“You intended to find the artifacts and give them to me?” Beatrice’s smile was nothing short of dazzling. “Why, Mr. Saltmarsh, I do not know what to say. I am deeply honored.”
Saltmarsh raised his head, blushing furiously. “It seemed like something one of the heroes in your novels might do for one of your extraordinary heroines.”
Leo exerted every ounce of his well-honed willpower to refrain from picking Saltmarsh up by the scruff of his neck and tossing him out into the street. He had a hunch that Beatrice would not look approvingly on such an action.
“Let us get back to the matter of this afternoon’s events, Saltmarsh.” he said instead. “What exactly happened to you at Trull’s Museum today?”
“I wish I could tell you more than I already have.” Saltmarsh said. “I visited the place frequently during the past few weeks because I was convinced that Lord Glassonby discovered something of importance there. The only difference today was that the churlish porter offered me a cup of tea and I made the mistake of drinking it.”
“That is all you remember?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes.” He gave her an adoring look. “I can only add that when I first opened my eyes to find you kneeling over me, it crossed my mind that I was having a metaphysical experience. I cannot begin to describe the sensations that were aroused in me by the sight of my muse at the moment.”
Leo wondered why the mantel did not fracture beneath his clenched fingers. “And then, of course, you realized that you were locked in an underground storage room with Mrs. Poole. A situation that could have compromised her and ruined her career as the authoress Mrs. York.”
Saltmarsh squared his shoulders. “I assure you, I feel the full weight of my responsibility in this matter. When I consider what might have happened if we had been obliged to spend the night in that place—” He broke off and briefly closed his eyes. “Well, I am certain you can imagine the degree of dread the thought arouses—”
“Fortunately.” Leo interrupted, “we need not waste any time on those unpleasant imaginings.”
“Thanks to you, Mrs. Poole.” Saltmarsh regarded her with glowing admiration. “You were a beacon of feminine spirit and courage. A veritable goddess. I vow, you outshone all of your own heroines.”
Beatrice waved her hand in a modest gesture of dismissal. “Please, Mr. Saltmarsh, that is quite enough.”
Leo was disgusted to see the delicate blush on her cheeks. Last night she had made love with him in a whore’s bedchamber, yet today she could blush when a fawning sycophant flattered her shamelessly.
“It’s more than enough.” he announced. “We have other matters to discuss here. Saltmarsh, this affair has become something other than a silly game.”
“It was never a game, sir.” Saltmarsh looked deeply offended. “I told you, I envisioned my search for the Rings as a quest.”
“Bloody hell.” Leo muttered. “You wanted to find them for the same reason everyone else does. You’re after the treasure.”
“That may have been true at first. But after I learned of Mrs. York’s connection to the affair, I was aroused to pursue a far more noble goal.”
“Indeed.” Leo smiled at him.
Saltmarsh flinched. “But I quite agree that the matter has assumed a more sinister aspect.” he added hastily. “I could hardly be blind to that after what transpired today.”
Beatrice studied him. “What are your conclusions about today’s events, Mr. Saltmarsh?”
“There is only one obvious conclusion, is there not?” His mouth tightened. “It is clear that someone else is after the Rings.”
“Yes.” Leo said. “And I believe that today that person delivered a warning to both of you.”
Beatrice met his eyes. “Do you think that is what it was all about?”
“In truth, it may have been intended to be something more than that,” Leo said quietly.
Saltmarsh scowled. “What do you mean?”
Leo forced himself to focus on the various possibilities. “I think we must assume that the person who locked you in that chamber knows that Mrs. Poole is also Mrs. York. The villain probably intended that her identity as the famous authoress would be revealed when the two of you were discovered in the morning.”
Saltmarsh stiffened. “The resulting scandal would have made it extremely difficult if not impossible for her to pursue her inquiries into the matter of the Rings. Why, she would no doubt have been obliged to retire to the countryside for an extended stay just as Byron was forced to leave England when the gossip about him became too great. And I, of course, would have been utterly devastated to know the great harm I had wrought.”
