Surrender to Scandal

by Kelly Boyce

  “No. They are looking into his associates, but my guess is a man like Crowley did not keep copious notes on the people he dealt with. Or if he did, he kept them well hidden and likely we will never find them.”

  Benedict squeezed the bridge of nose as his hand slipped into his jacket pocket and squeezed the smooth wood of his father’s pipe. “I need a drink.” He didn’t often imbibe, but after the past two days he’d had, he had earned one. “Care for one?”

  “No. And you should keep it to one. You’ll need to keep your head about you until we figure this out.”

  Benedict let out a bitter laugh as he poured the brandy. “What is there to figure out? Crowley is dead. Any hope we had of discovering the identity of my silent partner died with him. By the time we go through the courts in an effort to have my partner’s identity revealed, it will be too late. My finances will be beyond repair.” He downed the brandy and poured another.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “That my finances teeter on the precipice of utter ruin? Oh, I assure you, they do.” It was gauche to speak of such things, but given Marcus had taken on the role of financial advisor to him—a little too late for it to do him much good—he didn’t bother himself with the breach in etiquette.

  “No,” Marcus joined him at the bar and covered the top of Benedict’s glass before he could lift it to his lips. “That we have lost all hope at revealing the identity of your silent partner. Or that it was he who had your money in the first place.”

  Benedict’s blinked. Whatever he’d thought Marcus was about to say, that had not been on the list. “I beg your pardon?”

  “When did you receive notice from Crowley that the investment had gone bad?”

  “Shortly after I returned to London. A little over a fortnight ago.”

  “And previous to this, the money for the investment was given to him directly in his capacity as intermediary?”

  “Yes. The last payment was given to him in the form of a bank draft. He required it be made out to him so that he might disperse it properly. He indicated my partner was giving him an equal amount. I voiced my hesitation, but he insisted it needed to be this way for the sake of expediency, claiming they were on the verge of a sharp rise in profits but required an influx of money to make this happen.” Benedict gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. His desperation had made him blind and foolish.

  Marcus rubbed at his chin. “And then we discover Crowley planned to move to new lodgings and had bought himself several expensive new suits. Shall we hazard a guess as to where he got the money to do so?”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Do not beat yourself up too harshly. Crowley was a master manipulator and you were forced into making the best of a bad investment entered into by your uncle. You did the best you could under the circumstances. But now is not the time to wallow in the past. We must stay focused on what we know.”

  Benedict took a deep breath. “Yes, of course. You’re right. So what do we know? Crowley is known to have made expensive purchases and was moving to new lodgings. Perhaps the money given to him to invest into the Western Trading Company did not go where it should have.”

  Marcus nodded. “The date on the receipt for the suits showed they were purchased before his letter where he indicated the investment had not gone as expected and refused to meet with you.”

  “Yes. His letter stated there would be no payout this quarter.” Benedict did not like where this supposition was going, but the clearer the picture became, the less he could deny the facts. “And according to his landlord, this was around the same time where he announced his plan to move onto better, more expensive lodgings.”

  “And then he disappeared only to be found floating in the Thames, his body in a state of decomposition. There is no telling how long he’d been in there.”

  Benedict pushed the drink he poured away. “Are you suggesting perhaps it was not Crowley who sent the letter refusing to meet with me? That he may have already been dead?”

  “It is a possibility we need to consider.”

  Benedict pinched the bridge of his nose. A throbbing pushed against his skull just behind eyes. How could this be happening? Had his letter to Crowley stating his wish to sell his shares in the Western Trading Company—a fact he’d insisted Crowley relay to his silent partner—been the instrument of his death?

  Hell and damn.

  “This silent partner of mine,” Benedict said, letting out a long breath. “Safe to say he would be a prime suspect in Crowley’s untimely demise? That he discovered Crowley was keeping some or all of my investment?”

  Marcus nodded. “That would be my guess.”

