CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The sun shone well above the horizon when Velvet awakened the following morning. And she was in bed alone.

Worry for her grandfather rushed in. Scrambling out from beneath the satin counterpane, she grabbed her blue silk wrapper, yanked open the door, and raced out into the hallway, unmindful of her wild, unkempt hair, rosy cheeks, and overall recently bedded appearance.

Her terrible hours of worry turned to naught. For when she reached the top of the stairs, the aging earl of Haversham stood in the entry, dressed in yesterday’s unkempt, wrinkled clothes.

“Grandfather!” Velvet raced headlong down the stairs, hurling herself into the old man’s frail arms. “Dear God, where on earth have you been? What happened to you, Grandfather? We were worried sick.”

Jason stepped in before the old man could answer. “The earl’s had a long night, Velvet,” he said gently. “I imagine he would like to bathe and change.”

He looked weary and bedraggled. Pity formed a thick knot in her throat. “Yes,” she said, forcing a note of brightness into her voice. “That is a capital idea.”

The old man merely nodded, his shoulders sagging as she had rarely seen them. Snead appeared as if by magic to lead the aging earl away. It was all she could do not to follow them.

Instead she turned to Jason. “What happened? Where has he been?”

“At the bootmaker’s shop in St. James’s. With a man by the name of Elias Stone. Apparently Stone was working late when your grandfather arrived, unable to remember where he lived.”

Velvet’s heart constricted. Dear Lord, she had always dreaded this day.

“They gave him a place to sleep, searched out his residence this morning, and were good enough to see him safely returned.” Jason’s mouth curved up. “Since Mr. Stone refused compensation for his assistance, I have ordered six new pairs of boots for myself and a dozen pairs commissioned for you, my lady.”

Velvet grinned at Jason and he smiled back. Then she released a sigh of relief. “Thank God your brother was not involved.”

Jason’s smile slid away. “No, not in this. We have finally discovered something of which the bastard is not guilty.”

For that Velvet felt untold relief. By afternoon the household had settled back to normal and by nightfall, the earl’s good humor was restored. By bedtime he had already forgotten his misadventure and the servants put on guard so another such happenstance was unlikely to occur.

But trouble had arisen from a totally different direction and Velvet was once more brooding and out of sorts. As soon as supper was ended, Jason approached where she sat in the drawing room.

He lifted her chin with his finger. “You should be dancing on the table instead of moping around, you know. Your grandfather came through unscathed, and my murderous brother’s plans for our demise so far have been thwarted.”

She gave him a smile that quickly slipped away. “Mary Sinclair has returned to the city. Apparently she has reconciled with the duke.”

Jason frowned and leaned back against the sofa. “No one reconciles with my brother. He has commanded her presence and she has obeyed. Apparently Balfour was not prepared to throw caution to the wind and spirit her away.”

“Or Mary wouldn’t go with him.”

Jason grunted. “Then the lady is a fool.”

“Do you think that she is in danger?”

“Possibly. Probably not. My brother isn’t crazy. He knows what he wants and he is simply ruthless enough to use any means at his disposal to get it. At present he wants an heir. He has a wife, so in his mind there is no problem to overcome.”

Velvet said nothing for the longest time. “Mary is in love with Balfour.”

Jason’s eyes swung to hers. “Then perhaps that is the reason she remained with my brother. She is married to a duke. The scandal of her leaving would ruin Balfour. He would lose everything he has worked for. Perhaps she loves him enough that for his sake she is willing to give him up.”

There was something in his eyes. Something she hadn’t seen there before. In some dark way it had something to do with her.

“I want to see her,” Velvet said, “discover if she is all right.”

“You know you can’t do that. Your life would be in danger.”

“Surely the man wouldn’t murder me in his own home.”

“Avery is unpredictable. God only knows what he might do.”

