Unmasking Sin, page 11
“I really should have handed you over to the Watch the last time,” Ludovic observed, regarding the miscreant dispassionately.
“This is the man who broke in before?” the butler demanded.
“I’m afraid so,” Ludovic replied just as a bell tinkled in the array above the inner door.
“That will be her ladyship,” Dawson said heavily.
“I’ll go up,” said Simpkins, the lady’s maid. “Leaves more of you to watch him.”
Mrs. Arnott, the housekeeper, nodded once, and the maid flew off up the steps.
Dawson said, “Forgive me for saying, sir, but you do seem to know a good deal—too much, one might almost say—about what happens in this house.”
“Be grateful he does, or I wouldn’t have caught your burglar,” Napper retorted.
“Speaking of whom,” Ludovic murmured, leaning his hip on the corner of the table closest to the burglar and fixing him with a cold stare. “I’m surprised Mr. Renwick didn’t tell you to leave this place alone.”
“If you know Mr. Renwick,” the burglar said fiercely, “then you know you’d better let me go.”
“Mr. Renwick and I have an understanding,” Ludovic snapped, “and it does not include housebreaking, and most assuredly not this house. Does he even know you’re here?”
The burglar squeezed his eyes shut. “Just tell him.”
“Then he doesn’t. Open your eyes and stop hiding like a baby. What’s your name?”
“Pete,” came the reluctant answer.
“What are you looking for, Pete?”
“Nothing!” Pete said defiantly.
“Liar. You’re an inept burglar, which might not stand in your favor with your fellows, but does recommend you to me. Renwick can’t save you from this now, but it’s possible I can if you tell me the truth.”
Pete squeezed his eyes shut again, then opened them and glared back into Ludovic’s. “Go to hell.”
“Mind your language,” Ludovic said mildly. “I hope Mr. Renwick is grateful for your loyalty.”
“I don’t know no Renwick,” Pete muttered.
“Then why ask me to tell him what’s happened to you? And if you came burgling without his knowledge, even against his orders, why would he lift a finger to help you?”
Pete drew in a shuddering breath, then blurted, “Because I’m his nephew.”
“Are you, by God?” Ludovic said, staring at him. “What did you come to steal?”
“Nothing, I swear to God.”
Ludovic leaned back, regarding him thoughtfully. “Now that, for some reason, rings true, though it does not make sense. You had better just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Meaning you won’t. Hmm.” Ludovic held the burglar’s gaze. “Did someone else instruct you or pay you to break in here? On either occasion.”
There was relief mixed with scorn in Pete’s desperate face. “Course not.”
“Would you have us believe him, Mr. Dunne?” drawled a pleasant, feminine voice from behind him.
He jerked around, and rose from the table, straightening his back. Lady Cornish stood framed in the kitchen doorway. He had no idea how long she had been there, for in truth, her presence in the kitchen took him by complete surprise. And, dressed in an elegant, sky-blue walking gown with pink rosebuds embroidered across the high waisted bodice and sleeves, her beauty snatched at his breath.
For an instant, all he could think of was the feel of her mouth beneath his, opening in sweet, ardent response to his deepening kiss.
What the devil did she just ask me? Oh yes, about believing Pete.
“Oddly enough, I think I do believe him.”
Her face betrayed no interest in his beliefs. Instead, her gaze swept around the others. “You were not responsible, I believe, for stopping this thief.”
“No, that was Mr.—er… Napper here.” Napper was the man’s nickname, and though Ludovic knew his real one, it had gone clean out of his head.
Napper bowed modestly to the lady.
“My profound thanks, Mr. Napper,” her ladyship said before snapping her gaze back to Ludovic. “And you are here because…?”
“I sent for him,” Napper said bluntly. “On account of him having caught this miscreant before at the same game. And on account of him being a dab hand at winkling the truth out of reluctant coves like him.” Napper slapped the captive carelessly across the back of the head, and Pete scowled.
Lady Cornish did not look particularly impressed.
