The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Seventeen

Richard shoved open the door of the amphitheatre. He was alone; Violet had been waylaid by her chaperone, and for once he was glad for it. He was about to deal with his little brother, and he didn’t want Violet around if things got messy—hell, he didn’t want Violet involved in this business at all. But she’d been dragged into this mess by her loyalty to Wick.

Wick had a lot of explaining to do, and Richard meant to get answers, one way or another.

In spite of the dim lighting, he spotted his brother right away. Wick was sitting at the center of the stage, his back slumped against what appeared to be a massive oak wardrobe. His clothes looked bedraggled, as if he’d slept in them, and he’d lost his cravat, his collar hanging open. He seemed to be staring out at nothing as he lifted a silver flask to his lips.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Richard snapped.

Wick’s head jerked up. His gaze—bleary and slightly unfocused—met Richard’s. “Oh. It’s you, Carlisle.”

“Yes, it’s me, and I’ve been looking all over for you.” Richard took the steps up to the stage two at a time. Towering over his sibling, he repeated, “Where in blazes have you been?”

“Perdition, ol’ boy. That’s where.”

Hearing the other’s slurred tone, Richard reached out and grabbed the flask.

“Give that back,” Wick protested. “It’s mine.”

“You’ve had plenty. We’re going to talk right now, Wickham. Where were you last night?”

“What business is it of yours?” Wick retreated into belligerence. “I’m six-an’-twenty. Sick an’ tired of being ordered ’bout like a witless child.”

Then don’t bloody act like one.Richard strove to hold onto his patience. “Listen, and listen carefully. Something bad happened last night. Do you know that?”

“Bad… yes. Very.” Wick hiccupped. “I was verra, verra bad.”

Sleet coated Richard’s gut. “What do you mean?”

Wick crooked a finger at him.

His skin prickling, Richard crouched so that they were eye to eye.

“Broke in,” Wick said in confiding tones.

“Where?” Please God, don’t let him say the library…

“Woodcutter’s cottage. Or maybe it was the gamekeeper’s. I dunno,”—Wick shook his head sadly—“somewhere out in the woods.”

“You were there all night?”

“Left before supper. Couldn’t stand to be here.” Before Richard could feel relieved, Wick added sullenly, “Didn’t want to see him, did I?”

“You mean Garrity?”

“Who else? Bastard.”

“Did he approach you?” Richard demanded.

“Didn’t give ’im a chance. I ran off.” Self-pity infused Wick’s voice. “Like a damned mongrel with his tail between his legs.”

“As long as Garrity knows you intend to make your payment on time, he has no reason to intimidate you. You have nothing to fear as long as you follow through on the plan to marry Turbett’s daughter.”

“Nothing to fear… and nothing to live for.” Wick’s voice hitched. “If I have to marry that cold fish—”

“It’s either that or face Garrity. Your choice,” Richard said bluntly. “Now focus because I have something very important to ask you…” He turned, hearing footsteps.

Violet was hurrying down the aisle toward the stage, her golden dress sparkling in the gloom.

Hell and damnation.“What the devil are you doing here?” he said.

“Hello to you, too,” she said pertly. “I told Emma I had a megrim and needed to lie down.” Clambering onto the stage, she passed him, kneeling on his brother’s other side. “Where have you been, Wick? We’ve been so worried…” Her nose wrinkled. “Gadzooks, are you pickled?”

“He got soused and passed out at the gamekeeper’s cottage,” Richard cut in.

“Woodcutter’s,” Wick mumbled.

“Whatever. The point is,” Richard addressed Violet, “he wasn’t here.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “So he’s innocent.”

“Wouldn’t say I’m innocent, Vi”—Wick waggled his brows—“if you know what I mean.”

Richard was tempted to punch his brother in the face. “Stop leering at her, you idiot—and her name is Miss Kent. You’ll address her with respect.”

Violet rose, facing him. “He can call me what he wants. He’s my friend.”

It irked him that she took his brother’s side when he was the one defending her honor. “That’s not an excuse for him to treat you shabbily.”

“He’s not.”

“I say he is. For God’s sake, Violet,” he bit out, “I’m looking out for your best interests.”

“Trust me to be the judge of what that may be,” she retorted.

“Did you just call her Violet?” Wick said.

He and Violet turned, saying simultaneously, “Shut up.”

“Fine. But hand me my flask, will you?” Wick said sardonically. “If I must be submitted to this domestic drama, at least let me do it drunk.”

Richard inhaled for patience. Collecting himself, he was about to address Monique’s death, but Violet beat him to it.

“Wick, where’s your ring?” she said.

Wick’s cheekbones reddened. “Er, which one?” he said unconvincingly.

“The bloody signet with your initials,” Richard said. “When was the last time you had it in your possession?”

“Why do you care about my damned ring?”

“Because it was found on a dead woman’s body,” Richard snapped. “Monique de Brouet had your ring clutched in her hand when Violet and I discovered her in the library this morning.”

Wick stared at him. “Monique… she’s dead?”

