Far Too Tempted

by Emma Wildes

  An odd emotion for a man who always prided himself on his detachment. Considering he’d stayed awake the entire night, he would have done better to get a little bit of sleep rather than indulge in romantic whims.

  An audible sigh escaped his lips. “Colonel?”

  He turned and saw Lady Ashton had come back and held out a sheet of vellum in her hand. “I hope this is what you need.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” The list was neatly done, and he scanned it quickly, one name bringing his attention quickly into focus. Lifting his head, he stared at Elizabeth Ashton’s lovely face. “Thank you very, very much. This is of immense help.”

  With a bold look in exchange and extending her hand, she murmured, “My pleasure, Colonel.”

  Her fingers lingered in his and he couldn’t help but think with fleeting amusement just how quickly life could change. Even a week ago the blatant invitation in her eyes might have tempted him.

  But now he found himself tied to a sable-haired stubborn woman who could both infuriate and captivate with the same depth of emotion.

  Lady Ashton seemed flatteringly disappointed when he took his leave as quickly as possible. Practically bounding down the steps toward the carriage, he gave the driver directions and an address and opened the door to climb in, only to be arrested with his foot in the air. The vehicle was unexpectedly occupied.

  “Guv, I thought you and the lady would never finish.” A cheeky grin accompanied the declaration. The light from the open door fell on unkempt blond hair and smooth, girlish cheeks. A young man sat sprawled on the seat, his legs extended, arms folded loosely across his chest. “Nice ride, this.”

  Alex muttered, “Tolley. Thanks for scaring the life out of me. What are you doing here?”

  “Reporting in, sir. Thought I’d sit a bit and wait for you.”

  Since he stood on the street like a fool, and was talking to the inside of his carriage, Alex quickly climbed inside and tapped on the roof. They lurched away just as he settled onto the seat opposite the young man. “I’ve someone to see. My driver can drop you off wherever you wish later. Is there something of value to report?”

  “Judge for yourself.” Elbows on shabby knees, the boy leaned forward and proceeded to outline Major Pickford’s movements of the past several days, some of which Alex already knew—such as the meeting—and some of which made him frown, including the information that apparently Major Pickford was having an illicit affair. When Tolley finished, Alex asked sharply, “This all happened yesterday afternoon?”

  “Indeed.” A quick nod.

  “You say the man watching the inn was very tall?”

  “Tall as you, sir. Maybe even a mite more. He arrived right behind the major and his ladybird and watched them go inside. I stayed back when I saw the gent loitering there, and then I began to suspect what he was up to. When they came out later, he followed them and I followed him.”

  “Where’d they go?” Settled into the swaying carriage, Alex watched his companion through narrowed eyes.

  “Pickford and his light o’ love parted ways on a quiet little street a few blocks away from his house.”

  “And the man?”

  Tolley rubbed his chin with the backs of his fingers. His guileless blue eyes were troubled. “That’s the puzzle, sir. He followed her, not the major. I debated what to do, but my orders were to stick with Pickford, so that’s what I did.”

  A sense of disappointment settled in Alex’s chest. He sighed. “So, for all we know, the man was some jealous husband, looking for his errant wife. I suppose we should find out who she is, Tolley. Would you know her again if you saw her?”

  The young man nodded brusquely. “That I would, sir, that I would. A pretty bit of fluff, she was.”

  “And him, our watcher, would you recognize him?”

  “It was devilish dark and he kept to the shadows, but I think so.”

  The carriage slowed and took a turn. Stretching out a leg, Alex thought about what the boy had told him. If indeed it was El Diablo following Pickford to the inn, he’d been a busy man last evening. If—again—the man in the garden had been one and the same.

  Damn.

  If Pickford had been anyone except a member of the committee, Alex would just assume the tryst and the stalker to be related to each other and not the murders. But an assumption like that right now might be disastrous.

