Suzanne Robinson (25 page)

“I wish I’d bitten your hand off, you evil-minded wretch. Now, let me out of this room before I—I throw myself out a window.”

“A little dramatic, don’t you think? How about it, love? Who’s to know?”

“I’ll count to three, Mr. Ross. One.”

“I’ll make you scream with pleasure, over and over again, and we can try one of them tricks in Evelyn’s engravings.”

“Two.”

“We already know you don’t like the all-fours one.” Nick snapped his fingers. “I know. I bet you’d like it if I tied your arms and legs to the bedposts.”

“I said ‘Two,’ Mr. Ross.”

“No, no, not you. You’d like it if you tied me up. I’m willing. Then you can get on top.”

“Three!”

Georgiana took a deep breath and prepared to scream. Nick chuckled and opened the door with a flourish. He leaned toward her and whispered with such precise enunciation that he made her feel like a simpleton.

“You really are a fussy little prude, aren’t you? Be careful, Your Royal Purity, or you’ll end a dried-up, barren, mad old spinster. I can see you now, roaming some big house with fifty cats at your heels and drool coming down the corner of your mouth.”

“Better than ending up your harlot!”

Nick clucked at her. “Now, George, you can’t say
that, not after rolling across the floor with me stuck inside you, moaning all the while.”

Her fingers curled into claws, and she almost tried to scratch his leering face. Making fists instead, Georgiana rushed out of the room as he leaned against the door frame, and hardly heard his parting words.

“Lock your door, Your Royal Spinsterness. There’s still a murderer about.”

Georgiana heard his door close as she hurried down the hall and across the landing. When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused. Glancing back to make sure Nick hadn’t followed her, she braced a hand on the banister and let out a sigh that was part wail. The wretch was trying to blame her for their estrangement.

Her mother had always cautioned her about such men, who adopted charming, alluring demeanors to trick innocent girls into allowing intimacy only to turn on them once the conquest had been achieved. Georgiana had always prided herself on being able to see through the ingratiating, glutinous machinations of such men.

But Nick had been too clever for her. She had succumbed, and God was punishing her for her sins. If she had been a plump, pretty little thing rather than a loping giant, she might have gained more experience with men that would have enabled her to withstand Nick Ross. But no one had ever bothered to try to seduce her before.

She would simply have to be brave and endure his presence a while longer, until the murderer was unmasked. There she had the advantage. She knew the family. She knew Ludwig incapable of murder, and Evelyn too full of his own sense of privileged nobility
to commit murder. Prudence, however, would kill her own child if he stood in the way of a coronet. And Augusta had already tried to kill several times.

There was no proof of anyone’s guilt. How was she going to determine which suspect had committed the crime? Perhaps she could learn something by talking to both women. With discreet questioning one of them might make a mistake and implicate herself. She would begin tomorrow after the earl’s funeral. The sooner she solved the mystery, the sooner Nick would leave, and then she would be rid of the pain of seeing him.

“Georgiana?”

She jumped and cried out, then leaned over the banister to see Ludwig at the bottom of the stairs. He was holding an armload of books.

“Ludwig, you frightened me.”

“Oh, my heart, I’m sorry. I was on my way to the Egyptian Wing and saw you standing there. What are you doing up so late?”

“Oh, well, I’m so distressed about Threshfield. I couldn’t sleep.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Nick’s room, apprehension making her movements jerky. She expected him to leap out at her at any moment and spew obscene suggestions at her. She descended the stairs. “Um, let me help you with those books. It will give me something to do, since I can’t rest.”

“You should have the doctor give you something,” Ludwig said. He hugged his books to his chest when she tried to take some from him. “I mean, they’re not heavy.”

In the workroom of the Egyptian Wing they sat down at the table beside the red-granite sarcophagus.
Georgiana took a surreptitious glance inside the stone box, just in case Nick had decided to sneak in ahead of them. It was empty, and she scolded herself silently for her fears.

To cover her nervousness, she picked up the top book from the stack Ludwig had set down on the table. It was a translation of a German work on ancient Egyptian life, covering everything from history to family life and religion. She flipped through the pages and noticed a section on learning—astronomy, mathematics, the magic arts, including medicine, and geometry.

She heard a rattle and looked up to find Ludwig balancing dozens of small faience cosmetic jars and bronze votive statuettes on a tray. Setting the book aside, she rushed to help him steady his precious burden. Once the tray was safely on the table, Ludwig swept the books off it and took them to their proper place in the next room.

He returned dusting his coat. “I have been looking for those books for two weeks. Uncle carted them to the library and didn’t tell me.”

Georgiana sat down beside the cosmetic jars and statuettes and watched Ludwig compare the items with a packing list.

“Ludwig, don’t you think Threshfield’s death was sudden?”

“I suppose, but, then, Uncle had been ailing for many years.”

“True. Do you know if anyone in the house uses belladonna?”

Ludwig was examining a votive statuette of a scribe seated cross-legged with a papyrus stretched across his legs. “What? Belladonna?”

“Nightshade,” Georgiana said.

“Nightshade, nightshade.” Ludwig picked up a magnifying glass and examined the inscription on the base of the statue.

“Ludwig.”

“Yes, my dear. Oh, belladonna. That’s some kind of drug, is it not?”

“It comes from the nightshade plant.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk—wait. Now that you mention it, Mother used to use it to treat colic, but that was long ago. Why? Are you ill?”

“No, just curious. I saw some growing in the wood. Do you think Prudence would have some?”

“Perhaps. She fancies herself an authority on children’s ailments, and those of adults, for that matter. She was always telling Uncle what medicines to take.”

“Was she?”

“Oh, my heart, yes. He got awfully testy when she did, so she had to stop.”

