by Clee, Adele
“I can only think it was something Captain Connor said on his return from Meerut.”
“Captain Connor? Of the 8th dragoons?”
During his time in India, Lockhart and his friends had spent many drunken nights with the captain. Captain Connor had inherited an estate in Harrogate and returned two months before Lockhart’s ship landed in England. What the bloody hell was he doing in London?
Justin brushed dirt off his coat and breeches. “I’ve never met him. Selina told me Terence spoke to the captain at his club, that the man was happy to inform him you’d not died from a tropical fever but was very much alive and well.”
Damnation!
Lockhart had spent a month in a ramshackle cottage for naught. A month eating pheasant and stew. A blasted month sleeping next to Dariell. He glanced at Claudia’s heart-shaped face, at her sparkling blue eyes, eyes that held the power to caress him with one sweep of her lashes. How could he be angry? He’d spent a month with a wonderful woman who had changed his life.
“So you were all awaiting my return?” Lockhart couldn’t help but feel foolish.
“The captain mentioned that you and Greystone were inseparable. Once Greystone returned, Terence knew it was only a matter of time before you ventured into town.”
And yet both Terence and Selina had appeared shocked to see him at the Comte de Lancey’s masquerade. Was it shock or were they just as skilled when it came to acting?
Feeling a renewed flow of vengeance rushing through his veins, he captured Justin by his blood-stained cravat and yanked him forward. “Make any attempt to hurt my wife again, that includes making snide remarks, and I will put a lead ball between your neatly trimmed brows. Is that understood?”
Justin gulped and nodded vigorously.
“The wild dogs at the Westminster Pit are desperate to tear a man’s flesh from his bones,” Lockhart added. “There are numerous ways I might dispose of your body.”
Lockhart released him, and the fop stumbled back before landing on his arse. Taking hold of Claudia’s arm, Lockhart drew her towards the carriage. “We’ll continue to Falaura Glen as planned, spend an hour there and return to London posthaste.”
Claudia touched his upper arm. “Your cousin is no more than a besotted fool. I believe he would do anything for Selina, anything to secure a portion of your father’s estate. And yet I doubt he is capable of committing a violent crime.”
“I agree.” A heavy sadness weighed in Lockhart’s chest. It was time to track down his elusive brother and wring the truth from him if necessary. “Had Justin betrayed me I might have learnt to live with that, but not Terence.”
“I know.” She pursed her lips as her gaze softened. “The truth can be painful yet enlightening at the same time. But you cannot assume your brother’s guilt until it is proven.”
Frustration surfaced. “What other explanation is there?”
She gave a half shrug. “Soon, we will know.”
For some reason, her words acted as a balm for his wounds. “Then let’s be on our way.”
Lockhart climbed into the carriage behind Claudia and slammed the door shut.
“Wait!” Justin raced over and knocked on the glass pane. “What about me?”
Lockhart lowered the window. “I suggest you start searching for your horse. Failing that, you can always walk back to town.”
Chapter Twenty
Everything was as it should be at Falaura Glen. Emily lay sound asleep in bed, the corners of her mouth curled in a satisfied smile. Mrs Bitton confirmed all was well and so Claudia spent ten minutes ferreting around in her father’s study.
It was something Hudson had said earlier, that his father might not have written the letter he received while in India, that fanned the flame of doubt. Claudia found the document she wanted, locked in the bottom drawer of the desk. It was a legally binding contract—the sale of two acres of land—made between her father and Mr Thorncroft some three years earlier. Then she hunted out the receipts for household expenses.
Richard Darling made a point of signing and dating all receipts and marking them as paid. If one compared the signature on the bills from three years ago to the one on the contract, they were identical. However, examining the signature on the bills dated during the time of the supposed loan, revealed a discrepancy. Yes, they were almost similar to the naked eye. But as her father’s illness progressed, he lacked dexterity, and the pen strokes were not as smooth or fluid.
It wasn’t enough to approach the magistrate and declare something was amiss, but it was a start.
After securing the evidence and locking the desk drawer, Claudia made her way to the cottage to find Hudson. He, too, had gathered the leather satchel full of papers.
“Are you ready to leave?” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her lips. “Dariell assures me your sister is happy. Last night, she beat him at cards.”
“Cards?” Claudia whispered so as not to disturb the Frenchman resting in the next room.
“Apparently, he cut numbers into each card and a symbol for each suit. He taught her to trace the symbols in order to identify which card she wished to play.”
Hudson spoke with admiration. Admiration and a deep abiding gratitude filled Claudia’s chest, too. No wonder Emily slept with a smile on her face.
Claudia was about to say that her sister would miss the Frenchman when he left, but that would only raise questions as to what would happen once the week was out, and there were other matters to attend to first.
The drive back to London passed without incident.
Claudia would have stared out of the window, hoping to see Justin Perigrew trudging back to town, had she not spent the entire journey sleeping.
The hustle and bustle of the city roused her from a blissful dream about the man seated opposite. Having taken full advantage of the few hours of peace to rest, too, he stretched his limbs and yawned.
