by Olivia Drake
“And hunting? Whoever fired at you yesterday had to have been a very good shot, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” he said curtly. “But Edgar couldn’t have done it. He’s gone out of town to a prizefight.”
“Perhaps that’s just a handy excuse. Can you be certain he didn’t sneak back into the city to don a jester costume and a mask?”
Carlin scowled at her. Then a gradual easing of his expression and a slight lift at the corners of his lips gave him a rueful look. “If it will set your mind at ease, I’ll look into it. But I suspect Edgar’s guilt is about as likely as you meekly agreeing to marry me.”
His warmly teasing tone set Tessa all atremble. She ached to be held by him, to feel their hearts beating as one, to forget all the rules and restrictions of his highborn world. But wasn’t this exactly what she’d feared would happen, for him to use his considerable charm to coax her into doing his bidding?
Collecting her defenses, she arose from her chair. “There will be no betrothal, Carlin. You should never have raised Lord Marbury’s hopes.”
“It was necessary since you were discovered in my bedchamber, with me stripped to the waist. Marbury’s anger was justified. Nothing less would have served to pacify him.”
“But we weren’t alone. Jiggs was present. And you were hardly in any condition to … to do anything.”
“A valet can be sent out of the room. And there was quite a lot we could have done, then. A bullet wound wouldn’t have stopped me.”
The glint in his eyes suggested all manner of wicked acts. She remembered in vivid detail the weight of him lying over her, the intense joy of their bodies joined in passion. A keen yearning to experience that again whittled away at her common sense. Of all the men in England, why, oh why, had she fallen in love with a duke? A man who felt compelled to wed her only because he’d discovered her to have noble blood?
Fighting a blush, Tessa lifted her chin. “Well, I won’t be a party to any sham courtship. It’s cruel to mislead my grandfather. You must write a note to him today saying that I’ve decided you and I don’t suit.”
“Not just yet.” All playfulness fading, Carlin closed the distance between them and gripped her hand. “Give it a little time. There’s too much else going on right now to think about this now. You can always cry off later.”
“There’s no point in waiting, though. I shan’t change my mind.” Yet despite her firm speech, Tessa could not bring herself to draw her fingers from his warm clasp. “Please understand, Guy, I was raised to work, not to live in luxury. And anyway, I could never marry a man who derides my dreams.”
“I never did!”
“In the carriage on our way back from meeting Lord Marbury, you told me that becoming a shop owner could hardly compare to becoming a lady. And that I must give it all up.” It was hard to keep bitterness from creeping into her tone. “As if I had no choice in the matter.”
Remorse knit his brow, and he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “Forgive me, Tessa. I oughtn’t have been so blunt. That particular morning was not my most eloquent moment.”
“Yes, you were busy wrestling with the unhappy realization that because you had ruined Marbury’s granddaughter, you had no choice but to do your duty and marry her.”
“Nonsense. You and I are exceedingly well matched … in more ways that I can name. Surely you can see that.”
In a burst of unbridled passion, he drew her close and crushed his lips to hers. She melted against him, not out of forgetfulness of their rift, but because she was acutely aware this might be their last kiss. Wanting to savor every moment of it, she returned his fervor with his own, gliding her hands over him, memorizing his face and body and wishing his arm were not in a sling so that he might hold her even tighter.
“Tessa, Tessa,” he murmured against her hair.
She clung to him, breathing in his scent and relishing the heat of his embrace. Despite his enticing kiss, however, she knew that only unhappiness could arise from such a disparate marriage. He would eventually come to regret his choice of a wife, perhaps even be ashamed of her, and that would break her heart.
Reluctantly she stepped back out of temptation’s reach. “Oh, Guy,” she murmured, shaking her head in anguish. “There has to be more to a marriage than desire. Similar backgrounds, for one. That is why this will never work.”
“We share more than that. We have the ease of friendship, we both love Sophy, and we enjoy each other’s company.”
