“Then she would best hear it tomorrow in the privacy of her own home. But think carefully, Eugenia. Did Metcalfe say what he knew?”
“That is not the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget, sir. No. He did not tell me what it was.”
He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Now I’ve made you angry. That wasn’t my intention.”
She flinched at his touch. “I dislike being interrogated as if I’ve done something wrong.”
“Wrong? No, Eugenia. But you’ve done something reckless and dangerous. You’ve put yourself at risk when you’ve promised you wouldn’t. Ask questions. That’s what you said you were going to do.”
Gina’s conscience tweaked her. That was all she’d done. So far. But she’d made plans to do more with Ned. She would have to meet him tomorrow night and beg off. The incident with Henley had shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit.
James ran his thumb over her lower lip, his voice deadly calm. “‘Tis swollen, Eugenia. Did Henley steal a kiss?”
“He had his hand over my mouth. He was dragging me away from the arbor.” To kill her and leave her body beside Mr. Metcalfe’s, no doubt.
He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn’t. His mouth was soft and gentle as he cherished her lower lip before took her whole mouth in a kiss no less exciting than those that had come before, but somehow more comforting, reassuring.
The carriage stopped in front of Andrew’s house, jolting her out of the hypnotic hold James had over her. Slowly, and with a heavy sigh, he released her scant moments before the driver opened the door. He got out and offered his hand to help her down.
“Are you returning to the masque?”
“Yes. Charlie is waiting and we will need to inform Mr. Morris that there is a dead body in his garden. He has likely sent for Wycliffe already.”
“You will let me know what happens?”
“Tomorrow.” He took her arm, walked her to the door and waited while she rummaged for her key in her reticule. He took it from her and unlocked the door. “Good evening, Eugenia,” he said as he opened the door.
She stepped into the foyer and stopped. At least eight crates were stacked floor to ceiling just inside the door. Suddenly she could not breathe. Had Mama found early passage?
“Eugenia? What …”
Alerted by her sudden halt, he followed her into the foyer. “You did not mention you were leaving,” he said after a moment.
“I did not know.” She turned and looked at him. “Mama must have found an earlier departure.”
“When?”
She shook her head. “She did not say a word to me. Passage must have become available suddenly.”
He looked at her and she knew there was something he wanted to say, but he merely bowed, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him as he departed.
The thought of Mr. Henley escaping justice haunted her, but the realization that she might never see James again tore at her heart. How had she let things go so far? How had she let herself love James?
She could not change one, but she could do something about the other. There was no more time for fear or hesitation. Tomorrow she would meet Ned as planned, and she would do whatever she must to bring Henley’s reign of terror to an end.
As he climbed back in his carriage and gave his driver instructions to return to the masquerade, cold fury gripped Jamie’s viscera. Once again, Henley had damaged Eugenia. Once again, Jamie had failed to protect her. But any qualms he’d had about killing Henley to prevent a public trial had disappeared the instant he’d seen her swollen lip and the tiny bruise on one side of her throat. The knowledge that Eugenia had been so close to death horrified and angered him. Henley would pay for that.
Even more unsettling was the realization that his time with Eugenia was over. She would be gone from London and from his life. And the emptiness would return—the mindless, meaningless affairs, the endless days and nights, the soul-deep loneliness that no amount of friends or family could fill. Since he’d met her, the emptiness had receded and been filled with memories of her voice, her eyes, the warmth of her skin, the lushness of her mouth and the sweetness of her sighs.
No doubt it was for the best. He’d take that post with the Foreign Office. He’d lose himself in service to the king. Somewhere, he’d find a meaning for his hitherto wasted life.
On his arrival back at the masquerade, Lord Marcus Wycliffe was waiting for him in the foyer. “Charlie is with Mr. Morris in his private study. I said we’d join them as soon as you arrived.”
Jamie nodded, noting that the orchestra still played and that guests were still strolling the rooms. “Has he told you what’s afoot?”
