Tom broke eye contact with her and glanced back over to Alec. “She’s a tough little miss, ain’t she?” He sounded surprised and impressed.
Alec nodded. “Aye, she is.” He pulled out some bank notes from his pocket and placed the money on the bench. “For the use of your back room, my friend. And here is a further two pounds, for one more favor.”
“Take yer money, ye toff,” Tom scolded. “The room’s yer’s free of charge. And of course, I’ll do ye a favor, you know I’ll always help a McGuiness.”
And he would, too. Alec’s brother had saved Tom’s son, a long time ago, and the man had sworn to always assist any of the McGuiness men whenever he could. He was a good man, Tom. “My thanks to you.”
“So, what’s this favor, then?”
“I need you to get a message to the McGuiness town house. You do still remember the address, don’t you?”
Tom scoffed. “I may be gettin’ old, but I had to put you in a hackney often enough when you couldn’t hold ya drink proper, that I remember the town house address better than me own.”
Alec smiled. “I need you to get a message to Malcolm Dalton there, telling him to bring an unmarked carriage around to the back here as quickly as he can.”
“I’ll send one of me boys to do it, straightaway.” Tom shook his hand again. “Go and ’elp yerselves to the room in the meantime—just go through that there door, and then it’s ya first door on the left. I’ll bring ya both some ale while ya wait.”
“As usual, my friend, I appreciate your help.” Alec clapped him on the back before taking Connie’s elbow. He turned to her to say something, he was sure, but he suddenly found himself completely lost for words.
It was almost as if there was a charge of lightning running between them, with the feel of her arm beneath his fingers, searing in its intensity, even with the fabric of her gown between their flesh. He’d been trying all day to banish the memories of what it had felt like to touch her last night. To kiss her, to caress her, to almost make love to her.
And he’d woken up this morning vowing to never touch her again. Because part of him was scared that if he did, he’d never be able to stop. And now all he could think about was touching her. Even with all that was happening.
She was like a drug in his system. And becoming reliant on a drug led to destruction of first the body and then the mind. That much he knew from experience.
“After you.” He dropped his hand from her arm and took a deliberate step away.
Connie said nothing, simply inclined her head in that regal manner of hers that managed to convey her displeasure, all without uttering a single word. The queen could take pointers. Connie really had been born to be a duchess.
The thought made him slightly wistful, but that was a good thing, as it reminded him of who she was and what he could never be for her.
They entered the back room, which was sparsely furnished with a wooden table and two chairs sitting in the left corner and a somewhat tattered lounge pushed against the right wall.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Alec took a seat at the table, while Connie sat on the lounge. For some reason there was a slight awkwardness between them, which was odd considering all they’d been through together recently.
It was Connie who broke the silence. “Who do you think was shooting at us back there?”
“I don’t know.” Alec had asked himself that very question a short while ago. “Whoever it was wanted Seraphina dead. The first shot was aimed directly at her.”
“Do you think it was the person she alluded to as having an ax to grind?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I couldn’t imagine Fergus shooting her. Every time I’d seen him with her, he did seem besotted.”
“I really don’t know,” he said again. “Whoever shot her, though, was a darn good marksman.”
“Do you think she felt the bullet hit her?” Connie sat, staring off into the distance, her fingers gripping the skirts of her dress tightly. “I mean, she was sitting next to me talking one minute, and then in the next, she was dead. Her life snuffed out in a blink.”
Alec ran a hand through his hair. Death was always a difficult thing to deal with, especially to witness firsthand. “No, she would not have felt a thing.”
“I’m glad of it,” Connie replied. “Though I do feel guilty. At first, I wasn’t sure what had happened. There was so much blood everywhere. When I realized you were fine and it was Seraphina who had been shot, I was…I was relieved.” She raised her eyes up to his. “So very relieved that you were safe.”
It was how he’d felt, too. Seeing the glass of the window behind the ladies shatter inward, and then blood spraying everywhere, had scared the hell out of him. Immediately he’d thought Connie had been hit, and his first thought had been to get to her.
Nothing else had mattered.
“’Tis natural to feel that way.” Alec had to clear his throat from the sudden dryness that gripped it. “We’ve known each other for years, Connie. Of course you’d be worried about me, as I was worried about you.” That made perfect, logical sense. And logical sense was all it could mean to him.
The last time he’d cared about a woman, he’d had his heart broken. A situation that should never have happened in the first place, as he should have learned his lesson after his mother abandoned him. Instead, he’d thought Elise would be different.
He’d been so caught up in the fantasy of creating a life with her and finally having a family of his own, one he would never abandon, that he hadn’t seen her for what she really was.
A woman using him to get to his brother in an attempt to secure a title.
It was a mistake he had no intention of repeating.
“It was more than just that, Alec.” Her voice was soft but fierce. “I care about you. And that’s not all—”
“Don’t,” he nearly yelled as a restless energy engulfed him. He stood, pushing the chair back up against the wall. “Caring about others equates to hurt, you of all people should know that. Look at all the hurt your mother has caused you, not to mention Duncan. And the last two women who said they cared about me either left me or betrayed me. I don’t need a woman to care about me, Connie. I don’t need you.”
