The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Twenty-Two

Trudging with Kent and Strathaven toward the field where Wormleigh was said to be shooting, Richard told himself to focus. Worrying about the interview presently taking place with Monique’s maid wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Besides, Violet was there, and he had to trust that she would do her best to manage the situation.

He’d never had someone to share his burdens with before. It made him feel both relieved and uneasy to depend upon another—and a woman, no less. But Violet had proven herself to be loyal and strong in her resolve. God knew he’d butted up against her stubbornness more than once, and as much as that quality had annoyed him, it had also earned his respect.

She was no namby-pamby miss; she meant what she said and did what she set out to do.

Recalling what she’d set out to do beneath the wardrobe made heat surge in his loins. Aye, there were definite benefits to his lass’ willfulness. He liked that her passion was a match for his. He liked that they were learning to walk in step. He also liked how her playfulness contrasted with his own somber nature, how she continually surprised him with her antics.

The plain truth was… he liked her.

That she doubted his regard struck him as absurd. He’d proposed to her once (and nearly twice). She was the one balking at making things permanent between them. His past rose in his mind, cautioning him to be wary of feminine vacillation. Although he’d shared with Violet the essentials of his past affaires, he hadn’t divulged the entirety of his failures. Violet didn’t need to be privy to all the humiliating details.

He wasn’t eager, for instance, to share the fact that Audrey Keane had tried to make a cuckold of him. That she’d said yes to his offer while she had been pregnant with another man’s child. That day, when Richard had gone to tell her that he wanted their engagement made public, he’d come upon her with her secret lover—a soldier whose regiment had recently moved from their village.

Audrey hadn’t known if her lover would return for her, and finding herself with child, she’d come up with a contingency plan. She’d strung Richard along, all the while hoping that her true love would come back for her. In a way, Richard didn’t blame her for her act of desperation: he blamed himself for being fool enough to believe that he’d swept her off her feet and that she’d actually wanted to marry him.

After all, he’d overheard the recipient of his first proposal, Lucinda Belton, telling her friends what she truly thought of his looks and manner.

No, he decided, there was no earthly reason why Violet should know that the man presently wooing her had been made a bloody fool not once, but twice. A chill snaked through him, and he couldn’t stop the thought from forming. What if Violet turned out to be like the others? What if she tired of him? Decided she wanted someone more dashing, exciting…

Like hell that’s going to happen.

Then and there he decided there was no time like the present to make his intentions known to her family. Both Violet’s brother and brother-in-law were present, and it was best to stake his claim. Strike while the iron is hot.

He glanced at the two men walking beside him. He stopped, cleared his throat. “I have a matter to discuss with you both.”

“Can’t it wait?” Kent’s gaze was trained on the figures in the distance. The hunters stood in a line; they were spaced several dozen yards apart, each of them accompanied by a footman bearing a caddy of shooting equipment. “We have to get to Wormleigh.”

“I can be quick. The fact of the matter is… I’d like your permission.” To quell a sudden feeling of panic, Richard clasped his hands behind his back. “To court Miss Kent.”

Kent swiveled. “What did you say?”

“He wants to court Violet.” Strathaven didn’t look overly surprised.

“That’s what I thought he said.” Kent’s brows knitted. “Why?”

“Er, I beg your pardon?”

“Why do you wish to woo my sister? Forgive me, but from what I understand, you do not hold her in particularly high esteem.”

Richard’s neck heated beneath his collar. He knew the other was referring to the gossip he’d inadvertently started about Violet all those months ago. In the space of a few short days, his feelings had undergone so radical a change that he could scarcely recall his muddled frame of mind back then. With sudden insight, he realized that his antagonism toward Violet had been directly proportional to his attraction to her. The attraction that he’d tried to resist… and failed.

What an idiot he’d been.

Drawing a breath, he said, “I have offered Miss Kent my sincerest apologies for having spoken carelessly. I cannot excuse my behavior, only say that it was not my intent to give rise to gossip.” He paused, searching for the right words. “My regret over my actions has only grown stronger with each moment that I spend in Miss Kent’s presence. I misjudged her. I can offer no defense but only assurances that, in the future, I will treat her with the respect and admiration she deserves.”

