Seducing Eden

by Allison Lane

  “What happened?”

  “Besides sneaking out now and then?”

  “Disguised as a servant, I suppose.”

  He nodded, then sighed. “Participating in theatricals was another rebellion – he’d forbidden it, of course, especially after he learned about the bard, but he is a proud man who cannot admit his failure to control me. Since telling the school about his prohibition meant explaining my rebellious tendencies…”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Right. They welcomed my talent, unsuspecting that access to the costume closet let me slip away at least once a week.”

  She laughed. “You were a scamp, weren’t you?”

  “Too true. And a stupid one as well. My last year at Eton, I fell in with a cardsharp, losing nearly five hundred guineas before coming to my senses. I didn’t have it, of course, and my youth worked against me when I accused him of cheating. I had to apply to Stratford to cover the vowels. He was furious.” Pain flashed across his face.

  Eden winced. At a guess, he’d been whipped. Or worse. And for a debt that was uncollectible under law or even under honor. Except to a man who expected perfection and absolute obedience. She was beginning to hate Stratford, and she hadn’t even met him.

  “I kept out of his way after that and managed to avoid his notice until my third year at Oxford. My allowance was never high, and events that year conspired to overspend it.”

  “More vowels?” she asked.

  “A few small ones, but most of the duns came from other things.” He didn’t elaborate, making her wonder if brothels operated on credit. With his proclivities… “Stratford turned purple when he found out and nearly pulled me out of school.”

  “I suppose he never overspent his own allowance,” she snapped.

  “I wouldn’t know, but heirs live by different rules than spares, and the rest of us have different rules yet. When I finally matriculated, he took his revenge.”

  “How?”

  “Used his influence to get me a government post, handed over the younger son’s portion with a reminder that it was the last groat I would ever receive, then sent me on my way with an admonition to trouble him no more.”

  “That’s hardly tossing you out to starve.”

  “No. That came later. The job he’d found was a secretary’s post, something I’d never wanted. I was at my club trying to find an alternative when a young jackanapes freshly down from Eton challenged me to piquet. Before the night was over, I’d lost everything I owned and three thousand more.”

  “My God!” She could hardly breathe. “Did he cheat?”

  “I believed so for years, but in truth, no. We were both desperate that night, both seeking escape from domineering fathers, but he was sober and I wasn’t.” He shook his head. “As the losses piled up, I panicked, betting wildly in a mad attempt to recoup. It didn’t work. I’m not proud of my behavior, but I hadn’t believed—” He paused to clear his throat, then resumed speaking. “Stratford disowned me. Most of the family followed suit. I had to accept his damned post to pay off the moneylenders – which took years. Stratford hasn’t trusted me since.”

  “Surely he can see that you’ve become a responsible gentleman,” she objected. His current fortune attested to his recovery, and he was respected by his peers.

  “Why? In his eyes, I’m still the obstinate, contrary hellion he’s hated for thirty-three years. How can I counter that? He doesn’t care how I stayed out of the Marshalsea and thinks me barely suited to copying correspondence. Think about it. Within a year of inheriting my grandmother’s estate, I quit my post, proving that I’m the lazy, incompetent wastrel he’s always called me. Not that the events were related,” he added.

  “Of course not. You must have been dying by inches after playing roles for so many years.”

  He seemed surprised that she understood. “Until he strips me of any hint of independence, he lives in daily fear that I’ll embarrass him. He won’t stop until he turns me into another Palfry, dutifully following his lead and never asking questions.”

  “He sounds an officious snob.”

  That surprised a chuckle out of him.

  “How did you get from a secretarial post to investigations?”

  “Money. It is more dangerous than office work, so it pays better. And there never was a secretarial post per se. Sidmouth is a cousin of sorts, so he promised to put me to work. He, at least, was delighted to discover my talent for disguise – not that he will ever discuss me with Stratford. Either Stratford would call him a liar, or he would transport both of us for conduct unbecoming a gentleman.”

  “Then he is not worth knowing.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Have you gamed to excess since then?”

  “No. The risks aren’t worth the rewards. And I’ve hardly had extra hours to fill.”

  Alex was a far more complex man than she’d first believed. Was any of his public image true? She was pondering how far she could probe when he changed the subject.

  “We have moved far afield. My original point was that I cannot assume anything if I want to discern the full truth. Ten years ago, I was too young and too arrogant to ask the right questions. I accepted too many statements without seeking confirmation – Sir Harold’s guilt, his accidental death, even your father’s complicity and suicide. Each supposed fact was a lie crafted to lead me astray. I knew it was too easy, but I ignored my instincts.”

  “You can’t go back.”

  “I know. But I will not make that mistake again. I have to know why Percy killed Peterson and why he is stalking you. And I have no explanation for why John was found on a road three miles away, so let’s return to the night he died. We proved that he followed the thief to the woods, but I never followed to see where he went.”

  “Others did. My entire staff checked every trail. They found nothing.”

  “Yet we know that John was there, as was the thief. At some point, John died. At some point the thief stole a horse. I doubt he did so until well past midnight, so he must have remained nearby.” He suddenly nodded. “Get your cloak. We’re going to take a look.”

