What the Marquess Sees (6 page)

Were he serious, she’d be in trouble right about now. “But I find dogs appealing, more so,” she countered.

For a moment, he quit smiling. The room seemed too dim, like clouds momentarily blocked the blazing sun.

But then his grin returned, and his confidence and charm shone like a beacon. “I see you do not believe me. Perhaps, a test. We’ll enjoy this afternoon, mayhap play a game of chess, and not speak of anything remotely involving your secrets or your father for the duration.”

“Thank you, Dansbury, but no. I would sooner play chess with a snake. But I will continue to make use of your services. And your hospitality. For now. I will see you anon.”

And she left before she poured forth her deepest, darkest desires on the altar of his charisma. The fury she saw flash across his face as she passed helped steady her resolve.

“Anger is a brief madness.”

― Horace

“If a man be under the influence of anger his conduct will not be correct.”

―Confucius

Stonebridge House…

London…

Day Three of Torture…

Cliff paced the floor outside Lady B’s bedroom at Stonebridge House. He was agitated. No, it was more than that. He was furious. And he was trying to rein in his anger before he walked in and faced her. One. Last. Time.

Two days. Two fucking days. For two, interminable, long, fucking days, he’d questioned Lady Beatryce, kept her safe, brought her food, fetched her things to read…Hell, he’d all but waited on her hand and foot like a maid. And for what purpose? All she’d done was argue and complain and argue some more and stubbornly refuse to cooperate. She’d yelled, then played coy. She’d manipulated and toyed with him, then acted the innocent babe. She’d told him she would pass on vital information to help him with his investigation. Then, she’d stubbornly refused to speak further saying that she wanted to wait until Ambrose returned from Oxford.

Well, he had had it. They were going to finish this. Now. This was a criminal enquiry. They could be making progress based on her information; thus, she was, in effect, hindering the investigation with her silence. A crime according to the law. By all rights, she should be hanged. He opened the door without bothering to knock and stepped inside.

Oh, hell.

The earl had lied in his letter when he had said she was indisposed.

But she was definitely indisposed now.

His hands flew to his neck in an attempt to loosen his cravat. Of a sudden, it choked him as if he’d stuck his head in a drawn noose.

She wore nothing but a corset and a dressing gown. The robe was high-quality and silk. And white. A bright white that seemed to shimmer when she moved. Like light from a full moon iridescent over rippling water. And she was a perfectly tall woman, so the bottom of the robe brushed her legs just above her knees. It also did not close; he caught a glimpse of a pink corset underneath. No chemise. Damn the no chemise. It was almost his undoing.

He never once thought to question where she’d found such garments. She’d arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back. He certainly hadn’t given them to her.

His eyes stalked her from head to toe. They all but acted of their own accord. Her legs were lean and splendidly muscled. Like she exercised or she spent her days at hard labor rather than being corseted into ball gowns. Odd for a lady. His heart skipped a beat at the sight and his throat turned dry even though he preferred softer, more rounded, women. But he was far too angry to care or acknowledge his primitive reactions. He brushed them aside like crumbs on a sleeve.

He’d catalogued her lack of attire and his base reactions in under five seconds. He started to pace, unfreezing as if on cue. “Lady B…”

“Do. You. Mind?” She talked over him in pretend outrage, hands on her hips, all but emphasizing the curve of her hips.

It did nothing to cool his ire, only inflamed him further. “Shut! Up!” He slashed his hand at her with his words.

She abruptly sat, stunned for the moment. Hell, he was stunned. He never thought he’d say that to a woman, much less yell it. It was a sign of his distress. He raked his hands through his hair, stopped his pacing, and continued, a tad more calmly though still skirting the edge. “I’m through with dancing to your tune, Lady Beatryce. I’ve played along for two days. We’re going to do this my way now. You promised me information. I want it. Now.” His temper rose as he spoke. He’d never been prone to violence. Damn, but she seemed to bring out the worst in him.

She sat in a chair facing him, her legs and arms crossed. She’d regained her composure as he lost his further. She raised one condescending brow, the look daring him to make her talk. “And if I don’t?”

“You really don’t want to know, but I almost wish you would try it and find out.” He all but bit out the words.