  As they rocked to a halt, he said abruptly, “O’Brien tells me that Lady Ashton’s servants haven’t heard a whisper about her and Lord Orschell. Yet his wife is convinced he was having an affair.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve been trying to find a common thread, something we can link together to help us find our man. Orschell was a married man, so is Pickford. Infidelity is hardly unusual, but maybe we’d better find out a little more about Pickford’s mistress, Tolley. If nothing else, the lady might be in grave danger. Our murderer might use her to trap the major.”

  Tolley looked resigned, a faint smile playing at his mouth. “I suppose that means you want me to continue following the bugger, sir.”

  “Problem, Tolley?”

  “He’s a dull old sod. Can’t see what any pretty bird would see in him, that’s all.”

  Alex lifted a brow. “I saw that dull old sod hold his command steady in Spain when younger, fitter men like yourself broke like schoolboys in the face of a French column and he stood there like a rock.”

  Tolley had the grace to look apologetic, a dull red glow coming up in his face. “Sorry, meant no disrespect. Rest assured, I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you, Tolley, and carry on.” Alex opened the door. “Right now, I have a friend to see.”

  * * * *

  “I really don’t think you should do this, Jessica.” Ariel stood in the foyer and wrung her hands, looking very distraught, her green eyes troubled. “I mean, here you are, only married a few days and defying your husband. It won’t do.”

  “What won’t do,” Jessica said, nodding at the footman who carried her trunk out the front door, “is for me to idly sit here waiting for whatever scraps of time Alex can find to toss me. Braidwood, on the other hand, actually needs my attention.”

  “But—”

  “Besides, I am not actually defying him, Ariel. I never asked him permission to go in the first place. If he were here, I would ask him, but he is unavailable.”

  “He’ll be angry.”

  “I’m already angry. He’s hardly concerning himself with that little truth. It would be different if he would talk to me, tell me why he has to be gone, and maybe offer me an idea when exactly he expects to fulfill his promise and take me home.” She added on a light sigh, “I’m not punishing him, I’m just wanting to move our lives forward.”

  “That’s a fine line I don’t care to argue.” Disapproval in every line of her face, Ariel folded her arms across her chest.

  “Since when do you not care to argue?” A teasing male voice broke into the conversation.

  Jessica felt a certain sense of dismay at Marcus’s appearance in the hallway. A departure for Berkshire without telling Alex was one thing, but if the Duke of Grayston—a man who had been more than kind to her, not to mention was her brother-in-law and the head of the family—ordered her to stay in London, she wasn’t sure what she would do. It was more than just Alex’s neglect sending her running. It was the events of the morning that truly had her awash in confusion.

  She had gone to bed furious, not sure if she was more angry with her husband because of his abstraction and unexplained absence, or if it was because he’d risked his life before her very eyes, confronting some armed intruder.

  And then she had awakened to his persuasive lovemaking, forgetting that anger with an alarming lack of defense.

  If he could undermine her will so easily, what else could he do with simply the skilled touch of his hands? Lure her deeper and deeper until she no longer could separate passion from love?

  That was not going to happen.

  D
ressed very informally for him in white shirt, breeches and boots, Marcus looked a little strained, in spite of the casualness of his tone. He glanced from his wife’s taut face to Jessica and then back again. “What is going on here?”

  “Jessica has some notion she going off to Braidwood without Alex.”

  Marcus frowned, drawing his dark blond brows together.

  He said nothing.

  Her bonnet clutched in her hands, Jessica essayed a smile. “As you know, Alex is very busy—too busy to take me home like he promised. I feel useless sitting here when there is so much to be done to restore the house. In fact, Your Grace, Alex told me when he asked me to marry him that it was one of the things he wanted. Me at Braidwood, to put things back in order and make it into the home it used to be. I am simply trying—”

  “Retiring to the country is an excellent notion,” Marcus interrupted and nodded. “You should go.”

