Confessions at Midnight (6 page)

"Ye'll never guess wot, milord," Samuel said, as if cued to do so.

It had taken a bit of getting used to, hearing those words, coming to know what they meant, having his normal routine disrupted. But he couldn't deny that he now anticipated that sentence from Samuel. Of course, he dared not show
too
much enthusiasm, lest his entire household be overrun.

Daniel stared down at Blinky, whose one-eyed, nose-twitching interest was currently fixated on his untouched plate of eggs and bacon. "I can't imagine," he said blandly, as if after a year with Samuel in his employ, he knew didn't know damn well "wot."

"'Tis a
puppy
, milord." Samuel said the
word puppy
with a hushed reverence normally reserved for members of the royal family. '"Bout six months old, I'd guess."

"I see," Daniel said with a somber nod. "And what malady has stricken the animal?"

"Abandoned, milord. Found 'im, last night, half starved, huddled behind some trash in an alley."

Daniel no longer admonished Samuel about roaming London's dark alleys, as he knew his warnings would fall on deaf ears. Nor was he concerned that Samuel was relieving anyone of their purses. No, his footman was looking for another sort of victim.

"And what do you suggest we call this abandoned canine?" Daniel asked, knowing the name would give a true clue as to the animal's… problem.

"Baldy, milord," Samuel said without hesitation.

Daniel considered the ramifications of that while breaking off a bit of bacon for Blinky. The cat gobbled up the morsel then promptly batted at his hand and yowled for another. "Shaved?" Daniel finally guessed.

Samuel nodded. "Had to, milord. To get rid o' the matted hair and fleas."

"Ah." Blinky yowled again, and Daniel absently fed the impatient beast another bit of bacon. "And where is Baldy now?"

"In the kitchens, milord. Asleep. After I shaved and bathed 'im, Cook fed 'im good. Then the wee beastie curled up by the hearth. Probably sleep most of the day, I'd wager."

"Who? Cook?" Daniel deadpanned.

"Baldy, milord." Samuel hesitated, then asked, "So… can we keep 'im?"

It never failed to amaze Daniel that after all these months and all these animals, Samuel took nothing for granted and still asked. "I suppose we have room for one more 'wee beastie.'"

Samuel's broad shoulders, which only a year ago had been bony and narrow, sagged with obvious relief. "I were hopin' so, milord. I told Baldy wot ye'd done fer me, wot a fine, decent man ye are."

Bloody hell. A humbling wave of something that felt precisely like embarrassment swept through Daniel, and he found himself at a momentary loss for words, a state of affairs Samuel's gratitude always managed to reduce him to.

"A man shouldn't be praised for doing the right thing, Samuel. For simply helping an abandoned creature."

"Ye're wrong, milord," Samuel replied in his non-kowtowing manner. "Ye may think that kindness is easily found, but I'm tellin' ye, it ain't. And when yer lucky enough to find it, it needs to be recognized. 'Tis a good thing yer doin'. More so 'cause ye don't have to do it. And most likely will end up with more chewed furniture for yer trouble."

"It's actually
your
act of kindness, Samuel."

"'Tis true I find the lost and abandoned, milord, but 'tis you who has the means to help 'em. The means and the heart. I couldn't do nothin' if it weren't for you." His quick grin flashed. "Definitely not, as I'd be in the dirt, pushin' up petunias, that's where I'd be."

"Well, we couldn't have that," Daniel said, forcing a wry note into his voice. "Who else would disrupt my formerly well-ordered household with irreverent conduct and an assortment of mangy animals?"

"No one, milord," Samuel said without hesitation.

True. And that would be Daniel's very great loss.

"No one," he agreed with an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. He shot Blinky a wink. The cat responded with a one-eyed glare that she pointedly shifted from Daniel to the bacon.

Samuel smiled, showing off his slightly crooked front teeth. "How's yer headache, milord?"

"It's…" Daniel considered for several seconds, then huffed out a surprised laugh. "Gone."

"Hate to say 'I told ye so…'"

Daniel shot the young man a mock scowl. "No you don't. In fact, I believe that that is one of your favorite things to say."

"Glad ye're feelin' better, because…" Samuel cleared his throat. "… ye'll never guess wot, milord."

