To Wed a Wild Lord (28 page)

Poppy snorted. “As I said, he’ll do anything to get what he wants—lie, cheat—”

“Is it so hard to believe that a man might just want me for myself?” She choked back tears as years of feeling unappreciated welled up inside her. “Is it really that impossible to comprehend?”

Her grandfather looked as if he’d been kicked in the gut. “No!” He came close. “That’s not what I—”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “You can’t fathom that a lord of his station and family wealth might truly want me. That’s why you were so eager to promote Pierce’s proposal. Because what man would want me otherwise, without lots of money to tempt him?”

“Oh, lambkin, no.” Grabbing her in his arms, he held her close. “It’s not like that at all. It’s because you’re so precious that I worry. I want you to find a man who deserves you. A man of good character.”

“He
is
a man of good character,” she whispered. “You won’t even give him a chance.”

“How can you say that when he killed Roger?”

She lifted her tearstained face to him. “That was an accident, Poppy, and you know it. He’s deeply sorry about what happened to Roger.”

Poppy turned mulish. “What kind of man bullies his supposed friend into risking death?”

“You don’t know that he bullied him.”

“I certainly do.”

The icy certainty in his voice froze her blood. “How could you?” She slipped free of his arms. “You weren’t there.”

He glanced away. “But I know what happened, all the same.”

“How? What do you know about that night?”

He stiffened. “Enough. You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“I see.” Her anger sparked. “You won’t talk about it,
he
won’t talk about it, and you both expect me just to meekly accept your nonsense and choose between you—is that it?”

He stood there stoically, saying nothing.

“Right. Well, it seems to me that if you won’t say what you know, it’s because you’re protecting Roger’s memory. You certainly wouldn’t hide the truth if it meant that Lord Gabriel was at fault.” She thrust out her chin. “And from what I know of his character, he’s probably hiding the truth for the same reason: to protect Roger’s memory. That speaks well of him—not ill.”

“Damn it, girl, that’s not what—”

When he broke off, she lifted an eyebrow. “Feel free to correct my mistaken impression at any time.”

He muttered an oath. “Why won’t you believe me when I say the truth is more complicated than you think? He isn’t the man he seems.”

“Yet you give me no proof of that.” She held out her hand. “I’d like my letter now, please.”

He hesitated, then handed her the paper. She scanned it swiftly. The part Poppy hadn’t read aloud said, “I’m counting the hours until I see you again, sweetheart.” It was signed only, “Your Gabriel.”

With her heart full, she tucked it into her apron pocket to read again when she was alone. Gabriel had spoken no words of love, but she hadn’t expected that. And it didn’t matter. He was offering her what Poppy wanted to deny her—a future with a man she loved.

Even if that love wasn’t returned, it was better than the sort of life she would have with Pierce.
If
Pierce was even sincere, which she doubted. And she truly believed that in time Gabriel would grow to love her, would feel secure enough in her love to tell her his secrets. She had to believe it. Because she’d given herself to him now, and the thought of a future without him was too bleak to contemplate.

When she turned for the door, Poppy said, “I mean it, lambkin. If he comes here Tuesday morning, I’ll shoot him.”

She didn’t answer, because it didn’t matter. Gabriel would never let a threat like that deter him. Somehow he would find a way for them to be together.

If she didn’t find it first.

G
ABE
, J
ARRET
, and Pinter were allowed to attend the entirety of the inquest, held in a small, upstairs room at the coroner’s office in George Street. Gabe wondered if they would have been better off being spared it. The scent of death fogged the air, made even worse by the summer heat and the sight of Benny’s body . . .

Gabe shuddered. He’d been present at Roger’s inquest, too, but only briefly as a witness, and he hadn’t looked at Roger. Here he
had
to look at Benny, who lay swollen and practically unrecognizable on a table. There was no other way he could grasp what the coroner was pointing out about Benny’s injuries.

Gabe had never been forced to see a body so decayed, and he hoped he never had to again. It gave new meaning to the idea of staring Death in the face.

