“Rother, you’re going to let him do this to me?”
Saying nothing, Rother glared at us both. My dispute was sound and he knew it. The look in his eyes showed me he’d already arrived at this conclusion. He was mad that Vivian continued to play games with him and perturbed I knew it. But I was also right. If he thought otherwise, he wouldn’t have leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms without speaking.
That was what I needed to fortify my position. “Obviously, he’s not going to help you.”
And Vivian understood it too. She seethed. “You still owe me money.”
“Your outstanding wages will be forfeited against the Avaston bill. Have him employ you. Gather your things and get out.”
“It’s only a matter of time before he gets tired of you.”
As quickly as I thrilled over this game, I now tired of it. Strolling to the door, I shouted down the hall, “Blythe!”
Without taking my eyes off Vivian, I stepped back inside and adopted a pose with one hand on the back of the extra chair, much like my father did when exerting a quiet authority over someone. Vivian appeared unsettled as she saw her place evaporating.
She spun, her bravado gone. “Rother?”
Tense seconds ticked away. I held my stance and Rother’s face stayed vexed and unchanged. “This conversation is over.”
A spell of relief washed over me. Normally I wouldn’t bet Rother would side with me, but on this I felt certain. Just as certain as Blythe’s appearance as he burst through the doorway. He might have been avoiding me, but I knew he wouldn’t go far.
“What’s wrong?” Blythe’s head flitted about, his gaze landing on each of us in turn.
His nearness emboldened me. “Vivian is leaving us. Permanently. Escort her to her room to collect her things and make sure she doesn’t acquire any souvenirs on her way out.”
“Boss?” Surprise halted his scrutiny, making it land on Rother.
All eyes were on Rother. I waited for his order, being sure not to glance in Blythe’s direction. Given how careful he’d been with everything, I could count on Blythe doing the same. Vivian struggled to contain her animosity.
“Get her out of my sight.”
Blythe nodded and motioned to Vivian. She gave Rother and I each one venomous scowl as she left the room. When Blythe put a hand on her shoulder to usher her along, she slapped it away.
“Don’t touch me. I can walk on my own.”
“Move it, sister.”
As they exited, I followed long enough to close the door. I sighed, knowing I needed to explain myself to Rother. When I turned around, he slammed me against the door, his hand at my throat.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hard creases lined his face, all pretense of controlled anger gone. The anxiety from the day in the salon rose in me, and I fought it down. To keep him from flaring out of control I needed to be submissive, but I also needed my wits.
Rother’s fingers biting into my neck made my speech a forced effort. I held on to his wrist but made no effort to pry his grip loose. “She needed to go. I saw you. You wanted her gone too.”
“You undermined me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to unite us. Don’t you want me to put Delaga House first? To make my goals the same as yours?”
The new sneer said a great deal on how far he believed me. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Of course not. You know her better than I do, and I could see it clearly. But her presence was a drain on us, and she couldn’t be trusted. The longer she stayed, the more risk we took and the more it angered me.”
Rother’s words began to distort through his gritted teeth. “No one makes demands of me in my home. I was about to fire her before you stomped in. Now she’ll tell everyone my house is run by my young husband.”
“No one would ever believe her. Everyone knows who runs Delaga House. I don’t make demands anymore because I know it. Vivian stopped helping you beyond how much money she could earn a long time ago. And now that she’s gone, Avaston will be in the dark. His advantage is gone. But you already knew that, didn’t you? All I did was help you follow through on what you were doing in the first place.”
There was a long, tense pause as he pondered my words. I hoped I’d stroked his ego enough while showing him I was a resource as well. He pulled me forward and slammed me back into the door one more time. Flashes of pain arced through my back from the decorative molding.
Rother leaned in so close, every syllable puffed air and spittle onto my face. “I am in charge. Period. If you ever make me look like a fool again, you’ll wish David had succeeded in the alley.”
Shoving me aside, Rother stormed out, leaving me on the floor.
