by Amanda Quick
Pearson swallowed again. “Yes. Much too young.”
Leo held out the glove. “I’m sure you will want to wish me the best of luck.”
Pearson stared, uncomprehending, at the proffered glove. Leo sighed and slapped it lightly into the younger man’s unresisting fingers. Then he turned and walked out of the frozen room.
The agitated buzz of speculation did not start up until he was in the hall. It rose to a dull roar as he collected his hat from the impassive porter, and it reached full volume as he walked out the door and went down the steps.
By five o’clock the gossip would be circulating at every level of the ton, he thought. The Mad Monk had virtually announced his engagement to Mrs. Poole.
Beatrice was going to be furious with him, he reflected. He had placed her in an extremely awkward position. If the engagement was not made a fact, she would be publicly humiliated. Her name would be on everyone’s lips and the comments would not be kind.
And that was not the worst of it, Leo realized. If her identity as Mrs. York ever became public knowledge, her career would be in grave jeopardy. Mrs. Poole could survive the scandal of a broken engagement to the Mad Monk, but Mrs. York would not.
Bloody hell Leo came to a halt in the middle of the walkway and gazed unseeingly at the traffic in the street. A true gentleman would go directly to Beatrice’s town house and confess his sins at once. She deserved to be warned. But if he did the right thing, he would no doubt be forced to listen to her berate him for plunging her into the predicament. He was not in the mood to deal with the cutting edge of her tongue.
To distract himself from his grim thoughts, Leo shifted his attention back to the matter of the Forbidden Rings. If he found them for Beatrice, she would be far more likely to view the unfortunate events in the coffee room with an understanding eye.
Yes. Definitely. That was his best course of action. Find the bloody Rings. She would forgive him anything if he accomplished that.
He pulled the soothing cloak of logic and rational thought around himself.
It was time to pay another visit to Sibson. The antiquities dealer seemed to be the weakest link in the chain. Every time Leo applied pressure in that direction, things happened.
Beatrice would be annoyed with him for failing to take her along to Sibson’s shop, but she was going to be thoroughly vexed with him regardless when the rumors of her pending engagement reached her.
He might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.
ARABELLA EYED ELF curiously. “Does he bite?”
Beatrice glanced at the hound stretched out in front of the hearth in her study. “I do not know. Thus far all he has done is sleep.”
Leo had brought Elf to the kitchen door shortly before eleven. To the great consternation of Mrs. Cheslyn, he had walked the hound down the central hall to the breakfast room, where Beatrice, Arabella, and Winifred were gathered.
“I would appreciate it if you would keep him for a while.” Leo said to Beatrice.
“You want me to look after him?” Beatrice put down her coffee cup with a small crash. “But, my lord, this is not a very large house. And the garden is positively tiny.”
“Just for a day or two,” Leo said. “As a favor to me.”
Beatrice was about to protest further, when she recalled his words about providing her with a guard.
“Very well, sir.” She sighed. “We will be happy to look after your hound for a few days.”
“Do not go out without him,” Leo said. He inclined his head to Winifred and Arabella. “Good day, ladies. I look forward to seeing you later this evening.”
“Yes, of course, my lord.” Winifred stared at Elf with horrified fascination.
“Behave yourself, Elf.” Leo walked out of the breakfast room and disappeared down the hall.
Elf cast an interested eye on the sideboard, where the trays of eggs and toast resided.
“Oh, dear,” Winifred murmured. “Just when one begins to believe that the rumors concerning his lordship are somewhat overstated, he does something exceedingly eccentric, such as this. I wonder why Monkcrest felt he had to leave his hound with you?”
“I have no notion.” Beatrice rose and went to the sideboard. She could not tell Winifred and Arabella that Leo was concerned for her safety. They would fly into a panic. “But when one considers all that Monkcrest has done for us, one can hardly refuse the request.”
