Rule's Bride (23 page)

“Anyone in the hotel see anything that day?” Reese asked. “Maybe someone leaving or going into Whitney's room?”

“Not that Morgan has discovered. He thinks the killer came up the back stairs, used the key to get into Whitney's room, murdered him while he was sleeping, then left the way he came in.”

Rule looked up as the door opened and tall, dark Jonathan Savage, the black sheep of the group, walked into the meeting room, followed by lanky Sheridan Knowles. Benjamin Wyndam, Earl of Nightingale, arrived, a ruby ring flashing on his right hand.

“Thank you all for coming,” Royal said as his friends sat down at the table.

“One never knows when he might be in need of a little help himself,” Night said, his reasoning sound as always.

“Just so you all know,” Rule said, “I didn't kill Charles Whitney. I went to the Albert in response to a note I received. At the time I believed Whitney had sent it. So far I haven't been able to confirm that one way or another.”

“We never believed you killed him,” Sherry said, steepling his fingers and looking at Rule down his aristocratic nose. “In fact, we've been digging around, trying to find out who might have had cause to want Whitney dead.”

“Tell me you came up with something.”

Lounging back in his chair, Savage answered first. “A man named Peter Austin made threats against him. Whitney and Austin were partners in a steamship endeavor that ended badly.”

And Savage would know about that, Rule thought, since he had made his fortune in the shipbuilding trade.

“There were problems right from the start,” Jonathan continued. “Seams failed in the hull and some of the panels caved in, crushing one of the workers. A crane dropped its load, killing several of the men working below. Things got so bad no one would work on the bloody ship. They said Austin was using inferior goods and the
Aurora
was cursed.”

“I think I read something about that in the
Times,
” Sherry said, interest glinting in his bright green eyes.

“Several articles were written about it,” Savage added. “Whitney cancelled the project before the ship was ever completed. He said he wouldn't be responsible for any more loss of life. Austin was furious. He called Whitney a superstitious fool. Said he'd make him pay for all he'd lost—one way or another.”

“Interesting,” Royal said.

“I'll talk to Morgan,” said Rule. “See if he can find out where Austin was at the time of the murder or if he wanted Whitney dead badly enough to hire someone to kill him.”

“I don't think Whitney deserves any of the blame for what happened with that ship,” Night said. “From what I could discover, Charles Whitney was well respected in the business community. I would be inclined to believe Austin did use inferior goods in the construction.”

“I'll grant you Whitney was successful and respected,” Sherry agreed. “But his personal life was a little more complicated.”

“How is that?” Rule asked.

“It seems Charles and his brother, Martin, had a fairly recent falling out. Charles was a widower. Martin was married, but a bit of a rounder. Rumor has it, he and Charles were competing for the affections of the same woman.”

“Who was she?” Rule asked.

“The Countess of Fremont.”

“Fremont?” Rule's interest sharpened. “I know the countess. I can't say I'm surprised. She seems to be on the prowl.”

“When the countess ignored Martin's advances in favor of Charles's,” Sherry added, “Martin completely cut off any communication with his brother. But Martin never stopped his pursuit of Lady Fremont.”

“So you think Martin might have murdered his brother in a fit of jealousy?”

“Or perhaps in the hope that with Charles out of the way, Lady Fremont would return his advances.”

“I saw her taking to Martin a few weeks back,” Royal said. “From what I could tell, the man was definitely smitten.”

Sherry's mouth faintly curved. “Juliana Markham is one of the most beautiful women in London. Half the men in the city are in love with her.”

“And apparently Martin Whitney was one of them,” Rule finished. “I appreciate your bringing it to my attention.”

“Anything more from anyone?” Royal asked.

“Not at the moment,” Night said.

“We'll keep digging,” Savage promised.

Rule surveyed the group of Royal's friends who had become his friends, as well. “Thank you all. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help.”

The men just nodded and began to rise from their chairs. Reese remained a few minutes after the others had left.

“Elizabeth and I are staying at Holiday House until this is resolved. If you need anything, just let us know. And keep us informed, will you?”