Daniel froze. Dear God, two
guess wots
in one day? Since Samuel tended to spring his
I've found us another stray
surprises according to size, Daniel knew that whatever was coming next was larger than a puppy.

"I can't imagine," he murmured, bracing himself as he scratched Blinky behind her ears. "Horse? Donkey? Camel?"

Samuel blinked. "Camel?"

Daniel shrugged. "Merely a guess. Certainly if an orphaned dromedary wandered about London, you'd find it. And bring it here."

"Naturally, milord. But it's not a camel."

"My relief knows no bounds. Don't tell me. Baldy has five canine friends in tow?"

"No, milord. Far as I can tell, Baldy's all alone in the world. 'Cept fer us now, of course." Samuel cleared his throat, and Daniel noticed that he looked decidedly nervous. And that his skin had taken on a faint greenish cast that matched his livery, although not in a good way.

"It's that… ye've a visitor, milord. A Mr. Rayburn."

Daniel's brows shot upward. "Charles Rayburn? The magistrate?"

Samuel nodded. "Aye. He's awaitin' ye in the drawing room. With another bloke, called himself Gideon Mayne."

"I don't know anyone by that name."

"Bloke didn't say so, but I'd peg 'im as a Runner."

Daniel studied his obviously nervous, green-tinged footman. "When did they arrive?"

"'Bout half an hour ago. I were passin' by the foyer when Barkley were lettin' them in. Overheard who they were. After Barkley showed 'em into the drawing room, I offered to tell ye they were here, seein' as how I were comin' to the dinin' room."

"And you're just telling me now?" Good God, he really needed to discuss Samuel's lack of propriety regarding his duties. He was fortunate he hadn't accidentally strolled into his drawing room three hours from now and discovered the magistrate and Runner still awaiting him.

Samuel shrugged. "We had other business to discuss first, and I wanted to get ye pinkened up before springin' the news that the law were here. Besides, can't say I minded the thought of them blokes waitin' on ye. As they should. Ye're an important man. God-awful hour for them to be disturbin' ye. Especially…"

"Especially what?"

Samuel swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Several seconds passed, then he said in a rush, "Wot if they're here 'bout me?" Before Daniel could speak, Samuel rushed on, "I ain't done nothin', milord. I swear it. Upon me life. I promised ye I wouldn't steal and I haven't."

"I don't doubt you, Samuel."

That seemed to calm Samuel a bit, and he jerked his head in a nod. "Thank ye."

"I'm sure whatever they want has nothing to do with you. And if it does, it's obviously a misunderstanding that we'll work out."

Fear clouded Samuel's dark eyes, a look Daniel hadn't seen in many months. One he hated seeing now. "But wot if it's about somethin' I stole before? Before ye helped me? Wot if they want to take me away-"

"No one is taking anyone anywhere," Daniel said firmly. He gently set Blinky on the floor then rose. "I'll go see what they want."

"Ye'll tell me wot it is?" Samuel asked in an unsteady voice. "As soon as they leave?"

He clamped his hand on Samuel's shoulder. "As soon as they leave. Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing."

He strode toward the drawing room, praying he was right. And knowing he'd protect Samuel with whatever resources necessary.

When he entered the foyer, Barkley straightened to his full height. "Are you ready to be announced to your callers, my lord?" the butler asked in the same dour monotone he'd used for every one of the ten years he'd been in Daniel's employ.

"Yes. I gather they've been waiting quite some time." He cast the butler a sidelong glance. "But I suspect you knew that would be the case when you allowed Samuel to bring me word that they were here."

"Serves them right to wait, calling at such an unfashionable hour." Barkley hoisted his nose upward and gave an elegant sniff. "Especially if they're here about Samuel."

They'll have a hell of a fight on their hands if they are
. "One way to find out."

He followed Barkley down the corridor, and after the butler announced him, entered the room. Charles Rayburn, the magistrate, rose from his chair next to the fire. Daniel judged the tall, robust man to be in his mid-forties. He noted that Rayburn's sharp green eyes took in every detail of his appearance.

"Good morning, my lord," Rayburn said. "My apologies for the early morning call." He nodded toward the other man, who stood near the fireplace.

"This is Mr. Gideon Mayne. Mr. Mayne is a Bow Street Runner."

Daniel's initial impression of Mr. Mayne was that he was very tall, very muscular, and very solemn. His face, which sported a nose that had clearly been broken at one time, looked as if it were hewn from stone. Clearly this was not a social call.

