More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 12

The boardsin the corridor creaked beneath the weight of footsteps, drawing Eli from a light slumber. Ordinarily, he would grab a weapon and hide behind the bedchamber door, ready to defend or attack, but Rachel had been so coy in manner during dinner this evening, he knew she’d been plotting something in that pretty head of hers.

His heart thumped wildly at the prospect of her entering his private domain. Had she thought of something important relating to the case? Or was this midnight liaison an attempt to catch him unawares?

Eli waited until the doorknob turned before feigning sleep.

A vision of loveliness slipped into his chamber. A vision of pristine white cotton and flowing golden hair. Amid the glowing embers of the fire and flickering lights of the candle lamps, he saw her curvaceous silhouette through the fine material. Hell, the plain nightgown was more alluring than sheer silk.

Rachel closed the door and padded over to the bed.

Lying naked with the bedsheets stretched across his abdomen, Eli wondered if she’d notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest, notice the outline of his shaft growing more prominent with each breath.

She took a moment to inspect his unconventional bed. Erotic images entered his head when she stroked the solid post, but he was the prey, not the hunter, and so could do nothing but wait with eager anticipation.

The minx trailed her fingers along the sheets as she moved towards him. “I know you’re awake, Eli.”

He opened his eyes and drank in the magnificent sight. “I’m rather glad I am. I’d not have missed this for the world.”

“This?” She arched a brow.

“This unexpected yet welcome intrusion.” Transfixed by her mussed hair and pouting lips, he suddenly wished he was the one in control, the one intent on seduction.

“I’m not here to ravish you,” she said, yet her gaze slid over his bare chest, hot and needy. “I’ve come to negotiate.” She touched him then, the soft pads of her fingers settling on his arm. “And to discuss the next move in this case.”

He hoped the next move was her slipping her hand beneath the sheets to caress his aching cock. The glazed look in her eyes said she’d had a similar thought. Instead, she climbed onto the bed and sat beside him.

“Concerning our next move, the possibilities are endless.” He gripped the bedsheets to protect his modesty and sat up. He tried not to stare at her bare feet, but beneath the nightdress were bare legs and a jewel of a treasure. “We find James Tinsley and prove the Meyers are lying. We tell the Council we’re making progress with the coded letter. We—”

“I have made progress with deciphering the code. With ing being a common ending, I now know which symbols relate to those three letters.”

“Excellent. I’ll have a footman deliver a note to Truscott’s London abode, warning him you’re close to solving the riddle.” Truscott would soon spread the word to the other council members, and the traitor would panic. “As to the matter of what to do next, we could accost Mrs Belton when she’s alone and drag the truth from her lying lips.”

“We could.” She touched her hand to her chest and inhaled deeply. “Or we could do the one thing I’ve sworn never to do.”

Eli grinned. “Make love to a man who sleeps in Lucifer’s bed?”

Her eyes widened. “While you make the illicit sound appealing, I meant take a husband.”

It was Eli’s turn to inhale sharply. “Take a husband? Surely you’re not referring to me?” Despite the all-consuming need to possess this woman, he, too, had sworn never to marry.

“Not legally.” She laughed. “We’ll pretend we’ve wed.”

“Feign marriage? For what purpose?” Was there a genuine reason behind the suggestion, or was entering his room in a state of dishabille part of this huntress’ plan? “And what has it to do with negotiating?”

“Logic says we should question the physician who examined Lady Meyer. Why would Mary claim her mistress is barren when it’s evident she’s with child? As her lady’s maid, she’d have been the first to notice.” Rachel shuffled closer. “And if we’re going to Brighton, we may as well visit Shoreham. In one quick trip, we might solve a host of problems.”

“Shoreham!” Surely not. “Visit Jacob Hanaway?”

She shivered visibly at the mention of the man’s name.

“But you refused to entertain the idea.” Whenever Eli broached the subject, she hid behind her barricade and told him to hire another agent. “You said you’d rather die than face him again.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I know what I said, but the Hanaways could be out searching for me as we speak. If Jacob Hanaway thinks I’m married, he’ll have to accept the terms of his mother’s will.” She gestured to his bare chest. “One look at your impressive physique and Satan would skitter into the shadows.”

Just to tease her, Eli smoothed a hand over his pectorals. “I’m glad you thought of a use for me.” Though it wasn’t the use he’d hoped for. “So, we’ll visit Shoreham. You’ll question the witness while I threaten him to within an inch of his life.”

“Yes.” She seemed keen to meet the bastard who’d taken her to hell and back. “After visiting Brighton and Shoreham, I thought we could take a slight detour before returning to London.”

Unease slithered in his chest. Unease became a rolling sense of trepidation. A man didn’t need James Cook’s grasp of geography to understand her intention.

“You mean we should call at Chichester?”