“Of course.”

Rule left the club along with his two brothers. Armed
with several new possibilities, he was eager to get home and share them with his wife.

Whitney was a good man, but he had enemies.

Rule wondered if any of them were angry enough to do murder.

V
iolet heard Rule as he walked into the entry. Anxious to discover how the meeting had gone with Royal and his friends, she hurried down the hall to greet him. Rule surprised her by sweeping her into his arms and capturing her lips in a very thorough kiss.

She was weak in the knees and a little short of breath by the time he let her go. “The news was that good?”

He just smiled. “Not really. You just looked so delectable I couldn't resist.”

Warmth crept into her cheeks. She thought that she did look good in an apricot silk gown trimmed with lace that set off the copper hue of her hair. Taking her hand, he led her into the drawing room and drew her down beside him on the sofa.

“So what did the men have to say?”

“They found out Whitney had enemies, two in particular, and both of them had reason to want him dead.”

Rule went on to tell her about Peter Austin and his disastrous partnership with Whitney, and the threats Austin had made. He also told her that Sheridan had learned Charles had a falling out with his brother over a woman.

“As I think on it,” Violet said, “for a man in his early fifties, Charles was an extremely attractive man.”

“He was also a widower and wealthy in the extreme.”

“So you think his brother was jealous enough of this woman to kill him?”

“I don't know, but that sort of thing has certainly happened before. I plan to speak to the brother and also to Lady Fremont.”

Violet's heart jerked. “L-lady Fremont was the woman?”

“That's what Sherry said. I'll know more after I talk to her.”

Something tightened in Violet's chest. “You and the countess… The two of you are close enough friends that you believe she will confide in you?”

Faint color rose beneath the strong bones in his cheeks. “We are acquainted. She knew Griffin was for sale and that we planned to acquire new businesses. She told me she planned to sell some of the companies her late husband owned. She thought we might be interested.”

“We or
you,
Rule?”

His winged black eyebrows drew slightly together. “What are you saying?”

“I'm not saying anything. You want to talk to her, go ahead. I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you.”

His well-formed lips flattened out. “This is my life we are talking about. I need to follow every lead.”

“Yes, and it should be interesting to see where this one takes you.” Rising from the sofa, she swept out of the drawing room, leaving him staring after her.

Her heart trembled. Had she been right all along? How well did Rule know the beautiful countess? And was this simply an excuse for another rendezvous with the luscious brunette?

Violet had no way of knowing.

She only knew her heart was aching, telling her this was only a sample of how terrible she would feel if Rule wound up in another woman's bed.

 

After their heated conversation in the drawing room, no more was said about Lady Fremont. In a way, Violet regretted her outburst. Rule was fighting to prove himself innocent of murder. If there was a chance the countess had information, Rule had no choice but to seek her out.

Still, as the evening came to a close, she wasn't certain what she would do if he came to her bed.

She found out soon enough. Her heart lurched when his brisk knock sounded at her door.

She could read his troubled expression, the need for her that always seemed to be there in his beautiful eyes as he stood there in the opening.

“Do you deny me?” he asked, poised at the threshold in his dark blue silk dressing gown.

Her gaze lit on the expanse of chest exposed in the
V
of the robe, the curly black hair, the bands of muscle across his smooth, dark skin. Her body wanted him and her heart could not deny him.

“No…”

Relief drained the tension from his face, and whatever thoughts remained she could not decipher. His strides were long and purposeful as he moved to the bed, bent and kissed her. Shedding his robe, he climbed onto the mattress and she saw that he was fiercely aroused.

As always, their lovemaking was wildly passionate, but this time there was some small part of her that Violet held back. She loved Rule, but she had never really trusted him
to be faithful. Knowing he intended to meet with Lady Fremont was enough to put her on guard.

Still, as he cuddled her against his side and they drifted off to sleep, she realized she had come to a decision. At the moment, proving Rule's innocence was all that mattered. She would deal with the rest after the murder investigation was over and Rule was no longer under suspicion.

