The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (28 page)

Colin arrived the next day brimming with information. Fortunately, he brought Eve, who had taken Arabella outside in the hopes that a walk in the garden would do her good.

This allowed Logan some time alone with his friend, time he was in desperate need of.

“How are the others?” Logan asked.

“Tristan, Victoria, Fiona and the children are happily residing at Kellington Manor. They are safe,” Colin patted his friend on the back. “Fiona wanted me to apologize to you for missing the opera. It was too much intrigue for her.”

Logan couldn’t blame her.

If he had a choice, neither he nor Arabella would have attended.

Arabella …

His veins turned to ice when he recalled her statement the night before. About killing her sister. The recollection of Bella’s stony tone of voice and eyes devoid of their usual radiance sent chills up his spine.

“Thank you for bringing Eve,” Logan handed his longtime friend a crystal tumbler filled with his most potent whiskey.

Colin took a hefty gulp. “Good Lord, this is strong, Logan!”

His host downed half his glass.

“That was your intention,” Colin studied Logan. “What am I not aware of?”

Logan sat behind the mahogany desk in his office. The room, like Logan, was sturdy, yet blemished. Walls lined with aged mahogany, worn leather furnishings to match. It was solid. It was comforting. It was imposing, with the Wolf motif spanning the room in the form of carvings older than his and Colin’s lifespans combined. They were perched in the walls, watching, listening, waiting …

Oh, what they had seen.

How many plans had been hatched within these walls? How many secrets had been shared or suppressed?

“You are quiet. Much too quiet, my friend. I know you. You are tormented by something. Involving Arabella, is my guess.” Colin traced the top of his tumbler with his thumb.

Waiting for Logan to answer.

“Arabella is becoming …” Logan’s voice trailed off.

What?

Why was this admission so difficult to make?

“Arabella is becoming hardened. The night at the opera had more of an impact than I expected. She is becoming …”

What?

Like me?

Yes, that is why fear twisted in Logan’s abdomen, coiling like a snake. Apprehension born from understanding. No one understood such a transformation as much as Logan.

Hatred intermingled with a sense of helplessness, of hopelessness at one’s situation, was a formidable combination. It could destroy even the bravest and most innocent of souls.

“She is losing her conscience, at least where her sister is concerned,” Logan took another few gulps. The bitter aftertaste from his statement caused him to grimace.

Colin refilled his glass, placing the decanter on Logan’s desk and settling into a worn leather chair in front of the desk. “Who could blame her? Her sister has plotted Arabella’s demise for years. Based upon what I discovered last night, Sybil’s deception runs deep and she has aligned herself with a powerful ally. Beniamino is her benefactor and he knows many secrets. That is how he gained his wealth and power – by blackmailing the nobles Sybil stole from, many of whom were in attendance at the opera house. Those secrets he acquired with her help aided him in becoming so acclaimed. It is how his operas became so famous that he would receive his own private viewing while the opera house was not open for the season. The
ton
is too fearful to speak out. They have paid him handsomely for years. He is paid for his silence, they offer him theirs in return.”

“The son of a bitch was there the night Sybil left my wife for dead,” Logan downed more of the amber liquid, hoping it would numb his desire, his insatiable thirst for vengeance. “Arabella remembered it. She remembers more daily, and her hatred for Sybil grows. What if … what if it becomes too powerful? What if it overtakes her?”

Offering his friend an encouraging grin, Colin advised. “Speak with your wife, Logan. This notion of marriage is new to you. Trust me when I say that you mustn’t keep this to yourself. Speak with Arabella.”

Logan nodded.

“Before you do so, we must talk, for much transpired since you departed London,” Colin took another sip. “I spied on Sybil last night. She announced that Arabella is a thief and Beniamino gave credence to her story. Though I could tell the crowd was doubtful, the masses were too frightened to correct the mischaracterization. Most are fearful that their scandals will reach the gossip papers for all to see.”

Logan scoffed. “The prestigious
haut ton
. Noble yet possessing proclivities their reputations would never survive if they were to be revealed. Especially those with wives, families, and exclusive bloodlines and impressive titles.”

“Yes, well, here is the rub, mate,” Colin reached into his pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper, handing it to Logan.

As Logan opened it, Colin continued. “This was dispatched hours after the opera debacle. Victoria made note that this is how the author of
The Ton Tattler
usually distributes his or her announcements—”

“Arabella and I discussed this last night. Do we have proof that two gossips exist?” Logan asked.

Colin shook his head. “No, however Victoria is adamant that there are two. That the card we received was written by someone different. Read that and see for yourself. Look at the print, read and listen to the cadence. Victoria is certain this is a man. And that he is currently your wife’s champion.”

Logan skimmed the page:

Something or someone has been amiss in London. Now turnabout is fair play.

A certain soprano claims her sister is a thief. Can this be true or is this a baseless accusation of a fame-seeking soprano? Two are exposed, only one to be believed.

The same can be said for last night’s performance. A card, or paper? You know what is true, what is just. But, do what you must.

Like a bouquet of daisies on an incandescent spring day, the truth breathes life from chaos, just as a union blooms from a hidden romance. Perhaps the truth will reveal itself to yours truly?

