Angel In My Bed (27 page)

“Do you want to tell me what that interrogation was about?” Ravenspur asked after Kinley left.

David didn't think he owed Ravenspur any explanation. Lifting his gaze, he found his brother-in-law's in the glass. There had been no quicksilver humor usually shared between them, no hint of friendship that had grown between his
sister's aristocratic husband and himself. Only a sense of the inevitable.

“What will happen to her?” he asked.

“You may be willing to forgive her her crimes. But she belonged to the Circle of Nine and was tried in absentia with the others. Meg Faraday will never be granted a pardon. All I can do is make her life as comfortable as possible.”

Creating a false confidence where there was none to be found had never been Ravenspur's way, but David had divined that outcome the instant he'd walked into the room tonight. “Don't try to detain me here, Ravenspur.”

“I didn't tell Kinley anything of your request,” Ravenspur said. “I will disabuse you of that notion now.”

David looked toward the folding doors then at his brother-in-law. He didn't have to glance over his shoulder to know, Kinley was not so far away that he could not hear their conversation. “Nellis Munro has been intercepting my correspondence. No doubt, he has been reading what has been going out as well. Pamela has been investigating Munro. She probably found out and told Kinley.” He elected to say nothing more. If the department didn't trust him, he certainly had less reason to trust them, including his sister's husband.

“For your information, I didn't know where you were until two months ago when Ware passed the files of this case to me,” Ravenspur said. “I had no idea what you did before you went to Ireland or that you were the agent in Calcutta on that case.”

“How is the family?” he asked, because he could think of nothing else to say.

Ravenspur considered his answer. “You might like to know that Ryan and Rachel are now living in Ireland. We
missed you at their wedding. She is expecting their first child.”

A wry smile touched David's lips. He had always known his youngest brother's heart belonged to the girl he'd loved since childhood. Yet even as well as he could read others, he had never found his own way so easily interpreted. “Ryan was right about me,” David said to the window, remembering what his brother had once accused him of. “I have been running for too long.”

“You have a son to consider. No one will fault you, if you take him and return home.”

David laughed and, shoving his hands into his pockets, suffered Ravenspur's study. “Home?”

“Let me take this case from you. Anyone can see you're no longer made for this kind of life. What else do you have?”

David walked past him and snagged up his coat from the chair. “Five months ago, I was living on faith and thought I had everything I needed.
What else
is living on that bluff caring for a girl and an old man that aren't even her family. She hasn't left here because she won't leave them. I promised her she would be free.” Retrieving his hat and gloves, he faced his brother-in-law. “Do you understand that? I am home.”

 

David heard the carriage pull up to the town house. Smoking a cheroot, he looked out the drawing room window over an uneven landscape of stone chimneys and thatched roofs stretching down the cobbled lane to the quiet waterfront. A brief surge of moonlight stabbed the clouds and spilled into the room, a lull in the storm blowing over the channel.

His hair was still damp. He was sure he reeked of horseflesh, he reflected as he considered the failure of this entire
night, the knot in his gut, and the ramifications of what Kinley had revealed to him. He ground out the cheroot in a tin tray and walked into the foyer, where he leaned a shoulder against the wall and waited.

The front door opened. Pamela wasn't alone as she stepped through the doorway unaware that she had a visitor. Her companion saw David first in the semidarkness.

“Chadwick,” Nellis said. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Mr. Munro,” David acknowledged, one hand in his pocket.

“It's all right.” Pamela laid a palm over Munro's arm. “He tends to visit me in this manner. I will see you tomorrow.”

“You are sure?” he asked.

David strode past them, opened the front door, and invited him out. “She is quite sure.”

Nellis stopped in front of David and adjusted his waistcoat. “I enjoyed my visit with Victoria. I hope she wasn't too upset when she left. She does tend to get emotional over the oddest things.”

“I'll save you the unpleasant consequences of going horns to horns with me, Nellis. Rose Briar belongs to me, as does the land and everyone who lives on the bluff. I am not an old man, and
will
fight to keep what is mine.”