Ludovic said, “Instead of handing this man over to the law immediately, I would like your permission to take him with me to confront the man I believe indirectly responsible.”
“It seems likely to me that you are the man responsible, directly or indirectly,” she said in tones of amusement. “So, no, I do not grant my permission. James, go and—”
“Your pardon, my lady,” Ludovic interrupted ruthlessly, “but I don’t believe this man is anything to do with your uncles, and I certainly have no intention of taking him there. I want to take him to Maida Gardens.”
Her determined, haughty expression vanished into surprise. “Maida?”
“I’m beginning to think you really have two different problems here, and if we can clear up this one, then you may concentrate fully on the more dangerous one.”
She searched his face, then said deliberately. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you not to let him go, and I don’t trust you not to lie. He will stay here and await the magistrate’s men.”
In the shocked silence that followed that pronouncement, even Pete’s mouth fell open. Well, it was damning and demeaning, and although Ludovic understood her anger and her need to lash out, he felt the blood drain from his face. A pain twisted at his heart.
Ignoring it, he said, “The choice is your ladyship’s. In your place, I would prefer the truth. If you would rather not know, by all means, deliver him up to the magistrate. He will probably be transported, and you none the wiser. Or, distrust being perfectly sensible, you could send your own people to Maida with me. Your butler seems a good choice, though again, that is entirely up to you.”
She stared at him, betraying no sign of softening. Though she was at least mulling over his argument. Then she said briskly. “I shall go with you. And Dawson will accompany us.” With that, she swung on her heel and swept out of the kitchen.
“Ooof,” Napper murmured in Ludovic’s ear. “She don’t care much for you.”
“Mark, send the carriage back round to the front,” Dawson instructed. He eyed the hopeful Pete with disfavor. “Should we tie him up or something?”
“I doubt there’s any need since we’re taking him home,” Ludovic said dryly. “Stand up, Pete, your carriage awaits.”
*
Rebecca’s knees were shaking as she ran back upstairs to fetch her shawl and bonnet. She didn’t know if the reaction was due to another foiled burglary, Ludovic Dunne’s presence in her house, or her own unforgettable rudeness to him. For an instant, she thought her insults might actually have hurt him, but then his face had smoothed, and he had spoken with perfect reason.
And yet, a man who kissed as he had kissed her last night surely had feelings to be hurt. Either his self-control was formidable, or nothing she could say reached him. Men’s feelings for women were largely bodily lusts in her experience, so she suspected the latter to be true. Not that she cared. She wanted to know why she was being burgled and to stop it from happening again. If a trip to Maida in his company was necessary, then she would make the sacrifice.
Dawson handed her into the carriage and sat beside her. Looking sulky, the burglar known only by the name of Pete, climbed up next and plonked down in the middle of the opposite bench.
“Don’t try my patience,” Dunne said mildly, and Pete moved up to make space.
It was a tense, quiet journey, with no one inclined to make conversation. The town carriage was comfortable and spacious but filled with three substantial men and Rebecca, and it was definitely crowded.
She spent a long time gazing at her gloved hands in her lap so that she wouldn’t twist her fingers together. For variety, she shifted to the burglar’s bare hands, large, rough, grubby, gripping his hat tightly.
Ludovic Dunne’s hands, also without gloves, were not rough. They were a gentleman’s hands, resting casually on his thighs. Capable hands, with long fingers. She wondered if he played a musical instrument, for they had been gentle and sensitive on her skin, her hair. He had touched her tenderly for a large man, his fingertips trailing caresses across her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her nape… She wondered how it would feel to have this man as a lover, for there had been nothing hurried about his kiss and everything exciting about the way he had aroused her body.
A vision swam unbidden into her mind: Ludovic Dunne sliding naked over her while those enticing hands touched her much more intimately. Shocked, she blinked and wrenched her gaze from his hands. Unfortunately, this brought her to his face. A handsome, almost distinguished countenance, framed by that unusual silver hair, but more than that, his features seemed to speak of strength. The line of his jaw was firm, his chin determined, his eyes steady as he gazed out of the window next to Pete, or perhaps at Pete himself.
