No Hiding For The Guilty (The Heart of a Hero Book 5)

by Vanessa Riley

  "I hope you will be given the choice. War seldom works like that." Closing the door with a thud, Phipps left.

  Everything hinged upon catching the Almeida Killer. Deep down, Hugh wished it would be Moldona. Then, he could turn him in to the crown. Enough men had died, so hanging was assured. Hugh would be able to keep his vow to never kill again and gain justice for Isadel.

  Yet, things were never that simple or that clean. How was he to keep an angry woman from extracting revenge? He strummed his finger and had to admit he didn't know if he could stop her or even if he wanted to keep her from the one thing that would give her peace.

  Chapter Ten: Stepmother Cometh

  From the tower, Isadel watched a caravan of carriages approach. A few days had passed since Bannerman had committed her to this spying scheme. She'd have to pretend that she was his mistress. Every noodle in her internal pot of salted water hated that word, hated the accusations it thrust upon her. Plaything, hot little piece, prostitute, Isadel was none of those things. Tugging at the lapels of her father's coat, Isadel wanted to hide.

  She'd absented herself from the kitchen. How could she be in her domain with everyone staring at her as if she had no morals, as if she were like poor Agueda who'd been labeled such for batting her eyes at men?

  Upon seeing the carriage stop, she backed away from the window, then counted the minutes before she was summoned. How was she to get through this? And if she could, how would she be clever enough to get Moldona to confess or say enough so that Bannerman would know he was guilty and help her?

  A series of hard knocks upon her door stole her breath. Her stomach lurched before twisting in knots. She was going to be ill. The last thing she needed was everyone to believe Bannerman's faux mistress was set to birth by-blows as the English called illegitimate babes.

  "Isadel? Isadel? May I enter?"

  Bannerman. Not wanting to be alone with him and his kissing lessons, she ran to the door. "I'm ready to go down."

  She tried to brush past him, but he crowded her with his fresh smelling skin. Her eyes were drawn to his neat appearance with a freshly shorn face and newly trimmed brassy locks. Why did he have to look so well when she was tired, and perhaps like her sister, easily swayed by a handsome man? One with arms big enough to hold her, but didn't care enough to fight all her battles.

  He took her hand and clasped it. "Follow my lead. A good spy stays as close to the truth as possible."

  "Great. Does that mean we can tell the countess of this rouse? She's your stepmother. I don't her want thinking ill of me."

  Playing with her fingers, rolling them within his gloved hand, he stopped mid-tread. "Why does it matter so much? You are a playing role, right?"

  A man like him would never understand. She lowered her gaze to the attendants streaming through the doors. "I'm sure your stepmother will be well pleased with you openly flouting a mistress."

  "She's one to judge. Lady Rhodes was my father's mistress. He only married her a couple of months before he died."

  The edge in his voice coupled with the sordid pronouncement, made her take a misstep and lose her balance.

  Before she could fall, Bannerman scooped her up. "You are getting clumsy, my dear. No more flirting on the stairs with you."

  She couldn't reply and lay wedged against his wide chest, his silky black waistcoat.

  "Hugh? Put the girl down so I can get a look at you both."

  Phipps, arms loaded with portmanteaus, shook his head as he passed. He led a line of servants up the stairs.

  Bannerman set Isadel's boots onto the ground but kept her hand as if she'd run. "Lady Rhodes, this is Isadel Armijo. Shall we do our meet and greet in the study or the drawing room?"

  The woman was elegant, trimmed in wine velvet and younger than Isadel expected. She seemed closer in age to be Bannerman's sister than someone who could be a mother to him. "Your father's study. I so miss its view of the grounds."

  Lady Rhodes took the lead and wandered down the hall to Bannerman's study.

  He swept ahead of them and opened the door. His gaze hadn't the humor it had before. The man seemed very annoyed and shut the door with a thud.

  Marveling at how clean and light the room now appeared, Isadel ventured inside and stopped at the desk. It was fixed and finished to a shine, nothing like the wreck it had been the night she arrived.

  Pattering to the window, Lady Rhodes spread the curtains wide. "Such beautiful grounds. Now, tell me the story you want me to believe."

