The Pleasure Trap (13 page)

When his eyes trapped hers, her pulse jumped and began to race. What could she tell him? That she’d felt the killer’s rage as though she were inside his mind? That she knew Lydia was the victim before she’d knelt down beside her and looked into her face? He wouldn’t believe her, or he’d put her down as a charlatan.

She put as much indignation into her voice as she could manage. “What could I possibly have heard or seen that I wouldn’t pass on?”

He held up his hand. Smiling awkwardly, he said, “I believe you. But sometimes we see something that we’re not aware of until we have time to think about it.”

“Not in my case. I told the constable everything I know.”

She knew that her answer had come too readily and braced for the next question, but he merely propped himself against the fence and gazed at the donkeys.

At last he said, “I don’t think I told you that Angelo set one of his stories in my home in Richmond. It was a personal tragedy for my family, a tragedy involving my brother.”

She’d got most of the story from Amanda, but it was very vague. Ash’s younger brother had some devastating wasting disease and had drowned while swimming in the Thames. Ash was away at the time and had taken the boy’s death very hard.

“When I read that story,” he said, “I felt violated.” He turned his head and spoke with a kind of suppressed savagery. “I was told it was an accident, but Angelo is insinuating that murder was done. One way or another, I’m going to find Angelo. I’d like you to help me. You’re a writer. I want you to read Angelo’s stories and see if they strike a chord. If you don’t recognize the writer’s voice, maybe you’ll recognize the house and gardens where each story takes place. After all, your father is a landscape gardener, and you told me that your mother used to take you to stately homes and gardens around London. So far, I know of only two that Angelo has used. That means there is another estate. I’d like to know where it is and who owns it. Will you help me, Eve?”

In one of her dreams, she’d sensed the same pain at his center that she sensed now. There was something important she had wanted to ask him.
Tell me about your brother.
The words were never said. Even now, she feared to say them. He might take offense, snub her, tell her to mind her own business. Though she knew it was useless, she opened her mind to him, but his mind was too impervious to allow easy access to his thoughts. Besides, that’s not how her gift worked. Claverleys didn’t choose their subjects. Their subjects, all unknowingly, chose them.

What difference did it make if he snubbed her? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. As she stood there, undecided, it came to her that she wanted with her whole heart to understand this complex man.

She laid her hand on his arm. “Of course I’ll read the stories,” she said, “but tell me about your brother. What happened to him? Amanda told me that he died tragically while swimming in the Thames.”

There was a long pause while Ash looked at her with eyes wide and clear, then his lashes veiled that unguarded look and he shrugged carelessly, as though the question was unimportant.

“Was it a tragedy?” he wondered aloud. “My father didn’t think so. He said it was a blessing in disguise. You have to understand, Harry would never get well. His condition would only deteriorate. There were already plans under way to place him in an asylum—where he could be properly cared for, my father said.” The level tone of his voice took on a razor edge. “Months later, I learned from the doctor who was treating Harry that, though his illness was incurable, there could be long stretches where it might become arrested. Harry might have lived for years, but in an asylum if my father had had his way.”

He squeezed one hand into a fist. “Out of sight, out of mind—that’s how my father’s mind worked. He had his heir in me. Harry was expendable. Ye gods, he was only a child, a boy of ten, who found pleasure in little things. How could anyone have wished him ill?”

There was a brief silence when neither of them moved. “You loved your brother,” she said then, “and hated your father.”

“Yes, I loved my brother.” His smile was sparse but gentle. “It would be truer to say that Harry first loved me. When I was sad, he was sad. When I was happy, he was happy. He was so easy to love. As for my father…” Those broad shoulders moved again in a shrug that bordered on indifference. “Hate is too passionate a word for what I felt. I despised him. He was, I suppose, no better or worse than other men of his time, with ambitions fitting his rank. I was groomed and educated as his heir, impressed with my duty to marry well so that our line could continue, I presume, into infinity. You’ll pardon me if I say that my father’s ambitions left me quite unmoved.”

She stood there in miserable silence, sunk in remorse. She couldn’t separate herself from the father he despised. His only aim in life, she’d told Ash, was to enjoy himself. Who was she to set herself up as judge and jury? She’d known nothing of his circumstances.

