by Amanda Quick
“But as you are not so inclined, we can dispense with the theatrics.” Leo turned and went back into the small sitting room he had obviously been in the midst of searching. He cocked a dark brow as he opened the drawer of a writing table. “I assume you are here for the same reason I am?”
“To take a quick look about for clues, of course,” she said crisply. “What other possible reason could I have for being here?”
He gave her one of his enigmatic, faintly brooding looks, the kind that never failed to irritate her.
She glared back at him. “Really, sir, what on earth is going through your head?”
“It merely occurred to me that as you prefer to think that Saltmarsh is innocent in this business—” He broke off, shrugging.
Beatrice was outraged. “You thought I came here to warn him that you are prying into his affairs? My lord, I will remind you that we are partners in this endeavor. I would not do such a thing without discussing it first with you.”
“I’m relieved to learn that.”
She glanced at Elf, who had flopped down in the center of the hall. “I happened to be passing by on my walk with your hound.”
Leo muttered something unintelligible and continued riffling through the papers he had found.
Beatrice cleared her throat. “When I noticed that there was no one at home—”
He looked up suddenly, a dark glint in his eye. “Hell’s teeth. It was you who knocked on the front door a short time ago.”
She lifted her chin. “I did no such thing.”
“Beatrice—”
“I paid a boy to do it for me,” she said quickly. “I wanted to be certain there was no one at home.”
“Talk about giving a person a start.” He closed the drawer and picked up a small statue of Aphrodite that sat on a table. “I very nearly fainted myself. I thought it was Sibson at the door.”
“Why?”
“I suppose he was on my mind. I have just come from his shop.” Leo glanced at the bottom of the statue. “A fake.”
“Mr. Sibson’s shop is a fake?”
“No, this bit of statuary.” He put the Aphrodite back down on the table. “No more than two or three years old, I suspect. Probably got it from Sibson.”
Beatrice stood on tiptoe to peer behind an Italian landscape that hung on the wall. In her novels her heroines never failed to find safes concealed in walls behind paintings. “Tell me about your visit to Sibson’s.”
“There is little to tell. Sibson was out when I arrived. In fact, there was every indication that he may have left Town in something of a hurry.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I went upstairs to his lodgings above the shop. Most of his clothes and his shaving articles were gone. Interestingly, Saltmarsh’s personal things are missing also. I have already searched his bedchamber.”
Beatrice frowned. “If they are both involved in this affair, as you suspect, they may have gotten nervous after Dr. Cox was murdered. Perhaps they both decided it would be wise to get out of London.”
“Yes.” Leo walked to the door. “I have finished with this room. There is only the study left to search.”
Beatrice trailed after him down the hall. “Last night you suggested that we may have stumbled into a quarrel among thieves. It is beginning to appear that way, is it not?”
“It fits the facts that we have at the moment.” Leo walked into the study and went straight to the desk. “Cox, Sibson, and Saltmarsh may have worked together to find the Forbidden Rings. They each had something to contribute to such a partnership.”
Beatrice perused the titles in the bookcase. Classical works in Greek and Latin for the most part, dealing with ancient history and old legends. “It appears that Mr. Saltmarsh is, indeed, a genuine antiquities scholar who could well have traced the Rings and perhaps the statue as well.”
“And it is a fact that Sibson has connections that reach deep into the underground realms of the antiquities trade. He has been involved in more than one fraudulent scheme in the past. He would not scruple to join forces with Saltmarsh to get his hands on something as valuable as the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite.”
“I suppose they must have paid Dr. Cox to concoct the poisons.”
“Yes.”
“Which one of them shot Dr. Cox, do you think?”
Leo hesitated. “I doubt that it was Sibson. He is a man who prefers intrigues and plots, not physical violence. His is a high-strung temperament.”
“It has been my observation that nervous persons sometimes overreact in moments of great tension. If consumed by panic, such a man might well pull the trigger of a pistol that he had intended to use only as a threat.”