  Folding his arms and leaning against the threshold, Bannerman's face lost the remaining pretense of a smile. "What are you speaking of, Elizabeth?"

  The lady removed her bonnet exposing ringlets and curls of her blonde hair. "The last I hear from you, you write to me telling me of an impending engagement. Then nothing. You've virtually disappeared for all of 1812. No one knows where you are or if you live. The Duke of Hartland won't tell me a thing. I know Sandon was abandoned and in great disrepair. Now everything is righted and you send for me."

  Bannerman stood up straight. "Well, the engagement never came about. And as you can see, Sandon has been raised, but I apologize for causing you distress."

  Isadel tried not to fidget, but it was obvious she was witnessing a strain between the two. Why would he not share with his stepmother his notion of dying? Isn't that when family is supposed to pull together? Maybe that wasn't an English way as it was for the Armijos.

  Lady Rhodes came near swirling her bonnet betwixt her fingers. The white ostrich plume contrasted the deep red of the hat and the deep pink of her clinching fingers. She lifted Isadel's chin like she inspected a horse. "Spin around for me, and tell me of your connections. Who are your relations?"

  Isadel looked at Bannerman who half-shrugged, half-nodded. So, she did as the woman asked like a prized pet.

  "Her father was a physician killed in the war, but her people have roots in Jamaican sugar."

  "Sugar money? Hmmm." Lady Rhodes then put her hands on the sides of Isadel face as if to block her view of everything else. "I want to hear it from her, Hugh. My dear, when his birthday, his favorite color, and how does he likes you to wait for him?"

  Cheeks turning to flames, Isadel shook free. "Why do I need to say such private things? You are his stepmother, not mine."

  The woman swiveled to Bannerman. "She's young and mouthy and very brown. How did she catch your eye, Hugh? You've only ever cared for one fair blonde, a respectful blonde as you use to laud over me."

  He tweaked his perfectly done cravat as if it choked. "As you noted on more than one occasion, that type of woman doesn't love me back. Perhaps, I'd like more of a change and a woman that likes me back. You do like me, Isadel, don't you?"

  He'd told her to stay as close to the truth as possible, so she would. "It's a moment to moment assessment."

  Bannerman plodded toward her and took Isadel's palm. He bent and kissed it. "What about now?"

  Why was he so determined to embarrass her? It would be wrong to swat him in front of the woman he was trying to convince that Isadel was his mistress. "Yes, I like you at this moment."

  His light eyes lit and his frown transformed into a smile. "See, Elizabeth, she likes me at this moment. She keeps me on my toes. And when things are well between us, it doesn't matter that I'm pale or ashen. I know little of her except she is a wonder with knives, pastry-making and she likes explosions as much as I do."

  The sneer on the Lady Rhodes's face disappeared. "He took you out to the clearing in the trees and showed you his powder experiments?"

  Isadel nodded. "It was glorious."

  The woman approached him and gazed up at him with eyes that held tears. "You haven't done that at Sandon since Henry. God rest his soul. Betsy St. Claire was the last person you showed your tricks too. You truly do care for this girl, and you sent for me to prepare her for society."

  His swallow was hard and loud. "Yes."

  Lady Rhodes took one of his hands and held it. "Why are you in glov
es, evening gloves?"

  He jerked his fingers back and wrenched at his neck. "I am… I—"

  Isadel moved to him and clasped his arm. "He injured his hands rescuing me, and I almost made it worse with the explosions. They're delicate, Hu-ugh." She took a breath and worked her tongue to say his name better, like she'd practiced. "Hugh, I don't want you risking injury again. They must heal."

  That lopsided grin of his appeared. "Yes, for you, I'll do as you've commanded."

  Lady Rhodes put her hands on Isadel's shoulder. "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. Yes, Hugh, I will sculpt Miss Armijo. I'll change her—"

  "Don't change her," he said. "Just enhance what's already wonderful."

  The woman spun Isadel around and pushed her toward the door. "Hugh, thank you for entrusting her to me. I will not disappoint you."

  Isadel lifted her head and marched through the threshold. Letting the fancy woman mold her into one of those English doxies, might prove useful. She might as well see Moldona again looking as much like Agueda as possible. Maybe he'd confess as if he'd seen a ghost. Then Bannerman would have to follow her command and use his healed powerful hands to strike the blackguard dead.

