Margo Maguire (21 page)

Her eyes still held questions, but Gavin preferred not to worry her with talk of Chetwood. Nor could he explain his affair with Christina. As of this morning, he hardly understood it himself. He doubted she was aware of it, but she’d raised their lovemaking to the next degree. And while he’d thoroughly relished it, he wasn’t sure he liked it.

What he needed was distance. Perspective.

A woman like Christina ought to be properly courted by a peer, with flowers, and pretty trinkets, and promises for her future.

Unlike Theo, Gavin was the one who deserved a whipping for drawing a virtuous woman into an illicit affair.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” he said, “but I’ll bring Theo to you before I leave for Windermere. He’s an easy lad to deal with, and quite grateful to be away from his uncle.”

Eleanor nodded.

“And use that money I gave you,” Gavin said. “Buy some cloth to make dresses for yourself and Hettie. And Rachel.”

Eleanor’s eyes glistened with tears of appreciation, and Gavin took it as his signal to leave.

“I’m sorry to be such a watering pot,” she said. “But I’ve worried . . .”

“All is well, Ellie. I’ll see you in a few days.” He stood, and when she followed suit, he gave her a quick embrace, then went to the kitchen to bid farewell to Hettie.

He had a lot to do before morning, and forced himself to concentrate on the hours ahead, not on the sensual interludes he so foolishly craved.

He left Hettie’s house and rode north, toward Marylebone, where one of his old friends had lodgings. Former lieutenant Robert Osborne was a younger son of an earl, and sure to know of Chetwood—where he lived and where he played. Once Gavin had that information, he intended to contact two or three more friends, and have them help him keep an eye on the baron’s house and club.

He had no intention of leaving any stones unturned where that scoundrel was concerned. Especially not when Christina’s safety depended upon it.

C
hristina found herself awash in banknotes after the jewelers came and went. The blackmailer had stipulated that his payment was to be in notes from the Bank of England, which the jewelers had on hand. All but one, who said he would secure the notes and bring them to her on the morrow.

She’d raised a good deal more money than she needed, but decided it was just as well to divest herself of the jewels, in spite of what the jewelers might think of her. No doubt they wondered if she’d fallen on hard times.

Their opinion was of no interest to Christina. The jewels meant nothing to her, but information about Lang was of the utmost importance.

She waited for Gavin, in case he decided he didn’t want a night apart any more than she did. All the while, she tried not to let the thoughts that niggled at the edges of her mind trouble her. But no matter how she tried, she could not stop worrying about the dangers he would face on her behalf. With Chetwood . . . and the blackmailer . . .

She could not bear it if he were injured in any way, and wished it could all be over. She’d had no right to involve him in her troubles. He had responsibilities that did not involve her—a sister, and now Theo. And if something happened to him, what would they do?

She could not dwell on it. Gavin was more capable than any man she’d ever met. She knew nothing would befall him. It just couldn’t.

Too nervous to eat any supper, she went in search of Theo and Jenny, and found them in the kitchen, sharing a simple meal. Christina joined them at the table, and was gratified to note that Theo was relaxed and smiling.

No child should have had to endure all that he had, no matter what the circumstances of his birth. His uncle had been a brute and a bully to treat him so viciously.

“I believe there might be some of my brothers’ toys in the attic, Jenny,” Christina said. “Perhaps we ought to make a trip up there and see what we can find for Theo.”

She believed Gavin had rescued the boy just in time. He was much too thin, and far too reticent. And one more beating like the one they’d witnessed at the smithy might have killed him. She shuddered at the thought of it, realizing that she’d become much too attached to the boy.

Gavin was going to take him away to Hampshire.

Her lungs deflated when she thought of it, of Gavin going away with Theo and making a home in the country with his sister. It made her feel quite empty inside.

So she would spoil him a bit in the meantime.

She went up to the attic with Jenny and Theo and found a number of choice toys, perfect for a little boy. Christina did not want to overwhelm him, so they brought down just a few and then watched with amusement as he carefully lined up Felton’s tin soldiers on a shelf in the nursery.

He took the fiercest one—the figure who held a rifle at his shoulder—and placed it in the midst of the others. “This is Captain Briggs,” he said.

“Oh yes, it surely is,” Jenny responded with a smile. “He is the bravest of all the soldiers, isn’t he?”

Theo nodded, then spoke quietly. “No one ever stopped my uncle Samuel from hurting me. No one but Captain Briggs.”

Christina’s heart clenched. “No one will hurt you ever again,” she said. Gavin would see to it. She didn’t know quite how he intended to fit Theo into his household, but the boy would most certainly grow into a fine young man under Gavin’s care.

