Shutting her eyes in horror, Lily turned away.
But she’d seen what was on the shelves. Traps of all sizes, some with steel teeth large enough to capture a man. A bloody saw. Well-used rope. Cuffs. Whips.
And a lone, leather-bound journal.
Rand reached for it and hurried her out, closing the door with a bang.
Taking the candle from Rand, Kit reopened the panel, peeked in, and slammed it shut again.
Lily’s limbs shook. “What—what were all those things for, Rand?”
“I’m not certain I want to know. But I imagine this diary will reveal all.”
“Will you show your father that space?”
He was silent a long moment. “No. Not unless I have to. Not unless the diary fails to reveal Alban’s plan to kill Bennett, or the marquess refuses to believe my translation.”
She nodded. It was a sound decision. The marquess had clearly loved Alban, and there was no sense disillusioning him more than was necessary. After all, Alban was already dead.
Never had Lily, nice Lily, thought she’d be glad for a man’s demise. “Never say never,” she whispered.
Rand slanted her a glance, then slowly opened the journal and flipped to the final entry. “‘Nineteenth of August, 1677,’” he read aloud before looking up. “The day Alban died.”
“We’ve got him,” Kit said with a smile.
Lily dropped to her knees and buried her face in Rex’s neck, wetting his fur with her tears. After a long moment, she got to her feet, reached for the bowl of meat, and set it on the floor.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
SIXTY-FOUR
ALL THE WAY back to Trentingham, Lily and Rand and Kit reminded one another that the diary might not reveal anything incriminating.
But they couldn’t help but believe that it would.
It was late when they arrived, and Lily was exhausted. She’d hardly slept a wink those long nights waiting for word from Rand.
The rest of the family were already abed. After a yawning Parkinson let them in, Rand drew Lily close and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Go to sleep,” he told her. “You cannot help with this, anyway. In the morning you’ll feel better, and with luck I’ll have good news.”
She nodded and took herself off to her room.
Parkinson led the way up to the library, then lit a few candles and went back to bed himself. Rand and Kit settled at a round wooden table to decipher the diary.
No sooner had Rand opened the cover than Rose walked in, carrying another candle and wearing nothing but a white night rail with a red wrapper tied over it. Although the garments were concealing, their effect was undeniably intimate. She set down the candle and rubbed her eyes. “You found the journal?”
“We did,” Kit said. “Would you like to help us decode it?”
Rand opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, she took a chair. “Of course. Lily asked me to help, because I’m good at that sort of thing.”
She was good at that sort of thing. Inside of an hour, they had Alban’s final entry translated, Rand and Rose doing most of the work while Kit sat back and watched.
Rand noticed that Kit mostly watched Rose, not the diary.
“What does it say?” Kit asked.
“‘I’m going to do it,’” Rose quoted. “‘The time has come.’”
“It’s not enough.” Rand rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to find something that clearly implies murder. The rest of this entry’s no more than a recitation of his day.”
“Then we do the one before it,” Kit said.
Rand sent him a wry glance. “We?”
“Hey, we all do what we can. I found the thing, didn’t I?”
“With Rex’s help,” Rand conceded.
Rose went to a cabinet and poured them each a measure of Madeira, herself included. Then they went back to work.
Another hour passed, an hour of slow but steady progress.
“We’re going to find the evidence,” Rose said, adding to the ever-growing column of words they’d managed to decipher. “It’s here. I know it.” She looked up. “He was a wicked man, wasn’t he, your brother?”
Rand nodded, afraid to be optimistic, but feeling Rose was right. They were going to find their proof. Then he’d just need to convince his father.
They puzzled out a few more words of an entry dealing with the sale of some cattle. “You’re going to take care of my sister,” Rose said while scribbling some notes. “And I expect you to be kind to her all your days.”
He looked up. “I’ll cherish her like no man has ever cherished a woman.”
“You’d better,” she said darkly, then jotted another word.
A smile on his face, Kit watched her and sipped his Madeira.
“‘The date draws near,’” Rand read when the entry was complete. “‘If she is to be mine, steps must be taken.’”
“Not enough,” Kit said. “He could be talking about a horse.”
“But he isn’t.” Rose reached to refill his goblet. “He’s talking about murder. Another entry. Let’s get back to work.”
She seemed tireless, and Rand was rarely tempted to sleep when faced with a puzzle. Especially one this important.
“Lady Rose,” Kit started.
“Hmm?” She crossed out a word and wrote another.
“Rand led me to believe you were, ah, a mite antagonistic concerning his relationship with your sister.”
“Well, that,” she said, “was before I got to know the man properly. I didn’t feel he was good enough for her at first. But now…”
Her soft smile said it all. Although she’d had other reasons to oppose the match than those she was willing to admit, Rand knew her new attitude was genuine. Miraculously, she seemed truly happy for him and Lily. And approving.
It would be an enormous relief for Lily, he knew, and for him as well. And now, when it seemed everything might work out after all, that seemed more important than ever.
Several hours and four entries later, at last they hit gold.
Rand sat back, staring at the page.
“Read it,” Kit said.
“‘Margery begged and