“Threshfield could be so difficult,” Georgiana said. “It’s a wonder people didn’t threaten to kill him, he was so, well, mean sometimes. Did you ever hear anyone threaten to kill him?”

Ludwig glanced at her over the magnifying glass. “What is all this talk about nightshade and threats, Georgiana?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Are you suggesting Uncle’s death wasn’t natural?”

“Oh, no. No, no. It’s just that he died so suddenly.”

“I think all death is sudden, in that we don’t want
it to happen, especially to those we love. Oh, my heart, yes.”

Georgiana looked at Ludwig poised over his cosmetic bottle, squinting through his magnifying glass, and she smiled. “You’re a kind man, Ludwig.”

“Hmm? Oh, thank you, my dear. Look at the quality of this faience, such a deep, dark blue.”

“I think I’ll go to bed,” Georgiana said. “You should too. It will be dawn in a few hours.”

“I’ll be along in a while. I want to find a box for these bottles.”

Georgiana left shaking her head. Ludwig would forget what time, probably forget what day or night, it was, and fall asleep at the worktable. She hurried through the Egyptian Wing and entered the curved corridor in darkness. Frost had formed on the windows and on the lawn outside. She rubbed her upper arms, again feeling the chill. A shadow detached itself from those along the wall ahead of her, causing Georgiana to stop suddenly and gasp. It lunged at her, sweeping her against the cold window.

“You’re a fool, young George.”

“Mr. Ross, I’ve had enough of your sneaking and spying. Release me.”

“You just let old Ludwig know you’re suspicious. That was a stupid thing to do. What if he’s the killer? Didn’t even think of that, did you?”

His arm was pressing against her breasts. Georgiana pried her own arms between his and her chest but couldn’t break his hold.

“It’s just like you to disparage Ludwig, who is a man of character. He’s kind and gentle and mannered and wellborn, and you can’t stand that.”

Nick’s face appeared close to hers so that she
could make out the sharp angle of his jaw. “If he’s so bloody wonderful, why don’t you marry him?”

“I would,” she snapped, “but I don’t want to be a countess and have to take on the burden of those kinds of duties as well as my home for children. And, besides, I don’t lo—He’s not nearly old enough.”

“What does that matter?” Nick asked. He was so close, she could feel his heartbeat, steady and rhythmic. The sensation penetrated her—thud, thud, thud—and aroused her body in spite of her anger.

He went on. “Old Ludwig would do whatever you wanted him to. If you married him, you’d almost be the husband. No worries about being a slave.”

“I told you. I won’t marry a young man.”

She heard a low, evil laugh.

“Of course you won’t. Not now.”

“What are you talking about?”

She pushed at his arms, but he only pressed her against the wall and put his lips to her ear.

“It’s simple, love. You’re afraid to marry a young man, ’cause he might do this.”

Too late she realized what he was going to do. His lips descended upon hers. His tongue snaked into her mouth and he pulled her against his body. She froze for a moment, feeling his strength and the heat of his skin, the suppleness and texture of his lips; then she pounded his shoulders. Before she could bite his lips, he pulled away and released her. Damnation to him. He wasn’t even breathing hard, and she just knew he was grinning at her with that off-center smile.

His voice calm, Nick said, “Or maybe you’re afraid no one else can make you feel the way I just made you feel.”

Georgiana dashed the back of her hand across her
mouth and tried to get out a retort, but Nick was already gone. He was no more than a shadow gliding along the corridor, and she was left shaking, her skin hot, her feelings in a turmoil. Not wanting to meet him again on her way to her room, she turned and pressed her hot forehead to a windowpane.

She couldn’t endure his persecution much longer. If he touched her like that, she would go mad with hating and wanting him at the same time. He knew it, and he was using her own feelings against her. He was evil, and she had to escape him. If she hadn’t found Threshfield’s killer by tomorrow, she would call off the wager. Better to dishonor her word than to suffer such damnable torments at the hands of this man. One way or another, she was going to get away from Mr. Nicholas Ross.

Nick watched Georgiana surreptitiously from his vantage beside a drawing-room window festooned in black crepe. She was talking to her aunt in the midst of a group of Threshfield family members. True to custom, she had put on a deep mourning costume of the darkest, dullest black bombazine he’d ever seen. He would have thought she’d look like a slender crow in it, but instead the unrelieved blackness highlighted her creamy skin and the primrose color of her cheeks. The jet beads at her throat only enhanced the startling green of her eyes and made them shine like polished malachite.

He shouldn’t stare at her. Nick directed his attention to the line of carriages waiting to pull up in front of the portico. The funeral services had been held at the church in the tiny village nearby, and the earl had been deposited in the vault in the family chapel in the park. Being an earl, Threshfield’s mourning observances had been elaborate in accordance with Evelyn’s
and Prudence’s estimation of the pomp and ceremony due their new rank.

Nick had thought the Egyptian Wing the most bizarre thing he’d ever seen, until he witnessed the gruesome spectacle of upper-class mourning. Everyone was shrouded in murky, somber black—black silk, black crepe, black plumes, black handkerchiefs, mourning bands and ribbons, and, of course, the favorite bombazine. Bombazine was esteemed because it was so dull, it reflected almost no light.

The whole ritual affected to demonstrate how much Threshfield had been loved. Nick thought it demonstrated how rich Evelyn was that he could afford to waste money on meaningless display. All this fuss wouldn’t convince anyone who knew the family that Threshfield would be missed, at least not by the new earl and his wife. They hadn’t shed a tear today. But Georgiana had.

He’d almost forgotten her callousness toward him upon witnessing her grief that morning. His sympathetic weakness had passed, however, when, upon arriving back at the house, she had avoided him as if he were a consumptive. He had kept an eye on her, however, because he’d expected her to indulge in more futile attempts to prove her suspects guilty of murder and save herself from him.