A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  “I... yes. But I haven’t done anything wrong, Collingwood.”

  “Of course not. But a chance word is enough to evoke questions you may not want to answer. If there is anything you are uncertain of, any questions you do not want to answer, you must use extreme caution.”

  “I understand.” She met his gaze, and he recognized that look. He would not like whatever was coming.

  “Collingwood, I’ve been thinking. These... happenings have caused me to question my behavior in the past fortnight. I believe I’ve made an awful mistake. I pray you will not take this wrong, but I have decided I do not wish to marry you. Our... our friendship... was...is...ill-advised. We have nothing in common. And—”

  She was rejecting him? He hid his shock. “Nothing?”

  A deep pink suffused her cheeks and she looked into her lap again. “Well, beyond the corporeal.”

  “That is not insignificant, Trudy. And there may be a greater reason than you currently know to take my name.”

  Her cheeks turned scarlet. “I am not suitable. In fact, Collingwood, I am not at all what I seem. My family... I will cause you embarrassment—”

  He reached out and ran his finger down the side of her cheek. “You cannot discourage me, my dear. I know your character by now, and you are honest, kind and moral. You cannot be anything undesirable.”

  “Oh? Not even if I admitted that I learned my larcenous skills from Simza and her people? Not even that I have been using them quite regularly? Not even if I told you that I am, indeed, the Mayfair Shadow.”

  Dare was stunned. But this had to be impossible. There were thefts that had taken place while she was with him. Thefts that happened in places Trudy could not have gone. But her reasons for misdirecting him were obvious. “Good God! It’s true, then. Your brother is the Shadow, is he not?”

  “No! You don’t know what is going on here, Dare. It isn’t at all what you think.”

  “A man is dead, Trudy. It is exactly what I think.”

  “But why do you think the killer was the Shadow?

  “There’d been an altercation—you saw the evidence of that—and several pieces of jewelry were dropped. Lord Amory wouldn’t have been carrying such things. He must have discovered who the Shadow was, struggled with him, and that was when the stolen pieces were dropped.”

  “Perhaps Lord Amory was the Shadow.”

  “Balderdash! Amory was arthritic. Not agile enough to pick a pocket, let alone remove a brooch or a bracelet without alerting the owner.”

  She swayed and gripped the edge of her seat to steady herself. “But the Shadow has never harmed anyone. Why would he start now?”

  “Amory found him out. He’d have exposed the Shadow’s identity if he’d been allowed to live.”

  “Enough!” Tears welled in her eyes and she waved one hand between them. “This changes nothing, Collingwood. We are done. I will not discuss this further. And please do not call on me again.”

  He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. She was implacable. Utterly useless to try to talk to her further tonight. And if Trudy wouldn’t give him satisfaction, Lancelot damn well would!

  Chapter Thirteen

  JUST BEFORE DAWN, Dare finally caught up to Carr. He was gambling in a private club off St. James Street, a row of counters on the green baize table in front of him. Dare had no idea if he was doing well or not. How many counters had he had in the beginning?

  “Whist.” Morton indicated an empty chair beside him. “Play deep, Collingwood. I’d like to get into your pockets. Nothing quite as enjoyable as spending another man’s money, eh? And now we have enough for two tables.”

  Dare nodded and sat between Morton and George Bradley. He looked around at the players. No class distinctions here. Money was the equalizer. Mr. Clark was shoulder-to-shoulder with the Duke of Morvill on one side and Carr on the other. Lord Eton and the Duke of Fortrose completed the company.

  Carr gave him a cautious nod of acknowledgment, but he avoided eye contact and concentrated on the cards being dealt. Ah, he realized Dare had been looking for him and that they had unfinished business. There was something odd, though. Trudy’s brother was a good-natured sort, not this intense, focused man who cupped his cards as if every player was leaning in to see them. In fact, the entire table seemed strained and anxious.

  “So, Collingwood,” Morton quirked a little grin, “how goes the courtship of Miss Gertrude?”