“But we aren’t even sure he is the man behind Celia’s death. Surely if Mr. Ludington accompanies me—”

Jason reached out and grabbed her arm. “I said no. It’s too dangerous for you to go there. I forbid you to go and for once in your damnable life you are going to obey me!”

Velvet swallowed hard. He had never spoken to her in quite that tone of voice. Perhaps in this he did know what was best.

She lowered her gaze. “As you wish, my lord.”

A sleek dark brow arched up. Jason read her acquiescence, apparently believed she was telling the truth, and his hold on her gentled. “Thank you.”

Surprise at his words, then a tentative smile touched her lips. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Jason didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“For me or for you?”

“Because it’s what both of us want. Now that I’ve accepted my failings, I’ve decided to stop trying to behave like a saint.” He cocked his head toward the doorway. “I believe I know a remedy for brooding, my lady. ’Tis a slightly different version of the cure for worrying. Shall I show it to you?”

Velvet wet her lips, anticipation making her suddenly warm. “I believe I should like that.”

Jason’s vivid blue gaze ran over her, hot now and utterly disturbing. His eyes came to rest on the twin mounds rising above her bodice.

“Come,” he said softly. “It is past the time for us to be abed.” Resting a proprietary hand at her waist, he urged her forward and Velvet went with him, out the door and up the stairs.

*   *   *

“The plan is set then?” Jason paced toward Litchfield, who stood beside the mantel in the study.

“Yes. The magistrate has agreed. It is simply a matter of luring your brother into the trap.”

“How have you planned to do that?” Velvet asked. She was seated on a comfortable leather divan sipping a cup of tea, but Jason could tell she was nervous.

“We shall send him a message,” Litchfield told her. “We shall tell him we have uncovered information that will prove he is the man who killed the duke of Carlyle. We will offer to keep the information secret for the sum of ten thousand pounds.”

“And you think he will believe that?”

“He’ll believe it. Blackmail is the sort of thing Avery might attempt himself, under a similar set of circumstances. He’ll believe there is someone willing to keep silent for a price. How he’ll react to the threat we’ve posed is the unknown factor in the equation.”

Velvet’s teacup rattled. “I presume you expect him to arrive at the warehouse alone.”

“I doubt he’ll come by himself,” Lucien countered. “For all his machinations, Avery is a coward. He’ll probably bring one of his henchmen to protect him, but odds are he won’t bring anyone else. He won’t want to risk discovery, should the proof being offered be real.”

Velvet set her nearly untouched cup of tea down on the table. “What if my theory is incorrect? What if he knows that Jason is still alive? What if he guesses that his brother is involved in this?”

Jason sighed. “Unfortunately, that is the rub. If he has somehow discovered my involvement, there is no telling what he might do.”

Velvet rose and walked toward him, slid her arms around his waist and simply held him. “I’m frightened, Jason.”

He kissed the top of her head. “It’s all right to be afraid. The trick is not to let your fear deter you from your purpose.”

“There is no doubt the plan is fraught with danger,” Lucien agreed. “But if it works, Jason will be free.”

Her tall dark husband touched a big hand to her cheek. “I have to take the risk, Velvet. For my father. For me. Time is running out.”

“We’ll take Barnstable and Ludington with us,” Lucien added, “post them outside as guards. If they sense any sort of threat, anything at all, the men will signal and we will simply scuttle the plan and withdraw.”

“I don’t like it, Jason. Nothing is ever that simple.”

Lucien walked toward them, his elegant strides carrying him gracefully in her direction. “Chin up, my lady. The plan is a good one. With Avery’s overblown ego convincing him he is untouchable, we have every reason to believe our scheme will work. All we need is one slip, one indication that he is less than pure in regard to the murder. If we can keep him talking, he might very well incriminate himself. Combined with the evidence we have, it would be more than enough to clear Jason’s name.”

“That’s right.” Jason ran a finger along her jaw. “We have to push him, Velvet, goad him into telling at least a portion of the truth.” He turned to his friend. “The meeting is set for tomorrow night?”

