by Elisa Braden
Genie rubbed her forehead with two fingers.
“His mother was vile, of course. Beautiful and vile. I never liked her.”
Genie silently counted to three.
“But then, I am cleverer than most.”
Yes, indeed. Right on cue. Genie wondered if she might find additional wine in the abandoned dining room. Surely one should be fully sotted if one was forced to endure a Lady Wallingham diatribe.
“She was French, you know. Lady Holstoke. Pretended to be English.” Lady Wallingham snorted. “The French always reveal themselves in the end, my dear. Something about their odor, I suspect. They reek of smugness.”
True to his word, Dunston had summoned his friend, Mr. Drayton, who had been a Bow Street runner for years. The haggard man had arrived at Berne House five minutes earlier and currently stood speaking with Holstoke and Dunston near the fireplace. A fierce frown creased Drayton’s forehead.
Holstoke appeared calm, but Genie noted the flare of his nose from time to time. Somehow, his annoyance gave her comfort. If he’d thought the charges serious, surely he would exhibit signs of real anger, as he’d done upon learning Genie had been dismissed.
“That man, there. Mr. Drayton. He was shot whilst chasing Lady Holstoke, was he not?”
“Her accomplice. An apothecary, I believe.”
“You know, he reminds me of Humphrey.”
Genie rolled her eyes. Humphrey was Lady Wallingham’s dog, a scent hound with more wrinkles than the dragon herself. The old woman considered him her boon companion and spoke endlessly about the hound’s finer attributes.
“Humphrey’s nose is unparalleled.”
And there it was.
“One of my lady’s maids stole a pair of slippers last autumn. Humphrey tracked her through three villages, then delivered the slippers to me, along with a satisfying quantity of the little thief’s petticoats.”
Genie never knew whether to believe the dragon’s assertions, though she’d also never known Lady Wallingham to be wrong.
“Rest assured, Humphrey would ferret out the real culprit in this villainous poisoning, and he would do it with ease.” She harrumphed. “Far superior to the feckless Bow Street rabble, I daresay.”
Across from Genie and Lady Wallingham, Maureen and Mama sat with Hannah, who appeared calmer than when she’d arrived. The girl sipped tea and nodded through Maureen’s reassurances. Kate had gone to retrieve a shawl for the girl. The children had been put to bed. Papa was pouring himself a brandy.
As for Genie, she was wondering how in blazes Holstoke intended to prove his innocence. And she could not hear the men talking while Lady Wallingham sat nearby. It was intolerable.
She stood.
“Don’t be foolish, girl.”
At the sharp rebuke, Genie blinked and glanced back at the old woman who insisted on two, rather than three, feathers in her blue turbans.
Lady Wallingham arched a brow. “You always were impulsive. When has that ever bettered your situation, hmm?”
Genie returned her gaze to Holstoke. He, too, was frowning now. Scowling, really. Rubbing the back of his neck. He looked … angry.
“Cannons cannot be unfired, Eugenia,” the old woman warned. “Leaps cannot be unleapt. You should understand this better than most.”
“I need to know, Lady Wallingham.” She turned again to meet sharp, emerald eyes. There, an unexpected bit of empathy dwelt.
Fancy that. The dragon understood.
Genie gave her a small smile. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Hmmph. A moment is all it takes, my dear.”
*~*~*
CHAPTER SIX
“It is a sad truth, Meredith. Some men choose to hurl themselves haplessly into the arms of failure rather than accept the assistance of a woman. Did I say ‘some’? I meant ‘all’.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Berne upon receiving Lord Holstoke’s long-awaited reply to an offer of assistance in matters matrimonial.
“It’s a problem, m’lord. Sorry to say.” The Bow Street runner had salty whiskers, a weary face, and a grim look in his eye.
Phineas did not like it. “I went riding,” he repeated.
“Aye,” Drayton answered with a shake of his head. “But who saw you?”
“Nobody. I have a property less than an hour from here. Open farmland. I go there when I wish to be alone.”
Drayton slanted him a skeptical glance and scribbled in his notebook. “Just land. No house? No servants?”
