Page 20 of My Viscount’s Madness

Chapter 20

Investigation

C andlelight flickered across the library’s oak shelves as Marguerite bent over Tristan’s desk, her dark curls falling forward as she examined the ledger before her. Beside her elbow lay a stack of letters, each one a piece in the puzzle they’d assembled against Lord Edgecombe. Repeated folding left permanent lines in them. The edges had gone soft and fuzzy with use.

“These investments follow no logical pattern,” she murmured, finger tracing a column of numbers. “Unless…”

“Unless?” Tristan’s voice came from behind her, close enough that his breath stirred the loose strands at her neck.

She suppressed a shiver at his proximity. “Unless they’re not investments, but payments disguised as business dealings.”

His hand settled beside hers on the desk as he leaned forward to examine the figures.

“Look here.” She tapped a particular entry. “Five thousand pounds to a merchant company that, according to your sources, doesn’t exist, yet the money passed through the bank.”

“The same bank that holds your father’s vows.” His other hand settled at her waist. “And Lord Hampton’s sister’s dowry.”

Marguerite turned her head slightly until it nearly brushed the tip of his sharp nose. “You think he’s using the bank to hide his fraud?”

“I think,” his fingers flexed against her side, “that Edgecombe’s cleverness may prove his undoing. Each transaction leaves a trail if one knows where to look.”

She straightened, though she didn’t step away from his touch. The library’s thick walls muffled outside noise, so only their breathing disturbed the silence. Books absorbed what little sound remained.

“Lady Morton mentioned her nephew lost heavily at his gaming tables.” She reached for another document, her sleeve brushing against his chest. “Yet according to these records, young Morton’s debts were paid in full.”

“By whom?”

“That’s what intrigues me.” She shuffled through the papers until she found a particular letter. “The payment came from a company owned by Sir Richard Blackwood.”

“Blackwood?” Tristan’s hand left her waist as he moved to rifle through another stack of correspondence. “The name’s familiar…”

“It should be.” Marguerite watched as his long fingers arranged the papers in exact rows. Each stack aligned perfectly with the desk’s edge. Not a single sheet lay askew. “He was one of your father’s oldest friends. And according to society gossip, his daughter recently broke off her engagement to Lord Edgecombe’s cousin.”

Understanding dawned in Tristan’s eyes. “You think Edgecombe blackmailed Blackwood?”

“I think Miss Blackwood’s sudden retreat to the country bears investigation.” She turned to face him fully, uncaring how the movement brought them chest to chest. “As does her father’s unexpected investment in a merchant company that exists only on paper.”

Tristan’s hands settled on the desk behind her, boxing her between his arms. At any other time, such proximity would have sent her pulse racing. Now, she recognized the tactical advantage of such private conversation.

“We’ll need proof,” he said, voice pitched low despite their solitude. “Documentation that can’t be dismissed as coincidence or speculation.”

“Then we’ll find it.” Her fingers smoothed his cravat without conscious thought. “Your military connections, my social circle—between us, we can uncover every scheme he’s buried.”

His eyes darkened at her touch. “You seem remarkably confident in our chances.”

“In us,” she corrected softly. “I’m confident in us.”

She smiled as she stared deep into his grey eyes. His hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin so gently it was devastating.

“Marguerite…”

A knock at the library door forced them apart. Mr. Thorne entered to ask if his lordship required anything of him. If he had opinions about their activities, his expression revealed none of them. His mien remained impeccably proper. Tristan glanced at the evidence spread before them and then at Mr. Thorne.

“Actually, yes.” He reached for a fresh sheet of paper. “I need an urgent message delivered to Sir Richard Blackwood.”

Marguerite watched as his pen moved swiftly across the page, his bold script filling the paper. “You mean to confront him directly?”

“Given Miss Blackwood’s sudden departure and these financial records…” He gestured to the documents before them. “Better to address the matter privately than allow Edgecombe further opportunity for mischief.”

When he finished writing, he sealed the letter with his signet ring and handed it to Mr. Thorne. “This must reach Sir Richard today. Go yourself, and follow the quickest routes.”

“Very good, My Lord.” Thorne accepted the letter with a slight bow. “Shall I wait for a response?”

“Yes. Though it may be late in coming.”

They returned to their investigation, but Marguerite noticed how Tristan’s attention kept straying to the door.

“What did you write?” Marguerite asked when they were alone again.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll meet him. Let’s hope he agrees, though perhaps we might continue our investigation tonight?”

Her cheeks flushed at his tone. “That would be most improper.”

“More improper than your current position?” His lips curved slightly. “Alone in my library, conspiring against a peer of the realm?”

“We’re not alone.” She gestured to the books surrounding them. “We have quite a distinguished audience.”

His low laugh made her skin prickle. She rubbed her arms, trying to smooth away the sensation. “Then perhaps we should give them something worth witnessing?”

“Tristan…” But her protest held no force, especially when his hand settled at her waist once more.

“We’re close,” he murmured, drawing her back against him. “To end Edgecombe’s threats, to ensure your father’s safety.” His other hand traced her cheek. “To becoming everything we’ve pretended to be.”

