Never Gamble Your Heart (The Secret Society of Governess Spies #2)

Chapter 43

L ord Houndsbury stood among the throng of distraught guests. The men’s mouths were grim lines, their hunting rifles held at their sides; the women, including Frankie’s mother, waited with pale faces and watchful eyes. Houndsbury was not a large man, in fact Jasper probably had a foot of height on him, but he had the indomitable presence of someone who was used to making decisions and having them followed. Jasper had heard that Houndsbury was a no-nonsense sort of man, but that he was also fair, and had a weakness when it came to his wife and spendthrift son.

Houndsbury turned to one of the younger men and said with a voice as steely and unruffled as his hair, “Send to London for a police inspector. Deliver our request personally.”

The man bobbed his head and dashed off to the stables.

“Perhaps we are being hasty,” one of the lords said, his voice high and his hands shaking. “He was shot. The men were out hunting. It could have been an accident.”

Houndsbury straightened his shoulders. “Then we must examine the body.”

A few of the men shifted on their feet at the word we.

“I should also like to see the body,” Frankie piped in.

Jasper did not let his surprise show on his face. It was a skill he’d honed with years of practice, and in that moment he was grateful he had, because never had he been so stunned as when his future wife declared she wanted to examine a dead body in front of the Duke of Houndsbury. Heavens, Devon had nearly lost his mind when Cecelia had said the word ankle , and now his betrothed wanted to see a body?

Frankie’s mother, who’d wedged her way to Frankie’s side, hissed something at Frankie, but she shook her head.

Before any of the shocked men could reply, and before Cecelia could shout that she, too, wanted to go—which Jasper was sure she did—Frankie added, “I may able to tell if it was an accident or intentional.”

The high-voiced lord snorted. “ You ? How?”

“Mathematics.”

Houndsbury studied Frankie for a moment before lifting a brow at Jasper.

“Miss Turner is her own woman,” Jasper said in response to the duke’s obvious request for permission. “However, anyone who doubts that she is a brilliant mathematician will reveal himself to be a fool.”

Mrs. Turner’s mouth parted in surprise, and a keen look entered Houndsbury’s eye. “Very well then. Mr. Jones, Miss Turner, and Lord Pemberwith, come with me. Lord Trawley, lead us to the body.”

Jasper turned to Lady Houndsbury and Frankie’s mother. “Your Grace, Mrs. Turner, I would ask that you escort Miss Cecelia and Madam Margaret back to the house, and please do not let Cecelia out of your sight. If there is a murderer on the loose, no young girl should be left unattended.”

Cecelia opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Houndsbury had drawn herself to her full height and hooked her arm through Cecelia’s. “Quite right, Mr. Jones. Rest assured that Miss Cecelia will not leave my line of vision until you return.” She gave a brisk nod to Cecelia. “We women must stick together in times of trouble.”

All of Cecelia’s protests died on her lips as the Duchess of Houndsbury held her arm and spoke to her as if she were an equal. Cecelia’s eyes filled with admiration, and she glanced up at the older woman as if she were an idol that she wished one day to become.

Jasper’s estimation of the Houndsburys increased. There were very, very few people in their position who were still able to show compassion. Even Mrs. Turner appeared struck dumb by the duchess’s ready acceptance of his niece.

Lord Trawley was one of the men who’d found the body, and his face paled as he reluctantly led the small party back into the shadowy growth of the forest.

Jasper and Frankie brought up the rear of the group. She had to keep lifting her skirts to step over moss-carpeted logs, but she did so without complaint. The heat was oppressive beneath the cloud-blanketed sky, and not even the canopy of leaves offered relief.

Normally Jasper would have enjoyed the rare excursion into a green-dappled forest, the scents of late summer in the air and the lazy drone of flies looping through branches overhead. In the distance he heard the tinkling of a stream, and even just the sounds of rushing water managed to cool him a bit. Yet today he could not shake the feeling that Devon had indeed been murdered, and that he and Frankie were, in some way, involved.

“Do you think the ringleader murdered him because we foiled his plan?” Frankie asked in a low voice, her thoughts obviously running along similar lines. She lifted a strand of hair from her sticky neck and Jasper’s thoughts detoured as he imagined licking the perspiration off her skin.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed to her before extracting another and wiping his brow. “It has crossed my mind.”

“Why not simply find Devon another wife?”

That very question had been nagging at him from the moment he’d heard Devon was the deceased. “I do not know.”

“Was it a punishment for failing? A warning to others not to do the same? Or was it for some other reason entirely?”

A suspicion was forming in Jasper’s mind, but he did not wish to worry her, so he remained silent.

“Well, out with it.”

Jasper turned to her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You have a thought you are not sharing with me. You told me we are a team now, did you not?”

Jasper was simultaneously impressed that she’d been able to read him when so few could, and worried that such an ability would not bode well for him in their marriage. “I do not want to worry you unnecessarily.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I am wondering if Devon was killed because he failed to silence you specifically. As you said, the ringleader could have chosen an alternate wife for him. It is possible the person in charge knows you are onto him, especially if Devon had the opportunity to speak with him before he was murdered. That would make you a threat to the Dowry Thieves’ entire operation, and the leader’s reputation in particular.”

Frankie worried her lip and shoved aside a prickly bramble branch. “Then why kill Devon, and not also me and you?” At Jasper’s silence she sucked in air. “You do not think we are in danger, do you?”

“I do not know. It is possible a stray hunting bullet killed Devon, as the others have postulated. However, I have not lived this long by ignoring my instincts, and my instincts are screaming that when we get back to the house, we need to pack our bags and leave.”

His blood fizzed with the creeping sensation that danger lurked near, and every one of his finely honed instincts whispered warning. Those instincts had allowed him to walk out of ambushes twice in his life, and he would be damned if he disregarded them now when the lives of the most important people in the world were on the line. No one would hurt Frankie or Cecelia while he still breathed.

To his surprise, she did not argue. “Then we leave.”

“One thing is for sure,” Jasper said quietly as the sounds of rushing water grew closer. Ahead, Lord Houndsbury’s bright-red hunting coat stood out like a splash of blood against the shades of green and brown. Devon would have been wearing a bright coat as well, which made an accident even more unlikely.

“What is that?”

“If Lord Devon was murdered, the ringleader is here among us.”