Chapter 19: Chapter 19

he next evening, Richard eyed the lattice work in Wayfair’s elaborate garden, hoping it

would hold him. He’d spent the entire day hounding the halls of Whitehall, insisting the code breakers try harder. He’d even attempted to study the messages himself, determined to unveil their secrets.

They’d shown him nothing.

Perhaps if the hurt in Caroline’s green eyes hadn’t haunted him, he might’ve been able to think clearly.

Damn Wayfair.

He’d uttered the oath so often that it now came naturally with each breath he drew. Better that he hold onto his anger than permit despair to fill his heart.

The duke had left him no choice. In order to save Caroline’s life and her family from irreparable damage, he’d had to do as Wayfair had instructed—request that Caroline break their betrothal. The duke insisted Richard make her believe him. In fact, he’d watched Richard’s conversation with her to be certain Richard convinced her of his sincerity.

If Richard hadn’t had the excuse of Lady Mintford, he

couldn’t have possibly gone through with the act. He would’ve slipped, and Caroline would’ve seen through his lies.

The only way Richard could think to rectify this situation was to provide evidence of the duke’s guilt. Since Whitehall had yet to determine what the messages said, Richard was left with finding other evidence. He hoped Caroline would forgive him when all this was over.

Searching the duke’s library again was futile, especially

when the footman who worked for Wayfair hadn’t been able to uncover anything either. The only other place to look was his

bedroom. The footman hadn’t been able to search in there without drawing the valet’s wrath.

The duke was out for the evening but might return at any moment. The sooner Richard completed this mission, the better—for both Caroline’s sake and his own. He put his

weight on the lattice. Though it felt less than stable, he saw no other way to reach his goal.

He quickly scaled it, cursing his injured arm as he reached a balcony on the upper level, and levered himself over the stone railing, grateful the thing held. The knob on the French door turned easily. Excellent. That saved time.

Coals burned in the fireplace, lighting the room enough for him to make out the outline of a massive bed and dark

furnishings, confirming this was the duke’s bedroom.

He quickly crossed the room toward the small desk along the wall, only to hesitate. With so little time to search, he needed to choose wisely. He shifted toward one of the bedside tables and tried the drawer. Locked. That was a clue in itself.

Listening for anyone approaching, he pulled out his pick and went to work, pleased when the lock clicked. He opened the drawer and withdrew several papers but the light was so dim, he couldn’t read them. Setting them aside for the

moment, he checked the drawer to see if he’d missed anything.

His fingers grazed a cool metal object and he withdrew the item, his heart hammering at the jewels that glittered in the elegant handle.

While this wasn’t the proof Whitehall might want, it was all the proof Richard needed to claim justice for Dumond. And for Caroline.

He slid it into his pocket. Now he need only determine the best way to use the familiar weapon.

~*~

Caroline stared at the correspondence as she sat at her father’s desk. No matter how many times she tried to focus

and comprehend what it said, the words made no sense.

Two days had passed since that horrible night at the musicale when Richard had broken her heart. She had yet to announce the end of their betrothal as he’d requested to

anyone other than her family.

She’d relived those brief minutes, time and again, but couldn’t understand them any more than she understood the letter in her hand.

Hurt had changed into numbness that left her functioning but not living, and certainly not feeling. Feeling would only

allow the pain to return, and that she couldn’t bear. Not yet anyway.

When Annabelle entered, Caroline forced her lips to tilt, hoping it looked like a smile. Her mother and sisters knew the details of what Richard had said, and they’d provided support and love. Their concern for her helped more than she could say.

“Good morning.” Her sister stepped around the desk to give her a hug. She didn’t bother to ask Caroline how she was.

Caroline appreciated that as she didn’t want to lie.

“Anything of interest arrive?” Annabelle leaned over Caroline’s shoulder and pointed to one of the letters. “Oh, the pawn shop sold the sheep painting. I’m sorry to hear that.”

A lump formed in Caroline’s throat as she stared at the letter. While that had been what she wanted and the money was welcome, somehow it seemed like a mistake given how upset her father had been over the loss.

“I liked that painting too,” Annabelle said. “But Father will soon forget it. The money is more practical to have than something pretty to look at.”