 

Rule returned to work at the office. Tomorrow Violet intended to join him. Her wish to sell the business had not changed, nor had her determination not to sell to Montgomery or Burton Stanfield.

Sooner or later, another suitable buyer would appear. In the meantime, they had a company to run and they meant to see it done.

Today there was a call she wished to make. As promised, Rule had spoken to Annabelle Greer in regard to little Billy Robin and the children Simon Pratt was illegally using as chimney sweeps.

Anna had agreed to help them. She was highly respected for her charity work and the mayor himself agreed to lend his support. Yesterday the authorities had intervened and removed the children from Pratt's run-down residence. They were taken to the Blue Haven Orphanage that Annabelle sponsored.

Violet was excited at the prospect of meeting the children and seeing little Billy again. By the time the carriage rolled up in front of the large, two-story brick dwelling that sat on a pleasant street not far from Green Park, she perched anxiously on the seat.

These last few April days were warm and the front door stood open. As Violet departed the coach with the help of a footman, several young faces pressed against the screen,
peering out to watch the visitor's arrival. Violet recognized the little red-haired boy inside.

“Hello, Billy.” Smiling, she bent down to make herself more his size and spoke through the screen. “I'm Mrs. Dewar. Do you remember me?”

The little boy nodded. “Aye. You came to Mr. Pratt's house lookin' fer Danny.”

“That's right.”

A broad-hipped, matronly woman with gray-streaked brown hair arrived just then and pushed open the door.

“Do come in, my lady. I'm Eleanor Oldfield. Lady Anna sent word you would be coming by to see the children some time this morning.”

Violet stepped out of the brilliant sunlight into the house. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Billy surrounded by five other children near his same age, two girls and three boys.

“Are these the other children who worked for Simon Pratt?”

“Why, yes, my lady.” Mrs. Oldfield smiled. “I swear, I have never seen a hungrier brood than this lot.”

Mrs. Oldfield said the words with obvious affection and Violet caught the aroma of a rich beef stew coming from the kitchen.

“There's fresh bread in the oven, as well,” the woman said. “We'll be eating the noon meal shortly. You are more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, but no. I just wanted to stop by and see how the girls and boys were faring.”

She looked down at the top of Billy's head, reached out and stroked his thick red hair, now shiny and clean. “Do you like it here, Billy?”

He grinned up at her, exposing a missing tooth. “We
gets lots to eat and nobody hits us. And we don't has to sweep chimneys no more.”

Her heart squeezed. “That's right, you don't, and you won't ever have to do it again.”

She continued talking to Billy and the other children until Mrs. Oldfield called the group in to luncheon. Promising to return, Violet waved to the boys and girls and started down the path to her carriage. She had almost reached it when a man appeared on the sidewalk in front of her.

“'Twas you, weren't it!” He loomed over her, a wiry, long-muscled man with a sallow face and dark brown hair that needed washing and stuck out in places. “Yer the one what stole me sweeps!”

Violet set her jaw. “It's illegal to use children that young and you know it.”

He made a rude sound in his throat. “Ye caused me a parcel of trouble and I ain't one to forget. Ye'll pay for this, ye uppity li'l baggage. Or me name ain't Simon Pratt.”

Violet ignored the faint chill that ran down her spine. “I'd advise you to leave here this minute, Mr. Pratt. Before I send for the authorities.”

One side of his mouth curled. “I kin find meself other sweeps—the city's full of the scrawny little vermin. But nobody steals from Simon Pratt and gets away with it—nobody! Ye remember what I said.”

At the murderous look on Pratt's ugly face, Violet shivered.

The coachman's deep familiar voice came from behind her. “I'd advise ye to do what the lady says,” Mr. Bellows told him. “Ye don't, ye'll deal with me.”

Pratt sneered, but he was smart enough to realize he wouldn't win against a man with arms the size of a stout tree limb.

“I'll be seein' ye,” Pratt said grimly and sauntered off as if he owned the street.

