Lyn Stone - The Wicked Truth

“And then?” the inspector asked calmly.

“Colin rushed in with Thurston and Maggie. Before they could subdue Ruby, she ran to the balcony and dived off.”

“She’s dead?” MacLinden asked softly.

“Yes. Her—her neck was broken in the fall.”

“A poison?” the inspector asked, looking at the doctor.

“Hallucinatory agent, more likely,” the doctor said. His agitation was evident in the way he was crushing her fingers in his. “Have there been any further attempts?”

Elizabeth looked from one to the other. “None that I know.” She cleared her throat and pulled her hands away from Dr. Bronwyn’s. “Could I be excused for a few moments?” The effort of remaining calm had exhausted her.

“Yes, of course,” the inspector said. “However, we ought to be off within the hour if you could manage.”

She nodded. “May I ask where we’re going?”

“To Havington House in London,” MacLinden said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to reside there with our new Lord Havington until we straighten this out.”

Elizabeth took her leave of the men. There seemed no point in resisting. At least the inspector had a plan.

MacLinden remained silent until the woman closed the door. Then he turned to Neil. “Acquiring the title and the lady is going to look very suspicious, Doc.”

“Don’t be a fool! I’ve no interest in either one and you know it I only met the woman last night. I brought her here against her will to prevent an elopement, or so I thought. Terry was determined to marry her and it would have ruined him. You know what sort she is. You read the papers.”

“I read them, yes. I wondered whether you had,” Mac-Linden said thoughtfully, folding his notebook shut and stuffing it in his pocket. “Be that as it may, someone out there has snuffed out a peer of the realm—very probably the same person who tried to destroy Elizabeth Marleigh. Clearly, someone took the murder weapon from her town house specifically to implicate her,” he continued. “The matching pistol is also missing. None of the servants seem to know how long the guns have been gone. Without doubt, this is all somehow connected.”

“I agree. But who and why?” Neil asked.

MacLinden shifted in his chair, crossing his legs at the knee. “There’s the fellow Terry had words with at the theater, possibly a blackmailer, from the conversation overheard. Could be the maid who sent Lady Marleigh the tainted chocolate. It may be the lady’s cousin, Colin Marleigh, who inherited the earldom after her father died. Excellent motive there, eh?” He sighed and shrugged. “Then, of course, we mustn’t rule out the less obvious, a disgruntled employee, or the odd maniac with a grudge against the nobility. Lots of possibilities at this point and damned few clues. Some of the puzzle pieces may have roiled under the table. That’s very often the case.”

“We have to solve this, Lindy, before he harms Elizabeth.”

“Oh, we shall. Our success hinges on keeping the lady hidden, yet available to assist. She’ll have to remain the focus of a search, as though we at the Yard believe she’s guilty. Otherwise the killer will go to ground. I’ll need her near for questions, and she’s the only one who might recognize the man at the theater.”

Neil saw the plan’s worth. “So we’ll hide her in the least-obvious place—at the scene of the crime?”

“Just so,” MacLinden said, twisting his mustache.

“The servants probably know her. Given her, ah, relationship with Terry, I expect she’s been there before.” Neil’s frown darkened. He looked as if he wanted to say more on the matter, but held his tongue.

MacLinden nodded. “Have the staff leave the town house before she arrives. Then tough it out with her alone there if you can. She’ll need the freedom to come and go with you, but no one must guess her identity. That means a foolproof disguise.” MacLinden chewed somberly on his pipe stem, then brightened. “Wouldn’t she make an admirable valet!”

“Valet? Are you daft? She’s too obviously female to get her up like a man! Besides, I’ve never had a valet.”

MacLinden smirked. “Well then, my fine new earl, you won’t be so critical of her services, now will you?”

It might work, Neil thought. It just might. She would sleep in his dressing room, of course. Or perhaps even his bed. She’d be expected to attend him at his bath, dress him, be in intimate contact, most hours of the day. Well, at least she was no stranger to men. Any woman who could deal with a mánage à trois shouldn’t quail at dealing with one man’s requirements, whatever they were.

What of his work? Could she accompany him to hospital for rounds when he began his work there? No, that course was out of the question now, anyway. An earl wouldn’t be expected to carry on with employment of any sort, even as a physician. London society would choke at the very thought.

He could content himself with research, he supposed, and the occasional emergency. Research. The idea rather appealed to him, the more he thought about it. God knew he’d done enough cutting, stitching and dosing of patients in the Crimea.

Truth told, he’d realized too late in the game that he hadn’t the proper objectivity to practice surgery. A patient’s pain was his pain. He suffered right along with each and every one. Every death he witnessed was a partial death for him. The grief had nearly done him in before he’d resigned his commission. He couldn’t even pretend he looked forward to more of the same.

Since that time, he had traveled a bit, trying to catch up with the advances in modem medicine before setting up a civilian practice and attending hospital duties. But research? That seemed the ideal solution. With the Havington fortune available, he could devote himself to it.

The very thought of Terry’s death providing any kind of advantage troubled Neil. Perhaps he should look at it another way. Could he turn the horrible tragedy of Terry’s death to some good purpose? He still felt guilty about using the Hav-ington wealth he’d inherited, but if he must, what. better way?

Besides incorporating his new career move with the murder investigation, Neil had to figure a way to deal with his private feelings toward the lady-cum-valet. She heated his blood like an aphrodisiac. And was probably just as dangerous.

In spite of that—or perhaps because of it, given his rash behavior so far—he would offer to make her his mistress. Out of necessity, they would be sharing quarters. His body would be clamoring for her constantly, even if his mind was repelled by what she had become. No doubt she’d agree to the arrangement. Hadn’t she already serviced half the population, anyway?

All he had to worry about was getting rid of his anger over that very fact.

He admitted he was being too prudish by half when it came to Elizabeth Marleigh. A woman’s past had never troubled him before when he’d decided to bed one. He’d had women of his own class before, accommodating widows and those of the fashionably impure. She was not a whit different than they were.

Who was he fooling? he wondered, even as he thought it. Elizabeth Marleigh was like no one else he’d ever met. At least, in the way she moved him.

He’d just have to accept that she was what she was, that she had a wayward streak wide as the Thames at high tide. And he’d have to protect her in spite of it. Someone had tried to kill her, and she was in grave danger of arrest for Terry’s murder. In that, at least, he knew she was an innocent. He must keep her safe.

The fact that she roused this feeling in him, this caring beyond his natural compassion, scared him half to death. No way could he allow himself to become emotionally entangled with a woman of her caliber. He had to remember she was reckless, a flouter of convention and as shameless a trollop as he had ever had the misfortune to know. Hell, she didn’t even deny it.