Truly Yours (35 page)

He misinterpreted her sigh of appreciation for one of distress. “I am sorry that your relatives’ behavior cannot be swept under the carpet.” He tore a page from his notebook. “I’ll have to send a message about the aunt to Harry, you know.”

“I know. Elaine will recover. After all, Aunt Hermione can be considered batty. What is a lunatic to a murderess in the family, or an embezzler, or a traitor, for that matter? And if her Martin loves her, a closet full of skeletons will not deter him.”

Rex set his papers and pencil aside and patted the place next to him on the bed.

Amanda looked at the open door, then at Rex smiling at her. Gracious, could she really be that wanton? His smile widened, showing a dimple on the side of his face that wasn’t scarred. She could be. She handed Rex’s note to the footman in the hall, telling him to see it was delivered immediately. Then she shut the door, kicked her slippers off, and climbed up to the tall bed. Rex tucked her against his side, where she fit perfectly. She could smell his scented soap, and marveled at his long dark eyelashes. No, there had never been a more handsome gentleman, and she was determined to enjoy his company, and his kisses, while she could. She sighed again, this time in satisfaction and expectation.

This time he ignored her sigh altogether, but did give her shoulders a shake. “You are as much a peagoose as that rattlepate stepsister of yours. I suppose you would not name the chit out of loyalty.”

“Not entirely. There was simply no reason to bring her name into your investigation. I told you I knew young Martin could not have killed Sir Frederick.”

“But you could have cleared your name of fast behavior, at the least.”

Amanda shrugged, rubbing against his chest not quite by accident. “Those who wished to think ill of me were going to, anyway. Elaine could not have weathered the gossip, while I always had your mother’s support.”

He was still angry. “And that is why you did not go to her years ago, when you realized what that bounder Hawley was doing?”

“Elaine was too young,” was all she said.

“You were too good, too loyal, too unselfish. And too closemouthed, dash it. You could have trusted me.”

Amanda pulled away a bit. Now a hair could fit betweenthem, if it lay sideways. “That was not my tale to tell, especially not without your trust in return.”

It was Rex’s turn to sigh. “Yes, it is past time I told you about my family curse. At least the Royces have never produced a ninnyhammer like Elaine.”

“She is not a blood relation.”

“Thank goodness.” He pulled her back, across his lap, in fact, so he could wrap both arms around her. “Remember what I said about the weak chin occurring through generations in certain families?”

She touched his chin, stroking the soft bristle there. “Yours is wondrously fine, square and manly, but with that tiny indentation in the center.” She kissed his chin, then used her tongue to measure the size of the cleft. He had to kiss her chin in return, then her eyelids and the tip of her nose, then her lips. Then her lips again, and still.

“Are you well enough for such strenuous activity?” Amanda asked when they paused to breathe.

“Seeing as how I will likely expire soon if I do not make love to you, I am fine.” He kissed her once more, long and deep, their tongues taking turns. “As long as I do not move too fast.”

“I am not in a hurry.” Pleasure like this was far too delicious to rush.

Rex smiled, changing the kiss from sensuous to silly. Amanda found she liked that, too, especially when he said how much he had missed her.

“Me, too. But is this a ploy, Lord Rexford, to keep from telling me your deep, dark secret?”

“No, it is to keep you here, in my arms.”

“In that case, it is working, on both scores. I am not leaving, and your entire family might turn into were-wolves once a month. I do not care.”

“It’s the truth.”

She let her hand drift down his chest over his nightshirt, then lower. “What, that you howl at the moon?”

Rex was already ready to howl, but he did not stop her hand. He bent his head to lick at the soft skin that rose above the low neckline of her gown, while his own hand crept under her skirt to her ankle, her calf, her thigh, her hidden curls. “Do you believe in magic?”

“I do now.”

W
e’ve got him, Rex!” Daniel shouted up the stairs from the front entry. “We’ve got him!”

Rex did not care if his cousin had Bonaparte by the ballocks right then, but Amanda quickly leaped off the bed and tried to find her shoes. She should have been trying to fasten the back of her gown, Rex thought as his cousin burst into the room, Verity leaping beside him in matching exuberance. Rex stood to shield Amanda from Daniel’s view.

