by Amanda Quick
“Now may I be allowed to make love to my wife?” She gave him a misty smile. “Yes, my lord.”
Julian roused himself an hour later and propped himself on his elbow to look down into Sophy’s worried eyes. The glow she always wore after his lovemaking was already wearing off to be replaced again by concern. It was rather reassuring to know that his safety meant so much to her.
“You will be careful, Julian?”
“Very careful.”
“Perhaps you should take some of the stable lads with you.”
“No, this is between Waycott and myself. I will handle this alone.”
“But what will you do?” she demanded fretfully.
“Force him to leave the country. I believe I shall suggest that he emigrate to America.”
“But how can you make him go?”
Julian leaned over her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Stop asking so many questions, my love. I do not have time to answer them now. I will give you a full accounting when I return. I swear it.” He brushed his mouth against hers. “Get some rest.”
“That is a ridiculous instruction. I will not be able to sleep a wink until you return.”
“Then read a good book.”
“Wollstonecraft,” she threatened. “I shall study A Vindication on the Rights of Women until you return.”
“That knowledge will indeed force me to hurry back to your side,” Julian said, getting to his feet. “I cannot have you any more thoroughly corrupted by that nonsense about the rights of women than you already are.”
She sat up and reached for his hand. “Julian, I am frightened.”
“I know the feeling. I felt the same way when I arrived here this evening and found you missing.” He gently freed his hand and began to dress. “But in this case, you need have no fear. You have my promise I will not propose a duel to Waycott, remember?”
“Yes, but—” She broke off, nibbling her lower lip in concern. “But I do not like this, Julian.”
“It will all be over soon.” He fastened his breeches and sat down in the chair to tug on his boots. “I will be home before dawn unless you have made Waycott so groggy with your special tea that he cannot understand simple English.”
“I did not give him as much as I gave you,” she said uneasily. “I was afraid he would notice the odd taste.”
“How unfortunate. I would have preferred Waycott suffer the same appalling headache I was forced to endure.”
“You had been drinking that night, Julian,” she explained seriously. “It changed the effects of the herbs. Waycott had only the tea. He will awake fairly clearheaded.”
“I will remember that.” Julian finished putting on his boots. He strode to the door and paused to glance back at her. A surge of raw possessiveness went through him. It was followed by a shocking tenderness. She was everything to him, he realized. Nothing in the world was more important than his sweet Sophy.
“Did you forgot something, Julian?” she asked from the shadows of the bed.
“Only a minor detail,” he said quietly. His hand fell away from the doorknob and he went back to the bed. He leaned down and kissed her soft mouth once more. “I love you.”
He saw her eyes widen in astonishment but he knew he could not afford the time it would take to listen to her demands for details and explanations. He went back across the room and opened the door.
“Julian, wait—”
“I will be back as soon as possible, sweetheart. Then we will talk.”
“No, wait, there is something else I must tell you. The emeralds.”
“What about them?”
“I almost forgot. Waycott has them. He stole them the night he killed Elizabeth. They are in the basket on the hearth, right under his pistol.”
“How very interesting. I must remember to bring them back with me,” Julian said and went out into the hall.
The old Norman ruin was an eerie, uninviting jumble of stones and deep shadows in the moonlight. For the first time in years Julian experienced the same response to it that he had often had as a boy—it was a place where one could easily learn to believe in ghosts. The thought of Sophy being held captive within the dark confines of this place added fuel to the white hot fires of his anger.
He had managed to keep Sophy from seeing the depths of his fury because he had known it would alarm her. But it had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep his rage from showing.
One thing was certain: Waycott would pay for what he had tried to do to Sophy.
There was no sign of activity around the ruin as far as Julian could see. He walked the black into the nearest stand of trees, dismounted and draped the reins around a convenient limb. Then he made his way through the fragments of the ancient stone walls to the one room that was still standing. There was no glow of light from the narrow openings high up on the wall. The fire Sophy had said was burning on the hearth must have sunk into embers by now.
Julian had great faith in Sophy’s skill with herbs but he decided not to take chances. He entered the chamber where she had been held with great caution. Nothing and no one stirred from within. He stood in the open doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. And then he spotted Waycott’s sprawled body near the wall by the hearth.
Sophy was right. Things would be a great deal simpler if someone put a pistol to the Viscount’s head and pulled the trigger. But there were some things a gentleman did not do. Julian shook his head in resignation and went over to the hearth to stoke up the fire.
When he was finished, he pulled up the stool and sat down. Idly he glanced into the basket and saw the emeralds pooled at the bottom beneath the pocket pistol. With a sense of satisfaction, he picked up the necklace and watched the stones glitter in the firelight. The Ravenwood emeralds were going to look very good on the new Countess of Ravenwood.
Twenty minutes later the Viscount stirred and groaned. Julian watched, unmoving, as Waycott slowly recovered his senses. He continued to wait while Waycott blinked and then frowned at the fire, waited as the man sat up and put a hand to his temple, waited until the Viscount finally began to realize there was someone else in the room.
