Chapter Twenty

Julian Bellamy’s face went pale with shock. “He looked like me?”

Oh, Spencer was going to enjoy this. Not only was he cleared of all suspicion, but now he could repay Bellamy the favor. “Well, well. This is an interesting development.”

“I was not with Leo that night,” Bellamy said. “I wish to hell I had been, but I wasn’t.”

“Then it’s curious, isn’t it, that Leo was seen with a man who matched your description?”

“I set the trends for fashion. Men try to match my description. Every brainless toff in London wants to resemble me.” He gestured toward Jack. “He’s one of them, for the love of God. Why would you take his word, anyway?”

Spencer picked up the token from the table. “Perhaps because the brainless toff was able to locate in a matter of days the person you’ve been seeking for nearly a month? The fact that he found Leo’s token proves he’s not fabricating the tale. And it would certainly explain a great deal, if you were involved. Like why Leo’s body was delivered to your house that night. Why your vast investigation has gone nowhere. And why you’ve been so eager to pin the blame on me.”

“I wasn’t with Leo,” Bellamy said edgily. “I have an alibi.”

“Ah, yes.” Spencer narrowed his eyes. “What was her name again? Lady Carnelia? I don’t suppose she’d rush to confirm your story. What makes you think a married noblewoman would invite public scandal just to save your miserable hide?”

Bellamy shot a look at Lily, as though hoping she hadn’t understood Spencer’s remark.

Lily bowed her dark head quickly and pushed back from the table. “Lady Claudia,” she said, extending a hand, “would you kindly show me the way to our chamber? Silly me, I’ve forgotten.”

Reluctance was plain on Claudia’s face, but Lily clutched the girl by the wrist and fairly dragged her from the room. In unison, the men rose from their chairs. Because, naturally, that was the polite thing to do when driving two innocent ladies from the dining room with talk of murder and whores.

Amelia remained seated, looking stunned and pale.

“Well?” Spencer said. He didn’t truly believe the man had killed Leo. He’d witnessed Bellamy’s shock that night, and he could see plainly the toll recent weeks had taken on him. Even Julian Bellamy wasn’t a gifted enough performer to pull off the role of grief-stricken friend so convincingly. Whether Leo had been alone or with a friend, the simplest explanation for his death was still the most likely—he’d been the unlucky victim of random thievery. But let Bellamy know, for a moment, just how it felt to live under unfounded suspicions of murder. Let him watch the woman he cared for scurry from the room.

“We’re going to discuss this alone, Morland,” Bellamy said. “In your library.”

“Ashworth comes, too,” Spencer said. “And we’re going to do more than discuss the matter.” He tossed the disc of brass in his hand. He hadn’t planned to do this so soon, but this was the perfect opportunity—when emotions and enmity were running high. “We’re going to sit down to cards. It’s time to disband the Stud Club once and for all.”

“Fine by me,” Ashworth said.

Spencer turned to Bellamy and stared him down, filling his gaze with unspoken challenge. This was the moment. Unless the lying bastard balked, victory would be his, tonight.

“All right.” Hatred was keen in Bellamy’s eyes. “Let’s end it. And then you’ll tell me where this bit of skirt’s being put up, and I head back to London in the morning. I need to question this woman as soon as possible.”

“In the library, then.” Spencer moved aside as Ashworth and Bellamy stalked from the room and crossed the narrow corridor to enter the library.

He shot out an arm to prevent Jack from following. “Not you.”

“Come on, Morland,” Jack muttered. “Let me play.”

“Where’s the harlot?”

“The Blue Turtle Inn in Hounslow.”

“The papers?”

“Here.” Jack withdrew them from inside his coat and slung them on the table. He lowered his voice. “Now let me play. I found that token. I found her. You owe me a seat at that table.”

“Absolutely not.” That was all Amelia needed, for Jack to run up a fresh debt of thousands just when he was on the verge of getting clear. “You’ve done what you came to do. You’ll leave tonight.”

“Tonight?” Amelia finally jolted from her reverie. “He’s just arrived. And this is our family’s house. You can’t boot him out.”

“Our family’s house?” Jack turned an accusatory gaze on Spencer. “You didn’t even tell her, did you?”

“Tell me what?” Amelia asked, rising from her chair.

Spencer sighed. He hoped she’d take this well, in the spirit it was intended. “I’d planned to tell you tonight. I’m buying the cottage.”

“Buying the cottage?” She looked to the rafters. “This cottage? Briarbank?”

“Yes, to all three.”

“You can’t possibly buy this cottage. It’s entailed.”

“No, it’s not. The land surrounding the castle, yes. But not this property.”

“So those papers …” Her eyes fell to the table.

