The stench of spilled blood, burnt powder and death wafted out of the darkness.
“Bloody hell,” Hitchins whispered.
Arthur took the lantern from him and held it higher. The flaring light fell across the body on the floor. A portion of Ibbitts’s face had been destroyed, but there was more than enough left to confirm his identity. The blood on the front of his shirt made it clear that he had been shot twice.
“Whoever the villain was, he wanted to make certain of his work,” Arthur said quietly.
“Aye, that he did.” Hitchins glanced around the small space. “Looks like there was a bit of a struggle.”
Arthur studied the overturned chair. “Yes.” He walked closer to the body. The light glared on the blade of a knife that lay near Ibbitts’s outflung arm. “He tried to defend himself.”
“No blood on his blade.” Hitchins made a tut-tutting sound. “He missed his target, poor bastard. Didn’t even nick the villain.”
Arthur crouched to take a closer look at the knife. As Hitchins had noted, there was no trace of blood. Several long, black threads were caught at the end where the blade was attached to the hilt.
“Looks like he snagged the killer’s coat.”
He straightened, an edgy dread tightening his innards. He thought of Elenora waiting downstairs in the carriage and turned immediately toward the door.
“Come, Hitchins, we must be off. We shall arrange for the authorities to be notified anonymously about this death. Whatever happens, I do not want Miss Lodge’s name involved. Is that understood?”
“Aye, m’lord.” Hitchins followed him out the door. “Set your mind at ease, sir. I’ve got too much respect for Miss Lodge to see her troubled in any way. She’s been through enough.”
The admiration in Hitchins’s voice was genuine. Arthur was certain that the Runner could be trusted in this affair.
He went quickly down the stairs, cursing himself with each step. He had been a fool to let Elenora convince him to bring her along. It was one thing for her to risk being seen with him in a less-than-pristine part of town. The worst that could result was a bit of scandalized talk that would do no great harm.
It would be another matter altogether if someone noticed her sitting in a carriage in front of the scene of a murder.
When he and Hitchins reached the front hall, he turned down the lamp before moving outside.
“Do not run,” he said to Hitchins. “But for God’s sake, do not dawdle.”
“Wasn’t planning to take my time, sir.”
They stepped outside and went quickly to the waiting carriage. Hitchins bounded up onto the box to join Jenks. Arthur heard him explaining the situation in low tones.
Jenks had the vehicle in motion before Arthur got the door closed.
“What’s wrong?” Elenora demanded.
“Ibbitts is dead.” He dropped down onto the seat across from her. “Murdered.”
“Dear heaven.” She hesitated a second. “The man Hitchins saw earlier? The one who waited for Ibbitts and then left in a great hurry?”
“Most likely.”
“But who would kill Ibbitts, and why?”
“I suspect the villain got the information he wanted and then decided that death was the only way to keep Ibbitts quiet.”
He kept the pistol in his hand and watched the street, searching each darkened doorway, trying to make out the shapes in the shadows. Was the killer still here, lurking in an alley, perhaps? Had he seen Elenora?
“Well, this certainly seems to prove that someone, is, indeed, aware that you are investigating your great-uncle’s murder,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” He tightened his grip on the pistol. “This affair has become a game of hide-and-seek. If only Hitchins had gotten a closer look at the villain when he entered and left Ibbitts’s lodgings.”
“Was there no clue left at the scene of the murder?”
“I did not take time to conduct a thorough search. The only thing that was obvious was that Ibbitts tried to defend himself with his knife.”
“Ah, did he cut the villain, do you think?” Enthusiasm laced her voice. “If he managed to wound his attacker, there may be some hope.”
“Unfortunately, I fear that he only snagged the killer’s cloak. There were a few black threads stuck to the knife, but no blood.”
There was a strange silence from the opposite seat.
“Black threads?” Elenora repeated in an odd voice. “From a long cloak?”
“Yes. I suspect there was a struggle and Ibbitts’s blade got tangled in the fabric. But I cannot see where that information will aid us. If only there were another witness.”
Elenora took an audible breath. “I think there may well be another witness, sir.”
“Who, pray tell?”
“Me,” she whispered, sounding rather stunned. “I believe that I may have danced with the killer very soon after he committed the murder.”
23
She sat in the chair nearest the fire, trying to warm herself while Arthur paced the width of the library. She could feel the restless, prowling energy radiating from him.
“You are certain about the rip in his cloak?” he demanded.
“Yes. Quite certain.” She held her hands out to the blaze, but for some reason the heat did not seem to penetrate very far into the room. “My fingers brushed against it.”
The great house was hushed and dark, except for the fire that burned here in the library. Arthur had not awakened any of the servants. Margaret had not returned.
Arthur had said very little after she had delivered her startling news. The journey home had been conducted in near silence. She knew that he had spent the time pondering the information she had supplied, no doubt drawing up theories and arriving at possible conclusions. She had respected his deep concentration.