He began to understand why Virginia had been so angry at him for his Angel of Death role. In thumbing his nose at Death, he’d somehow glorified it as well. And there was nothing glorious about a man’s body slowly disintegrating in the cloying warmth of a coroner’s office while his family worried over where he was.

Just as there was nothing admirable in risking life and limb in some sort of futile battle with Death. If Death came for you, there was nothing you could do to stop it. Benny had proved that.

The inquest was blessedly short. The coroner easily determined that Benny had died of a gunshot wound to the chest; the ball was lodged between two of Benny’s ribs.

The local authorities had delayed the inquest in hopes that Pinter might be able to identify the body for certain as Benny’s. Fortunately, despite the amount of decay, Pinter was able to oblige. When he’d interviewed Benny months before, he’d noticed the unusual ring the man wore to commemorate one of the few races he’d won as a former jockey. The body bore that same ring.

The fact that it was still on Benny’s finger made Gabe wonder why the murderer hadn’t stolen it. This hadn’t been highway robbery.

Beyond the information that Benny had definitely been shot to death, the inquest told them little else. No one could determine for certain whether the shooting was accidental, perhaps done unwittingly by a hunter. A couple of witnesses came forth to testify that they’d seen Benny in town two and a half weeks before his body was found, but none of them had seen him with anyone. And no one knew why he had been in town. He’d stayed in an inn for a single night, saying only that he was headed home.

After the inquest, Pinter convinced the constable to take them out to where the body had been found by a boy looking for firewood. Pinter said he wanted to make sure that no crucial evidence had been overlooked in the constable’s haste to get the body into town for an inquest.

After a few moments of tramping through heavy overgrowth, the constable stopped in a small clearing he’d marked earlier with a stake. If they hadn’t known that a body had once been there, they wouldn’t have guessed it now.

Pinter gazed about them. “Surely Benny didn’t come this far into the woods himself,” he told the constable. “Sunlight barely penetrates the trees here. What purpose could he have for being so deep in the forest?”

“Hunting perhaps?” the constable remarked.

“Benny was never much of a hunter,” Gabe said. “He was strictly a horse man. He left the shooting to others. And why would he stop to hunt while on a trip to visit a friend?”

Jarret made a wide circuit of the area in which they stood. He knelt to pick something up, then rose to show them a piece of fabric. “This was caught on some scrub. It’s stained with blood, and it matches the clothing Benny was wearing at the inquest. It looks as if he might have been dragged here after he was killed.”

“If so, it seems unlikely that the shooting was accidental,” Pinter said. “At the very least, someone sought to hide the body. At the worst, he was murdered.”

Gabe’s unease deepened into a chilling fear. “Pinter, do you think this could have anything to do with Mother’s and Father’s deaths? What if Benny saw something back then, and their killer knew it?”

“Then the killer would have murdered him before now,” Pinter said. “It’s been nineteen years.”

“Unless the killer got nervous about our asking questions.”

Pinter let out a long breath. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. It’s odd that Benny chose to leave his home after I spoke with him, and odd that he would die in a shooting. But it might merely be a series of coincidences. We need more information.”

“Someone has to know more about why he traveled to Manchester,” Jarret said. “If not any of the townsfolk here or there, then Benny’s family. One of us should stay in town a while longer to ask questions. I can’t do it—I have to be back at the brewery tomorrow for a meeting, but what about you, Pinter?”

“I have a week or so before I need to return to London,” Pinter said.

“We have to send a letter to the Mays, anyway,” Jarret said, “so they can come claim his body. While you await their arrival, you can ask questions here, then question them when they arrive.”

“If I have any time left afterward, I’ll travel up to Manchester,” Pinter said. “Now that a death is involved, some of the people I questioned before might be more forthcoming with information. It’s worth a try, at any rate.”

“Excellent idea.” Jarret glanced at Gabe. “What about you? Are you staying?”

“I can’t. I made a promise to Virginia.”

“What sort of promise?”

“That I’d ask her grandfather for her hand formally tomorrow morning. If we leave now, I can still arrive home in enough time to be there at first light.”

“Then by all means, we should go,” Jarret said with a broad smile. “You can handle it on your own, can’t you, Pinter?”

