Indiscretions

by Gail Ranstrom

  “But—” Elise began.

  “Sarah, will you excuse us, please? There are some matters Lady Barrett and I must discuss.”

  His sister gave him a somber nod and left the room.

  He went to Elise and took her hand. “There are compelling reasons why you need to stay here, Elise. The incident last night, most notably.”

  “Barrett? But he cannot hurt me now.”

  “Thackery’s, madam. That pot dropping at that precise moment was chillingly deliberate. Do you have any idea who might wish you harm?”

  She shook her head, sinking back onto the sofa. “Only Barrett, and he was with you, was he not? I… I think it must have been a mistake.”

  He struggled with his conscience. He did not want to burden her with further worries, but neither did he want her wandering into disaster.

  As he sat beside her, he took her hands in his. “I would rather that you trust no one for the time being. Most especially not Mr. Doyle.”

  “Mr. Doyle? But he has been a good friend to me. He has come to pay his respects, and also asked if he could bring me anything from Barrett’s house.”

  “Whatever you need, madam, I will fetch it for you. I cannot account for Doyle’s whereabouts last night when that pot was dropped over the railing. And we had just left him at the Grahams’ picnic when you were hit with a rock. The coincidence is sufficient to warrant caution.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  He took a deep breath. “I went to St. Claire to look into rumors of a pirate base there. Our friendship may have endangered you. Perhaps someone thought you were helping me or that they could stop or distract me by injuring you. I cannot say, but I believe there is a connection between my business and your accidents.”

  “So that is the business that Mr. Doyle hinted at. But I have brought danger to you,” she said with a flash of anger in her eyes. “Have you not already killed for me?”

  “Elise—”

  She squeezed his hands and leaned toward him. “You must be careful, Lockwood. Do not take any more risks for me, nor intercede on my behalf. Should you come to harm, how would I live with myself?”

  God. He had been trying to keep his distance, trying to allow her time to catch her breath and for the shock to wear off—trying desperately not to take advantage of her vulnerability. But how could he keep his hands off her when she was pleading with him for his own good? He might be going to prison, or even the gibbet, but he couldn’t go without a proper farewell. Still holding her hands, he leaned forward and kissed her. He was about to apologize when she released his hands and slipped her arms around his neck with a breathless little moan.

  He’d never known her to be so desperate. Her tongue met his with a demand he could not mistake, but the middle of the day in his sister’s sitting room was neither the time nor the place. “Softly, Elise,” he whispered, breaking her kiss and her embrace before he cast caution to the winds.

  She looked embarrassed and a delicate color seeped up her cheeks. “I… I did not mean to impose myself….”

  He laughed—his most genuine laugh since he had made love to her those long-ago nights on St. Claire. “Patience,” he said. “Now make me a list of what you need from Barrett’s house.”

  Hunt had made all the necessary arrangements for Elise’s things to be sent to her by the time he returned to his office just before dark and found Sir Henry Richardson waiting for him. Sir Harry, as he was known, was currently without an assignment from the Foreign Office and had leaped at the chance to escape boredom by agreeing to take on the task of finding young William, now Viscount Barrett.

  “Ah, well met, Lockwood. I was just going to leave you a note and go on to my evening engagements.”

  Hunt grinned. He knew what sort of engagements Harry planned, and they rarely included formal dress. Or any clothes at all. “Do you have something for me?” he asked.

  “I believe I’ve found your missing child. A waifish little thing. Dark hair and green eyes?”

  He remembered the miniature portrait he’d found in Elise’s bedroom and nodded. Yes, that would be William. He was impressed. “So soon? I expected this to take longer.”

  Sir Harry laughed and shrugged. “Wasn’t much of a challenge, and no great mystery. The obvious tends to be obvious for a reason.”

  “Barrett’s brother,” he guessed.

  Sir Harry shook his head as he leaned against the doorjamb, looking like he couldn’t wait to get on to his “engagements. Nearly as obvious. Franklin Clarke. Her brother.”

