Edmond gave a slow nod. He recognized the face of an avenging angel. He did not doubt she had killed the nasty nobleman, the only question was who had helped her to cover the crime.
There was an obvious suspect.
“And Chesterfield?” he asked.
Her expression softened, once again revealing that haunting vulnerability which had made her famous throughout England.
“Mr. Chesterfield has a profound dislike for those who would abuse women or children,” she murmured softly, pushing open the door and waving him forward. “Just through here.”
Edmond stepped into the narrow chamber, his hand reaching into his pocket so he could grip the hilt of his pistol, his gaze searching the shadows. He had no reason to suspect an ambush, but on the last occasion he had lowered his guard, Brianna had been injured.
He was not about to willingly offer himself, or anyone else, up as a sacrificial lamb again.
As if sensing that Edmond was quite prepared to shoot at the first hint of danger, Chesterfield stepped from the shadows, his hands held high in a gesture of peace.
“Your Grace,” he murmured with a bow.
Assured that there were no lurking assassins stashed behind the satinwood writing table or trellis-backed chairs, Edmond removed his hand from his pistol and crossed toward the Siena marble fireplace.
The room was charming enough with the pale green wall panels and molded plaster ceiling, but Edmond presumed it was chosen because it had a pair of French doors that led to the back garden and the mews beyond. It would be a simple matter for a man of Chesterfield’s talents to enter and leave the town house without even the servants realizing he was there.
“Chesterfield.”
“I will leave you two alone,” La Russa said from the doorway. “There is brandy or sherry on the side table, Chesterfield, and your favorite cakes on the tray.”
A fond smile touched Chesterfield’s nondescript features. “Thank you, my love.”
Edmond waited until the door was shut and they were alone in the room before pulling out a cheroot and lighting it with a spill from the mantle.
“A most beautiful and intriguing woman.”
“That she is,” Chesterfield agreed, something in his voice speaking of a deep, unwavering love for La Russa.
Ah, yes. This was a man who would have walked through the fires of hell to keep the fragile woman from harm.
“And quite a sensible female beneath all that polished elegance, I should think.”
Chesterfield chuckled as he moved to pour the brandy, pressing one of the glasses in Edmond’s hand before leaning against the mantle and sipping the aged spirit.
“You are more perceptive than others. Most gentlemen cannot see beyond a woman’s more obvious charms to what lies beneath.”
Edmond smiled wryly. “I have reached an age that it takes more than a pretty face to distract me.”
“Yes.” Chesterfield slowly nodded, a glint in his pale eyes that sent an unnerving shiver down Edmond’s spine. “I should think only a most extraordinary woman could distract you, your Grace.”
It was almost as if the man could actually read his mind and know just how deeply Brianna was beginning to disrupt his life. He frowned, annoyed by the intrusion into his inner emotions. He shared those with no one. Not ever.
“Speaking of distractions, I presume you know why I asked to meet with you?”
Easily sensing he had stepped over the line, Chesterfield gave a brisk, businesslike nod.
“The shooting at Lady Montgomery’s.”
“Yes.”
“An unpleasant business.” His expression hardened, as if personally insulted by the attack. “I am pleased to know that your fiancée has made a full recovery.”
Edmond did not bother to demand how the Runner knew this. It was his business to gather information.
“It was a stroke of fortune that she was not more gravely injured, or even killed.” His voice was edged with the cold fury that pounded just below the surface. Someone was going to pay for hurting Brianna. “I do not intend to allow such a thing to happen again.”
Chesterfield slowly nodded. “Nor do I.”
“You had a man keeping watch on my cousin?”
“Two, in fact,” Chesterfield confessed. “Unfortunately, neither of them was in the garden to catch sight of the assailant.”
Edmond tossed his cheroot into the fire before slamming his hand on the marble mantle. Until that moment, he had not realized how much he was depending on this man to have some information, anything that might help to steer Edmond in the right direction.
“Damn.”
“One of them, however, did catch sight of a carriage racing away from the town house mere moments after the shot was fired. That was why I delayed contacting you. I had hoped to discover more about the carriage and who might have been driving it.”
Edmond sternly dampened his instinctive flare of hope. Since his return to England, he had encountered one delay, detour and disappointment after another.
Why should this be any different?
“And did you?”
“Not near so much as I would like.” Chesterfield reached into the pocket of his plain black jacket to pull out a wrinkled piece of parchment. “Here.”
Edmond frowned at the crude map that had been etched onto the paper. “What is this?”
“Gill attempted to track the carriage through the streets. This is where he last had sight of the vehicle.”
“It looks to be Piccadilly.” Edmond shook his head. “The villain could have been headed anywhere.”
Chesterfield grimaced. “That is why I was delayed in contacting you. I have my man scouring the streets in search of the carriage. He is certain he will recognize it if he sees it again.”
“Hardly likely.”
“Perhaps not.” With a sigh, Chesterfield moved to pour himself another large shot of brandy. “I have also been interviewing Lady Montgomery’s neighbors and their servants. It is always possible that they noticed something, although they might not realize that it is of any importance.”
Edmond folded his arms over his chest. “What is your opinion of the shooting?”
