Emily leaned forward, saying quickly, “It is all gossip, you understand. She was never arrested by the authorities, but many people think she murdered him.”
“She wasn’t arrested only because they could not find the weapon that had been used to stab her husband to death,” Cornelia added grimly. Looking at Luc, she added, “She was found sitting beside his body, bleeding from her temple. It’s generally believed that she and her husband had a vicious fight and that Dashwood struck her just before she stabbed him. Caused a terrible scandal.” An expression of distaste crossed Cornelia’s face. “Happened at the Duke of Welbourne’s hunting lodge in Hampshire—at one of his notorious romps. Aside from being suspected of her husband’s death, it certainly makes one wonder about Mrs. Dashwood’s morals that she was even attending such a disgraceful affair. The parties hosted by Welbourne at his lodge are legendary for their depravity and disgraceful antics—no
respectable
woman, or at least none who care about their reputations, would dare be found in the vicinity of that sort of gathering.”
“Mon Dieu!”
exclaimed Luc. “No wonder Silas has not mentioned her to me before now. Poor fellow.”
Cornelia shrugged. “I’ll agree between that rascally nephew of his and Mrs. Dashwood that your friend has not been blessed with relatives of noble character. Not so surprising I suppose, since they are half brother and sister. Ordway’s older brother was a widower with a child, Stanley, when he married Mrs. Dashwood’s mother. It’s a pity that the pair of them have brought your friend nothing but trouble.” She hesitated, then added not unkindly, “Perhaps he is reaping what he has sown.”
Luc looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
She sighed. “The circumstances surrounding Ordway’s possession of High Tower caused a scandal at the time—especially what happened afterward.”
Looking startled, Emily said, “I’ve never heard anything about him other than he likes his own company and doesn’t care much for country society. I think I can count on one hand the affairs where I have seen him.” She smiled at Luc. “He seems a nice man.”
“He is,” said Luc firmly, thinking over Ordway’s kindness to him in London.
“I’m not saying that he isn’t a perfectly acceptable gentleman,” Cornelia admitted. “Just that ...” She glanced at Emily. “The reason you’ve probably never heard about it is because it happened forty years or more—long before your birth. After this length of time, few people remember the old scandal.”
“What scandal?” Luc demanded.
“First I have to tell you about the former owners of High Tower,” Cornelia said. “Forty years or so ago, High Tower belonged to the Bramhall family and had for several generations. The family was respected and held in high regard in the area. At the time, Robert Bramhall, an only child himself, and his wife, Mary, owned High Tower. They were childless for many years, and all of us were delighted when long after everyone had given up hope, Mary gave birth to a son, Edward. Robert was overjoyed, as was Mary.” Her lips tightened. “Unfortunately, they indulged him excessively, and Edward grew up spoiled and headstrong—a wild boy, dashing from one scrape to the next. By the time he was twenty-two years old, both his parents were dead and he found himself in control of a fortune and master of High Tower.” She sighed. “He turned a deaf ear to all who tried to guide him—he drank and gambled recklessly. Four or five years later, one night in London he sat down to gamble with Silas Ordway. By the time the evening ended, Ordway owned High Tower—everything. Edward was left as close to penniless as makes no never mind.”
Luc shifted uncomfortably. What happened was lamentable, but having won some high stakes himself and aware that sizable estates
did
change hands on the turn of a card, he didn’t see that Ordway could be blamed for Bramhall’s foolishness. Play or pay was always the rule when one sat down to gamble.
“And this is the scandal? That Ordway won High Tower from Bramhall?” Luc asked. “Ordway cannot be blamed for winning.” Defensively, he added, “It was not Ordway’s fault that this Edward was a fool.”
Cornelia nodded. “You’re right, of course. That High Tower was lost through Edward’s stupidity surprised no one: it was expected he’d do something like that one day. What no one expected was that he’d kill himself by leaping from the tower that gave High Tower its name on the day Ordway came to take possession.”
Emily gasped, her hand to her mouth.