She looked at him, thoughtfully. God, she was utterly self-possessed and it irritated the hell out of him. “First, let me ask you something. What would you do to get what you want? I don’t mean like a new pair of boots or a well-bred horse. I mean something you want…desperately.”

This play was familiar. They’d acted it out over the last two days, repeatedly. He’d threatened. She’d refuse to answer or answer with her own question. Usually a provoking one. And the subject was familiar. Hadn’t he just had this conversation with Kelly a few days ago?

“All right, Lady Beatryce. I’ll play it your way. For now. If you are talking about justice, the end always justifies the means. In any other case, there is always a limit to what is acceptable to get what you want.”

She pursed her lips as if his answer disappointed her, but she tried to hide it. “You’ve obviously not wanted anything bad enough.”

He marched over to her chair and leaned over her. She didn’t cower. He shouldn’t have, but he liked it. “Lady Beatryce, there are plenty of things I want badly enough.” He looked her up and down. Thoroughly. But kept a tight rein on any unwanted, base reactions. He would be appalled at his behavior later. Much later. “But I’ve never seen anything I’ve wanted badly enough to make me compromise my morals to obtain it.” He flicked his eyes to her legs, he couldn’t help himself, then back to her eyes. “No matter how enticing the package.”

She smiled, and it made him uncomfortable, that smile. It was too astute. Too precise. Too deadly. “My, my, you are a foolish one. Aren’t you? So pampered in your lofty world. Almost naïve. Surprising, considering your occupation.”

“You test my patience, Lady Beatryce.” He all but growled at her.

Yes, he was angry. No. Beyond angry. He was furious.

And he was behaving badly; he knew it as well. Unprofessional. Immature. Violent.

He no longer cared. She’d worn him down over the past two days ‘til his patience was stretched thin. And it wouldn’t take much to push him all the way over the edge. Hell, he was barely hanging on as it was. She could do it, too. They both knew it.

“Good. You could use a good challenge for once in your spoilt life. You…”

Yea. That did it.

Before she could bat another eye, he unwound his cravat and muzzled her mouth. He stood behind her now, her wrists bound with one hand while he reached behind himself to rip a wide swath of fabric from the nearby window with the other. He tied her arms with the fabric and wound the remaining length around her chest, strapping her to the chair. It’d hold. For now.

He rang the bell pull to summon a footman for some sturdier rope as she tried futilely to free herself. Cursing him to all sorts of hell in the process, he was sure. The rope would do until Ambrose arrived.

He was finished with her. She wanted to wait for Stonebridge? Well, she was going to get her wish. He was amused to see and hear that she was no longer unruffled; she tried to scream through her makeshift gag.

“What was that, Lady B? I didn’t quite catch that,” he taunted as he sauntered out of the room.

“Resist much, obey little.”

― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

An Hour and Much Frustration Later…

At their approach, Cliff looked up and acknowledged Ambrose and Grace with a nod before he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door to Lady Beatryce’s room. As if he hadn’t just been pacing the floor and mumbling to himself a few minutes ago. He tried to look calm and collected. He thought he succeeded. Mostly.

Ambrose, who clearly hadn’t stopped grinning since he decided to marry Grace, spoke up. “I understand we have an unexpected guest.”

“We do. She promised me concrete evidence. She all but guaranteed she could solve our investigation, but that was two days ago. If she tells us anything before I throttle her, it will be a bloody miracle.”

Ambrose and Grace shared a curious glance. Cliff scowled at the both of them for it. Hell, with the way he felt, he might punch his friend if he so much as looked like he was going to make some sort of pithy comment.

“May I?” Ambrose inquired, reaching for the door.

“By all means…” Cliff stepped aside.

The door swung open to reveal Lady Beatryce tied to a chair and gagged. Her eyes blazed with fury and promised retribution. She thrashed in anger and screamed through the cloth covering her mouth. Cliff could just imagine what she was saying. He’d heard it all, repeatedly, over the last couple of days. It certainly wasn’t polite conversation for mixed company.

Ambrose looked like he was ready to tumble to the floor laughing. His lips twitched. “I’m not surprised she hasn’t told you anything.” To Lady Beatryce, he added, “Can I count on you to be civil if I remove this?” His hands hovered over the cravat being used as an effective muffle to her ire.

