Wrexford released his hold and dropped with a thump just as a scream rent the night.
Hitting up against nothing but air, Wheeler flapped his arms madly to stay upright. But in the next instant he tumbled head over heels into the void.
Expelling a pent-up breath, Wrexford steadied his balance enough to look down over the edge of the plank.
Jutting up from the roiling water fifteen feet below was an outcropping of rocks. Wheeler’s broken body lay face down, arms and legs spread-eagled. With a last flicker of life, he managed to roll himself onto his back, revealing the knife impaled in his chest.
A cat may have nine lives, reflected Wrexford,but we mortals possess just one.
A rasping cough—or perhaps it was a prayer—and then Wheeler was gone.
“Corruptio optimi pessimal,” murmured Wrexford, thinking of Charlotte’s frequent use of Latin aphorisms.The corruption of the best is the worst.
Wheeler’s intelligence had given him a great advantage in life, despite his humble birth. That made his decision to use it to commit unspeakable crimes seem even more terrible.
The earl stood for a moment longer, thinking about Good and Evil. This investigation had been particularly distressing. A group of like-minded friends had turned out to be a viper’s nest of greed, envy, and self-serving lies.
Has this new age of rapid-fire change and technological wizardry left concepts like loyalty and friendship in the dust?
Wrexford suddenly felt weary to the very depths of his soul.
The wind swirled, and its chill bit through his shirt. Repressing a shiver, he turned and made his way back through the maze of ropes and struts toterra firma. At some point during the chase—he knew not when—he had twisted his knee, and it was now aching abominably as he stumbled over the barricade, then paused to catch his breath.
At first, he thought the spectral shape rushing toward him was a figment of his black mood.
But the feel of Charlotte’s arms enfolding him in a hug was blessedly real.
Her scent . . . the texture of her hair . . . the softness of her skin.
They stood wrapped together, silently savoring their connection. Words were irrelevant. Their bodies were speaking the only language that mattered.
After feathering a last kiss to his cheek, Charlotte pulled back. “I saw Wheeler fall. Is it over?”
“Yes.” He confirmed.
“Deo gratias,” she whispered. “The carriage is waiting at the end of High Street. Give me your hand, and let us return to our family.”
CHAPTER 32
Afternoon light flooded in through the drawing room windows. Charlotte pressed her palms to the glass panes, welcoming the warmth. It was now the second day after the terrifying night at Eton, and yet a chill still lingered in the depth of her being.
Wrexford came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Everyone will be arriving shortly. Are you ready for all the questions and explanations?” The details about the foray to Eton and the subsequent chase after Wheeler had already been recounted to their inner circle. But what lay at the heart of the mystery had not yet been revealed.
A wry sigh. “Knowing our friends, it will likely be a rather rowdy gathering.”
Charlotte leaned back, feeling her emotions steady as she fit into the familiar contours of his body. “In truth, I would rather sleep for another day—or another week—but they, too, deserve some closure.” She closed her eyes for an instant. “Being part of our extended family is not for the faint of heart.”
The earl chuckled. “Think how boring their lives would be without us constantly tripping over Trouble.”
McClellan poked her head into the room. “The dowager and Henning are at the door. And I see Sheffield’s carriage coming into the square.”
“Tell Riche to show them in,” said Wrexford. “And have him bring in an extra bottle of whisky.”
The maid nodded. “I’ve baked a triple batch of ginger biscuits, which should be ample sustenance for the crowd—assuming the Weasels haven’t turned into locusts!”
“We heard that!” called Raven as he led Hawk and Peregrine into the room, each of them bearing a heaping platter of the sugar-scented pastries. Harper, padding along as the tail end of the procession, added awoof. “Don’t worry, we left more than enough for everyone.”
“Put the biscuits on the tea table and hurry away. Cordelia’s cousin, as well as his friends Mademoiselle Benoit and Mrs. Guppy, are accompanying her and Sheffield, and it’s best that they don’t know your true position in this household,” she said. “You may all return once they leave and it’s just our inner circle of friends.”
