The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (13 page)

"He could be trying to help. Or he could plan to assimilate the whole estate into his own." Tony shrugged.

"What if he hasn't been fair like the sisters think, and Lungren discovered it?"

"We shall have to discover some evidence. Being greedy doesn't make a man a murderer."

Bedford put down his fork. He'd been stirring his meal around his plate without taking a bite for some time. "How could Lungren have considered this food edible?"

Tony looked down at his plate. Part of his roast beef was charred beyond crisp. Another part was nearly raw. He glanced at Randy's plate, which contained a pork chop that Randy had been sawing on, to no avail. Bedford's meal wasn't any better. Admittedly, he and Randy were used to eating whatever they had to eat, but Bedford hadn't marched around the Peninsula with an empty belly, as they had.

"The ale is tolerable," said Randy.

"I suppose Lungren was trying to tell you the food was worse at his home." Tony rubbed his aching thigh.

"Perhaps there was no food at his home," said Randy.

"There is food there. None of those women are starving to death." Tony turned to Bedford. "We can find out what Lord Carlton is about, if you go to him and offer him first chance to buy the estate."

"I just want to be rid of the thing."

"We will all go, and you can tell him you plan to settle the money on the girls as dowries," said Randy. "And that you are concerned they won't be able to take care of themselves adequately. That you want to do the right thing by them."

Tony felt that he was missing something right under his nose. Of course that could be because he had missed the fact that Felicity's son was also his at first. He'd spent years being angry with this Merriwether fellow, and now he realized he should be thanking the man for providing for his son for the past six years—almost six years.

Bedford shuddered.

Tony removed the title and the quitclaim deed from his pocket and put them on the table by Bedford. "Do as you think best. I had hoped someone besides Lungren's sisters would show interest in the deed's whereabouts."

"Have we waited long enough to know?" protested Randy.

"It is Bedford's to do with as he pleases. No reason he can't deliver it on his own, now."

Bedford eyed the papers as if they might bite him.

"Did you see the water spots on the ceiling? The damn place would cost a fortune to fix. No wonder Lungren kept gambling. He needed the blunt to keep his house from falling in about his ears," said Randy.

Bedford belatedly grabbed the papers and stuffed them into his coat pocket. "Very well, but I'm not going to Lord Carlton's alone."

Randy set down his knife. "You know, there is something cursed unlucky about that family. Three brothers and a father gone, all in the last couple of years, and—when did their mother die?"

Bedford had torn off the crust of the doughy loaf of bread and was examining it carefully. "She's not dead."

Satisfied with the condition of his crust, he popped it in his mouth while Tony and Randy waited for enlightenment.

When Bedford realized he was being watched, his blue-green eyes opened wide. "She's mad. They packed her off to an asylum long ago."

"Could she be the murderer?" squeaked Randy. "Should we warn the ladies?"

"No, we need to play our cards even closer to our chest. But we shall keep an eye on them." Tony shoved his plate back and reached for a bottle of canary. They were supposed to be narrowing the field of suspects, not broadening it. "We will have to visit this asylum and see if there was any chance Mrs. Lungren was able to get out." He looked at Bedford. "Can you find out where she is?"

"I'll see if I can't gather some information on it," said Randy.

"What will you do?" Bedford asked Tony.

"I shall visit the tax assessor's office and try to determine when parts of the Lungren estate were sold off, and I shall make myself available to accompany either of you on your tasks."

"You won't forget the maid, will you?" asked Bedford earnestly.

"No, I shall attempt to find her a position tonight." Tony grew silent.

Randleton gave him an odd look. "You have been remarkably inattentive today. What is plaguing you?"

Tony took a long draught of canary and put it down to find both men still staring at him. He shrugged. "What else? A woman."

Randy's expression flashed from surprised to suspicious in a heartbeat. "Not one of the Lungren sisters?"

Tony cocked his head at Randy, puzzled by his response. "No, not at all."

