Charlotte stood aside while Nathaniel knelt over Sir Henry Bolton, checking him for signs of life. She rested her hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, leaning against him, feeling the heat and strength beneath her palm.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” He briefly caressed her hand with his fingers.
They were still standing over the body when Mr. Gaunt sauntered into the room. “So this is where you are. I have been searching all…What has happened?”
He moved forward and bent over the body. He held his hand over Bolton’s nose and mouth for several minutes, a frown creasing his face.
“I have killed him,” Nathaniel said.
Turning Bolton’s head, Mr. Gaunt examined his crushed Adam’s apple. He glanced up at Nathaniel. “You hit him with a chair?”
“No—just the leg.” Nathaniel held up the stick of wood, turning it to expose the chips and gouges from Bolton’s sword.
“He saved my life,” Charlotte added quickly. “He was protecting me. He did not murder him.” She paused, carefully considering her next statement. “Self-defense. He acted to preserve our lives, and he had only a chair leg to defend himself against Bolton’s sword.”
“So I see. Just a moment.” Mr. Gaunt got up and went to the door. He spoke quietly to someone before turning back. “I have sent for Bow Street. Again.”
“What are you doing here, Mr. Gaunt?” Charlotte asked.
He exchanged glances with Nathaniel before answering. “His Grace thought your reentrance into Society might cause some excitement.”
She choked and cleared her throat. “You—you hoped I would be attacked?”
“No, not at all,” Nathaniel replied, grabbing her hand. She tried to break his grasp, but he refused to let her go. His gaze probed hers desperately. “I would never have let him hurt you.”
“Really? What were you doing, then, while Sir Henry was pressing his suit so aggressively?”
As if embarrassed, Nathaniel cast his gaze in Mr. Gaunt’s direction. “I lost track of Cheery for a moment.”
“Mr. Gaunt or Knighton,” Cheery murmured. “I wish you would remember my name.”
“He might have—he certainly tried to….” She stuttered to a stop. “You might have been considerate enough to warn me.”
“We were not entirely sure, Miss Haywood,” Mr. Gaunt replied. “In fact, I am still surprised he tried so soon after your reappearance.”
“I gather he was pressed for funds,” she said dryly, trying not to lose her temper at being used as a lure to catch Bolton. She eyed Nathaniel. “And I suppose you did not employ this dreadful creature to kidnap me?”
“No—never. Cannot, or rather, could not stand the man.” He looked relieved. “We really should have guessed it was him—I knew he was short of funds.” Nathaniel said, almost looking contrite, but failing.
“Why?” she asked.
Nathaniel chuckled grimly. “He was rather annoyed when my uncle won—that is when Uncle John became your guardian. Bolton was hoping to be your guardian.”
“Or my husband. Although I don’t see how on earth he could have become my guardian. I am certain we are not related in any way.” Charlotte flinched when Nathaniel’s grip on her hand tightened. “Ouch! Your Grace, please, you are crushing my hand.”
He released her only to put an arm around her waist. When Mr. Gaunt eyed them and raised a dark brow, Nathaniel pulled her even closer and said, “We’re betrothed.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to protest and then gave up. It seemed churlish, not to mention useless, to protest. After all, it was not as if either of them actually expected to end up wed. Or at least, wedded to one another.
Certainly, a duke would eventually marry to beget heirs, but she had no such duty.
Before Mr. Gaunt could reply, Mr. Archer, Lady Victoria, and several other gentlemen pushed through the door.
“There you are, Miss Haywood,” Lady Victoria called before coming to a halt when she caught sight of the corpse on the floor. She paled. Mr. Archer put an arm around her and forced her face into his shoulder, murmuring reassurances into her hair.
“Excuse me,” the man behind Archer said as he came around him. “Mr. Gaunt, Your Grace. Is this the man you suspected of kidnapping Miss Haywood?”
“Yes,” Mr. Gaunt said.
Mr. Clark of Bow Street knelt down to study the body.
“I have made a few inquires,” Mr. Gaunt continued. “I will supply you with my notes for your report. Sir Henry Bolton was heavily in debt. There were a number of gaming wagers he was unable to meet. In fact, I understand he is, or was, within days of losing his estate in Shropshire.”