Chesterfield tossed the brandy down his throat in an impatient gulp. Then, turning, he studied Edmond with a somber expression.
“Before I answer, I would like to know what happened between you and your cousin before the shot was fired.”
In a concise manner, Edmond revealed the events leading up to the moment that the shot had been fired.
Chesterfield listened in silence, his scowl deepening. “So it was your notion, not Summerville’s, to go onto the balcony?”
“Yes.”
“And neither you nor your cousin invited Miss Quinn to join you?”
Edmond’s teeth ground together. “Most certainly not.”
“Then it does not seem likely that she was the intended victim.”
“Of course she was not.”
“You sound very certain.” Chesterfield set aside his empty glass.
“I—” Edmond came to a sharp halt as he was struck by a sudden thought. He had already dismissed the notion of Thomas Wade being involved in the shooting. The foul beast wanted Brianna alive and in his bed. But he hadn’t considered the notion that just being his fiancée might put her in danger. After all, he’d assumed that if someone wanted to bring an end to his engagement, he would be the intended victim. It had never entered his mind that someone would be desperate enough to kill Brianna instead. “Christ.”
Chesterfield gave a dip of his head. “Quite.”
Edmond pushed from the mantle to pace the cramped room. No. He could not dwell on the thought. Now was no time to be distracted.
“Even if she was the target, no one could have known any of us would be on the balcony.”
Chesterfield spread his hands in defeat. “I will agree it makes no sense.”
“Do you think Howard is responsible?” Edmond growled.
“No.” Chesterfield once again reached into his pocket, on this occasion removing a small notebook. He flipped through the papers, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I have kept a constant surveillance upon him, and he has met with no nefarious associates who might be willing to kill off his relatives.”
“He might have other means to contact them. Or he might have given them their orders before you began to trail him.”
“True, but from what I can discover, Summerville has no immediate expectations of coming into a fortune.” Finding the appropriate page in his notebook, Chesterfield handed it to Edmond. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Edmond shrugged as he regarded the indecipherable words and numbers scrawled across the paper.
“What is this?”
“It is the name of the ship your cousin has booked passage upon as well as the date it is leaving London.”
“The Rosalind.” Edmond lifted his head to study Chesterfield with a growing sense of frustration. “Where is it bound?”
“Greece. It seems that Howard Summerville’s wife has an uncle with a villa near Athens who is willing to offer them sanctuary.”
So his cousin was preparing to flee the country. And within the next fortnight.
Did that mean he was clever enough to have an alternative scheme, should he be unable to murder his way to the ducal fortune? Or more likely, was he simply a spineless creature who was preparing to bolt like the coward he was?
Damn.
He was not one step closer to discovering who the hell pulled the trigger in the garden.
DESPITE THE TEDIOUS LECTURES that she could not possibly be well enough to be leaving the town house, Brianna dressed in a jade gown edged with black gauze and a matching spencer, firmly demanding that a carriage be brought to the door.
What did it matter if Janet trailed behind her with a sulky expression, or that Lady Aberlane did not bother to hide her concern as they set out for Bond Street?
She had to be away from Huntley House, if only for a short time. She could not bear to remain in her chambers, dwelling on the endless hours Edmond had devoted to making love to her, and the astonishing pleasure to be discovered in his arms.
Or at least, that was her hope.
Unfortunately, it did not matter how many shops she visited, or how many bonnets she admired, or how many acquaintances Lady Aberlane halted to chat with, she could not rid her mind of the potent thoughts of Edmond Summerville.
Perhaps it was that way for all maidens. A woman did, after all, lose her innocence once in her lifetime. Perhaps it was only to be expected that she would be obsessed with thoughts of her lover.
Or perhaps she was a weak-willed creature who had not only handed her virginity to Edmond on a silver platter, but her few wits as well.
By God, she had promised herself this would never happen.
She, better than anyone, understood the dangers of allowing herself to become bewitched and distracted by Edmond. Or worse, becoming…attached.
Not when she was so close to achieving the independence she had craved since she was just a child.
At last, disgusted with her inability to control her renegade mind, Brianna called for the carriage and, with Janet and Lady Aberlane, began the return trip to Huntley House.
They traveled in silence, Brianna brooding on her treacherous thoughts, and her even more treacherous body that even now hungered for Edmond’s touch, and Janet and Lady Aberlane exchanging worried glances.
Reaching the elegant neighborhood of Mayfair, they had just turned a corner when Brianna was jerked out of her broodings. With a low exclamation, she pressed her nose to the window and craned her head to study the black coach they had just passed waiting in front of an elegant town house.
“Good heavens, that was the Huntley carriage,” she said, more puzzled than alarmed. “Edmond said that he was spending the afternoon at his club.”
Seated across from her, Janet clicked her tongue in obvious disapproval. “Fah. That ain’t no club, I can tell ye that much.”
“What do you mean?”
In a flutter of starched wool, Letty reached across Brianna to firmly tug the curtains over the small window, her profile uncommonly stern.
“Do you know, Brianna, I do not believe that was the Huntley carriage at all.”
