Horrified, Peregrine stared at him, the notion of such barbarism impossible to comprehend, before his natural defence of Xenia’s father sprang to his lips. ‘Captain Higgins would not countenance such an act. Where have you heard this, Nelson? This is all hearsay. Of course your fellow slaves would be quick to invent a tale like this, but as no slaves survived the voyage, there are no witnesses and therefore no one to refute or support what you’re telling me.’
Nelson’s compelling gaze bored into Peregrine’s as he waited for his master to finish speaking.
With commendable deference he inclined his head in acknowledgement, before fixing Peregrine once more with a level look.
The sound of a passing wagon in the street below punctuated the tense silence as Peregrine waited, alarm and anticipation building in his chest.
‘With all due respect, my lord, there was one witness.’
Perry shook his head. ‘There were no survivors, Nelson.’
‘No slaves who survived, my lord, that is true.’
A curse in the street drifted through the half-open window. Peregrine studied the set jaw of his manservant as he teased out the insinuation. Nor did he lose concentration at the jingling of harness and the clatter of what sounded like a barrel falling to the cobbles.
‘Go on, Nelson,’ he said softly.
‘Mr Carstairs travelled as a passenger from Jamaica aboard the Batavia with a cargo load of slaves.’
The air inside Perry’s chamber seemed suddenly dense. Fragments of truths and half-truths danced on the periphery of his brain. Words that had blithely tripped off Xenia’s lips in relation to her father’s business. His sister’s new revelations, which had muddied the waters. But above all, Miss Rosington’s tearful rebuttals. All of these fragments began to coalesce into some still as yet undefined truth, damnably out of reach but all pointing to one irrefutable fact: that all layers were connected to Harry Carstairs. Was this the reason he’d taken flight?
Perry ran his finger around the inside of his stock to give himself more air. Sweat needled him and he swallowed as he asked, ‘Whom did Mr Carstairs tell?’ He could not pretend to understand the half of it but he had to find out what he could.
‘After Mr Carstairs disembarked the Batavia, he attended his lawyer then returned to his house, where Lord Ogilvy visited him. He was overheard by one of the servants telling Lord Ogilvy he’d witnessed all one hundred and thirty-four slaves thrown into the sea.’ Nelson’s lip curled as he added, ‘For the sharks.’
Perry stared at him as he tried to comprehend the ramifications of such a crime—and the ramifications for Carstairs should it be discovered by Captain Higgins that his passenger had seen what he ought not and, moreover, that he was talking about it. He grunted. ‘I take it word got back to the captain of the Batavia and that’s why Mr Carstairs fled for his life?’
Nelson nodded. ‘Captain Higgins is guilty of murder, my lord, though it was only the killing of a number of black so-called savages from Africa by a white man from England.’ His chest rose with emotion. ‘But even if throwing one hundred and thirty-four slaves overboard for the sharks is not considered murder in this country, the captain is still guilty of claiming his funds illegally. And insurance fraud is a very serious business in the eyes of the law, my lord.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘Perry darling, you have not yet complimented me on my new polonaise. Lord William says the silver thread embroidery sets off my eyes magnificently, while wicked Sir Samuel declares he shall compose an ode to my creamy shoulders.’ Xenia’s coy look only highlighted the sexual animal cunning that had always been such a successful ploy in drawing him to her.
Tonight it left Peregrine more than simply cold. Beneath the chandelier of a hundred beeswax candles Xenia looked an exquisite figure, cast in gold and ivory. Nestled among the curls of her pomaded hair, styled a foot high, was the ubiquitous galleon, symbol of her father’s wealth and the source of her own extravagant lifestyle.
That she would remain a beauty as she grew old was not in doubt. Her mother’s aristocratic legacy could be seen in her finely chiselled nose, high cheekbones and the hauteur that would inflame some with respect and desire, and others with deference.
Where once Perry had hardened each time Xenia sent him one of her suggestive looks, he now felt positively repelled. Xenia’s allure was like a brittle casing of the rotting being within. She had no softness, he realised. Her motives were entirely self-serving. Oh yes, she might desire Perry for the fleeting moments their naked limbs were entwined, and she might use her body as enticement for some service rendered. But she would never give her heart.