“You’d have been a bit more than devastated after I finished with you,” Leo said.
“Monkcrest.” Beatrice gave him a quelling look. “That is quite enough. There is no call to threaten poor Mr. Saltmarsh.”
“But as no scandal ensued, we need not go into the particulars,” Leo concluded politely.
“I cannot argue with your deductions.” Saltmarsh was clearly chastened. “It was a near thing indeed.”
“Mr. Saltmarsh,” Beatrice said carefully, “may I ask what prompted your visit to Trull’s today of all days?”
“What?” He looked briefly bemused. “Oh, I received a message to the effect that there was a new exhibit of Greek antiquities. I went to see if by any chance it might include an Aphrodite. What about you, Mrs. Poole?”
“I also received a message,” Beatrice said vaguely.
“We were both duped.” Saltmarsh’s eyes narrowed. “The question is, what do we do now?”
Leo looked at him. “As of this moment, you will cease your investigations.” He held up a hand as Saltmarsh opened his mouth to protest. “To pursue any other course of action is to put Mrs. Poole’s reputation at risk. I am certain you would not wish to do that.”
“Of course not,” Saltmarsh said. “But I feel that I can be of some service.”
“Mrs. Poole has requested my assistance in this affair,” Leo said. “I have agreed to give it because I have some interest in legends and antiquities.”
“I understand,” Saltmarsh said. “But surely—”
“I cannot pursue my inquiries if you insist on muddying the waters with your amateurish investigations.”
Saltmarsh slumped. “I see.”
Beatrice glowered at Leo. “Really, Monkcrest, you are being much too harsh. Mr. Saltmarsh was merely offering to assist us. He has every right to pursue his own inquiries.”
Saltmarsh shook his head. “I would do nothing that would put you in any more jeopardy, Mrs. Poole. Perhaps Monkcrest is right. It might be best if I did not interfere any further.”
“It would most assuredly be best,” Leo said.
A speculative look appeared in Beatrice’s eyes. She smiled at Saltmarsh. “It occurs to me, sir, that you could assist us with some inquiries in a manner that would likely not arouse any suspicions.”
A pathetically grateful expression leaped into Saltmarsh’s eyes. “Anything, Mrs. Poole. You have only to name it.”
Leo scowled at Beatrice. “What sort of assistance did you have in mind?”
“The porter at Trull’s Museum mentioned something that I found rather interesting,” she said slowly. “He told me that Mr. Trull died a few months ago. The new owner has never visited the place. All of the porter’s instructions come through bankers.”
Leo frowned. “Trull is dead?”
“Killed in a carriage accident, I understand.”
Saltmarsh looked at Beatrice with lively curiosity. “Why do you find that fact interesting, Mrs. Poole?”
“Does it not strike either of you gentlemen as rather odd that the death of the former proprietor of Trull’s Museum took place at about the same time that Uncle Reggie took a keen interest in the establishment?”
“Bloody hell.” Leo wondered if incipient jealousy always sabotaged a man’s brain. He should have seen the significance of her observation at once. ?
??Another coincidence, is it not? You’re right. It would not hurt to discover the identity of the new owner of Trull’s.”
Saltmarsh leaped to his feet, fairly quivering with renewed enthusiasm. “I do not know what good it will do, but never fear, Mrs. Poole, I shall discover the answer to that question for you.”
“You will be discreet, Mr. Saltmarsh,” Beatrice said urgently.
“Absolutely discreet.” He bent gallantly over her hand. “You have my word on it. My passion for the quest has been aroused once more, madam. As always, my muse inspires me.”
Leo noted the way the light gleamed on Saltmarsh’s somewhat dusty but still golden head. It occurred to him that it would be extremely satisfying to wrap his fingers around the young man’s throat.
HE WAITED UNTIL he heard the front hall door close behind Saltmarsh. Then he stepped away from the mantel, crossed the short distance to where Beatrice sat in her chair, and hauled her to her feet.
