by Lucy Leroux
Gideon would laugh if he could see her in this rickety little bed. He certainly couldn’t join her here. Then again…
She fell asleep, remembering each of the inventive ways the earl had made love to her all over town. It would not be wise to underestimate him.
Loud knocking and footsteps played at the edge of her consciousness. Someone shook her by the arm. “Amelia, wake up!”
Groggily, she shifted and cracked her eyelids open. “Gideon? What are you doing here?”
Oh, dear God. Something had happened. “Is it Crispin? Or Mr. Clarke?” she asked, her heart in her mouth.
“No, they are meeting us at Flint House. Hurry, you need to get dressed.”
He tugged her out of the cot, his urgency propelling her up the stairs. Panic and the remnants of sleep jumbled her thoughts. It didn’t help that Gideon was acting as if they were under siege.
He had no weapon, but his massive body was alert and battle ready. He approached the window with caution, flattening himself against the wall to peek through the curtains at the garden below.
“Is someone there?” she asked anxiously. “What is going on?”
She had never seen Gideon behave this way. Frightened despite her resolve to remain calm, she fumbled with the buttons of her gown.
Gideon was silent so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. “Sir Clarence is dead.”
“What?”
“Clarke sent word just a few minutes ago. Sir Clarence was found dead in his townhouse less than an hour ago. Now hurry, we don’t have much time.”
Trembling, Amelia threw on the rest of her clothes and slipped her feet into a pair of kid half-boots. Gideon was taking her to his townhouse, but from there, they might end up anywhere.
“Was it there?” Had the demon been found?
“No. No one saw the murderer. Mrs. Spencer and the servants said Clarence retired to his study with a bottle of spirits. He was found a few hours later when he did not join his mistress upstairs.”
Gideon threw her cloak over her and tugged her downstairs to the kitchen door. “Could it have been an attack of apoplexy or his heart?” she asked
“No.”
Amelia’s breath stuttered. There was a wealth of meaning in that one syllable. She no longer wanted to know the details of how Sir Clarence had been found. Her imagination was more than up to the task.
Trying to block out the gruesome images, she reached for Gideon’s hand and held it tight.
“Do you think it will come after us?” she asked once they were in the privacy of his coach.
“On the contrary,” Gideon said, his shoulders dropping visibly in the moonlight filtering in from the window. “I think our problem is over. I had a talk with Clarence at one of his clubs a few days ago. I warned him against further action against you. I can only guess he took my threat to heart and called off his giant. The man must have been enraged over his dismissal—Sir Clarence has never been known for his diplomacy.”
Amelia’s mind struggled to keep up. Sir Clarence was dead. Gideon still didn’t believe the servant was supernatural in nature, but did that matter? If Sir Clarence had been involved—and his death certainly suggested as much—would this be the end of it?
“Where could the murderer be? Will it come for us?”
Gideon focused on her, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, love. I know I’ve frightened you pulling you out of bed so abruptly. But it’s unlikely Sir Clarence’s henchman has stuck around. Even in the stews, a man of his size and description won’t blend in. He probably hied it out of London just after the murder.”
Amelia’s uncertainty must have been written all over her face because Gideon stepped across the coach to pull her into his side. “I really believe it is over my love. I would stake my life on it…and do you remember what you promised to do when the danger had passed?”
Shock held her immobile for a few seconds. He couldn’t be serious! “Gideon. There’s been a murder!”
He squeezed her hand. “And I’m not going to wait for you to finish mourning Sir Clarence to marry you.”
Her head drew back. “I will not mourn that man.”
His lips twisted with resignation. “I won’t either, not in my heart. But in public, I think we must given the circumstances.”
Gideon forestalled her diatribe with a raised hand. “There is more. The watch was summoned to the scene of the murder. And given the state of the body, there will be no question it was a murder. The news of my argument with Clarence is making the rounds at the clubs. I never intended to hide it, but truthfully, I did not foresee Sir Clarence’s death.”
Her blood chilled as she began to understand his meaning. “You believe you’ll be a suspect.” It wasn’t a question.
His shrug was infuriatingly casual. Did he not take this seriously? They could hang him for murder!
“They will tread carefully, of course, but it’s only a matter of time before they come to interview me. I don’t expect anything to come of it. I can account for my whereabouts to the minute. My title will help, but it’s still necessary for us to marry as soon as possible.”
“But why? There is no prohibition to marrying while in mourning. Aside from the impropriety, that is, which given what we’ve been doing the last few weeks, seems of little importance.”
He stroked her palm with his thumb. “Love, it’s only a matter of time before they draw you into this investigation as well. Despite my best efforts to quell the rumors, enough people have guessed you are the reason behind my quarrel with Clarence. And I’m not going let anyone near you until you are the Countess of Flint, with all the dignity and protection that position affords.”
Amelia scoffed. “I don’t need that kind of protection! You’re the one who will be implicated in the murder—unless you’re willing to explain about the giant.”
Gideon eyed her cautiously. “We’ll tell the authorities enough to satisfy them, but I don’t think it’s wise to go into detail about the particulars, love, should they insist on speaking to you. In fact, leaving out all mention of demons and the occult would be best.”