Luc reared back, shocked. “
Mon Dieu!
What a terrible thing.”
“It was, indeed, a terrible thing,” Cornelia agreed. “Edward’s loss of High Tower was a scandal to be sure, but it wouldn’t be the first time a foolish young man had lost the family home at the gaming tables, but when he killed himself and in such a ghastly manner ...” She shrugged. “Well, you can imagine. And while it wasn’t Ordway’s fault, there were those in the neighborhood who blamed him for Bramhall’s death, and some of them think Ordway deserves his niece and nephew.”
“Do you?” Luc growled.
Cornelia shook her head. “No. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you realize that some people cannot be helped; that they are going to the devil one way or another. I believe that Edward was just such a person. If Ordway hadn’t won High Tower, it would have been someone else.”
Cornelia’s words didn’t erase the unpleasant taste in his mouth, and having lost his appetite, Luc pushed away his plate, thinking he might never be able to face rare sirloin again. Or sit down at a gaming table. He grimaced. Now who was being foolish? He made his living gambling.
“Why did you want to know about Gillian Dashwood?” Emily asked, thinking to interject a different topic into the gloomy silence that had fallen.
“There was a note from her to Silas when we arrived at High Tower last night,” Luc answered, glad of the distraction.
“Hmmm. I wonder why she wrote to him,” Cornelia mused. “The last we heard she was living somewhere in Surrey with Mrs. Easley.”
“The other niece?” Luc asked.
Cornelia nodded. “Yes. Sophia Easley must be over thirty years old now, and as I recall, her husband was much older, a gamester, not unlike Bramhall, or Charles Dashwood for that matter. At any rate Mr. Easley left her destitute. Fortunately, Mrs. Dashwood was in a position to offer her a home.” Cornelia thought a moment. “Although, I’m sure,” she added, “that Silas would have taken her in and provided for her if Mrs. Dashwood had not.” She looked thoughtful. “I imagine that Stanley and the two nieces will inherit High Tower when he dies.”
Was it possible, Luc wondered cynically, that Mrs. Dashwood’s note to Silas was in anticipation of the day she would inherit? Was she trying to turn the old man up sweet to insure that she
did
inherit? Disliking the Widow Dashwood more and more, after a few more minutes, Luc took his leave.
The light rain turned in a full-blown storm, and staring out the window of the library at the Dower House that afternoon, Luc decided to postpone the trip to visit Silas that he had been considering. Tomorrow would be soon enough to check on Silas ... and mayhap get a better lay of the land in regard to Mrs. Dashwood.
It was late Sunday afternoon before the rain turned to showers, and in deference to the weather, he chose to drive his phaeton, purchased this summer after a particularly profitable night of gaming. Shortly afterward, he’d bought a pair of blacks from Barnaby; both horses noted for not possessing even one white hair in their glossy coats. Barnaby had laughed when Luc had chosen them.
“Somehow I’m not surprised that you want those two,” Barnaby had said. When Luc had looked at him, he’d explained, “I’ve heard the pair of them described as black as the devil ... appropriate, don’t you think, for Lucifer to drive?”
Not displeased in the least, Luc promptly dubbed them Devil and Demon. Azure eyes dancing, he’d said, “They’ll only add to my reputation.” When Barnaby had looked skeptical, he added, “What gamester alive could resist gaming with a man who drives horses black as midnight named Devil and Demon and whose skilful gambling has earned him the name Lucifer?” He’d laughed aloud. “
Mon Dieu!
I could not.”
Luc’s pleasure in Devil and Demon had not dimmed in the months since he’d purchased them, and as the two magnificent animals powered through the muddy roads between Windmere and High Tower, he grinned and congratulated himself again on his selection. As High Tower came into view, his grin faded and he could not prevent his gaze from going to the high-turreted tower that had given the estate its name ... and from which the luckless Edward had thrown himself.
He had never paid attention to the tower that adjoined the manor, but this afternoon he studied it with new eyes. Built in Norman times, the stone and brick tower soared four stories into the air, and staring up at the massive structure, he shook his head. He could not help imagining Edward’s leap from the top of the tower.
