A shiver of unease traveled up his spine. In the past, the moment he had stepped through Rose’s door, a cat or dog was sure to come sniffing at his boots. Today, there was not a whisper of paws or clip of nails. The place smelled stale and musty. He tapped the face of an ormolu timepiece on a side table. It was silent and still, as if time had stopped in this home.
Soft footsteps announced the maid’s return. “Come this way, sir.”
The drawing room was as dim as the entryway. The maid left and the door clicked shut.
To his left, a shadow moved.
Rose? His heart did a flip-flop of joy. He bowed. “Good morning, Lady Roselyn.”
On rising, he squinted to gain a clearer glimpse of her breathtaking face. At the debut ball for her eighteenth birthday, the ton had marked her “A diamond of the first water.”
“Why have you come?” Her soft, melodious voice prodded his numb heart into remembering their painful parting.
“Are you displeased to see me?” He cringed at the break in his voice. With forced lightness, he added, “How can you see me at all in this gloom?”
He strode to a window and pulled aside the curtains. Light invaded to reveal furniture either covered in white sheets or missing. Even the grand piano, which had once held a place of prominence, was now shielded by Holland covers and relegated to a far corner.
Rose raised a hand to shade her eyes. “I prefer it darker this early.”
“It is not early.” He came closer and lowered her arm. Her drawn features, droopy eyes, and pale lips left him shaking. Was she ill?
His heart jerked at that unbidden worry. More so than when he witnessed her running from the warehouse at Wapping. It had been her. Even in the dark, he had been certain of it. Who else had that heart-stopping face? But light now detailed aspects that darkness had hidden.
“Are you unwell, Rose?” Tell me you are healthy and that you did not kill Mrs. Beaumont.
“A most impolite question, sir. What has happened to the Phillip Jones who had a compliment for every occasion?”
He circled her. Her loose black gown did nothing to enhance her shape. Her once fair and bouncy blond hair lay limp across stooped shoulders. Had she given up on life, as she had given up on him? Anger flared, a wash of acid burning his stomach. “What has happened to you?”
“Nothing. Kindly state your business, as I have no more patience for your ‘compliments.’”
“Why is this house deserted? Why did your maid answer the door instead of your butler?”
“That is none of your concern, sir. If you cannot come to the point, kindly see yourself out.” She opened the door.
Her maid stood there—eyes wide with avid curiosity.
He slammed the door.
Rose turned away, her arms folded, shoulders stiff.
At least she no longer stooped. “Are you short of funds?” He turned her to face him. “Why did you not contact me? I left instructions with my mother to see to your needs.”
Rose’s chin shot up, high color flooding her cheeks as her green eyes flared. She was breathtaking. It was as if her beauty rested beneath the surface like a slumbering thing.
“My funds are perfectly adequate,” she said. “My father ensured his family would be left well cared for. As did my grandmother. However, that is neither here nor there. Even if I were destitute, I would hardly turn to you for aid.”
Shrugging aside his hurt, he drew closer. “Why not? We were close before your sister got in the way.”
She glared at him. “Eve did not get in the way—she died. Did you know that she loved this house?” She pointed to the tall cloth-covered fixture. “She loved that piano. It was her heart and joy. Everything in this house reminds me of her—of her and my grandmother and my parents. And you wonder that I hid everything from sight? I would have stowed that instrument into the attic, too, but it was too big.”
Rose’s voice broke, and Phillip’s heart squeezed with compassion. He glanced around, taking in the room as she saw it. Once, this house had been brightly lit and full of lively people. In one blink, it became dull and dark and dead. It was as if he had stepped into a story where the castle had been enchanted by an evil spell. Would he find a dragon in the dungeon?
Rose certainly did not belong inside this tomb. Some fresh air might pull her out of her maudlin mood. He was suddenly desperate to take her away from here. He gave her his most engaging smile. “Let us go for a walk.”
“I have no wish to go anywhere with you, sir. If you would but say what you came for . . .”
“We can discuss what I need during our walk.” After all, even he might have been sent round the bend enough to commit murder if he lived in a place like this for too long.
“Can you not hear a word I say, sir? Are your ears plugged or is my voice silent?”
The absurd question tickled his humor. This repartee he remembered. Rose had always been quick-witted. One of many things he loved about her. Had loved. She still might be a killer. “Apparently you can hear me no better than I hear you, Rose. Come for a stroll in Hyde Park. I have my curricle, and it is a short trip to the Serpentine. You used to love feeding the ducks there, remember?”
Her mouth clamped shut.
She was going to refuse. “I warn you, Rose, I shall sit here on your sheet-covered sofa until you agree.”
Her shoulders sagged. Like a veritable youth, he wanted to crow, I won, but swallowed his triumph lest he antagonize her further. “I shall wait while you change.”
“Into what?”
He gestured at her dour gown. “Do you expect us to walk in public with you dressed for mourning, Rose? Your grandmother passed away a year ago. Time to put her to rest.”