Winifred sighed. “You are quite right, of course. And what are a few eccentricities here or there? The man is an earl, after all.”
Beatrice exchanged a quick grin with Arabella before she selected a slice of bacon and popped it between Elf’s gaping jaws.
After breakfast the hound had followed her into her study, where he had remained ever since. She was starting to wonder about such things as daily walks and trips to the garden.
“He’s awfully big, isn’t he?” Arabella stooped to pat the massive head. Elf twitched an ear in response, but he did not open his eyes. “He looks like a huge wolf out of a fairy tale.”
Beatrice suddenly recalled a small item she had noticed in one of the morning papers. Something about a report of a wolf spotted late at night on a London street.
“Good heavens,” she muttered. “I wonder if—Oh, surely not.”
Arabella gave the hound one last pat and straightened. “What is it, Beatrice?”
“Never mind, it’s not important.” Beatrice picked up a pen and examined the nib. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”
“Aunt Winifred says we are to go shopping. Would you like to come with us?”
Beatrice glanced dubiously at Elf. She could not envision him in Lucy’s fitting room, and she knew Leo would be furious if she went out without her guardian. “I think not, thank you. I have some work to do. When I have finished my notes, I believe I shall take Elf for a walk. He is a very large animal. I expect he needs a great deal of exercise.”
Arabella nodded. “Well, I must go and dress. Aunt Winifred will be getting anxious.” She paused at the door and turned back with a faintly troubled expression. “Beatrice, you don’t think that she is right when she says that gentlemen never marry for love alone, do you?”
Beatrice nearly dropped her pen. It was the first time Arabella had exhibited even the smallest doubt about the ultimate triumph of true love. She cast about for a reassuring response that would not be an outright lie.
“I imagine it depends upon the gentleman in question, Arabella.”
“You married for love.”
“Yes.” Beatrice drew a deep breath. “But that does not always guarantee happiness.”
“Everyone in the family knows that your marriage was a perfect, harmonious blend of all the physical and metaphysical bonds that can possibly unite a man and a woman.”
Quite suddenly Beatrice had had enough of her own legend. After years of being content to allow it to stand, she had an overwhelming urge to rip it to shreds.
“Actually, it was not all that harmonious, Arabella.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Beatrice hesitated and then took the plunge. “I am going to tell you something that very few people know. My husband married me because he could not have the woman he truly loved. Unfortunately, I did not discover that until after the wedding.”
Arabella stared at her. “Whatever do you mean? The entire family knows that you loved Justin Poole with all your heart.”
“I loved Justin in the beginning, but in the end he managed to turn that love to a feeling of pity and … something else.”
“What was that?”
“Anger.” The charged word hung in the air, startling Beatrice far more than it did Arabella. “Rage would not be too strong a word, to be honest. I was furious with him for what he had done to me. But I did not admit it to anyone, not even to myself. You see, I felt guilty.”
“Guilty? Whatever for?”
“I told myself that it was my fault that I could not make him forget the woman he held in his
heart. I blamed myself for not being able to rescue him from his hopeless infatuation and teach him to love again. But deep down I think I hated him for deceiving me.”
Arabella looked shocked. “You hated him?”
“My emotions got so confused, I no longer knew exactly how I did feel. I know only that the day I received word of his death, I felt a sense of shock but not great grief.”
“How dreadful for you.”
“Oddly enough, it does not feel nearly so dreadful as it once did.” Beatrice smiled. “Perhaps that is why I am able to talk to you about it now.”
It was true, she thought. From out of nowhere, a strange sense of calm settled on her as she spoke the truth aloud. All these years, she thought, amazed. All these years I told myself that it was pity that I felt for Justin. I told myself that he could not be blamed for the tragedy of having loved so deeply. What utter rubbish.
“The truth is, the bastard lied to me,” Beatrice said. Her spirits soared with every word. “He cheated me and he cheated himself as well.”
