“There are many payments to other Lords here,” he remarked, perusing the contents. “If I had to make a guess, they are the results of bets. There are also several brothels, as well as payments to a Mr. Bones…”
“Do you know anyone by that name?” Lord Dunsmore asked, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow.
Charles shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like a real name.”
“That may be our killer,” Lord Dunsmore remarked. “Under an alias. These are quite large payoffs. I wonder what they were for.”
He closed the ledger with a decisive snap. “Today has been quite productive for us, Mr. Conolly.”
“Are you going to go to the other’s homes?” Charles asked.
“Yes. I plan to. It’s best if I go alone,” he replied. “It’s easiest. I’m rarely caught. I have to pay my respects, anyway. Missing funerals is considered very gauche, as you know.”
“I see.”
“Once I do, I’ll call you to my office. We can look at all of the evidence together.”
“All right,” Charles replied.
“Never fear, Mr. Conolly! We’ll figure this out.” Lord Dunsmore peered out of the carriage window. “Here we are! Right at your office.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Charles said.
“You’re very welcome, Sir.”
Charles was left, standing in the street. He didn’t know what to make of Lord Dunsmore. He was one of the most colorful figures he’d ever met. It was good to have him on his side, however.
Arabella was dressed for battle, in a lemon-yellow satin with black ribbons. The Duke of Longmire was invited to dinner, for the second time that week. She sat in the drawing room, with her parents, awaiting the Duke’s arrival.
“Please behave yourself,” her father begged. “At the very least, give him a chance.”
“I’ll do my best,” she replied. “But I won’t marry him.”
“That remains to be seen,” her father stated sternly.
“The Duke of Longmire,” Mr. Blankley announced from the doorway. The Duke entered as they all stood up. He was dressed in a black coat. His hair was neatly coiffed. His eyes went immediately to Arabella.
Greetings were made and they all made their way into the dining room. Arabella sat, eating her food while her father flattered the Duke.
This romancing the Duke of Longmire is nearly enough to put me off of my food.
“Your Grace,” her father said, smiling at him. “You’ll have to come and visit us at Tiverwell Manor during the summer.”
“I would be honored, Your Grace,” the Duke replied.
“It’s decided then,” her father said. Meanwhile, Arabella could only picture the Duke, attempting to woo her among Tiverwell Manor’s many gardens. It was a place which had been a respite for her. Ruined. There would be no escaping him. She would have to ensconce herself in her rooms.
“Do you fence, Your Grace?” she asked. She was relieved that he had not mentioned Isis. No doubt, he was waiting until they could talk without her parents overhearing.
“Naturally, I do,” he replied. “All young gentlemen are given lessons.”
“Lady Arabella is very experienced, herself,” her mother said, proudly.
“I would never dream of fencing a lady,” the Duke said. “It would be utterly improper.”
“Improper, Your Grace, or would your masculinity find itself challenged at the threat of losing to a lady?” Arabella asked.
The whole table went silent. Arabella turned her gaze downward, toward her plate to hide the smile that spread across her face. She speared a roasted carrot placing it into her mouth and chewing.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” her father stated stiffly. “My daughter speaks her mind quite frequently.”
“It’s quite all right, Your Grace,” the Duke of Longmire said. “Ladies who speak their mind are fascinating to me.”
Arabella shot a glance at her father. The thought that he found the Duke of Longmire to be her best match was quickly becoming an affront to her sensibilities.
Charles and Arthur had arrived at Lord Dunsmore’s townhome. After several days of silence, he’d sent word that he’d gathered more evidence of import.
“Gentlemen!” Lord Dunsmore said. He had several ledgers, open on the table. While Charles and Arthur were seated, Lord Dunsmore stood, pacing the room, as if he were a lecturer. “Here, before you, is the evidence that we needed. All of the gentlemen who have been murdered have made payments to our Mr. Bones.”
“How is it that you’re able to find things that the constable cannot?” Arthur asked.
“The constables are simple men. They do not know the ton. They cannot move amongst them to glean the information that I can.”
“Look here. There’s Mr. Bones, on every single ledger.” Lord Dunsmore pointed, while Charles and Arthur walked over to peer at them.
“There are the same brothels, as well,” Charles said.
“That’s hardly a surprise. Those are all on the same street as the Millgate Club, of which all of the victims were members. They get drunk, then stumble to the nearest establishment. Not much detecting there.”
“Mr. Bones,” Arthur remarked. “Who could that be?”
“I’m going to have to do a bit more detecting,” Lord Dunsmore mused. “Here is where I’ll need you—I am a member of the Stanhope Club, which is a rival to the Millgate. There’s no way that I can get in without considerable suspicion.”
