by C. J. Archer
On the other hand, there were a great number of things that didn't make sense where Oxley was concerned. For one thing, according to Cat, he'd saved her life. Added to which, there was intelligence in Oxley's eyes that could not be masked by a loose twist of the hand or a colorful hat. Oxley's duality had got Slade thinking. He took his thoughts to Hislop, a man with a keen eye for people.
"What do you think of Lord Oxley?" he asked Hislop as they finished their daily briefing. Hislop was useful for getting things done, not only with the estate, but with the household servants too. They now worked doubly hard for less pay. Slade assumed he'd threatened them with bodily harm. He didn't care. They were replaceable, and Slade Hall was in no position to be generous thanks to his clod of a brother.
Hislop put one booted foot on the edge of the desk and leaned back in his chair. Slade eyed the muddy sole, but said nothing. One did not tell a man like Hislop to lower his boot. He was a tall fellow and thickly muscled. A menacing gleam in his eye and the white scar slicing through his beard were usually enough of a deterrent to anyone who considered defying Slade's authority when Hislop was by his side. For those for whom it wasn't, his blade and fists were. Despite his tendency to use violence to solve everything, there was something alluring about Hislop too. Or perhaps it was the quick temper that made him so. Slade was as drawn to him as a moth to a flame. He knew Hislop might prove dangerous one day, but at the moment, he didn't care.
"He's hiding something," Hislop said in that no-nonsense manner of his. He didn't give his opinion unless asked, but when he did speak, it was always to the point. "I've thought it ever since you pointed him out to me. No man with that much physical presence can be so ridiculous."
"I agree. I also think he's hiding something interesting and of particular importance to me. "
Hislop narrowed his yellow eyes. "You think he's the assassin, don't you?"
Slade's heartbeat quickened, but whether from hearing it voiced aloud or from Hislop's intense stare, he couldn't fathom. Perhaps a little of both. "I don't know. He could be. Cat told me he asked some questions about Stephen's death, but that could have been curiosity. That's why I devised a little test, that day he came to me in London. I asked if he'd been to Slade Hall and he mentioned being in the woods two years ago. I asked if that was before or after the flood and he said before March Ninety-seven. But he couldn't have come then. There was indeed a flood, but I lied about the date. It came at the end of Ninety-six. The entire area was under water for the first four months of Ninety-seven."
"Perhaps he was mistaken about the timing of his visit."
Slade stroked his chin. "Perhaps. He did seem a little distracted during the conversation. There's something else that I find interesting. He's bloody rich."
Hislop shrugged. "He's an earl."
"That doesn't entitle him to wealth. Of course, you wouldn't understand."
A muscle high in Hislop's jaw bunched. Slade swallowed. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so condescending.
"I know for a fact that Oxley has been granted no exclusive licenses," Slade went on. "Admittedly he has extensive land holdings, but…" He shook his head. "I do wonder if he has another income source."
"Perhaps that's why he's sniffing around your sister-in-law," Hislop said. "If he is the assassin, he might have learned something that raised his suspicions about your brother's guilt."
"How could he? Stephen killed Crabb in cold blood. I made sure he did, just like I made sure there were enough clues for the assassin to find that out for himself."
"True, but by all accounts, the Assassin's Guild do not like anonymous clients."
"Then accounts must be wrong, because they cannot know it was us. No one has accused us."
"Not us, Slade. You." Hislop's smile turned predatory. The man ought to be careful. If Slade was uncovered as the person who commissioned Stephen's death, then he would make sure Hislop was found guilty too.
Slade tore his gaze away from that handsome, dangerous face with its scars and eyes that burrowed into a man's soul. "We need to find out whether Oxley is the assassin or not."
"And if he is, whether he suspects he was manipulated into killing your brother by none other than yourself."
