Not that he needed her confirmation. And he doubted they would stand in a court and admit their wrongdoing.
“Catalina laughed at me when I told her I was desperate,” Lady Middlebury said tightly, but then her manner changed. The anger left her. She seemed to collapse a bit. “I didn’t expect my husband to do what he did.”
Beck tilted his head toward the marquess. “You sent Winstead.”
“I did. I had it all plotted out, too. I decided that both you and Catalina needed to go.”
“But Winstead couldn’t kill you,” Lady Middlebury said. She smiled at Beck. “You adored him when you were little. You used to trail after him, asking questions and behaving as if he was a hero because he was strong. You were a lively lad. A favorite of all of us. Well, except my husband. Then one day, after we all thought you dead, Winstead, out of guilt, confided in me what he’d done.”
“Which was?” Beck prodded.
“The murder,” she answered. “He told me he couldn’t kill you. So he’d handed you over to his sister. She was a ne’er-do-well but on her way to London. He’d told her he didn’t care what happened as long as you didn’t return to Colemore. Back then, he’d told Middlebury you died.”
“I was disappointed to hear you were alive,” the marquess confirmed.
“More than disappointed,” his wife murmured. “You were furious. But I insisted it was a good thing you were alive. One doesn’t want that on one’s conscience.”
“I would have managed,” her husband assured her.
“Is that why you visit this place,” she countered, “and why you come here at night to listen to Catalina sing?”
“It is nothing—”
“It is your conscience. Ever since you had her murdered, you haven’t known peace. Neither of us has.”
Beck spoke up, addressing Lady Middlebury. “Was it you who took me from the brothel and sent me to school?” He had moved several small, unnoticeable steps toward the marquess. He needed to be closer. Gwendolyn watched. He knew she waited for some signal from him.
Dear God, he loved her.
The marchioness nodded. “It was the least I could do,” she said, without humor. “Our family has royal blood in our veins. It seemed a sin to leave you in such a horrid place. I wanted to give you a chance to have a good life.”
“But then something changed,” Beck surmised. “Who sent Winstead last year?”
“I did,” Lord Middlebury volunteered. “I finally learned that you were alive. It was a complete shock to me that my wife and most trusted servant would dare to disobey my command.” He sent a pointed look at his wife. “I thought you were dead, Steele, until Winstead’s sister reported to him that a man was going around brothels and asking questions about a boy who’d been taken away years ago. She’s still a whore. She likes the life. She heard you were looking for your mother and she isn’t astupid woman. She feared what would happen if anyone learned the truth... unlike my wife—”
“Walter, I’ve apologized.”
“You have, dear... and I have forgiven you—foryearsof deception. But now we have to do all of this”—he waved the pistol in the air to encompass the room, Beck, and Gwendolyn—“because my wishes were not carried out when he was small enough to be easily dispatched.”
“You sent Winstead after me to clean up the mess,” Beck said.
The corners of the marquess’s mouth tightened. “Yes,” he answered curtly.
“And being a recluse...?” Beck wondered. “Is that a ruse, too?”
“I don’t like London. Or people, for that matter. I do have research. This estate means more to me than my country.” Lord Middlebury’s hand holding the pistol was shaking harder now. He had to brace it with his other hand. He was not a well man. That part, at least, was true.
“Colemore even means more to you than your family,” Beck suggested, hoping to goad the man into more revelations.
The marquess grinned agreement. “Itismy birthright. Franny is the one who worried because you are related to us.Ididn’t have any pangs of conscience. However, she is not being completely honest. She was happy to know our sons would inherit. But what I find of interest is that, if Catalina had agreed to pay my wife’s gambling debts, you and I would not be having this conversation. If Franny had let me kill you the way I wished, we’d not be having this conversation either. Fortunately, she will not stop me now. However, I want you to know, I enjoyed our few moments together the other night. You have some habits that remind me of my brother. Rather liked my brother. And now, I have one question for you. What happened to Winstead?” His voice hitched on the name. “He never returned. I assumed he had done the job and then had been forced to flee... however, here you are. Is he dead?”
The question surprised Beck. He thought the answer obvious. “Yes. He’s dead.” He even took satisfaction in saying those words.
An unholy light came to the marquess’s eyes. “Do you think I haven’t noticed you creeping closer while we talked?” He lifted the pistol higher—
At the same moment, Gwendolyn threw her body weight in the chair toward the marquess. Both she and the chair fell at his feet, almost knocking the frail man over.
His pistol fired harmlessly into the air.
