Loving.
Either way, it was far from the woman she was now.
“Lord Reinhold.” Sweeping into the parlor with deliberate fanfare, Vanessa thrust out her hand for a kiss before stepping to the side to allow the earl and Amelia to come face to face. For his part, Reinhold actually had the good grace to look embarrassed. But Amelia wasn’t fooled by the dull flush creeping up the sides of his neck, nor was she moved by his humble bow.
“My lady,” he murmured, lightly grasping her fingers and raising her knuckles to his lips.
Snatching her hand away before he could kiss it, Amelia regarded him with a scowl. The bruises from his encounter with Kent had mostly faded, but it was obvious to anyone who cared to look that his face was covered in a light sheen of powder.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I came to see you,” he murmured.
“Excellent. Now you can see yourself right out the door you deceitful, dishonorable–”
Tittering, Vanessa stepped between them.
“Oh Amelia,” she sighed as she took her daughter’s arm and steered her over to a floral sofa. Indicating the earl should sit across from them with a subtle nod of her head, she sank down beside her daughter and patted her knee in a gesture that almost passed for maternal. Only Amelia knew it was a warning. Behave, or else. “You and your silly little jokes. You know that is no way to greet our guest. How are you faring today, Lord Reinhold? I trust your mother is well?”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Reinhold darted a quick glance at Amelia who, taking a page from Kent’s Book of Good Manners, bared her teeth. “She, ah, sends her best.”
“Please return the same to her,” said Vanessa.
“I certainly will.”
Pleasantries commenced, an awkward silence hung heavily in the air, punctuated by the sound of Amelia’s heel tapping against the floor.
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap–
“That’s quite enough, dear.” Smile strained, Vanessa patted her knee again. Harder. “Lord Reinhold, what keeps you in London?”
“Business,” the earl replied. “I started a new venture at the end of the Season, and I’m hesitant to leave for Somerset until I know it’s comfortably off the ground.”
Amelia cocked her head. “Is that what they call chasing after dowries these days?” she asked curiously. “Business ventures? I had no idea.”
“Amelia Grace.” Mortified, the Duchess of Webley delivered a swift kick to Amelia’s ankle. “That is no way to speak to Lord Reinhold! Apologize at once.”
“As soon as he apologizes to me.”
“To you? The earl has done nothing to apologize for!”
“That’s not entirely true,” Reinhold said quietly. He took a deep breath, the very picture of contriteness as emotion welled in his eyes.
“This should be good,” Amelia muttered under her breath. There was no doubt in her mind that whatever regret the earl might exhibit was nothing more than a careful act designed to win her favor. He’d shown his true colors out on the terrace, and having seen the ugliness that lived beneath that pretty face she wasn’t soon to forget it…or forgive.
Kent had been right. There were monsters living amidst them.
Some were just better dressed than most.
“I fear I have held Lady Amelia in the highest regard for some time, Your Grace, and at the ball I let my, ah, baser instincts get the best of me. I was far too forward, and for that I deeply apologize and humbly ask for your forgiveness.”
“None of us are perfect, Lord Reinhold,” Vanessa said kindly. “Take my daughter, for instance. She is quite headstrong, and I’ve no doubt your actions, while far from commendable, were in part provoked by her fractious nature.”
Reinhold nodded gravely. “Your insight and wisdom is greatly appreciated, Your Grace.”
“Thank you. We accept your apology and–”
“We do nothing of the sort,” Amelia interrupted. She looked at her mother in disbelief, and then narrowed her gaze at Reinhold. “You are wasting your time. I am never going to accept your courtship. You’d have a better chance trying to marry one of the pigs at the butchers.” Her eyes glinted. “If they’d have you, that is.”
The earl jolted out of his chair. His mouth curled in an angry sneer, all of his feigned penitence falling away to reveal a petulant child who had just been told he couldn’t have the toy that he wanted. “Should I tell your mother what really happened? Should I tell her you threw yourself at me like a bitch in heat?”