I sorted myself once I was sure all the aches were minor. On my feet once again, I made the slow yet deliberate motion of straightening my waistcoat. The tremble in my hands wasn’t as severe. Perhaps because the whole thing fit so nicely.
This part of my plan might have been the most petty, but removing Vivian from the game board was a welcome item to strike from the list. Certainly worth a few bruises.
Chapter 24
WHILE I learned to appreciate Delaga House in greater detail with each business night, those evenings also allowed me to be grateful for the mornings after.
The closed shutters and solid draperies held back the late morning sun as I finished dressing. The lack of light hadn’t stopped me from freshening myself or finding an appropriate outfit for the day. It did slow me down somewhat as I squinted through the wardrobe. Anything to keep me from waking Rother.
I could never sleep late, no matter how long the night before had gone on. My father demanded I be an early riser since the day my orientation was divulged. On the other hand, my brothers were decadent creatures, allowed to languish in bed if no scheduled appointment required them to interrupt their beauty sleep. Now Rother took their place in my life, slumbering like the dead, shrouded within a pile of blankets and pillows.
I couldn’t have held off Rother’s advances forever and kept him believing I was happy at his side. When the final customer had exited the building last night, he’d made his intentions known. Attendance had been visibly slow in comparison to normal, and the reduced intake troubled him. Rother had soothed himself through pleasures of my flesh. It hadn’t been horrible. Imagining Blythe on top of me instead of my husband made the evening’s end more palatable. Although it wasn’t the same and left me far less content. The illusion had at least dulled the craving of rougher hands on my body. Hopefully it might get me through the days ahead. Perhaps not the healthiest way to manage the situation, but it allowed me to salvage my sanity if not my pride.
Sadly, my contact with Blythe these days was more innocent than the day I arrived. Conversation between us had been reduced to brief words exchanged out of employer/employee necessity. I’d taken Blythe’s cue and made an effort not to cross his path, because his presence was a constant reminder of indulgences we couldn’t enjoy. Business nights were an excellent distraction. Rother and I would be busy playing host while Blythe had his own duties. He didn’t need to hover to protect me from the crowd with my husband at my side. It was for the best. I was, after all, being watched.
I could only hope the distance between myself and Blythe satisfied Rother enough to curb his paranoia, which wasn’t so paranoid after all. Our lives were better if he couldn’t confirm his suspicions. It wasn’t as if I would hand him the proof under any circumstances.
The looming threat of Avaston served me well, I think. Rother obsessed at times over what might come next, his uncertainty splitting his attention. Then, when I had to console him physically, I could forge enough doubt concerning his suspicions between Blythe and I to keep us all safe.
I’d never imagined myself capable of such duplicity. In Deilia I’d found such intrigues distasteful, the vacuous games rising out of noble boredom. In my new home, I played them out of necessity.
Life in Marisol had
molded me into something different, but now was not the time to compare the changes. No. I would enjoy my morning tea and watch the sunlight tickle the garden into vibrant life, hoping to absorb some of its magic into myself.
I took another glance around the room. Rother still slept and the music box taunted me with its gaudy decorations, even in shadow. The mantel clock showed me that a few more hours of solitude remained to enjoy as I strained to listen to the delicate movements’ ticking. With the music box nearly finished, it would soon find its place once again as a salon centerpiece. I needed a new hiding place for my sensitive correspondence. For the hundredth time in three days, I stretched my hearing and convinced myself the letters inside the clock’s cabinet weren’t distorting its innate sound.
A shuffle of footsteps outside, followed by an urgent knocking, pulled me away. Who could be knocking at this early hour? I glanced over at Rother. He hadn’t moved, unaffected by the continuous rap. The last thing I wanted was to wake him and ruin my morning with his surly disposition. He didn’t do well on little sleep.
The door burst open before I could intervene. Alexandra strode inside, layers of her sheer silk robe billowing in her trail. She hadn’t even reached the bedside before her stern demands broke the quiet. “Rother, wake up.”
