Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6)

by Tiffany Green

  “Who are you?” the earl asked.

  “He is Samir, our family’s saathii. Companion. Our friend.” Emma nodded to the earl. “Samir, please meet Lord Lucian Townsend, the new Earl of Hartford.”

  Inclining his turbaned head, Samir said, “A pleasure, janaab.”

  Somewhat confused, the earl could only incline his head in return. “As for me, Mr. Samir.”

  “Just Samir, if you please, my lord.” The man’s dark eyes dipped to Emma. “The note, is from Sean?”

  “Yes.” Emma’s heart raced once she read the message with clarity, and her mouth went dry. Then she lowered the paper clutched in her hand. “Pack our bags, Samir. Sean is in trouble. We must save him.”

  The man inclined his head and disappeared without a word.

  “The note, what does it say?” the earl asked, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs at her neck.

  Emma turned. She could not keep this from him. Not this. The earl deserved to know. “It says: Men after treasure.” Her eyes raised to his, and she finished the note. “Jonah was murdered.”

  Chapter 2

  In twenty-three minutes, Lucian’s expectations for a quiet, peaceful existence went to nil. He rubbed his neck and stepped back from the enticing, feminine smells of the lady inches away. Miss Wickham’s presence at Hartford was still a mystery, and he had but one uncomfortable answer for it. Yet, the estate was far removed from London Society, and Jonah would have dared something so unconventional.

  Lucian cleared his throat. “Are you certain, Miss Wickham, about the contents of the note?”

  She glanced up from the paper, blinking at him as though she had forgotten he was in the room. Then her blue-green eyes sharpened on him. “Oh, I am one hundred percent certain, my lord.” She tapped the strange symbols with a fingertip. “Those are Sean’s exact words.” Her breath caught. “He is alive. My brother still lives.”

  “If what you say is true, I must summon the magistrate at once.” His insides shook with the upheaval to come. “Jonah’s murder must be investigated.”

  Miss Wickham shook her auburn head, a second curl slipping lose from the pins. “That could take months, years, even. I must find Sean now, see him safe.”

  Lucian could feel a frown pulling at his lips. “Of a certainty, the authorities will find your brother and bring him home. Would it not be better—safer—to let them perform the search?”

  She threw him an exasperated scowl. “Indeed not. They have no idea where to look, or even how to decipher the clues that will lead to Sean.” She tapped the note. “He must be well hidden now and has left clues only I can find.”

  Crossing his arms, Lucian nodded to the paper still clutched in her hands. “Your brother told you men are after the treasure.” His gaze bored into hers. “Without doubt, the same men who murdered Jonah. Perhaps, you should remain here until your brother returns.”

  As she opened her mouth, the tall Hindi man with the gray turban appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat. “Our bags are packed, piyaa.”

  Miss Wickham swiveled around and nodded. “Very good, Samir. Now, go secure our passage.” She lowered her voice, stuffing the note in her sleeve. “You know where.”

  The man’s dark eyes flickered to Lucian a moment before he leaned forward and whispered something to Miss Wickham. Her spine snapped straight and she balled her hands at her sides, not liking what the man had said to her.

  Lucian stepped forward. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” Miss Wickham said at the same time Samir said, “Yes.”

  “Can I be of some assistance?” he asked and received the same response from the both of them.

  Lucian glanced at Samir and raised a brow for the man to speak.

  “We have no money for the journey, janaab.”

  Miss Wickham gave a sharp nod. “Yes, we do,” she gritted out, then pointed to the stairs. “Take the ruby. Sell it. That should suffice.”

  Samir’s eyes widened. “No, piyaa, not the only thing you have left of your mother.”

  Now, Lucian was confused. Mistresses received a great deal of jewels and money from their benefactors. He rubbed his jaw, considering what was going on. Miss Wickham’s dress was not what one would call fine quality. In fact, he had maids who dressed better. Did Jonah play the lady false? Surely not. Maybe she had a gambling problem. Yet, this far removed from gaming hells did not signify. Nor was the estate in close proximity to those rich enough to indulge in the habit.

