Not a warning about the exclusive club, but a warning far more terrifying.
“Yes, on the vacat page.” Verity stepped closer, so close she could smell the same alluring scent as on his handkerchief. She had lost count of the times she had brought the silk square to her nose and inhaled deeply. Each unique note captured his essence. “Let me show you.”
Verity flicked to the required page while Mr Trent held the book. Those penetrating green eyes studied her, not the crisp leaves.
“Definitely written by a masculine hand,” he said after she’d pointed to the words.
Mr Wycliff glanced over Mr Trent’s broad shoulder. “A man’s mark, without a doubt.”
“And what is it about the book that brings you to town?”
“Perhaps we should sit down, sir, so I might show you.” It would mean sitting together on the sofa. She only hoped she could hold her nerve, that he would not see through her confident facade.
Mr Trent swallowed, cleared his throat and then gestured for her to sit down. His large frame settled beside her, and again, the divine scent filled her head.
Mr and Mrs Wycliff sat in chairs opposite.
“Having only ever flicked to the message left by Sebastian, it did not occur to me to search the written text.” Verity leaned across Mr Trent’s muscular arm and turned to the folded page. “You will see that someone underscored certain parts in pencil.”
Mr Trent cast her a sidelong glance. “Those who study the use of language often make such marks.”
She had thought a similar thing at first. Having pieced the specific words together, something was so dreadfully amiss she’d grown fearful of being alone. “But when you read them in order, Mr Trent, does it not tell a different story?”
Mr Trent focused on the first highlighted line. “Seize the miscreant,” he recited from the text. “That could mean anything.”
Verity shuffled closer. Her thigh pressed against his as she turned the page to the next marked section. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Mr Trent stared at her hair before glancing at the words on the page.
“Retain the money.” She cast the gentleman a defiant look. Let him challenge her theory now. “The fact my cousin pleaded for funds cannot be a coincidence.”
“No,” Mr Trent mused.
“What does the next line say?” Mr Wycliff asked.
Mr Trent leafed through the book to the requisite page. He took one look at the word before raising his head. “Betrayed.”
Mr Wycliff raised a brow and edged forward in the seat. “What? Nothing more?”
Without making further comment, he found the next line. “What concealest thou?”
A hard lump formed in Verity’s throat for she knew the next two words without searching for them in the book. “I shall save you the trouble of scanning the pages. The last comment underlined is atrocious murderer.”
Mrs Wycliff put her hand to her throat, which was exactly what Verity had done upon reading the alarming statement.
“When read together,” Mr Wycliff began, “it certainly raises suspicions over the nature of your cousin’s death, Miss Vale.”
“And the death of Mr Farrow.” Verity sighed inwardly. Sebastian had gone to great lengths to relay a warning. It must have taken hours of scrawling through the text. If only she had given the book a more thorough examination. If only she had ventured to town and approached Mr Farrow. “I shall forever bear the responsibility of not alerting the gentleman of the dangers.”
“You must not blame yourself, Miss Vale.” Pity flashed in Mrs Wycliff’s eyes. “Both men played a part in their own demise. They agreed to join this club. They incurred debts that they couldn’t pay.”
Mr Trent closed the book. He tapped his fingers on the cover while lost in contemplation. Eventually, he said, “How can the words foretell Mr Vale’s fate when he was the one who marked the pages?”
The gentleman had a point. “Perhaps my cousin knew it was only a matter of time before his enemies sought revenge. Perhaps he is referencing someone else’s death, knew of another murder.”
“Yes, that of Mr Joseph Bradley.” Mr Wycliff hummed in agreement. “And that was why they killed Mr Vale.”
“It is all supposition.” Mr Trent argued for he was a most logical man. “One cannot make a case on nothing but a hypothesis.”
“May I ask, who is Mr Joseph Bradley?” Verity had never heard the name. She had come to town to say that Mr Wincote bore the closest resemblance to the masked villain.