Jack saw in Swindler’s eyes that he immediately caught the connection. Luke’s father had been murdered by Luke’s uncle in an attempt to gain the earldom. It was Luke’s uncle who had paid Jack sixpence to lure a family—Luke’s family—into an alley. He’d hired men to ambush them there. His actions had irrevocably changed all their lives.
“Have you reason to suspect—”
“The duke had no surviving brothers. However, Beckwith told me of two cousins”—Jack handed him a slip of paper—“the first is next in line, the other follows. I need you to find out everything you can about them.”
With a curt nod, Swindler tucked the paper inside his jacket.
The duchess again came to her feet. Could she not speak while sitting? “You’re going to investigate my husband’s family?”
“Something is amiss here, Duchess,” Jack told her honestly. “The duke said I was to protect Henry. Protect him from what? An overzealous mother? I hardly think that likely.”
She looked at him as though she thought he should take up residence at Bethlem Royal Hospital for the mentally ill. “So you think my husband’s cousins would murder my son to gain the title? Is that what you’re suggesting? My dear sir, that is the stuff of novels, not reality.”
“Tell that to the Earl of Claybourne.”
“I’d heard—” Blinking, she sat back down as though her knees had given out on her. “I thought it was only gossip. You know how people are. You don’t truly think Henry is in danger…?”
“I don’t know what else to think, Olivia.”
She was too distressed to notice the familiarity he’d used, or perhaps she no longer thought it important enough to warrant her wrath. Swindler, damn him, did notice and rubbed the side of his nose with his forefinger, a signal he’d developed in their youth to indicate when someone was giving too much of himself away. Swindler had been one of Feagan’s lads, the best at ferreting out information.
“Well,” Jack snapped, irritated that Swindler might mistakenly believe he cared more for the widow than he did. “What are you waiting for? You know what I need.”
Like all of Feagan’s lads, Swindler was accustomed to Jack issuing the orders, so he took no offense. He got up, walked to Olivia, and crouched before her. “Duchess, were you aware of any threats?”
The man sounded so nauseatingly sympathetic, so irritatingly caring. He’d never been one to shy away from revealing his feelings if he thought doing so would gain him an advantage. Olivia would no doubt think he was bloody wonderful. Good. She could marry him and Jack could turn this whole mess over to Swindler. If trouble was afoot, he’d no doubt be the best at discovering what it was and properly dealing with it.
Olivia slowly shook her head as though she could hardly believe the matter had come to this. “No, I, no, not that I’m aware.”
“How did your husband die?”
“He slipped on the stairs and struck his head.”
“Was he prone to being clumsy?”
“Of course not.”
“Were there any witnesses to the mishap?”
“I saw what happened.”
“Did anyone else see him slip?”
She hesitated, and Jack could see she was running various scenarios through her mind, weighing how best to answer. She’d seen him fall, possibly the only one, so if her word were brought into question—
“Swindler, he slipped,” Jack said. “The stairs are marble, treacherous as ice. I almost lost my footing last night. I don’t think you’ll learn anything by pursuing that avenue.”
“Quite right.” Swindler unfolded his body. “I’ll see what I can find.”
A light rap sounded on the door. The footman opened the door and a female servant carried in a tray holding a tea service.
“Oh,” Olivia said, coming to her feet somewhat unsteadily. If last night had been a shock for her, Jack could only imagine what the past few minutes had been. Yet still she remained gracious. “Your tea, Inspector.”
“Thank you, but I really must be off. Another day, perhaps.”
“I’ll see you out,” Jack said, grateful Olivia seemed too unsettled to join them. He followed Swindler into the hallway and, once they were beyond the hearing of the footman, asked in a low voice, “You’re not thinking she tripped him up.”
“No. She was worried about me thinking that, though. He couldn’t have been very old.”
“He was quite old, actually. In his early fifties, I’d say.”
“Twenty years from now, you won’t think fifty is so old. Why do you think she married him?” Swindler asked.
“I don’t know. Do I need to find out?”
Swindler shrugged. “Probably not important unless we begin to suspect he was murdered.”
“I can’t see her murdering anyone.”
“Know her well, do you?”
“I know her hardly at all,” Jack admitted reluctantly. “Doesn’t mean my assessment doesn’t have merit. There was a reason I was very skilled at determining which pockets were worth the trouble to pick.”
“And there’s a reason you’ve asked me to investigate the matter for you.”
“You’re quite right, but I also want you to look into another issue.” They walked from the hallway into the foyer, which was absent of servants. “Make some inquiries and see if you can discover if the duke engaged in any perversions.”
“Perversions?”
“With young boys, specifically.”
Swindler came to a halt, his gaze discerning. He was very clever, perhaps the cleverest of Feagan’s lads. Jack knew by setting Swindler on this trail that Swindler would eventually figure out the aspects of Jack’s past that he’d always wanted to remain secret, but it was a risk he was willing to take in order to discover the truth. While he suspected Lovingdon was not the man who’d bought and abused him, he needed confirmation to put any lingering doubts to rest.
