Chapter Thirty-Two
“What do you mean he is a suspect?” Sophie exclaimed, pulling away from Abelard’s touch like he’d burned her. “That is absolutely ridiculous. You cannot be serious.”
“I am completely so,” he said.
“You do not truly expect me to believe that Scotland Yard would even consider that a Duke, let alone the Duke of Huntington, is responsible for committing such murders?”
“Just because he is a peer of the realm does not make him immune from being able to commit murder.”
“I know that,” Sophie snapped. “But to even consider casting doubt upon his reputation, they would need some very solid proof first.”
“His Ducal ring was found under the latest victim’s body.”
Sophie blinked. Ducal…oh no. “What do you mean? Who told you such a thing?”
“The Scotland Yard Inspector who is in charge of the investigation.”
“Surely he is mistaken?” Of course he was. It was the only explanation. “Devlin has nothing to do with these murders.”
He lifted his shoulders, a maddening expression of regret emblazoned across his features. “The ring bears the very distinctive family crest of the Duke of Huntington.”
“But that makes no sense at all,” she declared. “Why would Devlin’s ring be there in the first place?” Devlin may have been many things, but he was not stupid. And leaving a ring so clearly tied to himself at the scene of a murder would have been the very height of stupidity.
“I do not know. But the ring was found underneath the girl’s body. Hence why he is a suspect.”
“A ring with his crest on it? A ring can easily be stolen or forged,” she scoffed. And though she’d never seen Devlin wearing his ducal ring, not for one instant did she believe he was involved in the matter. “Scotland Yard would be best served expending their energies in exploring that line of enquiry, rather than wasting their time chasing the wrong man.”
“Perhaps,” Abelard allowed. “However, the ring itself is very intricate, and the Duke is notorious about guarding what’s his. Which begs the question, why would anyone go to the trouble of either stealing it or spending a significant amount of expense to forge such a ring and then leave it at the scene of the crime?”
She narrowed her eyes, unable to believe the turn of events. How was Devlin mixed up in this? It simply made no sense whatsoever. There could be only one explanation. “Well, evidently someone is trying to frame him,” she said. “He has told me that over the years during some business dealings, he has amassed a great deal of enemies.”
“I am sure he has. But you must admit that it makes little sense for one of his business competitors to go to the trouble of forging an identical replica of the Huntington family ring and murder innocent servants simply to implicate Huntington.”
“How do you know what this ring does or does not look like?” she asked.
“I inspected it at Scotland Yard this afternoon.”
“You inspected it?” She was incredulous. “Why would they allow you to do such a thing? Apart from your wife’s journal, what is your interest in this affair, Abelard?”
“Aside from finding Jane, my interest was very little,” he whispered down to her. “Until I discovered that the man you have agreed to marry is a suspect. I am worried about you, Sophie.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she icily replied. “But your concern is completely unnecessary, for I know Devlin has nothing to do with these gruesome murders.”
“Even if he did have nothing to do with them and is being framed as you suggested, then as the Duke’s fiancée, you could still be in grave danger. But if he did actually have something to do with them—”
“He did not,” she interrupted. “I do not know how many times I must repeat myself.”
“Did you not notice that the killings only began after Huntington’s arrival here in London some weeks ago?”
Sophie crossed her arms and gave him a pointed stare. “Did you not also arrive in the country around the same time as the Duke?”
He tilted his chin to regard her cryptically. “Yes, I did. But I can assure you that I have nothing to do with these murders. It was not my ring found underneath that poor girl’s body.”
“And there could be a dozen explanations as to why the ring was found there,” she said. “It does not follow that Devlin had anything to do with the deaths. If Scotland Yard are focusing their attentions on Devlin, then whoever the true killer is will possibly get away with murder.” Oh, what a horrid turn of events. Her fiancé suspected of murder, and the person who harmed dear Jane seeing no justice in the meantime. But why on Earth was the Earl so concerned with the matter? He might be an old family friend, but the man had gone and spoken to Scotland Yard about it all. His actions did not add up. “Why are you so invested in all of this?”
He was silent for a moment, as if weighing up his next words carefully. “Aside from the fact that you are a great friend to my family, and I am concerned about your engagement to Huntington, I must find my wife’s journal. I thought perhaps it may have been recovered with Jane’s remains.”
“Why do you care so greatly about a journal of your wife’s?”