“Yes, and unless you can explain how she got your ring, you might find yourself the goddamned suspect in her murder,” Richard gritted out.

“I would never hurt her.” Wick sounded dazed. “Never. I… I cared for her.”

Devil take it. Just as Richard had feared.

Violet said quietly, “You and Monique knew one another?”

“We met last year. For a time, we were… friendly. She’s really dead?”

Richard heard the shock in his brother’s tone. “Focus, Wick. Your ring. How would it have ended up in Monique’s possession?”

“I gave it to her.” Wick’s words were hoarse, barely audible. “When I broke things off with her a fortnight ago. It was supposed to be a memento of our time together.”

God. Wick had been involved with the dead woman just two weeks ago.

“Why did you break things off?” Richard said.

“Because you said I had to marry Miss Turbett to pay off my debt to Garrity. You said that was the only way. And you were right.”

“Hold up. Your debt? To Garrity?” Violet’s eyes were wide with astonishment. “That is why you have to get married?”

Wick slid her a look that Richard couldn’t quite interpret and nodded.

“Never mind your debt for now,” Richard said impatiently. “How did the parting go with Monique?”

Wick raked his hands through his hair. “When I told Monique I was planning to be married, she flew into a rage. She was irrational, swearing revenge one minute and weeping the next. I had no idea that she’d even thought that we could have a future together beyond our...”—he glanced at Violet and mumbled—“… er, arrangement.”

A divot formed between Violet’s brows.

Richard thought that Wick’s revelation about his peccadillo might have offended her sensibilities. Her next words proved him wrong.

“You and Monique didn’t part on good terms? Oh Wick,” she said, “don’t you see how that might look now?”

An echo of Richard’s own fears.

“But I—I would never hurt her,” Wick stammered. “You must believe me!”

“Of course we do. But we’re not the problem.” Rising, Violet paced in front of him, her golden skirts swirling. “It’s what everyone else will think.”

“Bloody hell, are they looking for me?” Wick jolted upright. “Should I run, get away—”

“No one knows about your ring. Violet and I have taken care of it,” Richard said curtly.

“What do you mean you’ve taken care of it?” Hope wobbled in Wick’s voice.

“We took it. We didn’t tell anyone that we found it in Monique’s hand.” Violet bit her lip. “Not even my brother, who’s heading the investigation.”

Richard heard the tension in her voice. Hated that she’d been dragged into this fiasco.

“Investigation?” Wick blanched. He reached out, grabbing Violet’s hand, making Richard’s shoulders bunch. “Dear God, Vi, if our friendship means anything to you, you must promise me that you won’t tell your brother about the ring.”

“Bloody hell, Wickham, that’s not fair,” Richard bit out. “And for God’s sake, unhand her.”

Wick released her hand, but his expression remained beseeching. “Vi, come on, you know I didn’t do it. Promise me you’ll keep my secret. Or I—I’ll have to run—”

“No. You mustn’t run, Wick. If you do, you’ll only bring suspicion upon yourself and look all the more guilty.” Exhaling, she said, “I promise that I won’t tell Ambrose about the ring… until we can prove that you’re innocent. Then the ring won’t matter, will it?”

“Thank you, Vi.” Wick gave her a lopsided smile. “You’re a true friend.”

“Does anyone else know about you and Monique?” Richard asked.

Wick’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think so. She insisted on discretion, so I never told anyone.”

Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Richard took out the signet ring and handed it over. “Then you must stay and act normally. Do not rouse suspicion.”

“What if someone asks where I was?” Wick’s hands trembled as he slid the ring into place.

“Did anyone see you last night? Anyone who can provide you with an alibi?” Violet asked.

Wick propped his elbows on his knees, his head dropping into his hands. “My sole companion was a bottle of whiskey I filched from the billiards room. I found the gamekeeper’s cottage open and let myself in. I drank all night, passed out… didn’t come to until dusk.”

“That’s hours unaccounted for,” Violet said with clear dismay.

Richard came to a swift decision. “If anyone asks, Wick, say you were indisposed today. Don’t elaborate on the details.” The last thing he wanted was for his sibling to construct some elaborate Banbury Tale and get snared in the details. “For now, go directly to your room and get cleaned up. Then go to the ball and act as if nothing has happened. Do you understand?”

“I shall do my best.” Wick got unsteadily to his feet. “But what about Garrity? What should I do if he approaches me?”

“You have three months left to pay off your debt,” Richard said shortly. “Until then, he’s not going to do anything to threaten his investment. But, if you’re wise, you’ll show your good faith by doing what you came here to do: secure Miss Turbett’s hand.”

“You’re right, Richard.” Wick hung his head. “You always were, and I’m sorry if I’ve been… difficult. You’re a good brother to me, a better one than I deserve.”

Richard’s chest clenched. As a boy, Wick had worn that hangdog expression too many times to count, usually after he’d engaged in some mischief or another. Back then, Richard had always been able to help his little brother. Yet now Wick was a grown man, and it wasn’t just some foolish prank he would have to answer for but murder…

He shoved aside his worry. Clapped a hand on his sibling’s shoulder. “We’ll see you out of this trouble, Wickham. I promise you that.”