“Oh, he is a nasty man,” Violet said.

“Aye, that 'e is.” Bellows' gaze followed the sweep until he disappeared around the corner. “We'd best be leavin', milady. Ye never know about a man like that.”

And so she climbed aboard the carriage and they left the orphanage. Violet considered telling Rule about the incident, but with murder charges hanging over his head, he already had too much on his mind.

Certain today's encounter would be the last she heard from Simon Pratt, she rode in silence back to the town house.

 

The afternoon waned as Rule sat behind the desk in his office at Griffin. He was finishing up some paperwork so he could leave early to stop by and see Chase Morgan.

He looked up when his secretary's familiar knock came at the door. “What is it, Terry?”

“A boy, my lord. He says his name is Danny Tuttle. Says you promised him a job.”

Rule stood up from behind his desk as the skinny youth walked in, a tattered felt hat in his hand.

“So you decided to come after all. I'm a little surprised to see you. You were supposed to be here days ago.” For the first time, Rule noticed the purple bruise beneath the boy's eye and a dark smudge on his cheek. “What happened to your face?”

Danny glanced away. “'Twas Bates. 'E said 'e needed me. Said people what worked for 'im didn't leave.” Unconsciously he reached up and brushed his cheek. “I finally got away.”

Rule rounded the desk. “I'm sorry that happened, Danny.”

Worry lined the young boy's face. “Do I still get the
job?” Rule knew if Griffin didn't hire him, he'd have no place to go, no way to take care of himself.

“The job is yours, just as I said.”

Relief washed over Danny's thin face. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate this chance. What'll I be doin'?”

“I'm afraid you'll be sweeping again.”

The lad's face fell.

“Not chimneys, son. You'll be working with the maintenance crew, sweeping floors and keeping the plant in order. Do a good job, you can work your way up through the ranks of the company.”

Relief and hope shone in Danny's dark eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

“There's a room upstairs we don't use. You can sleep there until you earn enough to get a place of your own.”

Danny twisted the hat in his hands. “I'll do a good job, sir. I promise you won't be sorry.”

Rule just nodded. “My secretary will show you where to go. Terry?”

The young blond man appeared in the doorway. “Sir?”

“This is Danny Tuttle. I want you to help him get settled.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Danny flashed him a last grateful smile and disappeared behind Terry.

Pleased that he had given the boy a chance to better himself, Rule returned to the paperwork on his desk. Tomorrow Violet would be returning to her office down the hall, taking over the duties she had been handling before. Rule hadn't realized how much he had come to depend on her help. Now that she would be back, he could hardly wait for her return.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Time to leave for his meeting with Morgan. He needed to tell the investiga
tor what he had learned about the enemies Charles Whitney had made.

Half an hour later at the investigator's office in Threadneedle Street, Rule filled Morgan in on the animosity between Charles Whitney and Peter Austin and also the problem between the Whitney brothers over the affections of Lady Fremont.

“I'll find out what I can about Austin,” Morgan said, “see if he has an alibi for the afternoon of the murder or if there is anything about him that seems suspicious.”

Rule nodded. “I'll speak to Lady Fremont. We're already acquainted. I think I may be able to get her to confide in me about her relationship with the brothers.”

“All right. But keep it as quiet as you can. You don't want to be the focus of any extra attention.”

“You're right, I don't.” Nor did he wish to cause any more problems with Violet in regard to the countess. The last thing he would ever do was embarrass her by openly pursuing another woman.

And he had no desire to experience more of the awful, gut-wrenching moments like the one he had felt as he had walked into her bedroom the night of the argument. The thought of her turning him away had made him feel physically ill.

“I'm glad you stopped by,” Morgan was saying, drawing him back to the present. “I've something to report, as well.”

“Which is?”

“I found the chambermaid, Molly Deavers. She claims she merely lost the key to Whitney's room. She knew she would be severely reprimanded so she quit, or at least that is her tale.”

“And you believe her?”

“No. When I mentioned the man with the scar on his neck, it was clear she knew who he was.”