Mr. Clark sat back on his heels. His sharp, brown eyes took in Nathaniel’s arm around Charlotte’s waist.
A warm flush rose to her cheeks. She fiddled with her torn bodice, pulling the fabric more closely around her neck. Nathaniel’s arm pulled her closer and she turned into him, wishing she could escape Mr. Clark’s curious gaze.
“Young lady,” Mr. Clark said, “is this the man who kidnapped you?”
“Yes. I remember his voice.”
“You did not see his face?”
“No. He wore a flour sack with holes cut for the eyes. However, I will never forget his voice.” She stepped forward to press her point. “I could not be mistaken. And tonight he tried to abduct me again. He even acknowledged he was the man who had tried before.”
Mr. Clark gave a brief, half-smile. “So you were not visiting His Grace’s sister after all?”
“No, of course not,” Nathaniel said, drawing her back into the shelter of his embrace. “We did not want to needlessly expose Miss Haywood to speculation and gossip. And I expect she will not suffer from any idle speculation now, correct,” he added pointedly, his glance taking in the occupants of the room. “Suffice it to say, Sir Henry cast aspersions upon my character and viciously attacked me while I was unarmed. Unfortunately, he met with an accident when I attempted to defend myself.”
Standing up, Mr. Clark brushed his hands together and began writing notes in his ever-present leather notebook. “Shall we go back to the kidnapping for just one moment? Miss Haywood was held at the Dacy residence, is this correct?”
“Yes. We understand that someone acquainted with the household managed to secrete her in the attic. They then started a rumor that there was a ghost haunting the rooms to keep the curious away.”
“And who would this enterprising individual be?”
“I could not identify the second man. I am sorry,” Charlotte interrupted.
There were a lot of confusing aspects to her recent kidnapping, but she was sure of one thing: she refused to implicate Red Smythe and Rose. In fact, she still intended to help Red purchase his tavern.
Her spirits trembled and plummeted, leaving a hollow space inside her. With only a third of her fortune remaining, it would be difficult enough to travel to Egypt, how could she do anything for either Red or Rose?
Perhaps she could convince them to marry and act as her servants on her expedition to Cairo. She could promise to reward them with a small sum afterward if travel wasn’t too awfully expensive. Red might still eventually get his tavern.
“So this other individual also wore a mask?” Mr. Clark asked.
“Yes, at first.”
“And later?”
“I have not seen the man since. Perhaps after His Grace released me from the attic, the other man escaped from England. I certainly would not remain here if I thought I would soon be brought to justice.”
“Perhaps. Now, Miss Haywood, regarding this latest outrage against your person, how did this come about?”
She relayed the story again. Mr. Clark took copious notes and only interrupted for the occasional, clarifying question.
“And His Grace defended you with this chair leg?” Mr. Clark asked.
“Yes, he did,” Charlotte agreed. “Sir Henry was infuriated by his interference and tried to kill us both.”
“
I see. Well, I believe that is all the information I require.” He grinned widely for the first time, revealing several broken and missing teeth. “You are a fortunate young lady, Miss Haywood, for it appears we may also have the monster who recently did away with Lady Anne and Miss Mooreland.”
“I beg your pardon?” Charlotte asked, staring at him.
“Well, it is plain to see, is it not?” He nodded to Nathaniel. “I have never been one of those who held with the ‘Deadly Duke’ theory, myself—if you will pardon the expression, Your Grace. While His Grace is a well-known female-hater, I have always felt he was too good-natured to do away with the ladies.”
“Oh, yes. I do so agreed,” Charlotte said. She bit her lip when Nathaniel ruthlessly squeezed her waist. “He is very much the misogynist, but his disposition is simply not that of a killer. He is really very sweet—if you are not a female, that is.”
“Precisely,” Mr. Clark agreed, rolling to the balls of his feet and then tipping back onto his heels. “Any good judge of character would agree.”
“So you never suspected His Grace?” Charlotte asked in disbelief.
