Chapter 12
The horrid events of the past few hours surfaced a new kind of panic. That she had revealed the secret of her near defilement to Anthony. That he had kissed her. Suddenly she wanted to dive beneath the covers of her bed, plant a pillow over her head and force out the chaos surrounding her. Pretending that she had no time for emotion, for grief, for guilt, for responsibility, only the crisis facing the Rutlands to block the dissonance of her thoughts.
If that could ever happen.
She had taken a bath, changed into a clean dress, and now welcomed the radiating warmth of a stoked fire in the library to thaw out her bones. Aunt Margaret snored in a wingback chair. To tuck her toes beneath her skirts and join Anthony’s charming aunt had appeal for she was barely able to keep her eyelids open.
“The highway men are being questioned. One of my hired guards was a former army sergeant and very good at convincing them that the accuracy of their truth is critical,” said the Duke, his voice firm and solid.
“I don’t think you will get much out of them,” said Anthony. “They didn’t seem to know about the carriage, but maybe they witnessed something that might prove helpful.”
“What did the man in the village who accosted you look like?”
The Duke pulled Rachel from her musings. Adding details, she’d forgotten, she restated his description. “He had a skeletal face and his body seemed wasted away, red cap, a coarse Simian nose that sniffed every which way for wandering odors, moist black eyes that protruded out of pouched pockets and darted all over the place.”
Anthony nodded, his aquiline jaw working in frustrated circles as though chewing on a thought. “Any of your tenants who fit that description?” he asked his father.
“Not one that I can think of,” said the Duke. “I will have someone investigate.”
“Could it be—” Rachel pulled Anthony back to the past.
“Interesting,” Anthony nodded.
“I’m not following,” said the Duke.
“A relative of Percy Devol, the man who had kidnapped Abby?” Anthony explained. “You think the culprit who sawed the axle—”
“Sure…strangely and—” She stopped short, his meaning registered. “Killed your assistant?”
“It would explain a lot,” Anthony said. “I’ve been thinking of the precision of the carriage axle being sawed…how long it had taken, over rough roads, someone had timed it before, practiced it even.
Puzzled by this last point…how long had it taken, Rachel asked, “And where did the coach driver go? What about the stable master?”
“The stable master was found tied up in the back of the stables,” said Anthony’s father. He received a whack on the head and was out cold. He didn’t see or hear anyone.”
The butler came into the room followed by a footman with trays of hot tea, scones, sandwiches and a large plate of cream puffs. Dreaming of the delicate pastry, Rachel eyed the arranged plate, her stomach rumbling with an unladylike sound. She groaned. Even a crumb would be a feast.
“As you wished.” A sliver of knowing mischief slipped into his smile, and her heart increased in tempo.
The footman poured her tea into a delicate china cup, the loveliest shade of cobalt blue and bordered with a bright gold.
When the footman finished serving, the Duke nodded for his dismissal.
Sebastian, the butler closed the doors and returned.
“Please tell us what you have learned, Sebastian,” said Anthony’s father.
“Your Grace, there is not much we were able to get from the highwaymen. They are East Londoners, had nothing to do with the carriage accident, or George’s demise. The sergeant was very thorough. The territory they employed for their nefarious business dealings in East London proved competitive, forcing them to search new and available pickings, on your estate. The ill-fated circumstance was that they ran into Lord Anthony. No one local would have taken on his lordship.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Sebastian,” said Anthony.
Rachel agreed. Anthony could fight. That savage masculine face, all angles and cleverness and startling blue eyes. Handsome except for the black and blue bruises that swelled, both repugnant and compelling. The odds set against him, outgunned and outmanned, and how he had dispatched them—this Anthony was not the man she had met before. A thrill of danger brushed her spine, and at the same time, she squelched the urge to sit next to him and comfort him. He nudged a crystal dish of butterscotch pudding toward her.
She stared at his beautiful face and beautiful lips. Magic and wonder all rolled into one. What would you do Lord Anthony if I kissed you?
