The Dark Regent Page 8

  “Do not move. I’ll be right back.”

  Grinding his teeth, Crispin took the stairs two at a time to the great hall as the hammering continued. He barked as he flung the massive oak door wide. “What the hell do you want?”

  Two men were standing on the stone step, the rain pouring off their bowler-shaped helmets and black oilskin slickers. Even without seeing the crest on their helmets, Crispin knew they were from the Royal Constabulary.

  “May we come in, sir?”

  “Yes, of course.” He stood back to allow the men to enter. Their expression was bland as they shook the rain from their slickers and removed their hats.

  “This is Constable Martin and I am Sergeant Welland. We hope we are not disturbing you, sir, but we have some rather distressing news.”

  Crispin nodded. He composed his face, his blood pounding in his ears. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “It is about your sister, Mrs. Jocelyn Heathcote. I am very sorry to tell you ... she is dead.”

  HE BLINKED and bowed his head to collect himself. When Crispin returned his gaze to the men, they exchanged glances, as though evaluating his reaction to the news.

  “Jocelyn is dead? When—how?”

  “We were hoping you could help us with that, sir. Your sister’s body was discovered by her housemaid at four o’clock this afternoon. She was found on the floor beside her bed. She was wearing her nightclothes, sir. And it appears she had been dead for several hours. We were hoping you could shed some light on what might have happened.”

  “My sister suffered from frequent headaches. She used laudanum on occasion to help her sleep. She would take it in a cup of hot milk so the servants wouldn’t find out.”

  Constable Martin scribbled down the information in a small black notebook.

  “If it was to help her sleep, can you explain why she would take laudanum in the middle of the day?”

  “I can’t. Jocelyn has been unwell for some time. Complaining of nervous spells and so on. She might have retired early if she was feeling poorly.”

  “I see. It could be that Mrs. Heathcote mistook the dosage. The doctor’s examination has shown cause of death to be respiratory failure. It appears she became unconscious, possibly due to suffocation, and then died.”

  “Good God.” Crispin touched his forehead and came away with sweat beading on his fingers.

  Sergeant Welland shot a second glance at his colleague. “There is one issue, sir, that has come up in the investigation and we were asked by the London Constabulary to question you about it. Merely routine, but we must be thorough in an unexplained death. You understand.”

  He nodded. “Yes, of course. What can I help you with?”

  “A gentleman was seen leaving Mrs. Heathcote’s house yesterday at approximately half-past one in the afternoon. A witness has identified the man as you, sir. The individual only glanced out of an upstairs window and could not state categorically that it was you. Could you perhaps shed some light, sir?” The sergeant coughed delicately.

  Crispin cast his eyes about trying to frame a response. “I—I don’t understand what it is you are asking, Sergeant.”

  “Ah,” grunted the man. “Let me be clearer. Captain Wolfe, was it you leaving the deceased’s house less than three hours before she was found dead of an apparent overdose?”

  “I was at my club, the Regency. I don’t know who this man was or what business he had with my sister.”

  “Quite right, sir. Naturally, an officer was dispatched to your club to inform you of your sister’s death. The concierge there said you received a message from Mrs. Heathcote at approximately ten-thirty in the morning. You left the establishment shortly thereafter for King’s Cross Station. Is there anything you would like to add, sir?”

  “No, the account is accurate. I was at my club when I received Jocelyn’s message.”

  “Can you tell me, sir, what was in that message?”

  “My sister was ... she was ... she wrote to say....”

  Fawn’s voice cut through the air. “What has happened to Aunt Jocelyn? She was to arrive on tomorrow’s train. What is the matter?”

  Crispin turned to see Fawn descending the stairs and his heart caught in his throat. She was wearing a white, slightly rumpled frock that fitted her poorly and was fifty years out of fashion. Her hair was held off her face with an ivory comb. She looked positively virginal.

  His gut twisted. Where did she find that frock? She must have rummaged through the wardrobe in the guest bedroom. His mouth dried. He dared not speak, for in this moment, Fawn held his life in her hands.

