Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (22 page)

“I love you, Livvy.”

Her mind stuttered, then stopped.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I love you.”

Was she already asleep? Had she slipped into bed and started dreaming?

He licked his finger and reached to his left to pinch out the candle on her dressing table. Only one candle remained on the far side of the bed. The warm glow danced across that handsome plane of his cheek.

“Do not be afraid, Livvy. I have only come to kiss you, to make certain you dream of my lips, not Ashmoore’s.”

“I have forgotten his already.” She bit her tongue. Would he still feel the need to kiss her?

He stalked her until her back was against the dressing room door. Only too late did she remember her plan to be on the other side of it. Gently, he pushed the brush to one side, then eased it from her grasp and tossed it on the bed.

“I am very, very happy to hear that.” He moved forward and reached out, but he did not touch her. His hands rested to each side of her head, against the wood. That heat he carried about in his veins came at her from three sides. The smell of him was intoxicating. It took all her control not to lean to the side and bury her nose in his shirtsleeve. But watching him watching her was quite compelling as well. His pupils dilated before her eyes. For some reason, she felt she should say something.

“If you must know, I ordered him to kiss me.”

“Ordered?” He rolled his eyes. “I will wager he did not question that order.”

“Then you would lose that wager.” Ashmoore’s voice rang out in harsh contrast to the quiet tones they had been using.

Northwick did not flinch. “I will deal with you later, my friend.” His eyes never left her face, paying particular attention to her lips. She breathed deeply, willing him to close the distance, wishing some wind would push him from behind.

“You will deal with me now, old man. I am her protector at the moment. I will do what I must.”

Still North did not turn away from her. If he had, she might have screamed.

“Ash, relax. I only came to kiss her.”

“Be that as it may.”

Livvy’s frustration could no longer be contained. “Please, Ash. Give us just a moment.”

“As you wish, Livvy.” The man’s footsteps moved to the door. “You do not mind if your father stays, though, do you?”

Northwick’s forehead lowered to touch her own. For a moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, desperately, as they had that night at Stanley’s.

“Long enough moment for you my dear?” Her father did not sound amused. He had picked a fine time to remember he had a daughter.

“Yes, father.”

“Good, because it seemed an eternity to me.”

***

Livvy had barely gotten to sleep when someone crashed through her bedroom door. A candle rose above her. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes, but the candle moved back to the door.

“Miss Reynolds is here! She is fine!” It was Peter’s voice.

She pulled her blanket to her chin.

“What’s wrong? Where is my father?”

“He is snoring away. No need to disturb him, Miss.”

Footsteps charged down the hallway.

“She is fine,” Peter said again.

“Thank God.” Ashmoore hurried to her side and took her hand. “Ursula has been murdered. I do not want to leave you, but—”

“I feel perfectly safe with your men, my lord. Do what you must.”

“It is just the blasted headline. North will worry. I have got to send a man to Stanley’s of course. We will all be back here before breakfast can be cooked. Will that do?”

“Breakfast will be ready for you, my lord.”

Ashmoore pressed a newspaper into her hands, then fled out the door.

With large, sure hands, Peter lit the candle on her nightstand. “I will be right outside, my lady. Milton is just beneath your window.”

“Thank you. I doubt Lord Gordon would stoop to climbing trellises.”

“Doubt nothing, my lady. Doubt nothing.”

She picked up the morning edition and moved it into the light. The headline was easy enough to read.

“
THE SCARLET PLUMIERE IS DEAD!”

North was still wearing his clothes from the night before. He had been so uncontrollably giddy only a few hours ago. Livvy had not actually admitted loving him, but he had been sure of it. He did not remember coming home, did not remember how he might have made it up the stairs and into his bed, fully clothed, but he had awakened that way. The real surprise was that he had been able to sleep at all!

Chester shook him for the second time. Where was Callister?

“My lord, the constable’s in the drawing room, speaking with Mr. Callister. He asks that you join them.”

“What time is it?”

“Half past six, my lord.”

At least he did not need to stop and dress before going downstairs. Hopefully, the constable had something helpful to report about Lord Gordon. Perhaps the man’s ship had sunk in the channel. It was too much to ask, but he was incapable of rational thought at the moment.

