Richard still held off. I began to think he would really let Terry go. “The latter consideration is to me the deciding factor. I’m sorry, Tom, I’ve waited long enough.”
He pulled the trigger.
Where there was order before, now chaos reigned. Blood and brains spattered the carefully polished surface of the room and where there had been a living being, now lay a bloody, spongy mess. Richard pushed the back of the chair hard with his knee and Terry slumped down on to the table in front of us.
I leapt to my feet, afraid the blood had spoiled Lizzie’s habit and I would be forced to burn it, but I couldn’t see any marks. Richard had shot Terry from the side, and all the mess had gone away from us.
After the first recoil Richard leaned over the body. He put the gun in the dead man’s hand, where it might have fallen if Terry had shot himself. “I think we must leave the powers that be to decide on the suicide or accident verdict.” He glanced up at Tom, who stood still, his hand clamped over his mouth. “For God’s sake don’t be sick, Skerrit.” Then he looked at me. “Rose?”
I stared at the thing on the desk, shocked I felt so little. I’d seen dead men before, from accident or old age, but never the result of an action like this. It didn’t seem to matter. The shock had come before, when I’d realised how much Terry had fooled us all, and for how long. This seemed to be an anticlimax, not the horror it should have been.
Richard would have taken my hand and turned me away, but I leaned forward, forestalling him, and picked up the two untouched wine glasses and the two tumblers used for brandy, all now spotted with blood. “These must be washed.” I left the glass Tom had thrown to the floor. One glass would not be remarked on.
Richard nodded, and took my arm. “We have to go now.”
Tom looked up from where he stood staring at the body, and numbly followed us out of the room. The footman outside hadn’t moved. “Give us ten minutes and then raise the alarm,” Richard ordered.
“Yes, my lord.”
Richard took the glasses from me and put them on a table by the door “Make sure these are washed and put away.” The second footman picked them up and indicated we should follow him with a little bow. “The back stairs are clear, my lord, and they lead straight to the courtyard at the back of the house.”
We followed the man down the cold stone steps to the back door where Carier waited.
There was a small lobby before the door. As Tom and the footman passed through it, Richard caught my arm and pulled me back.
His face was white, his clear blue eyes completely paralysed. He dragged me to him and held me tight, his head buried in my shoulder. He threw his head back and took several deep breaths, then looked at me, not smiling, with such need in his eyes I wanted to take him to my bed and hold him until he’d forgotten what he’d done, so there was only us again. “I told you, my love. An act like this takes a little of your soul, but I could see no other way.” I admired him deeply, even more now I knew what it had cost him to take this step. My husband-to-be respected life more than anyone would ever know. Except me.
He forced a smile, and took my hand. We went out into the yard together.
Richard cupped his hands and helped me into the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse. Tom, still dumb with shock, waited for us. We wasted no time putting Penfold Hall behind us. I welcomed the release, and galloped up to the ridge beyond, letting my horse have her head. I didn’t think of anything except the wind at my ears trying to free my hat where I had jammed it hard on my head as we left.
Richard let me go. He must have seen my need to release some of the tension I felt, to try to deal with my feelings, but I was always aware of him riding closely behind me.
Once over the ridge, the house out of sight, we deliberately slowed down. If anyone had seen us going hell for leather it would have seemed suspicious, when the tragedy at Penfold Hall was discovered, and after a while we stopped completely. Richard helped me down and I didn’t let him release me when I stood on the ground. “I took Rose out for a gentle ride today,” Richard said to Tom, his arm still around my waist. “She is, after all, still convalescent. We met you and you rode with us for a while. We know nothing about any other occurrences, of course.”
“Of course,” Tom repeated. “What made you do it?” he cried, his voice cracking.
Richard touched his hand in a steadying gesture. “It was needful. Apart from all other considerations, Rose wouldn’t have slept soundly for a long time to come if she knew he was doing what he did to her to anyone else, someone without protectors. The man would have caused the death of many other people, and perhaps started a war to gain territory. He was greedy and he wouldn’t have stopped. I’ve seen his kind before. We both have.”
He glanced across at Carier who concurred with a dour nod. “Not too many times, my lord, but I can recall one or two.”
“Left to themselves they get worse,” Richard told a silent Tom. “In this instance, the moment he laid a finger on Rose, he was dead. I was planning to ruin him, was plotting with Cawnton to take over his part of the smuggling enterprise, and although it would have taken much more effort and money, it might have been worth it.”
“You love her that much?” Tom asked, wonder in his eyes.
“Oh, much more than that,” Richard assured him. His hand tightened briefly around my waist. “Other women are presented with jewellery and money as proof of devotion. If I started to present mine with dead bodies, society might begin to wonder.”
Richard waited while I gave Tom a hug.
Then he took me back to my horse and helped me to mount, and we continued on our way.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I WAS WEARY WHEN WE got home, and I spent most of the rest of the day in the small parlour kept for family use, reading the papers with my feet up. Richard joined me for much of the time, and we sat in companionable silence, recovering from the ordeals of recent days. Once I asked him, “Have you done this often?”
“No,” he answered. “Sometimes the authorities deal with it, sometimes the family themselves, if it avoids a scandal. I’ve killed before, but not usually in cold blood.”
“Could it have been avoided?” I was concerned for Richard’s welfare more than anything else.
“No. I could have got someone else to do it, but this one was mine.”
I didn’t ask any more.
I was in my room getting dressed for dinner when Lizzie hurtled in with the news. “You’ll never guess.”