Then he moved, very slightly, and abruptly their eyes locked. It was as if some unseen thread jerked taut, joining them. Initial attraction, last night’s bone-melting kiss, even enmity and mistrust all united in a bizarre, unendurable intimacy.
Shaken and with no idea why, she wrenched her gaze free and looked out of her near window instead.
Maida Gardens were quieter than Rebecca had seen them. When they had all piled out of the carriage and entered the gate, the girl in the booth made no effort to charge them. Greeting Pete cheerfully, she merely exchanged glances with him and smiled curiously at his well-dressed companions.
Pete seemed to know where he was going, veering right before they reached the main pavilion and stopping at the entrance to a more private garden. A cottage and outbuildings stood some distance to the left, half-hidden by trees and hedges, but this garden was merely grass and an awning, beneath which sat several men playing cards.
“Fetch him,” Ludovic Dunne murmured, and, dragging his feet now, Pete advanced into the garden and approached the players, who seemed so intent on the cards that no one even looked at him, let alone at those by the entrance.
Pete murmured something to a man with his back to them. There was a pause, though the man did not turn, and then Pete walked back to them.
“We’re to wait at the house,” he muttered. “This way.” He led them to the cottage behind the trees and to a table in the garden, which a young woman was wiping with a cloth. It was the girl who had served her tea and ice cream when she had been here with Tom. Renwick’s niece.
“Well met, Pete,” she called, smiling. “Are you staying for…” She caught sight of his companions and straightened, offering a quick though not ungraceful curtsey before her questioning gaze returned to Pete.
“Uncle Bill’s coming,” Pete muttered, and to Dunne, he added, “My cousin Kitty.”
“We’ve met,” Dunne said with a civil inclination of the head.
“I’ll bring tea,” the girl offered. “Please, sit here in the shade.”
Everything was outdoors here. Rebecca rather liked that, although perhaps it was not so convenient in the winter months. She sat down with a murmur of thanks, and Ludovic sat casually beside her, facing the gate. Dawson did not sit, and neither did Pete, who paced up and down the same stretch of garden under Dunne’s gaze.
By the time his cousin Kitty had brought the tea, Mr. Renwick, the owner of the Gardens, was strolling toward the table.
He smiled with apparent good nature, although it seemed to Rebecca that his eyes were hard like flint. He bowed to Rebecca without looking remotely awed and said amiably, “Mr. Dunne, always a pleasure. You’re keeping quite august company today, young Pete.”
“He insisted,” Pete said.
“He knows the way here without you,” his uncle said dryly.
“He insisted I come, too,” Pete explained, and a slightly warier look narrowed Renwick’s eyes.
“On account of…?” Renwick hinted.
“On account of being dragged off this lady’s outhouse roof as he tried to break into her house,” Dunne explained in wintry tones. “While I was foolish enough to believe we had an understanding.”
“So was I,” growled Renwick, glaring at his nephew. “What the—” He broke off with a quick glance at Rebecca and corrected himself. “What on earth did you think you were doing?”
“Making it right,” Pete muttered. “I thought I was making it right. Because I messed it up before, I thought I could get in and out again while she was away out with the nipper. She took a load of servants with her.”
“Why,” Rebecca asked carefully while Mr. Renwick turned his eyes up to heaven as though praying for strength, “would burgling my house make anything right?”
Renwick tugged once at his cravat and sank onto the chair opposite Dunne, who gazed at him and said, “Because, in your eyes and his, you were not stealing. You are looking for something that belongs to you.”
“That’s it,” Renwick said gratefully.
Rebecca stared from him to Dunne and back. “Leaving aside the fact that I cannot imagine what possession of yours could possibly be in my house, would the simplest procedure not be simply to ask me for it? Housebreaking is a crime in itself.”