After nodding to both men, he indicated the chairs set around the hearth and asked, "Shall we sit?"

Mr. Mayne looked as if sitting was the last thing he wished to do, but he offered no objection. After they were all settled, Daniel asked, "What is the purpose of this visit?"

"It concerns Lady Walsh's masquerade last evening, my lord," Rayburn said.

Daniel allowed only his surprise-and none of his relief-to show. Obviously this wasn't about Samuel. "What about it?"

"You were costumed as a highwayman, were you not?"

"I was."

Rayburn and Mayne exchanged a quick glance. "You were seen in the company of a particular lady last evening, my lord."

An image of Carolyn instantly materialized in his mind. "What of it?"

"I'm afraid, my lord, that lady's been murdered."

E
verything inside Daniel froze. An icy wind seemed to blow through the hole the magistrate's words punched through him. A silent
No
! screamed through his mind, one he surely would have roared aloud had he been able to draw a breath. An unbearable weight crushed his chest, seemingly collapsing his lungs, shattering his heart.
Carolyn… dear God, not Carolyn
.

"Lady Crawford's body was discovered just before dawn in the mews behind Lady Walsh's town house," Rayburn said.

The magistrate's words slowly filtered through the numb shock engulfing him like a black fog. He frowned. Then blinked. "Did… did you say Lady
Crawford
?"

"Yes, my lord. Appears she was bludgeoned to death. Still wore her party costume. Some sort of damsel in distress ensemble. She hadn't been dead long when a rat catcher found her."

His profound relief that the victim wasn't Carolyn rendered him nearly light-headed. Then the ramifications of the magistrate's news about Blythe, Lady Crawford, sank in. "Good God," he said, dragging his hands down his face. "Have you captured the person responsible?"

"No, my lord. Indeed, we've only just begun making inquiries."

Daniel looked at Mr. Mayne. "You're assisting?"

"I've been hired by Lady Crawford's family. Mr. Rayburn has kindly allowed me to be present during his inquiries." He regarded Daniel steadily through eyes so dark it was impossible to discern the pupil from the iris. "You were acquainted with Lady Crawford."

"Yes."

"Intimately acquainted."

It was a statement rather than a question. Daniel kept his expression impassive and studied Gideon Mayne. With his stark features, slightly rumpled clothes, and dark hair that needed a trim, no on would ever accuse him of being classically handsome, although he wasn't unattractive. But he possessed an intimidating air, the sort that suggested he wouldn't hesitate to put his considerable size and strength to use if necessary. Indeed, he looked as if he'd just finished pummeling a dozen or so men into the dirt and wouldn't mind doing so again. Starting with him.

"I'm not in the habit of kissing and telling, Mr. Mayne."

"This is a murder investigation, Lord Surbrooke," said the Runner without the slightest change in his forbidding expression. "Not a digging expedition for gossip fodder."

Not caring for the man's manner, Daniel deliberately waited to the mental count of ten before replying. "Blythe and I are-were-longtime friends." God, it simply wasn't possible that she was dead.

"Just
how friendly
were you?" Mayne persisted.

"I hardly see how that matters," Daniel said, "unless…" He lifted a single brow and shifted his gaze to Rayburn. "… I'm a suspect."

Mayne didn't deny it, and Rayburn shot the Runner a quick scowl. "We're asking the same questions of everyone who attended last night's party, hoping that maybe someone saw something that will lead us to the killer." Rayburn withdrew a notebook from inside his jacket then asked, "Did you see anything or anyone that might be considered suspicious?"

Daniel considered for several seconds, then shook his head. "No. The party was the usual crush. I noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Do you have reason to believe the culprit was a guest?"

"No reason to believe anything at this point except we've got a dead woman on our hands," Mayne broke in. "We've a witness who says you spoke to Lady Crawford last night."

"I did. We exchanged a few words."

"On the terrace?" asked Rayburn.

"Yes." After Carolyn had departed, he remained outdoors for nearly half an hour, lost in his thoughts. Blythe had stepped outside and approached him, pulling him from his solitary musings.

"What did you talk about?"

"Nothing of consequence. The weather. The party. A musicale we're both invited to next week."

"How long were you together?"

