The Wicked Truth

Now here he was, dead center in another harebrained fiasco that reduced his former lapses to insignificance. Why hadn’t he considered the repercussions first?

This incident would forestall Terry’s marriage, all right, but at what cost? The poor girl was scared out of her wits. And Terry might believe every word she said when this was over even if no one else did. Why in God’s name hadn’t Neil stopped to think before he acted? Hindsight was hell. Would he never learn?

Neil lifted his second glass of brandy as she appeared in the door of the study, interrupting his tardy self-recriminations.

She wore an unbecoming, dark, broadcloth dress buttoned up to her chin, and carried her valise. Like a child dressed in nanny’s clothes, he thought. Her shadow-smudged eyes dwarfed her other features. She faced him with that chin up, however. Tentative though it was, she had found her courage somewhere.

“I’d like to go now,” she said in a small, insistent voice.

“No doubt,” Neil answered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sit down and have a bite to eat. Only biscuits and tea, but that should do you. How is your stomach? Still weak?”

She nodded and dropped the case to the floor with a thud. Carefully, she inched her way to the chair he indicated and sat on the edge of it, watching him warily.

“You really are quite safe, Elizabeth,” he said as he handed her a cup. “I may call you that, may I not? I truly mean you no harm.” How many times would he have to say it to get that look off her face? he wondered.

Her brow screwed into a charming little frown as she seemed to consider his words. “Very well. I’ve thought about it at length. I suppose you’d have done your worst by now if you really meant me to die.” Her voice grew stronger with every word. “But why did you frighten me so before? I could have expired of heart failure! And why all this? Why did you abduct me?”

Neil had a ridiculous urge to praise her for her recovery. Her anger was righteous, but he couldn’t let it sway him now.

“I told you that. Because you were eloping with Terry, and I’ll not have his future destroyed. I had to stop you somehow.”

“Eloping? Are you mad? Why would you think that?” Then she pressed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course, the silly dolt told you he had proposed. What am I to do with him? He won’t hear a no.” The dark eyes hid under shadowed lids and she sighed. “He has a good heart, but he’s such a fool sometimes.”

“Well, I agree with you there,” Neil said with a short, bitter laugh. “He’s not the first young pup to sniff after a skirt and call it love.”

Her head came up with a jerk. “Love? Is that what he told you? Well, I suppose he would say that.” She smiled, and the sadness in her eyes surprised him. At least she didn’t gloat.

“I overheard you tell the innkeeper that your husband was expected. I figured that it was Terry,” he said, sipping his brandy thoughtfully.

“You assumed wrongly, Dr. Bronwyn. Making up that story was the only way I could avoid sharing the common room. I never had any intention of meeting your nephew at the inn or anywhere else. Terry’s simply the only friend I have, and he thinks he can save my good name if he combines it with his. Sweet idiot.”

“Naturally you would say that.” He took another sip, peering at her over the rim of the snifter.

“You don’t believe I refused his suit?” she asked, looking so troubled he almost believed her.

Neil regretted what he had to admit, but spoke nonetheless. “Let us say that I doubt you enough to insure that no wedding takes place. In order to guarantee it, I must ask you to accept my hospitality for a while—perhaps a week—until his, uh, ardor cools. I promise you’ll be perfectly safe.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “All right.”

He couldn’t hide his shock at her ready agreement. She displayed no slyness, no taunting and no further fear. Just “all right,” as though they were cementing a minor business deal? What did she think to gain? Her capitulation was too easy.

“I think I understand why you thought it necessary to do what you did,” she explained. “I can’t say I’ll ever forgive you, but what’s done is done. Staying here for a while will suit my purposes as well.” She nodded once. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

Then she smiled.

Oh God, that smile. So she would turn her charms on him now, would she? Now that she couldn’t have Terry? Neil beat back the thrill that shot through his soul. Not bloody likely would he succumb to her! Not if he were careful.

“You really will be safe here, you know. In every way,” he said. “Please understand, I have absolutely no designs on you.”

“Well,” she said with sad sarcasm and a roll of those lovely dark eyes, “won’t that be a novelty?”

