Captives of the Night (43 page)

"Shocking thing to say." Helena gestured at a richly upholstered sofa, and Leila obediently sat. Her hostess perched stiffly on a chair opposite. "Next, I suppose, you'll be offering to do my portrait."

"I should like that, very much," Leila said. "
If
I could think how to manage it without sending Mr. Herriard into an apoplexy. That, however, is not my present errand."

She opened her reticule and withdrew a ruby and diamond ear drop. "This is rather awkward, but the thing's been plaguing me since I found it, and I'm sure whoever it belongs to would like to have it back."

She handed it to Helena, who said nothing.

"I've begun rearranging the — my late husband's room," Leila lied. "My servant found the earring wedged in a crack under his bed. I suppose that’s why the police never found it, though they tore the house apart, looking for heaven knows what. But Eloise, you see, is obsessively thorough — "

"It isn't mine, Mrs. Beaumont." Helena's face was a cool blank. "I'm partial to rubies, but this definitely isn't mine."

"I do beg your pardon." Leila let out a sigh. "It’s deuced awkward but — well, I might as well be straightforward. I'm aware Francis brought women home from time to time when I was away. And I did recollect — that is, you and I have stood near each other at the theater once or twice, and I noticed your perfume. A distinctive blend, I must say. And — to blunder on — I had occasion to notice it on Francis — or in his room — I'm not sure when exactly. But not long ago, or it shouldn't have stuck in my mind. It must have been the last time I noticed such a thing before he died."

Helena's dark eyebrows rose very slightly. "Another woman's perfume. How odd."

"I have an abominably keen sense of smell," Leila explained. "Like a hound, Francis used to say. But I'm obviously not a good detective." She was aware of Helena's expression sharpening several degrees. "I'm sure you wouldn't be so missishly impractical as to deny owning such an expensive item. It’s not as though I'd be shocked, and it’s been years since his infidelities troubled me."

"If it were mine, I wouldn't deny it, Mrs. Beaumont. I'm certainly not missish."

"Yes, of course. Well, my deductive powers seem to have failed me this time." Leila shook her head. "How disappointing. I had hoped — that is, whoever it does belong to had to work hard enough for it, I daresay. And I strongly doubt that whatever Francis paid her would make up for the loss."

Helena looked down at the earring in her hand. "If she was careless enough to leave it behind, she deserves to lose it. It's very bad manners to leave evidence for the wife to find. I wouldn't trouble myself about this particular whore's loss if I were you, Mrs. Beaumont. She's obviously not worth your trouble."

She gave the earring back. Her fingers barely touched Leila's hand, but that fleeting contact was icy. "I've heard you've been busy with good deeds," Helena added with the smallest of smiles. "Sherburne. Avory. Patching up Beaumont's damage, people say. You are quite the talk of London. Still, correcting the mistakes of stupid little tarts is carrying it too far. Not worth the risk — to your reputation, that is — to consort with the likes of us. If the earring troubles you, I suggest you leave it in the nearest poor box, for the deserving needy."

Ismal resisted the urge to peer out the window of the hackney. The exterior of Helena Martin's house would tell him nothing, and he must not risk being observed. The sky was rapidly darkening with an approaching storm, but was not nearly dark enough. He took out his pocket watch and studied that instead.

Leila had been inside twenty minutes at least. He'd arrived too late to prevent her — which was his own fault. He should have suspected trouble the instant she stopped plaguing him about Helena.

There was, unfortunately, a good deal he should have done these last few days and hadn't. Leaving Avory’s servants to Nick, he'd turned his attention to Sherburne — who had, with a few jocular remarks, succeeded in riveting Ismal's mind elsewhere.

Thanks to Herriard's small fit of overprotectiveness at the soiree, most of Society seemed to be growing fiendishly curious about the Comte d'Esmond's intentions-regarding Mrs. Beaumont. Being one of the Beau Monde's leaders, Sherburne had appointed himself spokesman.

Now that Mrs. Beaumont was out and about again, Sherburne had said a few nights ago, it was hoped she wouldn't remain a widow much longer. Still, it would be a great pity if London lost her altogether — to Paris, for instance, he'd added with a knowing smile.

That and a few more equally unsubtle comments had succeeded in unsettling Ismal's mind, if not his outward composure. It became very clear then that — despite Mrs. Beaumont's being widowed little more than two months and the Comte d'Esmond's being a foreigner with a reputation as a ladykiller — they were expected to wed. Soon.

If they did not — if, in fact, Ismal didn't soon start giving dear signals of honorable intentions, the current friendly rumors would turn hostile, and Leila would pay with her reputation.

The trouble was, he could not hurry her into marriage, whatever Society thought. Ismal could not stand before a man of God and utter solemn vows while his soul was stained with her unhappiness. To bind Leila to him while she remained in ignorance of the past was dishonorable. Cowardly. He needed time to prove himself, time to prepare her for the confession he should have made weeks ago.

Unfortunately, he might have already deprived himself of time. They had been lovers for a week. He had not once taken precautions, and she hadn't suggested any. She probably assumed she was barren because she hadn't borne Beaumont a child.

Ismal knew better than to make such assumptions. He knew it would be just like Fate to give the screws another twist, in the form of a babe. Then what would he do? Confess? — when it was already too late? Leave her to choose between marrying her nemesis and bearing a bastard?