“Very true.” Leo closed one desk drawer and opened another. “The possibility of obtaining the Forbidden Rings would make any serious collector somewhat anxious.”
Beatrice pulled a book off the shelf, opened it, and held it upside down so that the pages swung freely.
“What are you doing?”
“In my novels I frequently arrange for the heroine to discover ominous portents hidden in books.”
Leo’s smile was not quite a sneer, but it came perilously close. Beatrice decided to overlook his obvious disdain. Nothing of interest fell out of the volume. She put it back on the shelf and reached for another.
“You are a serious student of antiquities, Leo, but you do not appear to be overanxious about this affair of the Rings. Indeed, you are as steady as a chunk of granite.”
“Only because my nerves have been recently tempered by continual exposure to a far more unsettling influence.”
She shot him a suspicious glance. “What influence is that, my lord?”
“You know very well that I refer to yourself, Mrs. Poole.”
“Rubbish.” She yanked another book off the wall and held it upside down. “I do not believe that for one moment, sir. You are a gentleman who hunts highwaymen for sport, after all.”
“Only because there is so little in the way of conventional amusements to be had in that part of Devon.”
She did not dignify that with a response. “Have you found anything of significance in that desk?”
“It depends on what you mean by significant,” Leo said slowly.
She turned quickly and saw that he was studying a short stack of foolscap. “What is it?”
“It appears to be a portion of a manuscript.” Leo picked up the first page. “A novel of horror and dark mysteries, if I am not mistaken.” He began to read aloud in a deep, portentous voice.
“The ancient sepulchral vault was hewn from the very rock of the hillside. Tendrils of vines veiled the entrance, a shroud of verdant green designed by nature to conceal the unrelieved darkness on the other side.”
A sense of relief swept over Beatrice. “Mr. Saltmarsh did tell us the truth. He is an aspiring writer.”
Leo continued reading.
“Impelled by the great courage that was so deeply ingrained in her noble nature, the lovely Beatrice approached the crumbling ruin—”
“Beatrice. Let me see that.” Beatrice hurried to the desk. She ripped the page from Leo’s hand and stared at it. “Good heavens. He gave his heroine my name.”
“Clever bastard.” Leo yanked the paper back from her and dropped it onto the pile in the drawer. “No doubt he thought to impress you with his grand gesture.”
“Well, it is rather touching, you must admit.”
“On the contrary, it is cunning, crafty, and sly. Exactly the sort of ploy I would expect from Saltmarsh.” Leo slammed the drawer shut and went on to the next.
“Now, Leo, you cannot be certain that he intended anything other than a respectful tribute.”
Leo looked at her. “Good God. I would have thought that a woman of your mature years would be too wise in the ways of the world to fall for that sort of thing.”
“We women of mature years cannot afford to be too fussy about a gentleman’s choice of tribute,” Beatrice said coldly
. “Such gestures are rather few and far between when a lady reaches a certain age.”
He straightened abruptly. “Now, Beatrice, I never meant to imply—”
“Rubbish. But, never mind, I forgive you. One of the advantages of being a lady of mature years is that I am able to put certain things into proper perspective. You will not crush me with a few insensitive remarks about my age or naïveté.”
He said nothing. His gaze was shuttered and completely indecipherable. Beatrice went back to the bookshelf.
“You must admit.” she continued in what she hoped was a suitably businesslike tone, “those manuscript pages do indicate that Mr. Saltmarsh may have been completely honest with us about his role in this affair.”
“Beatrice.”
“Yes, Leo?” She pulled another book off the shelf, glanced at the title, and smiled. “Oh, look. Mr. Saltmarsh has my Bride of Scarcliffe Castle right here on the same shelf as he keeps his classical works.”
“I made that particular insensitive, unfeeling, and wholly unwarranted comment.” Leo said very steadily, “because I am jealous as hell of Saltmarsh.”
