A nasty fight prior. Stephen’s dagger. Fresh blood on his hands.
Nausea churned and she paused and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. No matter how many times she rubbed her eyes, no matter how many times she ordered her mind to forget ever witnessing such a horrific sight, the events from Ardmore’s courtyard kept repeating in her head. Yet how could it be possible? Stephen’s evening clothes were tailored to fit him like a glove. There simply wasn’t anywhere to hide such a dagger, not even in his Hessians. So where had the deadly-sharp weapon come from?
Click clack. Click clack. Click clack.
“For God’s sake, Caro, if you are going to continue that regimental pacing, take your bloody shoes off before we lose our minds.”
Guiltily she halted, giving George an apologetic look. Neither he, nor Ardmore, deserved heel clicking torture, not after everything they’d done tonight. George, whisking her away to a parlor and force-feeding her hot tea laced with brandy. Ardmore sending for Mr. White, who looked like he’d been found under a bridge after a long night out, but actually seemed to know a great deal about managing awful situations. Then the marquess giving into her pleas and bringing George and her in a carriage here to Wapping. All that despite the fight she now knew Stephen and he had definitely had. “I’m sorry, both of you. But they’ve been in that room for hours and hours. What else could they possibly need to ask him?”
“It’s a murder investigation,” said George. “They’ll leave no stone unturned. Well, at least they won’t if they are any good at their jobs. Stephen’s a peer so the constables will want to be very, very sure of their evidence and facts before even thinking about presenting the case to a coroner’s jury.”
“He didn’t do it,” she said fiercely. “I know he didn’t.”
“Of course not,” soothed Ardmore. “No one in the world would be less likely to stab a man in the back. But it doesn’t look good when you’re lying on the ground, a dead body sprawled on top of you and your dagger protruding from the victim.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes. “There is no need to restate anything. I was right there the whole time. Tell me something new, like what you and Stephen fought about.”
“As a matter of fact it was over the dock visit.”
“Kimbolton and co?”
“And Gregory. My mother and sisters share the same eye patch when it comes to my late father, I’m sure it will eventually send me to Bedlam.”
“Oh,” she said awkwardly, not having expected that degree of frankness. Then she frowned. “What about Stephen’s brother?”
“I understand it’s often the case. Younger brothers idolizing their older siblings, especially if they pass. Loyalty is all well and good, but not slavish devotion to a memory that just isn’t true. Distance probably only made it worse, Gregory in London and Westleigh at Cambridge then traipsing across several countries. The last few years before Gregory died I doubt they saw each other in person more than four or five instances.”
“Stephen was away a very long time.”
Ardmore cocked his head, his gaze uncomfortably assessing. “I imagine for someone madly in love it would have seemed like decades.”
Caroline sighed. “You have no idea.”
The sound of a door scraping open further down the narrow corridor had her spinning around, just as Stephen and Mr. White appeared.
“What is he doing here?” she muttered. “Where are those two awful constables?”
George snorted. “I believe White outranks them somewhat.”
“Oh. Well, that is good then, having someone very senior involved. Surely that can only help Stephen in the circumstances.”
“Here’s hoping.”
Observing the two men in the corridor without fully turning her head was difficult, but she gave it her best effort. They were talking in low voices, both expressions grave, but not really behaving like gaoler and prisoner. Abruptly they shook hands and Mr. White bustled away in the opposite direction.
Gasping, she exchanged a glance with Ardmore and George who both smiled and nodded, clearly just as relieved.
Her gaze returned to Stephen. For just a moment his shoulders sagged, and her heart ached for him. Despite his massive height and bulk, in his blood-drenched clothing he looked brittle and so lonely in the stark gray corridor. Then he seemed to shake himself upright again, marching towards them although his eyes remained locked on the stone floor.
“Stephen!” she called, running toward him.
His head jerked up. “Caroline? What on earth are you doing here? It’s far too unsavory. And late.”
