He took a deep breath before he answered. “I killed the man who killed my brother.”
CHAPTER 11
Millie hadn’t been able to sleep all night. How could she after she found out that Roarke was being blackmailed. And she knew who was blackmailing him.
She rose early, and went down the back stairs to the servants’ kitchen. She knew she’d find Rogers there.
She walked down the narrow hallway, then stopped just inside the door. Rogers saw her and excused himself and came to meet her.
“Miss Millie,” he said stepping into the small room he was afforded as the butler of Strothum House. “Is something wrong?”
Rogers closed the door behind him and pulled out a chair so she could sit. But Millie was too upset to sit. She was too upset to do anything but confront Rogers.
“What have you done?” she said in an accusing tone.
“I’m not sure I know what—”
“I saw the note you left for Mr. Livingston.”
Millie didn’t see him as the butler of Strothum House. She didn’t see him as the austere, aloof butler who maintained a position of authority in Lord Strothum’s household. She saw him as the friend she and Rosie had relied on after their parents had died. As someone who came from the same village as she had, whose father had taught the local children to read and cipher. As the man she’d thought would be her brother-in-law one day. Until Rosie had fallen in love with another man.
“He needs to leave here, Millie. Don’t you see? He needs to be gone before he ruins you the same as he ruined Rosie.”
“I know you saw us kissing, but that kiss didn’t mean anything. It just…happened.”
“Like Robbie just…happened?”
Millie looked into his hostile expression and saw the depth of his hatred for Roarke. “How dare you. That was beneath you.”
“Nothing is beneath me where you are concerned. I only wish I would have been more watchful of Rosie. I wish I would have run the bastard off before he took advantage of her.”
Millie was shocked by the anger she heard in Brian’s voice. By the vile word he’d used. By the hatred she saw in his eyes. But she couldn’t argue with what he’d said. She wished she would have been more watchful, too. She wished she’d have been there to keep an eye on Rosie, instead of assuming her mother was watching her. Except her mother had been too filled with grief over their father’s death to care about anything. Especially with whom her young daughter was associating.
“If you read the note, then you know what he’s done. He killed a man, Millie. He beat him to death.”
“The man killed his brother.”
“It doesn’t matter what the man did. Roarke Livingston killed him in cold blood. He needs to pay for what he did.”
“You hate him that much?”
“You have no idea how much I hate him. Stay away from him, Millie. For your sake. For Robbie’s.”
“What do you mean, for Robbie’s sake?”
“Have you given any thought to what Livingston might do if he finds out about Robbie? Do you care so little for the boy that you won’t mind giving him up?”
Millie reached out to steady herself against the nearest piece of furniture. She wouldn’t give Robbie up. He was as much hers as if she’d given birth to him herself. She wouldn’t let anyone have him. Not even the man who was his father.
“What if Livingston discovers Robbie is his?” he said in an accusing tone.
“He won’t. No one knows except you and me.”
“And Lord and Lady Strothum.”
“But they won’t—”
“Won’t they? How can you be so sure?”
Millie felt her knees weaken beneath her. She couldn’t let anyone know about Robbie. If anyone did, they’d look at him differently. They’d treat him differently. Instead of considering him as a distant relative Lord Strothum had taken in when the lad’s parents died, they’d know he was a bastard. And she’d brought the child into their home, raised him alongside their own. For certain she and Robbie would be cast out.
“What if Roarke Livingston discovers that Robbie is his son. Do you think he won’t take him away from you?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Millie said, but deep inside she feared he would. The unreliable and irresponsible man he’d been might not have, but somehow he’d changed. There wasn’t a hint of that other Roarke in him now—the Roarke who’d turned his back on Rosie. The Roarke he was now took his responsibilities seriously. If he ever discovered Robbie was his, he wouldn’t let anyone stop him from taking him. Even her.
“Then we have to help him solve Jimmy’s murder,” Millie said.
Rogers frowned. “What does Jimmy have to do with this?”
“That’s the reason he’s here. He won’t leave until they’ve found Jimmy’s killer.”
Rogers paused as if in deep thought. “You’re right, Millie. We have to solve Jimmy’s murder. Then Roarke Livingston and the Bedford investigators will be gone.”
Rogers clasped his hands on her upper arms and looked her in the eyes. She saw a hint of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was an angry look. A lethal look.
“Don’t worry, Millie. I’ll take care of everything.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Never you mind. You go back upstairs and leave everything to me.”
Millie wanted to ask more, but wasn’t given a chance. There was a knock on the door and one of the footmen needed something. Rogers showed her to the door and she left.
The Rogers she’d just talked to was a new Brian Rogers. This wasn’t the boy she’d gown up with. This wasn’t the man on whom she’d come to rely. This was a changed man. A bitter man. And something inside her said he was a dangerous man, even though she didn’t want to admit it.
When had he changed? Why hadn’t she seen it before?
Millie took the back stairs to the nursery and tried to pretend that this was a normal day. Pretend that things weren’t moving out of her control.