Muscles bunched, he waited for the response.

“Seeing as how she pushed you into a fountain,” Strathaven drawled, “I should think you and Violet could call it a draw.”

“What?” Kent’s gaze shot to the duke. “Violet was responsible for that?”

“She confessed all during a sisterly interlude yesterday. Emma told me—she tells me everything,” Strathaven said with a hint of satisfaction. “So, you see, Kent, we might actually owe Carlisle thanks for keeping that scandal a secret and protecting our little sister’s reputation.”

“No thanks necessary. I rather deserved it,” Richard muttered.

“Any man who takes a plunge and still comes back for more… well.” His Grace’s mouth curved. “You have my vote. What about you, Kent?”

The investigator appeared pensive, tension bracketing his mouth. “I will be frank, Carlisle. My middle sister is a unique young woman, not of the usual mold—in fact, she breaks any mold that tries to contain her. Whereas my impression is that you are a traditional sort of man. In a nutshell, my lord, I’m not confident you’ll suit.”

“I will not lie. I have shared those same concerns,” Richard said baldly. “But the fact of the matter is, I am learning that where there’s a will, there’s a means to compromise. And I am very willing, sir, to work toward bridging any differences that may impede my future happiness with Miss Kent.” He decided to lay all his cards down. “I am committed to a future with her; if I had my way, I would be asking for her hand and not merely your permission to woo her. But she wanted more time to further our acquaintance before making any permanent decisions, and I would not gainsay her wishes. So I must satisfy myself today by informing you that my intentions are honorable.”

“Pretty words,” Strathaven murmured. “Come, Kent, take pity. Look at the poor fellow—I don’t think he’s spoken so many words at once in his entire life. I can’t recall the last time I encountered such earnestness… oh wait, I can. When I first met you.”

Kent scowled. “Don’t make me regret accepting your suit, Your Grace.”

“As if you could have stopped Emma from doing what she wanted.”

Impatient with the back and forth, Richard said, “So do I have your permission, Kent?”

After a moment, the investigator muttered, “Aye. If only because you can’t be worse than the brother-in-law I already have.”

“He means Tremont, of course,” Strathaven said, clearly enjoying himself.

Kent scowled. “Now that that is settled, may we recommence with the business at hand?”

“Gladly.” With relief, Richard added, “Thank you both.”

The three of them identified Wormleigh, and, as they approached him, Richard couldn’t help but question the wisdom of interviewing a suspect holding a loaded shotgun. Dressed in hunting tweeds, his belly straining his waistcoat, Wormleigh had his weapon aimed toward the wooded area fifty yards in front of him. A footman stood at the ready with a tall wicker basket of fresh shotguns, a bored-looking tan retriever lounging beside him.

“Lord Wormleigh, may I have a word?” Kent said.

“Quiet, sirrah.” Wormleigh didn’t turn, kept his focus on the copse up ahead. “The beaters are on the move again.”

Richard saw glimpses of the men moving through the dense brush, driving the game out with their sticks and flags. An instant later, a flock of pheasants exploded into flight, their distinctive cries of kok-kok-kok muted by the boom of gunfire.

Wormleigh shot. Swore. Grabbed another gun from the footman and shot again.

The birds sailed smoothly on into the horizon.

“Damn and blast.” Wormleigh was red-faced. “I could have sworn I hit one.”

“Better luck next time,” Strathaven drawled.

“We need to speak to you, my lord,” Kent said. “Alone, if you please.”

Wormleigh waved away the servant, who’d been busily reloading the used guns. Resting its chin on its paws, the retriever yawned and settled down for a nap.

Removing a silver flask from his pocket, Wormleigh said, “Well, what is it?”

“It concerns Madame Monique,” Kent said. “I’ve been tasked with investigating her death, and I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

“I thought Billings said it was an accident. Lord knows I don’t have anything to add.” Wormleigh took a swig. “I hardly knew the woman.”