“I wonder if…” She swung around so quickly that she nearly dropped the volume in her hands. “What did you say?”
“I think you heard me.” Leo went back to searching one of the drawers. “Do you know, it has been so many years since I experienced the pangs of jealousy that I had quite forgotten how extremely unpleasant they are.”
“Leo.” She held the book to her breast and took a step toward the desk. “There is no need, I assure you. My feelings for Mr. Saltmarsh are nothing more than the customary bonds of friendship that develop naturally between two people who have something in common.”
“I see. What of the bonds between us, Beatrice?”
“Obviously they are of an entirely different nature from those I have with Graham. I mean, those I share with Mr. Saltmarsh.”
Leo glowered at her over the top of a lamp. “I cannot tell you how much it reassures me to hear that, madam.”
She studied him with growing curiosity. “You are annoyed.”
“I am also in a hurry. Shall we finish this bloody business and get out of here before Saltmarsh walks in and discovers us going through his things?”
“I thought you said he had left Town.”
“That is how it looks, but I cannot be absolutely certain.”
A soft whine froze the blood in Beatrice’s bones. She spun around and saw that Elf was on his feet, ears pricked, nose pointed down the length of the hall to the front door.
“Leo, your hound—”
“Yes.” Leo came around from behind the desk. “Someone is on the front step. The housekeeper, no doubt. Time for us to leave. Get rid of that damned book. Quickly.”
She shoved the novel back in place on the shelf. Leo seized her wrist and hauled her toward the study door.
A key rattled in the front door. Elf glanced politely at Leo as though awaiting instructions.
“No,” Leo whispered. “Come.”
He yanked Beatrice out of the study and into the hall. Elf ambled after them. Leo opened the back door. They all hurried outside onto the step.
Beatrice heard the front door open just as Leo quietly closed the rear one behind them.
She silently blessed the fog that had thickened during the time they had been inside Saltmarsh’s lodgings. It cloaked the small garden.
Elf led them unerringly to the narrow iron gate. A moment later they were safe in the alley.
“That,” Beatrice announced breathlessly, “was a bit close.”
“Yes, it was.” Leo’s hand tightened on her arm. “Too damn bloody close. I swear, if you ever again—”
“Let us stick to the problem at hand,” she interrupted briskly. “Mr. Sibson may well be involved in this affair, but we cannot be so certain about Mr. Saltmarsh. You must admit that from all indications, he told us the truth about himself.”
“I will admit that the evidence of his truthfulness is obvious.” Still gripping her wrist, Leo urged her toward the far end of the alley. “A bit too obvious.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Come now. A few pages of a manuscript with a heroine who has your name and a copy of one of your novels on his shelf? It’s clear to me that Saltmarsh arranged those things very carefully so that I would find them if I went looking.”
“You have a devious mind, Leo.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.” Leo slowed his pace to walk sedately out of the alley. “I would very much like to know where both Sibson and Saltmarsh are at this moment.”
LEO WAS STILL gnawing on the question of the whereabouts of the two men who were clearly at the heart of the puzzle when he and Beatrice walked into the hall of her town house a short while later.
“Beatrice.” Arabella flew out of the parlor, her eyes huge with excitement. She saw Leo, skidded to a halt, and dropped a hasty curtsy. “My lord.” She turned breathlessly back to Beatrice. “You’re home at last. Aunt Winifred and I have been beside ourselves with excitement.”
“What is it?” Beatrice removed her veiled hat and tossed it on the table. “Calm yourself. What has happened?”
Winifred appeared in the doorway of the parlor. She looked slightly dazed. “My dear Beatrice. Such news. We are quite overwhelmed.”
Beatrice frowned. “Who died?”
Winifred blinked several times. “Why, no one that I know of, dear. I was referring to your impending engagement.”
“My what?”
Leo winced as Beatrice’s voice climbed to a glassy shriek that by all the laws of science ought to have shattered the windowpanes. He wondered if it was too late to escape through the door.
