Rules of Attraction (30 page)

She swallowed, hard, and said, "I forgot about my sprain, so I suppose it's not that bad."

He looked down at the foot he held.

He was thinking. Oh, God, she could almost hear his thoughts. She almost knew what he was going to say, and nothing could help her brace for the grief.

Squaring his shoulders, he scrutinized her, nude, exhausted, debauched beyond sense. And he said, "I'll leave the money in your account if you will just go away."

Her tears dried. She was able to speak, and in a steady tone. "You've nothing to worry about, my lord. After Queen Victoria has gone, you can suffer my abandonment again. And this time when I leave, I will never come back."

24

D
ougald sat at his desk, hands folded, and listened as they came through the chapel.

"You can't force me to do this! What are you doing, putting your hands on me, you filthy frog? I'm going to have you flogged!"

Dougald recognized the shrill note of panic in Seaton's voice. Charles had properly frightened Seaton.

Now Charles would play his part. "Sir Onslow, I'm sorry. I have no choice. My lord commanded that I bring you, and when I fail him, he…" Charles allowed his voice to trail off. "My lord is a harsh master, Sir Onslow. I dare not disobey."

"It's almost morning light!"

"He commanded your presence the instant you returned from Conniff Manor." Charles kicked the office door open and used a gesture that both released Seaton from his grip and shoved him into the room. "My lord, here is Sir Onslow."

Dougald didn't rise. He didn't move. He knew very well what he looked like. Night's last darkness had settled in his office, except for the candles that had been carefully placed around him. Each flame illuminated his dark and silver hair, his black jacket, his black cravat, his fixed expression and glittering eyes. If Seaton remembered Dougald's reputation for murder, that was good. If Seaton thought he was facing the devil himself, so much the better.

Because Seaton had tried to kill Hannah. Seaton was going to confess. Seaton was going to pay.

"Sit down." In a slow gesture that set the light sparkling in the gems of his ringed fingers, Dougald indicated a straight-backed chair placed in the middle of the room.

Seaton wore a well-tailored dark jacket, a plaid waistcoat and matching plaid trousers, shining boots and the diamond collar pin which looked so much like Dougald's. Only his rumpled hair showed the rigors of carriage travel, with the usually precisely arranged stands disarrayed by the wind. Such an undistinguished brute; no wonder he had gone undetected for so long and through so many murders.

Now he stared at Dougald's impressive array, and with his lips quivering and his nose in the air, he said, "Is this display of power supposed to impress me?"

Dougald didn't know whether to give him points for audacity or demerits for stupidity. By the time this meeting was over, he would know. "Charles, help Sir Onslow sit down."

"I'll sit!" Seaton had learned respect for Charles's fighting hold.

Too late. Charles twisted Seaton's arm behind his back and pushed him toward the chair.

Seaton walked on his tiptoes to relieve the pressure, and whimpered, "Ow, ow, ow." Then, as soon as Charles released him, he straightened his cuffs, and said, "That was not necessary."

"I beg your pardon, sir." Charles leaned over and rubbed his hands together, over and over. "Since rumor of the killing got whispered about, I do what my master tells me."

Seaton straightened with a snap. Staring at Dougald, he asked, "Is that what this is about? That I mentioned the tale of your murderous marital tendencies here and there? Because I assure you, I might have added a few details, but most people had already heard the account."

"Of course not, Seaton." Once again, Dougald sat absolutely still. "You're not significant enough for me to care what you say."

"Well, I would hope not!" Realizing the insult too late, Seaton glowered. "Then what am I doing here?"

"It's your other activities which have attracted my attention."

"O… other activities?"

Dougald realized how close he was to violence when he had to concentrate on remaining in his chair. He wanted to pummel Seaton until he lost that snippy attitude and a few teeth and confessed everything. Then Dougald would finish removing Seaton's teeth…

Dougald took a slow, calming breath. This wasn't about revenge. It was about prevention, and keeping Hannah safe. Because he loved her. Even if he couldn't have her, he loved her. "Seaton, you can't have thought your activities would remain unnoticed forever."

Seaton squirmed, then lifted his snub nose into the air again. "I… I don't know what you're talking about."