Jack cleared his throat. “I know I was never your favorite among Feagan’s lads, but do this favor for me, will you? Find out if her son is in danger.”
“I’ll make some inquiries, but I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it because Frannie would want me to.”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“Go to hell.”
Jack laughed. “You’re too late with that command, mate. I’ve been there since I was born.”
Still chuckling, he strode back down the hallway. For a man who was suddenly saddled with unwanted responsibilities, his mood was improving. Olivia would see to the affairs of his household, leaving him free to take care of the matters that were important to him. Entering the library, he was surprised to see Olivia sitting at his desk, looking through his ledger. He snatched it from her and closed it smartly. “You’re still here?”
She rose, her eyes narrowing as though she’d discovered the pages in his book were all blank. “I don’t believe he was truly an inspector from Scotland Yard.”
Jack arched a brow. “You don’t? Then who was he?”
“Obviously someone of your acquaintance. You gave it away by offering him some spirits. But I don’t believe for one moment you’d be friends with an inspector. I think all this was just an elaborate ruse to make me think my son is in danger, to make you appear more important than you are.”
“To what purpose?”
She seemed to hesitate, then thought better of it. “I haven’t determined what you wish to gain. Perhaps my leaving you in peace.”
“That would certainly be worth obtaining.”
She opened her mouth—
“No, you may not take your son to the country.”
“To my sister-in-law’s then. For a couple of hours.”
“No.”
“You can’t hold us prisoner.”
“Until I’m assured you’re safe, I can.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Damned if I know,” he growled and walked to the window. “Take two footmen with you. They’re to watch you and the boy at all times
.”
He heard her sigh of annoyance.
“My world is much more civilized than yours. I assure you, we’re in no danger,” she said, her voice filled with certainty.
“Then why me?” He spun around to discover she’d approached silently. She staggered back, while he fought not to. Devil take her. Who’d have thought she had the skills of a burglar? “Why me?” he repeated, not bothering to hide his anger, hoping she wouldn’t realize how her proximity rattled him. Why did she have to smell so incredibly enticing? She was in mourning, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t she smell like death delivered? “I’m intimately familiar with the dark side of London. Why did your husband think your son needed a guardian with that knowledge? The one thing I’m good at is surviving. I’ve lived alone on the streets since I was five. I know danger when I sense it and I can read men with uncanny accuracy. If there is no danger, then why me?”
Her delicate brow pleated, and he forced his hands behind his back, holding them tightly to prevent himself from reaching up to smooth away the worry.
“You said he came to your club. Was it for the women?” Her voice had caught at the end as though she’d had to push the word out from the soles of her feet.
“He had you, why would he seek comfort elsewhere?” The words of reassurance felt strange on his tongue, but not as strange as the tightening in his gut with the thought of Lovingdon having her in his bed, at his dining table, in his library, at his side.
“Perhaps I was not enough,” she said softly.
Devil take her. All Jack knew for certain was that Lovingdon hadn’t gambled. He kept records of who purchased chips and in what quantities. “It wasn’t the women.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I’d have thought you’d be skilled at lying.”
Why should he care if she was unhappy? But for some incomprehensible reason, he did. “I never saw him with one of my girls. That’s the truth of it. He didn’t gamble and I never saw him drink.”
“Then why was he there?”
“He watched.” It sounded perverted, even to his ears.
“What did he watch?”
He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit that Lovingdon had been watching him. Whenever he spied the man, Lovingdon had been studying Jack as though he was some sort of mystifying creature. Perhaps this was all some sort of experiment. Move a man up in the world and see if it caused him to become a better man. The irony, of course, was that since he was dead, Lovingdon would never know the results. “He just watched all the goings on. Some people are like that.”
“For what purpose?”
“Because they haven’t the guts to do anything. They fear moral judgments. How the hell should I know? Go to your sister-in-law’s and leave me in peace. But don’t give one moment’s thought to going to the country. If I have to come after the boy, I’ll make your life miserable.”
“I daresay, Mr. Dodger, that I’d hardly be able to tell the difference since you make it miserable now.”
With fury equal to his, she spun on her heel and marched to the door. Watching the lovely sway of that backside as she made her exit, he decided he’d have to say things to force her to leave more often.
Chapter 7
Olivia conceded that going to see the Duchess of Avendale had been a mistake, because now Henry had a rabid curiosity about the Great Exhibition, after his cousin told him about all the wondrous things he’d seen. To make the situation worse, she returned home to discover she had a caller waiting in the parlor. While Helen took a very tired Henry up to the nursery for an afternoon nap, Olivia removed her black veiled hat, placed it on a table in the foyer, and replaced it with the widow’s cap she’d left there before leaving. She felt as though she’d gotten caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to and might be on the receiving end of a scolding.
Edmund Stanford, Viscount Briarwood, had chosen an inopportune moment to visit. Her husband’s cousin had kindly handled the matter of the funeral and had overseen Lovingdon’s final journey to the family crypt at the ancestral estate. He’d provided her with a strong shoulder to lean on. The notion that he would murder Henry and usurp the titles was ludicrous.
After patting a few final stray strands back into place, she strolled into the parlor.
