The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (13 page)

“Bloody hell.” He inhaled for patience.

“You should get that,” Marianne said.

With a grumbled oath, he released his plump bounty.

“I’m coming,” he said through clenched teeth.
And not the way I wanted to.

He shoved on his dressing gown and cast a longing look at the bed, where his better half was now sitting up. Her breasts were on spectacular display as she stretched her arms, yawning.

Soon
, he promised himself.

He stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Violet, this had better be an emergency…”

He trailed off—because his sister wasn’t alone.
Viscount Carlisle
was with her.

Pulling his sister protectively to his side, Ambrose said tersely, “What’s going on? Why are the two of you together? And at this hour?”

“We happened upon each other in the library. It was, um, a coincidence,” she said.

His middle sister had never been an accomplished liar; he didn’t believe her overly innocent expression for an instant. More damning yet was how disheveled she looked: her frock was rumpled, her hair bound in an untidy braid.

His gaze swung accusingly to the Scot. Carlisle’s face was set in grim lines, his posture tense. Before he could interrogate the bounder, Vi blurted, “But that’s beside the point. Ambrose, we discovered something terrible in the library. Madame Monique—she’s
dead
.”

“Dead?” he said, astonished.

Violet nodded, her eyes wide.

Ambrose’s surprise didn’t last for long. For a man in his profession, it rarely did.

“Tell me everything,” he said briskly.

Chapter Twelve

Violet paced the length of Billings’ study. Located next to the library, where her brother was presently examining the scene of death, the room had the same old-fashioned ambience with dark paneled walls, mullioned windows, and an ancient hearth crawling with stone roses and vines. A burgundy Aubusson added a splatter of color…

Monique’s face, streaked with blood, flashed in Vi’s mind. Horror penetrated her veil of numbness. Her throat thickened.

What happened to you, Monique? How can you be so full of life one moment… and gone the next?

“Are you all right, my dear?” Marianne was standing by the window. Dawn’s watery light highlighted the fine lines of worry around her eyes. “Perhaps you’d prefer to go upstairs—”

“I’m fine,” Vi said at once. “I want to be here.”

Determination anchored her. There was no way she was going to miss the upcoming meeting. It was bad enough that Ambrose had barred her from revisiting the library. Her big brother had put his foot down, saying that she’d seen too much as it was; he’d taken Carlisle, Emma, and Strathaven into the library with him, and Billings had joined them. Violet had been made to wait in the study like a child under Marianne’s watchful eye.

Annoyance warred with guilty unease.
What’s taking them so long in the library? How is Carlisle handling the situation? Is he following through with our plan?

After stumbling upon Monique, she and Carlisle had faced a difficult dilemma. If they revealed that they’d found Wick's ring in the dead woman’s hand, they’d be incriminating Wick—something neither of them wanted to do. She and Carlisle had gone directly to find Wick and clear up the matter… but his room had been empty, the bed still made.

Where on earth had Wick gone?

Since they could tarry no longer, Vi had made the only proposal she could think of to protect her friend: she and Carlisle had to keep Wick’s ring a secret for the time being.

Carlisle’s features had been even starker than usual. He’d looked as if he were grappling with an army of inner demons. “I cannot in good conscience embroil you in my brother’s affairs. To ask you to lie for him,” he’d said flatly.

“We don’t have a choice,” she’d replied. “We can’t risk endangering Wick.”

As much as she hated keeping anything from Ambrose, she hated the idea of Wick being accused of murder even more. Her chum might be a reckless rake, but he was no killer.

Carlisle’s ravaged expression had spoken volumes about his moral conflict. Protect his brother by lying… or tell the truth and condemn his sibling? At times, being Lord High Horse couldn’t be easy.

Taking pity on him, she’d said, “Why don’t we do this? Let’s at least wait until we have the chance to talk to Wick. Once we ascertain his innocence,
then
we’ll tell Ambrose everything.”

Sin first, beg forgiveness later—not exactly a new strategy for her. Although Carlisle hadn’t been entirely convinced, he’d relented. She’d changed quickly into more proper attire, and then together they’d gone to Ambrose.

Which brought her to now. What was taking them so long in the library?