  “Good evening, miss. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I’m Sergeant Welland. Who might you be?”

  “I am Fawn—Fawn Heathcote. Jocelyn Heathcote is my aunt on my father’s side. We are here for a family holiday on Captain Wolfe’s estate. We came ahead on the one-thirty train and my aunt is arriving tomorrow morning. What has happened?”

  Crispin blinked again. The sergeant seemed to expect him to say something to break the tragic news. “There has been an accident, Fawn. Jocelyn will not be joining us. I am sorry to tell you this ... I am so very sorry. Your aunt is dead.”

  Fawn crumpled to the stair. “No ... oh no, God ... oh dear God, no....”

  “Miss, the concierge at the Regency states that Captain Wolfe received a note from his sister at half past ten this morning. Can you tell us what happened next?”

  “We went on to the station to settle our luggage and purchase the tickets.” Her voice shook. Tears ran down her face. “Aunt Jocelyn was not feeling well; she suggested we make the arrangements and open the house and she would follow on the evening train. Captain Wolfe stopped at his club to settle some business and take refreshment before continuing the journey. While we were there, a note arrived from my aunt saying she was feeling better but would not be on the evening train after all. We should send the carriage to pick her up at Stokesbay Station at eleven o’clock the following morning—which would be tomorrow.”

  “I see. Now, this is very important. We have an eye witness who saw Captain Wolfe leaving Mrs. Heathcote’s house at roughly one-thirty this afternoon. What have you to say to that?”

  Chapter Ten

  CRISPIN’S SHOULDERS tensed, waiting for her answer.

  “I’m afraid this witness is mistaken, sir. It is impossible. My guardian was at King’s Cross with me at that time. We arrived in Stokesbay at four-thirty. He had some business to attend to in the village, so I left him and continued on to the estate. I was anxious to see the ocean.”

  Sergeant Welland smiled indulgently. “In this storm? I don’t imagine that was such a treat.”

  “Oh, but it was! I arrived before the storm broke and the sky was a peculiar green. The sun was just setting, shining through the clouds on the horizon. I thought I was in heaven. I’ve only known London and its fog and soot. Hawkcliffe Hall and the sea are like a paradise.” She turned her gaze to Crispin and met his eyes steadily. “I have the note Captain Wolfe received from my aunt if you care to examine it.”

  “That won’t be necessary, miss. You’ve been most helpful. Can you confirm for us then that your uncle—that is to say, your aunt’s brother—has been with you all day?”

  “Yes, certainly. The captain has been with me from ten o’clock this morning to the present hour. Save for the business he had in the village, he has not been out of my sight.”

  Crispin rubbed his mouth. He was fully in Fawn’s debt. Whatever power he’d had over her was lost. She would never consent to be his mistress now.

  “Is there anything else you require from me?” he asked the sergeant. “Do we need to return to London?”

  “The coroner will hold the body for autopsy. It will be released at the end of the week to make the funeral arrangements. You may give your niece a nice holiday, sir, before the unpleasantness. My own daughter loves the seaside.”

  Sergeant Welland lowered his voice. “Sir, my report will have to include the young lady
’s statement and that will likely close the investigation. We may never know the identity of the gentleman who was seen leaving your sister’s house this afternoon.”

  Fawn spoke up from her seated position on the stair. “Perhaps the gentleman was Aunt Jocelyn’s doctor? My aunt’s physician has had to attend to her in person these past few months when she is too unwell to visit his office. He refills her prescription of laudanum. Could he be the man your witness saw?”

  Sergeant Welland’s face brightened. “Ah! I believe you must be right, miss. That is the likeliest explanation. A tragic accident, I’m afraid. These overdoses are becoming more frequent of late. Doctors ought to exercise more care with their patients.”

  Constable Martin led the way, opening the door for his sergeant.

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Crispin rubbed a hand over his face. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Both men settled their helmets on their heads, tipped their brims and left Hawkcliffe Hall.

