Part 3 (1/2)

”John did have numerous affairs.”

”True, but he rarely kept them secret. I have spoken with some of his former inamoratas. Few of them remember him fondly, describing him as selfish and arrogant. But he has been involved with no one here in at least three years-which merely makes the story more scandalous. The gossip-mongers-are avidly trying to identify the lady in question. Their list of candidates grows daily, as does the list of proposed killers-a furious father, an incensed brother, a cuckolded husband, the lady herself-but I've found no evidence to support any of it.”

”So you believe there is nothing to it?”

He nodded, sighing. ”Turnby hated John. He also hates you. I think he started the rumors that you killed John, just as he exaggerated those accusing you of killing your father.”

Turnby hated him? That was news. Turnby had been one of the few servants whose support he had counted on throughout childhood-which would have drawn John's malice, he realized on a new wave of guilt. Turnby must have discovered that supporting James brought painful consequences. Who could blame the man for publicly condemning him? He might even believe it by now.

”Could Turnby have killed John himself?”

”I doubt it. He isn't strong enough-he must be all of sixty- and he has always retaliated by using lurid accusations. He may have killed a few reputations, but I've never known him to raise a hand to anyone.”

”Then why bring this tale up at all?”

”That is the problem with Turnby. Many of his tales contain elements of truth. Only a fierce hatred could survive for months. Debauching the wrong woman might do it. Or John may have betrayed a partner in some business venture. Or cheated a compet.i.tor.”

And he did not know that Turnby had started the tale, James reminded himself sharply. That was Isaac's a.s.sumption, and he was already questioning Isaac's impressions. He had never known Turnby to lie, though the man had a knack for learning truths others wanted to deny. ”So where does your investigation stand?”

”Nowhere. I have no evidence and no suspects. Your brother made enemies. Many enemies. Rumors abound-that he fleeced people through cheating and fraudulent investments; that he worked hand in glove with smugglers; that he abused servants and tenants; that he injured girls in some of the less reputable brothels in Birmingham and London. His supposed crimes are countless, but most take place elsewhere, so I have no way of confirming the truth. No one here admits to being a victim. Even those who swear they've witnessed misdeeds will not provide names. Most folks consider his killer a hero, for no one deserved death more than John Underwood, earl though he was.”

Dear G.o.d. If even half the charges were true, John's vices were worse than he had thought. Gaining the earldom must have removed the last restraints on his behavior.

Goose b.u.mps trailed down his arms. Here was yet another reason for the locals to distrust him. Most people expected identical twins to have identical characters. Pacing his own past had been intimidating enough. Now he had to face his brother's and try to repair the damage. How low had John sunk?

An affair. Mary had been one of John's inamoratas-and not one whose ident.i.ty was generally known. James would have sworn she was not the jealous sort, but then he had not known her as well as he had thought. When had the liaison ended? If it had been before her marriage, John might have threatened to expose her.

But that did not fit the facts. Her husband had died long before John.

”Did John have any friends?” he asked suddenly. A friend might know who had the strongest grievances, and might reveal the information to John's brother. People often spoke more freely to those who were not officially investigating crimes.

”Very few. His closest was Lord Northrup, but he died more than a year ago.”

”How?”

”Stumbled over a cliff after imbibing a little too freely at the l.u.s.ty Maiden,” Isaac said dryly, naming the local inn. ”I suspect his wife was not the only one relieved by his death.”

James raised his brows.

”Northrup was unwelcome in area drawing rooms. He shared most of John's vices but none of his charm. Lady Northrup had the entire responsibility of raising his siblings and seeing after the estate. At least her mourning is now complete so she can reenter local society. And her next husband will treat her better.”

”Is she planning to remarry?” The question was not as idle as he made it sound. If she had despised her husband, she might already have a replacement in mind. If John had known, he might have tried to blackmail her. That was a lot of ifs, but it fit her reaction on meeting him in the forest. In retrospect, her eyes had contained more fear than shock. Whatever her feelings for John ten years ago, at the time of his death she had hated him.

”No, but she is a beautiful woman who will hardly remain alone for long. I am considering offering for her. Constance has been gone for two years now, and I still need an heir.”

”Is she capable of producing one? No one has mentioned any children, and I understand she was wed for several years.”

