She glanced at him as she sang. He was leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed, watching her. She stumbled on the words and turned quickly back to the music, a blush rising in her cheeks. The devil take the man!
She was careful not to look at him again.
Not long after that, Eleanor took her leave, thanking Juliana and Nicholas for the evening and the meal. She had, despite Lord Neale’s presence, enjoyed it. Neale, of course, was quick to offer his escort.
“Thank you, but it is not necessary, my lord,” Eleanor told him without any real hope that he would agree. “I can manage quite well, I assure you.”
“No doubt. But I insist.” His gray eyes gazed into hers challengingly.
“Of course.” Eleanor thrust her hands into her gloves with a trifle more force than was necessary.
She took the arm he offered and, with another farewell to their hosts, walked with him out to the waiting carriage. She allowed him to assist her into the carriage and watched, resigned, as he settled onto the seat across from her.
“Well?” he asked, as the coach rattled over the cobblestone streets. “Are you ready to answer my questions?”
Eleanor set her jaw. Her pride made her want to refuse. His very questions were an insult, and to answer them seemed to admit that he had some sort of right to question her. She hated to give him the satisfaction of explaining anything to him.
However, she had been thinking about the problem all evening, and she knew that it would be foolish to let her pride dictate to her in this matter. If she did not quash this story of his right at the beginning, she knew that he and his sister would spread the rumor all over the city. While she cared little for the opinion of the ton, she knew that this sort of story would travel into the set among which she and Edmund had socialized. She did care what many of that group thought of her, and such a rumor, once started, was difficult to dispel. Moreover, it would embroil Juliana in exactly the sort of situation in which Eleanor did not want to involve her. Juliana would, of course, defend her friend; Eleanor knew how loyal she was. And that would put her at odds with the aristocratic society in which her marriage to Lord Barre had placed her.
Above all, she did not want Edmund’s memory to be touched in any way by a scandal. His death had been a tragedy for the world of music, and she refused to let that fact be submerged under a storm of gossip and innuendo.
“I will not be questioned by you like a criminal,” Eleanor told him coldly. “However, I have no intention of allowing you to drag Edmund’s name or mine through the mud of scandal. So I will show you exactly how wrong you are.”
“Very well.”
They continued their ride to Eleanor’s house in stony silence.
When they pulled up in front of the elegant white townhome some minutes later, Eleanor saw to her surprise that it was blazing with lights. A little prickle of unease ran through her, and she hurried down from the carriage, ignoring Lord Neale’s proffered hand. He followed her as she swept up the steps and through the front door.
Instead of the tranquility of a houseful of inhabitants retired for the night, as one would have expected at this late hour, the front hall was a hubbub of people and noise. Two children in their nightgowns sat on the stairs, interestedly watching the scene below them, where several servants in varying states of dress milled around, everyone seemingly talking at once. At the center of the activity was a dark, attractive young woman wrapped in a blue sari, her liquid dark eyes large and frightened, as she talked in a low voice to the two men before her. One of the men, a rough-looking sort whom Anthony remembered as Eleanor’s butler, handed the woman a small glass of an amber liquid. The other man, a tall African dressed in a suit, was on one knee before the woman, looking anxiously into her face.
Eleanor’s voice cut through the hum of talk. “What is going on here?”
Everyone turned and began to talk at once, their voices rising in a babble, until finally Lord Neale’s voice rang out, overpowering all the others. “Silence!”
In the ringing quiet that followed, Eleanor said, “Bartwell?”
The rough-looking man replied, “A thief got into the house, Miss Elly.”
The African man, who had risen and turned, but stayed protectively by the Indian woman’s side, added, “And he assaulted Kerani.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHAT!” Eleanor gasped, and swept forward toward the young woman. The servants parted quickly before her. She scarcely noticed that Lord Neale stayed at her side. “Kerani, are you all right?”
“No, no, it was not as it sounds,” the woman replied softly, standing up and inclining her head in a little bow to Eleanor. “He only pushed me aside as he ran away. I stumbled and fell.”