“We’ve got Brusseau!” Daniel skidded to a halt, tripping over the dog. “I say, sorry for not knocking. Um, Rex, had you ought to be doing what you are?”

“Getting out of bed? I am nearly recovered.” He wasn’t. His head ached, and so did the seat of his unsatisfied desire.

“That ain’t what I meant.”

Doing up Amanda’s gown? Rex did not think that was what Daniel meant, either. He did not wish to discuss the matter. “How did you find Brusseau?”

“He was boarding one of Johnston’s ships with the crewmen, carrying a trunk, making a getaway. He didn’t walk like any sailor, though, or talk like one. Remember that captain we talked to about going after that sunken pirate gold? It was his ship Brusseau was boarding, and the captain said he never saw the bloke before.”

“Where is he?”

“Downstairs in the butler’s pantry, trussed like a Christmas goose. Dimm and his nephew are keeping watch. I thought we ought to wait for Harry. I promised to let him know when we had the villain in chains.” He looked toward Amanda, gauging if she could be trusted. “National security, don’t you know.”

“I sent for him an hour ago.” Rex told Daniel about Amanda’s relatives’ visit and what they had learned. “He should be on his way. Bring them all up when he gets here.”

“Up here?”

“I doubt my mother would welcome the interview in her drawing room. Besides, I don’t think I am ready for the stairs.”

Daniel muttered, “You didn’t think you were ready for leg shackles, either.”

Rex shot a dark look at his cousin, but smiled for Amanda as he finished with the bothersome buttons and ties. “You better leave, my dear. This could get ugly.”

“You are not going to . . . ? That is, you wouldn’t . . . ?” She looked from Daniel to Rex.

“Beat the truth out of the valet? Is that what you still think of the Inquisitors? No, we will not harm him—”

“Unless he tries to escape,” Daniel interrupted, grinning wickedly.

“He is tied up. But we might have to strip off his clothes to see if Verity left bite marks. You would be embarrassed.”

“Oh, of course. But you do not think he is the killer, do you?”

“No, we already asked that.”

“You believed what he told you? The man was trying to leave the country!”

Both cousins shrugged.

Harry arrived, apologizing for not putting Thibidoux’s name on the initials list. “We were aware of his presence, of course, but we thought he was a Royalist, waiting for the Corsican’s defeat to claim his ancestral lands. Instead, it seems, he was trying to buy them back from Napoleon. I am not perfect, as you must know by now. “

If that was an apology for the disguises and deceptions, Rex was not accepting. “We will discuss your lack of perfection in a few weeks, brother, at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Parlor. Perhaps you might tell me, meanwhile, how Lydia Burton’s name
did
get on your list.”

Harry laughed. “She’s an old friend who wanted to meet you, that’s all. I couldn’t resist.”

“Maybe you prefer pistols to fisticuffs?”

Daniel was trying to figure which brother to place his money on when Lord Royce entered the room. They all knew the case was far beyond a murder investigation by now and the earl wanted to hear what went forward, too. The safety of the kingdom might be at stake, to say nothing of his wife’s godchild. The dear girl could be more if his sap-skulled son could be brought up to scratch, the gudgeon. Heaven knew the countess was practically throwing them together these days, hoping nature and youth would get the job done. If Amanda’s tousled look when she hurried past him in the hall were any indication, his wife was right and he’d hear wedding bells soon. He just did not want to hear the patter of little feet first. Lud knew there was enough scandal in the family already. But a grandson, ah, that was enough to warm an old man’s heart, if his wife’s welcome hadn’t already. The earl’s joy would be complete if they could not only free Amanda of suspicion, but connect Nigel Turlowe to the crime.

Inspector Dimm and his grandnephew Clarence dragged Brusseau into the room. Clarence left and Dimm went to stand by the window, observing the Royce males, thinking what a rare tale he’d have to tell his own grandsons.

There were so many truth-seers in one place a lie could not have gone unnoticed if it hid under the carpet.

“Wait,” Rex told them. “Get Amanda to identify the man as her stepfather’s valet first.”

“But both of us questioned him before,” Daniel complained.

“This has to be a thorough interview, following proper procedure. Don’t you agree, Mr. Dimm?”

