“I have the key, girlie. The question is: What’re we going to do with it?”
* * *
It was unfashionably early the next morning when Kyra boarded the earl of Griffin’s carriage and clattered down the street. As plans went, Kyra mused, this one was rather more brash than clever. Conroy was not particularly comfortable with the arrangements, but as he’d offered no alternatives, they agreed to go with what they had. They both understood that she was the brains in this pairing, which was for the best. She wouldn’t have agreed to such utter nonsense had she herself not suggested it.
They had sketched out the details yesterday afternoon. So far everything was going according to plan. Conroy had sent a note early confirming that the Ashford valet was still abed and that Edmund’s young valet, Emmers, knew his role. Conroy was lurking somewhere outside Edmund’s London town house. Everyone was in position. Now it was up to her.
Kyra clutched her reticule, feeling for the hard hunk of metal within. She braced her nerves and tried to quell the fluttering of her heart. When she’d asked Mr. Conroy yesterday what she should do if she got caught, he’d looked her straight in the eye and said, “Don’t get caught.” Not exactly helpful, she mused, but sound advice. Edmund was not a nice person.
The carriage stopped and Kyra’s heart jumped into her throat. She forced her breath out and composed herself. The door opened and she felt her feet moving, as though in a dream, to the front door of Edmund’s London residence. Kyra drew herself up to her full height and steeled herself for the performance of her life.
The dour-faced butler, Jenkins, took one look at her and frowned. “Lord Ashford is not accepting visitors at this time, Lady Griffin.”
Kyra was quite ready to deal with this minor obstacle and used every ounce of her status and hauteur to push past the disapproving man. “I am not a visitor, Jenkins,” she stated coolly, sailing past the man with a confidence she did not feel. “I’m family.” She eyed the man disapprovingly. “Where is he?”
He didn’t want to answer, that was quite obvious, but decades of ingrained protocol worked against him. “The master is in his study.”
She set out for the study before Jenkins could stop her. “Perfect,” Kyra tossed over her shoulder.
The scrabble of feet warned her that the butler was fast on her trail. “Perhaps milady would be more comfortable in the sitting room,” he tried, attempting to redirect. “I will have tea sent in immediately.”
“Nonsense, Jenkins,” Kyra said without sparing the man a glance. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”
The man babbled at her shoulder in vain. Kyra ignored him and pushed right through the door of Edmund’s study. Grif’s uncle looked up at her from his desk, a scowl darkening his brows, and Kyra swallowed hard. The thought of what she was about to do made her knees wobble. Remembering her husband’s freedom was at stake, as well as her child’s future, she forced herself to grimace in return.
“Lady Griffin,” Jenkins announced, as though he’d escorted her willingly.
Edmund rose slowly and inclined his head briefly, just shy of insulting, then dismissed the butler with a wave of his hand. “Lady Griffin. To what do I owe the pleasure of your charming company?” He gestured for her to sit.
She ignored the gesture and glared at him. “Where is my husband?”
“You don’t mind if I sit, do you, my dear?” Edmund sat without waiting for her response. “You’ve misplaced Grif, have you?”
Kyra snorted. “Oh, please. Prevaricating only insults us both. I know he left London to conduct business for you.”
Edmund grinned a nasty grin, reminding Kyra of a cat toying with a mouse. “I thought he left because he was wanted for murder. Messy business, that.”
“Grif did not kill Brumley,” she said emphatically.
“Do you really think he didn’t?” Edmund asked. “Society believes otherwise.”
Kyra let her shoulders sag a little, hoping to look missish. “He didn’t,” she said, sounding petulant. “When he comes home, everyone will know the truth.”
As she’d hoped, Edmund pounced. “Little fool. What makes you think he’s coming back?” He looked at her with eyes very similar to those of her husband. “You?”
“What makes you think he isn’t?” she challenged.
Edmund bit his lip in ill-contained glee. “The job has long been finished. I paid his blond friend, Halling or whatever his name is, last week, per Grif’s request. I haven’t heard from him since. Have you?”
