Beyond Seduction

Chapter 20

In the wee hours of the morning, Gervase, Madeline, Edmond and Charles trudged into the castle forecourt and slowly climbed the front steps. They’d followed the coast all the way from Kynance Cove, and as Gervase had prophesied, seen nothing.

Along the way they’d farewelled those of his workers who’d fought with them and who lived in villages they’d passed. On the top of the steps, Gervase turned to the small band remaining. Grooms and stablelads, they were wilting, feet dragging, but their faces stated they’d enjoyed being a part of the adventure, and catching the wreckers had been worth every rough moment.

He smiled. “Thank you for your help. We might not have caught our gentleman villain, but we’ve done well by the district in rounding up the wreckers. Off to your beds-I’ll tell Burnham you’re excused until midday.”

They grinned sleepily, bobbed their heads in salute, then shambled off, some to the stables, others around the castle.

With Madeline beside him, her hand in his, Gervase turned and followed Charles and Edmond into the front hall.

Sybil, Penny and Sitwell were waiting.

“Thank Heaven!” Sybil enfolded Edmond in a hug, then looked at Gervase and Madeline. “Just look at the pair of you-did you have to swim?”

He and Madeline glanced down at their clothes; once the storm had passed, the night had turned mild, but they were still damp and plastered with sand.

Tightening his grip on Madeline’s hand, he met her eyes. “We’d better go up and change out of these clothes.”

“Indeed,” Sybil said. “We don’t want any chills.” She looked at Edmond, still within her arms. “And as for you, young man, there’s a warm bed waiting upstairs-we’d best get you into it before you fall asleep on your feet.”

Edmond grinned at her; the fact he didn’t argue but allowed himself to be steered toward the stairs screamed louder than words that he was exhausted. He waved sleepily back at Madeline and the others. “Thank you for coming to rescue me. Good night.”

Madeline and Gervase smiled, waved and echoed his good night.

Penny, meanwhile, had been welcoming, then inspecting, her husband. Finding a cut on his hand, she hissed in disapproval. “Men and their swords.”

Charles chuckled and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Come on-if the dogs are in our room, we’d better get up there before they start barking. You can tend my injuries there.”

Penny frowned at him. “How many are there?” But she consented to be towed to the stairs. She nodded a good night to Gervase and Madeline as they passed. “We’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Late.” Charles didn’t look back.

Gervase and Madeline grinned. He caught her eye. “We’d better head upstairs, too.” He lowered his voice. “And get out of these clothes.”

They started toward the stairs. Behind them, Sitwell coughed. “I assume Mr. Dalziel and the marquess will be returning tonight, my lord?”

“They will.” Gervase didn’t halt. “They’re mounted-they shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Very good, my lord. I’ll lock up once they’re in. I’ll leave a message for Burnham that his boys should be allowed to sleep late. And we’ll hold breakfast back until nine.”

“Thank you, Sitwell.” His gaze locked on Madeline’s sea-green eyes, Gervase wound her arm with his. Slowly they climbed the stairs.

They reached the gallery to see the light from Charles and Penny’s candle fading down one corridor. One candlestick remained on the side table; Madeline picked it up and sighed. “Dalziel’s going to be disappointed, isn’t he?”

Gervase steered her to the right. “I fear so. If they’d caught our villain, word would have reached here before us. I don’t know how he got off that beach…perhaps he didn’t, not safely.”

Madeline studied his face in the flickering candlelight. “But you don’t believe that.”

His lips quirked self-deprecatingly. He met her gaze. “It’s the logical, most likely explanation, yet…no. I think he managed to slip past us somehow. He’s made a career of that-of slipping through Dalziel’s nets.”

“I can imagine that goes down well.”

He grunted. “Indeed.”

They strolled slowly along, then he said, “You called Dalziel fixated, and to some extent he is, but just like the rest of us, now the war is over he must have a life waiting for him, one he has to return to.”

“You think after this he’ll give up-resign?”

“Christian said some weeks ago that he thought Dalziel was ‘tidying up.’ This villain-our last traitor-is almost certainly the last item on Dalziel’s list. If after everything else is settled that item remains unresolved, then yes, I think Dalziel will lay the list aside, walk away and get on with his life.”

