Scandal Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

Marcus flashed his charming smile. “I never thought you’d ask.”

  “What do you think he wants to see you about?” Nell asked.

  Julian glanced down at her. “I have no idea. Something simple I am sure.”

  “Yes, I’m positive that your husband is correct,” drawled Marcus, taking her other arm, his horse trailing behind them. “Dear Hunter does take his duties most seriously, always has, and I am sure that we shall discover that it is nothing more than some pilfering by the locals of leveret or partridge—a hanging offense in Hunter’s mind.”

  But Hunter was oddly loathe to explain exactly what it was that he had to report when they met in the library, precisely twenty-nine minutes later. Marcus was lounging in the chair by the fire and Julian was seated behind his desk. Julian had asked Hunter to take the other chair, but the older man would have none of it.

  Standing stiffly in front of Julian, his impatience barely concealed, Hunter growled, “Enough time has been wasted as it is, my lord. You must come with me immediately and see for yourself.” He shot Marcus an unfriendly glance. “And that one, too.”

  “Is it another slaughter?” Julian asked, dread in his voice.

  Hunter gave a harsh bark. “Worse, my lord.”

  He would say no more and irritated as much as curious and uneasy, Julian ordered his own horse, and a fresh one for his cousin, brought round to the front of the house.

  Hunter set a swift pace, Julian and Marcus riding on his heels as his horse veered off the roadway and struck out into the wooded area. It was a wild ride as the horses jumped over streams and galloped through the forest. When Hunter finally pulled his horse to a snorting stop, they were in a section of the forest that Julian seldom visited.

  As one the three men dismounted and tied their horses to a tree. With Julian and Marcus following, Hunter led them to the edge of a small clearing where he stopped. Stepping up to Hunter’s side, Julian paled as his gaze fell on what lay in the center of that clearing.

  “Dear God,” he breathed. “What manner of beast did this?” But he knew. Even more appalling he knew with a deep conviction that he was staring at the remains of the woman Nell had seen killed in her nightmare last night. Bile rose in his throat. Merciful God, she’d had to watch this be done to another human being.

  Marcus, his eyes frozen in horror on the woman’s body, almost lost the excellent ham and ale he’d stopped to enjoy on the road only a few hours ago. Taking careful breaths, he said, “It would appear that our fellow has gone from venting his rage on your game to taking human prey.”

  “I warned you, my lord,” said Hunter, gloomy satisfaction in his voice. “I warned you if you didn’t take steps that something terrible would happen.”

  “I do not remember you telling me that I would find a poor woman slaughtered if I didn’t allow you to set your man-traps and loose your dogs on trespassers,” Julian replied sharply. “This is something that no one could have foreseen or prevented. This is the work of a madman.”

  Hunter nodded. “You are right, my lord, forgive me, I forgot myself.”

  Neither Julian nor Marcus was eager to approach the body, but eventually they did. The remains were so torn and mangled that it was difficult to tell much about them, other than that they were female and that she had suffered agonizingly before dying. Her killer had thrown her naked body like so much refuse on the forest floor. Beyond the pitiful body in the center of the clearing, there were no obvious signs as to how she’d gotten there. None of the three men could identify her.

  Since Hunter was expert at reading the signs and tracks of the forest, Marcus and Julian followed him as he inspected the site. It seemed he searched for hours, in ever-widening circles, but he found little beyond a few broken and snapped branches, the thick debris of the forest floor in this area hiding any footprints—human or animal. But there was a trail of sorts and with Hunter leading the way, they followed it, finding the spot where a horse had been tied to a stout tree, the hoofprints and a pile of dung revealing its presence. Julian surmised that the killer had left his horse and then carried the body to the clearing where he’d left it to be discovered.

  Weary and discouraged, they made their way back to the body. The first wave of horror had passed and Julian stared down at the woman, his heart full of pity for what she had suffered. Rage at what had been done to her choked him and he turned away.

