“Yes.” Slowly his eyes closed, and he folded over onto the floor. “I think I must.”
Frantic, she tried to hold him up, but his weight and the revived throbbing in her ankle dragged her down with him. Cradling his head in her lap, she moaned. “Are you dead?” She groped for the pulse in his neck.
It raced beneath her fingers.
“You’re not dead.” Stating the obvious gave her a bizarre kind of comfort.
His head lolled sideways into her torso.
In a frantic bargain with the Almighty, she said, “If You will just allow Dougald to live, I’ll be just the kind of wife he always wanted.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, but she couldn’t find the bullet hole. Yet she had seen that spray of thread and those drops of blood, so she searched again. “I’ll do whatever he says, if you’ll allow him to keep”—she found the place where the bullet had struck him—“breathing,”
She looked into his face.
He watched her through those marvelously piercing eyes. “Would you repeat that, please, with your hand on a Bible?”
The bullet had sliced through the fleshy part of his shoulder above his collarbone and exited within an inch of its penetration. She knew it hurt him; it most certainly had not killed him. “You…you’re barely injured!”
He shifted, trying to make himself comfortable. “It burns like hell.”
“Don’t you try and bamboozle me, Lord Raeburn. That beating you suffered was worse.” She tried to push his head away.
He wrapped his arm around her waist.
After a moment of halfhearted struggle, she yielded. Because he was bleeding, although the wound was already clotting. Because the struggle with Alfred had frightened her out of what few wits she had left. Because he was Dougald, and she loved him.
Foolish Hannah, in love for years with a man who wanted her and hated wanting her, then blamed her because she found such an arrangement unfair and left. “You don’t deserve a good wife.”
He tucked his head closer to her bosom. “I don’t want a good wife. I want you.”
“Is that supposed to flatter me?”
“Doesn’t it?”
Sadly enough, it did. To hear him say he wanted her for his wife, regardless of her lack of skill at living the traditional wedded life, or even sticking with it…well, she wanted to smile at him.
But she kept her head. They had been fighting before Alfred made his appearance, and what had just happened amply illustrated his idiocy. As his wife, it was her job to point that out. “You stepped between me and a pistol.”
“Of course.” Painfully he lifted himself onto his elbow. Her eyes were at his level, and he stared into them with soulful solemnity. “No matter what you think, Hannah, I wouldn’t sacrifice you for the Pippard name.”
She ignored the soulfulness and the solemnity, and concentrated on making her point. “Yet you didn’t want me to step between you and a pistol. How is what you did any better?”
“I’m a man.”
She lashed him with scorn. “People with dangly parts are better equipped to stop a bullet?”
His long, dark lashes lowered, and in a tone of absolute sincerity, he said, “I assure you, at this moment none of my parts are dangly.”
She tried to speak. Took a breath and tried again. Scorn and a burning sense of justice was not proof against the realization that neither a quarrel nor a shooting could stop him from wanting her.
And when he smiled at her, she wondered crazily if desire would be, could be enough.
At last she managed to stammer, “You shouldn’t have taken a chance with your life.”
“I’m not going to argue with you about this, Hannah.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You are wrong. Just accept that. But in this case, honor demanded I save you from a bullet. I’m the reason you are in danger.”
“Were in danger.”
He sighed. “I wish that were true, but Seaton is still at large. He’s the one who told me to come to the tower. He must be the killer.”
“You think that, and you weren’t suspicious?”
His cheeks colored faintly. “I had decided it wasn’t him, and then I thought you had asked to see me, I…well, I was foolish.”
She liked seeing his flush, knowing he had come running for her. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Seaton.” She stared out the window where Alfred had disappeared. “But I know who it is.”
27
Dougald’s arm felt slightly numb and his fingertips throbbed, although he thought the problem with his fingertips was more of a desire to grab Hannah and steal her away than any reaction to his wound. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he stated flatly.
