The Rogue (31 page)

W
hen the sky began to lighten, Saint dressed, sought food in the kitchen, where the cook and scullery maid were still wiping sleep from their eyes, and went to the mews. John Shaw was walking from the stable like a man who had not slept in days, medical bag in hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Sterling.”

“Good morning, sir. Have you just returned to town?”

“Yesterday. The Lord Advocate sent for me to review the notes of the police surgeon who examined Miss Favor's body.”

“You?”

“For a second opinion on the matter. And as a courtesy, I believe, to the duke.”

“I see.”

He rubbed a hand over his brow. “I am sorry to say that the evidence is inconclusive.”

“In what manner?”

“I cannot share the particulars with you, of course. I have done my best to make sense of it, and I do hope it is to your advantage.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm for breakfast now, and sleep. Are you going in or out?”

“Out. But . . . may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Has anyone else—anyone other than you—read the surgeon's report?”

“Not that I know for certain. The police officers that collected the body and the men who found her in the loch must have seen something of her wounds. That would all be included in the investigator's report of the incident, which I have not read.”

“I see. Thank you, Dr. Shaw.”

“Good day, Sterling.” The doctor continued toward the house.

Sir Lorian Hughes might have gotten access to the reports of Annie's wounds. Or he might know of them firsthand.

Saint rode to the shop where he had fitted Constance for a dagger and scabbard for her ankle—her ankle that he now knew the shape and texture of with his mouth, and the rest of her body. The shop was closed. A sign posted on the door indicated that Ian MacMillan would be absent for some weeks.

Hughes must have gotten to him. There were few bladesmiths in the city, and Saint knew them all. It would not have required much gold to convince one of them to lie.

He had little time left. He would find Reeve. He would ride to Haiknayes and confront Loch Irvine. He would corner Lorian Hughes and slit his throat, if necessary, and then he really would hang. But she would be safe.

C
ONSTANCE MET
D
R.
S
HAW
at breakfast in the dining room and her heart lurched.

“I did not know you had returned to town. Has my father too? Has he heard news?”

“No. Only I was called.” He told her of his purpose in Edinburgh. “Constance, I don't know what conclusion to
draw from it. But I think you should know, the knife wounds on Miss Favor's body do not coincide with anything we know of the girls who disappeared last year, except in one particular. She was stabbed peculiarly, but in such a way that the blade severed the artery leading from the heart. But her cheek also bears a mark. It strongly resembles one of the three details of the star symbol drawn in chalk on both Miss Favor's coat and Miss Poultney's cloak.”

“Which detail?”

“The tongue of fire.”

“Does the Lord Advocate believe Miss Favor's death is connected to the abductions?”

“He has not yet returned to Edinburgh. I will send him my observations tomorrow.” He took one of her hands between both of his. “Constance, I do not believe Mr. Sterling is capable of such an act. If asked, I will support any theory that throws the blame for this terrible deed off of him.”

She squeezed his hand. “Has Libby come with you?”

“No. She is too close in age to the victims. She will remain at the castle until this mystery is solved.”

Leaving him, Constance went to find Eliza.

“I will take a footman,” she said when her companion objected to her destination. “I must speak with her.”

“You would be better off speaking with Loch Irvine.”

“Until he returns, or until I go to Haiknayes, I cannot do that.” She should have confronted him weeks ago, after his party. But she had not known how. Nothing in her life had ever shown her that direct confrontation solved anything, nothing until the man she had married showed her.

At the Hugheses' house, she and Eliza were admitted to an empty parlor. Sir Lorian appeared, grinning as his eyes perused her.

“I am delighted to see you, my lady.”

“Is Lady Hughes in?”

“She is not. But I suspect you will be happy to converse with me instead, when you know what news I have to share.”

“News?”

“For your ears alone, my lady.”

“Eliza,” she said, “please step into the foyer.”

“I will leave the door open.” Eliza went.

“Come,” he said, moving to a sofa. “We will be much more comfortable here.”

The door remained wide. She sat, and he beside her.

“What do you wish to say to me, sir?” She had finished with flirtation to achieve her goals.

Sir Lorian's smile reached only as far as his mouth. “I spoke with your husband last night. I am thrilled to say that he will not stand in the way of our affair.” He stroked a fingertip along her wrist.

She drew her arm away. “We are not having an affair.”

“Then you do not doubt his approval.”

