A Matter of Principle (11 page)

It would not do to be caught. Lily had instructed Bella, her house slave, to notify her each time Taycie was summoned after dark. Then she dressed and rode out on her own mission. The more nights that Taycie’s presence was required, the more chances Lily had to pursue her goal.

Lily slipped into the dining room and poured a glass of wine. She drank it quickly then climbed the main stairs to her room. Once there, she undressed, dropping her wool dress and shift to the floor. She didn’t wear a corset on these outings.

Lily’s body still glowed from her assignation. Her breasts were ruddy and tingly. She washed the stickiness from between her legs, gentle against her abraded skin. Lily smiled.
He was a bit rough tonight.
That was of no concern. There were times when a woman liked a little force.

Besides, when a man was under the influence of drink, or a surreptitiously served drug, he was not fully sensible of his actions.

Lily climbed, naked, into bed. Lulled by the wine and her night’s experiences, she slept.

Chapter Eight

December 2, 1821

St. Louis

Rodger Merrick trotted up the frost-edged steps to the red brick offices of the
St. Louis Enquirer
. He wore his usual chestnut brown greatcoat, designed to be unobtrusive. As a regular columnist, it was advisable to be invisible.

He touched the curled brim of his black felt hat and dipped his chin, holding the door open for a pair of exquisitely dresses ladies. They smiled at him, flirting with a glance and a gloved touch, as they quit the building.

Rodger smiled in return and stepped past them into the warmth of the office. He was well aware that women found his slim, graceful build and dark looks exotic; they told him so often enough.

“
How are you this bright morning, Merrick?” Ralston VanDoren eyed the younger man with keen interest.

“
I’m doing well, sir.” Rodger moved to his desk and lifted the morning’s mail. He shuffled through the missives.

“
Better than your friend Percival, I’ll wager!” VanDoren offered Rodger a cup of coffee.

Rodger shifted his attention to his employer and accepted the steaming brew. “What have you heard?”

“
Quite a ruckus last evening! Old Camden McPherson was deep in his cups when he made unappreciated advances toward a lovely lady… what was her name?” He tapped his chin, brow wrinkled.

“
And Percival?” Rodger brought him back to his point.

“
Right! Seems he came to the lady’s aid.”

“
Tell me, Doren.” Rodger leaned his hands on his tall desk. “In what manner?”

“
McPherson took her to a back room, no doubt to have a private meeting, if you follow me?” VanDoren winked. “An hour later he shoots out like a cannonball, screaming like an ingénue, saying that Herbert Q. Percival invaded the room and removed the lady!”

“
Did he see Percival?” Rodger asked sharply.

“
Apparently not. He says he ‘closed his eyes a bit’ and when he came sensible, the lady was gone.”

“
And that is the end of it?” Rodger sipped his coffee, his knuckles white around the mug.

VanDoren grinned. “No. Herb left a note.”

Rodger lifted one brow. “It said?”

“
Only the word ‘thanks.’ What do you suppose that means?”

Rodger smiled, reached into his waistcoat pocket, and retrieved a folded paper. “It means he stayed up late, writing.”

“
Did you read it?” VanDoren snatched the ink-scribbled paper.

“
Of course!” Rodger let the older man have the article.

“
Is it good?”

“
It is. It seems that Camden is funding some less than reputable establishments.”

VanDoren read silently for several minutes, his mercenary smile widening.

“
This is more than good, Merrick. It’s going to blow the top off McPherson’s reputation. To say nothing of his marriage!” His vivid blue eyes met Rodger’s. “I shall pay him well for this little gem. But tell me, when am I going to meet this elusive friend of yours?”

“
Doren…”

“
It’s been nearly a year, Merrick!” He folded the paper and pushed it into his pocket. “You, yourself, have been here over a year and a half! Don’t you trust me to know?”

“
We’ve had this discussion before. Nothing has changed.”