She considered, then murmured, “For one of his ilk, that will require considerable resolution.”

He nodded. “Now you’ve met him, do you think he hasn’t it in him to close the door and leave the past behind?”

She thought, then conceded, “No, but it won’t be easy.”

Gervase guided her toward the door at the end of the wing. “Agreed, but ultimately he’ll have little choice. He’s not a career soldier, like all of us were. He doesn’t hold any commission. He was never in the Guards or any other regiment. Quite how he got to where he is, how he came to fill the position, we’ve never learned. But when he leaves it, he’ll leave Whitehall altogether-he’ll leave it all behind.”

“As you all did-but it’s followed you, hasn’t it?”

He grimaced. “True, but when Dalziel walks away, I suspect that truly will be the end.” He paused before the door, captured her gaze. “We’ve come close to this villain twice. The instant Dalziel appears, or as in the previous case, was about to appear, our villain drops everything, kills anyone who knows his identity, and vanishes. That’s why I think he escaped us on the beach-because he saw Dalziel and did something so desperate none of us can even guess what. You saw him, one of the smugglers saw him. He was there-but then he saw Dalziel, and he wasn’t there any longer.”

“I imagine most villains would run from Dalziel. Whoever he is.”

Gervase nodded. “That’s why I think we won’t see him again, and why it’s unlikely Dalziel will get another chance to lay hands on him. He was here, in the district, to pick up his thirty pieces of silver, but by their nature and by his leaving them so long in France it’s clear he doesn’t need the money. Now he knows Dalziel knows of his lost cargo, he won’t risk coming back to get it. No matter the attraction, it’s no longer worth the risk. And that-taking possession of his thirty pieces of silver-was the last act in our villain’s game. The war’s over-there are no more moves to be made.”

She frowned. “So Dalziel himself represents some special threat to this villain?”

He opened the door. “For whatever reason, for this man, Dalziel himself is the ultimate risk-the ultimate threat.”

He ushered her into the room, closed the door, watched as, pensive, she walked to a chest of drawers and set the candlestick upon it. Stirring, he followed her. She turned as he reached her. Raising both hands, he framed her face, looked into her lovely eyes. “But now that’s over for us, for all those here. The danger’s passed-Ben’s safe, Edmond’s safe…” He held her gaze. “Above all, you’re safe.”

She looked into his eyes, her own clear and unshielded, then she smiled, closed her hands in his jacket and tugged him nearer. “And you.”

He lowered his head and kissed her-she lifted her face and kissed him back, generous, welcoming, infinitely giving.

Releasing her face, he reached for her, closed his arms around her and drew her flush against him. Angled his head, deepened the kiss.

And gave them both what they wanted.

Simply let loose the pent-up passion, the inevitable reaction to those fraught moments on the beach. Suppressed until now, passion became desire, and desire transmuted to need; it swirled up and through him, and flowed into her, welling, swelling, seeking release.

His unqualified surrender let her do the same, let her gift him with her passion, her desire and her need, in response, in reply.

For long moments, nothing else mattered but that simple communion, that long-drawn-out kiss, that recognition, that savoring, that elemental understanding.

They needed this. For much the same reasons, they had to have this-this moment, this time, this reassurance.

This knowing. A primitive acknowledgment that they’d both survived, that both were there, whole and unharmed, triumphant and victorious.

That underneath all, regardless of all, each meant the world to the other.

Need welled, burgeoned, filled them.

Their lips parted; they caught their breaths, lips burning, lids lifting, eyes meeting from only inches apart, and suddenly, desperately, they needed it all.

Had to share all they were. Had to seize all, each heated second, each heartbeat, each touch, each burning caress.

Clothes shed, peeled from damp flesh, then let fall unheeded to the floor to scatter and heap as they would. Getting their wet boots off left them both laughing, an insane moment of indescribable relief before their gazes clashed, and hunger, both familiar and different, somehow edged with something finer, keener, some deeper shade of meaning, flared anew.

Took hold and drove them.

Into each other’s arms.

Into heated nakedness where the only thing that mattered was to feel hot skin against skin, to grasp and caress, to touch, to worship-to possess.

To want.

Beyond words, beyond description.

Gasping, nearly blind, they tumbled onto clean sheets, onto a thick mattress that cushioned and cradled, amid pillows that tumbled around them.