  Hugh paced in his overdone study. The scent of turpentine wafted from the walls, which had been painted and repainted twice in the past few days. The perfect shade of peach had been what Elizabeth sought and he acquiesced hoping it would speed up the lessons or whatever she assigned to Isadel. Hugh hadn't seen his chef in over a week.

  Pumping his hand looking for a place to punch but not leave a noticeable mark. The sheer silver curtain would expose him. Pummeling the desk would take too long to repair. Hugh was more agitated, more desperate to see his chef.

  Back and forth, he moved across the burgundy tapestry spun by the best weavers of the east. It arrived this morning, another of Elizabeth's enhancement to Sandon, but what of Isadel? Would her fresh face be powered up leaving her looking ashen and tired? Would Elizabeth stain those cheeks with awful rouge?

  Phipps knocked on the open door then powered inside. "I've done as you said. I made sure the villages know that Sandon will be hosting the regiment commanders. I put out a rumor that Wellesley may come. I spread your money around too. The Almeida Killer or killers will know where you are."

  "Good. Has Moldona accepted the invitation?"

  "Yes, his post came this morning. He will be bringing Mrs. Moldona. Are you prepared for that?"

  "To see old friends, Phipps? Of course."

  Laying a stack of papers, probably invoices on the desk, Phipps turned with arms folded. "Master Henry's sheet music? His missionary things? You intend to do missionary work with all your fellow officers coming?"

  Lord knows many needed it. Hugh shook his head. "Thinking of him, reading his papers on peace makes me less anxious."

  Phipps flipped through some of the old parchment. "But, sheet music. You intend to exhibit during our big weekend?"

  Not wanting to drone on about music or the absence of a tune, Isadel's tune, Hugh just shrugged. "One never knows. Our guests will love music, but Lady Rhodes will probably claim the piano. She had it tuned this week."

  "The last time the former Miss St. Claire was here, she was trying to convince you to turn down your commission."

  "Yes, she had some vague notion that her own brother wouldn't serve if I didn't. She didn't understand that it is a second son's role to do so. Charles St. Claire would have served with or without me."

  "What will she try to convince you of this time? She had a habit of leading you by the nose."

  "Well, she has Moldona to confuse."

  "Do you think he ever told his wife that he and her brother left out the barrel of powder that exploded killing so many?"

  "Not if he were smart. But, Betsy is a generous soul. She might forgive him."

  "Had she known her brother's death was partly Moldona's fault, you could've won her. Doesn't that weigh on you?"

  It did more times than Hugh wanted to admit until he became sick. Then he was glad. Betsy didn't need more disappointment. "That time in my life has passed. Is there a point to this?"

  "I hope you know what you are doing, and I hope Miss Armijo is unharmed in this business. She's not Miss Pearson, not bread to spy work and Mrs. Moldona and some of the other wives of the officers coming to Sandon may not be receptive to her. It's not as if you can give them all a talking too like you did Mrs. Nelson."

  "You don't think I know that, Phipps? But, she's part of this. She's searching for truth just like us. My hope is that the Almeida Killer is the killer she's looking for too. Then, she will have justice."

  Phipps's frown deepened. "It's hard to know what one is looking for. Master Henry, he was assured in what he wanted and he didn't hunt for much. His soul had peace."

  "Yes. Do you think he still has peace where he is? I think of that more. Dying, I mean."

  "Your brother wasn't materialistic. He had no wanderlust. He might have turned up missing and started missionary work abroad. I think he always had peace, eternal peace because he knew he was loved and that he was worthy of love."

  Hugh put a hand to his brow. "I killed a saint. I know."

  "It was an accident."

  Moving to the window, Hugh released a sigh. "Was it? I measured the powder exactly—always very much to the last dram. It should not have been enough to blow the two trees, just the one farther away from him. Isadel, Miss Armijo reminded me of how careful I've always been when handling explosives. What if it were tampered with?"

  "What if's will drown you in despair. Concentrate on this gathering, staying well, and our live chef. I don't want her hurt."

