“Ow!” he yelled. “What the bloody hell…?”
With one hand, he swiped at his cheek. She saw with satisfaction the thin line of blood trickling toward his jaw. His bewildered gaze landed on her, narrowing at the sight of her weapon.
“You stop that, you plaguey chit, or you’ll be sorry!”
“Let me go, or there’ll be more where that came from!” she shouted back.
“Don’t you threaten me, you little bitch—”
Vi ducked inside and reloaded. Assumed her position at the window again. Pfftt.
This time she broke the skin by his ear.
“I’ll kill you if I have to!” Mad desperation glinted in his eyes. “Just like that French bitch, do you hear me? She laughed at me, taunted me when I tried to take the necklace from her—and now she’s dead. Have a care, or I’ll do to you what I did to her!”
Vi reloaded a third time. She aimed and fired. At that same instant, Goggs turned toward her, still shouting obscenities… and the arrow hit him straight in the eye.
Oops.
He let out a scream of pain. Both hands went to cover his bloody eye, leaving none on the reins.
“Gadzooks,” she breathed.
That was her last thought before the carriage hit a rock and careened out of control.
~~~
Richard’s heart seized when he saw the carriage lying on its side just up ahead. Its team had broken free, the horses specks in the distance. He brought Aiolos to a halt, jumped down, and raced to the carriage.
The door facing up was open.
“Violet!” he shouted, leaning in.
Empty. No sign of her.
He raised his head, scanned the surrounding fields—and saw them. Violet dashing through the knee-high grasses… being chased by Goggs. His momentary relief at seeing her alive and in one piece was replaced by a rush of pure rage.
In an instant, he was on Aiolos, riding toward them. Behind him, he heard his name being called, but he rode on with only one purpose in mind. Protect my lass.
Dirt flew as Aiolos’ hooves cut through the field, Richard closing in on his target. Registering his approach, Goggs spun around. Richard got one look at the other’s startled expression before he launched himself off his saddle and tackled the bastard.
They landed with a bone-jarring thud. Gaining the upper position, Richard rained blows down on his foe. He landed a resounding facer.
“Confess your sins, you conniving bounder,” he snarled.
Goggs raised his arms, trying ineffectually to defend himself. “Stop. Please. I admit it was me—Monique, the necklace, everything!”
“Then this is for my brother.” Richard plowed his fist into the other’s jaw. “For betraying your friend.”
“Wick has it all. Looks and ladies.” Tears streamed from Goggs’ eyes. “It’s not fair!”
Richard’s next punch made bone crack against his knuckles. “And this is for Violet. For drugging her, kidnapping her, and chasing her across a bloody field!”
Goggs gave a feeble moan, and his head fell to one side.
Richard was yanked backward. He fought against Kent and McLeod’s hold.
“Calm yourself, Carlisle.” Kent’s tone was firm. “The last thing we need is another murder on our hands. Goggs is down for the count.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Richard growled through a haze of bloodlust. “I’m going to tear him from limb to limb.”
“Not that I disagree with the sentiment,” McLeod muttered, “but you ken you have an audience?” The Scot jerked his chin to the right.
All of a sudden, Richard became aware of Violet… standing there in front of him like a dream. The one he feared he’d lost forever. An undertow of emotion swept through him as he hungrily took in the sight of her dirt-streaked face and tumbled locks.
“Lass,” he said through ragged breaths. “Are you… all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said tremulously. “I hit him with the crossbow, Richard! Got him in the eye and made him lose control of the carriage. When it tipped over, the door flew open, and I was able to make a run for it. The bounder started to chase me—but you got here in time.”
Richard’s lungs strained, his inner pendulum veering madly between relief and chaos.
Because now that the danger was over, his treatment of Violet rose like a spectre to haunt him. Could she forgive him for the way he’d acted? For doubting her and accusing her so unjustly?
Remorse and self-recrimination twisted inside him. Aware that Kent and McLeod were busy dealing with Goggs, he knew there was no time like the present to address his wrongdoing.