Caroline nodded, the lump in her throat refusing to dislodge.

Sensing her upset, Annabelle knelt beside her chair. “What is it?”

Caroline could only shake her head, unable to form the words to explain how she felt. What if the presence of that

painting had somehow helped her father? What if selling it had done more harm than good, upsetting him needlessly?

She closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over. Life had been difficult enough but now that Richard was no longer part of her world, even the smallest task felt overwhelming. She could no longer make the smallest decision without self-doubt

creeping in. Her family was depending on her, but she had nothing left to give.

“Don’t worry so,” Annabelle said as she wrapped her

arms around her. “Be gentle with yourself. These things take time to recover from.”

Caroline drew a shaky breath, resting her head against Annabelle’s. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” Her sister leaned back and smiled. “I’m right here beside you. You know I’d do

anything to aid you.”

“Yes, I know.” But nobody could help her at the moment.

Perhaps in a few months, when her heart healed, she’d feel better.

A knock sounded at the library door then it opened,

revealing Barkley. The perplexed expression on the butler’s

face had Caroline and her sister exchanging concerned looks.

“What is it?” Caroline almost hated to ask. She didn’t think she could deal with any further bad news.

“A delivery. For your father.” He stepped into the hall and came back with a large wrapped rectangle.

“That can’t be a…painting,” Annabelle said.

Caroline stood even as her stomach dropped. “How could he have possibly purchased something like that without us knowing?” The last thing she wanted to do was squander their newfound funds.

“Perhaps there’s a note inside,” Annabelle suggested.

At Caroline’s nod, Barclay set the package on the desk and assisted Annabelle to unwrap it.

“Oh!” Caroline could only stare at the sheep painting. The very one the pawn shop had just advised them had sold. “I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

“Barclay, isn’t there a note?” Annabelle asked.

“Not that I saw, miss.” The butler shook his head.

As Caroline stared at the painting, the truth slowly sank into her. She knew exactly how it was possible. Tears filled her eyes, and she sank to her chair, her legs trembling.

“Caroline? What?” Annabelle squeezed her hand. “Who sent the painting?”

Caroline met Barclay’s gaze, and a smile curved his lips, suggesting he knew as well.

“I believe the Earl of Aberland might have something to do with this,” he offered.

“Richard.” She whispered his name, blinking, afraid to believe what the delivery meant.

Annabelle frowned. “Truly? But why?”

“Because he cares for me after all.” The fragile hope

fluttering deep inside her both frightened and thrilled her. She didn’t pretend to understand why he’d said the things he had, but she intended to find out. Murmuring a prayer, she rose to change her dress.

~*~

Richard carefully penned a message at the desk in his library. On the front, he wrote Le Sournois.

That alone should concern Wayfair, but Richard hoped what he’d scrawled underneath would alarm the duke even more. It involved details for which he didn’t yet have proof. The Jib and Anchor Tavern near the shipyard seemed like the perfect place to meet—not so dissimilar from the tavern in France where Wayfair had killed Maria and Dumond.

Richard hadn’t wanted to confront the duke in his bedroom the previous night. Not with so many servants milling about. Nor did he want to murder the duke in his sleep. That wasn’t justice.

Instead, he intended to call out the duke and challenge him to a duel. Richard didn’t care what weapons they used— pistols or swords—he was adept with either. Besides, he’d needed time to leave a written accounting of everything he suspected the duke was involved in. He’d completed that prior to writing the message. His plan was nearly in place.

Whitehall continued to work on the messages, but Richard no longer pinned his hopes on them.

The jeweled knife sat on his desk, but in Richard’s mind, it glimmered in the torchlight, protruding from Dumond’s

chest. The knife wouldn’t mean anything to Whitehall but meant everything to Richard.

The papers Richard had found in the duke’s nightstand provided additional clues but would take time to thoroughly investigate. Richard didn’t have time. He wanted Caroline free of Wayfair’s threats immediately. He wanted her back in his

arms, if he lived, and if she could forgive him.

Voices in the foyer had him frowning. Visitors were not welcome. Not when he had so much on his mind.

