Page 9

Chapter Nine

Elsa spent the journey to London thinking about the mystery and making notes in her old journal, adding two more questions to the growing list. Where did the hired thugs get the keys to Edenberry? Had Mr Carver lied about his aversion to cologne, or had he left the bottle as a clue—a message from beyond the grave?

Their brief detour to The Grange raised other important questions. Why had Finnegan and Mrs Tate deserted their posts, leaving Cook and the maids to cope alone? Why had none of the servants informed Daniel?

The answer became apparent when Daniel strode out of The Grange, gritting his teeth and growling, “When I find Finnegan, I’ll wring his blasted neck. I’ve no patience for cowards.”

Even hours later, as the carriage rattled along the Great West Road past Hounslow, the air inside was thick with tension. His clenched jaw and rigid posture betrayed his fury—but somehow, it only sharpened his appeal and fed her growing attraction to him .

He sat opposite her, his legs spread wide, a stray lock of sable hair falling rakishly over his brow, and scared her half to death when he suddenly said, “What are you writing?”

“Me? Just a few notes on the case.” She spoke softly so as not to wake Clara, who didn’t care if she dribbled in her sleep now Lord Rutland was travelling with the marquess.

“May I see them?”

Good lord, no!

What if he flipped through the pages and found ‘Mrs Elsa Dalton’ written a hundred times—or read the entry about the night he almost kissed her? Foolish words, penned before she understood even the wildest fantasies could come true.

Instead, she read the list aloud, finishing with, “Did Mr Carver meet his killer at the hotel named on the back of the perfumer’s card? It might be an important clue. We could question the porter.”

“Only people involved in adulterous affairs stay at The Raven. Couples use the iniquitous den for illicit trysts and stolen pleasures.”

She let her gaze drift over her husband’s fine physique. It wasn’t the first time she’d imagined peeling off his waistcoat and sliding his shirt up over his muscled torso.

“Perhaps Mr Carver’s lover came to visit him at Edenberry, saw me in his bed and killed him in a jealous rage.”

“If she were truly that enraged, she would have killed you, too. Besides, I doubt Carver invited the murderer into his home.” He averted his gaze as he always did when guarding his thoughts. “But we’ll visit The Raven as you suggest.”

“What is my husband hiding?” she mused aloud, pretending to jot down the question in her book. “The more time I spend with him, the more I understand his moods.”

Daniel met her gaze. “Are you sure you want to know? ”

“Of course I want to know.”

He paused. “We found a keepsake lock of hair in Carver’s hand.” His voice was calm, smooth as still water, but she caught the subtle ripples of unease beneath the surface. “The type of gift a lover might bestow. Something to suggest a deep personal connection.”

She felt a flicker of annoyance. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier? I thought we agreed to be honest with each other. Your silence only creates an air of distrust.”

“It was your hair, Elsa.”

“Mine?” She patted her hair as if a chunk were missing.

Daniel took out his silver card case, removed the white-blonde curl, and handed it to her.

She held it in her palm, her hand shaking, her heart breaking. It was her hair. She hadn’t given it to Mr Carver but had no way of proving it.

“If it’s mine, he stole it,” she said, praying he believed her.

“Carver never asked for a memento?” he said dubiously.

“If he had, I would have refused.”

He returned the lock of hair to the case, snapped it shut, and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Someone went to great lengths to make it seem like you were lovers.”

Panic rose sharp and swift. “Perhaps so they could blackmail Magnus.”

Was that why Daniel had hired separate rooms at the inn last night? While he slept with the men, she had shared a bedchamber with Clara. Was the lack of availability the problem or an excuse to keep his distance?

The thought plagued her until they reached Daniel’s house in Bedford Square, where he introduced her to his staff, making it clear she was his wife in every sense of the word .

“Mrs Dalton will sleep in my chamber until she’s chosen new soft furnishings for her room,” he told Signora Conti, his middle-aged Italian housekeeper. “Have Mansons & Sons deliver a book of material samples.”

Good Lord. She would share her husband’s bed tonight, and most of her clothes remained at the rented house in Shoreditch. All she had was a dowdy nightgown—hardly the sort of thing to tempt a husband who had kept his distance for months.

“Benvenuta, Signora Dalton.” The woman’s kind brown eyes were a balm for Elsa’s frazzled nerves. “You must be weary from your journey. Shall I have a bath drawn? Would you like to rest before your afternoon repast?”

“No. We’ll have tea and finger sandwiches in the drawing room. We’re all quite hungry.”