She spread her thighs, clasped his flanks; he rose over her, reached between them and cupped, caressed, and she cried out.

Shifting, he bent his head, captured her lips, took her mouth, then with one powerful thrust joined with her.

Whirled them into the familiar dance.

Familiar, yet different.

Acceptance, a knowing; closeness, a giving. The moments spun out, spiraled, stretched.

Together they strove, together they gloried.

They reached the familiar peak and clung…until ecstasy shattered them, fractured them, fused them-left them floating, drifting as one, exquisite satiation flowing through their veins, the slowing thunder of their pulses a soothing rhythm in their ears.

With love, simple and pure, a shining magnificence filling both their hearts.

Dawn broke; about them, the castle awoke. Slumped amid the tangled covers of his bed, they slept on.

The sun was slanting in through the windows when Gervase awoke.

Even before he opened his eyes, even before his mind engaged, he knew. At some primal level he recognized, not just the warm body lying half over him, her breast pressed to his chest, his arm cradling her, her long legs tangled with his, but what had changed.

What had lent their familiar landscape that gilded edge.

His lips were curving even before he opened his eyes. He glanced at her, at the jumbled tumble of rippling locks that screened her face. Felt her stirring, as if sensing his wakefulness, she was waking, too.

Then awareness reinfused her limbs. Raising a hand, she brushed her hair out of her face and glanced up.

He smiled-at her, into her eyes. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so joyous, let alone letting it so blatantly show.

Puzzled, she searched his eyes. “What?”

His smile only deepened. He looked up at the canopy to hide any smugness in his grin. “You’re going to marry me.”

She didn’t immediately reply. He glanced down-and saw it was taking her a moment to assemble a frown. She managed one, of faint disgruntlement rather than anger, and directed it at him. “Why do you think that? I haven’t agreed to accept any offer, nor have you made one, if you recall.”

His grin returned. “I know. But I will, and you will. You’ve made your decision. You’ve made up your mind.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t know that.”

Holding her gaze, he smiled, a softer gesture. Lifting one hand, he smoothed back her hair, but kept his eyes on hers. “I do know. You’re in my bed. Naked in the Earl of Crowhurst’s bed where only countesses of Crowhurst have ever lain.”

Arching her brows, she struggled up; leaning on his chest, she made a show of looking around the large room.

He laughed, rocking her; he closed his arms loosely around her. “You knew that last night when we came in. You didn’t bother mentioning it because in your mind it no longer mattered.”

When she looked back at him, he tightened his arms in a gentle hug. “And you were right. You belong here. In this room, in this bed, with me. This is where you should-and will-spend your nights for the rest of your life. Here, with me.”

She continued to look at him as if uncertain how to deal with him, with his sudden and absolute knowledge.

He arched a brow and tried for a vulnerable expression and tone-not easy at the best of times. “Am I wrong?”

Entirely unintentionally Madeline laughed. Still trying to narrow her eyes at him, and failing, she pushed back from his chest to flop on her back beside him, so she could stare at the canopy, too. “I do hope this isn’t going to be a habit of yours-being so disgustingly all-knowing.”

He chuckled; finding her hand with one of his, he linked his fingers with hers, raised them to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Only with you.”

She humphed.

After a moment-a moment in which they both, she was sure, looked ahead into the joint future that had, entirely unexpectedly, opened before them-he asked, “What persuaded you? What changed your mind?”

She was silent for a while, thinking back. Eventually, she said, “As you no doubt intended, it’s been made transparently obvious to me over the past several weeks that you are truly in desperate need of a wife, not least to manage all the aspects of your life as earl that you are patently ill-equipped to deal with yourself, and that Sybil, your sisters, Muriel, my brothers and with few if any exceptions the entire local community-and even your ex-colleagues and ex-commander-believe that duty should fall to me.”

“And that convinced you?”

She heard the surprise, nay, skepticism, in his voice and smiled; he did know her well. “No. That only made me more uneasy. Everyone here had viewed me as a lady who didn’t need to marry, who’d been excused from marriage for over a decade, and then, just like that, they changed their minds? They might have been right, but what did they know of me?” She waved dismissively. “I’d never been a young lady looking for marriage-they’d never seen that side of me. I’d never put it on show. They’d seen me only as my brother’s surrogate…what did they know of that other me?”