"No more than five minutes. The air was damp and chilly and she grew cold. I escorted her back inside then left the party."

"What time did you depart?"

"I'm not absolutely certain, as I didn't consult my watch, but I'd guess it was approaching two a.m."

"And where did you go?"

Daniel raised his brows. "Here. I came home."

"Can anyone verify that?" Mayne broke in. "Your coachman or house servants perhaps?"

"I'm afraid not. I dismissed my carriage and driver after arriving at the party and therefore walked home. My staff was asleep when I arrived."

"Even your butler and valet?"

"I'm afraid so. Barkley and Redmond are not young men. I do not require them to wait for me to arrive home."

Rayburn made notations in his small notebook then looked up. "Do you know of anyone who might wish Lady Crawford harm?"

"No. She was a lovely, personable woman. Surely her death is the result of footpads."

"Perhaps," Rayburn said, "although 'tis clear robbery was not the motive."

"Why do you say that?" Daniel asked.

"Because Lady Crawford's jewelry was intact. She wore a very distinctive pearl choker."

An image of a triple strand of perfectly matched pearls flickered through Daniel's mind. "Did the choker have a diamond and ruby clasp?"

Interest flickered in Rayburn's eyes. "Yes. How did you know?"

As he had nothing to hide and they could easily find out anyway from a number of sources, including the jeweler, he said, "It sounds like a piece I gave Blythe."

"Quite an expensive bauble to give a mere friend," Mayne remarked. "When did you give it to her?"

"Late last year. And yes, it was quite valuable. Perhaps the killer meant to steal it but was frightened off before he could do so."

"Perhaps," Rayburn said, jotting another notation in his notebook. "Do you know if Lady Crawford was currently… involved with anyone?"

He'd heard a vague rumor that Lord Warwick-whom he neither liked nor admired-was Blythe's latest conquest, but since it wasn't his habit to repeat unsubstantiated gossip, he said, "I'm not certain. I just arrived in Town yesterday afternoon after an extended stay in the country. I can only tell you that she wasn't involved with me."

"Currently," Mayne said.

Daniel shifted his attention to the Runner and offered him nothing more than a cold stare. He wouldn't lie, but he'd be damned if he would say anything that might sully a dead woman's memory. Especially to this brusque Runner who was glaring at him as if he'd committed the crime. His affair with Blythe had lasted less than two months-a torrid few weeks that had flared quickly then burned out. He'd soon realized that beneath her stunning beauty lurked a vain, selfish, and not particularly nice woman. It was quite possible she had enemies, although who they might be, he didn't know. Regardless, she didn't deserve the horrible end she'd come to.

"Is there anything else?" Daniel asked.

"Your costume," said Rayburn, "Can you describe it?"

"It was quite plain-black shirt, breeches, boots and mask, and a long black cape."

"The rat catcher saw someone wearing a black cape leaving the mews just as he entered."

Daniel's brows rose. "I'm hardly the only guest who wore a black cape. Perhaps this rat catcher is the fiend you're looking for."

"Perhaps," Mayne said, but in a tone that made it clear he didn't think so. Indeed, everything in the man's demeanor indicated that he considered Daniel a suspect.

"That's all, my lord," said Rayburn.

"For now," added Mayne.

Daniel rose and led the way to the foyer. "Thank you for your time, my lord," said Rayburn at the door.

"You're welcome. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance."

"We will," Mayne said, accepting his hat from Barkley. He then gave Daniel a curt nod and departed, with Rayburn on his heels. The instant the door closed behind them, Samuel entered the foyer.

"Well?" he asked, his white-gloved hands clenched, his face drawn and pale. "Are they lookin' for me?"

"No." He told Samuel and Barkley about his conversation with Rayburn and Mayne, concluding with, "I cannot believe this has happened. Cannot fathom that Blythe is dead. And that she died in such a horrible way."

A frown furrowed between Samuel's brows. "Ye'd best be careful, milord. 'Tis clear they're sniffin' in your direction for this killin'."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "I had that impression myself. Especially from Mayne, who looked as if he wanted nothing more than to cart me off to the gallows. But they said they intended to question everyone who attended the party. I'm not the only man who wore a black cape or who spoke to Blythe last evening." Nor was he the only man with whom she'd had an affair.