Signora Conti’s grin held a hint of mischief. “A man with a healthy appetite should not abstain for too long, eh?”

Daniel cleared his throat. “Wait until you taste Cook’s almond cakes,” he said, sliding his arm around Elsa’s waist, giving the illusion all was well between them. “Signora Conti was kind enough to share an old family recipe.”

“A drop of orange flower water. That is the magical ingredient.” The housekeeper used her fingers to indicate a minute amount was needed. “It brings out the almonds’ natural sweetness.”

“I look forward to sampling one,” Elsa said. “They sound divine.”

“Everything made with love is divine. Nonnina, she always said, ‘Sweetness in the mouth, sweetness in the heart’.”

The housekeeper gazed into Elsa’s eyes like she could see into her soul. That’s when she realised Signora Conti knew Daniel had left his new bride in the country while he remained in town.

Did she know they’d married out of necessity? Could she sense the strange attraction that made the air hum when they were together?

“Excuse me. I should check on Clara.” Elsa hoped her sister-in-law wasn’t weeping upstairs. Signora Conti had clasped her hands in prayer upon seeing Clara’s scarred eye, crying, ‘ Povera bambina ’ numerous times. “Have Cook prepare enough for three. I’m sure Clara will join us.”

She found Clara at the bedchamber window, gazing over the garden. The room was softly feminine, with floral wallpaper and pink velvet hangings. A plaid shawl covered the mirror, hiding the reflection Clara couldn’t bear to see.

“Am I disturbing you?”

Clara glanced Elsa’s way. “Of course not.”

The mood in the room was one of quiet despair.

Elsa stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. “You seem downhearted. I thought you’d be glad to leave Thorncroft. I know you find it difficult there since your father died. I feel the same way about Edenberry.” Like the life had been stripped from the house, leaving naught but an empty shell.

“Why must life be so complicated?” Clara muttered, her gaze distant. “Why must everything come at a price?”

When Clara remained silent, Elsa attempted to discern the problem. “Everything here must feel new for you too.” Daniel explained he’d bought the house a year ago with the profits from his investments. “It will soon feel like home. Nothing is too much trouble for Signora Conti.”

Clara’s breath caught in her throat. “Home? I cannot stay in town and plan to return to The Grange as soon as Daniel finds Mrs Tate’s replacement. I shall visit the servants’ registry myself tomorrow to hurry things along.”

How strange. She had been in no rush to leave London when they lived in Shoreditch and attended events at The Burnished Jade.

“What about the friends you’ve made here? Your art classes? Monsieur Delaunay thinks you’re a natural painter.”

“I came here for you, Elsa. This was never my dream.”

Elsa’s throat constricted. She was lucky to have a friend like Clara. “Then tell me your dream, and I’ll help you make it a reality.”

Clara gave an unladylike snort. “I doubt you can. I always wanted to dress like an Arabian princess and ride a camel through the desert.”

Trust Clara to think of something outlandish.

Elsa smiled. “I see. We could call at Astley’s and ask what animals they have in their menagerie.”

“I’d like to travel in Mr Green’s air balloon.”

Good Lord! Daniel would never allow it.

“I’m sure it’s a thrilling mode of transport. Anything else?”

Clara’s eyes lit up as she considered the question. “Attend a séance. Race in a curricle. Duel at dawn. Swim in the Serpentine beneath the stars.”

“Won’t it be a little cold?” Elsa said, laughing.

Clara shrugged. “I pray it is. Then I might not feel like I’m dying inside. I want to live, Elsa. I cannot do that when society has such rigid expectations.”

“London seems like the perfect place to accomplish those tasks. You can begin by attending the countess’ masquerade ball in a fortnight. I can help design your costume. You could wear something shocking and wildly exotic. ”

Clara pondered the possibility. “Yes, perhaps something Venetian—a disguise to prevent Daniel’s friends from recognising me. I believe Lord Rothley and Lord Rutland have accepted the invitation.”

The countess hadn’t given the men a choice.

“It would be quite a challenge,” Elsa said, keen to do anything to put a permanent smile on Clara’s face.

“And after a summer of merriment, I shall retire to The Grange and treasure the memories.”

“I’m sure we’ll still be talking about your wild adventures when we’re old and grey.” She kept the worry from her voice. Would Clara hide away, believing her scarred eye had sealed her fate as a spinster?

Clara crossed the room and grasped Elsa’s hands. “Thank you. I can always count on you to lift my spirits.”

