by Amanda Quick
“Lydia. Lydia, I have come for you.”
“Bastard.” Sebastian pushed himself up off the bed.
“What are you doing?” Prudence mouthed the words as she struggled to right her clothing.
“I’m going to take care of that ghost.” Sebastian yanked the bedding up over her head. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
He left her lying there, a large, interesting lump under the quilt, and quickly crossed the room to the window. He yanked the heavy drapes together, cutting off the moonlight. The room was plunged into stygian darkness.
“Lydia, where are you? Your time has come. I have waited a long, long while for you to join me in my grave.”
Chains rumbled again on the floorboards in the other room. From his vantage point near the wardrobe, Sebastian watched the crack under the door. Candlelight appeared.
The door opened slowly and the clanking was suddenly much louder. A startling figure moved into the room with slow, ponderous steps.
Sebastian retreated deeper into the dark shadows cast by the big wardrobe and watched with interest as the apparition clanked toward the bed.
The candle revealed a hideously scarred face partially concealed by the hood of a cloak. There was a great, gaping wound in the specter’s throat. One gloved hand held the candle. The other hand was hidden beneath the folds of the cloak. The chains appeared to be attached to the ghost’s ankle.
The ghost moved inexorably toward the bed. “Lydia. Lydia. Where are you, Lydia?”
Sebastian took a step forward. But before he could reach the apparition, Prudence tossed aside the bedclothes and sat up. She had her pistol clutched in her hand.
“Stop right where you are or I shall put a bullet in you,” she announced.
“What the bloody hell?” the ghost squawked. “You’re not Aunt Lydia.”
“I most certainly am not. And you’re no ghost.” Prudence scrambled off the bed, careful to keep the pistol pointed at the apparition. “And this sorry business has gone quite far enough.” She fumbled with her glasses and managed to get them on her nose. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Christ, who the devil do you think you are? I’ll teach you to interfere in my affairs.”
The intruder withdrew his hand from beneath the folds of the cloak, revealing a long dagger. He raised the blade and started purposefully around the edge of the bed.
“Halt or I’ll shoot.” Prudence took a step back.
“Not bloody likely,” the ghost said. “Ladies don’t know how to use pistols.”
Sebastian launched himself at the dagger-wielding ghost. He grabbed him by the shoulder, yanked the hood of the cloak down over the man’s eyes from behind, and spun him around. The candle went flying.
“What in blazes?” The ghost struggled to throw aside the hood of the cloak which was effectively blinding him.
Sebastian gave him no chance to raise the hood. He could not risk having the ghost see him and recognize him. There would be far too much explaining to do.
Sebastian knocked the dagger aside with one hand. Then he slammed a fist straight into the ghost’s jaw, which was just barely visible beneath the hood.
The intruder reeled backward, struck his head against the bedpost, and crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.
“Well done, my lord,” Prudence exclaimed as she hurried to pick the candle up before it could singe the carpet. “And just in the very nick of time. I do believe he actually intended to use that dagger on me.”
Sebastian stood over his victim and stared at her. Rage at the risks Prudence had taken mingled with relief that she was safe.
“You little fool. Do you realize what could have happened?”
She blinked at him in surprise. “Well, it was a bit of a near thing, I’ll grant you. I really did not want to have to shoot him, you see. I’ve never actually fired a pistol and my aim might have been a bit off.”
“A bit of a near thing?” Sebastian repeated in outraged disbelief. He stepped around the fallen body of the ghost and loomed over Prudence. “He could have slit your throat with that dagger. He might have killed you, you fluff-brained little idiot.”
She started to frown. “Really, Sebastian, there is no need to shout.”
“I am not shouting. But I am seriously considering putting you over my knee and paddling you so hard you won’t be able to sit a horse for a week. You nearly got yourself killed tonight.”
“1 had my pistol,” she reminded him.
“Have you any notion of how hard it is to actually bring a man down with a small pistol like that? I have seen men keep going with two bullets in their guts. I have seen them go on to kill other men before they collapsed.”
Prudence stared at him. “Where did you see that sort of thing, my lord?”
“Never mind.” This was hardly the time to describe the horrors of bandit hunting in the mountains of Saragstan. “But believe me when I say that a bullet does not always fell a man.”
“Now, see here, Sebastian, this is my investigation and I was fully prepared to handle it. I did not ask for your assistance.”
“No, you did not,” he acknowledged through his teeth. “Instead you chose to risk your neck.”
“What of it?” she flung back, equally outraged now. “’T is my affair, not yours.”
“It is most certainly my affair, Miss Merryweather. You happen to be engaged to me.”
“Yes, well, that can be remedied soon enough.”
“Damnation, woman.”
The man on the floor groaned. Sebastian scowled down at him, annoyed at the interruption.
“Oh, dear, I believe he is going to awaken soon,” Prudence said. She held the candle over the fallen ghost. “He appears to be wearing a mask.”
“Give me that candle.” Sebastian realized there were matters to be attended to before he could continue his chastisement of Prudence. He took a grip on his temper and on the candle which Prudence obediently handed to him.
He knelt down beside the unconscious man, groped for and found the edge of the mask. With a single motion he wrenched it off, revealing an unfamiliar face.