But as soon as they walked into the front hall, he had escorted her into the library and lit the fire.
“We must talk,” he had said, tossing his black domino across the back of a chair.
“Yes.”
Arthur unknotted his cravat with quick, impatient fingers and allowed the neckcloth to hang carelessly down the front of his jacket. He began to prowl the room.
“Did you comment upon his torn garment?” he asked.
“No. I said nothing about it. In truth, I did not wish to carry on a conversation with him.” She shuddered. “At that point, it was my great desire to be finished with the dance as quickly as possible.”
“He did not speak to you?”
“Not a single word.” She caught her lip between her teeth, thinking back to the scene in the ballroom. “I suspect he did not want to provide me with such a significant clue to his identity.”
Arthur shrugged out of both his coat and waistcoat and dropped the garments on top of a round pedestal table.
She took a deep breath and concentrated very intently on the flames. The man did not appear to realize that he was practically undressing in front of her.
Calm yourself, she thought. Arthur was merely making himself comfortable. A gentleman had a perfect right to do so in the privacy of his own home. His mind was clearly on murder, not passion. He did not realize the effect he was having on her nerves.
“That could mean that you have met him somewhere else,” Arthur continued. “He may have feared that you would recognize him if he spoke.”
“Yes, it’s quite possible. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I’m quite sure that I have never before danced with him.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
She risked another glance at him. He was still moving about the room with the restless energy of a caged lion.
“It is difficult to explain,” she said. “When he first came toward me through the crowd, I thought he was you.”
That brought Arthur to a halt. “What the devil made you believe that?”
“He wore the same style of domino and a mask that was almost identical to yours.”
“D
amnation. He intended for you to be confused. The similarity in costumes cannot have been a coincidence.”
She considered that briefly and shook her head. “I disagree. It could most certainly have been a coincidence. There were any number of gentlemen at the ball who wore very similar cloaks and masks.”
“Did you mistake any other man for me this evening?”
She smiled ruefully at that insightful question. “No, as a matter of fact, I did not. Just the man in the ripped domino and only for a short time.”
“How could you be certain that it was not me?”
She thought she heard an odd mix of curiosity and suspicion in his words, as if he was asking another question entirely. Would you really know me in a dark and crowded room? No one knows me that well . . .
I do, she thought. But she could hardly say that.
She pondered what she could tell him that would sound logical. She certainly could not explain that the killer’s scent had not been anything like his own. Such a remark would be far too personal, too intimate. It would reveal just how very aware of him she was.
“He was not the same height,” she said instead. “I have danced with you, sir. Your shoulder is somewhat above his.” She could rest her head on Arthur’s shoulder, she thought wistfully. “And rather more broad.” Arthur’s shoulders were sleekly muscled and very inviting. “Also, his fingers were longer than yours.”
Arthur’s expression darkened. “You noticed his fingers?”
“Indeed, sir. A woman is generally very much aware of a gentleman’s hands when he touches her. Is the reverse not true for a man?”
He made a noncommittal response that sounded like “Huh.”
“Oh, and there were two other things I noticed,” she continued. “He wore a ring on his left hand and a pair of Hessians.”
“Like a thousand other men in town,” he muttered. Then he glanced back at her, one black brow arched. “You noticed his boots, also?”
“As soon as I realized that he was not you, I became curious about his identity.” She looked into the fire. “Whoever he was, he was definitely not an elderly man. He danced with a fashionable ease about his movements. There was no stiffness or hesitation in him. I can assure you he was not of your great-uncle’s generation.”
“That is a very useful piece of information,” he said slowly. “I shall have to give it some close thought. Did you happen to note anything else?”
“It is difficult to explain, but at the time I sensed that there was something odd about his manner. He appeared to be in the grip of an unwholesome excitement.”
“He had just come from killing a man.” Arthur stopped in front of the window and looked out at the moonlit garden. “The horrid thrill of his deed was no doubt still upon him, riding him hard. So he sought you out and danced with you.”
“It seems quite bizarre, does it not?” She shivered. “One would think that after committing murder, one would want to go directly home and take a hot bath, not go to a ball and dance.”
“He did not go to the Fambridge ball to dance with just any woman,” Arthur said evenly. “He went there to waltz with you.”
She shivered. “I must admit it did appear that he deliberately sought me out. But I cannot understand why he would do such a thing.”
“I can.”
She turned her head very quickly, astonished by his bleak statement. “You comprehend his motive?”
“Tonight he no doubt learned from Ibbitts that I am hunting him. In his arrogance, he decided to celebrate what he perceived to be a triumph over me.”
She pursed her lips. “Mayhap you are right, sir, but that does not explain why he danced with me.”
Arthur turned to face her. She almost stopped breathing when she saw the savage anger that blazed in his eyes.
“Do you not understand?” he said. “There is a very ancient, very foul tradition among men who wage war against each other. More often than not, the winners seek to proclaim their victories by taking possession of their opponents’ women.”