Randy leaned back in his chair, looking a bit relieved.

Bedford took the moment to pipe up. "Does it seem a bit odd that none of his sisters is questioning Lungren's supposed suicide?"

Randy looked sharply at Bedford. "You didn't question it before you saw the letter."

"I certainly questioned
why
he would do such a thing. It seemed rather out of character for him."

"I should agree." Randy turned to Tony. "Just about as unexpected as for you to be distracted by a woman."

Tony shrugged and took another drink of canary. "Rather seems like the whole world has gone as queer as Dick's hatband."

At which point Randy turned a bright shade of scarlet.

Chapter Eight

Felicity decided the best thing to do in her situation was never to allow herself to be alone with Tony. So when he showed up on her doorstep at a late hour, she told her butler to tell Tony she had retired for the evening. She hadn't, but she really preferred to be left alone as she went through the correspondence relating to Layton's businesses.

Disasters had filled the week. A shaft had collapsed in the Cornwall coal mine in, trapping six men for two days, and the overseer of the sugar plantation in Haiti was warning of more revolt. The only spot of good news was from the textile mill in Cumberland. There had been a minor riot among the applicants to fill the latest openings. Only three bloodied noses and a broken hand, if that could be considered good news. And the manager there had thought they would lose workers when Felicity insisted on providing half a day of free schooling for the children instead of working them fourteen hours straight. On the contrary, families were clamoring for work at the Merriwether Mill.

She tapped her pen against her teeth, trying to think what to do about the plantation in Haiti. She hated that they owned slaves, and had been pondering a radical move, perhaps freeing them and offering wages. But being so far away, she couldn't really know if she would end up with no laborers at all, or if a move like that would worsen the situation for the other plantation owners and create more animosity and unrest.

She had at one time intended to get rid of the plantation altogether, but selling it left her powerless to effect any change.

"You look deep in thought."

Felicity dropped her pen and nearly jumped out of her seat.

Tony leaned against the doorframe, looking shockingly delicious. His breeches molded muscular thighs and a flat stomach. A blue jacket strained to encase the breadth of his shoulders. Without his clothes, he would likely rival any Greek statue. Her mouth watered and her heart pounded. He was here just in time for bed—and that thought was so wrong she was ashamed of it. This was not good. "Were you not informed that I had retired?"

"You haven't."

"I am quite busy, though." She should have known he wouldn't take no for an answer. For a long second she had wanted nothing more than for him to tell her it was time to put aside work for the evening and come to bed.

"Doing what?"

Felicity retrieved her pen from the floor. Thank goodness she hadn't dipped it in the inkwell yet. "Well, now, I am contemplating dismissing my butler."

"I doubt that you should find one that could block my entrance if I was of a mind to get in." Tony folded his arms across his chest. His expression was distant, closed.

She could change it in an instant if she revealed the prurient nature of her thoughts. "Exactly. You have little or no consideration for other people. I need to work."

"I see."

"Do you?" She stood up and then decided she was better served keeping the desk between them and sat back down.

He continued to lean against the doorframe, but there was nothing relaxed in his pose. Did his body tighten with the same need as hers when they were near each other? "We need to talk, ma'am, and I have a favor to ask of you. When would be convenient for me to call?"

Call? Did he not arrive so late in the evening with the intention of staying the night? As if she'd been drinking liquid lead, her stomach grew heavy. She'd had every intention of sending him on his way with a flea in his ear, but what came out of her mouth was, "Sit."

He quirked an eyebrow at her terse command but followed it.

Just then her butler and two footmen, one still thrusting his arms into his jacket, appeared at the study door. "Sir, if you would be so good as to follow me, I shall show you out."

Tony leaned forward to rise, his pale blue gaze holding hers every inch he moved.

A warning of danger screamed through her, but his allowing her to be the arbiter of his staying or going had her relenting. Why had he come if not to renew his pressure to have an affair? "Oh, never mind, Major Sheridan shall be leaving shortly of his own accord."