His hands captured hers in a firm clasp. “I’ve told you all this,” he said, “so that you’ll understand my resolve to discover Angelo’s identity. I wasn’t there when Harry died. Whatever my father told me, I had to take on faith, but it never seemed right to me. Harry would not have gone into the water with no one to help him. Angelo says much the same thing in his story. How does he know so much? If my brother was murdered, I want to know who was responsible.”

“If it’s in my power,” she replied, thinking of her Claverley charisma, “I’ll help you discover the truth.”

His smile was slow and infinitely sweet. “Thank you. That’s all I ask of you.”

On the way back to the house, the conversation returned to the attack on Lydia and whether she had added anything to what she’d told the constable since she’d regained her senses.

“Nothing,” said Eve. “All I can tell you is that she is afraid to be left alone, and who can blame her?”

After that exchange, they walked in silence, but Eve’s mind buzzed with questions she would have liked to put to Ash, questions that were too personal for her even to consider. She valued her privacy, so why should she impose on his?

She was, however, free to speculate, and she couldn’t help wondering about Ash’s years as a soldier. The sole heir did not usually go off to war when his untimely death would also be the death of his dynasty. Was that Ash’s way of punishing his father, by courting death? And when his father died, how could he punish him then?

He’d bring his line to an end.

Now she was being fanciful. No one carried revenge to that extreme, least of all someone like Ash.

She darted a sideways glance at him, then quickly averted her eyes. The more she got to know him, the more of a mystery he became. The man in her dreams was a figment of her imagination. The words he spoke were words she’d put into his mouth. The real Ash Denison was still hidden from her.

And she wanted, desperately, to get to know him better.

When they rounded the corner of the house, Ash said, “Seems we have visitors.”

A groom stood at the heads of two fine bays harnessed to a very ordinary carriage. Eve’s gaze, however, was riveted on the gilt-edged carriage that two liveried coachmen were driving to the stable block. “I think that Lady Sayers’s niece has finally arrived,” she said.

Chapter Eleven

Ash and Eve found the visitors in the music room taking tea and cake, talking about Lydia and the lucky escape she’d had, but at their entrance, the conversation faded away. The gentlemen got up when they saw Eve—the doctor, who seemed more than usually awkward, and Philip Henderson, who seemed his usual, urbane self. Eve was surprised to see Amanda in the same room with Henderson and looking quite composed. At Vauxhall, she had stiffened up like a wooden doll whenever he came near her.

Eve turned her gaze to a young woman whose bright eyes were fixed on her. This must be the niece, she thought, a beautiful, dark-eyed creature dressed to the nines in a ravishing gown the likes of which Eve had seen only in the pages of
La Belle Assemblée.

Lady Sayers jumped up and came toward Eve with a smile that was oddly anxious. “Liza has arrived at last,” she said, and after making the introductions, she embarked on a disjointed explanation of what had delayed the arrival of dearest Liza. Eve gathered that Liza’s father, General Hollander, was responsible for the delay. Though too old to fight in the Spanish Campaign, much to his sorrow, he’d been fired up by some old cronies to accompany them on a tour of the most noteworthy battlefields in Spain, leaving his wife and daughter to entertain themselves in Paris while they waited for his return.

“It was no hardship,” Liza said. “There is always plenty to do in Paris.” She turned her lustrous eyes upon the doctor. “Have you ever been to Paris, Dr. Braine?”

“No, I have not,” was the gruff reply.

Liza sighed. “They call it the City of Love, but that’s where my heart was broken.” Her wan smile suddenly turned brilliant. “So here I am, hoping to mend my broken heart.”

Those lustrous eyes now turned upon Ash. “I never expected to meet up with you, Lord Denison, not so soon, at any rate. I must tell you that your presence is still greatly missed in Paris.”

“Oh?” said Amanda, eyes dancing. “By whom, pray tell?”

Liza returned merrily, “By any lady who has not reached her dotage.”

“You do me too much honor, Miss Hollander,” remarked Ash, his expression as wooden as the doctor’s.

The merriment ceased when the doctor spoke. “It was kind of you to invite me to take tea,” he said, addressing Lady Sayers, “but I have other patients I must attend to. Mrs. Rivers is in good hands. I think I can safely leave her to your care until tomorrow. Might we have a word in private?”

His leave-taking was punctilious but not particularly cordial.

