The Marquess Who Loved Me

Chapter THIRTY-SIX


“What? How?” Ellie asked, stunned to the point of incoherency.

“Yes, I know it’s unlikely,” Christabel said. “When would I have ever met someone new, let alone someone who might be a highwayman? I should have known from the very first that he was after something other than me…”

Ellie cut her off. “Don’t tell me Norbury was pursuing you?”

Christabel’s mouth dropped open. “Who? Norbury? That dull prig you’ve somehow become friends with? Of course not.”

In another conversation, Ellie might have taken umbrage at Christabel’s characterization of him — but now was not the time. “Then who? Because Nick is downstairs preparing to accuse Norbury of attempted murder.”

“Norbury?” Christabel asked again. She bit the side of her lip, considering. “If that were true, I would certainly be happy to know it.”

But before Ellie could respond, Christabel squared her shoulders again. “It’s not Norbury. I believe it is a man named Stephen Edgewood.”

“Who?” Ellie asked.

Christabel sighed. “This conversation is going to take long enough that Folkestone might shoot Norbury long before we’ve finished it. He knows who Edgewood is, I think. I searched Edgewood’s papers and found letters about Corwyn, Claiborne and Sons. He must have been a former employee. The papers indicate that Folkestone fired him in India eight or nine months ago.”

“Where did you find his papers?”

“In my house.” Christabel twisted her fingers again. “He came six weeks ago, after having sent a letter to Mother asking if he might visit. He claimed that he was her third cousin. I was suspicious at first. There was no reference to him in Debrett’s description of the family, and I couldn’t find him in the family Bible. But Mother — well, you could tell her that Prinny was her second son and she would agree with you, just to avoid admitting that she had forgotten it. She was more than happy to welcome a visitor who claimed to be her cousin. And once I met him…”

She trailed off. Her pale face suddenly turned to fire.

Ellie’s heart broke for her. “Has he been there all this time?” she asked gently.

Christabel nodded. “Fool that I was, I thought he was staying for me. He certainly made it seem that way.”

“He could be, you know. Just because he happened to arrive before these suspicious events doesn’t mean he has anything to do with them.”

“It was a dream,” Christabel said. Her self-deprecating shrug made Ellie want to kill the man herself. “After the shooting last night, I went home. Edgewood had begged off the fireworks, but he was nowhere to be found when I returned. But I must have known all along that something was wrong, because I took the opportunity to search his papers. It was easy enough to do. His valet has run off, so no one was there to guard his things. And the combination of those letters, and the fact that his valet had always seemed more like a sailor than a polished gentleman’s man, made me wonder if the valet was your dead highwayman.”

“Did you ask him about this?” Ellie asked.

Christabel’s look said that Ellie’s question was one of the stupidest ideas she had ever heard. “I was besotted, not idiotic. Who do you think would save me if Edgewood decided to kill me for meddling?”

Ellie grimaced. “Of course. We must tell Folkestone before he kills Norbury. He will apprehend Edgewood, if Edgewood is indeed the killer.”

Christabel stood and started to retie her bonnet, as though her visit had been a mere exchange of pleasantries. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Thank you for your help.”

“Come with me,” Ellie said. “Folkestone will need a description of Edgewood to decide whether he might be the killer.”

Christabel frowned. “I want nothing more than to be left out of this and forget he ever existed.”

“I know. You don’t have to say a word about how you know Edgewood. Pin the blame on your mother for letting him stay with you. She won’t be able to refute it.”

Christabel’s grin was almost wicked. “Mother was right. You are a detriment to my character.”

Ellie smiled as she escorted her out of the room. But when Christabel couldn’t see her face, Ellie’s smile died. She didn’t understand how Christabel could be so composed — as though it had been inevitable that any man who loved her must have had another goal in mind. If Ellie had discovered that Nick was merely using her in his attempts to kill someone else, she wouldn’t have taken it well at all.

When this was over, she would find a way to help Christabel. But uncovering the truth — and keeping Nick from accusing the wrong man — was more urgent than that.

