Swear by Moonlight Read online

  Thea glanced away from that compelling gray gaze. She did want to know, but she also wanted to put the matter behind her. She had not killed Alfred. Someone else had, and she would have liked very much to pretend that it was none of her business. But she could not. The question of who had killed Alfred would always haunt her, and she was curious enough to want to know why he had been murdered, if only for her sister's sake.

  Not quite ready to cooperate with the tall American, she swung back to stare at him, and demanded, "Why were you there? How do I know that you are telling me the truth? How do I know that you aren't trying to embroil me in some devious plan?"

  Patrick grimaced. "Ah, now there you have me. I'm afraid that I cannot tell you. It is not my secret to reveal."

  "But I'm supposed to tell you why I was there?" Thea demanded, outraged.

  "Well, I would appreciate it if you did," he said, with a sudden teasing gleam in his eyes.

  "I'm sure you would," she answered tartly, a faint hint of amusement creeping into her own gaze, her generous mouth almost curving in a smile.

  The change in her face was remarkable, and Patrick felt as if he had been punched in the gut. She wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense—her mouth too wide, her nose a trifle long, and that jaw and chin, while enchantingly molded, far too determined for the insipid ideal that was currently the rage in England. Patrick, however, was certain that he had never seen a more fascinating creature and was positive that he had never beheld another woman who appealed to him as much as this slim doe-eyed female of notorious reputation. He shook his head as if to clear it, wondering if the blow to his head had damaged his brain.

  "Is something wrong?" Thea asked, a little unnerved by his stare.

  "Uh, no, I'm fine," he muttered, annoyed for straying from the matter at hand. Sitting up straighter, he said, "I know you don't trust me—you have no reason to trust me, but whether you like it or not, we're in this together. Someone else knows that we were both at that house tonight. Now whether the murderer was working with Hirst and they had a falling out, I don't know. I do know that I most sincerely need your help. Can't we work together on this?"

  It dawned on Thea that he really was a very attractive man, his skin much darker than the average Londoner's, his thick raven hair neatly tied at the back of his neck with a black-silk ribbon. His features were finely honed, as if someone had taken a block of granite and carefully and elegantly chiseled the high brow and cheekbones, the arrogant nose, and the mocking mouth. He was, she admitted with a thump in her chest, very handsome. Too handsome, with that wicked-angel face and broad-shouldered, slim-hipped powerful body—oh, she had noticed, she'd just tried not to think about it. He was far, far too handsome. Far too confident and charming. And probably not to be trusted, she thought bitterly, even as she felt her will weakening. Not because of his masculine attributes, she reminded herself fiercely, but because she was scared, tired, and couldn't see much point in maintaining her aloof position. Too much of what he stated was true. It made sense that they work together—even if she didn't trust him.

  She sank down on the sofa beside him, and asked warily, "What do you want to know?"

  "Why you were there tonight."

  Sighing, she said, "He'd sent me a note, requesting that I meet him there alone." She glanced ruefully at Patrick. "He needed money—he always did. He'd made serious inroads into my sister's fortune and wanted me to tow him from the River Tick again." She made a face. "I knew from the beginning that he was a fortune hunter, but Edwina, my sister, would hear nothing bad about him. She was," she said cynically, "convinced she was madly in love with him and she would do nothing but marry him."

  "From your tone, I gather you do not think highly either of the married state or love."

  She sent him a sardonic look that sat oddly on that elfin face. "Mr. Blackburne, if you know my reputation, then you know that I have good reason to doubt protestations of love." A bleak expression crossed her features. "Because I once believed a charming scoundrel's sweet words, I ruined myself and my brother died. As for marriage—I am sure that it is possible for there to be a 'good' marriage, I just have seen few of them. Edwina's to Hirst was certainly not a good marriage. She may have thought so once, but I have spent too many evenings with her crying her heart out to me because he had been unfaithful to her again to believe that she still feels the same. Equally unforgivable, I know that his gambling and spendthrift habits have brought her to the brink of ruin. Her fortune was not princely, but it was certainly a comfortable one—one that should have, if managed correctly, been more than adequate for both of them to enjoy a pleasant life with few worries."

