Lord Lucifer Page 13

  Lucas didn’t answer. The knocker had sounded again—Geoffrey, no doubt—and since Simpson was still belowstairs, Lucas took a perverse pleasure in forcing the man to cool his heels on the stoop. Meanwhile, Lord Beddoe turned from the sideboard and, after taking a full measure of claret, spoke to Lucas.

  “How was it done? Was it truly poisoned tea?” He shuddered as he spoke and quickly took another gulp of his drink.

  Lucas studied the man, trying to gauge possible guilt. If he had to guess, he’d say that the husband knew nothing about the business beforehand and was horrified by the idea of death. Indeed, he could speculate that Lady Beddoe was of a similar mindset. Anything that brought knowledge of death was turned upon with the viciousness of a mad dog.

  The knocker sounded again with the force of a battering ram. Apparently, Geoffrey wasn’t happy with being left outside. Lady Beddoe frowned at him.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “I’m not the butler,” he answered smoothly. Let the bastard wait until Simpson came back.

  Lady Beddoe pinched her lips tight. She looked him up and down, taking in the dark clothes of his Lord Lucifer attire. He’d discarded the mask and cape, of course, but she could see the excellent fabric he’d been forced to wear. That betrayed him more than anything else. He was not a servant, and she was just now realizing that.

  “You’re her lover then,” she said. “Did you know? Did you help?”

  “Penelope, must you?” her husband huffed.

  “I am brutally honest. I’ll remind you that it’s a virtue,” she snapped at her husband. He responded by pouring himself more claret. Meanwhile, she turned back to Lucas. “Well? Did you?”

  Obviously, she used her so-called virtue to badger people into her way of thinking. It was a crude tactic and one that proved she had no subtlety in her. But just to be sure, he leveled her with a hard stare.

  “No. If you must know, Geoffrey was the poisoner, as I think you already know.”

  Lord Beddoe set down his glass with an audible click. “The devil you say!” Then he turned his stricken eyes to his wife. “Penelope?”

  The woman gaped at Lucas, her eyes wide with shock as the color drained from her face. She didn’t speak but just gaped at him. It was a true reaction and one that told him she had not played a part in the deed. Then her skin flushed hot, and she lifted her chin until her head was tipped halfway back.

  “You, sirrah, are offensive.”

  Her husband, however, would have none of it. He shied back a step, horror in his expression. “Penelope! The truth, now!”

  She turned angry eyes on her husband. “I know nothing of the sort!”

  “But you suspected,” Lucas said, disgust in his tone. “You both know your brother’s character. It is your sin that you would rather believe the worst of the woman who cared night and day for your father than turn your rancor on your brother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “I should call you out!”

  Clearly, neither husband nor wife would tolerate his disgust, and they turned on him in unison. They cried insult and any number of other things. He ignored them, his attention shifting to the door as Simpson finally arrived and pulled it open.

  Mr. Geoffrey Hough stood there, an angry sneer on his face. “You are not long in this position, Simpson,” he said. “I do hope you have saved something for your old age.”

  Simpson said nothing. Indeed, he didn’t even react as he performed the duties of a butler with a flat, almost bored expression. And here Lucas saw the true face of a murderer. Geoffrey wasn’t cold-blooded or even very smart. There was no cleverness to be seen in his calculation, only the angry demeanor of a petulant child. And the more that Simpson ignored him, the more furious Geoffrey became.

  And what was even more interesting was that Lord and Lady Beddoe saw it, too. Lord Beddoe swallowed the last of his claret with an audible gulp. His wife dipped her head and looked away. There was a new slump to her shoulders, and for the first time, she looked like she truly grieved. Had she loved Geoffrey? Most likely. Spoiled children came from too much doting.

  Geoffrey sensed the mood of the house, and his gaze zeroed in on his sister. “Pen, dear, what have you said?”

  “Nothing,” she answered, though she did not meet his eyes. Then she squared her shoulders. “We cannot see Father yet. The body has not been prepared.”

