The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (26 page)

The question was absurd. She appeared to be anything but all right.

She raised a shaking hand to her forehead. "Oh, no! You heard
everything,"
she whispered.

"About you and Lord Carlton, you mean?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth as if to keep herself from crying out. With his hands on her shoulders he guided her to sit in the other wing chair. He really didn't want to hear more, but like most men he couldn't stand to see a woman in distress without feeling a strong urge to set things right. He knelt down in front of the chair.

"Miss Lungren, it does not sound as if you actually enjoyed participating in these intimacies."

She closed her eyes, and with her hand still over her mouth, she sobbed.

"Could it be that he forced himself on you?"

She shook her head, though, and two small tears fell from her lashes. She dropped her hand just enough to whisper, "No, I'm afraid, I allowed...I allowed...things to go...too...far."

"But did you try to stop at some point? Did you protest the—forgive me for speaking so plainly—completion of the act."

"He said—he said..." She gave a shuddering sob. "He said I had tempted him too far. That it was my fault he couldn't stop." She closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead as big, fat tears welled out beneath her shut eyelids.

"Miss Lungren, he raped you."

She shook her head.

"I believe so. Else it would not cause you so much distress now." William ever so gently pulled her toward him. "We men are not such beasts that we can't stop when a woman is frightened or in pain."

"But I encouraged him to kiss me and...and...oh, it hurt. I felt like he was ripping me in two."

"Hush...I assure you, Miss Lungren, Rosalyn, it was not your fault. Why, you are just a tiny thing, how could you have fended him off?"

For the longest time he held her while she sobbed, and he had to remind her to make use of his handkerchief. What kind of a beast was Lord Carlton, anyway? Likely a murderous beast. And as big a coward as William was, even he wanted to find the man and beat him black and blue.

After a while she leaned back, away from him. "I suppose it is you I have to thank for the clothes and the invitation."

"The major and Mrs. Merriwether can share credit."

Rosalyn wiped at her eyes. "I thank you for your faith in me," she said through a watery smile. "But I should not have allowed myself to be alone with him."

"Maybe so, but that does not excuse his behavior."

"Please, you said I could rely on you to keep your own council on this."

He couldn't tell? What could he do but keep his promise, even though it shielded a criminal? But then, Lord Carlton might very well be brought up on murder charges, and then the punishment for his dastardly ruining of Miss Lungren might be considered included. William swallowed hard. "Of course, you may rely on me to keep this matter silent."

"What are you doing in here, anyway?"

William had glanced at the twin wing chair and then, too late, averted his eyes.

Miss Lungren studied the bloodstained chair. "What were you looking for? The bullet that killed my brother?"

"Well..." William couldn't think of anything to say. He could feel his face growing warm. "Well, you see..." He still hadn't conjured up a reasonable explanation.

Rosalyn pierced him with her penetrating stare. "I think you should keep the estate. I am starting to think that Jonathon didn't kill himself. I think perhaps...perhaps he was murdered."

Chapter Sixteen

"What is the matter?" Meg asked Felicity, who was rubbing her forehead and going back over the dinner guest list, Meg had hoped it was finished, because she hadn't the slightest idea how to help with it. She reckoned there was more danger in admitting her ignorance. Better to appear lazy rather than attempt to assist her aunt with the work and make a muddle of it.

"If we add any more guests, I shall have to ask my parents to stay in their rooms."

"Oh, would they do that?"

"Not likely." Felicity glanced up. "But maybe if I explained it was because a duke and duchess planned to attend my little supper..."

"A duke and duchess?" echoed Meg lamely. How did one greet a duke and duchess? Prostrating herself on the floor was the idea that sprang to mind, but no, that wouldn't be right. That was for sultans. There were a million ways to fail at these society rules and regulations.

"Surprised me, too. But it seems they want to attend along with Algany. I presume my mother has warned you to steer clear of him."

Meg sat down hard. "Am I to cut him?"

"Oh, no, absolutely not. But you should never allow yourself to be alone with him—well, not with any gentleman, but especially not with him. You don't want to be forced into a marriage with a husband who has to be bought."