He waited a heartbeat, then asked, “So what tipped the scales my way?”

She felt her lips curve. “You…and in a strange way, our villain, or rather his machinations and how we dealt with them. You, in that you made the effort to see me, the real me. You never had before, but then you somehow stepped back and gained a different, deeper and truer perspective…and once you had, you didn’t retreat but instead started to deal with me as me, not as who everyone else thought I was. That was strange and unnerving and unsettling at first, but…in some ways it’s been a freedom, a freeing. With you, I can be who I am without any veil or disguise-I can be the me I never thought I’d have a chance to be.”

His lips brushed her fingers again. “The woman you thought you had to keep hidden, locked away, forgotten, in order to care for your brothers.”

No question, she noted. She nodded. “That was, and still is, a strong point in your favor, but not the only one, not the principal one.”

“Not the one that persuaded you to change your mind.”

Again she nodded. “My list of reasons for not marrying you were in retrospect less relevant-important in their way, but not the critical question. When I made that list, I didn’t truly know, didn’t fully comprehend what that critical question was. Is. But then you set about demonstrating that my listed reasons weren’t as I’d thought-which left only that critical question unresolved.

“That was where we were when you told me you wanted to-had from the first intended to-marry me.” She turned her head on the pillow, met his eyes. “That was the moment when I suddenly found myself facing that critical question and-so very unlike me-I discovered I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t even know how to learn it.”

She paused, studying his amber eyes. He didn’t ask, merely raised his brows and waited; she smiled. “There was no single moment, no sudden revelation. Almost immediately Ben was kidnapped, and I didn’t have time to think about that question. But the answer crept up on me. It wasn’t what you did, the actions you took to get Ben back, and then rescue Edmond, although I was grateful”-she squeezed his hand-“more grateful than I can say, that you were there to help me get the boys safely back.”

Drawing in a breath, she tried to find the words, the right way to explain how it was that, as he’d correctly divined, she now knew her path beyond question or doubt. “It wasn’t what you did, it was how you did it. How you deal with someone is a reflection of how you see them, and throughout these last crazy days you’ve dealt with me in only one way-as if I were already your wife, as if you could no longer see me as anything else, as if the answer to my critical question was, at least in your mind, taken for granted.”

She searched his eyes, then drew breath and said, “My critical question was whether you loved me. I knew I loved you, but didn’t know if you returned my regard, not to that degree. But even if you did, I didn’t know-couldn’t see-how you could manage to convince me…but you did.

“You demonstrated the answer rather than gave it to me in words, and your actions spoke loudly and clearly. I understood what it cost you to let me go onto the beach at Kynance Cove alongside you-but you did. You accepted that, for me to be me, it had to be that way-you bent, adjusted to accommodate me, even though I knew that what I’d asked was one of the most difficult things for you, being you, to grant, to allow.”

She looked into his amber eyes, clung to the understanding she saw there, exulted in it. “You showed me that despite being so alike, especially in that way, we could still have a life together, that we could be close, could share all the moments of a life, the difficult as well as the easy, that we could build a full life and enjoy it together while still being us-you being you and me being me. You showed me that your love and mine would allow that to be.”

Smiling, she let her certainty show, let it light her eyes. “And that’s what I now want-to spend the rest of my life with you, by your side, filling that space everyone seems so certain I was meant to fill, loving you and having you love me.” Her smile eased; she felt it grow more serious, but no less sincere. “If that’s what you want, then I want it, too.”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, although his lips were relaxed in an easy line. Shifting onto his side, he raised a hand and framed her face, looked into her eyes as though through them he saw her soul, as if he spoke to it. “That’s what I want-that’s the most important thing I would ask of life. I’ll never be whole, never be complete, unless I have you as my wife, beside me, mine…” He drew a tight breath. “Mine to love and care for, to build and enjoy a life with, to have at the center of my life, my heart, my soul.”

He hesitated, then leaning close touched his lips to hers, then he drew back and met her eyes. “I haven’t made a formal offer. What I would rather ask is that you be mine so that my life can revolve around you, now and forever. Will you marry me?”

She smiled, a trifle mistily. “Yes.”