He waited to be slapped. Instead, her tears welled. “All right,” she said. “But I will only come for a short while so you had best reach your point the moment we arrive at the park.”
She picked up her skirts and ran out the door. The maid raced upstairs after her mistress.
Left alone with time on his hands, he did a quick scout of the tomb. Aside from the drawing room, there was a small side chamber, a library, a breakfast parlor, and the formal dining room. Everywhere, white sheets covered furniture and the shelves were bare. He took the back stairs, two at a time, to the basement. There, he found a large kitchen with a wide central table and side dressers.
“Morning? Is anyone here?”
No answer. But also no dragon.
A half stack of coal in a bucket suggested the fire was not new. The air was flavored by a smoky aromatic scent, as if someone had fried rashers of bacon for breakfast. And a few dirty dishes indicated someone had eaten. The maid. Alone?
The kettles and pans hanging from hooks on the wall were shiny and polished. The larder was sparsely supplied but not empty. All indications of life. Except for the silence. It was as if he had walked into a darkened theater set up for the day’s play, but the actors and stage hands had yet to arrive.
Realizing he might have lingered too long, he raced back, just in time, to the front entrance. Rose was descending the wide curved stairs. Her young maid followed, her face wreathed in excitement at this unexpected outing. Not so Rose. Though she now appeared presentable, her expression suggested he escorted her to a hanging.
Not yet. His heart shuddered.
Beneath a loose wrap, Rose wore a short-sleeved lavender gown pinched below her bosom. Prettier than the black, but he recognized it from three Seasons ago. Around her neck was another familiar article, a plain black rope.
He had never understood her fascination with that cord. The silver amulet that hung from it was likely tucked into her gown. Once, he had planned to present her with a sparkling diamond on a golden chain to take its place, but their relationship had ended too soon. His jaws clenched at her entire outdated wardrob
e and unnatural abode, and once she was close enough, he flicked the necklace until the amulet flew out into public view.
Her hand came up to protectively cover the charm and she glared him with resentment. “Why did you do that?”
“If you must wear it always, Rose, why not wear it with pride?” he said blandly and offered his arm. “Shall we be off?”
At Hyde Park, several ladies of the ton and their gentleman escorts hailed them. With each encounter, Rose grew more subdued, if that was possible.
To alleviate her discomfort, he quickened their pace, leaving them little time to do more than nod to people. Behind them, her maid hurried to stay close.
Once they reached the Serpentine’s shoreline, the secluded walkway beneath lush chestnut trees provided more privacy. A light wind spread the sweet fragrance of spring blossoms, and by their feet, a brightly plumed drake quacked. Receiving no reward, he waddled back to stand protectively beside his dowdy hen.
Get on with it. “Rose, I must ask you something.”
“That is why we are here, sir.”
“Promise to be truthful?”
“It is not I who has a history of lying.”
Good point. Best settle the past before moving on. He stopped and took her gloved hands. “Rose, I was very sorry to have been the bearer of that sad news three years ago.”
“You were not the bearer, you were the instigator.”
“Your sister’s death was an accident.”
“While you chased her out of the country!”
Keeping his voice low and steady required effort. “She and your uncle were spies. It was my duty to stop them.”
“Was it your duty to romance me to find information about them, as well?”
That broke his tension. “Ah, Rose, that was never my duty. It was utterly my pleasure.”
Shaking off his hold, she advanced down the path. With noisy protest, several ducks waddled out of her way.
He sprinted to catch up. He must stay to the point. Else he would never solve this case.
He replaced her hand back on his arm, where it seemed to belong. He had missed her touch.
In a tight voice, she said, “Our past experience was not wasted on me. If you are here, then your motives are suspect.”
That charge was indefensible. Somewhere inside this angry woman was the young lady he had once loved. Maturity had added depth and nuance and given her a fiercely independent spirit. She suddenly reminded him of Ben Turner. The idea made her seem more approachable.
“What threat against England brings you to my side this time?” she asked.
The question killed his faint hope of getting through to her. She wanted plain speaking? So be it. “It concerns a widow named Helen Beaumont. Did you know her?”
“She was a dear friend who died the day before yesterday.”
Her pain was clear. She had suffered so many losses in such a short time. Enough to unhinge her mind?
“Rose, you have my deepest condolences.” He meant that to encompass the loss of her sister, uncle, grandmother, and Mrs. Beaumont. He should have been here to offer her comfort.
She faced him, removing her hand from his arm. “This time, let us establish a better relationship between us. I do not want anything from you that is insincere.”
“I am always sincere. It is you who believes otherwise.”
Her green eyes blazed in distrust. “What do you want?”
He steered them onto the grass so they would not disrupt walkers who had been swerving to pass by, avid curiosity on their faces. News of this mercurial meeting would be circuiting the clubs and tearooms by day’s end. “Rose, did Mrs. Beaumont invite you to meet her the day she died?”
“No.” Her gaze avoided his.
Liar! “The requirement for sincerity works both ways, Rose. It is imperative that you be honest.” He drew her closer, inhaling her familiar floral scent. He had missed her. Focus. “If you would but trust me, I could protect you.”
