At these words, she finally sprang into action. “This way.” She led him up the stairs and around but one corner. As they neared the master suites, the sounds of weeping drifted out from one of the chambers.
Lady Arianna stopped at the door. “Agnes, leave them be a moment.”
An older servant, eyes red and swollen, peeked out of the chamber with an anxious gaze. “Is he the physician?”
“I—” Vincent began.
“He is. Step away please.” Lady Arianna was obviously made of the same stock as his wife. He’d have found humor in the two sisters’ stubbornness under other circumstances.
Once the woman had reluctantly backed out, Vincent followed the girl into her father’s chamber.
Not one, but two people laid on the bed.
On the nearest side, a man, Quimbly, his skin a parchment-like white, his lips blue, his eyes…
Gazing lifelessly at the ceiling.
An uncovered chamber pot sat on the table beside him emitting a vomitus odor: a foul, almost chemical stench that stirred a vague memory in the back of Vincent’s mind.
“Mama?” Lady Arianna had gone to the other side of the bed and leaned over her mother.
“I took care of him, darling.” The countess’ words barely sounded between her gasping breaths. And then the woman held out her hand atop the coverlet and slowly opened her fingers. Inside of her hand lay two vials. Lady Quimbly chuckled. “Gave him a taste of his own, my dearest Arianna.”
Seeing it in her hand, smelling the stench of death, Vincent was not mistaken. It was the same vial he’d found in his brother’s palm. The same red cap. The same traces of powdery substance lining the glass.
“No more,” the countess said, sounding weaker. “He’s taken too many lives, hurt too many people.”
Lila’s sister’s shoulders began to shake, the magnitude of this moment in time penetrating her calm. “But why you, Mama?” She pressed her cheek beside her mother’s.
“He killed my brother?” It wasn’t really a question. But Vincent needed to know.
The woman finally seemed to notice he was in the room. Meeting his eyes, she nodded. “My husband needed a duchess for a daughter. I never understood. But your brother refused to marry her. My poor Lila. She’d already been rejected once.”
Vincent struggled between the relief he felt to learn his brother hadn’t taken his own life and anger at the dead man lying on the bed.
Disgusted by all the tragedies caused by a madman, Vincent accepted the former emotion and dismissed the latter.
It was over.
The sudden desire to leave all of this behind and return to Lila was all that mattered now. She was his life now. Lila…
“You love my oldest daughter?” the countess implored him. “She is happy?” Her breathing had become labored. If she’d swallowed the arsenic, she was likely moments from death, nothing could be done.
“I love her.” Vincent’s own throat felt thick. “She is happy.” And she would be, too, as soon as he could get home and clear up all of their misunderstandings.
The countess fell back with closed eyes. “She won’t be needing my sleeping draught then.”
* * *
Vincent rode as though the hounds of hell chased him. Thank God for the moonlight. Thank God a horse had been available at the last inn, a good, strong horse.
He never would have driven an animal so hard, but…
His wife.
He dared not contemplate what he might find at his own home.
Please, don’t go! She’d begged him.
And his words. Words he’d regret for the rest of his life. Words said out of temper, and hurt, and shame: Get some sleep, Lila. Take some of that draught your mother gave to you.
Why hadn’t he recognized it then? The vial was the same as the one he’d discovered with Keenan. He’d been so blinded by his own damn pride. He allowed the horse to slow to a walk. He could not make any animal run such a great distance. He’d be more the villain for doing so.
And then he realized… he could run.
He was close. He could not sit atop a horse ambling along while…
He could run. The horse would follow.
Vincent dismounted, landed on the ground, and settled into a pace he could maintain for a great distance, pumping his arms and legs, punishing himself in the only way he knew how. Ironically enough, the horse chose to trot beside him.
Vincent ran faster.
If she’d done as he told her, he’d never forgive himself.
Let her have been stubborn. Let her have defied her stupid ass husband. His mind alternated between chastising chants and desperate prayers.
11
Fourteen hours earlier
He’d left her. She’d been right to fear his reaction upon learning the truth. Staring at her from the shadows, hurt had filled his eyes. And then came the anger. It had rolled off him in waves as he’d donned the clothes he’d worn earlier that evening. He’d been unable to remain even for the night in the same house with his wife.
She had wanted to please him so that he would help her save Arianna. At first. That had been her reason at first.
But could she have acted the same with anyone else?
She could not have!
Only him.
After the door slammed shut behind him, she’d sat frozen on the bed, waiting for him to return. Hoping he’d only gone for a ride to cool his temper.
She’d learned many of his habits during the weeks since they’d married. Being out of doors, with his horse or tending to one of the herds—it cleared his head—helped him think.
And so she’d waited.
The next morning, she’d discovered the note in the salver and that was when terror had set in.
He’d gone to confront her father. Her father was not a man who took well to any person to question his actions.
Pemberth was a large man, a strong man. But he was also an honorable one.
Her father would use that against him.