“How long will that last before you grow tired of me? Will I embarrass you when I address some great lord by the wrong title or when I let the truth slip out about my past or when I make a thousand other blunders? We’re from two different worlds.”
“Any skills you lack can be learned.”
“So, in addition to educating myself about my fictitious birthplace of Canada, now I shall have to change who I am in order to fit your view of a duchess. It’s no wonder you resented having to offer for me.”
He thrust his fingers through his hair, disheveling the black strands. “Tessa, I never resented you. It’s just that … I had sworn off marriage. I had no intention of ever taking another wife again. That’s the real reason I was troubled that day.”
A tiny devil seized hold of her tongue. “Because you could never find any woman to measure up to Annabelle the Angel.”
His sharp gaze pinned hers. “Measure up? To Annabelle—?”
The sound of a clearing throat made them both jump. Carlin uttered a harsh curse under his breath as they turned to see Roebuck standing in the doorway of the library.
“Your Grace, there is a Mr. Gumbleton to see you. I informed him that you are not receiving callers, but he was most insistent.”
“The manager at Astley’s. Yes, yes, send him in at once.”
Tessa welcomed the interruption. There was no solution to their quarrel, anyway. Carlin would never see matters from her perspective since he was too fixed on fulfilling his perceived obligation as a gentleman. Besides, it was best not to prolong the conversation when she was referring to his late wife in a manner that sounded uncomfortably close to jealousy.
He caught her arm as she headed to the door. “We’ll speak of this later, Tessa. Only promise you won’t cry off just yet.”
There was a gravelly urgency to his voice that called to her bruised heart. “All right, but in return you must promise to keep me informed as to your search for the killer.”
* * *
Three evenings later, after settling Sophy in bed, Tessa felt too fidgety to read as she usually did. Wrapped in a shawl, she had been sitting in the lamplit schoolroom for over an hour, unable to keep her mind on the book about Canada. Carlin had sent it to her the previous day along with a brief note saying he’d learned no new information about the gunman.
That had been his only communication with her. He hadn’t said a word about who he’d interviewed, what clues he was pursuing, or even what Mr. Gumbleton had had to report. According to kitchen chatter relayed by Winnie, His Grace had departed after luncheon today on some unknown errand. Now darkness had fallen, both nursemaids had retired to their bedchambers down the corridor, and Tessa had no idea if Carlin had ever returned.
Fear and frustration gnawed at her peace of mind. Although he’d taken a coachman and a footman, he could be in danger. It stood to reason that a killer who was bold enough to strike in a crowded amphitheater could devise some clever means to attack again. And Tessa could not rest until she had assured herself of his safe arrival home.
She set the book aside and picked up the pewter candle lamp. Going belowstairs to fetch a cup of tea would provide her with an excuse to make a casual inquiry. She would likely endure a few stares from the kitchen staff. Ever since she’d gone to Carlin’s bedchamber on the afternoon of the shooting, the other servants had taken to giving her curious looks, as if they suspected her of casting her lures at His Grace.
She had no intention of enlightening them that it was he who was p
ursuing her. Nothing was settled, anyway. She was still in a limbo of anxiety about her future. If she was so certain about her decision to leave Carlin House, then why did her heart feel ravaged at the prospect?
Because she loved Guy. She loved Sophy, too. Tessa could think of no worse fate than to lose them both. Yet she could see no other solution.
Pondering the dilemma, Tessa left the nursery. Immediately she spied the faint glow of a candle coming from the staircase at the end of the gloomy corridor. The approach of heavy male footsteps on the steps gave her a start. Carlin! Since the hour was past nine o’clock, it surely could be no one else.
Spurred by an unreasoning joy, she made haste down the carpeted passageway. It would be useless to dupe herself into thinking she sought only news from him when it was Carlin’s presence that she craved. She ached to put her arms around him, to reassure herself of his strength and vitality.
But the man who came around the bend at the top of the staircase wasn’t the duke, after all. It was his secretary.
