Margo Maguire (24 page)

“Then you would have seen the burglars who entered—”

“There were no burglars,” Osborne said.

A look of unease passed between Watkins and Gell.

“No burglars?” Gell finally asked quietly. “What do you mean?”

“Baron Chetwood arrived here just after we did,” Gavin explained. “The five of us had only just gotten into position when a hackney coach left him at his door.”

“About what time of the evening was that?”

“Just after dark. We saw a light here.” Gavin walked to the front window to verify that what he said was accurate. “Definitely here in the drawing room. The draperies remained open, so we could see the lamp in the window. It remained burning for a short while—perhaps half an hour, wouldn’t you say, Caldwell?”

“Aye,” said Caldwell. “Then it faded and the front of the house went dark.”

“We saw some activity near the servants’ quarters at the back of the house, but then everyone seemed to go to bed,” Osborne added.

“No one came into or left the house after Chetwood’s arrival,” Gavin informed them.

“What are you saying?” Watkins inquired.

“I’m saying . . . that unless one of the servants murdered Lady Chetwood and the baron’s valet, the only possible killer was the baron himself.”

Gell dragged one gnarled hand across his face. “Bloody hell.”

“How do you explain the open window at the back of the house?” Watkins asked.

“We saw Chetwood open it,” Mason said, and Osborne concurred. “He pulled up a chair and smoked for a few minutes. We could see the hot ember of his cheroot.”

“But no one came through that window, either in or out,” Osborne said.

“We’ve all heard Chetwood’s account of his activities when his wife was killed,” Gavin said, “but we five are witnesses that the baron lied about his comings and goings last night.”

“You are absolutely certain of all this?” Watkins asked, looking at each man in turn. “You would swear to it?”

Gavin nodded gravely. “I only wish we’d positioned ourselves closer to the house in order to give you better details of what happened.”

“You’re speaking of a peer, Briggs. Baron Chetwood is heir to the Duke of Windermere.”

“I am all too aware of it, Colonel,” Gavin said. “And it gives him far more influence than he deserves.”

Gell looked at him thoughtfully, hesitation in his eyes. “We’ll have to question the servants again. It could have been one of them.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Gavin said. “But not very likely.” Not with all Gavin knew about the baron.

“The lamp in the back kitchen went out before Chetwood finished his smoke,” said Osborne. “The servants retired before the master.”

“Sit down, men,” Watkins said. “You’d better tell me everything—I want to know why you were watching the house.”

The delay did not sit well with Gavin, but he had no choice. Everyone took seats in Chetwood’s drawing room and Gavin started his explanation with a recounting of his visit several weeks before to Christina’s grandfather at Windermere Park. He very carefully omitted any mention of Christina’s brother and his disappearance, or the blackmail plot against her.

But he did give details of Chetwood’s attempt to have Christina’s sister killed in order to keep her from inheriting any portion of her grandfather’s estate.

“How do you know this?”

“Because I was hired to find both granddaughters,” Gavin said. “Chetwood sent two assassins to make sure the first one could not inherit. The second one—”

“Good God, man,” said Gell, “do you know what you’re saying?”

Chapter 24

T
he wounds on Theo’s back were healing well with careful tending. Christina watched as Jenny put salve on them and wrapped them in cotton, and thought of Gavin taking Theo and going away without her.

She felt a sharp twinge of loneliness. It was hardly explicable, given that she’d known them both for such a short time.

And yet she felt a more tenacious connection to Gavin than she’d ever experienced with Edward. It hurt to think of him moving on without her.

She took Theo up to the nursery before bed and read him stories from one of Lang’s books, wishing she’d had the wherewithal to ask Viscount Brundle about that last night with her brother. According to her father, Brundle hadn’t had much to add to Norris’s account of the evening, but perhaps he hadn’t asked the right questions. Maybe Christina would ask something that had not been asked before.

She finished the last story and tucked Theo into his bed for the night. Returning downstairs, Christina distracted herself with her basket of mending and started to repair the sleeve of a chemise Gavin had torn accidentally a few days ago. Stopping suddenly, she pressed the delicate garment to her chest, letting out a long, shuddering sigh at her recollection of the incident. It had happened at Ledger’s Mill, in her cousin’s house.

Gavin had awakened her during the night, kissing her and gently twining her short hair around his fingers. All of a sudden, he’d made a low growl and pulled the chemise from her shoulders. He’d bent down and kissed her breasts, licking and suckling, making her mindless with need.

And then he’d been inside her, pulling her legs around his hips, and rocking her fiercely. He’d raised his chest off hers, and braced himself on his densely muscled arms, looking into her eyes as she shuddered with unspeakable pleasure.

Christina had felt that unique bond with him then, a connection that had felt so very unbreakable.