The man beside her snorted and said, “You would excuse the devil himself, ma’am. Pushing you down is an attack.”
“Yes, of course it is, Zachary, but you are scarcely helping the poor girl standing over her glowering like that,” Eleanor told him. “Now, Kerani…” She reached down and took the smaller woman’s hand in hers and looked into her face. “Tell me what happened.”
“I—” Kerani drew a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders, seeming to draw strength from Eleanor’s grasp. “I had just put the children to bed,” she went on in her soft, lilting accent. “I was going down to the library. I wanted to read a bit before I went to bed and—I walked by your room, my lady. I saw a man inside. I—he was standing in front of the dresser. He was turned away from me. But I gasped, I think, and he turned and saw me.”
The woman began to tremble, and Eleanor slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right, Kerani. He’s gone now. You are safe.”
“I know. I am sorry. It is just…he looked so—so frightening. His face—it was not human.”
“What?”
“He looked, um, it was all white, with holes, and his eyes behind them.”
“A mask?” Anthony suggested, and Kerani glanced at him, surprised.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “I think it was. But not just over his eyes, as I have seen before.”
“A full mask, then, and all white?” Anthony said, his voice so gentle and reassuring that Eleanor looked at him, surprised.
The Indian woman nodded. “Yes. It does not sound like much, but it scared me. It was as though he did not have a face at all.”
“I can imagine,” Eleanor commented. “It’s not at all surprising that he frightened you.”
“I screamed when he turned around. And he ran toward me. I could not get out of his way fast enough, and he shoved me hard. I stumbled and fell down. Then everyone came. But he had run down the stairs and out of the house.”
“Did no one else see him?” Anthony asked.
Zachary, after a questioning glance at Anthony, said, “No. I wish I had. I was in the office when I heard her scream, and I came up the back stairs, as they were closer. He went down the front.”
“I did,” one of the footmen admitted, lifting his hand somewhat shamefacedly. “I heard Miss Kerani scream, and I went running to the stairs. But that bloke was barreling down the stairs, and he ran straight into me. Knocked me halfway across the room, and by the time I got to me feet, he was out the front door. I went after him, but…” He shrugged. “I couldn’t see him.”
“No one else was about, Miss Eleanor,” Bartwell put in. “Everyone was back in the kitchens or already gone up to bed.”
“Well, at least no one was hurt,” Eleanor said. “Did he take anything?”
“I don’t know, miss. He made a mess in your room, but it was hard to tell if anything was gone.”
“Why don’t we go up and look?” Anthony suggested.
Eleanor thought about pointing out that this whole matter was none of his concern. But, frankly, it was strangely comforting to have his large, calm presence beside her, so she made no comment as he took her arm and went up the stairs beside her. The others followed them.
On the way up the
stairs, they met the two children, who popped up to greet them. “Eleanor! Was it a thief? Did he take anything? Who do you think it was? The same as before?”
“The same as before?” Anthony turned to look at her. “This is a common occurrence?”
“No. I am sure it has nothing to do with this. It was when we were still in Naples. Someone broke into the house, but nothing was taken. That is all.”
“I see. You are doubtless right. It was not connected.”
Eleanor turned back to the children. “You two should be in bed. It is long past your bedtime.”
“How could we sleep?” the girl, Claire, asked reasonably.
“It’s far too exciting,” Nathan agreed. “We want to see if he took anything.”
“Very well. But then you will let Kerani take you straight back to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Eleanor continued up the stairs and to the doorway of her bedroom. “Oh, my.” She stopped and looked in some dismay at her room.
The drawers of her vanity and dresser stood open, as did the doors of her wardrobe, and clothes were scattered about, spilling out of the drawers, as though someone had rifled through them hastily. A chair had been turned upside down, and the pillows of the bed had been tossed aside, the mattress shoved halfway off. A music box stood on its side and open on the dresser, as well as a small chest, its lid up, necklaces spilling down the side of it. Earrings, brooches and such lay tumbled across the top of her dresser.
