“You wanted me to kill you,” Spencer repeated.
“That’s why I kept getting up. I wanted to die, and I knew if I kept putting my face in front of your fist, you had the strength and fury to do me in.” He looked to Bellamy. “But he didn’t.”
“That’s disgusting,” Spencer said. “You would have left me with that guilt all my life, believing I’d murdered you in cold blood? What the devil is wrong with you?”
Rhys shrugged. “Too many things to list tonight. You were the first I tried that with, but not the last. Took me a long time to give up on the strategy of picking fights in hopes of getting pummeled into my grave.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.” Rhys cocked his head. “Until a month or so ago? In the infantry, they kept decorating me for it. Finally realized only the good die young. At any rate, Bellamy, I can assure you His Grace isn’t capable of murder.”
“That was years ago,” Bellamy said. “It doesn’t prove a damn thing.”
“Perhaps not. But this does.” Spencer drew Leo’s token from his waistcoat pocket and tossed it onto the table. “It’s his,” he said, answering the silent question. “I’ve seven more upstairs, if you want to count.”
“I knew it,” Bellamy said, his face going red. “I knew you—”
“It was me,” Jack said. “I mean, it wasn’t me who killed Leo. But I found that token. It was in the possession of a wh—”
Spencer threw his fist down on the table. “Not now,” he growled, casting a look at Claudia. For God’s sake, he suddenly realized they’d been discussing violence and murder right in front of her. They weren’t going to discuss whores, too. “We’re not having this conversation in front of the child.”
“I’m not a child!” Claudia protested, banging a fork against her plate. Her eyes swam with tears. “When are you going to realize that?”
“Eat your salmon,” he told her.
“I’m not going to eat the dratted salmon.” She stabbed it with her fork and muttered, “I hate you.”
Spencer sighed. He didn’t suppose that comment was directed at the fish. He looked to Amelia, hoping she would intervene and use her hostess’s charm to rescue this wreck of a dinner. But his wife wouldn’t meet his gaze. She was staring down at her own salmon, wearing a puzzled frown. All evening, she’d been strangely preoccupied.
Bellamy said, “Send the girl to bed if you must. But I’ve been slaving day and night for the past month to find the men who killed Leo, and if anyone at this table has information, I want to hear it now.”
“I found the token,” Jack said. “It was in the possession of the wh—” He absorbed Spencer’s cutting glare. “Of the witness to Leo’s attack. The one who called for the hack and delivered him to your house.”
“When did you recover it?”
“Just the day after his death.”
“And you told no one?”
Jack shrugged. “At the time, I didn’t know you were looking for it, or even that it was Leo’s. I met with her in Covent Garden, but I suppose she’d made a special excursion to Whitechapel that night for the boxing match. Anyhow, when I tried to find her again, she’d disappeared. I’d given her a guinea in exchange for the token. Seems she’d decided to take a holiday with her windfall and gone to visit her mother in Dover.”
Spencer caught Bellamy’s gaze. “That’s why neither of us had any luck finding her ourselves.”
“What do you mean, ‘neither of us’?”
“Later.” He most definitely was not discussing his day of searching Whitechapel taverns and brothels in front of Claudia. “But at least we know this. Whoever killed Leo, they weren’t after his token. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have ended in the hands of a passerby.” He turned to Jack. “But you did find her?”
“Eventually, yes.” He gave Spencer a look. “Thought it might help.”
Interesting. So now Jack wanted to help him? Spencer had no doubt what sort of help Jack would ask in return.
“And then you just left her again?” Bellamy speared both hands through his unkempt hair in exasperation. “Where is she now?”
“Relaxing in finer accommodations than she’s ever enjoyed in her life,” Jack answered. “Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere. Someone’s watching her.”
“Did she have any further information? Did she see his attackers?”
“Only glimpses, in retreat. Her descriptions of them are vague at best. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in coarse attire. She couldn’t describe them with any helpful detail. What was interesting”—he raised an eyebrow in a theatrical pause—“was her description of Leo’s companion.”
Silence.
“What?” Bellamy finally managed. “But … but he was alone that night.”
“No, he wasn’t. There was another man with Leo when he was attacked. The harlot remembered his features quite well—hair, height, clothes, looks.” He turned a steely gaze on Bellamy. “From her description, the man looked a great deal like you.”
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.