Why not? If a husband could be bought, Meg wouldn't mind—not in the least. "A husband can be bought?"

"It happens all the time," said Felicity. "You'll bring in a comfortable dowry. There are enough men who would take you on that consideration alone, but I don't know that they'd make worthwhile husbands."

"I see," said Meg. She didn't really, but Felicity couldn't know that just the prospect of a respectable marriage, bought or otherwise, was so much better than the life she'd been destined for. Meg wouldn't care if her husband was a bounder or a drunkard. Truly, there were worse things.

"I'm going to have to hire musicians," muttered Felicity.

"Why?"

"Well, now we are at forty-two, which is almost a dozen more than I anticipated. I think nearly everyone I originally invited accepted my invitation, which I did not expect. With so big a dinner party, we shall have to have dancing upstairs in the ballroom afterward. People will expect it."

Meg froze. She supposed the kind of high-spirited jigs she'd done around army campfires wasn't the kind of dancing that the ton did in their ballrooms. What did they do? Waltzes and stately quadrilles, she'd heard the officer's wives mention after the celebrations for victorious battles. She had no idea how to dance like a lady.

She could kick up her heels and toss her skirts about with abandon, but oh, Lord, how would she get out of dancing for a whole season? "I...I don't think I can dance."

Felicity stared at her, her eyebrows raised as if such a statement from a young miss making her debut was unheard of. "Why ever not?"

Meg fished about in her empty brain for an explanation, an escape from her words. "My shoulder is quite sore."

Felicity's dark eyes narrowed as she waited for more details.

Meg rubbed her shoulders. "I strained it on the ship." Her heart pounded. She had strained it...dumping Diana's body over the rail.

Felicity waited.

"You know, I 'spect I did it pulling my trunks around."

"You were pulling your trunks around? You shouldn't have been doing that. I should speak to the captain of that ship."

"No, oh, no!" Meg swallowed hard. "He probably would have sent a man if I asked for help, but he..." She searched desperately for a reason why a girl raised with all the privileges of wealth, as Diana had, wouldn't have, without a second thought, asked for help with her trunks. "He scared me."

Well, that much was the truth anyway. Well, not exactly scared her, but worried her—
and rightfully so,
thought Meg, with the memory of her final night on the ship making her shudder.

Felicity patted her hand. "It may be better by then. Besides, you're not to dance the waltz until you're approved for Almack's, anyway. So you shan't need to raise you arm for any of the other dances, I shouldn't think."

"Yes, Aunt."

Oh, Lord, how was she going to pretend to dance when she hadn't the slightest idea how?

* * *

"Well, what were you doing?" Randy asked Bedford as they rode back to town.

Bedford had just given them his account of what had happened when he was missing from the Lungren drawing room. But his account seemed to have large gaps in it.

"I was crawling on the floor to get this." Bedford dug in his pocket and held out a chunk of lead.

Tony pulled up his horse and held out his hand. Bedford deposited the bullet in his hands. The once-round ball was mangled and deformed. Tony didn't know if it he could even compare it to the one fired at Bedford.

"So Miss Lungren didn't see you right away?" questioned Randy.

"I hid. She was screaming for the gun. I didn't think it was the best moment to pop up and announce myself."

Tony tried to suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of his lips, without much success. Poor Bedford seemed to get caught in the worst of situations, and his cowering became more a virtue than not—except that he had an honest streak that forced him to acknowledge his cowardice later.

"So she could be the murderer." Randy turned his horse so that the three of them could circle tightly together, not that anyone could overhear their conversation on the road back to London.

"I hardly think she would admit that she thought her brother had been murdered if she was the murderess," objected Bedford.

"Then why was she calling for the gun?" asked Randy.

"Wouldn't she know where it was if she had fired it at Bedford last night?" Tony pocketed the bullet. The light was fading, and he hoped to examine it with the other bullet by its side. If nothing else, he could compare the weights of the two to determine if they were once of the identical size, a product of the same mold.

