Staring at the bottom of his empty snifter as if the answer he sought was there, he said heavily, “The body has been recovered and the constable is already going around shaking his head about the tragic accident.”
“Not surprising since Constable Ragland is suspected of being in Nolles’s pay,” growled Barnaby.
Helping himself and Mathew to a snifter and some brandy, Luc asked, “Now why, I wonder, did they decide to kill Canfield?” Handing a snifter to Mathew, he added, “The murder, even if dressed up as an ‘accident,’ is dangerous when the victim is the son of a duke—even if only the second son and not the heir.”
Leaving his snifter on the mahogany hunt table with brass fittings for the various bottles and decanters, Luc waved the brandy decanter toward the other four men. All four lifted their snifters. After pouring brandy into the other snifters, he set down the decanter and, picking up his snifter, wandered over to stand in front of the fire.
The others, having been joined by Mathew, were scattered in a semicircle around the gray marble fireplace, the fire warm and pleasant against the chill of the November night.
The five men drank their brandy in silence, each contemplating what Canfield’s death might mean.
Lamb, seated to Barnaby’s right in one of several tall, winged armchairs upholstered in a gray and green damask, muttered, “I knew I should have been watching that blasted place tonight!” He shot Luc a glance. “I would have been if you hadn’t gone haring off to London.” Reminded of the reason Luc had ridden to London, the azure eyes narrowed and he drawled, “I understand from our mutual relative that congratulations are in order.”
Luc flushed. “I should have told you myself, but there wasn’t time.”
“Of course,” Lamb murmured, his tone indicating the opposite.
Luc’s mouth tightened, but before Luc and Lamb could fall out, Barnaby said quickly, “Were we wrong about Canfield? Perhaps he was not part of the smuggling operation after all?”
“Or,” Mathew said, “for the first time in his life Nolles is telling the truth and it was an accident.” He stared disapprovingly at Barnaby. “Have you forgotten that your wife’s cousin was with Nolles and Canfield tonight? I know he doesn’t have a good reputation, but do you honestly believe that Townsend would turn a blind eye to murder? Especially the murder of the son of duke?”
Barnaby and Lamb exchanged glances. They knew things about Townsend that the others didn’t. Townsend would, indeed, condone murder, as well as abduction and attempted rape, to save his own skin ... and he had already done so. If not for his timely intervention, Barnaby thought viciously, it wouldn’t have been attempted rape. If he and Lamb had not arrived when they did that night, Townsend would have stayed cowering in the barn so he wouldn’t hear Emily’s screams when Ainsworth raped her. His fingers clenched around the fragile stem of the snifter, almost snapping it. We should have killed him that night, he admitted, and not for the first time.
Simon frowned, saying slowly, “From what I’ve observed, I think that Townsend is too deeply in Nolles’s power to do anything but agree with whatever Nolles wants.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” snapped Mathew. “I’ll grant that you’re probably right about Padgett and Stanton being involved with Nolles in some way, but I have trouble believing that Canfield has, had, any part in an illegal operation.” Mathew shook his head. “I never liked any of them, and I never understood Tom’s affinity for their company.” Pain bloomed in the blue eyes, and he said thickly, “I understand it now and I think it is more than reasonable to assume that the three of them, Nolles, Padgett and Stanton, are involved in smuggling, but not Canfield. Good God! The man is, was, the son of a duke, and though he was known for his dissolute ways, I maintain that he would not lower himself to do business with a common smuggler.”
Bluntly, Simon said, “Do not forget, that our brother lowered himself to do business with Nolles. Do you think that Canfield’s ideals were higher than Tom’s?”
The stark anguish on Mathew’s face had them all looking away. There was a moment of silence and then Mathew said low, “You’re absolutely correct. A man with Canfield’s reputation probably wouldn’t hesitate to join in a lucrative operation like the one Nolles is running here.”
“It would be interesting,” Lamb said idly, “to know the exact spot where Canfield lost his life.”
