A Good Rake is Hard to Find (3 page)

Blinking, she threw off the memory and realized he was talking.

“Do not be so loud,” he hissed, looking to make sure the door was indeed closed. “If you go about making accusations like that you might find yourself with more to worry about than a damaged reputation. My cousin isn't exactly known for his forgiving nature.”

“I don't care who hears me,” Leonora said hotly. “If those men are responsible for Jonny's death then they deserve to have it known. And if you hadn't introduced my brother to those ruffians he'd still be alive now.”

Ned, the footman, returned just then with the tea tray, which was also laden with biscuits and a few sandwiches. Despite her boldness, she kept silent while he left the tray.

Silently she took a seat and poured two steaming cups. One for herself and one for Frederick. To her surprise, her hands shook as she passed his cup. Clearly she was more rattled to be in his presence again than she'd expected.

Or it might be her recent lack of sleep. She'd not known the comfort of a full night's rest in weeks. Not since Jonny had been killed.

Not remarking on her obvious agitation, Freddy sipped from his cup then spoke. “What makes you think that Sir Gerard and his lot killed Jonny?”

His voice had lost its anger, and to Nora's dismay she felt tears welling up at the gentleness there. So long as she could keep her anger at the forefront of her mind, she could keep her finer feelings at bay, but kindness—especially from Freddy—made her feel exposed. Still, she was able to steel herself against the emotions after a few deep breaths. She had to remain calm for Jonny's sake.

“Last week I received a letter,” she said, paying close attention to her teacup rather than risking a glance at Freddy. “It was from Jonny. He'd had it sent by his solicitor in the event of his death.”

She felt stillness fall over the little room. “What did it say?” he asked, his voice calm despite the waves of curiosity she sensed emanating from him.

“That he thought the club had found him out,” Leonora said baldly. “That he'd hidden some important documents in the safe in his rooms. Documents that would make it clear just what the Lords of Anarchy were up to.”

Freddy frowned. “Found him out about what?”

“I haven't a clue,” Leonora said with a shake of her head. “He didn't explain. And when I looked in the safe in his bedchamber it was open, but empty.”

“So either the documents were never there at all, or someone got into his bedchamber before you did,” Freddy stated, his full attention on her.

“Or maybe he changed his mind,” she offered. “Perhaps whatever it was about was resolved but he forgot to tell his solicitor not to send the letter.”

“That's not like him,” Freddy said. “You know how meticulous your brother is … was.”

Leonora winced at the switch from present to past tense. “I know he was. It was just a possibility. I don't want to believe the worst.”

“I don't suppose you could have misunderstood his letter?” Freddy asked with more diffidence than she'd have expected from him. “Perhaps misread something? Or jumped to the wrong conclusion?”

But she'd gone over the note again and again. She was convinced it was just as it seemed.

“I'm a poet,” she stated. “Words are my livelihood. I know how to read, and to read between the lines. I didn't misunderstand.” Opening her reticule, she removed a folded paper and handed it to him. “See for yourself if you wish.”

He reached for the document, and when their hands touched, Leonora fought to keep her response from showing. The current of attraction between them hadn't dissolved along with the dissolution of their betrothal. It was discomfiting, but she would endure it. For Jonny's sake.

Apparently unaffected by her touch, Freddy scanned the letter. As he bowed his head to read, his hair glinted in the firelight. Leonora was reminded of just how handsome he was. Her sister was quite fond of pointing that out to her when bemoaning the fact that Leonora had let such a fine catch slip through her fingers. She herself only considered the matter in the dark of night when her bed seemed to mock her with its emptiness. Now was hardly the time for such reflections, however.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Freddy handed the letter back to her. “I suppose you think it was Sir Gerard and his cronies who stole the documents?”

“Who else could it have been?” Leonora asked, frustrated by the question. “They're the only ones who had any reason to want them. What they implicated the club in I have no idea, but it was obviously enough to prompt my brother to fear for his life.”

“True enough,” Freddy agreed, stretching his long legs out before him, his brow furrowed in thought. “And who's to say that Jonny didn't trust the wrong club member with his suspicions. It's very possible that whoever he confided in told Gerard.”

But Leonora balked at the idea. “It's possible, I suppose. But it doesn't make much sense. Why would he leave that letter for me, otherwise? If he could trust someone in the club, there would be no need to rely on me. And we both know what Jonny thought of my involvement in anything having to do with what he considered men's business. He sent that letter to me because I was the only one he knew he could trust.”

“He doubtless thought you'd come to me,” Freddy said with a shrug. And perhaps seeing her stiffen, he held out a staying hand. “Now, don't get your back up. I am not saying you should have done, but that Jonny would certainly expect you to. I don't think he ever really believed that we were serious about breaking things off between us.”

“Silly clod,” she said with affection. “He was always more romantic than either I or Helen was.”

“I think he fell in love five times the first week we were up at Oxford,” Freddy said with a grin. “I think he was always in search of the perfect woman.”

“Much to the dismay of whoever happened to be on his arm at the time.” Leonora shook her head at the memory.

For a moment it was as if they'd never been apart. There was an easy give and take to their interactions that Leonora found just as seductive as Freddy's good looks. She'd always thought him handsome. And that had only increased with time. When he'd left for France, he'd still been a boy. But now, with his wide shoulders and solid strength, he was a man. And she felt the pull of an attraction so fierce now it left her almost breathless.

“So, if he was hoping you'd come to me for help with this matter,” Freddy said, apparently unfazed by the current between them, “then is it possible that there were no documents? That he was trying to lead us on a wild-goose chase simply to throw us together?”

But Leonora shook her head. “I don't think so. It's not as if he planned his own death to bring us together. Someone wanted him silenced. And it was someone in that club. I'm sure of it.”