Elsa hugged her sister-in-law tightly. “You will come and have tea with us in the drawing room? I’m told Cook’s almond cakes are delicious.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll make myself presentable and see you downstairs in twenty minutes.” Elsa made to leave but paused at the door. “You’re as dear to me as any sister could be, Clara. My home will always be your home. I hope you know that.”

Clara’s eyes softened. “That means more to me than you know.”

Elsa left before tears welled but lingered on the landing, wondering which of the five doors was her bedchamber.

It didn’t take long to find the right room. The familiar scent of her husband’s cologne acted as a silent invitation. Her heart fluttered like a bird mid-flight when she saw him standing shirtless at the washstand.

He plunged his hands into the porcelain bowl, scooping water and rinsing soap off his face. Rivulets ran down his muscular forearms. Her gaze followed the droplets as they slid down the taut, bronze skin of his bicep.

Merciful Lord!

She stood hypnotised. A quiet yearning stirred inside her.

Had she whimpered? She wasn’t sure.

Daniel saw her and straightened, grabbing a towel to dry his face. “How’s Clara?” he said, unaware his wife was on fire and struggling to form a coherent word.

“F-fine.”

“Just fine?”

He dragged the towel down his throat and across his broad shoulders, each movement holding her entranced. She should focus on his sensible question, but her thoughts were tangled, consumed by the need to feel his skin beneath her lips.

“I find Signora Conti’s directness refreshing. Clara will, too, in time.” He tossed the towel over the back of the chair and padded slowly towards her. “Passion and honesty are admirable qualities. Wouldn’t you agree?”

For heaven’s sake, stay where you are!

“Most admirable.”

She wasn’t sure where to look. At those hard brown nipples that were small and perfectly symmetrical? At the dusting of dark chest hair clinging to the curve of his pectoral muscles? Or that deliciously wicked mouth?

“Elsa, what’s wrong?” The flick of his tongue over his bottom lip played havoc with her insides.

“Nothing.”

He stopped a mere foot away, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Nothing? What happened to the woman who stormed into the ballroom and offered a challenge? The fearless woman who rode my stallion like she was leading a heathen army?”

“It’s easy to be courageous when one is ignorant.” This whole business had left her floundering. “I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

She wasn’t his wife or his lover. She had no idea how she ended up in a dead man’s bed. What if she made love to her husband, only to find out he was not her first?

“Then let me help you remember.” Daniel reached behind her, closing the bedchamber door, though he kept his hand braced on the panel. “You’re the woman willing to sacrifice her happiness to pay her father’s debts. You’d die to save those you love.”

“I’ve always placed other people’s happiness before my own.” Wasn’t that a woman’s role in society, unless she was a heroine in a Gothic novel?

“Now you don’t have to.” He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered in a low, husky tone, “You’re free to say what’s on your mind. Free to do as you please.”

She didn’t want to be free.

She wanted him to possess her in every erotic way.

She wanted him to admit he would have stormed the church, punched Lord Denby and whisked her away because loving her was all that mattered.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If you married me to save me, why didn’t you offer when you learned about my father’s contract with Lord Denby?”

He sighed. “Because Magnus told me it’s what you wanted. I didn’t know about the contract then. I presumed you sought security and a title. After Clara’s accident, I had other priorities.”

“How could you think I wanted Lord Denby?” Did he not recall those moments when their breath mated in the air between them? Stolen moments when it was just the two of them alone in the dark?

“Sometimes passion isn’t enough,” he said.

“It would have been enough for me.”

“That’s easy to say when you’ve never experienced how quickly desire fades,” he said, a faint trace of uncertainty in his voice.

That’s when the truth hit her.

Despite everything he’d said, he was afraid. Afraid the reality would fall short of the dream. Afraid one of them would realise these games were a distraction, nothing more than easing their boredom.

“We will know soon enough.” She placed a tentative hand on his chest. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscles hard beneath her palm. Heavens! He was glorious. “I intend to follow in my ancestors’ footsteps and take what I want. And I want no man but you.”

Her mouth was on his in a heartbeat.

There was no slow melding. No gentle coaxing. No fumbling or awkward clashing of teeth. No struggle to find the right angle.

Their lips met with the pull of magnets, locking together with an unstoppable force. Nothing could tear them apart.

He cupped her face, deepening the kiss as their mouths moved frantically.

She ran her fingers through the crisp hair on his chest, savouring the sensation. She would never tire of touching him. Everything about him was addictive—the earthy scent of his skin, the quiet rumble of his breath, the heat radiating from his body, the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingertips as if craving her touch as much as she craved his.