The Runner scratched his head. He’d never heard of conducting a murder investigation in a swell’s bedroom, surrounded by that same nob’s relatives, while the gent wore a robe, a bandage with a flower stuck in it, and no shoes. “Seems all right to me.”

They sent for Amanda, who nodded. “That is Brusseau,” she said. Then they ushered her from the room again.

Brusseau was shaking, looking from one to the other. “My name is Brusseau. I did not kill Monsieur Hawley. I did not throw a brick at Monsieur Rexford.”

Damn.

Rex saw blue. His father heard a clear chime. Daniel felt no itch, and Harry tasted his own disappointment.

“Do you know who did?” Harry asked.

“My name is Brusseau. I did not kill Monsieur Hawley. I did not throw a brick at Monsieur Rexford.” This time the valet said it in French. It was still true.

Lord Royce asked, “Do you know Sir Nigel Turlowe?”

Brusseau repeated his rote statement.

Daniel flexed his knuckles. Harry cleaned his fingernails with a wicked-looking knife that had been up his sleeve. Dimm cleared his throat until they both stepped away from the prisoner.

Damn.

Dimm suggested they strip him.

There was no need, but they did it anyway. The man had no bites, no bruises, and not a lot to be modest about.

Rex cursed again. “He didn’t throw the brick, the dog didn’t take a chunk out of him. He’s not guilty, as far as I can see.”

“But he was trying to escape,” Daniel said. He must be guilty of something.”

No one noticed Murchison in the corner until he made a snorting sound in disgust. “His name. Ask him that.”

“We know he is Brusseau.”

“His first name.” Murchison turned his back and started to tidy the room.

Brusseau would not answer that question.

Dimm pulled the man’s papers from his own pocket, the ones they’d taken along with knives, pistols, and a sack of coins from Brusseau’s trunk. The Bow Street Runner adjusted his spectacles.

“Is your name Claude?”

No answer.

Four voices almost shouted: “Yes or no, damn it.” Four angry men advanced on one naked Frenchman.

“Yes.”

That was the truth, they all agreed, and Dimm nodded, handing the Frenchman his clothes. That was the name on the papers.

Rex consulted his own notes. “But the valet’s name is Jean!”

Murchison wore a smug smile. “Twins.” Then he left, taking Amanda’s lace garter with him.

Rex and Amanda were taking up where they’d left off, this time with the door locked. And they were in the stuffed chair instead of the bed, making their tryst a sliver more respectable. A thin sliver.

Amanda was trying to understand their conclusions, while Rex was trying to unfasten her gown again.

She batted his hand away. “So the twin took the valet’s place, and told the truth when you asked him? That means we are no closer to finding the real killer.”

“Much closer.” Rex pulled her back against him, much closer. “Claude admitted that he and Jean exchanged identities regularly, so they were familiar with each other’s households. Now we have reason to hold him for further questioning.”

“But the real valet, Jean, is gone. Claude would not say where?”

“We’ll find him.”

“Not if he has gone back to France.” She touched his cheek. “Rex, let me go.”

He took his arms from around her, reluctantly.

“No, I mean let me leave England. Let me flee. You might never find the real valet, never be able to clear my name. They will demand the trial be held sooner or later, no matter how many debts your father calls in, and I cannot prove my innocence. Even if no one can prove my guilt, I cannot stay on with your parents. Have you noticed they are smelling of orange blossoms? They need their privacy after so many years apart. Nor can I go back to live with my stepfamily. Why, to plan Elaine’s wedding? There would always be a taint to my name, no matter what.”

He held onto her arms. “No!”

“But I need to go. You must see that. You do not need to help or even know the details. In fact you can say I overpowered you. I’ll hit you over the head again to make it look real, although that would hurt me, too. Let me go, Rex!”

“I cannot.”

“Your honor is satisfied if you are unconscious. And mine is also, for I never gave my word not to go. You have tried your best, I know, and I am grateful. Now do not make me wait for a trial, to become a headline in the scandal sheets again, to be placed on view as an accused murderess. Sir Nigel will not accept the word of a sneaky French valet. Or of you or your cousin. We have no proof!”