* * *

It was almost farcical, how quickly Nick’s control of the situation vanished. He had been so sure that Norbury was the killer. He was ready to hustle him onto the first ship to the penal colonies, all Norbury’s denials be damned. No one would be injured, Ellie wouldn’t be in danger, and nothing unforeseen would happen…

And then, suddenly, sickeningly, the quarry had changed. Instead of the safe, warm breakfast room, he now stood fifty yards from the dower house, under the cover of a small orchard near the footpath that ran from Folkestone to the dowager’s abode. Ellie shivered next to him in her thin morning dress and thick pelisse, cold but undaunted.

“Shall we knock on the front door or sneak in through the kitchens?” she asked in a low voice.

Beyond her, Christabel frowned. “If you send me in first, I can determine where he is and signal to the rest of you.”

None of the men liked that idea. “I’d sooner burn the house down and shoot whoever comes out than send you in alone,” Marcus said. “The man has no qualms about injuring a woman. He could kill you without a second thought.”

Christabel didn’t deny it, but Nick saw something in the corners of her mouth that hinted at why she hadn’t told anyone about Edgewood before. She hadn’t admitted to anything when she and Ellie had come to the breakfast room and stopped the inquisition against Norbury.

Nick could guess, though. Edgewood had always been charming. It was his charm that had made him so effective in India. Too effective, as it had turned out. While he’d been striking bargains for Corwyn, Claiborne and Sons, he had also embezzled a significant sum for himself. Nick had never seen a crack in the man’s façade until the day he had fired him. Edgewood had turned ugly, but only for a moment — just long enough for Nick to be glad the man was leaving India, but not long enough to suspect that he would plot such an extensive revenge.

“I should have guessed it was him,” Nick said, for the second time since Christabel had saved Norbury’s hide. “And Marcus is correct. Edgewood is charming, but I don’t trust him within ten leagues of you.”

Christabel sighed. “Still, let me go in first. I would like to keep this quiet, after all. If we can remove him from the premises without killing him, I would be much obliged.”

Salford and Ferguson had been muttering behind them ever since leaving Folkestone. The walk from the main house to the dower house was short enough that it was better to sneak over on foot rather than risk warning Edgewood by coming in carriages. But the earl and duke weren’t pleased.

“You aren’t luring me into pulling a gun on another innocent man, are you?” Salford asked acerbically. “Norbury is likely still puking over the close call he had.”

Nick winced. Norbury had nearly fainted when Christabel’s information had saved him — but the man had every reason to be angry with all of them. Nick knew that wasn’t a mistake he could easily atone for. “I am sorry about that. But Lady Christabel’s suggestion is sound. Edgewood has even more motive than Norbury did. And there’s no reason for him to have come to this neighborhood unless he was lying in wait for us. I know he isn’t related to the dowager, whether she remembers it or not.”

“I agree,” Marcus said, checking the pistol he had pulled from his pocket. “He had motive to kill me as well. When he came back from India, he approached me for a job. I told him that since he had returned without a character from Nick, I would make sure none of the India firms hired him. He must have thought it would be easier for me to die in a shooting accident in the country than in London. If he came to the neighborhood and heard about the dowager’s illness, he must have seen her house as a prime place to stage his attack — and live in comfort in the meantime.”

Ferguson brushed a piece of lint off his greatcoat. “Can we get on with it before I die of boredom? I didn’t expect such a prolonged affair.”

Nick tried to pull the group back together. He wasn’t happy that Christabel and Ellie were present. But he couldn’t keep Christabel from returning to her own house. Ellie wouldn’t let her go without another woman for company. And Ferguson and Salford were still impossible to manage, but they were better for this task than Ellie’s milquetoast footmen.

With Trower as a silent but lethal addition to their party, they outnumbered Edgewood seven to one. With the added benefit of surprise, surely they could capture him without incident.

Nick laid out the plan. “Lady Folkestone, Lady Christabel — you will stay outside with Trower and cover the front door. If Edgewood comes running, shoot him.”

Christabel had refused to take a rifle, and Nick didn’t expect her to need it — Trower would take care of them without either woman needing to fire a shot. But Ellie nodded intently. She held up the bow she had insisted on bringing and pulled an arrow out of the small quiver strapped to her back. He couldn’t help but laugh. Trust Ellie to look both deadly and gorgeous at the same time.