  "You really care about Miss Armijo, Phipps?"

  "Don't you?"

  "You know I do. I wonder what horror she now faces with my stepmother. She is missed. You know none of the fancy dishes Elizabeth's cook has forced upon Mrs. Nelson have been horrid, though nothing compared to Miss Armijo's cooking." Who knew one could miss meat pies and biscuits so much? He rubbed his fingers, reveling in the balm Isadel left at his bedchamber door. It was his only sign that she hadn't fled and would go through with the charade. "Things are heading to a climax to catch a killer, but my days are still numbered."

  Phipps sighed and moved slowly to the door. "Everyone of mine are and the chef's too. But live knowing we are full like Master Henry, filled with peace then they count more. Those seeds she wanted. Our connections have located them. We'll have them soon."

  "Another thing to waste my hopes upon."

  "It's convenient to think you are dying. Maybe you need to figure out what happens if you live. If I were you, I'd go see what Miss Armijo is up to and if she has the heart to pretend through each day of this visit. Wellesley's spies are good at pretending." Phipps eyed him with that suspicious grin. "Maybe you aren't that good at pretending anymore. I think you've lost that spy tenet. Go seek her out. Claim love or peace, no matter how many days it might last."

  As soon as Phipps left the study, Hugh took three more pacing laps, surely enough time for his man to be well onto his next task. Hugh didn't want Phipps to tweak his nose at how fast Hugh planted his boots outside of Elizabeth's suite. Her wing, on the far side of Sandon, would prove an excellent distance. Long enough to school his face so none of his impatience or longing showed.

  He reached for the knob and stopped. This unease hadn't been with him in a long time. Must be a side effect Isadel's balm.

  Before he'd fully committed to knocking, the door opened. A set of giggling maids left with linens in their hands.

  As they descended, one said to the other in low tones. "The barbarian actually looks like a lady."

  "You mean like an exotic courtesan."

  Their laughter almost sent Hugh's fist through the wall. What had Elizabeth done? Before he broke the door from its hinges, he pushed it open with his thumb and barged inside. Isadel yanked on her baggy jacket. The glimpse he caught of her long neck and bare shoulders sw
athed in blue maybe deep purple was breathtaking but her face had been rouged and powdered. Her chestnut skin looked pale, sickly. Hugh missed the richness and freshness of her healthy chestnut complexion.

  He stepped closer and saw great sadness in Isadel's brown eyes. That stabbed him deeper in his gut. He touched her cheek. The powder reddened his white gloves. "Is this Lady Rhodes' doing?"

  Not smiling, perhaps smoldering in anger, Isadel tugged on his sleeve, lowering his arm. "It's what you wanted."

  Elizabeth came from a side room. "Isadel don't fidget. Let Hugh admire you. Take off that frumpy thing. Hugh, burn the jacket."

  "I'm not a stupid man, Elizabeth. The garment was her late father's. I think she should keep it." He tried to make his voice sound happy, maybe it would cut through the tension he felt drawing him to Isadel. "But don't fret, Isadel. I'd love to admire you."

  She stared straight ahead. With a long breath sucked in between her soft lips, she dropped the jacket to the floor.

  Humming her tune, the one with the lulling notes, she moved to the fireplace and then back. Isadel's curls had been brushed almost straight and swooped into a severe bun. It would be appropriate if he ventured to take the girl to the theater, but it wasn't his chef's simple style he'd come to know.

  "Turn around for us again, Isadel."

  The chef did so, spinning slowly. What a beautiful chef.

  No one could take away from Elizabeth's taste when it came to clothes. The deep indigo gown made the small sprite's curves more pronounced, more delicious. Hugh bit his lip. He didn't realize he was hungry. "Except for the rouge, you look lovely."

  Elizabeth caught Isadel's arm. "I couldn't get her any lighter, but she has a fine figure."

  Hugh grimaced at the now ashy complexion of his chef. "I know what is the rage of the ton. If that was what I wanted, I would have applied for your help sooner. You've made Miss Armijo's rich skin look sickly. I don't want anyone as vibrant as she to look diminished. He moved to a sideboard, dunk a cloth in the pitcher of water and then handed it to Isadel. "Please fix your face."