Red Roses Mean Love

Chapter 4

At ten a.m. the following day, Justin Mallory, Earl of Blackmoor, glanced up from the mountain of papers piled on his desk.

"What is that you have, Randall?" he asked his unflappable butler who stood at attention next to the mahogany desk. "I would hope not more correspondence."

Randall bowed and presented an ornate silver salver with a sealed letter resting in the center. "A young man delivered this, my lord, saying it was urgent and he would wait for a reply."

Justin raised his brows. "Urgent?"

"Yes, my lord. He said the note was given to him by a Miss Hayley Albright from Halstead, and was to be delivered to a Mr. Justin Mallory." Randall's offended sniff left no doubt as to his feelings regarding such an unprecedented breach of etiquette.

"Indeed?" Justin glanced down at the note and froze when he read his name on the outside. He immediately recognized the distinctive slope of Stephen's handwriting. Why was Stephen sending him an urgent message through another person? "Who did you say sent this?"

"A Miss Hayley Albright. From Halstead. I believe that's in Kent, my lord."

"And where is the messenger?"

Randall pursed his thin lips. "I left the ill-mannered lout on the doorstep."

"I see. Leave me now. I'll send for him after I read the note."

"Yes, my lord." Randall left the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was alone, Justin opened the note and scanned its contents.

Dear Justin,

My plans to spend several days at my hunting lodge have changed. I am fine, but I need you to come to the Albright home in Halstead immediately. Everyone here believes my name is Stephen Barrettson and that I'm a tutor. Please bring me some clothing-not my finest, mind you-something more that a tutor would wear, and dress yourself accordingly. I ask that you identify yourself simply as Justin Mallory. I also request that you not reveal the contents of this letter or my whereabouts to anyone, including Victoria, until we have spoken. I shall expect you later today, tomorrow the latest, and I'll explain all.

Stephen

Justin glanced at a second sheet of paper that listed directions to the Albright home. What the devil sort of mess had Stephen gotten himself into? He reread the note. Whatever the problem, at least Stephen was all right, or he claimed to be. But something was clearly amiss.

Tucking the disturbing missive into his pocket, Justin strode to the foyer and pulled the heavy solid oak doors open. A young man sitting on the stoop looked up at him with an expectant expression.

"Are you Mr. Mallory?" the youth asked, jumping to his

"I am. You may tell Miss Albright to expect me this afternoon." Without waiting for a reply, he shut the door and headed upstairs. The journey to Kent would probably take about three hours. There was much to do before he left, including finding a plausible excuse for canceling his dinner plans with his wife.

He stopped in midstride.

Just what the hell sort of clothing did tutors wear?

Justin stood outside Albright Cottage, his curious gaze taking stock of his surroundings. The large home sat in a clearing in the middle of the verdant countryside, surrounded by acres of beech trees. It was a rambling, ivy-covered structure that appeared to have been added on to over the years by several owners who possessed divergent tastes. The cumulative effect was surprisingly pleasing to the eye in a hodgepodge sort of way.

The house itself possessed a well-worn appearance that hovered about one step from shabby. Bare patches dotted the roof where shingles needed replacing, and several shutters hung at drunken angles. In contrast, an obviously well-tended flower garden bloomed with a profusion of colorful flowers, their heady fragrance saturating the summer air. A sparkling stream ran along the edge of the trees before curving into the forest and disappearing from view.

Justin knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately by a giant of a man wearing workmen's garb. The huge man glared at Justin through narrowed, clearly suspicious eyes.

"Stitch me to the mainsail and flap me in the breeze!" the giant said in a rough, gravelly voice, thrusting his face closer to Justin. "I've got work to do around 'ere. Can't be spendin' all me time answerin' the bloody door. Who the hell are ya and wot do ya want?"

Justin took two steps back and cleared his throat. "My name is Justin Mallory. I believe I am expected."

"Who's at the door, Winston?" asked a feminine voice behind the giant. The door was pulled open wide, and a woman came into view.

"Some bloke from the Dustbin Gallery. Says we're expectin' 'im, but we've got all the dustbins we need." The giant glared at Justin as if deciding whether to eat him for a snack or just pulverize him into the ground.