“Pacing a trench into the Aubusson won’t get them in here any faster,” Marianne said mildly. “Do you want to talk about what’s troubling you?”

Vi went through a mental checklist of her problems. Concealing evidence in an investigation… no, she couldn’t talk about that. Engaging in repeated intimate acts with Carlisle… mum’s the word on that as well. Discovering desire for the first time and with a man who utterly confounded her… right.

“There’s nothing I want to talk about,” she said truthfully.

Just then, the door opened—
at last
—and Billings marched in first. He was a small, wiry man with thinning grey hair and papery-looking skin. The others filed in behind him, their expressions somber. Carlisle brought up the rear and closed the door.

Despite the situation, Vi’s pulse skipped faster at the sight of him. His smoky gaze met hers, and awareness thrummed between them. After the steamy interlude in the library, there was no point in denying their animal attraction. With a flash of insight, she realized that the perilous secret they now shared bound them together as well. They were… co-conspirators.

“Did you find anything?” she blurted to the group.

Ambrose nodded gravely. “Why don’t we sit first?”

Billings took his position at the large mahogany desk which dominated one end of the room. On the wall behind him hung a rather grisly painting of dead, glassy-eyed pheasants lying in a heap, waiting to be plucked. Everyone else gathered around the desk. Violet was glad when Richard chose the chair next to hers.

Ambrose remained standing, taking the place next to their host.

“I’ll begin with a summary of what we know thus far.” His tone was brisk and professional. “Madame Monique was discovered in the library at approximately three this morning by Violet and Carlisle. By the state of the corpse, I would judge that the victim had been dead no more than an hour or two before she was found. She suffered a blow to the right temple.”

“Dear heavens,” Marianne murmured.

“I can’t confirm that the blow killed her,” Ambrose went on. “We’ll need a medical man for that. But the shape of the wound suggests that it was caused by a long, thin object. When I searched the library, I found traces of blood on the ledge of the stone mantelpiece. It’s likely that Monique hit her head there.”

“An accident… or do you think she was pushed?” Marianne said, her brows knitting.

“There’s no way of knowing for certain at this point,” Ambrose replied.

“But the fact that she ended up in the bookshelves is highly suspicious, don’t you think?” Em’s brown eyes were pensive. “If she hit her head on the mantel, how did she wind up halfway across the room? And don’t forget the dust on her gown. It looked as if she’d swept the floor with her skirts. She was clearly dragged into the shelves.”

Gadzooks.
The image of Monique’s limp body being hauled through the library released an icy trickle down Vi’s spine. Her hands grew clammy in her lap, her lips trembling.

She felt a brief touch on her shoulder. Carlisle—somehow he’d sensed her disquiet. The warmth of his hand lingered, and his gaze was steady, reassuring.

“The windows to the library were locked,” Strathaven was saying, “and there were no signs of forced entry. If the victim was attacked, whoever did it was already inside.”

Ambrose gave a decisive nod. “We’ll convey all this information to the magistrate who takes on the case.”

“No.” Billings spoke up for the first time. “I don’t want the magistrate involved.”

Ambrose frowned. “We’re likely talking about a murder, sir. You don’t have a choice.”

“Like hell I don’t,” Billings said. “I know Jones, the local magistrate, and he’s a damned zealot. If I give him free rein, he’ll run roughshod over the place and inconvenience my guests.”

“Tiresome business, murder,” Strathaven said with irony.

Emma’s forehead furrowed. “I’m sure your guests will understand, Mr. Billings.”

“Not my business associates. They are
important
people, do you understand? They’re used to making their own rules, and they have no liking for authorities. If the magistrate comes in with guns blazing, I’ll have a revolt on my hands—and my reputation will be
ruined
.” Sweat beaded on the banker’s upper lip. “Under no circumstances will I allow that to happen. My guests were promised a party, and they must not be disappointed. So name your fee, Kent.”

“My fee… for what?”

“Your services,” the banker said impatiently. “You’re an investigator, aren’t you? The best in London and I know that first-hand. Thus, I am retaining you to clear this matter up as quickly and discreetly as possible before Magistrate Jones takes over.”