“Do you recognize him?” Prudence asked.
“No, but I would lay odds he is one of Mrs. Leacock’s infamous nephews.”
“Most likely.” Prudence reached for the bell rope. “I shall summon assistance at once. Mrs. Leacock has several strong footmen in her employ. They can manage our ghost until the magistrate arrives. You had best be on your way, my lord.”
“How do you intend to explain the fact that your damn ghost is unconscious?” he demanded.
Prudence thought a moment. “I shall say that he tripped and fell when he lunged at me. He hit his head against the bedpost and lost consciousness. Who can gainsay me?”
“I suppose that will work,” Sebastian said reluctantly. “It has been my experience that people who suffer from being knocked unconscious rarely recall anything about what happened in the moments immediately before the icident. He’ll likely believe that he did trip and fall, if that’s what you tell him.”
“Then that is precisely what I shall say. Now off with you, my lord.”
He shot her a disgusted glance, knowing full well she was right. For her sake, he could not allow himself to be discovered by Mrs. Leacock and her staff. The rumpled condition of the bed, Prudence’s disheveled appearance, and his state of undress would lead everyone to the obvious conclusion that he had been making love to his fiancée.
Being discovered like this with Prue would not be a complete disaster. Society would wink and turn a blind eye. After all, the pair had already declared their intention to wed. Nevertheless, there were some limits. Society expected romantic assignations to be conducted with some discretion. Being found together in this situation would virtually require a special license.
A special license. Sebastian paused at that interesting thought.
“Well, my lord? Hadn’t you better hurry?” Prudence handed him his shirt. “Pray
, do not forget your boots.”
“You are quite correct, my dear.” Sebastian smiled grimly. “I should be on my way. Your reputation is already hanging by a thread, is it not?”
“’Tis not my reputation which concerns me,” she said tartly. “It is your own.”
The woman never ceased to amaze him. “Mine? Why in God’s name are you worried about my reputation?”
“You have the most to lose, do you not?” she asked softly. “People already take great pleasure in viewing your reputation in the worst possible light. I have no wish to see you titillate the ton with an escapade such as this.”
Sebastian was taken aback. No one had ever worried about his reputation before. It took him a moment to find a response. “I assure you, I do not give a damn for what Society thinks of me.”
“Well, I do. Furthermore, I’m sure there is no need to point out that if we are found together in an awkward situation such as this, you will be obliged to marry me out of hand. I have already inconvenienced you enough, my lord. I would not wish you to be leg-shackled in a marriage you undoubtedly cannot want.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Well, as to that, Prue, I’ve been thinking—”
“Hurry, I hear footsteps in the hall.”
Sebastian frowned. He heard them, too. Mrs. Leacock’s trusty footmen were hastening to obey the summons of the bell. He glanced at the alarmed expression on Prudence’s face and swore silently. She definitely did not have the appearance of a lady who wanted badly to be married out of hand.
He would have to give her more time. He was not yet done with this crazed courtship, he thought.
Sebastian picked up his boots, slung his greatcoat over his shoulder, and went reluctantly to the window. He opened it and stepped out onto the ledge.
He paused there and looked back at Prudence. She looked so sweetly serious, her eyes anxious as she watched him leave. He remembered how she had trembled in his arms.
Next time she shivered like that, he vowed silently, he would be buried deep inside her.
“Good night, Prue.”
“Good night, Sebastian.” Her smile glowed in the candlelight. “And thank you for your assistance tonight. I look forward to helping you solve your next case. I knew we would make an excellent team.”
Life with Prue, Sebastian reflected as he made his way along the window ledge, was going to be maddening, infuriating, and alarming by turns, but he was definitely not going to be bored.
Or cold.
Seven
histlecroft sneezed into a dirty handkerchief, wiped his bulbous red nose, and leaned across the wooden table. He lowered his voice to a harsh, guttural whisper. “Have ye heard about Lord Ringcross breakin’ his neck during the house party at Curling Castle?”
“I heard the news.” Sebastian sat back in an effort to avoid Whistlecroft’s obnoxious breath. “The tale was all over Town two days ago. The fool got drunk and fell from one of the tower rooms. What about it?”
Sebastian had not known Ringcross well, but he had not particularly liked what he had known about the man. Ring-cross had had a reputation for favoring brothels that featured very young innocents of both sexes. Few people mourned his passing when word of his death circulated among the ton.
“Well, m’lord, as it happens, there’s a gentleman who wants me to look into Ringcross’s death.” Whistlecroft hoisted his mug of ale and eyed Sebastian expectantly. “I thought the case might interest you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Whistlecroft’s bushy brows quivered in surprise. “Because we may be discussin’ a murder, sir, that’s why. You ain’t had an opportunity to investigate a murder for several months now. Usually we find ourselves dealin’ with matters o’ blackmail, stolen goods, and the odd bit of embezzlement.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Intriguing cases involving murder among the ton were rather rare. Members of polite society managed to get themselves killed readily enough, it was true. But the culprits were usually footpads, opposing duelists, or the occasional outraged husband. Such cases seldom presented an interesting puzzle for Sebastian.