‘Your beauty is exalted by your liveliness tonight, Xenia,’ Perry remarked truthfully, while his thoughts ran wild with regard to how much she knew of her father’s unlawful dealings. For now, though, it was incumbent upon him to retain the careful veneer of polite interest as a foil for his turbulent thoughts. ‘Pray tell, what is your secret? Something has excited you.’
She halted her progress from the mantelpiece to the clustered seating where he loitered, drink in hand, awaiting the moment their carriage was announced.
‘Why Perry, surely you are only teasing me.’ She tapped him playfully on the shoulder, her lips forming a moué while her eyes sparkled. ‘Tonight I am a happy woman. Justice has been served and I am now in a position to enjoy the fruits of my efforts to achieve it. Charlotte has been avenged and you may now claim your reward.’
She drew a deep breath and her bosom swelled. But the effect was not enticing, as Perry would once have found it. The tiny love-heart shaped patch she’d placed just above the nipple of her right breast didn’t send the heat to his loins, as it once would have.
And he could no longer pretend what he did not feel.
He turned away from her and took a step towards the fireplace. What evil had Xenia perpetrated in her quest for self-fulfilment or aggrandisement? Clearly she wanted Perry. But what else would inspire her to go to such lengths?
He took a difficult breath. The need to protect her father’s fortune?
Though he said nothing she must have sensed his reserve, for her voice held a brittle edge. ‘You have desired me throughout two husbands, Perry. You have gone to great lengths to win the reward I promised you all those weeks ago. And although it wasn’t you, directly, who exposed Miss Rosington for the jezebel she is, I consider it even more effective she did that herself.’
‘So we are to celebrate the destruction of Miss Rosington by indulging our carnal desires?’ His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. ‘Now that Charlotte is avenged?’
She inclined her head. ‘Miss Rosington will never recover from the slur that Charlotte herself has levelled upon her. And if for some reason you pity Miss Rosington, then don’t. She is soon to set sail for Jamaica and her marriage to Lord Ogilvy takes place, as you know, two days hence.’
If her words had been calculated to alter his disposition towards Xenia, they missed their mark. Xenia had desired the destruction of Miss Rosington for reasons other than avenging Charlotte, of that he was sure. Had Miss Rosington played into her hands without Xenia having to lift a finger?
And how much did Xenia know of her father’s dealings?
Tonight he planned to find out.
Despite all that he had seen, the ravaging desire he felt for Miss Rosington would not be quelled; even when he conjured up hideous visions of Miss Rosington’s creamy limbs curled around Carstairs’ naked body.
Wincing, he shook his head. He no longer believed she had entered the man’s bed of her own volition. But had she been manipulated by others and reluctantly agreed? Tacit involvement would not exonerate her but if, as she claimed, she had in fact been tricked …
‘Yes, Xenia, my sister has assuredly had her revenge.’ Perry agreed to this with more thoughtfulness than spleen, which obviously interested Xenia.
‘You can’t really be sorry for Miss Rosington?’
He did not miss the dea
thly challenge in her question, though her tone would appear almost bland to anyone who did not know her.
Perry knew her only too well. Xenia was at her most dangerous when she appeared most benign.
‘Granted, she betrayed my sister with the man Charlotte was to marry. I saw it with my own eyes.’ He studied the intricate enamelwork of his snuffbox while he chose his words carefully. It was too dangerous to look Xenia in the eye. He suspected she could read him as well as he could read her. ‘But she has been exposed now to the world for what she is.’
‘I asked if you were sorry for her. Your manner does not suggest exultation. I was curious.’
Perry exhaled on a sigh of frustration. ‘Is it not enough for you, Xenia, that Miss Rosington will never be received in polite society again? Is my round condemnation required? Perhaps I’m more concerned about Charlotte and what happens to her now than I am about Miss Rosington. Miss Rosington will, as you have just pointed out, be leaving for Jamaica before the week is out. Meanwhile Charlotte is still talking about joining a nunnery. But what of Carstairs? What’s he doing in all this? Has he been roundly condemned for his behaviour? I hardly think he’s about to beg my sister for forgiveness.’