Impudent chit. He wanted to wring her neck. “No doubt it will. The trout all jumping at your boat, are they? Can’t believe there’s one won’t bite your bait? Well, I’m no randy hatchling, young lady, and I’ve had more seasoned anglers than you toss hooks in my direction. Just believe me, I am off-limits!”

She laughed. The bloody tart laughed so hard she was spilling her tea. Hysterical hen wit!

When she had calmed a bit, she pressed a hand to her chest, gasping for breath. There were tears on her cheeks again, but they weren’t the product of fear. Well, maybe an after-product of some sort, he decided grudgingly. Relief now that she understood she was safe.

“I should have brought a net!” she said, and was off again, bending double in her chair, holding her sides with laughter.

“I fail to see the humor!” He drew indignant shoulders back, took a deep gulp of brandy and waited for her to subside.

It took awhile.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes with her serviette. “It’s just that you looked…” her lips compressed, holding back a further outburst “…like a carp.”

Neil squeezed his eyes shut and relaxed his mouth, knowing she was probably right. He squelched the urge to laugh with her. How in hell was he going to deal with the little tramp when she was so damned appealing? It was as though she erased every resolution he’d ever made to maintain his decorum. Even when she mocked him, he found her so enchanting he wanted to kiss her.

There was a reckless thought. He must remember what she was. “I know all about you, Lady Marleigh,” he said.

She sobered as though he had doused her with icy water. “So, you’ve heard it all, have you?”

“Oh, yes indeed. That orgy at Hammershill, the statue, the midnight swim, your…menage a trois. Have I missed anything? Do fill me in.” He begged to God she wouldn’t. Neil hated the snideness in his voice, but it grated on his soul to think of her cheap theatrics. How could she be so flagrant? Why did he have to picture her dancing naked, cavorting with another…no, two other men? Christ, he wanted to shake her!

“I guess that covers it rather well,” she said quietly, all traces of laughter gone, cut away by the knife of his sarcasm.

Neil heard the catch in her voice and hoped it meant she regretted those foolish actions. He hoped she cried from now until doomsday for all that could have been. For what he might have offered…. No! Not him. He’d never have offered her a damned thing! Nothing.

The front door knocker clacked loudly, echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer outside the study. “Stay here and eat your biscuits,” he ordered curtly. “And drink that tea.”

Who the hell would be calling on him here? The house had been closed for years, his presence a secret. Could be the care taker he paid to make a monthly check, he supposed. Neil pulled the study door shut as he strode to the front entrance.

The man who stood waiting frowned in greeting. “Hullo, Doc. I recalled your mentioning the house here once, and hoped I might find you. I’d looked everywhere else.”

Neil froze, subconsciously barring the way inside. Scotland Yard? Had someone reported his abducting the girl? Surely not this soon. No one had seen him but the innkeeper, and the man had no idea who he was! But what the hell was Mac-Linden doing here? They hadn’t even seen each other since Neil returned to London.

“Lindy? What do you want?” Then, with effort, he recovered himself and forced a laugh. “I’m sorry, old man. You quite took me by surprise. Come in, come in.” Neil stood aside to allow him entry. Guilt must have sapped his reason. It was absurd to think the authorities would send a friend to arrest him.

MacLinden curled the brim of the dapper bowler he was holding, turning the hat round and round. An uncharacteristically nervous gesture for Lindy, Neil thought.

As a rule, Trent MacLinden was the soul of composure. Even the blinding pain of his war wound hadn’t affected him this way. His eyes, a dark, mossy green in the weak lamplight, didn’t meet Neil’s. Even the ruddy mustache, shiny from a recent waxing, worked impatiently as Lindy raked his upper lip with his teeth.

Judging by their previous ease in each other’s company since serving together in the Crimea, it was a sure bet this was no social call. Something was definitely wrong.

“Didn’t mean to be rude, old son,” Neil apologized. “It’s just that the sight of the estimable Inspector MacLinden strikes fear in the hearts of us mere civilians. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I only heard of it when I arrived in town this week. You’re a real top peeler now! We should celebrate.”

“Thank you. I’m here in an official capacity, Doc. Could we perhaps sit down?” Lindy headed for the closed door of the study.

“In here.” Neil redirected him to the parlor across the hall. This had to be about some other business. There was no way Lindy could know about the woman. Not this soon.

