Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1)

by Win Hollows

  “What you talking about?” she said wearily. He wasn’t making sense, but she had a bad feeling that whatever his response was, she wasn’t going to like it.

  Fennimore smiled with the singular glee of sharing a secret. He leaned in towards her. “I’m going to have my fun with you for all the trouble you’ve caused, until you tell me where the picture plate is.” he said softly, “And then I’m going to kill you, Laura” He smiled reassuringly and squeezed her arm. “Don’t fret. You’re not the first.”

  Chapter 16

  Gyspy was earning the expensive oat blend and grooming regime Rem ordered especially for him today. He had raced straight to Arberley’s residence, hoping the indolent man was at home. Arberley could have easily lived in the Mayfair neighborhood that boasted the majority of the ton’s aristocracy, but chose instead to live in a converted townhome situated right next to Jackson’s boxing establishment, Rem assumed because it made him feel somehow more dominant than other dandies. The man was actually rather good at boxing, truth be told, but Rem had taken primal satisfaction in laying him out the last time they had been in the same room. He wasn’t sure what his reception would be, but he needed answers nonetheless, and he wasn’t above punching the man again to get them. There wasn’t a lot he had to go on at this point, and, knowing Trent Arberley as he did, he hadn’t discounted the possibility that he was neck deep in this mess. And if he was, Rem would finish what he started the other night.

  “Ah, Rothstone. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Arberley drawled, meandering into the parlor room Rem had been shown to with a glass of spirits in hand. He was wearing a padded satin robe of scarlet that contrasted strikingly with his blonde mane and seemed completely at ease. Rem knew better. The man had always carefully cultivated a façade of ennui which Rem found irritating in the extreme. All the same, it was a good sign he didn’t seem inclined to resort to retaliation for the events of the auction night. The man’s nose and right eye had a purple and green splotch spread across them rather conspicuously.

  “I won’t apologize for hitting you. You deserved it,” Rem told him matter-of-factly coming to his feet.

  Arberley waved his drink through the air. “No need. Did me a favor, really. The ladies are quite sympathetic.” He smiled lazily, coming to sit on the arm of a nearby chair.

  Rem mentally rolled his eyes. He should have expected the denial of anything that made him look weak.

  “Right. Well, I’ve come for some information. I would appreciate your insight.” He played with the ruby chip in his palm, studying the expressions pass over Arberley’s face. All he saw was surprise and smugness, not an unusual combination for him.

  Arberley took a sip of his drink. “That’s different. We’ve never really cared for one another, have we?”

  “Well, you’re a self-aggrandizing prick. I’m a bit more practical,” Rem told him with a tight-lipped smile.

  Arberley grinned. “You tend toward self-flagellation. I just allow myself to bask in the privileges this life affords me. There’s nothing to be gained from a false sense of righteousness or humility.”

  Rem raised a brow. “Do you ever think some people are genuinely humble or righteous?”

  Arberley frowned and simply said, “No.”

  Rem shook his head. Some people would never change. But time was of the essence, and he hadn’t any more to dink around in conversation with this cur. He came toward Arberley and held out the ruby, dropping it in the other man’s hand. It was time to lay his cards on the table. Watching for any reaction on Arberley’s face, he said, “I know of your fondness for the gems. Is there any way to tell what this was used for or who made it?”

  Arberley examined the gem, and then smirked. “I’ll do better than that. I can tell you who owned it.”

  Rem’s heart skipped. “Tell me.” Arberley’s answer hadn’t been cloaked in defensiveness or guile. The gem most likely wasn’t his own if he was readily admitting to knowing to whom in belonged.

  Looking down at the blood-red stone again, his blonde hair glinted in the afternoon light filtering through the windows. He looked up at Rem again, a calculating light in his eye. “Why do you want to know?”

  Arberley didn’t seem to be protecting himself, but Rem still didn’t trust the man. “It’s a private matter.”

  Arberley’s eyes narrowed. “Then so is the owner’s identity.” He tossed the gem in the air, caught it, and crossed his arms.

