What You Deserve (Anything for Love 3)

There was no doubt now that the man was guilty of theft. His confession was enough to see him hang. But to threaten him would serve no purpose. There was more to the story than what appeared on the surface. Reassurance was now their best plan of action.

“We are here to help you, Mr. Blackwood.” Tristan squeezed Isabella’s hand as she sat down beside him. It, too, was a gesture of reassurance and trust. “But we must know the truth if we have any hope of solving our problems.”

“I cannot say another word.” Mr. Blackwood stared at Isabella. “It is for your protection, my lady.”

“Then let us ask our questions,” Tristan said, hoping to tease the information slowly from him. “And you may decide which ones you wish to answer.” He paused whilst he thought how best to proceed.

“How long have you been stealing items from Highley Grange?” Isabella blurted before Tristan had a chance to speak. “I want a figure, nothing more.”

“For … for just a few months. No longer than that. I swear.”

The answer proved revealing.

Mr. Blackwood had been stealing items since Andrew’s death, all to provide the money for him to hide away. A frosty chill shivered through him. Andrew may well have met his demise at the hands of another.

“How long have you been using untoward methods to frighten Lady Fernall?” Tristan asked, although his constant use of Isabella’s married name was grating on him.

“For six months, maybe more. Since his lordship requested me to find a way to persuade Lady Fernall to leave.”

“And you did not object because, in the first instance, you are in Lord Fernall’s employ, and because you felt you were acting in the best interests of Lady Fernall,” Tristan clarified.

Mr. Blackwood nodded. “That is correct.”

“Were you responsible for frightening my husband during the few days before his death?”

She was obviously referring to Lord Fernall’s accident with his horse and whatever had dragged him from his bed that night.

“No, my lady. No.” Mr. Blackwood’s bottom lip quivered when he answered. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“But you know who did?” Tristan spoke quickly in the hope of catching the man off guard.

“Yes, but— no.”

“I shall tell you my theory,” Tristan said as his mind clambered to piece together the relevant bits of information. “For the last three months, you have avoided any contact with Lady Fernall. Whenever she is at Highley Grange, you are in town. You say your actions stem from a need to protect her. It stands to reason then that you know something that would place her in danger.”

Mr. Blackwood stared at him with wide eyes. He tugged at his cravat as though the tight knot was restricting the flow of air. “I knew if I spent time in your company, my lady, I would say something I would later regret.”

By nature of his nervous disposition Tristan believed Blackwood would also struggle to hide his guilt for his part in the mysterious hauntings.

“Why have you only shown concern for me these last three months when my husband has been dead for two years?” As soon as the words left Isabella’s mouth she gasped. “Good Lord. You know what happened to Lord Morford the night he fell from his horse.”

Tristan shuffled uncomfortably. A hard lump f

ormed in his throat. “I am certain if we sat here long enough we would come up with the answers. You may as well explain yourself. As long as you do not divulge the culprit’s name you have nothing to fear.”

Blackwood’s anxious gaze drifted back and forth between them.

“There is every chance we have been followed here,” Isabella said. “Whilst we are running about blindly, the perpetrator will always be two steps ahead.”

Mr. Blackwood dragged his hand down his face and sighed deeply. “I … I know who killed Lord Fernall—”

“My husband was murdered?” Isabella shot to her feet. She clutched her throat and then dropped back onto the sofa. “I knew something was amiss. Was it his son, Henry Fernall?”

“No, my lady. But don’t ask me for a name.”

Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but it took a moment for him to form the words. “And did the same person murder my brother?”

Mr. Blackwood shook his head. “Your brother’s accident happened just as they said. I was to ride with him back to London. But I was late and attempted to catch up with him near Hoddesdon.”