Howard gripped the back of his desk chair so fiercely that his knuckles whitened. “Damn your eyes, March, I did not murder Celeste.”
Tobias shrugged. “I will admit that there are still a number of unanswered questions. I haven’t yet deduced what happened to the bracelet, for instance. Obviously you don’t know where it is either. That is the real reason you hired Lavinia, isn’t it? Not to find the killer. You wanted her to find the damned bracelet.”
“You amaze me, sir.” Howard’s laugh was harsh, completely lacking in its former mellifluous tones. “I thought you had all the answers.”
“Only some of them at the moment.” Tobias started toward the door. “But rest assured, I will soon have the rest.”
“Wait, damn you. Is Lavinia aware of your wild speculations?”
“Not all of them.” Tobias opened the door. “Not yet.”
“You would do well not to tell her your crazed notions. She will never believe you. She has known me far longer than she has known you, March. I am an old friend of the family. If you force her to choose between us, she will side with me. You may depend upon it.”
“Speaking of Lavinia,” Tobias said, “this is probably as convenient an opportunity as any to give you some advice.”
“I don’t want any of your damned advice.”
“Then consider this a warning, instead. Do not think for one moment that I will allow you to use Lavinia to replace Celeste.”
“Do you believe that she is so enamored of you that she would never cast you aside in favor of me?”
“No,” Tobias said. “But I do know this much: If you were to succeed in taking Lavinia away, you may be certain that you would not live long enough to savor your victory.”
He walked out the door and closed it very gently and deliberately.
Chapter Twenty-four
He did not pause to consider his destination. There was only one place he wanted to be at that moment. He hailed a passing hackney and ordered the coachman to take him to the little house in Claremont Lane.
His leg gave a few protesting twinges when he alighted, but he ignored them and went up the steps to bang the brass knocker.
There was no response.
He was not in the best of moods, and the silence did nothing to enhance his temper. On his way out after breakfast he had informed Mrs. Chilton that he would return this afternoon around three.
It occurred to him that lately he had begun to think of Lavinia’s little house as his home away from home. Rather like his club. He had even taken to issuing instructions to Mrs. Chilton just as he did to Whitby.
He knew that he had no right to be annoyed when those instructions were not carried out. Nevertheless, Mrs. Chilton had implied that Lavinia would be home this afternoon. Yet no one came to answer the door.
He went back down the steps into the street and studied the upstairs windows. The drapes were pulled shut. In his experience, Lavinia kept all of the household curtains open during the day. She liked the light.
A chill of unease drifted through him. It did not seem right that the house should be entirely empty at this hour. Perhaps some last-minute shopping had taken Emeline and Lavinia out, but where was Mrs. Chilton?
This was more than a little odd. He spent so much time in this house these days that he knew Mrs. Chilton’s schedule as well as he knew Whitby’s. This was not the day she took the afternoon off to see her sister.
The sense of unease darkened in him. He tried the front doorknob, expecting to find it locked.
It twisted easily in his hand.
Memories of how the door at Tredlow’s shop had opened just as smoothly yesterday chilled him.
Quietly, he let himself into the front hall and closed the door. He stood for a moment, testing the quality of the silence. It told him nothing.
He reached down into his boot and found the small knife he kept in the hidden sheath. Gripping it in his right hand, he went to the door of the parlor. The room was empty.
He continued down the hall to Lavinia’s study.
It, too, was empty.
So was the kitchen.
He suppressed the fear that threatened to claw at his insides and started up the stairs, careful to make no sound on the treads.
At the top of the staircase he paused. This was the first time he had ever been up here, he realized. He did not know his way around on this floor.
He studied the doors that opened off the hallway and recalled that Lavinia had once mentioned that her bedchamber had windows that faced the street.
He approached it cautiously, glancing into the other rooms he passed along the way. There was no sign of a disturbance, he noted with some relief, nothing to indicate that an intruder had been here.
A soft rustling came from the bedchamber he had decided belonged to Lavinia. He moved to the wall and flattened himself against it, listening intently.
The slight noise came again. Someone was moving about in that chamber.
Stealthily, he made his way to the edge of the door and looked into the room at an angle. A handsome screen covered in panels decorated with scenes of Roman gardens stood in his line of sight. It concealed whoever was on the other side, but he could hear the soft crackle of a fire on the hearth and a soft splash.
An elegantly arched bare foot appeared beneath the bottom edge of one of the screen panels. It settled on a towel that had been spread on the floor. There was another little splash and a second foot materialized.
The cold tension inside him evaporated. It was immediately replaced by another kind of awareness. He bent slightly to sheath the knife, straightened, and went through the partially open door.
“I would be delighted to assist you with your bath, madam,” he said.
There was a soft gasp from the other side of the screen.
“Tobias?” Lavinia peeked around the edge of one of the panels, a thick towel clutched to her breasts. Her eyes widened at the sight of him standing in her bedchamber. “Good heavens. What are you doing here?”
He looked at her and felt his blood heat. Her hair was pinned up into a knot on top of her head. Wispy tendrils trailed down the length of her bare neck. Her face was flushed and rosy from the combination of the warm water and the flames of the fire. The voluminous folds of the towel she grasped draped gracefully to her small ankles.
“I’m certain that there is something poetic and romantical that I ought to say at this moment,” he muttered. “But I’m damned if I know what it is.”
He left the doorway and crossed the room to where she stood at the edge of the screen. She smiled at him, her eyes as brilliant as the flames on the hearth.
“I’m wet,” she warned him when he reached for her.
“That is extremely fortunate for both of us.” He picked her up and started toward the bed. “Because I am aching to sink myself into you.”
Her husky laugh was the most alluring music he had ever heard.
He put her down on the bed and took hold of the towel that veiled her body. Gently, he tugged it aside and tossed it onto the floor. He had thought himself already fully aroused, but the heavy excitement he was feeling became almost painful at the sight of her gently curved breasts and the triangle of tight curls at the apex of her thighs.
He reached down and curved his hand around her hip. She shivered at his touch and his mouth went dry. This was, he realized, the first time he had ever experienced the luxury of seeing her entirely nude. The very nature of their affair limited such opportunities. All of their previous trysts had been hurried encounters conducted in locales that did not allow for complete disrobing.