But the horse heading toward her was not the spirited Job, and the rider was not Gareth. The man was large and well-dressed, though hatless, his white-gold hair a contrast to his darkly tanned face. He pulled his horse up and raised a hand in greeting.
“Mrs. Mont, I presume. What is Ripton-Jones thinking to let you traipse out alone in all this snow? The man is damned careless with his women.”
His women. The man made Anne sound as if she were part of a harem. “Major Ripton-Jones is not my keeper, sir,” Anne said, annoyed. “And he doesn’t know I’m here.”
She wanted to call her blustery words back. What a stupid thing for her to say. Gareth had warned her to be careful when she left the house, fearful that Bronwen’s killer was still about. “Who are you?”
“Forgive me. I am Lewys. Is Gareth at home?”
Lord Parry Lewys. Bronwen’s last lover. But he was absolved of her murder, as he had already left for his Caribbean plantation.
Unless he’d returned somehow without being seen! Anne was perfectly willing to pencil him in as the murderer, not that she wanted to converse with a deranged killer alone on a country lane.
He didn’t look much like a murderer, just a privileged man on a thoroughbred horse, excessively tanned from his sojourn in the tropics. “You’ve just missed him. He’s on his way into Llanwyr. It’s odd that you didn’t pass him on the road,” she said, trying to rein in her temper. The baron was the local heartthrob, if what Mrs. Chapman said was true. All the Llanwyr girls had thrown their caps at him, hoping to become his baroness. Of course, Bronwen had captured him once she’d jilted Gareth.
Now that Lewys was home, he would probably be taking over the investigation of the murder. It would behoove Anne to be civil, although there was something about him she could not like, murderer or not.
“I came from the opposite direction. It is such a fine day, we were out early.” He gave his horse an affectionate pat. “I see you are also taking your exercise.”
“I am not walking for pleasure, sir. I had hoped to go into Llanwyr, too.”
“Well, then, allow me to take you up on my horse.” He smiled down at her, his teeth bright against his sun-darkened face.
If she accepted his offer, she’d catch up to Gareth sooner. Anne thought of that first ride home with Gareth, when every inch of her rubbed up against his male parts. She had no intention of rubbing against this man.
“No, thank you, Lord Lewys. I don’t want to trouble you. As you said, it’s a fine day. I’ll walk.”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all. I insist.” He dismounted with grace and extended his hand. “I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
His attractiveness dimmed. Anne straightened her spine and tried to make herself taller. “I am a respectable widow, Lord Lewys.”
He raised a blond eyebrow. “Are you? The tales I’ve heard since I’ve come home leave that in some doubt. You and Gareth are all alone in that big house. Who knows what he’s gotten into?”
Anne had met his like before, self-important men who thought they were witty with their double entendres. Her booted foot itched to stomp on his.
“I thought you were Gareth’s friend.”
“And so I am. But I know what he’s capable of. What any man is capable of if he’s sufficiently provoked.”
“If you listened to Bronwen Lewys, more fool you.”
For an instant, Anne thought he might strike her. But then he threw back his head and roared in laughter. If she had so desired, she might have counted his biting teeth.
“I see Gareth has met his match. For a tiny thing, you are a bit of terror, aren’t you? Much like a wasp. A very pretty wasp. Come, Mrs. Mont, let’s cry friends. In a short while, you will be the local squire’s wife. We’ll bump into each other frequently over county dining tables, if you can keep your husband sober.”
Anne had no interest in sharing a meal or anything else with Baron Lewys. But she was a practical girl with a place to go and there was no point in arguing on the lane.
“All right. But I shall ride behind you.”
“Splendid! Hold on tight, won’t you? I wouldn’t want to lose you.” He grasped her waist and threw her up on the saddle, then managed to mount without clipping her on the head with his long legs. She pinched the back of his coat with both hands instead of embracing him, and he turned his horse around.