“Oh, I would not say that. In fact, there was a general feeling at Bow Street that we might have to arrange the detainment of His Grace within the next day or so. Public outrage, you know. Very bad.” Mr. Clark cast a stern eye in Nathaniel’s direction. “And there was a great deal of evidence, Your Grace. Awkward, that.”
Mr. Gaunt stepped forward, his face unreadable. “What about Sir Henry?”
Mr. Clark shook his head. “He had the motivation. He must have tried to convince the poor girls to marry him and when they refused, he killed them.”
“Most of the witnesses I spoke to indicated he was not alone in Lady Beatrice’s garden,” Nathaniel said slowly. “I am not sure he is the guilty party.”
“I would have to agree there, Mr. Clark. He was a horse’s ass, but I cannot find anything to suggest he was a murderer,” Mr. Gaunt interrupted.
“Are you saying we have two madmen in London?” Mr. Clark asked incredulously.
“I would suggest that there are a great deal more than just two. At a guess,” Mr. Gaunt stated in a heavily ironic voice.
Charlotte stifled a hysterical giggle. When she glanced at the others, she realized she was the only one who heard him.
“I have to agree,” Nathaniel said. “I cannot believe Sir Henry had the nerve to kill those two women. It took a great deal of bravura to murder them in what amounted to a public place. Anyone could have seen him.” Nathaniel shook his head. “No—he did not have that kind of courage.”
Charlotte shivered. The more she considered all the objections, the more she had to agree. She knew Sir Henry had tried to kidnap her in an attempt to obtain her fortune either through ransom or marriage. He had even threatened to kill her after they were wed. However, he was a sly little man who would not have the nerve to murder two women in public where he could have been seen.
And even if he needed their money, why would he kill women he had not even married? Murder before the wedding would gain him nothing.
She glanced up at Nathaniel. “I don’t understand, either. He did threaten to murder me once he forced me to marry him, but—”
“Well, there you are Miss Haywood. He threatened you. He is obviously the man who killed those two ladies,” Mr. Clark said. “He may have attempted to marry them: I gather they were both well-dowered. When they refused, the gent lost his temper. Now that would certainly explain his motives: simple frustration. Now, if you don’t mind, the coroner’s due at any moment. You ladies may wish to return to your box. We will take care of matters here.”
Nathaniel guided Charlotte to the door, and the Archers followed close behind. Lady Victoria murmured encouragement to Charlotte as they walked into the hallway.
“How are you feeling?” Nathaniel asked, interrupting his aunt.
Holding up her dress, Charlotte replied, “I am fine, I simply cannot—”
“Don’t worry,” Lady Victoria took her free arm. She gave Nathaniel a stern glance. “Your Grace, if you would request the carriage for us, please?”
“Certainly.” He hurried away toward the stairs while Charlotte gazed around, startled to hear the opera nearing the finale. She jumped at the sudden sounds of drums and cymbals crashing.
“Your poor dress.” Lady Victoria fiddled with the fabric, trying to tie up the shreds of material.
While she fixed one scrap of silk, Charlotte saw Mr. Archer wander back inside the room where Sir Henry lay. Another man entered, presumably the coroner, although he was dressed in evening regalia and appeared to have been attending the opera.
“If we retired for a moment, I am sure I could do something with this torn bodice,” Lady Victoria said. “At least no one will notice, and you will not be embarrassed.”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. I appreciate it, but it does not matter. I doubt I will ever wear this particular gown again.”
“Quite understandable. Then, do you mind if I step into our box for a moment? I am afraid I left my lace shawl on my chair.”
Charlotte nodded and waited in the corridor. There were quite a number of men and women strolling toward the stairs, perhaps hoping to escape the crush when the opera finally ended. Above the crowd, she could hear the soaring high notes of the final aria.
“Miss Haywood?” Lady Beatrice touched her elbow. “Did you enjoy the opera?”
Startled, Charlotte took a step back, bumping into the wall. “Why, yes, thank you.”
“I noticed you missed almost the entire last act. Whatever happened to you?” She touched the torn lace at Charlotte’s neck. Charlotte restrained herself from batting away Lady Beatrice’s hand. “Our box is directly opposite His Grace’s. I was so worried when you disappeared and did not return.”