  Rem took a step back and ground his teeth. He knew he would have to reveal more than he wanted about the situation, but if he could keep Laura out of it, he would. And although Arberley was most certainly a snake, it appeared he hadn’t any knowledge of the ruby’s significance. “It concerns a murder.”

  This time, Arberley’s brows rose in genuine shock. “Really? A murder, you say.”

  “Yes. And the owner of that ruby is most assuredly involved, on one side or the other.”

  Rem could see Arberley’s mind turning this over. Rem said a quick prayer that the man would feel inclined to tell the truth, or else Rem would be at sea in this mystery. Finally, he looked Rem in the eye and spoke. “I can’t claim to know whose hands it ended up in, but this was a gift. The particular faceting on this beauty was commissioned for a jeweled dagger.”

  Rem leaned back on the edge of the settee. The stone made sense. If it was set into the handle or blade of a dagger, it had likely come off during the assault in the orangery. “Who commissioned it?”

  Arberley smiled. “I did.”

  Blinking, Rem processed this. “You freely admit it, so I assume you don’t know what was done with it.”

  “You are correct, more’s the pity. I gave it as a congratulatory gift to a friend upon the acquisition of a new mistress last summer. Quite stunning, all long limbs and lush…well, you get it. Interestingly enough, she was for sale at Diamante’s much like your…little dove was the other night.”

  Rem could tell Arberley was taking pleasure in the revelation. He kept his mouth shut with great effort, not reacting visibly to the other man’s goad. The vivid splash of color across the other man’s nasal bridge was would have to be satisfaction enough for the moment.

  Arberley continued after it was clear Rem wasn’t rising to the bait. He took another drink of what Rem could now smell was scotch. “My friend and I had both been pursuing her for some time, but he outbid me that night, so I sent him the dagger as a nod to his victory. He has sent similar gifts in the past, and a little tradition of sorts began.”

  Rem nodded, his entire body on edge. “And who is this friend?”

  Arberley shifted on the couch. “Now that is even more interesting. The irony really shouldn’t be downplayed here, because the man you’re looking for has reportedly been pursuing another lady of interest.” He paused. “Interest to you, that is.”

  Rem straightened. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “Your scandalous little thing, what was her name?” Arberley’s eyes lit with elation at Rem’s stiff posture. “Parrington. Laura Parrington.”

  “No,” Rem whispered, his vision blurring.

  “Yes, he’s been wrapping her around his finger for weeks. The ol’ boy was boasting to me the other day that he would have her in the bag by month’s end.”

  He forced his eyes to focus on Arberley’s pale face.

  “Why would you give up your friend?” Rem asked in suspicion. He couldn’t afford to be sent on a wild goose chase now if Arberley was protecting someone else.

  Arberley shrugged. “I have no loyalty to the man. He’s a good sort to indulge in certain proclivities with, but neither of us is the sort to develop some sort of plebian bond over them. But for having won the gel with the fortune you paid, you don’t seem to have a very good hold on her,” Arberley said curiously.

  Rem stepped toward Arberley. “No one owns another human being, no matter what some rubbish contract says. She is her own woman and always will be.”

  “How…enlightened,” he said wi
th a small smile. He rose from his perch and went to the humidor sitting on the mantle. Plucking a cigar from the ruby-inlaid box, he sliced the end quickly and lit it. “Personally, I prefer my women a bit more subservient, but there is something about her that calls, isn’t there? To be the one to tame such a spirit?”

  Rem shook his head, knowing that someone like Trent Arberley would never understand. “I don’t want to tame her,” Rem replied. “There is nothing to be gained in crushing something lovely and wild.”

  “I have to disagree with you there, but to each their own,” he commented cheerfully, taking a draught on the cigar. He paused after blowing out the smoke and said thoughtfully, “I believe my friend feels similarly. He and I share an affinity for beautiful things that beg to be broken. I would assume he labors under the same intention with the Parrington girl.” Arberley watched Rem’s reaction with interest through golden lashes.