He closed the door behind them with a prayer that Lady Marleigh had fallen asleep over her teacup. If she came bursting out of the study, hurling accusations, he’d just have to confess.

With a distracted sweep of his hands he yanked off the dust sheets covering two overstuffed chairs. Large as it was, the room smelted musty and airless. Neil felt trapped—by the age-grayed walls, by the impending disgrace, by his own reckless idiocy. What else could have brought Lindy here but the abduction?

Terry would hate him if the truth came out. And arrest was a real possibility.

Neil would receive a light sentence, probably—at least he hoped so. It was a first offense and he hadn’t harmed the girl. Not really.

He was so preoccupied forming his defense, he almost missed Lindy’s announcement.

“Terry’s dead, Neil.”

Chapter Three

Dead? Terry couldn’t be dead. He was alive and well at Havington House, planning to attend the races on Saturday.

As Lindy’s words began to register, Neil staggered a little and caught the back of a chair. Disjointed scenes flashed rapidly, one after another: little towheaded Terry bouncing along on a pony, sharing biscuits with his hound, wielding his first razor, graduating from Harrow. Arguing about his right to wed.

“God, no,” Neil whispered, fighting off the pain. It grabbed him like a vicious animal, shook him, sank its teeth to the bone.

“I’m sorry, Neil. So sorry to bring you this news.”

“He can’t be dead! I just saw him. You’ve made some mistake, Lindy. Surely!” Neil recognized his own reaction from the many he’d had to deal with as he’d delivered similar news to families of friends when he’d returned early from the war. And even from his own experience six months before, when he’d watched Jon breathe his last. Even then, with the evidence of death staring him in the face, there had been a moment when he’d refused to believe it. Denial, the mind’s refuge.

If there was the remotest chance of an error, Lindy would have qualified his news. Terry was dead.

Neil sat down and dropped his head on one hand, pressing his eyes with his fingers. Mustn’t weep. He would do that later, when he was alone. If he let go now, he might never stop. Lindy would be embarrassed, as would he.

“How?” he made himself ask. Painlessly, he prayed.

MacLinden laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. “He was killed, Neil. Murdered.”

Fresh pain. Neil’s throat burned with a need to scream. Only a whisper emerged. “Ah, no!”

“Yes, and we know who did it. I want you to come back to town with me now. There’ll be an inquest, funeral arrangements and all that. I’ll help, of course. Goes without saying.”

Neil focused on fury—anything to lessen the godawful anguish. Murder was inconceivable. Everyone loved Terry.

Neil felt an urgent need to kill someone. A very specific someone. “Who, Lindy? What bastard did this thing?”

MacLinden sighed. “It was a woman. The woman he planned to marry, evidently.” He paused. “Lady Elizabeth Marleigh. Last evening, she shot him through the head.”

“No!” Neil shouted the word, realized he had and lowered his voice. “No, that’s impossible, she couldn’t have done it!”

“Well, she did. We found one of her father’s fancy dueling pistols beside the body. Her butler says the set has been in the family for years, a gift to the old earl. Even has the Marleigh crest on the grip. The woman’s run for it, but we’ll find her.”

“You don’t understand, Lindy. Elizabeth Marleigh couldn’t have killed Terry. I was with him until ten o’clock last night and went directly to her. She’s been with me ever since.”

MacLinden narrowed his eyes and worried his mustache with a forefinger. “Never out of your sight, you say?”

“Not once. I…followed her to an inn, brought her directly here, and we’ve not left.”

“Where is she now?”

Neil marched to the door as he answered, “In the study.”

“Wait,” MacLinden cautioned. “Wait a moment. Are you telling me you are involved with Lady Marleigh?”

Neil paused and thought about the answer. “Yes, in a way. I guess you might say that.”

Trent MacLinden battled with his professionalism. He prided himself on his objectivity, and his superiors at the Yard depended on it. That, plus his ability to ferret out culprits from seemingly nonexistent clues, was precisely why he’d been recently promoted to inspector.

Doc was his friend, one of his best friends—the man who had saved his right arm after a Hussar’s bullet smashed through it. Lindy couldn’t allow the authorities or anyone else to suspect that Neil Bronwyn had had a hand in his own nephew’s murder, not even by association.