  “And that this discovery led him to retaliate with violence then dispose of Crowley’s body in the Thames?”

  “Benedict?”

  He looked up sharply to find Judith standing in the doorway of his study. Despite the disastrous news brought by Marcus and the dark tide rising against him, seeing her put a little wind in his sails, until he realized Marcus now knew of her presence under his roof.

  “Judith, you shouldn’t—”

  Marcus stepped forward. “Miss Sutherland. I did not realize you were here.”

  She didn’t address Marcus’s statement directly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bowen. Forgive my intrusion. I was in the hallway and could not help but overhear.” She walked farther into the study, her hands clasped in front of her. Her fingers fidgeted against each other in agitation.

  “It is nothing to worry yourself over,” Benedict told her, his pride bruised at her witnessing the depth of his downfall. What a fool she must think him to have allowed himself to be duped so.

  “But indeed, I may be able to help.”

  Unless she had squirreled away a small fortune, Benedict did not see how such a thing were possible. He crossed the room to usher her out of his study. This was not something he wanted her involved in. But Marcus’s voice reached her before he did.

  “Miss Sutherland, what help do you believe you can offer?”

  She pulled in her lips and glanced at Marcus before bringing her gaze to rest on Benedict. Her distress troubled him. She had been equally upset when she’d revealed the truth of what Pengrin had done to her. An event he preferred not to think about.

  “It is something I heard,” she confessed. “Or rather, something that was said to me.”

  Benedict started, ushering her from the room quickly forgotten. “What was said to you? And by whom?”

  “By Lord Pengrin.”

  He clenched his fist and silently wished it had been Pengrin’s body fished out of the Thames instead of Crowley. The world would be well rid of a bastard such as him.

  “What did he say?”

  “When I told him I planned to expose him to Lord Ridgemont for the cad he was and ruin his chances at making a match with Lady Henrietta, he threatened me.”

  Benedict took her hands in his, heedless of Marcus standing behind him and any assumptions he may make with respect to such an intimacy. “Why did you not tell me this earlier?”

  She gave a small shrug. “It is of no matter. But what he said…in light of Mr. Crowley’s untimely death—”

  “You heard that?” Guilt tormented him. He had meant to bring her here to protect her, to keep her safe. Yet time and again he exposed her to things no lady should be exposed to.

  She nodded. “The thing is, when I told Lord Pengrin what I planned to do, he indicated I would regret my actions. He said he was not in the habit of leaving loose ends and that he would see me swimming in the Thames before he allowed me to ruin his chances at marrying Lady Henrietta.”

  Bile roiled in Benedict’s gut. Marcus’s description of what was left of Crowley imposed over Judith’s beautiful countenance sickened him. “Swimming in the Thames? He said those exact words?”

  “Yes. He had this wild look in his eyes. I quite believe he meant every word of what he said.” She squeezed Benedict’s hand and he longed to pull her into his arms, to take away
her fear. And his own at what might have happened to her had she not sought his protection. He silently cursed Marcus’s presence and every stricture of society that prevented him from doing so.

  Marcus joined them, but Benedict refused to loosen his hold on Judith’s hands. In truth, he drew as much strength from her as he gave. “Miss Sutherland, do you mean to say you think Lord Pengrin responsible for Mr. Crowley’s death?”

  She looked at Marcus, her usual calm reinstating itself. “While I cannot imagine what situation may have instigated such an outcome, I am not a big believer in coincidence, Mr. Bowen. That Lord Pengrin should speak of loose ends and threaten to toss me in the Thames, only to have Crowley’s body show up in the same place soon after seems a little suspect, don’t you think?”

  “And you believe him capable of such?”

  “I have seen the man’s black heart. He is a monster with little regard for anyone or anything outside his own selfish needs. Though why he would consider Mr. Crowley a loose end I cannot say. I do know he was desperate to marry and I can assure you it had everything to do with financial gain. The complete disregard with which he spoke of Lady Henrietta made this perfectly clear.”