She kissed him, or he kissed her; it mattered not to either who made the first move. Wriggling her arms up, she wound them about his neck, held him to her.

His lips on hers, Gervase inwardly smiled, and locked his arms around her. He had her now, she was his and he would never let her go.

Two hours later they walked into the breakfast parlor to find everyone else had got there before them. Sybil, Belinda, Annabel and Jane called cheery good mornings. Returning their greetings, acknowledging others, Madeline was surprised to see Muriel and all three of her brothers seated at the table avidly chatting with Dalziel, Christian, Penny and Charles.

Muriel leaned back and caught her hand. “We had to come. Harry and Ben couldn’t wait to hear what had occurred-and I couldn’t either.”

Madeline smiled, squeezed Muriel’s hand, then followed Gervase to the sideboard.

They helped themselves to sausages, kidneys, ham, kedgeree and kippers, then Gervase held the chair beside his place at the head of the table for her; once she’d settled, he took his seat.

Edmond was relating what had occurred when he’d been seized. “The man-the London gentleman-told me he already knew that we’d found the brooch on Kynance beach. He told me so I wouldn’t bother lying. All he wanted was for me to point out where on the beach we’d found it-so of course I pointed at the middle.”

Christian nodded. “Very clever.”

“What happened when they reached the cove and discovered the tide was in?” Charles asked.

Edmond explained, describing events much as they’d imagined them-that the man had cursed, then driven away with the lady, leaving his gathered crew hiding in a barn. He’d returned alone on horseback just before sunset. Later still, they’d stumbled into the arms of the wreckers, and, as they’d guessed, their traitor had persuaded the local villains to lend him their aid.

From Dalziel’s and Christian’s politely urbane expressions and the tiredness behind their eyes, it was obvious they had no good news to report regarding their London gentleman. Gervase caught their eyes, arched a brow. “Not even a sighting?”

Dalziel’s lips turned down in a grimace. “He must somehow have slipped behind us.”

Charles shook his head. “God only knows where he was hiding.”

Madeline, studying her brothers with a sister’s fond eye, noted the light-a light she knew to be wary of-shining in Edmond’s and Ben’s eyes. She followed their gazes…to Dalziel.

She glanced at Harry, but he hadn’t been as exposed to Dalziel as the other two. Then she looked at Christian, Charles and Gervase…and fought against the urge to narrow her eyes. Dalziel, she suspected, was one of those men who too often proved to be a dangerous influence on a certain type of suggestible male. To her mind, all the males at the table, except Dalziel, fell into that certain suggestible class.

As for Dalziel himself, she doubted he was in any way suggestible; he was a man born to rule.

“If only there were some way to get just one good clue to his identity.” Dalziel’s eyes held a faraway, distant, predatory look. “It seems he doesn’t want me to see him, which presumably means I’ll recognize him…but none of you others will.”

“None of the men he’d brought from London had any idea? An address? A way to make contact?” Gervase looked at Christian.

Who shook his head. “Not a clue. He walked into taverns in London, hired them, and gave orders to gather down here in a run-down cottage. He spoke to them there a few times. Other than that, they never saw him and have no idea where he might have been staying. He always wore a muffler and hat to shade his face, even when he was pacing up and down on Kynance beach.” Christian looked across the table at Edmond. “Edmond’s description was the same.”

Edmond smiled shyly, shifting under their gazes, then he glanced at Dalziel. “Perhaps Lady Hardesty knows his name.”

All conversation halted. Everyone turned to stare at Edmond, puzzled…

Dalziel made the connection first. “The lady in the curricle?”

Edmond nodded, but the action was uncertain. He looked up the table to Madeline and Gervase. “I haven’t met her but I think it was her. Tall, oldish, dark-haired-and she wasn’t from around here. She was wrapped up in a cloak and kept the hood around her face most of the time, but she had a London accent, like the man.”

Further down the table, Belinda leaned forward, peering at Edmond. “Did she have a mole-just here?” She pointed to a spot just above the left corner of her lips.

“Yes!” Edmond nodded. “I saw it. It was black.”

Belinda looked at the others and nodded. “Lady Hardesty. Katherine and Melissa mentioned the mole.”

Madeline recalled, nodded too. “She does have a mole there.”

Around her chairs scraped as all the men got to their feet.