After a while, Jenny put Theo to bed and Christina retreated to her mother’s small parlor to read. She curled up in a soft, overstuffed chair, but was unable to keep her attention on the pages before her. Theo and his enjoyment of the toys had diverted her for a time, but now she could not ignore her worries.

She knew she was allowing herself to think too far ahead, when Gavin and Theo would be gone from her life. But she could not help herself. She thought of Gavin’s growls of satisfaction when she’d made love to him last night, or the way he’d wrapped her so tightly in his arms before falling asleep.

And yet with their arrival in London, his demeanor had changed most distinctly.

Christina’s throat thickened and burned at the realization that he’d purposely put up an invisible wall between them. She suspected his intention was to end their affair. He would live up to his commitment to deal with the blackmailer at the church, and then remind her of her promise to return to Windermere with him.

It filled her with a sort of desolation she had not felt even on the occasion of Edward’s ignominious death.

It was very late when Christina realized she could no longer sit up pretending to read. She gave instructions to Edgar the footman to admit Captain Briggs if he should happen to arrive, no matter how unlikely such an event was.

Chapter 21

W
ith Osborne’s help, Gavin recruited three of their old friends who’d served with them in Spain in the Ninety-fifth Rifle Regiment, to help him keep surveillance on Chetwood’s London residence. Gavin positioned himself with Philip Caldwell in the square across from Chetwood’s house. Osborne and John Mason kept up surveillance at the back, near Chetwood’s stable. A fifth man, Arthur Andrews, was free to move about as needed, but especially to carry messages between the two groups of observers.

They all had an excellent view of the house. No one could enter or leave without being seen.

They saw no signs of Chetwood’s wife, but the baron himself arrived well after dusk. The house remained mostly dark, except for the servants’ quarters at the back, and a lamp that illuminated the drawing room.

Less than an hour later, the drawing room went dark, and the men at the back of the house saw the light move through the rooms toward them. They had a clear view of the baron going all the way to a room at the back and sitting down near a window to smoke a cheroot. Soon afterward, the back kitchen went dark and the light followed Chetwood up the stairs to his bedchamber. They saw no other activity and knew the baron had remained inside through the rest of the night.

Gavin had hoped to catch Chetwood leaving his house in the dead of night and attempting to broach Christina’s residence. Then he would have caught the bastard red-handed, and dealt with him once and for all. It grated to know that keeping watch all night had been a wasted effort.

As soon as dawn broke, Gavin and his men left Chetwood’s house, agreeing to meet later. They all needed a few hours’ sleep, and Gavin . . .

Gavin wanted to see Christina. Needed to see her.

It was unwise, he knew. But even though he’d put some space between them, the physical distance did not seem to matter. He felt an elemental craving for her. He needed to see the sparkle in her clever green eyes, and smell her delicious scent. He was compelled to feel the softness of her skin against his.

It was a fool’s errand, he knew. He’d made all the arguments, told himself all the reasons why he ought to stay away.

He could let a room for himself somewhere, bunk in with one of his friends, or even return to Hettie’s house. No doubt the parlor that would become Theo’s bedroom would do for a few hours.

Besides, all would be well at Christina’s house. Hancock and the butler, along with Trevor and the other footman, were there to keep the house secure. Gavin knew for a certainty that Chetwood had not left his own dwelling. No harm would have come from that quarter, and naught would happen during daylight hours.

In spite of all his rationalizations, Gavin found himself riding in the direction of Sunderland House. He was admitted to the house by Trevor, who was just returning from the market with a basket full of groceries.

Christina came to the door, and when her eyes flared at the sight of him, Gavin thought for a moment that she might step right into his arms.

They felt acutely empty when she did not. She greeted him warmly, though, with utmost civility, and invited him in for breakfast.

“I am not very hungry, Lady Fairhaven,” he said, except for one thing—something he ought not even to be considering. “But if you can—”

“There is a bedchamber upstairs where you can rest, Captain Briggs,” she said as she studied him. “And you look fatigued. If you would rather sleep than eat, that is perfectly acceptable.”

Worry marred her brow, and she looked as tired as he felt. Gavin wished they had the privacy to allow him to pull her into his arms and reassure her, but he could hear the servants’ voices and knew they were close by.

Besides, such an act clashed with every argument he’d employed during the night and all the way to Sunderland House.

So far, Christina’s reputation remained intact, and he intended to keep it that way.