Then he stilled, the teasing brush of his tongue making her shiver as he entered her mouth.

Sweet mercy!

He was inside her, deep inside her, a means of showing her what it would feel like if he parted her legs and pushed into her sex. She felt every needy stroke of his tongue, across her nipples, between her thighs, hot pulses of pleasure.

A whimper escaped her when he broke contact and, with a ragged breath, drawled, “May I touch you, Elsa? May I touch you intimately?”

In this, she trusted him implicitly. No matter the distance, the doubts, or the secrets between them, the one constant in their relationship was that he made her feel safe.

“You’re my husband. You don’t need to ask.”

His breath hitched. “I’ll always ask—because I want to hear you say yes. After everything that’s occurred, I need to know you want me.”

“I do want you,” she whispered.

Passion had never been the problem.

Despite the lonely nights spent crying herself to sleep, sick with confusion, she had never stopped wanting the man who’d secretly courted her. She craved the man who’d sacrificed everything even more.

He reached under her skirt, his eyes locked on hers, his hand gliding slowly up her stocking, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Dear Lord!

She sucked in a breath, her body tense with anticipation as he moved higher. Heat pooled between her thighs. If he touched her intimately, he would know she was wet and that her desire for him was spiralling.

“I know where you ache,” he purred. “I could make you come like this … with your back against the door, my fingers sliding over that swollen little nub.”

His words were like arak—smooth, intoxicating, warming her from the inside out. Every inch of her skin was alive.

“But not yet,” he teased. “Kiss me, Elsa. Show me how badly you want this.”

She was on him in an instant. Her lips clashed with his, the kiss a wild inferno of need. She pushed her hands into his hair, tugging at the roots, anchoring his mouth to hers.

His wicked fingers traced the curve of her hip, softly squeezing her bare buttock, pulling her harder into his groin.

He moaned into her mouth, the sound raw as their passion soared.

The sudden knock on the bedchamber door brought them both crashing back to reality. They broke contact, their breathless pants a testament to how badly they desired each other.

“Y-yes?” he stuttered.

“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir,” a footman called reluctantly. “Signora Conti tried to turn him away, but he insisted it was urgent.”

“Does he have a name?” Daniel called, though his eyes never left hers, and he continued massaging her buttock.

“Mr Daventry, sir. It concerns Lord Grafton.”

“Lord Grafton?” Elsa uttered. The man who sold her father the fake banking bonds and disappeared without a trace? “How does the gentleman know Lord Grafton is on our list of suspects?”

“Daventry is the best enquiry agent in London,” Daniel whispered, as if that were explanation enough. “Show him into the drawing room. I’ll be right down. And George, tell Signora Conti we’ll eat once our guest has left.”

“Yes, sir.”

She expected her husband to step away, but he kissed her wildly again before saying in a husky drawl, “We’ll continue our study into the pleasures of married life tonight.”

She pushed aside the sense of trepidation—surely the enquiry agent’s words would be helpful—and forced a smile. “I’m sure we’ll find the lessons stimulating.”

He groaned like he ached to kiss her again. Instead, he fetched a clean shirt from the armoire. “Daventry had better have a damned good reason for calling.”

Mr Daventry was the perfect picture of aristocratic charm—exceptionally handsome with thick black hair, greying at the temples, a gaze calculating and sharp. He greeted Elsa with a graceful bow, though Daniel said Mr Daventry could kill a man with his bare hands.

“Mrs Dalton. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, sir.” She had removed her sling to avoid awkward questions. “My husband said you’re an expert in the workings of the criminal mind. I’m told you have the Home Secretary’s ear.”

“I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit. My agents solve many complex cases without my assistance.” He smiled like he knew her darkest secrets, like every blink was a confession. “It’s why I’m here.”

Daniel gestured to the sofa, a certain unease to his posture. “Then don’t keep us in suspense. ”

They made themselves comfortable, though didn’t broach the subject of Lord Grafton until the maid finished pouring the tea.

“I’ll come straight to the point,” Mr Daventry said, taking his teacup from the low table between the two sofas. “Lord Grafton is dead, found murdered in a dockside alehouse two nights ago.”

He went on to mention the lord’s part in the banking consortium and that he had fled the country, having profited from fake bonds.

“Evidence suggests a robbery gone wrong,” Mr Daventry continued. “However, my agent found letters sewn into Lord Grafton’s coat lining. He anticipated his death and wished to set the record straight.”