“The guards caught a man in the trees bordering the castle, but he was here to see one of the housemaids,” Sebastian added.
“I’ll alert the tenants to keep their eyes and ears open, post more guards. With this situation, none of us are safe,” growled the Duke.
Rachel took her first bite of the buttery sweet pudding that melted in a mélange of spices on her tongue. She couldn’t help but savor the confectionary taste of what had looked like an unassuming dish. “We arrive at the same deduction then.”
“Meaning?” Anthony cocked his head, and Rachel could sense the wheels turning. He shifted his gaze to her lips, and then back to her, his eyes wide. “You think—”
“Meaning that it confirms our conclusions of someone with influence and a lot of money is involved.”
He dropped three cream puffs on her plate.
Rachel stared at him like he’d lost his mind. She picked up a cream puff and took a bite. An errant pearl of white cream escaped and she chased it back into her mouth with the tip of her finger. Anthony caught her breach in etiquette. The lighting in his eyes went from grey to deep blue. Her stomach erupted in a flurry of moths, raining memories of the way he’d reached for her in the carriage and kissed her and then again right after they had been held-up by the highwaymen. Like a man in the desert who reaches for water. She liked that thirst.
“The dog has been given a bath, fed and resides in the stable. She is happy in her new home.” Rachel melted. Anthony had given her a little bit of sunshine and hope in a world of shadow and pain. She breathed easier since she had confessed to Anthony of her past and felt better because of the declaration. This interlude in time she would always remember and wanted to savor.
He shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”
Aunt Margaret sat up and blinked. “I must have fallen asleep. You two look so tired. You should retire.”
Rachel needed no prodding, swaying as she stood.
Anthony rose to steady her, “I believe we have exhausted everything there is to say. I will escort, Miss Thorne upstairs.”
Sebastian peeked through the doors, and then closed them. “They are upstairs, Your Grace.”
The Duke raised his brandy snifter, rolled the amber liquid around in the crystal. “Do you think the romance is advancing?”
Aunt Margaret tilted her grey head. “Of course it is. Didn’t you see how Miss Thorne darted glances at Anthony like she wanted to get up and fuss over his bruises? Didn’t you see how Anthony insisted on escorting her upstairs as if she were the most precious thing in the world?”
The Duke reared, thunderstruck. “I missed that.”
She looked down her nose. “Most men would, so don’t feel left out.”
Sebastian coughed.
“Have you worked out a deal with Miss Thorne to build her invention?” Margaret demanded.
Wasn’t he the Duke? How Aunt Margaret loved to command. She still thought of him in his nappies, yet he had to admit, her battle instincts were inspiring and—remarkable. “I engaged her to do the job as a quid pro-quo for the wardrobe, but keeping them apart, how can we keep the attraction going?”
“Thought blackmail beneath you, Richard. You have surprised me with your resourcefulness.” With all the benevolence in the world, she gave him a firm nod.
Should he genuflect?
“To answer your question, the mysteries of attraction cannot be explained through logic.”
The Duke flicked his gaze upward. “Abby said they were meant for each other, and I concur with her thoughts. Anthony has come out of his shell, and I would buy Miss Thorne a thousand wardrobes. I can’t thank her enough.”
“She is magic,” said Sebastian. “A delight to have around, if I may say so, Your Grace.”
The Duke sipped his brandy. “I will do anything to get her in the family. They are the same, yet uniquely different.”
Aunt Margaret tapped her fingertips together. “Sometimes the fractures in two separate souls become the hinges that hold them together.”
“But with all this chaos. The sawed carriage wheel has yet to be investigated. Where was the carriage, who was near it today? Then there is the problem of Anthony’s murdered assistant, the two highwaymen. How can a relationship develop?”
Aunt Margaret displayed a playful grin. “Courage and perseverance are the magic amulet before which complications disappear and obstacles vanish into air.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
Aunt Margaret snorted, “Doesn’t everyone.”