“The note is being delivered even as we speak. Tomorrow night at the docks, we shall discover if our plan will work.”

*   *   *

Avery read the missive his footman had just delivered then read the note again. His fist slammed down on the top of the table. For all his careful planning, for all the time he had spent making certain he was safe, someone knew something about his father’s murder. Damn and blast! He didn’t need trouble like this.

Half an hour later he was ensconced in his study, seated behind his desk, Baccy Willard standing on the opposite side, his thick legs slightly splayed, knobby hands clasped in front of him.

Avery waved the message like a flag of infamy. “Eight years and I’m still not free of it. Whoever he is, the bastard has the gall to demand a meeting. Can you believe it? He says I’m to bring the money to an abandoned warehouse down on the docks. He says that I am to come alone.”

“Ye oughtn’t to go by yerself.”

“I know that. Do you think I’m a fool?”

Baccy just stood there.

“I want to know who this man is. I want to know what he has discovered.” He fanned the note, his mind spinning, pondering events that had occurred over the last few weeks. “That damned girl is involved in this—I can feel it. I don’t believe for a second it is merely coincidence that just a few weeks before this note arrived, Velvet Moran was prowling about, trying to dig up information. Her friendship with Celia was too convenient, too timely. She was looking for something—but what? Why would she want to know about an eight-year-old murder? What would she possibly have to gain?”

“Maybe someone else wants to know.”

Avery glanced up. Sometimes Baccy was a lot smarter than he looked. “Like who for instance?”

He shrugged his beefy shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe ’er new husband. Maybe he’s the one who wants the money.”

Avery shook his head. “The man is married to the Haversham heiress. He has no need of money.” Suddenly he frowned, his mind whirling, picking up pieces, trying to fit them together. “What other reason would a person have, Baccy?”

The big man shrugged “I dunno.”

“Revenge, that’s what. Perhaps the man she married was a friend of my father’s. Or perhaps a friend of my brother’s. Or perhaps he’s related, maybe even some by-blow of my father’s I never knew about.”

Baccy said nothing, but Avery came to his feet. “You’ve seen him. What does he look like?”

“Who?”

“Velvet’s new husband. Who the devil have we just been talking about?”

“Oh.” He shuffled one big foot. “Tall, I guess. Almost big as me. Brown hair.” He glanced up. “He wears spectacles. But I seen his eyes that night in the alley. Blue eyes. The bluest eyes I ever seen.”

The last words hit him like a blow to the stomach. “Blue eyes? The man she married has blue eyes?”

“Brighter than the sky. Like sapphires, they was. The bluest blue I ever seen.”

Avery sank down in his chair. “No.” He shook his head. “It isn’t possible. There is no way it could possibly be him.” Springing to his feet, he rounded the desk, stalked past Baccy and headed for the door. “Come with me.”

Down one hallway after another, Baccy loping along in his wake. Avery led him into the Long Gallery past a row of family portraits to a painting that sat slightly off to one side. “Take a look at that, Baccy. Is that him?”

“Who?”

“Velvet’s husband, you ninny. You said you saw him. Is that the man you saw?”

“That’s you in the picture.”

Avery ground his teeth, desperate to hold on to his temper. “Yes, that is me on the left. Take a look at the dark-haired boy. He’d be older now. A full-grown man nearing thirty. Imagine him taller, bigger. Is that him, Baccy. Is that the man you saw?”

Baccy took several steps closer to the portrait. Then he turned and grinned. “That’s ’im, the man in the alley. It were foggy, but I seen him before at the house, and that night I seen him real good.”

The big hulking bruiser could be wrong, of course, but something told Avery he wasn’t. Turning, he stared once more at the painting, and suddenly he knew without the slightest doubt that the man he would confront in the warehouse was his supposedly long-dead brother.

Seconds passed. Baccy didn’t move and Avery just stared at the portrait.