“Lord Briarwood, how kind of you to call. I do hope you’ve not been waiting long.”
Briarwood bowed. She could see the family resemblance in the cut of his squared chin. He was only a few years younger than Lovingdon had been, but already his wheat-colored hair was fading to white. He’d not inherited the family’s tendency toward tallness. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in width, a shape that gave him a rather intimidating mien.
“Only a moment or two, Duchess. Quite honestly, I was surprised to discover you were making the rounds.”
Olivia felt the warmth flush her cheeks at the chastisement in his voice. “I merely visited my sister-in-law. She’s only recently widowed herself, and I thought she could offer me some advice on dealing with the wretched sorrow.”
“Of course, forgive me for my presumption. I can only imagine how difficult all of this has been for you—”
I suspect you truly have no idea.
“—and allow me to again offer my condolences on your loss. Your husband is now at rest in the family crypt.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done. I can think of no way to repay you your kindness.”
“Think nothing of it. I promised Lovingdon I’d keep an eye on you, don’t you know?”
Olivia couldn’t prevent a fissure of unease from traveling through her. It was a woman’s lot in life to answer to her husband, and suddenly she had far too many men hovering around her, making demands, and voicing expectations.
A maid brought in the tea service. Once she left, Olivia and Briarwood took their chairs in a small sitting area with a narrow table between them. Briarwood was not as lean as her husband had been, and the chair groaned beneath his bulk.
“When did Lovingdon ask you to look after me?” Olivia asked quietly as she poured them tea.
“I can’t remember exactly. You know how it is. Men ask each other for favors all the time, never really expecting they’ll be collected. I came here as soon as I returned to London. I wanted to make certain everything was in order. The will was read last night, was it not?”
Olivia’s hand jerked and the cup rattled on the saucer as her gaze jumped to his. She could see her husband in his expressive green eyes. Lovingdon’s eyes had been the same pale green, carried the same look of regret. When Lovingdon smiled, the joy never lit his eyes. It was almost as though he’d lived his life in mourning. She wished he’d confided in her, but like so many in the aristocracy, theirs was not a marriage of the hearts.
She waited until Lord Briarwood had taken the cup from her to speak. “Yes, yes, it was.”
“Who did he name as guardian?”
She lifted her own cup, took a quick sip. “Who would you have thought?”
He grinned as though they’d been sharing a secret and could now tell the world. “I’d have thought he’d name me. We never spoke about the specifics, but I seem the most logical, being family and all—and the next in line. I want you to know that I consider it an honor to watch over both the young duke and you.”
His presumption left her with a foul taste she couldn’t explain. She was certain he had no ill will toward Henry, and yet she was bothered by his audacity—to assume so much. She was letting Dodger influence her. She’d have never been suspicious if he hadn’t planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. “My lord, I truly appreciate your sentiments, more than you realize. Unfortunately, my husband named Jack Dodger as guardian.”
Briarwood looked as though she’d jabbed him with a fireplace poker. “The Jack Dodger?”
“Yes, quite.”
Clearly baffled by the turn of events, he stared at her as though she’d been responsible for them. “What would compel Dodger to give a care about a lord’s son?”
/> “I’m afraid I can’t even begin to guess, but Lovingdon secured his interest by leaving him all his non-entailed possessions.” Because Briarwood was next in line, she thought he had a right to know. If he’d not been seeing to her husband’s remains, she was fairly certain he’d have been in attendance last night.
Shaking his head, he studied his teacup as though trying to memorize the pattern of the flowers that surrounded the delicate bone china. Then he lifted his gaze to hers. “Dodger must have blackmailed him.”
“Blackmailed him? Whatever are you talking about?”
“He must have threatened Lovingdon with exposing him for some misbehavior or some such.”
Olivia pondered the possibilities. She couldn’t imagine Lovingdon misbehaving. Considering Dodger’s outburst earlier, it was obvious he was as perplexed as anyone regarding the conditions of the will.
“We’ll contest the will,” Briarwood suddenly announced emphatically, as though no other conclusion could be drawn and she’d agree with him. “It might create a scandal, but I can’t see that we have any other choice. Having Dodger as guardian is taking a quick route to disaster. I daresay, your son will be tainted, his respectability questioned.”
“Mr. Beckwith said the will couldn’t be challenged.”
“Of course he said that. Less work for him that way.”
“And less expense for you,” a deep voice rumbled.
Olivia screeched, jumped, and upset her teacup, pouring hot tea over her skirts. Fortunately, she had enough petticoats that she was saved from any serious injury. She set her saucer and cup aside, grabbed a linen napkin, and began blotting the tea and wiping it from her hands. The man had the infuriating habit of appearing where he wasn’t expected. “I don’t recall inviting you into the parlor, Mr. Dodger.”
He held out his hands in the irritating manner that she was coming to recognize preceded irritating words. “I don’t require an invitation as it’s now my parlor. Afternoon, milord.”
Briarwood had come to his feet, his eyes narrowed as though he trusted Dodger as little as Olivia did. “Dodger,” he finally said.
Between the Devil and Desire Page 9