“That’s right, Waycott, Sophy is safe and now you must deal with me.” Julian casually let the emeralds cascade from one palm to the other and back again. “I suppose it was inevitable that at some point you would finally go too far. You are a man obsessed, are you not?”
Waycott inched backward until he was sitting propped against the wall. He leaned his fair head against the damp stones and stared at Julian through lids narrowed with hatred. “So dear little Sophy ran straight to you, did she? And you believed every word she said, I suppose. I may be obsessed, Ravenwood, but you are a fool.”
Julian glanced down at the glittering emeralds. “You are partially correct, Waycott. I was a fool once, a long time ago. I did not recognize a witch in a silk ball gown. But those days are over. In some ways, I almost pity you. The rest of us managed to extricate ourselves from Elizabeth’s spell years ago. You alone remained ensnared.”
“Because I alone loved her. The rest of you only wanted to use her. You wanted to steal her innocence and beauty and thereby tarnish it forever. I wanted to protect her.”
“As I said, you are as obsessed as you ever were. If you had been content to suffer alone, I would have continued to ignore you. Unfortunately, you chose to try to use Sophy as a means of avenging yourself against me. That I cannot overlook or ignore. I warned you, Waycott. Now you will pay for involving Sophy and we will put an end to this whole business.”
Waycott laughed crudely. “What did your sweet little Sophy tell you about what happened here today? Did she tell you I found her on the path by the pond? Did she tell you that she was on her way back from the same abortionist Elizabeth had consulted? Your dear, sweet, innocent Sophy is already scheming to rid herself of your heir, Ravenwood. She doesn’t want to bear your brat any more than Elizabeth did.”
For an instant, Sophy’s
words flashed in Julian’s head and a lingering sense of guilt shot through him. I do not wish to be rushed into childbed.
Julian shook his head and smiled grimly at Waycott. “You are as clever as any footpad when it comes to sinking a knife into a man’s back but in this case your aim is off. You see, Waycott, Sophy and I have gotten to know each other very well. She is an honorable woman. We have made a bargain, she and I, and while I regret to say I have not always upheld my end of the arrangement, she has always been true to her side. I know she went to see Old Bess for a fresh supply of herbs, not to seek an abortion.”
“You are indeed a fool, Ravenwood, if you believe that. Did Sophy also lie to you about what happened over there on that pallet? Did she tell you how easily she pulled up her skirts and spread her thighs for me? She’s not particularly skilled yet, but I expect she’ll improve with practice.”
Julian’s fury momentarily slipped its leash. He dropped the emeralds to the floor and came up off the stool in one smooth, swift movement. He took two strides across the chamber and caught Waycott by the front of the shirt. Then he hauled the Viscount to his feet and slammed a fist into the handsome face. Something broke in the region of Waycott’s nose and blood spurted. Julian hit him again.
“You son of a bitch, you don’t want to admit you married a whore, do you?” Waycott slid sideways out of reach along the wall and wiped the back of his hand against his bleeding nose. “But you did, you rotten bastard. I wonder how long it will be until you realize it.”
“Sophy would never dishonor herself or me. I know she did not allow you to touch her.”
“Is that why you reacted so quickly when I told you what happened between Sophy and me?” Waycott taunted.
Julian damped down his rage. “It is useless trying to talk to you, Waycott. When it comes to this, you are truly beyond reason. I suppose I should pity you, but I fear I cannot allow even a madman to insult my wife.”
Waycott eyed him uneasily. “You will never call me out. We both know that.”
“Unfortunately, you are right,” Julian agreed, thinking of the vow he had made to Sophy. He had broken, or at least bent, far too many promises to her already. He would not break another even though he longed for nothing more than to be free to put a bullet into Waycott. He walked over to the hearth and stood staring down into the flames.
“I knew it,” Waycott gloated. “I told her you would never again risk your neck over a woman. You have lost your taste for vengeance. You will not challenge me.”
“No, Waycott, I will not call you out.” Julian clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head to smile at the other man with cool anticipation. “Not for the reasons you assume but for other, private reasons. Rest assured, however, that decision will not prevent me from accepting a challenge from you.”
Waycott looked baffled. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I will not call you out, Waycott. I am bound by a certain vow in that regard. But I think we can arrange matters so that you will finally feel obliged to call me out. And when you do, I can promise you, I will be most eager to meet you. I have already chosen my seconds. You remember Daregate, don’t you? And Thurgood? They will be only too happy to assist me and to ensure that matters are conducted with utmost fairness. Daregate, you know, is very good at spotting a cheat. I can even supply the pistols. I await your earliest convenience.”
Waycott’s mouth fell open. Then the expression of shock was replaced with a sneer. “Why should I call you out? It is not my wife who has betrayed me.”
“This is not a matter of a wife’s betrayal. There has been no betrayal. Do not waste any more breath trying to convince me that I have been cuckolded, because I know the truth. The sleeping potion in your tea and that rope on the floor that you used to tether Sophy are evidence enough. But as it happens I believed her before I saw the evidence. I already know my wife to be a woman of honor.”
“A woman of honor? Honor is a meaningless term to a female.”