“I believe you’ll find this case very fascinatin’, m’lord,” Whistlecroft said persuasively. “A right puzzle it is.”
“Who in blazes hired you to look into Ringcross’s death? I cannot fathom why anyone would give a damn. The world is well rid of him.”
Whistlecroft shrugged his massive shoulders and looked important. “Afraid, in this case, the identity of my client must remain confidential.”
“Then you may find someone else to help you investigate.” Sebastian made to rise from the booth.
Whistlecroft set down his mug in alarm. “Hold on there, m’lord. I need yer help on this one. There’s a fat reward involved.”
“Then investigate the matter yourself.”
“Be reasonable,” Whistlecroft whined. “If Ringcross was murdered, the deed was done by someone from your world, not some ordinary footpad from the stews. A Runner such as myself won’t get far tryin’ to investigate among the fancy. You know that as well as I do.”
“The thing is, Whistlecroft, I don’t particularly care about Ringcross’s recent departure from this earth. In all likelihood it was an accident. But if it transpires that someone pushed him, it is a matter of no great moment to me. As far as I am concerned, the murderer did the world a favor.”
“My client just wants to know what happened.” Whistlecroft yanked out his filthy handkerchief and blew his nose again. “He’s a bit anxious.”
“Why should he be anxious?”
“Don’t know.” Whistlecroft leaned close again. “He wouldn’t tell me. But if you ask me, he’s scared the same thing might happen to him as happened to Ringcross.”
That bit of information piqued Sebastian’s interest. There was a puzzle here. Perhaps an interesting one. He kept his face expressionless as he contemplated Whistlecroft.
“I’ll have to know the name of your client,” Sebastian said. “I won’t go into this blind. If you want my help, you’re going to have to tell me who it is who wants Ringcross’s death investigated.”
Whistlecroft gnawed on his lower lip while he pondered the problem. Sebastian was not surprised when he shrugged again and took another swallow of gin. Whistlecroft was nothing if not pragmatic.
“Well, if ye must know, it’s Lord Curling who wants to discover what happened in that tower room,” Whistlecroft said.
“Curling? What’s his interest in this?” Sebastian was acquainted with the baron, a dark, heavily built man in his late forties. Curling belonged to some of the same clubs that Sebastian frequented.
He was well known in some circles for the lavish entertaining he did at his country house. Curling Castle was less than an hour’s ride from the city. During the Season Curling held house parties nearly every weekend. Sebastian frequently received invitations, but he had never bothered to accept. House parties generally bored him.
“Ringcross died at Curling’s country house,” Whistlecroft pointed out. “Mayhap Curling just wants to assure himself he ain’t been entertainin’ a murderer all Season.”
Sebastian gazed thoughtfully at the street outside the window of the coffeehouse. “Or mayhap he knows more about the incident than he told you.”
“It’s possible.” Whistlecroft finished off his gin. “All I care about is the reward. And all you care about is how interestin’ the mystery is. Have we got a bargain, m’lord?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “I believe we do.”
He realized he was already looking forward to telling Prudence about his newest investigation. He had never had anyone to discuss his cases with in the past except Garrick. Garrick had been more amused by Sebastian’s hobby than genuinely interested in it.
But Prudence would be enthralled by the notion of investigating a possible murder. Of course, there was a potential problem, Sebastian acknowledged ruefully. She would want to get involved in the investigation.
He wou
ld handle that issue when it arose, he thought as he walked out of the coffeehouse. There might be a way to let her assist him and at the same time keep her safely on the periphery of the case.
It would be amusing to work with Prue on the matter of Ringcross’s death.
Half an hour later he walked through the door of his town house, took one look at the expression of gloom on Flowers’s face, and smiled wryly.
“Something wrong, Flowers?”
“A Mr. Trevor Merryweather to see you, sir.” Flowers accepted Sebastian’s hat and gloves. “He insisted upon waiting until you got home. I put him in the library.”
“As good a place as any, I suppose.”
“Should I have had him thrown out, m’lord?”
“Of course not, Flowers. He is my future brother-in-law. We can hardly have him tossed out on his ear every time he shows up.”
“Yes, m’lord. I was afraid that would be the case. He seems a rather difficult young man.”
“He is attempting to protect his sister from me,” Sebastian said. “Some would say that makes him a rather brave young man.”
Flowers blinked his large, drooping eyes. “I take your point, m’lord. I had not thought of it in that light.”
Sebastian walked quietly into the library. Lucifer rose from his position on top of the sofa, jumped lightly down onto the carpet, and trotted forward to greet him. Sebastian picked up the cat and glanced at his visitor.
Trevor was standing stiffly near the window. The out-sized shoulders and extremely tight waist of his overpadded coat gave him an unfortunate insectlike silhouette. He whirled around when he realized someone had entered the room.
Sebastian stroked Lucifer and contemplated Trevor’s painfully stylish appearance. The younger man’s cravat was tied in an excruciatingly complicated manner that severely hindered the movement of his head. Sebastian wondered that Trevor did not choke on it. The collar of his elaborately ruffled shirt was so high it framed his chin. His trousers were elaborately pleated and his waistcoat was a startling shade of pink.