She argued with him. Of course. “Why ridiculous? Don’t you remember what Alfred said before he fell out of the window? ‘She’s goin’ t’ kill me.’ He was more afraid of her than that fall.”
As they descended the tower stairway, Dougald kept his good arm firmly locked with Hannah’s. She was, after all, still limping, and after the scuffle in the tower, she moved with deliberate care and leaned against the handrail. “I agree it might be a she who gave him his orders,” he said.
“Also, why close the trapdoor and lock us in? Once we noticed that, we had time to work on our strategy.”
“We?” He loved that she took credit for his planning. “I was decorating with a table.”
Disgruntled, she frowned at him. “Are you through being superior, my lord Peacock?”
“Watch your step,” he advised. “The handrail is shaky here.” He cast a glance below. The spiral stairway hid much of the floor from view. Someone could be lurking below in the late-afternoon shadows, although he had neither seen nor heard anything.
He noted, also, that the door to the tower had been closed. Had Alfred done so when he came up? Or had someone else with the intention of shooting them when they came through?
If Hannah was aware of the danger, she hid her concern with the fiery desire to convince him she was right. In her most persuasive tone, she said, “If it was a woman who followed us up the stairs, then she would have shut the trapdoor and fetched her conspirator to kill us.”
“Why? A pistol functions as well in the hand of a woman.”
“That wouldn’t have worked with her plan.”
“How do you know her plan?”
Hannah shrugged. “Because I would do the same.”
He never meant anything so much as when he said, “Hannah, sometimes you frighten me.”
Stopping, she looked at him. “As you frighten me. But after the scene above, I no longer wonder if you are going to kill me.”
“Not today.”
She smiled and started down again. “That woman was going to make it look as if ours was one of the cursed noble Raeburn marriages. Alfred was going to shoot you first. Then he was going to throw me out the window.”
“He couldn’t throw you out the window. He was not a young man. He would have used that second pistol on you.”
“No, that was for a spare. Which he needed, I might add. And he was large enough to take me on and win.”
Dougald recalled Alfred’s build. Broad and tall.
Alfred’s involvement had surprised Dougald. He hadn’t thought the shiftless yeoman with his rheumy eyes and shaking hands could be part of an ongoing plot to kill the lords of Raeburn Castle. Yet the prospect that Alfred might have got his hands on Hannah made Dougald shudder.
Hannah didn’t seem to expect a response. She just clung more tightly to him. “After he’d shot you and thrown me out, he was going to put the pistol in your hand. When it was discovered who I was, everyone would say you tossed me out and shot yourself.”
Dougald was appalled. “Hannah, you have a criminal mind.”
She seemed to ponder that. “I suppose. I prefer to think of it as analytical.”
“What about the fact that Seaton handed me the note that sent me to the top of the tower? That is proof that he instigated the plan to rid Raeburn Castle of us.”
>
Hannah did not accept his skepticism with any amount of grace. “Well, Charles gave me the note, so ha!” She stuck out her tongue at him.
He wanted to retaliate by taking her tongue in his mouth, but the woman insisted they behave with logical caution and seek out the true assassin. She wanted to be involved in the search, which proved he was right in keeping the truth from her as long as possible.
But damn, the matter had waited this long. It could wait a little longer while he took Hannah up to his bedchamber and indulged in all the fantasies he’d been unable to fulfill these last days.
“Charles must be a dupe.” If he was not, then Dougald had been a bigger one. “We’ll find him and ask the name of the maid who gave him the note.”
“And find Seaton and ask who gave him the note,” Hannah retorted.
“If we must.”
“I don’t know how you could have ever thought it was Seaton.”
“He is the heir.”
“He doesn’t want the title.” She shook her head at Dougald’s lack of perception. “He’s a fribble. He wants to gossip and play. He doesn’t want the responsibility that comes with the legacy.”