Sacristi!
To choose such a manner to die!
As he passed in front of the tower, he found himself staring down at the cobblestones in front of the tower as if he might still see signs of Edward’s blood. Annoyed with himself, he pushed aside his maudlin thoughts, and once under the protection of the portico, handed the reins to the stable boy who came running up to meet him.
Meacham answered his rap on the door. A broad smile creased his wrinkled face. “Mister Luc!” he said. “Mister Ordway was about to send a note to you asking you to dine tonight.” The faded blue eyes full of pleasure, he added, “We’ve had an exciting morning, and your arrival will only add to Mr. Ordway’s pleasure.”
Taking Luc’s greatcoat, brushed beaver hat and leather gloves, he said, “Go ahead—you know the way. Mr. Ordway and the others are in the front salon.”
Luc’s brow flew up. “Others?”
Meacham smiled. “Yes, but I’ll not be stealing Mr. Ordway’s thunder. Go. Go. You’ll see for yourself. Mr. Ordway is over the moon at their arrival.”
The “others” could be visitors from the neighborhood, but he doubted it. Using the same perspicaciousness that he brought to the gaming table, Luc was certain he knew the identity of Silas’s guests. His jaw tightened, and with a determined stride, he headed down the hall toward the front salon.
Luc entered the salon and wasn’t in the least surprised to see two women seated on the cream- and russet-figured satin sofa near the fire. His broken arm swathed in a black silk sling, Silas was enthroned in one of a pair of high-backed green velvet chairs directly across from them. A tray of refreshments sat on a low table between the chairs and sofa. It was a warm, cozy scene, the doting family gathered near the fire, but Luc’s gaze was hard and assessing as he studied the women.
One of the women was a handsome female with a Junoesque build and red hair, in her early thirties. Luc thought she must be the eldest niece, Mrs. Easley, and after a lightning assessment, his gaze passed onto the other woman, sitting next to her.
Gillian Dashwood wasn’t what he expected. A tawny-eyed sprite was his first thought. Small and slimly formed, even with her dark brown hair scraped back into as severe a bun as he’d ever seen, he admitted reluctantly, Gillian Dashwood possessed one of the most enchanting faces he’d ever seen. The hairstyle only emphasized the cat-shaped eyes fringed with heavy black lashes, straight little nose and the surprisingly firm jaw. Stubborn, he decided, eyeing that jaw. If her jaw, and chin for that matter, bespoke stubbornness, that full, rosy mouth was another matter... . Passionate, Luc thought speculatively, a tingle of lust making itself felt in a certain part of his anatomy. A fetching little baggage, he concluded, one that looked nothing like a murderess—which made her all the more dangerous.
“Luc!” Silas cried, delighted, jerking Luc from his study of Mrs. Dashwood. “What a happy coincidence that you have come to visit this afternoon.” Smiling as Luc advanced toward him, he added, “I was on the point of sending you a note, asking you to dine tonight.”
Smiling down at his friend, Luc said, “So Meacham informs me.”
“He didn’t ruin my surprise, did he?” Silas asked anxiously.
Luc shook his head. “Not if you mean, did he tell me the name of your two lovely guests?” he replied, with a smile in the direction of the two women.
“Excellent! And now before someone
does
spoil my surprise, let me introduce you to my nieces, Mrs. Sophia Easley and Mrs. Gillian Dashwood.” His affection open and obvious, he added, “My dears, this is my good friend Luc Joslyn.”
Luc acknowledged the two women with a bow and a polite greeting. Smiling with sardonic pleasure, he noticed that Mrs. Dashwood didn’t seem any more thrilled to meet him than he was to meet her, her reply so cool it bordered on rudeness. Introductions completed, Silas beamed at the room in general. “They’ve come to stay for an extended visit. Isn’t it grand?”