  “Sell the ruby, Samir, or I will.”

  As the man started to bow, Lucian stepped forward. “No, wait. I will provide the funds you need.” He spoke without thinking. Something he hadn’t done for a very long time. Not since offering for Rebecca. The thought made him shudder. But now that the words were out of his mouth, he could not recall them. As before.

  Samir gave him a grateful nod.

  “On one condition, though,” Lucian said, thinking of naught but the little minx’s safety.

  Miss Wickham turned, thunderclouds building in her eyes. “Your offer is not—”

  “What is your condition, janaab?”

  “I go with you.”

  “No,” the lady said and turned back to Samir. “Sell the ruby.”

  Samir was torn between defying his mistress and being loyal to her. Lucian could see the war waging in the man’s eyes and how sweat popped out on his dark brown skin. But his loyalty to Miss Wickham won out. He bowed to the lady. “I will get what I can, kamsin.”

  She gave a nod. “I would like to leave as soon as possible.”

  With another bow, Samir walked away, his steps silent as he disappeared down the hall.

  As Lucian was about to speak to Miss Wickham, she turned, clasping her hands together. “While I appreciate your offer to assist, my lord, I cannot accept.” She threw her hands out wide. “You just got here. You have a new estate to manage and you must get acquainted with it all.”

  While true, Lucian was loathed to wash his hands of the girl. The note from her brother, if accurate, indicated she was in an enormous amount of danger. How could he extricate himself of the situation knowing that?

  Seeing the footman, Joe, waiting near the door, Lucian walked past Miss Wickham. “Pardon a moment. I will return in a trice.”

  At her confused nod, Lucian went to the man and lowered his voice so Miss Wickham would not hear. The man’s brown eyes widened, then he nodded his understanding. “Right away, my lord,” he said, swiveling on his heel and marching to the rear of the mansion.

  When Lucian returned to the blue salon, Miss Wickham stood at the window, watching the butterflies flutter around the roses. She turned and gave him a sad smile. “I shall miss the roses.”

  His brows went up, then came back down. “After you find your brother, you are not coming back.” A statement, not a question. He already knew the answer.

  She shook her head. “Sean and I will go elsewhere. There are others like Jonah, who wish to uncover lost civilizations and present the findings to the museum.”

  Then it dawned on Lucian. Everything came into focus, like the slight turn of an eyepiece. Jonah funded their journeys. He gave them a place to live between explorations, food to eat, and the means to find treasure. Not for self-gain. All to donate to the museum. And now that Jonah was gone… What did that mean?

  Miss Wickham turned around. “Would you like to visit Jonah’s grave?” she asked.

  Lucian swallowed hard, but nodded, and followed the lady from the room. The soft, sweet scent of roses floated past him as he stepped behind her. They walked into the conservatory, where palm and orange trees grew along with purple violets and an array of orchids in various colors.

  Once outside, Lucian lifted his face to the sun and breathed deep. The ocean slapped against the jagged cliff a quarter mile in the distance, and three gulls played chase, squawking and diving in the clear blue sky. The briny breeze stirred his hair and Lucian turned toward the lady navigating a stone path, leading away f
rom the rose garden.

  Lucian hurried to catch up. He had forgotten how beautiful the Elizabethan mansion was with ancient, sprawling oaks lining the long straight drive. His mother loved to bring him when he was young. Lucian remembered making mischief with Jonah, who was only three years older than himself and why his young uncle’s death had been so unexpected.

  Shaking his head, Lucian followed Miss Wickham to the large gray granite mausoleum. The Hartford title was engraved above the twin doors. He closed his eyes a moment, remembering the last time he’d stood at this spot. Fourteen years ago. When his mother died.

  The squeak of the door’s hinges brought Lucian back from the sad memories forming and he hurried to assist Miss Wickham with the heavy door. Cold air whispered over his face, filled with the smells of dirt and decay. The dark interior was saved from total blackness by the stained-glass window opposite the doors, allowing muted, multicolored light to shine on the statue of the first Earl of Hartford fixed before the floor-to-ceiling window.