“Yes, he most certainly did cheat you,” Arabella declared with touching loyalty. “He did not deserve you.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice smiled. “Now then, you must not worry about me. It all happened a long time ago. My heart is quite healed.”
“It is astonishing.” Arabella looked bemused. “You have become a great romantic legend in the family. We all thought you had vowed never to wed again because you could not bring yourself to put Justin out of your heart.”
“I vowed never to wed again because I was afraid of repeating the terrible mistake I made in my first marriage,” Beatrice said dryly.
“You always seem so confident.”
“Yes, well, when it comes to love, I fear I am not quite so confident as I am in other matters.”
“Except in your novels,” Arabella said softly.
Beatrice raised her brows. “That is very insightful of you.”
“Oh, Beatrice, I am so sorry that you have never known true love.”
Beatrice realized with a start that Arabella looked quite stricken. She got to her feet and went around the desk to give her cousin a hug.
“It’s quite all right, my dear. I have done very nicely without it.”
“But—”
“Hush.” She patted Arabella’s shoulder. “I did not tell you my story in order to make you doubt Pearson. He is not anything like Justin. In truth, I believe he cares deeply for you.”
“Do you really think so?”
Beatrice thought about the way Pearson looked at Arabella when she was not aware of it. “Yes, I do.”
Arabella relaxed. “Thank heaven.”
Beatrice drew a deep breath. “My dear, you must listen to me. There can be no doubt that Pearson has formed an attachment to you. But whether or not his parents will allow him to ask for your hand is another matter entirely. You must prepare yourself for any eventuality.”
“Pearson is a dutiful son,” Arabella said. “Naturally he wants his parents to approve of his choice of a bride. But he is a man and he will make his own decision in the end, regardless of whether or not his parents sanction his choice.”
There was nothing like love to turn one into an optimist, Beatrice reflected. She gave Arabella another hug. “I hope you are right. Perhaps your instincts are better than mine in such matters.”
SHE HAD NOT set out to walk all the way to Deeping Lane, Beatrice told herself an hour later when she halted Elf at the edge of a small park. But once the notion of spying upon Graham Saltmarsh’s lodgings occurred to her, she had been unable to get it out of her mind. She had recalled overhearing him give his address to the clerk in Hook’s bookshop. It was as though fate had taken a hand. She had been provided with a perfect opportunity to gain some possibly useful information concerning Saltmarsh’s comings and goings.
And Elf had needed the exercise, she reminded herself virtuously. Large hounds required a lot of walking.
It struck her that she was already formulating excuses to make to Leo. As if he were a husband who had the right to criticize her decisions. She groaned in disgust.
The fog had evaporated for a while earlier that morning, but now it was thickening once more. It cloaked Deeping Lane in a gray mist. From where she stood beneath the branches of a large tree, Beatrice could still make out the front door of number twenty-one, but only just.
“Perhaps we should walk a bit closer to his lodgings, Elf. There is no point spying on a door if one cannot see clearly who goes in or out.”
Elf’s ear twitched, but he concentrated his attention on some grass at the base of the tree. The scent he found there appeared to interest him greatly.
When she tugged lightly on his leash, however, he willingly abandoned the tree to explore new territory. Together they crossed the street and started slowly along the pathway that would take them directly past Saltmarsh’s lodgings.
Beatrice was not overly concerned that Saltmarsh would recognize her if he happened to be at home and chanced to look out the window. Her veiled hat and long woolen cloak provided ample anonymity. She was merely one more lady out for a stroll with her pet hound.
A tingle of excitement went through her as she and Elf walked directly past the front door of 21 Deeping Lane. She could not help but notice that in spite of the dreary day, there was no glow of lamp-or firelight in any of the windows.
A young boy with a mop of unkempt hair barreled around the corner and stopped short when he saw Elf. His eyes widened with a combination of dread and excitement.
“Is that a wolf, ma’am?”
