Once Upon a Wallflower (12 page)

“Of course there is an alternative: leave well-enough alone!”

“Nicholas, I have to disagree. It is imperative that your name be cleared of these murders before we marry.”

“Why?” he sputtered. “I have already explained that it does not matter to me what other people think and, while I might hope that one or two people should think better of me, for the most part I truly do not care. I live a solitary life. What could it matter what the empty-headed gossipmongers in London think of me? No one is about to arrest me, and beyond that, you must believe me, I have little care for the consequences of the rumors.”

Mira shook her head sadly. “Nicholas, soon your life will not be so solitary. I must confess, this is not about you at all. It is about me and any, um, children we might have.” She colored at the mention of children, ducking her head to avoid his gaze. “Have you considered that the scandal which clouds your name will shadow us as well? If you are not received in company, I, as your wife, will not be received either. And, even worse, if the scandal persists, our children will lead a lonely life, filled with scorn for something not of their doing. You may not care about what others think, but for my sake and the sake of the family we will make together, I do.”

When she finished her explanation, Mira looked up to find Nicholas staring back at her with the most remarkable expression on his face, an expression of puzzlement and wonder and frustration and satisfaction all mixed together.

Suddenly, then, he leaned forward until his face was just a whisper away from her own. He raised his hand to stroke one finger along the curve of her ear, and then he pushed his fingers through the baby-fine hairs at the nape of her neck, pulling the hair loose from its pins, until his large warm hand wrapped entirely around the back of her head, cradling it gently but firmly.

Mira gasped at the sudden intimacy of the gesture, and before she could release that breath of surprise, Nicholas closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a tender, searching kiss.

Mira’s lashes fluttered closed and, with only an instant’s hesitation, she returned his kiss, her own lips moving softly against his. Her response elicited a groan from Nicholas, more a vibration than a sound, and he deepened the kiss. While his right hand continued to cup her head, steadying it carefully, his left hand rose to caress her jaw, his fingers gently but insistently stroking the tender skin at the corner of her mouth until her lips parted. When she gasped again, she drank in Nicholas’s warm breath, redolent of sweet smoky tea and something sharper. Cloves, perhaps. Mira timidly ran the tip of her tongue along the supple curve of flesh of Nicholas’s lower lip. Definitely cloves, and still another taste that she could only describe as
Nicholas
. He was delicious.

Nicholas responded to Mira’s overture by pulling her closer and plunging his own tongue deep into her mouth with a sudden tender ferocity, drinking in her essence like a man dying of thirst. She raised her hands to the hard wall of his chest to steady herself beneath his passionate onslaught. His heart raced beneath her fingers, his breath filling his body in deep ragged gulps.

Then, as suddenly as the kiss began, Nicholas ended it. His mouth left hers, but his hand continued to cradle her head, fingers massaging gently, and he rested his forehead against hers. His hot breath fanned her face, sending shivers of delicious sensation over Mira’s skin.

When Nicholas finally leaned back, somewhat more composed, he pinned Mira with his insistent gaze. “You will not investigate the murders of those young women, do you understand me?”

His words were like a dousing with cold water, shocking Mira out of her pleasant, muzzy haze. She sat upright, pushing against his hand in a fruitless effort to break free of his grasp. “My lord, we are not yet wed. You do not yet own me. I shall do as I see fit!”

Nicholas’s fingers tightened slightly in her hair, and he gave her head a gentle shake of exasperation. “This is not a question of marital power. You silly goose. Have you considered that you nosing about, asking questions about the murders, might put the real villain on the alert? God forbid, what if you stumble onto the truth? Do you think that a man who has killed at least two young women, quite probably three, will simply say, ‘Jolly good show, old gal, you got me!’ No, Mira, you will be putting yourself in very real danger. I cannot have that.”

Mira stilled, considering his concerns. It was true, she had not thought much about the possibility that her investigation would prove dangerous, only that it would be difficult. But Nicholas was right; her inquiries could draw the attention of the true culprit and make him nervous enough to want to eliminate her. It was a chilling thought. On the other hand, she could not see that she had much choice. “I am moved by your concern, but I believe that the truth is worth the risk. I will simply endeavor to be discreet in my inquiries.”