“Will make the house mine.” Damn it. “Ours.”

“But …” She blinked furiously. “But this house has belonged to the d’Orsay family for centuries.”

Bollocks. She was not taking it well. Not well at all.

“You really should have told her,” Jack said.

“Get out,” Spencer snapped. He needed to discuss this with Amelia in private.

“No, don’t.” Amelia grabbed her brother’s arm. “Stay. Don’t you let him chase you from this house.”

“Damn, but the two of you are exhausting in your demands,” Jack said. “I’ll just go to bed. If I’m allowed.”

After his brother-in-law left the room, Spencer placed his hands on Amelia’s shoulders. In a belated attempt at tenderness, he stroked his thumb back and forth along her collarbone. “Amelia, I’ve made inquiries in recent weeks. Your brother owes a vast sum of money. Thousands. To a man far less forgiving than I.” He didn’t give the man’s name; she wouldn’t recognize it anyhow. But Jack’s creditor was the proprietor of several of London’s most infamous gaming halls, and he was a man known for his ruthlessness. It wasn’t a business a man rose to the top of without excelling at ruthlessness.

The tears began to spill from her eyes. “He looks so terrible, so haunted.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s probably living in streets and taverns, unable to go to his own home for fear of endangering his safety. If he doesn’t make good on the debts soon …” He let the fear in her eyes complete the sentence for him. “I can’t countenance simply giving him the funds, but I will purchase this house. For you.”

“Why on earth would I want it for myself?”

A small spark of hope warmed him inside, to know that she’d so completely forgotten the terms of their original agreement. “I intended to buy it in case you were unhappy living with me. After a child is born.” He reached to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Of course, now I’m hoping it can be a summer retreat for us both.”

“Spencer, this place is a piece of d’Orsay history. Our house in Town is long gone, and you’ve seen the ruins of Beauvale Castle. This cottage is all we have left. Our family pride is the very mortar holding these stones together. I can’t believe you would so callously strip it from us.”

“Callously? Perhaps this place belongs to Beauvale in name, but you are the one who cares for it so deeply. And what of our family? Why can’t we begin a new chapter of this house’s history, together?”

“What sort of chapter begins with tossing my brother to the wolves?”

By the devil, he was tired of hearing about her brother. When he managed to speak, his voice vibrated with anger. “How long are you going to keep defending him? You heard Jack. He’s on the verge of clearing his debt, once this transaction is completed. And all he wants is to get right back at the gaming table and drown himself again. He’s on course to meet with true disaster, and he has no compunction about dragging you along with him. If he stays in this house, he will work on you, make you all manner of promises … and then just devastate you all the more when you wake up one morning to find he’s made off with your pearls.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Her hand went to her throat as she shrugged away. “And if you truly thought I’d be so happy for you to purchase Briarbank, why didn’t you tell me? Instead you’ve gone behind my back, manipulating everyone to your own purpose. Even the first week of our marriage … you held my brother’s debt over my head, just to get me to the card table and get your hands on my—”

With a gasp, she pulled up short. She gestured toward the library and lowered her voice to an accusatory whisper. “That’s the entire reason for this house party, isn’t it? That little card game you’re about to play. You’ve arranged this whole holiday just to win those tokens and that dratted horse.”

He shrugged, unable to refute it.

Closing in on him, she jabbed a finger in his chest. “And you would lecture me on misplaced priorities. You led me to believe we were welcoming these people as friends and guests. I thought you wanted to be open and honest with them, gain their trust and cooperation. But no. Forget sincerity, we’re back to gamesmanship. All I ask is for you to give Jack a chance. Talk with him, help him see his errors, let him learn from your example. But you won’t hear of it—and no surprise, given the manner in which you treat your own kin. You never did speak with Claudia today, did you?”

“No.” He heaved a guilty sigh. No, he hadn’t. He could have offered some excuse, but it would have been a lie.

“I didn’t think so. My brother may have his problems, but you’re delusional if you present yourself as an exemplar of behavior. You’re so closed off and insular, it’s a wonder you can see beyond your own nose. The wealthy, intelligent duke who welcomes all manner of insidious gossip rather than admit to feeling uneasy in crowds? Who’d stand accused of murder rather than fall under suspicion of possessing a heart?”

He blinked, wounded. How could she say that? Perhaps he was reserved with everyone else, but he was different with her. She’d pulled him out of that insular, smug, goddamned lonely existence and made him yearn to be a part of this—this family, this home. Why couldn’t she see that he wanted it not just for her, but for them?

“Amelia …” As he began, his voice broke. He cleared his throat and started again, clearly and calmly. It shouldn’t be so hard to say this. “You are everything to me. The world is welcome to know it.”

