A Gentleman's Honor Page 9

  But when he came to how and where he’d discovered the initials A. C., her fingers tensed, tightened on his. He glanced at her.

  She studied his eyes, searched his face. Then she breathed in tightly. “You know I didn’t kill him—that I’m innocent of all this?”

  Not so much a question as a request for a clear statement.

  “Yes.” He raised her hand to his lips, held her gaze as he kissed. “I know you didn’t kill him. I know you’re not involved in any treasonous use of shipping information.” He lowered their locked hands, then added, “However, you—we—have to face the fact that someone started the rumor I heard.”

  “I can’t understand it—how could anyone know?”

  “Are you sure, absolutely sure, that your secret, whatever it is, was known only by Ruskin?”

  Frowning, she met his gaze, then looked away. Her hand remained resting in his. After a moment, she replied, “It might be possible that, in the same way Ruskin had learned what he had, then someone else might have, too. But what I can’t understand is how that someone could know Ruskin was using the information as he was.”

  She looked at him.

  “Indeed. Blackmail doesn’t work if others know.” He paused, then added, “From what I’ve learned of Ruskin, he wasn’t the sort to give away valuable information. He’d have charged for it, and—”

  Releasing her hand, he stood; he thought better on his feet. “The dates of payments noted in his black book not only match the dates he paid his debts, but also follow by about a week the dates he noted for certain ships.” He paced, caught her eye. “However, there’s no other payment—any unaccounted payment—entered. So I think we’re on firm ground in assuming he hadn’t sold any information other than the shipping directives.”

  Halting by the fireplace, he considered her. “So the question remains. Who would he have told about you, and why?”

  Her brow creased as she looked at him; her gaze grew distant.

  “What?”

  She flicked him an impatient glance. “I was just wondering…”

  When he moved toward her, she quickly continued, “When he left me, Ruskin was sure—absolutely confident—that I’d agree to his proposal. He”—she paused, blushed, but lifted her head and went on—“was so certain he expected to call the next evening and… receive my acceptance.”

  After a moment, she met his eyes. “I didn’t know him well, but given his nature, he probably couldn’t help gloating. About me—I mean, about gaining a wealthy widow as his wife.”

  Tony could visualize such a scenario readily, but he doubted it was her wealth Ruskin would have gloated about. Nevertheless…

  “That would fit.” He paced again. “If Ruskin, quite unsuspectingly, mentioned his coup—and yes, I agree, he was the type of man to gloat, then…” Bits and pieces of the jigsaw slid into place.

  “What?”

  He glanced at her, and found her glaring at him; he felt his lips ease. “Consider this. If Ruskin was murdered by whoever he’d been selling his information to—”

  “By this A. C., you mean?”

  He nodded. “Then if he mentioned he was about to marry, quite aside from any risk from the blackmail going wrong—it’s always a risky business—the knowledge that Ruskin would soon have a wife would have increased the threat Ruskin posed to A. C.”

  “In case he told his wife?”

  “Or she found out. Ruskin even mentioning knowing A. C., even years from now, might have been dangerous.”

  Alicia pieced together the picture he was painting. At one level, she could barely believe all that had happened since they’d entered the room. That searing kiss—it was as if it had cindered, felled, and consumed all barriers between them. He was talking to her, treating her, as if she was an accomplice, a partner in his investigation. More, a friend.

  Almost a lover.

  And she was reacting as if she were.

  She was amazed at herself. She didn’t—never had— trusted so readily. Yet if she was honest, it was why she’d been so furious with him in the park, when, despite her totally unwarranted trust—one he’d somehow earned in a few short days—it had seemed his interest in her and her family had all been fabricated. False.

  That kiss hadn’t been false.

  It had been a statement, unplanned maybe, but once made, it couldn’t be retracted—and he hadn’t tried. It had happened, and he’d accepted it.

  She had no choice but to do the same.

  Especially as she, innocent or not, was being drawn deeper and deeper into the web of intrigue surrounding Ruskin’s murder.

  “Is this what you think happened?” She didn’t look up, but sensed his attention fasten on her. “Presumably the man—let’s assume he’s A. C.—had arrived in the Amery House gardens via the garden gate. Ruskin went out to meet him—it had to have been an arranged meeting.”