“I didn’t come alone, George and Ardmore are here too,” she replied, throwing her arms around him.
“Don’t, you’ll get blood on your gown.”
Caroline only held him tighter. “You may buy me a new one.”
Obviously her husband had reached the end of his tether, for he actually let her hug him for a full minute. Then he gently unclasped her arms and continued forward.
“George. Thomas,” he said gruffly. “Who invited you to this exclusive party?”
“Acquaintances turn up at weddings and baptisms…” said Ardmore.
“…friends bail you out of prison,” finished George. “Now let us get the hell out of this place before we smell like rotting fish and perspiration forever. You’re not wrapped in chains so I take it you are free to leave?”
“Yes,” said Stephen. “Although not free to leave London.”
“Who would want to anyway, old boy. All the excitement one needs is right here.”
The four of them quickly left the police building and climbed into Ardmore’s luxurious carriage, George and Ardmore on one side, her and Stephen on the other.
“God,” murmured Stephen, letting his head fall back on the thickly padded dark brown leather squabs.
Caroline reached over and grasped his hand. “Not much longer and we’ll be home. A hot bath, plate of cakes and you’ll feel much better.”
Stephen opened one eye. “Cakes? Never say you’ll actually share.”
“In certain circumstances I might be persuaded.”
“Persuaded? How exactly?”
“Oh stop it, you two,” said George. “The evening has been eventful enough without me casting up my accounts.”
“If you do that in my carriage,” drawled Ardmore, “I will send a note to every aging spinster in London professing your love and a fervent desire to marry and sire eleven children.”
“No one would believe such perfidies, my lord.”
“They will when it appears in the scandal sheets. Everyone knows they are as factual as factual can be.”
“Hmmm,” said George thoughtfully. “Speaking of scandal sheets, not one of your delightful sisters is spoken for yet, correct? I should set up house with the three of them. Imagine, all of us one big, happy family. Christmas would be splendid.”
The marquess stilled, and Caroline couldn’t stifle her mirth at the feral look in his eyes.
“Quiet, George!” she laughed, nudging her brother for his insolence. “We’ve had enough trouble tonight. Besides, one day you’ll meet a woman who’ll lead you on the merriest of dances and we’ll all laugh ourselves silly watching you fall flat on your face.”
“The way I hear it,” said Ardmore silkily. “He’s already met said woman.”
Caroline turned stunned eyes to her twin. “Really? Who?”
“No one. As usual, Ardmore is drunk and quite delusional,” George snapped. “Now perhaps we can concentrate on the actual important matter of the evening, Stephen and the dead major? What did White have to say?”
Stephen let out a gradual breath and rotated his massive shoulders. “That despite outward appearances he is reasonably confident I am not Rochland’s killer.”
Relief swamped Caroline, until she felt as boneless as a dish of treacle.
“Well,” she said tartly. “It’s good to know there are at least some sensible people attached to England’s ju
stice system. Did Mr. White have any idea who might have done it?”
“Not at this stage. But he suspects whoever sent Rochland the note saying I accused him of Clara Matthews’ murder may be closely connected to the person who embedded the knife in Rochland’s back.”
“Interesting,” said Ardmore. “And the killer knows you.”
“Perhaps,” said Stephen, his lips visibly tightening. “Or at least he knows one of my employees. Someone with enough access to my home to wander into my library when I wasn’t there, uplift the dagger from the case and pass it on. And that is turning me inside out. Who on my staff could hate me so much?”
Cold chills slid down Caroline’s spine, but voicing her opinion and starting a fight in front of George and Ardmore would be pointless.
The answer was staring Stephen in the face.
Why couldn’t he see?
And how could she prove it?
~ * ~
“Home. Thank heavens.”
Stephen rubbed a weary hand across his face and nodded as the carriage pulled up in front of Forsyth House. God knew what time it was now, but the first watery rays of light hadn’t yet peeked through the darkness to indicate an impending dawn. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, wife. Between people attempting to kill me and those accusing me of killing others, I think it would be better if I never left the place.”