  He nodded, astonished at how deeply her words touched him, and by how much he would have liked to argue in favor of love and marriage with her. Not very many months ago he would have toasted and heartily applauded her attitude. But having seen the love that existed between his friend Tony Daggett and Tony's wife, Arabella, having observed firsthand the happiness their marriage gave them, he'd begun to question his long-held aversion toward love and marriage.

  "I see," he said, irritably pushing aside his rambling thoughts. "If it was only money he was after, why didn't he simply come to your house and ask for it? That would seem the logical thing to do."

  She smiled thinly. "Several months ago, when I last rescued them from their embarrassments, there was a rather, er, acrimonious exchange. I had not spoken to either one of them since that time. I also refused Hirst entrance to my home—he knew he would be denied my presence."

  "You wouldn't let him into your house, yet you went and met him under such clandestine circumstances?"

  Thea looked away, thinking of how much simpler life would be if she had given in to her first impulse and tossed Hirst's note away. Reluctantly, she admitted, "I know it sounds specious, but at the time, I felt it best to go ahead and meet him and find out precisely what it was that he wanted."

  Wryly, she added, "It seemed an easy solution—I knew that if I did not meet with him, he would continue to importune me—embarrassingly so. It may not make sense to you, but I just wanted to meet him and be done with it."

  "And that was all he wanted? Simply money? Wouldn't he have stood a better chance for success to have sent your sister to ask for it? I gather you are fond of her."

  "Oh, yes. He's known all along that I seldom deny Edwina anything. In fact, tonight, he admitted that one of the reasons he married her was because he'd figured that not only would he have her fortune to dally with, but that mine would always be there for a reserve." She smiled bitterly. "And to a certain extent he was right—I have expended great sums on them these past few years. Of course, both of them swore each time it would be the last. But my patience had run out and I knew, painful though it would be, that the only way to help Edwina to see him for what he was, was to let her bear the consequences of her own actions. I know that sounds pompous and heartless, but I was at my wits' end. I could not allow him to run through my fortune, too." Her face hardened. "And he would have, if I'd been fool enough to let him."

  Patrick frowned. "He said nothing else? Except to demand money from you? Nothing that would point to him being in danger?"

  Thea started. Her gaze flew to his. "Oh. I forgot. He did say something about being in danger, about Edwina being a widow if he did not pay someone seventeen thousand pounds." Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to recall that conversation. "It was, I think, a long-standing debt. I believe from what he said, he had borrowed the original amount from moneylenders, and that their charges and fees had caused the debt to soar astronomically." Her voice dropped. "Do you think that they killed him?"

  "I don't know," Patrick admitted. "And I'm inclined to think not—moneylenders are in the business of making money, and killing Hirst would not be good for business. Beating him severely or breaking a limb or two would be their tactic to bring home the point that it wouldn't be wise not to pay them, but to kill him... I don't think so." He shrugged. "But anything is po
ssible. Perhaps someone wanted to send a message to others of Hirst's ilk who are being laggard in paying. I don't know."

  It occurred to Patrick that Hirst's death might have nothing to do with whoever was blackmailing his mother. It could have been, he thought grimly, a coincidence that Hirst had chosen the same spot chosen by the blackmailer to meet with Thea. From the agent he understood that the house on Curzon Street had been on the market for months; it was possible that half of London knew that it was unoccupied. Getting a key would be a simple matter. It could have been just chance that had brought him and Thea to the same address tonight. But he didn't think so. It was too much of a coincidence. So did that mean that Hirst was involved with the blackmailing scheme? That he had a partner and that Hirst's partner had murdered him? But why? A falling-out? Perhaps.

  He slanted a glance at Thea, struck again at how vulnerable she looked. Nothing like a woman who had "notorious" attached to her name. He could think of far more appropriate words to describe her, he thought, words like appealing, enchanting, and desirable. Oh, yes, he admitted, as his eyes drifted to her generous mouth, desirable would be at the top of his list, very, very desirable.

