Chapter Sixteen #2
“Not a lot. He said he may have some information for us, but he wants to verify it first. He would never tell me something he was not sure of. And he does not know the reason behind my request.”
“I wish you had kept him out of my business, Bellamy!” She stood up and took a step away from him. “He is not a fool; he will surely figure out what we are up to in no time. It is little wonder he was looking at me strangely, like he was trying to read my mind.”
“No, that would be his normal look,” Oliver replied with a smile.
She did not smile back.
He walked over to her and turned her towards him. “I did what I thought needed to be done. We were not finding what we needed going on as we are and as you said we are running out of time. He’s a professional, Lisbeth. He would never betray me.”
“Maybe not you, but what about me? He has no reason to help me.”
“He is helping you, because I asked him to. He knows you mean a lot to me. He understands I want to get to the truth of the matter. So do you, so I see no reason not to use all resources at our disposal. I did it for you.” He touched her face, skimming his finger down her cheek and lifting her chin so he could kiss her lips. “Don’t be angry with me, my love.”
All anger drained away as her heart sped up and her body moved closer to him, needing his touch, his kiss, his love.
“You make it nearly impossible not to when you go ahead and do things like this,” Lisbeth said, looking into his warm brown gaze. “Maybe we should return to the house now. People will wonder where we have gone.” And what we have been doing.
Oliver offered his arm. “As you wish, my dear.”
My love, he had said, but was it just a turn of phrase?
*
In the shadows Dalmere watched the pair leave the quiet haven of the garden.
He gritted his teeth together until his jaw hurt.
His eyes burned with anger and frustration.
He was right to think they were up to something more than just dallying in disused rooms at the balls and soirees they had attended this season.
Although, he had doubted himself for a brief moment earlier tonight, when he had seen them go into the room off the hall, when he had heard them together.
He had followed them only because he was inquisitive.
He moved out of the shadows and from behind the fragrant bush he had been hiding behind. He had been close enough to clearly hear their exchange. They’d been so focused on each other he could have stood right behind them and they would not have noticed.
Now he knew the pair was up to mischief.
They were trying to find out who killed Blackhurst. He would have laughed under normal circumstances but now they were involving Ashton.
This was not good news. How could he use Ashton to his own ends if Bellamy was now enlisting Ashton’s aid?
Bellamy had been useless in finding anything of use concerning the Black Raven’s involvement in the speculation, but then her pretty blue eyes had easily distracted him from his job.
The Blackhurst witch was just as deceitful as he had thought her, just as deceitful as her dead husband had been. She was playing Bellamy for the fool, and now she was going to try it on Ashton like she had everyone else.
It had been up to him to put her in her place, after he had disposed of Blackhurst, to make sure her life was a misery.
He should have got rid of her when he had killed Blackhurst, but the dignity of a quick death was too good for the likes of her.
She was supposed to have hung, humiliated and shamed, for killing her husband, but she had not.
She should have rotted in Newgate prison, got the pox, and died with her legs spread for some guard, but she hadn’t.
Somehow, someway she had gotten off on a technicality and he’d had to work incredibly hard to keep her reputation suitably tainted.
Oh, the rumors he had spread, the tales he had told, the lies he had made up.
As fun as it had been to play Machiavelli, none of his defaming had been sufficient to get rid of her.
The stupid woman didn’t even have the sense to move to the Continent until the hubbub died down.
He’d been as surprised as anyone that the landlord had sold her the townhouse, after her acquittal.
But then again, who wanted to rent a house where someone had been killed?
There were some advantages to having inherited nearly all the blunt Blackhurst had squirreled away, he supposed.
Dirty, devilish money earned through deceit and lies by her bastard husband.
He knew she would want to seek out the truth, eventually.
On her own she was no threat, but now with Bellamy at her side he had begun to worry.
If Ashton joined their merry band of mischief, there was a real chance he could be found out.
He would not let it happen. He had just started to get over his own financial hardships and it had not been without great sacrifice on his side.
He had vowed his revenge on Blackhurst’s bride when she had refused to return the capital from the speculation.
He ripped a flower off at the bloom and crushed the soft fragrant petals in his fist. She must die.
It was the only way. He smiled then in the dim garden.
Yes, killing the Black Raven was going to be so very, very satisfying.
After all, he’d been the one to name her so he should be the one to snuff her out.
He would enjoy seeing the life fade from her eyes.
Only then would he be safe. Only then would he feel justice had finally been served.
*
Lisbeth was happy to be left at the refreshment table while Oliver danced with Anna. It gave her time to sort through her rolling emotions. Tonight had felt a bit like an out of control carriage ride, exciting and thrilling but also dangerous and scary. Was bringing Ashton into this a good thing?
Her eyes found Bellamy and Anna as they danced.
She liked Anna a great deal. She was kind and she looked Lisbeth in the eye when she talked to her.
She seemed as if she genuinely was interested in what Lisbeth might want to say.
She liked the feeling and wanted more, but she had to be realistic.
She may never find out who killed Nathaniel before the end of the season.
Lisbeth knew better than to get her hopes up.
She must be happy with having Marie and her grandmother back in her life, for now.
However, she also knew she would never give up trying to clear her name with or without Bellamy.
She looked to her right and saw that Gabrielle was leaving.
She waved to Lisbeth from across the room.
Lisbeth waved back and she felt oddly happy about the whole gesture.
Such a normal thing to do, but not for her, and certainly not lately.
It was only now she was realizing how much she had missed the normal, everyday things one did without even thinking.
Lisbeth had avoided looking at Gabrielle’s baby belly all night, looking only at her face when they had talked earlier and asking her no questions about the baby.
In the wake of last night’s confession to Oliver she missed her son Daniel even more.
A deep ache that had taken residence in her heart after his death was now throbbing and squeezing, the pain increasing whenever she even thought of him.
How can she hold this grief inside her and yet be so happy and contemplating love whenever Bellamy was around?
It didn’t make sense, and she didn’t know how to un-jumble her feelings.
It wasn’t that she was jealous of Gabrielle, but she was envious of her relationship with her husband Harlow and his obvious angst for both her and the baby.
Would she ever have the chance to hold another of her own babies in her arms? To have someone who loved her and her baby? Who would worry about her swollen feet and whether or not she was tired, as Harlow did for his wife?
It was no use dreaming of things that would never happen. She would never want to bring a child into the world while her reputation as the Black Raven hung around her neck like shackles.
Finding a seat, she sat to watch the festivities around her. She watched Lady Marianne giggling with a bunch of other girls and sighed.
“Such a pretty picture, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Blackhurst?”
Lord Dalmere came and sat next to her. His golden curls, his light blue eyes, and the endearing and easy smile he gave her completed the picture of a very handsome man.
He was reserved and quietly spoken, his manners impeccable.
Everything about him was gentlemanly. Women adored him but he took little notice of them.
He was Oliver’s friend and had been Henry’s too, so for them she would try to push away her concerns of their first meeting.
He had been nothing but nice to her; she must at least give him the courtesy of the same.
“Yes, the first season is a very big moment in a young lady’s life,” Lisbeth replied. “Being presented at court, making sure you remember all the rules of polite society, remembering everyone’s names and titles. It can be all a bit much for some.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Ah, the first blush of youth with all its perils. I remember you at your first ball, you know.”
This startled her. She looked over at him. His eyes told her he was not lying. “You were at my coming out ball?”
“Indeed, I was. You were the picture of perfection. Every man was in love with you.” He laughed. “Even me.”
She smiled back. “Really, Lord Dalmere, you are determined to see me blush.”