They stopped on the pavement across the street from the address they’d found in the ledger. Rhys had brought a few keys he’d discovered in his father’s desk drawer, unmarked, hoping one might fit the lock. He dug in his pocket to retrieve them.
“Someone is in residence,” Bella whispered. “I can see someone moving about inside.”
Rhys moved to get a closer look, but Bella gripped his arm and pulled him back.
“What if it’s Mr. Radley? What if he’s armed?”
“I hardly think he’ll be armed,” Rhys told her, trying to reassure both of them. “And he’s definitely not expecting us.”
“Most likely, but the man stole thousands of pounds from a duke. Not to mention what he’s filched from others. Even if he returns what he took, he could very well hang for his crimes.” She got that determined look in her eyes and stared at the house. “I should go.”
This time he grasped her arm to stop her.
“Bella, no. I count on you to make more sense than I do, and right now you’re making none.” He stepped closer so she’d look up at him. “If the man is dangerous, I should go.”
“Trust me on this.” As if she knew precisely the power she had over him, she placed a hand on his chest. “I’ll be less threatening. As you said, he’s not expecting us. He’s definitely not expecting me. You, on the other hand, have met him.”
“Briefly. Years ago. He may not remember.”
“You’re very hard to forget.”
He wasn’t often speechless, but Bella’s comment froze his tongue and filled his chest with a pleasant warmth. If she was trying to charm him into agreement, it was bloody well working.
“Trust me,” she said in that quiet but fierce tone that told him she would not be dissuaded.
“I’ll be watching. If I see even the merest hint of trouble, I’m coming in after you.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” she said with a cheeky smile.
For the second time in less than an hour, he watched her walk away from him and liked it even less than the first.
She rapped on the door and someone answered, but he couldn’t see whether it was a man or a woman. They stood back, shadowed in the dark of the foyer. Whoever they were, Bella spoke to them for several minutes in what seemed to be a series of questions asked and answered.
A chill of warning slid down his back when she nodded. They had no reason to trust anyone inside that town house.
Bella’s name was on the tip of his tongue and it took every ounce of restraint not to call out to her.
As if sensing his agitation, she glanced at him.
He let out a relieved breath, but then she turned back toward the door, took a step across the threshold, and disappeared inside the house.
Rhys rushed across the street and caught a glimpse of someone moving in the front window. He pounded the door with enough force to make the lion’s head knocker jangle. When no one answered, he pounded harder.
Finally, the front door swung open and Bella stood on the threshold.
He stepped inside and cupped her cheek against his palm. “You’re all right?”
There was something worrying in her gaze. Uncertainty that wasn’t like her at all. And another emotion he did recognize. Concern. For him.
“Bella, what is it?”
She slipped her hand inside the one he’d been holding against her cheek and led him deeper into the house. They stopped at the open door of a well-furnished drawing room.
Bella squeezed his hand and looked up at him. “This will be difficult.”
“Bella, what is going on?” He peered through the cracked door of the room and glimpsed a woman inside. “Who—”
“Her name is Mrs. Belinda Turner. I don’t think she intended any wrongdoing, and I think perhaps you should help her if you can.”
Rhys understood the minute he stepped into the drawing room who the woman was and why his father had purchased the property in Gordon Square. A brooding portrait of the duke dominated the wall above the mantel and the petite blonde perching on an overstuffed chintz chair told the story.
“I take it you never knew about me, Your Grace?” she asked.
“No, Mrs. Turner.” Rhys had never known about her specifically, but he knew his father kept mistresses. Even, unfortunately, while his mother was alive.
“Then I take it he left me nothing. He truly never spoke of me?” Sadness seemed to weigh her down.
Rhys shook his head. “My father and I rarely spoke in recent years.”
Bella cleared her throat and gave him one of her raised-brow stares. A look that had always felt equal parts encouragement and challenge.
“I can provide you with some funds in the short term.” His voice sounded more clipped and angry than he intended. He didn’t know if Mrs. Turner had entered his father’s life after his mother had died. Based on how recently the property was purchased, he suspected she had.
His real frustration wasn’t with her, or even his father. All the disgust he felt was directed inward.
He’d kept a mistress and had his share of lovers set up in much the manner his father had treated this woman. Marriage had never crossed his mind. He’d never given much consideration to what would happen to the women when he tired of their company. And he always did.
“Do I get to keep the house?” There was a quaver in her voice, but her gaze was pure steel.
“For now.” He didn’t have the heart to ask the woman to decamp. She considered the town house her home and for the time being he would let it remain so.
“Until when?”
“I don’t know.” Meeting his father’s mistress was like holding up a mirror on all his own offenses over the last five years. He didn’t have answers. He couldn’t fathom how to fix it. All he truly wanted to do was escape.
“You have enough for now?” Bella asked.
“My current funds will sustain me for the next several months.” Mrs. Turner’s gaze darted warily toward Rhys.
“I’ll see to sending you more,” Rhys told her. He wanted to help the woman as Bella has advised him to do, but he also wanted to be done with all of it.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” When the lady nodded, Rhys offered her a slight bow.
