Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors

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Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors Page 63

by Victoria Vane


  “What?” she answered blankly. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be fine in a moment or two. It’s just such a terrible shock.”

  He took her hand. She looked into his face. “What now?”

  “Now, I think it only appropriate to call an end to the festivities.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE PARTY BROKE UP almost immediately upon Diana and DeVere’s return. The only guests remaining were either directly involved in the questioning, or were those who lingered simply out of morbid fascination. Ludovic noted the Duchess of Beauclerc among the latter group.

  “What are you still doing here, Caroline?” he demanded. “I thought you would have left with March.”

  “But what would I possibly want with him when I have you?” she purred.

  DeVere stifled a curse. “This matter has passed well beyond tedious, Caroline. Although it was never my intention to humiliate you, you appear to be doing an excellent job on your own. It’s finished between us. I don’t know how to make myself any clearer.”

  “But there you are wrong, my love. It’s only over if and when I say it’s over. And I have not finished with you. Indeed, I think I should like to be your wife, Ludovic.”

  “Do you now? I never before thought you dull-witted. How do you propose to become my wife when I have no wish to wed you or anyone else?”

  She chuckled low and long. “But darling, you only need proper motivation.”

  “Motivation? There is nothing on earth that would move me to join my name with yours.”

  “No? How about to avoid the scaffold? Many men have been moved to far worse fates to save their skins.”

  He seized her silk and lace-clad arm. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  She raised her chin defiantly. “I speak of the murder of the Baron Palmerston-Wriothesley, of course.”

  “That’s a ridiculous and groundless speculation,” he snarled. “Were you a man, I would call you out on the spot.”

  “Groundless? Oh I think not! For who stood to gain more by the Baron’s death than you? Unless it’s the poor, grieving widow who is now left penniless? But what if the two of you had confederated? What a wicked, wicked notion that is!” she cackled.

  “You really think I would resort to killing a man to get what I want?”

  “I think you are capable of almost anything. After all, darling, I know the underhanded means by which you came into your title, putting it about that your father is dead when we both know you have him locked away.”

  “There were extenuating circumstances that you know nothing about!”

  “Does Hewett know that his father yet lives?” she asked.

  His grip on her arm convulsively tightened. “Leave Hew out of this.”

  “Whatever you say, my love,” she answered sweetly. “My point was only that I know you to be coldblooded and ruthless when it suits your purpose. And you are the one who holds the deed to Lord Reggie’s lands, the deed you would have had to sacrifice had he won the race. Moreover, you and the baroness are guilty of adultery. Don’t deny it, Ludovic. I know that he intended to file suit against you for it.”

  “And you think I killed him? Your insinuation is crass and baseless.”

  “Is it? Lord Reggie had already obtained signed affidavits from the servants. I have copies in my possession. Sad, isn’t it, how difficult it is to buy loyalty these days?”

  “You think a court of law would uphold a servant’s word against mine?”

  “You are right, of course, but then again, a ducal coronet would bear considerably more weight in a witness box. I saw you with her, Ludovic. A married woman alone with a man of your reputation? There can be no other interpretation.”

  “Your word against mine, then.” He emitted a mirthless laugh. “Hell hath no fury like a duchess scorned.”

  She gave him a venomous smile. “And I will teach you that my fury is to be feared.”

  “Caroline, you may drag me through the mud if you wish, but there is no possibility that I would ever be convicted of such a crime. I am a peer of the realm, and there are no witnesses who can place me at the scene.”

  “But even to be connected to this. Imagine the scandal, Ludovic! Your name besmirched in all the broadsheets, your person avoided and ostracized by anyone of quality.”

  “Yet as a man, I would come out much cleaner than you as my accuser. I have little to fear from any woman of your sullied repute.”

  “Is that so? Then if you would not spare yourself the scandal and dishonor, what of your penniless and newly widowed baroness?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What of the baroness?”

  “Unless you desist your relations with her, my love, I promise to destroy her.”