I froze in shock. Fearful, in part at the prospect of Rother rising, and in part at how much of Alexandra’s skin I could see through the whisper-thin cloth. No matter how aware she must have been of the garment’s seductive nature, it felt wrong to notice. Certain reactions I might never grow out of.
Alexandra shook Rother by the shoulder. “Get up already.”
With a start, he raised a hand to dislodge hers. “What? What’s going on?”
“The constable is at the front door. Something’s happened.”
Through a cloud of sleep, Rother caught Alexandra’s urgency. He threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed without a stitch of clothing. “What’s it about?”
“He wouldn’t say, but insisted I wake you.” Unfazed by Rother’s nudity, Alexandra threw a quick look between Rother and myself. In that brief glance, I knew she’d guessed what marital duties had transpired last night. I tried not to show my shame. Sometimes I hated how attuned the denizens of this house were to carnal knowledge.
Rubbing the sleep off his face, Rother searched out a dressing gown. “I’ll be down in a moment. Keep him in the foyer.” He thrust his arms into the sleeves, angry at being disturbed.
The fluttering stream of her gown flowing out the door was the only response. Rother tugged the robe’s sash into a simple knot, fastening it closed. Somewhat. On another day, his disheveled hair and how the garment hung off his shoulder, exposing his chest, might have been alluring. This morning, however, his tense body projected a number of conflicting emotions, and none of them were attractive. I didn’t resist when he gestured at me to follow downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, a small group of five or six employees milled about, waiting for Rother’s arrival. The rest of the staff, including Blythe, must have still been asleep. It appeared only the house’s lightest sleepers had been roused by our inopportune guest. In the center, dressed in his official midnight-blue uniform, stood one of Rother’s high-profile minions, Head Constable Thomas Worthingfield.
Broad shoulders hung his stiff woolen jacket with the proper authority expected of his position. A full chest showcased his brass badge for all to see. It was a fine sight compared to watching him satisfy his lusts—since according to Rother, his wife would not—from the voyeuristic safety of the viewing hall. His indiscretions were the secret Rother used to bind him. I didn’t care much for the man. His infidelity was the result of a spouse whose amorous interests had changed in the course of their marriage, not because of abuse driving him into the arms of another. Not that either scenario was admirable.
I hoped this interview would be quick.
Rother gave an unhappy grunt as he approached. “Worthingfield. Why are you waking me at this awful hour? We were up late last night… as you well know. You’re looking awfully fresh for being up this early.”
The constable’s rigid stance faltered a touch. He had been one of the last customers to leave the building. A subtle shadow under his eyes might have given away his lack of sleep, but he looked remarkably rested otherwise. To be here so well dressed and groomed, I doubted he’d gone to bed at all.
Worthingfield glanced around at the house members. “I wondered if we might speak alone.”
The staff all stood around waiting, oblivious to their lack of attire. Body parts barely covered by ghosts of fabric, if at all, lent an air of indecency. Modesty had long been weeded out of the ladies and gentlemen of Delaga House. Except myself, of course.
Rother’s sigh was paired with a beckoning gesture. “I don’t have much patience this morning, so please just get on with it.”
Worthingfield nodded and cleared his throat, all business. “I’m sorry to wake the house, Lord Rother, but there’s been a murder.”
Faint gasps rippled through the staff, one the echo of the next, yet only Rother responded with words. “A murder? Who?”
“Alvus Martinique. Interior decorator.”
Rother’s forehead creased, a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. “I just hired him to redo the salon. I do so every year. What happened?”
Worthingfield seemed reluctant to reply in front of us all, but finally let it out with a sad sigh. “Beaten to death on the way home, it looks like.”