“One can only wish you luck in your endeavor, Chadwick.”

“Allow me to rephrase.” Leaning nearer, he lowered his voice. “My wife is under my protection. If you threaten her again, I will feed you to the fish in that river.”

“Lord Chadwick!” Pamela was suddenly standing between them. “Go, Mr. Munro. I will not be a party to a row on my doorstep.”

“Countess.” Nellis tipped his hat before narrowing his eyes on David.

Pamela shut the door behind Nellis. Turning, she plopped her fists on her hips. “Just what do you think you are doing?”

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” He spun her around. “You've been a naughty spy, playing both sides against the middle,” he said against her ear, kicking her ankles apart. “Why do I get the feeling you and I are working on opposite sides?”

David removed a shiv from her thigh strap. “Lest I find it in my back.” He tossed it to the table beneath the looking glass, then spun her around.

“I give you permission to continue.” Her crimson mouth opened into a taunting smile.

“I don't need permission to do anything. I need answers. And I'm just in the mood to wrap my hands around your throat to get them.”

“Threatening to kill Nellis
and
me, David? All in one night?” She laughed. “Isn't that out of your moral character these days?”

“Does your job entail sleeping with Munro?”

“Among other things, Mr. Munro is a powerful man in this part of England. I believe you've done worse in my place.”

“You haven't seen my worse, Pamela.”

“Mum.” Pamela's servant Agatha stood on the stairway, wringing her hands in her white apron. “Would you be needin' something to eat before ye retire to your chambers?”

Pamela slanted him a glance. “Would you care to join me?”

“What are you doing, Pamela?”

“I'm a whore.” She flailed her gloved hand and stumbled
slightly before tilting her chin. “Hasn't my husband told you that, yet?”

David looked at Agatha. “Make her something to eat.”

“You are not my protector. Nor is Ian, though he likes to think of himself as one. And because I like you”—she set her gloved hand on the door latch—“I'll warn you to get out of this town house now.”

David caught her arm. “Tell me about the gold locket.”

A momentary flash of fear in her eyes vanished as quickly as it came. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Pamela.” His fingers tightened on her arm. “If you are involved with Colonel Faraday you are in way over your head.”

“Why? Because you failed?”

“If you know where he is—”

“I don't.” She yanked away and leaned against the door. “Besides, I grew up in a family of eight big strapping brothers in the slums on East Holborn. I've been managing men my entire life. If you want to be afraid, be afraid for yourself.” She swung open the door. “Now I wish for you to leave.”

David hesitated, and then walked out into the night. He mounted Old Boy, looked one last time at the town house, and reined the horse around. The fury that he had known since leaving Kinley had not lessened.

An hour later, wrapped in an oilskin slicker, David slowed Old Boy as he rode into the churchyard, surprised to see lantern lights blinking in the church. Dawn was still an hour away. Blakely came out to greet him, excitement lighting his eyes.

Hunkered in an oilskin coat, he told David the tunnel had been found. “Mister Rockwell discovered it. Took himself in and came right out again. Said a man would be a fool to go in
side. We're waiting for daylight.” Blakely cleared his throat. “You'll also be interested to know you'll not be havin' trouble with missing posts and stolen telegrams any longer,” Blakely said with no small amount of pride. “There's not a man workin' that office what fears Nellis Munro more than he fears me after today.” His tooth flashed in the dim light.

David peered down at him from the saddle. A gust of wind drove the chill against him. “Tell me you didn't maim or kill anyone.”

“I didn't lay a finger on a one of them.”

Knowing it was better never to delve too deeply into Blakely's approach to his business affairs, David rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple and ruthlessly blocked out the distraction weighing foremost in his thoughts.

Blakely shifted. “Is there anything more that you be needin'?”

“Send Rockwell to me. I'll be at the house.”

“I've not seen him since he came out of the tunnel.”

He gave Blakely his attention before looking at the church. “Where is my wife?”

