Chapter Forty-One #2
What began as a queenly nod of Lady Lockhart’s overly dressed head that set the stuffed bird atop bobbing in a precarious manner came to a slow rock before stopping completely with her sudden stillness. Her eyes narrowed on Rose, instantly watchful. “Is that so?”
Ben froze as well, but quickly recovered. “Lady Stanford, I’d hoped to steal you for this set.” He snatched Rose by the hand and pulled her into the ongoing waltz.
“I put my foot in it, didn’t I?” he said into the first turn.
“At least no blood was drawn,” she murmured, though she felt quite faint.
He groaned. “We likely shouldn’t speak of blood.” He led her through the swift pace, then asked, “Is Miss Lockhart safe?”
“For now,” she said grimly.
Relief flashed his features.
“She’s at Hope House.” Rose opted not to mention her open apology to the other young women. “I am told she ate two slices of bread, which I took as an excellent sign.”
A breathless laugh escaped him. “Thank God.”
They finished the dance in silence, then Ben led her to the far side of the ballroom to a table of tepid lemonade. It took only a moment to decide she could trust him. “If you must know, Viola’s aunt turned her out a few days ago. I overheard a couple of debutantes discussing her.”
“Whitefriars,” he breathed.
“Yes. I—”
“You went after her, and Emerson followed.”
“Yes,” she confirmed on a sigh. “It was a near thing too,” she said softly.
“Why was Miss Lockhart turned out?”
“I, um, am unsure of all the details”—a true enough statement—“but, thankfully, I was able to locate her.”
His gaze strayed to the deplorable woman. “And now I’ve put you and Miss Lockhart in immediate peril.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Emerson is not going to be happy.”
“There’s no reason to bring your brother into the equation. He and Sebastian are—”
“Sebastian?”
“As I mentioned, he is with my brother, the Duke of Ryleigh. They’re on their way to Canterbury.”
“Heavens, Emerson must be having a grand time,” he said on a breath of huffed laughter. “He is not especially fond of the peerage.”
Rose smiled. “I’m quite aware.” She grew thoughtful. “You know, this presents a unique opportunity.”
He tilted his head. “The blackmailer?” The words fell between them, soft and anticipatory.
“I don’t suppose you have tools on your person designed to gain access…?” She paused, unsure how to exactly frame the question.
“Gain access—” Ben stopped with a shocked sputter.
“Never mind. This is still an excellent time to have a quick look. Just one,” she said murmured.
“If we’re caught…” His voice trailed off.
She threw back her shoulders, but then a rational moment pricked her and she glanced about for her sister and sister-in-law. “We’ll be careful,” she said softly.
The Norfolks’ study was on an upper level of the massive house, and after peering in many doors, Rose and her crime partner-in-arms found what they were searching for at the end of a long corridor.
A plush Persian carpet muted their footsteps.
There was a low fire in the hearth staving off the chilled night. Still, Rose shivered in the warmth.
“Check the desk,” she whispered. “But hurry.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Anything that indicates some sort of threatening note against you, or Emerson, or the warehouse.”
He started toward the desk, then froze. “Someone’s coming.”
“What? I don’t hear any—”
The latch clicked.
“Lady Stanford” came the voice—cool, cultured, lethal.
Rose turned. Lady Lockhart stood in the doorway, the feathers on her odd hat trembling faintly amidst the bobbing bird, her eyes bright as a hawk’s.
“How very intriguing,” she said, stepping into the room.
“I wonder how Mr. Whitmore will react in learning his brother and newly betrothed were found in a questionable tête-à-tête.”
Rose drew in a harsh breath. “How dare you impugn my integrity, you…you harlot. After selling your niece to a brothel, you have the gall to accuse me of misdeeds?”
“You sold your niece to a brothel?” Ben echoed.
A mad light entered Lady Lockhart’s eyes as they narrowed on him. “I despise being interrupted.” She took a step forward, her fingers clutching something shiny, reflecting the room’s low candlelight. Dear Heavens, she was brandishing a knife!
Rose gasped and darted forward just as the woman’s hand came up and brushed Rose’s arm.
The burning sting penetrated her brain the same instant that heavy treads sounded from the corridor along with the distinct metallic scent of something wrong hitting her.
Rose dropped her gaze to Lady Lockhart’s gloved hand and couldn’t seem to register what the red speckles on her ivory kidskin meant.
Shock reverberated through her. She glanced at Ben, but he’d gone pale as parchment, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Ben, wait—don’t…” Her words trailed off as he collapsed to the carpet in a graceless thud.
