Dark Obsession (39 page)

Nora stood at his shoulder, and together they stared down into the jagged hole. A quivering energy filled the room. Grayson felt the hair on his neck stand on end, felt Nora shivering beside him.

‘‘I can feel them, Gray. Tom and Charlotte. They’re here, in this room.’’ Her hand groped for his, fingers convulsing around his own.

‘‘I know. I believe they are telling us that the thing we’ve been seeking is inside that cabinet.’’ His pulse points hammered with the certainty of it.

She nodded and released him.

‘‘I suddenly find myself unable to move,’’ he whispered.

‘‘Shall I look?’’

He almost said no. Almost didn’t want the answers—answers with the power to brand him a murderer and his brother a criminal. Or possibly his best friend of both.

But then he thought of Charlotte and Tom, alone and grieving and caught between worlds; and Jonny, fearful and silent in a world of his own; and Nora, a world of hope and joy he had thought never to visit again.

He gave a nod. She knelt and reached inside.

‘‘I’ve got something.’’

He heard a rustle of paper and shut his eyes.

‘‘Gray, I’m sorry. . . . There’s no pocket watch. These appear to be invoices of some sort.’’

She held out the stack of papers to him, but he shook his head and moved the lantern closer. ‘‘You read through them, please. Look for names and places.’’

Brow crinkled in concentration, she shuffled through the sheets. ‘‘This is odd. There are two copies of each, except the directions vary.’’

He peered at the pile in her lap. ‘‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘These are bills of lading for shipments of goods.

Here.’’ She pointed to the top of a page. ‘‘The destination indicates a location in Marseilles, France. Yet on the next page, the exact same list of goods is directed to . . .’’ She inched closer to the lantern. ‘‘To Hadley and Company, London.’’

Bile rose in his throat and for a horrifying moment he feared he’d be ill. He swallowed once, again, hands fisting for want of the appropriate neck to strangle.

‘‘Gray.’’ Her eyes sparked with alarm. ‘‘What is it?’’

"Hadley and Company.’’ His voice shredded, ripped apart.

‘‘You know what it means?’’

He rose and staggered to the window. Gripped the sill and stared out at the wind-whipped trees, stooped and twisted beneath the weight of the storm.

God help him, this was a truth he’d never wanted.

Despite the pain knifing his throat, his chest, everywhere, his voice was eerily calm. ‘‘Those goods made it to neither Marseilles nor London.’’

‘‘How do you know?’’

He turned, meeting her perplexity with infinite bleakness. ‘‘Because they are in that cave on the beach.’’ He turned back to the window. ‘‘And God help me, now I know who put them there.’’

With barely a sound she came up behind him. Her length snuggled against his back and her arms slipped round his waist, cocooning him in warmth, in her gentle compassion. The knife inside him twisted less viciously because of it. Because of her. He turned in her arms and wrapped his own around her.

‘‘Years ago, when Jonny was just learning to speak, he couldn’t quite get his little mouth around the
CH
in Chad. So he called him Had. Didn’t take long for it to evolve into Hadley.’’ An ironic smile grew. This, at least, was a safe memory. ‘‘Chad fancied the nickname so much he began using it for his business concerns. Like that warehouse on the Thames.’’

‘‘An earl in business?’’

He shook his head. ‘‘When Thoroughbreds pull plows. No, he is the owner of several lucrative enterprises. He employs others to run them for him.’’

She went very still against him. ‘‘What are you saying, then? Surely Chad is not a . . .’’

‘‘A thief? Worse?’’ He cupped her chin, ran his thumb across her lips. ‘‘I wish to God there was some other explanation. I know my brother’s financial straits made him desperate. Somehow he must have involved Chad.’’

‘‘But isn’t Chad enormously wealthy?’’

He opened his mouth to agree, then clamped it shut on a dizzying wave of recollection. His legs wobbled, and Nora’s arms tightened to steady him.

‘‘The Holbein.’’

‘‘What are you talking about?’’

‘‘The Wycliffe Holbein. It is one of the family treasures. Remember the night of our betrothal party? Belinda wanted you to see it, but Chad claimed he’d lent it to an exhibit.’’ He pressed his fingers to his eyes. With his other hand he held fast to Nora. ‘‘He didn’t. He sold it.’’

He watched understanding darken her expression. ‘‘Poor Chad.’’