  “Elise’s… Lady Barrett’s own brother was hiding her son from her?”

  “Aye. A dull-witted gentleman, that. Looks as if he is in the depths of his cups most of the day, or has found an opium den local to his village.”

  Money. He remembered Elise telling him that Barrett bought people, and that he had bought her. Her brother had been so heavily indebted to Barrett that he’d consented to the wedding. And now his addiction had led him to deceive his sister. He would deal with this man personally.

  “You spoke with him?”

  “He answered the door. I gather the servants were let go some time back, or at least it looks that way. The house is barely better than a sty. The lad was behind him, looking nearly as bad as his uncle. I concluded that he has not been abused so much as completely overlooked.”

  “What story did you use?”

  “None. There was no need. I told Clarke that Barrett was dead. He looked relieved but did not seem to realize that I’d come looking for the lad. When I told him, he seemed indifferent, then offered to be his guardian for a stipend.”

  “Was he serious?”

  “Seems so. When I told him the boy’s mother wanted him back, he laughed and accused her of wanting the money for herself. She had abandoned the boy in a foreign country, he said. ’Twould appear Barrett was good at fabricating stories.”

  “Where is William now? Did you bring him back to London?”

  Sir Harry rolled his eyes. “Clarke would not release him to me. He thinks the lad is as good as cash. And not an insignificant sum. He said if he gives the boy back to Lady Barrett, she will profit by it, and why should he not profit as well? After all, according to him, he has been loving and nurturing to his nephew.”

  “How much does he want?”

  “Ten thousand pounds.”

  Hunt could have that tomorrow morning when the banks opened. “I’ll pay it.”

  “Not like you at all, Lockwood. I’ve never known you to pay extortion. Informants, yes, but blackmailers are an ugly business.”

  What could he do? Clarke was Elise’s brother. Hunt could not have him gaoled. There’d been enough scandal already.

  “You see the problem, eh?” Sir Harry continued. “Lady Barrett can go through the courts, with the gossip that would entail, or she can pay her brother off. Neither of them is a good choice.”

  “I will pay it,” he said again. “And I will see to it that the leech never asks for anything again. Believe me, Richardson, this is not blackmail. It is a once and final offer. Impress that upon him.”

  “Your choice,” he said. “How shall I proceed?”

  “Meet me here in the morning. I will have the money. When you fetch him, have one hand on the boy before you hand over the cash. Make Clarke give you a receipt that clearly states the purpose of the payment. And then bring William to me here.”

  “Not to his mother?”

  “I need to be certain he is well, and indeed William. I do not want Lady Barrett subjected to another disappointment. Aside from that, I wish to have him examined by a physician so that I may assure his mother of his health and well-being.”

  “Sounds as if you’ve thought of everything, Lockwood,” Sir Harry said as he pushed off from the doorjamb. “If Lord Barrett can ride behind me, I should be back by dark tomorrow.”

  Hunt hoped so. He did not have much time left before he would have to turn himself over for Barrett’s murder.

  Chapte
r Twenty-Three

  Even in death, Barrett was spiting her!

  Elise knocked louder on Lockwood’s door. The brisk walk to his house in the winter night had not cooled her anger. The very thought of Lockwood languishing in prison or hanging from a gibbet infuriated her. Barrett’s life had not been worth so steep a price, and she would not let Lockwood pay it.

  An expressionless butler answered her third knock and gave her a clipped bow. “Madam?”

  “I would like to see Lord Lockwood, please.”

  He looked her up and down. “I shall see if his lordship is in,” he said, beginning to close the door on her.

  “He is in.”

  Elise looked around the butler to see Lockwood standing by a door opening off the foyer. He was in his shirtsleeves and holding a sheaf of papers. The butler stepped aside and held the door for her.

  “Thank you, Mott. That will be all.”

  The man bowed, closed the door behind her and disappeared down a corridor leading to the back of the house.