The Earl exhaled and walked over to the edge of the balcony. He ran a hand through his light brown hair as he looked out over the moonless gardens below. “Do you know how my wife died?”
Sophie paused for a moment as she thought over the matter. Her aunt may have mentioned a fever, or some such, but she couldn’t remember particularly. “Actually, no, I don’t know. I think we all assumed it was from some illness while you were both away on the Continent.”
He held her eyes with his own, his shoulders rigid with tension. “What is not commonly known is that Grace was murdered.”
Murdered? It seemed incomprehensible. “But surely I would have remembered hearing such a thing.”
He looked off into the distance. “The Crimean War was waging, and we were in Europe at the time. The authorities were more than happy to keep the public and particularly the members of high society from discovering that a Countess had been brutally slain in her own bed. It was easier to spread the rumor that she died from an infection of the lungs.”
“Richard, I am so very sorry.” She approached him and placed her hand on his arm, giving it a quick squeeze, her deep sympathy causing her to use his first name. The poor man had been through more than she could even imagine.
He appeared to not even notice the contact, lost as he seemed to be in the horrid memories of his past.
“I found her, did you know that?” He laughed somewhat bitterly. “I had been expecting to catch her and her lover in her bed.”
“She had a lover?” The news shocked her so deeply, it almost felt like a physical blow. Her one consolation after Abelard had unknowingly broken her heart was that he had been so happy with his new bride.
He smiled, rather ruefully. “Yes. Several, over the short time we were together, in fact.”
The idea that he could have been betrayed so wretchedly, by a woman who had taken a vow to love and be faithful to him, was just dreadful. Her heart ached for him. “But how could she do such a thing when she was married to you?”
A faraway look settled in his eyes, and even though he was staring right at her, Sophie knew he didn’t see her, lost as he was somewhere in the past. “Grace was not the angel everyone assumed her to be, though she was very good at playing the role. I found out the hard way how calculating and deceptive she was after I married her. When I discovered that she had acquired another lover yet again and had taken him to her bed, I decided to confront them, but instead, I found her lifeless body surrounded by blood-soaked sheets.”
She pressed her palms together and brought them in front of her mouth, horrified. “How absolutely dreadful for you. Do you know why her lover killed her?”
He focused on her for a moment before looking away, a distant expression once more crossing his features. “No. I do not.”
Sophie didn’t know why, but she didn’t believe him. “Is that why you were not sure if Jane took the jewels and journal, because your wife’s lover may have?”
He blinked a couple of times and brought his focus back on to Sophie with a sigh. “Yes. After I discovered the items gone, I assumed that whoever her lover was had taken them. But I have since received information to suggest that may not have been so, and I wished to clarify some details with Jane. I cannot ask her now, though.” He cleared his throat. “That is why I went and spoke to Scotland Yard. I wanted to see if my wife’s journal, which I think may have her killer’s name written in its pages, had been found with Jane’s belongings. Unfortunately, it was not. However, I do have a promising new lead to follow to hopefully find the journal. But if that turns into a dead end, I fear I am no closer to finding Grace’s killer than I was last year.”
“You have been chasing him?” Sophie gasped. “But if Grace was having an affair, why would you bother?”
“Though my love for her faded very quickly, no one deserved to die like that,” he said softly. “Besides, I think I may have been partly responsible for her death.”
“You could not have predicted such an outcome,” Sophie said, placing a hand on each of his upper arms. “It is not as if it is routine for someone’s lover to go and murder them.”
His expression became guarded. “No, but I was her husband, and I should have protected her better. Hence why I am determined to find her killer and have tracked him here to London. I must stop him before he kills anyone else.”
“You know his name then?” Sophie asked. “Did you tell the authorities?”
There was a pregnant pause from him. “I do not know his true identity, only of some aliases he uses.”
The only sort of people she knew that used aliases were certainly not up to any good. “What on Earth was the man doing using aliases?” Sophie asked.
He looked away and cleared his throat before finally replying. “Again, I do not know.”
“Oh, I rather think you do,” Devlin said as he stepped out from behind the balcony column and into the alcove, two flutes of champagne in his hand.
“Devlin,” Sophie exclaimed. “You gave me a fright.”
“But surely you were expecting me? I did say I would get us drinks, remember, my dear?”
Sophie paused, uncertain as to why he appeared annoyed. “Yes, but I got somewhat distracted with the Earl’s narrative.”