‘‘Poor Chad?’’ Perhaps she didn’t understand, not at all.

‘‘Yes, to be in such a dire position. To have to . . . good heavens—Uncle Had.’’ The last words slid out as a hoarse whisper. Her fingernails dug into his forearm, threatening to pierce the skin.

‘‘What did you say?’’

‘‘Uncle Had. Kat told me Jonny said that once in his sleep. At the time I thought he might have meant you, that his uncle had . . . done something.’’

She gazed out the window, tinged to charcoal by the waning twilight. ‘‘He’s been so kind . . .’’ Her face snapped back to his. ‘‘This explains your behavior. You were keeping him away from me. From Jonny too. You were protecting us.’’ She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. ‘‘Oh, you dear, courageous, gallant man! And to think I doubted you.’’

He returned her embrace, lifting her off her feet, and for an instant he felt as though the entire world had just been set to rights. Then he put her down and pressed his lips to her hair. ‘‘Forgive me for bungling it as badly as I did. I thought far better for me to hurt you than for him.’’

‘‘Do you believe he would?’’

‘‘My love, we cannot trust him. I haven’t proof beyond his involvement in theft, but I think . . . that is to say, I believe he . . .’’ Even now, he couldn’t voice it.

‘‘I never once considered . . . Mrs. Dorn, possibly. She’s been so strange, so ill-humored. She seemed to be hiding something. But Chad?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘What do we do?’’

‘‘To keep him at ease, we should maintain our pretense. I’ll be his friend and remain distant toward you, my hurt and confused young bride. I’ve already had Gibbs send for the proper authorities. A magistrate should be arriving within the next day or so. I hope,’’ he could not help adding.

He took the invoices from her and tucked them into the waistband of his trousers.

Nora frowned. ‘‘Do you suspect he knows about this room?’’

‘‘No. If he did he would have devised a way to steal up here and reclaim these records long before this. My guess is he came to search the house and cover his tracks.’’

‘‘Why now?’’

‘‘Because I’m here now. After Tom’s death I left Blackheath Grange. I returned only rarely and stayed as briefly as possible. Chad had no reason to visit an empty house. It would have looked suspicious if he had.’’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘‘I just remembered something. The other night . . . I might have inadvertently caught him searching the library. He’d been combing through the books, and he appeared startled when I entered the room. He said he wanted something to read, but he didn’t bother taking a book with him when he left.’’

‘‘No. He’d been looking for something, to be sure, but not to read.’’ Smoothing the hair from her shoulders, he traced his fingertips along the delicate lines of her collarbones, raising a little shiver and a ghost of longing in her eyes. ‘‘Come, my paramour. If we are to appear normal, we must be going down for supper soon.’’

The warmth of her palm on his cheek detained him. She rose on tiptoe, bringing her face level with his. Her features were tight, her eyes luminous. ‘‘This explains a lot. But whatever else he might have done, I still believe he is your friend. And I do not believe he hurt your brother.’’

‘‘
Hurting
my brother is not the issue.’’

‘‘It isn’t in him. Not to do what you suspect.’’

‘‘How can you be certain?’’

Both hands cupped his face and dragged him close. She kissed him, then said against his lips, ‘‘I was certain about you, wasn’t I?’’

Dressed in rose silk, her hair restored to respectability and a false smile pasted on her face, Nora turned into Jonny’s room—and discovered it empty.

An alarm went off inside her, quelled the next instant by approaching footsteps and Kat’s easy voice humming a carefree tune.

‘‘Good evening, ma’am.’’ Carrying a bundle of folded clothing in her arms, she bobbed a curtsy and crossed to the clothespress. ‘‘Is his lordship ready for his supper?’’

That little alarm set off another wail. ‘‘I came to ask you that very question, Kat. Where is he?’’

The maid arranged stockings and underthings in the top drawer, a stack of shirts in the second. Then she turned, her brows gathering above her dark eyes. ‘‘Why, with you, ma’am.’’

‘‘No, he isn’t.’’ Nora’s heart fluttered, spreading spasms of fear through her. ‘‘I left him with you in the schoolroom.’’

‘‘Yes, that was earlier.’’

‘‘Do you mean to tell me you left him alone?’’ Fright, misgiving and anger twisted inside her. ‘‘After I explicitly ordered you never to do so?’’