  Feeling his gaze upon her, Thea looked up, and their eyes met and held. She could not look away from his intent stare, her heart beginning to thump in thick, painful strokes.

  Sexual awareness crackled in the air between them, both of them physically conscious of the other in a way that had been absent only seconds before. Thea was stunned by the powerful emotions that burst through her, terrified of their force and import. She could not, she thought, horrified, be attracted to this man. After Hawley, she had sworn that she would never allow herself to feel anything approaching the heedless excitement and heady wonder that had marked her first disastrous foray into love. And yet there was something about Patrick Blackburne....

  Leaping to her feet, Thea stammered, "Um, as I m-m-mentioned earlier, it is v-v-very late. I suggest that we discuss this matter further after we have both had a chance to think about it."

  Patrick knew a skittish filly when he saw one, and it was obvious, whatever was happening between them, that the young lady viewed the situation with as much enthusiasm as she would a descending horde of wild Indians. Smiling wryly, he rose to his feet.

  "Of course, you are right. Since tonight's events are to remain secret between us, shall I arrange a public meeting for us?"

  "Y-y-yes, that would be better," Thea said with relief. He seemed very big and intimidating as he stood in front of her. Vibrantly aware now of him as a virile, attractive male animal, she wanted him gone. Somewhere far away from her until she could gather her unruly thoughts.

  He bowed with exquisite grace. "Very well then. I shall take my leave."

  Patrick reached for her hand, intending merely to drop a polite kiss upon it, but the instant his fingers closed around hers, he felt as if he had grasped a bolt of lightning. His very skin seemed to sizzle, and when he brushed his lips across her flesh, he was positive that his lips came away seared.

  Thea snatched her hand away from him, and from the wide-eyed expression in that dark gaze, Patrick knew she had felt something very similar. Shaken, they stared at each other speechless and then, as if waking from a trance, Patrick blinked, and muttered, "Good evening. I shall look forward to meeting with you again."

  Thea nodded, certain that if she tried to speak, she would only babble utter nonsense. Once the door closed behind him, she sank down onto the sofa, staring blindly into space.

  What had happened between them at the end? It had been, she thought dizzily, as if she had been swept up in a thunderstorm and dazzled by too-close contact with the raw power of lightning. She shivered, her skin still tingling where his lips had brushed against her hand. It was, she decided, a most exciting and pleasant feeling. And she very much feared that the feeling could become addictive.

  The sound of the opening of the door brought her gaze in that direction, and she smiled as Modesty entered the room.

  "I kept away as long as I could," Modesty said. A faint blush bloomed in her cheeks. "And like some silly housemaid, I'll admit that I peeked over the banister at him when he left." She raised a brow. "He is a very handsome man, isn't he? Who was he? And what did he want?"

  Thea quickly explained the situation to Modesty. Her eyes glowing with relief, Modesty sat down beside Thea, and, squeezing her hand, said, "Oh, thank goodness! I felt certain that you could not have killed Hirst, but you seemed so positive that I am afraid I allowed myself to be carried along in your wake." She beamed at Thea. "Isn't it wonderful? You did not kill him."

  "Somebody did," Thea replied dryly.

  "Well, yes, and it really is too bad, but none of our concern, now is it?"

  Thea made a face. "That was the attitude that I initially took, but Mr. Blackburne convinced me that I was wrong to feel that way." She glanced at her cousin. "Don't you want to know who killed Hirst and why?"

  Modesty sighed, and her lower lip twitched. "I suppose so. And I suppose for Edwina's sake we should want to know the truth. She is going to take his death hard—especially the manner of it, and unless the murderer is unmasked, she is always going to wonder who murdered him and why. I suspect that those questions will, no doubt, bedevil us, too."

  "So you don't think I was wrong in agreeing to help Mr. Blackburne?"

  "No, although I have to confess I can't see that you are going to be much help to him. You told him everything you know—which we can't say for him." Frowning, Modesty asked, "He never said what business had taken him there tonight?"