On reflection, it was more than a little frightening, for she doubted he’d felt any such thing, not even at the King’s Head Inn when she’d pushed him beyond all restraint. He kept a portion of himself separate, as though he could not make that bond.

She wondered if he was unable to, or just unwilling.

Questions abounded, although most of them would likely remain unanswered. But at least there was one thing she could find out.

Setting aside her sewing, she went into her father’s small study and searched for a dictionary. When she found it, she sat down at the desk and looked up the word Lord Everhart had used.
Sniper
.

A marksman who shoots at individuals as opportunity offers, from a concealed position.

Frowning, she read it again, then closed the book and rested her elbows on the desk, covering her eyes with her hands. Though she knew little about the military, Christina had made assumptions about Gavin’s role in the army. He’d been an officer—she’d supposed he’d commanded a company of soldiers.

He’d been a marksman—a very good shot. She recognized that word from her father’s hunting parties.

Christina wondered what it meant to be a sniper in the army. Had Gavin worked alone, or had he commanded a company of snipers whose function was to conceal themselves and shoot the enemy from afar?

Had he killed many men?

Lord Everhart had called him the hero of Waterloo. And yet she’d heard nothing about it. Which shouldn’t have surprised her, given Gavin’s reticence.

What she knew about him, she’d learned by chance. He had a sister, and Christina doubted he would have mentioned her if not for Theo. She knew his father was Viscount Hargrove, but only because of her mother-in-law’s familiarity with the Briggs family and their subsequent visit with Amelia at St. Ledger’s Abbey. He’d spoken briefly of the property he intended to acquire, but that had been an end to it.

He kept himself from her. For him, it was enough merely to bed her.

Christina stood abruptly, feeling so tense it seemed her bones were at risk of breaking. Her tension and worry were entirely foolish, of course. Gavin had become her lover, that was all. They had shared an enjoyable interlude during their travels from Holywell to London, and once they discovered where Lang was to be found, Christina would go back to Windermere with him. He had no obligation to discuss his family or his sniper past with her.

But she dearly wished he would.

G
avin spoke privately with Colonel Watkins of his experience with the men sent by Chetwood to follow him in his search for Christina’s sister. “The old duke made no secret of his plan to include his granddaughters in his will. I believe Chetwood started searching for them well in advance of my arrival at Windermere Park.”

Watkins frowned fiercely.

“He meant to have Lady Ashby killed,” Gavin said with the stark truth of the matter. “He wanted to make sure she did not inherit anything from her grandfather.”

“ ’Tis a bad business,” Watkins said, shaking his head. “And you say the other granddaughter is Lady Fairhaven?”

Gavin nodded. “I have reason to believe Chetwood’s wife had some idea of her husband’s intentions toward Windermere’s granddaughters.”

“Bloody hell,” Watkins muttered. “That would be quite a sufficient motive for murder, would it not?”

Gavin gave a curt nod. “Colonel, I am . . . responsible for Lady Fairhaven’s safety. The Earl of Everhart came to visit her today. Do you know anything about him? Is he another Hellfire member?”

Watkins shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. Why? Do you suspect he’s a part of—”

“Not necessarily,” Gavin interjected. “I only want to be sure he’s no threat.”

Watkins scratched the back of his head. “Peers do not usually come to my attention for any reason, Briggs.”

Gavin nodded. He did not doubt that, even if the men were scoundrels. Their status always protected them. “He told Lady Fairhaven he’d been abroad of late. I wonder if it’s true. If not . . . Well, it would be a lie, which might make him suspect.”

“I can look into it, Briggs, but you understand this Chetwood business is my priority.”

“Of course. But you might run across information about Everhart during your investigation. I only ask that you keep your eyes open for it.”

Watkins called back the servants to question each one individually, and he sent policemen out to locate Baron Chetwood, either at White’s or any of the known haunts of the Hellfire Club.

Gavin had a feeling they would not find him, having more faith in his own four comrades. The men set out on their own for various parts of London to see what they could discover about the man in question.

It was full dark by the time Gavin left Chetwood’s house. He and his men had agreed to meet at the Tower at dawn, then go on to the church where Gavin would place Christina’s packet of money in the lectern. They intended to get into position early, to be ready for the blackmailer when he arrived. But his concerns about the church were secondary now.

Ever since learning of Lady Chetwood’s murder, Gavin had been anxious to get back to Sunderland House. It was impossible to know what the baron might do once he learned that the magistrate wanted to question him again. It was certain the man would understand that suspicion had turned in his direction. He might panic.

And there was no telling what the bastard might do then.

C
hristina knew it was pointless to worry about the morrow and what would transpire at All Hallows Church when her blackmailer attempted to remove the packet of money from the lectern.