Dougald didn’t answer because he didn’t want to tell her that, for the most part, all evidence agreed. The three gentleman detectives had followed Seaton on his visits. His only suspicious activity had been that he “found” Mrs. Grizzle’s lost necklace between the cushions of a sofa and been hailed as a hero.
Dougald and Hannah reached the floor without incident, and he examined the area for hiding places and weapons. There was nothing; no place to hide and nothing for him to take for defense. Easing his arm from around Hannah, he quietly instructed, “Stay here,” and moved toward the door.
She mumbled something; he couldn’t hear what.
Just as quietly, he came back to her and shook his finger in her face. “You are not to try and help me. You are not to get shot.”
“I didn’t get shot,” she said in a fierce whisper.
“I saved you,” he answered. He waited until the mulish expression had settled on her face, then shook his finger at her again.
She gave a short, grudging nod, then murmured, “She’s not there. What could she do to us in the corridors of the castle? She hopes to wait and try another day.”
“You may be right.” He pressed a brief, hard kiss on her lips. “But let me take precautions anyway.”
Taking the handle, he jerked the door open—and the empty corridor of the east wing stretched before him. Doors opened off into vacant rooms, but Dougald surmised that Hannah was right.
After all, why should Hannah’s suspect put herself in jeopardy by killing them in full daylight in the castle? She had no idea she had betrayed herself to Hannah.
With that thought, Dougald realized Hannah had convinced him. “You’re right,” he said. “Mrs. Trenchard is the killer.”
“Yes,” Hannah said, seemingly unaware of the munificence of his concession, “and I’ve been thinking. The evidence is in the chapel.”
“In the chapel? Why in the chapel?”
“I had the headache to prove the whole plot centers around the chapel.”
With a start, Dougald recalled what Charles had said. Hannah had been struck down in the chapel. “Of course.”
“Besides, if I’m correct in my sad theory, where else could the evidence be?”
He remembered how protective Mrs. Trenchard had been of the chapel, doing all the cleaning herself, and how she had spoken to him of his renovations. She had been interested in his plans. Very interested.
“I have a plan,” Hannah said.
Taking her arm, he led her down the corridor. “Tell me.”
By the time she had finished, he was shaking his head. “No. There has to be a better way.”
“Perhaps so, but I can’t think of one right now, and we haven’t a lot of time before the Queen’s visit. It would show a decided lack of etiquette if one of us was killed before her arrival.”
“I can’t argue with that, but I must tell you I still doubt your deductions. I’ve observed that Mrs. Trenchard is quite fond of Seaton.”
“Most women are.”
Dougald didn’t like that one bit. “Why? He’s nothing but the runt of the litter.”
“He’s charming, he always has the best gossip and he likes women.”
“I like women.”
“And you used to be charming. Perhaps you can cultivate that trait again.” She gave him a saucy smile. “But a gossip? I think not. You can glower, or you can gossip, and in the past nine years, you have perfected the glower.”
He glowered. “I liked you better when you worried I would kill you.”
Her smile disappeared. “I still worry, but about something entirely different.”
About what? He wanted to ask what put that pensive expression on her face, but not now. Not until they’d settled this other matter.
“So you think Mrs. Trenchard targeted the lords to get the title for Seaton,” Hannah said.
“Yes.”
“Is a crime of property and possession more likely than a crime of honor and loyalty?”
“It’s more logical.”
In a mocking tone, she said, “Because you can see land and money, and honor and loyalty are ephemeral.”
He knew she was about to spring a trap, but he couldn’t quite see where the teeth would bite. “Such honor and loyalty are rare.”
“Yet for honor and loyalty you stepped in front of a bullet.”
And for love. He ought to say it. Make his confession and let her laugh or weep or whatever she wished. But he couldn’t. The realization was too new. The time wasn’t right. There were too many half-truths and past hurts between them. And perhaps, just perhaps, she would not laugh or weep, but she would be embarrassed for him. After all, she had loved him once. How pitiful to try and revive an old tenderness. So he said only, “You’re my wife.”