Nicholas drew back farther still. He removed his hand from the back of her head, only to twine one scarlet lock of her hair about his finger. He studied it closely, appearing fascinated by its texture and color. “Discreet?” A ghost of a smile passed his lips. “Somehow I doubt discretion is your forté.”

He let the curl slip from his finger and tucked it carefully behind her ear. Looking into her eyes again, he sighed. “Well, Mira, you leave me little choice,” he said. “If you are determined to throw yourself in harm’s way, I will simply have to follow you there. I will accompany you on this fool’s errand of yours. Perhaps I can keep us both from meeting an untimely end.”

Mira’s face lit up. “Truly, Nicholas? You would help me?”

He nodded with glum resignation.

“Excellent! I thought that this afternoon I would venture into Upper Bidwell, speak with one or two people there. Does one o’clock suit you?”

Nicholas squeezed his eyes tightly closed, as though he were about to plunge into a cold bath and could not bear to look. “One o’clock it is.”

Chapter Ten

Nicholas met Mira in the cavernous entryway of the modern portion of Blackwell Hall. He had taken the time to shave and dress as respectably as possible. The good people of Upper Bidwell viewed him with everything from cold suspicion to outright hostility. He knew his presence on this mission would not be conducive to loose tongues and candor, and that suited his purposes perfectly.

But he did not wish to embarrass Mira by appearing unkempt and unlordly in public, giving the gossips even more fodder. If only Mira Fitzhenry knew the pains he had taken on her behalf, he thought, as he slipped a finger between the high starched collar of his shirt and his tender, newly shaved neck.

Mira appeared promptly, a bundle of fiery energy in a bright blue day dress and her dark green shawl. It was clear she had gone shopping before traveling to Cornwall. He had yet to see a single gray dress on her since she had arrived. The bright, crisp colors she had chosen suited her, putting apples in her cheeks. She looked as fresh as a rain-washed spring morning.

“Nicholas! It has occurred to me that we should have a map.”

Nicholas couldn’t hide his smile at her efficient, business-like tone. “A map? I assure you I know my way around this area quite well. I will not get us lost.”

Mira huffed. “I am confident of your sense of direction, sir. But I think it would be useful to look at a map of the area, attempt to locate where Bridget Collins and Tegen Quick were killed relative to various structures and roads so that we might ascertain their movements on the nights they died. I think a map would help us gain a sense of perspective. And I think it would be most useful to study the map before we begin asking questions, so we can do a better, more thorough job of it the first time around.”

“Ah. Well, then, if it is a map you want, it is a map you shall have. After all, this is your investigation, my dear. I am simply along for intimidation purposes.” He smiled at the thought of himself as the noble protector, so out of character for him.

He suggested they look in the library for a volume of local history or, perhaps, a survey of the surrounding area.

Mira gasped when she walked through the library door and saw the tightly packed floor-to-ceiling shelves. “So many books!” she breathed, voice hushed with awe.

Nicholas smiled. “And you may read every last one of them, if you wish.”

By silent agreement, Nicholas undertook the task of finding an area map. Mira stood quietly back, eyes scanning the collection with a covetous gleam, while he dragged the library ladder over to the corner in which the estate books were kept. Within a few moments, he had located a decent map, in a book that was not yet crumbling to dust. He caught Mira’s attention, and they both crossed the exquisite Aubusson carpet to meet at a round table in the middle of the room.

He laid out the map for her to study, and, after a few moments, began pointing out salient landmarks for her.

“Here, of course, is Blackwell Hall, right on the edge of the cliff, with the tower out here on the promontory. Upper Bidwell is due south of the Hall. From what I understand, Bridget Collins was found here, at the stone circle, which is almost due west of Upper Bidwell, west and just a little north, between the village and the coast. Tegen Quick was found, um, about here. I’m not precisely certain where, but I know it was at the foot of the cliff beneath this pathway, so let us say about here.

“Is it possible,” Mira said slowly, “that both girls were on their way to or from Blackwell?”