By pretending not to hear him over the horse’s hooves and light wind, she was spared further conversation on the short trip down into the village. Her few shouts of “What? What?” became tedious for the baron quickly and he stopped trying to be charming. Anne barely had time to enjoy the cloudless blue sky before the chapel came into view, as did Job, who was tethered to the fence around the graveyard.
She tapped Lord Lewys on his shoulder. “Let me out here.”
“I see your fiancé’s mount, and it’s not even Sunday. I thought he and his cousin Ian were not on speaking terms.”
“They have reconciled,” Anne lied.
“I’m impressed, Mrs. Mont. You seem to be a good influence on the major. I’ve been anxious to talk to him ever since I got home but the damn weather prevented it at every turn. You won’t mind if I come in with you?”
Yes, she did mind, but couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough. Lord Lewys rode up the churchyard path, jumped down and helped her dismount. Job frisked at the nearness of the new horse and Anne stepped away before she got trampled. She needed to get inside and warn Gareth that Lewys was here to see him, so she ran up the path while the baron calmed the horses.
She heard the angry voices before she got to the door. It was important that Parry Lewys not discover her secret. If he overheard a heated argument with her name thrown about, he’d be suspicious. He was a man of the ton, would know in an instant what her true history was. She made a fist, banged as hard as she could to get the men’s attention, then barged into the building.
“Good day, gentlemen,” she fairly screamed from the doorway. “I have Baron Lewys with me. He’s hitching up his horse.”
Ian and Gareth had faced off in front of the lectern. They both turned to her, color high on their near-identical faces.
“Just what we need,” Gareth muttered.
“I won’t say anything. I promised not to. And no amount of money will make me go back on my word, whatever you think of me,” Ian said, straightening his collar. It appeared he and Gareth had a bit of a scuffle, even if they were in a church.
“What about the deacon?” Anne asked quickly. “He read the first of the banns.”
“I’ll take care of Thomas. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Mont, except that you are marrying my cousin. I don’t know whom to pity more.”
“Save your concern, Ian. We all know you’d like to see Lewys arrest me.”
Anne’s blood froze. “He can’t do that, can he?”
“He can do whatever he bloody well likes. He’s magistrate now that he’s returned. I’ll turn over the paperwork to him and see what he makes of it. The witness who vouched for my whereabouts on the day in question is dead, and everyone knows Cecily would have perjured herself to protect me anyway.” Gareth ran his hand through his disordered hair. “I didn’t expect Parry home until spring. I didn’t want to say anything to you until I had spoken with him, but we may have to delay the wedding.”
“No! I don’t care if I have to spend my honeymoon in a jail cell with you. We’re going to marry, and that’s that.”
“What’s this about jail, Mrs. Mont?” Lewys stood in the door frame, his flaxen curls buffeted by the wind. He shut the door Anne had left open in her haste to stop the fight, and moved to the front of the church. “If it isn’t dear Bronwen’s favorite pair of bookends.”
Ian’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Aye, Morgan, I knew about you both. Trust Bronwen to brag about her conquests over the years. The woman was shameless. I said nothing to you the other day over luncheon, wondering how far you’d go to get your cousin in troubl
e. You’ll be happy to hear, Gareth, that the good reverend confessed to planting evidence to implicate you in Bronwen’s death. He’d like to pin the crime on you, but I believe he knows in his heart of hearts that you are innocent.”
Gareth remained motionless at the lectern. “What do you think, Parry?”
“I suppose as I’m standing in a church I should speak the truth. I don’t much give a damn who killed her. The fellow who did saved me a lifetime of hell. Bronwen wouldn’t take no for an answer, you know. I used the Caribbean trip as an excuse to put her off—told her we’d fix things when I returned. I was ready to bring back a bride from the islands if necessary—any reasonably attractive stranger would have done. I saw what she did to her poor cuckolded husband. To you, Gareth. Why would I subject myself to her wiles? She cheated on her poor old husband with me, and you and you,” he said, pointing to Gareth and a scarlet Ian. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she decided to carry on with either or both of you if I had been so unlucky as to be trapped into marriage with her.”
