To Capture a Rake

by Lori Brighton

  Will shifted nervously. “But, my lady—”

  “You will hang the portrait.” Her biting tone left no room for argument.

  Curious despite himself, Gideon found the large portrait partially covered by a sheet and resting against the wall. Why, he wondered, was the painting so bloody important? There had to be a reason, for he knew people like the dowager did nothing without purpose.

  “But my lady is quite fond of the landscape,” Will mumbled weakly.

  “Do as I order.”

  Will was no match for the woman. Elizabeth believed everyone had a soul, but the dowager was proof that some people were too far gone into the darkness. He knew the woman’s kind, so embroiled in her own self-pity that she had no compassion for others. He knew her well because she was a kindred spirit. They both shared the darkness. But he’d be damned if he’d let her hurt Elizabeth. He might be a bastard, but he protected what was his, and for the moment, a brief moment, Elizabeth belonged to him.

  “Yes, Mum.” Will sighed in defeat. “I’ll just gather a couple footmen to help.” He scurried away, so eager to escape the witch that he hadn’t even noticed Gideon’s presence.

  The old woman was alone, completely at his mercy. The dark voice inside urged him forward. His every nerve demanded retribution. Some people might think twice about murdering a woman, but he held no such qualms. Slowly, Gideon made his way toward her.

  The dowager stiffened, hearing the fall of his footsteps, but she didn’t turn to look at him, merely folded her hands in front of her as if whoever approached was of no importance. God, it would be so easy to make her disappear. Bury her out back and none would be the wiser. A sweet temptation indeed.

  Gideon paused next to her and studied the portrait. Half of it was covered with cloth, only the man’s torso visible. “You’re insisting on hanging a painting that Elizabeth doesn’t approve of? How very…commanding of you.”

  “The portrait fits much better,” she muttered. “Not that it’s any of your business. Once Elizabeth is gone, this home will be completely remodeled.”

  “Gone?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his feet, tormenting her with ease. Dare she admit her plans to murder Elizabeth? “And why would Mrs. Ashton leave when it’s her home?”

  She released a huff of air, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening as she glared at him. “There is no great secret in the way of my thoughts. This home belongs to my son. Not that…” Her thin lips pressed into a tight line as she caught herself just in time.

  His humor fled, the fun of baiting the woman gone. “Watch what you say.”

  She lifted a gray brow. “Playing the hero?”

  He shrugged. “I thought to try something new.”

  The woman’s gaze narrowed. “You’re quite familiar with my daughter-in-law.” He knew she had the urge to question him further but wouldn’t lower herself. He could practically feel the hatred that burned from her being. He soaked in that darkness, welcomed it wholly, for he was utterly familiar with the feeling, and it fed his evil soul.

  The shift of someone in the far corner of the room drew his attention. The dowager’s companion was seated on a settee watching them warily, her knitting upon her lap. So much for being alone. She was a sad caricature of a lady. A miserable, pale thing who blended so easily into the shadows that he hadn’t even noticed her.

  “I assume you were sleeping with Elizabeth before my son died.”

  Gideon refocused on the dowager. Even her companion gasped at the question. If she thought to shock him, she’d have to try harder. The corners of his lips lifted. “You’d assume incorrectly.”

  “A whirlwind romance then?” Miss Howell replied from her corner, gaining a glare from the dowager.

  “Indeed.”

  “And you’re in love with her?” The dowager snorted inelegantly.

  He should have laughed, at least responded. Instead, he found himself suddenly mute. Of course he wasn’t in love with her, so why couldn’t he bloody well seem to reply?

  “You know my father was an earl,” the dowager added pleasantly. “My husband a baron. Our bloodline is incredibly blue.”

  “How wonderful for you,” he muttered.

  “But my father was terrible with money.” She turned, pacing toward the windows. “I had to sacrifice myself for my family. My husband was not a kind man. I’m not telling you this because I wish you to feel sorry for me. I’m telling this because I sold my soul to have the family I wanted and a home I could be proud of. I will not let you ruin what I have built. I will not hand my legacy over to someone who doesn’t deserve it. I will not see all that I worked for destroyed.”

