by Robyn DeHart
“No, but you should get to have a family if you so choose, and you can’t convince me you don’t want one, so don’t even try.”
“Edmond, Papa is getting older and the years of caring for her are wearing on him. He won’t be around forever and she needs constant care. How can I do that with children underfoot?” she said.
“You think we’re the only people who’ve ever had a parent in this situation?”
She’d never thought of it before, but he was probably right. “Well, of course not. I know plenty of other people have struggles.”
“Then why are you so damned special that you can sacrifice everything and play the martyr?”
“Why are you angry with me?” she asked.
He closed his eyes. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at the situation. All I’m saying is, stop pretending you’re alone in this. She’s my mother too.”
“But you shouldn’t have to—”
He held his hand up. “I want to. I’ve always understood Mother on a different level than you.”
“You and she are much alike,” Willow said.
He shrugged. “She’s a free spirit. From here on, we share responsibility. Understood?”
“Yes.” She turned to walk away.
“Oh, and you should marry that detective of yours.”
She nearly tripped as she whirled around to face her brother. “I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me.”
“Did Papa tell you?” she asked.
“Tell me what?”
“That he’d asked.”
Edmond smiled. “No, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you, dear sister. I knew the man would marry you. So when will you marry?”
She shook her head. “I declined.”
“Willow, listen to me, do not walk away from your own happiness in some misguided attempt to take care of the rest of us. Marry him.”
She couldn’t argue with him, because she knew he would never understand. No one did. How did James look at her? She wanted to ask more questions, to know what he meant. But she forced herself to the climb the stairs to her room. There would be no getting sleep tonight. Her mind would be filled with thoughts of marriage and children.
Could she do it all? James had said no man would expect her to walk away from her mother, so perhaps he would help her do it all. Maybe, just maybe, if Willow’s husband loved her enough, he could accept her and the duties she had to her mother. But James would never love her. He’d proposed out of a sense of honor. How could she be in a marriage where she provided the only love? Wouldn’t that wear her down after a while? Make her resent him?
She might be willing to try a balance between her own family and caring for her mother, but she would only do so for love. And she knew that would never happen. Furthermore, James had seemed to ruin her for all other men. Both literally and emotionally. Even without his love, if she had to marry, he would be her only choice.
She didn’t think she loved him. But there was a good chance she would. It was only a matter of time.
James had proposed once, but she’d foolishly declined. It was unlikely he’d ask her again.
James wiped a hand down his face.
Willow had come to see him so they could discuss the direction of the case, and he didn’t know what to tell her. Neither could he pretend that her father wasn’t a suspect. They had ignored that fact last night as they’d explored their mutual passion. But in the light of day, the truth could no longer hide.
She paced the room like a caged animal, her feet wearing a path into his rug. But she did not allow any of her control to slip. No tears, no angry outbursts, just restrained frustration.
There were times, though, when it seemed she was like a closed pot with the lid banging against the boiling liquid within and any moment, the lid would slide off and the contents would pour to the floor. He’d seen her lose control. But never in a situation like this one.
Not today.
“So I have no way to prove my father’s innocence?” She stopped pacing. “James, I know my father didn’t do this. I know he’s not capable of such a thing. Why should he be punished because Drummond was obsessed with my mother?”
“What are you asking me to do, Willow?” Because right now, he was willing to do anything for her. Anything to clear her eyes and get her to smile.
She covered her mouth. “I don’t know,” she said through her fingers.
“You want me to remove any mention of your father or mother from the investigation? Do you want me to hide the evidence?” While he might have always followed his own guidelines in this job, he’d never once cheated evidence. Yes, he went by his gut more than he ought, but it was the way he worked. But for her…for her he would put his job on the line.
She shook her head in horror. “I could never ask you to do such a thing.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both.”
“Because, you must know, I would do that for you.”
She stopped and looked at him. Emotion filled her eyes and he swore he saw love looking back at him.
They had questioned everyone on their list and still had not solved the case. James leaned back in his chair, his bare feet stretching out in front of him.
“Do we have any other suspects?” Willow asked.
James cracked his knuckles. “No.”
“Only my father, that’s it?” her voice rose.
“Willow, I don’t believe he did this any more than you do, but I can’t ignore evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“All of the things Drummond wrote about her in his journal. Your mother obviously had some relationship with Drummond.”
“What about all the other women he wrote about?” she asked. “Are they not suspects as well?” She pointed at him. “Did they pose nude for him?”
“As best I can tell, yes, with the exception of two,” he said.
“My mother,” she said.
“Yes. And Camille, or ‘Millie,’ as he called her. She even told me of that nickname and that they had been lovers, when she came to visit me, but—” He shook his head and then rose to his feet. “I just didn’t make the connection.”
“The duchess?”
“Yes, I found one picture of each of the other women in that box. Except your mother and the duchess.” He opened his mouth to say something, but Willow’s face stopped him.
