by Madelyn Hill
“I have proof,” he yelled. “I have proof of my innocence.”
Wright gave a humorless laugh as he stared down his patrician nose. “From Broderick? The man is a twit and has lost all hold on reality. Come with us and she remains unharmed.”
Declan let go of Martine and followed Wright out the door. He looked over his shoulder and offered a small smile. She moved toward him, straining as Little tried to hold her back. Terror struck her with a force that buckled her knees. His face a mix of anger and sharp angles. A thunderstorm roiled in his gaze. Och, her heart ached for him. How could this happen? Again?
She tried to follow, yet blast the man, Little supported her. She collapsed against the old man as she wept unabashedly.
Her heart tore from her chest as they led the man she loved away.
“You must hurry,” she told Little as he held out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. “Make sure she knows it is of the utmost importance.”
“I’ll not let you down,” the butler vowed. He gave her a compassionate look and said, “I’ll do my duty.”
“Aye,” she assured him. “Please take care.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
He left quickly and all she had to do was wait. Each minute turned into another as time passed with torturous slowness. She walked into Declan’s study and ran her hand along the hard wood surface of the desk. She sat in his chair, easing into the soft cushion of the leather. He spent so much time here, she could still feel him.
The overwhelming events of the day took their toll. Martine tried to fight it. She rose in order to revive herself and paced to the double doors that led to the gardens. She didn’t walk out into the glaring sunshine of the day.
Pah, when would Declan’s mother arrive? Her thoughts spun and swirled in her mind. How could it come to this? She crossed her arms before her chest and watched Betsy play in the distance. The staff, save Little, had kept their distance when Lord Wright was here. She felt terrible she hadn’t made a better effort to get to know them, yet so much had happened that she hadn’t the time.
Betsy skipped down the mulch-covered path and playacted with some imaginary friend. Watching the sweet girl helped her stay calm and not watch the timepiece incessantly.
“I came right away.”
She turned at the voice. Hope flared when she saw Lady Wright bustle into the room. “I’m so glad you did.” She moved toward her and grasped her hands.
“Of course I came. My dear, you look wretched.” Lillian led her to the chair and bade her to sit.
“Pah. I’m not worried about me. ‘Tis Declan.” She accepted the glass of water handed to her by Little. “You must help Declan.”
Lady Wright sat in the chair across from the desk. She appeared elegant with her high-fashion gown and regal posture. “Of course I will help my son.”
Martine summoned the courage to look directly into the woman’s eyes. “Your husband came and took him away.”
Lillian blanched as she fanned herself with her hand. “I cannot believe Robert would do such a dreadful thing.”
“He took him away and will send him to prison unless you stop him.”
She stood and wiped tears from her face. “How could this happen? He raged after I said I was moving in as chaperone.” She wrung her hands. “He’s not a bad man. Robert fears . . . fears I will leave him.” A fretful look took over her features. “I do not know why he’d think such. I’ve been nothing but loyal to him since we wed.”
After she took a sip of her tea, Lady Wright set the cup down. “Right. Well it appears as if I must go to Robert.” She stood up. “I will force him to release my son. I will not lose him again.”
Martine prayed Declan would be found and that his mother wouldn’t be too late. “Please bring him back to me.”
Lillian swept over toward the desk and gathered Martine’s hands. “My dear, I promise I will save Declan.” Tears filled her blue eyes and flowed over her lashes. “I missed the chance to save him once before and, because of my cowardice, I failed him miserably.”
“I’m certain you did the best you could.” Martine squeezed her hands. “I’m so glad you came.”
“I’ll never be far away again.” Lillian masked her features from sympathetic to a hardened veneer. The transformation helped Martine accept the fact that Declan’s mother could actually accomplish the tremendous feat.
Lillian nodded her head and straightened her shoulders. A formidable expression hardened her features. “I must be on my way.”
“You’ll send word?”
“Absolutely, my dear.” The woman appeared to be on a mission as she slipped her hands into kid gloves and bustled out of the room in a hurry.
“You, Little,” Martine heard her say. “Come with me, man. We have business to attend to.”
Martine couldn’t help but smile and felt better than she had all day.
Still, she wondered whether they were fated to endure continuous problems? Or would this be the last interruption to their happiness?
Time would tell, she supposed, and prayed no more would infringe on their path to marriage.
Declan thrashed against the locked door that imprisoned him. He gasped for air as the walls closed in, and he stumbled away. He raked his fingers through his hair, then wiped the sweat from the back of his neck.
Vicious memories along with Martine’s face, pale and sad, cluttered his mind. Bollocks. Declan pushed himself up from the floor and resumed pounding on the hard wood door. Still no one answered.
’Twas no different than Newgate, even though there were no other prisoners groaning and screaming for release. And it wasn’t release from prison they had wanted, it was release from life. Declan closed his eyes and tried to envision Martine in the garden with the sunlight streaming down on her dark tresses and kissing her skin. Flowers surrounded her in their springtime buds and vibrant colors. She smiled, a smile made of promise and love—devotion. He clung to the vision.