  Jessica stood immobile and surprised. Ariel said incredulously, “What? You are encouraging her to leave her husband?”

  He had an obvious expression of relief on his face. “Yes, I am. Perhaps you should accompany her, my dear. Take the children and return to Grayston. It’s a perfect solution.”

  “Solution for what?” Ariel looked puzzled and unhappy. “Darling, you’re acting very strangely. Aren’t you coming along as well?”

  He ignored the question, turning back to Jessica. “I’ll explain to Alex you had my approval.”

  Agreeing fully with Ariel’s assessment of her husband’s behavior, Jessica’s throat tightened. She felt the same ominous chill as she had the night before when she looked out her window into the moonlit gardens and had seen Alex silently moving toward the figure with the gleaming knife in his hand. She swallowed and met the duke’s compelling blue gaze, so like his brother’s.

  Marcus agreed with her departure because he wanted rid of them. Not just her and Ariel, but the children too.

  Why?

  She said, “Thank you. Maybe you could give him something for me.” She’d set the coiled piece of leather on a marble table in the hallway, intending to ask one of the footmen to give it to Alex. Instead, she walked over and retrieved it, handing it over to her brother-in-law as quickly as possible. For whatever reason, she loathed touching it.

  Marcus frowned, letting it unfurl and dangle in his hand. “What is it?”

  “I have no idea. Charles found it in the garden this morning. I think perhaps one of those two men last might have dropped it.”

  As she watched, his gaze narrowed suddenly on the object in his hand. A convulsive swallow twitched his throat and his hand trembled. “Oh, my God. My child touched this…this thing?”

  Ariel looked alarmed. “My dear, what’s wrong? What is it?”

  Seeming to realize how they were staring at him, Jessica saw Marcus straighten his broad shoulders and affect a smile, even though the skin looked tightly drawn across his cheekbones and his color had gone gray. “Nothing is wrong. Now hurry and pack. You’re leaving as soon as possible, Ariel. All of you.”

  * * * *

  The house was one of a row of narrow facades several streets down from the more fashionable neighborhoods. The manservant who answered the door was young, brawny and apparently not much given to conversation. He simply eyed Alex with a stony look, and then stepped silently back to indicate invitation, inclining his head.

  The inside of the townhouse was the same as the outside, a bit shabby now, but once elegant. As he waited to be announced, Alex looked around with interest at the tarnished chandelier, faded wallpaper and chipped marble floor.

  “Ramsey. This is a surprise. I would think you to be spending every moment possible with your lovely new wife.”

  What a valid point. Lovely and passionate. Alex would much more rather be holding her in in his arms than having this conversation.

  At the sound of Jack’s voice, Alex smiled with effort and held out his hand. Rivers shook it firmly and then stepped back, tilting his head as his answering smile faded. Jack said, “You look grim as an undertaker. I haven’t seen that look on your face in a long time, yet I remember it well. We were sitting in your tent drinking brandy when the news came that a young lieutenant, the one you were so fond of, had been shot by a French patrol.”

  Alex nodded once. “Beckworth. A nice lad. The one I assigned to guard duty that eve. I’ve always blamed myself for his loss.”

  “You’re ever too hard on yourself. Men die in war, Alex.” He attempted an uncaring shrug. “I knew his family.”

  “Nonetheless…what brings that look now, if I may ask?”

  Alex glanced at the impassive face of the footman who had answered the door. “A moment in private, Jack? I think you may be able to help me with a very delicate matter. There is no one I would trust more.”

  With a bow, Jack murmured, “I’m honored, of course. My study will do, won’t it? Follow me.”

  Minutes later, ensconced in a lumpy chair with a drink in hand, Alex pondered exactly how to approach the situation. Once upon a time, he and Jack had discussed sensitive matters as the daily course of business, but that had all changed. He settled for saying in a neutral tone, “I understand you were present the night that Orschell was murdered.”