”Seven, but Northrup was rarely at home, so that means little.” He sighed. ”As to John's death, are you sure you want to pursue it?”

He nodded.

”Then perhaps you can help me. You look more like John than ever. People's reaction on seeing you might show how they felt about him. Stay alert. Perhaps you can find something that will point us in a more productive direction.”

James took his leave.

He had not expected to find himself in danger, but now he had to consider the possibility. John's death had not resulted from a sudden fit of pa.s.sion. He had been deliberately murdered. If it had been done in reprisal or because of a quarrel, the killer would have no reason to bother him. But that was not guaranteed.

What if the killer had suffered continuous mistreatment until he broke under the pressure? Faced with an exact replica of his nemesis, would such a man strike again? By poking into John's life, he might become a target. Thus he must remain alert at all times. It was not a comfortable idea, but justice demanded action.

An affair gone sour. He could disprove one theory immediately. Isaac would never consider offering for Mary if he knew about her affair with John, so it must not be common knowledge. How far might she go to protect her secret now that she was seeking a husband?

If she had arranged John's death, then threatening to expose her affair should trigger an attack on him. And not just because of Isaac. She had much to lose if society learned of it. A tarnished reputation was doubly serious for a girl who had not been born to the aristocracy. Marrying up had left her vulnerable. The truth would destroy her social standing and keep her from attracting a new husband.

If it is the truth, whispered a voice in his head.

But if the tale was false, she had an even better motive for murder. John's claims could have ruined her.

Stupid! This was getting him nowhere. No evidence connected Mary to John's death. He was as bad as Isaac, chasing after phantoms-and with even less cause. Imagining her guilt was a way to dissipate the l.u.s.t that had gripped him from the moment she had ridden around the corner.

He did not want her to be guilty, he realized with a sigh. But he could not ignore the possibility until he had disproved it. The uncertainty was already eating holes in his stomach.

Mary set aside her mending as Justin crossed the drawing room. He had grown four inches since she had last seen him. His shoulders were broader and his face shockingly tanned. But every remnant of childhood was gone, leaving him too much like Frederick despite their difference in coloring. The length of his hair, the pallid blue eyes, the square chin, the oversized hands-all the same.

She s.h.i.+vered.

There were differences, of course. His nose was longer, his face narrower. His light brown hair had been bleached nearly blond by the tropical sun. He was muscular instead of paunchy, and smelled of horses and sandalwood rather than stale wine.

But the most obvious difference was demeanor. Justin exuded a confidence Frederick had never managed. He knew what he was doing and why, with neither the dithering nor the arrogance Frederick had employed. Justin would never need a mentor to point the way. Then there was expression. Frederick's face had always been furtive, as if it concealed vast stores of secrets. Justin's face was open.

Or seemed to be. Some men hid secrets behind charm. Others were cordial in public but brutal in private. So she must tread warily. He was Frederick's brother, which already gave him one black mark. And after years in the military, he would be accustomed to rough company and gruesome sights.

He also controlled her future. If he chose, he could turn her off or demand she remain here as a virtual slave. Even the jointure her father had negotiated as part of the marriage contract was worthless if the estate had no funds. All her hopes rested on him. A reasonable man would find a way to buy that cottage she wanted so badly.

”You look wonderful, Mary,” he said, bowing over her hand.

”As do you. India obviously agreed with you.”

”I wouldn't go that far, but I survived with my health intact. How are the girls?”

”Charming, as you will see for yourself. They are in town just now but should be back shortly.”

They discussed his trip and his relief at having escaped India's sultry heat. But he skirted all topics of import. Was he trying to gauge her reaction to his return, or did he believe she was of no account? He would have to accept at least a temporary alliance, though. Even the steward did not know everything about the barony and the estate. But that could wait.

”I have scheduled a dinner party tomorrow, in honor of your return,” she finally said. ”The Earl of Ridgeway and two of his friends are visiting the Court, and the Holcolmes are entertaining an unmarried cousin. Perhaps one of them will find Amelia interesting. She is rapidly approaching the shelf.”

He frowned. ”I had not considered that. How is it that she is twenty and still unwed? Is there a problem?”

”Only money. She has no dowry and no means of staging a come-out. You know your father left little beyond the estate.”