He dragged his hand through his hair. "Imbecile," he muttered. "Coward. Pig."

At that moment, he noticed movement outside. He sank back against the seat. The door swung open. An instant later, Leila stepped in — then froze.

"Madame?" came Eloise's voice from behind her.

Ismal pulled Leila onto the seat beside him, told Eloise to find Nick, gave the driver a few brisk commands, and yanked the door shut. The carriage promptly jolted into motion.

"It’s starting to
rain
," Leila said. "You will not leave her in the street." She reached for the rope, but Ismal grabbed her hand.

"Nick is watching the house from a carriage near the corner," he said. "Eloise will not melt before she reaches him. It is
you
I should leave in the street — and tell the driver to trample you down. I am not pleased with you, Leila."

"The feeling's mutual," she said. "In case you haven't noticed, it’s broad day. What if someone sees us?"

"What difference does it make who sees us if one of us ends up dead by morning?"

As though to punctuate his prediction of doom, thunder crashed.

"There is no need to be theatrical," she said, lifting her chin. "If someone attempts murder in the dead of night, it's most likely he — or she — will have to contend with us both. Plus Gaspard and Eloise. And even though you have been utterly unreasonable — and just threatened to have me trampled — I shall do my utmost to protect you." She patted his arm. "Come, don't be cross. I think I've found something."

"You have put my stomach in knots." He frowned into her beautiful face. "You make me frantic with worry, Leila. You said you would deal with Lady Carroll. Since she is your friend, one would think you would prefer to settle that first. Instead — "

"Instead I trusted woman's intuition," she said. "Lady Brentmor was the one who called our attention to Helena, and she doesn't make idle suggestions. My instincts don't usually make idle suggestions, either. Ever since I studied that list of yours, I've had a feeling."

"
A
feeling." He sighed.

"A very strong one," she said. "That Helena's the key. It was the same kind of feeling I had about that scar of yours. That it connected to something important."

He knew better than to question her instincts. "The tigress has caught the scent, I perceive." He leaned back against the squabs. "I was ten times a fool to think I could stop you from hunting. Tell me, then."

She told him about her ploy with her earring. It was not the most brilliant strategem, but she had used the opportunity well. She hadn't missed the smallest change in Helena's face, posture, gestures. By Allah, she'd even taken note of the woman's temperature. And Leila had analyzed these minutiae just as Ismal would have done, and reached the same conclusions.

Beyond doubt, Helena had been deeply disturbed by the hint that she'd been with Beaumont. Yet he was dead, and all the world knew his wife had no illusions about his fidelity. If Helena was worried, it must be because she'd committed a greater crime than prostitution.

"I knew I'd struck a nerve with that business I made up about its being the last time I noticed perfume," Leila was saying. "But her reaction made me remember something connected. On New Year's Eve, I spent the night with Fiona at her brother Philip's house. I came home to the usual disorder, the usual signs that Francis had entertained at home."

She took Ismal's hand and squeezed it. "Now isn't the timing
interesting
?" she said. "If Helena was with him that night, she had a perfect opportunity to scout the house. Then, the next time I was away — not two weeks later — she could make a very quick, neat job of whatever she had to do: find and steal the letters for Langford, and maybe poison Francis' laudanum for her own satisfaction."

"Yes, madame, it is very interesting." Ismal closed his eyes. "If your theory is correct, you have just given Helena Martin an excellent reason to kill you. She has only to report your visit to Langford, and there will be
two
people wishing to kill you. Perhaps I shall kill you and spare them the trouble — and myself a painful period of suspense."

"I'm
counting
on her reporting my visit to Langford," she said. "If all goes as I hope, I expect he'll call on me soon. Then, I think, we'll get some clues, if not answers."

He cocked one eye open. She was watching him with ill-concealed excitement. "I am listening," he said.

"Lady Brentmor told me this morning that the Langfords received a note from Dorset," she said. "David and Lettice are betrothed. Langford is tickled to death. Recollect, Lettice's father was his dearest friend. Also, thanks to Lady Brentmor and Fiona, the Duke of Langford thinks he owes it all to
me
."

Ismal had both eyes open now. "It is true. You instigated everything, ordered everyone about."

"The point is, my alleged good deed may just about balance my poking my nose into certain delicate matters," she said. "Langford won't be so quick to crush me. When he calls, he'll probably just try to pick my brains. And I'll let him, because I've got a lovely explanation."

"But of course."

"It
is
lovely," she said. "I shall tell him I found out Francis had some damaging documents, which I fear have fallen into the wrong hands."

"Helena's, for instance."

She nodded. "I shall ask for Langford's help. And he'll believe me, because half of London has this notion I've been doing good deeds. Even Helena had heard about David and Sherburne. She claims people are saying I was patching up Francis' damage. So this will fit the pattern. Don't you see? This is the perfect time, while Langford's prepared to think kindly of me."

Ismal didn't answer. Her words were beginning to take hold in his mind. Timing. Patterns. And inconsistencies.

Both Avory and his father had paid blackmail money in December. The garter episode had occurred early in the same month. Sherburne had evidently known about the garters, yet he'd said nothing to Avory. Shortly thereafter, Beaumont had debauched Lady Sherburne, and all the husband had done was destroy a portrait.