“We bid you good day, Mrs. Turner.”
“Wait.” Bella reached for his sleeve as he stalked past her. “There’s something I didn’t ask her yet.”
“What is it, Miss Prescott?” The lady rose from her chair and pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders.
“Are you acquainted with a Mr. Radley?”
Leave it to Bella to have the good sense he forever seemed to lack.
“Yes, of course, though only through correspondence. He’s the one who arranged for the purchase of the house and the funds the duke used to send to me.”
“And when was the last time you corresponded with him?” Rhys asked. The man was proving damnably elusive.
A pained looked crossed her face before Mrs. Turner said quietly, “A few weeks before your father’s passing.”
Rhys swallowed down the guilt that welled up like bile in his throat. The woman’s grief was sincere. He wasn’t certain he could say the same about his feelings regarding his father’s passing.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Turner. We bid you good day.” Bella shocked him by slipping her arm through his and leading him toward the front door.
When they were out on the pavement, he loosened himself from her hold and strode across the square toward the green.
He drew in gulps of autumn air and told himself to stop acting like a fool.
“I feared it would upset you.”
“It doesn’t. Not in the way you think. I bear no ill will toward Mrs. Turner.”
“Toward your father, then?”
“How can I? Don’t you see? The way he treated that woman. Making her promises and keeping none of them. It’s no different from how I’ve conducted my affairs.”
She couldn’t look at him. For a m
oment she shifted her gaze to the pavement, and he waited for the condemnations he richly deserved.
“Do you have a mistress now?” she finally asked.
The question surprised him. They’d always been matter-of-fact with each other but never about love. Never about carnal pleasure. The last time he’d seen her she was still a girl.
“I do not.”
“But if you married, you’d keep one?”
“No.” That wasn’t true. He’d always intended that marriage would be practical and pleasure would be separate. Now he wasn’t sure of anything. Except that he didn’t want Bella to look at him with that disappointment he saw in her eyes now.
He’d wanted her to look at him like she used to and he wanted her trust.
No, he wanted much more. Now, at the worst possible moment, he wanted to kiss her again. He needed her close. He craved the comfort of having her in his arms, even now when he’d just been reminded of why he didn’t deserve it.
“Well, at least we know Radley isn’t here and never was.” She changed the subject as if it was a natural progression of their awkward conversation, but she betrayed her unease by tugging at her gloves that were already perfectly in place on her hands.
He didn’t blame her for wishing to move away from the topic of mistresses and men who couldn’t be trusted. It wasn’t a discussion he was terribly eager to have either.
“The man is probably on the Continent dining at the finest restaurant in Paris and laughing at us all.”
“Or he’s in Margate looking out at the sea,” she countered. “We should visit the cottage there.”
Ah, a plan. That was Bella through and through.
“Miss Prescott, your tenacity is quite impressive.” He tested a teasing tone with her. She might stick to her rules and appreciate orderliness above all things, but she rarely repressed her sense of humor.
“A mystery is a bit like a puzzle.” Her eyes flashed with determination. It was a magnetic pull that never failed to draw him in. “I think we can solve this one.”
“Will you take up detection professionally after this?”
“Maybe.” He could live off the memory of the saucy smile she gave him for several days. “Might as well put my skills to practical use.
“So,” she asked with a self-satisfied grin, “when do we leave for the seaside?”
Chapter Sixteen
Bella kept her eyes closed a moment longer and nuzzled into the warmth against her cheek as she awakened. Fabric slid softly against her skin, though what was underneath was decidedly firm. It also smelled delicious. Like fresh air and sandalwood cologne.
And Rhys Forester.
She opened her eyes and immediately shielded them from the sun. Then she leaned as far as she could toward the opposite side of the carriage bench.
“We’re here,” he told her.
“I fell asleep.”
“Just a short nap.”
“On you.” She smelled of his shaving soap and could feel the imprint of his overcoat against her cheek.
His eyes widened, then his mouth flickered into a mischievous smile. “Only on my shoulder, unfortunately. Necessary touching. You needed a pillow. I was willing to oblige.”
Though his tone was teasing, his steady gaze stoked a pulsing warmth inside her that had nothing to do with the heat of the afternoon sun.
Bella turned her attention out the carriage window to get her first glimpse of the sea. But there was no cottage or water’s edge in sight, though she could smell the sea in the air. The coach they’d hired had stopped at what looked to be an old weathered coaching inn.
“Thought we’d inquire here first,” Rhys told her by way of explanation. “I’ve asked the coachman to wait for us so we can return to London before nightfall.”
They’d been vague when departing in the morning, but Bella bid Meg good luck on her shopping expedition with the Duchess of Tremayne. She’d assured Rhys’s sister that she would see her at dinner that evening.
“That all sounds very sensible.” Now if only she felt that way.
She struggled to look him in the eye. They’d arm wrestled as children. She’d fallen on him body to body a few days ago. Yet something about the intimacy of napping against his shoulder, and enjoying it, unnerved her. Her attraction to him seemed to grow every time they touched.