“What does any of this have to do with us?” Daniel said, acting casually, though she suspected his heart raced as fast as hers.

Mr Daventry raised a knowing brow. “Mrs Dalton’s father bought five thousand pounds’ worth of bonds. Contrary to popular belief, he was the only person to make a purchase.”

Daniel sat bolt upright. “That’s not true. Lord Grafton left London because his victims were hounding him.”

“There was only one victim: your father, Mrs Dalton.”

She shivered. That gave Magnus a motive for murder. She prayed he had an alibi and was still in Geneva.

“My father would have insisted on meeting with the other consortium members.” Yes, he had made bad investments, but Magnus said their father always exercised caution. “Despite views to the contrary, he wasn’t a complete fool.”

Mr Daventry sipped his tea, the saucer steady in his fingers as he said, “Where were you two nights ago, Mrs Dalton? ”

“What the hell are you implying?” Daniel snapped.

“That you both had a reason to murder Lord Grafton,” Mr Daventry remarked calmly. “I believe you’re innocent, but my agent must present his findings to Wapping Police Station. Fortunately for you, there was a shortage of constables, and I agreed to assign someone to the case.”

“We were in Chippenham.” Daniel went on to play his trump card. “The Marquess of Rothley can provide us with an alibi.”

Undeterred, Mr Daventry set down his teacup and made a note in his black book. “Where can I find Mr Carver? Your father’s man of business brokered the deal with Lord Grafton.”

Elsa froze. Her teacup rattled on the saucer, the clink of china an obvious sign of guilt. “He left Edenberry six months ago.”

“For a new position?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll need his forwarding address.”

“You’ll have to ask my brother Magnus.”

“Isn’t he in Geneva?”

Good heavens. Was this man privy to all their private affairs?

“Yes.”

“Did Mr Carver leave Edenberry before or after you married secretly in St Andrew’s Church?”

“Before,” Daniel growled.

A tense silence ensued while Mr Daventry took a letter from his pocket and gave it to Daniel. “What do you make of this?”

Elsa’s pulse quickened. Mr Daventry was like a skilled cardsharp. One who always held the winning hand .

The life drained from Daniel’s face as he read the letter. He gulped twice, the action suggesting she had everything to fear.

“It was found under the stained mattress in the room Grafton rented at the alehouse. We’ve verified it’s his signature.”

“It may be his signature, but what’s written here is absurd.” He tossed the letter onto the low table. “I only learnt about the bonds a few days ago.”

Elsa snatched the letter. Her hand shook as she read Lord Grafton’s confession. He did defraud her father. He returned to England a week ago because Daniel’s man tracked him down in France and threatened to kill him if he failed to repay what he stole.

“It’s a lie,” Daniel said, his temper flaring.

She jumped to his defence. “Of course it is.” And yet there had been so many mistruths, she had every reason to doubt him.

“How did you find out about the bonds?”

“We found a record of my father’s business dealings.”

“You make it sound as if it were a surprise discovery. Surely there’s a record of the transaction in Edenberry’s account ledgers. That’s one reason why I need to question Mr Carver.”

“One reason?” She pretended to sound intrigued, not terrified.

Mr Daventry observed them both before producing another letter and placing it on the table. “This is the missive found in Lord Grafton’s coat lining, his real confession, not the one he was forced to write.”

Elsa grabbed the letter and read the message aloud.

It was clear and concise.

I was coerced into persuading Jacob Tyler to join the banking consortium. Carver served as the intermediary. I fear he has been silenced—murdered to protect the secret—for he alone knew the true identity of the devil behind it all. If these words have found you, there is every likelihood I am dead, too.

Mr Daventry relaxed back on the sofa. “Years of experience tell me Carver didn’t leave Edenberry for a new position.”

They said nothing.

“For heaven’s sake, Dalton. Don’t be a stubborn fool. I’m here to help you,” Mr Daventry pressed. “When someone resorts to murder to hide a secret, you can be sure the villain will strike again. You know you can trust me. Rothley will confirm I’m on your side.”

Elsa looked at Daniel, silently pleading with him to accept the agent’s help. If they hoped to survive this, they needed his expertise.

“Perhaps you require a little more convincing.” Taking a card from his pocket, Mr Daventry placed it on the table, his move as certain as a cardsharp with a winning hand. “This was hidden in Lord Grafton’s shoe.”

Elsa sat forward. Like Daniel, she didn’t need to hold the card to read the stark warning. With each word underscored, Lord Grafton had written:

Save Elsa Tyler.