She checked her pace before continuing toward him, forcing a smile to mask her disappointment. “Mr. Banfield. What brings you up here?”
He didn’t return her smile. The light of his candle wavered over his creased brow and the worried expression on his middle-aged face. “Miss James, I’m thankful that I found you so swiftly. You must come with me.”
“What’s wrong? Is it Carlin?”
“Yes, I fear His Grace has been injured again, this time with a knife. He’s waiting outside in his carriage, and he asked me to fetch you at once.”
Her heart lurched. It was exactly as she’d feared, the killer had struck again. “We must tell the footmen to bring him inside. And summon a doctor.”
As she started toward the stairs, Mr. Banfield motioned to her to follow him. “The servants’ staircase will be swifter. And His Grace said I was to bring only you, Miss James, and to not say a word to anyone else. Since he looked to be in a bad condition, I thought it best not to plague him with too many questions. This way.”
They went through a nondescript doorway and proceeded down a set of plain wooden steps. The house seemed preternaturally quiet. Lady Victor must have retired early, Avis Knightley would be with her, Mr. Edgar was still out of town, and Guy—oh, Guy was hurt and bleeding again.
As they reached the ground floor, she said, “Wait, we’ll need bandages.”
“There’s a footman already tending to the duke. The one who accompanied him today. Now hurry, there’s no time to waste.”
Mr. Banfield went out into the darkened garden. He paused only long enough to blow out his candle, leave it on a table, and take her glass-chimneyed lamp. Having expected the carriage to be parked in front of the house, she was a little surprised that it was at the back. But the mews would be more private if Carlin had some dire reason for secrecy.
“Do you know what happened?” she asked.
“Only that he had a fight with the Earl of Haviland.”
Lord Haviland! So he was the culprit, after all. Poor Avis, she would be devastated to learn that the charmer who had once swept her off her feet with a passionate kiss had attempted to kill the duke. And poor Guy, he would have been at a disadvantage, having not yet recovered from his bullet wound.
As they made their way along the gravel path, her teeth chattered as much from anxiety as from the damp, autumnal mist. Mr. Banfield cast a swift glance backward before proceeding through the gate. Though she couldn’t have said why, she had the fleeting impression he was looking at the house, instead of checking to see if she was still behind him.
The pungent aroma of horse droppings permeated the mews. At the far end nearest to the street stood the boxy black shape of a carriage. The dark form of a coachman sat huddled on his high perch.
Her heart in her throat, she hastened her steps. Mr. Banfield was quicker, opening the carriage door and motioning for her to enter. She started to do so but stopped halfway.
To her bewilderment, the interior was that of a hired hackney cab rather than the plush ducal coach. Even more confusing, it was empty. Where was Guy? Had he changed his mind and gone into the house?
Or was this some sort of trick?
Even as that suspicion entered her mind, a punishing blow struck the back of her head. Pain splintered her skull and she plummeted into darkness.
Chapter 19
The first thing she noticed was the cold. It raised gooseflesh on her skin and penetrated deep into her bones. The slightest movement jarred her aching head. She was sitting upright on a hard floor, and when she attempted to lift her eyelids, a jabbing needle of light made her shut them again.
One by one, she sorted through a jumble of sensations.
A gritty surface against her back. A sooty odor in the air. An inability to move her hands and feet. That last one stirred alarm as she came to an awareness that her limbs were bound.
Memory flooded back. Carlin was hurt. The empty carriage. The blow to her head. Then … nothing.
Tessa forced her eyes open. She squinted against the painful brilliance of a lantern. It hung from a hook on the other side of a smallish room. As her vision adjusted, she discerned filthy brick walls, a dirt floor, and at one end, an enormous black pile of … coal.
She was in a coal cellar.
Mr. Banfield had struck her. He must have dumped her here. But why? And where was he?
Even as those questions plagued her throbbing head, he stepped out of a gloomy corner and strolled closer. With his back to the lantern, his face was in shadow so that she had to strain to make out his features. “Ah, you’re awake, Miss James. I was afraid we might not have a chance to chat before I depart.”