Eleanor walked over to the dresser, and Anthony followed her, glancing around the room. Eleanor turned the small music box upright and closed it, then looked through her jewelry box, picking up all the pieces and putting them back where they belonged.
“Is anything missing?”
“I—I’m not sure. Offhand, I don’t think so. No, wait, there is a brooch gone. A silver one. Oh, and a cloisonné locket.” She frowned. “It’s very odd. They were not even the most valuable pieces in this box. My garnets are still here, and they are worth more. And this is just my everyday jewelry. All the really valuable pieces are downstairs in the safe.”
She turned to Bartwell, who was standing inside the door. “What about the safe? Was anything taken?”
“No, miss. Nothing happened to the safe. I was working in the butler’s room right next to it, so I’m certain of that. The silver plate is all still there in the butler’s pantry, as well. I looked around downstairs, and none of your pictures or doodads are missing.”
Anthony cast Eleanor a questioning look at the butler’s words, and a faint smile touched her lips. “My pieces of art, he means.”
“Anything of Edmund’s?” Anthony asked.
Eleanor looked faintly alarmed and turned to Bartwell. “Did you look in Sir Edmund’s room?”
“No, miss, I didn’t think about it.”
Eleanor hurried out of the room and across the hall, opening the door into a room the twin of hers in size and shape, where Edmund had briefly stayed before their move to Italy. The furniture was heavy and dark, richly carved. It was a tidy room, obviously kept dusted and ready, but there was an empty quality to its neatness that spoke of the lack of an occupant.
The light from the hallway revealed that this bedroom had not been ransacked, but Eleanor went to the desk in the corner and laid her hands on a rosewood box. She opened it, then closed the lid and turned away, seemingly satisfied. “I don’t think anything was disturbed in here.”
They left the room and stood for a moment in the hallway. Eleanor glanced around at the waiting faces, all watching her expectantly. “Bartwell, why don’t you set the maids to putting my room back in order? Kerani, take the children to bed. And perhaps we had better set up a watch for the night, just in case.”
“I will take first watch,” Zachary offered.
“And I’ll relieve you,” Bartwell added.
“Very well.” Eleanor nodded. They were the two whom she trusted most. “Thank you.” She turned to Anthony. “Now, Lord Neale, if you will join me in my office…”
She turned briskly and led the way down the stairs to her office. Anthony followed her, ignoring the curious looks of the household.
Once inside the office, Eleanor went to a small cabinet on which sat two cut glass decanters and an array of glasses. “Would you care for a whiskey?”
“Yes, thank you,” Anthony responded, somewhat surprised. He was even more astonished when he saw Eleanor pour another glass for herself.
She handed him one of the glasses, and, seeing the askance glance he sent toward the one she held, she smiled. “The best remedy for shock, my father always said.”
“What? Oh, yes. I suppose it is.” Anthony took a drink, watching as Eleanor sipped at the amber liquid, grimacing a little at its strong taste.
She shivered, and Anthony reached out to lay a hand upon her arm. “Are you all right?”
She looked up at him. The whiskey lay like fire in her stomach, sending its heat throughout her body. Though it was meant only as a comforting gesture, she was very aware of his hand on her bare skin. She remembered the moment in the carriage when she had thought he was about to kiss her. The air was once again charged between them, as it had been then, and her flesh tingled where his skin touched hers. Eleanor tilted her head back to look up at him. His eyes gazed down into hers, capturing and holding her as surely as if he had taken her in his hands.
Anthony took a half step closer, his hand sliding up her arm, sending prickles of sensation through her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him, unable to look away. This time he was going to kiss her, she thought, and unconsciously lifted her face toward him.
Footsteps hurried along the hall outside, cracking like shots on the wood floor, and the noise seemed to break the spell. Eleanor took a hasty step backward, a blush rising in her cheeks. She turned away and walked around her desk before she turned to face Anthony again, the large wooden expanse lying between them.