Charlotte slid away. Where was Lady Victoria? “I caught my bodice on my bracelet when I was fixing my hair earlier. I am afraid I ripped it.”
“I see. How dreadful. That was such a charming gown, too. And where is the duke?”
“I am…not sure, exactly. Lady Victoria went to fetch her wrap—I am waiting for her. We are leaving.”
“As are we. However, I insisted on visiting the duke’s box before we depart. Perhaps he mentioned to his uncle that he has asked my father for an interview.” She smiled. “We have been expecting it, you know.”
Charlotte stared at her in confusion. Was Nathaniel simply trying to defend Charlotte’s honor by his proposal? After his actions this evening, she had hoped he truly did feel affection for her, if not love.
Her shoulders sagged.
Perhaps he considered himself honor-bound to offer for her. Her reputation had been pretty well shattered by tonight’s events. Despite Nathaniel’s warning to Mr. Clark, rumors were bound to spread.
“I suppose congratulations are premature?” Charlotte replied coolly, lifting her chin.
“Yes, but not by much. We are truly in love. Why, I believe I would still wish to marry him even if he were a commoner.” Lady Beatrice giggled. “Or a Colonial.”
“Indeed, then you are most assuredly in love.”
She tucked a hand through Charlotte’s arm, although Charlotte tried to inch away. “I have the most delightful idea. He must be here, and I so wanted to see him tonight. Shall we find him together?”
“Why don’t we wait here? Lady Victoria will be out momentarily and His Grace went to order the carriage. He will return soon.” Charlotte tried to remain friendly, recalling the sad holiday they had both spent at boarding school.
Lady Beatrice only wanted to believe she was loved by someone as popular as the duke. She was lonely just like Charlotte.
She smiled, suppressing the dismay growing inside her.
“Oh, but my mother and father are waiting, too,” Lady Beatrice said. “I told them I would be but a minute and the stairs are right here. Let us simply go down. I am sure His Grace is there. You did say he went to order the carriage, did yo
u not?”
“Yes, however….”
Lady Beatrice smiled reassuringly and propelled Charlotte forward with a firm hand on Charlotte’s back. As they approached the top of the stairs, Charlotte hesitated, not trusting Lady Beatrice despite her efforts to extend the hand of friendship. It would suit her sense of humor to further extend that hand and give Charlotte a shove to send her sprawling down the stairs to land in a heap at Nathaniel’s feet.
When she paused, Lady Beatrice transferred her hand to her Charlotte’s arm. “Oh, help me, please, Miss Haywood! My garters are coming undone.” She dived into a small, curtained alcove and bent over, lifting her white silken skirts.
Charlotte stood by, filled with uncertainty. She pushed at the heavy curtain to keep it away from her hair and dress. Small puffs of dust wafted out of the folds. The small corner smelled of mildew and damp wood. She sneezed and eyed the stained walls while Lady Beatrice retied her stocking.
“Miss Haywood, peep out and tell me if anyone is there. I am so embarrassed. It would be dreadful to have my betrothed see me with my stockings hanging about my ankles.”
It was so precisely like Lady Beatrice to assume she was affianced to a duke before he even asked her. But then, Lady Beatrice didn’t realize that the duke had already offered for Charlotte instead, in an attempt to salvage her honor.
After studying Lady Beatrice’s bent head, Charlotte turned slightly and glanced out. If the opera was still underway, she could no longer hear it. The flood of theatre-goers had increased. The hall was filled with a muted roar as patrons laughed and yelled at each other, trying to be heard above all the commotion.
“I don’t see him,” Charlotte said, glad for the refuge of the quiet corner as the crowd jostled past.
Before she could turn back to Lady Beatrice, Charlotte was pushed forward. She threw her hands up to keep her nose from smashing into the plaster wall. “What are you—” Charlotte’s voice was cut off. Something encircled her throat and tightened painfully.
She reached up, clawing at her neck, trying to wedge her fingers under the cord. She choked. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air. Her head throbbed as the burning constriction around her neck intensified.
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