  “Get the bailiff and the magistrate and your best hounds,” he snapped to Hunter. “After that, alert the household to our delay. Tell them that we are hunting—hot on the heels of a handsome stag.” He looked hard at Hunter. “Not one word of this to anyone. My cousin and I shall remain here until you return with the others.” He glanced back at the body. “And bring something to wrap the poor thing in. She deserves that at least.”

  It was very late when Julian and Marcus finally returned to Wyndham Manor. The bailiff and magistrate had been badly shaken at being confronted by the body of the young woman done to death in such a vicious manner and on the Earl of Wyndham’s land. After swearing them to silence, Julian and the others left the bailiff to deal with the removal of the body. With the magistrate joining them, Julian, Marcus and Hunter gathered up their horses and rode to where the killer’s mount had been tied. Hunter’s hounds were loosed and the hunt for a killer began. They pushed on well after sunset despite the rising wind and the hint of rain in the air, but the night closed in on them. The weather worsened, rain falling steadily, the wind biting through their clothes, and when the scent had gone cold at the edge of the river that crisscrossed Julian’s lands, the hunt was abandoned. Discouraged, they turned their horses toward home. It was agreed to keep the matter quiet—at least the manner of death. That a young woman had been murdered could not be kept secret, but no one else need know how she had died.

  Leaving their horses at the stables, Julian and Marcus walked silently to the house. Entering, they were greeted by Dibble. “Her ladyship requested that I prepare a cold buffet for you. She said that you might be late. I have placed everything in your study. She said that you would no doubt prefer to eat there in private.” Politely Dibble asked, “And did you kill your stag, my lord?”

  “No. The animal managed to elude us.” Dismissing the butler, Julian added, “Good night, Dibble, we will not need your services further.”

  In his study, both men tossed aside their muddied and soiled jackets, loosened their once-pristine cravats and removed their boots. Sitting before the fire, and looking at the condition of his formerly gleaming boots, Marcus remarked, “If my valet doesn’t give notice when I hand him these, I am in for tears and recriminations the like of which you have never seen.”

  Pouring them both a snifter of brandy, Julian said over his shoulder, “Truesdale may despair of your lack of desire to join the ranks of the Fancy, but I know that nothing less than a charge of the Light Brigade would separate him from your side.”

  Tossing aside his boots, Marcus laid his head back against the chair and sighed. “This is a very bad business, Julian.”

  Handing Marcus a snifter of brandy and taking the other chair, Julian stretched his feet out toward the warmth of the crackling fire. “I agree and I don’t know what the bloody hell I’m going to do about it.”

  Julian found himself once more in an invidious situation. Holding back vital information from Marcus was dangerous, but he could say nothing of Nell’s nightmares or what they revealed. He trusted his cousin implicitly, but this, even more than the Tynedale kidnapping, was not his secret to tell. Nell had agreed for Marcus to know the truth surrounding their wedding, but he suspected that sharing her nightmares with a man who was almost a stranger, no matter how highly Julian thought of him, was not something that she would readily agree to. He could vouch for Marcus but while she appeared to like his cousin, she did not know him well. It had been hard enough for him, who loved her and knew her, to accept the truth of what she had told him. How much more difficult would it be for Marcus to believe that she actually saw
grisly murders committed…including John’s? He would not ask it of her.

  The two men were exhausted after their hours in the saddle and for some time they sat and stared at the fire, sipping their brandies, each man busy with his own thoughts. Neither was hungry and they ignored the cold buffet, but from time to time Julian would rise and refill their snifters. By the time they’d finished off several snifters of brandy, some of the horror of the day had lessened.

  Though he’d said nothing, Julian had been thinking very hard about Nell’s nightmares and his inability to reveal all to Marcus. He took a sip of his brandy considering how best to handle the situation. He would, he realized, have to find a way to lead Marcus in the right direction without divulging Nell’s part. He closed his eyes, weariness washing over him, his thoughts returning against his will to that ghastly sight in the forest. That poor woman! Little more than a child, really. And to have been so brutally and senselessly murdered. His fingers tightened on the snifter. He wanted this monster, wanted him dead with a violence he had not thought himself capable of.

