by Amanda Quick
“Indeed.”
“Uncle Reggie graciously offered to pay for the costs of a Season and to provide a small but respectable dowry for Arabella. Her family arranged for her and Aunt Winifred—”
“Aunt Winifred?”
“Lady Ruston,” Beatrice explained. “Aunt Winifred has been widowed for several years, but at one time she moved in the lower circles of the ton. She is the only one in the family who has any claim to social connections.”
“So Arabella’s parents asked Lady Ruston to take your cousin into Society this Season.”
“Precisely.” Beatrice gave him an approving glance. “My aunt and my cousin are staying with me. I have a small town house in London. In truth, everything was going rather well. Arabella managed to catch the attention of Lord Hazelthorpe’s heir. Aunt Winifred was in expectation of an offer.”
“Until Uncle Reggie collapsed in a brothel and you discovered that there was no money to pay for the remainder of the Season or to fund Arabella’s dowry.”
“That sums it up rather neatly. Thus far we have managed to conceal the true facts of Uncle Reggie’s estate from the gossips.”
“I believe I am beginning to perceive the outline of the problem,” Leo said quietly.
“Obviously we cannot hide the situation indefinitely. Eventually my uncle’s creditors will come knocking at our door. When they do, everyone will discover that Arabella no longer has an inheritance.”
“And you can all wave farewell to Hazelthorpe’s heir,” Leo concluded.
Beatrice grimaced. “Aunt Winifred is beside herself with worry. Thus far we have managed to keep up appearances, but our time is running out.”
“Disaster looms,” Leo murmured darkly.
Beatrice stopped pacing. “It is not amusing, sir. My aunt may view the alliance in financial terms, but I fear that Arabella has lost her heart to the young man. She will be devastated if his parents force him to withdraw his attentions.”
Leo exhaled slowly. “Forgive me if I do not seem overly concerned about your cousin’s heart, Mrs. Poole. In my experience, the passions of the young are not necessarily strong foundations on which to build the house of marriage.”
To his surprise, she inclined her head. “You are quite right. I am in complete agreement. As mature adults who have been out in the world for a number of years, we naturally have a more informed perspective on the romantical sensibilities than does a young lady of nineteen.”
They were in full accord on the subject, but for some reason Beatrice’s ready willingness to dismiss the power of passion irritated Leo.
“Naturally,” he muttered.
“Nevertheless, from a practical point of view, one cannot deny that an alliance between Arabella and Hazelthorpe’s heir would be an excellent match. And he really is a rather nice young man.”
“I will take your word for it,” Leo said. “Did your uncle lose his money at the gaming tables?”
“No. Uncle Reggie was considered an eccentric, but he was definitely no gamester.” Beatrice went to stand behind a chair. She gripped the back with both hands and gazed at Leo down the length of the room. “Shortly before he died, Uncle Reggie made a single very expensive purchase. There is a record of it among his personal papers.”
Leo watched her closely. “And that one purchase destroyed his finances?”
“From what I have been able to determine, yes.”
“If you are about to tell me that your uncle purchased the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite, save your breath. I would not believe you.”
“That is precisely what I am telling you, sir.”
She was deadly serious. Leo studied every nuance of her expression. Her clear, direct gaze did not waver. He thought about the rumors he had heard.
“What led you to believe that your uncle acquired the Rings?”
“Some notes that he left. The only reason I have them is because Uncle Reggie kept a detailed appointment book. He also kept a journal, but it is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Thieves broke into his house the night he died. I believe the journal was taken by them.”
Leo frowned. “Why would common housebreakers steal a gentleman’s personal journal? They could not hope to fence it.”
“Perhaps these housebreakers were not so common.”
“Was anything else of value removed?” Leo asked sharply.
“Some silver and such.” Beatrice shrugged. “But I think that was done only to make it appear that the housebreaking was the work of ordinary thieves.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “But you don’t believe that.”
“Not for a moment.”
“Impossible.” Leo drummed his fingers on the mantel. “It defies credibility.” But he could not forget the tales of the Rings that had come to his attention. “Did your uncle have an interest in collecting antiquities?”
“He was always interested but he could not afford to collect them until he came into his inheritance. After that he did not purchase many, however. He claimed that most of the items that were for sale in the antiquities shops were fakes and frauds.”
Leo was impressed in spite of himself. “He was right. It sounds as if your uncle had good instincts for artifacts.”
“A certain sensibility for that sort of thing runs in the family,” she said vaguely. “In any event Uncle Reggie apparently believed that the Forbidden Rings were the key to a fabulous treasure. That is what compelled him to pursue them.”
“Ah, yes. The lure of fabled treasure. It has drawn more than one man to his doom.” Leo frowned. “Did he go to the House of the Rod often?”
Beatrice turned pink. “Apparently he was a regular client of the proprietress, Madame Virtue.”
“How do you know that?”
Beatrice studied her fingers. “Uncle Reggie made a note of the visits in his appointment book. He, uh, treated them rather as if they were visits to a doctor. I believe he suffered from a certain type of, uh, masculine malady.”
“A masculine malady?”