  “And what of your son’s children? Your grandchildren?”

  “If they are his children, and I highly doubt it, then I will take care of them.” She turned to face him fully. Her eyes were cold, so very cold she barely looked human. More a demon sent to wreak havoc on earth. He wondered, for a brief moment, if he looked much the same way when he confronted an enemy. The thought that he had more than a few things in common with this woman made him ill at ease.

  “You think I don’t know why you’re here?”

  Gideon smiled slowly. “Do tell. Why am I here?”

  She started back toward him. “You see easy pickings. You plan on taking advantage.”

  He laughed. “And you don’t?”

  “You can’t take advantage of something that you rightfully own.”

  The witch tested his control. He clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head to the side in contemplation. “I was under the impression that their marriage was quite legal. I’m sure you checked into the matter.”

  A sly grin lifted the corners of her mouth. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean the children are legal, does it?”

  A shiver of unease whispered over his skin. Elizabeth had been right. The woman knew the truth of the children’s births, or she guessed. He was furious at her threat, although he didn’t dare show it. “As I wasn’t there when they procreated, I wouldn’t know.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, her smile fleeing. “Vulgar. Miss Howell was quite right when she said you must have come from the slums.”

  His hands curled behind his back. So, the stench of poverty followed him even still. Or was it the darkness she recognized? “Oh do tell,” he said quite seriously. “Was it my demeanor? My lack of table manners?”

  Her jaw worked back and forth, quivering with righteous indignation. The glow of the morning sun pooling through the large windows did not soften the look of hatred upon her face. “How much money?”

  He knew exactly what she asked but taunted her by playing stupid. “Pardon?”

  “How much money would it take for you to work for me?”

  No, he wasn’t surprised, although he furrowed his brows as if in deep contemplation. From the corner of his eye he could see the companion seated still as death on the settee, her gaze focused upon the floor. “Depends on the amount,” he finally replied.

  The old woman released a harsh laugh. “You think I’d pay you? You’re nothing but a rat. And rats are merely here to be hunted and shot dead.”

  Hunted.

  Gideon went completely still. Last night’s shooting flashed to mind. He didn’t give a shite about her threat to his person, but the thought that she might be admitting to Elizabeth’s near death made his blood boil. Dear God, he wanted to kill her. To wrap his hands around her neck.

  Instead, Gideon merely quirked a brow, not daring to react as she wanted him to. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, tis the truth.” She turned her back to him, her dark skirts swirling around her booted feet. “As stimulating as this conversation has been, I’m rather busy.”

  Busy planning Elizabeth’s demise. If he’d had any reservations, Gideon had no doubt now that the woman was capable of murder. He needed to find Elizabeth, needed to talk some sense into her. The girl should pack up and move to the Americas, for God’s
sake. He wasn’t going to be here forever, and when he left, they’d be completely unguarded. He started to turn, preparing to find Elizabeth when the dowager snatched the sheet from her precious portrait.

  The painting was of a handsome man with silver hair and kind eyes. Gideon paused, bemused. This was Elizabeth’s late husband? He stepped closer, curious, despite himself. But the fact that he was finally face-to-face with the man who had married Elizabeth didn’t make his heart clench. No, it was the fact that there was something oddly familiar about him. He’d seen that man before. Somewhere…

  Suddenly he was a lad again, in the city climbing into the back room window, sneaking into the shack he, his mother, and his sister shared.

  “I know he’s been here,” a male voice said from the front of the small cottage.

  Gideon paused, wondering who the man was. Although men visiting his mother wasn’t uncommon, he’d never heard the voice before. But for some reason it seemed familiar.

  “I’m telling ye, he’s not here now,” his mother replied, sounding desperate and angry.

  Gideon inched his way forward, avoiding the hot stove, and peered around the corner. He’d snuck out again and now felt guilty for leaving his mum alone. Who was the bloody man making her upset?

