Unmasking Deception, page 23
Oh, why did Amelia choose this moment to go? I need her to read this! It had to be important, but until she knew what it said, she had no idea what she should do about it. Should she get up and chase after Amelia? Look for one of the Gorses or Rollo, or…
There is no time, Viola Dove. Pull yourself together, and stop being so pathetic. Breathe, look, and slowly read.
Perhaps because so much depended on it, she forced the panic down and read the letters one by one, putting them in the right order in her mind.
New assig. Same time. Ruined folly a hundred yards south of temple.
The villain had changed the place of their meeting. And everyone, including Barnaby Smith of Bow Street, would be waiting at the temple.
“Thank you,” she said mechanically to the young girl who brought two dishes of creamy-looking ices and set them before her and Amelia’s empty chair.
There was no time to tell everyone. Those tasked with guarding Lucy would remain with her. She had to tell everyone else about the change of location, or it would all be for nothing. She stood abruptly and walked toward the path where she had once followed the injured Dominic Gorse.
With her head down and the large brim of her hat, she almost didn’t see Minton, leaning one shoulder against a tree, gazing fixedly at Lucy, a faint smile curving his lips. That smile made her flesh crawl, but Lucy had protectors, and if Minton was still here, then she had time to warn Rollo and the others.
She delved down the path, and as it narrowed, used her wide-brimmed hat to protect her from overhanging branches. Yes, there was the temple. She could hear other voices, children’s shouts and laughter, and realized that some kind of performance was going on beyond the hedge. Perhaps that was why Minton had felt compelled to look elsewhere.
Hurrying on, she saw a dark figure sitting on the temple steps. He seemed to be looking toward her, and her heart jumped into her mouth. But the figure stood, moving rapidly toward her, and with unspeakable relief, she recognized Dominic, in buff pantaloons and a dark blue coat.
“Viola, what is it?” he demanded, striding up and seizing her face between his hands. “What has happened?” His eyes devoured her face, anxious, almost afraid.
“He’s going to a folly a hundred yards from here!” she all but panted. “It must be down there, and…”
He called over his shoulder, “Rolls!” But seemed reluctant to let her go. “Everything else is well?”
She nodded. “I think so, except that I left Amelia alone, and Minton is staring at Lucy like the cat with the cream.” She slipped out of his hold as Rollo Darblay sauntered out of the temple, Barnaby Smith on his heels. Rollo carried Minton’s overcoat over one arm, which looked odd on such a warm summer’s day.
“Morning, Viola, what’s the panic?” he asked.
“Do you know a folly about a hundred yards south of here?” Dominic demanded.
“Yes, has he moved his assignation there? Half the tower’s missing, and there’s a hole in the roof. But actually, it’s a better place for Smith to hide. And you, if you insist on interfering in your own destiny.”
“Better get down there quickly,” Dominic said briskly. “We haven’t got long.”
Rollo, a careless young man at the best of times, surprised her with a direct glance. “All well? Happy to walk you back to your friends.”
She smiled at such a rare display of cousinly care—he was almost a cousin—but shook her head urgently. “No, no, I am fine. Please hurry, Rollo!”
Rollo shrugged. “Keep your hair on. He’s not going to dash off, is he? Not if he thinks all that lovely money’s on her way to him.”
Mr. Smith cast Dominic a withering glance, as if suspecting him of another escape attempt, even when he no longer had anything to escape from, and strode off with Rollo.
Dominic hadn’t moved. “Do you want to come?”
There was nothing she wanted more. “I should go back to Amelia.”
“She’ll be swept up with the others in Minton’s wake.”
“That is probably true,” she allowed.
His lips quirked. He offered her his arm, and she took it as they set out behind Rollo and Mr. Smith.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
I have ached for you. The words stuck painfully in her throat. She couldn’t look at him.
“Have you been avoiding me, Viola?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, “a little.”
“You regret making love with me?”