Phineas stiffened, his gut going cold. “No. The land is experimental. I use it for testing new crops.”
“And the men who work it are …?”
“Hired seasonally from a neighbor’s land. Nobody would have seen me, Drayton. Planting is over.”
The runner grunted and stroked his grizzled jaw with his knuckles. “You attended the Randall affair, yes?”
“Yes.”
Dunston, who stood with arms folded beside the runner, added, “He left early. I saw him go.”
Drayton’s mouth twisted. He sighed. “Doesn’t bode well, m’lord. Not well at all.”
Phineas looked at both men, one a handsome man of privilege and the other a haggard hound, and saw the same hard expression. They both had spent years in this world—the realm of murder and danger and deceit. They’d both been instrumental in discovering his mother’s crimes and bringing her to a just end.
They both looked as though the gallows were swaying outside the door, awaiting Phineas’s neck.
“I’ve nothing to do with this,” he snapped. “Why the devil would I wish to kill either woman?”
Drayton rubbed his jaw again. “Man I spoke with—Hawthorn. Deuced clever sort. He says both Miss Froom and Lady Theodosia rejected your … attentions.”
Phineas stiffened further, his nape prickling, his right eye beginning to throb.
Dunston smirked. “A point in Holstoke’s favor, perhaps. By that criterion, every lady in the upper ten thousand should be poisoned.”
“The deaths appear similar to your mother’s work. Another thing,” Drayton continued, his tone reluctant, his eyes squinting at his notes. “Randall’s nephew, Mr. Capshaw, claims you threatened him outside Randall’s town house. Same night Miss Froom died.”
“Bloody hell,” Phineas muttered, running a hand over his knotted nape.
“Aye. Capshaw said you threatened to poison him and his friend.”
Damn and blast. He’d let his anger get the best of him, and now came the consequences. “Cretins, both,” Phineas said, keeping his voice low. “Their insults toward … a certain lady were contemptible. I threatened them solely for purposes of motivating discretion.”
Dunston raised a wry brow. “Which lady? Never fancied you a man of sentiment.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The other man tilted his head, his gaze turning sharper. “I think it does.”
Phineas ignored him to address Drayton. “If I were clever enough to poison two women without any witnesses, it makes little sense to suppose I would announce my maniacal tendencies to a pair of half-sotted halfwits on my way out the door.”
“Come now,” Dunston persisted, ignoring being ignored. “Give us her name, old chap. For whom did you act the gallant defender?”
Phineas turned a glare upon the falsely dapper lord. “A member of your family, as it happens.”
Everything light and charming left Dunston’s eyes, replaced by steel and stone. Phineas had seen the look before—on the day his mother was killed while attempting to kill Maureen. The same day Dunston had held a blade to his throat.
“They insulted my wife?” the other lord now said softly.
“No.”
“Then whom?”
“Lady Eugenia.”
Dunston blinked. “Genie? What the devil did they say?”
“Nothing I care to repeat.”
“Was it the footman thing again?”
Phineas’s chest grew hot and tight. “I blood
y well don’t wish to discuss it, old chap.”
Slowly, Dunston’s gaze turned from hard to assessing to faintly amused. “Ah. They called her Huxley Harlot, didn’t they?” He clicked his tongue annoyingly. “In fairness, she did dally with the household staff.” He grew another smirk. “Or should I say, the staff’s staff?”
Perhaps it was the throbbing pain behind Phineas’s right eye. Perhaps it was being accused of murder or being forced to comfort his sister again or simply having to endure Dunston’s odious presence for an entire evening.
Regardless, one moment he was rational. The next, Dunston’s lapel was wadded inside his fist, and a guttural voice was growling, “Say such a thing again, and I’ll bloody that precious waistcoat.”
Unfazed, Dunston glanced down at Phineas’s fist and grinned. “You are fortunate I left my daggers at home, of course. But all in all, well done.”
Drayton cleared his throat. “M’lords.” He scratched his chin and pointed behind Phineas.
“Holstoke?”