‘He is travelling to Jamaica on board the Veronique in the company of Lord Ogilvy and Miss Rosington, or rather Lady Ogilvy as she then will be,’ Xenia said smoothly. ‘Meanwhile I shall dissuade Charlotte from her life of celibacy, I promise you, Perry.’
She’d crossed the carpeted expanse as she spoke and now her body was but an inch from his. Perry could see the lust in her eyes as her bosom rose and fell with each breath.
‘Celibacy is so overrated,’ she whispered, tucking a lock of Perry’s hair back into his queue as she rested her cheek against his, angling her head so she could look into his eyes. ‘And you’ve been chafing against it for too long. But tonight …’
Her suggestive promise was accompanied by a raising of one eyebrow and the curl of her painted lips, but Perry felt no answering desire. He would have recoiled had he not been aware of the dangers in denting Xenia’s pride. No, he’d have to tread carefully, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to melt into her embrace as she so clearly expected.
A falling log in the fireplace provided the excuse he needed to push her away, feigning concern at the possible singeing of her skirts. He looked out of the window towards the moon for a hint of the time. ‘All good things worth waiting for are made the sweeter for not rushing into them, Xenia. Come.’ He offered her his arm as he turned for the door. ‘We are expected at Lady Milton’s, but when we’ve made our excuses the night will be ours.’
He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to extricate himself from being the recipient of Xenia’s promised affection without inciting her fury, but that was a problem for later. In the meantime the thought occurred to him that if Nelson knew so much of the affairs of Captain Higgins and Carstairs, his manservant’s below-stairs connections might well prove useful in the search for the truth regarding Miss Rosington’s involvement in all this. For what he’d taken as irrefutable proof of her guilt now seemed completely at odds with the abundance of conflicting evidence and motives surrounding the Carstairs mystery.
***
‘Do try to look a little cheerful, Celeste.’
Although her aunt’s rebuke was not harsh as she surveyed Celeste in her wedding finery, tears still pricked Celeste’s eyes. She dropped her hands to her sides as Mary began to unlace her, now that the final fitting had been approved by the small company who surrounded her.
‘Perhaps I shall miss England. That warrants tears, doesn’t it?’ She sniffed, rummaging in her pockets for her linen handkerchief. ‘I’ve been affianced to Raphael for seven years but neither of us had heard of Jamaica when the marriage contract was signed. Now I’m condemned to live there for the rest of my life.’
Aunt Branwell sent her a tired smile from her seat upon the gilt settee. ‘It is hard, I grant you that, child,’ she agreed. ‘But you will not lack comfort. Raphael will keep you in great style, there’s no doubting that.’
But there’ll be no love in my life, Celeste thought with a pang. Years of emptiness stretched before her in a land that was hot and frightening. She felt like a sailor about to venture into unchartered waters where sea serpents and the edge of the world were frightening realities.
‘And Harry will be accompanying us on the same boat. How does that help my reputation in view of the whispers that have all but blown London off its foundations? I don’t understand Raphael.’
Well, she did and that was part of the problem. He’d chosen to sacrifice Celeste when Lord Peregrine gave him the choice. Surely Raphael could have chosen to bail Harry out financially, rather than allow Celeste’s ruin?
She clutched her stomach, for the pain was physical. Lord Peregrine had accepted Lady Busselton’s wager and then offered to waive Harry’s debt by ensuring Celeste’s ruin.
Harry and Raphael had kept close company for some time, but of course the situation would have been misread as Harry having an interest in Celeste—not Raphael.
Yes, she’d been the spoils of a wicked wager between Lady Busselton and Lord Peregrine, just as she’d been assigned the role of scapegoat so that Raphael and Harry could enjoy their blissful union in another country, leaving England where their kind of love was against the law.
Soon Raphael would have achieved his heart’s desire.
But what of Celeste’s heart’s desire? That was of no account to be sure, though assuredly the state of her heart was something she was entirely unable to put into words, were she granted the chance.