Dalziel set down his napkin. “You’ll have to excuse us.” He nodded to Madeline, then Sybil. “We need to reach Lady Hardesty as soon as we can.”

Madeline remembered that their villain had a habit of killing all those who could identify him. She felt herself pale. “Yes, of course.” She pushed back from the table.

Gervase had already sent a footman flying to the stables for four fast horses to be saddled and brought around. He exchanged a glance with Madeline, then led the men to the gun room for pistols.

The ladies looked at each other, then, breakfasts forgotten, everyone rose and went out to the front hall, milling before the open front door.

The men came striding back, each carrying two pistols, checking them while Gervase described the way to Helston Grange, Robert Hardesty’s house.

Hooves clattered in the forecourt. Charles bussed Penny on the cheek as he passed. Gervase paused to brush his lips across Madeline’s. “I don’t know what we’ll find, or when we’ll be back.”

She squeezed his arm, nodded and released him. “Go-and good hunting.”

Dalziel heard and saluted her as he went past. His face was set.

The four checked saddle girths and stirrups, then mounted. In less than a minute, they were wheeling toward the forecourt’s entry arch.

With Sybil and Penny flanking her, Madeline stood on the porch and watched them go. “I just hope they get there in time.”

Sybil patted her arm, then gathered the youngsters and ushered them indoors.

Penny remained beside Madeline, staring at the dwindling figures of their men. “I hope they reach her before him, but from all I’ve heard of this blackguard, we’re going to be disappointed in that, too.”

Madeline glanced at her, met her eyes. After a moment, they turned and went inside.

They covered the distance to Helston Grange at a blistering pace. It was the first time Gervase had ridden with Dalziel; he wasn’t surprised to learn his ex-commander was as bruising a rider as the rest of them.

They arrived to discover the majority of residents at the Grange had yet to rise for the day. When summoned to his drawing room, Robert Hardesty came rather diffidently in, puzzled rather than irritated by the intrusion.

“Lord Crowhurst.” He smiled at Gervase and extended his hand. “It’s been rather a long time.”

“Indeed.” Gervase grasped his hand, nodded curtly. “I apologize for the abruptness, Robert-we’ll explain in a moment, but it’s Lady Hardesty we’ve come to see. It’s urgent that we speak with her.”

His grim expression-and those of Charles, Christian and Dalziel ranged at his back-made Robert’s eyes widen. Then Gervase’s request sank in. “Ah…they-my wife and her friends-tend to keep London hours. I doubt my wife would be awake-”

“Lord Hardesty.” Dalziel captured Robert’s gaze. “We wouldn’t be here, making such a request at this hour, were the need not great. If you could send a maid to summon your wife?”

Robert Hardesty blushed. His gaze shifted away. It was apparent he didn’t know if his wife was alone in her bed. But then he swallowed, flicked a glance at Gervase and nodded. “If you insist.”

He rang the bell, gave the order.

Gervase was conscious of the urge to pace, something he rarely did; he could feel the effort Charles and Dalziel were making not to circle the room. Tension rode them all, unnerving Robert Hardesty even more than their expressions.

Then they heard the first scream.

Gervase pushed past Robert and headed straight for the stairs, Dalziel on his heels. He didn’t have to look to know Charles and Christian had gone the other way, out of the front door to circle the house. Just in case.

There was no need to ask for directions; they followed the screams, gaining in intensity, rocketing toward hysteria.

Reaching the room at the end of the wing, they opened the door. A maid was backed against the wall a few feet away, her knuckles pressed to her mouth, her eyes huge, her gaze fixed on the bed.

On the figure sprawled across it.

The bulging eyes, the protruding tongue, the necklace of bruises ringing the long throat, the indescribable horror of what had once been a beautiful face clearly stated that life was long extinct.

Dalziel pushed past and went to the bed.

Gervase grabbed the maid and bundled her out-into the arms of the butler who had come rushing up. “Lady Hardesty’s dead. Sit her”-he nodded at the maid-“downstairs in the kitchen and give her tea. And send for the doctor.”

Although plainly shocked, the butler nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He turned the now-weeping maid away.

Gervase went back into the room.

Dalziel withdrew his fingers from the side of Lady Hardesty’s bruised throat. “Not cold, but cooling. She’s been dead for hours.”

