The Sinful Scot (Saints & Scoundrels)

by Maddison Michaels

  “No,” he replied. “We’re going to have a little chat with the manager first.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Alec paused outside the door to the office of the manager, Mr. Sampson. He glanced at Connie, who gave him a little nod, signaling her readiness, then, without bothering to knock, he pushed open the polished wooden door and strode into the room.

  Mr. Sampson looked up from the correspondence he’d been penning on his mahogany desk, anger flaring in his gaze for an instant before he recognized who had interrupted him, and his annoyance was replaced with a look of congeniality. He pushed back his chair slightly, though made no move to stand. “My lord, finished so soon? Is there perhaps something else you needed?”

  Alec smiled grimly at the man. “What we need, Mr. Sampson, is to know exactly what went on with the Duke of Kilmaine and his various mistresses over the years, here in this very club.”

  The man’s jaw dropped, and a shuttered expression came over his pinched face. “I’m not at all certain what you are talking about, sir.” He began to stand. “Perhaps you haven’t heard the news—”

  “Sit,” Alec directed, and the man obeyed instantly, hastily collapsing back into his chair. “You will tell us what you know about the duke, and you will tell us now.”

  “But haven’t you heard? The duke is dead!” Mr. Sampson smoothed a hand over his already oil-slicked hair. “Stabbed to death in fact. And they say that his wife murdered him. Nasty business really, and a very sad day for the club.”

  Alec walked over to where the manager sat, ensuring his step was measured and extremely pronounced. Over the years he’d practiced being lighter of foot, and usually employed the skill to silently approach people, however, sometimes deliberately loud steps were a very good thing, and often intimidating, too.

  He came around to where the man was sitting and perched on the edge of his desk. “A sad day for the club?”

  “Well, yes. The duke was one of our most active and financially supportive members.”

  “Did you know of the duke’s proclivities?”

  “Proclivities, you say?” Mr. Sampson adjusted his cravat with one hand, while the other started nervously drumming on the arm of his chair. “A lot of our members have certain tastes…it’s why they’re members here.”

  The man knew exactly of what Alec spoke.

  “And as the manager here, I’m sure you make certain to know each and every one of theirs. The duke’s included.”

  “I know a bit, but I am not privy to what goes on behind closed doors, my lord,” Mr. Sampson tried to justify.

  Alec slammed his fist down onto the desk, and Mr. Sampson jumped in his chair. “Don’t play games with me, Sampson. I don’t have the time or the inclination.”

  Beads of sweat began to appear along the man’s hairline. “Surely, my lord, you appreciate that a club such as this must maintain its members’ privacy? If we didn’t do so, we would have no members. And if it ever became known that I freely spoke to you about some delicate matters, it would have the same effect.”

  Out of the corner of Alec’s eye, he saw Connie wander across to a display case of weapons hanging on the wall. “This one looks just perfect,” she said as she pulled down an extremely sharp-looking dagger from the display. She turned to face them both and smiled.

  “Perfect for what?” Mr. Sampson asked, a slight pallor washing over his face.

  “Don’t you know who I am, Mr. Sampson?” She slowly walked toward them, holding the handle of the dagger and turning the blade from side to side, ensuring the light from the window reflected brightly upon its surface. “I am the recently widowed Duchess of Kilmaine.”

  The man gulped. “You are? Oh, dear me.”

  “Yes,” she purred. “Dear me is quite correct. Now I suggest you tell us what we wish to know about my late husband, and then I shall happily return this lovely weapon to its proper place. I’d hate to dull the blade, if you catch my meaning?”

  Alec had to admit, even he was impressed with Connie’s performance. She looked the perfect combination of consummate lady and femme fatale. A dangerous woman.

  No wonder Sampson looked terrified.

  “Trust me, Mr. Sampson,” Alec said. “Her grace is not one to trifle with.”

  “I can see that.” Sampson’s voice was little more than a whisper. He looked between them both, his eyes that of a desperate man. “I wasn’t the manager for the entire time, I hope you understand. Of course, I had heard the rumors beforehand and had been warned by my predecessor that a blind eye would need to be turned often. And that was certainly the case when I would chance upon seeing whoever was his current mistress at the time leave his ground floor room, looking frightfully bruised and bloodied.”

  “Ground floor room?” Connie asked, her voice full of innocent inquiry while she still caressed the handle of the dagger with her free hand. “Is that usual for an establishment such as this?”

  The man shook his head, his eyes mesmerized by the blade for a moment. “No. The majority of member rooms are upstairs, though the duke specifically requested a room downstairs be made available for his exclusive use. I soon after began to suspect why he asked for such a thing.”

  “And why was that?” Alec asked.

  Sampson dragged his eyes away from Connie and the dagger and back over to Alec. “I suspect because it had a window overlooking and accessible to the back alley.”

  “And why would my late husband need accessibility to the back alley?” Connie asked.

  “There were some occasions where I saw the duke’s current mistress go into the room with the duke, but then something would happen, and the duke would request I send for his brother immediately.”

  “What do you mean, something would happen?” Alec didn’t know if the man was being vague on purpose or simply wasn’t fully certain himself of what used to occur.