She bit her lip. He was correct. They would think she was mad…
The carriage arrived at Flint House. They exited in a flurry of movement, but she hesitated at the front door.
“Amelia.”
She looked up to meet his eyes in the moonlight. “Yes?”
“This is not the way I would have chosen to do this, but I do love you and I want you to be my wife.”
It felt as if the ground had given way underneath her. He smiled as he steadied her on her feet. “Please, say you will marry me…right now.”
“Now?” She looked at the door, and then back to him.
“Yes. Clarke and Crispin are waiting with the minister.”
“But the banns—”
“I have a special license. I’ve had one for weeks.”
“Oh.”
Gideon held out his hand. Amelia stared at it for a long moment. Breathing deeply, she took it with both of her own. She walked into the house with him, into her future.
Chapter 24
The interview with the authorities was going exactly as Gideon had predicted.
“And when was the last time you spoke to your guardian?” Inspector Hayes asked.
“If you recall when it was, that is,” Sir Lennon interjected. The small rotund man fingered his cravat, trying to loosen it. The neckpiece was tied so elaborately she had to wonder if he could turn his head.
Sitting in the chair to Sir Lennon’s right, Hayes rolled his eyes but stopped short when he glanced behind her where Gideon was standing.
She was sitting behind her husband’s desk in the study at Flint House. A few days had passed since their hasty marriage.
News of their union, coming so close on the heels of Sir Clarence’s murder, spread like wildfire across the entire ton. It was the scandal of the moment, but Amelia saw firsthand what Gideon had meant about weddings wiping
away all sins.
Since the announcement of their marriage in the Times, they had received a flood of invitations and cards. While Amelia had been next to a pariah as Widow Montgomery, as the Countess of Flint, she was all the rage. Her fortune and beauty, previously viewed as the sinister lures she used to ensnare men, were now assets for her husband to enjoy. Gideon was—hypocritically in her view—openly congratulated for securing her hand. The connection to a gruesome murder only seemed to add to their mystique.
So many callers had lined up at the door Gideon put his foot down and closed the house to visitors, complaining viciously about parasites and rumor mongers. Amelia hadn’t liked entertaining any of their callers either, but she had met one or two genuinely kind ladies hauled to her door by their social-climbing connections.
“It was several weeks ago. I saw him at a garden party,” Amelia replied, choosing to omit the details of the conversation.
“I was very sorry to hear of his passing,” she added with genuine feeling. Whatever his sins, no one deserved to die as he had—not that her husband had chosen to share the details with her. But she’d heard enough from her callers to surmise it had been a bloody and painful end.
Sir Lennon thanked her and reached inside his waistcoat for a handkerchief. He wiped his sweaty brow, his eyes sliding over her shoulder to Gideon as if he couldn’t help himself.
No doubt her husband was wearing a terrifyingly forbidding expression because both men were cautious and on edge, though Hayes’ seemed a touch resentful. Amelia didn’t know if it was because he felt hamstrung by the presence of the earl or if it was because the local magistrate had insisted on sitting in on the conversation.
“And you didn’t see him on the eleventh, on the day he died?” Inspector Hayes asked, looking as if he half-expected Gideon to interject.
Her husband shifted his weight. She glanced over her shoulder to see him stone-faced with his arms crossed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“No, as I said, the last time was at the Wescott’s garden party.”
Hayes glanced at her suspiciously. “You were also married on the eleventh.”
Amelia nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. Despite her reservations, she had loved the impromptu celebration Gideon and Crispin had thrown together. Every day since had only gotten better. “Yes, we were. It was in—”
“That afternoon,” Gideon supplied smoothly, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Hayes noted the possessive gesture and Amelia nodded placidly in agreement with her husband.
Sir Lennon, obviously concerned the young Inspector was going to offend the new Earl of Flint, threw him a censorious glare.
But Hayes was undeterred. “I understood there was a disagreement at Sir Clarence’s club,” he said, his eyes narrowing on Gideon’s face. According to the club’s majordomo you and your uncle had some words, the evening of the eighth, and your bride, his former ward, was the subject.”
“That is not precisely true,” Gideon said easily. “Yes, we did argue and my wife’s name was mentioned, but she was not the true subject of the argument. Her inheritance was.”
“Oh, I see.” Hayes’ eyes lit in understanding. He focused on Amelia. “As your guardian, he held your purse strings—at least until your marriage. Was Sir Clarence loath to give up control of your fortune?”
Amelia shook her head. “While it’s true Sir Clarence was once my guardian, he was never the executor of my trust. I have always controlled that, even as a child, although it was managed by my father’s attorney Tolbert Callaghan until my first marriage. Callaghan still manages my affairs today but at my direction.”
“My wife’s fortune is still under her control.” Gideon confirmed, “She manages it with great skill. I plan on consulting her on the Flint family holdings and investments. With her counsel, the estate can’t not prosper.”
Inspector Hayes blinked. “Oh. How forward thinking of you.” He leaned forward in his chair and made a quick note in his pad.