I am waiting for you to confide in me.

I cannot wait to reveal all.

“Why all this talk of daisies?” Logan tapped his nail against his desk. “I thought Sybil referred to it because she witnessed my impromptu wedding to Arabella years ago, but this person …”

Who else could be aware of their vows years prior? “Arabella’s parents employed another orphan in their bakery, though he was older than me.”

“Do you think he could be the real
Tattler
?” Colin bolted upright.

“I have no idea,” Logan’s tapping quickened, until a pain shot up his forefinger.

A knock at the door stirred Logan from his memories of that day long ago.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ambrose,” the footman entered as a much taller male towered over him from behind. “The clergyman from your wedding is here to see you.”

Logan stood so abruptly that his chair hit the wall behind him. His footman hadn’t followed protocol, possibly believing this visitor could be trusted because of his association to Logan and his friends.

“Mr. Ambrose, Mr. MacAlistair,” The man tipped his head, his short dark hair drawing attention to a balding spot on the top of his head. He then straightened. Tall and muscular, he was unlike any clergy Logan had ever before met. “Forgive my intrusion. I took great pains to ensure no one would place me.”

“Who are you, truly?” Logan asked, though his inner voice told him that he already suspected the answer.

The man grinned. “Though I have gone by many names, I am now known as Arthur Mason. A clergyman. Very few know the true me. An orphan who once worked at the Sutton’s bakery, who experienced firsthand Sybil Sutton’s selfishness and greed, who witnessed her eagerness to destroy anything decent and pure. I am a reformed man, like yourself, who has committed acts I do not wish to recount. I was once Tristan MacAlistair’s driver until his wife helped me find my way, and I am the
Tattler
who wishes to right the wrongs so many have committed. Including Sybil Sutton …”

Mr. Mason handed Logan a sheet of paper from his greatcoat pocket. “This was distributed before I departed London.”

Logan studied the latest version of the
Tattler
.

A gifted soprano dazzles the ton though her history of cruelty dates back to her original performance – that of her sister. Quite the actress, even then.

Yes, this soprano kept her sister and her sister’s husband apart years ago by pretending to be her twin and rebuffing the young man.

What else is she capable of?

Tell me her secrets and I will reveal all.

“Pray, Mr. Ambrose, tell me your secrets,” Mr. Mason twirled his hat in his hand. “What truths would you like to reveal? And how may I help you save your wife?”

Logan and Colin exchanged looks of mistrust.

Could they have gotten this fortunate?

“May I join you?” the clergyman asked, motioning to an empty leather chair next to Colin.

“Please,” Logan arched his brow towards Colin. An unspoken warning to be alert.

Of course, there were weapons in Logan’s office. He and Colin both had easy access to them. In spite of his preparations, Logan suspected that he would not require them.

“How should I refer to you?” Logan asked.

“Arthur is fine,” the man placed his hat on Logan’s desk. “Forgive me for being blunt but you don’t trust me and I don’t blame you. You have every reason to be skeptical of everyone outside your inner circle. Therefore, I shall offer you some insight into who I am. As I said previously, I worked for Sybil’s family in their bakery. I was an orphan, like you. Sybil was vicious and spiteful. She has not changed in that regard, though she has commanded quite the attention with her
Tales of the Ton
, the idea for which she stole from me. Sybil is manipulative but not entirely clever or innovative.”

Colin cleared his throat. “Why did you create your
Tattler
?”

“Let us say that I have witnessed the venom with which certain members of the
ton
treat others, especially when I was under Mister – I mean my Lord Tristan MacAlistair’s employ.” Arthur inhaled deeply. “What they said about the child that my Lord and Lady Victoria were protecting was unacceptable. I was no saint, mind you. Far from it, in fact. Nevertheless, with the aid of Lady Victoria, I redeemed myself. My current profession offered me a peace I had never before experienced but it also offered me a mirror into the souls of London’s so-called élite. I am privy to their lies and scandals, with the sordid lifestyles of the
ton
on full display. It sickened me to realize that most had no regrets, unless they were caught. Yes, only once disgraced did they humble themselves, regretting not what they did but the fact that their deeds were uncovered. This realization spawned the
Tattler
. In it, I teach the unrepentant a valuable lesson – they may be caught at any moment.”

“Did your paper garner the results you wished for?” Logan studied the man before him. His short, dark hair was peppered with several silvery strands that framed his face. His dark eyes, the color of a deep abyss were hard and unwavering.

Sensing Arthur harbored some resentment, Logan chose not to mention that his actions could be born from a desire for vengeance. As it turns out, he didn’t need to because his visitor chose to elaborate on his motives.

And what motives they were.

“It worked for a time, with many. Until Sybil twisted my motives, turning my idea into her own game, her attempt at acquiring power and riches. I shed light on those who consider themselves above those who are less fortunate. Sybil devours the less fortunate, she always has. You know that as well as I do.” Scratching his temple, Arthur continued. “My intentions are somewhat self-serving in regards to Sybil. She used me once. Never thought that boy she ridiculed would grow into a man with the ability to make her life miserable, to reveal her misdeeds and ensure she cannot hurt anyone ever again. God help me, I long to make her life miserable, Mr. Ambrose.”