That was so far from the truth that she jerked her face up to him in something very like a gawp. “Oh, no, never, I…”
Was that relief in his veiled eyes? Was it possible he, too, was unsure of himself? His amazing dark blue eyes seemed almost to smolder. “Then, what, Viola? Why? Don’t you want to marry me?”
This was no time to be having this discussion, and yet walking beside him, holding his arm, aware of his every movement, his nearness, she felt a bizarre contentment steal over her.
“You know I do,” she said candidly. “But only if you truly want to marry me. You could have anyone you wanted, you know, with beauty, birth, fortune.”
“So could you,” he retorted. “That isn’t the point. I thought we had chosen each other for love, which needs no reason, no justification. We are not Minton, cajoling and cozening for cash and influence and—”
“Hush,” she begged, shaking his arm, for she had glimpsed movement between the trees toward the main path.
He broke off to follow her gaze, glanced toward the ruined tower peeping over the foliage, then spun her off the path and up against a large oak tree. She was still gasping when his mouth found hers.
It was wild. It was sweet. And drugging. But she wouldn’t give in so easily. “I am not pretty,” she whispered in anguish when she could speak at all. “I am not rich or fashionable or clever. I cannot even read!”
His eyes glowed. She didn’t know if he was laughing at her or tempting her. “To each point,” he murmured. “You are beautiful. I don’t care. I care even less. You are. And you can read because you made yourself overcome all the difficulties, even in mid-panic, because only you could save our plan. These are all reasons to love you. I don’t need them.”
He seized her mouth in another kiss. Above, birds sang in the sunshine. From somewhere close by, came the faint sound of footsteps on a dry path, the swish of clothes against leaves and branches. She barely noticed.
“My life is a mess,” he whispered in her ear. “I am a selfish hedonist, sulking like a child for years because my father would not buy me a commission. I brought myself to ruin, and for some reason, I will never fathom, you saved me. I would not press you if I didn’t think you loved me, but please, please don’t throw away our chance of happiness for some imagined scruple.”
She caught his face between her hands as he tried to plunge for her lips once more. He let her look, search deep into his eyes.
Her lips parted. “You do love me. You are not even distracted by…” By Lucy. By anyone. Somehow Viola had won him. And nothing in the world had ever been so precious. She reached up and pressed her mouth to his.
And then reality intruded. Those footsteps they had both ignored… She dragged her lips free. “Was that…?”
“Minton?” he murmured. “Yes. Shall we go and see?”
*
Minton disregarded the courting couple, kissing under the oak tree. It was scarcely an unusual sight in the Gardens, and they were far enough away from the folly not to trouble his plans. Not to mention fully occupied.
He strode on toward the folly, his mind largely on the Gavelston girl. She had smiled and blushed when he had met her as though by accident and passed her his note. Since then, she had met his gaze and smiled, her eyes sparkling with what seemed to be fun. Which gave him a useful clue. The secret to getting her to Gretna easily was to make the journey a fun adventure. With lots of romance…
He glanced at his watch, five minutes until one. Excellent timing. He strode jauntily up to the neglected folly and walked inside. He stopped dead.
Someone was there already, silhouetted against the sun streaming in through the empty window. The figure glanced up, and Minton moved to get the sun out of his eyes.
“Minton,” said Rollo Darblay cheerfully. He sprawled on the stone window seat, apparently inspecting a greatcoat. “What brings you here? Am I interrupting an assignation?”
“Yes, as it happens,” Minton said crossly.
“Mum’s the word, old fellow,” Darblay said, tapping the side of his nose. He was probably half-sprung. He generally was after midday. He swung his legs down from the seat and stood, shaking out the many capes of the coat. “I’ll be on my way. What do you think of this, though, before I go?”
“It’s a driving coat,” Minton said sarcastically. “Though what you want with it in this weather at a pleasure garden is beyond me.”