She cast a mischievous grin. “Wouldn’t your mother like to know you’ve married a harlot who works as an enquiry agent?”

Though his blood turned icy in his veins, Eli couldn’t help but laugh. “She’d prefer the truth. My virginal bride is the most astute, most courageous woman in all of London. A cunning minx who thinks I’m blind to her scheming.”

“You’d say such things to your mother?”

“If I agreed to visit Chichester. As it stands, I have no intention of venturing within ten miles of the place.”

She looked disappointed, but not defeated.

“Perhaps you might reconsider.” The lady touched his leg. The sheets were so thin she may as well have been touching his bare thigh. “Perhaps knowing you’re willing to confront your past will help me confront mine.”

“So now you resort to blackmail?”

She threw her hands in the air. “Has it occurred to you I’m willing to face my biggest fear so you might find the courage to return home again?”

It was a tremendous sacrifice, a selfless act, he knew, but going home was a step closer to forgiveness, and he enjoyed wallowing in resentment.

“Rachel, they stole everything that night.”

“That night and every night since. You sleep alone in this monstrous bed. You isolate yourself from family and friends. You avoid intimate connections.”

“I’ve been intimate with you.”

“It’s different with me. I forced you into this partnership, forced the friendship, forced the kiss, and now you want me to play the hunter and force myself on you. Why?” She answered for him. “I’ll tell you why. You’re afraid to trust me. You’re too scared to take a risk. You’re terrified someone will hurt you again.”

Had he been anything but naked beneath the sheets, he’d have shot off the bed in protest. Yet everything she said was true.

“People have hurt me too, Eli. But it’s unhealthy to live with hatred in your heart.” She slid off the bed and faced him, braced her hands on her hips, drawing attention to every delicious curve. “Either this friendship works on a mutual level with equal effort on both parts, or you’ll have to hire another agent.”

This was the sort of complication he’d hoped to avoid. Now his emotions were engaged he didn’t want to continue the investigation without her.

“What are you saying? That if I don’t visit my mother, you’ll leave?”

“I’m asking you to let me in, Eli.” The words were tinged with desperation. “I’m asking you to help rid us both of our demons. The choice is yours. I shall leave you to sleep on the matter. But no, I’ll not turn my back on you or the case. I shall accept whatever decision you make.”

She left the room.

Eli didn’t call out to her. His mind was in the midst of a civil war. Every nerve in his body was primed for a confrontation with the Hanaways. He longed to put an end to Rachel’s misery. To ensure she broke free from the traumas of the past. Despite that, he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his mother, facing his brother, didn’t want to witness a scene of domestic bliss.

And yet something had shifted in the ether.

He was not the same man he was a week ago.

Rachel Gambit had breathed life into his withered heart. She had stirred dormant emotions. Renewed his faith in womankind. He was on a journey of discovery and would be a fool to change course now.

With Rachel at his side, could he conquer his fears?

With Rachel at his side, could he confront his traitorous brother?

* * *

Henfield Park

Shoreham

Built in the Elizabethan era, Henfield was once a noble home with noble occupants. Rachel could not say the same about the dilapidated mansion house or its owners today.

The previous Lord Hanaway had sired two angelic boys who were taught that women were objects to torment and abuse. Months before his demise, the lord had an epiphany and sought to mend his wicked ways. Still, everyone was shocked when he left his unentailed properties and worldly possessions to his long-suffering wife—not his heir.

Thrilled to have her freedom, Lady Hanaway became a spendthrift. A woman swayed by a sad tale. One who wasted money on extravagant hobbies and lived life to excess. Spending was a means to punish her husband, and she did so with an aristocrat’s aplomb.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Mr Hunter stared out of the carriage window at the overgrown gardens and crumbling boundary wall. They’d passed through rusty iron gates, charged along the weed-infested drive, crashed through large ruts in the road.

“Lady Hanaway wanted her husband’s home to rot away like his corpse.” Rachel finished the sentence despite the barrage of horrible memories. “She wished to force her sons to marry well, hoped being indebted to their wives would make them subservient, iron out the ruthless streak.”

“Instead, she controlled them and fed their hatred of women.”

“A parent’s caring deed can often cause more harm than good.” Rachel’s father had acted out of love when he’d kept them in the dark about his financial affairs. “Did your mother remain in contact with your brother after he betrayed you? Does she see her grandchild?”

The questions raised Eli’s hackles. “Yes. She refused to take sides.”

“Is that the reason you stay away?” Her loyalty must have hurt him as much as his brother’s betrayal. “Did your mother not invite you to visit?”

“Visit Hunston Hall?” A mocking laugh escaped him. He shook his head and dragged his hand through his dark brown hair. “Hunston belongs to me, not my mother. Dominic and Felicity live there with their child. My brother planned to follow in my father’s footsteps and have a military career, but Felicity pleaded with him to reconsider.”