“We realize that nothing has been announced.” Winifred gave Leo a brilliant smile. “But the news is all over Town, so we naturally assumed—”
“We heard it first from Lady Hazelthorpe,” Arabella interrupted. “She walked into Lucy’s shop just as we were about to leave. We ran straight into her. She could not wait to congratulate us.”
Winifred gave Beatrice a reproachful look. “We’re quite thrilled for you, dear, but I must tell you, it was somewhat awkward to receive the news from Lady Hazelthorpe.”
“Aunt Winifred recovered very swiftly from the shock, however.” Arabella grinned. “We both did. We pretended that we had known all along.”
“A few years of experience in Society stand one in good stead in an emergency such as that,” Winifred said modestly.
“Have you both gone mad?” Beatrice unfastened her cloak and hung it on a hook. “I cannot imagine where Lady Hazelthorpe got such a ridiculous tale. You ought to have realized that she was cozening you. Why she would do such a thing, I cannot imagine.”
Arabella bit her lip. Her gaze slid to Leo and back to Beatrice. “She said she heard it from Pearson, who had it directly from his lordship himself.”
Beatrice fitted her hands to her hips and glowered. “Which lordship?”
Leo decided it was time to do the manly thing. “This lordship.”
She swung around, mouth agape. It took her a few seconds to get it closed. “Whatever are you talking about, sir?”
“It is a rather long and somewhat involved story.” Leo took her arm. “Why don’t we go into your study to discuss it?”
She dug in her heels. “A moment, if you please, my lord.”
This would be his only chance, he thought. She was too bewildered to put up much resistance. He applied some pressure and managed to get her across the hall and into the study. He was able to close the door before she recovered completely.
“This has gone far enough, sir.” She pulled free of his grasp and stalked to her desk. Turning around, she leaned back and braced herself with a hand on each side. “Explain yourself.”
“In a nutshell, Burnby called me out.”
“Never say so.” Shock immediately replaced the outrage in her face. “I do not believe it.”
“I warned you that young men rarely comprehend the fine nuances of matrimonial plots and stratagems.” Leo went to stand in front of the window. “Burnby took my attentions to your cousin a bit too seriously.”
“Dear God. This is dreadful.”
He glanced at her, surprised to see that she was thoroughly shaken. He watched as she fumbled her way around her desk and fell into her chair.
Her obvious distress had a startling effect on his spirits. An odd warmth unfurled deep inside. She cared. At least enough not to want him involved in a duel.
“You need not reach for your vinaigrette,” he told her. “There will be no dawn appointment.”
“I do not possess a bottle of vinaigrette,” she said absently. Sudden comprehension leaped into her gaze. “You mean it is unnecessary because you explained to Burnby that he had misunderstood your interest in Arabella?”
“I told him my interest was in you instead.”
“I see.” She pondered that briefly. “Obviously you had to tell him something that would convince him that you were not in competition for Arabella’s hand.”
“Precisely my conclusion.” He relaxed slightly. She was going to be reasonable. “I tried your story first. I made it plain that I was merely a friend of the family. But he did not accept it.”
“It appears you were right about the melodramatic sensibilities of young gentlemen.” Beatrice shook her head once in dismay. “Nevertheless, calling you out was somewhat extreme under the circumstances. I would have thought Mr. Burnby more intelligent than that.”
Leo turned his attention back to the window. “I believe Burnby felt that a desperate situation demanded desperate measures.”
“He was so jealous of you, then?”
“Jealousy was no doubt part of it. But in fairness, I must say that Burnby saw a nobler purpose in his challenge.”
“Rubbish. What could be noble about calling you out merely to keep you from making an offer?”
Leo studied the slender trunk of a small tree that he could just barely make out in the swirling fog. “Burnby felt he had a duty to protect your young, innocent lamb of a cousin from being sacrificed on the altar of my lust.”