“Only if they were lost,” Nicholas said with a smirk. “Both girls lived in Upper Bidwell, and if they were traveling to or from Blackwell they would have taken the same road you did coming here, traveling due north from the village to the estate. They were both well off that road. I suppose if they were trying to travel without notice, but even so they would have been going far, far out of their way.”

“So what is there, where they were? What is between Upper Bidwell and the sea?” Her tone was contemplative, giving the words a sing-songy quality like a child’s riddle.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” he answered. “Look, perhaps it makes sense to consider Tegen Quick’s route first, as she was actually found near an established pathway. That pathway starts in Upper Bidwell and curves across the moor and around this little bit of forest, heading north and west to reach the coast about midway between Blackwell and Upper Bidwell, at a small inlet where a few of the fishing boats put in. But there the path begins following the line of the coast to the southwest, away from Blackwell, all the way down to here,” he rested his finger on a slight indentation on the map, “where there is a somewhat larger inlet where more of the local fishing boats moor themselves. As the daughter of a fisherman, Tegen would know that pathway and those inlets. Perhaps she was going there.”

“But why? Why would she be going to a place where boats moor in the middle of the night?” Mira shook her head. “What else is along this pathway?”

“Again, not much.” Nicholas sighed. “The only sheltered spot along that pathway is the cottage at Dowerdu.”

Mira’s head shot up. “Dowerdu?”

“Yes, it is a Cornish word meaning—”

“I know,” Mira cut off his explanation with an impatient wave of her hand. “Wasn’t Bridget found near Dowerdu?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so. Not very near.”

“Where exactly is the cottage, Nicholas? Show me on the map.”

Nicholas tensed, but did as she asked, pointing to a spot right on the coast, due west of the village.

Mira gasped. “Nicholas, if you traced a path as the crow flies between Upper Bidwell and where Bridget was found, and you continue along it, you would reach the coast very near Dowerdu.”

She began to pace in agitation. “So let us assume that both young women, for whatever reason, were traveling to Dowerdu. Why would they take such different paths?”

“Because Bridget Collins wasn’t a fisherman’s daughter. She wouldn’t have been as familiar with the path Tegen took.”

Suddenly Mira plopped down onto an upholstered footstool, her skirts billowing out about her legs as she did so. She raised her hands to her face and nodded her head slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed. Nicholas marveled at the picture she presented, so enrapt in her thoughts, her energy focused so profoundly. She might have forgotten he was even present, she appeared so intent on figuring out this puzzle.

“All right,” she finally said, having apparently convinced herself that Nicholas’s logic was sound. “So they were both traveling to or from Dowerdu when they were killed. But why?”

She huffed a small sigh and answered her own question. “To meet a man.”

“Why a man?” Nicholas countered, more to play devil’s advocate than to really challenge her conclusion. He could not imagine much in the world that would drag two hardworking girls from their beds in the middle of the night other than a tryst. Still, if she was intent on being logical, all possibilities had to be considered. “What if they were going to meet a woman, or a group of people? Or just out for a stroll?”

Mira shook her head, sending her blazing curls bouncing. “No, they were going to meet a man. Quite possibly the same man.” She looked up at him then, her expression a bit sheepish. “You see, I have already made a few, very discreet, inquiries about the murders. And I know that both Tegen Quick and Bridget Collins were romantically involved with a wealthy man.”

A stirring of dread moved in Nicholas’s gut, but he forced a demeanor of detached curiosity, cocking an eyebrow and smiling faintly. “And how, pray tell, have you arrived at this conclusion? Unless someone actually knows the identity of the man in question, how can anyone be certain that he was wealthy?”

Mira frowned. “I do not wish to betray any confidences.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, clearly trying to determine how much she could tell him without exposing her source. “Suffice it to say that both Bridget and Tegen were in possession of certain gifts—in Tegen’s case, certain intimate gifts—which bespoke a benefactor with resources.”

Nicholas sighed, suddenly feeling old and cynical. “So really, Mira, you are looking only for a man with enough money to buy a bauble or two.”