“I do not doubt it. I entirely disbelieve it.”

“I assure you, his interest is elsewhere. Do you know that he has purchased a house not far from Tantallon?”

She stood up but he grasped her wrist.

“It is a small house in a remote village,” he said. “Ideal for avoiding discovery.”

She tugged away. “Sir Lorian, I flirted with you in the past because I wished to gain entrance into the secret society. It was a mistake to have done so, and I regret it. Good day.”

Constance went toward the doorway.

“Dear lady, your certainty in your husband's fidelity disappoints me,” he said lazily. “I thought you cleverer. But if you will not believe the truths I have already told you, then do believe this: I have proof that he wielded the knife that put an end to Annie Favor's life.”

“You do not.”

“I have the knife itself. And witnesses to the deed.” He sat cross-ankled, his arm stretched across the back of the sofa.

“You would invent this—condemn an innocent man to death—in order to bed me?”

“I did not invent your husband's guilt.” His fingertips
stroked the carved wooden frame of the sofa. “I merely uncovered it.”

“I don't believe you.”

“My lady,” Eliza said at the threshold. “Come away now.”

“Whether you believe me or not is immaterial now, isn't it?” he said. “Would you like to see the knife? Speak with the witnesses? Before I take them to the police, that is?”

Eliza bustled forward. “Constance—”

“What do you want?” she said. “Tell me exactly.”

“A night.”

“
One
night?”

“A single night. And your thorough compliance.”

“Where is Chloe Edwards?”

His brows rose. “Who?”

“You know her. I saw you speaking with her at the Duke of Loch Irvine's party.”

“My dear,” he said, rising and moving toward her. “I cannot remember the name of every woman I speak to at parties.”

“You know where she is. You know who killed Miss Favor, I think. Yet you prey upon my husband now. Why are you doing this?”

He smiled. “I need you.”

She pivoted away and went out.

On the walk home, Eliza linked their arms together, held her close, and whispered curses intermingled with words meant to soothe. But it was too late for either.

H
AIKNAYES
C
ASTLE ROSE
in a massive tower of dusky pink stone from the side of a hill barely twenty miles south of Edinburgh. Saint arrived as the sun dipped below the crest to find the master of Haiknayes absent, the fortress shut. Impregnable. The single shepherd he found was ignorant of any recent ducal visits: he thought the duke in the city.

Saint had not found him at Leith earlier in the day, and no one in the village by his house in town had anything of use to share. One girl said she had seen a finely dressed man
with a hood over his head enter the duke's house the previous week. But when Saint asked her for details, her mother demanded his name, then she pulled her daughter away with fear in her eyes.

Sir Lorian's threat was not empty. The newspapers had been full of speculation for weeks, and full of his name. The people of Edinburgh were afraid for their daughters. No other man had been accused. They needed a villain to hang.

He rode fast and returned to town by the glow of the waning moon. Stabling his horse, he entered a silent house lit with only two lamps—in the rear foyer where he left his travel-stained boots, and on the table by his bedchamber door. Inside the room, a fire crackled. By the glow he saw Constance rise from the bed and come forward, garbed in a chemise of ghostly hue. Without words, she twined her arms about his neck and lifted her lips to his.

He held her, tasting the heat and sweetness of her, breathing her in. She pressed her body to his and slid her hand down his chest to his waist. The buttons of his coat opened swiftly to her fingers, then his waistcoat, and her hand slipped beneath his shirt.

“Touching you like this . . .” Her palm carved a path of need across his flesh. “I am hungry for you.”

He removed his neck cloth and shirt and took her into his arms.

“You smell vaguely of horse,” she said against his shoulder as her hands spread on him.

“Will you insist on bathing me again?” He ducked his head and caught her neck with his mouth.

Her fingers convulsed on his muscle. “No. There's no time for that.” She broke away and moved to the bed. Turning her back to him, she pulled the garment over her head, dropped it on the floor, and looked over her shoulder. “Come now,” she said.

Paralysis seized him and he could only stare. This was his. This woman with rounded hips and strong, slender arms and golden hair tumbling to her waist. The passionate,
undaunted, tenacious girl he had dreamed of for years, standing at the end of his bed, beckoning to him.

Then she climbed onto the mattress on all fours and lowered herself to her stomach.

“Take me like this,” she said so quietly he barely heard it. Curling her bent arms beneath her, she tucked her chin under. Preparing herself.
Protecting herself.
The scars shone dark upon her skin and her body was strung like the bow with which she was so proficient.