  CRISPIN SLAMMED the door behind the officers and leaned against it. His brow was damp with sweat, his hands trembled and his stomach twisted with tension.

  He lifted his eyes to the stairs. Fawn was watching him closely.

  “Did you keep the note?” he said. “Or was that a lie as well.”

  “I have the note,” she said. “I can give it to them at any time.”

  “Why didn’t you give it to them now?”

  She bit her lower lip and looked away. “I know why you did it. I am to blame for all of it. You said you would kill for me. Now Aunt Jocelyn is dead and I have helped you escape justice. I had to! I could not have your death on my conscience as well as hers.”

  Crispin leapt to the bottom stair. “I am not going to pretend I grieve Jocelyn’s loss, or that I didn’t loathe her vanity and heartlessness—but I did not kill her! She was her usual clinging, petulant self, spouting her poison—I could not reason with her. She said if I left her house, she would take her own life. What she did, she did out of spite. Jocelyn was alive when I left her.”

  “Oh no ... Crispin....” Fawn wept openly. “You ought not to have left her in that state.”

  “If I had not left her, you would be dead—smashed on the rocks! Would you have me pretend to regret my decision? There was nothing wrong with her nerves. She took to laudanum when I refused to go to the parties and the tedious salons she insisted we attend. Jocelyn wanted a well-groomed monkey, not a brother. Should I have chosen differently and saved her over you?”

  “Yes! She was your sister—your blood! Look at where this obsession with lust and betrayal has brought you, Crispin. One day they will arrest you for her murder!”

  “Even if I swing for Jocelyn’s death,” he cut in with a roar, “I would not change a thing because you are safe! But I did not kill her and on that, you must believe me.”

  Fawn’s eyes burned. Her skin was melting from her flesh under his intense stare. “Believe you?” she repeated distractedly. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Fawn rubbed her forehead in anguish. “It was wrong of me to lie for you. You deserve prison, but I couldn’t! I cannot! You are the only person who has not abandoned me. My mother’s family—my father’s family—they have all discarded me. Only you remain. Only you pulled me back from the cliff. There is no one else.”

  Fawn buried her face in her hands. “I am so ashamed of my selfishness ... you have no idea ... because you have become ... necessary to me ... and I can’t ... I can’t....”

  Something had changed between them. Crispin could feel it. “What can’t you do, Fawn?” He was scarcely breathing. “Tell me.”

  Her face lifted. Fawn searched across the gloom and stillness in the hall to lock eyes with his.

  “I can’t get free of you, Crispin. I’m not sure that I want to.”

  Wolfe closed the distance between them and Fawn shrank back wondering what she had unleashed. The man was a killer and she had helped him go free.

  His eyes had darkened to indigo; his mouth was set in a firm unyielding line. Fawn stumbled back against the rise of the stairs. She gripped the banister, her breath coming in shallow gasps—panic and a feeling of inevitability clutched at her stomach. Her lips were cold and her teeth chattered.

  He didn’t speak. Why did he not speak?

  Crispin moved past her to climb the stairs. He stopped on the landing, then turned and looked down at her. “Come along Fawn, it is time for bed.”

  It was not yet eight o’clock—neither of them was sleepy. She knew what Wolfe was suggesting and on what grounds could she object? Hadn’t she led him to this moment? Wasn’t it fated the instant she lied to the police to save him?

  Fawn rose trembling to her feet. Gripping the banister, she slowly climbed the stairs. She found him in the master bedroom, standing at the casement window. Fawn hovered uncertainly in the doorway, watching him as a fox watches a hound. His shirt was open, revealing his muscled chest. Lightning flashed in the room, blinding her and illuminating him in his tight trousers and high black leather boots.

  “Come inside. Close the door behind you.”

  She moved cautiously to the bed.

  “No, not there. Come here, where I can see you.”

  Fawn dutifully stood in front of him. Crispin cupped her face in his strong hands and looked into her eyes. “Are you frightened?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “But you are also ... stimulated.”