  “So what are we going to do?” Marcus asked, as he stared morosely down into his swirling amber liquor. “How do we find such a monster? Where do we start?” He took an ungentlemanly gulp of the very expensive French brandy. “You realize that if he has left off killing game and has begun killing humans that he may not be willing to go back to the mere slaughter of deer. They may no longer satisfy him.”

  Seizing on a way to give Marcus a glimmer of the truth, Julian said, “I don’t believe that he has just begun killing humans—I think that he has been doing it all along and that poor unfortunate woman we saw today is only the first one we’ve found. The slaughtering of the game was merely a diversion for him. Perhaps, he went looking for a human victim and not finding one vented his fury on some four-legged victims.”

  “You may be right,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “This is beyond my ken—I’ve never dealt with anything like this. Outright murder, I understand. Killing your man in a duel, I understand. Bloodshed I understand—the war with Napoleon is a good example—but what we saw today…” He sighed heavily. “It has to be the work of a madman.”

  “I agree. But finding and stopping him is our problem.” Having finished his snifter of brandy, Julian rose up and poured them each another one. Sipping his brandy, he sat back down. He brooded over the situation for a few minutes before saying, “He has to have somewhere that he does his filthy handiwork. Someplace private where he can practice his vile arts. A location where no one will hear his victims’ pleas and screams. A secret place that no one will stumble across.”

  Marcus considered Julian’s words for several minutes, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see that,” he admitted finally. Running a hand tiredly across his face, he added, “And that leads us to one conclusion: this is not the handiwork of a peasant living in a one-room hovel. He is either a man of property and owns the place where he kills or he has unfettered access to such a place and fears no interruptions. He also,” Marcus said slowly, “must be free to come and go as he pleases with no one questioning his movements.”

  Their gazes met. “Which means,” Julian said, “that he could very well be a gentleman. Someone with property and independent means, or employed in such a manner that he can move about freely with no one keeping account of his whereabouts.”

  “Oh, good God! Do you realize what we’re saying?” Marcus demanded. “If we go by that, we could very well find out that Dr. Coleman, or even John Hunter is our madman. Or the vicar. Or even the squire.”

  “Yes, you’re absolutely right. And isn’t it interesting that all of them, except for perhaps the vicar, happen to have homes that have been built above or near long-forgotten dungeons. Except, of course, the squire—he delights in showing his off—but that doesn’t mean that there are parts no one knows about, now does it?”

  Marcus stared at Julian as if he’d gone mad. He took a deep, calming breath. There was silence in the room, except for the pop and crackle of the fire as Marcus stared at it for several minutes. He swallowed some more brandy and looked at Julian. “You’ve given this some thought,” he finally said, “haven’t you?”

  Julian smiled sleepily. “Indeed, I’ve thought of little else for some time now.” He tossed off the remainder of his brandy. “What do you say that tomorrow we start touring the area, looking at dungeons?”

  Marcus threw him a disgusted look. “Now just suppose I agree with you—how are we to do that without giving away what we’re up to?”

  Julian thought for a while. “Didn’t there used to be a dungeon beneath Sherbrook Hall?”

  “Which I had filled in years ago. Don’t you dare, even for one minute, consider me a candidate for your madman,” Marcus said grimly.

  Julian waved a hand. “Wasn’t. Was thinking that you might like to restore your dungeons. Need to gather information to do it right. You want to see what some of the ones in this area look like—see how they compare to yours.”

  Scowling, Marcus stared at him. “You’re drunk as a wheel-barrow.”

  Julian shook his head. “No—a bit bosky, perhaps, empty stomach, you know. But my idea might work.”

  “Drunk and mad,” Marcus muttered.

  “Hmmm, think you’re right, but that doesn’t mean my idea won’t work,” Julian agreed amiably. He stood up, swaying slightly. “Going to bed.” He smiled seraphically at his cousin. “We have dungeons to explore tomorrow. Early.”

  Chapter 16

  Nell pounced on Julian the moment he entered his bedchamber. Despite their intimacy and the fact that they had been married nearly four months, this was the first time she’d ventured into his bedchamber. His rooms had not been denied her, but until now, there had never been a reason to enter them.