“Why?” asked Luc, sending him a keen glance.
“Oh, just that earlier this year, I think it was January, Townsend’s dear friend Ainsworth came to a nasty end over those same cliffs,” Lamb answered. “As I recall they were both foxed when Ainsworth went over the cliffs into the sea. A remarkable coincidence, don’t you think, that Townsend should be around the second time when a drunken friend of his, an acquaintance if you will, takes a dive off the cliffs?”
An arrested expression on his handsome face, Mathew said, “I’d forgotten about Ainsworth’s accident.”
“But why did they kill Canfield?” demanded Simon. “A falling-out amongst thieves?” His expression troubled, he asked no one in particular, “St. John just arrived a few days ago ... could his appearance have anything to do with Canfield’s death?”
“I don’t know any of them well, but I’ve been puzzled by St. John’s apparent friendship with the others,” Luc admitted. “He always seemed the odd man out to me, but the thought crossed my mind that he could be the leader of the group. Frankly, the others haven’t impressed me with their powers of acumen.”
Both Mathew and Simon nodded, Mathew saying, “I don’t disagree. I’ve always dismissed Padgett and Stanton as dilettantes, and while St. John does join them from time to time, I do not think of him as being one of their set.” He smiled crookedly. “St. John was the only one of Tom’s friends who found favor with me.” He looked away. “I’d hoped that he would be a good influence on my brother and wean him away from Padgett and the others.”
“I think,” said Simon carefully, “that you’re forgetting that Tom and Nolles already had a partnership... . Even someone like Padgett could follow the path that Tom forged.”
Mathew nodded, his expression bleak. “I keep forgetting Tom’s part in all this.”
They speculated on the situation for another hour, before Luc set down his snifter and rose to his feet. “We’re going in circles. We can agree that Nolles and Townsend most likely murdered Canfield, or at the least, Townsend went along with the murder, even if he didn’t do the deed himself. I think we agree that Padgett, Stanton and Nolles are partners in the smuggling. St. John’s the wild card. He may be part of the partnership and he may not. Why Canfield was murdered, or if he was murdered, is open to argument, and based on the facts we have before us, it is unlikely we will come to a conclusion tonight—” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and, noting the time, corrected, “This morning.” Biting back a yawn, he concluded, “Gentlemen, it is late and it has been an eventful few days for me. I am afraid that I must seek my bed.” He sent a sleepy-eyed glance around the room. “As you know I am to be married within a day and have much to do to see that all is in readiness for my bride.”
Barnaby strolled with him outside where his horse waited. Watching Luc swing into the saddle, Barnaby said, “You could stay the night here, you know.”
Luc grinned at him. “Afraid to let me ride home by myself?”
Barnaby sighed. “Perhaps a trifle. What with Canfield’s death, I doubt that Nolles is thinking of wrecking vengeance on any of us right now, but ...”
Luc’s grin faded and he said softly, “But Nolles is going to have to die sooner or later, isn’t he?”
Barnaby nodded and stood watching his brother ride away into the night for a long time.
While Luc had been away, the ladies of Windmere and Gillian’s family had been busy arranging the wedding. Feeling like an onlooker, Gillian was present during many of the planning sessions, but the whole affair held a dream-like quality to her. She was to be married ... to Luc Joslyn. How c
ould that be? She barely knew the man. A flush stained her cheeks as memories of the night they had spent together riffled through her brain. Oh, she knew him all right, but she didn’t know him.
Only half-listening to the plans being made for her marriage to Luc, her thoughts drifted. She’d married Charles in a dewy-eyed haze, in love with love, while with Luc ... Her heart twisted in her chest. Older and wiser than she had been at eighteen when she married Charles, she was conscious that the emotions Luc aroused within her were deeper, stronger and more powerful than anything she had ever felt for Charles. She’d been positive when she married him that Charles had been the love of her life, but she knew differently now. Luc touched her in a way that Charles never had, and that knowledge terrified her. She should be paying attention to the plans being discussed, yet all she could do was wonder about Luc and their future together.