Dougald exchanged a glance with Charles. That squirm was as good as a confession of guilt. But Dougald wanted that confession. He wanted the details. He wanted to catch the conspirators and hear what Seaton had planned. Since Hannah had insisted on staying until after the Queen's visit, Dougald had to know everything.

After a lengthy and silent pause, during which Dougald observed Seaton squirm twice more, Dougald said, "It's quite late. I'm tired. Charles says I get disagreeable when I'm tired. I hope you don't keep me at this for very long, or my patience will run out."

Leaning closer to Seaton, Charles in an obsequious tone, said, "It's best to confess to the master before he grows irate."

Seaton's gaze slid back and forth between his two interrogators, and he did a little interrogating of his own. "Is that what made him kill his wife? A jealous rage?"

Rubbing his hands again, Charles said, "No, sir. He wasn't jealous at all."

Dougald barely maintained his gravity. Charles was enjoying this a little too much. As Dougald would be, if the situation were not so serious. "Charles, you over-step your bounds."

Charles cowered back to the far wall.

After a long, hard stare, Dougald turned his attention back to Seaton. "Now, I want your confession, and I want it now. What foolish little action have you been taking?"

Seaton glanced at Charles, then at Dougald. "Nothing. I haven't been…"

Dougald began to stand.

Charles whimpered.

Seaton changed his tone and his intent. "That is… I… I didn't think that you knew…"

Dougald reseated himself. "Confess."

Squaring his padded shoulders, Seaton said, "I'll return it all."

Dougald didn't have to feign confusion. "Return… it… all."

Seaton clasped his forehead. "It was that necklace that gave me away, wasn't it? The one I took from Mrs. Grizzle?"

Still not comprehending, Dougald stared at Seaton, his distant cousin, the man who was confessing… to the wrong crime.

Charles took over the interrogation. "You took a necklace from Mrs. Grizzle?"

Seaton glanced around and realized he had guessed wrong. He tried again. "Not the necklace? Then it was vases. Lady McCarn's prize Ming vases. They were too big, but such a challenge I don't know how anyone could expect I wouldn't be tempted."

Dougald recovered enough to string words, and thoughts, together. "You took Lady McCarn's prize Ming vases. You
stole
—"

"Not
stole. Stole
is such an ugly word. I… gathered the vases. They look quite lovely in my bedchamber." Clearly, Seaton didn't know what to make of Dougald's dumbfounded expression, and in a typically Seaton diversion, he shifted the blame. "It's your fault, Lord Raeburn, that I needed to decorate my own bedchamber. You can't expect a man of delicacy to reside in that disgrace of a room, and you wouldn't spend the blunt to make my habitation worthy of me."

"I felt that the family rooms should be done first…" Dougald realized he was excusing himself to a thief, and snapped, "Redecorating your bedchamber doesn't explain a stolen necklace. I assume you're selling the jewelry for cash."

Seaton placed his hand on his chest. "
I
am a gentleman. I don't sell the things I gather!"

Baffled, Dougald tried to clarify. "You… keep them?"

"Of course."

"What do you do with them?"

"I look at them." As Seaton realized Dougald would allow him to live, he relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and in a chatty tone related, "I have quite an extensive collection. You can come and gaze on it sometime."

If Seaton was seeking to distract Dougald, he was doing a dazzling job. "You still have everything."

"Indeed."

"Then I will take you up on your offer. You will return it all."

Seaton's eyes widened. He sat up straight. His hands clenched. "Not really? To whom?"

"The owners."

Panic filled Seaton's voice. "People will not understand. They will think badly of me."

Charles used his most soothing tone. "A master such as you will be able to replace the items so that the owners will believe them simply misplaced."

"But
I
won't have them."

"You can do it, or I'll do it for you."

At Dougald's less-than-subtle threat, Seaton gave a sob. "The jewelry? The ceramics? The paintings?"

"Paintings?" Dougald could imagine Seaton taking a large painting off the wall, hiding it under his coat and slipping out.

"Did I say paintings?" Seaton dabbed at his eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "I meant…"

"The paintings, too." Dougald didn't know whether to laugh or join Seaton in tears.

"This is an outrage!"