Rachel’s heart sank. “Good Lord. You support the brother who married your betrothed?”

He shrugged. “What else am I to do?”

No wonder he was bitter and angry.

No wonder the wounds had never healed.

“Eli, why didn’t you say so last night? I might have understood why you were so reluctant to return to Chichester.”

“Because you were right. Hatred is poisoning my future.”

Eli’s carriage rumbled to a halt outside the entrance to Henfield.

In her absence, the house had fallen further into decay. Ivy had ravaged the facade. Rachel wished the creeping tendrils would wrap themselves around Jacob’s neck and suffocate the last breath from his lungs. Cracked window panes and dirty stonework said the house had been neglected since Lady Hanaway’s passing.

Still, fear, and the overwhelming need to support Eli as he battled his demons, had her crossing the carriage to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

He showed his appreciation by catching her around the waist and pulling her into his lap. “Is that my reward for honesty, Rachel? A kiss to stitch the wound?”

She cupped his cheek. “It’s an apology for making you suffer. A means to distract my mind from the terrifying task ahead.”

His expression darkened. “The Hanaways won’t hurt you. Not as long as I’ve breath in my lungs and blood in my veins.”

Being so strong and dependable, Eli Hunter had the power to bring an end to anyone’s nightmare—except his own. But one look at the neglected mansion said the Hanaways would do anything to prevent her from inheriting their mother’s money.

“I’m scared, Eli.”

It would have made more sense to visit Brighton and then take the coastal road to Shoreham and Chichester, but she couldn’t question the doctor while terrified of meeting the Hanaways.

“After today, you’ll never have to deal with them again.”

The comment bolstered her courage. Still, her knees trembled as she trudged up the moss-covered steps and approached the rotten oak door. Seeing the gargoyle knocker brought bile to her throat. The grotesque figure had given her pause when she’d first arrived at Henfield. It should have served as a warning. Those who lived beyond the doors were ugly inside and out.

Bryson answered. The butler looked just as he had the day of Lady Hanaway’s funeral: his lank white hair reaching his jaw, his lips a thin, disapproving line. As with all the staff at Henfield, he had been equally possessed by the devil’s coldness. He considered Rachel through sunken eyes—seemed shocked that anyone would voluntarily return to the mouth of hell—before casting a wary glance at Eli Hunter.

“We come seeking an audience with Jacob Hanaway,” Eli said in a stern voice. He presented the letter from the Home Office. “We come at Peel’s behest to investigate a crime where your master is named as the only witness.” He gestured to Rachel. “I believe you know my wife.”

Bryson didn’t bother to read the document. He didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t smile or welcome her home.

“Wait here.” Bryson left them on the doorstep for two minutes. When he returned, he merely said, “Follow me.”

At the pace of those in a funeral procession, the butler led them through the gloomy hall, through the long gallery with its carved Jacobean panels and gilt-framed portraits. The untrained eye might be fooled into thinking the house belonged to cultured, well-bred gentlemen. But one sniff of the earthy aroma in the air said damp and decay lay behind the facade. Indeed, Henfield’s heart was rotten to the core.

Eli Hunter seemed unaffected by the miserable surroundings. He had not raced through the cobwebbed corridors in the dead of night, scared out of his wits. He had not been forced to kneel on the stone floor until the cold chilled his blood. He had not woken each morning wondering if this was the day he would die.

Her heartbeat thumped in her throat as they approached the drawing room. The fortitude that had given her the courage to fight back surfaced the moment she strode into the room and caught sight of the men, men she would murder without guilt chipping away at her conscience.

Like a wolf spotting a lonely lamb, Jacob Hanaway grinned. “Rachel, what a pleasant surprise. You’ve been a stranger these last three years.” He did not stand as a sign of respect, but gave an indolent wave at Mr Hunter. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”

Eli straightened to an intimidating height. “She’s brought her husband, though we come in a professional capacity, not for a reunion.”

With his chubby hands resting on his paunch, Peter Hanaway studied them. At six and twenty, Peter was older than Jacob by two years, though the brothers were so alike in looks they could be twins. Both had curly brown hair and unkempt side-whiskers, both had lips so thick and wide they didn’t need spoons to slurp their soup.

“Yes, Bryson said you’re here at Peel’s behest.” Peter scanned Eli’s black attire. “You speak and dress like a gentleman’s son, yet are in the unfortunate position of having to work for a living. Perhaps that’s why you failed to address me with the respect befitting my station. Rachel must have informed you I’m a baron.”

Eli’s mocking snort echoed through the room. “I know who and what you are. I’m the eldest son of Major General Edmund Hunter, a decorated war hero. With a yearly income in excess of thirty thousand pounds, I have no need to work. Like my father, I serve king and country but prefer to do so within the realms of government.”

Rachel hid her surprise. Thirty thousand? Good grief. Surely he was exaggerating.