Last week! Kyra exhaled in genuine surprise. She was going to kill her husband the next time she saw him.
Fortunately Edmund misread her shocked expression. “Oh, dear. It seems my nephew has not returned to the arms of his blushing bride. Pity.”
Kyra sank into a chair, wondering how much longer she had to stall. She looked up at Edmund with true hatred in her eyes. “What does Grif do for you?”
“Now, now, my dear,” Edmund said coyly. “I find curiosity to be a very unbecoming characteristic for such a lovely young lady. Especially when I suspect you won’t really like the answers to such questions.”
“I tire of these games,” she snapped. “In the last month I’ve lost my husband and my security. I’ve been ostracized and humiliated by polite society. I have a very large, very persistent Bow Street hound sniffing around my house and my person, plaguing me with questions. I have nothing left but questions, Edmund, and they all lead me to you.”
Edmund smirked. “What an unfortunate situation.”
The smart remark died on her lips as Jenkins entered the room, looking ready to snap in half. “A Bow Street Runner to see you, sir,” he stated nervously.
Kyra glared triumphantly at Edmund. “That would be Mr. Conroy. My Bow Street hound. I’d rather not see him.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Lady Griffin,” Edmund stated haughtily, rising and strolling to the door. “It appears I have real business to attend. I’m sure you can see yourself out.”
“I’ll wait here.” Kyra sniffed, opening her reticule and fishing for a handkerchief. “When you’re done with Mr. Conroy, we can finish our business.” Edmund glared but said nothing. She wiggled her fingertips at him. “Enjoy Mr. Conroy,” she called.
As soon as the door closed, Kyra grabbed the key from the handkerchief and leapt from the chair. She scurried to the desk and hefted the corner of the heavy Persian rug to search for the safe. It was a matter of seconds to find it and open it, but it felt like an eternity. Her heart was racing as she reached in and began pulling out the contents: several rolled pieces of foolscap, a bag full of something that felt suspiciously like jewels, and finally, a leather-bound book that must be what she was here to collect.
Kyra opened it, her breathing shallow. She scanned a page full of dates, initials, and amounts. This must be it. She rifled through the remaining items in the safe, making sure there was nothing else of use to her. When she’d gotten through it all, she locked the safe, smoothed the rug back into place and ran to the window. Her hands shook as she opened the heavy pane and stuck her head out.
A dark head popped up out of the bushes and very nearly set her to shrieking. Quelling the urge to hit the young man over the head, she said. “Mr. Emmers?”
“Yes, milady,” the young man said softly. “Did you get it?”
Kyra nodded and handed the ledger and the key to the valet. She watched him wrap the book in a bolt of fabric as she spoke. “Stash the book and return the key to Mellon’s room immediately. Mr. Conroy will meet you at Tattershall’s within the hour to collect it. Do not let anyone see you.”
Emmers said softly, “Conroy told me you might have employment for me if I helped you with this, milady.”
Kyra nodded. “Help us with this and we will discuss your new position.”
The servant nodded and ducked out of sight.
Kyra closed the window and scurried back to her seat, surveying the room to make sure nothing looked askance. She thought everything looked exactly the same as it had moments ago, though her nerves were strung so tight she couldn’t be sure. Had she left the curtain askew? Should she fix it? She nearly jumped out of her seat when the door opened and Edmund entered the study.
“Bit edgy, are we?” Edmund purred, sitting down behind his desk.
“I don’t like feeling harassed,” she said archly. “Mr. Conroy has been dogged in his pursuit for answers. I feel like a fox scented by a hound.”
Kyra watched him flipping through his papers. She knew he was waiting for her to resume the conversation; he enjoyed toying with her too much to be forthcoming. Kyra suddenly felt inexplicitly exhausted. She had the ledger—all she wanted now was to flee. That was impossible, she knew, as Edmund would wonder at her sudden retreat.
