Too Wicked to Wed (22 page)
Her mouth, still lush from their lovemaking, gave a beguiling twitch. “I ought to be methodical in keeping the information organized. What particular topic did we cover tonight?”
“We touched on several.” Though sorely tempted to plunge into a new session, the earl kept a grip on his self-control. “First of all, there is nothing methodical about passion, my dear. You do not employ the same approach as you do with waxing the woodwork or cleaning the stove.” Taking her hand, he headed for the far reaches of the garden. “Secondly, the choice of venue affects the mood of an intimate interlude. For example, the risk of being seen adds an extra frisson of excitement to the moment.
“Perhaps I should be taking notes.”
“Repetition should ensure you will have no trouble remembering the details.”
Her hips grazed against his. “Then I imagine the instruction will have to take place on a regular basis.”
“A logical deduction.” Up ahead, he spotted the small iron gate leading out to the alleyway. “We will go over future plans later tonight, when we are at more leisure to discuss the matter.”
Amid the rustle of ivy and creak of the hinges, neither of them heard the soft scuff of footsteps retreat into the shadows.
“There is someone waiting to see you, sir.” The butler hired by Cameron stepped out from the shadows of the entrance hall. “In the side parlor.”
Connor frowned. “Who in the devil would come calling at this ungodly hour?”
In reply, the servant held out a silver tray. Square and center sat a dogeared calling card.
Alexa craned her neck to read the smudged type. “Why would a magistrate be paying us a visit?”
“Why, indeed?” muttered the earl. “I will see to the man, myself—”
Slipping past him, she opened the door and entered the room.
The fire in the hearth had been rekindled, the candles lit, and tea served. However, the cup was untouched and the chairs unoccupied. Looking around Alexa spotted someone standing by the curio cabinet.
“Good evening, sir,” she said. “I take it this is not a social call.”
The magistrate turned from his study of the painting hung over the sideboard. “Queer lot of stuff in here,” he observed, eyeing the colorful nude with undisguised suspicion.
“My younger brother is a painter,” answered Alexa, summoning her most imperious hauteur. She did not like the man’s tone or his slitted gaze. “These are his works.”
“Hmmph.”
“I doubt Mr. Bolt has come here to discuss art.” Hands clasped behind his back, Connor walked slowly to her side.
“No accounting for strange preferences,” grunted the magistrate.
“Or narrow minds,” retorted Alexa. A warning look from the earl caused her to refrain from further comment.
“No doubt you are as anxious as we are to retire for the night, Mr. Bolt,” continued Connor. “Shall we get down to business?”
“Speaking of art…” The magistrate pulled an oilskin packet from his coat and unrolled it to reveal an unusual dagger. “Recognize this piece of workmanship, Lord Killingworth?”
“Of course,” replied the earl calmly. “Seeing as it belongs to me. Might I inquire how it came to be in your possession?”
“Dug it out of the chest of a gentleman named DeWinter. Found him just before dawn this morning, in an alleyway close to an establishment in Southwark known as The Wolf’s Lair.”
Alexa darted a glance at Connor. His eyes had darkened to a flat, opaque cast of steel she had never seen before. Feeling the blood drain from her face, she quickly looked away.
Surely he was not capable of…
A chill washed through her veins. The Irish Wolfhound had fought through the brutal Peninsular campaign and faced off against cutthroat competition of the London stews. Of course he was capable of doing whatever it took to survive.
Her expression must have betrayed some hint of her thoughts, for an edge of grim satisfaction sharpened the magistrate’s voice. “Know the fellow, do you?”
The earl walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “I am acquainted with both the person and the place.”
Bolt looked slightly disappointed at the lack of denial. “You don’t seem surprised that he’s dead.”
“I’m not.”
The magistrate waited, but when Connor did not elaborate, he took out a notebook and made a show of reading over several of the pages. “I’ve got a number of witnesses who say you had a nasty quarrel with Lord DeWinter several weeks ago.”
“Correct,” replied Connor.
As Alexa ventured a sidelong glance, she saw that despite his nonchalant pose, the ripple of sleek muscle and lithe power were very much in evidence beneath the fine evening clothes.
The Irish Wolfhound—a fearsome predator.
Bolt might be narrow-minded but he was not stupid.
Or blind.
The traces of mud clinging to the earl’s boots, and the small tear in his trousers were telling evidence that he did not spend all of his evening hours indoors on the dance floor. And of course, the magistrate would be quick to assume the worst.
“Word also has it that the gentleman won blunt from you that same night,” pressed Bolt. “Quite a bit of it.”
Light flashed off the cut crystal wineglass as Connor raised it to his lips. “That would depend on what you consider a large amount of money.”