“Lord Reinhold,” Vanessa gasped.
But the earl was too overcome with fury to stop. “Should I tell her the sort of company you keep? Should I tell her that her perfect, precious little daughter is really a who–”
“That’s enough,” the Duke of Webley ordered imperiously from the doorway. His forehead damp with sweat from the toll it had taken on his healing body to walk down the stairs, he nevertheless stood straight and steady on his feet as he stared down the earl. “You will remove yourself from my home at once.”
Reinhold paled. “Your Grace, I–I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Tommens,” the duke said calmly, and as if out of thin air the loyal butler materialized at his employer’s side. Short and stocky, Tommens had a square face he always kept carefully devoid of emotion and thick hair that had gone gray many years ago despite his age of two and forty.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Please see to it this man is promptly escorted out and that he never returns again.”
Tommens nodded. “At once, Your Grace.” His expression hardened as he looked at Reinhold. “Best come quietly, m’lord. No reason to cause a fuss.”
But Reinhold, having now just realized the gravity of his mistake – not to mention what a cut direct from the Duke of Webley would do to his social ambitions – tried to dig in his heels.
“No!” he cried, his gaze frantic as he searched for some sign of pity in the faces of the duke and duchess. Finding none, he turned to Amelia. “Please. This – this has all been a large misunderstanding. I – I never should said those things. They were positively abhorrent, and I am so very sorry.”
“Are you really?” She lifted a brow. “Or are you just sorry you revealed yourself for the sniveling coward you truly are?”
His entire face flushed a dark, angry red. “You little– ”
“Come on.” Roughly taking the earl by the arms, Tommen half shoved/half walked him out of the parlor. Reinhold’s shouted protests grew fainter and fainter, and then disappeared entirely when the front door slammed.
Expelling the air she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, Amelia clasped a hand to her brow and looked first at her mother, who appeared as if in a daze, and then at her father.
“Are you all right, my dear?” he said softly, and the concern in his voice caused the back of her throat to tighten. It was the first time they’d spoken since she’d rushed out of his bedchamber five days ago, and with a sharp intake of breath she ran across the parlor and flung herself into his arms.
“I’m sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her cheek to his chest, just like she’d done when she was a young girl and he’d come home from one of his long trips.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He started to return her embrace, and then winced in pain when the small motion pulled at his injured shoulder. “I believe I should go back upstairs and rest. I would encourage both of you to do the same.”
“Yes.” Still appearing someone dazed – it wasn’t every day an earl was thrown out of a duke’s parlor – Vanessa stood, glanced quickly at Amelia, and then rushed out of the room.
“Don’t be too hard on your mother,” said the duke, noting the way Amelia had stiffened when the duchess hurried past. “She only wants what is best for you. We both do.”
“Yes, well, she’s the one who would have married me off to that pompous swain without a second th
ought,” Amelia said darkly.
“Oh, I very much doubt that.” Webley stroked her hair. “Why don’t you retire to your bedchamber until dinner. You’ve had a very trying afternoon. Read a book, take a nap – whatever pleases you, my dear.”
Amelia stepped back. “Should I send for a doctor?” she asked, worried by the way her father appeared to be favoring his arm.
“No, no.” He smiled down at her. “I’ll be fine. A quick word with Tommens, and then I shall rest. Go on, now. I’ll be right behind you. After we’ve all had some time to collect ourselves, we’ll have dinner. As a family.”
His words, so sincerely spoken, were exactly what Amelia had been longing to hear. She just hadn’t known it until he said them out loud.
Maybe…maybe this time things really would be different. Maybe this time the duke wouldn’t leave. Maybe this time they would finally be a family. A real family. Although for that to happen, Vanessa would have to stop trying to force Amelia into courtships she didn’t want or need.
A battle to be fought another day, she thought silently.
Choosing to heed her father’s advice – a good nap sounded heavenly – she started to leave, hesitated, and then ran back to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For caring.”