Then he smiled. “It’s got to be him. It all fits together. The abduction, Velvet’s hasty marriage—my brother always did have a way with the women.” His lips curved. “The bastard’s come back from the dead but he won’t stay alive much longer.”

“Who?” Baccy asked.

“My brother, you dunce!”

“Oh.”

“He thinks he’s got me, but the truth is I’ve got him. I was always smarter than he was.” He chuckled without mirth. “I guess some things never change.”

*   *   *

It was a quiet night on the quay. The sound of water-soaked planks slapped by a brackish sea cut through the moonless evening. The smell of dead fish and mildew rose into Jason’s nostrils as he rode in the carriage with Ludington and Barnstable, making his way toward Lucien’s abandoned warehouse.

Litchfield would be arriving with the magistrate, Thomas Randall. The marquess planned to take him directly to the empty office at the rear of the building without ever seeing the others. Lucien wasn’t taking any chances Randall might recognize the man who was once the young duke of Carlyle, even though he had carried the title for only a few brief days before his supposed murder in Newgate prison.

Jason moved across the room and lit a half-burned white candle that sat atop a crate. He pulled his watch fob from his pocket and checked the time. Lucien was due to arrive in twenty minutes. Everything was set. Success or failure loomed just around the corner.

Now all they had to do was wait.

*   *   *

Velvet glanced up at the ornate grandfather clock in the drawing room. Only five minutes had passed since the last time she had looked. This was turning into the longest night of her life.

“I should have gone,” she muttered, setting her embroidery aside with a sigh, then picking it back up and stabbing the needle determinedly through the fabric. “I should have made them take me with them.”

“What’s that, my dear? Did you say something?” The earl looked up from the book he was reading.

“No, Grandfather. I’m just … I’m just a bit out of sorts tonight.”

He marked his place in the book he was reading. “Why don’t you have Cook fix you a nice warm glass of milk then go on up to bed? That’s what I like to do.” He stood up from his chair and set the heavy leather volume on the piecrust table. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll do just that—go on up to bed.”

Velvet stood up, too. “I don’t think my stomach is up to much of anything, but I’ll fix a glass for you. I’ll bring it up when it’s ready.” She crossed to where he stood, went up on her toes and kissed his frail cheek. “Sleep well, Grandfather.”

He mumbled a sleepy good night, yawned, and left the drawing room, leaving Velvet alone with her turbulent thoughts. Good as her word, she started belowstairs to heat the milk, but Snead appeared as he so often did, and the task was accomplished for her.

At the butler’s insistence, she drank a glass herself, but the usually soothing balm did nothing to calm her nerves. Instead they mounted with every heartbeat. When an insistent knock rapped at the door, Velvet nearly jumped out of her skin.

Snead appeared in the entry at the same time Velvet arrived. With a hand creeping up to her throat, where a rapid pulse pounded, she watched as he checked the peephole then drew back the bolt and pulled open the door.

Cloaked from head to foot, Mary Sinclair, reigning duchess of Carlyle, stood in the opening. “I-I’m sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but I … May I come in?”

With Jason gone to meet Avery, Velvet’s worry soared to gigantic proportions. “Of course, your grace.” She forced herself to stay calm. Snead removed the lady’s hooded cloak, and in the light from the branch of candles on the marble-topped table, Mary’s pale face and trembling lips did nothing to allay Velvet’s fears.

“Lady Hawkins, may we be private? The matter I wish to speak of is urgent.”

Oh, dear Lord. “Follow me. We can speak in the drawing room.” Velvet turned to her as soon as the door was closed. “Tell me what has happened.”

Mary wet her lips, which were tinged with blue and drawn thin with worry. “Your husband is in danger. I-I overheard them speaking in the Long Gallery yesterday afternoon—Avery and one of the men who works for him. At the time, I didn’t understand enough to sort the matter out, not until I saw the two of them tonight, preparing to leave for some sort of meeting.”