  Lucian followed Miss Wickham inside, his eyes finding the fresh marble square, its gleaming surface standing out from the aged, dull ones of the past. He paused at the marker before Jonah’s and ran his fingertips along the etching.

  “Your mother?” Miss Wickham asked.

  Lucian nodded. He returned from his grand tour to find his mother very ill. Cancer of the stomach said the doctors, and no cure. His father was still out to sea, so it was up to Lucian to take care of her. Her last request before she died within the month was to be buried here, the place she loved the most.

  Swallowing hard, Lucian walked to Miss Wickham’s side. Staring at Jonah’s name printed on the marble gave Lucian chills. Could what the note said be true? Could Jonah have been murdered? He held his breath a moment, knowing he would not rest until he found out. He exhaled, seeing quiet evenings beside the fire, reading books and sipping brandy, evaporate before his eyes.

  “Jonah spoke of you.”

  Lucian turned to Miss Wickham, seeing her face tipped up to Jonah’s grave. Her small nose, slightly upturned at the tip, had a light spray of freckles across the bridge. And it dawned on him the top of her head just reached his chin. “Did he?”

  She nodded. “He spoke of how you played as children, how once you built a raft from driftwood and old sheets, then tried to set sail for Ireland.”

  The memory pierced his heart. He had been seven and Jonah ten, both home from school for Christmas holiday. “The vessel made it about twenty feet before coming apart. Jonah helped me back to shore. The water was freezing.” He cleared his throat, still feeling the icy needles all over his body. “I would have drowned.”

  Miss Wickham turned her head, her eyes shining with a film of unshed tears. “He regretted the times you wished to come and he had been away on another hunt.”

  Lucian gave one shoulder a shrug. Although it had bothered him at the time, now it seemed insignificant. He had been managing Ravenwood, anyway, and Rebecca. Both kept him busy enough the last five years.

  Her gaze tumbled down, then back. “He thought of you like a brother.” Her hand came up and rested on his arm, making his muscles bunch beneath her light touch. “I know he would have wanted me to tell you that.”

  Lucian’s throat went tight. His hand moved on its own over hers. Her slender fingers cool to the touch. “Thank you. I thought of him the same way. I hope he knew that.”

  “He did.”

  “Who were you to him?” Lucian asked before he thought better of it.

  Miss Wickham had not expected the question. Her soft eyes went hard, and she pulled her hand away, while stumbling back a step. “You do not think that he and I…?” She shook her head, loosing yet another red-brown curl. “Of course, you would think such a thing.”

  While Lucian’s stunned brain worked for some way to make amends, the lady had already spun on her heel and was marching through the doors, her loosened curls flying around her head. He mopped a hand down his face, groaning into his palm. What had he been thinking, asking such an insulting question? He hadn’t been thinking. Yet, he had to know. Overcome by a burning need to make certain she and Jonah had not been lovers.

  But why?

  Lucian shook his head. He had no idea. What he did know for certain was he had to go after Miss Wickham and make amends. He would apologize…

  The thundering crack exploded, bringing his head up. Lucian’s mind worked for several seconds, coming to terms with what he had heard. With a curse on his lips, his legs shot forward. His arms pumped as he dashed out into the bright, afternoon sun. Squinting, heart racing, he paused to glance around.

  His breath sawed in and out of his lungs as he searched for Miss Wickham. Where the deuce had she…? “Oh, no,” he whispered, seeing her splayed out on the stone path, midway to the mansion, red rose petals scattered around her.

  Three of the gardeners were running to her, hats falling away, tools thrown to the ground. Lucian sprang forward and came to her first. With his pulse hammering in his ears, he knelt at her side and reached out with trembling fingers.

  She lay on her back, her head turned away, her auburn curls spilling about her shoulders. The breeze stirred her hair and made several rose petals skip across her body. Lucian’s mouth went dry as he settled a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Wickham.” He gave her a slight shake.

  Three shadows fell over them, and Lucian glanced up.

  “My lord,” the eldest man said. “Is she…?” He crushed his gloves between his hands, unable to finish the sentence.