He laughed as he exited the carriage and then turned back to help her down. “From you, Bella, that is an extraordinary compliment.”
The inn was sparsely occupied and Rhys seemed to be scanning the few patrons around tables for Mr. Radley. He’d described the older man as gray-haired, bespectacled, and obsequious. Most of the men tipping back tankards were gray-haired, including their coachman, though none wore spectacles.
Rhys approached the bar and spoke to the wiry old man behind it. “Do I have the luck of speaking to the innkeeper by any chance?”
“You do.” The older man assessed Rhys from head to toe and offered Bella a skimming glance. “What can I do for you, my lord?”
“What do you know of Tide’s End?”
The crown coin Rhys slid across the table seemed to interest the innkeeper.
“A well-built cottage right near the seashore. Follow the lane outside toward the east and you’ll find it yourself.”
“Is it let?” Rhys asked with that easy way he had of making it seem as if the answer didn’t matter to him at all.
“Indeed, Lord Radley seems to love the cottage, he does.”
“Lord Radley?”
“Aye, my lord. Older gentleman. New to the village. I take it he rented the cottage quite recently. Comes to the inn for his repast now and then. Haven’t seen him in a few days, come to think of it.”
Bella stepped forward. “But you did see him as recently as a couple of days ago?” They were close and Radley might not have gotten too far away.
“Aye, miss.” The old man frowned and stared at the bar as if searching his memory. “Four days past. Come to think of it, he appeared as if he were ready to travel. Had bags with him and hired a coach.”
“Where did he go?” For the first time Rhys’s eagerness seemed to give the old man pause. His eyes narrowed under bushy gray brows.
“Couldn’t rightly say, my lord. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
“Whichever coachman took him, is that man here?” Rhys scanned the patrons seated at tables once more.
The innkeeper shook his head warily. “Never seen him before or since, my lord.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bella told the old man. “You’ve been most helpful.”
Rhys lifted one blond brow to indicate he didn’t quite agree but he followed her out of the inn nonetheless.
“This is a good thing. We can examine the cottage and see if he’s left anything behind that might tell us where he’s gone.”
“Agreed.” He looked over her head down the lane toward the seashore. “I’m not sure if I’m hoping he truly has departed or that he’s still there and we can haul him back to London.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
They walked so quickly toward the cottage, Bella feared anyone noticing them might be alarmed or alert Radley to their presence if he was still in the village. But she understood Rhys’s anxiousness and felt the same.
Nestled against a natural grassy embankment, its whitewash weathered away by sea breezes, Tide’s End was the prettiest cottage Bella had ever seen.
“It’s lovely.”
Rhys looked at her quizzically. “Do you think so?”
“It’s not Edgecombe, of course, or as fine as Claremont House, but it seems . . .” She shaded her eyes from the sun and looked up at him. “Cozy.”
He gazed toward the cottage again and his expression softened. “Perhaps it is. Now all we need to do is discover whether it’s still inhabited by a thief or we need to break in.”
Ten minutes later, after peeking through windows and determining the cottage had been abandoned, Bella was shocked to find the
front latch unlocked.
She slid the door open tentatively and offered a loud clear “Hello” in case Radley was lurking in the shadows. Rhys moved in front of her to enter first. He’d always been protective and apparently that aspect of their relationship hadn’t changed.
“It is cozy,” he said, grinning at her over his shoulder.
Every piece of furniture appeared to be new and as fine as what her mother might select for Hillcrest. The settee and matching chairs before the fireplace were covered in the same green damask and the dark wood furnishings were polished to a high sheen. Bella found the cottage’s single bedroom to be equally well equipped.
“We know where he spent at least some of what he took.”
Rhys shook his head. “I don’t know. This is all very much my father’s style. Perhaps he did intend this as a seaside retreat and never got the chance to enjoy it.”
“Look at this.” Bella had found a desk in the corner and a few bits of writing paper crumpled and discarded on top and on the floor beneath. She flatted one of the balled-up pieces of paper.
“Seems he was as bad at writing letters as I am.” Rhys scooped up another one of the letters and unfolded it to begin reading. “He says he’s headed to Bristol.”
Bella reached for his sheet and handed her his. “This one says he’s headed to Ireland.”
The third letter they unwrinkled indicated that Radley was thinking of setting out for France.
“He’s tooling with us,” Bella told Rhys. “Or whomever might stumble on this hideout. I suspect if we find anything here, it will only be because he wished us to.”
After gathering the rest of the pieces of paper into her arms, Bella dropped onto the settee and began straightening all of them, just for the satisfaction of leaving none in rumpled balls.
“I’m sorry. This doesn’t make sense,” she said after she’d examined all the scraps of paper and found nothing but an attempt to send them on a chase in a dozen different directions. “We should try harder to find the coachman he hired. If the publican doesn’t know him, perhaps one of the other coachmen will.”
Nothing Compares to the Duke Page 17