He struggled upon the surge of feeling that grabbed at his chest and rose to his throat. Moving to the bed, he unfastened his breeches.

“Turn over, Constance.”

She looked around at him. “But I—”

“I don't want you like that. Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight I want your hands on me. Your legs around my waist. Your lips on mine. Your clever, sensitive nose buried in my neck. Your eyes full of light when you find pleasure. Tonight I want all of you.”

She turned and climbed onto him. Her hands were urgent, shoving his breeches down enough so that she could guide herself onto his cock. He pushed her onto her back and sank himself into her. Holding hard to him, she thrust her hips, driving him deeper, and she was all beauty and hot, tight need.

And then abruptly she stilled. With her eyes shut tightly, her fingers dug into his arms.

“Saint,” she whispered.

His heart twisted. He wanted all of her, at once and forever.

“You are concerned about the chafing again, aren't you?” he murmured.

Her eyes popped open.

“Well, if you will make a habit of ravishing me before I have entirely undressed,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips, “I'm afraid you will have to become accustomed to wool burn.”

Laughter spilled from her, rich and free. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders.

“Battle wounds I will happily bear.” Her eyes shone in the darkness.

After that, he found he could not speak. Neither of them did. There were too few hours until dawn and far too many words to be said.

“
G
et up!”

Constance turned over, pushed hair from her face, and closed her eyes again.

“Just once I would like to wake up to my husband still in my bed.” She sighed, smiling.

“There is a man here insisting upon seeing you or your father immediately.” Eliza swept away the covers and tossed a shift at her. “And I don't particularly care to hear the details of your wedded intimacies.”

The remnants of her wedded intimacies felt deliciously wicked on her skin. But no blood. Never blood.

“There is a love bite on your breast!”

“A what?” She peered down.

“And another on your neck. Cover those this instant.” Eliza marched to the dressing chamber. “Your blue silk, with the high collar.”

Constance bathed and dressed and went down to her caller. He stood far from the windows, holding his hat before him uncomfortably.

“My lady.” He looked beyond her shoulder. “Is His Grace not receiving?”

“My father is in the countryside. How may I assist you?”

“My name is Ferguson. I am a clerk for the Lord Advocate. I have news he wishes to share with the duke before it becomes public.”

“Please share it with me, Mr. Ferguson,” she said as though the whole world weren't spinning about her now, “and I will see that my father hears it immediately.”

His arms dropped to his sides. “Strong evidence has been brought to bear against Mr. Sterling that places him at the location of Annie Favor's disappearance. Additionally, a weapon has been discovered at the loch where the body was found. It was purchased by your husband on the day of the murder. The Lord Advocate asked me to express to His Grace and to you that he wishes it were otherwise, but that tomorrow upon his return to Edinburgh he will be obliged to indict Mr. Sterling for the murder of Miss Favor, with a public trial to be held as soon as a presiding judge can be determined.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ferguson. I will convey this information to my father. We are grateful for the Lord Advocate's consideration in informing us first.” Allowing the duke's son-in-law time to disappear. “Good day.” She saw him out.

Lord Michaels stood at the base of the stairs, his face stark.

“Good God,” he said shakily. “He didn't do it, Constance. You must know he didn't.”

“Of course he did not. Will he go? Will he flee?”

“No. My God,
no
. He'll stand trial and insist on his innocence until the moment they pull the stool out from under his feet.” He went to the door. “I'll find him, talk sense into him, tell him to take that bundle of money Tor left him and buy quick passage to someplace safe till the real villain can be found.”

“Bundle of money?”

He jerked around to her. “He didn't tell you?”

She shook her head. “Find him quickly. Beg him to go. He hasn't much time.”

He left and she went up to the private parlor. Sitting down at the desk she set a sheet of paper before her and took up the penknife. Her fingertip traced the blade. Then she set it against the goose quill and cut a perfect tip.

S
AINT SPENT THE
morning searching the old town, trying to trace Ian MacMillan's departure from Edinburgh, with no success. Finally he hired a rider, put a letter in his hand with a guinea, and instructed him to go with haste to Castle Read, promising another gold coin upon his return.

He returned to the house as Aitken was laying two envelopes upon a silver tray.

“Sir, these just arrived, separately,” the butler said, proffering the notes, one which bore his name only. “Shall I take this one to her leddyship?”