“What?” Beatrice glanced down at the urchin. “Oh, no, he’s not a wolf. Just a large hound.”
“Will he bite me?”
“I don’t think so,” Beatrice said. “You can pet him if you like.”
“Bloody ’ell” Gingerly the boy patted Elf’s head twice and then jumped back out of reach. “Wait until I tell the others that I touched a real live wolf.”
An idea occurred to Beatrice. She opened her reticule and rummaged around for a coin. “Would you be so good as to knock on number twenty-one?”
The boy shrugged, took the coin, and dashed up the steps. Beatrice moved a little farther down the street and waited.
The boy stood on tiptoe and banged the knocker several times. The door did not open.
“That will do,” Beatrice said when the urchin sauntered back to her. “You’ve been very helpful.”
With a last awed glance at Elf, the boy turned and raced off toward the park.
Beatrice studied the door of number twenty-one. “It appears that Mr. Saltmarsh is not at home, Elf.”
Elf sniffed thoughtfully at a clump of weeds.
“What do you say, Elf? Shall we go around to the back to see if there is a garden?”
Elf said nothing. Beatrice decided to take his failure to respond as tacit agreement. They made their way around the far end of the block, turned, and ducked into a narrow alley.
Elf found a great deal to interest him in the odoriferous passage, but Beatrice dragged him on until they reached the walled garden behind number twenty-one.
She tried the iron gate. It was unlocked.
“Do not make a sound, Elf.”
Elf, who had not made any noise at all thus far, gave her a curious glance before he trotted through the gate.
A tingle of apprehension went down Beatrice’s spine. The house would most certainly be locked, she told herself. Without Leo’s assistance, she would not be able to enter. But she could peek through the windows. Perhaps she would spot something that might be a useful clue.
Elf showed considerable interest in a bedraggled kitchen garden. Beatrice allowed him to sniff around the edges of the small plot while she nerved herself to peer through a window.
The curtains had been drawn, but one edge had caught on a small end table. She was able to see through a narrow crack straight into what appeared to be a small, cluttered study not unlike her own. The book
cases were crammed full of leather-bound volumes. Several more books lay open on the desk.
Other than verifying Saltmarsh’s scholarly inclinations, she could see nothing that looked particularly helpful.
Disappointed, she started to turn away. She saw that Elf was sitting patiently in front of the back door. He looked as if he expected her to open it for him.
“I’m sure it’s locked, Elf.”
But what if it were not?
She went up the step. Tentatively, she reached out to try the knob. It turned easily within her grasp.
“I shall take it as an omen, Elf.” She opened the door and stepped into a dark, narrow hall.
Elf loped eagerly through the doorway. Too eagerly.
He did not pause. He kept going, claws clicking on the wooden floor. His forward momentum jerked the end of the leash out of her hand.
“Elf,” she yelled sharply, horrified. “Come back here.”
The hound ignored her. He disappeared through a door halfway down the hall.
“Bloody hell,” Beatrice picked up her skirts and dashed after the hound. “Leo will strangle me if I lose you. Come here, you bloody damned hound.”
Leo came to stand in the doorway. He had a handful of letters in one hand and a pistol in the other.
“Hello, Beatrice.”
Chapter 17
The horror of it all. To be sacrificed on the altar of his unnatural lust…
FROM CHAPTER SEVENTEEN OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
“Leo.” Beatrice was chagrined by the breathless sound of her own voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Under the circumstances, I feel entitled to ask the same question of you.”
“I can explain,” she said quickly.
“So can I.” A laconic gleam appeared in his eye. “It will be interesting to see if either of us accepts the other’s explanations, will it not?”
“I must tell you, sir, you gave me a dreadful start.” Beatrice’s pulse slowed to a more reasonable pace, although it did not settle back into its normal rate. She was, after all, standing in the hall of a gentleman’s house to which she had not been invited. “I vow, if I were at all inclined to faint, I would succumb to a fit of the vapors here and now.”