"I couldn't agree more." Obviously the servants had to know about Seaton's little idiosyncrasy.

"I don't have to submit to such an indignity."

"You do if you want to continue living here." At least one of Dougald's neighbors must have noticed the losses associated with Seaton's visits.

Seaton pulled his gloves out of his pocket and slapped them against his palm. "Such cruelty and lack of refinement would cause yet another stain on your reputation."

"If I have survived the rumors of murder, which you have taken such care to spread, I believe I could survive the ignominy of turning out my brigand heir." Dougald couldn't imagine what kind of rumors followed in
Seaton's
wake.

Seaton stood. "Such an ugly word—
brigand
. Very well. I shall do as you wish. But may the results be on your head!"

Charles opened the door, and Seaton stalked out.

As Charles shut the door, Dougald leaned his head into his hands. He was tired. He was worried. For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do next. "Charles, do you think Seaton pulled the wool over our eyes?"

Enigmatically, Charles replied, "I will speak to the detectives again."

Dougald lifted his head and stared at his valet, silently demanding a better answer.

Charles yielded. "No, my lord, I suspect Sir Onslow is just as you accused— merely a petty thief."

"We have no other suspects."

"Not at this moment, my lord."

"You must continue to watch over
Madame
."

"As always," Charles proclaimed.

Another, lesser suspicion struck Dougald. "I suppose that diamond collar pin Seaton wears that looks so much like mine— is mine."

"I thought I had misplaced it."

Dougald met his valet's cynically amused gaze. "I never liked it anyway."

25

S
he would never be pleasured again. Morosely, Hannah sat in the afternoon sun in the aunts' workroom and stitched the pieces of Prince Albert's face together. The weight of a man, the press of his chest against hers, the sounds, the smells, the friction, the closeness… never again.

"That's Prince Albert's eyebrow, not his chin!" Miss Minnie plucked the weaving out of Hannah's hand.

Miss Minnie was certainly cantankerous today.

Hannah moved to sit next to Aunt Spring.

"Would you thread me a needle, dear?" Aunt Spring suggested.

The first time Hannah had left Dougald and his lovemaking behind, she had been stoic— because, she now realized, she'd been too much of a looby to realize what she was giving up. Now she knew. The scrape of a morning beard across her breasts when he suckled her. The texture of rough hair against her palms when she stroked his chest. Silken strands of his mane falling around her face when he kissed her. And he'd allowed Charles to cut his hair!

To put in a proper appearance before Her Majesty, Charles had said.

To spite her, Hannah thought.

"Not that color, dear." Aunt Spring pointed at the gold thread. "That color. Wherever is your mind?"

Hannah blinked at her.

"Never mind." Aunt Spring gave her a gentle push. "I'll get one of the serving maids to thread my needle."

Hannah made her way to the looms.

Although if Dougald had been happy these last four days, Hannah had seen confounded little evidence of it. Rather he looked haggard, as if he'd been getting little peace and less sleep.

Hannah hoped so. She hoped he was miserable. She hoped every time he saw her at the breakfast table, every time he heard her call to the aunts, every time he thought of her, he felt guilty, distressed, angry… but she couldn't lie to herself. Actually, what she wanted him to feel was the torments of the flesh. She hoped he looked at her and his cock rose and crowed.

Heaven knew she'd been dressing to encourage his refractory instincts. Every night she stayed awake late, stitching on her gowns— lowering the necklines, tightening the waists, adding a ruffle of lace on her petticoats or her pantalettes. Every day she made sure he viewed her cleavage, her ankle… her smile. He would never know she suffered when she gazed at him, imagining how empty her flesh would always be, how she would wither and grow old alone, without the comfort of a husband. A lover. Dougald.

The treadles thumped and the shuttles flew as Aunt Isabel and Aunt Ethel wove the last bits of the Queen's tapestry.

The old women's shoulders sagged, their eyes were bloodshot, but their lips were set in firm determination. Two days hence, just before noon, Queen Victoria would arrive in her royally outfitted train car. With the help of the maids, who fetched and carried anything the aunts might need, and Hannah, who organized and lent a hand, the tapestry would be complete and hanging on the wall in the great hall, majestic in its splendor.