  “You tell him,” the man said, furious. “You tell him he’s not welcome in my home ever again. And if the rumors are true, if he harmed that woman, there will be hell to pay and I will not stand by him.”

  “Aye, sir,” his mum muttered.

  A titled man then, for his mum was acting the servant to this bastard. Gideon’s hands fisted. He was preparing to interrupt, when the man shifted into his line of vision and caught Gideon’s gaze. His face was flushed, his blue eyes blazing. He seemed startled by Gideon’s presence but quickly regained his composure.

  “And if you had any common sense,” he said, his attention swinging back to Gideon’s mother, “you wouldn’t allow him into your home either.”

  Without another word, the man turned and left, slamming the door behind him. Silence settled in the small cottage, and his mum didn’t even move.

  Gideon stepped hesitantly into the room, unsure of what to do or say. He wanted to make her feel better, but how? His mother stared vacantly at the door, her arms wrapped around her narrow waist. She looked small, like Lucy when she was scared at night. “Mum, who was that?”

  She stiffened, her vulnerability gone and replaced with a bitter hardness that aged her face. “None of yer concern.” He didn’t miss the way she swiped at her pale cheeks. “Find Lucy, dinner is almost ready.”

  “We’re here, my lady,” Will said, startling Gideon from the memory. The lad came tearing around the corner, another footman at his side.

  Without word, Gideon turned and left the room, his confusion spurring him forward, the dowager and Will all but forgotten. The man in that portrait had been the man who had visited their cottage so many years ago. He was sure of it. But how? Why? Warning bells rang through his mind. Something wasn’t right…it sure as hell couldn’t be coincidence. He didn’t believe in such luck.

  As he moved down the long hall, Gideon glanced out the windows. Below in the walled garden the children were running after each other, their high-pitched squeals of delight echoing against the glass. Elizabeth sat on a bench with Mr. Smith, the two of them looking awfully cozy. Anger sent him toward the servants’ stairs. Since that very first day they’d met, Gideon had suspected there were things Elizabeth wasn’t telling him. Seeing the portrait only confirmed his unease.

  He stomped through the kitchen, ignoring the curious stares of the maids and cook, ignoring the scent of baking bread. The very hominess of the place seemed to mock him. He shoved open the door and stepped outside. Dark clouds hung low on the horizon, threatening rain. The clouds seemed to follow, urging him forward as he stalked around the house, toward the walled garden.

  He would get answers, and he would get them now. He was done. Done with the lies, done with the nonsense. Aye, he was irate, yet at the iron gate he paused, for some reason suddenly unsure. He spotted the children first, their little bodies full of life and vitality. They did not mind the dark clouds or biting wind.

  “Mama, will you play?” Mouse called out from near the bench where Elizabeth and Mr. Smith sat surrounded by late summer roses.

  She wore no bonnet, her light green skirts billowing on the breeze, her hair a thick braid that lay between her shoulder blades. She and Mr. Smith were close, too close. He clenched his jaw, his irritation growing. The urge to stroll up to them, tear Mr. Smith from her side, and slam his fist into the man’s face overwhelmed him. Did she seek Mr. Smith out after having just been in Gideon’s bed hours ago? Perhaps she wasn’t the innocent she pretended to be.

  “Soon, soon I’ll play,” Elizabeth said. “Please give me a moment.”

  Appeased, Mouse skipped away, heading toward Henry, who sat in the grass with his tin soldiers. The child gone, Elizabeth refocused on Mr. Smith. The look on her face nearly did him in. A look of hope, of desperation. Gideon’s heart squeezed painfully. He didn’t want her to need Mr. Smith.

  “She’s getting worse,” Mr. Smith said, his murmured words barely audible.

  Elizabeth tucked a loose lock behind her ear. “Yes, she is.” She sighed, her shoulders sinking. “Perhaps she’ll soon die of old age.” She gave him a wry grin that showed off her dimples, a grin he didn’t want her to bestow upon Mr. Smith. A grin that spoke of friendship, familiarity, and trust.

  “We can only hope,” Mr. Smith drawled out.