She cleared her throat again. “A sort of weakness in a certain extremity that is unique to gentlemen.”
“He was impotent.”
“Yes, well, in addition to his appointments at the House of the Rod, he was apparently a regular patron of a certain Dr. Cox, who sold him a concoction called the Elixir of Manly Vigor.”
“I see.” Leo released his grip on the mantel and crossed the room to his desk.
For the first time, he considered seriously the possibility that there had been some truth to the rumors that he had heard. The notion was absurd on the face of it. The tales stretched logic and credibility to the limit. But what if the Forbidden Rings had been found?
Beatrice watched him intently. “I have told you the particulars of my situation, sir. It is time for you to keep your end of the bargain.”
“Very well.” Leo recalled what he had read in the old volume he had consulted after the antiquities dealer had contacted him. “According to the legend, a certain alchemist crafted a statue of Aphrodite some two hundred years ago. He fashioned it out of a unique material that he had created in his workshop. Supposedly the stuff is extremely strong. It is said to be impervious to hammer or chisel.”
Beatrice’s brows drew together in a small frown of concentration. “I see.”
“It is also said that the alchemist hid a fabulous treasure inside the statue and sealed the Aphrodite, locking it with a key fashioned from a pair of Rings. The statue and the Rings disappeared shortly thereafter.” Leo spread his hands. “Treasure seekers have searched for them from time to time down through the years, but neither the Rings nor the statue has ever been found.”
“Is that all there is to the tale?”
“That is the essence of the matter, yes. There have been a number of fakes produced over the years. It is quite conceivable that in spite of his instincts for antiquities, your uncle fell victim to a scheme designed to make him believe that he had purchased the actu
al Forbidden Rings.”
“Yes, I know that it is possible he purchased some fraudulent artifacts. But I have no choice. I must pursue the matter.”
“Assuming that he somehow managed to obtain a pair of Rings, genuine or otherwise, what makes you believe that he was murdered because of them?”
Beatrice released the back of the chair and went to stand at the window again. “In addition to the fact that his house was torn apart the very night he died, Uncle Reggie left some notes in his appointment book. They indicated that he was becoming quite anxious about something. He wrote that he thought someone was following him around London.”
“You said he was a noted eccentric.”
“Yes, but his was not a fearful or overanxious temperament. I also find it rather suspicious that he died shortly after purchasing the Forbidden Rings.”
A chill of dread stirred the hair on the back of Leo’s arms. Control yourself, man. You study legends, you do not believe in them. “Mrs. Poole, if, for the sake of argument, you were to find the Rings, what would you do with them?”
“Sell them, of course.” She sounded surprised by the question. “It is the only way we can hope to recover at least some of my uncle’s money.”
“I see.”
She turned away from the window. “My lord, is there anything else you can tell me about this matter?”
He hesitated. “Only that it can be dangerous to get involved in an affair that lures treasure hunters. They are not a stable lot. The prospect of discovering a great treasure, especially an ancient, legendary one, has unpredictable effects on some people.”
“Yes, yes, I can well understand that.” She brushed his warning aside with a graceful flick of her wrist. “But can you tell me anything more about the Rings?”
“I heard an unsubstantiated rumor that a while back they turned up in a rather poor antiquities shop operated by a man named Ashwater,” he said slowly.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I already know that much about the business. I went to see Mr. Ashwater. His establishment is closed. His neighbors informed me that he had left on an extended tour of Italy.”
It occurred to him that she was losing her patience. He did not know whether to be annoyed or amused. She was the uninvited guest here. This was his house. She was the one who had descended on him without a by-your-leave and demanded answers to questions.
“You have already begun to make inquiries?” he asked.
“Of course. How do you think I came to learn of your expertise in legendary antiquities, my lord? Your articles, after all, are published in somewhat obscure journals. I had never even heard your name before I began my investigations.”
He wondered if he should be insulted. “It’s quite true that I am not an author of popular novels, such as Mrs. York.”
She gave him a smile that bordered on the condescending. “Do not feel too bad about it. We cannot all write well enough to make a living, sir.”
“I write,” he said through his teeth, “for a different audience than does Mrs. York.”
“Fortunately, in your case, there is no need to convince people to actually purchase your work, is there? The Monkcrest fortune is the stuff of legend, according to my aunt. You can afford to write for journals that do not pay for your articles.”
“We seem to be straying from the subject, Mrs. Poole.”
“Indeed, we do.” Her smile was very cool. There were dangerous sparks in her eyes. “My lord, I am extremely grateful for the information, limited as it is, that you have given me. I shall not impose on your hospitality any longer than necessary. My maid and I will leave first thing in the morning.”
Leo ignored that. “Hold one moment here, Mrs. Poole. Precisely how do you intend to pursue your inquiries into the matter of the Rings?”
“My next step will be to interview the person who was with my uncle when he died.”
“Who is that?”
“A woman who calls herself Madame Virtue.”
Shock held him transfixed for the space of several heartbeats. When the paralysis finally wore off, Leo sucked in a deep breath. “You intend to speak to the proprietress of the House of the Rod? Impossible. Absolutely impossible.”