“Well. I am sorry that you happened upon such a scene. Our household is normally much quieter.”
“Thieves are not usually the routine in any household, I imagine,” he replied mildly. He glanced around the room, taking in its spaciousness and comfort, the glass-doored shelves and locked cabinets, the pile of ledgers upon the desk and its well-used look.
“This is, um, your office?” he asked. Certainly he could not imagine Edmund in a place such as this.
Eleanor nodded. “Yes, it is where I work.”
She looked down at the desk, somewhat distractedly arranging the pencils in a row. The discovery of her ransacked room had disturbed her more than she cared to admit. “Why did he tear apart my bedchamber that way? Nearly everything valuable is down here.”
“Doubtless he did not realize that. Perhaps he simply started in your room, expecting to find jewels, and then he planned to work his way downstairs. He wasn’t counting, I’m sure, on your, um, maid discovering him.”
“Amah,” Eleanor corrected. “Kerani looks after the children for me.” She looked up at him, her gaze hardening a little, offering him a challenge. “No doubt you find us a rather unusual household.”
He shrugged. “Somewhat.”
He found himself wanting to ask who were all the people whom he had seen—why her household contained an African man who spoke perfect English and wore a gentleman’s suit, as well as an Indian woman, two children, and a butler who looked as though he would be more at home in a dockside tavern than in a butler’s pantry. And what did a woman do in an office like this? Why had someone ransacked her bedroom—surely not the pattern of a common thief, no matter what he had told her?
But Anthony knew that such thoughts were entirely beside the point. There was no reason for him to be wondering about this woman and her life any more than there had been any reason a moment earlier for him to want to kiss her. So he said nothing, and silence stretched between them.
“Well, that is not why you came,” Eleanor said briskly, turning away and going to a ca
binet and unlocking it. “You want to know about Edmund’s death.”
She picked up a piece of paper inside the cabinet and turned, bringing it back and laying it down on the desk close to where Anthony stood, turning it so that he could see it. It was an official-looking document, complete with stamps and seals, written in Italian.
“This is the death certificate the Italian authorities wrote for Edmund. Can you read Italian?”
“A little,” he replied, picking up the document and perusing it. He felt uncomfortable, almost embarrassed.
“It says that his death was due to drowning,” Eleanor told him flatly, pointing with the tip of a pencil to the appropriate line. “Of course, if one believes that the Italian officials are corrupt and lied on the death certificate, I suppose that is not proof enough. There was also an article in the Italian newspapers about his death, since it was an accident.” She handed over a folded piece of newsprint, again in Italian. “There.”
Anthony’s eyes ran down the story. His Italian, never fluent, was rather rusty, but he recalled enough to see that the article was indeed about Sir Edmund Scarbrough and his drowning.
“His health improved so much in Naples that Edmund was much more vigorous than he was here. I am not sure why he grew interested in sailing. I think it had more to do with his friends being interested in it than anything else. Usually he sailed with Dario Paradella or one of his other friends. Dario had been supposed to go, but he had to cancel, and Edmund went by himself. He said he needed to think. When he did not return by nightfall, I grew worried, and I sent a servant to the docks, but his boat was not there. I grew increasingly worried, of course, and I sent notes around to his friends. I sent servants to the various places that he might have stopped, but he was nowhere to be found. So, eventually, I contacted the authorities. Two days later, his…” Eleanor paused, her throat tightening. She swallowed hard and continued. “His body washed up on shore.”
Looking at her quietly pained face, Anthony found it difficult to disbelieve her grief. He wanted to tell her not to talk about it any longer. He wanted to put his arms around her and let her head rest against his chest, just as he had wanted earlier to protect her from the burglar who had ransacked her room. He felt sure that such a reaction was how most men felt about her. She was beautiful, and no doubt she was well used to using that beauty to manipulate men into doing whatever she wanted. Believing whatever she wanted.
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