“
But you do know where he lives?” VanDoren pressed.

Rodger sat on the tall stool at his desk. “I don’t actually. His column always arrives by messenger.”

Ralston VanDoren slapped the desktop in frustration. “Damn it, Merrick! If you weren’t so…”

“
Stop twisting yourself, Ralston. It’s of no consequence. Tell me what’s new and of interest today, won’t you?”

VanDoren considered Rodger with narrowed eyes. Apparently deciding that no ground was to be gained, he switched tack. “The list of candidates for representative from St. Louis County has been released in St. Charles.”

“
How many are running?” Rodger searched through papers on his desk, distracted.

“
Only two.” VanDoren read from a paper, “A Winston Beckermann—”

“
The warehouse gentleman?” Rodger interrupted.

“
That’s him! Owns half the docks as well.”

“
He’s ripe for scandal, I would imagine. Who knows what sort of trade he’s involved in!”

VanDoren’s eyes lit up. “That’s true!”

“
And the other?” Rodger asked.

“
The other is a nobody. A landowner from—” VanDoren squinted at the page. “Cheltenham.”

There was no absolute reason for Rodger to stop breathing, but he did.

“
Name?” he croaked, and cleared his throat. “What’s the name?” he tried again.

“
Nicolas Hansen.”

Rodger’s world tipped. He grasped the edges of his desk as rage reddened his vision.

VanDoren continued to comment, unnoticing. “Seems to be a rather ordinary fellow. Probably some bumpkin who has no inkling what he’s in for.”

Rodger forced himself to respond, his voice tight. “I wouldn’t discount him as yet.” He shot a meaningful look at the editor, jaw clenched. “Sometimes the quiet ones have the most to hide.”

“
Maybe.” VanDoren shrugged and dropped the paper on Rodger’s desk. “Can you have a column on each of them by tomorrow?”

“
How accurate?”

“
It’s of no consequence, my boy.” VanDoren grinned, parroting Rodger’s words. “That’s what back page retractions are for!”

Rodger stood and buttoned his greatcoat, hoping his trembling fingers were not obvious. “I’ll see what I might dig up concerning Beckermann. But the country fellow may take more time.”

“
Well, see what you can find. I know you’ll come through. You always do.” VanDoren turned and, walking away, began to re-read Percival’s column. “Damn, this is good!”



Rodger slammed the door of his apartment with a loud, “Shit!”

Lesley Walterson turned away from the dressing table mirror, slender fingers imbedded in the wig he was styling. “Merry? What’s happened? Why are you home?”

Rodger swept out of his greatcoat and swirled it to the floor, a bullfighter taunting his prey. “Hansen,” he hissed. The look he sent his valet would have killed a lesser man.

“
Oh, my.” Lesley lifted the wig from his scalp and set it on a stand. His short-cropped blond hair lay flat against his skull; though he tried to fluff it, he still looked bald.

“
And take off that ridiculous make-up!” Rodger shouted.

Lesley moistened a cloth and obediently wiped his face. “I’m only experimenting for you and you know it,” he pouted.

Rodger sighed and slumped into the nearest chair. “Today’s news has me undone.”

Lesley stood and walked to the kitchen. “Tea or coffee?”

“
Coffee. And whiskey.”

Lesley popped his head back through the doorway. “Shall we skip the coffee altogether?”

“
Maybe,” Rodger muttered. He slapped both hands over his face. “That man will be the death of me if I don’t get to him first, I swear it!”

Lesley brought the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured without speaking and waited for Rodger to down the first drink. Then he refilled Rodger’s glass. “Tell me,” he said gently, and sat on the floor at Rodger’s feet.

Rodger stared at him, jaw flexing, tears stinging his eyes. “Seems he’s running for office.”

“
What office?”

“
State representative from St. Louis County.”

Lesley poured himself a second drink. “Have you considered how handy that might be?”