  “Well, there was always a standing order in place that only I would attend the duke in his room, if the bell chain was pulled. And on the few occasions when it was used, the duke would always be at the door waiting, though he would open the door only a fraction to speak with me, asking me to summon his brother. I couldn’t actually see farther into the room to know what had occurred. Then I would summon Lord Fergus, who would attend upon his brother…” The man started to ring his hands together harshly, and real distress seemed to engulf him. “The first time it happened, I didn’t think much of it, until after…” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

  “What happened after?” Alec asked.

  “Well…” There was a mild hesitation in Sampson’s voice. “Like I said, I’m not exactly certain, but after Lord Fergus would enter the room, he’d soon thereafter leave, and then maybe an hour later the duke would leave the room, too.”

  “What about the woman?” Connie asked, walking over toward the man’s other side. “What happened to her?”

  Mr. Sampson shrank back farther in his chair, his fear of Connie palpable. “I don’t know. I never saw any of the ladies it happened to again. But each time after, there were bloodstains soaked into the mattress, and the bedsheets were missing. Of course, the duke always paid to have both replaced. But never would I see the woman again. Thankfully, though, there were only three occasions when there was blood on the mattress and the woman had disappeared.”

  “And how much were you paid not to alert the authorities?” Alec was unfortunately never surprised at the greed of some, which often overtook their good sense and decency. Though he rather suspected those qualities weren’t a part of Mr. Sampson’s character in general.

  The man’s mouth opened and closed like the first trout Alec had caught when he was a boy, and there was an expression of guilt and affront plastered across the man’s face.

  “Well, I’d s-say…” Sampson spluttered. “I wouldn’t quite describe it in such a manner.”

  “How w
ould you describe it then, Mr. Sampson?” Connie asked. “Three ladies disappeared and in their place was a bloodied bed. What did you think happened?”

  Sampson’s eyes darted wildly about the room, looking for what, Alec wasn’t certain, but there was no assistance to be had for the man from any quarter.

  “Of course, I thought the duke must have gotten carried away!” Sampson cried. “But I thought perhaps the ladies had been smuggled out the window each time, to avoid ugly questions having to be answered.”

  “Questions of murder, you mean?” Alec raised a brow.

  The man gulped heavily again. “I didn’t know what to think…” His voice drifted off. “I had hoped not, though I may have suspected. But I couldn’t be sure, and if I dared to accuse such a powerful man without proof, my career would have been ruined.”

  “Oh yes, God forbid your career was ruined,” Connie tutted. “A much more important consideration than three women’s lives.”

  “Those women were little more than whores,” the man tried to justify, jumping to his feet. “They should have known what to expect.”

  Alec grabbed the lapels of the man’s jacket and pushed him back down into his chair. Fear now replaced the indignation on the man’s face. “No one deserves to be beaten, no matter their station. And those women are most likely murder victims, who were killed under the roof of this very establishment, under your watch. With you not reporting the matters to the authorities, along with having, I suspect, deposited large sums of money into your bank around those specific dates, that would make you an accessory to murder.”

  “An accessory?” All color leached from the man’s face. “To murder?”

  “Aye,” Alec confirmed. “Accessory after the fact would be the most accurate, I’d say.”

  “And something the authorities would love to hear all about,” Connie added, as she returned the dagger back to the wall.

  The man swiveled his gaze over to her, swiping away a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “But I’m not responsible for their disappearances. I simply didn’t say anything.”

  “A fact that makes you responsible for covering up a potential murder.” Alec stood. “Perhaps multiple murders, in fact. Which I will be sure to make the authorities aware of. Come, Connie, I think we’re done here.”

  She nodded and began walking to the door.

  “Wait!” Mr. Sampson implored. “Please don’t mention my name to the authorities, I beg you! I have more information I can give if you don’t.”

  Alec paused in his stride and glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m listening.”

  Sampson gulped hastily. “You’re not the only ones to ask about the duke and his ladies.”

  “We’re not?”

  “No. Lord Fergus’s mistress and another lady came asking about six months ago.”

  “Lady Tarlington?” Alec asked.

  “Yes. Although that’s not really who she is,” Sampson replied.

  “Explain.” Alec was losing patience with the man.

  “There never was any Lord Tarlington, so there could never be any lady.”

  “And how did you find this out?” Alec asked.

  “Well,” Sampson began, “after the ladies’ visit, I was suspicious, so I had one of my men look into Lady Tarlington’s background, which is how I found out that the woman who calls herself Lady Tarlington is actually a Miss Seraphina Donovan, and has never been married, let alone a member of the aristocracy. Though Lord Fergus has no idea.”

  Alec caught Connie’s eye. Confirmation that Seraphina was the sister of one of Duncan’s victims—an interesting development. “And has she been paying you to keep that information from coming to light?”

  The immediate flush of red across the man’s face was confirmation enough for Alec. “I… Well, I, um, assumed—”

  “Blackmail is a dangerous game, Mr. Sampson.” Alec shook his head, noting that the man was squirming uncomfortably in his chair, and though it was obvious he wished to say something further, Sampson wisely kept his mouth shut. “And a stupid one at that, which I have no doubt will reap its own consequences in the future. However, I want to know about the other lady accompanying the pretend Lady Tarlington. Can you describe her?”