Pushing the words through his tight throat, he said, “Can you ever forgive me, lass? In the churchyard, I was a bastard to you. I know I don’t deserve another chance but I—”
She launched herself at him, and he acted reflexively, his arms closing fiercely around her. Hope trickled through him. She was letting him hold her. That… that had to be a good sign, right?
“Why did you get so angry?” Her voice was muffled against his waistcoat. “Was it because of the ladies in your past?”
She’d figured it out. No surprise there. His lass was quick-witted.
“I didn’t tell you everything,” he said gruffly. “How the first one turned me down because she thought I wasn’t handsome and charming enough for her. How the other duped me… planned to make me a cuckold. She was already pregnant with her lover’s child and was only going to marry me if he didn’t return. Luckily for all of us, he did, and she eloped with him.”
“Butter and jam.” Vi leaned back, her eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
Swallowing, he said, “I didn’t want you to think that you were getting a bad bargain. You’re so beautiful and full of life—you could have anyone. And I’m… I’m…”
“You’re the man I love,” she burst out. “The strongest, fiercest, and most irresistible fellow I’ve ever met! Everything I could want.”
Her words pelted him like sunshine. He absorbed their vital warmth. They dissolved the shadows of his past and made him blink in wonder at the brightness of his future.
Heart drumming, he said, “So you… forgive me?”
“Yes, of course.” She gnawed on her lip. “The truth is I was acting, um, strangely. But I swear it had naught to do with Wick. I don’t know what came over me—”
“You were drugged, lass,” he said quickly. “Goggs put a powder in your cider that caused that reaction. He hoped to create a distraction, to throw us off his scent.”
Her eyes widened. Then she shot an indignant look at the unconscious villain. “Thunder and turf, I should have taken his other eye out, too!”
“God, I adore you, do you know that?” Richard cupped her jaw reverently with both hands, his voice trembling with the intensity of his feelings. “My brave, loyal, and terrifyingly resourceful lass. You are the rarest flower, Violet Kent, and I love you with everything that I am, now and forever. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes glimmered. “I already said I would.”
“Say it again. I want to hear you say that you’ll be mine.”
“I’ll be yours,” she whispered. “Forever.”
Unable to tear his gaze away from her, he said without turning, “Any objections, Kent?”
“Far be it for me to interfere,” came the dry rejoinder.
His heart full, Richard gazed at his bride-to-be. “We’re going to be so happy, lass.”
“I know.” Mischief joined the love in her eyes. “Now aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“Brazen little minx, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “You like that about me.”
Since she was absolutely right, he saw no reason to contradict her. So instead he kissed her, she kissed him back, and the world faded to the blaze of love and passion…
Until Kent coughed and McLeod said loudly, “I see two words in your future, Carlisle: special license.”
Chapter Thirt
y-Nine
Back at Traverstoke the next afternoon, feeling much more the thing after a good night’s rest, Violet gathered with her family and friends in a private sitting room. Magistrate Jones and Billings were also present. Ambrose had just concluded his explanation of yesterday’s events.
“So, in the end, what began as an accident became a crime of opportunity.” The magistrate sat at the head of the circle in a high-backed chair, his expression severe. “Miss Turbett pushed Monique de Brouet, unintentionally injuring her. When Goggston came upon the unconscious woman, he found the necklace on her and tried to take it. But she came to, resisted, and he smothered her.”
“That is the gist of it, sir,” Ambrose said. “It turns out that Goggston was being hounded by the cutthroats from whom he borrowed money. In trying to keep in step with his friends, he’d landed himself in desperate straits. When the necklace presented itself to him, he saw it as the solution to all his problems.”
“Who would have thought Goggs capable of such evil?” Em murmured to Violet.