Throaty, feminine voice. The scent of violets. It was her. Bloody hell.
“Release Dunston before he damages you, for pity’s sake.”
Reluctantly, he did. Dunston straightened his waistcoat and continued grinning.
“Now, I have waited patiently—very patiently, considering I was seated next to Lady Wallingham—and it has been long enough. Tell me what is going on.”
“An accusation of murder or two,” Dunston replied. “Nothing Holstoke cannot dispel with his winning charm. Or an alibi. What say you, old chap? Better an alibi, I should think.”
Phineas didn’t bother with Dunston any further. He faced Eugenia instead. She stood with her hands upon her hips, blinking up at him and, strangely, swaying from side to side as though she were on a ship.
“You should lie down,” he told her, moving near in case she stumbled. She’d obviously had more wine and less food than he’d thought—and he’d watched her diligently throughout dinner.
Behind him, Dunston chuckled. “Taking the direct approach, eh, Holstoke?”
Eugenia frowned and peered past his shoulder. “Oh, do be quiet, Dunston. This is no time to be amusing.”
“Right you are.”
Her gaze came back to Phineas. “You require an alibi?”
“No.”
“Tell them you were with me.”
A shock ran through his body like lightning through a tree. It traveled clear to his roots. “No.”
“Don’t be a fool. You were here with me this morning. You visited with my father, then—”
“I said no, Eugenia.”
“—we were alone together for the remainder of the afternoon. Simple.”
Drayton shuffled forward, his limp more pronounced than when he’d entered. “Is this true, m’lord?”
“No.”
“Of course it is,” Eugenia lied, her chin elevating.
Phineas grasped her elbow as she swayed. “It damned well is not. You are in your cups and speaking nonsense.” He wanted to shake her, shut her up, pick her up and carry her to her bedchamber before she ruined herself any further.
“Nonsense is accusing you of murder.” She tugged away and addressed Drayton. “I shall swear it to your Bow Street man. Holstoke could not have poisoned Lady Theodosia because he was with me.”
Phineas had half a mind to simply clap a hand over her mouth then haul her away until she regained her senses.
Fortunately, Dunston intervened. “Genie, while your offer to sacrifice what’s left of your reputation for Holstoke is generous—if a bit disturbing—might I suggest you cease talking? There’s a good girl.”
Phineas opened his mouth to reinforce the point, only to have Drayton interject, “It would cool Hawthorn’s pursuit of ye, m’lord. An alibi, particularly one involving a lady friend, would send him lookin’ elsewhere.”
Eugenia sniffed. “You see? An elegant solution, I daresay.”
“She is not my lady friend,” Phineas bit out, grasping the madwoman’s slender arm and pulling her into his side to prevent her toppling over. She was obviously sotted.
“O’ course, m’lord.”
“We did not spend the day together.”
“Right.”
“I was here to see Lord Berne. Then I went riding. Alone.”
Drayton glanced to where Phineas’s hand cupped her tiny, curved waist.
“Really, Holstoke,” she said, clutching his arm like a rope at sea. “I can stand on my own. Now be the brilliant man I know you to be, and accept my help.”
“No.” He ordered his hand to release her. Instead, it tightened and pulled her closer.
“I haven’t any reputation to sacrifice, for pity’s sake. I shall say we were together. They will believe me. Huxley Harlot and all that.”
He spun her to face him, using both hands to grip her firmly. “You will do nothing of the sort. By God, woman, if you ever repeat that vile term again, I’ll—”
Her bare hand reached for his cheek.
His body jerked, lightning rippling from the contact.
“Sometimes they will only believe a lie,” she whispered.
“I will not permit you to lie for me.”
Her hand dropped to his shoulder. She patted him softly, brushing at his coat and tidying his cravat. “And I will not permit you to be hanged for murders you did not commit. Besides, I depart for Clumberwood in a few days. If there is a bit of gossip, I shan’t hear it.”
The bones in his chest tightened. “You are leaving?”