Wick gave a fretful nod. As he passed Violet, he paused and bent his head toward her ear. Her eyes widened at whatever he was saying to her. When he was done, he gave her arm a gentle squeeze and departed.

Richard waited until the door of the amphitheatre was closed. “What did Wick say to you?”

“He apologized.”

“For what?”

“For misleading me about you.” Her lashes fanned rapidly. “And now I owe you an apology as well. It seems I’ve misjudged you for some time, Carlisle.”

Richard frowned. “Misjudged? How so?”

“Wick told me that you were forcing him to woo Miss Turbett against his wishes.”

“That’s not untrue—”

“But Wick said it was to pay off debts that you had incurred. He told me that you’d made some bad investments that had paupered the estate. He claimed that you were coercing him into marrying for money in order to rectify the mistake that you had made.”

Her words struck like arrows dipped in poison. A sharp, painful sensation spread through his chest.

“Wick… lied about me?” he said thickly.

She nodded. “And I believed him. Consequently, I think it’s made me judge you harshly… wrongly. And for that I am truly sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” Disbelief seeped through him; he shook his head, trying to understand why his brother would betray him. “Why would Wick say such things…?”

“He said he was ashamed,” she said quietly. “He’s always measured himself against you, I think, and felt he came up short.”

“Compared to me?” Richard was stupefied. “He’s the one with all the good looks and charm.”

Violet frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Of course it is. Wick’s the golden boy of our family, everyone’s favorite. He could have done anything, been anything had he put his mind to it.” Richard rubbed the back of his neck, said gruffly, “In looks and manner, I can’t hold a candle to him.”

“That’s absurd. You’re very attractive,” she said hotly.

His head snapped up. She didn’t appear to be making fun of him. “You think so?”

She nodded vehemently. “How could you doubt it?”

Because you’re the only female who’s ever said it?

He coughed in his fist. “I wasn’t certain you saw me that way.”

“I don’t go around kissing just any gentleman.” Although she blushed to the roots of her hair, her gaze was steady and sincere.

“Just me, then.” Hope bloomed in his chest. Curling a finger under her chin, he said, “Could it be that you’ve taken a liking to me, lass?”

Her tawny gaze turned troubled. “Maybe I have, Carlisle, but look at our history of misjudging one another. We’re so different, you and I.”

“Whatever our differences are, we’ll overcome them. Learn to compromise,” he said resolutely.

“Compromise,” she murmured. “Just like Thea said.”

“You spoke to your sister of me? Of us?”

“With the omission of certain details, yes.” She nibbled on her lip—by Jove, he wanted a nip at that plump ledge, too. “Sisters talk, Carlisle. Don’t take it to heart.”

“Have you spoken of other men in this fashion?” Satisfaction rolled through him when she shook her head. “Then it does mean something.” He took hold of her hands. “Violet, my sweet, give me a chance to court you. I know the timing isn’t right, what with this mess involving Wick. But after I get this sorted, if you give me permission I’ll—”

“The timing is right.”

He frowned, not following.

“Don’t you see, Carlisle? Fate has thrown us together time and again for a reason.” Her beautiful eyes were beseeching. “We have to work together to find out what really happened to Monique and clear Wick’s name. And, in doing so, we’ll get to know one another better and see how we get on. If you want to court me, let me be a part of this.”

Why did she have to want the one thing he couldn’t agree to?

With simmering frustration, he said, “Don’t you understand it isn’t safe? You’re more delicate than you realize, lass, and vulnerable too. I won’t risk anything happening to you.”

“For crumpet’s sake, I’m not some shrinking flower—”

Approaching voices and footsteps cut her off.

Her eyes grew large as saucers. “We can’t be seen alone in here. Emma will have my head!”

Richard scanned for possible hiding places. The voices were getting closer, no time to get off the stage. His gaze hit the wardrobe: big enough for two—barely. Grabbing her hand, he reached for the wardrobe door. He pushed her inside and followed, closing the door swiftly behind them.

In the darkness, he waited, Violet jammed up against him.

Laughter… people had entered the amphitheatre. Their voices were muffled by the heavy wood of the wardrobe, but he heard a woman and a man talking. He strained to hear their conversation, to gauge how long this might go on. At the same time, he was distracted by the exquisite torture that was Violet: her feminine scent, her lips within kissing distance, her sublimely perky bosoms pressing into his chest...

“There’s something poking into me,” she whispered.

Good God, not this again.

Before he could utter an apology, she wriggled against him, rendering the source of her discomfort—and his—harder than an anvil.

“It’s against my back. I think I can reach it,” she muttered. “I’ll just push it aside…”

Before he could puzzle out what she was referring to, there was a soft click—and the ground dissolved beneath their feet. She gasped, and he threw his arms protectively around her as they plunged into darkness.