Slade swallowed. He didn't like to hear it put so baldly. Of course Stephen had deserved to die. He was ruining the estate and the Slade name with his gambling obsession and neglect. Their father would have understood the need for action. No heir had been produced and neither Cat nor Stephen grew younger. If Slade had waited then time would have run out. This way he was still young enough to fix the estate problems, wed and produce his own heirs.
But if Oxley turned out to be the assassin and he suspected he'd been manipulated into killing a man, everything could have been for naught. The Assassins Guild was ruthless when it came to dispensing justice. "What did you do with the money the mayor gave you?" he asked Hislop. Money the assassin had anonymously stipulated was meant for Cat, no doubt to ease his conscience. But Cat hadn't needed it as much as Slade. After all, a woman would only waste it on frivolities. He'd made sure Hislop intercepted the purse and sent the mayor on his way with assurances that it would reach Cat. The mayor had either been too frightened of Hislop or too lazy to find out whether his errand had been dispatched according to the wishes of the fellow who'd given him the purse.
"Paid your debts, like you asked."
"Good. Good. But I do wonder if we should have given some of it to Cat. Perhaps Oxley wouldn't be coming after us now if we had."
"We don't know if he is," Hislop said with impatience. He crossed his long, powerful legs, causing the straps of muscle visible beneath his tight breeches to cord and relax. Slade swallowed heavily. "We don't know for certain if Oxley is the assassin. There's no proof."
"No," Slade said quietly, lifting his gaze to Hislop's face. "But why else is he offering to house her and give her an income? It doesn't make sense."
"Maybe he wants to fuck her."
Slade snorted and Hislop laughed at his own joke. Nobody wanted to tumble scrawny, plain little Cat. Slade quickly sobered. He frowned in thought and studied the ledger open before him. He hardly saw the numbers, however. The problem of the unknown assassin kept eating at him. Not for the first time, he wished he'd killed his brother himself. He'd allowed damned sentimentality to get in the way. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
"We need a plan," Hislop announced, getting to his feet. "One that will tell us unequivocally if Oxley is the assassin or not."
"What do you have in mind?"
"We have the perfect arrangement staring us in the face."
Slade looked at him askance. "What are you talking about? What arrangement?"
"When is a man at his most vulnerable?"
"When he's asleep?"
"Not to kill him, to learn his secrets."
Slade frowned harder. He couldn't think of any situation. When a man was awake, he could hold his tongue under torture if he had enough courage and conviction. He shrugged. "I don't know."
"When he's fucking."
Slade shook his head. He'd never understood how some men could let their guard down with a woman, or man, in bed. Fools, all of them. He would never be so weak. "Go on."
"We need to speak to Oxley's mistress," Hislop said, pacing the large study with long strides.
Slade licked his lips. "We could have her ask him subtle questions or sneak about his rooms when he's asleep. But how can we gain her trust? What if she won't do anything against him? We can't pay much."
Hislop stopped in the middle of the study and gave Slade one of his sly smiles. "That's where your sister-in-law comes into play."
"Cat? But what if he doesn't want her as his mistress? He's hardly likely to cast off his current woman for her skinny bones."
"I admit it's a gamble, but if she tries harder, it might happen. Tell her she must throw herself at him. Men like Oxley can't resist any woman if she's overt enough. Besides, she doesn't need to be a long-ter
m mistress, just for a few nights."
Slade wasn't convinced. Cat was much too ordinary for the sophisticated tastes of a gentleman like Oxley, even if she lifted her skirts and painted an arrow on her belly pointing to her womanly parts.
"Trust me," Hislop said. "I know men like Oxley. He won't be able to say no to her. Besides, he must be interested or he wouldn't have flirted with her."
"They've flirted?"
"God, Slade, do you know nothing about relations between men and women?"
Slade didn't, but he trusted Hislop. If he thought Oxley would take Cat then Slade believed him.
Good. It was settled. He always knew Cat would have a use one day. "The problem will be getting her to agree to it."
"I have a way. Make sure she's here after dinner this afternoon." He strode out the door, not answering a single question that Slade flung at him.