Chapter 3
G
illian disliked Luc Joslyn on sight—not impressed by the tall, broad-shouldered form or the striking azure eyes set in the darkly handsome face. Having already formed a bad opinion of him, the sudden kick in her pulse when he bent over her hand and pressed a polite kiss on the back of it stunned her. Aghast at her reaction to him, she disliked him more heartily. Worse, with his black hair, blue eyes and height, he reminded her far too vividly of her murdered husband for her to feel anything but antipathy.
From her uncle’s letters over the summer and his frequent references to his new friend, she knew a great deal about him—and little of it put him in a good light. She not only mistrusted his motives for befriending an elderly man, a man old enough to be his grandfather, but she viewed him with a strong dose of contempt for his predilection for the gaming table—all of which Silas had happily related in his letters.
Smiling at both ladies, referring to Silas’s comment about the length of their stay, Luc said, “Ah, this is to be a long visit with your uncle then?”
“Yes,” answered Gillian, not liking the speculation she glimpsed in his eyes. His gaze did not leave her face, and feeling more was required of her, she said, “It is a trip that has been put off for far too long.”
Mrs. Easley smiled at Silas. “The timing turns out to be most fortunate though,” she said in a calm manner. “We will be here when Uncle needs us most and we will be able to provide him with company during his convalescence.”
Luc’s eyes had not moved from Gillian’s face, but he nodded. “
Bon!
I’m sure he will be happy to have his family around him.” He grinned at Silas and, looking back at Gillian, murmured, “Your presence will lessen the demands on my pocketbook—he is a fierce gambler and with nothing else to provide a distraction, I fear he will beggar me.”
Silas laughed. “What flummery!
I
am not called ‘Lucifer’ for my devilish luck at the gaming tables.” Smiling at Gillian he said, “He’s a modest lad. Believe me, he is a far better gambler than I ever was on my best days, and the Lord knows that they are behind me.”
A gambler, she thought bitterly, just like Charles—and like Charles, using his charm to disarm and take advantage of the unwary. Only Luc Joslyn, instead of preying on silly, young women, as Charles had done, had set his sights on a lonely old man. Guilt smote her. It was her fault that Uncle Silas appeared to be alone, with no one around who cared about him or who would question this sudden friendship. Though she and Sophia regularly exchanged letters with their uncle, they had not been frequent visitors to High Tower.
We should have realized that letters, she scolded herself, no matter how frequent or how warm and affectionate, were not enough and that Uncle Silas needed his family around him. If only, she thought, I had swallowed my pride and given in to his many requests for Sophia and me to come for an indefinite visit. But she had not, and her only consolation at the moment was that they were here at last. She glanced at Joslyn from beneath her lashes, her heart sinking at the easy familiarity between the two men—that and her uncle’s obvious fondness of the younger man. Her lip curled. “Lucifer” had probably seen the old man as easy prey. And that, she vowed, was about to change.
Keeping up a polite façade Gillian smiled and nodded at the right places, but as the evening progressed, behind her smiles she considered how best to oust such a charming, dangerous predator as Luc Joslyn from her uncle’s affections. Silas was a sophisticated man, a man of the world, not easily duped, and she wondered how Joslyn, with his obviously practiced charm and guileful smiles, had slipped beneath her uncle’s guard and insinuated himself into the old man’s affections.
Gillian sighed. The situation was complicated and there was no denying that
her
motives would be questioned. The odds were that her arrival on Silas’s doorstep after all this time would cause talk and that many members of the
ton
would view her visit in the worst possible light. The gossip, she admitted with an ache, would only add to her already scandalous reputation. Not only was she labeled a murderess, but now she could add fortune hunter to her title as well, and nothing, she thought fiercely, in either case, could be further from the truth.
As his only relatives besides her half brother, Stanley, it was likely that she and Mrs. Easley would be named in their uncle’s will, but the two women had always agreed that it was Silas’s fortune to dispose of however he saw fit. Her gaze fell on Luc’s handsome face and her lips thinned. Uncle could leave his entire estate to a home for calico cats for all she cared, but she wasn’t going to stand by and watch him be taken advantage of by someone like Luc Joslyn.