Not caring for either scenario, Justin sidestepped around the glaring "butler," giving him a wide berth, and held out his hand to the young woman. "The name is Justin Mallory."

"Hayley Albright," she said with a friendly smile. She took Justin's hand and gave it a firm shake. Justin noted with relief that Miss Albright appeared far happier to see him than the giant who answered the door. After grumbling something unintelligible, the behemoth stomped from the house, heading toward the gardens.

Justin took measure of the woman in front of him. She was unfashionably tall, but very attractive. He noted that she regarded him with lively curiosity as well.

"Please come in, Mr. Mallory," she said, leading him inside the small foyer. "We've been expecting you." Her voice dropped to an undertone. "I hope you'll forgive Winston," she said, indicating the departing man with a nod of her head. "He tends to be a bit overprotective."

Justin raised his brows. "Indeed? I hadn't noticed."

Miss Albright cast him a sidelong glance and laughed. "Winston means well, and I assure you his bark is worse than his bite."

"My relief knows no bounds, Miss Albright."

She laughed again, a warm, delightful sound, and led him through several spacious yet sparsely furnished rooms, them out a set of French windows to a small terrace. Following behind her, Justin couldn't help but admire the attractive curve of her hips that even her plain brown gown could not hide. He wondered what role the lovely Miss Albright played in Stephen's change of plans.

"Mr. Barrettson is over there, in the garden," she said, pointing to a figure in the distance. "Just follow this path and you will reach him. When you two are finished talking, please come back and I'll serve refreshments." She turned and reentered the house, and Justin made his way swiftly down the path.

"It certainly took you long enough to get here," Stephen said by way of greeting, several minutes later when Justin came into view. Stephen fought to hide his amusement when a look of utter amazement crossed his brother-in-law's face.

"Stephen? Is that really you?"

"In the flesh," Stephen confirmed, "although with my face covered in whiskers and this bandage wrapped about my head, I barely recognize myself. And wait until you see this."

Stephen stood and suppressed a laugh as Justin's mouth dropped open. Stephen's form appeared shrunken in a huge white billowing shirt with the sleeves hanging well below his wrists. Breeches several sizes too large hung on his frame.

"Good God, man," Justin said, his voice filled with alarm. "What has happened to you? You've withered away and shriveled to nothingness. Are you ill?"

"No, at least not anymore." A sheepish grin touched Stephen's lips. "These garments belonged to Hayley's father. You can see why I asked you to bring me some clothes. Apparently Papa Albright was rather large."

"What do you mean 'not anymore'? Were you ill?"

Instead of answering, Stephen indicated the path before them, with a wave of his hand. "Come, let us walk. I have quite a story to tell you."

"All right," Justin agreed.

They hadn't gone three paces before Stephen felt himself undergoing a thorough scrutiny.

"I barely recognized you with the beard, Stephen. I must say, it lends you a rather rakish air. No doubt the ladies in London would find you more irresistible than usual."

Stephen lifted his fingers to his jaw and rubbed his prickly face. "The only reason I haven't rid myself of this damned facial hair is because I've never shaved myself before and I don't care to bleed to death trying to learn. But these whiskers are going to have to go. They itch like hell."

After a momentary pause, Justin said, "Surely you realize I'm eaten up with curiosity. Your cryptic note explained nothing. What on earth is going on? Tell me everything down to the last detail."

While they walked down a tree-lined path through the forest, Stephen related the events of the past week to Justin. When he finished, Justin stared at him with a grim expression.

"My God, Stephen. That young woman saved your life."

"Yes."

"And you believe this was the second attempt to kill you?"

"It appears that way. I passed off the incident last month as a robbery gone bad, but now I'm not inclined to do so."

"Why didn't you tell me-"

"I wasn't hurt, and I didn't think it important."

"Not important? Good God, Stephen. Who would want to kill you? And why?"

"I've made enemies over the years, I suppose, but I don't know who would want me dead."

"A scorned lover?"

"Doubtful. To the best of my knowledge, my former lovers and I have always parted on friendly terms."

"Any business dealings gone sour lately?"

Stephen paused for a moment before answering. "Actually, there was a recent problem."

"Indeed? What?"