  Carr’s gaze snapped upward and his jaw tightened.

  Dare answered quickly to stop Carr from making an awkward comment. “Haven’t the foggiest notion what you mean, Morton. Miss Gertrude must wait her turn, it seems. After Miss Fiona weds—whenever that may be—will be soon enough to look in that direction.”

  Bradley snorted. “With any luck at all, the Carr-Burke wedding will come off without trouble. I fear there’ll be a brawl on the doorstep then. Someone had better secure Miss Fiona’s hand quickly.”

  “You’d have a comfortable advantage, Bradley.” Morton fanned his cards and smiled. “You live next door to them, do you not?”

  “The Carr girls appear to take their time.” Dare glanced around for an unguarded reaction. He wasn’t prepared for the extent of that. Bradley looked as if he would argue, Morton’s lips pressed into a thin line and Carr’s left eye began to twitch.

  Mr. Clark finally broke the silence. “Old Carr has more to worry about than his daughters.”

  Lancelot growled, folded his cards and thew a counter on the table. “Are we playing cards, gentlemen, or discussing my sisters?”

  “Playing, by God!” Morvill snapped. “Enough of this womanish gossip. Who cares a whit who the Carr chits marry?”

  Several hands were played without the usual banter or jesting. Dare could feel a heaviness in the air, and a quick glance at Morton told him his friend felt it, too. He began watching the men and noted some subtle byplay—nothing he could quite put his finger on, but something decidedly odd in glances and veiled gestures.

  His distraction led him to carelessness, because he was uncommonly unlucky. As was Carr. Because they were partners? He threw his cards on the table face down and pushed his chair back. “I’m out.”

  Carr gave him a searching look and sighed. “I’ll follow your example, Collingwood.” He collected his remaining counters and stood.

  Once on the street, pretense was abandoned. “You know why I hunted you down, do you not, Carr?”

  “I suspect I do. Where do you want to do this?”

  Dare glanced around. There were few establishments open at this time of the morning. He signaled his driver forward. “My coach. This shouldn’t take any longer than it will to get you home.”

  Once the coach lurched into motion, Carr sighed deeply and Dare read defeat in his eyes. “What do you want to know, Collingwood?”

  “Did you kill Lord Amory?” His blunt question did not ruffle Carr.

  “Christ, no. I had nothing against the old man. He was harmless.”

  “Then—”

  “I’d gone out to the garden for a breath of fresh air. I heard voices, a scuffle, and a sickening crack. I knew that sound—a skull breaking.”

  “Did anyone pass you on the path?”

  “No. I hesitated and almost went back to the house. But then I thought someone might need my help.”

  “Is that what you told the investigator?”

  Carr’s shoulders sagged. “I denied hearing or seeing anything until I stumbled across Amory’s body. I was afraid he’d think... that I... that...”

  Dare nodded. “You wanted to distance yourself from the event. So you said you’d just come across him, eh? And the investigator believed you?”

  “He looked at my hands and my clothing for any signs of a struggle. He was satisfied I had nothing to do with it. Trudy will verify that.”

  “She was with you? The whole time?”

  “I had just found Amory and was going for help when I bumped into her. I told her to go back, but
she went around me, and—”

  Yes, that was Trudy. Stubborn and reckless. There was still one question he had to ask. “Are you the Mayfair Shadow?”

  He expected protestations. Denials. A plea of ignorance. Even admission. But not—

  “You saw me pick up the jewelry? Do you think Amory’s death is related to that?”

  That was not quite an admission but neither was it a denial. “What did you plan to do with it?”

  Carr’s eyes became shuttered. “Whoever killed Amory dropped those jewels. Perhaps he meant to implicate Amory in the crimes. Or me. Or perhaps he meant the Shadow to take the blame.”

  He’d let that go for the moment. “Why would anyone want to blame you, Carr?”

  “Perhaps not me, per se, but the first person to stumble across Amory’s body. The hunt for the Shadow is growing intense. If the thefts cease, the search will eventually end. But if someone is using the Shadow to get away with murder, that will only make it worse.”