***
Cat had successfully avoided Slade since their return home. As usual, he and Hislop had gone about their business, leaving her to go about hers. With the weather warming up, she ventured into the village to visit friends or tend the gardens. With fewer servants to help out since Slade let most go, it was up to her to maintain the orchard and kitchen garden. There had been no more talk of marrying the blacksmith, or indeed any other gentleman, but instead of lifting her spirits, his silence on the matter unnerved her.
Perhaps now she was about to find out why that silence. He'd summoned her to his study. Unfortunately, when she entered the sparsely furnished chamber, he wasn't alone. Hislop was present and another man she knew as Wright, a grizzly, thick-set laborer from the village. He sported a fresh cut across his face, as if he'd been sliced by a blade only recently. His right shoulder seemed to sit a little lower than the other, too.
She eyed Hislop. The man's fingers flexed. He did not bow or acknowledge her in any way that a man in his position should. Wright tugged on his forelock and nodded a greeting.
"Ma'am," he said.
"That looks nasty, Mr. Wright," she said, scrutinizing his face. "How did it happen?"
He lifted his heavy lidded gaze to Hislop and winced. "Accident."
She knew she would get no answer from him. The threat of Hislop was too great. She suppressed a shudder. "Why have I been called in here?" she asked Slade. "Surely the wise woman can see to this poor man's injuries."
"There's something you need to hear," Slade said without rising from his chair. He was the only one sitting. Nor did he offer a chair to Cat. "It's about Stephen."
She promptly sat. She rarely thought about Stephen lately, and had certainly not expected to have a conversation about him now. Wright was the man who'd thrown cold water on the accident theory. He'd voiced his concerns to her at the time, and she'd raised it with Slade. He'd not listened of course. So why had he summoned the fellow now?
"Tell her," Slade ordered Wright.
Hislop kicked him in the shin and Wright grunted. "I remembered something about that day he died," Wright said, rubbing his leg. "Something new."
"Oh? How convenient." Either it was an outright lie or Wright had witnessed something at the time, but Slade had kept him quiet with a few coins and perhaps a promise not to have him arrested for poaching. If Slade had paid him off, why this display now?
"Aye," Wright said with a glance at Hislop. "The memory works in strange ways."
"Go on," Slade said, sounding bored. "Get on with it. Tell her about the man you saw."
"You saw someone?" She stared first at Wright then Slade. "Why was I not told?"
Slade stretched his neck out of his lace collar. Hislop bared broken teeth. "What business is it of yours?" he snapped.
"I was his wife!"
He lifted one massive shoulder and looked away from her to Wright. The laborer swallowed heavily. "Keep talking," Hislop said.
"I saw two men," Wright went on. "I overheard them talkin', too."
She waited, every sense alert to signals Wright gave off. If he lied, he was very good. If she had to put a wager on it, she'd say he was telling the truth. "What did they look like?"
"They were dressed like normal folk." He indicated his own clothing. Apparently patched up rags passed as normal in his view. "Both wore hoods that covered their faces. Both were tall, but one was a giant. Much bigger than me or Mr. Hislop here."
That certainly was big. Hislop had to bend to enter most doorways and his shoulders were like boulders. "He was the one carrying quiver and bow, but if he shot Lord Slade, I didn't see him do it."
Cat swallowed the bile burning her throat. Her husband was gone. She'd mourned him, despite learning how he'd left her destitute and at the whim of his merciless brother. She would not shed any more tears for him.
"The other fellow's hood came off after," Wright said. "I only saw his back. His hair was short and the color of wheat left out in the sun. Then I heard him call the giant somethin'." He screwed his face up. "Tole, Gole." He shrugged. "I was too far away to hear proper."
"Why are you telling me this now, Mr. Wright?"
Wright lowered his gaze, but not before it flicked in Hislop's direction. He touched the cut on his cheek. His fingers came away bloody. "Thought it was time to get it off my chest."
Cat's heart raced. She was almost sure now that Hislop had forced him to keep silent. Until now. But why?