  “Now? The rain will have erased every trace.”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy. But I must see the woods if I am to understand what happened and why. Your staff was looking for a fleeing thief. They were not looking for a body, nor did they expect the thief to remain in the woods. They might have missed something. If I am to protect you while I search for Percy, I must know why John died and why he was moved.”

  “Very well.” But her stomach turned over.

  * * * *

  Alex fought down another wave of inadequacy as he opened the French window and stepped onto the terrace. Eden was right. What could he prove after all this time? The man who had actually killed John was dead, probably by Percy’s hand. Percy was hiding somewhere in the neighborhood, so it would be more profitable to scour the area for him, a job somewhat easier now that he had a likeness to show people.

  Yet this was the last investigation he would ever undertake, so advancing one painstaking step at a time was necessary. He couldn’t live with another mistake. And the reason he’d given Eden was absolute truth. It was impossible to continue living if he failed to protect her from harm.

  Eden returned wearing her cloak and bonnet.

  He smiled. “Show me what you did.”

  She followed him to the terrace, looked right, then whirled toward the stables. “Billy raced onto the terrace in response to John’s shouts. I sent him after John, then rushed inside and told Simms to send all the male servants to help – Billy is nearly sixty and can’t run for long.”

  “Recruiting assistance was the right choice,” he said as regret twisted her face. “I already proved you are no match for a male when it comes to fighting. If you had caught up with him, you would have died, too. What would have happened to Olivia?”

  She paled, but pulled herself together. Her voice firmed as she continued. “When John had not
returned in an hour, I went to the woods myself. No one knew which path he’d taken, though they’d tried all of them without luck.”

  “Show me.” At least he now knew when the horse had disappeared. The thief had visited the stables while everyone searched the woods.

  That did not tell him where John’s body had been, though. Nor did it tell him why the thief had returned to collect it.

  As he followed her into the ride, he couldn’t avoid staring at the trim ankles that winked at him from beneath her cloak. She was as delectable a female as he’d ever seen. Despite his unworthiness, he must convince her to wed him. While society expected ladies to remain docile in bed, forcing gentlemen to patronize the demimonde for more energetic couplings, there was no reason a man couldn’t find the excitement he craved at home. He’d never been one to follow society’s dictates. A wife like Eden would be perfect. Once he arrested Percy and settled Olivia, she might be willing to overlook his faults.

  Tearing his eyes from her form, he looked around.

  The ride was thick with grass and nearly twenty feet wide. Three weeks ago, the ground had been firm, but relentless rain now left it soft. Indentations clearly showed where Percy had jumped down last night, then veered away.

  “I could have followed him,” said Eden, shaking her head. “If I’d known he would cut through the rose garden…”

  “No. Following a trail in the dark requires a lantern. By the time we found one, he would have reached his horse.” He passed the footprints and concentrated on the protected ground beneath the privet hedges. If the thief had slipped…

  But if he had, no tracks remained. In minutes, they reached the end of the ride. A narrow lawn stretched between the formal gardens and the forested hillside. Three paths entered the trees, and the thief might have ducked straight into the woods to throw off pursuit. “Which way now?”

  “I’ve no better idea than I did that night,” she admitted. “The left path circles toward the lake. It’s a comfortable walk, though fruitless for escape. But would a thief know that?”

  “This was not a random burglary,” Alex reminded her. “The thief likely explored every foot of the grounds in case he needed to flee.”

  “In that case, he would most likely take the right path. It twists often, with enough undergrowth that one can rarely see more than ten feet ahead, even in winter. It also remains under cover for more than a mile, whereas the center path leads straight to the village.”

  “Then we’ll start on the right. He could circle toward the stables unobserved if the undergrowth is as thick as you claim, then cut across the corner of the front lawn. I doubt he would have traversed the formal gardens. It would have forced him too close to the house.” From the terrace, he’d spotted several water features as well as hedges, walls, and a sprawling rose garden that could only be crossed via a winding path.

  “If he’d gone around the front, someone would have seen him crossing the lawn,” she protested. “All the female servants were looking out the windows.”

  “How long before they gathered in the servants’ hall to scare themselves silly with what ifs?”

  “No more than an hour,” she conceded. “But if he escaped notice, why would he return to the woods where so many were searching for him?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  * * * *

  Alex paused under the first trees to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Instead of looking for nonexistent tracks, he concentrated on the underbrush, seeking any sign that someone had pushed through.

  Signs were everywhere.

  “Deer,” insisted Eden as he turned along the third potential trail. “That branch is nipped, not broken.”

  “Maybe, but the thief might still have passed this way.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  Alex clenched his fists. “If the thief stayed on the path, the servants would have found him. Since he circled back to the stables, it makes sense that he ducked out of sight so his pursuers would rush past.”

  “He wouldn’t leave the path this soon,” she repeated.

  “Why?”

  “The thief had a head start and did not expect to be caught, so he would have raced to where he’d hidden his horse. We do presume he had a horse, don’t we?”