She rushed to his side and laid her hand on his cheek, taking note of his breath on her thumb as Lady Lockhart’s laughter, soft and delighted, filled the room.
“Men are such fragile creatures,” she murmured.
“And you, Lady Stanford—” Her voice hardened.
“What a nuisance you turned out to be. You and that disreputable sister of yours, not to mention the duke’s tasteless duchess.
Why, the lot of you should be banned from England.
Dirtying the pool of pristine nobility is unfathomable. ”
Each uttered word increased the malevolence into a thick aura about Lady Lockhart’s being. But Rose couldn’t seem to stop the leashing of her own fury. “We, my dear, are not of the same sphere, no matter how many soirees you host or children you opt to sell to fill your coffers.”
Said harpy drew in a sharp breath as the door crashed back before she could let loose her rampage, catching Lady Lockhart by her outrageous hat, knocking it askew and felling it to the floor.
“Hear, hear. What is the meaning of this?” Norfolk’s squat body appeared in the doorway like a stuffed sausage in his tightened corset. Despite his florid complexion, Rose had always considered the man a genuinely nice person.
Lady Lockhart clucked her tongue. “Oh, dear.” Mild words that carried an ominous tone. Her hand came up, the blade of her knife glinting.
“Lord Norfolk!” Rose screamed. “Look out.” But she was too late. The blade disappeared in the folds of his coat, and he staggered to his knees.
Rose edged backward until the fire’s heat licked the backside of her gown. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Won’t I?” Lady Lockhart’s eyes glittered with madness. “You’ve no idea who you are dealing with.”
“Perhaps you could enlighten me?”
“Money, of course. That spendthrift nephew of mine has run the family’s coffers to near ruin.” Bitterness seeped from every word. “And do you imagine the world pauses for such inconveniences? That creditors simply…forgive?”
Rose held her ground, though the fire’s heat pressed mercilessly at her back. “At the cost of your own family? Your own niece. She is little more than a child.”
Lady Lockhart laughed, a brittle, cutting sound, and stepped closer, her skirts whispering over the carpet. “Men of rank required discretion. I provided it. My house, my invitations, my accounts—everything arranged so their dealings appeared respectable.”
A chill slid down Rose’s spine despite the heat at her back.
“That fool Stockton would have us all in the gutter. Someone had to act.” For the briefest instant, something flickered, then hardened. “The world does not spare the innocent, Lady Stanford. It consumes them.”
Rose swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. “Still, Lady Lockhart, surely you cannot think—believe—you cared nothing for Viola.”
Lady Lockhart stilled. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Then her lips curved—slow, deliberate. “Ah, you think I conceived all this myself.”
A cold certainty settled in Rose’s chest. “All what,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Lady Lockhart’s smile thinned. “All what?” she echoed softly, her eyes losing a momentary focus. She blinked and her eyes cleared. “My dear, men far above your understanding have vested interests in ensuring certain funds pass…unquestioned.”
“This is not the work of one woman,” Rose said quietly, as shock rippled over her. “You’ve neither the reach nor the protection for it.” And certainly not the wherewithal. Though she stifled that sentiment.
Lady Lockhart went very still. Then, slowly, she smiled. “Protection?” she echoed. “My dear, you have no notion how the world truly operates.”
Rose’s pulse quickened. “Then enlighten me.”
Lady Lockhart took another step forward, her voice lowering. “There are men who require certain things to pass unnoticed. Money. Movement. Silence.” Her gaze sharpened. “And when such men are crossed…” She paused. A flicker of something colder. “They are not inconvenienced for long.”
Rose’s breath caught, and Lady Lockhart lunged.
She darted from the woman’s murderess eyes and the deadly weapon she thrust out, but Lady Lockhart’s steps faltered, and she fell forward.
A sickening crack against the marble-floored hearth reverberated throughout the room. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, nausea rising sharp and sudden.
The silence grew unbearable. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to blood pooling darkly beneath Lady Lockhart’s head, and her gaze piercing Rose—wide, empty, lifeless. Slowly, she registered Lord Norfolk’s hand firmly gripped about the older woman’s ankle.
With a hand flattened against her torso, Rose tore her gaze away, the pulse thundering her ears, then fading to the faint hiss of the fire and Ben’s hopeless groan from the floor.
Ben!
She hurried to his side and assisted him to sitting. “I fear this was not one of my better ideas,” she choked out.
“What…what happened?” Just as the question left his lips, she followed his gaze to Lady Lockhart’s stilled body.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, then slumped back down, his head landing in her lap.
~~~