  “And his lady wife?” Geoffrey said with a sneer. “Has she been taken by the authorities yet?”

  The pair looked at Lucas. He took a moment to draw out his pronouncement, relishing his words. “No one suspects her.”

  Geoffrey’s eyes widened, and he looked to his sister, the one he’d already prepared to push Diana as the perpetrator. But before he could say anything, Penelope finally got her nerve. She faced her brother and said in a low tone that everyone could hear.

  “Did you do it?”

  Her brother strode forward, his legs covering the ground with shocking speed. Penelope squeaked in alarm as she leapt backward from him. Clearly, she was used to her brother’s temper. Fortunately, Lucas had been prepared. While Penelope cringed against her husband, Lucas stepped directly into Geoffrey’s path.

  “There will be no more violence done in this household,” he said.

  Well, maybe just a little more. He saw Geoffrey’s punch coming. The man was not a skilled fighter, and Lucas had ample time to avoid the blow. But Geoffrey did not have the capacity to hit very hard, and Lucas needed witnesses to say the blackguard had attacked first.

  He let the blighter hit his jaw hard enough to bruise but not break anything. Penelope screamed, and her husband gasped in shock, while Lucas grabbed Geoffrey’s arm. And when Geoffrey kicked out as every inexperienced fighter did, Lucas tipped him over such that his face landed hard on the rug. Then he held onto the man’s wrists and waited for Geoffrey to exhaust himself from squirming and cursing.

  He heard the knocker sound and guessed it was the solicitor. He didn’t bother to take his attention off of Geoffrey. He leaned down and spoke hard into the man’s ear.

  “You’re beaten,” he said softly. “Run to the colonies if you want to avoid hanging. I won’t allow you to live any closer.”

  The man reacted with more curses and threats. Lucas didn’t bother listening. He heard much more inventive ones at the Lyon’s Den. And the more insanely violent Geoffrey looked, the easier it would be to prove his crime in court. What he didn’t expect was the high-pitched scream that cut through the room. It wasn’t Diana, but it was startling, and his head jerked up as he scanned the room.

  And then a cold sweat broke out on his brow. Of all the ways for this to happen, he had not wanted it while brawling on the parlor floor. And yet, he would not let Geoffrey up. Not until the man calmed down. So he stayed where he was, waiting for a pause in the man’s continuing diatribe so he could speak into the silence. It took another minute. Geoffrey, apparently, knew a lot of ways to insult his parentage. And then—as Geoffrey drew breath—Lucas finally spoke.

  “Hello, Mother, Father. I had not expected you to find me so quickly.”

  That should have been dramatic. His mother was the one who had screamed. She was now leaning heavily on his father, who frowned down at his son.

  “What are you doing?” his father demanded. “That is not appropriate behavior. Release him this instant.”

  Such was the power of his childhood that he felt the impulse to obey. He didn’t. He wasn’t a boy anymore. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he said. “Not until he calms down enough to not kill his sister.” He glanced at Lady Beddoe to make sure that she remembered her brother had been coming for her. Apparently, she did because she shrank even further behind her husband.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” his father continued. “No one is going to kill anyone.”

  And wasn’t that the sin of the civilized elite? They just didn’t believe what they didn’t want to know.

  “On the contrary,” cam
e Diana’s voice from the stairs. “I’m afraid there has already been one murder in this house, and your son is acting most appropriately.”

  Lucas grimaced. “You were supposed to be resting,” he said.

  “And miss all the punching and screaming?” She walked the rest of the way down the stairs. She appeared composed as she moved, though he saw the dark smudges beneath her eyes. “Simpson, where is the constable?” she asked with weary patience. “I would think the screaming would have drawn him out.”

  “It did, my lady,” said the man as he stepped out of the shadows. “But his lordship had things well in hand.”

  “And do you?” she asked dryly. “Do you have enough information yet?”