“Oh, I didn’t bring it here,” Darblay assured him. “Bought it here. Bit of a thieves’ den, between you and me. Wouldn’t be surprised if someone hadn’t helped themselves out of a gentleman’s trunk or pinched it off someone’s back on the king’s highway. But I got it for a song, and it will be damned useful in a couple of months.” He held out one of the sleeves toward Minton. “Feel the quality of that. Not bad, is it?”
“In the suds again, Darblay?” Minton sneered, though he condescended to take the sleeve between his finger and thumb. It was indeed fine quality wool, and more than that, it felt…familiar.
“Devil a bit! Just kicking my heels for another few days before I visit my sister in the country.”
“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t mention buying your clothes from fences,” Minton said dryly. He glanced down at the garment in question. There was a pulled thread at the top buttonhole, and the buttons… His eyes widened. Pinched it off someone’s back on the king’s highway…
He snatched the garment from Darblay and turned up the hem. Yes, there was the pocket lining, carefully, discreetly stitched. “This is my coat! I was held up only a week ago, not that far from here!”
“Oh, damn it, Minton, you can’t expect me to believe that! And I bought it in good faith.”
“No, you didn’t,” Minton retorted. “You bought it knowing damned well it had been stolen from somebody. Well, that somebody was me! Look, this thread at the buttonhole was pulled when my man was too careless removing an old nosegay. The buttons are unique to me. And the pocket lining had to be stitched.”
Darblay sighed. “That does seem to prove it. I knew it was too good to be true. Don’t suppose you could see your way to giving me half the cost? Since I seem to be responsible for returning it to you.”
“No,” Minton said coldly, “but I will remember the debt I owe you.”
“I shall dine well on that,” Darblay said insolently, beginning to walk away. “Oh, I suppose this must be yours, too?” He delved into his waistcoat and produced a cuff link.
The cuff link. Minton’s mouth went suddenly dry at such a near miss. But it was all coming together at last. The only proof of his crime was back in his possession, and with the Gavelston money and influence behind him…
He strode the two paces and swiped up the sleeve button from Darblay’s palm. At the last moment, just as his fingers closed around the familiar, cool shape, he glanced up and caught the glint in Darblay’s wicked eyes. His stomach plunged in sudden suspicion, but Darblay’s hand vanished, leaving him holding the coat and the evidence.
A stocky man filled the arch between the two rooms. “George Minton, I am arresting you for the murder of Haversham Crawley.”
It was sheer instinct to bolt for the outside door, but another figure stood there, like some golden, avenging angel.
“Stand and deliver,” said Dominic Gorse, and laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Viola and Dominic had crept up to the door of the folly, hand in hand, in time to see Minton take the coat from Rollo, who seemed to be playing an amiable half-cut version of himself, almost a caricature that Minton could safely despise.
But Minton had clearly forgotten the other part of Rollo’s charm—the sense of danger that hung about him, probably for a reason. Of course, snatching the sleeve button, he tried to bolt from the Runner, and then, facing the undoubted threat of Dominic in the doorway, he skidded to a halt.
“Stand and Deliver,” Dominic mocked.
Viola, ducking under his arm, almost laughed with him, for the ludicrous expression of dismay on Minton’s face proved that he not only, finally, recognized the highwayman but also that he had been baited, reeled in, and unwittingly accepted the blame for murder before witnesses. Including the Bow Street Runner.
Minton’s wide, panicked gaze fell on Viola, and he spluttered, pointing at her in outrage. Smith caught his hands and snapped them both into steel cuffs behind his back.
Dominic offered his arm to Viola once more, and they walked farther into the room together. Dominic handed her into the window seat.
“Nicely played, Rolls,” he offered his friend.
“I was only pretending it was my coat to annoy Darblay!” Minton said desperately. “She, Viola Dove, set this whole thing up in revenge because I would not marry her!”
“I thought you were desperate to marry me,” Viola said wryly. “In order to blackmail my cousin, Lord Wenning.”
Dominic regarded the bound man without pity. “Which would be why I found you abducting her in a hired chaise only a few miles up the road.”