In MacLinden’s experience with lawbreakers, brief as it was, he knew that a strong motive combined with opportunity usually equaled guilt in the eyes of the law. Neil Bronwyn clearly possessed both. That was an indisputable fact Lindy couldn’t hide. Lady Marleigh did as well. Everyone on the case had already established that fact and were searching everywhere for her. By giving her an ironclad alibi and declaring her innocence, Neil risked arrest himself, for complicity.

Allowing the lady’s arrest now was out of the question, of course, or Neil might hang with her. Lindy certainly couldn’t have that, not after all the man had done for him.

If not for Neil’s assistance in applying to Scotland Yard, Lindy would be dishing up meat pies alongside his father in the family inn in Charing Cross. And if not for Neil’s flagrant usurping of a senior medical officer’s surgery in Balaclava, he’d be dishing them up one-handed.

God, he still shivered when he thought about it. That saw biting into his skin. His own screams. Neil’s intervention.

Devil take the Yard! Lindy would do as he’d always done and go with his instincts. He wouldn’t let anyone so much as hint that Neil had killed his nephew or countenanced anyone else doing so. It was Lindy’s duty to ask the question, however. Just for form’s sake.

“Doc, forgive me, but this is necessary. Have you conspired in any way with this woman to help her or hide her guilt?”

He watched Neil immediately switch from grief to outrage. “Good God, man, how can you ask such a thing?”

“It is my job. That’s what they pay me for. Have I your word of honor you had nothing to do with the murder?”

Neil’s shoulders straightened and his gaze was direct. “By all that’s holy, Lindy, I do swear it. And I promise you Elizabeth Marleigh could not possibly have done this.”

“Let’s see what she has to say for herself, then. Perhaps she might know someone capable of the deed.” He brushed past Neil and headed for the study, not breaking stride as he entered the other room.

“Lady Marleigh?” He greeted her perfunctorily as she turned from the window. “How do you do? I am Inspector MacLinden, Scotland Yard, L Division.”

She looked pale and upset as her wide-eyed glance darted from him to Neil and back again. Putting people off balance was a technique that worked quite well. Helped him keep the upper hand, especially with the nobs. Pretty little nob she was, too, with those dark chocolate eyes and springy bronze curls. Younger than he’d have thought, from all that was said about her.

He cleared his throat and gave her a few seconds to wonder just why he was here. There was confusion in her eyes, and maybe a little relief? Interesting. He dropped the bombshell. “The earl of Havington is dead. Shot. With one of your pistols.”

Her mouth opened, worked as though she was searching for words. The eyes widened so that he could see white all around the darkest brown irises he’d ever seen. Then the heavily lashed lids dropped like a curtain, and she toppled to the floor in a tangle of skirts.

“Hang it, Lindy, that was coldly done! Get my medical bag, upstairs, second room.” Neil knelt by the woman as Mac-Linden went for the doctor’s satchel.

When he returned with it, Neil offered her a few sniffs of a bottled substance—something awful, by the way her nose twitched—and brought her around.

She woke still muddled, but her memory returned almost visibly. The lost look rapidly transformed into the same shocked expression of very real grief he’d seen earlier on Neil’s face.

The woman—by association with Neil—was innocent. Lindy was relieved he didn’t have to take her in now that he’d seen her. A pity that his own decision to declare her guiltless wouldn’t extend to his chief. Nope, MacLinden knew he wasn’t going to be able to handle this one by the book. And God help them all if he couldn’t turn up a killer. So much for professionalism.

MacLinden watched patiently as Neil did his doctor tricks. There didn’t seem to be quite enough intimacy in their words or touches for there to be a real affair. Yet. The attraction was there, though, at least on Neil’s part.

Unusual, that. In the four years they’d been friends Lindy had never seen Doc show any real interest in a woman beyond an infrequent tumble. Tumbles quietly accomplished and never bragged about… at least not by Neil. The women weren’t quite so noble, but then women did love to talk. The man was legendary and didn’t even know it. Hadn’t a bloody clue.