  He looked like he wanted to argue, though about what Lucas had no idea. But after taking a thorough inspection of Geoffrey on the ground, he grabbed his hat from the side table. “I believe I do for the moment. There’s a footman who needs talking to. And I may need to ask a few questions of the family in a day or so. After things have been laid to rest, so to speak. If that’s acceptable to you, my lady?”

  Lucas could feel Geoffrey grind his teeth in fury, but there was no dignity in spouting insults from his place on the floor. He kept his peace as Diana graciously saw the constable out. Then she turned to the parlor. “Oscar’s body has been prepared.” Her voice trembled a bit as she spoke, but there was no wavering in her stance. “Penelope, you may see him as you wish. Geoffrey—”

  “I have no need to see the old bastard, may he rot—”

  Lucas raised Geoffrey’s arms enough that the man’s words were choked off.

  “Very well,” continued Diana. “The family solicitor is due very soon. I shall await him in the library. You all know the terms of the will. He was most clear.” She looked down at Geoffrey. “If you think he changed his mind about your inheritance, you gave him no reason to.”

  Geoffrey was purple with rage. Every time Lucas eased off his arms, the man started cursing loudly. Meanwhile, Diana shook her head.

  “You cannot see the solicitor in this frame of mind. Leave, Geoffrey, until you are more rational.”

  Lucas didn’t wait for the man to respond. Instead, he shifted his weight and quickly hauled him to his feet. Simpson had already pulled the door open and stepped neatly aside as Lucas shoved the idiot outside. Simpson slammed the door shut before Geoffrey had time to turn around.

  Done. At least for that moment.

  Lucas turned back. He saw first that Penelope and her husband were being escorted up the stairs, presumably to view the body. Diana stood to the side with her back straight, and her chin lifted as they passed by her without even looking her way. Which left the last two—his parents—with their backs pressed against the far wall and their lips curled in distaste. He didn’t even want to acknowledge their presence, but his father left him little choice. The moment Penelope and her husband disappeared from sight, his father spoke.

  “How could you involve yourself in something so sordid?”

  Childhood habits reared as he felt his lip curl in an identical expression of disdain. After learning that he was alive, all they could do was criticize him? Or scream? Fortunately, Diana interrupted him before he gave voice to any cruel response.

  “Your son saved my life last night. I am most grateful to him.”

  “But why is he here at all?” his mother gasped. “We declared him dead.”

  “How did you find out I was here?” he asked.

  “We didn’t,” his mother said. “We heard from others that you left some masquerade with her.” She clearly included Diana in every sordid thing she could conceive.

  “And we came to find out the truth,” his father continued. “Only to see you brawling on the floor like a common guttersnipe.”

  Diana blew out a breath. “He was saving my life,” she said dryly. “And I find your reaction to your son’s continued existence extremely odd.”

  “Odd?” his mother sniffed. “You can say such a thing after what we just witnessed?”

  “You didn’t witness anything,” Lucas said, suddenly weary of the whole affair. “You’re just angry that I have the audacity to be alive.” He straightened to his full height and brushed back his hair with his damaged hand. Now she could see his scarred face clearly. “It’s me, alive and not as well as you no doubt want.”

  “Stop it, Lucas,” chided Diana. “That isn’t kind of you. They’ve had a shock.”

  They’ve had a shock? Diana’s husband had just died, and the murderer had come to gloat. But none of that reflected on her face as she gestured to the parlor.

  “Come in, everyone. Let’s sit down to a cup of…” She winced, no doubt remembering that her husband had been poisoned with tea. “To some refreshments. Then we can sort things through.”

  “No, Diana,” he began. “On today of all days, you need not…” His voice trailed away at her fixed stare.

  “You saved my life, Lucas. I’ll not abandon you now.”

  “You don’t need to stand by my side. I’m in no danger from them.” That was true. No physical danger, at least. But inside, he felt a war going on between what he feared and what was real. He’d been avoiding this moment for years, and he barely understood why. Until he looked at his parents’ hard expressions and knew that, even though he was a man, there was still a child inside him. One who had been hurt over and over by them.