She’d wished to depart for Bryony Manor right away but Pemberth’s driver had fled with him. Knowing Vincent was not to be alone while confronting her father gave her some small comfort. Calvin would be at his side, as well.
Two sturdy and loyal men.
All morning, she paced the stone corridors, fighting the urge to go after him. At the end of one particularly long hallway, she found herself staring at a painting. He’d pointed it out to her that first week.
Keenan. The former duke. His brother. Lila had come to know the man’s handwriting almost better than her own, she’d gone over so many documents, read pages and pages of his correspondence.
Vincent’s brother had been a good man whom her husband must have loved as much as Lila did Arianna.
How must he have hurt to believe Keenan had taken his own life? And yet…
It did not make sense.
Feeling a sense of purpose for the first time all day, she strode back to the library, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew the secret documents once again. Letters between the local magistrate and Pemberth.
Arsenic poisoning. Small glass vial discovered in the deceased’s hand. And then she discovered the most damning evidence of all.
The suicide note.
My dearest brother,
The coffers are empty. We’re in too much debt to save the dukedom. I cannot continue this way. Please contact the Earl of Quimbly who can be found at Bryony Manor to finalize payment of my debts.
Signed,
Keenan
If she hadn’t read through the falsehood of the note, she would most certainly have known who’d written it by the extra twirl on the tail of the “Q” in her father’s name.
The note had been forged.
Her father was despicable. He’d killed Keenan. Likely he’d not been alone, he would have taken Egan and Stan, his two most loyal brutes along to assist him.
Pemberth did not have to live out his life thinking his brother had commi
tted the unforgivable sin.
Come back to me, love. Come home!
The remainder of the afternoon she spent matching investments with notices sent of incoming shipments. Her brother-in-law had not impoverished his estate, quite the contrary.
Lila would show Pemberth everything if—no—when he returned. Because, of course, he would return to her!
Only not on this day.
After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, unable to sleep, Lila slid off of the tall bed in her husband’s chamber where she’d slept since his departure. She could take the draught. Get some rest tonight. If he did not return by tomorrow, she would enlist one of the other male servants to ride with her to Bryony Manor. Her father had killed at least once, that she knew of. He’d not hesitate to kill again.
Lila slipped through the adjoining door into her own chamber and once inside, slid open the drawer of her jewelry box and withdrew the velvet bag.
Holding up the vial of white powder, she realized she’d probably need some water.
Should she take all of it? Her mother hadn’t specified. Had she?
Use it on your husband, her mother had advised. Likely this meant that Lila would only require half the amount to sleep.
She lifted a nearby pitcher and poured some tepid water into a matching glass and then emptied a little less than half the contents of the vial.
She would sleep tonight. Tomorrow could turn out to be a very long day, indeed. He had to be all right! Please let him be unharmed. Please?
She closed her eyes, lifted the glass to her lips, and—
Something solid and wet and cold sent the glass flying from her hand.
Pemberth! Shock replaced her worry in an instant.
She hadn’t even heard him enter.
Without saying a single word, he tugged her tightly to him.
He was here! She wound her arms around his waist, feeling only relief as she pressed herself against her husband. He dripped with sweat despite the cold of the night air, but she did not care. His heart pounded rapidly beneath her ear. She didn’t mind that her nightgown absorbed the damp from his clothing. She slid her hands up to his neck and tilted her head back, taking in his haggard appearance.
“You didn’t drink it? The sleeping draught?”
She shook her head. “I never meant to hide anything—”
“It was poison! I thought I’d lost you.” He swallowed hard, searching her eyes, his hands running over her arms, her shoulders…
Poison? She shook her head. “It was for sleep.” She had just been going to drink it. “You knocked it from my hand. I haven’t slept since you left…”
He shuddered, looking pained. “Thank God. It was poison and I told you to take it and then I saw the same vial… I had to get here.”
What was he saying? Her mother had given it to her to subdue her husband. Had she actually told her it was for sleep? Or had Lila simply assumed…? “Poison?”
He nodded, and then swept her up against him again.
Her mother had told her to use it on her husband! Lila could have killed him! Confused and horrified, she clutched him back, just as tightly.
I could have killed him!
Ice cold clutched at her heart.
Oh, Mother, why?
But she knew. She’d suspected what her own mother had endured for years.
Dear God, she’d nearly taken it herself.
Pemberth tilted her head back and claimed her mouth with an onslaught so desperate that it was almost painful.
The good kind of painful.
A life affirming kind of painful.
Her heart overflowed with emotion at the same time her body hungered for her husband. “I’m sorry,” she managed to gasp against his lips.
“No. Oh, God, Lila. I am the one who is sorry.” He lifted her and she wound her legs around his waist. A need unlike any she’d known consumed her. The need to become one with this man again. A need to show her love in every way. She needed…
Him.
Dragging his mouth along her neck, her shoulders, he walked them both forward and backed her up against the wall. “My love. I thought I’d lost you.”