  Under different circumstances she might have noticed that they were attractive. But tonight she had no eye for draperies of burgundy velvet and masculine furniture made of fine mahogany. She paced the floors heedless of the elegant rug in tones of burgundy, black and gold beneath her feet, her thoughts on Julian and John Hunter’s odd manner. Occasionally she stopped to stick her hands out to the warmth of the fire, her gaze blind to the leaping orange and yellow flames.

  Nell was convinced of one thing: Julian was hunting no stag. This unexpected hunting trip coming right on the heels of last night’s nightmare made her suspect that his absence was somehow connected to the brutal death of the woman she’d seen in her nightmare.

  She and Julian had much to learn of each other, but she knew him well enough by now to be positive that it was unlike him to suddenly take it into his head to disappear from home for hours on end without warning. The terse message delivered by John Hunter had roused all her suspicions. She had considered demanding more of Hunter before dismissing him, but she had not. She made a face. If she’d dared to question Hunter, he’d most likely have glared at her and ignored her.

  Upon Lady Diana and Elizabeth’s return from the Dower House, she’d informed them of Marcus’s unexpected arrival and made light of the gentlemen’s bloodthirsty desire to go haring off after a stag. The other two women were full of their ideas and plans for the continued renovations of the Dower House, and without question they accepted her excuse for Julian and Marcus’s absence from the dining room.

  Nell got through the evening, smiling and making appropriate comments, but with one ear cocked for the sound of her husband’s arrival home. The evening dragged on, the hours on the clock passing with excruciating slowness.

  Around eleven o’clock, Lady Diana politely stifled a yawn. Standing up and shaking out her gown, she said, “Oh, dear, I fear that my bed is calling for me. Who knew that decorating a house could be so fatiguing?”

  Elizabeth stood up and also prepared to leave for her bedroom. Glancing at Nell, she asked, “Are you coming to bed, too?” Adding with a smile, “I would not wait up if I were you. From past experience, Mama and I know that when Lord Wyndham and Mr. Sherbrook are hunting t
hey can lose all track of time.”

  “Oh, my, yes!” said Lady Diana. “Why I remember one time that they disappeared for three days chasing after a fox they’d jumped. Naturally the fox escaped and Julian’s horse threw a shoe and they ended up stranded in some little country village until they could find a blacksmith. My husband thought it a huge joke, but I was most anxious. We had no idea where they were or when they would return.” She patted Nell on the cheek. “But return they did, starving and dirty and none the worse for wear—all my fretting was for naught. Come along with us, dear, there is no need for you to wait up for them.”

  Nell allowed herself to be convinced and the three ladies retired to their bedchambers. After changing into her nightclothes, Nell dismissed Becky. She’d eyed the glass of warm milk that Becky had brought to help her sleep and wrinkled her nose. Warm milk would not help her tonight.

  Determination in her step, she had crossed the room and entered her husband’s domain. And there she’d remained, pacing and speculating as the hours ticked by.

  Nell had not heard Julian and Marcus’s return and when the door to his room swung open and he walked inside, she gasped as his tall, broad-shouldered form loomed up out of the shadows.

  They stared at each other a second, both surprised to see the other, and then relief coursing through her she flew across the room and hurled herself into his arms. “Oh, thank God, you are home,” she cried, clutching him as if she’d never let him go. Burying her nose at the throat of his opened shirt, she drank in the beloved scent. “I have been so worried,” she said finally. “You have been gone for hours and hours.”

  She felt wonderful in his arms, her slender body soft and warm, driving out the ugliness of the day. How different, he thought, was Nell’s sweet greeting from that of Catherine’s. Even now he could still hear Catherine’s bored tones and picture the indifferent expression on her face when he returned after being away, sometimes for a week or more. Catherine, he thought wryly, had certainly never worried about him. That Nell was anxious for him touched him deeply and he hugged her close, savoring the feel of her against him. Trying for a light note, he said, “Why should you have been? I sent word with John Hunter that Marcus and I would be delayed. Do not tell me that I have married a shrew who begrudges me a bit of hunting now and then?”