  As if she understood his tangled emotions, Diana answered him with a calm air he appreciated. “Even so, I will not leave you.” Then she called for refreshments.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Honesty was such a horrible thing; it was no wonder everyone avoided it. Such was Diana’s thought as she hosted the most bizarre tea ever at barely ten o’clock in the morning.

  Lucas’s parents were polite as they sat down to food that no one wanted. Still, they directed her to milk and no sugar as if it were of international importance. Lucas had nothing to drink, of course. His body was so rigid, she suspected he was trying to turn his cells to stone. And then all four of them suffered through the most banal small talk. They were sorry for her loss and embarrassed to intrude, the weather was appropriately dismal, and what a delightful tea blend.

  Normally, Diana would have allowed the polite farce to go on without interruption. It was not her place to intervene in their family affairs. But Lucas sat like a man waiting for his execution. His expression was tight, and she could feel tension vibrating in him. His hands were clenched on his thighs, there was no sign that he breathed at all, and his gaze remained as sharp as a stiletto on the empty space between his parents’ heads.

  “You might as well ask your questions,” she finally said. “I doubt you will get another chance.”

  The earl’s gaze snapped to hers. “Why?” he asked, his voice a hard knock of sound.

  He meant why they wouldn’t get another chance to talk to their son, and in answer, she simply looked to Lucas’s rigid posture. Did the man know nothing of his son? It was only out of deference to her that he was sitting here at all. She knew that if he had his choice, he would be anywhere but with them. The earl must have understood at least some of what she was thinking, so he voiced that same question again in an equally hard tone.

  “Why?” This time the word encompassed so much more. Why had he played dead? Why hadn’t he told them he was alive? Why had he acted as he did? And that was her question as well.

  In answer, Lucas looked to his mother. He didn’t say a word, just stared hard at her until she clenched her jaw so tight that the muscles trembled along her neck. When her words came, they were like shards of broken glass spit out at Lucas.

  “How could you do this to your brother?”

  “I didn’t. You did.”

  “What?” his father asked, obviously confused.

  “I didn’t die,” Lucas explained. “I know it would be more convenient if I had, but I’m afraid I couldn’t manage that. I leave it to you now to decide if I am truly to live. Nathan loves th
e land and its heritage more than I ever will. Perhaps you should leave me dead.”

  “But you aren’t dead,” his father said. “You’re here, you breathe. I don’t care what you’ve done. You have a duty.”

  And wasn’t that a cold thing for a father to say to his son? That he had a duty to live?

  “Actually, I don’t,” Lucas answered. “Not when there is a spare to take my place.”

  The countess pursed her lips. “Too many people saw you last night. It’s on everyone’s lips this morning.”

  “I spoke to no one, confirmed nothing.”

  “Actually,” Diana interrupted. “You did admit it to the constable.” For her sake. As a way to defend her from the man’s accusations.

  Lucas shrugged. “The man can be bribed. Obviously.”

  That much was true since Geoffrey had likely already done it.

  “Nathan won’t do it,” his mother said with a sour twist to her lips. “He will not deny you.”

  His father nodded agreement. “He won’t, and neither will I. You are my son. How could you think we would lie about your existence?”

  Because his mother wanted to, that much was clear. His mother had given all her love to his brother and was now shattered inside at the thought that Nathan would not inherit the title. It made no sense, and yet, the reality of it was clear as day on her face.

  “It’s settled,” the earl said as he pushed to his feet. “We will go now to the solicitor and inform him of the happy news.” For a man reporting “happy news,” he certainly sounded matter-of-fact about it. If anything, his expression was one of firm dedication to appropriate behavior, as there was not a hint of a smile on his face.

  “You go ahead,” Lucas said as he, too, rose. “I am sure you know what’s to be done far more than I.”

  “That’s the reason you must be there,” his father said. “So you can learn—”

  “I can’t.” His gaze cut to Diana’s. “I have duties here.”