  Rem was careful not to show his reaction, but the urgency he felt was quickly turning to panic. He needed to keep her away from whoever this was at all costs. Understanding this mess was the only way to ensure she would be safe, for Laura was never one to bow to his wishes without reason. He crossed his arms. “What use does he have for Laura if he already has a mistress that’s, as you say, ‘broken in?’” The words left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Arberley’s mouth twisted. “Now that is a tale I’d rather not tell.”

  Rem looked him in the eye. “Yet you will for me,” he said in ducal tones.

  The other man rolled his eyes and snuffed out his cigar into an ashtray on the end table of the settee. “Very well, although if anyone asks, you did not hear it from me.”

  Rem nodded once.

  Arberley sighed and slumped down onto the couch, uncharacteristically deflated. “As I said before, Madeline Yarrow was a singular prize. Everyone wanted her. I’m actually surprised my friend had the blunt to win the auction, so high was the betting for her company. She was the bastard daughter of a famous opera dancer and some Earl or other. Looked like she was built for sin, but smiled like an angel. There was this aura of innocence about her that even someone like me could see wasn’t a façade.” His eyes were clouded with memory. “Which made her perfect for someone like him. He told me of the pleasure he took in corrupting her pure little body. Turned out to be a virgin just like she was advertised after all. Isn’t that something?”

  He didn’t seem to want an answer, so Rem said nothing.

  “He was quite happy with her for a year, so far as I could tell. Could barely get him to come out as the months went on, as he preferred to stay closeted away with her at his estate. But when the year mark came and her contract was up, she left him. I don’t know her reasons, but it wasn’t to get out of the business. She went straight into the arms of another titled whelp in our circle.”

  “Who was it?” Rem asked.

  Arberley waved the question away and took a sip of scotch before continuing. “The way he told it at the time, she begged him to take her in, begged for protection. But their arrangement didn’t last long. Around four months, I think.”

  Rem frowned. “Why?”

  Arberley looked at Remington, a heaviness in his gaze. “She died. It was Christmas time. I remember some young buck mentioning it to me at a Yuletide festival at the Royal Menagerie a few days after it happened. The details aren’t public knowledge, but I do know that her most recent protector didn’t exactly mourn her afterwards. He wouldn’t speak of it, but he wasn’t sad. He seemed….angry.” The man affected another shrug. “But what do I know of these things? The closest person to ever die on me was my father, and I didn’t mourn his loss one bit.” He smiled wryly, holding up his snifter in an irreverent salute.

  That explained a lot, Rem thought. Arberley’s demeanor was more than likely a byproduct of a distant or difficult-to-please father. Rem knew the type. He had seen his closest friend, Con, grow up with one and knew the extent to which it could devastate a young man’s psyche.

  But he couldn’t see how all of this fit together. Arberley’s friend, Rem was certain, was pursuing Laura because of her connection to the picture plate that resided in his pocket. The man must have realized Laura could have evidence of the act and took action to make sure she didn’t share it with anyone. The killer couldn’t know exactly what was in the picture plate or how it worked. He himself hadn’t known until Laura had explained it. For all Rem knew at the moment, the man could have been in the room with them both during that first, fateful meeting.

  The thought of someone watching their kiss made his skin crawl. That was between Laura and himself. Whoever he was would pay for that and all the other transgressions he had committed since.

  The horsemen he had drug from the path at Honeymoore that fiery night weighed on him. If it weren’t for his need to have Laura in his arms the night of the ball, perhaps they wouldn’t be dead. God only knew what would have happened to Laura if he hadn’t been there, however. A small, gently-bred woman alone in the dark with a man who was willing to take a life… The hairs on his nape stood.

  Rem mulled over the revelation of Ms. Yarrow’s death. The timeline of her death didn’t fit with what had happened in the orangery, as that had happened at the end of April, so the hand in the photo plate could not have been hers. She had been two men’s paramour in a short time and had died suddenly. Perhaps a lover’s triangle gone wrong? Or one man killing her in jealousy over her relationship with the other?

  Could Arberley’s friend have been so overwrought at the thought of Madeline with someone else that he killed her and her lover both?