“How would they? Because you’ve carried me out of a few ballrooms and tend to throw punches when I’m around? You’re wrenching this house away from my family. Uprooting it from centuries of d’Orsay history.” A sob caught in her throat. “Meanwhile you’ve been using me and my love for this place, just to gain custody of a horse. And now you’d cast my brother out, again.”

He caught her by the shoulders. “Damn it, you are the one who is letting Jack come between us. You’re so invested in this selfless martyr role. Somewhere inside you is that sixteen-year-old girl who believed she deserved her own happiness. The woman who has captivated me from the first time I held her and found I couldn’t let go. I’ve done my best to be understanding, but—”

“Your best? Oh, Spencer. I know you too well to believe that. If you would accuse me of denying myself, then please queue up for your share of the blame. I’ve never known a man so remarkable, so complex and caring … and so determined to hide it from the world. If I were ever so lucky as to glimpse your true, shining best, I’d probably expire where I stood from the brilliance.”

If she’d intended those words as a compliment, they damn well didn’t feel like one. They felt like brilliant shards of glass.

He sighed. “Say what you will, Amelia, you can’t deny that I’m making an effort. And I’m tired of coming in second to Jack for my pains. At least I’m trying to secure your happiness.”

“My happiness? How can I possibly be happy, when I know my brother is living on the London streets, brushing sleeves with danger every moment of the day?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll have to learn. Because Jack isn’t going to change.” He tipped her chin and lowered his voice. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to decide where your loyalties are. With him, or with me?”

She stared at him as though he were some sort of monster. Damn it, he wasn’t a monster. He was human. He wanted to know his wife loved him above any other man. Wouldn’t any husband want the same?

“If you knew me at all,” she said in a shaky voice, “you would understand how dearly I love my family. And if you ask me to deny them … you’ve made the choice yourself.” She grabbed the sheaf of legal papers from the table and clutched them to her chest. “These aren’t signed yet. So long as this house belongs to the d’Orsays, my brother is welcome in it. Jack stays.”

“Nothing good will come of it,” he warned. “He’ll only hurt you again.”

“Not half as much as you’re hurting me now.”

“Amelia …” He slowly stretched a hand toward her, but she flinched away before he’d halved the gap.

“Go,” she said, jerking her chin toward the library. “Go win your damn horse. We both know where your loyalties are.”

She was so prickly and emotional and filled with wrongheaded notions … he couldn’t even conceive of how to argue with her.

So he did what she’d asked. He went.

The library was small, and they huddled around the desk to play. Their game was brag. Piquet was Spencer’s forte, but it was only a two-player game.

It took time to lay a trap, and no small amount of patience. The first and most difficult task was to create the illusion that chance had a seat at the table. For the first hour or so of play, Spencer won a few hands and purposely lost several others. On a few occasions, his opponents’ superior play truly caught him off guard. He knew he ought to be using this time to observe Bellamy carefully. Every man, even the best of players, gave unconscious physical clues to what sort of cards he held. But Spencer just couldn’t focus on the arch of Bellamy’s eyebrow or the tapping of his finger. Memories of Amelia kept distracting him. He kept seeing her lovely blue eyes marred by redness. He heard her bitter words rattling in his ears. And other parts of him recalled the way she’d lavished her passion on him earlier that day, as he’d sat in this very chair. She had him more than distracted. He was damned confused.

She was right, to some extent. He had manipulated her with this holiday, along with everyone else. Purchasing the cottage in secret, conspiring with Rhys to get Bellamy to the card table. But did Amelia truly think her own imagining of this house party would have culminated in success? In her fantasy, she would open her house, her arms, and her heart to everyone, and Spencer would reveal a few long-held, mildly embarrassing secrets. Add in a week of angling and parlor games … conflict resolved. The three men would emerge as friends.

A naïve, impossible notion. Wasn’t it?

As Bellamy shuffled the cards and prepared to deal, Spencer cleared his throat and looked to Rhys. “Say, Ashworth … we’re not friends, are we?”

A healed gash scored the soldier’s face, and his eyebrow split as he looked up in surprise. “I don’t know. We’re not enemies.”

“Any further traumatic childhood incidents you feel moved to discuss?”

“Not particularly. You?”

Spencer shook his head. “None.”

Bellamy rapped the deck to square it, then began to deal. “While we’re having this little chat, I’ll take the opportunity to say I despise you both. And as far as you two are concerned, I was born to nomadic goatherds in Albania.”

That settled it. So much for friendship. Spencer gathered his cards. No pair, few prospects. Time to make good on his deal with Rhys. “Let’s stop mincing around, then. Ten thousand.” He scratched the sum on a piece of paper and shoved it to the center of the table.