  Hunt swept his arm toward the room and stood aside as she passed him. It was a library or an office, she wasn’t certain which. Books lined the walls and stacks of them were piled on a low table in front of a sofa that faced the fireplace. A lamp illuminated a desk buried in papers and littered with pens, inkwells, blotters and ledgers.

  “I’ve interrupted you,” she said.

  “Just putting my affairs in order. Would you care to have a seat? Can I get you anything? Port? Sherry? Have you had supper?”

  Putting his affairs in order? She turned back to him and braced herself. “Nothing, thank you. But you are wasting your time. I have no intention of letting you take the blame for Barrett’s death.”

  A flicker of regret passed across his face. “You have remembered something?”

  “Remembered? What do you mean?”

  “Never mind.” He dropped the papers on his desk, laid her cloak over the back of a chair and took her elbow to lead her to the sofa. “I was going to come by my sister’s a little later, madam. I wanted to go over some details with you.”

  “That’s just it, you see. I do not want to go over details unless they are the details regarding William.”

  He sat beside her and frowned. “William? But what has he to do with any of this?”

  “Lockwood, I cannot let you take the blame for Barrett’s death. Regardless of who actually did it, you are not to blame. I am. And I intend to go to Bow Street in the morning and make a confession. The only business I must put in order is that of William’s custody. I do not think Barrett’s brother or my own would be suitable. So I must ask you to petition the court on his behalf to appoint a neutral guardian. And if it will not, to petition the king.”

  “That will not be necessary, madam.”

  “You do not know Barrett’s brother Alfred or you would not say that. I know my request places you in an awkward situation, and you will be asked why you are interceding, but I cannot think of anyone else I trust with William’s future.”

  “It will not be necessary because you are not confessing. Now suppose you tell me what has you in such a state.”

  Her frustration was growing with his refusal to take her seriously. “I have been fretting over your confession from the first. I have never liked the idea of you taking the blame. Had you not come to St. Claire, had I not lied about who I am, you would never have been involved in any of this. Barrett merely reaped what he sowed. And, had he lived another few days, ’tis likely I would have killed him.”

  He shook his head to deny her words. “I never would have let you. Killing…leaves a stain on your soul. I am so tarnished now, Elise, that Barrett’s death scarcely added a speck of dust. But you? No, I could never let you live with that.”

  “But you would let me live with this?” She opened her clenched fist to show him the single white orchid that had been delivered with his calling card, bearing the words Think of me…on the back. “Think of you? I think of nothing else! Can you not see that I would rather die than live with the guilt of your death on my soul?”

  Lockwood’s face hardened. “Bedamned, madam! Do not do this to me! Are things not painful enough already?”

  She started to rise but he pulled her back down beside him. “I have confessed. Leave it alone. Swear it.”

  “Never. I will shout my guilt from the gallery at Old Bailey, if I must. You cannot stop me.”

  “I bloody well can!” He pulled her against him, cupped the back of her head with one hand and kissed her until she stopped struggling.

  “Let me do this, Elise,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “Let me redeem my ruined life by freeing you. This may be the only thing that can save my soul.”

  How could she deny him? But how could she let him go? If he would not listen to reason… She fumbled with the knots and folds of his cravat.

  “What are you doing, Elise?”

  “I will not let you go without—”

  He tightened his arms around her and stood. “God help me, I know I should send you away, but I am not that strong.” He grappled with the fastenings of her gown as she clung to him, so dizzy with passion that she could not stand steadily.

  When the black silk slid to the floor with a soft hiss, her heartbeat sped. He unfastened the tapes of her chemise next, and then the drawstring of her pantalettes and they pooled around her ankles. He stood back to appraise her and waves of heat washed through her lower abdomen at the admiration in his gaze. Her knees nearly buckled.

  She reached out to him, wanting to have his skin next to hers, and he helped her, as anxious as she. With each new expanse of flesh exposed to her, her pulse rate quickened. She wanted him with an intensity she could scarcely contain. She wanted to know every inch of his skin, every muscle, every scar, everything that made him who he was.

