alone in the middle of the foyer. It was obvious he still disapproved of Roarke kissing Millie.
Roarke walked up the stairs to his room. He was exhausted. He put Rogers, and what he thought of him, out of his mind. His opinion didn’t matter.
Roarke walked past the nursery and wondered if Millie was with the children or if she’d already retired to her room. He wondered if she thought about him a fraction of the time he thought of her, or if he never entered her mind. He wondered…
He opened the door to his room and stopped when he saw the folded paper on the floor. He picked it up, and lit another lamp so he’d be able to read it.
I know your secret. If you don’t want to be exposed
as the murderer you are – leave.
Roarke sank into the nearest chair. He lowered his gaze to the note and read the words again. Someone knew his secret. Someone knew what he’d done. And if they knew what he’d done, there was a chance they knew who he was.
Roarke threw the note onto the floor and shoved himself out of the chair. He paced from one side of the room to the other.
Who could know anything about his past? He’d never met any of Lord Strothum’s staff until he came to investigate Jimmy Jamison’s murder. He had no connection to anyone here, nor did anyone have a connection to— Roarke stopped. Only one person seemed to know him. Only one person had formed an impression of him the minute she’d laid eyes on him. Only one person had taken an instant dislike toward him. And that person was Millie.
Roarke scooped the note from the floor and headed for the door. He was about to do the most foolish thing he’d ever done. But he couldn’t wait until morning. He had to know—now.
He made his way down the hall and stopped in front of her bedroom door. There’d be hell to pay if anyone caught him there, but he’d take that chance. There was going to be hell to pay if the accusations in the note ever became public.
He looked down. There was light beneath her door, which meant she hadn’t gone to bed yet. He was glad. He didn’t like the thought of waking her from her sleep and frightening her.
He wrapped twice and opened the door. He didn’t wait for her to give her permission for him to enter, but stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.
He found her sitting in a chair in front of the window. She was staring out into the starlit night, but turned toward the door when he entered. She was already in her night-rail and wore a robe and slippers. The surprise on her face when she saw him was obvious.
“What are you doing here?” She rose to her feet and pulled her robe tighter around her.
“I wish to have a word with you.”
“Surely what you need to say can wait until tomorrow.”
Roarke shook his head. “Please, sit down. I’m not going to harm you.”
A frown creased Millie’s forehead. “Why would you think I’m afraid you’ll harm me? Of all my sentiments regarding you, fear is not one of them.”
“Please, sit.”
She sat.
Roarke crossed the room and pulled up a chair to face her. “We’ve played this game long enough, Millie.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. The game of pretending we don’t have feelings for each other. You tell me you dislike me for something I’ve done, yet you won’t tell me what it is. Then the passion you show when we kiss doesn’t evidence a hint of dislike. Your accusations, then your passion. They range from one end of the spectrum to the other. You can’t have it both ways. If you hate me as much as you say you do, I need to know why. Because the way you kiss me tells me something entirely different.”
Her gaze wavered.
The expression on her face was the first sign that she intended to avoid telling him the truth. He held up his
hand and stopped her from speaking. “Don’t lie. I don’t have time for lies.”
“What do you mean you don’t have time?”
“Just what I said. I don’t have time. Nor do I have the patience to indulge you any longer.”
She hugged her arms around her middle. “Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need to know what I did to make you dislike me so. I need to know why you hate me enough to do this.”
Roarke grabbed the note from his pocket and thrust it at her.
She looked at the note in his hand, then took it and slowly opened it. The confused look on her face was impossible to fake, and for a brief moment, Roarke considered that he may have made a mistake.
Millie turned to let the lamp on the dresser behind her shine on the words, then read the note. Her eyes opened wide and she looked up at him.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in my room when I got home tonight.”
“Who put it there?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked at the note, then at him. “You think I did this?”
“I don’t know anyone else in the house who dislikes me enough to blackmail me. I don’t know anyone who wants me to leave more than you do.”
“But I don’t know what the message means. Did you kill someone?” She rose from her chair and walked from one end of the room to the other. “Of course you did. Why else would you be so desperate to find out who knows you did.”
She spun to face him. “Who did you kill? Was it a criminal you were apprehending?”
Roarke didn’t answer.
“Of course it wasn’t. If it had been, you wouldn’t be worried about this.” She held up the note. “Who did you kill, Roarke? Whose life did you take?”
Roarke hesitated. He hadn’t admitted what he’d done to anyone. He always thought he could go to his grave without anyone but God knowing the crime he’d committed. He always thought he could go to his grave with all his secrets. But he couldn’t. If someone knew this secret, then they knew the others he was hiding.
He took a deep breath before he answered. “I killed the man who killed my brother.”