“Actually, my lord, I’m given to understand that you and the deceased had an argument on the night she died,” Kent said.

Wormleigh coughed, spewing droplets of brandy. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Various sources.” Kent’s expression and tone remained neutral. “One of whom noted that you were also seen later that night by the library. Where the deceased woman was found.”

“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with…?” The veins on Wormleigh’s jowls stood out against his florid complexion. “Sirrah, I ought to call you out.”

“It’d be simpler to answer his question.” Strathaven cocked a dark eyebrow. “Unless you have something to hide, my lord?”

“I have nothing to hide!”

“Then why don’t you answer the man’s question?” Richard said evenly.

Wormleigh’s eyes darted like that of cornered quarry. Richard saw him take measure of Kent’s stalwart posture, the duke’s languid menace. Wormleigh’s gaze hit Richard, clearly assessing his height and heft… and slid hastily away.

“What I tell you must remain between us,” Wormleigh muttered. “Your word as gentlemen.”

“I give you my word to be as discreet as possible. If the knowledge you share becomes evidence in the case, however, I cannot guarantee to keep it secret,” Kent said.

“Spit it out, Wormleigh,” Richard advised. “The longer you draw this out, the more havey-cavey you appear.”

“I had nothing to do with the bitch’s death,” Wormleigh protested.

“But you knew her,” Kent said.

Gunfire boomed in the distance, birds squawking.

“We had a brief… acquaintance.”

“Define acquaintance,” Richard said.

“Bloody hell, Carlisle, must you be indelicate?” Wormleigh found refuge in indignation. “She was my mistress, if you must know. It didn’t last long. A matter of months early last year.”

“What happened?” Kent said.

Wormleigh took another swig. A long one. “She was a lying whore.”

“Explain, please.”

“I took a fancy to her after seeing her perform at Astley’s. I thought to myself, a woman who can balance on a tightrope… imagine what she could do in bed. Those stockings of hers, they don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?” When he received only stony stares in reply, Wormleigh grunted and went on. “I made her acquaintance and soon after had what I wanted from her. We had an arrangement, you understand. And since I was paying for her cottage and pin money—and it wasn’t cheap, mind you—I believed I was entitled to certain exclusive rights.”

Kent’s scrutiny didn’t waver. “What happened?”

“After maybe two months, I began to suspect that I wasn’t the only one in the stables, so to speak. I could never be sure—she was a sly creature—but a man can tell when a filly’s been ridden in his absence.”

“Do you know who she was seeing?” Strathaven said as Richard’s gut iced over.

“When I confronted her, she denied it, called me a jealous fool. I told her I wasn’t the least bit jealous—but no man likes a hackneyed mount. She didn’t like that, so we had a row, and that was that. She had a temper, that one. Very French,” Wormleigh said with a touch of nostalgia.

Kent jotted in his notebook. “How long ago was this?”

“Last February, I believe. Hadn’t seen her since then—until this party.”

“What was your argument about, then?” Richard said.

Wormleigh shuffled his muddied boots. “I had one too many glasses of wine at supper and got a bit top-heavy. I ran into her in the hallway and sought to, ahem, renew our acquaintance. Don’t know why it got her bristles up—I offered to pay for her services. But she got all touchy about it.”

“Strange, that,” the duke said.

Apparently missing the other’s irony, Wormleigh gave a righteous nod. “Bit high in the instep, if you ask me. As the old adage goes, beggars cannot afford to be choosers. And given that I saw Monique having a cozy tête-à-tête with her old friend Garrity after supper, she definitely can’t afford to turn down good money. But that was Monique for you: all fire and pride and very little sense.”

Richard’s nape prickled. “What was the nature of the relationship between her and Garrity?”

“It was strictly a monetary affair. She always had need of coin; he’s in the business of lending it. Back when I was covering her expenses, I paid off a note she owed to Garrity—and it wasn’t bit change, either. As far as I know, the two had been doing business for years.”

