Julian closed the door before Laclere could think of entering.
Knightridge had made himself comfortable at Laclere s desk. He jotted a few more notes onto the sheet he had used, put down the quill, and lounged back in the chair.
He was a tall, athletic young man with a compelling presence. His dark golden hair framed a face with dark eyes that could hold a crowd’s attention with ease.
Those physical details, along with a tendency for flamboyance and an undeniable brilliance, had made him very successful at the Old Bailey. At only twenty-six years of age, Knightridge had become famous for his defenses. He possessed a remarkable talent for exploiting the few moves and strategies permitted to defense counsel in criminal trials.
“I will speak frankly, Hampton. The word in chambers is that it was a caustic poison. He was found in his dressing room, and there was blood that indicated intestinal bleeding. There were two glasses and a bottle of wine still there. The remains of one glass smelled of more than the grape. So, he had a guest, and the guest poisoned him. That is the police’s thinking.”
“Do they suspect the countess?”
“The pursuit of her on the road shows that they do. She could easily gain entry to the house, for one thing. They probably envision that she met with him, pretending to reconcile, and then did the deed. If she were not a countess, and her brother not a peer, I expect she would be in prison already.”
“You certainly do speak bluntly.”
“If you want me to lie and offer false hope, I will oblige. That will not help her, however.”
No, it would not.
Julian stared out the window, seeing nothing.
He should have forced Pen to take that ship to America.
He should have gotten down on his knees and begged her to flee into obscurity with him and find a new world for themselves. He should have asked her to be his lover with no excuses when she weighed her choices in the Bruton churchyard.
Would she have done it? Would the protection he offered have been enough to sway her? Would she have decided she cared for him enough to sustain a lifelong affair of convenience?
“Do you think she did it?” Knightridge spoke as blandly as if they discussed some waif accused of being a pickpocket.
“Hell, of course I don’t.”
“Then keep your mind clear, or you will be worthless to her. I can think of several ways to defend her that will at least spare her from the worst and open a door to a successful appeal to the King’s Bench. However, if she tries to flee and she is caught doing so, that alone will be the noose that hangs her.”
Knightridge eyed him sharply, as if seeking reassurance that his warning had been heard. Julian accepted the rebuke with silence. He had in fact begun debating how to aid her escape.
“Should she need your services, will you speak for her?”
“I could not resist this one. Not only because of your friendship, but because it promises to be so dramatic. The sales of the proceedings should be astounding.”
“I would never deny you your drama or fame, but I remind you that we are speaking of a woman’s life.”
“I never forget that, my friend. We are also speaking of your lover’s life, are we not? To continue being blunt, you are her motive. If you cannot trust me to do well by her, you had better recommend another man.”
“No. It must be you. I will tell her that.”
Knightridge folded his page of notes and rose. “Tell her family to put off the police as long as possible. Let her swoon five times a day or whatever it is women do when they are distraught. Have Laclere send someone to Marseilles at once, to see if Mrs. Langton can be brought back. With luck she will not have transferred to another ship before we find her.”
“She may refuse to return. She has stolen her daughter, and will not risk being forced to give the child back.”
“She must be made to return. I will put an advertisement in the papers in the meantime, hoping to locate the driver of that hackney cab the countess used last night. I think that her only hope of avoiding arrest is if he comes forward.”
“Yes, of course, that is a good first step. Do people normally do that? Come forward?”
“Regretfully, if they sniff any attachment to a crime, they almost never do. But we will hope for the best.”
“I cannot stay.”
They were the first words Julian had spoken in the last hour. Pen’s heart sank, and she nestled deeper into his embrace.
His quiet statement had just told her that this would be their last time alone together for a long while.
Maybe forever.
“My brother is very worried.”
“Laclere is always worried when those he loves are in trouble.”
“I am in more trouble than any of us has been before, aren’t I? Even Dante never got embroiled in a disaster like this.”
They had all tried to put the best face on her precarious situation after Nathanial Knightridge left. As Julian explained matters to Laclere and Bianca, they had all laughed at how preposterous any suspicions would be.
She might have been reassured if she had not known them so well. But she saw through her brother’s forced indifference, and recognized the deep lights of concern in Biancas eyes.
And Julian had been so very careful with her these last hours. Very gentle and protective. Extremely kind, but in the manner one uses with someone on her deathbed.
“All will be well, Pen.” He kissed her as though he might never get to again. That tore her heart.
“If you will not stay tonight, you are not sure all will be well,” she whispered. “You think there could be a trial, and that evidence that I took my lover to my bed right after Glasbury’s death will sound like I danced on his grave.”
“I do not think there will be a trial. The police have been told you are too distraught to speak with them, however. You can hardly entertain me and claim that.”
“So I must pretend to mourn him?”
“You should retreat from society completely. If that is interpreted as mourning, so be it.”
