Helena sat up and realized that Northcutt had not attempted to shoot her, but instead, gripped his shoulder in a peculiar manner as a red stain slowly spread across his coat. His skin was white as death. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his wound.
“What just happened?” Helena said.
William hurried to her side and helped her stand. “It is true, Lady Carlyle. Northcutt is the murderer, not Reginald.”
“But why? And how is it that you and Officer Stephens discovered the truth about the murder and found me?”
“We can explain in a moment. First, we need the innkeeper’s help,” Stephens replied.
The innkeeper, who had run to the parlor door at the sound of the shot was soon made aware of the situation and offered Helena the use of the other parlor. He sent a boy off with a message for the apothecary and another with a message for the local magistrate.
William went with Helena and helped her to a chair at a large oak table. He called for wine and when it arrived, poured her a large glass. “Here, Lady Carlyle, please drink this. It will make you feel better.”
“Thank you.”
After the innkeeper retired from the room, Stephens came in and sat down at the table. “Northcutt almost got away with your husband’s murder. If it hadn’t been for Lord Brandon remembering his days at Oxford, Northcutt’s scheme might have succeeded.”
“So, it wasn’t Reginald who broke into my aunt’s house, but Northcutt?”
“Yes. He knew Reginald was the obvious suspect in any malfeasance connected with your late husband, so he stole one of Reginald’s watch fobs and then left it on the floor to implicate Reginald,” William said.
Helena took a sip of wine and savored how the dark liquid slid smoothly down her throat. “But what was it that he sought? None of the papers were missing.”
“The notebook your husband kept about the Black Kings. You gave it to me, so he couldn’t find it when he searched.”
“But why would he want that?”
“Because it proved that he made his living cheating at cards and dice, Lady Carlyle. And that is not a gentlemanly occupation,” Stephens replied.
“You mean he was a swindler?” Helena said.
William nodded. “Carlyle caught him cheating at Oxford, and I assume Northcutt promised to mend his ways. Then years later, Carlyle must have caught him again and threatened to expose him. That is why he followed your husband from London and shot him, making it look like a robbery gone wrong.”
“He wanted to marry me in order to hide his murder and cheating?”
“That, and, I imagine, for your fortune, Lady Carlyle. He would then have been able to leave the cards for at least a little bit of time,” Stephens said.
William looked at her with pleading eyes. “I am so very sorry that I did not review the notebook sooner. I could have saved you from so much pain.”
Officer Stephens downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. “Let me go and make arrangements to transport Mr. Northcutt back to London as soon as the apothecary has had a chance to dig the bullet out of his arm. I am certain that a search of his rooms will uncover Lord Carlyle’s ring and watch, which I’m sure he couldn’t fence for fear of discovery. Ah, and here is your pistol, Lord Brandon.” Stephens set the pistol on the table. “That is a mighty fine piece, if I might be permitted to say so. Very quick on the trigger.”
When he closed the door, William turned to Helena. “Are you all right? I didn’t want to bring the subject up in front of Stephens, but Northcutt didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Helena extended her wrist and said ruefully, “Just a few scrapes from the rope he used to tie me. I coughed at him so much that I think he was afraid to touch me.”
William swallowed hard. “So, he did not force himself upon you?”
“He hadn’t got the chance.” She looked William in the eye. His eyes, warm and inviting, drew her in. She felt her heart speed up and the breath catch in her throat. Finally, she said, “I just want you to know that I didn’t go willingly. I have never been interested in becoming Mrs. Northcutt.”
William noted the faint flush of her pale cheek and the rounded softness of her full lips. Slowly, very deliberately, so as not to frighten the rabbit into the bush, he reached out and clasped her hand. “I must say—”
Before he could finish, Helena leaned over and placed her lips gently on his. She felt him start back in surprise, but gripped his hand in hers and would not let him go. Instead, she deepened the kiss.
“Say you will marry me, William,” she managed to get out as his lips moved from her mouth to her ear and then down the soft skin of her neck.