  Sampson shook his head. “No. She was disguised and wearing mourning garb, with a heavy black veil, so I truly couldn’t tell you what she looked like, apart from her being rather tall for a lady. Oh, and her voice definitely sounded like that of a lady, upper class and all, even though I think she was trying to disguise it.”

  A tall lady who sounded aristocratic? It was a similar description to the lady Mr. Trenton had described, too. Interesting.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The breeze swept through the alley, carrying with it the scent of charcoal and ash, along with a hint of roasted chestnuts. A smell that evoked wonderful memories from Connie’s childhood, of the times she’d go with her father to London and he’d treat her to an afternoon of hot chocolate and book shopping. An afternoon away from her mother’s constant criticisms of them both. She cherished those memories with her father, and each time she thought of him, she missed him dreadfully.

  Wrapping her cloak more tightly about her chest, she glanced across to Alec, who was scanning the alley with an alertness that both comforted and worried her. She knew he was as wary as she was, keeping an eye out for not only the men who had accosted them the other day but for Fergus and his men, too. Not to mention the authorities, as they were bound to have been alerted to her escape by now.

  The thought was terrifying, and tiring.

  “I’d been hoping that Trenton would have identified Fergus as purchasing the sedative,” Alec said, buttoning up his jacket.

  “Yes. I had, too.” For a moment, the thought of what they were up against, and with no end in sight, sent a wave of exhaustion down to her bones. Because instead of providing any clarification, speaking to both Mr. Trenton and Sampson had made things more muddied than ever.

  And like Alec, Connie had also been hoping Trenton would implicate Fergus as the man who purchased the sedative, and when he hadn’t, it had been especially disappointing to hear. Though that didn’t mean Fergus hadn’t sent one of his men to purchase the item on his behalf.

  Then there was the woman wearing a black veil, not only mentioned by Mr. Middleton at the apothecary store but by Mr. Sampson, too. Connie had no idea how the woman fit into the puzzle, but a niggling inner voice told her she may be the key piece. They needed to find out who she was and speak to her.

  Perhaps she was one of Duncan’s ex-mistresses, seeking revenge? That’s the only thing Connie could think of that made sense. Which meant she may be one of the six other women named on Malcolm’s list who hadn’t disappeared. But how would they track down, let alone talk to, six of Duncan’s ex-mistresses?

  And, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know if she had the fortitude to do so. It was all well and good knowing she’d been a gullible fool, but to actually meet the women Duncan had cheated on her with? That was something else entirely.

  The more she thought about it, the more likely she believed it was that perhaps one of Duncan’s ex-mistresses was in cahoots with Fergus, perhaps in an attempt to obtain revenge against Duncan.

  Or was Seraphina the one responsible for everything? A way to seek revenge for her missing sister?

  Connie rather doubted she had been the only one to have imagined ways to punish Duncan. “We’re going to need to talk to Seraphina, aren’t we?” She was the only one who could potentially shed some light on who the other woman was. If she was willing to talk.

  “I daresay we will,” Alec agreed. “Though getting to her while avoiding Fergus might be difficult.”

  Alec was right. It would prove difficult, though not impossible. “There are a few servants in the town house here in Inverness who were very loyal to
me and I’m sure would smuggle a message to Seraphina if asked.”

  “That might work,” Alec said. “But first we need to go back to the King Street Apothecary.”

  “Yes, it’s probably wise to have another chat with Mr. Middleton.” Particularly in light of what Mr. Trenton had said.

  “Aye. Middleton has some explaining to do,” Alec replied. “The man has clearly lied to us, and whether it was to protect his employment or something else, needs to be canvassed.” He reached out and softly took ahold of her elbow. “We will work it all out.”

  Connie glanced down at the pads of his fingers on the material of her dress, and she honestly felt as if her skin beneath was burning. So exhilarating was his touch, but even more so was the expression of determination in his eyes. He would see this through with her. “Thank you, Alec,” she whispered.

  His other hand tentatively reached up to brush a stray wisp of hair from her brow. “You’re welcome, lass. Now let’s head back to have a fun chat with Mr. Middleton, shall we?”

  “Yes, I suppose we shall.” Connie almost sighed. After last night she had been worried he wasn’t ever going to touch her again. But that was the second time he’d touched her elbow within an hour, and the contact gave her hope and thrilled her, as Duncan’s never had. Whenever Duncan had touched her, even to simply guide her into a room at assemblies and such, she’d always felt a shiver of revulsion creep up her spine.

  But she’d never felt such a thing with Alec. Well, at least not the revulsion part, because his touch did definitely make her shiver, but in anticipation. Such a different response to Duncan’s. And one she definitely wanted to experience again.

  They walked side by side in silence, a crackling awareness between them as they navigated through the back alleys in an unspoken effort to stay away from the main thoroughfares, where Fergus presumably would now have eyes and ears watching for them.

  “Is any of this situation making sense to you?” she asked, her stride never slowing. “I was certain Fergus was the one framing me, but now I don’t know…”