  Marcus reinforced Judith’s sentiments. “We saw for ourselves the desperate straights Pengrin is in with Hawksmoor. He mentioned a large payment coming his way. Do you think it possible he meant Lady Henrietta’s dowry? Or—”

  Benedict finished his friend’s thought. “Or it is Pengrin who is my silent partner and the money he expected as my investment. Crowley would have been only too aware of this and when he sought to keep the money for himself, he became one of those loose ends Pengrin did not like to leave dangling.”

  The idea sounded fantastical, yet rang with possibility. Worse, probability. The missing pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

  Marcus nodded. “If we assume Crowley’s greed got the best of him and he decided to cut Pengrin out of whatever shady deal they were involved in, it is a strong likelihood.”

  Benedict let go of Judith and ran his hand through his hair. His brain worked furiously to find a solution, more answers to their questions. “Unfortunately Crowley has been silenced for good, but Hawksmoor is alive and well. If Pengrin disposed of Crowley then used the money to pay off his gambling debts, it may bring us one step closer to the truth of where my investment went. Although, I am beginning to wonder if The Western Trading Company was even a true investment to begin with.”

  “Or just a front to fund Pengrin’s profligate lifestyle.” Marcus scowled. “Who knows how many other gentlemen have been swindled into such a scheme only to find the investments they were promised such high returns on took a sudden and inexplicable downturn.”

  “Do you mean,” Judith said, “That Lord Pengrin and Mr. Crowley would have basically stolen from one to pay another just enough to keep them hoping, like a vicious circle?”

  “It would not be the first time I have seen such greed perpetrated,” Marcus said.

  Benedict’s guilt at being fooled turned to anger. “If Pengrin orchestrated the entire thing with Crowley’s help, and Crowley turned on him, taking him to task would not be sufficient. Crowley would know too much, making him—”

  “A loose end,” Judith finished.

  An uncomfortable realization hit Benedict then and the air rushed from his lungs. “And when Hawksmoor called in his debt, it is possible Pengrin went to collect from Crowley only to discover his deception.”

  “Not a situation that would have sat well with Pengrin, I’m sure. Especially with Hawksmoor breathing down his neck.” Marcus said.

  “I think we need to pay another visit to The Devil’s Lair. If Pengrin has a brain in his head, he’ll know better than to cross him and not pay his debt. Hawksmoor is not a man to be trifled with.”

  “Have you considered, Lord Pengrin may view Lord Hawksmoor as another loose end,” Judith said. “As he did you.”

  Benedict spun on his heel to face her. She had grown pale and he hated that she had been drawn into this. “Me?”

  She nodded slowly, as if the realization of what she’d just said surprised even her. “The broken axel on the carriage transporting us to London? Your driver said it was a clean break, as if it had been cut. And the horse and rider who attempted to run you down in the street?”

  Benedict pulled his mouth into a grim line. “But to what end?”

  “You have no heirs,” Judith said. “If something were to happen to you, the Glenmor title and entailed properties would return to the crown. Perhaps Lord Pengrin believed that with no one to inherit, no one would think to look into the particulars of the failed investment and he would be free of any suspicion.”

  “She has a point,” Marcus said. “You had indicated to Crowley before leaving for London that you had concerns about the partnership and were reconsidering your investment in the company. If he relayed this to Pengrin, the man may have decided to take matters into his own hands, fearful you were onto him or on the verge of discovering his identity.”

  The suggestion sickened him. Both Mother and Judith had been in the carriage with him. If anything had happened to either of them…

  No. He couldn’t think like that. Not now. He needed to stay focused.

  He turned to Marcus. “The more desperate Pengrin grows, the more treacherous he becomes. We need to get to Hawksmoor, to find out what he knows and warn him of any danger.” He looked to Judith, Pengrin’s threat to her ringing in his ears. “I cannot leave you here unprotected.”