Instead, Kyra looked at Grif’s uncle with all the hauteur at her disposal. “Let’s get back to the business at hand. I want answers.”
Edmund sighed. “You’re an intelligent creature, Kyra, even if you are rather tiresome. Have you really not figured it out?”
She snorted. “Would I really be here if I had?”
“Touché,” he said, tossing aside his papers and folding his hands on his desk in front of her to better give her his full attention, as one might when explaining something complicated to a child.
“Well, my dear, here it is. Grif’s papa—my dearly departed brother—wasted the family fortune on cards and silly ventures that never worked out, leaving his widow and children with an enormous pile of debt.”
“And you offered to keep the family afloat. For a price.”
Edmund’s smile was cruel. “I couldn’t let them starve...yet Grif is much too proud to take my charity. So I made him a very generous offer—to which he agreed, I might add. While most men of his rank and title manage vast estates, Grif has spent the last years scraping by and working off his father’s debt, coordinating one of the most successful smuggling rings the Waterguard has ever seen.
“Apparently, it wasn’t enough for Grif,” he continued. “He decided a wealthy wife was necessary to his survival.”
Kyra opened her mouth, and snapped it shut. To hear it put so bluntly made it sting all over again.
“As for his whereabouts,” Edmund said, eyeing Kyra the way a snake does a mouse, “I have no idea. He finished his job, collected his pay and disappeared. I assume he’s either dead or, because he’s a blackguard, has shipped off to parts far from our charming island. He knows as well as I that if he shows his face in London again, he’ll hang.
“Your husband, in a nutshell, is a pauper and a thief and a liar.” He looked at Kyra directly. “And that, my dear Kyra, is the answer to all your questions.”
“I don’t believe it,” she finally said softly, unsure of what else to say.
Edmund waved dismissively and began shuffling papers on his desk. “Believe what you will. I don’t have time to indulge childish histrionics. Now kindly remove yourself from my study.”
“He didn’t kill Brumley.”
“I didn’t say he did.” Edmund shrugged. “But Society has found him guilty, so it really doesn’t matter what we believe, does it? He has left me with a mess and you with, as you said, nothing but questions. Now, as I have answered those questions—” He shooed her away like a bothersome insect.
Kyra sat in awkward silence for what seemed an eternity. She still had so many questions about her husband, yet she knew better than to believe anything Edmund said. Unfortunately, she couldn’t trust Grif either...not that he’d been willing to give her answers anyway.
Finally, she forced herself to her feet. She suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired. She wanted to run, though she wasn’t even certain she could walk. She trudged slowly toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her head was buzzing with a dozen conflicting thoughts. All the lies, all the machinations, made it impossible to trust any of the Ashfords. Even Thomas and Mr. Conroy knew things about Grif that they were reluctant to share with her.
How could she separate truth from fiction?
Even if she could, it no longer mattered. She had laid herself bare before Grif and he had soundly discarded her. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t bear to live with any more deception...any more hurt. She had done all she could to make their marriage work. Waiting around, hoping Grif would miraculously fall in love with her left her feeling oddly empty.
Kyra absently patted her stomach, wishing everything could be different.
It was time to put this whole awful business behind her, Kyra decided in that moment. She needed to focus her attention on the future—for her sake, but more importantly for the sake of her child. This child would know only love.
There was only one way she could fathom putting Grif behind her. She would run away, one last time—away from this entire mess. She’d run from Edmund, from Society’s snubs, from her loneliness.
From Grif.
Biting her lip, she turned and cleared her throat. Edmund studiously ignored her. She did so again, louder, and Edmund sighed but looked up.
“I believe I’ve had enough,” she stated tiredly. “As you said, I have nothing left. I’m leaving for the Continent by month’s end for an extended stay with my cousin. I don’t plan on coming back.”
Grif’s uncle looked up at her with calculating eyes, obviously gauging how to use this information to his advantage. Of course he was pleased to hear that she was skipping town. Without her, all the loose ends of this business could be tied up right and tight, and he could concoct whatever story best furthered his agenda.