“Too true,” Renwick said with feeling, glaring once more at Pete. “In my defense, I can only say that I doubted I would be believed. And I did owe your late husband some degree of discretion.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “You knew Theo?”
“He liked the fun of the masked balls,” Renwick said without looking at Dunne.
Rebecca could translate that for herself. He enjoyed the willing women and the general licentiousness of the Gardens at night. It no longer hurt, but for some reason, she felt humiliated that Dunne should hear it. Of course, he knew it already. He had known it before he even approached her the first time. Yet, somehow, she had never connected Theo with this place. It had been her haven, and now that was spoiled, too.
Under Dunne’s cold, steady gaze, Renwick said reluctantly, “He also played cards here.”
“A brave man or a desperate one,” Dunne commented.
Renwick scowled. “There’s no need for that.”
“Then Sir Theodore did not lose money to you at cards?” Dunne mocked.
“He did, but I never sharped him. Didn’t need to. He was way too reckless and, saving my lady’s presence, way too foxed also.”
“How much did he owe you?” Rebecca asked wearily.
“Nothing,” Renwick replied, and when both she and Dunne regarded him skeptically, he added, “We came to an arrangement, a favor he did for me that cleared his debt.” He paused, and although his face gave little away, Rebecca was sure he was working out how little he could tell then, or perhaps making up some story to satisfy them.
“I believe,” Ludovic Dunne said, “that only the truth will serve to keep your nephew—and possibly yourself—out of prison. Even then, there are no guarantees. Just hopes.”
Renwick sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I have a side business here.”
“You have a few by all accounts,” Dunne said wryly.
Renwick scowled at him. “I pawn things occasionally for good customers. Lend them money on favorable terms, with security. Mostly the sums involved are small. To be frank, I don’t have that much of the readies to throw around. And the security is small, too, though always greater than the loan. But I had a couple of bigger loans—I won’t tell you who to—that meant I had to keep very valuable items. Items that would have caused me a lot of questions if the law had discovered them on the premises. So, I got Sir Theo to keep them for me.”
“You trusted Sir Theo to keep them for you?” Rebecca blurted.
A cynical smile flickered across Renwick’s face. “Funnily enough, I did. I knew where he lived. And I may have…exaggerated my capabilities were he to betray me.”
“In certain circles,” Ludovic Dunne said to her, “Mr. Renwick enjoys a certain…notoriety. Exaggerated or not.”
Renwick waved that aside. “When Sir Theo died—my sincere condolences to your ladyship—I was in no great hurry to retrieve these items. Until a week ago, my borrower promised to pay me back in the next month and would therefore require his security returned.”
“And what is this security?” Rebecca asked. She was unsure whether to believe him or not.
Renwick’s gaze flickered from her to Dunne and back. “A necklace,” he said reluctantly, “with matching earrings. Particularly fine rubies. Don’t ask me who they belong to because I won’t tell you that.”
Rebecca frowned. “He was in possession of no such pieces when he died. I went through all his personal items, and there was no feminine jewelry among them.”
“Perhaps,” Renwick suggested, “he gave them to you as though they were a gift.”
It was, she reflected, exactly the sort of thing he might have done in the beginning. Pacified her with an expensive gift that wasn’t his to give. But there had been increasingly few gifts of any kind as the months went by, and rubies had never been among them.
“No,” she said baldly.
“Perhaps he hid them,” Dunne said.
She frowned. “I don’t see where, though I can look. But even if I find them, Mr. Renwick, what proof do I have that he obtained them as you say?”
Renwick hesitated. Then, “I do have a document. I’m prepared to show it to Mr. Dunne.”
“I’m afraid you will have to be prepared to show it to me,” she said frigidly. “Supposing I ever find the rubies, which I doubt.”
“I hope you do find them,” Renwick said, “for without them, your husband or his heir owes me ten thousand pounds—including his original debt for the cards. It’s all in the document, which I really don’t wish to show you or Mr. Dunne or anyone else.”