“Thank you,” he said. Her mouth was so soft and pink, he found it difficult to take his eyes from them, and restrain his wayward thoughts. “I have no news to give you. Nothing has changed from the moment we parted yesterday.”

She walked with him to the staircase. “Ah, but it has. I sold the jewelry, so you will have something to place in the lectern tomorrow morning.”

Gavin nodded and followed her up the stairs. There was no sign of anyone in the upstairs corridor, and when they reached the guest room where he would take his rest for a few hours, he could not resist touching her face. It was an innocent gesture, a gentle cupping of her jaw, but her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned slightly toward him.

Gavin could not resist bending and touching his lips to hers. It was not enough, but he managed to step back and place some space between them. He didn’t want to think about Chetwood or James Norris or All Hallows Church.

Christina fully occupied his mind.

She took a deep breath and somehow maneuvered him into the bedchamber. “Sleep awhile, Captain Briggs. We’ll talk when you are rested.”

T
he news spread through Mayfair like the Great Fire of London. Lady Chetwood was dead. It was said she, as well as one of Chetwood’s menservants, had been killed in her own house by thieves who had broken in. The baron’s desk drawers had been opened and a few valuables dropped on the floor as the thieves made their way out of the house.

Christina had thought her own troubles bad enough. But now there was this worry.

She sent Hancock out to hire two strong footmen whose sole duty would be to guard Sunderland House during the night. She hadn’t really wanted any more people underfoot in the house, because it would likely prevent her being able to slip into Gavin’s room during the night. But it could not be helped.

A murder in Mayfair was unheard of. And troublesome. Christina could not help but wonder if it had anything to do with the dangers that had worried Gavin at the Black Sheep Inn. She sent Jenny out to the neighbors’ to see if she could glean any more information about the situation, and then went into the drawing room to wait for Gavin to awaken. She found herself pacing.

The morning wore on interminably, in spite of Theo’s presence and the games they played together. Christina was anxious to see what Gavin thought about Lady Chetwood’s death, but she would not disturb him yet. She knew he’d had little sleep during their last night of travel. And he’d looked exhausted this morning. He’d said there was no news, but Christina could see in his tired eyes that he’d stayed up yet another night. It must have been for some very good reason.

What that might have been, she could not say.

Jenny returned more than an hour after going out, with a great deal to report.

“Oh my lady! Her poor husband found her.”

Christina stopped Jenny from speaking in front of Theo. She called for Maycott, the butler, who took him to the kitchen for a cup of milk.

“What happened, Jenny? Where were the servants?”

“Lord Chetwood told the police magistrate that he came home late and sent everyone to bed. Sometime after, burglars must have come into the house, and the valet tried to stop them. The baron said he is a sound sleeper, but Lady Chetwood was not. He believes she must have heard a noise . . .”

“How did they get in?”

“An open window,” Jenny replied. “Lord Chetwood said he stayed up to smoke. That his wife didn’t like the smell of his cheroots in the house, so he had a window open. He admits he must have forgotten to close it.”

Christina had never heard of servants who would retire before their master. The least they should have done was to wait until they heard Lord Chetwood retire, and then secure and straighten the house.

“Lord Chetwood said he awoke just before dawn and felt something amiss.” Jenny swayed on her feet.

“Come and sit down, Jenny,” Christina said, but the maid ignored her, and remained standing, wringing her hands, her eyes unfocused, distant.

“He got up to look in on Lady Chetwood and found her bed empty. Oh, it must have been horrible!”

“What next, Jenny?”

“He went to look for her and found her at the bottom of the stairs.” Jenny put a hand up to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “Her throat was cut. And his . . . his valet was on the floor near the window. Stabbed in the heart.”

“Jenny, sit down before you fall down.”

Christina felt quite ill herself. Whatever Baron Chetwood’s intent toward Christina, she did not believe the man deserved to lose his wife so hideously. And the poor valet . . .

“I’m all right, my lady,” Jenny said. “I’ll feel better if I keep busy. I’ll just go and see about Theo . . .”

Jenny made for the door, and Christina saw Gavin standing just outside it, frowning. The maid made a small curtsy and went on her way.

Gavin came into the drawing room. He crouched down in front of Christina’s chair and took her hands in his.

“Burglars did not kill Lady Chetwood or the valet,” he said.

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“Five of us watched Chetwood’s house all night long, front and back.” A feeling of abject horror came over Christina as Gavin spoke. “Chetwood went in at midnight and did not go out. No one else entered the house.”

“What are you saying, Gavin?”

He hesitated a moment before speaking. “I’m saying the only possibility is that Baron Chetwood killed his wife.”