“Possession? Sir, you speak of rape.” She leaped to her feet. “I assure you, it was only a dance.”
“And I assure you, Miss Lodge, that in the villain’s mind that dance was symbolic of another act entirely.”
“That is ridiculous,” she began stoutly. Then she recalled how much she had disliked the feel of the stranger’s hand on her waist. She took a deep breath. “Regardless of how he viewed the situation, from my perspective, it was nothing more than a short waltz with an unpleasant partner.”
“I know. But your opinion is rather beside the point.”
“I disagree,” she said fiercely.
He acted as if he had not heard her. “I must concoct another plan.”
She could tell that he was already formulating his new strategy. “Very well. What shall we do, sir?”
“You will do nothing, Elenora, except go up to your room to pack. Your employment in this household ends tonight. I will send your wages to you.”
“What?” Outraged, she stared at him. “You are letting me go?”
“Yes. I intend to send you away to one of my estates until this affair is ended.”
Raw panic jolted through her. She was not going back to the country. Her new life was here in London. Whatever happened, she would not allow herself to be packed off to some remote village estate where she would have to cool her heels for heaven knew how long.
But getting hysterical would only make matters worse, she told herself. This was Arthur. Logic worked best with him.
She fought to keep her voice even and controlled. “You intend to send me away merely because the villain danced with me?”
“I told you, to him it was more than a dance.”
She flushed. “For heaven’s sake, sir, it is not as though he forced himself upon me.”
“What he did,” Arthur said in a startlingly rough voice, “was demonstrate that he sees you as a pawn in this game that he is playing with me. I will not permit him to use you in any way.”
She must make allowances for his rigid manner, she told herself. After all, he was attempting to protect her.
“I appreciate what you are trying to do,” she said, striving to maintain her patience, “but it is much too late. I am involved in this affair, whether you like it or not. My lord, I fear that you are not thinking with your customary clarity.”
He watched her very steadily. “Indeed?”
At least she had his attention, she thought. “Sir, you are obviously deeply concerned about my safety. That is very gallant of you. But what makes you think that the villain will forget about me if you send me away to rusticate in the country?”
“Once he understands that I have changed my strategy, he will lose interest in you.”
“I do not think that you can depend upon that outcome. Have you considered the possibility that the killer may well decide that I possess even more valuable information about you and your schemes than Ibbitts did?”
There was a short, shattering silence. She saw the grim comprehension on Arthur’s face and knew that he could not deny her logic.
“I will provide you with an armed guard,” he said.
“You could do that, but it would not necessarily stop the villain. He moves freely in Society. What am I to do? Avoid all gentlemen? And for how long? Weeks? Months? You cannot keep me under guard indefinitely. No, I am better off here with you, helping you find the killer.”
“Damnation, Elenora—”
“And what of Margaret? If I am no longer conveniently at hand, the killer may well try to use her instead. After all, she is not only a member of this household but a member of your family. Removing me from the game may make her the villain’s next target.”
“Damnation,” he said again, very softly this time. “You are correct. I have not been thinking clearly.”
“Only because you have been under a great deal of stress this evening,” she assured him. “You must not be too hard on yourself. W
alking in on the scene of a murder would have a nasty effect on anyone’s reasoning processes.”
His mouth curved in a strange smile. “Yes, of course. I should have realized that was the source of my poor logic tonight.”
“Do not concern yourself,” she said, trying to sound bracing. “I’m certain that your customary powers of reason will return soon.”
“I can only hope that is the case.”
She did not trust that tone, she thought.
“Sir, let me remind you that I have been very helpful in this investigation,” she continued, anxious to get back to the important matter. “If you continue to allow me to assist you, we will likely solve this puzzle far more quickly than if you work alone.”
“I’m not at all sure of that,” he muttered.
“Furthermore, if you keep me by your side in my role as your fiancée, not only will you be able to protect me, but the killer will assume that we know nothing more now than we did before Ibbitts was murdered.”
His jaw tightened. “That is the truth, unfortunately.”
“No, it is not the truth.” It was her turn to pace the room. “I paid close attention when the villain danced with me. There is a very good chance that I might recognize him if I were to come into close contact with him again. At the very least, I can rule out any number of gentlemen based on their general age, height and physique and the way they move, not to mention the shape of their hands.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she knew that she had made her point.
“Don’t you see, sir?” She gave him an encouraging smile. “If we continue with your original plan, we will have an edge because the killer will never realize that we made a connection between my waltz partner and Ibbitts’s killer. He won’t know that we are aware of a few important physical details about him.”
“You are right,” he admitted. He flexed one hand in a small gesture of anger and frustration. “If I send you away immediately, he may suspect that we know he danced with you. If he thinks we know that much, he may wonder if we know more than we do.”
“And that, in turn, would cause him to be more cautious. Surely it is in our best interests if he is emboldened instead, and becomes more reckless.”