“Certainly.”

“Let us know what you learn.” Gabe hated to leave, but he meant to keep his promise to Virginia, no matter what.

Still, he dreaded the journey home with Jarret. His brother had spent half the inquest watching Gabe with concern, and Gabe was in no mood to endure that same scrutiny for the next several hours.

As soon as they got started, Jarret said, “Have you ever been to an inquest before?”

“Only Roger’s,” Gabe said tersely.

“This one must have been nearly as difficult, given your childhood friendship with Benny.”

That was an understatement. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it. I need to sleep. I didn’t get much last night in that noisy inn, and I have to rise early tomorrow.”

Jarret nodded. “Probably a good idea for both of us.”

Thank God. Gabe leaned against the squabs and closed his eyes, but sleep was impossible. He couldn’t get the image of Benny’s bloated body out of his mind. The stench of it seemed to cling to him, and he wondered if it would cling for days—if people would smell it on him and see the horror lurking in his soul.

For the first time in his life, he really felt like the Angel of Death. And he did not like that feeling.

Chapter Eighteen

V
irginia and her grandfather hadn’t spoken since yesterday, keeping out of each other’s way as if by mutual agreement. She’d even taken her meals in her room, which he hadn’t questioned.

Thankfully, he hadn’t questioned her writing to Pierce, either. After her conversation with Poppy yesterday, she’d sent an express to her cousin saying only,
I need you.
He had to set Poppy straight once and for all about their not marrying. The rascal had raised Poppy’s hopes, and now he must help her dash them.

But since Pierce wouldn’t receive the express until today, he might not arrive by tomorrow morning. And with night falling now, she grew anxious. She needed a plan for when Gabriel showed up.

Would Poppy really meet him with a rifle? Even if he did, would he actually use it? She couldn’t imagine that, but neither could she imagine him backing down.

Nor could she imagine Gabriel doing so, even when staring down the barrel of a gun. The man was as stubborn as Poppy, and more reckless. No telling what either of them would do if forced to confront each other.

How could Poppy be so blind? Hadn’t he seen how much interest Gabriel had taken in the farm? Granted, Gabriel wouldn’t inherit it, which meant that eventually she and he would have to leave, but that might be a long time off, and in the meantime Gabriel could be a great help to him.

As long as he’s not off getting himself killed in a race.

She pushed that thought from her mind. Dwelling on it would only increase her doubts, and she was determined to put those to rest. Marrying Gabriel was what she wanted, racing or no.

So she needed to warn him off before Poppy did something daft. Annabel would tell him of Poppy’s threat, but that wouldn’t stop Gabriel from coming here. Perhaps she could slip out at 7:30 tomorrow morning and waylay him on the road—

A knock came at the door and she tensed. “Who is it?”

“It’s Molly, Miss. The general is wanting a word with you in his study.”

She sighed. She should have known she couldn’t avoid him forever. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

When Virginia got to Poppy’s study, she was surprised to find him sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He looked quite weary—and when he lifted his head to stare at her, his eyes held an uncharacteristic bleakness.

“Close the door and have a seat, lambkin.”

The softness in his voice made her instantly wary. She did as he bade, but he didn’t speak right away. He just stared past her as if contemplating a ghost.

“Poppy?”

His gaze finally went to her, and he stiffened his spine. “I’ve thought and thought about it, but I can see no way around it. You were right yesterday. Much as I hate it, I can’t keep secrets from you when you’re letting that scoundrel Sharpe wriggle into your heart.”

She swallowed hard. “What sort of secrets?”

“You asked how I know what happened that night. Well, I’ll tell you.” With a haunted look on his face, he took a long breath. “Your brother came home and told me about it before he went out to face Sharpe.”

The words stunned her. “You knew that Roger was going to race, and you didn’t even try to stop him?”

“No!” He picked up a letter opener, turning it round and round in his hands. “He didn’t tell me specifics. He came in and said, ‘If a man agrees to a wager while he’s in his cups, is there any gentlemanly way he can get out of it? Or does he have to see it through?’