“Why were you in the library that night?” Richard demanded.

“I never went into the library, just walked past.” Smirking, Wormleigh said, “On my way to an appointment, you see.”

Strathaven’s brows lifted. “Appointment?”

“A gentleman goes to enough house parties, he knows to have a bedpartner in reserve if the top choice is unavailable. Monique wasn’t the only fish in the sea.”

“So you were with someone that night?” Kent said.

“All night. What a fine filly she turned out to be. Bit skinny for my taste, but a better ride than I expected, eh?” Wormleigh winked.

“I’ll need a name, my lord.” Although Kent’s features remained impassive, Richard heard the distaste in the investigator’s voice.

“Can’t give it. She made me promise to keep it a secret.” Wormleigh puffed out his chest. “Gave her my word of honor, sirrah.”

“She’s your alibi,” Richard said.

“Josephine Ashe,” Wormleigh blurted.

“Right.” Kent paused, his notebook still open. “Anything else you’d care to add?”

Wormleigh hesitated. “Come to think of it, there is one thing. When I walked by the library, I heard voices coming from within. I recall the clock chiming; it was just after two.”

During the window of time when Monique was killed.Richard tensed.

“Do you know who those voices belonged to?” Kent said sharply.

Wormleigh shook his head. “They were speaking quietly, their voices muffled through the door. It was a man and a woman—lovers, I assumed.”

“What made you assume that?” Richard said.

“Who else would be alone in the library at that time of night?” Wormleigh snorted. “And I did catch one word they were saying: Gretna. Stupid fools were probably plotting to run off together. For love or some equally asinine reason.”

“I’ll look into it,” Kent said. “Thank you, my lord—”

“Hello!”

Richard turned to see Violet ambling toward them. She was a vision of vitality in her blue cloak, the yellow feathers of her bonnet ruffling in the breeze. The duchess followed behind her.

“Good afternoon,” Violet said with a pretty curtsy.

“What a pretty picture you make, m’dear.” In a blink, Wormleigh transformed into a courtier, bowing over Violet’s hand while Richard gritted his teeth. “You are a spot of color amidst this dreary landscape.”

“Thank you. Hopefully, I won’t tip off the birds.”

Wormleigh flashed a smile. “They’ll think you are one of them with your lovely feathers.”

“Then I hope the hunters won’t make a mistake and take a shot at me,” Violet said.

Wormleigh’s smile didn’t waver. Richard could practically see the man searching for some flattering reply, and he spoke up to forestall any further flirtation.

“What are you doing here?” he said to her.

“We finished up early. Our chat was uneventful.”

Her message was clear: Wick’s secret was still safe. Relief swept through Richard.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it uneventful,” Her Grace muttered. “At least not your part in the business, Violet.”

Violet looked uneasy. Before he could ask what her sister meant, she pointed to the copse and said, “Look, the beaters are readying to flush the game again. Are you going to shoot, Lord Wormleigh?”

“Don’t think I’ll bother, my dear,” Wormleigh said grandly. “The guns are defective.”

“Really?” Violet glanced at the collection of firearms. “All of them?”

For Christ’s sake. Having had enough, Richard strode to the caddy. He hoisted out a double-barreled Manton—a damned fine fowling piece—and braced the stock against his shoulder. He maintained a relaxed grip and stance. The retriever perked up, trotting over to him. When the birds burst into the grey sky, Richard took aim and fired. Game plummeted. Tossing the empty gun aside, he grabbed another from the caddy and shot again with the same result.

The retriever leapt into action, bounding joyfully across the field to fetch the fallen birds.

“Double brace,” Strathaven declared. “Bravo, Carlisle.”

“Thunder and turf, you’re a crack shot,” Violet exclaimed. “Jolly well done!”

The admiration in her eyes made Richard feel taller than a mountain. He counted himself damned lucky that, this time around, he’d found a woman more impressed by shooting skills than drawing room conversation.

He offered her his arm and said gruffly, “Shall we, Miss Kent?”