Play turned to Rhys. “I don’t have ten thousand.”

“I’ll accept your token as an even wager against mine.”

“Ten?” His eyes said, I thought we agreed on fifteen. “Twenty, and we’ll call it an even exchange.”

Sly bastard. Spencer didn’t even feel like arguing. He just wanted this over. With a stub of charcoal, he altered the notation on the paper. “Done.”

Ashworth shook the brass token loose from his purse and laid it on the table before him, giving Spencer an enigmatic look. “It’s up to fate now.”

“I make my own fate, thank you.” Bellamy lifted the corner of his cards where they lay on the table. His face remained impassive. Spencer expected the man to get out of the way, wait to see how things shook out between him and Ashworth before risking anything of his own.

But Bellamy wasn’t that clever. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a brass coin. “Let’s do this. I’m tired of pushing pennies back and forth. I need to talk to that whore before her memories fade any further and find out who was with Leo that night. Perhaps his companion could lead me to the killers.”

“Perhaps his companion died too,” Ashworth said.

“We would have known by now, if another gentleman of the ton went missing or turned up dead the same night. That wouldn’t make sense.” After a pause, Bellamy added thoughtfully, “Unless he had something to do with the attack …”

Spencer groaned. “For God’s sake, stop looking for vast conspiracies in a random crime. No, it doesn’t make sense. By definition, a senseless tragedy never will. Maybe the prostitute was lying, or simply confused.”

“Maybe.” Bellamy tapped his coin on the table testily. “But the sooner I talk to her, the sooner I’ll know, won’t I?” He flung the token to the center of the table. “One hand. All ten tokens. Winner takes all.”

“I’ve already put in twenty thousand,” Spencer protested. “You expect me to put in all my tokens, too?”

“Do you want the horse, or don’t you?” Bellamy’s eyes were hard. “This is your only chance. Win or lose—after this hand, I get up from the table and walk away.”

Spencer stared hard at the man’s expression, scanning in vain for some tic in his jaw or telltale dilation of his pupils. Damn it, he ought to have forced himself to concentrate earlier. If he had, he might have known whether Bellamy truly had the cards to back up his bet, or just wanted to scare Spencer off, so he could leave the table with his token and dignity.

Regardless of what cards Bellamy held, Spencer knew his own were worthless. True, there were more cards to be dealt and he might catch a stroke of luck, but if Spencer called this bet, the odds were he would lose everything.

Well, not everything. The excessive drama of the thought struck even him as overwrought. What was truly at stake here? A few lumps of brass and an aging stallion? Suddenly, none of it seemed worth a damn. His wife, on the other hand—now, Amelia was irreplaceable.

He’d been pursuing this goal with such focus, for so long … giving it up simply hadn’t been an option. After all this time, he’d practically lost sight of why he wanted the stallion in the first place. If he gave up on Osiris, he’d reasoned at the outset, he would be giving up on Juno. And to give up on Juno would have felt uncomfortably close to giving up on himself. Would have, in the past. But this was the present. More to the point, this was the beginning of his future. The only reason they were gathered was because Leo Chatwick, his peer and contemporary, had died far too young. Was this truly what Spencer wanted inscribed on his own grave marker? “Brilliant cardsharp, good with horses?”

For a moment, he imagined what would happen if he lost. He would leave all ten tokens and any stake in Osiris on this table, and then go upstairs to make amends to his wife. Pledge to make her his priority, and hope and pray that she could one day find it in her heart to return the sentiment. Cover her body with kisses; whisper words of love against her skin. Make love to her until neither of them had the strength to stand.

How would losing feel? It would feel damn good. It would feel remarkably like a victory.

This was the moment to walk away.

Apparently, Bellamy had decided the same. He picked up the token and replaced it in his pocket as he rose. “Well, then. If you haven’t the stones—”

“Sit down,” Spencer told him, flipping Leo’s token into the center of the desk. “We’re going to finish this tonight. The other tokens are upstairs. Let me send a servant for the lockbox.”

He rose from his chair, but before he could even reach the door, Amelia burst through it. Behind her came Lily, dressed in nightclothes and wrapper, her unbound hair hanging to her waist. Both women wore expressions of fear.

“Good God, what is it?” Spencer moved to take Amelia in his arms. To the devil with horses and cards … At that moment, embracing her was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. It seemed the thing he’d been made to do. She needed him, and she’d come to him. He wouldn’t let anything hurt her now.

But as he reached for her, her arms stiffened. She held him off.

“We’ve no time,” she said, swallowing hard. “Claudia is missing.”