She scowled at him. “Laugh now, but I can fire three arrows before you can reload a pistol.”

He made a bow of apology and turned to Salford and Ferguson. “Can I trust the two of you to cover the back of the house without shooting each other?”

Salford’s mouth twitched. “Send Edgewood our way. If Ferguson accidentally dies today, I’d like to pin it on your highwayman.”

Nick ignored him and turned to Marcus. “Shall we, brother?”

Marcus adjusted his gloves. “Let me go in first. I’d rather die than inherit your bloody title.”

“No one is going to die, bar Edgewood.”

“Still, it’s your turn to run the estate. If you leave it to me, I will be very much annoyed.”

Beside them, Ellie sniffed. “Not as annoyed as I shall be. Don’t do anything stupid, Folkestone.”

Nick turned to her. Her eyes were bright, and she seemed entirely focused on the task at hand. He only caught tiny hints of her nerves. Her gloved hand tightened on her bow. She squinted at him, as though memorizing the way he looked in this moment. Would she paint him like this? Not as her slave, not as a youth besotted with her, but as the man who would do anything to protect her?

She smiled as though she knew what he was thinking. “Be safe, Nick,” she said. “And come back to me.”

He would have given anything to hear those words a decade ago. But he much preferred hearing them now, from a woman who could truly love him rather than a girl who only thought she did.

He nodded. “Be safe, Ellie.”

He couldn’t say more, not with their audience. He heard Salford murmur something to Ferguson. The duke muttered a response that made Salford laugh. They trooped away from the group and disappeared around the back of the house to guard against Edgewood’s escape.

Ellie ignored them. She turned to Marcus instead. “You be safe as well,” she said. It sounded like an order, not a plea. “I still vow that if anyone kills you, it should be me.”

Marcus grinned. “If I inherit the marquessate, I’ll let you shoot me, and gladly.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And leave me with Rupert as the marquess? He would drive me mad within the month. Imagine my reputation if I killed every Claiborne male of your generation.”

The group laughed, but then fell into a sudden, awkward silence. They needed to wait to make sure Ferguson and Salford were in position, but waiting gave them too many moments to worry. They had done an admirable job of feigning comfort on the walk over. All that calm bled away in the final moments before their assault on the house.

They would be fine. Edgewood didn’t expect them and wouldn’t be armed. It would all happen quickly and without incident.

But Nick knew that even the best plans couldn’t account for everything. He checked his pistol a final time. The sky was slate grey, leaden and heavy with the threat of another snowstorm. His breath misted in the air, and he caught Ellie stamping her boots — either from nerves or an attempt to warm herself up, he didn’t know.

He wanted to kiss her. But he needed to focus. A kiss now, in this moment, would feel too much like a permanent goodbye. So he nodded instead. “If he comes out that door, aim for his heart.”

Her lips quirked. “I always aim for the heart.”

He smiled at her. Then he made eye contact with his batman. The man didn’t have to say a word to communicate his intent. If Edgewood came through the front door, Trower would shoot him before anything could happen to Ellie.

Nick and Marcus left them and walked to the house. They held their pistols openly; this wasn’t the time for subtlety. “Shoot first, or ask questions first?” Marcus asked in a low voice.

“Ask questions. I was ready to kill Norbury. It doesn’t seem right to kill Edgewood without a conversation, since we could be mistaken again. But if he sees both of us, with guns, I doubt we’ll have to ask anything before he shows his hand.”

Marcus nodded. Nick knocked on the door. When a manservant answered, he took one look at their guns and held up his hands.

“Where is Edgewood?” Nick asked in a low voice.

“In the dining room, my lord,” he stammered. He pointed through the drawing room toward another set of doors. The house was small enough, and old enough, that the main rooms were all interconnected.

Damn. Nick gestured to Marcus. “Wait in the drawing room. I’ll go around to the door that leads to the kitchens. As soon as you hear my voice, come in through the drawing room door.”

He left before Marcus could argue. The footman led him to the back of the house. “Keep the servants away,” Nick ordered quietly. “And make sure the dowager stays upstairs.”