“It would have to be,” Freddy said, rising to pace before the fireplace. “No one else was closely involved in the race from London to Dartford. And they're the only ones who had reason to want him dead.”

Leonora nodded, relieved they were in agreement. “It's the only explanation that makes sense,” she said. “He might possibly have crashed on his own. It happens. But the involvement of the letter and the missing documents say otherwise.”

“If it weren't,” Freddy said, “there would be no reason to get rid of him.” Then, as if hearing his own words, he winced. “I did not mean that as crudely as it sounded.”

But Leonora shook her head. “I've been thinking of it in very similar terms. After all, the way Jonny died was very much akin to a coachman tossing a parcel of refuse onto the side of the road.”

Jonathan had been thrown from his curricle during a race to which he'd challenged the club's leader. Since Jonny had been in the lead at the time, and had been on a particularly deserted stretch of the Dover Road, no one had seen the accident that killed him. Or at least, no one admitted to seeing him. The number of blows on her brother's body, especially his head, and the absence of his curricle, which the first men on the scene had claimed must have been stolen, sparked Leonora's suspicions immediately. With no way to see what sort of damage had been done to the vehicle, it was impossible to know just how the accident had happened. Or if it had been an accident at all.

She closed her eyes as she thought about how terrifying her brother's last moments must have been, and when she opened them, it was to see Freddy kneeling beside her chair.

“I am sorry, Nora,” he said softly, taking her gloved hand in his. “I don't think I've been able to truly convey my sympathies to you. I know how much you loved him. In spite of his disapproval of your stance on the rights of women.”

Freddy, she reflected, was one of the few people who knew about her brother's distaste for her rabble-rousing as he called it. And he knew how much Jonathan's dislike for her stance had hurt her. Whereas as children they'd been quite close, once Nora began to speak out about how unjust women's lot was under the law, a distance had sprung up between brother and sister that had never been fully reversed before he died.

That uneasiness between them was something she'd regret for the rest of her life.

“I know you loved him, too,” she whispered, clinging to Freddy's hand despite her earlier frustration with him. One of the most unbearable aspects of Jonathan's loss had been the inability to speak about her sorrow with someone who understood how things had truly been between them.

Her sister, Helen, was also devastated by Jonny's death, but she was busy with her own family now and had been unaware of how things stood between her siblings.

“And that you had no idea what would happen when you introduced him to your cousin. How can you have?” They'd been fresh out of university and eager for every adventure. And neither Jonathan nor his friends could have imagined how getting involved with Sir Gerard Fincher would change things.

“Jon was always one to go his own way,” Freddy said gravely. “For all that we were friends, the rest of us were never as interested in driving and coaching as he was. We were poor competition for him, so he went to a place where he didn't have to hold back. Where he could push his horses to the limit with the fastest rig he could get. It wasn't enough to drive well for Jon. He had to be the best and the fastest. And for that he needed competition. Something none of us was able to offer him.”

“I suppose,” she said sadly. She supposed she could understand it to a degree. After all, she enjoyed spending time with her fellow poets. She didn't befriend them exclusively, but there was a certain level of conversation that could only be had with others who thought as deeply as she did about words and rhythm and meter and meaning. And as for competition, she supposed it was something akin to her annoyance when one of her more sophisticated poems was published alongside the amateurish rhymes of a man with more influence than talent.

“But it's difficult not to be angry with him for risking his life,” she said, appreciating the sympathy in Freddy's blue eyes. And the strength of him there beside her. As if it were possible for her to gain fortitude from his mere proximity.

“And,” she said, admitting her true reason for being so angry with her brother, “for not telling me about the business with the Anarchists before he got himself killed.”

“Do not think you are alone in your anger,” Freddy said, taking her other hand. “Trent and Mainwaring and I gathered here tonight to talk for a number of reasons. Our annoyance with Jon for getting himself killed chief among them.”

She looked up and saw from the fire in his eyes that he was telling the truth. “Until I arrived to ruin things, you mean.”

“I didn't say that,” he said with a smile, for a moment lightening the seriousness that had lain heavy over them for the past quarter hour. He quirked his head a little and raised a single brow. “But you do like to make an entrance, don't you, Nora?”

She felt her cheeks flush, something she only ever experienced in Freddy's company. “I couldn't sleep,” she said softly. “And I simply had to speak to you tonight. Whatever the consequences.”

“How long?” Freddy asked, all seriousness. Her inability to sleep was something she'd been forced to confide in him back when they'd been engaged. Mostly because it had been impossible for him not to notice the shadows beneath her eyes when she was in the grips of a particularly long stretch of wakefulness.

It had been something she struggled with since her early teens. It often came with intense creativity, which was fortuitous for her writing, but also with a price.

“Only a few days,” she admitted. “I had finally managed to get things under control a few months ago. But it was impossible to rest once I learned of his death. Then I began writing a series of verse about it. About him. And despite my better judgment, I let myself get caught up in the writing, and stayed up all night. And of course it was impossible to close my eyes last night.”

“And so here you are tonight,” he said with a frown. “You must take better care of yourself, Leonora.” He reached out and stroked a thumb over her cheek. “You will make yourself ill.”

“It's difficult to care,” she admitted with a shrug. “Not when Jonny is gone. And his killer runs free.”

“Well, I care,” Freddy said firmly, and his words sent a pang of loneliness coursing through her so sharp she almost cried out. How long had it been since she'd felt that sort of focused attention on her well-being?

Her father loved her. And so did Helen. But there was something about having someone to call your very own. Someone who focused his attention on pleasing you.

If she weren't careful, Leonora thought, she'd find herself falling under Freddy's spell, just as she had five years ago. And that would be a terrible thing for both of them. Because there was no possible way for them to be together without her causing him a lifetime of regret. And she was determined that he, at least, should have everything in life he wished for.