He entered the drawing room a moment later, holding out hope.

“Constable?”

Callister looked horrified. Surely he did not look that bad. He had removed his cravat, and needed a shave of course, but he was hardly standing before company in his small clothes.

“Callister? What’s wrong?”

“I have just been telling your man here about a murder last night. Can you tell me where you went, my lord, after the theatre?”

The constable stood in the center of the room. Two officers stood to either side of North as if guarding the door behind him.

“Why?”

“Some say you disappeared for a bit.”

“Some?”

“Couple of blokes who have been following you. Someone hired them to do so. They say you slipped away, didn’t return until after the time of the murder. I am sorry to put it so bluntly, my lord, but they seem to think you are the man we are looking for. I would not be so interested in their opinions, of course, but the lady was found holding a letter from you.”

“A
woman
was murdered? Which woman?” He advanced on the constable. “Which woman!”

“The Scarlet Plumiere, my lord.”

“What?” He could not hear past the noise in his head, but then realized it was only his own shouting.

He looked at Callister for verification, but the man looked as confused as he. It could not be Livvy! No one else had figured it out. Except for each and every one of his friends, of course.

It cannot be Livvy!

Blackness started building at the edge of his vision, overwhelming the details of the room, but he did not care. If he had failed Livvy, there was nothing left for him to care about.

“The woman’s name, man. Give me the woman’s name!”

“Certainly, my lord. Just as soon as you tell me where you went after the opera?”

“He was with me.” Ashmoore’s voice cut through the darkness, as it had once before.

“Ash!”

“Livvy’s fine. She is absolutely fine.” His friend rushed forward, took his arm, and led him to a chair. “It was Ursula.”

“Ursula? But why?”

“He must have believed her to be The Plumiere.”

“My God! Just because the woman spoke to me at the opera? That’s ridiculous. I spoke to a dozen women.”

“And kissed one.”

As horrifying as that realization was, that he might have doled out the kiss of death, it terrified him to think he might have given such a kiss to Livvy, if he’d been the one to kiss her in public instead of Ash. Or perhaps it hadn’t been the kiss at all, but the letter. He had given it to Ursula, discreetly, to pass along to The Plumiere. Perhaps she had accidentally shown it to someone. Either way, it was his fault the woman was dead.

“God forgive me.” Another thought surfaced in his foggy mind. He grabbed Ash’s sleeve. “Stanley!”

“I already sent Harcourt to him. We will all meet back at Telford’s. We can face this together.”

“I thought...for a moment, I thought—”

“I know what you thought. I am sorry I did not get here sooner.”

“But how did you know?”

The constable cleared his throat. “Yes, my lord. How did you know?”

Ashmoore finally turned to the smaller man and gave him a look that would make any soldier crawl into a corner, but the constable did not seem to notice as he was scribbling furiously in a small book.

“It is in the papers, boy.”

The word ‘boy’ seemed to catch the other’s attention.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not realize how late it was.”

“If you have any further questions for my friend, we shall be at Lord Telford’s residence.”

The constable gave a stiff bow and departed, taking his silent officers with him. They looked a bit disappointed to be leaving empty-handed.

Gordon had made his first move, a bold move; he believed he had taken the queen off the board. And next, he would attempt checkmate.

Callister returned. “The constable is gone, Lord Ashmoore. Is there anything we can do to help from here?”

“Just keep watching, Callister. I want no one to take unnecessary risks, but if you hear or see anything suspicious, get word to us. After the constable is satisfied, I am going to insist we move everyone to Telford’s country estate. We will let you know when we make the move.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Ashmoore pulled North from his chair and lowered his voice.

“After we are sure Stanley’s all right, you can tell me all about this letter.”

Hopkins finally returned to the library.

“She politely declines, my lord.”

“Do you think she will come down if her father insists?” North hoped that did not sound as childish to everyone else as it sounded to him.

“I can promise you she will not, my lord. She is aware her father is still sleeping. Last night was a bit taxing on him.”

Damn! What was wrong with the woman? He’d thought, if only for a moment or two, that she’d been murdered. He needed to see her, to hold her, to feel the blood pumping through her veins, listen to the beating of her heart.