“I will have them both.”

The first was an invitation to the Master's Sanctuary this night. If they returned an acceptance with the boy who came for their response at dusk, they would be met again at the Peppermill.

The other was from Miranda Hughes, penned without care for neatness. It begged his company for a stroll in the park at his earliest convenience.

“Leddy Hughes's page is just without now, sir, waitin' for a reply,” Aitken offered.

Saint found the boy perched on the stoop. She had not instructed him to secrecy or even subtlety. The lad leaped up.

“Tell her ladyship that I will await her in the park.” The boy scampered off. Saint looked up at the windows above. Then he turned his feet toward the park.

L
ADY
H
UGHES CAME
to him swiftly along the path. The skies had clouded over and the colors in the flower beds to either side were shadows of brilliance.

“Dear Mr. Sterling,” she said, grasping his hands. “You are too good to meet me so swiftly.”

He took her hand upon his arm. Gossip about them abounded already. But the desperate grip of her gloved fingers told him she needed reassurance.

“How may I help you, Miranda?”

She squeezed his arm. “You know, he does not call me by my name. He never has. Beneath that charming smile he is viciously cold, even when he—” Her voice dipped. “Do you know . . . I am increasing. I hope it is not his child that I bear. I want to love it.”

“You will be free of him soon enough. And you will love your child.” As his mother had, despite the man who had fathered her sons.

“You are too kind to me.” She dipped her head. “I have not deserved it.”

“Everyone deserves kindness. Now, tell me the reason you wished to see me.”

“I think I know where Miss Edwards is.”

He halted. “You know that I have been searching for her?”

“Lord Michaels called on me weeks ago suggesting that Lorian might know something of her whereabouts. He had seen them speaking at a party. Lorian denied it. But the night of the Sanctuary's last meeting, when I went to the room I have always gone to after the Master released me, the door was locked. It had never been locked before, not in a dozen gatherings. I mentioned it to Lorian and he said that Loch Irvine must have some other use for it now. But he grinned, as though he knew.”

“Do you believe that Miss Edwards is being kept in that room?”

“Lorian is not a good man, but I have never thought him a monster. But a meeting of the Sanctuary has been called for tonight and perhaps . . . I know you don't wish to attend again, but you must make an exception tonight. After the Master has chosen, I will take you to the room with the locked door.”

He nodded.

“Will Constance mind?”

“She won't be there.”

“She must attend. Mr. Reeve will not admit you alone.”

“It doesn't matter. I know that the Sanctuary meets at Loch Irvine's house.”

“It does! How clever you are.”

“I needn't wait for Reeve tonight. I will go as soon as night falls.”

“Then I will arrive early as well, and if Mr. Reeve is there I will try to distract him.” Her rosebud lips offered him a smile. “I am jealous of your wife. If it weren't for my Patience, I think I would hate Constance for what she has.”

B
Y THE TIME
Saint returned home, Constance had already received Sir Lorian's reply.

Dylan sprang from his chair. “Where have you been, damn you? I've been searching all over town for you.”

“It seems to me that you are lounging at tea with a beautiful woman, actually. Good afternoon, wife,” he said as she placed her hand on his chest and pretended to straighten the lapel of his coat which did not need straightening.

“Lady Easterberry just called. She saw you in the park with Lady Hughes and was eager to inform me. How is Miranda today?”

“Well enough.” His eyes were warm. Like the rogue he was before they wed, he had not shaved today, and she wanted to stroke her fingertips across his jaw and feel everything he always made her feel. “And you?” he said.

She released his coat and went to sit before the tea table. Distance was better. Again.

“The Lord Advocate sent word that you are to be indicted tomorrow. Dylan and I think you should leave Scotland. Ideally, Britain. Tea?”

“I see.” He sat beside her but did not accept the cup she offered.

Lord Michaels plumped down on the edge of a chair and gripped his hands together.

“You've got to flee, Saint,” he said. “Ride. Sail. Whatever
you must. Just hide. Perhaps France. You speak French as well as your mother and Banneret did. Or perhaps cross the sea. Martinique, I daresay. Or some Spanish island if you must. No one will think to look for you there. Then when this has all blown over, we'll let you know.”

“I am not leaving,” he said.

“Knew you'd say that. So I've come up with a bribe. If you leave now, when you return I'll give you Harwood.”

Saint laughed. “I don't want your house, Dylan.”