Concern crossed her features. She sat down. “There is something you should know.”
“What?”
Her hands fidgeted in front of her, clearly portraying her nerves. “My mother did pose for him. It was many years ago. My father told me.” Her words came out in rapid bursts.
“Your father knew?”
“Yes, he said he was furious with Drummond for taking advantage of my mother’s illness.” She shook her head. “He did not know what happened to the actual photograph. I’m sure Drummond sold it.”
“You did not want to tell me this, did you?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Because it makes your father look even guiltier?”
She nodded.
He grabbed her firmly and pulled her to him for an abrupt kiss. “I do believe, however, that you may have just solved the case.”
“How?”
“I think your mother’s pictures aren’t the only ones that are missing,” James said.
Realization lit her eyes. “You believe the duchess also posed?” she asked.
He nodded. “A few days ago Duchess Argyle came to visit me at the office. She wanted to let me know that she and Drummond had been lovers. She never said anything about nude photographs, and she said there was no way her husband knew of the affair. It should have occurred to me earlier.” But he’d been fixated on Willow and he’d lost sight of the investigation and had nearly missed the biggest clue.
“If the duke knew of the affair, then that would certainly give him the motivation to kill the photographer,” Willow said.
“Can you arrest him?” she asked.
“Not yet, but I can question him. Perhaps persuade him to confess and then arrest him. But we should get Camille out of the house first.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Parliament is still in session so he should be there for a few more hours.”
“I’ll go,” Willow said, coming to her feet. “I’ll bring her here.”
“No, it’s too dangerous.”
“But you said yourself he won’t be home.” She put her hand on his chest. “I’ll bring her here.”
He eyed her cautiously. Telling her he loved her was right on the edge of his tongue.
“All will be well. You wait an hour; then you can go over there and wait for his return. When you’re done, the duchess and I will be safely here, waiting.”
“Get in and get out of there as quickly as you can,” he said.
“I shall. Do not worry, I can take care of myself.” She tentatively rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth against his.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” he assured her. It was himself he was worried about, as he didn’t think he could live with himself if anything happened to her. He still needed to convince her to marry him, because only after she agreed could he tell her he loved her. He wanted to say it aloud to her. To watch her eyes widen in disbelief. To feel her melt into his arms as she admitted she loved him too.
Willow took a seat in the duchess’s parlor but declined the tea offered her. “There’s really no delicate way to say this, so I’m simply going to come right out with it. James and I believe it’s possible that your husband is the one responsible for Malcolm Drummond’s death,” Willow said.
Camille frowned and shook her head. “Are you certain?”
“No, we’re not positive, but the evidence is certainly pointing that way. You and Mr. Drummond had an affair?”
“Yes, but I don’t think my husband ever knew about it.”
“It’s quite likely he did know,” Willow said.
“I simply can’t believe it.”
“Do you not believe he’s capable of murder?” Willow asked.
“No,” she said with a shaky laugh, “it’s not that. He’s quite capable of violence. He yells at our staff all the time and he’s pushed me a few times, but I never thought…” her voice trailed off.
“James is coming over to speak with your husband.” Willow stood and tried to gather Camille. “I’d like for you to leave with me so that you’ll be safe,” Willow said.
“She’s not going anywhere with you.”
Willow turned at the sound of the voice and found the duke standing in the doorway. His looming figure seemed to darken the entire room. He nudged the door shut with his foot and walked toward them, his eyes narrowing.
It was then that Willow spotted the metal in his hand. A pistol. Her heart sped to a racing tempo.
“Randall,” Camille said. “Miss Mabson was just leaving.”
“No, she isn’t,” the duke said. “Stand up!” he yelled at his wife. Then he leveled the pistol on her. “Both of you, over there.” He motioned to a spot in front of the fireplace. “Now, what was it you were telling my wife? That you wanted to remove her from our home for her safety?”
Willow steeled herself, trying to feign as much bravery as she could muster.
“We know you killed Malcolm Drummond,” Willow said. She was amazed at how she managed to keep her voice steady.
The duke sneered at her. “You don’t know anything.”
“Why did you do it?” Camille said.
“Quiet,” the duke said.
Willow stood next to Camille, and the woman huddled against her while the duke aimed the pistol at them.
“I will shoot both of you,” he said calmly.
“Darling,” Camille said, her voice shaking. “Miss Mabson has nothing to do with this. She only came by for tea. Please allow her to leave.”
“Do not call me such names,” his voice raised to a higher pitch. “And do not presume to think I will let this…this woman go, so she can then bring help to save you. Do you think me a fool?” His lips tilted into a slight smile. “Of course you do, or you would not have been cavorting with that bastard behind my back.”
Willow’s heart was beating so loudly she could scarcely hear anything else. She was not so much afraid for her safety, but she knew James would be there any moment. The large clock standing in the corner declared it was ten minutes after the hour.
