The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway
Chapter Thirty-Four
The two brothers rode back to Traverstoke as the sun was sinking into the horizon. As dusky light flickered between the passing oaks, Richard’s thoughts were a whirling vortex. How was he going to make things right with Violet? If not because of Wick, why had she been so aroused in the churchyard? He still didn’t fully understand all that had happened, but he did know that he’d wronged her. He urged Aiolos into a faster gallop.
The sooner he got back, the sooner he could straighten things out. Grovel, if need be.
Nearing the house, Richard saw people clustered outside by the fountain. Amongst them, he spotted Violet with Kent and his wife along with two men he didn’t recognize. Nearby, footmen were loading trunks onto a carriage. Richard dismounted, heading straight for Violet, his brother behind him.
As he approached, he saw Violet’s flushed face—hell, the tear tracks on her cheeks—and remorse pounded like a fist against his chest. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Lady Ainsworthy pushed her way forward to confront him.
“And there is the defiler himself,” the dowager hissed. “Have you no shame, sirrah, showing your face here. My back was turned for a single moment, and you managed to ruin this gel beyond all redemption—”
“Thank you, Lady Ainsworthy, we can take it from here,” Kent cut in. “If you would be so kind as to give my family privacy?”
The simmering menace that emanated from Kent gave even the dowager pause. With a huff, she turned and hobbled back toward the house. Once she was gone, Kent said, “Lord Carlisle and Mr. Murray, I’d like you to answer some questions.”
The investigator’s cool, impersonal tone stirred the hairs on Richard’s neck. This wasn’t about Violet then? And why did Kent want to question Wick? All of a sudden, the identity of the two strangers struck Richard: hell… Kent’s partners. The brawny brown-haired fellow was likely Mr. McLeod, the imposing African beside him Mr. Lugo.
Foreboding snaked through Richard. Sensing his brother’s trembling tension beside him, he silently willed the other to stay calm. What did the investigators know?
“Mr. Murray, explain your connection with Monique de Brouet, if you please,” Kent said.
Devil take it, how had they discovered Wick’s relationship with the deceased?
Richard’s gaze shot to Violet. She looked as dumbfounded as he felt.
Red splotches appeared on Wick’s cheeks. “I—I don’t have any connection,” he stammered unconvincingly.
“You were not her lover? You did not break things off a mere fortnight before this party, causing problems between the two of you? Monique de Brouet did not threaten to get revenge for the way you treated her?”
“How did you find out…?” Wick’s bewildered gaze turned to Violet. “You swore you wouldn’t tell your brother about my ring. You promised,” he choked out.
“Wick, I didn’t tell him anything,” she said in a trembling voice.
“Ring?” Kent swung to face his sister, his expression thunderous. “What bloody ring?”
Seeing the panic in her eyes, Richard intervened swiftly.
“It’s not her fault. It is mine,” he said. “We found Madame de Brouet’s body exactly as we described, but we neglected to mention that… Wickham’s signet ring was in her hand. I knew my brother had nothing to do with it—he wasn’t even at the house during the time she was killed—but I feared that such evidence would be falsely incriminating. To protect Wick, I decided to conceal the fact of the ring. Miss Kent had nothing to do with that decision whatsoever.”
“Richard,” Violet whispered, “you know that’s not true—”
“Stay out of this, Violet.” Hellfire blazed in Kent’s gaze.
She bit her lip and fell silent.
Turning to Richard, the investigator snarled, “I ought to have you dragged in front of the magistrate along with your brother. You’ve aided and abetted a murder suspect, and you’ve involved my sister in this mess!”
“The m-magistrate?” Wick’s chin quivered. “He knows about me?”
“Yes, I told him,” Kent snapped. “It’s my duty to aid in the apprehension of criminals.”
Fear tangled inside Richard, but he kept his composure. “Wickham is no criminal. He didn’t kill Monique de Brouet,” he said with quiet vehemence. “It is true that they were once lovers, and she kept that ring as a memento of their affair. But you’ll recall that Dr. Abernathy found that broken chain? Well, whoever killed her must have seen her wearing the ring on the chain, tore it off, and put it in her hand to frame Wick—”
“And did they also place the murder weapon in your brother’s room?” The rejoinder came from the brown-haired McLeod whose arms were crossed over the wide girth of his chest. “Because you ken we found that too.”
Frost spread over Richard’s insides. “What murder weapon?”
“The missing pillow. The yellow fabric matches the fibers found by Abernathy on the victim, and the pillow is stained with blood,” Kent stated. “An hour ago, we found this pillow stuffed beneath your brother’s bed.”
Richard’s heart thudded in his ears.
“I-I don’t know anything about that damned pillow,” Wick stammered. “I didn’t put it there!”
“Then Lugo and McLeod arrived from London. With this.” Kent withdrew a leather bound journal. “After searching Monique de Brouet’s home, they found her diary, which gives a detailed account of her relationship with Wickham Murray. With this, she could have blackmailed your brother, put a dint in his plans to marry a respectable young heiress to pay off his debts.” As if reading Richard’s thoughts, Kent said in a steely voice, “Yes, I know about your arrangement with Turbett. He’s been less than discreet about his willingness to buy himself a son-in-law from a noble family.”
Richard was paralyzed by helplessness, unable to think or do anything to protect his brother.
“And now,” Kent said with quiet lethality, “we discover that your brother’s ring was found on the dead woman’s body, and you concealed this fact from the authorities. Do you realize how guilty this all looks?”
“No,” Wick whispered, backing away. “No.”
Before Richard could stop him, Wick sprinted for his horse, panic imbuing him with uncanny speed. He mounted, spurring his horse, racing down the drive. Dimly aware of the investigators’ shouts, Richard ran for his own horse, intending to halt his brother’s desperate flight which would only make matters worse—
His boot wasn’t even in the stirrup when a fleet of constables rode up, blocking Wick’s escape route. They circled him, a black carriage pulling up behind them.
Magistrate Jones stepped out from the equipage, his black coat swirling.
“Wickham Murray,” the magistrate said in sepulchral tones, “I hereby place you under arrest for the murder of Monique de Brouet.”
Richard surged forward; Lugo and McLeod held him back.
“Calm yourself.” Lugo spoke for the first time, his accented baritone resonating with warning. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.”
“He’s my brother. And he didn’t do any of it,” Richard shouted.
He struggled against the men’s hold, but between the pair of them, they held him fast. He could only watch as Wick was dragged from his horse, irons clamped on his wrists. One of the constables shoved Wick into the carriage.
“Wick,” he shouted at his brother’s disappearing back, “don’t panic. Just hold on. I’ll find the true killer, clear your name…”
The carriage drove off with the convoy of constables.
When the dust cleared, Lugo and McLeod released him. Panting, Richard battled hopelessness and despair. He looked for Violet—only to see that she’d been loaded into a waiting carriage with the other Kent girls, the door closing.
“Violet! Wait—”
He sprinted toward the moving conveyance only to have Kent and his partners block his path.
“From here on in, stay away from my sister,” Kent said in tones that brooked no refusal. “Go near her, and you and I will be meeting at dawn.”
Richard’s chest constricted. “But I love her—”
“I don’t give a damn. You’re a liar and a scoundrel, and I won’t have you near her.”
As Kent stalked away, flanked by his partners, Richard couldn’t argue—because the man was right. He was a scoundrel. He’d failed his brother and Violet. Standing alone once again, he watched the carriage disappear into the darkening night, carrying his dreams along with it.