She narrowed her eyes at Cliff before she nodded once.

“Excellent,” agreed Stonebridge.

Seeing Lady Beatryce with her muzzle firmly in place momentarily lightened his mood, even if the gag was about to come off.

*

Stonebridge removed the cravat from Beatryce’s mouth and stood back. She flexed her jaw, relieved to be free of her linen muzzle. Her mouth was sore from clenching her teeth and the corners of her lips were dry and cracked from the cloth.

She glared at Dansbury as she poked her tongue into the corners of her mouth to soothe the soreness there.

His face darkened in return.

She ignored him and spoke to the duke. “I know you’re investigating my father, and I know why. I can lead you to the evidence you need to put him away. Or better yet, hang him.”

“Yes? And how did you come by all this information?”

“I notice e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. I’ve seen the men watching my house; I’ve watched Dansbury searching my house,” she shot him a mocking brow as she said that, “and I know all about my father’s involvement with the Society for the Purification of England. I know where he keeps his papers, including all of their silly, idiotic little Writ’s of Execution where they spell out who they intend to murder and why.”

“I see. And what do you want in exchange for this information?”

She bit her lip for a moment, then firmed her resolve. “Money.”

“Hell—of course,” Dansbury interjected with a curse.

Beatryce glared at him and shouted, “Don’t you
dare
judge me right now. I am putting my life on the line for your treasured Grace and your precious case.” She cleared her throat and calmed herself. When her fury was contained, she looked up at Stonebridge. “And I want safe passage out of town—a quiet home to go to in the country, simple, country clothes, and a new identity.”

Dansbury, who was back to leaning against the door with his arms crossed, said, “How do we know you aren’t just as guilty as your father? I mean, it’s clear you knew of his guilt and yet you’ve never said anything before now? Sounds highly suspicious to me.”

She shot daggers at him, again, before returning her attention to Stonebridge. “Does he really need to be here?”

Stonebridge barked out a laugh. “Probably not, but I’m just going to tell him everything anyway, so this saves time. Just answer the question. You must admit, your knowledge does cast you in a questionable light.”

“I only discovered all of this recently, when I started to realize that my marriage plans were on shaky ground. I knew my father was behaving strangely…well, stranger than normal…and I had noticed peculiar men watching the house—so I set out to determine why. I broke into his office, found his hidden box, and picked the lock. Imagine my surprise at all I discovered; including that my father was behind the deaths of your father…and hers.” She nodded at Grace.

So maybe she hadn’t picked the lock, but it sounded more impressive and she needed every advantage.

Grace gasped.

“You didn’t tell her, I see,” she said.

“Shut up!” yelled Dansbury as the duke raced over to Grace to console and offer comfort. Beatryce suppressed an unexpected flair of jealousy.

Stonebridge held Grace close in comfort. After a while, they agreed that perhaps it was best if Grace leave the room. Of course.

We wouldn’t want to offend her delicate sensibilities, would we?

Grace always had been a regular waterworks.

On her way out, Grace stopped in front of Beatryce and said, “Thank you for coming forth and telling us what you know.”

Beatryce squirmed in her chair, speechless and discomfited by Grace’s kindness. Stonebridge watched Grace leave with a look of pride on his face, but Dansbury just continued to glare at Bea.

Once she was gone, Stonebridge turned to her once more. “All right, now, tell us what we need to know.”

She raised her chin. “First, I have one more condition. Once the arrangements are made for my passage out of town, I want him to take me.” She nodded at Dansbury.

“Like hell!” the man in question shouted.

Stonebridge gave his friend a speaking look, but he addressed her. “Are you sure that’s wise, Lady Beatryce?”

“No. But he’s the only one I trust to keep me safe.” She flinched over the word trust, but she’d say anything to achieve the desired results. “You must understand. My father is incredibly guilty and has done some horrid things, but I’m telling you, someone else is out there pulling his strings. I don’t know who—I’ve not an inkling, but think about it. My father can barely get out of his bed without assistance. He’s out of breath just walking from the drawing room to the library. He’s weak. I can’t speak of the time when your father was killed, but any move he’s made recently, has been done out of fear and a touch of insanity. Someone else is behind all this.”