“The old man, he took ill. She and the nipper stayed the night at the cottage. We've two men with her. Why don't ye take yourself off to bed and go home?”

Home.

The notion was no longer a stranger to his thoughts as he stood in the middle of Meg's chambers a half hour later and found no relief for the heaviness in his chest. He had not removed his coat, and the collar still hugged his neck as his masculine presence, so out of place among the lavender and lace, filled the room. How profoundly she had captured him, he thought, touching her pillow, for he felt, not caged by her dreams and her heart, but freed to live.

He pulled open the drawer beneath her night table and removed the locket he knew she kept there. A pale hint of growing daylight favored the scrolled lilies. He found a chair a faced the fireplace. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and let the silence fill him.

The fact that Kinley knew about David's attempt to seek a pardon for Meg led to one conclusion. He was getting information either from Nellis or from someone in contact with Nellis. No doubt, Nellis had not only paid the telegraph operator for the contents of all missives David sent out the past few weeks, but had somehow gotten hold of the post he'd sent Ravenspur.

Except, David knew from the man he'd set to watch Nellis's movements, even before Meg's visit to the man, that there had been no meeting with Kinley.

Pamela remained the thread connecting every incident.

 

Victoria placed a steaming bowl of broth in front of Sir Henry and bit back a smile when he groaned. “Not again, Victoria.” He accepted her aid as she fluffed his pillows behind him. “Is it your intent to starve me?” he asked.

“Count your fortune that I don't give you a needle full of morphine.” She patted his bristly cheek and hoped she worried him a little bit. “It would serve you right if I was the vindictive sort who had a long memory with which to contend.”

Sir Henry refused to pick up his spoon, so she stirred his soup for him. Esma had hurried her down from the manor house last night, fearing Sir Henry had grown ill. But after spending last evening and the entire morning with him in the cottage, Victoria had concluded something else entirely.

“Chadwick has not given me any answer concerning the will,” he said.

“You should not have poured it all on him so thick, Sir Henry. A man can drown in that kind of responsibility.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “But you believe he is learning to tread the water.”

“I believe he might want to learn.” Victoria sat on the mattress and balanced the tray so that it would not slide off Sir Henry's lap. “Promise me you'll say no more on the topic.”

“Hmmpf. I will do no such thing.”

She assumed not. Once Sir Henry set his mind on a goal, he was apt to see it accomplished. If his orneriness served to keep him alive longer, then she would aid as much as possible in his purpose. She did not tell him that David had left yesterday and had yet to return from his meeting with his brother-in-law.

The last few days had given her more than the last twenty-eight years of her life. Whatever it was she suspected of keeping David away, she had found something of his strength to hold to her heart. “I would have you move to the manor house, Sir Henry.”

“Pah, I would only be underfoot.” He dawdled over a piece of bread. “Now off with ye. If you have a need to starve me, I'll dine alone.”

Victoria gave him the spoon so he could feed himself. “Unfortunately”—she stood and fluffed her skirts—“you are not all of a piece, Sir Henry. Esma said that you ate a strawberry tart last night and suffered for it. Do you think I would have ridden through the rain if you were merely lonely for company?” Knowing that was exactly what she'd done, she turned toward the window. The curtains were closed to the light outside. She ran her hand across the moorings and opened them.

A shaggy horse pulling a heavily laden dray appeared at
the top of the drive. She watched it lumber into the yard as she moored the second tier of draperies. The sun made a feisty appearance over the treetops, illuminating the driver. A floppy hat covered his head. It was market day in town. Someone was delivering a load of coal that she'd ordered last week. Nathanial appeared from the stable to help Mr. Shelby unload the dray, and she turned away.

“I will come again tomorrow,” she said, tucking the blankets over Sir Henry's feet. “I can either feed you more broth or you can decide you are well enough and we'll play a hand of cards. But if you wish to speak to Lord Chadwick, then you will come to the manor house and do so. I am not your bridge.”