“I can ask a favor of one of my clients,” Charles replied. He could ask the Duke of Tiverwell, who had come to his office to apologize for snapping at him.
“Who?”
“The Duke of Tiverwell,” he replied.
“Hmmm,” Lord Dunsmore mused. “That would be…yes. He would be very useful to us.”
“Perhaps, he even knows who Mr. Bones is,” Charles pointed out. “I’ve noticed that the Duke seems a bit…frightened of late. He, too, has been focused on his estate.”
“As if he’s gotten some sort of threat?” Lord Dunsmore asked, perking up.
“I know that to be true,” Charles said. “Over the summer.” He pulled the list of employees that Lady Arabella’s lady’s maid had made. “The Duke believed it to be one of his employees that he had wronged. Here is a list of those it may be.”
“He’s very similar to the others,” Arthur agreed. “A member of Millgate, high born.”
“I’ll go and visit him,” Charles offered. “See if he knows anything. If he has received more threats, then it might be a clue.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Arabella sat in the parlor with her lady’s maid. She had a book, open in her lap. She sat, placing her head in her hand. She closed her eyes. She was beginning to tire of having the Duke of Longmire forced on her.
So, she kept herself occupied with thoughts of Charles. She remembered their kiss, in the garden. The way that the moonlight had fallen on his face. His hands on her waist, pulling her to him.
She recalled gripping at his shirt, while his hand rested upon her lower back, drawing her closer to him. Her pulse quickened as she thought of it.
The door opened, “Mr. Charles Conolly,” Mr. Blankley said. Arabella’s eyes shot open. It was almost as if she’d conjured him.
What luck! To be home alone, when Charles has come to call!
“Oh, My Lady,” Charles said, blinking in surprise. “I can come back—”
“Don’t be silly Mr. Conolly,” she replied. “Come and sit.”
“It isn’t—”
“Well, Annette is here,” she pointed out, sitting down and patting the settee cushion beside her. “It’s all very proper,” she assured him, flashing him her winning smile.
He seemed to melt, starting with his eyes. Then, he walked over and sat.
“Is your father not in?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, no. What did you come to tell him?” she asked. Until recently, her father always kept her apprised of his business.
“Charles?” she asked, studying him. “What’s wrong?”
“You always read me like a book,” he said, looking away from her.
“Naturally,” she replied, then waited for him to tell her everything.
“I wish that things could have been different,” he said. “No one has ever understood me in the way that you do.”
“No one has loved you as much as I love you,” she replied, daring to tell him the truth.
“It can never be,” he replied, shaking his head sadly.
“Are you really giving up so easily?” she asked. She didn’t dare give up hope. There was still time.
“The longer that you keep holding a flame for me, the more opportunities that you’re missing out on,” he replied.
“They’re not worth having,” she told him, flatly. She was ready to fight him. Her longing for him was causing an ache in her chest. There he was, so close to her, and yet so far away.
When he seemed about to say no, she placed her hand on his arm. “Please. I love you, Charles.”
“Arabella—”
“That’s more like it.” They both grinned at each other, and he covered her hand with his own, lacing his fingers in between hers. He looked down at their hands. When his gaze lifted, his eyes meeting hers, there was a fire in them. This was the gentleman with whom she’d fallen in love—the gentleman who regarded her with warm passion. Her pulse quickened.
It was a relief, in a way, to be sitting there with Arabella. They hadn’t been this close, since their last encounter—in the garden. It seemed like it had happened an age ago, when it had been only a week. They were both quiet, staring into each other’s eyes. She licked her lips, her eyes on his lips.
“I—I can’t stop thinking about the last time that we spoke,” she whispered, her voice husky.
“I can’t, either,” he replied. His hand still sat on top of hers, which was still on his upper arm. She squeezed. He watched as she bit her lip. His whole body lit up as he thought of taking her lip in between his own teeth.
“Charles—” she began, but the door opened, and the Duke of Tiverwell entered. They both froze. The Duke went pale, rage travelling through all of his features, as his eyes took in their hands, clasped tightly.
“Get. Out,” he uttered, through gritted teeth.
“Your Grace—” Charles began to say, standing up.
The Duke pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house,” he growled.
“Pappa!” Arabella said, standing up with Charles. “He’s come to help you.”
“I don’t care,” her father roared. “I never want him under my roof again.”
“Your Grace,” Charles began again.
“I will kill you myself,” the Duke raged. “You come under my roof, then touch my daughter—”
“Pappa!” Arabella clung to her father’s arm. “Please! You must listen to him.”
