He shook the thought away and guided Belle into the wide, fashionable square of Lincoln Inns Field. The house he rode to was a tall elegant redbrick with white trim around the windows and door. He dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting boy before mounting the steps and knocking. A few minutes later, the butler showed him into a study.
“Vale!” Matthew Horn rose from behind a large desk and held out his hand. “ ’Tis the day after your wedding. I hadn’t thought to see you so soon.”
Jasper took the other man’s hand. Horn wore a white wig and had the pale skin of a redheaded man. His cheeks often had reddened patches from the wind or his razor, and no doubt he’d be ruddy by the time he was fifty. His jaw and cheekbones were heavy and angular as if to balance his pretty complexion. In contrast, his eyes were light blue and warm, with laugh lines crinkling the corners, though he hadn’t yet seen his thirtieth birthday.
“I am a blackguard to leave my lady wife so soon.” Jasper dropped Horn’s hand and stepped back. “But the matter is pressing, I fear.”
“Please. Sit.”
Jasper flicked the skirts of his coat aside and lowered himself into the chair opposite Horn’s desk. “How is your mother?”
Horn cast his eyes to the ceiling as if he could see into his mother’s bedroom in the floor above. “She is bedridden, I fear, but her spirits are bright. I take tea with her every afternoon if I can, and she always wants to know the latest gossip.”
Jasper smiled.
“You mentioned Spinner’s Falls at the Eddings musicale,” Horn said.
“Yes. Do you remember Sam Hartley? Corporal Hartley? He was a Colonial attached to our regiment to guide us to Fort Edward.”
“Yes?”
“He came to London last September.”
“When I was touring Italy.” Horn leaned back in his chair to pull a bell cord. “I’m sorry to’ve missed him.”
Jasper nodded. “He came to see me. He showed me a letter that had come into his hands.”
“What sort of letter?”
“It detailed the march of the 28th Regiment of Foot from Quebec to Fort Edward, including the route we would take and the exact time we’d be at Spinner’s Falls.”
“What?” Horn’s eyes had narrowed, and suddenly Jasper could see that this man was no longer a boy. Had not been a boy for some time.
Jasper leaned forward. “We were betrayed, our position given to the French and their Indian allies. The regiment walked into a trap and was slaughtered at Spinner’s Falls.”
The door to Horn’s study opened, and the butler entered, a tall, thin fellow. “Sir?”
Horn blinked. “Ah . . . yes. Have Cook send up some tea.”
The butler bowed and retreated.
Horn waited until the door closed before speaking. “But who could’ve done this? The only ones who knew of our route were the guides and the officers.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “You’re sure? Did you see this letter Hartley had? Perhaps he mistook it.”
But Jasper was already shaking his head. “I saw the letter; there is no mistake. We were betrayed. Hartley and I thought it was Dick Thornton.”
“You said that you’d talked to him before he was hung.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Jasper inhaled deeply. “Thornton swore he wasn’t the traitor. He insinuated it was one of the men captured by the Indians.”
For a moment, Horn stared at him, his eyes widening; then abruptly he shook his head and laughed. “Why would you believe a murderer like Thornton?”
Jasper glanced at his hands, clasped together between his spread knees. He’d asked himself the same question many times. “Thornton knew he was going to die. He had no reason to lie to me.”
“Except the reason of a madman.”
Jasper nodded. “Even so . . . Thornton was a prisoner in chains when we marched. He was at the back of the line. I think he may’ve seen things, heard things the rest of us missed because we were busy leading the regiment.”
“And if you accept Thornton’s accusations as truth, where does that take you?”
Jasper watched him, not moving.
Horn spread his hands. “What? Do you think I betrayed us, Vale? Do you think I asked to be tortured until my voice was hoarse from screaming? You know the nightmares I suffered from. You know—”
“Hush,” Jasper said. “Stop. Of course I don’t think you—”
“Then who?” Horn looked at him, his eyes blazing through his tears. “Who among us would betray the entire regiment? Nate Growe? They cut off half his fingers. Munroe? They cut out only his eye; that’s little enough for what must’ve been a grand payment.”
“Matthew—”
“Then St. Aubyn? Oh, but he’s dead. Perhaps he miscalculated and got himself burned at the stake for his troubles. Or—”
“Shut it, damn you!” Jasper’s voice was low, but it was harsh enough to cut through Horn’s awful recitation. “I know. I know all that, damn it.”
Horn closed his eyes and said quietly, “Then you know none of us could have done it.”
“Someone did. Someone set a trap and walked four hundred men into an abattoir.”
Horn grimaced. “Shit.”
A maid entered then, bearing a laden tea tray. Both men were silent while she set it up on a corner of the desk. The door closed gently behind her when she left.
Jasper looked at his old friend, his comrade in arms so long ago.
Horn pushed a pile of papers to the side of his desk. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to help me find who betrayed us,” Jasper said. “And then help me kill him.”
IT WAS WELL past the dinner hour when Lord Vale finally returned home. Melisande knew this because the large sitting room at the front of the house had a terribly ugly clock on the mantelpiece. Fat pink nymphs cavorted about the clock face in a manner that was no doubt meant to be erotic. Melisande snorted. How little the man who had designed that clock knew of true eroticism. At her feet, Mouse had sat up at the sound of Lord Vale’s arrival. Now he trotted to the door to sniff at the crack.
She pulled a silk thread carefully through her embroidery hoop, leaving behind a perfect French knot on the right side of the fabric. She was pleased at how steady her fingers were. Maybe with continued proximity to Vale, she’d overcome her terrible sensitivity to him. Lord knew that the anger that had built during the hours she had waited for him certainly helped in that regard. Oh, she still felt his presence, still longed for his company, but those feelings were presently masked with exasperation. She hadn’t seen him since breakfast, hadn’t received word that he wouldn’t be home for supper. Theirs might be a marriage of convenience, but that didn’t mean that simple courtesy must be thrown out the window.