He shifted enough to read her expression. “Do you really want to marry me? This is not the product of gratitude?”
She boldly slid her arms around his neck, serene and giddy at the same time. “While I am eternally grateful, I don’t think I could possibly live without you. If that is not love, then I don’t know what love is.”
He smiled, a smile so sweet and genuine, that Helena felt momentarily breathless. I am dazzled, she realized, but not by him. It is by his love for me. What a fundamental difference.
“I accept your very generous proposal,” William said.
Then he kissed her as he had wanted to kiss her since he had first danced with her at Almack’s—slowly, tenderly. Then he could not restrain himself further, with a wild abandon that would have shocked Helena’s younger self.
William and Helena jumped away from each other when the door opened. Officer Stephens regarded them with an indulgent smile. “Northcutt is well enough to travel back to London tomorrow, and I have commandeered his carriage for the purpose. I don’t know what your plans are, Lord Brandon, but the innkeeper tells me that he has two rooms available if you wish to rest a bit before you travel back.”
William got up and shook Stephens’ hand. “Thank you for all of your hard work, Officer Stephens. We are most grateful.”
“Aye, I bet you are.” Stephens bowed low. “It has been a privilege and an honor. Please do not hesitate to contact me should you ever need Bow Street’s services again.”
William closed the door behind Stephens and turned back to Helena. “Do you wish to start back to London immediately or would you prefer to rest?”
Helena stood and walked slowly toward him. William could not keep his eyes from the slow sashay of her hips. Her evening gown was wrinkled and torn in several places, showing the white skin beneath. Her hair had fallen haphazardly from its braids and large locks hung down her back. William had never seen her more regally beautiful. His eyes locked on hers, and this time he did not have to hide the desire that welled up.
Helena met his gaze openly and marveled for the hundredth time that she had been so blind for so long. Her body hummed with excitement at the thought of a wedding night as Lady Brandon. “I think some rest is in order. Tomorrow, we can resume our journey, after we have made a few provisions for ourselves and have sent word to my parents and Aunt and to Sir Stirling James.”
“Our journey to London?”
She smiled at him, her sapphire eyes suddenly mischievous. “To Scotland. Our work in London is done, and I find I rather like the idea of an elopement.” Her hands reached out and cupped his face. “I have lately discovered that life is too short to postpone a single moment of happiness.”
###
Lady Victoria’s Mistake
Amy Corwin
Chapter One
He’d seen her before. Each time, the easy smile in her large gray eyes, fringed with thick lashes, and the sense of calm confidence surrounding her caught at him, stirring something deep inside. As he watched, the cool spring breeze plucked one of her soft brown curls loose and twitched it across her lovely face. She laughed, tucking it back under the brim of her bonnet as she walked. Everyone around her faded into unimportance.
“I’m going to marry that woman,” John Archer stated matter-of-factly as he let his gaze linger on the slim figure of the elegan
t young woman strolling through Hyde Park. The statement held a deep sense of rightness.
Several of the duke’s other sons were already married, after all. They were busy setting up their homes and forming their own families, so why shouldn’t he do the same?
He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh April air laced with the green scent of new growth, along with the earthier fragrance of horses. Pausing in his own perambulations, John waved at an acquaintance driving by in a green-paneled curricle drawn by a beautiful, high-stepping pair of bay horses.
“What woman?” Toby Wickson asked, holding an utterly unnecessary monocle up to his left eye to focus on the pedestrians walking on a path that threatened to converge upon their own walkway within a mere fifty yards. His perfect vision disrupted by the device, he sighed, lowered it, and blinked rapidly as he swung the monocle by its black ribbon off one pudgy finger. “Surely not that horse-faced creature in the puce pelisse?”
“An unfortunate choice of color, yes, but a vicious and untrue description of the lady wearing it.” John took a deep breath, smiled, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Nonetheless, yes. She is the one.” He kept his gaze fixed on the woman walking arm-in-arm with an older lady, no doubt her mother, as there was a marked similarity in their delicately narrow, thoroughly aristocratic faces.