  ***

  “An entirely gruesome business, this.” Sir John shuddered and accepted the stiff drink proffered by DeVere’s footman. “I suppose we must try to piece this mess together. The sooner the dead man is laid to rest, the better, I say.” He downed the glass of port in one long draft and beckoned for another. “When was the deceased last seen? And by whom?”

  Edward answered. “Lord Reginald had joined Annalee, Diana, and me in the stands immediately prior to the first race but then departed to investigate when his horse did not appear.”

  “Then his horse was supposed to have run in the first race?”

  “Yes. His groom Johnson was to ride Reggie’s stallion, Centurion,” Edward said.

  “What do we know of the circumstances leading to the discovery of the body?”

  DeVere interjected, “My man Pratt came upon the horse saddled as if to ride but greatly agitated and pacing in his box. When he investigated further, he found the deceased and the unconscious groom.”

  “And there was no sign of injury to the horse?” Sir John asked.

  “None, according to Pratt,” DeVere answered.

  “That’s most curious that he did not run then. Have either of you any knowledge of the stallion’s temperament? Might we surmise that he attacked the unwary groom?”

  “To my knowledge, Centurion is high spirited, but not a vicious animal,” Edward replied.

  Sir John scowled and scratched some notes. “Yet stallions can be unpredictable. Surely it is a possibility.”

  “I fear that cock won’t fight, my lord,” argued Dr. Stone. “The groom was battered and beaten almost beyond recognition, but there are no hoof prints on his body to suggest it could have been the horse.”

  Sir John’s scowl deepened. He took another glass of port. “What do you suggest then?”

  Dr Stone remained impassive. “I suggest nothing, my lord. I merely relate the facts.”

  “And the same facts are sadly unsupportive of any motive for violence,” said DeVere.

  “Unless, of course, his lordship lost control upon finding his horse unable to run,” Sir John said. “Yes, yes, indeed. It all comes together now. Lord Reginald had become compulsive in his gaming and was heavily in debt. He had hoped to recover his losses through the horse race, but then his horse failed to run. Is it possible that this outcome may have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back? A man in such desperate straits is rarely of a sound mind, you know.” He added an aside, “Could it have moved him to assault the groom?”

  “But Lord Reginald hardly struck one as a man with a choleric temperament,” the duchess observed. “I wonder that he could have been capable of such violence.”

  “My dear duchess, many a gentleman has taken an uncharacteristic action when faced with the prospect of ruin. I can only surmise by the evidence that he assaulted the groom and then turned the pistol upon himself as the only honorable solution.” Sir John looked exceedingly pleased with his hypothesis.

  “But can one truly rule out the possibility of murder?” she asked.

  Sir John laughed. “Respectfully, your Grace, I would call that a fanciful speculation.”

  “But what if a motive could be discovered?” She slanted a sly look to Ludovic.

  �
�Unless the groom recovers his senses sufficiently to speak, there is no evidence to suggest foul play,” Sir John answered condescendingly. “I will, as a matter of course, need to question the Baroness, but I am confident these unfortunate proceedings will be hastily concluded. Is the lady prone to hysterics?”

  “No, I would say not,” Sir Edward answered. “Diana is my wife’s cousin. I believe her of stout enough character to sit for necessary questioning once she has had sufficient time to compose her nerves, of course.”

  “I daresay, a good dose of laudanum in her tea won’t go astray about now,” said Dr. Stone.

  “Pray allow me to take it to her,” offered Caroline.

  “You are all that is gracious, Duchess,” said the doctor.

  She’s a conniving bitch! Ludovic stifled his retort. Instead, he politely interjected, “But I believe Lady Chambers is already attending the baroness. Is she not, Sir Edward?”

  “But my Lord DeVere, you well know I am also recently bereaved. Only another who has suffered the same loss can truly understand a widow’s grief,” Caroline replied with convincing solicitude.