“It's in the entail, of course, so I cannot really
give
it to you. But you can use it indefinitely. You've said you like it any number of times. I realize you've got that manor house in Devon now, but it's on all that coal.” He scowled. “Read's castle is more impressive, s'truth, but Harwood's in Kent, more fashionable. Anyway, the castle will be Blackwood's someday—”

“Constance, I have written to your father and asked him to return to town. I told him of the Sanctuary and our pretense with Hughes and the others. I hope you will forgive me for doing this without your approval. I felt that haste was essential.”

“I sent for him not an hour ago. It seems we are in accord. On this matter. Won't you go, please?”

“There is a meeting tonight at which I might learn of Miss Edwards's location.”

“Good God!” Dylan exclaimed. “Then you mustn't go yet! Not until after the meeting, which I will of course attend with you.”

Constance battened down on her panic. “Yes, take your cousin with you.” And leave her alone to steal away to meet Sir Lorian without detection. “There is safety in numbers.”

Saint regarded her, carefully, it seemed. Then he reached for her hand.

“Dylan, allow us a moment alone, will you?” he said.

The baron peered hard at Saint and then at her. “Right! Of course.” He popped up and exited.

“If tonight's meeting does not bear fruit,” Saint said, his
fingers warm around hers, “I ask you to return to the castle. Shaw is there, and your arsenal of bows and arrows and swords,” he said upon a slight smile. “Or go to your cousin at Alvamoor. Though I would gladly absent myself until the murderer is discovered, I will not leave Edinburgh while threat remains to you here.”

“I am not under threat. The victims were—”

“I don't trust Hughes, and he has made his wishes clear. Please, Constance. Will you go?”

“Yes. But only with you. This very moment.”

“I cannot. Even if I did, they would come for me there.”

“You are correct, of course. You must go to your meeting tonight and find her.” She withdrew her hand. “Tomorrow, after the indictment, I will leave Edinburgh.”

After a moment's silence he said, “You are lying to me.”

She stood up. “I needn't tell you the truth. Why didn't you tell me of your brother's bequest? Why did you keep from me Miranda and Patience's secret? After tomorrow you will be gone. I needn't share anything with you if it does not suit me.” Her throat was stripped. She moved to the door.

“Constance, stop.”

She turned her head and he was standing where she had left him.

“Don't do this,” he said, his voice rough. “I cannot—” He covered his face with his hand and breathed hard. He dropped his arm. “
Don't.
I beg of you. Give me your trust, if only for tonight.”

Her fingers clamped about the door frame. “What is your meeting?”

“We have been invited back to the Sanctuary. Lady Hughes believes that Chloe Edwards is in Loch Irvine's house.”

“
In
the house?”

“When night falls, Dylan and I will go there.”

“You will not wait for midnight. That is wise. But how do you hope to enter without Mr. Reeve's consent? Perhaps you
should carry one of my hairpins.” She forced a smile, but he did not return it.

“You are not insisting on accompanying us.” His hands fisted at his sides. “What have you planned?”

“I cannot tell you. You will not—”

He crossed to her in three swift strides, grasped her shoulders, and caught her mouth beneath his. Then his arms were encompassing her, his fingers sinking up into her hair, his lips claiming hers again and again. She wrapped her arms around him.

His hand curved around her face as he lifted his lips from hers.

“If I could stand here kissing you until this night has ended I would,” he said harshly. “Don't
do
this to me, Constance. Please.”

“I promised him one night.”

His chest heaved, his bright eyes searching hers. “One night?”

“In exchange for your safety.”

Now he seemed not to breathe.

“He has promised to give me the knife and signed proof of your innocence,” she said. “I wish it could be otherwise. Of course I do. But—”

“You've told me. You have just told me your plan.”

“Not my plan.
His.
It is the only way to—” She broke away from him. “Why do you smile? Does it amuse you that I—”

“Smile? I could
sing
.” Both of his hands came around her face and he uttered over her lips, “You told me.”

“I think you are the one of us who is insane after all,” she said, holding his waist. “I don't know why I'm trying to save you.”

“Because I'm so charming, no doubt.” He kissed her. “Wife.” He kissed her again. “We do this together.” And again. “Agreed?”

“Yes.” Her hands on him shook, but she could do nothing for it. He was kissing her neck now, his hands moving down
her back to draw her to him. “I have already told him that I will meet him.”