The barbed reminder of their difference in rank and privilege did not miss its mark. The magistrate’s eyes narrowed and his jaw gave an ominous tic.
As if Connor needs yet another enemy snapping at his flanks
, thought Alexa with dismay.
“I wonder why it is you are called the Irish Wolfhound,” said Bolt slowly.
The question drew a quick flash of teeth. “Not on account of my docile temperament.”
It was a moment before Bolt had recovered enough command of his emotions to speak. “Where were you last night?”
“He—” began Alexa, but Connor cut her off.
“I was out.”
Bolt didn’t deign to look at her. “This female is your wife?”
“Yes.” Connor put down his drink very slowly. “The
lady
is indeed my wife.”
The warning was clear enough that the magistrate backed off in his belligerence. “Were the two of you together…milord?”
“We attended Lady Halliburton’s soiree. I am sure you can track down a number of witnesses who will corroborate that fact.”
“And the rest of the night?”
The earl’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Have you ever worked in Mayfair before, Mr. Bolt?”
“Many a time.”
“Then I presume you are familiar with the habits of the
ton
.”
“Quite.” It was said with contempt. As the magistrate searched through his coat for a pencil, a shade of resentment colored his face. “In my experience, the titled gentry are an arrogant lot,” he muttered under his breath. “Indulge in all manner of depraved behavior, thinking they can do anything they please. Well, it’s my job to see that no one, not even a peer of the realm, gets away with murder.”
Alexa bit her lip. The man looked more and more like he was out for blood.
“Anybody to vouch for your whereabouts after you left your wife?” went on Bolt.
Connor’s gaze remained unblinking. “None that I intend to name.”
Turning away from the piercing stare, the magistrate cleared his throat. “I suppose that will be all for now.” He turned to a fresh page and scribbled a few lines. “However I must request that you remain in Town for the next little while, sir. I’m sure I shall have some other questions to ask as the investigation continues.”
“Just what are you accusing my husband of?” demanded Alexa.
“Nothing.” Bolt snapped his notebook shut. “Yet.”
I
vow, the news of your marriage came as a great surprise to all of us, my dear Lady Killingworth. The earl had a great reputation…for avoiding Society.” Lady Hawthorne took a sip of her tea. “As he was not wont to attend the usual round of balls and soirees, I was not aware the two of you were acquainted.”
Alexa took care to ignore the sly exchange of looks between the other ladies seated on the sofa. She had her own compelling reasons for making the rounds of morning calls with her aunt, and so had steeled herself to expect such probing questions. Thankfully, Cameron had helped her cobble together a clever assortment of half-truths into a story that ought to stand up to close scrutiny.
“Killingworth and my brother Sebastian have known each other for some time,” she said smoothly. “They fought together in the Peninsular campaign.”
Lady Longwell edged forward on her seat. “So the attachment was a longstanding one?”
“Yes, you might call it that.” Alexa nibbled on a pastry. She would satisfy their hunger for fresh gossip, knowing the ladies vied with each other to pass on the latest juicy ondits to their friends. But only because she, too, expected to gather some information.
“How very romantic—no doubt you had your reasons for keeping the courtship quiet,” added a hatchet-faced baroness with an equally sharp voice. “We were all
so
disappointed that the ceremony did not take place in London. St. George’s in Hanover Square is such a lovely venue for a proper Society wedding.”
“Indeed, but concern over my father’s uncertain health demanded a sudden journey north,” answered Alexa. “Given the circumstances, we decided it was best to forego a long engagement and elaborate nuptials.”
Lady Hawthorne nodded. “That is very understandable, my dear. Having brought such a handsome rogue up to scratch, you were quite wise to bring him to the altar without delay.” She flashed a sugary smile. “Was it a small ceremony?”
“Very small. Killingworth and I prefer a quiet life.”
“They say a reformed rake often makes the best sort of husband,” murmured Lady Longwell, not without a touch of envy.
The baroness gave a small sniff. “
If
he is reformed,” she said, arching her brows before turning to greet a new arrival.
Alexa bit back a tart retort. To her relief, the awkward pause in the conversation lasted only a moment. Someone mentioned a recent entry in the betting book at White’s, and the ladies quickly sunk their teeth into a new topic of scandal.
Amid the waving hands and fluttering napkins, Alexa made a surreptitious survey of the room, trying to still the nervous lurching of her heart. The magistrate’s visit had added a new sense of urgency to her original plan. It seemed the attacks on Connor were escalating, both in intent and ingenuity. Fuzzed cards had failed, and so had bullets. Now it appeared that his unknown enemy was intent on drawing a noose around the earl’s neck.