  “Yes,” he conceded, sighing. He’d forgotten that the visit to the stables must have happened after John died. “Percy would not risk trapping his accomplice on foot.” And if he’d started on foot, he would have stolen two horses.

  “So he began by running away, choosing the path that kept him under cover. Staying on the path let him move silently, so he had no reason to push through rustling shrubbery onto ground thick with leaves and dry twigs that must crackle underfoot. He was in little danger from pursuers – he was about ten years your senior, but I cannot imagine Percy sending a man who was physically impaired. Since John suffered from gout and could not have moved fast for long, the thief should have escaped.”

  “Then why is John dead?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, shoulders sagging. “I’ve asked that question a thousand times. The only answer is that something happened to change the thief’s plan. Maybe he stunned himself in a fall.”

  “That could cost him a minute or more,” agreed Alex, recalling his helplessness after being thrown from his horse last year. “It is easy to trip with all these roots crossing the path, and he had no light.”

  “But if it happened this soon, John would have reached him almost immediately and yelled. From here, a shout should reach the house. It would certainly have reached Billy.”

  He sighed. Again she’d clarified his thoughts, which had been heading the wrong direction. It was a humbling admission, but he would rather accept her help than risk revealing his inadequacies to others. He had forgotten John’s age. The image of a slow, gout-riddled man touching the delectable Eden hurt. Imagining her making love to such a creature made his blood boil.

  “Very well. We will stay on the path until it leaves the forest. But if we find nothing, we must pursue these side trails.”

  Half an hour later, Alex stopped in his tracks. He had marked a dozen spots to examine on the way back, but this one was different. A broken branch hung from a shrub that had been shoved drunkenly to one side. No deer had caused this damage unless it had rolled or been pushed against it. But it wasn’t rutting season, and this was not a place a doe would choose to give birth. Nothing smaller than a deer could produce this damage, so…

  A root protruded from the path. No worse than others they’d passed, and not as massive as the one he’d stumbled over a quarter hour earlier. But the thief had been running for his life. He would have been tiring by now…

  He estimated distances, then studied the ground where the trees drew back, forming a tiny dell.

  “What is it?” asked Eden.

  “The leaves seem disturbed – as if they’d been scuffed, then smoothed.” Rain had not yet flattened them completely.

  “You think—”

  “I don’t know. Your staff combed the woods, so one of them might have walked through here. Stay on the path and touch nothing.” He advanced slowly.

  Thick pines sheltered the dell from the worst of the wind and rain. That alone might account for the state of the leaves, but he doubted it. Another bush showed signs of impact. A thick branch lay beneath it. Oak, not pine, so it hadn’t fallen here naturally.

  He pulled it out, nodding. A cudgel. Someone had shoved it out of sight, then heaped leaves over it. The leaves had protected most of it even as they’d settled to expose one end. Dark smears remained on the other.

  “Is that a weapon?” Eden’s voice trembled.

  Alex moved it under a sunbeam. The smears were the unmistakable color of dried blood. “Yes. And it’s been used.”

  Eden gasped.

  “Stay there,” he repeated. “If you feel faint, sit on that log across the way and put your head down.” He wished he could protect her from the reality of this murder scene. But
she wouldn’t leave, and touching her would destroy his control. His blood was boiling that a man he’d known had been bludgeoned to death.

  “I’m fine,” said Eden, though she sat. “I can make notes if you like.” She pulled a small sketch pad and pencil from her pocket. Her face was stark white, and she nearly dropped the pencil, but giving her a job would steady her.

  “Excellent idea. Sketch the clearing and mark where the leaves seem scuffed. The thief probably tripped and landed in that first bush. Perhaps he turned an ankle or did something else that would slow him down, for he changed his tactics from flight to ambush. John wasn’t here yet, though. The thief had time to collect a weapon – probably from that oak behind you.”

  She nodded, though her face blanched further. Her ability to hold herself together increased his admiration. Now that he was looking at her through the eyes of a suitor, he found more and more to applaud.

  Leaning the cudgel against the bush, he broke off a slender branch and poked it into several mounds of detritus. The first two had stiff plants at their cores that had trapped blowing leaves, but the third pile held nothing. He carefully peeled the leaves away, one layer at a time.

  “What did you find?” Her voice was surprisingly calm.

  “I don’t know yet, but there is no reason why leaves should collect here. There is nothing to trap them, and the nearest beech is fifty feet away.”

  The leaves were partially decayed, and as he moved downward, they grew increasingly disturbed. They had obviously been scooped from elsewhere.

  Beneath them was a flat layer of—

  “This is where John landed,” he said quietly. The angles and distances were right. The thief had crouched behind a thick shrub. When John passed, he’d slammed the cudgel into John’s head. John had fallen onto a bush and rolled – the ground sloped – coming to rest here. Blood soaked the bed of pine needles, still visible because the covering had shed rain. He could smell it.

  “I— Dear Lord.”

  “Don’t swoon, Eden,” he commanded sharply. “We knew he died here. You’ve seen his body. You know he suffered a blow to the head.”