“Honor and loyalty,” she said triumphantly.
“And vows which I respect,” he couldn’t resist saying.
With that she got very quiet.
She hadn’t forgiven him for accusing her of abandoning him. Just as he hadn’t forgiven her for doing it.
He glanced sideways at her. With strands of her fair hair falling around her face and those slanted brown eyes solemn, she still looked magnificent. He loved her height. He loved that she looked him in the eye even when he was in a rage. He loved her sarcasm. He loved her kindness to the aunts. He loved her breasts, especially the cleavage she showed right now. He loved her so much, and unmindful of past hurts and a bleak future, he had to save her.
He, who had taught himself confidence and iron determination—he was afraid he might fail. He had made mistakes, intolerable errors of character-reading and motivation.
As they approached the broad stairway that descended to the main level, Hannah said softly, “There. There is our quarry.”
“Seaton,” Dougald breathed. He could scarcely stand to look at Seaton in his blue plaid trousers, matching waistcoat, and stolen diamond collar pin.
Seaton spotted them, too, for he cried out, “I see you found each other.” He observed the way Dougald held Hannah’s arm and bathed them in a fond smile. “There’s quite a bit of blather about you two turtle-doves in the district.”
With slow, bitter emphasis, Dougald said, “I know where the blather came from.”
Still wary from their midnight encounter, Seaton skittered sideways. “I’m not the only newsmonger to be invited to a party, you know!”
Hannah petted Dougald’s arm as if he was a dog to be tamed. “Of course you’re not, Seaton. But you’re the best.”
Seaton looked sideways at Dougald and murmured, “Well…yes.”
Hannah continued, “Lord Raeburn was wondering—who gave you the note I wrote him?”
“One of the maids,” Seaton answered.
“Where did she get it?”
Seaton’s eyes widened. �
�From you, I would suppose.”
Dougald took up the interrogation. “Why didn’t the maid give it to me?”
“She said Mrs. Trenchard wanted her to work inside, and you were outside…”
“You were willing to carry it for a chance to read it,” Dougald bluntly interpolated.
Seaton wasn’t the slightest bit offended. “A man has to learn what’s going on about him.”
Dougald hated to do this, but he had no plan other than this. Seaton had produced a cue, and Dougald would respond. He had to find the killer before Queen Victoria arrived on the morrow.
In his roughest, most disgruntled voice, he said, “You want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. I’m not satisfied with the way Mrs. Trenchard has prepared the chapel.”
“Oh, Dougald.” Hannah squeezed his arm.
“The…chapel?” Seaton wagged his head.
“Yes, the chapel,” Dougald repeated. “It has to be perfect for Her Majesty’s visit tomorrow.”
“As you know, Sir Onslow, I personally know Her Majesty.” This time Hannah was definitely bragging, but with a purpose. “Queen Victoria will want to say a prayer, and we mustn’t be embarrassed by our house of worship.”
“Dear, dear.” Seaton tsked sadly. “I feared old Trenchard was failing. You know she has those spells.”
“Has she suffered from them long?” Hannah asked.
“Years, but they’re getting worse.” Seaton tapped his chest. “Heart, I suspect, but she won’t slow down. Except that she no longer tends the aunts.” He lavished a smile on Hannah. “She must be so grateful to you, Miss Setterington.”
“I’ve never had gratitude expressed in quite such a manner,” Hannah replied.
Dougald hurried into speech. “Mrs. Trenchard has done all the cleaning herself, but first thing tomorrow morning I am ordering the workmen in to replace the rotting wall panels. Then all the maids and footmen will polish every pew, every step, every sconce.” Dougald gave Hannah a gentle push to start her toward the aunts’ workroom. “But Seaton, I depend on your discretion. Don’t let Mrs. Trenchard know what I have planned.”
Rules of Attraction Page 26