The Stranger She Married (29 page)

Cole stared at her in amazement.

Mistaking his reaction, she smiled. “Don't worry, darling, the servants can be trusted to keep my secrets."

He turned cold at the thought of ever being attracted to this woman. What a fool he had been. “Who put you up to it?"

Her smile turned vapid. “Cole, darling, whatever do you mean?"

"The rivalry between Armand Palmer and me. The duel. Who was behind it?"

Ah. A crack in her composure. She recovered quickly and slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, gazing up into his eyes in that familiar way that used to make him feel invincible. Today it made him feel nauseated.

"What makes you think anyone would put me up to anything?” She smiled seductively.

"Don't trifle with me, Vivian. I'm not in the mood for your foolish games. I need answers."

Vivian's smiled faded. “I don't know what you mean."

"Someone is trying to kill everyone in the Palmer family, starting with the heir. And clever enough to make it not look like murder."

Her gaze turned cold and she removed her hands. “I think you'd better leave. Now."

Shaking in fury, Cole advanced upon her. “I will leave when you tell me what I need to know."

She stepped back with true fear in her eyes. He backed her against a wall and placed a hand on the wall on either side of her shoulders, trapping her. Her breath quickened and her eyes darted over his face in an attempt to discover his intentions.

Leaning in close, he whispered, “If you cooperate with me, I will not reveal your involvement in the murder of an innocent man. He had a twin sister, did you know? She is most distressed by his death. She was left to the mercy of a greedy uncle."

Some of the fear left her eyes and her voice took on a careless tone. “And I should care about this chit?"

Cole leaned in until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from hers and noted with satisfaction that she drew in her breath. “How discreet are your servants? Enough that they would never investigate your screams because they'd assume them to be sounds of passion?"

Vivian's eyes widened.

Cole stepped closer until his whole body pressed against those curves he once found so appealing, and glared at his opponent. “Did you know, dearest Vivian, that I learned many useful things in the war? Wringing information from a prisoner was one of them."

"You'd never hurt a lady,” she said uncertainly.

Cole didn't bother pointing out that she hardly fit the profile of a true lady. “Female prisoners are especially vulnerable to questioning. There are so many more ways to hurt them.” With his lie falling easily from his mouth, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them up over her head, shackling them in both of his, leaving the other to caress her neck purposefully. “Give me a reason to not hurt you."

She gasped. If Vivian truly ever knew him, she would never believe him capable of causing harm to a woman, despite his deadly tone and expression. Thankfully, she believed his empty threat.

Pale and trembling, she swallowed. “What ... what do you want to know?"

"Who paid you to coerce us into a duel?"

She shook her head once, her breathing ragged. “I don't know his name."

Cole put his hand around her throat, not squeezing, but resting it there to make sure she understood the warning. Her eyes dilated in terror and Cole felt like a beast threatening a woman in this manner, but he remained focused.

"I don't, I swear! He handed me a hundred quid and promised me a fortune if I'd help him humiliate Armand."

"And you decided the best humiliation was for us to duel?"

"He told me to do it. Said you were the best shot in London and to make sure you dueled."

Cole's practiced shields kept his gaze steady when he wanted to cringe. He needed her to believe he was the worst kind of scoundrel, capable of anything. “You asked me to meet you at the park that afternoon. You wanted me to ‘catch’ you together."

"It seemed the best way. You won't tell my husband, will you? He has such a terrible temper.” Tears shimmered in her eyes and Cole began to believe she actually understood her peril rather than using tears as just another feminine ploy.

"That depends. How can I contact this man who paid you?"

"I don't know. We met outside the opera house and he handed me the money after the duel. I never saw him again."

Swearing, he pushed away from Vivian's body and paced.

Vivian visibly relaxed now that he had released her, but still watched his with wary eyes. “I vow, that's all I know."

He swung back to her. “Describe him."

She flinched as if she expected him to hit her. “Very ordinary-looking, like an attorney. Middle-aged, balding, gold rimmed glasses. His suit was not a gentleman's cut."