Gavin would seize him. She suspected he had talents she knew nothing about. He was an experienced soldier, which was why she’d thought of asking—or rather, coercing—him into helping her in the first place. He had commissioned assistants to help him cover the vulnerable areas of the church, so it was quite unlikely the man would get away.

Still, there was so much that could go wrong. The blackmailer could wield a knife, or perhaps draw a pistol—

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She could not think in terms of disaster. Gavin would do what he’d set out to do, and there would be no trouble, no injuries.

Christina found herself biting her thumbnail, and made a conscious effort to stop. She didn’t care about the money. The scoundrel could have it if only she could discover where Lang was.

She wished she knew why her brother had felt it necessary to hide from their family. There had to be good reason for it—and not what Gavin and everyone else thought. Lang hadn’t been killed. Christina refused to believe it. Maybe he was ashamed of something he’d done and was reluctant to face their father. Lord Sunderland had never been unclear about his expectations for his offspring . . .

She clenched her hands around her arms and rubbed away the sudden chill. What would cause him to be ashamed? Surely he had not disgraced himself on
The Defender
, or one of Lang’s superiors would have said so to her father.

Her head began to ache at the contradictions. Either she believed he was dead, or he had something to be ashamed of. She didn’t want either one to be true.

Now that it was dark, Christina’s footmen were diligent about making sure the house remained secure. They took turns, much as soldiers on guard duty, changing places every hour, looking out the windows, checking all the locks. “All is well here, my lady?” Hancock asked after his quick knock on the study door.

“Yes, Hancock. I’m fine here.”

But she was not. Christina thought she might go mad from the confinement as well as the worry. If Baron Chetwood had murdered his own wife, and Gavin was keeping watch on his residence . . .

She’d told Lords Everhart and Brundle she intended to go out, but that was clearly impossible with the dangerous baron about. She shuddered. If he’d actually killed his own wife, he would have no compunction against hurting—even murdering—
her
.

She wished Gavin were with her. Christina did not know when to expect him, but fervently wished he would come to her soon. As horrible as Lady Chetwood’s murder was, she was far more preoccupied with what Gavin had planned for the morning rendezvous with her blackmailer. She was anxious for the scoundrel to be caught and forced to tell what he knew about Lang.

The man would be desperate, of course. The blackmailer of a widowed viscountess would not be treated with leniency by any court in the land. Once found out, he would surely be transported for life, if not hanged. She became more convinced he would be armed, and unlikely to care whether he hurt innocent churchgoers in order to escape into anonymity.

Christina took a deep breath and calmed herself. She had to believe Gavin would not be harmed. He had been far more than an adequate protector as they traveled, and he would successfully manage the situation at All Hallows Church on the morrow.

Unable to dispel her worry entirely, she took her stack of banknotes from her father’s safe and stayed busy wrapping them in thick paper. She tied each packet with string, then returned them to the safe, the task done far too quickly for her peace of mind. Now, all she could do was wait for Gavin.

She needed to see him and touch him, more than anything.

G
avin was anxious to assure himself that naught had happened at Sunderland House since he had left earlier in the day. And though he did not care to admit it, he wondered whether Christina would be somehow different after her visit with her former suitor.

Gavin felt a low growl build in his throat at the thought of the earl touching her—even just to kiss her hand. Everhart seemed like a pretentious imbecile who probably hadn’t the intelligence or the skill to tie his own cravat, much less keep his lady safe. Worse, he wouldn’t know the first thing about giving her pleasure, but take his own pleasure from her, just as Gavin suspected her husband had done.

Gavin’s entire body clenched in anticipation of touching Christina again, even though he knew he should not. He knew better than to allow himself to feel that sort of need, or expect her to leave behind every—

Good God, what was he thinking?
He could not ask her to leave anything behind. Gavin had joined the very dregs of mankind when he accepted his commission from Lord Castlereagh. He had not even worn the uniform of his brigade, but blended into the scenery in order to kill his prey from hidden perches and crannies.

There was no honor in what he’d done.

Not even Amelia would have been able to stomach his deeds, and they’d known each other since childhood. With his violent history, Gavin wasn’t even sure he ought to live in the same house with Eleanor and her daughter.

He rode slowly past Christina’s house. It was late, and only one lamp was still lit. Gavin went on to the far end of the street and tied his horse, then moved stealthily behind the last house. He circled around to the back of Sunderland House, looking for signs of anyone else watching the house.

When he saw no one and nothing but the appropriate animals and grooms in all the stables in the vicinity, he went back to collect his horse. He stabled it, then walked up to the servants’ entrance of Sunderland House and knocked.

One of the new footmen admitted him to the house, but not until he’d ascertained who was outside. The process was done exactly as Gavin had instructed. “I believe Lady Fairhaven is in her father’s study,” the man said when Gavin came inside.