The footman nodded and backed away from him. Nick eyed the closed door to the dining room. He felt a rush of nerves, followed by a deadly sort of calm. The world seemed to slow down, just for a moment. Everything became focused on that door knob and the moment that lay beyond it.

He opened the door. Edgewood sat at the table, just as Nick had remembered him — impeccably dressed, oozing charm, seeming at ease with the world. He looked up from his plate. His blue eyes were shocked. Nick saw a swift, instinctive rush of hate before Edgewood regained control.

“Lord Folkestone. How pleasant to see you here,” he said.

Marcus rushed through the other door as soon as Edgewood spoke. Edgewood turned toward him, raising his hands as though he were the only sane one in the room. “And Mr. Claiborne. Another pleasant surprise. Is there some service you require from me?”

He was utterly calm. Too calm. Norbury, who was innocent, had been petrified. Edgewood seemed amused, as though two men with guns drawn were just a game to him.

“You know why we’re here, Edgewood,” Nick said. “You have two choices. A one-way trip to Van Diemen’s Land, leaving tonight. Or a public hanging at Newgate and a box in potter’s field. What’s your preference?”

Edgewood leaned back in his chair. “You already fired me. Am I really so irksome to you that you must further ruin my life?”

Nick leaned against the door frame, pretending to be as calm as Edgewood. “You deserved to be let go. But if I had known that you would continue to plague me, I would have had you arrested instead — you should have been grateful that all I did was fire you.”

“As though anyone there would have cared,” Edgewood said with a laugh. “Half the men in the East India Company were doing something illicit — skimming profits, taking bribes, or exploiting villages. If I had worked for them instead of you, I could have been rich by now.”

“You were more than comfortable.”

“Comfortable? In India?” Edgewood scoffed. “There isn’t enough money in the world to make that hellish place bearable. No white women, little entertainment, a fever every fortnight. In some ways I was relieved when you sent me home. Perhaps you would have hated it, too, if you had grown up with the higher classes as I did.”

Nick knew when he was being baited. He didn’t rise to it. “It’s a shame that all your class made you such a bad shot. All those times you missed me in India, and then you come here and shoot a maid and your own valet rather than either of us.”

Edgewood’s jaw ticked. “Not that I am admitting to anything, but I couldn’t have been the one who tried to kill you in India. I was already on a ship. I can’t say I’m pleased to see you survived, though.”

Nick turned to Marcus. “We don’t have any Maratha mercenaries here to do our bidding — but how many shots do you think you would need to kill Edgewood yourself?”

Marcus leveled his pistol. “One.”

“You have no proof whatsoever,” Edgewood said, baring his teeth.

“I would wager that a judge might not see it that way, not with what I’ve learned about you. I may have no class, but I am a marquess, and I’m richer than your petty little schemes ever could have made you. Do you really think you can keep yourself from swinging from a noose? Take the trip to Van Diemen’s Land. I’ve heard it’s cooler there than India.”

“Funny. I’ve learned a lot about you as well, you know. If I were to stand trial, the newspaper men would love to write all of my testimony about how you obsessed over your dead cousin’s wife, wouldn’t they? I saw everything you bought for her. I heard all the rumors of how you used to call for her when you were sick with fevers. Makes your decision to share a house with her seem a bit lewd, doesn’t it?”

Nick shrugged, but didn’t drop his pistol. “Lady Folkestone is no concern of mine.”

“Hmm,” Edgewood said. He turned his focus to Marcus. “Or your lady friend…Mrs. Grafton, she calls herself? A shame that she was injured last night. Of course, from what I’ve learned about her past, this isn’t the first time that little whore…”

Marcus snapped. Nick felt it happen, felt the atmosphere in the room pull in on itself, then explode. “You bloody bastard,” Marcus snarled as he rushed around the table.

Edgewood stood up faster than should have been possible, as though he’d been waiting for his chance. Marcus set aside his pistol and punched Edgewood square in the mouth, but Edgewood didn’t back away. He drove his fist into Marcus’s midsection and followed it with a knee to the groin — a dirty, dishonorable trick, but it did what he wanted it to do.

Marcus dropped to the ground in agony. Edgewood dove over him, reaching for the pistol on the table…

Nick didn’t hesitate. He braced his feet and fired.