  Thea shook her head. "No."

  "Well, that doesn't seem like a very fair partnership, does it? Perhaps when you next meet with him he will be more forthcoming."

  Thea shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps." A huge yawn suddenly overtook her.

  Modesty rose to her feet. "Come along now. In bed with you—you've had a very stressful night to say the least, and tomorrow will be even worse, once news of Hirst's death is brought to Edwina."

  "I wonder if she will turn to us," Thea mused. "She might even be more hostile toward us with Hirst dead than she was when he was alive." Thea bit her lip. "She might even blame me for his death. Not even knowing the part I played tonight, I'm afraid that she will feel that if I had helped them financially, he wouldn't have been at the Curzon Street house and consequently wouldn't have been murdered." Slowly climbing the stairs, she smiled bitterly. "And she'd be perfectly correct. If I hadn't told them I was cutting them loose, they would have come to me and, eventually, I would have relented and given them money again and Alfred wouldn't have been at that house tonight."

  "You don't know that," Modesty said firmly, her blue eyes glinting. "Alfred Hirst was a greedy man. He still might have tried to bleed you for more money. And how," she asked, as they reached the upper floor, "do you know that you were the only one he was trying to raise money from? He might have been putting the touch on any number of individuals."

  Thea looked startled. "Oh! I hadn't thought of that."

  "Well, you should have. Now get into your bed and no more beating yourself up for something that wasn't your fault. Hirst," Modesty said firmly, "was a scoundrel, and I, for one, am not the least bit saddened that he is dead."

  * * *

  Patrick wasn't saddened either, but neither was he pleased. Hirst's death only complicated the issue for him. Complicated it in ways that he had not foreseen. And Thea Garrett was very definitely a complication.

  Having reached his own house and having dismissed his butler, Patrick had gone upstairs to his rooms. After tossing aside his dark gray coat, he poured himself a brandy from the tray of refreshments that had been left for him and wandered around his bedroom, a frown wrinkling his brow as he considered those last moments with Thea Garrett.

  It had been a very long time, if ever, since he could remember a woman arousing the emotions within him that he had felt tonight. Some of them were more than familiar—desire certainly. She
was, after all, a very attractive young woman, but it wasn't just desire that she awoke in him, and that had him worried. He was conscious of a feeling of protectiveness and a simmering anger against the man who had made her so wary of love. Those emotions were bad enough, but what really had him frowning was the fact that she was smack in the middle of a murder that might be connected to whoever was blackmailing his mother.

  Patrick took a long fortifying swallow of the brandy, thinking over what he was going to tell his mother tomorrow. Probably, he thought with a faint smile, as little as possible. Certainly nothing about his own ignominious part in the evening's events. Definitely nothing about Hirst's murder—there was no need to alarm her. He definitely wasn't about to mention Thea Garrett's presence. His mouth twisted. Again, no reason to alarm his mother, and she would be, he admitted, very alarmed if she even suspected how attracted her only child was to a young woman with a tarnished reputation.

  Patrick wondered about that reputation. After seeing Thea in Hyde Park, the first moment he and Nigel were private, he'd gotten all the ugly details about her past. And some current gossip, such as the fact that, while she didn't exactly go out of her way to cause gossip, she didn't care a fig what people said about her.

  "You remember old Rivers?" Nigel had asked, naming a wealthy, infamous roué, notorious for his seduction of the unwary. When Patrick had nodded, Nigel had gone on, "She befuddled him so badly that he actually offered for her. She laughed in his face and tossed him out on his ear." Nigel looked thoughtful. "Funny thing though—Lord Gale wasn't of that ilk—nice young man, wealthy, handsome, suitable, and I can't say that I ever heard of her throwing out any lures to him. Tried to discourage him from what I saw, but he was totally enthralled—wouldn't take no for an answer. Seems to me that there was some gossip that she was the one who got his family to convince him to leave London—and her. Don't know if I believe it or not, but it's possible. I do know that she seems to relish sending some pretty shameless libertines skulking away with a flea in their ear."