  “Indeed so,” muttered Dr. Stone. Opening his bag, he measured out a dose from a blue bottle into a medicine cup and handed it to the duchess. Caroline shot Ludovic a triumphant look over her shoulder as she departed.

  ***

  The door to Diana’s chamber opened without even a perfunctory knock, and the Duchess of Beauclerc entered in a swirl of silk. “You poor dear,” she said with feigned sympathy. “What a terrible, terrible shock you have received.” She seated herself by Diana’s side without invitation. “I am come upon Dr. Stone’s insistence that you take a small dose of laudanum to settle your nerves. I have also taken the liberty of calling for tea.”

  “Thank you, duchess, but it is entirely unnecessary. I am here to attend Diana’s needs,” Annalee answered.

  “But you look so very fatigued, my lady. Your poor husband fears this is far too much strain for a woman in your condition. He insisted that you go and rest yourself. I shall attend your cousin.”

  Annalee looked from Diana to Caroline with uncertainty.

  “You do look fagged, dearest. I daresay Edward is right to fret,” Diana said. “I have been unforgivably selfish. Pray go and rest.”

  “Are you certain, Diana?”

  “Yes.” Diana forced a smile. “I will be fine.”

  “Just a short rest, then,” Annalee conceded. “I will return in an hour or so to check on you.”

  Caroline said little more until Annalee departed and the tea arrived. She prepared a cup with a generous dose of laudanum and sugar before handing it to Diana.

  “The medicinal is truly unwarranted,” Diana protested.

  “But my lady, of course you are overset! After all, what kind of wife would not be so in learning of the suspicious death of her husband?”

  “Suspicious?” Diana repeated. “I hardly think so. My husband was a gambler who faced certain ruin. Although horrid and unexpected, I cannot be completely astonished that he chose to end his life under the circumstances.”

  “Indeed?” said the Duchess. “I, on the contrary, am remarkably astonished given that he had just acquired the instrument to shear the sheep with the golden fleece.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Caroline poured a second cup for herself, taking her time in answering. “I know all about Reggie’s plans to end his pecuniary difficulties. He would surely have won a pretty penny too. DeVere’s immense wealth and dissolute reputation would only have worked against him in the court of law.” She took a sip.

  “You conspired with Reggie?”

  Caroline set her cup down with a derisive laugh. “It was the loosest of alliances, I assure you. He was a most despicable creature. But I was in position to provide the proof he needed and piqued enough to follow through. DeVere is a magnificent lover, is he not? I find his skills in bed far outweigh his myriad character defects.”

  “I would have no knowledge of such things,” Diana said. “And I marvel at your own want of discretion in sharing such intimacies with a stranger.”

  “On the contrary, my dear. I saw his hands on your person, his lips on your neck, and the all-too-familiar lascivious gleam in his eye. It is a look I know very well.”

  “I explained once before. I had trouble with the clasp on my pearls. Regardless of what you think you saw, there is nothing between us!”

  “Yet your husband also had grounds to believe otherwise. I received a missive from him this very morning stating that you did not sleep in your bed last night. It was a very enlightening bit of information that shall remain in my safekeeping…for now. So you see, your husband had within his grasp lawful means to recover his losses, so I wonder why would he have taken his own life? Indeed, I see no reason at all for him to have done so.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Diana demanded.

  “That matters have taken an unanticipated and highly suspicious turn,” Caroline said. “One need only examine the facts. Your husband’s horse failed to run when there was no sign of injury, and the poor groom appears to have been beaten near to death. Although Sir John would most readily attribute that to your husband’s wrath, do you really suppose Lord Reggie would have done his lover such a violence?”

  Diana gasped and felt the blood leeching from her face. “You know nothing of what you speak!”

  “How salacious!” The duchess laughed, a shrill and grating sound. “It was pure speculation on my part, but your priceless reaction tells me everything I need to know. Poor darling, I understand what a humiliating secret it is to bear, as my own Duke of Beauclerc had unusually diverse sexual proclivities. He enjoyed both men and women, you see, but his preference was for the former. He and my brother were once lovers.”