"Dash it all, I can't speak of it, but she was in quite a state when she came in—and I think we should focus our attentions on Lord Carlton. He is a lily-livered cad in more than one way."

"You can't speak of what?" asked Randy.

"If I could tell you, I would, but I pledged my silence on the subject."

"Why even mention it, if you can't discuss it?" Randy shook his head.

"Why, Miss Lungren was nearly in hysterics when she came in. I promised not to betray her confidence, but if you were to guess correctly..." Bedford screwed up his face as if in extreme concentration. "I would neither confirm nor deny your supposition."

"How should we know if we guessed correctly, then?" asked Randy, with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

Tony studied Bedford. He wasn't a complete corkbrain. "I should assume that if we guessed wrong, Will here could tell us we were wrong without breaking his promise. It's only if we guess right that he should have to seal his lips."

"Hardly in the spirit of honoring his word," objected Randy.

"Were we not dealing with someone who might also be a murderer, I should be completely closed about this, but I believe you should know, and I shouldn't have promised to keep my silence, but she was crying, you know. A fellow can't be expected to think straight when a woman is crying."

"So her distress concerns Lord Carlton?" asked Tony.

Bedford looked straight ahead.

"Something to do with his buying pieces of the estate?" prodded Tony.

"No," answered Bedford. "Though that is upsetting to her because she believes he's done make her totally dependent on him. But that is not the matter I am sworn to silence about."

"This is absurd," muttered Randy.

Tony ignored his lieutenant's spleen for the moment. "Did he attack her?"

Bedford pressed his lips together.

"Rape her?"

Bedford's chin dipped before he shook his entire body and tightened his jaw. Clearly he wanted to wag his head up and down.

"Today?" squeaked Randy.

"No, not today," answered Bedford.

"Recently?" asked Tony.

"No, but I take it the threat of repeat is hung over her head often. And, well, she was running full tilt when she came in the house."

"Christ," muttered Randy, and pulled his horse ahead.

Tony trotted his horse up beside Randy's and grabbed his reins. "What is with you?"

Randy gave him a bleak look. "I could kiss a political career good-bye if I marry a woman whose sister is a murderess."

"You suspect Rosalyn?" Bedford yelped.

Tony stared at Randy. "You've fallen for Miss Carolyn?"

"Don't look at me that way. It was all your fault for putting the idea in my head."

Bedford was still caught on the idea of Rosalyn as their main suspect. "I don't think she could have poisoned her brothers—she's too emotional for a method as painstaking as poison."

"I bought a book on poisons." Tony rubbed his forehead. "You really think our killer is one of the sisters?"

"I think it is Rosalyn," said Randy.

Bedford shook his head. "I'd believe it is the mother before I'd believe it is Miss Lungren."

Tony didn't know what he believed. "I don't know what to make of Miss Jocelyn. She avoids my questions and wants to know of French fashions. She is the only one, however, who acted surprised to see Bedford. And who knows? Mayhap the bullet will tell us something."

* * *

After a satisfying dinner, his first at Mrs. Merriwether's house, William settled into his room. His man was in the powder room adjoining the bedroom, stacking up his boxes. William was putting his linens in the drawers when he heard a light tap at his door. Thinking it was probably Major Sheridan wanting to discuss the day's discoveries, William didn't think too much about the fact that he'd removed his coat and cravat and was in his stockings and shirtsleeves.

He pulled open the door and was dumbfounded by the sight of Miss Fielding and her little cousin.

"Mr. Bedford, could I ask a favor of you?" Miss Fielding began nervously.

His hopes of an assignation were dashed by the presence of Charles, who looked up at his cousin.

William recovered his composure somewhat. "Certainly, Miss Fielding. What can I do for you?"

Miss Fielding seemed to lose her nerve somewhat. "My aunt—that is, after the dinner party—my aunt thought she should have musicians in." Miss Fielding focused on his neck and then took a step back. "Oh, she thought..."

Charles piped up, "Cousin Diana wants to know if you would teach her to dance."