That could describe half the bourgeois in London. Cole reined in his frustration and lowered his voice to a deadly tone. “I will say nothing about your involvement to your husband ... yet. If I discover that you've lied to me, or withheld any information that could help me, I'll be back. To inform your husband, ruin your reputation, and,” he grinned wickedly, “have my own kind of revenge on you."

She paled further and clutched at the wall. “I've told you all I know."

With all the ruthlessness of a pirate, Cole traced his finger down the side of her face. “I actually hope you'll prove to be a liar. I truly want to make you suffer."

White with fear, she merely stared at him.

Cole bowed with exaggerated formality and left. Outside, he swore again as he climbed into his curricle. His tiger fixed him with a wide, toothy grin, not the least intimidated by Cole's mood. Cole winked at the boy before taking the ribbons. Grateful she hadn't called his bluff, but fuming that he still had not learned enough, he drove through the streets of London.

At least he knew his duel with Armand had indeed been arranged. But he still did not know if Vivian's employer believed Cole would kill Armand instead of, as she said, merely humiliate him. Nor did he know if the murderer went back and finished the job later, making it look as though Armand had died of an opium addiction.

Cole arrived in front of the town house the Palmer family rented during their stay in London, handed the ribbons to his tiger, and climbed out.

A footman opened the door.

Cole swept off his hat. “Good afternoon, my good man. Were you here when the Palmer family let this house two Seasons ago?"

The footman eyed him suspiciously. “No, sir."

"It's very important that I speak with someone who was here then. Please?” He painted on his most disarming smile so many found irresistible and handed him his calling card.

He read the name, eyed his attire, and appeared to consider.

Cole reached into his pocket and passed some coin to him. “I'd be most grateful."

The footman glanced around as if to determine there were no witnesses and snatched the money. After tucking it away, he opened the door to admit Cole and showed him into a small front parlor tastefully decorated in restful blue. “Wait here, my lord."

He disappeared, and Cole waited for several minutes. Noise from the streets as people passed mingled with voices within the house. He stood looking at a surprisingly well done watercolor. He smiled as he recognized the style and felt his grin widen as he read the artist's signature. Christian Amesbury. His youngest brother. The pup had developed remarkable skill the last few years. Perhaps he wasn't meant for the church, after all. He turned at the sound of footsteps.

A vaguely familiar-looking older man approached slowly. He walked slightly stooped as if his rheumatism had been acting up. “I am Forrester, the head butler. You wished to speak with me, my lord?"

"Yes, thank you. I am sure your many duties require much of your time."

"Yes, my lord."

"Were you here when this house was let by the Palmers two Seasons past?"

"Yes, I was, my lord. The mister and missus were here, with their son and daughter, and a cousin, I think it was. Delightful family. The daughter was here for her first Season. Quite successful, as I understand. They left after the Season, but the young gentlemen remained.” His face clouded. “The son died later that summer."

"Yes, Armand was shot. But only in the arm."

"Yes. Odd, that. The wound did not look life-threatening; more a graze, if I recall correctly. But then he developed fever. The doctor bled him and did everything he could, but his arm sickened and had to be amputated. Tragic thing to happen to anyone, but especially one so young. Then I heard he died only a few months later."

"Did there appear to be anything odd about his illness?"

The furrow returned. “He seemed to be recovering, and then took a rather sudden turn. But that can sometimes happen. I hear that tiny bugs we can't see can cause mysterious fevers."

"The sickness in his arm was sudden, then? He seemed to be well at first?"

"Yes, my lord."

Cole carefully composed his next question. “Did he have many visitors?"

"Perhaps two or three. His family was on the way here to visit him, but never arrived."

"Would you remember the faces of any of his visitors?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. Not from two Seasons ago."

Cole nodded. “I understand. How may I contact the former head housekeeper?"

"She passed on, sir, only days after the young gentlemen went home. Took a nasty fall."