Brianna frowned, a cold unease trickling down her spine. Both her companions were behaving in an extremely odd manner.
“Do you know who resides at that house, Janet?”
“Really, my dear, you are mistaken,” Letty insisted. “That was most certainly not the Huntley carriage.”
The older woman’s protest only deepened Brianna’s suspicions. There was something that Lady Aberlane did not want her to discover.
She cast her maid a demanding gaze. “Janet?”
Ignoring the loud sniff from Lady Aberlane, Janet leaned forward, her expression cynical.
“It belongs to La Russa.”
“La Russa?” Brianna settled back in her seat, a frown marring her brow. “The name is familiar.”
Janet snorted. “It should be. The woman is the most famous tart in all of London.”
“Janet, I believe that is quite enough,” Lady Aberlane interrupted, icily. “Tell me, Brianna, do you intend to wear the ivory satin this eve? It is so wonderfully flattering to your beautiful complexion.”
Brianna barely heard Letty’s breathless chatter as a raw, unexpected pain clutched at her heart.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “La Russa…she is that notorious opera singer. The one who was rumored to have refused an offer of protection from the Duke of Claredon.”
Letty reached to pat her arm in a futile gesture of comfort. “Well, my dear, who has not refused an offer of protection from the Duke?”
Brianna slowly shook her head. “Why would he visit the home of such a woman?”
“If ye ask me, there’s only one reason for a man to call upon that sort of woman,” Janet retorted.
“No one is asking you, Janet, and I must say that I find this all very unsavory,” Letty said, her tone sharp. “We should not be speculating on such things. It will only lead to trouble.”
Brianna clenched her hands in her lap, her mind struggling to accept the realization that Edmond had left her bed to go to the home of a notorious whore.
It was not so much the fact that Edmond was spending the afternoon with La Russa. What nobleman did not believe he possessed some divine right to have as many lovers as he desired? And Edmond had never made a secret of his insatiable lust for beautiful women. Dear heavens, she had known when she was just a child that he was a rake of the first order.
What disturbed her was the savage, unrelenting pain that was spreading from her heart to the pit of her stomach.
Dammit. She did not want to care what Edmond was doing. She did not want to shudder at the thought of him in the arms of the beautiful, experienced courtesan. She did not want to feel so sick with the sense of betrayal that her stomach threatened to revolt.
This was precisely why she would not allow herself to care for another. And certainly why she would never, ever allow herself to actually to depend on someone else.
Sucking in a deep breath, Brianna grimly forced herself to ignore the perilous emotions. She could not alter the fact that she had given her innocence to Edmond. And in truth, she was not certain she would if she could. For all the man’s faults, and there were a number of them, he was a magnificent lover.
What other gentleman could have taught her the endless pleasures to be discovered?
What she could do, however, was suppress the dangerous temptation to see him as anything other than a necessary annoyance that must be endured until she could claim the independence she had waited so long to achieve.
Realizing that her companions were regarding her with obvious concern, Brianna gave a sharp tilt of her chin, allowing an icy resolution to replace the aching pain.
“Yes, you are right, Letty,” she said, perfectly compose
d. “What does it matter if Edmond chooses to devote his afternoons to an aging harlot?”
The older woman frowned. “Brianna…”
“Do you know, I believe that I shall wear the ivory satin,” she interrupted Letty’s protest. “And perhaps my new lace shawl.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE IVORY SATIN WAS JUST as flattering as Lady Aberlane had foreseen.
Although simple in design, it was cleverly cut across the bodice to best flatter her slender curves, and was trimmed with seed pearls sewn into the puff sleeves and blond lace at the hem. When matched with her kid gloves and ivory satin slippers, Brianna had to admit that the soft color contrasted nicely with the vibrant curls that were piled loosely atop her head.
At a glance, she appeared to be precisely what she was supposed to be. A young, sophisticated maiden who was on the precipice of becoming the Duchess of Huntley.
There wasn’t the least hint of the brittle tension that hummed just below the surface.
Well, not unless one counted the unnatural pallor of her skin and the hectic glitter in her eyes.
Peering into the mirror of her dressing table, Brianna was contemplating the wisdom of adding a bit of blush to her pale cheeks when the unmistakable sound of a latch clicking had a cold anger rushing through her.
She had no need to turn her head to know that it was Edmond slipping through the secret tunnel. Not only did her body tighten with the familiar awareness, but the warm, sandalwood scent of his soap teased at her senses, causing her stomach to flutter in anticipation despite her best intention to remain indifferent.
At least he possessed the decency to bathe after leaving his whore’s bed, she told herself. Deliberately reminding herself of where he’d spent the past hours.
Crossing the room, Edmond halted directly behind her, his hands boldly lifting to caress her bare shoulders as his admiring gaze met hers in the mirror.
“Good evening, ma souris. You look…” His gaze lowered to the swell of her breasts revealed by the low cut of her bodice. “Delectable.”
With a jerky motion, Brianna rose to her feet, knocking aside his lingering hands as she turned to face him.
“Edmond, can you not at least possess the decency to knock before entering my chambers?” she demanded. “’Tis bad enough you use a secret tunnel to sneak in here…oh…”
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