He was not being honest. She suspected he did worry there would be a trial.
She certainly did. She had no trouble seeing how her absence last night looked. If that hackney cab was not found, she would never be able to prove where she had gone.
She held him tighter and closed her eyes so nothing existed except him. She barred her mind and heart from everything else, and dwelled in the blissful security of his care.
The sweetness was touched by the uncertainty facing them. She was able to block the world out, but it waited right outside their unity, shadowing it. The intimacy was drenched with poignancy, and with her fear that they might never share this again.
“Will you not even be able to visit during the day?”
“I am your family’s solicitor. I can visit for short periods.”
At least she would see him. They could not be alone, but he would not disappear.
That notion did not help much. She wanted him holding her like this during the days ahead. She did not know how she would survive the nights, and the lonely hours of imagining the worst, without him lying next to her.
Suddenly the full implications of her vulnerability flooded her. If she were tried and found guilty …
Even Julian’s embrace could not keep the terror from building in her. “At least they do not burn wives who kill their husbands anymore. Or is it different if he is an earl? Is it treason then?”
“Pen, do not—”
“Maybe they would allow me to have the mercy of garroting first, the way it was done with that poor woman up north when I was a girl.”
“Darling, you should not dwell on such things.”
She could not stop herself from thinking about it. Envisioning it. A trembling shook through her. “I want to know what I am facing. Maybe they will just hang me. Perhaps my status means I will get a silken rope.”
He turned so that he could look in her eyes. “You are
not to frighten yourself with such speculations. I will not allow your life to be in danger. You will not see a trial.”
The trembling conquered her composure. She gazed back at him through a film of tears.
He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Pen, I promise you that you will not be hurt. I swear it. This is one dragon I will definitely slay.”
She swallowed the burning tears so that he would think she believed him. “I do not expect you to slay this dragon, Julian. But I am miserable because you will not be able to help me make it sleep in its lair during the nights.”
He kissed her tenderly. She could not let him stop. She needed that kiss to continue. She could not bear the thought of it ending.
He understood. He gently broke her clutching embrace. Leaving her arms, he walked over and locked the library doors. He returned to her, and held out his hand to help her to rise.
He led her over to a padded bench. Sitting down, he loosened his garments, then lifted her skirt and petticoats.
“Like this,” he said. He showed her where to put her legs when he guided her down on his lap. With her petticoats crushed against her breast, she straddled him and let her legs dangle down the back of the bench.
He lifted her hips and moved her until they were joined. The connection was very close and deep. They sat face to face, not moving, just sharing the sensation of how he filled her.
She memorized the expression on his face. She branded her mind with the deep warmth in his eyes, and the exciting severity of his desire. In that gaze she understood all his mysteries. She absorbed it all, not knowing what names to give what she saw, astonished anew that this man contained such hidden passions.
He looked at her the whole time they made love. As they moved his gaze demanded she believe he would protect her. His whole aura said he would never allow his lady to come to harm.
She submitted. She allowed herself to believe for a little longer. As their passion turned furious, she gave up her fears.
For one last time she was free and safe in a place where only she and Julian existed, and their intimacy created a shield against the ugly things in the world.
•••
The advertisements were published in the papers.
Not a single driver of a hackney cab came forward.
Laclere spread the word that he was offering a reward.
Sixty-four drivers of hackney cabs came forward.
“All of them said they took the lady from Laclere’s house the night the earl died,” Knightridge explained to Julian four days later. “Half of them say she had another woman with her.”
“That is a predictable guess, since ladies do not go out alone.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Worse, at least twenty say they brought the countess to Glasbury’s house. Lacking any imagination in their lies, and even knowing it is her brother offering the reward, they give a story that fits the rumors. There is no telling if our man is even among them, but I will continue with my questions to try and determine that.”
“The footman?”
“One hackney cab looks the same as another in the dark.”
They had met at a tavern in Smithfield, far from the Inns of Court. Knightridge wore a blue riding coat of surprisingly simple cut, so Julian assumed he had interrupted a day of leisure for the meeting.
“I am confident something will turn up soon,” Knightridge said soothingly.
Julian did not miss the tone. He had used it himself often enough. “I thought you were going to spare me lies and false hopes.”
“I am trying to be sympathetic.”
“I need you to be honest.”
“As you wish. I expect that tomorrow or the next day they will demand to speak with her. I also expect that she will be arrested.”
“Surely Glasbury’s own staff know who visited the house.”
“If they do, they are not saying. That does not help the countess, of course. It is assumed they try to protect her. One of them, an old cook, did say that the earl on occasion had visitors none of them saw. It seems Glasbury would arrange it so he himself let the person in. There is no indication that happened, of course, but I will use it to our benefit.”
Knightridge was already planning his performance in court, it seemed.