Ambrose’s brows slammed together. “I have no authority over the magistrate—”

“No, but your excellent reputation has sway, and it goes all the way back to when you were with the Thames River Police.” Billings’ eyes glittered with determination. “You leave Jones to me. I’ll tell him I have a man on the case, one of the best, and you’ll keep him apprised of everything. Of course, you and I will know the truth: that you’re working for me to resolve this business with all due haste.”

“A woman has died, sir, and she deserves justice.” Ambrose’s tone had a steely edge. “Her death is not a fact that can be swept under the carpet nor should it be.”

That’s my brother,
Violet thought with pride.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. Do what you must,”—Billings waved impatiently—“but do it with discretion. That’s all I ask. Can you do that?”

“Until I pursue the matter further, I don’t know yet if the victim’s death was the result of an accident or foul play. Given the circumstances, I suspect the latter. Which means I’ll have to interview potential suspects—including your guests.”

Billings gave a terse nod. “Conduct your interviews with tact, and keep me informed. The investigation mustn’t interfere with the party or diminish its pleasure in any way.”

Vi couldn’t refrain from speaking up. “Don’t you think the fact that a woman was found dead in the library will dampen the party spirit?”

“Leave it to me. Handled properly, the guests will have nothing to concern themselves over.” The banker smiled humorlessly. “To be frank, half of the guests see death every day and will think nothing of it. The other half see Madame Monique as naught more than a glorified servant—and thus will think nothing of it.”

Disbelief and indignation made Vi speechless.

“So we have a deal, Kent?” Billings said. “I’ll double your usual fee.”

Ambrose growled, “You can take your money and—”

“If you won’t do it for the money, do it for Gabriella. My daughter claims you are her staunchest allies, her… friends.” The banker spoke the last word as if it were in a language foreign to him. “We all know that she is a wallflower, and her reputation is riding on the party’s success. It’s her last chance to gain a foothold in Society. So will you help her—or let her fall?”

Although Billings’ assessment was uttered without emotion, to Violet it had the ring of truth. Gabby did need the Kents’ support. But even more important was gaining justice for Monique. If anyone could discover what had happened to the acrobat, it would be Ambrose. And by finding the true killer, he’d ultimately be clearing Wick of any wrongdoing as well.

“Please take the case, Ambrose,” Vi blurted. “For Monique and Gabby.”
And for Wick.

“I’ll help,” Emma said immediately.

Beside her, Strathaven let out a sigh.

Marianne placed a hand on Ambrose’s arm. “I think your assistance is needed, darling.”

A silent exchange passed between the two; Ambrose gave a reluctant nod.

“All right.” Turning to Billings, he said evenly, “I will conduct this investigation, but I will do so on my own terms. Know this, sir: I will pursue the matter to its end—even if the result is not to your liking.”

“Just keep me apprised and act with discretion.” Billings stood. “Now I must make arrangements to have the body removed.”

“It would be best to move the victim to a cool place, to preserve the body as much as possible,” Ambrose said quietly. “I want a colleague of mine to examine her.”

“As you wish.” Billings was already heading toward the door, his stride brisk. “Carry on.”

The door closed behind him.

“Bloody hell.” Ambrose dragged a hand through his unruly hair. “What did I just sign on for?”

“You did the right thing, my love,” Marianne murmured.

Ambrose’s golden gaze grew focused. “There’s much to do,” he said. “I have to send for Dr. Abernathy; hopefully he can arrive from London by tomorrow or the day after and give us a more definitive opinion on the cause of death. I’ll need to contact Lugo and McLeod as well. My partners can search Monique’s residence in London; perhaps there’ll be clues there as to why someone might want her dead. In the meantime, I want to interview those closest to her: her maid and colleagues, to begin with. We’ll start compiling a list of suspects.”

Suspects… people who might want Monique dead…

The memory struck Vi with the force of lightning. She jumped to her feet. “I want to help too! In fact, I know who—”

“No.”

“Out of the question.”

Ambrose and Carlisle frowned at each other; they’d spoken simultaneously.

“But I can help,” Vi protested.

Carlisle shook his head. “You’ve seen enough for the night, Miss Kent. I am sure your delicate constitution would not benefit from further exposure to this macabre business.”