His growl of frustration resembled more of a roar, and when the echo died, he was not ashamed. He hoped the sound might have reached her and she might come running. If it had not been for the promises he had made to her father last evening, he’d go bellow at her door.

“Leave her alone, North. Give her some time to grieve. I am sure she feels responsible.” Ash raised the Paris newspaper back to his face.

“We cannot just allow her to blame herself! I am the one who slipped the woman the letter, expecting her to pass it to Livvy or Lady Malbury. I do not know how anyone could have seen me do so. Only Stanley and Irene were close enough to see it happen. And Winnie. It is not like anyone could have seen around Winnie. No offense, Stanley.”

“Mmm?” Stanley was looking out the window, his shoulders sagging.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“When she is ready to discuss it, we will help her all we can. When she is ready. Same for Stanley, of course.”

Four minutes passed. Exactly four minutes. Ashmoore had not so much as turned the page.

“Do you think she is safe? I got through her windows, remember.”

“North.”

“What?”

“Read something.”

“I have been reading things for a week. Whatever it is, I assure you, I have read it.”

“North?”

“What?”

“Shut up or go home.”

“Fine.”

Three minutes later, he stood and stretched. He walked to the window and tried to find what might be of interest to Stanley. He clapped his blond friend on the shoulder, then walked to toward the library door, fully expecting Ash to bark his name again.

“Harcourt?”

“Yes, Ash?”

“Follow him.”

Harcourt nodded and jumped to his feet.

North gave up and went in search of a book of drawings. If he had to settle for a child’s book, so be it. He would go mad trying to decipher actual words.

***

Livvy would never be able to leave her room again. The puffiness of her face was destined to remain.

She blew her nose once again, then retrieved the paper from the corner, where she had tossed it after mashing it into a giant awful ball. She laid it on the bed and smoothed it flat for the second time. If Stella was a thoughtful person, she would bring Livvy a new copy. They were a bit expensive, but she could sell one of her new gowns to pay for it. Since she would not be going out in public again, after all.

THE SCARLET PLUMIERE IS DEAD!

How many times that morning had she wished it were true?

Poor Ursula! Poor, poor Ursula!

Livvy had to stop imagining it. She had to stop wondering what it would have felt like to have Lord Gordon standing over her with no one to stop him.

Absolute terror. Absolute hopelessness. And that was what others might experience if she did not take up her pen again and let the man know he had not only killed the wrong woman, but each new sin would still be shouted from the rooftops! She would start her own gossip sheet if she had to. She had a fortune at her disposal. She would see the man hounded to the very gates of Hell.

She smoothed out the next page, the one displaying for the world the letter from the Earl of Northwick to The Scarlet Plumiere.
Damn him as well.

He was setting her aside? As
Viscount F
had recently set Ursula aside? They had not even been introduced yet, and he was making his decision? How dare he!

It would serve the man rightly if she walked down the stairs, puffy face and all, and introduced herself to him. Then the woman for whom he had just declared his love would set
him
aside!

Naturally, as it had all morning, the tide of tears followed that thought all the way to shore and poured down her cheeks. Someone finally loved her, and she loved him in return. And it made absolutely no difference.

Well, except for the justification of at least one good cry each day for the rest of her years.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” She sounded like a petulant child and did not care.

“Stanley.”

“Stanley? Are you alone?” She sniffed.

“I am. Might I have a word?”

She moved to the door and leaned her ear against it.

“Do you perchance have a sack I might wear over my head while we speak?”

“I do, my lady, but I am afraid I am wearing it.”

The viscount sat patiently while she pressed cool water to her eyes.

“I am so sorry, Stanley. You were together for quite some time, were you not?”

“We were. And thank you. I am also grateful I had a place to hide today.”

“You are hiding from the papers?”

“No. I am hiding from Irene. I cannot bear to hear her thoughts on the matter. She was never a fan of The Scarlet Plumiere. She hated Ursula. The belief that the two turned out to be one and the same gives her justification for every mean thing she has ever said about the writer, that is to say, you. I am sure she is bending ever ear within her reach today.”

“I am so sorry. But you are welcome to my sanctuary any time, such as it is. I know we should have the door open, but I will not risk Northwick getting inside.”

“Yes, well. I noticed the chair in front of the French doors.” He stood and went to it. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He turned the chair and tipped it.

