Heartless (40 page)

Then one morning she woke, clutched her stomach, and cast up her accounts in the chamberpot. Logic might have suggested she was simply sickening for something but instinct declared otherwise. She was increasing.

While she prayed for her husband’s safe return, she rejoiced in the knowledge that she carried his child. She threw herself into planning for the child’s arrival, adding in the preparations for the many holiday celebrations in the not-to-distant future.

It was in the midst of her planning that Leandra found a moment to wonder over Martin St. Clair’s disappearance. From what she could tell he’d not been at Derringer Crescent for some time. Leandra would have pondered the situation sooner had she not been so caught up in her own problems.

Prestwich and Greville returned to London to see if perhaps they could find more information. Leandra heard nothing from them for some time. And when she did, it was only more mystery added to the conundrum that already was her life.

Sir Adam Prestwich strode into Greville’s townhouse in Berkley Square exactly three months after the Duke of Derringer’s disappearance. He strode to the bookroom in the back of the residence, not even bothering to knock. Greville didn’t look up as Prestwich entered and sat in a leather armchair opposite the desk behind which the earl sat.

“What have you found?” inquired Greville. He frowned at the letter he held as he waited for Prestwich’s response.

“Tiny,” Prestwich said, referring to a friend of Derringer’s. “Ran into the giant while scouring the East End for clues. He gave me this.” Leaning forward, he tossed a folded sheet of foolscap at Greville. “Said we’re not to worry about the missing duke and he added that we keep the duchess safe. Oh, Tiny also sends his regards to your lady wife.”

Greville grunted and accepted the paper. “What else?”

“Big John Hancock heard a rumor about a black devil being sent back to hell but I attributed that story to his flair for the dramatic.”

“Do not be so sure. You read this?”

“I did but the Captain’s writing is not easily understood. I surmise whoever took Gabriel also took Derringer. You think they still live?”

“I hope so, based on Taverner’s convoluted mutterings, but I don’t think they will be for long. Look at this.”

Greville searched his desk for a moment, locating what he sought in a copy of
Debrett’s Peerage
. A folded sheet of vellum fell out, settling on the desk before him. He handed it to his companion.

“Tracing your lineage?” quipped Prestwich as he took the sheet of vellum. His smile disappeared when he read the rather shaky handwriting on the sheet. “Where did you get this?”

“Leandra. She found it in Lady Derringer’s journal, hidden in the flyleaf. What do you want to wager Martin St. Clair and his mama know about that?”

“I thought you had given up gaming?” Prestwich remarked in an offhand manner, his attention almost entirely focused the paper he held.

“Only when it’s not a sure thing.”

“What I want to know,” Prestwich said, ignoring Greville’s assurance, “is why either one of them are still alive.”

“I wondered that as well. It certainly would have been in their best interest to kill them both, dispose of the bodies, and claim the title and inheritance.”

“You are positive Martin and Lady St. Clair are behind this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. They are the only ones who stand to benefit by their deaths.”

“What about our new king?” Everyone knew how the royal family felt about the Dukes of Derringer, past and present.

Greville thought about it for a moment. “No, this doesn’t have Prinny’s feel to it. Cutting off Hart’s hair was not his style and we would have found the bodies by now. Prinny would make sure they were dead and make sure everyone knew it. And our recently passed monarch was never really in the right frame of mind to properly despise Hart. It is suspected he disposed of the previous duke, though.”

“Interesting,” Prestwich muttered, sounding as if he cared little for the machinations of the previous king. “Suppose Martin is the one responsible. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out Leandra’s
enceinte
?”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about that, too. We simply have to catch the scoundrel before he has a chance to harm her.”

“Easier said than done, don’t you think?”

“We’re missing something,” said Greville, ignoring Prestwich’s comment. He stared hard at the desktop. His face suddenly cleared. “Harwood!”

“Leandra’s brother?” Prestwich asked in disbelief.

“Of course. He is the one that links everything together. He is the reason Hart and Gabe are still alive. He needs them alive to get his father’s will back. Once he has it, he will let St. Clair kill them.”

Prestwich shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense.  Harwood is a sniveling milksop. How can he force a St. Clair to bend to his will?”

“He must have found out Martin’s plans and offered to help. Or, stupidly, he threatened to expose Martin’s plans. In which case, we’ll probably find his body as well.”

“There’s another missing piece to the puzzle in there somewhere,” Prestwich insisted, tapping his finger on the desktop. “There has to be another person involved in all this.”

“But who?”

Nearly admitting defeat, Greville returned to Derringer Crescent a week later to at least inform Leandra of what they knew.

She took him to her little morning room, where she was normally found, and bade him sit. She sat beside him on a pretty little sofa and asked what he had learned.

Instead of answering right away, he asked, “Where’s Aurora?”

“With the children in the nursery. We spend most of our time there now, considering.” She blushed slightly with pleasure at the thought that she would be having Derringer’s baby. But, as always when this thought occurred, she was nearly overwhelmed with sadness at the loss of her husband.

The earl smiled. “I see. I wonder if you might be able to tell me anything about your brother’s friends or associates. Adam and I are in a bit of a quandary.”

“So you have decided Lee is involved. I wondered when you would grasp that.”

“If you already knew, why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, indignation pinching the corners of his mouth.

“I am a woman. Would you have listened?” She shrugged. “And I didn’t know. I merely suspected. He is after my father’s will and he knows my husband has it.

“As to his friends, the one that comes to mind first is Fraser D’Arcy. Monsieur D’Arcy visited Harwood House often and Hart mentioned seeing Lee in France recently with D’Arcy. He said the Frenchman was dangerous and quizzed me then about what I knew of him.”

“Hart mentioned him to me. And I recall the man has a grudge against Hart. He may be the one that ties this all together.”

“What else do you know?” she asked, her hand coming to rest on her belly in an unconscious gesture of protectiveness.

Greville shrugged. “Not much. We’ve received missives from Captain Taverner, but the man writes in a rather convoluted fashion. Adam and I had trouble making heads or tails of his message. But we determined that either Gabe or Hart, perhaps both, are still alive.”

Leandra’s forehead creased. “How did you receive word? Where is he that he can know of Hart and Gabriel? Where are they? Surely he knows that if he can tell you that they live.”

“Derringer has an associate known as Tiny Boy. Adam found him. Tiny indicated he was on some sort of errand for his current employer. He handed Adam a message and walked away.”

“Do you have it with you?” she asked. At his nod, she held out her hand. “May I see it?”

Greville handed over the foolscap sheet. “Perhaps you will understand it better.”

Leandra opened it and studied it silently for several minutes. A slow smile curved her lips. “Captain Taverner either hates France with an undying passion or he would like us to know that he was made to sail to France, Vi. I do believe Monsieur D’Arcy is indeed our key.”

Despite all objections, Leandra insisted on accompanying Greville to London. Smiling to himself, he wondered how his friend felt about finally meeting his match in sheer stubbornness.

“Adam has probably not uncovered anything new, you know,” he told her for the tenth time. She only smiled and returned her gaze to the dreary countryside passing the carriage window.

Greville gave up. Aurora smiled at her husband, amused, he knew, at his own stubborn determination to sway Leandra’s determination.

The rest of the journey was conducted in silence. Leandra pondered the chances of finding her husband while Greville pondered the chances of dissuading Leandra from doing anything stupid. Aurora regarded their mobile faces with amusement, as they were incapable of hiding their feelings at the moment.

Upon arriving at Prestwich’s London residence, Greville found he was wrong, but in the worst way imaginable. Prestwich had new information but not something he wanted the duchess to learn immediately, if ever. So he glared at Greville and dragged him into his study.