A pang knifed through her. The last thing she wanted was to cause Silas pain. It was clear, whatever plan she concocted to break Joslyn’s hold over her uncle, it had to be done in such a manner as to cause Silas as little disillusionment and disappointment as possible.
Watching as Silas’s face lit up at something Luc said, beneath the table her hand formed a fist. Oh, Uncle! she almost cried aloud. Don’t you see him for what he is? Can’t you see that he is a wicked predator with you as his intended prey?
Gillian’s hostile regard hadn’t escaped Luc’s notice, but her attitude didn’t surprise him: he had already come to some conclusions of his own about her. Like hers of him, none of them reflected well on her. He’d not missed the flash of antipathy in her eyes when they’d met: from the beginning the dark-haired sprite had not been happy to find him on such friendly terms with Silas. All through the evening, he’d noted her covert study of him. Her sly scrutiny had nothing to do with finding him attractive, he admitted wryly, and everything to do with trying to find a weakness in an enemy. No, the lady was definitely not happy at his presence here tonight, and since he’d been on his best behavior he could only think of one reason why she viewed him so adversely: he was competition.
Luc nearly laughed aloud. Did the sprite really think she could best him? His relationship with Silas was based on simple liking and respect, but if Gillian Dashwood wished to ascribe evil intentions to his friendship with her uncle, so be it. His expression giving no clue to his thoughts, he considered the situation. Silas was an old man and possessed a comfortable fortune and a fine home... . Perhaps
she
had designs upon her uncle’s wealth and assumed that he did, too? Certain he had hit upon the reason for both her dislike of him and the unexpected visit, he nodded to himself.
Naturellement!
There could be no other explanation. His eyes narrowed, studying the trim form and enchanting face. If Madame Dashwood was up to something, it might be diverting, he decided, to overset whatever plans she had for her uncle.
Anticipation licked along Luc’s veins. Crossing swords with a suspected murderess would prove amusing and break the boredom of a long winter. His gaze traveled over that lush mouth and surprisingly generous bosom for one so slender and that earlier tingle in his groin reasserted itself. Hmmm. It might also prove exceedingly enjoyable in the bargain.
Dinner behind them, Luc did not linger, but as he prepared to depart, he said, “When the weather clears, since your uncle will be unable to do so, may I have the pleasure of escorting you ladies for a ride around the neighborhood?”
Before Gillian could refuse, Silas exclaimed, “Excellent suggestion, my boy.”
“Of course, if you would like to accompany us,” Luc said slowly, “we could take your barouche and those grays you’re so proud of and go for a drive instead.”
Silas shook his head and indicated his broken arm. “Thank you, no. Until the bone knits, the ride home in my phaeton the other night was enough jostling for me.” Slyly he added, “I’ll admit it’s a tempting idea, though—you’d get to see my grays in action.”
Luc smiled and shook his head. “I’m not in the market for a team—no matter how well matched.” When Silas would have pressed the issue, Luc held up a hand, saying, “Buying those four horses of yours would also entail my purchasing a proper vehicle for them to pull.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “Tooling around in a barouche such as yours would make me feel like a settled family man.”
“You may find yourself a settled family man one of these days,” Silas observed and at Luc’s skeptical look, added, “If you are not careful, you’ll end up a crusty old bachelor like myself.”
Bowing in the direction of the two ladies, Luc quipped, “But if I have two such lovely young women as your nieces to tend me in my old age, who is to say it would be such a terrible fate?”
“Coming it too strong, my boy,” Silas said, smiling. “But enough of this wrangling—the ladies will expect you on the first fine day to squire them around the neighborhood. And as is befitting a man of my age, I’ll remain home by the fire sipping hot punch until you return.”
Gillian leaned forward and protested, “But, Uncle, we wouldn’t enjoy ourselves knowing you were here at the house by yourself while we were gallivanting about the neighborhood.”