Wycliffe rolled his eyes heavenward as he led Jamie down a corridor to Morris’s study. “Just that there is a body in the garden.”
Jamie nodded as Wycliffe knocked and opened the study door. Charlie and Mr. Morris turned to them, and Jamie noted the strained look on Morris’s face. Without asking, Charlie went to a sideboard and a bottle of brandy to pour two more glasses.
“Now that we’re all here, someone damn well better tell me what is going on here,” Morris said.
Jamie took a glass from his brother. “I suppose Charlie told you there’d been an incident in the gardens?”
“And that’s all he’d say until you and Wycliffe arrived. I thought I saw you earlier.”
“I took the young woman in question home. I thought you’d want to keep this as quiet as possible.”
“What, damn it all? What should I keep quiet?”
“One of your guests was assaulted.”
“What? Who?”
“Miss O’Rourke. Rest assured, she is well and safely home. I cannot say the same for one of your other guests.”
“Damn cryptic of you, Hunter.”
“First, I wanted to see your guest list and ask if you spoke with Cyril Henley tonight?”
Morris reluctantly riffled through his desk drawer, brought forth a list of names three pages long. “Henley? I haven’t seen him for months. I do not think he was invited tonight.”
Since Morris did not seem willing to turn the guest list over, Jamie leaned forward and took it. He scanned the names until he found one he was looking for. Oddly, Henley had been invited, but so had Metcalfe. And that raised the question, why had Morris lied? He would have been the one to provide his wife with the specific names of friends he wanted invited.
“I encountered Henley in the garden,” he said. “He was the man who assaulted Miss O’Rourke.”
“Henley …” Morris flushed with a look half angry, half disbelieving. “Why would he assault Miss O’Rourke?”
Morris had to be aware of Henley’s reputation with women. “His reasons aside, Miss O’Rourke recognized him. He wore a leper’s costume to mask his identity. What of Stanley Metcalfe?”
“Er, yes. I believe Metcalfe was invited.”
“He, too, wore a leper’s costume. Miss O’Rourke danced with him. When Henley approached her in the garden, she thought it was Metcalfe.”
“But what has that to do with anything?”
“I chased Henley to the stables where he stole Grenleigh’s stallion and got away.”
“Grenleigh? Hell and damnation! He’ll have my hide.”
Charlie gave a grim laugh. “He is not too pleased, but I lent him mine. I warrant the horse will turn up in a day or two. Henley will not keep anything that would give his identity or location away.”
Morris drank the entire contents of his glass in a single gulp. “So this is it, then? Henley assaulted a girl who is safely home and took Grenleigh’s prize stallion which will turn up in a day or two?”
“Alas, there’s more to it than that. When I came back through the garden after chasing Henley, I stumbled across Mr. Metcalfe. He’d been stabbed in the chest and hidden in the bushes behind the arbor.”
“Is he all right?”
“Afraid not, Morris. He’s dead. The que
stion is, how shall we handle this unfortunate event?”
Morris’s mouth moved but did not form any intelligible words.
Wycliffe finished his brandy and slammed his glass down on the sideboard with a resounding thud. “Metcalfe. Damnation! Another lead silenced.”
“So my question is this,” Jamie continued, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “Where did you send Henley’s invitation, and when did you last talk to him?”
“I…I…He came to me. Here. He’d heard about the masquerade and wanted to attend. ‘Twas he who asked me to put Stanley Metcalfe on the guest list. I did not see him tonight.”
So Henley had devised this plan to get at Metcalfe. Poor bastard. He’d never had a chance. But there was still another question. “Why would you oblige a man like Henley? Surely you’ve heard the rumors.”
If Morris had looked uncomfortable before, he now looked as if he were about to flee. “He was blackmailing me. I…I was present at Daschel’s passion play. Or that’s what I thought it was. It was actually a—”
“We know what it was,” Wycliffe interrupted. “So he was threatening to expose you if you did not do as he asked?”