“Will you check on my father while I speak to Simmonds?” Hudson said, rubbing his hand over the bristles on his chin. “I must know if Terence called during those hours my father was left unattended.”
Claudia studied the dark circles beneath his eyes, the frown between his brows that was swiftly becoming a permanent feature. These troubling events had taken their toll. Only when his mouth melded with hers, when he drove hard into her willing body, did his troubles melt away.
Thoughts of seduction filled her head.
She might lead him upstairs and take advantage of such a large bed. She might delve into the hat box and snatch the red and black mask, have their own illicit masquerade.
By the time the carriage rattled to a stop in Russell Square, her pulse was racing.
Before the footman opened the front door and came to offer assistance, a loud rap on the window made them both jump back in shock.
Terence Lockhart pressed his face to the glass. “Where the hell have you been?” he mouthed.
Hudson hesitated, and his wary gaze flicked in Claudia’s direction. Mistrust lingered in his eyes. “No doubt he thinks I’ve kidnapped Father. Or perhaps he’s seen Justin’s bruises and wants to know why I’ve taken to beating my own cousin.”
“Well, you can sit here inventing stories, or you can open the door and find out.”
Terence knocked on the window, his gaze darting left and right. He tried to open the door from the outside, but Hudson grabbed the handle and gripped it in his strong fist.
Lockhart gritted his teeth. “As God is my witness, if he lays a hand on you they’ll still be looking for his body five years from now.”
Claudia leant forward and touched his knee. “Open the door, Hudson.”
Exhaling a weary sigh, Hudson released the handle. He opened the door and said, “What do you want, Terence?”
His brother climbed into the carriage without invitation, slammed the door shut and dropped into the seat next to Claudia. “Tell your coachman to drive, drive anywhere.”
“Tell me what the hell
this is about.”
“What it’s about?” Terence asked incredulously. “It’s about the fact you’re alive and didn’t bother to tell me. It’s about the fact you turn up here, ignorant to the scheming villain at work and presume to ride roughshod over all of us.”
Hudson sat forward, his eyes as dark and dangerous as any devilish fiend. “Do not dare lecture me when you’ve left Father to rot in his room. The man has spent the last damn month in a laudanum-induced sleep.”
Unable to contain his anxiety, Terence thumped his fist on the roof and shouted, “Drive!”
The carriage jerked forward. The brothers’ voices carried a similar cadence—though Claudia didn’t melt a little inside when Terence spoke—and with the order given from within the confines of the carriage, it must have confused the coachman.
Hudson did not protest when the vehicle picked up pace. “Is there a reason you cannot take tea in the drawing room and converse like any other civilised person?”
Claudia shuffled closer to the window. The tense atmosphere proved suffocating. A volatile energy vibrated in the air, so volatile she wouldn’t be surprised if either brother lashed out.
“I’ll not have the servants listening to our conversation,” Terence snapped. “I’d rather avoid being the topic of gossip in the saloons tomorrow.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Hudson mocked. “Better to avoid scandal than to fight for the truth.”
A brief silence ensued.
“We seem to be singing from different hymn sheets,” Terence said. “I don’t know why you have an issue with me.”
Hudson glanced at Claudia, his brows raised in amazement at his brother’s ignorance. “Perhaps it might have something to do with the fact you’re avoiding me,” he said to the brother whose jaw was less defined, lips too thin. “Or could it be that you’d rather spend your evenings pandering to Mrs Fanshaw when your father is ill in bed?”
Terence flopped back in the seat. A mirthless laugh escaped him. “That goes to prove my earlier statement. You’re charging around, completely ignorant of the facts.”
Hudson’s cheeks turned crimson. Fire flashed in his eyes. “Then tell me what the hell this is about.”
“It’s about five miserable years spent with a woman who still loves you. It’s about the fact our cousin is determined to steal our inheritance, and my wife will do everything possible to ensure she bleeds us all dry.”
* * *
The sudden revelation defused the tension in the air.
Lockhart remained silent. No part of Terence’s dramatic monologue came as a shock. Indeed, Selina had professed her love at the theatre and yet they were empty words. Unlike Claudia’s declaration, they lacked real sentiment. He had not felt the truth deep in his bones.
“Justin held us up on the road, dressed in the garb of a highwayman.” Lockhart couldn’t help but grin when the image of the dandy in a tricorn flashed into his mind. “It was his intention merely to frighten and intimidate. He hoped we would pack our trunks and book passage on the first boat back to India.”
Terence arched a brow. “Then our cousin is a fool. You’re not a man who frightens easily.”
Except when threatened with the gallows after being bludgeoned by an unknown assailant.
“We both know that’s untrue. I fled the inn in terror, crossed vast oceans, and I haven’t stopped running since.”
Claudia’s sigh drew his gaze. Compassion filled her pretty blue eyes.
“I gave you no other option,” Terence admitted. “To this day I cannot make sense of what happened that night. I’ve returned to the inn many times, hoping to discover something new, but to no avail.”
Suspicion flared. In this game of deception whose word could he trust?
Devils wore disguises. They masqueraded as kind, considerate citizens—lovers, brothers, cousins and neighbours. Was this just an alternative retelling of the biblical tale? Did Terence have Cain’s jealous streak? Or was this a gentleman’s curse—the curse of the eldest son?