“I doubt I was still a candidate for her affection,” Gareth said dryly.
“Ah, Gareth. Those rumors she started only made you more of a challenge. She thought you’d come around groveling eventually. She talked about you all the time. To make me jealous, she hoped. Bring me up to scratch. But why should I buy the cow when I’d been getting the milk for free?”
Yes, Anne definitely disliked Parry Lewys. But at least he wasn’t threatening to haul Gareth away in handcuffs. “What will you do?”
“About what, my dear? Oh, the investigation.” He snapped his gloved fingers, but they made no sound. “It’s obvious Bronwen was killed by a madman passing through the village. A thief. Her jewels were stolen, were they not? Her brother Robert Allen says they’re missing.”
“Is that what he told you?” Gareth asked.
“Yes. Is there any reason I should not believe him?”
“Some of those jewels belonged to my family. My father—” Gareth shrugged. “He meant well for me, but they were not enough to sway Bronwen’s opinion. Everyone knows that when I got well, I tried to get them back. Repeatedly. Bronwen laughed in my face. I’d hoped that Rob would return them. I know he needed money to care for the girls, and I assumed he took them to sell.”
“Rubbish. He had plenty to take care of my little cousins while I was away. My man of business saw to it. Allen told me you’d made rather a nuisance of yourself hounding him for them. He assures me he never had Bronwen’s jewelry. Or yours, for that matter. All of it was missing from the Dower House. No, it’s clear she was raped, robbed, and killed by an unknown vagrant, and there it will lie.”
Anne and Gareth had plenty of time the last few days to share their innermost thoughts. He had ashamedly confessed to her that once Bronwen’s body had been dealt with, he’d searched the house from top to bottom, ostensibly for clues, but for his mother’s jewelry, too. He was sick from drink and the fear that he might have blacked out and committed the heinous crime no matter what Cecily said. Anne reached for his hand now and gave it a squeeze.
“So there will be no further trouble,” she said.
“Not from me. The neighbors may feel differently. I’ve had a few complaints since I’ve been back. They seem to think Mrs. Mont is a little fool. Don’t prove them right, Gareth.”
She could feel him stiffen beside her. “I’m not worried, Lord Lewys.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something. You can shut your mouth now, Ian, and go about the Lord’s business. We’ve got something in common—we’ve all made a lucky escape. Your secret will be safe with me.”
Ian looked as if he wanted to say something cutting, but thought the better of it.
“I presume I’m invited to the wedding? I’ve heard of nothing else.”
“O-of course,” Anne said, squeezing Gareth’s hand harder.
“Excellent. I’ll scour the abbey’s cellars and send you a case of something. Until then.” Parry Lewys tipped his blond head and left the church, slamming the door behind him.
Anne let out the breath she’d been holding since she met the man on the lane. “My.”
“My indeed. So all will go on as planned, right, Ian?”
“I’ll speak to Thomas. I doubt he even knows what The London List is. He’s not one for gossip.”
“Thank you.” Gareth slipped his hand from Anne’s and held it out to his cousin. After a long moment, Ian took it and shook it firmly. “See you in church, Ian.”
“And not a minute too soon, coz.” To Anne’s amazement, Ian Morgan winked.
CHAPTER 26
“Jesus Christ!”
Gareth had seen the smoke from the village road, drifting lazily into the winter-gray sky. The cart was loaded with the first round of food and crockery from the inn for the wedding tomorrow, but he needed to get home fast. With a shaking hand, he unbuckled Job from the traces and pulled himself up on the animal. He’d ridden bareback a thousand times, but never on Job, and the horse didn’t like it. Hell, he didn’t even really like a saddle.
Maybe Martin was burning trash. Annie had been a whirling dervish trying to make every corner of Ripton Hall shine, and had weeded out anything that didn’t meet her exacting standards. She wanted the wedding to be perfect. Some girls from the village had agreed to come this afternoon to spend the night and ready the house for the reception after the ceremony. Help Annie dress, too. A girl should have some attention lavished upon her on her wedding day, even if she was to marry in her one good dress.