“A difficult decision, I’m sure. Yet I think that’s for the best,” he said smoothly.
Kyra staggered to the door, barely registering that she opened it. She strolled blindly through the grand hallway and out the front door, trying to collect her scattered wits. She needed to focus on the details of her extended trip abroad. She had a lot to do if she wanted to leave in two weeks’ time, yet Kyra could barely concentrate on walking down the steps of Edmund’s town house toward her carriage. She almost stumbled, twice, and when she finally did make it, it took all her effort not to break down in front of the coachman.
It wasn’t until the door was shut and she was alone in the safety of the carriage that she allowed herself to cry. She was leaving her life, and this time there was no coming back. Even if the ledger held something of consequence, even if Conroy found Brumley’s killer, she could not return. As wonderful as it would be clear their names—and to see Edmund suffer for his crimes—it could never make up for Grif’s lies.
And Grif... Grif was no longer her problem, Kyra steeled her resolve, the tears flowing freely. At the moment she wanted nothing to do with the Griffin family anymore. Leaving for the Continent was for the best.
As Edmund had put it, there was nothing for her here.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I hate to say it, but the ledger hasn’t been as informative as we’d hoped,” Kyra said sometime later. Conroy had come to call shortly after she’d returned home from Edmund’s, ledger in hand. “Perhaps the correct ledger wasn’t in the safe? Even if this is the book, I can’t decipher these initials and numbers. Like this: K2.8, Gr, 10L/20B, 600£. Then next line: 2.8, Gr, 50L. Or S9.9, AD-Br, 500£. What does that even mean?”
Conroy scratched his head. “I ain’t seeing it either, girlie.”
“Drat,” Kyra cursed softly. “I was hoping we’d find something here.”
“What now?” Conroy asked.
Kyra sighed. “I don’t know. Perhaps we could use the ledger to blackmail Edmund, though seeing how we don’t understand what’s here, that would require a great deal of acting. Well beyond my abilities, I fear.”
She chewed her lip, consi
dering the possibilities. “I don’t even know what we’d blackmail him for,” she admitted. She looked at Conroy and said, “Though it pains me to say this, I’m at a loss.”
Conroy nodded. “Maybe Grif should take a look?”
It nearly killed her, but she nodded. “Yes. I think he stands a better chance of deciphering this—” She gestured in frustration. She began pacing, trying to figure out the best way to pass the ledger to her husband.
“Of course, involving Grif presents a few problems of its own,” she said. “We probably shouldn’t tell him how we got it.”
Conroy nodded. “Good point, missy. He’d slay us both.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And then there is the little problem of finding him.”
“Hmm,” Conroy grunted. “What about Harting?”
Kyra chewed her lip again. “I’m sure he knows where Grif is. The problem is, Thomas is quite...quite stubborn and I have rather exhausted all avenues of persuasion with him.” At the huge man’s bemused expression, she muttered sheepishly, “Thomas has decided that it’s best not to be left alone in a room with me.”
Conroy barked a hoarse laugh at that. “I can only imagine what you did to the poor man, girlie.”
“He deserved it, Mr. Conroy, I assure you,” Kyra said dryly. “Unfortunately, he’ll never fall for it again.”
“I could persuade him,” Conroy said slowly. “Though, my way usually involves a broken arm or leg. I’d rather not hurt him. He’s a good bloke.”
Kyra pulled a face. “Yes, I’d rather not have you snap any of his limbs.”
“Maybe we could just give the book to Harting?” Conroy suggested.
She looked at the big man in surprise. “Honesty and straightforwardness, Mr. Conroy? Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You swear a lot for a lady.” He grinned. “And you lie a lot. For a lady.”
“I cheat at cards too.” Kyra smirked, enjoying their odd little friendship.
“So,” he said, suddenly serious, “which one of us is going to give him the book?”
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