But they were. And she was frightened.
. . . . .
Roarke stormed through the house like a man battling a thousand demons. He’d been so sure the note had been from Millie. So sure that their failure to control their passion had driven her to resort to such an extreme. How could he have been so stupid? He’d jumped to the conclusion that she was guilty without considering how unlikely it was that she’d discovered that he’d killed the bastard who’d killed his brother. Which meant someone else knew about his past. Someone else had written the note. Someone who was so protective of Millie that they’d resort to blackmail to keep him away from her.
Rogers.
He was the only other person in the household whose eyes spewed venom when he looked at Roarke.
He slammed his fist against his thigh. He should have known it wasn’t her. But that didn’t eliminate the threat in the note. In fact, it made the threat more dangerous.
The question became, how important was it to Roarke to make sure Mack never found out what he’d done? How much did he want to remain one of the Bedford Street Brigade? Because once his fellow brigadesmen found out he’d been living a lie, his credibility would be gone. As would his position as an investigator. Mack would never allow someone guilty of murder to remain a Bedford Street investigator.
Roarke only had one option: He had to find the person on the inside who wanted to steal the breech-loading design before Rogers got tired of waiting for him to leave and told his secrets. He had to find out which one of Strothum’s staff was the thief.
Roarke needed to find Jack. They’d go through every scrap of information they’d gathered and see what they’d missed.
“I’m not sure who you’re after, but I’m sure I don’t want to be him,” a voice said.
Roarke turned. Jack was walking across the foyer. It wasn’t a good sign when a man who had to rely on all his senses to stay alive hadn’t heard a man who weighed more than fifteen stone come up beh
ind him.
“Actually, I was looking for you.”
“From the murderous expression on your face, I’m not sure I want to be found.”
“We need to talk.”
“Very well. Let’s go in here,” Jack said, pointing to the third door on the right. “Lady Strothum is out, so the room shouldn’t be in use.”
Roarke entered the room and Jack followed. When Jack closed the door, Roarke turned to face him. “We need to find whoever it is that’s behind this and get out of here.”
The bellow of laughter that came from Jack surprised Roarke.
“What is it you think we’ve been doing for the past month?”
Roarke slashed his hand in front of him. “I know. I know. But we’ve been at this long enough. We should at least have a suspect or two. We should at least have a lead to follow. What do we have?”
“Whoa, Roarke. What’s the real reason for this? You know it sometimes takes more than a week or two to gather the information we need to make sure we have the right suspect.”
“I know that,” Roarke said. “But we should be closer to knowing who our inside man is. We should be closer to—”
“Wrapping this up so you can put some distance between yourself and Miss Shaw?”
Roarke clenched his jaw tight. “This has nothing to do with Miss Shaw.”
The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted slightly. “I think this has everything to do with Miss Shaw. I think the feelings you have for the young lady are so confusing that they’re scaring you to death.”
“Just leave Millie out of this and tell me what you and Mack have discovered. Now.”
Jack gave him a hard look, then pointed to a chair. Roarke sat, then Jack followed him.
“We can’t prove anything, but it looks like the buyer for Armstrong’s design is Whitworth’s plant foreman, Clyde Ortman.”
“Jimmy Jamison couldn’t have been the only inside man. There had to be someone giving the orders. Any idea who that might be?”
Jack shook his head. “We can’t find a connection to anyone on the inside.”
Roarke pushed himself from his chair. “Then we aren’t looking in the right places.”
Jack followed him to his feet. “Do you have any ideas?”
“Nothing I’d feel comfortable saying out loud.”
“So what’s our next move?”
Roarke hesitated. “I need to talk to Mack. While I’m gone, I want you to discretely mention that something important is going to happen.”
“When is this important event going to happen?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “And to whom would you like me to mention this?”
Roarke hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He hoped he wasn’t accusing an innocent man because he thought he might be guilty of other crimes.
Roarke took a deep breath. “Rogers.”
“Strothum’s butler? That Rogers?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I can’t explain it. I just know there’s something that doesn’t add up.”
“You know? Or you think?”
“I feel it.”
“What proof do you have, Roarke? Mack’s going to want to know why you think Rogers might be involved in this.”
“I know. Which is why I need to talk to him.”
“Then you’d better go to Bedford Street. I’ll take care of what I’m supposed to do here.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re just lucky we trust your gut instinct as much as you do. You haven’t steered us wrong, yet.”
“Let’s hope this isn’t the first time.”
. . . . .
Brian Rogers walked through the late night rain until he reached the park entrance. Nothing had gone as it should since Jimmy Jamison was killed. Lord Strothum expected them to believe that an intruder had happened upon Jimmy. But Brian knew that for the lie it was. The intruder who happened on Jimmy was Strothum himself.
Brian remembered how shaken Lord Strothum had been when he’d come to his room and told him he needed his help. Strothum had expected his butler had been sleeping, but he hadn’t. He’d been waiting. Not for the Earl of Strothum to inform him that one of their footmen had been murdered. But for Jimmy to deliver the plans for the breech-loading gun.