Now that was peculiar news. Had she been eliminated because she knew too much? A nasty fall seemed too convenient. The housekeeper could have been a witness. Or she might have been an accomplice, paid by Vivian's employer and then silenced.

"You've been most helpful.” Cole passed him several coins. “Thank you for your time."

The butler bowed. “Thank you, my lord."

Cole stepped out and frowned up at the rain. Why did it always seem to rain on him? He fumed while his curricle made its perilous way through the crowed streets toward Pall Mall.

Cole knew little about poisons, but he was fairly certain any number of them could have caused an infection and fever. Or imitated an opium overdose. Cole was tempted to go back to Alicia's family home and ask if anyone saw anything the night Armand died. Opium overdose was not uncommon, but in light of everything else, Cole had no doubt that Armand had been cleverly murdered.

With a chill, Cole realized Robert had been there both when the duel took place and when Armand took ill. What he did not know was whether Robert had been present when Armand died.

The uncle, Willard Palmer, might have killed him, hoping to eliminate his brother's heir so that he would inherit the family estate and lands after causing his brother's untimely death. He would be a much more likely suspect. But why go after Alicia now? Their money problems were over now that Alicia had married Nicholas.

The rain stopped by the time Cole arrived at Nicholas's house.

"She's in the garden, sir,” the footman informed him as he took his hat.

Cole strode through the house to the rear, squared his shoulders, and followed the garden path that led to Alicia. Unaware of his approach, she gazed at something near the horizon. She sat silhouetted by the setting sun, her hair burnished by the light, a halo surrounding her slender body. Cole ached at the sight of her.

He still couldn't believe that he had actually told her he loved her. Stupid. He should have held his tongue.

She hated him. Despite her earlier words of forgiveness, underneath it all, she still harbored a hatred she would not easily release. Her words after he kissed her at the birthday celebration had been proof.

He had shot her brother. It did not matter that he had been a pawn in someone else's game and that his actions had not actually caused Armand's death. Her brother was dead, and Cole had pulled the trigger. She would view anything else as a moot point. And he still did not have any evidence to prove that there was another, larger, more ominous plot at work.

And worse, she believed him unprincipled. She may never trust him.

Nicholas's valet, Jeffries, nodded at Cole as he walked with controlled casualness near the house. Cole nodded in return, relieved to see his directive to keep Alicia under watch at all times was being studiously honored. Since the highwaymen attack, the staff had been most cooperative about guarding her.

As he neared, her head turned toward him, and he felt his smile rise as he beheld her gentle beauty, but her body tensed as she awaited him. That hurt.

He excelled in games of chance with good reason. Keeping his expression pleasant, without any sign of his inner turmoil, he forced lightness into his voice.

"Cousin Alicia. How are you this fine afternoon, love?"

"Good afternoon.” Her tone was civil but aloof. Chilly.

He bent over her hand and released it, the picture of perfect propriety.

When she raised her eyes, he noticed the dark circles beneath them betraying a sleepless night. He had expected that, but the anguish in them stopped his heart.

He folded his hands behind his back before he did something foolish. He dragged in a shaking breath and tried to order his thoughts.

A servant approached. “My lady, this just arrived."

Alicia paled at the sight of the black-trimmed stationery that signified an announcement of death. She took the envelope and began to sway. Alarmed, Cole steadied her and guided her to a stone bench. Had the killer gone after Alicia's sister? With shaking hands, she tore the seal. And gasped.

"What is it?” he asked.

"Uncle Willard is dead."

Cole blinked. “Willard?"

"They found him on the highway. Apparently he was set upon by thieves. His purse and watch were gone and his horse was taken."

Another Palmer dead. Without a doubt someone was systematically eliminating the entire family. But for what purpose?

Cole hailed Phillips and had him summon Alicia's maid.

"Poor Robert,” Alicia moaned. “He still grieves for Armand. And now his father is gone. Oh, Cole, he and Hannah will need me. I must go to them."

But what if Robert was the killer? Alicia could be in danger if she returned.

Cole rubbed his hands over his face. “Of course."