"Or of yours," he said with a nod that had the formality of a bow.

Her butler backed out of the room and shut the door.

Layton had once given her a piece of very good advice, and she recited it in her mind.
Begin as you mean to go on.
Simple advice, really, but not always easy to follow. Tony's request for a discussion would have to be considered. It was a discussion they absolutely needed to have.

But she would write the letter to her plantation manager first. Not that she had any brilliant advice, but he could find a holiday or special occasion to reward the workers with rum and roasted pig.

She had pigs on the brain, given that Tony was sitting just across the room, looking far too tempting. Pigs would never fly, she reminded herself. She could not give in to the madness coursing through her veins. No matter that his mere look in her direction had her flushing.

"You do mean only to talk. Because I shan't tolerate anything more than conversation, Major Sheridan."

"Just talk," he said.

She didn't believe him. "Nothing like in the green drawing room." She couldn't have him kissing her. Her mouth watered at the thought. Her will was too weak. "Your word on it, sir."

He tilted his head as if trying to assess how serious she was. Her heart thumping wildly, Felicity dipped her pen in the ink and held her hand poised above the paper. "Well?"

"My word on it."

"Good, then, we shall talk when I am done with this." There, she would give herself time to rein in the gallop of her pulse, slow her breathing, and ignore the clench of her inner thighs. She would not give in to temptation.

Except as she wrote, his gaze bore down on her. Her betraying body responded to his presence without him even doing a thing beyond sitting there.

When she finished the letter, set down her pen, scattered sand over the surface, and laced her fingers together and placed her hands on the top of the desk, she said, "Now, what favor have you come to ask?"

"There is a maid who needs a position."

Felicity didn't know if she was disappointed that the favor was not more personal. She listened as Tony delivered a quick explanation of Molly's experience and qualifications to be at least an upstairs maid, if not a lady's maid.

Felicity was inclined to grant Tony's reasonable requests, since her parents had announced at dinner that they would be going down to the country Tuesday next. And since her niece had arrived without a personal servant, she would need an attendant.

"Does she have references?"

"The Lungrens claim to be unable to do without her."

"Then why is she leaving them?"

"Since Captain Lungren's death, she has little hope of being paid."

Felicity blinked. It had been a long time since she had needed to worry about little things like having enough income to pay the help, although she had been raised in a household where Peter was always being robbed to pay Paul. "I shall try her with Miss Fielding for four weeks. If all goes well, I shall then keep her on."

A slow smile curled up the corner of Tony's mouth and caused a new wave of awareness to travel through her veins. Pigs, pigs, pigs, she reminded herself.

"When did you become so resolute?" he asked.

"Probably when I realized the consequences of doing otherwise." That was the ticket, recalling how difficult her life had become because of that one misspent, misguided, magical night.

He leaned forward, his gaze holding hers. "Were the consequences so very bad?"

Felicity shifted some of the letters on her desk. "Let us say, irrevocably altering." At best, marriage had been trying, no doubt for both her and her husband. Once Layton learned she'd come to him carrying another man's child, he'd been devastated. And in turn he'd tried to decimate her.

Then there was her Charles, and nothing would prompt her to give him up, even if she had to do everything over again in exactly the same way.

Tony remained silent until she shifted the letters back into their original position. Would he not broach the subject of the affair?

"I am grateful you decided to tell my mother we are engaged, but as we had not come to terms, I don't think it would be fair of you to have any expectations."

"No expectations—I don't have the right." He stood and walked across the room and stood in front of the fireplace with his back to her. The flickering fire silhouetted him and glinted off the gold streaks in his hair, glowing around his head like a halo. He looked like an angel—a bold angel—but his words marked him as human. "Just wants and...needs."

Something raw and exposed in his words tugged at her. He was perilously close to undoing her defenses again. Years ago, he'd said a few words about his expectations of loneliness in the army, and she'd leaped to inviting him into her bedroom. She rubbed her hand across her forehead.