Morris acknowledged with a curt nod.
“There’s more,” Jamie guessed.
“I’ve been paying him. Large sums of money.”
“How?”
“He waits outside my club. Demands cash.”
Cash. Large sums of it. Why would Henley need large sums of money when he was living in Whitefriars? And was Morris the only one from whom he was extorting funds?
Morris was a member of Brooks’s, an elegant establishment in St. James Street. Henley would have to lurk in the shadows to avoid being recognized, but it could be useful to set a watch on the place. A glance at Wycliffe and Charlie told him that they were thinking the same thing.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Morris asked Wycliffe.
“If you were no more involved with the Brotherhood than you say, Morris, you needn’t worry. If you were…we’ll be back. At the moment we need to deal with the damage done tonight.
“The guests are beginning to leave. We will keep this quiet until tomorrow. Charlie, go to the arbor and make certain no one stumbles across Metcalfe meanwhile. Morris, encourage the guests not to linger. Remove the punch bowl and cork the wine bottles.”
“They will think I am penurious!” Morris blustered.
“Would you rather they panic when they learn there’s a dead body in your garden or sneer when they learn that you’ve been paying blackmail, and why? “
The man sank heavily into his chair.
“We have use for you, Morris. Keep your mouth shut and your head down and you may yet get out of this untainted.”
Chapter Ten
Gina stood still, rooted to the little stool while Madame Marie pinned the hem of her new gown. But it was not the hem with its little train that concerned her. It was the provocative décolletage. True to her word, Madame Marie had crafted a gown that was sure to draw attention. Styles were changing, but Gina had not yet worn a gown with a neckline that curved over her breasts and dipped to a point midway between them.
She traced the curve of the blue French silk with one finger, studying her reflection in the looking glass. “Are…are you certain I will not cause a scandal?”
“Mais non! The style is perfection for your figure, chéri. Smaller bosoms and there would be no point. Larger, and it would make you look like a demirep, eh? Ah, but this much will tease the senses and disarm your suitors. The men—they will appreciate the titillation, yes? They will tell you anything you ask.”
“You…you’re certain I will not be banished from polite society?”
Marie, a lovely woman, gave a full-throated laugh. “You must tell me when you plan to wear this gown, chéri. The ladies of the ton will be crowding at my door the next morning, demanding a gown of the same cut.”
“If you are certain,” she conceded, not at all certain herself. She was glad that Nancy, waiting in the outer room for her, could not see the gown. If the maid told Mama, that would be the end of it.
Madame Marie called entry at a soft knock on the private door and Mr. Renquist entered, then halted in his tracks, blinking several times. Madame had been correct. His eyes went directly to her décolletage. Oddly, after a moment of embarrassment, Gina felt empowered, as if she were in control of the situation.
“Have I interrupted?”
“Mais non, m’amour. What do you think of our little Gina now?”
“That it is a good thing she has the protection of the Hunter family.”
“Ah, you appreciate the nuance?” Madame asked, tongue in cheek.
“Perhaps a bit too much nuance?” he ventured.
“Oh, la! You are such a proper one, François. Little Gina will ‘ave the ton eating from ‘er ‘and.”
Gina smiled, suspecting the modiste had been quite experienced before her marriage to Mr. Renquist.
“The male half,” Mr. Renquist muttered as he sat on a small chair in one corner while Madame continued to pin her hem.
“Have you discovered anything, sir?” she asked.
“Progress is slow, Miss O’Rourke. I’ve learned that, until recently, Mr. Henley occupied rooms above a public house in Whitefriars. But for sleeping, he was rarely there. Following the raid two weeks ago, he disappeared, taking most of his belongings with him.
“Since then, he has been spotted from time to time at various establishments in Whitefriars, never staying one place very long. I gather that is the reason for his success in evading capture. Speculation has it that he has found quarters in more desirable environs but that he still frequents the pubs of Whitefriars.
