Free A Most Improper Rumor by Emma Wildes Page B

assume that had not gone unnoticed. Yeats was trustworthy beyond measure, but her identity would be speculated upon by the other servants, and once discovered, considering her notoriety, there would be gossip.
    Besides, if the vendetta was against the beauteous lady, were
he
in the shoes of the villain, he’d have her watched. That was how one handled the enemy.
    He asked calmly, “Did anyone see the culprit?”
    “No. I noticed the door was ajar as I walked around the house before retiring as is my habit. I like to make sure the windows are secure and the doors locked save for the one you will use on your return. The footman I left on duty to let you in swears he heard nothing out of the ordinary.”
    “And were the windows and doors secure?”
    Yeats nodded unhappily. “Nothing appeared to be amiss until . . . Well, I do not think you will be pleased with the damage, my lord. As your orders are for no one to enter your study without your permission, nothing has been done to tidy the mess.”
    Like anyone, he inherently disliked the idea of a person coming into his home uninvited, but even more so if the thief was skilled enough to accomplish the task without detection and left no trace of how it was managed. “Please have no one touch anything. I’d like to inspect the windows and doors myself, though I am sure you have done a splendid job, Yeats.”
    For the first time, he caught a glimmer of speculation in the eyes of the man who had served his family for two generations. “I thought maybe you might. I have instructed the staff to stay in their rooms until told otherwise.”
    Ben had always wondered if the servants thought he was merely a little eccentric, or if they speculated his role during the war had been an unusual one. It seemed Yeats understood it was the latter.
    That
war was over. However, as he stood in the doorway of his study, his private sanctum, he rather thought a new one had begun. Albeit more private than the collision between Bonaparte’s ambitions and all of Europe, but still . . .
    The drawers to his desk had been wrenched out and the contents strewn everywhere. Ink was splattered across the papers and spilled on the Oriental rug, and even the painting above the fireplace, not necessarily valuable, was taken down and the canvas slashed. Behind him, he heard Alicia’s dismayed gasp as she surveyed the destruction.
    “Apparently our visitor has a malicious streak.” He picked up a broken miniature of his mother with real regret. A flicker of emotion must have shown on his face because his wife touched his arm.
    “I’m sorry,” she said in an indignant voice, her lovely face pale. “This is truly terrible.”
    “No need to be sorry. Possessions can be replaced.” His voice was calm, but inside there was a flicker of icy rage, quickly smothered, and he set aside the miniature carefully in case it could be restored somehow. “I think, don’t you, that this makes it even more doubtful Lady DeBrooke is behind the poisonings, though I’ve no doubt her recent visit inspired this particular debacle.”
    “I can’t see her doing this, true.”
    He eyed a toppled bookcase. “Physically, unless she has an accomplice, it would not be possible for a woman so slender to wreak this kind of chaos.”
    “I couldn’t,” Alicia said thoughtfully, drawing her cloak around her shoulders as she stared at the slashed painting. “And what would be the point of it? She came to you and drew you in, if indeed, her request is even a part of this. It is possible it was someone else entirely, is it not? You confessed to me you know some dangerous people.”
    “This wasn’t a robbery,” he said, thinking out loud. “This is more of a message. It is possible, of course, that Lady DeBrooke hired someone to stage it, but I doubt most street thugs hold the ability to slip in unnoticed, cause this amount of destruction unheard, and then leave with the same subtlety as they entered. So tell me, since