“How do you assess things at this point?” Julian asked, quite sure he did not want to hear the answer.
“Cases like this are very public. Already the papers speculate, and already minds are being decided. Your recent discretion was wise, but I fear it was too late. I see difficulties arising. The opinions of the world carry too much weight in such notorious trials. Juries are swayed, and judges play to the audience, too. Then, of course, they are watching this very closely at St. James.”
“In other words, you are concerned.”
“If she were some nameless woman of low birth, I think I could get an acquittal because there is no hard evidence. However, your public affair makes it clear she yearned to be free, and that will affect matters. Unless something new develops, I will tell you that I am not optimistic.”
Julian had entered this tavern with a weight lodged in his chest. He had hoped against all rational sense that Knightridge would display supreme confidence and put his own growing fears to rest. Instead, Knightridge had only confirmed them.
He imagined Pen sitting in Laclere’s house. He saw her facing the questions and then being led away. He pictured her in prison.
He felt her fear as if they shared one soul.
“I am sorry, Hampton. I feel as though I should quote you some poetry to soothe your distress. The problem with poetry is that it doesn’t solve real problems, does it?”
A sarcastic response formed in Julian’s mind, but it died before it reached his lips. Another reaction obliterated it.
He sorted through an idea that had presented itself.
Actually, in this case, poetry might solve the problem completely.
chapter 23
Laclere entered Julian’s study on Russell Square the next night. Without saying a word he poured himself some port. He positioned himself near Julian’s chair by the fireplace while he sipped it.
He looked terrible. Drawn and tired. The creases between his eyebrows appeared permanently etched now.
“The police are asses,” he muttered. “I question whether it was wise to form the institution when such stupid men are drawn to the duty. That Lovejoy is offensive. I think the earl’s death means he is out some private employment, the way he impugns my sister.”
“How is Pen faring?”
“She is very brave. Braver than I am, I will tell you that. I am sickened by the whole matter. I see a dreadful future unfolding for her, and I can do nothing to spare her.”
Julian set aside the book he had been reading. “Actually, perhaps you can.”
“Is that why you asked me to call? If there is a perhaps, explain it to me and I will make it for certain.”
“It will require that you do something somewhat dishonorable, and admit to it.”
“To hell with honor. We are speaking of my sister’s life. Be plain, Hampton. I am in no mood for subtlety”
“The surest way to spare Pen from arrest is to offer someone else to the police instead.”
“Yes, but who? Even Knightridge has no theories on who really killed Glasbury.”
“I did not go home that night after we parted outside the club, Vergil. I did not go to Penelope, either. I was not anywhere that anyone saw me. For two hours I was about in the city, alone. I later visited your sister, and the night footman can attest to when I entered your house.”
Laclere’s expression fell. He looked to the fire. “I cannot permit this. I will not have you sacrifice yourself.”
“Are you positive that is what I am doing?”
Laclere’s gaze snapped back to him.
Julian assumed his coolest reserve so that his friend’s questioning eyes would find no answer. The air in the study got very thick.
“There
are incriminating papers, written in my hand,” Julian said. “They are in a drawer in that desk over there. If you had the slightest cause to suspect me, you might be excused for taking an opportunity to look through that desk to see if there was anything that might save your sister.” He rose from his chair.
“Hell, you don’t expect me to—”
“I do expect it.”
“It is—”
“Dishonorable? To hell with honor, you just said.”
“That is different. You are innocent, and you are a friend.”
“You do not know I am innocent. As for our friendship, if that is what stops you, I will end it before I leave this chamber.”
They faced each other in silence.
Hearing no more protests, Julian strode to the door.
An hour later, Julian returned to the study.
Laclere sat at the desk reading a sheet of paper. Other papers were piled on the desktop. Several had been set aside in their own special stack.
He looked up when Julian entered. He dropped the paper, sank back in the chair, and gestured to the pile.
“Some of these are very old.”
“Yes.”
“I found the ones where you plot about killing Glasbury, of course.” He glanced to the separate little group. “Duels and whatnot. Not really murder.”
“They will be enough. I think that you should take them all, however. The history will establish my motive better. It will convince them I am not just trying to be chivalrous by substituting myself for her.”
Laclere lifted the paper he had been reading. “You must have been, what, sixteen when you wrote this poem to her. And the letters—I had no idea, Julian.”
“Didn’t you?”
Laclere let the paper fall. “Perhaps, back then. Milton said something … I assumed it passed, as youthful tendresdo. I never suspected—” he gestured to the stack again, with bewildered amazement.
“I thought it would pass, too. I counted on it. Waited for it. Made every attempt to encourage it. But it did not pass. Do you think I am a fool?”
“Hell,no. God, no. I am stunned, that is all. By your loyalty and your love. Actually, I am more than a little in awe.”
The Romantic Page 23