His butler appeared in the door, his expression disgruntled. “The Duke of Wayfair—”

Before he completed the sentence, Wayfair shoved him aside and strode in. “What is going on?”

Richard stood, doing his best to calm his rage at the sight of Dumond’s murderer. Had Wayfair somehow discovered

what he’d taken from his nightstand? It didn’t matter. The outcome would be the same. Wayfair would soon be dead.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of delivering a message to you.”

“What possible message could you be sending to me?” Wayfair’s nostrils flared as he strode forward. “Unless you

intend to explain why Miss Gold hasn’t yet publicly called off your betrothal.”

Richard’s heart pinched. He’d been trying not to think of that. Nor had he spoken with anyone who would know if she had. But after the way he’d treated her at the musicale, he was surprised she hadn’t declared the end of their association far

and wide.

“You’ve forced my hand, Aberland. I’ve no choice but to

—”

More voices came from the foyer, interrupting Wayfair. Once again, his butler appeared in the doorway. “Miss

Gold and—”

Caroline appeared at the butler’s side before he finished announcing her. The beleaguered servant shook his head, looking askance at Richard.

All Richard could see was Caroline. Heart racing, he studied her, wondering why she was here, unable to read her expression. He didn’t know whether to be thrilled or appalled by her arrival. Not when Wayfair was here as well.

Her gaze swung to Wayfair, and her eyes widened in

alarm. Annabelle stood behind her, keeping a close watch on Richard.

Caroline hesitated, clearly confused as to why Wayfair was in his library.

“Well?” Wayfair demanded. “You have not done what I requested.” He gestured toward Caroline, as if to suggest her

presence confirmed Richard’s guilt. “You leave me no choice.”

“You have always had a choice, but you continually make the wrong ones,” Richard advised as he held out his hand to Caroline, anxious to put himself between her and the duke.

The stubborn woman remained rooted to the spot.

Understandable, considering how he’d treated her when they’d last spoke. Yet he’d hoped she somehow sensed the

truth—that what he’d told her hadn’t been his wish.

“Whatever are you speaking of?” Wayfair glared at Richard then his gaze dropped to the desk where the knife sat. His face paled. “Where did you get that?”

Richard handed the message he had yet to seal to him. “You might want this.”

The duke’s hand trembled as he reached for it, Le Sournois clearly visible. “I don’t understand.” His previous anger had vanished. “What is this?”

“I think you know.”

He opened the message, frowning at the contents. “This makes no sense.”

“Those are the registration numbers of several lost ships that Lloyd’s paid insurance claims on—a significant amount to various companies.”

“That has nothing to do with me.” The duke seemed to have regained his wits, admitting nothing.

“When the authorities investigate those lost ships, I believe they will discover who is behind the companies that received the money and what that person did with those

funds.”

Wayfair’s thin lips tightened. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”

“I’m proving you are Le Sournois, a traitorous English lord. That you’re funneling money from insurance claims to support Bonaparte.”

Caroline stepped forward at last, much to Richard’s relief.

But before she reached him, Wayfair lunged forward to grab her, surprising Richard with his speed. Wayfair spun her to face Richard with an arm wrapped around her neck and pointed a small pistol at her head. “I’ll be leaving with Miss Gold. If you wish to see her again, alive, you will tell no one about any of this.”

Richard’s heart leapt into his throat. Fear held him tight, stealing his breath.

Before he could react, Caroline drove her elbow backward into the duke’s middle. Annabelle grabbed a vase and ran

forward to strike Wayfair in the head.

Their efforts were enough of a distraction that Wayfair bobbled the weapon. Richard rushed toward him, the jeweled dagger in hand. Wayfair squeezed the trigger, the barrel

wobbling as Richard reached him. The gun misfired with an odd-sounding pop, but the dagger Richard wielded pierced Wayfair between the ribs.

Caroline shook off Wayfair’s arm to rush to Richard’s side and Annabelle joined her.

Wayfair dropped the pistol and sank to the floor with a moan, both hands clasping the handle of the knife protruding from his body.

As if he’d heard the commotion, the butler opened the door, his gaze scanning the room. “Is all well, my lord?”