“Trust you?” She stepped away, her glance icy. “I have answered your question. May I return home now?”
“I suppose.” With reluctance, he led her to his curricle.
They walked in silence until Rose’s attention suddenly swerved to the left.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You can confide in me, Rose.”
She stopped and checked again. “I thought someone followed us, but I must have been mistaken.”
He searched where she pointed. “Are you certain?”
“I am uncertain about everything these days.”
“Lady Roselyn.” A woman stopped before them.
Phillip’s hand tightened on Rose’s elbow. He did not recognize this newcomer.
She came to his shoulder in height and looked to be of Spanish descent. Her raven hair was pulled into a tidy knot with no stray curls to highlight her pale complexion. Her full rosy lips were pinched thin. With a less severe hairstyle and expression, and her spectacles gone, she could be classified a rare beauty. He pegged her as either a governess or lady’s maid.
With a forefinger, she pushed her spectacles up and blinked. “Pray forgive me for intruding, Lady Roselyn. I was your grandmother’s friend.”
Instead of curtseying, the woman held out her hand. An odd custom, even for a Spaniard. “I am Miss Nevara Wood.”
Rose took the lady’s hand. “How do you do?”
“It is good to see you in the park,” Miss Wood said.
The distinct crinkle of paper caught Phillip’s attention and he caught a glimpse of a note being passed before the two withdrew from their clasp.
“Sir Phillip Jones, may I introduce Miss Wood,” Rose said. “Miss Wood, Sir Phillip Jones.”
This time the woman curtsied. “How do you do?”
While he bowed, Rose slipped something into her reticule.
“You must come to my home one day, Miss Wood,” Rose said.
“That would be lovely. Now, I must dash. It was grand to meet you. Good day.”
She retreated quickly, and he soon lost sight of her gray gown among the chestnut trees. “How very odd.”
“How so?” Rose asked.
“That she passed you a note.”
Rose glanced away. “Excuse me?”
He glanced at her in concern. Surely she understood that he only wanted to help her?
“Sir Phillip!” another woman called out.
He silently cursed the atrocious timing. Worse, he recognized that expressive voice and bemoaned the lady’s persistence in chasing him. Could this day get any worse?
Rose’s attention focused on the newcomer.
A vision in pink wove her way toward them through the crowd. She waved, a greeting that he had no choice but to acknowledge with a slight nod.
“Who is that?” Rose said.
“Miss Warwick. Daughter of the third son of the Duke of Moorland.” Bringing Rose to Hyde Park now ranked as his most colossal mistake. “She is to be presented this year, so you would not have met her yet.”
Golden curls bobbed about the young lady’s round face and her flushed cheeks matched her dress and hat. She came to a breathless halt and clapped her hands in delight. Her wide eyes swept him from top hat to polished Hessians with obvious approval. “Sir Phillip, how fortunate that we should meet. You have been remiss about attending parties.”
“Good afternoon,” Phillip said in the tone of ennui he reserved for polite society in general, and all marriage-minded misses in particular. “Permit me to introduce Lady Roselyn Ravenstock. This is Miss Cicely Warwick.”
“How do you do.” Miss Warwick curtsied. “I came with Mrs. Rochester.” The young lady looked beside her but there was no one there.
She pointed back toward a slender striking woman in blue speaking to a couple a few paces away. “There she is.”
The other woman nodded and returned to her discussion.
“We were out for a walk on this marvelous spring day,” Miss Warwick said. “Are not the flowers beautiful, sir?”
“Enchanting.”
“I heard the wonderful news about your knighthood,” she added in what could only be a gush. “So I had to stop and give you my congratulations. My father was thrilled. He is looking forward to discussing the honor the next time you visit.”
He nodded noncommittally. Social activities would be tight while the Beaumont murder remained unsolved.
Impervious to his cool response, she said. “Your mother called on us.”
He cringed. His mother hoped he would form an attachment with this young lady. Or, to be more precise, with this young lady’s family.
“Her grandfather is a duke, Phillip, dear,” his mother had told him this morning, when he stopped by his cousin Rufus’s home for breakfast. “Do you realize the significance of such a valued connection?”
“Your mother insisted that you would be wounded if I did not save you a supper dance at Almack’s,” Miss Warwick said. “She is a tease, is she not?”
Beside him, Rose stiffened.
“Would you excuse us, Miss Warwick? I was about to escort Lady Roselyn home.”
“Of course. A pleasure to have met you, Lady Roselyn.”
They said their goodbyes and Rose hurried away. The return trip garnered no further discussion. Rose looked as if her cheeks were rosier, so the outing had done her some good. Unfortunately, where she might have been cool toward him inside the tomb she called home, taking her to Hyde Park had turned the air between them arctic cold. It had definitely not been one of his best ideas.
At her townhouse, he followed her and her maid up the front steps. The sooner they had privacy, the quicker he could ask about the note. Rose opened the door and let her servant in but barred him.
A Devilish Slumber Page 4