Her throat tightened. Connor had assured her that he was innocent of the murder. And yet, the evidence was incriminating, especially as he would not reveal, even to her, a full account of his movements that night. Alexa did not wish to dwell on the possible reasons for his silence.
But how could she not?
Things were uncertain enough in her marriage without the fear that at any moment, her husband was going to be knifed in an alleyway or hauled off to Newgate.
Since he insisted on keeping her at arm’s length—aside from their physical intimacies—there was no choice but to take matters into her own hands.
Setting aside her cup, Alexa rose and began to circle through the crowded room, hoping her gamble was going to pay off. If anyone could dish up any dirt on the trio of gentlemen Cameron had named, it would be the dowager Countess of Kenilston, an inveterate gossip who was reputed to know every naughty secret in Town.
And word had it that Lady Kenilston never missed the lemon tarts served here every Wednesday
…Finally spotting the dowager holding court near the hearth, Alexa went to join in.
A short while later, she was well satisfied that her efforts had been rewarded. A few careful questions had elicited some useful information about the three names on her list. One man in particular now seemed the most likely suspect. But much as she wished to know more about him, she didn’t dare press her luck. Too much curiosity about Sir Gervaise might attract attention—and for once, she meant to be discreet.
Wishing a moment of solitude in which to mull over what she had just heard, Alexa moved away from the group to study some engravings of exotic animals hung near the garden doors. If it were true that the baronet had recently cheated a young Scottish nobleman out of a fortune, he might have reason to want such an experienced player as Killingworth out of the picture…
Lost in thought, she wasn’t aware of having company in the alcove until a voice sounded close to her ear.
“At times, the present company can make the King of Beasts look to be a toothless tabby,” murmured a voice close to her ear.
Startled, Alexa fell back a step from the picture of a roaring lion.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you.” The lady flashed an apologetic smile. She was dressed in muted tones of mauve and dove gray, which matched the sound of her murmur. “I could not help but overhear Lady Hawthorne and her cronies seek to sink their claws into you, and wished to tell you how much I admire your self-control.”
“Was it that obvious that I wished to bite their heads off?” asked Alexa.
“Only to me.” The smile took on a rueful curl. “No doubt because I must exercise an even greater restraint to keep my teeth clenched.”
The frank admission was unusual enough to draw Alexa’s attention from her earlier worries. She slanted another quick sidelong glance at her companion, trying to recall if they had ever met before. However, the finely chiseled Grecian profile was that of a total stranger. Puzzled, Alexa took a fraction longer to study the face.
The lady looked to be close to her own age, but a similarity between them ended there. In marked contrast to Alexa’s height and sun-dappled features, the newcomer possessed a petite daintiness and a creamy complexion so perfectly smooth that it might have been carved from Carrera marble. Her jet-black hair, though arranged in a modest chignon, made for a striking counterpoint.
One raven brow lifted, nudging Alexa into the realization that she was staring.
Before she could voice an apology, the other lady spoke again. “You have every right to looked shocked. I have been terribly forward to approach you without a formal introduction, Lady Killingworth. But I could not pass up the chance to meet someone else who does not appear to relish these gatherings.”
“Oh no, I am very glad you did,” assured Alexa. “I am not one to stand on ceremony.”
“I had hoped that might be the case.” The lady inclined her head a fraction. “I am Mrs. Weatherly.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance. It seems I have no need to tell you my name. You are obviously aware of who I am.”
“Well, it would be rather hard not to be, seeing as you and the earl have been the talk of the Town.”
“Things must be awfully dull for me to be the subject of speculation,” replied Alexa. “The
ton
will no doubt be disappointed to discover I am not very interesting.”
“I think you are being far too modest.” Mrs. Weatherly took a discreet look around before adding, “Anyone whom the gossips criticize as being too forthright and too opinionated for a proper young lady is certainly someone who interests
me
.”
Another female who felt stifled by the strictures of Polite Society?
Alexa felt the tightness in her chest ease just a touch. It was like a breath of fresh air to be conversing within the stuffy confines of a London drawing room with someone who possessed a self-deprecating sense of humor. “Are you and your husband in London for the Season, Mrs. Weatherly?”
“I am a widow,” came the soft reply.
Alexa gave an inward wince at her clumsiness. “Oh, I am very sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be.” Mrs. Weatherly shrugged off the condolence. “It was a match of mere convenience. To be honest, I am better off without him.”
“Perhaps you will meet a gentleman more to your liking.”
A light laugh sounded in answer. “Good heavens, I have no desire to reenter the Marriage Mart. Indeed, if I had my druthers, I should prefer to remain in the country. However, my late husband’s family has decided that I should make a convenient chaperone for a niece who is to be fired off in the Little Season. So in readiness for the coming campaign, I have been sent to reconnoiter, and learn the lay of the land, so to speak.”
