the vicar had warned about. Beau dared not approach her now until he had all the facts necessary to persuade her immediate removal. And those facts had not yet fallen into place.
Was she still safe? She’d been so ten days ago, for the message Ellie had written him when she’d arrived home at Wentworth Hall pointedly mentioned they’d left Mrs. Martin with their warmest thanks and a promise to meet again soon—his sister had underlined the word.
With more fervency than his manipulating sister could have dreamed, Beau wished to meet Laura Martin again soon. The month since he’d last seen her seemed an eternity. He would never have imagined that in the brief few weeks they’d spent together she would have so infiltrated his heart and mind that being away from her would create this raw sense of loss.
He missed the subtle loveliness of her presence, even garbed in hideous brown gowns, her low-pitched voice expressing some pithy comment or shimmering with humor as she joked with Kit. He missed the soft rose scent of her perfume, the polished mahogany sheen of the curls that escaped those ridiculous dowager caps. He craved the sight of her inquisitive eyes and angled chin as she gazed up at him with that endearing sparrow look.
Knowing he’d otherwise go mad with frustration and fury, he cut himself off from remembering any detail of their last night together, when she’d given herself to him with such innocent eagerness, proving to his amazement that a woman who’d borne a child could still be so heartbreakingly ignorant in the ways of pleasure. And yet he’d been fiercely glad that he was undoubtedly the first to unlock its secrets for her, exulting to know that special bond was theirs, theirs alone.
Though he might by supreme act of will block out the memories, he could not filter from his blood the sharp edge of need she’d created in him. In a curious way, the sense of her with him, in him was nearly as acute now, when hundreds of miles separated them, as it had been across the narrow space of her bed.
Each day that passed without bringing him the information he needed to claim her intensified both his impatience and his urgency, destroying his sleep, shortening his temper such that increasingly he found himself biting back the first, acid comment that came to his lips.
In fact, he realized with mild chagrin, given the lowered voices and apprehensive looks his household staff had treated him to for the past week, he must have been less successful in stifling such comments than he’d thought. A knock at the study door interrupted his resolve to do better.
His secretary entered, a sheaf of papers in his outstretched hands. “The reports from the West Indies and Bombay for which you’d been waiting, my lord.”
“Thank you, James, and be seated, if you please.” Indicating the armchair in front of his desk, Beau quickly perused the documents.
“We have in our possession the ledgers listing bills of lading as they were filed upon the ships’ landing in London?” Beau asked after a moment.
“Yes, my lord, and as you expected, the cargo amounts on the bills of lading from the ships’ port of origin are less than those in the landing ledger by several hundred pounds per commodity. They do match exactly the amounts in the ledgers actually forwarded to the customs office. But do we have any positive proof Lord Wolverton was involved?”
“Nothing that would stand in a court of law. Fortunately we don’t need to prove a case, and in any event, the government prefers not to have such messy affairs dragged into the public forum.”
“But if the payoffs were made in cash, such that his involvement cannot be proven, how can you force his resignation?”
“By applying the weight of some telling, if circumstantial, evidence. We know he’s been sustaining heavy gambling losses for years, got himself entangled with the cent-per-centers. Suddenly he paid off the loans, even though we’ve ascertained that his estates generated no more income. Threatened with transportation or the noose, I don’t doubt the couriers who carried him the purloined funds will be only too happy to confirm whatever details we wish. Once Lord Riverton acquaints Wolverton with the evidence, I expect he will see the wisdom of resigning quietly.”
James frowned. “It seems somehow unfair that the others will go to the dock while Lord Wolverton escapes prosecution.”
Beau shrugged. “The ton knows how these things work. To be stripped of his office and his income will ruin him as effectively as imprisonment. And the corruption will stop, which is perhaps the most important point.”
“When will you present the information to Lord Riverton?”
“He’s out of London at present. When he returns.” “Will you continue to observe Lord Wolverton?” Beau smiled grimly. “I’ve half a mind to invite him to the Puzzlebreaker’s Club, then propose to the membership that we unravel an embezzlement scheme such as he’s been running, just for the pleasure of watching him squirm. But Lord Riverton prefers I keep my involvement in these investigations covert.” He sighed. “Usually the personal satisfaction of decoding the mystery is more than enough compensation. Now, have you any more information on the … other matter?”
Without doubt James knew full well why the solution of this present case had engendered in Beau so little enthusiasm. With commendable tact, he’d refrained from commenting on the shadowed eyes and grim weariness his employer had worn this past week like a cloak.
“As you requested, I’ve gone back and rechecked the records of all the nobility and gentry.” His secretary gave him a wry smile. “Who could have guessed there would be so many dead or absent wives among them the past two years? I’m still awaiting confirmation that Lady Worth did indeed depart with her father on a trip to collect data on indigenous peoples of the East Indies, and that Mrs. Dominick is truly visiting her cousin in Italy, but those two are the last. The other missing wives have turned up and the deaths of all the dearly departed have been confirmed by family members not directly related to the husband.” He eyes Beau with concern.
“I’m sorry, my lord. Shall I begin to check among the wealthy merchant class?”
It couldn’t be. He must have missed some clue, somewhere. Beau clenched his hands, tightened his jaw to prevent the raging frustration from escaping in some violent profanity. James was doing everything he could; Beau would not vent his anger on his hapless secretary.
“Oh, I did collect one memento,” James said into the tense silence. “That epidemic of influenza two winters ago claimed the lives of several wives on my list. Thought I’d get out and do a bit of sleuthing on my own—”
“I’ve been that difficult to work with?” Beau interrupted with an attempt at a smile.
After raising a suggestive eyebrow, James continued, “Since several of the families are in London for the Season, I decided to call on them.” He held up a hand to forestall Beau’s protest. “In quite an unexceptional manner. Told them the government was collecting information on the influenza outbreak for a report.”
“A sort of updated Doomsday Book?”
James grinned. “Something like.”
Beau sighed, amused despite himself. “James, I begin to worry about you.”
“At any rate, the deaths were confirmed unconditionally. Including that of the lady whose husband was previously my prime suspect—a thoroughly nasty individual whom reports suggest may have been capable of violence. However, in the interests of furthering research, the lady’s father, a rather scholarly gentleman, lent me a miniature of his daughter.