When the door closed, Liza said doubtfully, “I don’t think he likes me.”

Miss Claverley delicately wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Don’t be too hasty to make judgments, my dear,” she said. “Dr. Braine doesn’t show to his best in company. When you get to know him better, I think he may surprise you.”

The mischievous look that her aunt slanted in her direction had Eve shifting in her chair. That look told her that Miss Claverley’s sixth sense was humming, and Eve made a determined effort to head her off. “Would anyone like more tea?” she asked brightly.

“Heavens, no,” said Amanda. “Miss Claverley has promised to read our tea leaves. Shall we turn our cups over now?”

“That would be best,” replied Miss Claverley.

Eve tried to catch her aunt’s eye, to no avail. She was excruciatingly aware that neither Ash nor Mr. Hamilton had turned their cups over, and she fetched the teapot and refilled their cups as well as her own.

Philip Henderson said, “I have an aunt who reads tea leaves.”

Eve glared at him. She was ready to glare at Ash, too, but he said nothing, merely looked at her with wide, innocent eyes.

Eve felt her nerves stretch taut. This wasn’t a party game. This was serious. Her aunt knew what she was doing, but she was doing it in the wrong setting with the wrong people.

She drew in a quiet breath. She had no intention of allowing anyone to embarrass her aunt. One wrong word out of Messrs. Denison or Henderson and they would have
her
to deal with.

Miss Claverley flashed Eve a reassuring smile, then went on to respond to Henderson’s comment. “I don’t really need the tea leaves. That is just a prop. The cup is all I need. Nothing earth-shattering is going to happen. You can believe what you want to believe. Now, who wants to go first?”

“Oh, take my cup,” cried Liza.

Holding the cup in both hands, Miss Claverley stared into its depths. After a moment, she said, “I see your heart’s desire, and you’ve been looking for it in the wrong places. When you stop looking, your heart’s desire will find you.”

Liza stared as though mesmerized. Philip Henderson spoke in an inaudible whisper in Ash’s ear. Ash shrugged. Eve’s hands fisted in the folds of her gown.

A slow smile—a genuine smile—curved Liza’s lips. “I don’t know, Miss Claverley,” she said, “whether or not you are a seer, but I do believe that you are very wise.”

“Do Lady Amanda’s cup, Miss Claverley,” interjected Mr. Henderson. “Tell us what’s in her future.”

“Oh, I can’t tell the future,” she replied. “No one can. People are free to choose their own path.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” replied Henderson.

“But there are a few gifted people who can look into the future and see what might be possible. The future can be changed, if we know what lies ahead.”

There was a collective silence as everyone mulled over these obscure words. Eve’s eyes darted to Ash. He was completely focused on stirring his tea.

“May I, Lady Amanda?” said Miss Claverley gently.

Amanda wasn’t smiling now. Eve detected a certain reluctance as she handed over her cup.

Miss Claverley studied it for a moment, then smiled into Amanda’s eyes. “My advice to you is the opposite of what I said to Miss Hollander. Your heart’s desire is within your reach. Grasp it, Lady Amanda, before it moves beyond you.”

Amanda looked puzzled. Eve, on the other hand, had a fair idea of her aunt’s train of thought and interceded to avoid what could easily turn out to be an embarrassing situation.

“There you are, Lady Amanda,” she said. “One of these days, you
will
be a published author!”

Amanda’s expression cleared and she laughed. “I have to finish the book first! Thank you, Miss Claverley. You’ve given me new hope.”

Liza looked at Eve. “Aren’t you going to have your tea leaves read, Miss Dearing?”

Miss Claverley answered the question while Eve was groping for words that would offend no one. With a sideways glance at Eve, she said, “My niece doesn’t hold with anything that cannot be explained by her intellect or her five senses.”

“A wise philosophy,” remarked Henderson.

Lady Sayers entered the room and the conversation turned to Dr. Braine’s instructions for Lydia’s care. The one thing he insisted on, said Lady Sayers, was that she not be agitated by questions about the night she was attacked. There would be time enough for that when her strength had returned, and so he would tell the constable.

Lady Sayers shook her head. “This is a sad business to drag you into, Liza. Had there been time, I would have written to your mother to cancel the visit, but, you see, I expected you at any moment. If you wish to return to Paris, and I’m sure you must, I shall arrange it as soon as may be.”