  Diana felt herself soften infinitesimally toward the duchess. “Is that what drove you to DeVere’s bed?”

  “Perhaps,” Caroline answered. “But I would have desired him regardless. And I desire him still. You shall not take him from me.”

  “I already told you I have no designs on Lord DeVere.”

  “I don’t believe you. He has a voracious sexual appetite and never would have dismissed me unless he had already acquired a replacement mistress. DeVere would never lower himself to tupping chambermaids. Even if I hadn’t seen the way he devours you with his eyes, I would feel it safe to assume he would not cuckold his best friend. Moreover, Annalee’s present condition makes her a less than suitable candidate. So that leaves only you.”

  Diana’s hackles rose. “Be good enough to leave now, duchess. You have said quite enough.”

  Caroline displayed her small, white teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I am going nowhere, my dear, for I have only just begun. Whether you choose to believe it or not, your liaison with DeVere has a most significant bearing on your husband’s death.”

  “If you will not leave on your own, I will have you removed.” Diana crossed the room to the bell pull to summon a footman. “I refuse to listen to another word of your poison.”

  “Are you aware that DeVere holds the title to your estate? He so dislikes to lose anything unless by his own choice. And then the threat of suit? That would surely have enraged him.

  Diana’s hand froze. She had known, but she had given so little thought to the matter with everything else, but now with Reggie’s death, her thoughts reeled. Could DeVere have killed Reggie?

  “DeVere is an utterly unpredictable and dangerous man who lets nothing stands in his way when he wants something. Poor dear,” the duchess said smugly. “I see the pieces are finally falling into place. There are a number of things your lover has kept from you. Although unparalleled in bed, he is not to be trusted at all.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FINALLY ALONE WITH HER THOUGHTS, Diana considered what Caroline had revealed. Although she knew the duchess to be jealous and vindictive, Caroline seemed to know far too much about the circumstances surrounding Reggie’s death.
Diana tried to dismiss her words, but the facts remained. Reggie had gambled everything away. DeVere held the deed to Palmerston Hall, yet had failed to tell her when she came to him for help. Why had he kept this knowledge from her? It was both galling and disconcerting.

  Diana had looked to the race to solve her problems but now found them only compounded. With Reggie’s death, she no longer had any claim to the estate. It would either remain in DeVere’s hands or devolve onto Reggie’s nearest male relative if he was able to redeem it, or it would end up in the Court of Chancery. In either case, Diana would be homeless, and without the race winnings, near penniless with only her meager jointure to subsist by.

  Even more alarming was the fact that after threatening DeVere, Reggie was dead. The duchess was right. Reggie would never have assaulted Johnson under any circumstances. Someone didn’t want the horse to run. Did Reggie perchance come upon the groom and his assailant? Is that why he was murdered? Or was the race just meant to deflect attention from the murderer’s true motive, which was not related to the race at all? Who but DeVere would have reason to do such a thing?

  She recalled what Edward had revealed about his best friend, namely that he followed his own code and suffered neither fools nor blackguards. Reggie was surely a composite of both. And then the duchess had pointed to the alarming enigma surrounding the conditions of Ludovic’s DeVere’s own inheritance, that he had ruthlessly usurped the title by locking his own father away.

  Diana feared all paths pointed to DeVere. How could she have indiscriminately placed her trust in such a man? Her mind tried reason, yet her emotions would have no part of it. She still wanted him. He had made her feel alive and beautiful and desired for the first time in her life, and now she craved him like a drug. Diana looked to the laudanum-laced tea to numb that same craving.

  After having initially balked, she drank a few sips, knowing her racing thoughts would never otherwise allow her any peace. Still, she anticipated a restless night invaded by the kind of dreams she feared would send her sleepwalking and fevered with lust to DeVere’s bedchamber. With that unsettling thought, she drank the rest of the cup just for good measure.

 

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