Page 70 of One Wicked Secret
“What are you suggesting?”
“That there was some sort of conspiracy,” Daniel answered. He’d wondered a similar thing and would wring a confession out of Charmers when he had a spare moment to breathe. “There’s a chance his man of business was also involved. He was rather inept at checking legal documents.”
“Wasn’t there an investment with Charmers?”
“Yes, Mr Charmers encouraged my father to invest a largesum in Britannia Shipping,” she admitted. “I would like to know if other investors lost their money.”
“Ah, Charmers, the man with an angel’s smile and a darkling’s appetite.” The earl gave a mocking snort but didn’t elaborate. “Your husband is terrifying enough to corner the devil in a dark alley and force a confession.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” Daniel imagined the lily-livered fop piddling his trousers. “We know of a solicitor who may hold evidence of fraud and plan to visit him tomorrow.”
“What can we do?” the countess asked. “Surely there’s a way we can help.”
Daniel did not refuse, not when most men who gambled at the earl’s club owed him a favour. “I’d like a detailed list of Denby’s movements. Where he goes when he leaves the house.”
“Consider it done,” the earl said, offering a confident grin. “I’ll call in a few debts and see what secrets Denby has lurking in his past.”
Elsa surprised them by making her own request. “I know people often travel under an alias, but could someone speak to the ship’s purser or check passenger records for vessels that sailed from London to Calais last November?”
The earl nodded. “Who is my man looking for?”
“Magnus Tyler. I need to know my brother is in Geneva.”
“I’ll do what I can, but he may have travelled from a different port.” The earl paused, fixing them with his intense gaze. “First, you will tell me everything you told Daventry. There’s more to your problems than a broken marriage contract with Lord Denby.”
Chapter Thirteen
At eight that evening, Elsa sat on the floor in Daniel’s chamber, her mother’s novels spread across the red Persian rug, next to the tiny magnifying glass. She had spent thirty minutes flipping through the pages, trying to recall each plot, convinced the books held hidden clues.
Why else would her father go to so much trouble?
Why would Mrs Melville have important messages to impart—ones she could only reveal if Elsa asked about the old books? Indeed, it was hard to focus on anything but the housekeeper’s unsettling words.
If you married Lord Denby, I was to keep the magnifying glass—because by then, it would be too late.
Too late for what?
Too late to save you.
The housekeeper’s warning echoed the message hidden in Lord Grafton’s shoe. It shouldn’t matter now—she had married Daniel, not Lord Denby. Yet she was still in danger. The mysterious shooter at Edenberry had intended to kill her,not maim her. But why? There was more to this than a few damning notes in a journal.
She pressed a gentle hand to her bandaged arm. The pain had dulled and no longer made her wince. Perhaps she should tell Daniel; it could ease his conscience. Then, she might finally get to share his bed.
Her thoughts drifted to their erotic encounter outside last night.
Sweet mercy!
He’d made her feel like the most desirable woman alive, as if he had barely survived without her these last six months. Every kiss carried the same raw desperation. Every touch held the same silent plea.
If they found the truth and brought Carver’s killer to justice, they could finally address the burning question—would they build a life together or forever live apart?
Pushing thoughts of Daniel from her mind, she returned to the Gothic novels and the horror stories that paled in comparison to her own. Had her mother followed in Mrs Radcliffe’s footsteps and hidden clues to a lost manuscript or buried treasure?
She picked up the small magnifying glass. It was no larger than a pocket watch, its thick convex lens offering an unusually sharp view.
Daniel had mentioned pencil marks and underlined words in the books, but after a thorough review, every highlighted passage carried the same warning: not to trust those closest to her.
Oh, Magnus!