  Torrington—Tony—drew nearer. “Yes.”

  “So then Ruskin babbled about his soon-to-be conquest—me—but…” Frowning, she glanced up. “Had Ruskin some information to sell, or had A. C. come there with murder on his mind?”

  Tony mentally reviewed all Ruskin’s notes on shipping. None had been recent. Even more telling…“I don’t think there could be anything worthwhile for Ruskin to sell. With the war over, the information he had access to wouldn’t be all that useful….”

  He was aware of her watching him, trying to read his face, follow his thoughts. He glanced at her. “I haven’t yet defined how the information Ruskin passed on was used, but it’s telling his association with A. C. began in early ’12. That was when naval activity once again became critical. From ’12 up until Waterloo, shipping was constantly under threat. Now, however, there is no significant danger on the seas.”

  He was going to have to pursue that angle hard, and soon.

  She took up the tale before he could. “If Ruskin no longer had anything of real use to A. C., then…” She looked up at him.

  He met her gaze. “A. C., assuming he has a position and reputation to protect, would have been threatened by Ruskin’s continued existence.”

  “If Ruskin was not above blackmailing me…”

  “Indeed. He may not have called it by that name, but given his debts, he would have needed an injection of capital quite soon, and almost certainly would have looked to A. C.”

  “Who decided to end their association.” She nodded.

  “Very well. So while Ruskin is gloating, A. C. stabs him and leaves him dead. I come down the path—” She paled.

  “Do you think A. C. saw me?”

  He considered, then shook his head. “The timing— when I saw him on the street—makes that unlikely.”

  “But then how did he know it was me Ruskin was blackmailing? Would Ruskin have told him my name?”

  “Unlikely, but A. C.—and I agree, it most likely was he—didn’t need your name to start the rumors.”

  She frowned at him. “These rumors—what exactly do they say?”

  “That Ruskin was blackmailing some lady—a widow.”

  Her frown deepened. “But there are many widows in the ton.”

  “Indeed, but only one was seen talking to Ruskin immediately before he died.”

  Her gaze remained locked with his, then, abruptly, all color drained from her face. “Oh, good heavens!”

  She sprang to her feet; her eyes flashed fire at him as if he was in some way culpable. “If they’ve decided I’m the widow in question, then what …? Good lord! Adriana!”

  Whirling, she raced for the door. He got there before her, closing his hand about the knob. “It’s all right—calm down!” He caught her gaze as she paused, impatient before the door. “Manningham’s with her.”

  Her eyes flashed again. “You and he planned this.”

  He tried to frown her down. “I had to talk to you.”

  “That’s all very well, but what’s been happening out there”—she jabbed a finger toward the ballroom—“while we’ve been t
alking?”

  “Nothing. Most will be waiting, wondering where you are, hoping to catch a glimpse but not surprised given the crush that they haven’t yet succeeded.” He took in her wide eyes, the tension now gripping her. “There’s no need to panic. They don’t know it’s you, and they only will know if you behave as if it is. As if you’re frightened, or watchful. Ready to take flight.”

  Alicia met his steady gaze. To her surprise, she drew comfort from it. She drew in a breath. “So I have to carry it off with a high head and a high hand?”

  “Absolutely. You can’t afford to let those hyenas sense fear.”

  Despite all, her lips twitched. Hyenas? The hard line of his lips eased; she realized he’d deliberately tried to make her smile.

  Then his gaze flicked up to her eyes.

  He lowered his head—slowly; she sucked in a breath.

  Held it as her lids fell and his lips touched hers—not in a tantalizing teasing caress, yet neither with their earlier ravenous hunger.

  A definite promise; that’s what the kiss was—as simple as that.

  Slowly, he raised his head; their lips clung for an instant, then parted.

  Lifting her lids, she met his black gaze.

  He searched her eyes, then turned the knob and opened the door. “Come. Let’s face down the ton.”

  She returned to the ballroom on his arm, calm, her usual poise to the fore. It was all a sham, but she was now an expert in the art of pulling wool over the ton’s collective eyes.