“There is nothing that he can say that I will ever listen to.”
“Your Grace!” Charles said.
The Duke of Tiverwell turned on him, huffing. “I will visit you in your offices when I require your assistance,” he stated. “But only then. When I deign to come. If you return to my place of residence, then I will have you carted off by the authorities.”
Charles gritted his teeth. He looked the Duke in the eyes. If he wanted to do battle, then so be it. Charles had long been tired of being treated like he was unworthy.
“Pappa! Don’t speak to him like that!” Arabella said, her hands in fists at her sides.
“I will speak to him as I choose! And you, my daughter—you—”
“No! Just because he is not a gentleman of the ton does not mean that you can order him about in this way. He’s trying to help you!” Tears were gathering in her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“The Duke of Tiverwell,” the Duke stated, turning toward Charles. “And you are my barrister, not my equal. You would do well to remember it!” he bellowed.
Charles nodded, bowing to him. “I won’t forget it, Your Grace. I’ll take my leave.” He walked out, meeting the butler in the hallway. Mr. Blankley looked at him with some sympathy. Charles had the feeling that he, too, was viewed in a similar manner. Charles recalled Matthew Rapson’s words—that Mr. Blankley knew and saw all. Gathering all of the willpower that he could muster, he left.
Arabella folded her arms, glaring at her father. She’d never before seen him treat someone of lower status than himself so coldly. Her anger was as hot as his own.
“He came to help you, you know,” she said.
“Do you know what he came here to tell me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“You were too busy, then?” he asked, insinuating.
She turned away from him, moving toward the door. When she reached it, she spun around to face him. She opened her mouth to ask him whether he would ever change his mind, then thought better of it. Instead, she said, “I love him, Father. I cannot marry anyone else.”
“You will marry whom I say you will,” he replied. “You will marry a gentleman of title and noble birth who can keep you at a level of comfort as you are used.”
Who are you?
This was not her Father. She didn’t know this person who stood, facing her. His eyes seemed wild and he was grimacing so that his teeth were bared.
“I don’t even know you.” She’d said it before, recently. She should never have had to say it. What had changed? Or had this always just been hidden?
“I forbid you from talking about this again,” he said, advancing toward her. Arabella stepped back. “I forbid you from seeing Mr. Conolly, I forbid you from speaking to him, and I forbid you from having any sort of affection toward him.”
She said nothing, just turned and left the room. She walked down the hall, breaking into a run. She headed for the front door meaning to get Charles to stop. She threw it open to find that he was already gone.
She stood staring out at the street. Several passersby turned to look. One of them was a woman dressed in rags. Arabella met her gaze. She seemed to be looking at Arabella with pity. She stepped back inside closing the door. She leaned her forehead against the cold wood. A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away.
“So, the Duke of Tiverwell will not be assisting us?” Lord Dunsmore asked. He had dropped by Charles’s office to see how the meeting with the Duke of Tiverwell had gone. They were both seated in armchairs with drinks in hand. Lord Dunsmore was peering out the window watching the passersby out on the street.
“Unfortunately, no,” Charles replied, staring into the amber depths of his brandy.
“And, the daughter—”
“I cannot ask Arabella to be involved,” Charles stated flatly. On no account, would he ever put her in any danger. He wanted her as far away from all of this as possible. He wondered if he could convince her to leave the city. He knew that he could never force her to do a thing, but—
“You speak of her in the familiar,” Lord Dunsmore said, turning toward him. Charles blinked at him, in surprise. He was far too discerning, and Charles had made the slip.
“We were…we are…” Charles sighed. “I love her.”
“And the Duke does not approve.” Lord Dunsmore nodded to himself. He seemed…sympathetic to Charles’s plight.
“That was actually why he’s so upset with me,” Charles explained. “I was…holding her hand when he walked in.”
“You were found in a compromising position with the Lady Arabella?” Lord Dunsmore asked, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You sly dog.” He sounded pleasantly surprised.
“It wasn’t that compromising,” Charles grumbled.
“Oh, Charles. You’re so much more fun than I thought you were going to be,” Lord Dunsmore said, patting him on the shoulder. He leaned back in his seat taking a sip of his drink
.
“Thank you,” Charles muttered, unsure if that was a compliment.
Lord Dunsmore stood up carrying his drink with him. Charles watched as the detective paced back and forth. “Let’s try another member of the Millgate Club, shall we? I’ll see if he’ll invite us for a visit.”
“I thought—” Charles began, but the detective cut him off.
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