Oh God. Surely not. Surely he had nothing to do with the death? If he had, then that meant Slade was behind his own brother's murder. He couldn't be that heartless. Could he? And if he were responsible, why was he forcing Wright to tell her now?
She mustn't show any sign that she suspected Slade's involvement despite her insides grinding like a millstone. She entwined her fingers in her lap and squeezed until she was able to muster some courage. She had to get out of there and avoid them, just as she'd managed to avoid them since returning from London. There was nothing she could do now except hope and pray that this would all blow over.
She made to get up, but Hislop forced her back down with a heavy hand to her shoulder. She glanced up at him and he winked. Winked!
"You may go," Slade said to Wright. "Cat, stay."
Like a good dog, she stayed. She was reminded again of the conversation in London with Slade and Oxley about wives and dogs. It was an absurd time to think of it. Must be her mind playing tricks as she struggled to suppress her fear. Lord, what she wouldn't do to be with Oxley now. Fop or not, at least he made her feel safe.
Wright shuffled out and Hislop shut the door. She studied her hands in her lap and prayed that she was mistaken about Slade and Hislop having something to do with her husband's murder. As much as she wanted to flee, she also wanted to know why they'd allowed her to hear Wright's evidence now, after silencing him back then. None of this was making sense.
Yet she asked no questions and waited for Slade to speak, just like a good woman should. Or should that be a good dog?
"Wright came to me with his story only today," Slade said idly.
Liar.
He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the desk. "Immediately, it set off bells in my head. You see, I had something of a revelation in London. Something that worried me at the time, but after hearing Wright's confession, got me even more worried. I think I'm right."
"Right about what, my lord?"
"Just listen," Hislop muttered. "Don't interrupt."
She wanted to remind him that he spoke to a lady, but he had too much influence over Slade. The simple fact that Slade didn't defend her honor proved it.
Slade stroked his chin. "I think the blond fellow Wright spoke of was Lord Oxley."
"What?" she exploded. "Don't be absurd. He's no murderer! He's an earl!"
She did not see Hislop's hand until it was too late. He hit her across the cheek, almost knocking her off the chair. She cried out and clutched her stinging face. She shrank away from Hislop, but he didn't try to hit her again.
"I told you not to interrupt," he growled.
She bit back
a thousand savage responses. None of them would do her any good now. The game had suddenly changed. It would seem Slade and his man had an interest in taunting her where before they simply ignored her. What game did they play? And how could she ever feel safe in her own home again?
"As I was saying," Slade went on as if his sister-in-law had not just been back-handed by his brute. "I have reason to suspect that Lord Oxley is a killer." He held a finger in the air. "For one thing, he's not what he seems. I'd wager he's no fop. No dandy ever had so many mistresses. No dandy could scare off a couple of thugs. No dandy would have the respect of the queen. Her Majesty may flirt with them, but there's more than that between her and Oxley, by all accounts." He held up another finger. "Second, he's taken an uncommon interest in you. Why would he do that unless he's got a reason?"
She couldn't think what that reason would be either. She was under no illusions that a gentleman of Oxley's pedigree had an interest in her. But Oxley was no murderer. Why would he kill Stephen? What could a wealthy and influential earl possibly have against a little known baron?
She didn't ask, but it was almost as if Slade could read her mind. "It may have something to do with a woman they shared," he said. "I know little about it, but I believe Oxley doesn't like other men fornicating with his mistresses."
Cat bristled. She knew Stephen had other women, but did he have to be so blunt about it? The man was crass as well as heartless.
He held out his hands, palms up, as if laying his evidence in her lap. "What do you think, Cat? Is love reason enough to kill?"
She lowered the hand that still touched her burning cheek. There was no blood, but she would soon sport a bruise. "I don't think Oxley is a murderer."
"Are you saying your lord and master is wrong?" Hislop drawled.
She eyed him warily. "Why are you telling me your theory?" she asked Slade.