  Opposite, clad in a burgundy coat and black breeches, his sleek dark hair drawn back in a queue, Jack looked surprised but recovered quickly. “Well”—the response was dry—“I was present at the ball, at least.”

  Swirling the liquid in his glass, Alex asked, “Is there anything you remember that might be important, Jack?”

  “Important how?” The question was flat. There was now more than just a glimmer of curiosity in those dark eyes. “I didn’t think you were even in town when Orschell was killed.”

  “There might be a reason to suspect all three of these recent murders are related.”

  Settling back against faded green velvet, Jack lifted a brow. “Yes, I’ve heard nothing else lately but speculation like that. I understand it is Flatterly now, garroted like a pig. All of fashionable London is looking over their shoulders, wondering who might be next.”

  “Jack, you are trained to observe, and the war makes a man notice details the way regular civilian life does not. Tell me, after you arrived at the Ashton house, did anything catch your attention? I mean, anything at all? This is important.”

  “It seems to be important to you, which I find intriguing.” Jack rubbed his jaw and looked thoughtful. “I can’t say I noticed anything before the body was discovered, and as you can imagine, the party dissolved into utter chaos afterward.”

  “They tell me a couple stumbled upon Orschell during a stroll through the gardens.”

  A laugh came from his friend’s lips, light and cynical. “That couple was not out for a stroll, but we must keep up appearances, hadn’t we? They saw nothing. It was the usual situation, Alex, promiscuous wives vying with their cheating husbands to see who could debase them and their vows the most. I didn’t want to attend in the first place, but Eloise misses the glitter of Paris, and for her, I would do anything.”

  A little surprised at the bitter vehemence in his friend’s tone, Alex asked slowly, “Was Orschell one of those husbands? His wife says yes. She believes Elizabeth Ashton was his paramour.”

  “I suppose it is possible.”

  “Have you heard rumors to that effect?”

  Jack hesitated. He finally answered, “Can’t say I have, but it wouldn’t surprise me. You’ve met the lady. She’s not only rather delectable, but a widow with the all freedom that status brings.”

  Sitting there, Alex pondered darkly O’Brien’s report of Lady Ashton’s innocence. Servants were always the first to know the foibles of their employers. Either O’Brien was not as competent as Tolley, or else Lady Orschell was simply a jealous and mistaken wife. “What about Flatterly? Any whispers he was seeing someone, particularly Lady Ashton?”

  Jack finished his drink and carefully set the glass aside on a spindle-legged t
able by his chair. “Last I knew, you were still employed by King George and spent your time over in Spain, harassing the French. It’s curious, this interest in the love lives of two men—”

  “Two murdered men, Jack,” Alex interrupted. “And Litchfield makes three. If I were allowed to explain, I would. Surely you of all people understand necessary secrecy? But I would like your help, if you are willing.”

  “Help? I must say, you are confusing me here. What kind of help?”

  “All I ask is that you keep an ear out and if you hear anything—anything at all pertaining to any of the murdered men—you let me know about it. Even if it sounds insignificant, it might be useful.”

  After a pause, Jack nodded, his brow still furrowed. “Well, of course. I’ll ask a question here and there, if you like.”

  It might be more than he should say, but Alex told him, “This is important, not only to me, but to England. I do have to tell you, take care and don’t pose your inquiries carelessly. It might be dangerous.”

  Rivers smiled, a smile that Alex well remembered. It was the same cold curve of his mouth that often preceded his departure on a dangerous mission. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

  A light tap on the door made them both turn. Eloise Rivers breezed into the room, a vision of fashionable blond curls, ivory skin and pale blue satin. Exuding grace and perfume, she first presented her husband her cheek, and then Alex her hand. Her smile was warm and direct, a curve of pink, full lips. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but when Francois told me the identity of our visitor, I felt compelled to welcome Colonel Ramsey to our home myself.”

  “A pleasure to see you again, madame.” Alex bent over her cool fingers.