Goggston’s voice rang in Vi’s head. She laughed at me, taunted me when I tried to take the necklace from her—and now she’s dead. Have a care, or I’ll do to you what I did to her…
At the time, Vi had been too focused on getting free to be frightened. But now an icy rivulet trickled down her spine. How wrong she’d been about Goggs. On the outside, he’d seemed amicable and innocuous yet on the inside…
She felt a hand on her shoulder; turning her head, she looked up at Richard, who was standing behind her chair. The understanding in his eyes anchored her. As ever, his presence was solid and reassuring.
“So how did he plan to get away with the crime?” Magistrate Jones asked.
“I don’t think he had much of a plan, sir, but he did manage some inspired deviousness. When he saw Mr. Murray’s signet on the chain around Monique’s neck, he hit upon the idea of framing Mr. Murray by placing the ring in the victim’s hand. Then he went and buried the sapphire necklace and the blood-stained pillow in the woods for safekeeping. As the days went on and no mention was made of Mr. Murray’s involvement, he began to fear that his ruse hadn’t worked.”
Violet exchanged a guilty glance with Richard, and he spoke up.
“I would like to offer my apology again, sirs, for impeding the investigation,” he said in grave tones. “I was trying to protect my brother, but instead I paved the road to hell.”
“Having started down that road myself once or twice,” Ambrose said dryly, “I know how tempting it can be.”
Knowing this was her brother’s way of saying bygones were bygones, relief poured through Violet. She wanted her family to adore Richard as much as she did.
“Back to Goggston,” Ambrose went on, “he panicked that we were closing in, and he began to strike out. The day of the village fair, he planted the pillow in Mr. Murray’s room. And then he drugged Violet, hoping to discredit her and Carlisle, whom he’d feared had caught his scent.” Ambrose paused. “He got careless with that last move, and when Carlisle questioned him about the poisoned drink, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was found out. So he bought himself time by blaming Parnell and made a last bid for escape—kidnapping Violet to use as a bargaining chip.”
“Very thorough, Mr. Kent,” the magistrate said with approval.
“What I still don’t understand,” Billings put in, “is how Monique de Brouet arranged for such a clever switch. Now that I have the real necklace back in my possession,”—the banker’s nod to Ambrose passed for gratitude—“the resemblance between it and the fake copy is extraordinary.”
“The answer to that question was provided by Jeanne, the victim’s maid, who Mr. Lugo tracked down and my sisters interviewed this morning. I shall leave it to them to share their findings,” Ambrose said.
All eyes turned to Violet and Emma.
“You start, dear,” the latter said with an encouraging nod.
Taking a breath, Violet began. “Jeanne told us that the necklace was, in fact, a family heirloom of the de Brouets. Monique’s mama had had to pawn her favorite piece of jewelry to pay for their escape from The Terror. Growing up, Monique had heard much about the necklace and possessed a small portrait of her mother wearing the piece. When the necklace went up for auction several months ago, Monique recognized it straight away. She wanted to get back what she felt was hers: the legacy that had been robbed from her. According to Jeanne, Monique didn’t think of it as stealing.”
“Not stealing indeed,” Billings muttered. “I paid for that jewelry fair and square. I have the receipt to prove it—which makes de Brouet no better than a common pickpocket!”
Beside him, Gabby wore a pained expression. “But, Father, if her family lost the heirloom due to such horrific circumstances—”
“Money paid equals ownership,” the banker said sharply. “That necklace belongs to me.”
Gabby bit her lip and fell silent.
Violet rushed to fill the awkward silence. “Jeanne says she tried to dissuade her mistress from the plan, but Monique became obsessed with reclaiming what she saw as her birthright. When she received an invitation to perform here, she saw it as a stroke of Fate. She had a fake copy of the necklace made, using her mama’s portrait as a guide. She researched the house, obtained a map of its inner workings, and made her plan.”
“Which went awry when she ran into Miss Turbett and Mr. Burns in the library,” Emma added. “Those were Monique’s fatal flaws: she was an opportunist and too reckless by far. She thought she could profit from discovering the lovers’ elopement plans. Instead, she drove Miss Turbett to act rashly… which led her to lose everything.”
