To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(29)

“Vale—”dis—”

“You said yourself that it was the officers who knew our route,” Jasper said.

Horn looked at him patiently. “Yes?”

“So, let us concentrate on the officers.”

“They’re all dead, save me and you.”

“Perhaps if we talked to their survivors—friends or relatives. Perhaps something was mentioned in a letter.”

Horn was looking at him with something close to pity. “Sergeant Coleman was near to illiterate. I doubt he wrote any letters home.”

“Then what about Maddock?”

Horn heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. His brother is Lord Hasselthorpe, so—”

Jasper’s head whipped around. “What?”

“Lord Hasselthorpe,” Horn said slowly. “Didn’t you know?”

“No.” Jasper shook his head. He’d been a guest of Hasselthorpe just last fall and had never known the man was related to Maddock. “I must talk to him.”

“I don’t see how he’ll know anything,” Horn said. “Hasselthorpe was in the Colonies as well, or so I’ve heard, but he was in an entirely different regiment.”

“Even so. I must try and talk to him.”

“Very well.” They’d come to the end of the track and the entrance to Hyde Park, and Horn pulled his horse to a halt. He looked worriedly at Jasper. “Good luck, Vale. Let me know if there is anything I can do.”

Jasper nodded and shook hands with Horn before they parted. The mare shifted beneath him and mouthed her bit as he watched Horn ride off. Jasper turned her head toward his town house, trying to dispel the awful images still in his mind’s eye. Maybe Melisande would be up by now, and he could sit with her a while and spar. Bantering with his new wife was proving to be a surprisingly entertaining sport.

But when he entered his home and inquired of Oaks, he was informed that his wife had gone out. Jasper nodded to the butler and gave him his tricorne before mounting the stairs to the upper story.

Strange. She’d only lived here less than a week, and already her presence was imprinted on the house. She hadn’t redecorated the rooms or replaced all the servants, but she’d made the house hers nevertheless. It was in the little things. The elusive scent of her Neroli perfume in the small sitting room, the fire that was always laid there, the thread of yellow silk he’d found on the carpet the other day. It was almost like living with a ghost. He reached the upper hall and turned toward his rooms but hesitated as he passed her door. His fingers touched the doorknob, and then he was inside her rooms before he could rethink the impulse.

The room was so neat it might not’ve been inhabited at all. The hangings were freshly washed, of course, in preparation for a new viscountess. She had the same tall, dark wood wardrobe his mother had used, a dressing table and chair, and several low chairs by the fireplace. For the first time, it occurred to him that she’d not brought anyeadt broug of her own furniture when she’d come to live here.

He wandered to the wardrobe and opened it, seeing rows and rows of dull-colored dresses. Her bed was neatly made, no lace pillow or sachet to give it her own touch. The bedside table held only a candlestick, no pins or a book she might read late at night. He crossed to the dressing table. A gilt and mother-of-pearl brush lay on the surface. He ran his fingers through the bristles but couldn’t find any hairs. She had a small china dish to hold her hairpins and next to it, a pretty ivory box. Inside was her jewelry—a few pins, a string of pearls, and the garnet earrings he’d given her. He closed the box. There was a single drawer in the dressing table, which he pulled open but found only ribbons and lace and more pins. He shut it gently and looked around the room. She must have something of her own, some possession that had special value to her.

If she did, she kept it well hidden. He crossed to the chest of drawers and pulled out the top, finding linens neatly folded. The scent of oranges rose as he fingered them. The next drawer held the same, and the third as well, but underneath the linens in the bottom drawer he finally found something. He sat on his heels to examine it: an old tin snuffbox, no bigger than the length of his thumb. He turned it over in his palm. Where had she gotten such a thing? Surely her father and brothers, if they took snuff, owned much fancier boxes?

He pulled back the little hinged lid. Inside was a silver button, a tiny china dog, and a pressed violet. He stared at the button, then picked it up. It must be his own—the monogrammed V proclaimed it, but he didn’t remember losing it. He placed it back in the little tin box. He hadn’t a clue what it or the other items signified to her, why she saved them, if they even were important to her or perhaps only placed there on a whim. She was right: he didn’t know her, his wife.

Jasper closed the tin snuffbox and replaced it under the linens in the bottom drawer. Then he stood and looked around the room. He wouldn’t find her here. The only way to learn Melisande would be to study the lady herself.

He nodded to himself, decision made, and left the room.

Chapter Six

Well, this was a terrible thing, but what could Jack do but continue on his way? After walking for another day, he came to a magnificent city. When he entered the gates, people stared and laughed, and a little crowd of boys followed him, jeering at his long nose and curving chin.

Jack threw down his pack, placed tiny hands on hips, and yelled, “D’you think me a figure of fun?”