“My sources were less forthcoming when I inquired as to Mr. Henley’s companions. Apart from various prosti—soiled doves, he has occasionally been seen with the worst scum Whitefriars has to offer, the Gibbons brothers among them. On rare occasions, he has been seen with gents, and rarer still, genteel ladies.
“I am devising a plan whereby I may be able to cross his path, Miss O’Rourke. Should that be the case, I shall follow him and send to you of his location immediately, but you should know that I am bound to notify the Home Office, as well.”
She nodded. She had no objection to the Home Office benefiting from Mr. Renquist’s investigations. In fact, if they could manage it on their own, she would not have become involved. But, should she find him first.
Mr. Renquist cleared his throat and went on. “Mr. Henley departed his last accommodations rather quickly, and the proprietor has a small box of items he left behind. If you are inclined, I shall purchase it from him for the unpaid portion of the rent.”
“Did you see what it contained?”
“The proprietor wished me to pay for that pleasure.”
“Then yes, please. Acquire it by any means. If it contains even the smallest clue …”
“Aye, Miss O’Rourke. Consider it done.”
Nancy tugged her sleeve, wanting to leave. “Oh, miss, should we really be here? Like as not, she isn’t receiving.”
Gina held her ground on the stoop of the Race home in Russell Square. “Then I shall leave my card. How can I not offer my condolences? Christina was very good to me when I had few friends in the ton.”
“Yes, miss, but—”
The door opened and a maid in a starched white apron answered.
“Is Miss Race at home?” Gina asked.
“She is, but she is not receiving this afternoon, miss.”
Gina took a card from her reticule and passed it to the maid. “Will you please tell her that Miss O’Rourke is here? I think she may wish to see me.”
The maid nodded and hurried away, leaving the door open but no invitation to step in.
Nancy tugged her sleeve again and whispered, “T’ain’t a good time, miss.”
“She may only have been a fiancée, but she is nonetheless bereaved.” James had not given her details of what had happene
d last night and Gina was desperate to assure herself of Christina’s safety. Pray she had not been present for the awful deed, or that Henley had not gone after her when his attack on Gina failed.
The maid was back and opened the door wider to admit them. Nancy looked down at the floor and went to sit on a small chair in the foyer, where servants were accustomed to waiting, while Gina followed the maid up a flight of stairs and down a corridor.
After a soft knock, the maid opened the door to admit Gina and closed it after her. The draperies had been drawn and the room was cast in gloom. She blinked to adjust to the darkness. “Christina?”
A deep and melancholy sigh answered her. “Thank you for coming, Gina. I wondered if you would.”
She followed the sound of the voice and found Cristina, still in her wrapper, curled up in a chair, at least a dozen handkerchiefs abandoned on the floor near her. She knelt beside the chair and took one of Christina’s hands.
“I am so sorry, Christina. I blame myself. Had I not asked for his help …”
“It would have happened anyway.” The girl looked down at her with infinite sadness in her hollow eyes. Her face was flushed and puffy from crying.
“But I forced him out of hiding. Had he stayed away—”
“Stanley has been hiding for weeks now, Gina. Mr. Henley was blackmailing him. It did not begin with you.”
“Blackmail? But what could Mr. Henley have held over Mr. Metcalfe’s head?”
“I cannot say. Other than his attendance at an event that went horribly wrong, Stanley was not the sort to engage in wrongdoing. I believe he felt complicit for something, though he swore he did not know the full measure of the consequences.”
The Brotherhood. Of course. Mr. Metcalfe had said as much to her in their short meeting. Had Mr. Henley been threatening to turn him over to the authorities if he did not pay hush money? But there had to be more. Mr. Metcalfe had readily admitted his involvement with the Brotherhood to her. He’d said he knew things. Things Mr. Henley would kill for.
“Did he ever talk about that night, Christina? Did he ever tell you anything that might damage Mr. Henley?”
Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) Page 11