Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(62)

"That isn't all you have against her," Grant said. "After Harry's death, Vivien then seduced his son Thomas--your only grandson--and schemed to marry him."

There was a long silence, during which Lane struggled to mask his emotions. "I'm aware of no schemes concerning my grandson," he said, his voice cool and dry.

Lane was a fairly good liar, Grant reflected--but the issue was too close to the old man's heart, and his rage was too great to conceal the truth for long.

"You bought Thomas a commission and packed him off on the first ship to India when you found out Vivien was after him," Grant continued. "I suppose you thought he'd be safer braving heathens, wild game, and exotic disease than to be exposed to Vivien's influence. God knows you may have been right. But you should have stopped it there, my lord. Hiring someone to murder Vivien was going a bit too far."

"Nonsense," Lane said curtly. "Had I wanted the harlot dead, I would have done it myself."

"Men in your position never do it themselves. But I am surprised that you apparently hired an idiot to take care of your dirty business. He didn't finish the job. The clumsy ass couldn't manage to kill one small, defenseless woman--something you learned about on the night of the Lichfield ball, when you saw that Vivien was still alive. And you became understandably keen on having the bastard finish what he was paid to do."

The barely suppressed outrage on Lane's face was infused by cunning and smugness. "What proof do you have of any of this?"

"I'll have proof enough when my investigation is concluded and I've caught your hired killer."

And then something strange happened...something that had never occurred in Grant's previous years of detective work. The defensive barrier suddenly broke, and Lane stared at him with a gaze of glittering, triumphant malice. And he made a four-word confession.

"You won't catch him."

The admission of guilt was completely unexpected. Had Grant been in Lane's position, he would have prevaricated indefinitely and hid behind a shield of age, respectability, and political influence. There was no reason for Lane to confess anything. However, later Grant would reflect that it was understandable in light of Lane's sense of invulnerability. Lane must have been certain that a man in his position--a peer of the realm--would never have been tried for the death of a whore. And moreover, Lane was so enraged over his son's suicide that deep inside he wanted someone to know that Harry's death had been properly avenged. He was an old man with very few years left, and he had been robbed of his only son.

Motionless, Grant stared at Lane as the old man continued with a quiet certainty that sent chills down his spine. "Vivien Duvall will soon be deep in her grave, her killer will disappear from England--and you can do nothing to stop it."

Inwardly unnerved, Grant had to remind himself that Victoria was safe in his own house, with a Runner to protect her.

"The imbecile you hired won't get anywhere near Vivien," Grant said softly. "So far he's never managed to lay a finger on her. From the beginning of your damnable bargain, he's been pursuing the wrong woman.The wrong one, do you understand? The woman he attacked and threw into the Thames--the same woman I escorted to the Lichfield ball--isn't Vivien Duvall. It's her sister. Vivien's been in hiding all this time, and your hired man has been trying to kill her innocent sister."

"It isn't true!" Lane shot to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled backward. Clearly the suggestion that Vivien Duvall was healthy and out of harm's way was enough to make him insane. Even the ends of his coarse gray hair seemed to crackle with fury. "Lying cur! Only a fool would believe such a cock-and-bull claim--"

"Vivien's sister has been put through hell because of your stupidity," Grant said, his own anger welling in an ungovernable flood. "And the nightmare she's been living is going to end tonight." Before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he felt his hands close around the other man's throat in a threatening vise. "Shall I do to you what was done to her?" he asked thickly. "Let's see how you feel after a good throttling and a nice long swim in the Thames--"

"Take...your hands...offme..." the other man wheezed.

"Tell me your man's name, so I can put a stop to this damned nonsense," Grant said grimly. "Tell me, you bastard."

Lord Lane's face purpled, and his eyes bulged with bitter fury. "If it's true," he choked, "if there are two of them...I'll have both of them destroyed, just to make certain--"

"Never. It'sfinished, do you understand?" Deliberately he tightened his fingers on Lane's windpipe. "His name," he repeated grimly, staring like an angel of vengeance into the old man's watery eyes.

Lane spat out the name with a force that sprayed flecks of spittle over Grant's face.

Suddenly Grant's hands loosened, and he stared at the gasping, choking man before him. "What did you say?" he demanded, trying to hear above the sudden annoying buzz in his own ears.

Staggering backward, Lord Lane repeated the name as if it were a profanity. "Keyes," he spat. "Neil Henry Keyes...one of your damned comrades. ARunner. " He laughed harshly. "He had need of the money. He assured me the task would be easy. I should have known one of your ilk would prove to be incompetent for the job. But I'll hire someone else, do you hear me? Vivien Duvall will never be safe!"