Mr. Martinique had done such excellent work for Delaga House, and the fact I never knew his name until this moment brought a sick wave over me. It made me thankful for an empty stomach. The very man whose support I’d shrugged off in the salon during one of Rother’s public tirades now lay dead in the morgue. A fate I’d narrowly avoided not too long ago. The real world was a violent place.
“Why are you telling us this?”
Alexandra clutched her gown closed with one hand over her breasts, as if the translucent silk could provide some barrier from ugly reality. “He’s a client of mine. He was here last night.”
Worthingfield held his rigid stance, barely allowing his discomfort to leak out. “That’s why I’ve come. Delaga House was the last place anyone saw him. I’m afraid I need to ask you a few questions, if I can.”
Rother pointed at the other staff members and gestured for them to vacate the foyer. All of them departed, grumbling with disappointment at being excused, leaving only myself, Rother, Alexandra, and Worthingfield. Rother tipped his head to direct me back upstairs.
Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Under the circumstances, I’m not leaving Alexandra alone to be interrogated for one minute.” I turned to Worthingfield. “Go on.”
While Alexandra gave me a hint of a smile, Worthingfield glanced back to Rother, who’d given me a dirty side-eye as soon as I spoke out of turn. Once he gave his silent permission, the constable turned his full attention to Alexandra.
“I had a session with Alvus last night, but I assure you, I left no lasting damage. He walked out the front door under his own power and without assistance.”
“Was he sober?”
“My clients are not allowed to drink before or after meeting with me.”
“How can you be sure?”
Alexandra stood up tall, her eyebrow quirked. “Because I say so.”
The ferocity in her voice almost startled Worthingfield. Her bright tresses might have been loose and her makeup undone, but her command needed no embellishment. Worthingfield’s audible gulp drew his mouth tight. I doubt he knew what to do with a woman as dominant as Alexandra, considering he was sating himself on smaller, youthful men. He didn’t strike me as the one to give up control. It’s what made his relationship with Rother so uncomfortable to watch, even if I didn’t like him.
“Um… yes. Were there any witnesses who saw him leave?”
“More than a few saw or spoke to him on his way out. Client and staff both.”
>
“I may need names to corroborate this.”
Rother spoke up. “You may have staff help, but we will not divulge any client names. Alvus may not have been ashamed of his tendencies and shouted them to the world, but others may not share his outspoken behavior. There is a protocol to our business, after all. Confidentiality. You understand, of course?”
Worthingfield’s shoulders dropped and he bowed his head a fraction. “Of course.”
All hints of sleep purged, Rother was a fierce statue, countering Worthingfield’s strength. Rother made no effort to sort his robe, which had slid open farther, exposing him past the hip and down the leg. A tenuous drape over the sash’s knot was all that prevented a full viewing of Rother’s goods. As usual, he was nonchalant about his state of undress. Keeping himself on display had to be for Worthingfield’s benefit. Rother was giving him a glimpse of what he could make the constable really do if he was so obliged. No one would be the monarch in Rother’s home.
“I’m surprised you were sent for this. I would have expected to be questioned by one of your underling detectives.”
“Normally, yes, but I pulled rank on this investigation.”
“Because you have a vested interest in how everything plays out.”
Locking on to Rother’s eyes, Worthingfield’s unblinking stare shared secrets while begging that they not be revealed. “You know things.”
“Yes, I do. But there’s no need for anyone else to know things, because no one here had any hand in this. It’s not good business to butcher your clients. There’s no profit in it.”
“I know, but I have to ask either way. If I don’t, other people—important people—get suspicious.”
“Of course. I’m always willing to help.” Rother’s response was as practiced and cordial as ever, but his cooperation came with a price, and everyone present knew the uncomfortable truth.
Worthingfield straightened himself into a more professional pose. As if he could pretend Rother’s strings didn’t exist by willing them out of existence. His shame was more effective at holding him in thrall than Rother. I wondered if his occupation as well as his marriage would be in jeopardy if his secrets were revealed. Was that why he continued to play his role?
Innocence and Carnality Page 32