Caroline didn’t laugh. Merely shuddered and hugged her arms around herself, and he immediately regretted the half-joking words. She’d been through an equally awful night, witnessing a murder then spending hours pacing the waiting area in Wapping, while the constables then White questioned him. Actually, the fact she had done so was the one bright part of the entire day. After a lengthy conversation with White he’d had a lot to think about, although his first pressing desire was getting the hell out of there. It was easy to see why some criminals lost their minds in prison, he’d been ready to climb the cold stone walls after being in the small, airless room for half a night. But to hear his name and see her standing there alongside George and Ardmore had moved him in an unexpected way.
Absolute loyalty amongst long-time friends was one thing, but not what he had necessarily been expecting from a spouse. Ton wives were not renowned for their steadfastness, more their ability to sway with the wind and spend money like all the shops in London might disappear tomorrow. Not to mention the gossiping, swooning and having hartshorn waved under their noses. Except his Caro though. She didn’t curl up into a feeble ball and surrender. She stood up to life and charged boldly into the fray, protecting those she cared about with the ferocity of a lioness.
His Caro.
The stray thought shoved into the forefront of his mind like a battering ram, startling him so much he actually halted on the front steps of his home.
Since when had she become his Caro?
“Stephen? Is something wrong?”
“No,” he began, then changed his mind and lifted her now ungloved hand to his lips. “Actually, yes. I didn’t thank you. For waiting, I mean.”
Her eyes widened. “Where else would I be? For better or worse, husband. Sickness and health. Townhouse and prison.”
“Not sure if I recall hearing that last combination during the ceremony, but you certainly take your vows very seriously,” he said, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.
“Yes. It’s called love.”
Tightness clenched his chest and that damned boulder re-lodged itself in his throat. Love? How could someone so practical say something so ridiculous? Love was foolish and fragile and temporary. Caroline was solid. Real. Clearly he hadn’t done enough to demonstrate how important a fixture in his life she had become, but he certainly wouldn’t cheapen what he felt by calling it something as flimsy and erratic as love.
“Caroline,” he began, just as the front door swung open and his butler appeared, silver candelabra in hand to light the way.
“Good evening, my lord, my lady,” intoned Innes. “I hope you had a pleasant…hell and damnation!”
Stephen raised an eyebrow at the unseemly outburst. “Never believed hell and damnation to be pleasant, Innes, but each to their own.”
“My lord! Your clothing. Your hair. What has happened?”
“It’s been an extremely long and eventful evening, Innes,” said Caroline, like him, choosing to ignore the butler’s shocking lapse in decorum. “But Lord Westleigh requires a hot bath immediately. And food. I don’t care who you have to rouse to make that happen, just make it so as soon as possible.”
His cheeks beet red, Innes bowed low. “At once, Lady Westleigh. Do you require other supplies? Linen bandages? Poultices? Thread for stitches?”
“Calm down, old man, it’s not my blood,” said Stephen.
“Not your…oh. Oh. Oh my.”
On another occasion it might have been amusing watching his butler pantomime a fish out of water, but not right now. “Innes. The bath. Food.”
Innes blinked, and suddenly the unflappable, experienced professional returned. Bowing again, he turned and hurried towards the kitchens.
“Oh dear,” said Caroline. “I think you frightened ten years from his life.”
“He needs to be kept on his toes.”
“Perhaps, but if we keep ordering baths like this it will soon be all over London that we’re quite mad.”
“Or just very fastidious.”
She snorted and took his arm. “Come along then, let’s get you out of these clothes so they can be burned…oh for heaven’s sake remove that glint from your eye.”
“What glint?”
“That glint. After I’ve scrubbed away every drop of blood and whatever else is coating your hands, clothes and hair, I will be doing nothing but alternately sleeping and eating. My shoulder hurts, my feet hurt and quite frankly you could be the world’s most irresistible man and I’d still turn you down right now.”