“The lady has a point, sir,” Luc murmured. “Perhaps the ride should be postponed until you can accompany us.”
“Nonsense!” said Silas forthrightly. Bending an affectionate look on Gillian, he added, “How do you think I will feel, knowing you are denying yourself a pleasure to sit by an old man? No. I insist that you go. It will only be for a few hours, and it will be good for you to get out of the house for a while.”
Her reluctance obvious, Gillian gave in. “If it is your wish, Uncle,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
Silas beamed. To Luc he said, “We’ll expect you the first fine day.”
Entering the Dower House forty-five minutes later, Luc walked into the library, and despite the hour, approaching eleven o’clock, discovered he had guests. His half brother, Barnaby, and their uncle, Lamb, like Luc born on the wrong side of the blanket, were seated in a pair of high-backed fawn mohair chairs arranged near the fireplace. Partially filled snifters of brandy rested on the green-veined marble-topped table situated between the two chairs. A low fire burned on the stone hearth and cast dancing shadows into the room; the only other light came from a pair of candles on the mantel.
Luc grimaced, having a fair idea for their visit. Ignoring them, he stalked to the long mahogany lowboy that, these days, held an array of Baccarat decanters filled with various spirits and glasses and, selecting a snifter, poured some brandy from one of the decanters. Looking over his shoulders at the other two, he asked, “Refills?”
Both men nodded and once Luc had added to their snifters and returned the decanter to the lowboy, he picked up his snifter and sprawled on the green and cream damask sofa across from them. After taking a swallow of his brandy, he looked at Barnaby and said wearily, “I suppose this is about my visit to The Ram’s Head.”
“Christ! What were you thinking?” burst out Lamb. “Or were you, as usual,
not
thinking? Didn’t you stop to think that Nolles could have had you knocked in the head by one of his gang and had your body thrown over the cliffs into the sea with no one the wiser?”
Not recognizing the anxiety beneath Lamb’s words, Luc’s lips tightened. “If that happened, at least you’d have the satisfaction of knowing I lived down to your low expectations for me.”
Lamb smothered a curse. To Barnaby he growled, “You talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”
Barnaby sighed. It seemed that from the moment twelve-year-old Luc had stepped foot on Green Hill after his mother died and had met fourteen-year-old Lamb, they’d been at each other’s throats—when they didn’t have each other’s back. At ten Barnaby had been the youngest, but right from the beginning he’d been cast in the role of peacemaker, continually running interference between the two older, strong-willed men. The three of them shared a bond of blood and an affection that was as powerful as it was unshakeable—even if Lamb and Luc would rather have their tongues torn out than admit to the steadfast tie that bound them all together.
Picking his words with care, Barnaby said, “Lamb has a point. If he got the chance, Nolles wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”
Grudgingly Luc admitted, “Though it pains me, I’ll concede that our dear uncle has the right of it this time. I
wasn’t
thinking when I decided to visit The Ram’s Head.” He stared down at the amber liquid in his snifter. “I wasn’t in the mood for the cheerfulness of The Crown and Mrs. Gilbert and her lovely daughters. Perhaps I was even looking for trouble, something to distract me. The queen’s death ...” He tossed down a swallow of brandy. “It won’t happen again.”
Lamb grumbled, “Let us hope so.” But there was no heat in his voice.
“Who told you I was there?” asked Luc with a lifted brow, glancing at Barnaby.
Barnaby smiled. “Lord Broadfoot, for one. He came by this evening while you were gone to thank you for saving Harlan’s hide.”
Luc looked innocent. “I beg your pardon? I had nothing to do with it. I merely saw that young Harlan arrived safely home.”
Lamb snorted, but the azure eyes so like Luc’s held amused affection. “You want us to believe that Broadfoot’s whelp, drunk as a wheelbarrow, was able to best a hardened gambler like Jeffery at Hazard?”
“But it must be true,” Luc protested, his expression guileless. “How else could Harlan arrive home with his own vowels. . . and a few from Jeffery in his pockets?”