“With Bonnie?” Evan asked.
“Yes. He visits at least three times a week, has done for the last six months. Ramsey lavishes the woman with expensive gifts and has run up extensive debts in various shops around town, most notably perfumeries and chocolatiers.”
Vivienne swallowed deeply. The news supported her theory that Mr Ramsey was a consummate deceiver. A cad.
“Then perhaps there’s something else you should know about him.” A blush as hot as furnace coals warmed her cheeks. “In his usual tactile way, Mr Ramsey suggested I need a mature gentleman to take care of me, to provide the necessary comforts.”
Evan Sloane muttered a vile curse.
“He made similar advances to my mother.”
Mr D’Angelo snorted his contempt. “These lecherous sorts take advantage of anyone they deem weak.”
Vivienne agreed. “We might assume he learnt about the legacy from my father. That what he desires is to wed me and get his clammy hands on the treasure.”
Mr D’Angelo consulted his small notebook. “Bonnie is a rampant sort. Mr Wicks visits almost daily and spends time in her private rooms.”
“Or is he visiting Ramsey, and Bonnie is the facilitator?” Mr Sloane rubbed his sculpted jaw. The deep sound of his curious hum sent a shiver from her neck to her navel. “So Wicks purchases the masks, while Ramsey plays the intruder to frighten Miss Hart.”
“Then who fired shots at your coach?” Vivienne asked.
“It’s easy to hire a thug from the rookeries, though most are skilled with blades, not pistols. Hence the reason Turton escaped with nothing but a minor injury.”
Mr D’Angelo flashed a confident grin. “You might be right. The owner of the tea shop in Long Lane said Wicks has been acting strangely since his mother died. He gave me the woman’s name, and I discovered she left her house to her brother, Mr Golding, not her wayward son.”
No wonder the man had turned to the bottle.
“Mr Ramsey must have followed me to the lawyer’s office,” she said. Or he might have noticed her when leaving the inn. “He formed a partnership with Mr Wicks so they might share the bounty.”
“It certainly seems like a logical deduction,” Mr Daventry agreed. “Now, we must make plans to prove or disprove the theory.”
The more she thought about it, the more she believed Mr Ramsey was a cunning devil capable of all kinds of atrocities.
All they had to do now was set a trap to catch both men, solve the clues, find their legacy, and that would be the end of the case. Then she would be free to leave town, to start a new life in the far reaches of Scotland, far from the gentleman who had stolen her heart.
So why did she feel sick to the pit of her stomach?
Why did she have to fight back a barrage of tears?
Chapter 15
“I hate to be the one to upset the apple cart, but I have news that might point to another potential suspect.” Ashwood paused when Mrs Gunning entered with fresh coffee and a plate of macaroons.
D’Angelo flashed the housekeeper a charming smile. “You know the way to a man’s heart, Mrs Gunning. There’s nothing like the sweet taste of almonds on one’s tongue.”
Evan had tasted something far sweeter, something much more satisfying. Since waking this morning, he’d thought of nothing but pressing his mouth to Vivienne Hart’s soft skin. Then Howarth said marrying was pointless, and she seemed reluctant to continue their affair. And it was an affair. Nothing could change the fact they were lovers.
Evan drew his mind back to their present dilemma. “Have you discovered something about Lady Hollinshead?” Ashwood had been tasked with making enquiries into the countess’ background.
Vivienne was about to take a bite of her macaroon when she hesitated and placed the biscuit back on her china tea plate. “But the countess is a lady of high moral virtue.”
“That may be,” Ashwood said, “but she is desperately unhappy in her marriage. I have it on good authority the earl has cut off her funds. She told him she has served her time and wishes to return to Scotland. He reminded her who rules the roost.”
Vivienne’s shoulders sagged. “The earl treats her terribly. He blames her for not bearing his children, taunts her with his many mistresses. Thirty years is far too long to remain married to an ogre. My mother always hoped the countess would find the strength to leave.”
“It seems she has opted for Boston, not Scotland. She sent her lady’s maid to purchase passage on The Maybury, leaving from Liverpool one week hence.”
“Boston? Strange she made no mention of it.” Vivienne looked worried, not annoyed. “While her situation is terribly sad, what has it to do with the shots fired or the damaged painting?”