Barbara Metzger - Truly Yours

No.

He found Johnston at his offices near the docks, where the air stank of the tidal mud and Johnston's cigars. "I am busy, as you can see." He waved purchase orders, bills of lading, crew rosters, and a few gilt-edged invitations at Rex. "I do not have time for any half-pay officer playing at detective. You can show yourself out." He picked up another document, this one with an official seal on it.

"A moment more, please. I merely wish to know if Sir Frederick had dealings with your company."

"I take on many investors to finance my ships, and I do not keep track. The bank handles that."

"Breverton's Bank?"

"Among others. The contracts are all legal."

"Are they written up by Sir Nigel Turlowe, by any chance?" Rex guessed.

"Among others. Is that what this is about?" Now he put down the papers and took his cigar out of the corner of his mouth, setting it atop a stack of ship's logs. "You want to put some of your blunt on my ships? I'll tell you what I tell all the swells: I cannot guarantee anything. Ships sail, get blown off course, get pirated or shot at. If you can stomach the risk, I'll be happy to have more backing."

Paying for information was one thing, paying to smuggle goods in from France was another. Rex answered the man with another question of his own. "Why did you hire Brusseau, a Frenchman?"

"Why not? The chap was out of work. I must have met Sir Frederick a few times. He always looked bang up to the nines."

"But Brusseau had no references. He might have killed his former employer."

"The girl did it."

Odd, Johnston's statement was a definite red in Rex's mind, an outright lie, with no orange confusion, no yellowish thinking the words might be true.

"I say she did not kill Sir Frederick."

Johnston waved his cigar in Rex's face. "Are you accusing me?"

"He had a lot of money hidden at his house, not all belonging to him."

"That's right, some of it is mine! I'll have my lawyer see about claiming my share. I lost a good deal because of that." He spit out a bit of tobacco leaf. "But I did not kill him, not to get the money back, not to get even."

Bright blue.

Damnation.

Few names were left on his short list, and few hours remained to get ready for-gads!-the opera. Damnation, with divas.

The opera was not so bad. Rex got to sit next to Amanda. Lady Royce arranged it so, with them in the front of the private box for the world to see, while she and Daniel sat behind them. That way, she said, no one could notice Daniel's sallow complexion, or the yellow Cossack trousers he insisted were all the crack, or the puce waistcoat embroidered with orange butterflies. If his apparel was not enough to make everyone else bilious, too, she swore, she did not know what would.

As expected, every eye in the huge theater was directed toward their box, one of the best in the opera house. Even without all the current speculation, Rex alone would have stood out in his dress uniform, with its lace and gold braid, his stunning dark looks, his features still handsome despite the scar and a bit of discoloration around his eyes and nose. Nor could they miss Amanda, elegant in brown velvet the color of her eyes, with a black lace fichu at her neckline, and black ribbons under the high waist of her gown. Her pearls were at her neck, making her appear as demure and proper as a woman could look, considering she ought not be in public at all. No one could tell Amanda had butterflies of her own, in her roiling stomach.

Rex thought the careful image of ladylike decorum was destroyed by her headpiece. Instead of the feathers many women stuck in their piled coiffures, Amanda wore a gold tiara atop dashing blond curls. Lady Royce's gift, the tiara made his own offering seem paltry. Worse, the countess might as well have crowned Rex the king and Amanda his queen. Rulers of the gossip columns and the on dits, that was more like it. He knew that the audience was watching them instead of the stage, and every tongue was clacking with tidbits of their pasts, and their chancy futures.

Amanda knew they were the center of attention, too. Her head was held as regally high as royalty, but Rex noticed the way she nervously fidgeted with the lorgnette he had given her, which did not match her ensemble at all. The countess had raised her eyebrows at the token, but then she colored and stuttered when he'd handed her a ribbon-tied parcel also, before leaving for the opera. He'd stepped away to take their wraps from the butler, before Lady Royce could think of kissing him in gratitude. He thought Amanda was thinking of it, but they were not alone, curse the countess and her stratagems.