  She nodded, blushing, deeply ashamed of her attraction to him. “I think I must be a wicked girl to be in this room with you. Perhaps my relatives could see what I was and that’s why they refused to keep me. Perhaps you could see it too and it’s the reason you were drawn to me.”

  Crispin bent and brushed her lips with his own. “The fault is entirely mine. I will not have you believe a false version of yourself. You are innocent.”

  “But you mean to ruin me anyway,” she said softly, awed and confused by the complicated feelings she had for Crispin Wolfe.

  “This fire will not be extinguished by any other means. I’ve tried many remedies. You are a fever in my blood, Fawn. I feel half out of my mind when I’m with you and dead in my soul when I am not.”

  He kissed her deeply, parting her lips with his tongue and slipping it inside her mouth. She resisted at first, overcome by feelings of shame that this man should excite her so easily. And then, wrapped in his arms, his broad hands holding her face tenderly, her cheek pressed against his muscular chest that smelled of the wind—Crispin’s possession of her seemed right and fitting. He was her protector and whether out of a sense of duty or gratitude, she gave up fighting his desire and her shame.

  Fawn lifted her arms to his neck and surrendered her secret self to him. She pressed against Crispin’s lean, muscled body nearly swooning from his slow, deliberate, breathtaking kiss. Forbidden sensations thrilled her veins.

  And then, an emotion she did not seek, did expect to find with him, crept into her consciousness like a long-forgotten dream.

  Love.

  Was she falling in love with her aunt’s killer?

  Fawn drew back slightly, uncertain and deeply shaken.

  “No, no—I cannot. No,” she said breathlessly. “I will not jeopardize my soul by dishonoring Jocelyn so soon after her death. Not for any reason. No! The answer is still no.”

  A groan sounded deep in Crispin’s chest as he swung her up in his arms. There was no time to protest. He carried her to the looking-glass and set her on her feet in front of the mirror.

  She clung to him, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her emotions running hot and cold.

  “Open your eyes,” he growled. “See the temptation I’ve endured for six months. How your hair hangs like brown silk, tendrils of sweet satin that conceal a sultry innocence. Mysterious eyes that cast down demurely whenever I look your way ... your creamy complexion, pale with fear until a bloom of rose stains each youthful cheek when you are aroused.” He tugged the laces of the fragile white gown. “As y
ou are now....”

  His expression was solemn and heated. The garment opened and slipped from Fawn’s shoulders, exposing her breasts. The gown bunched about her waist.

  His searing, steady gaze held hers in the mirror for a long, shattering moment. Then his sapphire blue eyes flicked from her collarbone to her erect breasts.

  “Do you see what I have ached to claim these past twelve months? The need has driven me wild.” His voice was a hot wind against her neck. “Every night that you refused me was another blade ripping through my chest. I became your slave at the expense of my social status, at the expense of my prospects, at the expense of my very soul. I have lost everything in pursuit of you. I can’t free myself from you, Fawn. I don’t ever intend to.”

  Crispin placed his huge hands on her breasts and squeezed each one gently, firmly, with an insistent, seductive rhythm. Fawn leaned back against his broad chest, her mouth falling open as a moan released from her throat. His erection pressed against her back just above her buttocks, shocking her. Her mind separated from her body.

  “This is what I see when I look at you ... a beautiful, shy girl beginning to be curious ... to want a man to touch her....”

  His gaze was white hot, searing her. Crispin dandled his rough fingertips over each nipple, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Like sandpaper on velvet—she bit her lip, choking back a sob. What Fawn saw in the mirror was a girl she didn’t recognize. A girl in the thrall of a battle-scarred soldier bent on using her for his sexual pleasure—and she could not summon the will to stop him.

  Everything was colliding at once and so quickly. Their reflection in the mirror—this dark new electricity between them—the desire they had for each other would burn their souls to the ground.

  Like ice down her back, Fawn came to her senses and pulled the nightgown up over her breasts, quickly tying the ribbons at her throat.

  Crispin watched in the mirror but made no move to stop her.