  They were silent for some time, and Gideon took the opportunity to pull open the gate, the hinges screeching with irritation. Hearing the crunch of his footsteps over gravel, they both turned. Mr. Smith looked annoyed, Elizabeth merely wary, her smile gone and with it, his hope. His jealousy was irrational, yet he couldn’t seem to control the unfamiliar sting.

  “All will be well,” Mr. Smith murmured, as if whispering to a lover.

  “I pray.”

  As Gideon reached them, the man stood. “Good morning.”

  He looked completely unconcerned with Gideon’s presence. Almost as if Mr. Smith knew that Gideon was merely a temporary problem in Elizabeth’s life. Was Mr. Smith another wastrel saved by her kind heart? He was absolutely positive the man fancied himself in love with her, but what of her feelings toward him? More importantly, why the hell did Gideon care?

  “Have I interrupted?” Gideon asked coldly.

  Elizabeth blushed, a sure sign of guilt. “No, of course not.”

  Gideon’s gut twisted. She wouldn’t look at him but focused on the children. He didn’t miss the way that pulse in the side of her neck thumped madly. The way she twisted her pale hands together with nerves.

  Mr. Smith bowed. “I was just leaving.”

  Gideon waited until the man was far enough away that he wouldn’t overhear. “I had a lovely conversation with your mother-in-law.”

  Was it his imagination or did she stiffen? Her gaze flickered up to him, then to the children, then the garden as if finding utter fascination with the way the daisies wavered back and forth on the cool breeze. “Really?”

  She seemed a little too disinterested. “She offered money, should I desire to assist in her evil deeds.”

  Elizabeth sighed, attempting to wrestle her skirts away from the wind and smooth down the rebellious material. She didn’t seem surprised in the least. “And did you take the money?”

  Gideon settled his foot on the bench and leaned toward her, resting his forearm on his thigh. “What do you think?”

  She stood, her body close to him. So close he could smell her spring scent of lilac and hope. Could see the flecks of gold and blue in her green eyes. Could even see the spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, freckles she tried desperately to hide with powder.

  “I think,” she said softly, her breath warm across his neck, “it would be a lot of money and you could finally escape.”

  Mem
ories of last night played through his mind. The taste of her lips, his hands on her smooth thighs, his cock sliding into her tight, silky sheath. Did she even care? Did the thought of him leaving upset her in the least? Damn it all, he wasn’t ready to leave her…not yet. “Maybe I don’t want to escape.”

  The truth slipped from his lips before he could stifle them. She tilted her head to the side and studied him with a wariness he felt all the way to his bones. She assumed he didn’t want to escape Lady Lavender, but Gideon had other ideas. Terrible, wretched ideas. Why not stay on here? He could protect her, help watch over Henry and Cally. Aye, he didn’t trust her, but he didn’t trust anyone.

  Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. “Are you not worried about the children being outside?”

  “The walls will protect us.”

  He chuckled, amused and exasperated by her innocence. The woman had lived in the slums, she knew how very dark the world could be, yet she stubbornly refused to give up hope. He lifted the handkerchief.

  “Besides.” Her gaze fluttered to the ground. She was playing coy with him now. He didn’t like this simpering miss; he preferred her strong and demanding. “The dowager…”

  He grasped her chin, keeping her face steady.

  Elizabeth stiffened, her eyes going wide. “What are you doing?”

  “Quiet, and keep still.”

  She swallowed hard but didn’t move as he rubbed the fine cloth over the bridge of her nose and around her soft cheeks. With the powder gone, her freckles appeared much like the stars at night.

  “There.” He lowered the handkerchief. “Much better.”

  She frowned, briefly touching her cheeks. She wore no gloves, but her delicate hands were bared. A memory of those hands grazing his cock produced a heated storm that raged through his body.

  “Rather presumptuous of you,” she muttered.

  “I’m in charge,” he reminded her, daring the woman to object. “And I want to see your freckles.”

  She flushed but boldly met his gaze. This was the woman he wanted, the woman who stood her ground even when afraid. “You’re only in charge in the bedroom.”