  Lucian lowered his gaze and found the rise and fall of her chest. His hands searched for wounds or broken bones. None. He breathed in a sigh of relief. Leaning forward, he spoke in a stronger, firmer voice. “Miss Wickham, you must wake. Do you hear me?”

  Her lips parted and a moan escaped, then her eyelids fluttered open. “You do not need to shout, my lord, I can hear you fine,” she said and sat up. With a wince, she reached up and stroked the back of her head.

  “What happened?” Lucian asked, glancing around. “I thought I heard…” He shook his head and rose to his feet. He held out a hand to assist her.

  “If you heard the shot of a pistol, my lord, then we all heard it,” the elder gardener said, nodding toward the west. “From that direction.”

  The youngest of the three cleared his throat. “I heard a horse galloping away after the shot. Same direction.”

  Lucian frowned with the news and assisted Miss Wickham to her feet. “Do you have any pain?” he asked. Sometimes shots did not bleed, and he wanted to be certain she suffered no such injury.

  “Only in the back of my head when I fell. I slipped on an uneven stone as the shot sounded.” She glanced at the scattered rose petals. “Lucky, that.”

  More than lucky, Lucian thought, glancing toward the west. The man would be gone by now, disappeared. He turned back to the gardeners. “Any of you get a look at the shooter?”

  “No, my lord,” they said in unison.

  Lucian blew out a breath, nodding. He thought as much. His gaze skidded to Miss Wickham, who was pulling the dislodged pins from her hair. “Let us get inside,” he said, not wishing to risk a second shooter or the man returning.

  As he led the lady back into the humid interior of the conservatory, his mind whirled with what happened. Someone attempted the life of Miss Wickham. His gaze went to her pale but composed face and he felt his lips draw down. How could she be so bloody calm?

  One thing was certain, though. The woman would go nowhere without him.

  As they reached the blue salon, Miss Wickham, still picking bits of grass and pins from her hair, turned and gave him a smile. “My thanks for your assistance, my lord, but I do not require a chaperone.”

  Lucian crossed his arms. “No. Indeed, Miss Wickham, you require more. A protector.”

  Her fingers stilled within the mass of auburn curls and her blue-green eyes narrowed. “I have one. Samir.”

  He gazed around the empty room. “A
nd where was he just then?” Lucian’s gaze swept back to hers. “It seems you now need two.”

  As she lowered her arms and started to shake her head, the door opened with a bang. Samir stalked into the room, his dark eyes simmering, his shoulders stiff. A dagger in one hand. “I heard what happened, piyaa. Are you injured?”

  “No, Samir, I am fine. Put that blade away.”

  As the man slipped the dagger back into his robes, he stopped before Miss Wickham. “You must not go anywhere without Samir. Not even outside.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I did not expect you so soon. Have you our tickets? When do we leave?”

  “The passage was full.” Samir placed his hands together. “Nothing for a month. So, I came back.”

  “A month?” Miss Wickham repeated, her eyes turning stormy. “Sean cannot wait a month, Samir.”

  “I know, piyaa, but what else can be done?”

  Lucian leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms. He cleared his throat. “I can get us anywhere you require.” His right brow came up. “Now, where are we going?”

  Chapter 3

  Emma snapped her book closed. Four days rattling inside the confines of the Hartford coach was enough to make her go mad. Yet, his lordship would not let her ride a horse. Said it was unsafe. She frowned at her reflection in the glass. Samir even agreed.

  Catching sight of the earl riding his beautiful bay beside the coach, she heaved a sigh, her breath fogging a circle. He turned and smiled, his dark eyes twinkling as he gave her a merry wave. Emma lifted her finger and wrote backward letters, SSA, in the mist on the glass.

  The earl threw his head back and laughed. Despite her best efforts, Emma’s lips twitched as she wiped the glass clean with her handkerchief. She settled back on the plush seat with a sigh, her thoughts turning to her brother once again. Was he injured? Remembering the smears of blood on the note made her shiver. Had the men who killed Jonah found Sean? Who were they? She didn’t have to ask what they wanted. That, she knew. The gold.