Her eyes widened. “Leo. For heaven’s sake, my lord.”
He seized her around the waist, lifted her off her feet, and brought her face very close to his own.
“What in the name of every bloody devil in hell did you think you were about today?”
“Really, Leo, there is no need—”
“Do you have any notion of how I felt when I arrived here this afternoon and discovered that you’d gone to Trull’s damned museum? Do you think that we are playing a child’s game the way that idiot, Saltmarsh, apparently does? Do you have any conception of what could have happened to you?”
A curious expression lit Beatrice’s eyes. “Calm yourself, sir.”
“You dare advise me to calm myself after what you put me through?”
“I did nothing to you, sir.” She braced her hands on his shoulders. Her toes dangled several inches off the floor. “It is your own fault that you were not aware of my plans.”
“My fault?”
“If you had called upon me in a timely fashion this afternoon, we could have gone to Trull’s together.”
“I was occupied with other business. You should have waited for me.”
Mocking surprise flashed across her face. “But there was no way of knowing when or even if you would condescend to visit.”
“I told you that I would call upon you today.”
“Did you? I got no message saying when I might expect you.” She took one hand off his shoulder to push back the swath of loosened hair that had fallen over her brow. “Surely you did not think I would sit home all day, my lord?”
“I told you, I had other business.”
She smiled much too sweetly. “Just as well that I was occupied with my own business, in that case. Otherwise, I might have wasted the entire day waiting to hear from you.”
“You knew damn well I’d get here eventually.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you bloody well did.” Leo set her on her feet, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her full on the mouth.
Beatrice gave a muffled protest, more surprise than anger. Then she flung her arms around his neck. She returned his kiss with a fierce passion that brought back vivid memories of the events that had taken place in Clarinda’s room.
He groaned. His erection was sudden, heavy, almost painful in its intensity. Driven by a ruthless need for the satisfaction he had experienced during the night, he deepened the kiss.
It was the sound of footsteps in the hall that broke Leo’s trance. The housekeeper, he thought. Or perhaps Winifred, or Arabella.
He dragged his mouth away. With an effort, he raised his head and looked down into her flushed face.
“Good Lord, anyone could walk in on us here,” he muttered.
“Yes, of course.” She stepped back so quickly that she staggered slightly. “It would never do for someone to see us in such a situation, would it?”
“No, it would not. Your reputation—”
She rounded on him without warning, eyes overbright with anger. “Do stop harping on my reputation, my lord. So long as it does not get out that it is Mrs. York who is having an affair with you, all will be well.”
“Speaking of Mrs. York …”
She turned her back on him. “When did you discover my secret?”
“This afternoon when I went through your desk to see if I could find anything that would tell me where you had gone.”
“You searched my desk?” She glared at him over her shoulder. “Have you no shame, sir?”
“Very little when it comes to your safety. In addition to your manuscript, I found the note from Madame Virtue. Why did you not tell Saltmarsh the truth?”
“That it was Madame Virtue who sent me the note?” Beatrice sighed. “Because I happen to agree with you, sir. I think it would be best if Mr. Saltmarsh were not drawn any deeper into this tangle. I do not want him to come to a bad end because of me. I only hope he will be safe while he looks into the ownership of Trull’s Museum.”
Leo walked to the window. “I shall confront Madame Virtue later this evening.”
“We shall go together to confront her.”
“Beatrice, you may dare many things, but not even you could successfully masquerade as a client of the House of the Rod.”
“Perhaps if I were to put on men’s clothing?” she suggested hopefully. “Lucy could no doubt alter some masculine garments for me in a couple of hours.”
“No.”
“Now, Leo—”
He turned to face her. “No.”
She eyed him for a moment and then apparently decided not to pursue the issue. “That reminds me.” She swung around on her heel and went behind her desk. “It occurred to me while I was making my way through the secret passage this afternoon that I should have checked something before I set out.”