The fear in Velvet’s stomach expanded into her chest. “Tell me what you know.”

Mary clenched her hands. “Not enough, I’m afraid. Apparently the duke has discovered some sort of secret about your husband. I believe Avery is going to confront him and that Lord Hawkins is in danger.”

The fear tightened now, clenched into an icy knot. Avery knew Jason was alive. God only knew what he planned. “I have to warn them.” She glanced at the ornate clock. “Oh, dear Lord, there isn’t enough time!”

“Perhaps there will be, if I go with you. My carriage is just outside.”

Velvet paused only a moment. If Mary was discovered helping Jason, God only knew what price the duke might extract. But time was running out. Readying her carriage would take precious moments Velvet did not have.

“All right. Let’s go. And pray we get there before it’s too late.”

*   *   *

The single white candle flickered on the empty crate. Jason flipped open the lid to his heavy gold pocket watch and tried to read the dial in the wavering yellow light. “He’s late.”

“Patience, my impatient friend,” Lucien said from the shadows beside him. “Avery is playing cat and mouse. He intends to be the cat in this game and not the other way around. He is making certain the meeting place is safe.”

Jason thought of Ludington and Barnstable, posted in the darkness across the street. If Avery spotted them, he wouldn’t come inside and the game would be over before it got started. “Randall?”

“He’s in position. And as ready as everyone else.”

But the minutes ticked past and still the duke of Carlyle did not arrive.

Where the devil is he? Jason felt like pacing, but forced himself to stand still. Had his brother discovered the trap? Had he simply declined to come in the belief that the evidence implied in the note was false?

A shuffling sound drew his attention. Litchfield stepped farther back into the shadows as the sagging warehouse door swung open and Avery Sinclair walked into the eerie circle of light thrown by the candle.

For a moment he just stood there, an elegant slender figure cloaked in black, his pale face crowned by his queued-back golden hair. “All right, you bloody scum. I’m here, just as you asked. Now it’s your turn. You’ll have to show yourself, if you expect me to give you the money.”

Jason stepped out of the shadows. The fear and shock he had hoped to witness on his brother’s face never appeared, only a smug, satisfied smile.

“Ah, so it is you, dear brother. I thought so, but of course I couldn’t be sure.”

Jason tensed. Damnation. Avery had known all along. “You don’t seem the least bit surprised. Considering the lengths you went to to be certain I was dead, I find that rather amazing. Then again, most of your brutal tactics have amazed me.”

“Brutal tactics? What brutal tactics? As I recall, you are the murderer in this family. You are the one who was sentenced to hang.”

“But you are the one who is guilty of the murder. Both of us know that. And now I have the evidence to prove it.”

“Do you?” Avery’s laugh rang with menace in the empty room. “I don’t think you have the least chance of proving me guilty of a crime you committed.”

Jason’s muscles tightened even more. The surprise they had hoped for had failed them. Avery had guessed his brother was the man behind the note. Jason had known it could happen. They were praying it would not.

Lucien stepped out of the shadows, continuing to press for some misspoken word that might salvage the situation. “There was a witness, Carlyle. You may have known Jason was alive, but I’m sure you weren’t counting on that.”

Unease shifted across his features then it was gone. “If there is a witness, it is someone you have bribed to lie in my brother’s defense.” He smiled with malice. “If you had any real evidence you wouldn’t have set up this meeting. You would have gone straight to the authorities.”

Jason said nothing. His brother was right. Except in financial matters, no one had ever accused Avery of being stupid.

“Now that I think on it,” Carlyle continued, “your witness magically appears—and my witness has conveniently been murdered.” A noise sounded outside, a rumble of voices that began to build.

Jason glanced at Lucien. There had been no signal from Ludington or Barnstable to alert them. Avery must have discovered their presence and somehow silenced the pair.

“Let’s go,” Lucien commanded.

Jason nodded even as he started for the low door hidden in the shadows, the escape route they had provided.