“Are you trying to say I’m not the world’s most irresistible man?”
“Not even in the top ten,” she replied, dragging him the entire way to his bedchamber.
Stephen sighed and sat gingerly on a wooden stool. “Now you’ve crushed my ego to dust, I presume there is nothing to do but wait for the hot water.”
“You could fill in the time by telling me exactly what Mr. White said. Apart from not being allowed to leave London. Why is that, by the way, if he is satisfied you didn’t kill Major Rochland?”
“Because it is far easier for White’s men to keep an eye on me in the city, than in the country. From tomorrow…I mean today, a twenty-four hour watch will be posted outside.”
“For what purpose?”
“I believe they want to make note of who comes and goes. And who loiters with intent perhaps. Actually, there is nothing I want to do more than line up every single person who works for me and begin a Spanish Inquisition, but White said not to.”
“Why?”
“He needs a few days to consider the next stage of the plan. And like I said, gather information on my staff. If any possess large debts or have unexpectedly come into a sum of money, that sort of thing. Ack. I still can’t believe one of them would steal my dagger and attempt to frame me for murder. Most of my people were here with my father, men and women I would have previously considered one hundred percent loyal.”
“Arrgh,” Caroline spat, the sound an alarming combination of hiss and growl. But before he could query the status of her health, a sharp knock sounded and footmen converged into the room with a large copper tub and buckets of steaming water. As soon as they were gone, Stephen sank into the tub’s welcoming embrace and sighed in pleasure. Until his wife got to work with the washcloth, and sandalwood soap.
“You know, my dear, I quite enjoy having skin. Keeps all those pesky bones and muscles and gallons of fluid in one neat package.”
She scrubbed harder. “Bite your lip, milksop.”
“Is something wrong?” he asked mildly, trying not to wince.
“No. Yes. I don’t understa
nd, Stephen, how anyone so intelligent, so logical, could be so damned stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“Why can’t you grasp the obvious explanation for the dagger? Taff!”
“Taff? For God’s sake, Caroline—”
“No. You listen to me,” she interrupted fiercely. “Your servants are loyal and love you, a blind man could see that. But Taff is a stranger you met in a clearing. You don’t know him or his family or his life up until this point. He says he was hurt during a skirmish, but where? When? How long was he in the army? What was his wife’s name? Where did they live?”
“That is none of our business.”
“Yes, it is! Those details are hardly classified information and the man is living under your roof. With, I might add, full access to your library!”
Stephen stilled and stared at his bright pink hands in the water. His first instinct was to roar a vehement denial. Taff had saved his life. Taff was a friend. And yet…and yet it was true. He really knew very little about his houseguest, or his comings and goings. And Taff did have full access to his entire house.
“But why?” he snarled, smashing his fist into the side of the tub. “Why would Taff perform a rescue only to do something as vile as frame me for murder?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. ‘Perhaps you should ask him. Right now.”
“Fine.”
Hauling himself out of the bath, he quickly dried himself and yanked on a fresh pair of trousers and a loose shirt. Then he stalked from the room, Caroline trailing behind, and made his way to Taff’s guest chamber.
He knocked firmly on the door. “Taff? It’s Westleigh. I need to speak with you about an urgent matter. Can I come in?”
Silence reigned. No answering words, no heavy, limping tread of footsteps.
“Knock again,” said Caroline.
Stephen glared at her over his shoulder. “He might be deeply asleep, is all.”
“Then wake him up! For heaven’s sake, this is far more important than sleep.”
“All right, all right.”
Carefully opening the door, he peered into the room. Neatly pressed clothing hung in an armoire, polished boots stood in a row beside the chaise and a half-full bottle of brandy sat alone on a plain writing desk. But the bed, with its numerous pillows and thick eiderdown quilt, was empty.
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