If James burst into the room, it would startle the Duke enough that he might shoot. In her mind she could imagine James clutching his chest as blood pooled on his shirt. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could not allow him to die.
Not now. She wanted to marry him. She could endure their marriage without his love. Her love for him would be more than enough for both of them. Her love. She loved him. Why had she not realized this before? And he had to care for her to some degree, else he would never have proposed.
Knowing what she knew of him now, of his uncle and James’ feelings about decorum—there had to be more than honor spurring him to propose to her. Without some affection for her, he would have walked away.
She could take affection. Affection was a start. Besides, his smile and his touch were all she needed. Perhaps now she’d never have the opportunity to tell him. Tell him she loved him. Tell him how much he’d taught her. About life, about love, and about herself.
The duke’s eyes moved from her to Camille. The stiffly restrained nature of his demeanor chilled Willow to her core. This was a man who believed he could control his emotions even though they ran dangerously close to the surface. Willow had lived much of her life trying to be that controlled. Foolishly believing that if she kept her feelings at bay she could prevent herself from becoming like her mother. Thinking that if she tried hard enough, she could banish any desire she had to fall in love and even more so her desire to be loved.
James had changed everything, though. He’d opened her eyes and her heart, and now she might not ever get the chance to thank him or tell him how she felt.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door move slightly. “Talk to him,” she whispered to Camille. “Keep him focused on you.” If they could keep him distracted, perhaps he would not notice when James stepped into the room.
“Randall, think of what you’re doing,” Camille pled with her husband.
“Shut up, Camille,” he yelled. “I have no further use for your lies.” He took two steps toward them and Willow saw the door behind the duke open even further. James peeked into the room, but was careful to remain unseen.
“I went over there that night to cut off his funding,” the duke explained. “I had heard he’d been taking unsavory photographs and selling them. Chester Fields bought several of them, but then he was always an offensive man. But I didn’t want our good name sullied with the likes of Drummond’s activities.” Then he released a humorless laugh.
James stepped all the way into the room and crept along the wall behind the duke. Willow squeezed Camille’s hand, hoping the woman would do nothing to alert her husband to James’ presence. The woman gasped.
“You know what I found, don’t you?” the duke asked, his features lined with disgust.
“Yes,” she blurted out, tears streaking down her face, “my photographs.” Her voice was no more than a whimper. She was doing well at keeping her husband distracted.
He nodded. “You can save those tears of yours, my dear, I can assure you I am rather unaffected.”
Although Willow was not so certain that was the truth. He might not feel compassion for his young wife, but he was not unaffected.
“Yes, I found those filthy photographs of you,” he continued. “And there he was, sleeping on the damned chaise lounge, where your naked body had been in those pictures.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t allow that. Not my wife.
Not my good name. What was he going to do with those images, Camille? Was he going to sell them for the highest price? Come and buy a picture of the Duke of Argyle’s whore wife.”
“You never spoke to him?” she asked, clearly surprised.
James inched closer to the duke and Willow kept reminding herself to breathe. She didn’t want to do anything to alert the duke to James’ presence behind him. She continued squeezing Camille’s hand, hoping the woman would continue doing what she’d been doing.
“No. I simply picked up the nearest thing I could find and I killed him,” his tone remained as even as if he’d only announced that he was retiring for the evening.
“So you never knew,” Camille said softly.
James kicked hard, hitting the duke behind the knees and buckling his legs so that he fell to the ground. The gun went off, shooting the wall behind them. Camille screamed. James put his knee in the duke’s back, then pulled his arms back to place the manacles on him.
“Never knew what, Camille?” the duke yelled, lifting his head.
“That we were having an affair. That I loved him.” She put her hand on her heart, then shook her head. “You killed him for some silly pictures.”
“You will pay for this,” he told her.
“No, I believe you’ll be the one paying,” James told him. “Your Grace, the Metropolitan Police will be filing charges against you for murdering Malcolm Drummond and for attempting to murder your wife and Miss Willow Mabson.” He pulled the man to his feet and then called for the constables waiting in the hallway. James stepped over to Willow. “Are you all right?” He ran his hand down her cheek and looked her up and down.
“Yes.”
“Let me help them bring him outside to the wagon. I have some papers I have to sign. You ladies wait right here.”
James hauled the duke out of the room and Willow heard Camille sigh deeply.
“What will you do now?”
Camille gave her a shaky smile. “I’m not certain. Spend his money, perhaps.”
“Will you be all right here tonight, alone?”
She took a deep breath, then moved to sit on the edge of the sofa, her hands constantly wringing the fabric of her dress. “Probably not.” She gave a shallow laugh. “My sister does not live far from here, and she’s always itching to rid herself of my pesky nephews for a few hours. I believe I’ll stay with them for a few days, and then see how I feel.” She rose and embraced Willow. “Thank you for this. I’m certain he would have killed me,” her voice choked on the last word.