Now Raphael had Harry while Lord Peregrine was enjoying Xenia’s favours. Oh, hadn’t Raphael laughed at that just before Celeste’s fitting, knowing as he did the feelings Celeste had developed for the wicked viscount.
She’d wanted to flee from the room, shrieking, ‘Run away with Harry, but I beg you, don’t shackle me to your side as your whipping boy so you can enjoy love, something I will never know.’
She hadn’t said that, of course. She’d simply remained silent and he had done the speaking.
‘Imagine the irony!’ he’d marvelled in that measured, pleasant, condescending tone he liked to used when talking to her. ‘You’ve been ill used, I grant you, Celeste, and I will concede that you deserve sympathy when all is said and done. But you would have humiliated me, had you been given the chance. Still, as you shall enjoy all the riches and comfort you could ever want in Jamaica, I don’t think you can complain.’
And while there was a painful truth in his words, Celeste still could not erase the last trace of feeling she felt for Lord Peregrine.
Her mind constantly replayed their stolen moments, while she was filled with an overwhelming confusion. There was no doubt his motives were evil from the start. He’d set out to ruin her to avenge his sister, but surely it was not possible to manufacture such intensity of affection? She had to believe he’d once loved her, otherwise she could never trust her perceptions again.
Not only that, she’d have nothing with which to sustain her during the long empty years ahead.
Stepping out of her gown and adjusting her panniers, she said, ‘It will be the strangest wedding anyone has been to for a long time. There! That’s made me smile. I’ll be surprised if we have any guests at all.’
‘Prurient curiosity is a great motivator for overcoming one’s moral scruples,’ Aunt Branwell observed. ‘You know, of course, that I, for one, do not believe in this nonsense that connects you with Harry Carstairs.’
Celeste smiled gratefully as she ran her hands down her stays, half boned and rigid enough to give her the inverted V shape required to achieve the fashion of the day. Mary was holding out her petticoat, a pale cream silk box-pleated confection, before the polonaise went over her head, transforming her into exactly what Raphael required: a well-packaged lady of fashion, constricted and restricted in every way, constrained by clothes, duty, upbringing, expectations and t
he ever-present threat of losing everything were she to abrogate any of the heavy expectations that weighed upon her shoulders.
‘I shall need new clothes in Jamaica,’ she whispered. She could not inject any more strength into her voice. ‘Raphael told me this some time ago but …’ She swallowed painfully and closed her eyes before finishing the sentence. ‘I couldn’t believe I would really go.’
Aunt Branwell darted her a sharp look. ‘I pity you, Celeste, but you were naïve to allow sway to improbable daydreams. Women like you—like us—only make life harder for ourselves if we indulge in foolish fancies.’
‘Then I was more than the common fool; for not only did I indulge in foolish daydreams, but I was duped by the very man I thought would transport me to my fantasy land.’ She sucked in a quavering breath. ‘I loved Lord Peregrine, but he betrayed me most cruelly.’ Celeste was reasonably certain Aunt Branwell suspected the truth, and what did it matter if she did? There was no one else to whom she could unburden herself, and that’s what she needed right now. In just a few days she’d be wrenched from her homeland and everything that was familiar.
‘You believe Lord Peregrine wrote the note that sent you to the location where you were compromised by Harry Carstairs?’ Aunt Branwell spoke plainly as she moved her brown-silk brocaded and upholstered body forward in her seat, her eyes full of sympathy in her wrinkled face. ‘Mary told me everything, but I don’t believe Lord Peregrine is guilty of more than agreeing to a wicked wager proposed weeks ago by Lady Busselton.’ She put up her hand to stay Celeste’s protest. ‘Bad enough though that is, I think it’s possible he changed his mind and had no intention of following through with the plan to see you ruined.’
Celeste shook her head. ‘He admitted it, Aunt Branwell.’
‘He admitted accepting a wager that would see your reputation besmirched, granted.’ She looked pointedly at Celeste. ‘You are a beautiful young woman and he was clearly taken, therefore it makes no sense he’d pass the “spoils”—to speak bluntly—to the very man he despises, when he could both enjoy you and ruin you himself.’
Wicked Wager Page 17