But instead of looking relieved, Samuel appeared even more worried. "But the necklace she wore were one ye gave her. I know how these men of the law are, milord. They get an idea in their heads and it don't much matter if they're wrong. I've seen more than one innocent man arrested."

Daniel forced a smile. "Not to worry. They were merely doing their jobs and being thorough. The good news is that their inquiries had nothing to do with you."

Samuel's stiff posture relaxed a bit. "That is good news indeed."

Daniel glanced toward the ormolu clock and noted with relief that it was no longer impossibly early. "I'm going out for a while. When I return, I'll prepare myself to meet Baldy."

In the meantime he had a goddess to see-and now for an even more pressing matter than discussing their terrace interlude. With a murderer on the loose, he needed to make certain Carolyn was protected.

Carolyn stood in her foyer, her feet rooted to the black and white marble tiles as she watched Nelson close the door after Mr. Rayburn and Mr. Mayne. Her brief interview with them had shocked her.

Still stunned, she slowly made her way back to the drawing room, trying to absorb the incredible, horrible news that Lady Crawford was dead. Murdered.

A shudder ran through her. They hadn't been close friends, barely more than acquaintances, but of course she knew the beautiful widow. She'd told Mr. Rayburn and Mr. Mayne everything she knew, which was next to nothing, and answered all their questions, thinking the entire time that some awful mistake must have been made.

After closing the drawing room door behind her, she crossed the Turkish rug to her desk and sat. Picking up her quill, she tried to resume the chore she'd been attempting to accomplish when the magistrate and Bow Street Runner arrived-to write a note to Lady Walsh thanking her for the lovely party last evening. But now, as before, all she managed to do was stare at the blank vellum. And remember.

Him.

The sound of his voice. The touch of his hands. The scent of his skin. The taste of his kiss. The heat that had poured through her, melting her until she felt as if she'd dissolve into a puddle at his feet.

With an exclamation of disgust, she set down the quill and rose. Paced the length of the room several times, then halted before the fireplace. And looked up. To stare at the handsome face, the beautiful green eyes, of the husband she'd loved so much.

The instant she'd returned home last night, she came to this very room, where she'd remained until dawn, staring at Edward's portrait while tears tracked down her face and guilt ate her. Not only for what she'd done, but because she had enjoyed it so much. And she'd realized, with no small amount of chagrin, that part of her wished her interlude with Lord Surbrooke hadn't ended so abruptly. Had continued. In a more private setting.

Yet another part of her wanted desperately to forget the encounter, dismiss the shocking, unexpected passion he'd released within her. But she couldn't stop thinking about him. Even as she gazed at Edward's beloved face, the other man infiltrated her thoughts. Wormed his way into her recollections of past waltzes and kisses she'd shared with Edward. And for that she deeply resented him. He'd proven a highwayman indeed, stealing her common sense and her private memories of her husband.

As dawn had broken, leaking streaks of mauve into the quiet room, she finally climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, believing she'd put the episode into perspective. Her aberration in judgment was purely the result of the anonymity of the masque. If not for her costume, she never would have behaved in such an uncharacteristic manner. It was Galatea, not Carolyn Turner, Viscountess Wingate, who'd lost her head. Now that she'd shed her false identity, she wouldn't make such an error again. She wanted to move on with her life, but in the capacity of a sedate widow. Not an adventuress seeking sensual pleasure.

Thankfully, Lord Surbrooke didn't know she was the woman he'd kissed. She just needed to put the encounter out of her mind-and surely after a day or so she'd forget it-and pretend it hadn't happened.

Now, after a few hours' sleep, and with the morning sunshine pouring through the window, the entire episode did seem somewhat of a dream. A feverish dream, one obviously fueled by her avid readings of the
Memoirs
. Readings that had unexpectedly reawakened sensual needs she'd thought long buried. Needs she'd never expected to feel again.

Her gaze lowered to her desk's top drawer, and reaching out, she slowly slid it open. Moved aside several sheets of vellum to reveal a slim, black, leather-bound volume. Ran her fingers over the gold lettering adorning the cover, memoirs of a mistress.

She'd wanted to toss it into the fire this morning, had attempted to do so, yet something held her back. The same unsettling something that had prevented her from refusing Lord Surbrooke's invitation to dance. Or his suggestion that they retire to the terrace. It was something she could neither define nor ignore. Something that deeply troubled her.