This afternoon, she, Silas and Sophia were visiting at the vicarage with the vicar and his wife, and lost in her own thoughts, Gillian stared down at her clasped hands as the conversation whirled around her. She loved Luc; she could not deny it. And because she loved him, she’d consented to the marriage. Luc desired her, wanted her, and she was aware that her body gave him pleasure, but once passion was slaked, would he come to resent her and the manner of their marriage? Her future would be in his hands ... would he treat her gently through the years or would she find herself married to another man like Charles? One who valued her not at all? She wondered if Charles had ever loved her or if he hadn’t had his eyes on her fortune right from the beginning. She shivered, remembering anew her horror and disgust when Winthrop had revealed how little Charles had valued her and their marriage.
“Are you cold?” asked Penelope kindly, having noted Gillian’s shiver. “Shall I send a servant for a wrap for you?”
Gillian forced a smile and shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m fine.”
They were seated in a charming lived-in room at the front of the vicarage. The chairs and sofas were covered in soft worn yellow chintz: the once brilliant colors of the rug on the floor had faded to shades of antique rose and pale green. Small oak tables were scattered here and there, a basket of knitting spilled onto the floor near one of the chairs, a rag doll lay slumped in the corner of the sofa and a desk littered with papers was against the far wall. Signs of refreshments, tea, coffee and little ginger and lemon cakes, rested on a big pewter tray on a low table in front of where Penelope sat.
Penelope sent her a long look, but then with a smile, she turned back to the conversation at hand, nodding at the vicar’s proposal that the marriage take place at the vicarage. Patting Gillian’s hand, Penelope said quietly, “Cornelia and I have discussed it and we think this would be best.” At Gillian’s surprised look, she added, “There will be enough gossip about the suddenness of your marriage as it is; the ceremony being performed here will lend an air of normalcy about the whole affair.”
Gillian could only nod, grateful for the kindness and understanding of both the vicar’s wife and the formidable Cornelia Townsend. The two older ladies were doing their best to put as respectable face on the situation as they could and her heart warmed.
When Gillian retired to bed that Wednesday night, it was with the knowledge that, except for a few minor details, the arrangements were settled. With Barnaby’s approval, Emily and Cornelia were hosting a dinner for the engaged couple on Friday night at Windmere. The vicar’s suggestion that the actual marriage ceremony take place at the vicarage at eleven o’clock in the morning on Saturday had met with universal approval by everyone involved. Bursting with pride, Silas announced that a celebration breakfast at High Tower would follow the nuptials.
Except for overseeing the packing and the removal of her things to Ramstone there was little for Gillian to do. Sophia and Silas were as excited as a pair of children at Christmas, both of them beaming at her, as if she’d done something wonderful. Stanley was not as caught up in the excitement as his cousin and uncle, but he did nothing to put a damper on things, although Gillian caught him studying her more than once. Wondering at the purple shadows under my eyes, no doubt, she thought unhappily.
The inhabitants of High Tower, involved in the preparations for the wedding and Gillian’s move to Ramstone, didn’t learn of Canfield’s death until late Friday morning when Luc came to call. Shown into the morning room where the family had been enjoying a late breakfast, Luc showed few signs of his swift trip to London and back.
The azure eyes under the thick black brows were bright and clear, and he had the look of a man who found the world to his liking as he strode into the morning room. Beyond one lightning glance at Gillian, his attention remained on the others.
Gillian’s heart leaped at the sight of him, that swift, possessive appraisal thrilling and terrifying her at the same time. She was glad his attention was on the others, for it allowed her to drink in the sight of that tall, muscular body and the darkly handsome features. From beneath lowered lashes, she stared at him, thinking he looked magnificent in a formfitting dark blue coat with brass buttons, his black hair waving near his temples. Dear God! Tomorrow they would be man and wife.
Even when Luc smiled at Silas and took the seat her uncle indicated, she could not tear her gaze away from him. He mesmerized her. Damn him!