Beatrice tipped her head slightly to the side, frowning. “Why on earth do you say that, my lord?”
“For God’s sake, she is a brothel keeper. You would be ruined if it got out that you had associated with her.”
Amusement lit Beatrice’s eyes. “One of the advantages of being a widow of a certain age, as I’m sure you’re aware, my lord, is that I have a great deal more freedom than I did as a younger woman.”
“No respectable lady possesses the degree of freedom required to consort with brothel keepers.”
“I shall exercise discretion,” she said with an aplomb that was no doubt meant to reassure him. “Good night, my lord.”
“Damnation, Mrs. Poole.”
She was already at the door. “You have been somewhat helpful. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“And they call me mad,” Leo whispered.
Chapter 3
The master of the ruin vanished back into the shadows as though returning to his natural habitat. The darkness closed around him. There was so little time, she thought. She must find a way out before the dark lord reappeared.
FROM CHAPTER THREE OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
He had to stop her.
Fifteen minutes after the door had closed behind Beatrice, Leo still prowled the library with long, swift strides. A cloak of foreboding enveloped him.
He did not doubt for a moment that Beatrice intended to carry out her crazed scheme.
“She has no notion of what she is about,” he said to Elf. “At the very least she will most certainly bring ruin upon herself. At worst—”
He could not finish the sentence aloud. If someone really was pursuing the Rings and had killed Lord Glassonby because of them, Beatrice could easily put herself in grave danger.
He came to an abrupt halt. There was only one thing to do. He would have to discover the truth of the situation for himself. He was the authority on old legends and antiquities, after all. If anyone could find the Forbidden Rings and the alchemist’s Aphrodite, it was he.
Mrs. Beatrice Poole, reader of horrid novels, would only create trouble and possibly embroil herself in some extremely dangerous mischief if she pursued this affair on her own.
He had to find a way to convince her to leave the matter to him. It was not going to be easy to deflect her from her quest. From the little he had seen thus far, it was clear that Beatrice was a formidable, extremely strong-willed woman. In the course of her widowhood she had obviously gotten out of the habit of taking advice, let alone instructions, from the male of the species. He doubted that she had ever been particularly adept at it.
He needed some time to try to talk her out of her intentions. If that effort failed, which seemed quite likely, he required some time to prepare for the trip to London. His staff could handle most of the routine matters on the estate, but there was one piece of business that required his personal attention before he left.
He tugged hard at the velvet bellpull.
By the time Finch arrived, Leo had finished the glass of brandy he’d poured himself.
“M’lord?”
“In the morning you will inform Mrs. Poole that she cannot leave Monkcrest until the day after tomorrow at the earliest.”
“You wish me to stop Mrs. Poole from leaving?” Finch’s jaw unhinged. He swallowed twice, very quickly, and recovered his composure. “M’lord, such an action may not lie within my power. Mrs. Poole is a very forceful lady. I’m not sure the devil himself could stop her if she took a mind to vacate the premises.”
“Fortunately, we need not look to the devil for assistance. I think I can handle this on my own.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Leo went to the window. “At dawn you will send word to Mrs. Poole that the river is in full flood. The b
ridge is underwater and will not be passable for at least another day.”
“But the rain stopped an hour ago. The bridge will be quite passable in the morning.”
“You do not comprehend me, Finch,” Leo said very softly. “The bridge will be underwater for at least a full day.”
“Underwater. I see. Yes, m’lord.”
“Thank you, Finch. I knew I could rely upon you.” Leo turned around. “You may inform Mrs. Poole that I shall join her for breakfast. Afterward I shall conduct her on a tour of the greenhouse.”
“The greenhouse. Yes, m’lord.” Dazed, Finch bowed and left the library.
BEATRICE INHALED THE rich, earthy scents of the greenhouse and wondered if she had been tricked. She could hardly blame the earl for the flooded river, she thought. Not unless she was willing to subscribe to the Monkcrest legend and attribute supernatural powers over the elements to him.
She refused to succumb to such foolishness. As intriguing as Monkcrest was, he could not command the forces of nature. On the other hand, the longer she spent in the earl’s company, the easier it was to believe that he was no ordinary man. Intelligent, enigmatic, and imbued with an unsettling degree of self-mastery, yes. But definitely not ordinary.
His looks fascinated her far more than the legend that surrounded him. He had the stern, unyielding countenance of a man who did not compromise easily or well. Of course, he’d probably never had much experience in the fine art. This was not a man who had ever been obliged to defer to others.
There was just enough silver in his hair to interest her. He was no raw, untried youth. Leo was a man who had seen something of life and had come to his own conclusions about it. His eyes were an unusual shade of amber brown. The expression in them was made enigmatic by the combined forces of his will and intelligence.
She knew enough about him now to realize that certain aspects of the legend were true. He was arrogant and opinionated. But there was no denying that he stirred her imagination in a way that not even Justin Poole had done in the days of their courtship.
She was a bit too old to be reacting this way, she thought, annoyed. The quickening of the pulse, the compelling curiosity, and the sense of acute awareness were for young ladies such as Arabella. A mature widow of twenty-nine ought to be well beyond this sort of thing.