God, he missed her. The sight of her, touch of her, the mere scent of her.
A noise sounded in the distance. Declan opened his eyes and was greeted with the bleak darkness of the room and no comfort save his musings.
Keys rattled and the knob turned. He watched the door as a cat watches its prey, ready to leap in a flash to devour its next meal.
The door opened a creak as a thin stream of light breached the darkness. Declan crouched down on his haunches.
The door opened further and a silver tray clanked on the floor. Declan leapt toward the door and wrenched it open and grabbed the servant who’d delivered the tray.
Slamming the door closed, he tossed the young boy in the corner. Even in the darkness he could see the lad quiver. Declan leaned against the door and contemplated what to do. This was an opportunity, he knew, but Wright would always be there, just over his shoulder.
“What’s your name, lad?”
The boy’s eyes widened then he scowled. “’Wot’s it to ya, gov?”
Declan paced forward and stood before the boy. He was young, to be sure, with a mop of dark hair and the gangly limbs of a boy on the verge of manhood. “I asked your name.”
He thrust his chin forward. “Glendale. Jon Glendale.”
“Well, Jon, ‘tis time for you to tell me what’s happening beyond this door.”
The scrappy lad stood and brushed his pants free from dirt. “There’s talk of ye. About yer breaking out o’ Newgate.”
Declan smirked. So that was how they were playing it. As if anyone had survived escaping from Newgate. The lad moved toward the door, but Declan stopped him with his hand. “Stay here if you wish to remain safe.”
Jon mutely nodded and tucked back into the wall. Declan reopened the door and looked out to ensure no one was guarding the hallway. Quietly he left the r
oom and headed in the direction of raised voices. He stilled outside a room closed off by two large oaken doors. Angry voices permeated the wood and greeted him with a surprise.
If he was not mistaken, one of the voices was his mother’s. He waited until the shouting ceased and placed his hand on the cool brass doorknob. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned the knob and entered the room. All discussion stopped as Wright, his mother, and Broderick turned to face him.
“A lovely afternoon, to be sure.”
“Declan,” his mother exclaimed as she rushed towards him. She framed his face with her hands and stared at his face. “They have hurt you.”
“It was his own doing.” Wright shrugged his shoulders. “He fought to escape.”
Declan glared at the arrogant man, yet remained silent. He gripped his mother’s wrists and removed them from his face. Emotions raged within him. He was pleased that she came and irritated he had to seek her help. “I appreciate your help, but you must leave.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No . . . no, I will stay with you, my son.”
“Once again you chose your son, thus your blasted first husband, over me.” Wright swiped all the papers from his desk. “This bastard of a son who killed in prison. He killed a man, Lillian.”
Declan moved his mother behind him. “Aye, I killed a man. It was kill or be killed in Newgate. I make no apologies.”
“Listen to him, Robert. You sent him there.” Tears flooded her eyes and trickled down her face. Her skin was ashen as she gripped a nearby chair. “You sent him there,” she whispered.
“I had to. We had to,” he said as he pointed at Broderick. “Or else the king would have targeted us as well.”
Broderick blustered. “I’ve no account for this . . . this new attempt at revenge. We arranged for him to go to prison the first time to save our own necks.”
“And you wanted Lillian as your own,” Wright spat.
“We all wanted Lillian,” Broderick countered. “She was how we lived with ourselves. Saving her from the crazed husband.”
His mother straightened her spine and glared at her husband. “Gwyneth will come with me. I will no longer reside under this roof.” She clutched Declan’s arm. “You will never attempt to hurt my son or his betrothed in any way. I know too much, Robert. Too much of the past and your part in it.”
Declan watched the man and took perverse pleasure in the range of hues that surged up his neck and over his face.
“Come, my son. We must return to your home. Your betrothed is plagued with worry.” She patted his hand and gave a stunning smile. “I will tell Grimes to inform Gwyneth of our new address.”
He just nodded and escorted her from the estate. She’d left her husband, home, the comfortable place in society to support him. Something akin to joy surged through his heart. Although she had abandoned him so many years ago, her current loyalty had helped to heal the festering wound. He owed his strength to her, and for that he’d be forever grateful.
“Excellent,” she said. “I have not felt so alive in many years.” She nodded to the footboy and entered the carriage. “It is settled then. And your sister will be pleased to stay with you as well.”
Declan frowned, but decided not to comment on Gwyneth. If she lived up to previous behavior, he knew she’d prefer to sleep on the docks than stay under his roof.
Maybe he should allow Finn to take her away.
Chapter 28
Martine tossed and turned as her thoughts tumbled about in her mind. She woke, not able to coax her mind to a better, happier path. Pah, she was worried about Declan. No word had been sent and she fretted all the more because of it.