“All went well?” Silas asked.
Luc nodded. “Mathew Joslyn accompanied me to London and smoothed the way. The special license is safely purchased—have no fear of that.”
“Well, my boy, you’re not the only one who has been busy these past few days,” Silas announced gaily. “We have made all the arrangements.” Quickly, he related the plans that had been laid.
Luc found nothing to fault. “Bon! You have matters well in hand.” He glanced at Gillian, catching her staring at him. The quick look away and the flush that stained her cheeks pleased him; the dark smudges under her eyes did not. The lady was not sleeping well and he was certain that their coming nuptials were the reason. He sighed inwardly. Their fate was sealed the moment he had taken her into his arms, carried her into her bedroom and made love to her.
Sophia finding them abed hadn’t changed anything: he’d known that marriage would be the result of that night of madness ... and passion such as he had never known. They would be married tomorrow and there was nothing he could do about it. Stunningly he realized that even if there had been a way not to marry her that he wouldn’t have taken it. With no little astonishment, he admitted that he wanted to marry her.
The conversation was general for several minutes before Luc begged a private word with Silas. Assuming it had something to do with the business end of the marriage, in particular money, Silas nodded, and a moment later, he and Luc left the others and retired to Silas’s study.
Taking a comfortable chair by the fire, Silas said, “You know, of course, that Gillian will not come to you penniless. She doesn’t know it yet, but I have settled a nice little sum on her and there is the cottage and three acres she inherited from Charles in Surrey.”
Luc didn’t care if Gillian came to him naked as the day she was born, but he understood that Silas’s pride demanded he provide a dowry for his niece.
“That’s very good of you,” Luc said. “I have already set up the accounts for her pin money and household expenses.”
They came to an understanding, and with that out of the way, Luc introduced the reason he wanted a private word with Silas: Canfield’s death. He did not mention that there might be more to Canfield’s death than met the eye.
Hearing the news, Silas stared goggle-eyed at him, exclaiming, “Upon my word! This is shocking. Just last night, you say?” He shook his head. “I didn’t like that young man and I always suspected he’d come to a bad end.” He took in a deep breath. “It isn’t very nice to say, but I am glad he was not staying here when it happened. I was most relieved to see the last of that young rakehell and couldn’t be happier that whatever friendship existed between him and my nephew had ended.” S
ilas frowned. “He was a stranger to the area, and when he and Stanley had their, er, disagreement, I expected him to head back to London. I cannot imagine what interest our little corner of Sussex held for the likes of him.”
Luc shrugged. “London is rather quiet this time of year. Perhaps Canfield was simply rusticating, seeking peace and enjoying a respite from all the hurry and flurry usually to be found in the city.”
“At The Ram’s Head?” Silas snorted. “If it was a respite he was after, he’d have been better off at Mrs. Gilbert’s Crown. Less expensive, better company and without the lure of the deep gaming I’ve been hearing from Stanley goes on at Nolles’s place these days.”
Canfield’s death worried Silas. Not the young man’s death, although he deplored it, but the whereabouts of those blasted vowels of Charles’s that Canfield had won from Winthrop. Where were they? he wondered uneasily. It wouldn’t do for them to fall into the hands of strangers. Silas moved restively. Once Gillian married Luc those debts became his, and if those damnable vowels surfaced ...
Silas eyed Luc. Should he warn him? He shied away from that. It wasn’t his tale to tell. Yet he was uneasy hiding the existence of those vowels from him. It smacked of dishonesty. His first loyalty, he decided heavily, was to Gillian, but he didn’t like the idea of handing her the problem. It was his duty to shield and protect her, but he didn’t see how he was going to do that.
Luc noticed his introspection and asked, “Sir? Is something troubling you? Your arm?”
Though he still wore the black sling, he barely paid any heed to his healing arm. The physician had said only yesterday that it wouldn’t be long before he could dispense with the sling altogether.
Desire Becomes Her Page 27