She gazed at his cravat pin, her mouth a wry twist. “Nothing for me here. Perhaps Nottingham will benefit from a bold new milliner. I shall set a fashion. Red ribbons and cerulean plumes upon every head.” She released a melancholy chuckle. “Mrs. Pritchard would be appalled.”
It was then he heard it—silence, thick and distinct. It layered behind him like a pillow.
He swallowed. Straightened. Forced his hands away from her and slowly turned.
There they stood in a half-circle, all with mouths slightly agape. Hannah and Maureen appeared startled. Kate dropped the shawl she’d been holding. Lady Berne covered her lips with a handkerchief. Lady Wallingham peered at them sharply through her quizzing glass. And Lord Berne, arms crossed, stared at him with a father’s wrath.
Damn and blast.
“To be clear, Holstoke,” announced Lady Wallingham, “when I suggested casting your line into more desperate waters, I was not referring to the Huxley fish pond.”
“Dorothea!” gasped Lady Berne.
Kate giggled.
Maureen turned pink.
Hannah frowned in confusion.
Berne resembled a cumulus cloud, thunderous and dark. “Holstoke,” the ordinarily mild man barked. “In the library. At once.”
Phineas gathered himself, realizing how intimate their conversation had appeared, how easily it might have been misinterpreted. He moved to place himself between the crowd and Eugenia, shielding her from direct view. “She is in her cups,” he explained, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I most certainly am not! The wine made me a bit dizzy, but I am perfectly—”
“I apologize if my attempts to assist her seemed inappropriate—”
“—lucid. If anything, you are the one out of your head—”
“—but I felt I must prevent her from making a grave error on my behalf.”
“—if you think Mr. Froom and Lord Glencombe will be mollified by—”
“Hush, Genie!” her father said. “Holstoke, I will speak with you in the library. Now.”
Seeing no alternative, Phineas nodded and followed the older man out of the drawing room. Perhaps if he explained more clearly, Berne would understand.
He’d only touched her because it was necessary.
He wouldn’t mention how his hands still tingled where they’d gripped her, how his cheek still pulsed oddly where she’d placed her palm. He could not explain the phenomenon to himself, let alon
e to her father.
Berne shut the library door with a firm crack. “I believed you a true gentleman.”
“Matters are not as they appear, sir.”
“No? So, that was not you clutching my daughter as though you meant to steal her away to the nearest bed?”
Berne’s bluntness caught him like a blow to the chest. He needed air and an answer. He had neither. Lust hadn’t driven him, but rather, the need to protect the little fool from her own impetuousness. Obviously, Berne had the wrong end of things.
Largely.
Perhaps ninety percent. Seventy-five at a minimum.
“It is … she is … my intention …” Phineas released a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Bloody hell.”
“Bloody hell, indeed,” the other man snapped. “It seems I gave you the wrong impression this morning, Holstoke. Allow me to clarify. My daughter is not to be trifled with.”
Phineas’s muscles tightened, his head throbbing in earnest. “I sought only to protect her, Berne.”
The man paced closer, hazel eyes no longer warm but flashing fury. “In her youth, she suffered a lapse in judgment, one for which she has paid a hundredfold. But any man who mistakes her for a lightskirt had best understand the risk he invokes. Never doubt her family will see that she is protected, Holstoke. I, for one, am a damned fine shot. Her brother is in Scotland, but he will return soon. And from his letters, it appears he’s adopted a full measure of Highland barbarism.”
His jaw hurt. Perhaps because he was grinding his teeth.
“You may have no liking for Dunston, but know this—the last man to take liberties with Eugenia was given numerous dagger scars for his trouble. Her other brother-in-law is the Duke of Blackmore. Shall I tell you how many vulgar pups Blackmore ruined when they dared apply that hateful epithet to my precious girl?”
Dunston had defended her? Earlier, he’d taunted Phineas with the “hateful epithet,” provoking Phineas’s intemperate response. He frowned. Perhaps that had been the point—provocation.
“Another thing, Holstoke. My daughters are not bloody well interchangeable.”
His frown deepened, his neck twisting harder. What the devil was the man on about now?