Connie stood, too, bristling like a small thunderstorm in a fury of blue velvet satin. “Well, I don’t need you, either, Alec McGuiness!”
She stalked across to him and poked him in the chest, the skirts of her dress and crinoline pressing tightly against his thighs.
“You’re carrying on as if I’m about to declare my undying love and devotion to you! Which I can assure you is certainly not the case.” She took in a deep breath. “However, just because Duncan and my mother hurt me greatly doesn’t mean I’m going to stop caring about others. I’m not giving them that power over me any longer. So, yes, I do care about you, but that doesn’t mean I want a happily ever after with you. In fact, I have no intention of shackling myself in marriage ever again.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” The thought brought a bead of sweat to his brow. Marriage to Connie would make him more vulnerable than he’d ever been. She knew him as no one else did. A power his mother had possessed and had used to stomp all over his heart.
They stood glaring at each other, only inches apart, their chests heaving up and down as if they had just run again.
“What happened to make you so frightened of caring for someone?” Connie asked.
The pain and hurt from every single person he’d loved rose to the surface. “Aside from the fact that my father basically tossed me aside when I was seven, thinking I wasn’t his son, and then my mother abandoned me when I was twelve to elope with an Italian count?”
Alec hated the sound of hurt in his voice, but he couldn’t mask it any longer. If she wanted to know why he was so fearful of caring for others, then he’d tell her.
“Having
not learned enough from those experiences, I made the mistake of opening my heart to a woman with whom I had started to dream of building a future. A woman who ended up betraying me with my own brother. That’s why I’m scared of caring for someone, Connie. Because everyone I’ve ever loved has bloody well hurt me.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Staring down at the mess that had been Lady Tarlington, Jarrod shook his head slowly. Death was always a nasty business, but it was especially so when it involved a bullet to the head and rendered the poor lady barely identifiable. A lady who from all accounts had been a beautiful woman.
The poor woman hadn’t had a chance. And from what the gardener had told him, she’d been meeting with their fugitives, the Duchess of Kilmaine and Doctor Alec McGuiness, when she was killed.
Two people who were now wanted for questioning in not one murder but three.
“She’s clearly becoming more mentally unstable as the hours pass.” The inspector’s voice carried through the space as he wandered around the greenhouse and came to stand beside Jarrod.
“Who, the Duchess of Kilmaine?”
“Yes, of course.” The inspector wore a look of belittlement on his face. “She was seen by our men practically standing over the body of the apothecary’s assistant in King Street only an hour ago, and now, poor Lady Tarlington made the mistake of talking with her.” He held a handkerchief to his mouth. “Such a tragedy. If only your men had been able to capture her sooner, this poor lady might still be alive.”
“Well, begging your pardon, inspector, but I don’t know if we should leap to such conclusions just yet.”
“Conclusions?” The man scoffed. “They’re facts, sergeant. What else do you suppose happened? The obvious answer is the duchess has lost her mind and is on a murderous rampage.”
Jarrod had to bite his tongue at the pronouncement. This was one of Scotland’s finest investigators? One of Jarrod’s first-year constables could do a better job of assessing the scene. “With all due respect, sir, the bullet penetrated into the back of Lady Tarlington’s skull, and the glass shards from the windows behind are shattered inward, sir. That would suggest the shooter was outside in the gardens.”
“What of it?” the inspector asked. “Obviously the duchess was outside waiting for her.”
In Jarrod’s opinion, there was nothing obvious about it. “The gardener said he saw the duchess and Doctor McGuiness go into the greenhouse, and several servants who heard the shots said that when they looked out the windows from upstairs, they saw two figures running from the back of the greenhouse. And those two figures were wearing the same clothes as the two people in the apothecary store who my men saw earlier.”
Jarrod waited for the flare of recognition to appear in the inspector’s eyes, but the man was still staring at him blankly.
“That would suggest the duchess and Doctor McGuiness were in the greenhouse when the shots were fired, so they couldn’t have been the ones to shoot Lady Tarlington.”
“Oh, that’s just nonsense, sergeant,” the inspector blasted. “I’ve made my determination. The duchess murdered Lady Tarlington. Case closed.” The man clapped his hands together. “Now I suggest you and your men do all you can to catch the duchess as soon as possible. She will not get away under my watch, or else it will be your head on the chopping block. I do hope I am making myself clear, sergeant?”
Jarrod bowed stiffly. “Crystal, sir. Crystal.”
“Very good. I shall await word of her capture, then, at the station.” The inspector gave Jarrod a curt nod before turning on his heel and marching out of the greenhouse.
A few minutes later, as Jarrod was taking notes in his notebook and conferring with some of his constables, he heard yelling and a ruckus coming from the path leading toward the town house, before Lord Fergus Campbell barged past his officers stationed at the entrance of the greenhouse. The man looked absolutely furious, but Jarrod could also see the fear in his eyes.
“Try to block his view, boys,” Jarrod said to the two officers beside him. He tucked his notebook and pen inside his jacket pocket and strode up to where Fergus was barreling down the path toward him.