If Neil didn’t know about this girl, though, he ought to be warned before he got in over his head. An ass for an arm was a fair trade. Ought he to save Doc’s ass for him? Lindy wondered.

No sooner had the girl’s sobs ceased than MacLinden launched his questions. He found that insensitivity was the key to being a good investigator. “So, Lady Marleigh, do you shoot?”

“No, I do not,” she answered, visibly shoring up her composure. Her chin lifted and she took a deep breath.

“Were you in love with his lordship or not?”

On the last word, he glanced pointedly at Doc, who looked ready to kill him on the spot. Obviously didn’t care to have his ass saved. Hmm. “I repeat, were you in love with young Havington?”

She answered in a near whisper, “No, I was not.”

“You were to marry him?”

“No, I was not.” Her response was defensive.

“What was he to you then?”

She shuddered, expelled a long sigh and looked out the window, doubtless seeing little through her tears. “He was the only friend I had left.” Then, almost inaudibly, she added, “The only one.”

Doc stood it longer than MacLinden imagined he would. “See here, Lindy, you can do this later. You can see she’s overwrought. I’ll just take her to her room and give her something.” He reached for his medical bag.

“Not if you mean to sedate her. We must get to London tonight, and all the questions must be asked before then if I am to help you both.” It felt strange giving orders to a man he’d once thought was God in a uniform. Rather bracing, in fact.

“What do you mean, help us? I swear to you she had nothing to do with this. You don’t mean to arrest her anyway?”

“No, not if I can help it, but we’ll have to do some tricky dancing to avoid that until we find the real murderer. My position’s too new to carry that much influence with my superiors, and they’re absolutely convinced she’s guilty. You’ll both have to do exactly as I say.”

They nodded in unison. Power was a heady thing, Mac-Linden thought with an inward grin. He’d really have to watch that it didn’t puff him up. Doc and the woman had no choice but to trust him to get them out of this mess. At least it should prove a lot more interesting than simply hauling the girl in and going on with a new case. And Lindy would be able to discharge a portion of his debt to Neil Bronwyn, the man who had kept him whole when no one else would have. He rather looked forward to the whole thing.

Elizabeth tried to climb out of the numbness, but it persisted. Poor Terry. Gone in a flash of powder. She’d never see him again, never be touched again by his gentle optimism.

There was nothing to do now but sit by while the red-haired, freckled-faced Scot chewed on his pipe and decided her fate. Her father’s gun had done the deed—one of the gift set of dueling pistols, she supposed. Those were the only weapons she knew of except for his hunting guns, which were in Co-lin’s possession. One didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that she was the prime suspect.

“Lady Marleigh, do you know anyone who might have wished Terrence Bronwyn dead?” This question was kinder, as though the inspector were trying to placate Dr. Bronwyn. She sensed the camaraderie between them. Ah, they were friends, then. Good friends, apparently, for MacLinden to overlook the evidence of her guilt on the doctor’s word alone.

“No, everyone liked his lordship very well,” she said. “Since we’ve known each other, I only saw him cross once. That was at the theater just last week. We always came late and left early to…avoid crowds.” She looked from the inspector to the doctor and nodded when she saw they understood. Then she continued, “A man approached Terry’s box during the second act and called him into the corridor. I tried not to listen, until Terry’s voice became rather heated. That was so unlike him, you see.

“Terry said something to the effect, ‘Not one more bloody damn farthing until I have it all. Do you hear me?’ When he returned, I asked him about the matter. He laughed and said it was merely a small venture he was looking into that was proving more difficult than he had anticipated.”

Inspector MacLinden listened intently, writing all the while. “This person he spoke with was unknown to you?”

“Yes, but then I know very few people in the city. I had only a glimpse of the man. He was rather tall and slender, with long side-whiskers. About fifty I should say, with a distinctive voice.”

“You’d recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Very possibly. I’m certain I would know the voice. Rather deep and sonorous.” She began to get excited. “You think this man might have killed Terry, Inspector?”

MacLinden sighed. “Anything’s possible. He could very well be only a business acquaintance. Did his lordship speak of anyone else with whom he might have had recent dealings?”

She paused to think, toying with her rings. “No, we rarely spoke of his day-to-day affairs. We mostly talked of…my problems and his ideas for a solution to them.”