Now, when Rex and Amanda were even less private, he took her hand under cover of her skirts, and whispered to her about anything he could think of to ease her anxiety, and to drown out the whispers from the surrounding boxes. From what he could overhear, the countess was correct: Society was more offended at the lack of proper mourning than the crime Miss Carville was purported to have committed. No one mentioned her supposed lover, not with Lady Royce as her sponsor, and not with Rex glaring at them. Perhaps, he heard one skinny spinster in a turban declare, he was the man Miss Carville had been meeting on the sly. And how romantic that was!

Hell and damnation, he'd not been in Town until days after the murder! Still, if the gossip grapevine wished to wrap its tendrils around a fairy tale instead of a tragedy, and the countess wished to nurture the wayward creeper, he would play his role of gardener for tonight. He raised Amanda's hand to his and kissed her gloved fingers. Hers were trembling, and not from his touch, damn it.

"Stare them down, I say." He took the lorgnette from her and raised it to his eye to ogle the rouged dowager in the adjoining box, the one who had been condemning modern morals in a voice loud enough to drown out the orchestra's tuning. The matron smiled as if she had not been titillating her companions with tales of Rex's hell-raking about Town the past few days. "As for the cousin…" died on her lips.

Yes, Rex acknowledged, the countess had been right: Murder was nothing compared to a social blunder.

The opera began at last and most of the audience switched its attention to the stage, at least those not near enough to peer into the darkened private boxes. Rex took advantage of the dimmed chandeliers to hold Amanda's hand more tightly, to drape his other arm around the back of her chair, where his fingers could reach up to caress the back of her neck, the silky curls, the-"Ouch!"

His newly doting mother whacked his fingers again with the opera glasses-the ones he'd bought for the besom! He dropped his hand back to his own side of the chairs and watched as Amanda lost herself in the story and the music, the ones on the stage, not the drama playing through his imagination.

At the intermission, Rex woke Daniel before the jackanapes could fall out of his seat, and announced he was going for refreshments. Lud knew his throat was dry after sitting next to Amanda without touching her, inhaling her scent without nuzzling behind her ear. What the devil was he doing, besides torturing himself?

"Keep everyone out," he ordered his cousin. "I do not want Amanda besieged by curiosity seekers."

He did not want any other man thinking she was unprotected and available, either, although the countess's presence would keep rakes and roues away. That lady, he understood, had dropped hints all afternoon to a few of her closest friends-thirty, at least-that Miss Carville possessed a fortune in gems and was about to have her dowry restored, although Rex had told her the decision was up to Amanda's stepbrother. She had also informed her friends, with unmistakable pride, according to Amanda, that dear Jordan was going to see to it that Amanda was vindicated shortly.

Hell, when had he become an object of pride for that female? It was bad enough that Amanda had her hopes pinned on him; she merely had a murder to disprove. He had years of rancor against the countess to overcome, as well as misinformation and bitter hurt. He'd concentrate on the murder.

At least now he had a motive, as he explained again to Amanda when he got back with the champagne. Sir Frederick had obviously embezzled the funds of a doomed investment group, whether at his own conniving or under orders from another. He'd made a lot of enemies, costing men their fortunes, and had no friends left. He was apparently planning on fleeing the country-Rex cast a glance at the countess, who was listening intently, along with Daniel, as he imparted this-which explained why he had the money at home, why he had stolen or usurped every farthing he could accumulate, and why he had pawned his family treasures and beggared his estate.

"But why didn't he leave as soon as the money was discovered missing?" Daniel asked, still disappointed the valet had proven innocent of the murder.

"Perhaps he was waiting for his own daughter to be married," the countess suggested. "He was bringing her out in style, albeit not lavishly."

Amanda did not think he was worried about Elaine. "Sir Frederick did not have enough fatherly devotion to care one whit about her happiness. He was intent on wedding her to a titled gentleman with money, no matter his age or her affections. He always seemed obsessed with titles."

Rex nodded. "Most likely so he could demand another fortune in marriage settlements. Or so he could use his new connections to avoid pursuit. Either way, I think one of his victims, his fellow investor in whatever scheme they were hatching, killed him, then tried to frame another of them for the murder by leaving his gun behind."