  “So you think the murder is unrelated to the Mayfair Shadow? That someone else murdered Amory and made it look as if the Shadow did it?”

  “I can think of no other reason. Lord Amory was a harmless old man.”

  “Are you afraid your sister is somehow involved in this?”

  Carr sighed. “I will take the blame before I will let Trudy suffer for this.”

  “I want to help. Tell me everything.”

  “You?” He laughed and shook his head. “You only want to help yourself. Time is running out on your wager and you cannot name the Shadow. You will lose that bet with your friends. Can’t let that happen, can you?”

  “Don’t be a fool. I am more than passing fond of your sister. I would spare her anything I could, including the humiliation of having a thief for a brother.”

  “If I were the Shadow, ’twould be a little late in the game to ‘fix’ that.”

  The coach pulled up in front of the Carr residence and Lancelot reached for the door. Dare caught his arm and stopped him.

  “If anything happens, if any harm comes to Trudy, you will answer for it, Lancelot.”

  The young man shrugged off Dare’s grip. “You will be the cause of it, Collingwood. Not me. You and your damned law.”

  Though it was Sunday morning, Dare suspected he would find the Carrs at home rather than church. After the shock of last night, Mrs. Carr had, no doubt, taken to her bed and would remain there for as long as it suited her. And the rest of the family? He’d soon find out.

  A footman answered his knock. He dropped his card in the man’s open palm. “Darius Rusten, Lord Collingwood, to see Mr. Carr.”

  “Mr. Carr is not at home, my lord.”

  “Mrs. Carr?”

  “Madam is not in, either.”

  “Mr. Lancelot Carr, then.”

  “He, too, is not at home, sir.”

  Well, that was a surprise. Denied the proper channels, he sighed. “Miss Gertrude, then.” Unless the magistrate had arrived at the crack of dawn, she’d be home, waiting for him to interview her.

  The footman opened his mouth but thought better of denying a peer entry. He led Dare to a small family sitting room and bowed. “I shall inform Miss Gertrude that you are awaiting her.”

  The footman would also likely inform Mrs. Carr that he and Trudy were alone together the moment she arrived home. He glanced at the case clock standing against the far wall. Ah, yes. The last of Miss Carr’s banns were being read in church this morning and the family would be in attendance to hear them. Services would be over soon but there should be time enough to accomplish what he’d come for. He needed to straighten out this nonsensical misunderstanding about Trudy not being suitable. She should know that he would never abandon her. And that he stood ready to do whatever must be done to straighten this mess out.

  The scent of roses wafted to him on a light breeze. He wandered to a glass door that stood open to the crisp, late-morning air. The gardens beyond were stunning with blooms of all colors and lawns manicured to perfection. Yes, everything was in readiness for Laura Carr’s wedding celebration. Come Wednesday, she would sacrifice herself on the matrimonial altar for the sake of her sisters. The deed would be done.

  The rustle of skirts behind him warned him of Trudy’s arrival. He turned and was dismayed, though not surprised, that there were violet shadows beneath her eyes, perhaps more noticeable for the lovely shade of her lilac gown. Clearly she had not slept.

  “Collingwood.” She gave him a proper curtsy. “I am surprised to see you. Did we not say all that needed to be said last night?”

  “Perhaps you did. I still have quite a bit to say.” He waved to an upholstered settee. “Shall we sit?”

  She glanced at the settee and back at him. “The gardens are in their glory. I would rather stroll.”

  Actually, the weather was unpleasantly cool and humid. He gathered she did not want him so close to her. Or perhaps she did not want to risk the servants overhearing their conversation. “If you wish.” He offered his arm as they passed through the door and entered the garden. She ignored his gesture to lift the shawl she’d taken from the back of her chair and wrap it around her.

  “I must say I am surprised to see you,” she ventured. “I thought we had said adieu last night.”