But from the looks of things, Ripton Hall was burning down. What had she done now? He dug his boot heels into Job and they flew down the lane.
His house was on fire. The kitchen wing, at any rate. Some building or other thing had been standing there for centuries. There wasn’t much left in his home that was valuable, but it was all Gareth had of his parents and his childhood. How many times had he watched his father hunched over the account books at the scarred desk in the study? By God, he even remembered the birds and bees discussion his father had so painstakingly provided there far too late, with the door locked and a furtive look on his face. Gareth had already buzzed quite thoroughly around Bronwen by that time and had had difficulty appearing innocent. A kaleidoscope of images spun through Gareth’s head—meals shared around the scrubbed pine table, tin soldiers marching up the back steps to his room, nights spent making love to Annie.
She had to be all right. When he found her, he’d kiss her first, then shake her for being so stupid. Then kiss her again and again.
Duw, what if she wasn’t all right?
The last few yards down the drive felt like miles. The smoke was black and thick rolling from the open kitchen windows, but at least flames weren’t shooting through the roof. He slipped from Job and ran for the kitchen door.
It was locked. And cool beneath his riding glove. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
“Annie!” he yelled.
There was no reply, just a hissing noise coming from inside, as if a thousand snakes were objecting to his presence. He pulled his collar up and raced around the corner to the front of the house. The door opened easily and he raced down the dark hallway to the back of the house, where the new met the old, the sections separated by at least a foot of good solid Welsh stone. His little study was undisturbed, as neatly organized as he and Annie had left it. Smoke seeped out from under the kitchen door, and Gareth pushed it open with his elbow, covering his face with his arm.
The room was blanketed in smoke. It stung his eyes, and he blinked quickly, searching for Annie in the midst of the gray pall. A plume of smoke climbed up the outside of the stovepipe, and flames were visible around the loose cast-iron burners. There was a charred mess of something atop the stove, coals glowing. The fire seemed to be limited to the stove and its contents, and Gareth could have breathed a sigh of relief if he would let himself breathe.
The stove continued to spit and rumble. Gareth was reminded of a cannon about to explode
.
“Annie!”
The door to her room was shut. She might not even be in the house. He could pour water on the stove or keep looking for her.
He couldn’t take the chance. If the faulty stove burned the kitchen down, so be it.
Gareth opened her door. Annie lay on the bed, looking like a marble effigy. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he felt his heart stop.
“Please be alive, please be alive,” he murmured. He touched her cheek. She was warm, but lacking in all color. He scooped her into a sitting position where she coughed and spluttered, looking up at him in fright.
“Gareth, what’s wrong? What’s all this smoke?”
He gave her a quick shake that turned into a hug. “You’ve set the house on fire again. This is getting to be a habit.”
“I’ve done no such thing!”
“I’m not going to argue with you. Can you get out of the house while I put out the fire?”
She scrambled for her boots. “Let me help you!”
“You’ve done enough. Go wait outside. Find Martin if you can. I think the trouble is confined to the stove but I want to make sure.”
“The wedding!” Annie cried.
“No time to talk about that now. Get going!” he ordered.
She gave him a look he’d seen on the face of his men when they were doubtful of the brass’s battle plans. By God, she wasn’t going to defy him now.
“Get out!”
There. His roar scared her away. He heard her cough as she went to the kitchen door and fiddle with the latchstring. Odd that the door was locked, but she must have wanted to ensure her privacy as she rested. If he’d come home any later, she might have inhaled so much smoke she never would have woken up.
The next few minutes were spent pumping water and dumping pails of snow on the stove and shoveling wet coals into the old fireplace, where they were doused again for good measure. The entire kitchen stank of burnt fabric and food. Whatever had she been trying to do? She knew Mrs. Chapman was providing refreshment for the reception tomorrow.
Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) Page 24