The brothers’ eyes bulged.

“I’m here for two reasons,” Eli stated. “The first being to question Jacob Hanaway about the murder at Belton’s Emporium in Surrey Street, London. As a witness for the prosecution, he is legally bound to make himself available for questioning.”

Jacob relaxed back in the tapestry covered chair. “As the brother of a baron, the rules do not apply to me.”

“You’re mistaken.” Eli stared down his nose. “You will answer my questions, Mr Hanaway, or I shall take you into custody. Be warned. You may break a few limbs in the struggle.”

Rachel found the strength to speak up. “I should do as he says. My husband is a dangerous man. A man looking for any excuse to inflict pain on the devils who tormented me for years.”

Jacob glanced at Eli’s broad shoulders and paled. “Tormented you? They were childhood pranks. Thanks to my mother, your inheritance is more than adequate compensation.”

“Unless Rachel is unfit to inherit,” Peter added.

“As her husband, I shall do everything in my power to ensure she gets the full entitlement. Should anything untoward happen, I shall kill you both.” He paused. “That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

“Have no fear, husband. I’ve spent the last three years training for the event.” Rachel slipped her Skean Dhu from her pelisse pocket. She drew the blade from the sheath and addressed the rogues who lacked the manners to offer them a seat. “Perhaps you’d like a demonstration of my skill.”

With a quick whip of her wrist, she threw the blade at Jacob Hanaway. It whizzed through the air, missing his ear by an inch, and became embedded in the oak panel behind.

Jacob’s eyes almost rolled out of their sockets.

With a look brimming with admiration, Eli turned to her and whispered, “I find myself suddenly aroused, my love. What other tricks can you perform that might stir a man’s blood?”

“If I told you, it would spoil the surprise.” Clenching her fists at her sides to stop her hands from shaking, Rachel marched across the room and retrieved her weapon. She stopped in front of Jacob’s chair. “I’m no longer the girl you terrified. You’d do well to remember it.”

Peter Hanaway took it upon himself to be the voice of reason. “Enough! Say what you need to and be on your way. Jacob will answer any questions relating to this business of murder.”

Jacob gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing much to say on the matter. The man dragged me off the street. I stood over the body until he returned with the constable.”

“Where was Mrs Belton while you were watching the body?” Eli said.

Jacob shrugged. “Shouting at the boy locked in the pantry.”

“Shouting what?”

“That he’s a thief and a murderer and would swing for his crimes.”

“A thief?” Rachel returned to Eli’s side. “You made no mention of it in your statement. A boy’s life hangs in the balance. Every snippet of information is of vital importance.”

“Why should I care what happens to a criminal? I’d have missed the stage to Shoreham and so told the constable the basic facts.”

Rachel frowned. “The stage? You hate using public transport.”

“I cannot afford to keep a coach in town because my bloody mother left you my inheritance.” Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on the tatty rug. “I can barely afford to run the house in Salisbury Square. Had I known you were in London, I’d have paid a house call to beg for funds.”

“And I’d have thrown you out after bloodying your nose,” Eli countered. “Did Mr Belton have blood on his clothes?”

“On his clothes, hands and face,” Jacob said after muttering an obscenity. “By all accounts, he tried to stem the flow of blood.”

“So the sword had been drawn from the body?”

“There was no sign of the weapon.”

Rachel wondered how the Beltons managed to wrestle a sword-wielding murderer into the pantry.

“There may be a clause in Mother’s will,” Peter Hanaway interjected in a sly tone, “preventing Rachel from inheriting now she’s married. Perhaps a trip to town is in order.”

Nausea roiled in Rachel’s stomach. The men would step on hot coals to get their hands on her inheritance. Jacob had mocked David Scrivens, but he was just as capable of stealing, just as capable of murder.

“There is no such clause. Accept your mother favoured me and sought to teach you both a lesson.”

Hatred flashed in Jacob’s dark brown eyes. She had stared into those depthless pools many times, fearing what he would do next. He would do nothing while in the presence of Eli Hunter. But she suspected the brute would be on the next stage to London.

Jacob hauled himself out of the chair. “The money is not yours until November, Rachel. I’m not one to rest on my laurels. Where might our solicitor send his correspondence?”

Rachel remained tight-lipped.

“Blackstone House,” Eli said as if challenging the man to break into his home in the dead of night. “On the Uxbridge Road. You can send your correspondence there.”

Panic tightened her throat.

Sheer terror sent her thoughts scattering.

Eli clasped her hand and held it firmly. He bid the gentlemen good day and drew her towards the drawing room door.

“With luck, I’ll see you soon, Rachel.”

Jacob’s comment brought them to a halt.

Rachel couldn’t summon the words needed to put the rogue in his place.

Eli cast a confident grin. “Rest assured, we’ll be waiting.”