Rodger didn’t move. “No. I only… Hearing his name brought back so many mem—I only thought of coming home!” he stuttered.

He pounded a delicately boned fist on the arm of the chair. He didn’t want to cry; he didn’t want to give Hansen that power. But it was of no use.

Lesley rubbed his calf, consoling. “Let it out, Merry. It will do you good.”

Rodger continued to pound the innocent wooden arm. “I’ve cried enough, damn it! It won’t bring Edward back! Frigging murderer!”

“
I know,” Lesley whispered.

“
And Devin? My God, Devin. My first…” He swiped his cheeks. “I truly believed that after his wife Siobhan found us out we would escape together. But Devin wouldn’t leave well enough alone. Had to go right under Hansen’s nose.”

“
So you’ve said.”

“
And now Devin is banished to who knows where?” Rodger wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. “To know he’s alive, but I can never… Lord, I miss him!”

Lesley rose to his knees and took Rodger’s hands in his. “Someone will come along for you, Merry. You are young, yet.”

Rodger could not breathe right, his chest twitched spastically. “That’s why I moved to St. Louis,” he murmured between gasps.

“
I know, love.”

They rested, wordless.

“
And you, Les?” Rodger looked into his valet’s soft gray eyes.

“
I am young. At heart.” Lesley shrugged. “I’m not yet forty.”

Rodger ventured a rueful smile, tears dripping into his mouth. He licked them away. “We are a sorrowful pair, Les.”

“
Speak for yourself, Merry!” Lesley slapped Rodger’s thigh, stinging it playfully. “I have a prospect.”

Rodger’s jaw dropped. “Lesley! Who?”

“
An actor.” Lesley threw up his palm. “I know! Don’t say a word!”

Rodger laughed a little; Lesley always seemed to raise his spirits. “I shan’t say a thing, though after losing Edward there will be no more actors in my bed. But steal more tricks, will you?” he prompted.

“
Of course! Where do you think I procured the new wig?” Lesley waved at the table. He stood and collected the empty glasses. “Are you ready to scheme?”

“
Scheme? About Hansen, you mean?” Rodger’s gaze skimmed Lesley’s backside as the valet carried the crystal to the kitchen. The man still had a nice firm shape.

Lesley returned to the drawing room. “Of course. This is your chance to get back at him, is it not?”

“
I suppose it is,” Rodger answered. VanDoren’s
it’s of no consequence
whispered through his consciousness. “Ralston cares far more about selling papers than accuracy.”

“
Then it seems to me that you only need to reveal, and embellish, what you already know. He is an adulterer, kidnapper, murderer; and that’s only a beginning.” Lesley sat in front of the mirror. “Surely you might discover more?”

Rodger nodded slowly, possibilities blooming. “Yes.”

“
Good.” Lesley turned to the mirror, his gray eyes fixed on Rodger’s reflection. “How many opponents does he have?”

“
Only one. Winston Beckermann.”

Lesley spun to face him. “Beckermann? The exporter and docks owner? He’s in deep, I’ll wager.”

“
Only one way to find out!” Rodger pushed himself from the chair. He retrieved his coat from the floor and crossed to the mirror. He examined his image by the light of reflected sunlight spilt on the carpet. His face was paler than usual and his eyes red-rimmed from crying, but that would pass.

“
There’s an event at the Fairmont this evening. Beckermann should be in attendance. I shall need a close shave tonight, Lesley. Very close.”

December 12, 1821

St. Louis

“
Happy second anniversary,
min presang
.” Nicolas lifted a cut-crystal flute of champagne to his wife. They were dining in the finest establishment in St. Louis, the Regent’s Inn, and Nicolas reserved a suite of their best rooms in honor of the occasion.

“
And to you, husband,” Sydney responded. She touched her glass to Nicolas’s; the refracting crystal sang a clear note in the crowded dining room. The champagne was delicious and the bubbles tickled her palate in a most pleasant way. She took another sip.