“And this maid, Jeanne, why did she run?” the magistrate asked.
“She saw it as her sacred duty to protect the de Brouet name. She feared that if she stayed the truth would be coerced from her,” Violet explained. “She didn’t want to taint Monique’s name—for the world to see the last of the de Brouets as a common thief. So she fled to preserve her mistress’ honor.” Vi paused, adding truthfully, “And she’s also a bit batty.”
“Poor thing was frightened half to death,” Em said. “Jeanne may have survived The Terror, but it left its mark. And now she has no place to go. No position or pension after all those years of faithful service.”
Strathaven narrowed his eyes at his duchess. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re the most generous of husbands,” Em said brightly.
“Bloody hell.” He sighed. “Am I also now the employer of one batty old maid?”
“Did I mention you’re clever as well as generous?”
The magistrate rose. “I believe I have all the information I require to close the case. The true villain is in custody, and the necklace has been returned to its rightful owner. The only matter left to attend to is the release of Mr. Murray, which I shall arrange for forthwith.”
Vi shared a relieved smile with Richard.
Billings escorted the magistrate out.
When the door closed, Ambrose said, “All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Mr. Murray is free and Goggston behind bars. And, as it turns out, Miss Turbett will have her happy ending.”
“She will?” Violet said.
“Given her involvement—albeit unintentional—in Monique’s death, Miss Turbett is ruined. She’ll never live down the scandal. Since he wants grandchildren, Turbett decided that Burns is a better choice than none at all. Once the investigation is closed, Miss Turbett and Burns are headed to Gretna.”
Richard exhaled, and Vi understood his reaction immediately.
“Oh no. Wick’s debt to Garrity,” she blurted.
“Mr. Murray’s debt is to Garrity?” Ambrose said sharply.
Vi wanted to kick herself. “Um, I…”
“It’s all right, lass,” Richard said. “Your brother already knows about Wick’s debt. He just didn’t know to whom the money was owed.” Rubbing his neck, he said, “I’ll thin
k of some other way to help Wick…”
“Why don’t you just speak to Mr. Garrity?” Gabby said curiously.
Looking ill at ease, Richard said, “It’s, er, not that simple, Miss Billings.”
“Why not?” Gabby’s blue eyes were puzzled. “Mr. Garrity is ever so kind and understanding. I’m sure if you’d just explain the situation…”
“Garrity is one of the most dangerous and ruthless men in all of London,” Ambrose said flatly.
The shock on Gabby’s face confirmed Vi’s suspicion: the girl had formed a tendre for the moneylender.
Color suffused Gabby’s cheeks. “I’m certain that isn’t true, Mr. Kent.”
“I’m afraid it is, my dear,” Emma said gently.
“Well, I don’t believe it.” Gabby rose, her chin lifted. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few errands to attend to.”
She left the room.
“Should I go after her?” Vi said worriedly. “Try to talk some sense into her?”
“You can try. We all can.” Em sighed. “But that doesn’t mean she’s going to listen.”
~~~
Closing the door to the suite that evening, Ambrose called for his wife.
Her voice drifted through the doorway of the adjoining room. “Just finishing up. I’ll be right with you.”
Sprawling on a divan, he declared, “This is the most exhausting party I’ve ever attended.”
“You say that every time, darling,” she called back.
“This time, I mean it.” He shrugged out of his jacket and unknotted his cravat. “How many parties involve solving a murder, returning stolen goods, and planning a wedding for one’s sister?”
“You’re happy for Violet. And you like Carlisle. Admit it.”
Marianne knew him too well. The fact was he did like Carlisle, whom he judged a reliable and honorable sort of man. One couldn’t fault a fellow for trying to protect his kin, after all.
More importantly, there was the way Violet had blossomed under Carlisle’s influence: overnight, Ambrose’s middle sister had matured, her girlish exuberance transforming into the glowing confidence of a young woman in love. Ambrose could scarce credit the changes in the little madcap.
The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) Page 29