"I was considering a sizable investment in Lawrence Shipping, but after investigating the company, I decided against it. Marcus Lawrence, however, was apparently sure I planned to invest, and ordered three additional ships built."

Justin raised his brows. "He ordered them before you invested the funds?"

"Yes. From what I gathered later, when I pulled out, he was left with three half-built ships he couldn't pay for. The last I heard he was facing financial ruin and possibly debtor's prison."

"If he blames you for his reversal of fortunes-"

"He does," Stephen cut in. "He blames me entirely."

"How do you know?"

"He told me so."

Justin halted and stared at Stephen. "He threatened you?"

"His words were something to the effect that his ruin was my fault and he would see that I paid. As he was in his cups when he said it, I didn't take him seriously."

"Interesting," Justin said, continuing their walk. "Tell me, why did you decide against investing in Lawrence Shipping?"

"I discovered Lawrence was carrying more than textiles in his cargo holds."

"Indeed? What was he transporting?"

A wave of revulsion washed over Stephen. "Apparently our Mr. Lawrence dabbled in white slavery," he said, his voice harsh with disgust. "I had reports he even stole children out of several London workhouses-"

"Say no more," Justin cut in, his repugnance evident. "When did you pull out?"

"Exactly two weeks before the first attempt on my life."

"And a man who would deal with selling people would have few scruples about having you killed."

"Exactly. I turned my findings over to the magistrate and they're conducting their own investigation."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Stephen shrugged. "I didn't really believe someone was threatening my life until this second attempt was made. The first time, I wasn't in the best section of London. The attack could have been aimed at any number of unsavory characters in the area. But this second assault convinced me that I am indeed in danger. Lawrence may very well be our man."

Justin tunneled his fingers through his hair. "I hate to suggest this, but have you considered that it could be someone in your family?"

A bitter laugh escaped Stephen. "Surely you cannot mean my esteemed family? Are you suggesting my father the mighty Duke of Moreland, wishes me dead? Perhaps. But I cannot see him bothering to dirty his gloves with the effort or taking the time out from his adulterous affairs to plan the thing.

"As for Mother, she's too busy with her rounds of social engagements and clandestine meetings with her numerous lovers to notice me at all. Besides, if I were dead, she'd be obliged to wear mourning, and you know how she utterly detests encasing herself in black. While Gregory would inherit should I cock up my toes, my dear brother is usually too drunk even to see me, let alone kill me. And I hope you're not considering Victoria a suspect. Not only does my sister stand to gain nothing from my death, she is also your wife. I would hope your opinion of her is better than that."

"I was actually thinking about Gregory," Justin said quietly. "Your death would leave him a marquess, heir to a dukedom, and incredibly wealthy."

"I considered that possibility, but I think it unlikely. Gregory is too involved with his own dissolute life to possess the stamina or cunning to kill me off."

"He's also greedy and selfish," Justin pointed out. "It would not require much stamina or cunning to hire someone to kill you, and those bastards who left you for dead were obviously hired men."

Stephen shook his head. "Gregory doesn't want the responsibility of the dukedom. All he requires is money. A great deal of money. He wouldn't know what to do with the endless duties attached to the title. Besides, Father gives him a staggering yearly income to spend on his debauched pleasures."

"Your father refused to bail him out the last time," Justin reminded him. "Gregory was forced to marry Melissa to get himself out of trouble. If he should run through Melissa's fortune, he'd need one of his own. If your father refused to subsidize his losses, then…"Justin's words trailed off, and Stephen drew the inevitable conclusion.

"Then Gregory would need another source of money," Stephen finished. "I see your point, but still I cannot fathom-" Stephen froze, his words coming to an abrupt halt.

Justin stared at him. "What? What are you thinking?"

"I was attacked on my way to my hunting cottage. I had only decided that morning to go there."

"Yes, I know. You told me your plans that afternoon."

"Very few people know about that lodge. As you know, I keep no staff there-it's a private place for me alone."

"I'm aware of that."

Stephen looked at Justin, his gaze boring into his friend's eyes. "I told someone besides you where I was going. One other person. And only several hours before I left."

"Who did you tell?"

Bitterness stung him like a blow. "Gregory. Bloody hell, my own damn brother istrying to kill me."

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