He turned to the long windows giving onto a balcony; one was open. Gervase followed Dalziel out; the balcony looked toward a stretch of woodland bordering the Helford River.

Dalziel pointed to muddy scrapes on the railing. “No mystery how he got in.”

They looked over and down. A gnarled wisteria with a trunk a foot thick wound up one supporting post to weave its tendrils through the ironwork railings. Gervase grimaced. “It couldn’t have been easier.”

Charles came out of the woodland along a path. He halted below; hands on hips, he studied their faces. “Dead?”

Dalziel nodded. “Anything down there?”

“He came up from the river.” Charles waved at the path behind him. “His footprints are clear, definite-he knew what he was doing, where he was going. There’s a rowboat drifting-he probably stole it from somewhere along the other side.”

Dalziel exhaled. “I doubt there’s anything left for us here, but in case anyone knows anything, we’ll speak with all the guests.”

Christian had appeared from the other direction; he and Charles nodded, and headed back to the front of the house.

Gervase and Dalziel reentered Lady Hardesty’s room to find Robert Hardesty standing just inside the door, staring at his dead wife. His face was blank, empty; the expression in his eyes, when he looked their way, was lost.

Dalziel inclined his head and stepped past; at the door, he glanced back at Gervase. “I’ll speak with the butler.”

Pausing before Robert Hardesty, Gervase nodded. He caught Robert’s bewildered gaze, and spoke calmly, soothingly. “The doctor’s been sent for-he’ll be here soon. He’ll know what to do.”

Dumbly, Robert nodded. He glanced again at the bed; his composure wavered, threatened to crack. “But who…?” He looked at Gervase, stricken and frightened. “People might think it was me. But I didn’t -”

“We know it wasn’t you. She was killed by a man-a London gentleman-we understand she was acquainted with. She was seen with him for a short time yesterday afternoon. The man is a known killer and a traitor-we believe he killed her so she couldn’t identify him.”

Robert Hardesty stared at him; Gervase couldn’t tell how much of his words he was taking in.

Then Robert turned and looked again at the bed. “My sisters, and my aunt, were right. They said she, all her London connections, weren’t…good. I should have listened.”

Gervase gripped his shoulder. “When it comes to women, sometimes even young girls see more clearly than we.” His sisters certainly had. He took Robert by the arm. “Come and have some brandy. It’ll help.”

Without resistance, Robert let Gervase lead him from the room.

It took them over two hours to interview all the guests at Helston Grange. All of them were accounted for; none of them was their villain, or at first blush knew anything of him.

Dalziel and Gervase handled the interviews while Christian spoke with the staff and Charles roamed outside, speaking with the gardeners, grooms and stable hands.

When they finally met up on the front steps, their expressions were unrelentingly grim.

“Our man never stayed here,” Dalziel replied in answer to Charles’s arched brow. “However, two of her ladyship’s bosom-bows are certain she had a long-standing liaison with some gentleman of the ton, one that predates her marriage by some years. They believe the liaison continued, although very much more sporadically, after her marriage. The lady was free with her favors and had many other lovers, but the only lover she treated with absolute discretion, to the extent of not sharing his name or any detail of him with these two friends, was this old flame.” He paused, then went on, “They believe he’d come down here, and that she’d been seeing him over this summer, but neither knows anything more.”

Christian shifted. “Her maid, who’s a local, thinks much the same-that despite the other lovers, including some of the men currently here, there was some man she knew from her past who she was seeing again clandestinely. According to the maid, he never came to the house.”

Charles grimaced. “One of the gardeners thinks she and some London gentleman-tall, dark-haired, our usual suspect-have been using one of the old garden sheds down by the river for assignations.”

“Which,” Gervase said, “confirms that our man wasn’t one of the guests, but very likely was this old flame.”

“And,” Charles went on, resignation filling his voice, “there’s a horse missing. A nice chestnut gelding, plus a good saddle and tack.”

They fell silent, then Dalziel quietly cursed. “The blackguard’s escaped. He’s gone.”

For one instant, they all toyed with the notion of giving chase, then remembered in how many directions a man on a horse could have gone.

His face set, an impassive mask, Dalziel stepped down from the porch. “All that’s left is for us to go home.”