  One thing he’d said stuck in her mind: watchful. She had to stop herself from looking around, from searching for signs that people suspected her. She had to appear oblivious; it was the most difficult charade she’d ever performed.

  He helped. On his arm, she strolled; he was attentive, charming, chatting inconsequentially as two such as they might. He was a wealthy peer; she was a wealthy, wellborn widow. They didn’t need to hide a friendship.

  They progressed down the room; she smiled, laughed lightly, and let her gaze rest on the dancers but no one else. He distracted her whenever the temptation to scrutinize those watching them burgeoned.

  At one point, his lips curved rakishly; he bent his head to whisper, “They’re totally confused.”

  She met his gaze as he straightened. “About what?”

  “About which rumor they should spread.”

  When she looked her question, with a self-deprecatory quirk of his lips he explained, “The one about you and Ruskin, or the one about you and me.”

  She looked into his black eyes. Blinked. “Oh.”

  “Indeed. So all we need do is continue on our present tack, and their befuddlement will be complete.”

  Just which tack he meant she discovered a minute later.

  She’d expected him to guide her to Adriana’s side; her sister wasn’t on the dance floor, which surprised and concerned her—she hadn’t yet located her among the crowd. Instead, he led her to a chaise midway down the long ballroom. Lady Amery was seated on it, along with an older lady Alicia had previously met.

  Nervousness struck; her fingers fluttered on Tony’s sleeve. Instantly, his hand closed, warm and comforting, over hers. Steering her to the chaise, he bowed to the two dames. “Tante Felicité. Lady Osbaldestone.”

  Spine poker straight, Lady Osbaldestone nodded regally back.

  “I believe you’re both acquainted with Mrs. Carrington?”

  Alicia curtsied.

  “Indeed.” Lady Amery reached for her hands; her eyes glowed with welcome. “My dear, I must apologize for this dreadful business. I am most distressed that it was your attendance at my soirée that has given rise to such unpleasantness. Why, there are any number of widows in the ton, and as we all know, many of those others are much more certain to have secrets to hide. So foolish of these bourgeoisie”—with a contemptuous flick of her hand she dismissed them—“to imagine you had any connection with Mr. Ruskin beyond the natural one of living nearby.”

  Her ladyship paused; bright eyes fixed on Alicia’s face, she surreptitiously pressed her fingers. “Tony tells me you spoke with Mr. Ruskin, but it was purely an exchange about mutual acquaintances in the country.”

  In the corridor just before they’d reentered the ballroom, he’d primed her with that tale. Alicia longed to turn her head and glare at him; he hadn’t mentioned this little encounter he’d arranged for her.

  “Indeed.” To her relief, the glamor she’d perfected over the last weeks didn’t waver; she smiled with easy assurance tempered with just the right touch of innocent bewilderment. “We hail from the same area. Although we only met recently, here in town, we shared a number of mutual acquaintances. It was they we discussed in your drawing room that evening.”

  Lady Osbaldestone humphed, drawing Alicia’s attention. The old black eyes assessing her were a great deal sharper and harder than Tony’s ever were. “In that case, you’ll have to excuse those with nothing better to do than wag their tongues and make mischief. For my money, they’ve hay for brains.

  “I ask you,” she continued, “even if Ruskin was blackmailing some widow, what has that to say to anything?” She gave a dismissive snort. “The idea of some lady in evening dress pulling a stiletto from her reticule and stabbing him to death is ludicrous. Aside from the fact he was no weakling, and would hardly have obligingly stood still while she poked him, where would she have carried the blade?” The black eyes flashed, at Tony as well as Alicia.

  “That’s what I’d like to know. Have you ever seen one of those things? Pshaw! It’s not possible.”

  Apparently entertained, Tony inclined his head. “As you say. I heard the authorities are looking for a man at least as tall as Ruskin.”

  “Indeed?” Lady Osbaldestone brightened at the news.

  “Not perhaps revealing, but interesting nevertheless.” She rose; although she carried a cane, she rarely used it.