He did not like the quick change of topic. It did not bode well. “What are you talking about?”
She yanked open a desk drawer and peered inside. “It’s gone.”
“If you’re looking for the note from Madame Virtue, I crumpled it up and tossed it aside.” Leo glanced at the crushed sheet of foolscap on the floor near the hem of the curtains. “There it is.”
“Why ever did you throw it there, sir?”
“I believe I was in a foul temper at the time.”
“That is hardly an uncommon state of affairs for you, is it?” She rounded the edge of the desk. “Really, Monkcrest, you must practice more self-control.”
“I shall keep your advice in mind.”
Beatrice picked up the paper and put it on the desk. Very carefully she smoothed it until it lay flat. “Now, where did I put the first note she sent to me?”
He finally realized what she was doing. “You intend to compare the handwriting?”
“Yes.” She opened the center drawer and flipped through several papers until she found the one she wanted. “Here it is. Look at this, Leo.”
He went to stand beside her as she put the first note on the desk beside the second.
“They do not match.” He studied the notes more closely. “The one you received this afternoon was written by someone other than Madame Virtue.”
“Yes.” Beatrice straightened slowly, a relieved expression in her eyes. “Do you know, although it might have simplified the mystery, I am rather glad to learn that it was not Madame Virtue who tried to lock me in that storage room this afternoon.”
“This turn of events presents other problems, however.”
“Yes, I know. Whoever sent this to me is aware that I am acquainted with Madame Virtue.”
“It was no doubt sent by the same person who employed Ginwilly Jack to spy on us when we met her in the park.”
“Was he the one?” Beatrice asked quickly.
“Yes. I got the truth out of him last night.”
“How did you—Never mind.” Beatrice frowned. “Leo, do you think Madame Virtue might be in any danger?”
“I cannot say. She is a clever woman, well accustomed to taking care of herself. But this afte
rnoon I sent her a message instructing her to be on her guard, just in case.”
“I am relieved to hear that.” Beatrice sank down into her chair, a pensive look on her face. “Do you know, Leo, at first I was only concerned with regaining Arabella’s inheritance and discovering whether or not Uncle Reggie had been murdered. But the deeper we delve into this affair, the more it arouses my curiosity.”
Leo exhaled heavily. “I would take it as an act of merciful kindness if you would avoid the use of the word arouse. I seem to have encountered it with alarming frequency this afternoon.”
Beatrice stared at him in openmouthed astonishment. Then her eyes flicked briefly to the front of his breeches. She turned a brilliant shade of pink.
“Oh, I see. My apologies, my lord. I had not realized the effect it had on you.” She broke off. Her lips twitched. The twitch became a grin.
A second later she threw herself forward on top of her desk, convulsed in laughter.
Chapter 14
The glimmer of moonlight revealed the specter. It glided across the empty ball room, a dancer doomed forever to an endless masque….
FROM CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
“Mais oui,” Beatrice said.
“Mais oui” the three women seated in front of her repeated dutifully.
“It’s one of those useful phrases you can fling about quite casually without any regard to actual meaning.” Beatrice said. “Use it whenever you are in doubt. The same is true of n’est-ce pas.”
One of the women, a stout blonde with the face of a pretty milkmaid, raised her hand. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mrs. Poole—”
“Pardon, madame” Beatrice corrected. “Always remember to refer to ladies as madame, Jenny. It never fails to impress them.”
“Oui madame.”
The other two students burst into giggles. At first Beatrice thought they were mocking Jenny’s accent. Then she realized that all three were gazing past her toward the door of the small room.
She turned in her chair and saw Leo lounging in the opening. His dark head nearly brushed the top of the door frame. An expression of deep curiosity gleamed in his eyes.
“Monkcrest.” Beatrice stared at him in astonishment. She had not seen him since the previous day, when he had taken his leave of her after the incident in Trull’s Museum. “What on earth are you doing here, my lord?”