  And then they were lying tangled on the sofa, his teeth tugging her earlobe, his hands cupping her bottom as he drew her up to him. She burned to have him inside her, but she could not make him hurry. He would not let her.

  He bent to nibble at her aroused breasts and she arched to him. He ignored that invitation, and slid lower still. She wanted to be shocked by the things he did to her then, wanted to deny him or to be repulsed. But he was making her frantic with longing, begging her to surrender, praising her beauty and urging her to breathe and relax. How could she relax when her every nerve was stretched to the snapping point?

  When she could not bear the tension any longer, she dragged him upward by his hair and tumbled him over. If he would not give her what she needed, she would take it. She straddled him and he moaned when she lowered herself on him. He held her waist, guiding her, holding her gaze, his handsome face a study in strain. She found his rhythm and matched him, building, soaring until something inside her burst and bloomed, leaving her shattered.

  “Think of me…” she whispered as he poured his passion into her.

  Charlie burst into Hunt’s office, his face split by a grin. “I’ve got it, Hunt! The list is done. You will not believe what I’ve found.”

  Hunt looked up. “Sit down, Charlie.”

  His brother took the chair across from him and dropped an armload of ledgers on the desk. He opened one on top of another until they covered every available inch. “Look through those and see how I figured it out. I thought you were crazy and just trying to keep me out of the way when you told me to trace money, but you were right. It’s all there.”

  “I’ll look through it later. I have a meeting with Lord Eastman in an hour.”

  “But I thought this was urgent.”

  “It is. Summarize, then, and I will look at the ledgers when I return.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. Charlie was going to relish every moment of telling his tale. Hunt stifled a yawn, almost wishing he’d gotten some sleep last night, but he wouldn’t have missed Elise’s passion for anything. Still, he needed a cup of coffee to wake him up.

  “I’ve got the names you wanted.”

 
“Doyle,” he guessed.

  Charlie nodded. “And a few others. And one surprise. Well, it was a surprise to me, but perhaps not to you.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Charlie! Just tell me.”

  “Everything started to come clear when I compared the insurance and investment records with the bank records. I could eliminate most names as coincidence. Auberville is one of those.”

  Hunt had never considered Auberville a viable suspect. He nodded for Charlie to continue.

  “I also eliminated the two Lloyd’s names. That left us with Gavin Doyle, Lord Eastman and Edward Langford.”

  Not possible. Eastman? He had wondered, but he always came back to one inescapable fact—why would Eastman request an outside agent to investigate this matter if he was involved? He had known they were looking at bank records, and thus he had to know they’d find those deposits. Had Hunt been too hasty in assigning Doyle the blame of hiring someone to kill him? Had it been— “Eastman? Are you sure, Charlie?”

  “Positive. You see, according to the bank, deposits were recorded after insurance payoffs, investments returned, and one more thing.”

  “Out with it, Charlie,” Hunt groaned.

  “From the Lloyd’s list of dates that ships were pirated, I made one last comparison. Only the men on that list recorded deposits every single time a ship was pirated—even if they hadn’t invested in or insured it. Every single time, Hunt. But Eastman’s participation only dates to this past September.”

  “Too much for coincidence,” he conceded. He closed the top ledger and tapped it with his finger. “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Just us.”

  “You can tell Auberville and Ethan, but no one else until I’ve verified the facts. If anyone asks, you’re still working on the problem. Understand?”

  It was Charlie’s turn to nod as he stood and headed for the door. “Are you still going to meet with Lord Eastman?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Hunt muttered before the door closed.

  Something about Charlie’s findings troubled him and he pulled the ledgers toward him, running his finger down columns. Yes, Charlie was right. There were far too many deposits for these men than could be accounted for by coincidence. The one thing Charlie hadn’t mentioned was that Doyle’s accounts were diminishing. He had withdrawn large sums of money intermittently ever since his return to London. Blackmail payments? Gambling debts?