The other woman pulled up straighter with an indignant shake of her shoulders. ‘‘Certainly not, ma’am. The earl came for him.’’

‘‘The earl?’’ Her voice was faint, tremulous, drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears.

‘‘Yes, ma’am. Lord Wycliffe said you wished to see his little lordship, and so—’’

Nora hoisted her skirts and started running. ‘‘Search for him, Kat,’’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘‘Search everywhere.’’

She maneuvered the corridors as fast as gown and petticoats and constricting corset would allow, becoming dizzy for want of a full breath as her legs pumped beneath her.

Less than a half hour ago she had told Gray she didn’t believe Chad was capable of violence. Now Jonny was gone and she couldn’t be sure, could no longer abide by instinct and sheer faith when it was the child’s well-being at stake.

She found Grayson exiting his bedchamber, neat, dashing, ready for supper. Without preamble she grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. ‘‘He’s somewhere with Chad.’’

‘‘Who is?’’

‘‘Jonny. Chad took him. From the schoolroom. Kat told me. I’m not sure how long ago. We must find him—find him this instant. We must tell the servants to start searching. . . .’’

‘‘Slow down.’’ He grasped her shoulders, gave her a gentle shake and drew her to his chest.

Against his hard length she sought strength, solace, reassurance; found all three for the briefest moment before pulling away. Jonny was missing; she had no right to be comforted. Breath heaving, she fisted her hands around his lapels. ‘‘We cannot sit here when—’’

‘‘I’ve no intention to. But I need you calm. Rational.’’ His hands closed over hers, easing their grip on his coat. She met his gaze and nodded. ‘‘Good. Now, then. You mount a search of the house in the event they are still here.’’

He crossed the room, and a twinge of exasperation eclipsed her fears. How dare he seem so composed, so methodical. ‘‘What are you going to do?’’

He stopped and regarded her with no more agitation than if she’d asked what he wished for supper. ‘‘If Chad does indeed have my nephew, I fear there is only one place he would take him. One place where Jonny’s life would hang in the balance. I’m going to the cliffs.’’

Horror flooded slowly but surely through her, like the tide that swallowed the beach each day. ‘‘But . . . they can’t have gone out . . . it’s grown dark . . . the storm . . .’’

She gestured feebly toward the rain-lashed windows. Jonny, out in this weather, with a man who might very well wish him harm . . .

‘‘You said you didn’t know how long they’ve been gone. Probably left during the lull in the storm. Perhaps one, two hours, now.’’

‘‘While we were . . .’’ With a groan she glared up at the ceiling as if she could see through to the room above, as if her gaze could set the blasted place on fire. All that time making love, imperiling Jonny’s life. Her eyes fell closed. Her legs gave out and she sank to the bed. ‘‘Heaven forgive us.’’

He was before her in an instant. His hands gripped her again, shook her again. ‘‘You mustn’t do that. We haven’t time.’’

He released her and sprinted for his dressing room. When he didn’t immediately return carrying a cloak as she expected, she rose and followed him.

She found him crouched beside an open cupboard, fiddling with something in his lap, something she couldn’t see because his back was to her. She heard a sound like a marble rolling, a tamping, a series of clicks.

When Grayson stood, she saw the pistol in his hand.

The smooth wood and cool brass of the Boutet .58 caliber filled Grayson’s palm with a sense of surety. How ingenious, how intricate the workings of trigger, magazine and spring-loaded striker.

How empowering.

He reached back into the cupboard, grabbed a handful of extra bullets and the mercury pellets that fired them, and dropped them into his coat pocket.

Straightening, he confronted Nora’s anguished stare. ‘‘He has my nephew. I’m ending this tonight.’’

He brushed by her, needing to distance himself from the indictment in her eyes.

‘‘Not with that.’’ She followed at his heels, her voice rising to a precarious summit. He braced for the tears that would surely follow.

‘‘I want my nephew back. And I’ll use any means I must.’’

She caught up to him at his chamber door, her hand banding around his wrist. ‘‘And Chad?’’

He forced himself to meet her gaze, heartsick to be the cause of her pain. ‘‘I plan to ask him why he killed my brother.’’

‘‘You don’t know that.’’

‘‘I know all I need to know. He’s a thief and a liar, Nora. Why should he have drawn the line at murder?’’ He pulled from her grasp and pounded down the corridor. Her scampering footsteps sounded behind him.