“What did Selina tell you on the night she came to you for help?” Lockhart’s abrupt tone held the depth of his disdain.
Terence settled into the seat. “She said you were fighting with a man in the woods, that you told her to run, and that she feared you’d killed him.”
The same lines she had repeated on the journey to Portsmouth. “And rather conveniently, you happened to be at home.”
“Conveniently for you, yes,” Terence argued. “Selina sent the coachman to the door and summoned me to the carriage.” His brother shook his head. “But you know all of this.”
“No, I don’t. I remember very little after the incident.” Hudson rubbed the back of his head recalling the painful lump that had throbbed for weeks, the place that still ached when the temperature plummeted. “Did she speak to you on the journey back to the inn?”
Terence gave a nonchalant shrug. “She cried most of the way. Complained about her life being ruined.”
Claudia cleared her throat. “May I ask what Selina was wearing that night?”
Lockhart knew why Claudia had asked. Indeed, he had added Selina to his list of suspects. But she lacked the strength to thrust a blade into a man’s heart—she did that with words—and there had not been so much as a speck of blood on her dress.
“I don’t recall. She’d wrapped a lap blanket around her shoulders.”
Thankfully for Terence, he didn’t stare down his nose at Claudia as Justin had done. That saved Lockhart having to punch his brother, at least.
“And when you arrived at the inn she brought you straight to the woods?”
Terence shook his head. “She remained in the carriage for a few minutes. She was scared of what we might find. The coachman directed me to the spot where you lay next to a blood-soaked body. Selina only came when the servant returned to confirm you were alive.”
Lockhart remembered hearing Selina’s sobs. They’d sounded heartfelt at the time, not so now. “And you thought I had murdered that man.”
It was perhaps the one thing he would struggle to forgive. Not once during the long carriage ride to the coast had Terence accepted Lockhart’s pleas of innocence.
Terence dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his jaw. “Not intentionally, but I believed you killed him in self-defence. You were always a little wild and unpredictable.”
Lockhart almost reeled from the pain of the imagined punch. “I did not kill him,” he reiterated, grabbing hold of the overhead strap lest he throttle his brother. “Not in anger. Not in self-defence.”
Noting his mounting frustration, Claudia crossed the carriage to sit at his side. She found his hand and gripped it tight. It was a show of solidarity, of support, a testament to her loyalty.
“Do not let what others think or believe feed your anger,” she said softly.
Her words were like an elixir, a soothing tonic to douse the flames.
Lockhart took a deep breath before asking, “What happened to the body?”
The question had haunted his nightmares for years. Lord knows how many times he’d looked at a mound of earth and imagined a hand bursting up through the soil.
Terence glanced at their clasped hands and sighed. “I have no idea.”
A host of questions flooded Lockhart’s addled brain. “What do you mean?” Panic choked his throat. “You said you’d dealt with things.”
“Selina’s coachman dealt with the matter while I scoured the woods looking for his accomplice.”
“So what the hell did he do with the body?”
Claudia placed her other hand on his arm. “Terence said he doesn’t know.”
Lockhart narrowed his gaze. Was this all part of the plot to overthrow him?
“Selina gave the instruction,” Terence informed. “She said it was best we remain ignorant. Should the incident ever come to light, we wouldn’t be forced to lie.”
So despite her distress, Selina had considered how the event might impact her in the fut
ure. How courageous. Then again, maybe Lockhart had inherited his mother’s cynical view.
Either way, the declaration presented a far more serious problem.
“The coachman’s devotion to his duties surpassed that of any servant I’ve ever known,” Lockhart said.
The man’s loyalty to Selina went above and beyond the call of duty. Particularly when one considered he was employed by her father, Mr Garthwaite. But her father had died two years ago. So where in hell’s name was the coachman?
“The impression I got was that Selina could have asked him to do anything and he would have obliged.”
“And where is he now?” Lockhart tried to keep the desperation from his voice.
“Dead.”
“Dead?” Why was he not surprised?
“All I know is he left Mr Garthwaite’s employ and boarded a boat to Boston. Somehow during the journey, he fell overboard.”
People did not fall overboard—invariably they jumped or were hurled into the water by someone with a grudge. “And you don’t think that’s odd?”
“What’s odd is the series of events that have occurred since Lord Greystone’s return to London,” Terence countered. “And yet through the confusion, there appears to be a common thread.”
“Money,” Claudia said with confidence. “Money is the impetus. It is certainly not love, for I do not believe you love Selina.”
A month ago, Lockhart would have scoffed at the mere mention of the word love. Now, he could not deny that one could develop a profound and passionate connection. Trust had been a problem for him, too. And while he still doubted the integrity of most people, he would place his life in the hands of the woman sitting at his side.
“About Selina …” Terence’s chin dropped. He glanced at the buttons on his waistcoat. When he sighed, his shoulders slumped forward. After taking a few deep breaths, he raised his head. “There was a profound attraction, an attraction I could not deny.”
“Is that why you grew distant those last few months?” Lockhart recalled his brother making excuses to avoid his company.