My love.
One of his hands released her to unfasten and then tug at his breaches. She didn’t wait.
She did not need him to prepare her. Taking hold of his length, Lila placed him at her opening.
He pressed inside. No hesitation. No questions or play.
He knew what she wanted. She ached to be filled.
This was what she’d been made for—to join with this man.
This man. “Vincent.” His name escaped on a rasping breath.
He was her other half. Together, two imperfect souls made perfect. They would seal their forgiveness and their trust and their love in an act as old as time. They would renew the promises they’d already sewn between one another.
Lila arched her back, grasping his arms with her hands at the same time his teeth tore at her gown, exposing all of her for him to consume. Like a storm that had hovered on the horizon, passion overtook them both. Lila moved with him. Deeper. Harder. Her heart sang as they mated together in their own unique rhythm, Obliterating any uncertainty. Their physical bodies said what words could never comprehend.
Gasps and moans melded with the sounds of flesh against flesh as he satisfied them both.
The wall shook behind her. Her legs trembled but it was he who held her up, he who pumped forcefully, increasing in both intensity and pace.
“Vincent!” He was her protector, her giver of pleasure.
Two last thrusts, each seemingly touching the core of her body and then, pinning her between his own body and the wall, he spent inside of her.
They stood that way, taking deep breaths, in a silence that quickly began filling with questions.
Lila grasped him around the neck once again and leaned forward.
In a rasping breath, she barely managed to whisper two words. “What happened?”
12
Bittersweet
What happened?
Vincent lowered her feet to the ground, sliding out of her while he did so, but kept one arm wrapped around her as he fastened his breeches.
At that moment, he never wanted to let her out of his sight again.
“Why would my mother give me poison?” She stepped back, causing his arm to drop away.
He had wanted this season to be a happy one for her. It was likely she hated her father, but she’d had hope for her mother. Staring at the broken glass spread at the other end of the room, he scrubbed one hand down his face.
“Your mother…” He couldn’t just blurt it out. Not in here. Not with the sweet sickly smell of arsenic hovering in the air.
Not giving her a chance to resist, he scooped her up and carried her into the master’s chamber.
His chamber.
Their chamber.
Her concerned look revealed that she sensed his news was not going to be good. He did not want to tell her this. After lowering her to the bed, he climbed up and gathered her against him, wanting more than anything to protect her from the truth he must impart, holding her head against his heart.
“Your mother…” He swallowed hard. “She has passed.” And because she would find out anyway, he would not hide her parents’ manner of death. “She poisoned both your father and herself. I saw the vial in her hand. It was then I realized…”
A gust of wind shook the window, but aside from the rattling of the windowpane, the room fell silent. Her head tucked into his chest, she did not speak or move. She simply absorbed the horror of his news.
“Arianne?” He was relieved to hear her voice, shaking though it was.
“Was with your mother in the end. She’s strong, like you. Calvin and Drake are bringing her and the governess behind me. I would have stayed with her myself but when I saw what they’d taken, and I realized it was the same vial you’d shown me…” He could not explain the terror he’d felt at the thought th
at he’d lost her.
And then he closed his eyes. “Lila, it was the same vial Keenen clutched in his hand in death.”
This information did not seem to surprise her. “My father forged the suicide note,” she murmured against him. Of course, she had discovered the certificate. The damned secret drawer.
“I didn’t want to believe he could take his own life.” But he was speaking of his own brother and this was not about him. “Love, your mother said she needed to stop him.”
She nodded beneath his chin. “She hated him, but she also loved him.” And then a sob tore through her. “We all did. It doesn’t make sense.” And then another sob. “I hated him, Pemberth. I hated him.”
Vincent wished he could take her pain. “I know, love. I know.” He stroked her hair. How had this slip of a woman come to mean so much to him?
“She gave me the draught for you.” At first, he wasn’t certain he heard right. “She told me to give it to you, that it would put you to sleep if you were too demanding of me.” She began trembling. “I hate them both, Pemberth. I hate them! I hate them.”
He felt helpless. All he could do was absorb her cries, her tears, while the storm within her subsided.
She’d fall silent, seemingly asleep, but then a tremor would run through her and she’d weep gently once again. Not until the sun crept over the horizon did exhaustion and worry finally have its way with both of them. Holding tightly to one another, they slept.
Her first thought, even before opening her eyes, was that her head hurt. The next was that she was not alone.
He came back.
And then the events that occurred at Bryony Manor roared into her memory. Could it all have been a nightmare? But no. It had not been.
Her mother had killed her father and then herself. Her mama. Oh, Mama!
Warm lips settled on her forehead. “You are awake?”
Her eyes ached as she opened them. They would be puffy and swollen. She could feel the grit from her leftover tears. And yet, she tilted her head back to look up at him. “I am. How did you know?”
Hell’s Wedding Bells: A Devilish Debutante’s Novella Page 8