That cool, unruffled voice sent a centipede of dread crawling down her spine. He spoke as if they were exchanging pleasantries over a tea tray. Lud, Banfield must be the killer. He was the one who had shot the duke. Panic threatened to scramble her brain. The awful fear that Guy might already be dead paralyzed her throat.
Swallowing hard, Tessa lifted her chin and forced her dry tongue to function. “Where-where is Carlin? What have you done with him?”
“Why, nothing. At least as of yet.”
Pray God he was telling the truth. Nevertheless, that word yet sounded ominous. Somehow she had to warn Guy. Covertly, she twisted her bound wrists behind her back. But the rope was too strong for her to slip her hands free.
The magnitude of her situation horrified Tessa. There was no hope of rescue. Even if her absence was discovered, no one knew where she had gone. She was entirely on her own. Being trussed up as tightly as a Christmas goose, she could do nothing but pretend weakness on the slim chance of coaxing Banfield into releasing her.
Injecting bewilderment into her tone, she said, “I-I don’t understand, sir. Why have you brought me here?”
“Family secrets. You’re familiar with the concept, I gather.”
“Don’t speak in riddles. My head is aching too much already.”
“Well, then, Miss James, you’ll be interested to hear that you and I have one attribute in common. I, too, am a noble bastard. My father was the sixth Duke of Carlin.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me. I am the eldest son of the previous duke. I would have succeeded him had he had the decency to marry my mother.” The topic clearly inflaming him, Banfield began to pace back and forth. “He sired me with a lady who gave birth in secret, and when she died I was placed in a genteel family. They never let me forget I was an unwanted orphan.” His mouth tightened. “You may be sure that my adoptive father suffered for his treatment of me. And before he died at my hand, he admitted that it was the Duke of Carlin who had paid for me to be schooled as a gentleman. It was the duke’s intention that I never know his identity.”
Banfield was Guy’s uncle, Tessa realized in shock. In his warped mind, he now sought revenge on the ducal family. Lady Victor had been right to make a fuss over those deaths. They weren’t the result of a curse, though. They must have
been Banfield’s horrific doings.
As he prowled the coal cellar, the lantern cast his elongated black shadow onto the wall. “Never once did he deign to visit me, his firstborn son. Yet that proved to be a boon, for when I applied for the post of his secretary, my own father didn’t recognize me.”
“Did you … did you ever tell him who you were?”
A smile touched his lips without reaching his ice-gray eyes. “Indeed. But only after I’d savored his anguish over the demise of his legitimate sons. Victor was the first to die, a simple matter of slipping a sack of gold into the pocket of a highwayman. For Fenwick and Charles, I hired a man to drill a hole in the hull of their yacht and to plug it loosely so that once out in rough seas, the plug washed out and sank the boat. Then there was Nigel, the present duke’s father. He was a drunkard, so I laced his wine with a purgative and slipped additional doses into Mrs. Womble’s tonics. Such misery my poor middle brother endured! But it was my father who suffered the most. It was worthwhile to see the old goat’s reaction when I told him all this—right after I’d administered digitalis in his nightly brandy. His heart stopped just as he was about to throttle me.”
Tessa was hard-pressed not to gulp. Banfield’s resentment must have festered for years. He’d gone after the heirs one by one, taking his time to plan each murder in order to make them appear as accidents or illnesses.
And now Guy was his target.
Dear God, she could think of nothing to do but to humor Banfield, to find out his scheme, in case by some miracle she escaped his clutches. “Was that you, then, at Astley’s? You must be an excellent shot.”
“On occasion my father was magnanimous enough to allow his lowly secretary to join a hunting party. For that, he required me to practice my marksmanship. Many a time I considered shooting him in the back—by accident.” Banfield extended his arm and sighted down an imaginary barrel before lowering it again. “But I couldn’t risk being caught. That would have been fatal to my mission.”