The promise in his words stole her breath. She leaned into his touch, propriety surrendering to the rightness of his arms around her.

“Then we’d best return to our investigation,” she managed. “Before we scandalize your literary companions entirely.”

His smile against her hair felt like victory. “As My Lady commands.”

They bent over the ledgers again, heads close together as they traced the threads of Edgecombe’s corruption. Their fingers met over another letter, lingering longer than necessary. When their eyes met above the papers, neither looked away.

The hours melted away as Marguerite and Tristan pieced together Edgecombe’s contrivance of deception. Letters and ledgers covered every surface of the library, each document adding another strand to their understanding.

When Mr. Thorne finally returned bearing a silver salver, the relief in Tristan’s expression was evident.

“The response from Sir Richard Blackwood, My Lord.” He extended the salver. “Most urgent, according to his man.”

Tristan broke the seal quickly, scanning the contents while Marguerite tried to read it over his shoulder but couldn’t quite catch the words. Whatever he read made his jaw tighten.

“It seems,” he said when Mr. Thorne had withdrawn and Marguerite had settled into a chair, “that Sir Richard wishes to discuss certain financial arrangements involving Lord Edgecombe’s brother. He’s agreed to meet with me at the time I proposed.”

“Edgecombe’s pattern grows clearer,” Marguerite said. “He uses the gaming debts to pressure vulnerable families, then offers salvation through investments in his false companies.”

“Which then funnel money back to his own accounts.” Tristan’s fingertips struck the wood in quick succession. The pattern repeated faster each time while his other hand clenched and unclenched. “The bank provides perfect cover—who questions a peer’s business dealings?”

“Lady Morton might.” She extracted a particular letter, and its crisp edges suggested recent delivery. “Her nephew’s sudden recovery from financial ruin raised questions in certain circles. Questions that could prove useful.”

“Especially combined with Sir Richard’s testimony.” Tristan moved and settled behind her chair, his hand settling on its carved back. “Though we’ll need more than speculation to bring him down.”

Marguerite tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Then we’ll find it. I know your fellow officers still write to you weekly even though you don’t respond.” His mouth fell open as if to ask how she knew of such a thing, but she spared him the effort of asking the question. “Mr. Thorne told me. And with my tactical gifts, we make a formidable team.”

His fingers brushed her shoulder, and the silk grew warm where they came to rest. The sensation spread outward like ripples, but Marguerite focused only on breathing evenly.

“More than formidable.”

Before she could respond, Mr. Thorne appeared with another message. This one bore Lady Morton’s seal.

“Her nephew wishes to speak with us,” Marguerite said after scanning the contents. “Tomorrow afternoon, before the assembly at Almack’s.”

“Where Edgecombe regularly seeks new victims.” Tristan’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “If young Morton’s testimony matches Sir Richard’s…”

“We’ll have him.” She covered his fingers with her own. “Though I confess, part of me will miss this.”

“Miss exposing corruption and blackmail?” He drew endless loops on her skin with his thumb. The motion seemed unconscious. Neither acknowledged the intimate gesture. “I hadn’t realized you harbored such dramatic inclinations.”

“Not the investigation.” She rose, turning to face him. “This partnership. These moments let me see beneath the coldness of the man you pretend to be.”

His expression softened. “Who says they must end?”

“Society would hardly approve of a Viscountess spending her evenings plotting strategy in her husband’s library.”

Her mouth closed around the word ‘husband,’ but it was too late. It had already fallen from her lips. She hadn’t meant to speak it aloud, so she pressed two fingers to her lips, wishing she could take it back somehow, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even meet his eyes.

Husband? That was never part of their arrangement. It was supposed to be a mere sham betrothal that would be broken when she found a better match.

What if he was that match?

“Society,” he said quietly, “has no say in what occurs behind closed doors. And I find myself rather appreciating your strategic mind.”

Her face burned at his words, the heat spreading down her throat. She touched cool fingers to her cheeks and knew her complexion betrayed her. Even her ears felt hot. “Only my mind?”

The gentle yet eager pressure of his lips against hers said everything. She read his meaning in that gesture and hoped she wasn’t imagining it. Her hands found purchase in the rough material of his coat against her palms, and she pulled him closer without thinking, taking charge and deepening their kiss.

“We’ll end this tomorrow,” he murmured when they finally parted. “Edgecombe’s threats, his power over your father—all of it.”

“We?”

“Always.” His thumb brushed across her lower lip. “Though perhaps we might maintain some pretense of propriety until then?”

Marguerite laughed softly. “Says the man who kisses me in his library.”

“A tactical error.” But his smile belied the words. “One I find myself unable to regret.”

She stepped back reluctantly to gather her shawl and wrapped it around herself. She needed to make herself presentable before rejoining Dinah, her useless chaperone, though she served her purpose in society’s eyes. Not an inch of wood showed beneath their gathered proof. Letters, ledgers, and notes cover all visible space on his desk. The room had become their war room.