Rogers continued his way along the northern edge of the park, then stopped when he reached a clump of bushes and stepped behind them.
“I’ve been waiting,” a voice said from in the shadows.
“It took me longer to get away than I planned.” Rogers stepped into the shadows and faced Clyde Ortman.
“Well, what have you found out?”
Brian looked around to make sure they were alone. “I found out that if we want to steal the plans, we have to act fast.”
“How fast?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Bloody hell. How do you think I can arrange something that quick?”
“I don’t know. But they’re going to move the plans on Friday.”
“Are you sure?” Ortman asked.
“I’m sure. Strothum told me to give the staff a half day off. They want everyone gone before lunch.”
“So they’re going to move it in the afternoon.”
“That’s how it seems. If you want the plans, you’ll have to get them before Friday.”
“What do you mean, if I want the plans? This was your idea as much as mine.”
“It still is.” Rogers looked at the man who’d approached him nearly four months earlier with information concerning the plans that Lord Strothum had. Plans that were worth a lot of money to the right people. But the stakes were higher now. Not only was Jimmy Jamison dead, but Brian Rogers’ most hated enemy was living beneath their roof. And if he was there much longer he was going to ruin Millie, just like he’d ruined Rose. Rogers wanted him gone. He wanted him dead. “I need you to get in touch with Freddie. I’ll tell him what to do when I see him.”
“Are you sure your plan is going to work this time?”
“I’m sure. Now, get hold of Freddie and meet me here again at seven tomorrow night.”
Brian listened to Clyde Ortman’s footsteps grow fainter as he left the park. Brian didn’t like Ortman. Nor did he trust him. But he needed him. At least he needed the money Ortman promised he’d get from the sale of the plans. How else could he take Rosie’s son someplace where no one would ever find him?
How else would he be able to keep a part of Rosie with him forever?
He felt a sense of accomplishment. This would work. He had every detail planned out. Not only would he have the plans in his possession, but—
Rogers smiled.
Roarke Livingston would be dead. This time he wouldn’t fail because he intended to kill him himself.
CHAPTER 12
Millie woke up early the next morning. With much restraint she forced herself to stay in bed even though she’d only slept off and on all night. When the sky began its shift from black to dusky gray, she got up, dressed, then went to the nursery. She needed to see the children. She needed to be with Robbie.
She opened the door and stepped inside the room, then closed the door behind her as quietly as she could. She stopped when she scanned the room. Janie was sitting in the oversized chair holding Robbie in her arms.
“Are you up already?” Janie whispered when she saw Millie walk toward her.
“I couldn’t sleep. It looks like someone else couldn’t either.”
Millie walked to the chair and looked down. Robbie’s dark eyes looked up at her.
“There was a monster in my room,” he slurred.
“There was?” Millie whispered. She took the little boy from Janie and exchanged places with her. “Get some sleep, Janie. I’ll stay with the children for a while.”
When Janie left the room, Millie nestled Robbie securely in her arms. She tucked the soft blanket up around his
shoulders and beneath his chin, then brushed her fingers down his soft cheeks. “And what did your monster look like? I bet it was an oversized frog that jumped from the lake and croaked so loudly that it woke you up.”
Robbie giggled. “Nuh-uh, Millie. It wasn’t a frog.”
“Then it must have been a giant gingerbread cookie that wanted to gobble you up.”
Robbie’s smile broadened. “No, it wasn’t a gingerbread cookie. It was a monster. A great big hairy monster.”
“Of course your monster was great big. All monsters are great big. And hairy. Mine always were, too.”
“You dreamed of great big monsters, too?”
“Oh, yes. All the time.”
“Did they scare you, too?”
“They did until I learned what to do so I wouldn’t be afraid.”
Robbie snuggled closer and Millie gathered him to her. He was hers. She loved him as if she’d given birth to him. She was the first to see him when he entered the world, and she considered him her own. Forever.
“What did you do?”
“I gave my monsters a name.”
“A name? What did you call them?”
“Well, there were several, you know.”
“There were?”
“Yes. The scariest one I called Bruce.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes, Bruce.”
“But that’s not a scary name.”
“That’s what Bruce told me.”
“Your monsters talked to you?”
“Only to tell me they didn’t like the names I gave them.”
“I wouldn’t like to be called Bruce either. What did you call some of your other monsters?”
“The ugliest monster I called Pansy.”
Robbie giggled. “I bet she didn’t like that.”
“Not at all. She was quite put out with her name. Almost as much as Gwenhilda.”
“Oh, Miss Millie. You made that up. You didn’t call your monster Gwenhilda.”
“I most certainly did. And when she was at her worst, I called her Gwennie.”
Robbie laughed out loud, then relaxed against her. His eyes closed once, but he opened them again.
“What name would you like to give your monster?” Millie asked Robbie as his eyes closed again.
Love Unbidden: Tales of the Bedford Street Brigade Page 36