  That seemed the likeliest scenario, given the narrow set of facts he’d been given. Yet questions still remained.

  “Who was Madeline’s second lover?”

  Arberley didn’t immediately answer, frowning down at the ruby he held between thumb and forefinger. Rem sensed that the man was coming to realize the ramifications of the answer to that question. He turned the ruby over and over with his nimble fingers in silence.

  Rem came to sit directly across from him. He hadn’t time to waste. “Who was it, Arberley?”

  The man’s ice-blue eyes came up to meet Rem’s, a rare measure of fear in them. He gulped. “Daniel. Daniel Craigerton had possession of her last.”

  Rem sucked in a breath. Of course.

  The man’s death had been as mysterious as it was unexpected. He hadn’t even considered he was the victim, as Craigerton’s body had been found only a month ago, but that didn’t mean the man hadn’t been dead for longer. He had been dead since April twenty-eighth, to be exact- the night of the ball. Rem took a deep breath. “You understand what this means?”

  Arberley nodded, his usual bravado and affectations gone. He rubbed a hand over his face, the lines and veins wrought by debauchery standing out in relief to paint him older than his twenty-some years.

  Rem leaned forward. One thing still remained; “Who did you give the dagger to? Who won Madeline Yarrow at the auction?”

  Arberley began to shake his head. “Rothstone, you must understand. I don’t want any involvement in this. I might play with a rough bunch, but I don’t believe…That is, I hadn’t thought any of us capable of what you’re suggesting. Murdering a peer of realm over a whore? It’s just not done!”

  Rem’s lips pursed. “It has been done. You know it as well as I. There’s no question that the owner of that ruby killed Daniel Craigerton, most likely over Madeline Yarrow.”

  Arberley continued to shake his head. “If I had known…”

  “Did you?” Rem asked pointedly. Arberley had been in possession of many of the facts this whole time. It wouldn’t have been impossible to draw conclusions.

  Arberley looked up at Rem, eyes wide. “I swear to you, I did not. I’ve spent time with him since.” He held out his hands in supplication. “Why would I have been alone with a murderer if I had known?”

  “You’ve always been known as someone who has to compete against everyone else, like th
ere’s some cosmic game afoot.” Rem said, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. “Perhaps having a murderer for a friend or having a secret like that made you feel powerful- like you had something over the rest of us.”

  Arberley closed his eyes. “You’re not wrong. Something like that might have appealed to me at one point.” He opened them and trained his glare on Rem. “But I value my life far more than carrying around such a burden.”

  Rem nodded. He believed him, for he had always suspected that beneath the man’s swagger lay simple cowardice. “Then I suggest you tell me who it is because I don’t think either of us wants a man capable of that running loose, friend or no.

  The settee creaked beneath Arberley as he straightened. He hung his head for a moment, and then tossed back the rest of the scotch in his glass. After he had chased the fire from the beverage with a final swallow, Arberley said flatly, “Fennimore. Grayson Fennimore.”

  Sweat ran in a rivulet down Laura’s back, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms. In her short life thus far, she had never felt terror of the sort that now racked her body. Even crashing towards the ground in a flame-lit balloon had not produced the raw, nauseating fear playing havoc with her mind as she sat in the oppressive gray room, waiting.

  After Grayson had made his pronouncement, he had left the room, promising to be back soon. He had left her tied to the chair with rough rope that cut into her wrists and ankles. She had tried to wriggle out of the bonds, but he had been thorough in making sure her slim extremities couldn’t budge or twist. She had yelled for help, screamed until her throat was raw, and struggled against her bonds until her wrists began to bleed.

  No one came except a maid that did not make eye contact as she methodically built a fire in the dusty hearth. Laura had tried to speak to her, begging her to have mercy and let her go, but there was no response whatsoever. After it was clear the fire would take, she had left the room as silently as she had come, as if Laura didn’t exist at all. She came back a few minutes later to fill the hip bath with water to its rim, for what purpose Laura couldn’t fathom. Ten minutes had gone by without a sound and they were the worst minutes of her life.