The note of cynicism in Mrs. Weatherly’s voice became more pronounced. “In other words, I am expected to keep my ears and eyes open in order to discern which modistes are
au courant
, which hostesses wield the most influence, and most importantly, which gentlemen are considered eligible—and which are not.”
“I cannot say I envy you the task.” Alexa smiled in sympathy, but the shared confidence also sparked a more pragmatic reaction. “I imagine you have learned a great many intimate details about a number of individuals,” she said slowly, telling herself that she couldn’t overlook any possible source of information. “Take, for example, Sir Gervaise, whose activities Lady Kenilston was just speaking of. One would not expect a prominent peer to be capable of such depravity.”
“Oh, it is much more common than you might think.” The widow’s lips compressed in concern. “By the questions you were asking, it appeared you have more than a casual interest in the gentleman.”
“I…”
“It is none of my business, of course.” Lady Weatherly dropped her voice to a whisper. “But I would counsel great caution. He is said to be dangerous.”
Alexa hesitated, then decided to risk revealing a part of the truth. “It is not out of any prurient attraction that I am making inquiries about Sir Gervaise. I have reason to think he may be threatening a…close friend. By learning more about his private affairs, I hope to find something useful. A bargaining chip, if you will.”
“I see.” Mrs. Weatherly did not press for further details, and Alexa’s estimation of the lady rose another notch. “Regrettably, my late husband and Sir Gervaise were part of the same circle of friends. A group that tended to talk rather loudly and in great detail when drunk. So I can warn you that it is a terribly risky gamble.”
“I am not afraid of taking chances,” responded Alexa.
The widow looked up. From beneath the fringe of ebony lashes, Alexa caught a gleam of what might have been amusement before it took on a more martial cast. “Somehow, that does not surprise me. In that case…” Mrs. Weatherly paused, as if waiting for some encouragement to go on.
“Yes?” Alexa had the distinct impression that the other lady knew something about taking risks.
Mrs. Weatherly made a wry face as she tugged on the fringe of her shawl. “No one pays much attention to a poor relation who takes care to blend into the background. I tend to hear a great many things that are said in confidence.”
Their conversation was cut off by a loud hail from the hallway.
“La, there you are, Lady Killingworth!” Alexa did not recognize the broad-beamed matron who was now sailing toward them with all the force of a four-deck ship of the line. “You sly puss, you must come at once and tell me about your whirlwind romance.” The stranger’s enthusiasm was not the least dampened by Alexa’s blank stare. “I spy a vacant seat by Henrietta.”
“I am so very glad we met.” Alexa managed a last murmur to the widow before being steered away. “And I look forward to continuing the acquaintance.”
“As do I.” Mrs. Weatherly had been forced to fall back. Even so, the creak of corset stays did not quite drown out her soft reply. “I found our discussion most interesting. If I learn anything more on the subject, I shall let you know.”
Candles flickered in the private parlor of The Wolf’s Lair, casting hide-and-seek shadows over three men gathered around the table.
“Bloody hell, of course I didn’t kill him.” Connor grimaced as he regarded his friends. “He was worth a damn sight more to me alive than dead.”
Cameron regarded his well-tended hands. “In that case, it seems that pegos are not the only things that slip in and out with ease at your establishment.”
Gryff choked on a mouthful of coffee, earning a muttered curse from the Wolfhound. “Try to swallow your levity. This isn’t amusing.”
“I know, I know. But you have to admit, Cam brings up an excellent point…so to speak.”
“I do try to rise to the occasion,” murmured Cameron.
Despite the show of sardonic humor, there was an underlying edge to Cameron tonight, thought Connor. It was evident in the way his eyes probed the surroundings.
Sharper than Spanish daggers.
Seeing that both of his friends were watching him, waiting for a reply, the earl cleared his throat. “There is no denying that someone seems able to come and go at will. And you need not ask your next question—no one saw anything suspicious. O’Toole and McTavish are not always as vigilant as they should be.”
“One would almost think that you are running a charity ward rather than a business enterprise,” observed Cameron.
“I’m not interested in your opinions,” he snarled. “How I manage The Wolf’s Lair is none of your concern.”
Cameron acknowledged the rebuke with an enigmatic smile. “None whatsoever.”
“Which still leaves us with the question of who knows the place well enough to slip in and out unobserved,” said Gryff. “I thought Spotted Dick and Harry had a suspect under surveillance.”
“We are taking turns watching the townhouse where DeWinter visited around the clock,” replied Connor. “A cloaked figure left several days ago, but gave Harry the slip, and has yet to return.”
Cameron flexed his fingers before slipping on a pair of snug black gloves. “Why don’t I have a little look around inside the place this evening.”