Haunting Violet
Page 72

“What on earth are you doing?” Peter drawled. “You look positively feral.”
Flushing, I closed my teeth together with an audible snap. I lowered my bound hands. His smile was lazy and yet sharp at the edges. I couldn’t help thinking of dueling swords.
“You are quite at my mercy, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly pleased with himself. Something about the way he was looking at me made my palms sweat. If there had been room, I’d have stepped back.
“Untie me.” I wondered belatedly if appearing less irritated with him would win me quicker results, but I just wanted, quite desperately, to be away from him.
He produced a knife from his pocket. The fact that he’d been holding it the entire time I was trapped between him and the cabinet hardly made me feel more nervous. The blade cut easily through the thread, but his hands closed over mine roughly and he tugged me off balance. I was untied and yet still trapped.
“I don’t know what you think you know,” he growled, “or what game you are playing, Miss Willoughby, but you would be wise to let it go. You’re some earl’s bastard and a whore’s daughter. No one will believe you.”
With a shove that sent me stumbling into the table, he stormed out.
By the time I reached the parlor, Caroline and the Wentworths had gone home, pleading exhaustion. Peter disappeared into the empty ballroom with a bottle of brandy. Lord Jasper nodded at me proudly.
Elizabeth rushed over to the doorway to walk with me to the table. “Oh, Violet, can you believe it?”
“What I can’t believe,” I grumbled, rubbing my wrists, “is that you left me there, alone, with Peter.”
She rolled her eyes. “He always finds the pretty girls.”
“Somehow, I don’t think he had seduction on his mind.”
When I told her what had happened, she bristled. “So he must be involved somehow. It’s becoming more and more of a mess, isn’t it? I hardly know what to think anymore. Tabitha looked so dreadful, as if she was going to swoon, that they’ve gone home.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly. “And Caroline smelled like week-old trout.”
We grinned at each other.
“Do we really think she could have murdered Rowena?” I asked, sobering. “Doesn’t Peter seem a more likely suspect now?” Not that we had evidence of any kind, of course.
Elizabeth shrugged. “She’s cross enough.”
“But why?” I wondered. “And what about Mr. Travis? And is Tabitha in danger? Would Caroline hurt her?”
“Not with her uncle in residence,” Elizabeth said, sounding sure. “He’s very solicitous of her needs.”
I tried not to show my frustration in case the rest of the guests looked at us and wondered what we were whispering about. “We need more information.” I paused. “I have an idea. Risky though.”
“My favorite kind.”
“Peter is in the ballroom, you say?”
“And looks to stay there for quite some time.”
We waited until everyone had retired for the night, then we waited a little longer, until we were certain they were all asleep. We crept back downstairs to spy on Peter. He was slumped on the floor, snoring. The bottle at his hand was nearly empty. We crept back upstairs.
“You’re certain this is his room?” I whispered.
Elizabeth nodded. “Go on.”
“Make sure you keep a sharp eye out,” I muttered, easing the door open so it wouldn’t creak. “I don’t want to be clapped in irons for snooping.”
She waved that away. “Uncle Jasper would never do that.”
“Peter might.”
“Oh. Right.”
Peter’s guest quarters were palatial, with burgundy paper and a mahogany washstand and armoire. It was dark except for the circle of light shed by my single candle. I went straight to the desk and shuffled through the papers there: a bill from his tailor, a glass of old sherry, an unsigned letter from a lover. Nothing whatsoever to implicate him. I even rifled through his shirts and checked under his cravats. I was half-buried in the armoire when Elizabeth stuck her head in.
“Violet,” she whispered. “He’s coming.”
I pushed myself out so quickly, the cupboard wobbled.
“He’s on the stairs,” she added, horrified. Peter’s steps were unsteady and loud. We didn’t have time to get back to our respective rooms. I blew out the candle.
The steps came closer.
I grabbed her hand and yanked her into the opposite room. We huddled, straining to hear. Neither of us dared to breathe, listening for the sound of his door closing.
What we heard instead was snoring.
We both froze.
“Oh no,” Elizabeth mouthed. I could see her clearly in the moonlight falling through the windows. There was another snore. We looked over, half-afraid of what we were going to see.
It was only Frederic, sprawled on his back, chest bare. Elizabeth’s eyes widened so comically I nearly laughed out loud. She clapped her hand over my mouth to stop me. I had to do the same to muffle her giggles. We stared at each other, nearly choking on nervous laughter.
I nodded my head sternly toward the door. We had to get out of here.
She shook her head and took a step closer to Frederic. I knew that look on her face.
Slipping away before I could stop her, she crept over to the side of his bed. I motioned to her frantically. If she leaned over to kiss him, I would kill her. She did lean over a little, but not enough to actually touch him.