“What?” I knew from the look on her face, excitement suppressed by concern, what the news was.
“It’s Norrice Terry. He’s been found dead in his study.”
“Good God.” I kept my eyes on the mirror, marvelling at the calm expression on my face while my stomach churned.
Lizzie noticed nothing amiss. She continued to talk, telling me all about it, and all I could see was that comfortable study, and the thing on the desk. “They found him in his study at about twelve o’clock with his gun next to him on the desk. He’d killed himself, they said. At least he won’t come to trial. Or perhaps one of his lowlife friends murdered him. What do you think?”
“I’m not going to think about it. It’s a shock, but not that much of a shock.” I rummaged around on the dressing table in the pretence of searching for something there. “I’m not even going to speculate.” I met her eyes in the mirror. “But I’m glad he’s dead,” I added, with no particular emphasis, deliberately taking the heat out of my voice.
“He was a wicked man,” Lizzie agreed, serious for once. “When I saw what he’d done to you—” She broke off. I sighed when I remembered the conversation I’d had with Martha about my bruises. More perceptive than Lizzie, she’d seen where the marks were clustered and it took some time before I could convince her that he had done nothing else. “Rose, you’re getting married on Thursday and Strang has seen the marks., so it’s as well he killed himself or whatever happened, because I can’t see your husband-to-be leaving
that one alone.” She turned to me in shock. “Rose. Do you think...?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped, picking up my nail buffer. “What time has he had? He was with me all day today, and we met Tom when we were out riding.”
“Do you think Tom might have done something?” Lizzie asked, balked of her original prey.
“Even less of a chance than Richard, I’d say. And in any case, he wouldn’t do anything in cold blood like that. Did you say he was found at twelve o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“How long had he been there?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed.
I smiled in satisfaction. “Well then, if the servants heard the noise and came immediately, Tom couldn’t have done it, because we met him at least half an hour earlier than that.”
“Oh.” She was more relieved than disappointed, and I hadn’t actually lied to her. I knew now I could live with what we had done, and I felt easier Terry wasn’t going to torment me or anyone else any more.
If I could live with this, I could live with Richard as proprietor of Thompson’s and all that went with it. He needed it as a basis for his own power. If I had insisted, he would have given it up, but he must see that we were both safer with the company behind us rather than with no protection at all. He had let me in to every aspect of his life now, nothing hidden from me. I had to honour that and take him as he was, not as I might wish he would be. He wasn’t a country squire, he was the heir to one of the principal peerages in the country, sophisticated, powerful, and he would never be any different. I would have to learn how to be the best wife I could be to him, in public and in private. Private was easier.
This was the end of my life as a spinster sister in rural Devonshire. I wasn’t sure what lay ahead, but I knew one thing. Richard was the centre of it. He always would be.
About the Author
LYNNE CONNOLLY HAS the best job in the world. She writes historical, paranormal and contemporary romance and she doesn’t seem to be able to stop. She has won a number of awards, including two EPPIES, and she lives in damp, rainy England with her family and her mews.
Once a year she crosses the ocean to visit friends, attend conventions and other shindigs, and promote her books, so watch her blog if you want to meet her. She loves travelling and meeting people who she will then use in her books, but then, authors are like that.
Her website is at http://lynneconnolly.com
You can email her at [email protected]
She tweets @lynneconnolly
Her Facebook is at https://www.facebook.com/lynneconnollyuk
And her blog is here: http://lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk/
One day she’ll grow up and get a proper job, but not just yet!
Look for these titles
Triple Countess:
Last Chance, My Love
A Chance to Dream
Met by Chance
A Betting Chance
Secrets Trilogy:
Seductive Secrets
Alluring Secrets
Tantalizing Secrets
Richard and Rose:
Yorkshire
Devonshire
Venice
Harley Street
Eyton
Hareton Hall
Maiden Lane
Lisbon
The Emperors of London
Rogue in Red Velvet
Temptation Has Green Eyes
Danger Wears White
Dilemma in Yellow Silk
Reckless In Pink
Veiled In Blue
Wild Lavender
The Shaws
Fearless
Sinless
Dauntless
Boundless
Even Gods Fall In Love
Lightning Unbound
Mad For Love
Arrows of Desire
Forged By Love
War Chest
Her Quicksilver Lover
Single Titles
It Started at Waterloo
Dreaming of Waterloo
Uncovering Vanessa
Counterfeit Countess
Maybe Tomorrow
Loving Lucy
Seducing Laura
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Did you love Devonshire? Then you should read Venice by Lynne Connolly!
Richard and Rose, Book 3At long last, it is Lord and Lady Strang's wedding day. Yet no sooner do Richard and Rose leave their wedding breakfast than two shots ring out, forcing a hasty change in honeymoon plans. Instead of traveling together by yacht, Richard goes on ahead, making sure the road to Venice is safe for his beloved.Rose is by no means alone, however. Along her journey by packet, coach, even mule, she befriends a charming young couple, the Ravens, who have a strange confession to make. They claim they are traveling incognito—and are really the newlywed Lord and Lady Strang!Once reunited in Venice, Richard and Rose heat up the sheets, making Richard consider the delightful possibility of keeping his wife in bed for the rest of their stay. Except Venice is as full of knaves as London, and one of them is still trying to find them with a bullet.The Ravens could hold the key to the assassination attempts. Or perhaps they are playing a deadly game of their own…
Read more at Lynne Connolly’s site.
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