“Leaving, gentlemen?” Avery’s voice cut across the room, reaching them just as Jason ducked his head and started through the opening. Avery laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Jason!” At the side of the building, Velvet stood in the dark beside Mary Sinclair. Both women were held captive by a pair of stout man’s arms. “It’s a trap! Run, Jason! Run!”

But even her tear-filled warning could not save him from the small army of men that surrounded the building, constables and watchmen, men in Carlyle’s pay.

“Stay right where you are!” a voice of authority shouted from behind them.

Lucien shoved one of the men aside and Jason bolted in that direction, only to encounter half a dozen more a few feet ahead of him. He swung a solid blow to one man’s jaw, kicked out at another, punched a man in the stomach and whirled to run. Three men blocked his path. Someone brought a thick oak club crashing down against the side of his head. Still he fought on. He battled a watchman, took on two more of his brother’s henchmen, went down in a tangle of arms and legs, grunts and groans, and a shower of blows than battered him until he could no longer stand.

The last thing he remembered was the toe of a big black boot landing full force in his stomach, the painful cracking of his ribs, and Velvet’s tearful sobbing.

“Jason!” With a great burst of effort, she tore free of the man who held her and raced to the man on the ground. He was covered with blood, and lying in the dirt unconscious. Heedless of the mud soaking into her skirts, she knelt beside him and carefully smoothed back his hair.

“He is innocent,” she whispered, looking up at the constable and the magistrate who now joined them, tears running freely down her cheeks. “The duke is the man who is guilty of murder.”

Thomas Randall looked hard at Lucien. “What is the meaning of this, Litchfield? I came here under the impression I was to stand witness to the unveiling of a crime. Instead I find you are in league with a man who was sentenced to hang for murder. Do you realize you are aiding and abetting a criminal? That in itself is a serious crime.”

“I realize that, my lord.” The marquess straightened to his rather imposing height. “Unfortunately, it was a chance I had to take. You see, Lord Randall, Lady Velvet and I have evidence that will prove without a doubt Jason Sinclair is innocent of the murder of his father.”

A grumble of disbelief ran through the men.

“Then you should have come to my office with the information. You may do so at ten o’clock in the morning, at which time you may address your claim to the Crown court justices. In the meantime, the prisoner will remain in custody in Newgate prison.”

A whimpering sound escaped Velvet’s throat. Lord Randall turned a hard look on Jason, who had finally begun to stir.

“Take him away, men,” he ordered, and Velvet was forced to stand by while they hauled Jason to his feet and dragged him away.

Lucien’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “’Tisn’t over yet,” he said softly. “We shall hire the best barrister in London. Perhaps what we have will be enough.”

Velvet shook her head. “You know it won’t be. Not against a duke. And now you are also in danger.” Velvet looked up at him. “Dear God, Lucien, they could throw you into prison along with Jason.”

His hand squeezed gently. “Rest easy, love. I brought Thomas Randall into this, one of the most respected magistrates in the city. That in itself will show my sincerity. I don’t think I am in danger. It is Jason we must watch out for.”

A thought occurred and Velvet’s head snapped up. “And Mary,” she whispered, turning just in time to see the duke leading his errant wife back toward the ducal carriage. “Sweet God, what will he do to her?”

Lucien frowned. “I wish I knew. We can only pray that she is able to convince him she was worried for his safety as well as that of Lord Hawkins.”

Velvet looked over at Jason, whose arms were now tied behind his back. His face was bleeding and he winced with every step they forced him to make. With a harsh jab in the ribs and last rough shove, one of the men thrust him inside a waiting carriage. The door slammed closed and the vehicle lurched away. Velvet blinked back tears.

“Jason is telling the truth,” she said, “but no one will believe him.” Her gaze swung to the ornate Carlyle carriage, just beginning to roll off down the street. “And even to save herself, Mary Sinclair will not be able to lie.”