“Much more effective if you wedge it beneath the doorknob, like so.”

“Ah. Thank you. I will be especially comforted at night.”

“Yes. I heard about that. Admitted he loves you, did he?”

“He did.”

“Was it wonderful?”

“I am sure there is nothing better.”

“I wish I would have told Ursula.”

“I am so sorry.”

“And I fear I have missed the one chance I will ever have to say such a thing.”

“Irene?”

“I cannot imagine it.”

“Well, I must tell you that my father and I say it often, and it is quite wonderful too.”

“Yes. I can see that it might be. I suppose I should hope for wonderful, loveable children.”

“Do not give up though.”

“I will make you a deal. I will not give up, if you do not.”

She got to her feet and headed for the door. “If that was the reason behind your visit, my lord, I am tossing you from the sanctuary.”

“I promise you, I did not come to plead North’s case.”

Her hand paused on the knob. “Then you will not mention him again?”

“As you wish. If we need to refer to him at all, we should call him The Rat.”

“I will accept that.” She tugged on the bell-pull. “I will order us some food before they think to cut off our supply.”

“Excellent thinking.” He then gave her a strange look that had her checking herself in the mirror. “I must admit, Olivia, that I did not know you and Ursula knew each other so well.”

“I only met her once, my lord. But I feel as though I murdered the woman with my own hands. If I had not been such a coward, if I had let my identity be known, she would not have paid for rage I must have instilled in her murderer.”

“You cannot assume a man’s sins, Olivia. I worry you are being far too hard on yourself.”

Livvy rolled her eyes and fell forward, burying her face in the bedpillows.

“Olivia?”

She groaned.

“Olivia? Are you quite all right?”

She turned her face and wordlessly held out to him the crumpled paper.

“What is it?”

“You have not read the letter?”

“I have not. The newspaper got a peek at it, did they?”

“Apparently so.”

“Is it terribly romantic? North—I mean to say, The Rat—acted peculiar about it last night. I never asked him what it said.”

She waited for him to find it. “You may have to smooth it a bit.”

He read aloud, damn him.

“My dear Scarlet Plumiere,

Forgive me. I love another. Help me end this and I will leave you in peace.” –Lord N

The tide returned with a vengeance. There was something about hearing it from someone else that made it sound so much more depressing. Being both the woman he threw over and the one he threw her over for made no difference whatsoever. Her heart was broken. Her heart was full. Together it was just a full broken heart.

“So this is why you are beside yourself.”

“No, do you not understand? I am a terrible person. I am responsible for a woman’s death and all I can think about is my own silly heart!”

“Ah. Now I see. But you must also realize that Ursula might have played a small part. I would not be surprised if she had not led others to believe she was The Plumiere. She was quite obsessed you know.”

“I did not know.”

“Ashmoore said she insisted on meeting you.”

“She did. I had never allowed it before, but—”

“She would have hounded Lady Malbury until you did. She talked about you incessantly. I think it was the fact that the gentlemen of the ton fear you. She enjoyed a little of that same reputation, so no doubt she saw you as a kindred spirit. No offense.”

“None taken. I had a similar thought, actually, when we met.”

“She would be thrilled by the newspaper’s mistake, by the headline. But if she were here, I would imagine she would be harsh with you, for feeling too responsible.”

“Perhaps.”

He smoothed the paper and looked again at the contents of the letter.

“No wonder the constable is suspicious of North.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at it as the constable would. North—er, The Rat—tries to end things. Ursula refuses to let him beg off, demands he marry her as he promised at the lottery. He kills her so he can have you. Forgets to retrieve his letter... I am sure that is how they will see it. And he did slip out of sight last night, to come see you, of course. But his witnesses are his dearest friend, the woman he loves, and your father. What if your father forgets?”

“Stanley, please. You are frightening me on purpose!”

“I am frightened myself. Gordon we can hide from, defend against. We can do neither with the authorities.”

She couldn’t very well admit he was in her room at the time without ruining her reputation and forcing herself into marriage, which would only give the gentlemen what they wanted in the first place—the end of The Scarlet Plumiere. But how could she withhold her help when Northwick’s life might depend upon her doing just that?

She got down on her knees and began praying that she’d never have to make that choice.