Instinct led her to the broad windows. She searched the garden, looking for what pulled her there. At the rear gate, there he stood. “Declan,” she whispered.
She raced from the room and down the front stairs, shoved past Gertie, and threw the doors that led to the garden open.
She ran right into Declan’s open arms and kissed him all over his face.
“Easy, my love,” he said between laughter. “I’m here to stay.”
“I missed you so,” she said between tears.
He hugged her close to his body. “’Twill never happen again.”
Martine pulled back and allowed her gaze to absorb every detail of his handsome face. Bruises marred the perfection of his jaw line and a deep gash intersected his brow. She lifted her hand to gently touch his wounds, her heart fretting all over again. “How could they hurt you so?”
He shook his head and rested his forehead against hers. “’Tis nothing. Let’s go inside.” He linked his arm through hers and led her back through the open doors.
As they entered the back of the house, Lady Lillian Wright bustled through the front. A hint of anger quivered her lip and flashed in her eye. She methodically removed her gloves and slapped them on the table. Lillian came before them and stood.
“Thank you for saving him,” Martine said as she leaned down and gave the woman a kiss. “Thank you.”
Declan’s mother gripped her shoulders and a proud smile flashed on her mouth. “I would never allow him to return to prison.”
She nodded and glanced at Declan with a hint of pleading in her gaze. Tight lines surrounded her eyes, eyes that were just as blue as her son’s. He remained aloof, a stern scowl on his face and the rigid line of his back only indicating his ire more.
“No matter what the bastard tried to do?”
His mother scoffed. “Really, son. Your language.”
“Mother.”
“Right. I do not know about you, but I need a bracing cup of tea.” She walked to the parlor, her kidskin shoes clicking in rhythm to her brisk steps. “Come along, we have much to discuss.”
Declan followed his mother, needing the answers and the right to ask more questions. She sat like a queen in the chair nearest the fire. The crisp spring air had obviously warranted one to be lit. He bypassed the tea and headed straight to the decanter of brandy. He poured a healthy dose and turned back to his mother.
Tragedy had visited his life too many times to count. But what mattered most were these two beautiful women before him. One he’d lost long ago and had the luck to find, and the other was such an obvious match to his soul, the other beat of his heart. He enjoyed them a moment longer before he strode to the couch opposite his mother and sat. It took the cock of his brow for her to begin her rushed explanation.
“He will never bother you again. I have knowledge that would ruin him as a peer, not to mention his political dealings. Your imprisonment notwithstanding.” She sipped her tea and patted her lips with a small napkin, behaving as if this were any other day, except he saw the slight tremor of her hand. “I will never lay eyes on him again. Excellent,” she exclaimed when Little brought in a tray of tea cakes and buns. “A row always leaves me famished.”
Martine chuckled as she served his mother.
“I cannot believe how vicious my husband was being. I do not understand,” she said as she sniffed into a napkin. “He never treated me in such a way. Why would he treat my children that way?”
“Has he treated Gwyneth badly?” Martine glanced at Declan, then back to his mother. “Is that why she’s so unhappy?”
“No, no.” Lillian shook her head as she continued to wipe her nose. “My daughter is in turmoil over the death of her fiancée. Tragic, tragic accident. Although her relationship with Robert has never been congenial, now it is downright frigid.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder why I never noticed it before?”
“Finn said he saw her running from Wright’s carriage,” Declan offered. If his sister were here, he’d question her until she revealed all.
Something shifted in his mother’s eyes. He witnessed it. Martine obviously sensed it and quickly looked to him. He w
as tired of secrets, those of his family, his own. They only ruined lives and bore distrust.
“I’ll leave you to talk,” Martine said as she exited the room.
“She is lovely, my son.” His mother watched him, waiting perhaps, but there was also relief in her expression.
Declan sat across from his mother. God, it was strange sitting with his mother as if he did so every day. They both drank—him brandy, her tea in contemplative silence. “Aye, she is the love of my life.”
“Ah, ‘tis the lord himself.”
Declan turned, then groaned. “Grand. Just what I need to make my day pleasant—a visit from the Kapo.”
Rafe Petrulengo entered the room with a catlike grace and poured himself a drink. “Fine brandy you have.”
The man had the nerve to sit at his desk, kick up his feet, and rest them upon the wood surface.
“We don’t have to pretend to tolerate each other,” he said with a quick glance at his mother. God only knew what she was thinking. A gleam of curiosity brightened her eyes. “What do you want?”
The Gypsy smirked and mocked a salute at Declan and his mother. “As you wish.” He refilled his brandy and swirled it as he looked at Declan. “My grandmother missed Martine.”
Declan chuckled. His mother was paying rapt attention to their exchange. He knew he’d have to explain at one time or another, but now was not the time. “If you think I believe that, you’ve underestimated me.”