One afternoon did not make up for years of abandonment.
But it was a start.
“You.” Lord Reinhold’s brow mired in confusion, he stepped back to admit his unexpected guest into his foyer. “What – what are you doing here? What do you want?”
“You made a mistake,” his guest said.
“I know,” Reinhold said in a rush. “I shouldn’t have gone to see Lady Amelia. I apologize. I – I lost my temper and…” The blood drained from his face when he saw the saw the sharp gleam of the knife. “What are you doing with that?”
“You need to atone for your sins.”
Reinhold backed into a marble pedestal. The bust – an exact replica of his countenance – sitting atop it tumbled to the floor and cracked in half, splitting straight down the middle. He tripped over his prominent jawline and fell.
“Wait!” he cried, clasping his hands together as his eyes rolled with terror. “Please, I’m sorry. Damnit, I’m sorry. I beg of you–”
The knife slashed down. Reinhold screamed when the blade sliced across his cheek, drawing blood. But it was only a shallow cut. One of dozens that were soon to come. Because the monster Reinhold had invited into his home didn’t just want to kill him.
He wanted to watch him suffer.
Chapter Eight
The Next Morning
Bow Street Headquarters
“There’s been a report of a murder,” Owen announced as he walked into the meeting room. Tobias, hunched over his supper – a bowl of stew and a stale biscuit he’d scrounged up from the kitchen– didn’t bother to look up.
Murders were daily occurrences in London, particularly now that the summer heat had set in and the stench of unwashed bodies and human shite was strong enough to make a man’s eyes water.
From Grosvenor Square to Seven Dials people were hot, irritable, and tired. Emotions which often culminated in violence, whether it be a brawl outside a tavern or a body found floating in the Thames. Stirring his stew, Tobias couldn’t help but wonder if Amelia had gone to Bath yet. For her sake, he hoped so. He could have easily checked up on her – he did, after all, know where she lived – but after their kiss on the bridge he’d sworn to himself that he’d leave her alone, and it was a promise he intended to keep.
No matter how much it pained him to do so.
“Where?” Felix Spencer, cunning thief turned Bow Street Runner, sat in the windowsill with Mrs. Wadsworth lounging his lap. Owen consulted the slip of paper that had been passed to him by one of the young boys he employed to bring him news of criminal activity before the Peelers caught wind of it.
“At the residence of” – he squinted at the small words scratched across the parchment – “Lord Blindfold? That can’t be right.”
“It could,” Colin Ferguson interjected. He sat across the table from Kent, brawny arms draped behind his head and legs kicked out in front of him. After working all night down at the docks he was visibly fatigued, but the Runners were accustomed to going two, three, sometimes even four days with little sleep and no rest.
Beside him his brother Ian was lightly snoring while sitting upright. A friendly jab in the ribs and he startled awake, brown eyes blurry with exhaustion.
“What was that for?” he complained, rubbing his side.
“I have a question.”
“Then ask it and then leave me alone.”
“What was the name of that nabob we took in last week for pinching a necklace from the jeweler on Edison?”
“Muttonwood,” Ian said before he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “His name was Muttonwood. Now sod off.” Within seconds he was snoring again.
“Aye, that’s it.” Colin grinned. “Lord Muttonwood. If there’s one of those roaming about, there could be a Lord Blindfold.”
“The B looks like an R.” Owen held the note up to a window. “Lord Rlin–”
Tobias’ spoon clattered to the floor.
“Reinhold,” he growled. “Lord Reinhold.”
For an instant, the captain’s startled gaze flashed to Grant who was sitting at the far end of the table. Then he crumpled the note and slipped it into his pocket. “Hargave and Kent,” he said curtly. “My office. Now.”
His mind racing, Tobias followed Owen up the stairs and into the captain’s private study.
If Reinhold really was dead, then this wasn’t an ordinary murder. Commoners died every day and no one batted an eye. But the death of a nobleman, particularly an earl, would be almost certain to attract attention. The ton was going to demand a suspect be found before the day was done.