Even Sir Lennon was surprised. “An unusual arrangement,” he said with a bemused nod. Amelia raised her brow and he cleared his throat. “But a wise one on the part of your father,” he assured her. “Especially in light of your guardian’s greed.”
“Well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead…” Amelia trailed off with genuine discomfort.
“Of course you don’t,” Sir Lennon said with a paternal little nod of approval for her delicate sensibilities.
“Perhaps you should apologize for offending my wife’s delicate sensibilities,” Gideon suggested softly, returning to stand next to her in a pointed show of support.
Amelia flicked her eyes at him, giving him a half-hearted little smack on the chest as if to say stop it. Sir Lennon was pompous and a touch condescending, but he meant well.
“Countess Flint, did you love your first husband, Martin Montgomery?” Inspector Hayes asked.
Sir Lennon reddened and coughed so violently Amelia was concerned he was having an apoplectic fit.
“Are you all right? Should I ring for tea?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
Sir Lennon wheezed, tugging at his cravat. He waved away her concern. “You don’t have to answer that,” he said between coughs.
“It’s fine.” She turned to Hayes, meeting his mulish expression with equanimity. “I loved Martin with all my heart. He was my closest friend. I miss him every day.”
Her words rang with sincerity.
Amelia looked up at Gideon, anxious to forestall his inevitable explosion, but he was watching her with a somber, sympathetic expression. For a moment, they simply stared at each other in a moment of shared grief. Then he took her hand and gripped it tightly.
When she looked back at Hayes, the martial light in his eyes disappeared. He looked down with a little nod to himself, seemingly convinced of the genuineness of their unintended display. He glanced at Gideon but wisely decided not to ask if he missed his cousin.
“Well, I think we have all the information we need,” Sir Lennon announced, rising with an abrupt let-us-depart gesture in Hayes direction.
The young Inspector rose to his feet slowly, looking thoughtful. He turned back at the threshold. “Just one more thing. Are you familiar with Sir Clarence’s houseguest, his friend Mrs. Ellen Spencer?” he asked in a low voice.
“Only slightly,” Gideon said in a repressive tone reserved for discussing another man’s mistress.
This time, Hayes appeared chastised. He shifted on the balls of his feet. “Yes, well, I just thought you should know she’s been…er…”
“Making accusations?” Gideon asked pointedly. “Because I stopped by to ask after him when he was away a few weeks ago.”
The inspector paused, appearing to choose his words with care for a change. “It’s more like she is trying hard not to make them…strategically, if I might add,” Hayes said, one corner of his mouth pulling down.
“Yes,” Sir Lennon sniffed disapprovingly. “The woman has been making the rounds at all the major events. Murders lend a certain cachet to the people associated with the victims. Needless to say, she’s all the crack at the moment.”
He noted the wrinkle of Amelia’s nose. “Don’t concern yourself with that sort of cheap display, my dear. Mrs. Spencer will find this sort of popularity wanes quickly as soon as a new scandal crops up to occupy the ton.”
Gideon murmured his gratitude to the two men, thanking Hayes with surprising warmth. They eyed each other over a firm handshake, the tension of a few moments ago seemingly forgotten.
Kindred spirits, Amelia noted to herself before turning her attention to the pile of correspondence on Gideon’s desk as he walked the two men to the door.
Gideon had generously offered to share his office with her until her private parlor was redecorated. It was part of a series of improvements planned. Flint House was a spacious and drafty mansion with many outdated features. Gideon had always intended to conduct a top-to-bottom renovation, but hadn’t started any of th
e improvements before their marriage.
“I was too focused on you and my investigation,” he admitted with an abashed grin when they discovered the chimney in the master bedroom smoked. He’d thrown open the window and turned to her. “But now that you’re here, we can make the improvements together, and choose new furnishings for the drawing room and whatever else your heart desires.”
And so the work renovating Flint House had begun. They had started in the master bedroom, spending every night in the adjoining chamber meant for the lady of the house. Though both rooms were being redecorated, Gideon had already declared they would share his once it was finished. Theirs would not be a fashionable ton marriage.
“Get used to living in each other’s pockets,” he’d declared that morning near dawn, after spending most of the night making love to her. He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her.
Feeling more secure and loved than she had her entire life, she had slept peacefully.
Marriage to Gideon was everything he had promised. Amelia was spoiled and cosseted at every turn. Their wedding vows hadn’t diminished their passion. If anything, that aspect had strengthened. Living together allowed Gideon the opportunity to lavish affection on her, while taking advantage of his ready access to satisfy his seemingly insatiable appetites.
Her husband’s fixation with her—the intensity with which he loved her—governed her days. He was demanding and generous and wilder than anything she’d ever known. His hunger extended far beyond the marriage bed. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, and hated.
Gideon seduced her at every turn…and nearly every room, including this one.
“Are you thinking about what we did on that desk a few days ago?”
She blushed. “How did you know?”
“An educated guess based on the fact your quill is dripping ink all over my estate reports.”
Amelia looked down and cursed. “I’m so sorry!”
Gideon laughed. “Leave it,” he said, setting the ink safely out of reach in a drawer.