“Yes, my condolences, Abelard.” Devlin’s hard edges softened a bit as he acknowledged the Earl’s loss.
Abelard, however, apparently wasn’t about to grasp the olive branch, small though it was. “Listening in on private conversations, Huntington?” he said. “How very crass of you, but really, what else is one to expect?”
Devlin’s jaw tightened, but he otherwise did not give any impression that the barb had hit its mark. “Is it not crass,” he said with calm aloofness, “to have a private conversation out on a balcony alone with a female engaged to another? One might think you were planning something illicit.”
“It was not like that at all,” Sophie said. The fact that he could casually suggest something so untoward was beyond hurtful.
“No, it was not,” Abelard stated. “I had to warn Lady Sophie, about you actually.”
Devlin’s mouth twisted. “You did, did you? As you are in the mood to disclose things, perhaps you should tell Sophie the real reason why your late wife’s lover might have murdered her?”
Abelard narrowed his eyes. “As I said to Sophie, I do not know.”
“Perhaps you can speculate then?” Devlin suggested. “For you appear to be very adept at it, already having speculated about myself a great deal this evening.”
“Disclosing some known facts,” Abelard began, “is very different from speculating about something. Besides, what business is it of yours, in any event?”
The deliberate clip of Devlin’s boots as he walked over to the other side of the alcove rang menacingly into the night. He placed the two glasses down on the stone wall of the balcony, then twisted back to the two of them. “When one attempts to scare my fiancée with ludicrous tales that I am a murderer, I think perhaps one should know if the source is a reliable one or not?”
“Of course Sophie knows that I am a reliable source,” the Earl stated, not in the least bit discomposed at Devlin having heard that part of his accusations.
“Does she now?” Devlin asked. “Would a reliable and trustworthy source have spent the best part of a decade spying for our country over in Europe?”
Sophie glanced from one man to the other. Would the night’s surprises never end? Lord Abelard, a spy, one of the most duplicitous professions known to man? The very thought would have been absurd—except she knew Devlin well enough by now to know he was completely blunt and forthright. He would not have made the accusation without solid evidence to back it up.
“Now who is speculating?” Abelard scoffed.
Devlin grinned, his beautiful smile tainted by the mockery behind it. “We both know it is no idle speculation. You’ve been dirtying your hands in muddy waters, Abelard. You are not the benign do-gooder you like everyone to believe of you.”
Sophie couldn’t help but gasp as the thought truly hit home. Lord Abelard was kind and charitable to others. Or had that all just been a facade? “I thought you helped others? That you were involved in charitable works?”
He had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I help our country, Sophie. In that way, I do help others. How did you find out?” he asked Devlin.
“How do you think I did?” Devlin replied. “I, too, have worked for the War Office.”
Sophie blinked. “You are a spy, too?” The notion didn’t quite shock her as much as it had with Abelard. Devlin did seem to possess the requisite qualities she assumed would make a good spy. But, by goodness, the man hadn’t said a word to her, and that was not acceptable!
“God, no!” Devlin insisted. “I have only assisted from time to time by passing on information to them.”
“And you did not tell me?” she exclaimed. “In fact, you have not told me anything of importance, have you? You did not tell me about being a suspect in the murders, did you?”
“No, the suggestion itself was ridiculous beyond measure,” Devlin affirmed. “I felt it unnecessary to tell you. These sorts of things are best handled by men. No need to worry you over such matters.”
“Handled by men?” Sophie saw red. How dare he dismiss her so! She moved toward him and pushed her hands against his chest. “You highhanded, presumptuous man!” Devlin didn’t budge even so much as an inch.
“Are you finished?” he asked, his tone perfectly calm.
The fury inside her rose to a crescendo. That he could stand there and be so composed, telling her he had happily kept things from her simply because she was a woman, was infuriating. What else was he keeping from her? And what else would he keep from her in the future if this was what he did now before they were even married? “Yes, I am finished. In fact, I have had quite enough of both of you.” Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the alcove.
She heard Devlin start to follow her.
Whipping her body around, she pointed at him. “Do not follow me, sir! I am too mad with you at the moment, and you definitely would not like what I have to say.”
“Damn it, Sophie.” Devlin exhaled loudly. “I did not want to worry you.”
She scoffed as her hands flew into the air in exasperation. “I am to be your wife, not some child that you must coddle. And let me assure you that, as a woman, I can handle anything you can! If you cannot accept that fact, then I do not think that this marriage should go ahead.”