“Send one of the footmen for a constable,” Richard ordered as he retrieved the pistol and set it on his desk. “And another in here to guard this man.”

The butler left to do his bidding as Wayfair shifted on the floor in pain, a blood spreading on his jacket. “Blast you,

Aberland.”

Richard ignored him to draw Caroline into his arms and hold her tight. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and looked over her shoulder to Annabelle, who nodded as well. Both sisters kept their distance from Wayfair as a footman hurried in to stand over Wayfair.

Richard feared his aim hadn’t been true and the wound

wouldn’t prove to be fatal. He could hardly believe after all his searching for Dumond’s killer that his quest was over.

Revenge hadn’t turned out as he’d expected, but life was often full of twists and turns one never expected.

Richard eased both ladies to the opposite side of the desk away from Wayfair. “Your performances were perfectly timed, ladies. You were both amazing.”

Caroline shared a look with her sister. “Striking him with the vase was quick thinking, Annabelle.”

“I give credit to my research of late. It’s good to know such an action would work.”

Richard frowned, uncertain what she meant though Caroline smiled with understanding. He shifted to fully face Caroline, blocking her view of Wayfair. Desperation filled him as he wondered how to convince her of his love. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean any of those things I said at the musicale.” He cupped her cheek, needing to touch her as much as he needed to breathe.

“I know.” Her warm eyes were filled with understanding as she tilted her head into his hand. “I realized that this morning.”

“How?”

“When you spoke to me at the musicale, I could see the truth in your eyes. But it took the sheep painting’s arrival to make me realize it.”

Richard shook his head. “I should’ve known you would unravel the truth without my explanation.”

She shifted to look past Richard to Wayfair, where he

remained lying on the floor, his face etched with pain. “I still don’t understand why he threatened to tell everyone about Father.”

“Because he wanted your father’s shipyard. I believe he’s bought several over the past few years under various company names and is either using the ships to supply Bonaparte or declaring them lost at sea to collect the insurance money.” He glanced at Wayfair. “Isn’t that right?”

Wayfair said nothing, his focus on the knife, until the

footman nudged him with his toe. “His lordship asked you a

question.”

The duke’s grunt made Richard smile grimly. “He also killed a friend of mine nearly a year ago with that very same knife. Didn’t you?”

Wayfair’s gaze lifted to meet Richard’s, defiance still in the depths of his pale blue eyes.

“How did you convince Maria to betray us?”

The injured man hesitated as if deciding whether speaking would cause him further harm. “I threatened to murder her parents.” His smirk had Richard stiffening, prepared to remove it from his face.

A second footman appeared in the doorway. “Shall we take him into the scullery until the constable arrives?”

“That’s the perfect place for him.” Though part of him was disappointed he hadn’t killed Wayfair, Richard didn’t

want Caroline to see the side of him that was capable of such violence.

“I’ll advise our driver that we’ll be a few more minutes,” Annabelle said with a smile after the footmen hauled Wayfair out of the room.

Richard breathed a sigh of deep gratitude. Justice had been served, and with luck, the lady in his arms would agree to be his wife. How could he ask for more?

“Caroline,” he said as he faced her and dropped to one knee. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The joyful surprise in her eyes stole his breath. “I never called off the betrothal.”

“I’m grateful you didn’t. But we’re starting anew, without the secrets and deception. Will you marry me?”

Caroline chuckled. “In that case, my answer is yes. I would love to.”

“I’ll obtain a special license so we can marry as soon as possible.” He rose to take her into his arms, kissing her long

and deep, releasing all the fear and worry that had consumed him for the past several days.

Then he drew back to smooth a strand of blonde hair from her face. “We’ll have a true wedding. No more pretending.”

“No more pretending,” she repeated with a grin. “But you don’t need to pay for a special license. That would be far too expensive. We can wait until—”

“We aren’t going to wait a moment longer than necessary for you to become my wife. My lack of finances was one more ruse. I have more than enough money for the rest of our lives. You and your family will never have to worry again.”

“Richard.” Emotion swirled in her eyes as she kissed him. “I love you so very much,” he whispered when she drew

back.

“And I love you.”