“Return to Paris!” Liza sounded shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of it! Here I was, thinking that London would be boring, and it isn’t boring at all. What could be more exciting than living with such talented, celebrated ladies, with a mystery to solve and danger lurking just around the corner?” Her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the prospect. Gradually, her enthusiasm ebbed and she said more moderately, “Besides, I can’t return to Paris. Mama and Papa are touring Provence, and I don’t know how to reach them.”

That, of course, settled the matter.

Philip Henderson managed to have a quiet word with Ash before he left. As he accepted his hat and gloves from the footman, he said, “I believe you’re acting for Colonel Shearer in this business of Angelo?”

Ash was instantly on the alert. “Who told you that?”

Philip shrugged. “Word gets around, and the colonel isn’t exactly closemouthed. The thing is, I’m in much the same position as you. I have a client who would dearly love to sue this Angelo fellow. I’ve told her, it would never come to court. No crime has been committed. She won’t listen. The thing is, I can’t turn her off because she’s my mother’s dearest friend. Her name is Lady Trigg, and she has a lovely country home in Crawley.”

“She must be the lady whose footman fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck.”

“That’s the one, and now she thinks everyone is pointing fingers at her behind her back.”

“Tell her that she’s not alone. Anyone who has the misfortune to play a part in one of Angelo’s stories feels the same. The colonel would like to wring his neck.”

“And I’d like to sue him.”

They both laughed.

Ash walked down the front steps with Philip. “Maybe we can work together to discover Angelo’s identity.”

“Not my strong suit, old friend. I’m not a policeman. Bring me the evidence and I’ll do the rest. I thought, however, that you should know about Lady Trigg. This happened a long time ago, fourteen years to be exact. It seems strange to me that someone would resurrect this old tragedy.”

Ash nodded as he made a mental note. All three accidents had taken place within a year of each other.

As Philip entered the carriage, Ash thought that it was good to be on friendly terms with him again. The estrangement with Amanda had made things awkward between the men, though the upset had taken place when Ash was soldiering in Spain. He’d never understood the ins and outs of Amanda’s curious behavior. He’d liked both Philip and Mark and would have been happy to see her married to either.

Now she was a widow, and Philip had invited himself into her carriage for the drive home. Ash wasn’t sure how Amanda would feel about that. As far as he could tell, she was still in love with Mark.

He hadn’t always admired Philip as much as he did now. Philip was a younger son and would inherit very little when his father died. So Philip had taken up a profession, but it was more than a profession. The law was his vocation.

As for himself, Ash was the only heir, and nothing much had ever been expected of him except that he marry and beget heirs. The prospect had never appealed to him, and after Harry’s tragic death, he had completely repudiated the course his father had laid out for him.

He’d told Eve more than he meant to but not nearly as much as he might have. Harry’s sudden death had opened his eyes to many things he’d never questioned before. He saw his father’s ambitions in a new light. They had no relevance and no substance, and he wanted no part of them. His father had tried to make him in his own image and, thank God, he had failed.

She was lucky to have Miss Claverley. She was a lady with a big heart. He hoped Eve had taken note of how respectfully, how utterly gentlemanly he’d behaved when Miss Claverley performed her parlor tricks. In his opinion, Philip was lucky to have escaped with his whole skin. Eve had the instincts of a guard dog where her aunt was concerned. A wrong look or a wrong word could have her baring her fangs, and those were ferocious fangs.

He’d seen another side of her at Vauxhall. As for the Eve in his dreams…

He shook his head, silently chiding himself. Every stray thought seemed to lead back to Eve Dearing. It was unmanly. He had more important things to think about. He was bound and determined to find Angelo and find out the truth about Harry’s death.

He was getting restless again. He looked out over the grounds. A brisk walk might settle his fidgets, he decided, and he struck out on the path to Kennington Common.

As the coach bowled along Kennington Road, Philip said, “I don’t often see you without your grandmother. Is her ladyship indisposed?”

“No, she’s quite well, thank you. Her goddaughter, Henrietta, has a new baby, and my grandmother has gone for a little visit. They live near Barstow.”

He seemed surprised. “You’re not alone in that big house of yours?”

“Of course not. My old nurse is staying with me until my grandmother comes home.”