  She was a tall woman, taller than Alicia; her face had never been pretty, but not even age could dim the strength of its aristocratic lines. Her piercing black eyes rested on Alicia, then her lips lifted, and she looked at Tony. “Send my regards to your mother when next you bestir yourself to write. Tell her Helena sends her fondest wishes, too.” Lifting her cane, she jabbed it at him. “Don’t forget!”

  “Naturally not.” Eyes on the cane, Tony bowed with a flourish. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  With a glint in her eye, Lady Osbaldestone regally acknowledged Alicia’s bobbed curtsy and Lady Amery’s salute, then glided away.

  “Well, there you are!” Lady Amery beamed at Tony and Alicia. “It is done, and Therese will do the rest, you may be sure.” She lifted a hand, waved it at Tony; he took it and helped her to her feet.

  “Bien! So now I am going to enjoy myself, too, and see what a stir I can cause.” She glanced at Alicia, and patted her arm. “And you must go and dance, and pretend not to notice, and it will all blow over, my dear. You’ll see.”

  Alicia looked into Lady Amery’s button-bright eyes, then implusively squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

  Her ladyship’s eyes glowed brighter. “No, no, chérie. That is not necessary—indeed, it is I who must thank you.” Her gaze shifted to Tony. “I am an old woman, and I have been waiting an age to be asked to help. At last it has happened, and you are the cause. It is good.” She patted Alicia’s hand and released it. “Now go and dance, and I will go and make mischief.”

  The first strains of a waltz were percolating through the room; Tony offered his arm. “I suspect your sister will be located most easily on the dance floor.”

  Alicia narrowed her eyes at him, but consented to place her hand on his arm. He steered her to the floor; seconds later they were whirling.

  She took a few minutes to adjust, to regain her breath, realign her wits and subdue her clamorous senses. The physical power with which he so effortlessly swept her along, the shift and sway of their bodies, the subtle repetitive temptation of their limbs brushing, touching, then moving away—the wa
ltz was a seduction in itself, at least the way he danced it.

  Surreptitiously clearing her throat, she looked up; she studied his expression, arrogant, latent charm lurking, yet difficult to read. “Why did you ask Lady Amery to help?”

  He glanced down at her. “She’s my godmother. You heard her—she’s been waiting for the bugle call for years.” He looked ahead, then added, “It seemed appropriate.”

  “It’s you she wanted to help, not me.”

  His lips quirked. “Actually, no—it’s you she’s been waiting all my life to aid.”

  She frowned and would have pursued the odd point, but a flash of dark curls caught her eye. Turning, she saw Adriana whirling down the room in Geoffrey Manningham’s arms. Her sister was… the only fitting word was scintillating. She drew eye after male eye, and a good many female ones, too. Her delight seemed to fill her and overflow.

  Alicia looked at Tony, caught his eye. “Please tell me your friend is entirely trustworthy.”

  He grinned; after whirling her through the turns at the end of the room, he dutifully parroted, “Geoffrey is entirely trustworthy.” He paused, then added, “At least where your sister’s concerned.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he won’t do anything you would disapprove of.”

  She blinked at him. “Why not?”

  “Because if he makes you unhappy, then I’ll be unhappy, and Geoffrey and I have been down that road before.”

  She studied his eyes. A vise slowly tightened about her lungs. Then she forced in a breath, lifted her head, fixed her gaze over his left shoulder, and stated, “If you imagine I’ll be grateful…”

  Her courage failed her; she couldn’t go on. But he thought her a widow, and clearly had a certain interest, and just possibly imagined….

  He frowned at her; from the corner of her eye she watched…it took a moment for him to follow her reasoning, then his eyes flared. His lips set in a thin line. The fingers about her hand tightened; the hand at her back tensed… then, very slowly, eased.

  Eyes narrow, Tony waited; when she didn’t look at him, he looked away, unseeing. After a moment, he exhaled. “You are without doubt the most difficult female I’ve ever—” He bit the words off, abruptly stopped as his temper threatened to erupt. When he had his fury once more in hand, he drew breath and went on, his voice low, tight, very definitely just for her. “I’m not helping you in the expectation of gaining any specific…” He cast about in his mind, but could only come up with, “Service.”