And two weeks ago he’d beaten Reinhold bloody.
“I didn’t do it,” he said before Owen had even closed the door. “That’s why ye brought me up here, isn’t it? To see if I was the one who killed him.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Owen admitted before he sat down behind his desk and absently shuffled a stack of papers. “Have a seat. Both of you. We need to discuss how we plan to proceed before we go out there with our pistols halfcocked.”
Tobias remained standing. Shoulders stiff, chest tight, he prowled back and forth through the long morning shadows spilling out from beneath the bookshelves. “I would have done it. I would have killed him at the ball if she hadn’t stopped me.” And simply knowing that, feeling that deep in his gut, brought a flicker of uncertainty.
“Easy Kent,” Hargrave murmured. “No one’s accusing you of anything.”
No, they weren’t. But then they didn’t need to.
Not when he was questioning whether to accuse himself.
The madness had been worse than ever over the past few days. Creeping in when he least expected it. Tearing furrows into his flesh. Whispering wicked thoughts into his ear. He’d tried to drown out the demons with drink, but that had only led to drunken stupors. Drunken stupors where minutes, even hours, were nothing but blank stretches of time.
Time that could have conceivably been used to murder an earl.
His stomach tight with knots, Tobias raked both hands through his hair and pulled the ends taut. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t fecking know.”
“You don’t know what?” Owen said sharply, straightening in his chair.
Tobias looked bleakly at the captain. “If I killed him.”
“Of course you didn’t bloody well kill him!” Hargrave sprang to his feet. “You’re in a dark place, Kent. Anyone can see that. Yes, you and Reinhold had a mean row. But that doesn’t mean you killed the bastard.”
“Where were you last night?” Owen asked calmly, his stare direct and unwavering. “Reinhold’s body was found early this morning by his butler. But he was already stiff as a board, which puts his time of death rig
ht around dinner. I know you weren’t working a case. At least not one I assigned. So where were you?”
“Captain–” Hargrave said warningly, but Owen cut him off with a curt shake of his head.
“It’s a simple question, Kent.”
“Aye.” Sitting down in the nearest chair, Tobias buried his head in his hands and stared blindly down at the floorboards. “But it’s one I can’t answer because I don’t remember. Hawke and I finished our patrol just as it was getting dark. He went home. I went to the Blue Pig. The next thing I know it was dawn and I was waking up next to a barrel of dead fish down by the docks.” He dropped his arms and looked up. “I don’t know how I got there.”
“Was there any blood on your clothing?” Owen asked.
Grant glared at the captain. “I didn’t realize we were interrogating our own. Do you want me to put him in manacles now or wait until after you’ve convicted him of a crime we both know damn well he didn’t commit?”
“Was there any blood?” Owen repeated, ignoring his second-in-command.
“No.” Tobias shook his head. “Not that I saw when I woke up. And these are the same clothes I was wearing yesterday.”
“I know.” With a deep sigh, Owen leaned back. “I remember that shirt. You’ve been wearing it for three days straight.” He paused. “You didn’t kill Lord Reinhold, Kent. As much as you may have wanted to, you didn’t.”
“How can ye know that?” Tobias demanded. He wanted to believe the captain. He wanted to believe him with everything fiber of his being. Because he wasn’t a murderer. Or at least, he didn’t want to be. But doubt had a way of casting a long shadow, and he felt as if the darkness was on the brink of swallowing him whole.
The only thing keeping the demons at bay had been Amelia, and now that she was gone…now that she was gone there was nothing preventing them from throwing him down into the abyss.
“Because someone took a knife to the earl,” Owen said grimly. “And when they were done, there was blood everywhere. If you’d killed him, you would have had to change clothes at the very least. Most likely bathed as well.” His brows drew together. “And God knows you haven’t done either in several days.”
A Dangerous Temptation (Bow Street Brides Book 5) Page 10