Not horse-faced—never that—just finely-honed features framed by the loveliest pale brown curls that made him long to thread his fingers through them. A hint of delicate rose tinted her cheeks from the brisk breeze tugging at her skirt, revealing tantalizing glimpses of beautifully well-turned ankles and small feet. Something about her drew him and resonated deep within him, like the mellow knell of a church bell. He could not take his eyes off her. Yes, indeed. She was most definitely the one for him.
The feeling only grew stronger each time he saw her, and his first, immediate sense of a situation was usually correct. He’d certainly relied upon his instincts more than once to his betterment, and to his credit—or occasional downfall—he never dithered or later regretted any quick decision.
Others might complain that he was a loose screw and a reckless gambler, but if nothing else, at least he was decisive. One could not fault him for woolliness.
Wickson laughed and snorted into a large blue handkerchief adorned with large yellow polka dots. “Do you know who that is?”
“No, but that can be easily remedied.” John eyed the round face of his merry companion briefly. “By you, if I am not mistaken.”
“The chit is Lady Victoria, the daughter of the Marquess of Longmoor.” He blew his red-tipped nose into his handkerchief, folded it to wipe his brow, and then tucked it back into his bulging pocket. With an adept movement that spoke of long practice, he withdrew a sweet from the same pocket and popped it into his mouth. Shifting the confection to the side of his mouth, he said, “Bit above your touch, my lad, ain’t she?”
“Not at all. The son of a duke may certainly look as high—or higher.”
“Perhaps the son of a duke might. But you ain’t, being born on the wrong side of the blanket, as it happens.” Wickson crunched the sweet between his teeth and backed up a step, his eyes fixed on John’s hand as it tightened around his walking stick. A sword was concealed within the lacquered wood, and Wickson showed no desire to introduce himself to the point of it. He took a hasty breath and rushed on to distract his longtime friend. “I’ll wager a hundred pounds you won’t even manage an introduction, much less an engagement.”
“Which shall it be, then?”
Wickson stared at him, his protuberant blue eyes giving him the startled appearance of a fish yanked out of the water by an experienced fisherman. “Which what?”
“Introduction or engagement?”
“There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip.” Wickson smiled and rocked back on his heels, his teeth crushing the last of the sweet. “Marriage, I should say. No mistaking that—not once the papers are signed.”
“Done!” John grabbed his friend’s plump hand and pumped it. “Marriage it shall be then!”
“What? What?” Goggle-eyed, Wickson stared at him. He cleared his throat. “Not serious, Archer.” He frowned, his hand fumbling around in his bulging pocket again. “Bad taste.” Another sweet disappeared between his lips.
“Nonsense.” John’s gaze followed the two ladies. “Nothing could be more romantic—she’ll be entranced. Love at first sight. Romeo and Juliet. All in the very best English tradition.”
Wickson snorted, but went along willingly enough when John grabbed his arm and set a brisk pace designed to intercept the two ladies when their path merged with their own. As they neared the women, John elbowed his friend and jerked his chin at the pair.
Clearing his throat, Wickson stepped forward to block the way. “Lady Longmoor, good afternoon!” He bowed with a flourish only slightly ruined by the rattle of the hard sweet against his teeth. “And Lady Victoria—what a pleasant surprise.”
From Lady Longmoor’s raised brows and widened eyes, it was clear that she was indeed surprised though not, perhaps, pleasantly. “Mr. Wickson,” she said. Her tone was civil, but heavily weighted toward the chilly side.
Lady Victoria caught John’s stare and blushed before gazing down at the brown toes of her delicate walking boots. He smiled when she finally glanced up again to look at him shyly through her thick lashes.
“May I introduce Mr. Archer, Lady Longmoor?” Wickson continued, bowing again and gesturing to John. “Good friend, you know. Same schools—grew up together, one could say. Childhood friends.”
Lady Longmoor’s gray eyes, so similar to her daughter’s, rested on John for a moment. “Archer… Are you a relation of His Grace, the Duke of Peckham?”