  Marcus nodded his agreement. “He’s right. We will need to take you with us. Do you have a cloak? Something to mask yourself with?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Fetch it,” Benedict instructed. “We must leave immediately.”

  * * *

  The trip to The Devil’s Lair took longer than Judith had anticipated. Snow that had been falling relentlessly all afternoon had given way to sleet, making the roads difficult to travel. Beneath her, the carriage wheels slipped on the slush covered cobblestones and the driver was forced to slow down to prevent an accident. The roads were mostly deserted. Shops had closed for the day and patrons had emptied from the streets and headed home. Likely, many of the entertainments scheduled for this evening would find themselves cancelled or postponed as guests opted to stay within the safety and warmth of their own homes this night.

  Judith didn’t blame them. She very much wished she could do the same. This day had taken an unexpected, and unwelcomed turn. With each moment that passed, fear concocted ugly scenarios in her head. Would Lord Pengrin be desperate enough to continue his pursuit of Lady Henrietta or had Lord Ridgemont put an effective end to the matter? And what of Lord Hawksmoor? The mysterious gentleman held a lofty title but shunned polite society. It was intimated he was a dangerous man, a sinful one. Whether such claims were true, the notion did little to settle her nerves as they approached the gaming hell where he spent the majority of his time.

  Next to her, Benedict reached over and took her hand, heedless of Mr. Bowen’s presence. She did not pull away. She had learned enough of Mr. Bowen to know he did not cater to all of society’s rules and Benedict trusted him above all, a recommendation she did not take lightly.

  “When we arrive,” Benedict said, “I want you to stay in the carriage and wait. I do not wish to expose you to such a place nor risk you being seen.”

  “But I may be able to help.” She didn’t know how, exactly. What could she do, after all? Resurrect Mr. Crowley? Drag a confession from Lord Pengrin? Demand Lord Hawksmoor reveal all he knew?

  Helplessness gripped her. She despised the feeling as much as she loathed the idea of letting go of Benedict’s hand only to watch him disappear inside The Devil’s Lair. Even the name did not inspire confidence or do anything to quell her growing sense of unease.

  “We will be better served if I know you are safe,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

  She
shared the feeling with respect to him. What if things went awry? What if this was the last time she ever saw him? She swallowed her dread, forcing it down. Now was not the time to allow fear to overtake her mind. She must stay calm.

  “Promise me you will be safe. Don’t do anything to put yourselves at risk. It is not worth it in the end.” It was just money after all. And while Lord Pengrin had no right to it, she did not want any harm to come to Benedict or Mr. Bowen because of it. “Would it not be better if we waited for the proper authorities and allowed them to deal with this?”

  She had suggested the idea earlier and Benedict had sent a hasty dispatch to that effect but with the weather being as it was, how soon they would receive the missive and be able to respond remained to be seen.

  “Time is of the essence, I’m afraid,” Mr. Bowen said. “Pengrin will know Mr. Crowley’s body has been found. If he is as desperate as we believe, then Hawksmoor is the only loose end he has left with respect to who can point the finger in his direction. I fear if we don’t act now, we may lose our chance to put an end to this matter and regain the money Crowley and Pengrin have stolen from Glenmor.”

  “Is it worth it?” She gripped Benedict’s hand with both of hers. How she wished she could touch his face, kiss his mouth, do whatever necessary to convince him not to go through with this. But resolve was written into the expression on his face. His mind was set upon its course. To him, it wasn’t about money. It was about family. About about doing the right thing.

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I will be safe. I promise.”

  But it was an empty promise as there was no telling what awaited them on the other side of the hidden door. Maybe nothing more than disappointment. Maybe something far more treacherous.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  What awaited them as Benedict pushed through the open door was utter mayhem. Hawksmoor’s two bodyguards lay crumpled on the ground just outside the door to his quarters, the floor slick with their blood. Marcus bent and pulled his glove off, touching his fingertips to each neck. He glanced up at Benedict and shook his head.