“To a woman such as Elizabeth, yes. But not to a woman like Sophy. We will not discuss the subject of honor again, however. There is no point because you, yourself, do not have any comprehension of the matter. Now, back to the issue at hand.”
“Are you calling my honor into question?” Waycott snarled.
“Certainly. And what is more, I will continue to call your so-called honor into question in the most public sort of way until you finally issue a challenge or emigrate to America. Those are the two choices you face, Waycott.”
“You cannot force me to do either.”
“If you think not, you have a surprise in store. I will, indeed, force you to make your choice. I will hound you until you do so. You see, I intend to make life intolerable for you here in England, Waycott. I will be like a wolf nipping at your heels until I draw blood.”
Waycott was very pale in the firelight. “You are bluffing.”
“Shall I tell you how it will be? Listen well, Waycott and hear your fate. No matter what you do or where you go in England, I or an agent of mine will be behind you. If you see a horse at Tattersall’s you wish to purchase, I will outbid you and see that the animal goes to another. If you try to buy a new pair of boots at Hoby’s, or order a coat from Weston’s, I will inform the proprietors that they will not have any future business from me if they continue to serve you.”
“You cannot do that,” Waycott hissed.
“And that is only the beginning,” Julian continued relentlessly. “I shall let all the owners of the various parcels of land that surround your estate in Suffolk know that I am willing to buy them out. In time, Waycott, your lands will be surrounded by properties owned by me. Furthermore, I shall make certain that your reputation suffers so that no reputable club will have you and no respectable hostess will want you under her roof.”
“It will never work.”
“Yes it will, Waycott. I have the money, land, and a sufficiently powerful title to ensure that my plan will work. What’s more, I will have Sophy on my side. Her name is golden in London these days, Waycott. When she turns against you, the entire social world will turn against you.”
“No.” Waycott shook his head furiously, his eyes wild. “She will never do so. I did not hurt her. She will understand why I did what I did. She is sympathetic to me.”
“Not any longer.”
“Because I brought her here? But I can explain that to her.”
“You will never have the chance. Even if I allowed you to get close enough to plead with her, which I have no intention of doing, you would find no sympathy or leniency from that quarter. You see, Waycott, you sealed your own doom before you even met Sophy.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about now?”
“Remember that young woman whom you seduced here three years ago and whom you later abandoned when she got pregnant? The one who took your devilish ring? The one you told Sophy was unimportant? The one you called the village whore?”
“What about her?” Waycott screamed.
“She was Sophy’s sister.”
Waycott’s expression went blank with shock. “Oh, my God.”
“Exactly,” Julian said quietly. “You begin to perceive the depths of your problem. I see no point in my staying here any longer. Consider your two choices carefully, Waycott. If I were you, I’d choose America. I’ve heard from those who patronize Manton that you are not a good marksman.”
Julian turned his back on Waycott, picked up the emeralds and walked out the door. He had untied the black’s reins before he heard the muffled shot from within the old castle.
He had been wrong. Waycott had had three choices, not two. It was obvious the Viscount had found the pocket pistol in the basket and taken the third way out.
Julian put one foot in the stirrup and then reluctantly decided to go back into the ominously silent ruin. The scene that awaited him would be unpleasant, to say the least, but given Waycott’s general ineptitude it would be best to make certain t
he Viscount had not made a muddle of the whole thing
TWENTY
It seemed to Sophy that she had been sitting huddled in a chair for hours before she finally heard Julian’s booted footsteps in the hall. With a soft cry of relief, she leaped to her feet and flew to the door.
One anxious glance at her husband’s harsh, weary face told her that something very grim had occurred. The half-empty bottle of claret and the glass that he had obviously stopped to pick up in the library confirmed the impression.
“Are you all right, Julian?”
“Yes.”
He walked into the room, closed the door behind him and set the claret on the dressing table. Without another word he reached out to pull Sophy into his arms. They stood together in silence for a long while before either spoke.
“What happened?” Sophy finally asked.
“Waycott is dead.”
She could not deny the sense of relief that went through her at that news. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “You killed him?”
“A matter of opinion, I imagine. Some would certainly say I was responsible. However, I did not actually pull the trigger. He performed that task himself.”
Sophy closed her eyes. “He took his own life. Just as Amelia did.”
“Perhaps there is some justice in the ending.”
“Sit down, Julian. I will pour you some claret.”
He did not argue. Sprawling in a chair near the window he watched with brooding eyes as Sophy poured the wine and carried it over to him.
“Thank you,” he said as he took the glass from her. His eyes met hers. “You have a way of giving me what I want when I need it.” He took a large mouthful of wine and swallowed it. “Are you all right? Has the news about Waycott unsettled you?”
“No.” Sophy shook her head and sat down near Julian. “God forgive me, but I am glad it is over, even if it means another death. He would not go to America?”
“I do not believe he was rational enough to think clearly on the subject. I told him I would hound him, make his life a torment, until he left England and then I told him the young village girl he had seduced was your sister. Then I walked out the door. He found the pistol and used it on himself just as I was mounting my horse. I went back to see if he had managed to properly finish the business.” Julian took another sip of wine. “He had.”