Lord Fergus was definitely on the short side, extremely compact, and the man looked very determined. Jarrod braced himself for the impact as he put up his hands and physically grabbed Fergus. “Your grace, you don’t want to see her. I promise you, you don’t.”
“Dammit, man, let me go.” Fergus yelled as he twisted and turned, trying to break free of Jarrod’s grip.
But Jarrod had too many years of experience dealing with men resisting arrest to be fazed or overpowered by the man. Gradually Jarrod pushed him farther backward, strategically navigating him away from the sight of Lady Tarlington’s body. “I shan’t be letting go until you calm down, sir.”
“How dare you,” Fergus blasted. He struggled for a moment further, until suddenly all the fight left him, and his hands fell limply by his sides. His jaw started to clench tightly, and his chest heaved up and down. “It’s true, then? She’s…dead?”
Jarrod let go of him and took a step backward. “Aye, ’tis true, I’m sorry to say.”
Fergus nodded and then continued nodding for a good ten seconds. Jarrod could tell the man was trying to compose himself. Finally, when it seemed he had, he glanced directly at Jarrod. “Did she suffer at all?”
“No. It was quick and painless.”
The man took in a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s good. That’s a good thing. It is a good thing, isn’t it?”
Fergus’s eyes started desperately searching Jarrod’s, a slight sense of panic in their depths. It was an expression Jarrod had seen all too many times. “’Tis a very good thing,” he reassured the man.
“But tell me this,” Fergus began. “Was it my sister-in-law who killed her?”
A question that Jarrod was going to have to weigh his response to, rather carefully, considering the inspector’s view. Because if he was openly going against the inspector’s findings, then he could all but kiss his career goodbye. But then Jarrod had never been politically minded, a fact which often brought him to the attention of his bosses. And not in a good way, either. Still, he had to be truthful. “I don’t think she did.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think she did? If it was not Constance, then who killed her?” The man was starting to get angry again. “Don’t tell me it was Dr. McGuiness?”
“I don’t think it was either of them, actually.”
“I don’t understand,” Fergus said. “I just passed Inspector Johnson, and he assured me that the duchess and Doctor McGuiness would be captured by nightfall for this atrocity. What did he mean by that, if it is as you say that Constance and Alec were not responsible?”
“I appreciate that it may seem they were responsible for her death, however there are several witnesses from your own household who have confirmed that when they heard the first gunshot, they looked out the windows from upstairs and saw someone rustling around in the bushes outside the greenhouse before further gunshots rang out from the same location.”
“It could have been Alec or Connie out there, lying in wait for my Seraphina.”
Good Lord, did all these gentlemen think alike, and make such leaps in their conclusions, too? “After the last shot sounded, the witnesses then saw a man and a woman running from the greenhouse and down the path to the back-alley entrance. The two people were dressed in identical clothes to what some officers saw the duchess and Alec McGuiness wearing earlier today. That is why I believe they couldn’t have been the shooters.”
“Dammit! They were involved in all of this.” Fergus dragged a hand through his hair. “If they hadn’t come to see her in the first place, she would still be alive. That makes them responsible for her death, regardless of whether or not they physically pulled the trigger.” He seemed to compose himself and slowly straightened up. “I sugge
st you direct all your resources into finding them, sergeant, or my men and I will. And I can’t guarantee the outcome when we do.”
“Yes, sir. We will find them.” And Jarrod was hoping they did. Grief did strange things to men. In some, it made them extremely morose, wanting to retreat from everyone. In others, it made them tremendously mad and thirsting for revenge. Lord Fergus definitely appeared to be among the latter half of mourners. It was going to make Jarrod’s job all the harder, as Lord Fergus had the blunt and the resources to actually try to do what he said he would, and such a situation wouldn’t bode well for anyone.
He was going to have to set one of his constables to watch the man, which was a damn annoyance, as it meant they would be a man down in their hunt to find the duchess. And find her first they must, because Jarrod got the sense that if Fergus came upon her before the police, he may well shoot first before asking questions, without letting Lady Justice do her work.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Though Connie had experienced the sharp and oftentimes devastating pain of Duncan’s fists, and her mother’s betrayal of not helping her, at least she’d always been secure in the knowledge that her father and brother loved her. She couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like if they, too, had betrayed her, like all of Alec’s family had him.
Alec’s fear of caring for anyone or having them care for him was beginning to make perfect sense. A horribly perfect sense.
Of course, she’d heard all about his father and mother’s scandalous Scottish divorce. Her mother had made certain of that, especially after his mother eloped with her Italian count, causing one of the greatest scandals Derbyshire had seen in years. Connie had been too young at the time to understand any of what had occurred, but as she grew older, her mother’s thinly veiled references continued to be mentioned, especially when Alec made an appearance. And her mother had seemed to become even more vocal about the whole thing after Alec returned from the Highlands and began attending the various assemblies and balls that she and her mother did. But Connie’s mother had always been difficult. No one could ever do anything good enough for her exacting standards.
The Sinful Scot (Saints & Scoundrels) Page 24