  “Once again, you did, perhaps. Not I.” He grinned at her look of annoyance. “I’ve come for a number of reasons—not the least of which is to hear how you fared with the magistrate. Has he come yet?”

  “You just missed him. He was very kind.”

  “Then it went well?”

  “For the most part.”

  “What did he ask you?”

  “Collingwood, I really fail to see—”

  “Enough, Trudy. Can we not just be ourselves?

  She shrugged. “I thought formality might help us keep our distance.”

  “Do you really think I would importune an unwilling female?”

  She sighed and plucked a pale, white rose from a bush they passed. He lifted her chin with his forefinger and slipped one arm around her waist. He was about to put his words to the test. She came up on her tiptoes, allowed her eyelids to drift downward, and the plush petals of her lips to part ever so slightly. That was enough of an invitation for him.

  He drew her closer and tilted his head to accommodate her. The sweetness, the poignancy, of that kiss washed through him and reached clear to his toes. There was not a single part of him that did not want her with a fierceness that terrified him. What would he do if he could not win her back? How would he live the rest of his life knowing he’d lost his only chance for something meaningful and enduring? Fulfill him in a way he’d never dreamed of before meeting her?

  He lowered his mouth to brush across hers—those soft trembling petals. Her shaky sigh encouraged him. She cupped the back of his head and held him to her.

  “Dare... I...” She gasped when he found the spot just beneath her earlobe that caused her to shudder and gooseflesh to rise on her arms. She could deny that she wanted him, but he’d never believe her.

  “Do you want me to go away, Trudy? Or do you simply want me?” he whispered, confident that he’d won her over.

  “Yesss...” she said on a long sigh.

  But ‘yes’ to which question? He decided to listen to his heart and slid his hand up her side to cup one breast. The orb peaked to an erect bud and he flicked his finger across it. She gasped and pressed herself closer.

  He knew what she wanted, and he’d lay down his life to give it to her, but this was not the time or place. He took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. As he began to separate from her, she held his shoulders and moaned a protest.

  The madness passed in an instant. Her cheeks flushed bright red as she smoothed her gown and refused to meet his gaze. “I... You... should not have done that. We are done, Collingwood. I swear we are.”

  The denial was patently absurd but this was not the time for that particular battle. He would deal with her once he had unraveled the ev
ents of the last fortnight. Bringing his mind back to the problem at hand, he asked, “What did you tell the magistrate?”

  “He... he asked what I saw. What I heard. And if I had any idea what might have happened.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “That I saw nothing. That no one passed me from that direction. That Lord Amory was face down and I did not know it was him until Skipp—Lancelot told me.”

  She headed for a rose arbor when a light mist began to fall and sank onto a wooden bench tucked beneath the arch. “Did you tell him Lancelot was there before you?”

  “He did not ask. You said to volunteer nothing.”

  “Good.”

  She buried her perfect little nose in the petals of her rose. “I’ve not had the opportunity to speak to him. I do not know what he has said. But I can tell you that he swore to me that he did not kill Lord Amory. And he swore the man was dead when he arrived in the clearing.”

  “Did he—the magistrate—tell you anything at all?”

  Her eyes glistened and he hoped she would not burst into tears. “He said they are all but certain the killer is the Mayfair Shadow. And that they are increasing their efforts to find the villain. He said there is no hiding place that will be safe from them. And that they will make a spectacle of the Shadow’s hanging as an example to all.”

  “And now you are weeping over a thief you do not know.”

  She looked up at him and the truth was written in her eyes.

  He offered her his handkerchief and pressed his advantage. “So you do know him, do you not?”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “I... I am him.”

  He had almost expected that answer. From the moment at the Blue Swan when Lancelot told him that Trudy was a rescuer, he’d begun to suspect that she was protecting someone. And he very much feared he knew who.

  “Are you not... not surprised?”

  “That you’ve confessed? You are a poor liar, Gertrude Carr. And a worse actress.”

  She blinked. “You do not believe me?”

  “Not even with your hand on a Bible.”