Aye, there was the rub. John noted Wickson’s slight flinch, but maintained a confident smile. Best to be vague and avoid the question of legitimate or illegitimate relationships altogether.
“We are quite close,” he murmured with a vague wave of his hand.
Lady Longmoor’s expression grew even more remote, but she had the grace to avoid the possible embarrassment of more specific questioning. She had undoubtedly noted his lack of a title.
Risking another glance at Lady Victoria, he was pleased to see her gray eyes alight with interest and a smile curving her pale pink lips. A frisson of excitement ran down his back. He grinned back before she dropped her gaze again.
Most definitely the one. He’d never seen more lovely gray eyes.
“Fine weather, eh?” Wickson blurted out in a loud voice. He nervously crushed the hard candy between his teeth. “Beautiful day for a walk.”
“Yes,” Lady Longmoor replied. “And we should resume ours, if you don’t mind?”
“Eh? Uh…” Wickson glanced from Lady Longmoor to John. “We would be delighted to escort you, Lady Longmoor.”
John held out his arm to Lady Victoria. She dropped her mother’s arm and stepped closer to him, only to have her mother slip a forceful hand around her elbow and drag her back.
“Lady Victoria,” Lady Longmoor murmured in a low, warning tone. She nodded sharply to John, clearly dismissing him. “Quite unnecessary. We are going in the opposite direction, and there is no need to take you so completely out of your way, Mr. Wickson. Though we appreciate the offer.” She gave her daughter’s arm a barely perceptible shake.
“Oh, yes.” Lady Victoria glanced from her mother’s face to John’s. A small, perplexed frown drew the corners of her mouth down. “It is very kind of you, but Papa will have the carriage waiting at Grosvenor Gate.”
“And we must hurry if we are not to be late. You know how your father dislikes tardiness, my dear.” Lady Longmoor smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Wickson.” She nodded again and pulled her daughter away, striding quickly in the direction of the gate before John or his friend could say anything else.
“Well, there you are, Archer,” Wickson said, watching the ladies move away with such rapidity that their skirts flapped around their ankles.
&n
bsp; They almost appeared to be running.
The wide, pale blue silk ribbons of Lady Victoria’s bonnet fluttered over her shoulder as John studied her retreating form. “Yes,” he said.
Wickson shook his head. “I’d recommend you reconsider that wager, except I could use the one hundred pounds. Lady Longmoor has taken against you, if I don’t miss my guess. Didn’t take her long, either, to guess there was something off about you.”
“Forbidden fruit.” John chuckled and gave Wickson’s plump shoulder a punch. “Couldn’t have asked for a better introduction. Lady Victoria’ll be twice as interested, now.”
“Don’t know about that, my fine lad.” Wickson shook his head. “Parents have the last word, at least in my experience. But I won’t complain.” He patted his side. “My wallet won’t complain, either, when it swallows the fruits of your wager.”
Laughing, John led the way back in the direction of the shallow Serpentine before turning left to the Stanhope Gate. A little opposition didn’t frighten him. It only added spice to the rescue of the fair maiden from the clutches of her disapproving family.
After gazing into her brilliant gray eyes, he’d felt only the briefest moment of doubt.
No, no. There could be no doubt. He would win her over. He was nearly sure of it.
Chapter Two
Lady Victoria walked beside her mother for several yards in silence, resting her gaze on the lovely fresh green of spring leaves coming to life all around them. Birds fluted their evening songs, and she tried to pay attention to their calls, silently naming first one and then another that she recognized. But despite her attempts to feel that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, warmth blazed over her cheeks as her thoughts strayed to the men they’d met as they walked along the lovely, winding paths in Hyde Park.
First excitement and then fear simmered around Mr. Archer. Victoria’s skin tingled and flushed as she recalled the admiration in his gaze. But she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—admiration before. She chewed on her lower lip. She’d mistaken greed for affection in Mr. Laverick’s eyes, and he had felt anything but attraction for her.
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