“We’ll have him for that, too,” Mr. Smith said comfortably.
“She came with me willingly!” Minton cried. “It was her idea! And you’ve no proof that it was otherwise.”
“Actually, we have,” Dominic said. “Do come in, ladies and gentlemen.”
Amelia and Lucy walked into the room and curtseyed demurely to the company. Close behind them came Frank, Lord Rampton, Lord William, and Lord Charles Gorse.
“That’s the man I saw,” Lucy said, pointing at Minton. “He pretended Miss Dove was his wife and threw her in the carriage quite brutally when it was clear she did not want to go. In fact, she climbed out of a window at the inn in her bid to escape him. My guardian and several inn staff will tell you the same.”
Minton’s expression grew murderous as if that accusation was somehow more heinous than the murder he had already been charged with.
Dominic was smiling at Viola, his eyes alight with laughter and admiration. “You climbed out of the window?”
“Actually, yes, but I didn’t get very far.”
“Far enough for you to impress the Gavelstons and for them to alert Richard.” Dominic frowned suddenly in the direction of his brothers. “Where is Richard?”
Lord Charles grinned. “He’s just discovered a love of harp music.”
*
Richard had indeed. The outdoor concert had been pretty mundane, certainly not enough to distract him from watching Minton’s movements. And Lucy Gavelston’s. But then, just as Minton set off up the path, the harpist took pride of place on the little platform.
She was young enough and beautiful enough to distract him. And when she began to play, something stirred in the tangled mess that was his heart. As though the music actually reached him.
He was more irritated than anything else when William tried to draw him to his feet. He rapped his brother’s shin with his walking stick and glared at him. “Go on, damn you, there are enough of you.”
For one thing, he had no real desire to hobble over uneven ground, several feet behind his active brothers. He had faith the whole matter was well in hand and that Minton would be arrested without his attendance.
Besides, over Will’s shoulder, he suddenly glimpsed another figure, seated at a table with a bottle of wine and a notebook in which he was busily writing. Jarvey.
Jarvey, whom they had almost lost sight of in their pursuit of Minton. But Richard had long suspected they had acted together, and his presence here certainly bore watching.
“Go on,” he snapped at William. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
He hunched his shoulder when he heard Charles snicker, but he didn’t miss the slightest movement of the harpist’s beautiful hands. It was odd, but the music actually soothed him in places he had forgotten hurt.
Occasionally, he remembered to glance at Jarvey, who didn’t move.
Until the fourth time Richard looked, when the table was empty. A quick glance found a well-dressed figure in a beaver hat, vanishing around the corner of the same path that led to the temple. Or the folly, whichever damned place everyone had ended up.
Richard swore under his breath and stood, sparing one last glance at the beautiful harpist before he hurried off as fast as his game leg would let him.
*
Minton stood in the grip of the Bow Street Runner while everyone fired questions at him, and Viola paced around the room, trying to understand the twisted motives that had made Minton act as he did.
“There’s no point in denying everything,” Mr. Smith said reasonably. “We already know that you left Lord Dominic at his own rooms the night of the murder and went on to Mr. Crawley’s, where you played cards. My guess is, you kept losing.”
“My guess is, he kept cheating,” Minton said bitterly. “But I could never catch him at it.”
“So you just took him out for a walk—perhaps to clear your heads—and killed him instead?”
“No,” Minton said stubbornly.
Viola paused near the sunny door. “Why did you blame Lord Dominic?” she asked suddenly. “What wrong had he ever done you?”
“None,” Minton replied. He sounded, if anything, surprised.
“Except he refused to kill Crawley,” another, different voice said behind Viola.
She began to spin around to see the new arrival, but abruptly, an arm snaked tightly around her neck, dragging her back against a man’s body. Something sharp pricked her throat.
Shocked, though not yet afraid, she stared at Dominic’s white, rigid face.
“Jarvey?” Lord Rampton said in amazement. “Where the devil…?”
