by Addison Cain
The man who had filled her nightmares for years looked about ready to reach up and break her neck. The villain at his side, one who had violated her body over and over when she’d had no hope in the world, licked his lips. Arabella pretended she noticed neither, the weight of her stare settling on the demon that had drawn her to the brink.
What game was Gregory Harrow playing?
Indulgent, self-possessed, he met her gaze, a single black brow cocked. In mirror to his companions’ expressions, Gregory’s cruelty was on full display.
There had always been an itch, a scratching worry in her belly that the man would play her false. Had Arabella been wiser, she would have heeded her intuition.
“Mr. Harrow.”
“My lady.” He’d drawn out the words in the same manner in which he called her my love, and Arabella died a little inside.
Her next words were acid in her throat, but she made herself say them to the one man at the table who made her want to run screaming from the room. “Sir Statham, have you seen the most recent London Chronicle? The loss of your close confidant, Baron Witte, has touched me. I wonder if it was the fire on his ship that killed him, or if he suffered fighting the choppy waters off the coast of France. Neither end seems fitting for a man of his qualities. He deserved so much more.”
Brows fell, the smug lasciviousness falling right from the lord’s jowly face. “I have heard no such thing.”
“It seems I must be the bearer of bad news. Another sad loss you have suffered. First, my doting husband Benjamin, with whom you shared all things, the sad murder of the Marquise of Glauster, and now Baron Witte.” She gestured to William Dalton. “Though I understand you have found a like mind in this one—either that, or my dear cousin owes you a great deal of money and you find it best to keep your investment close.” Arabella did not know from where her gall came, but she turned her sneer on the seething Baron of Iliffe, mocking, “Again, dear William, you have my deepest condolences on the loss of the Strand fortune.”
A swelling vein pulsing in his forehead, Dalton hissed, “You bi—”
Arabella shook her head, her voice low and dark. “You can turn those I call friend against me, hound me day and night, but you’ll never touch me.”
It was Sir Statham who was willing to play. Smiling again, reeking of deceit, he murmured. “I’ve touched you.”
Eyes traveling past a paunch belly to the man’s trousers, Arabella hummed. “If memory serves, there was little to consider.”
Her taunt sparked Statham’s disgusting smile. “Soon enough we’ll play our old games.”
Arabella turned her back and walked across the room to the seat Edmund deemed worthy of a gypsy whore... one far from the fire and the ladies of sterling reputation. She did not spare the men a further glance.
* * *
Horses had been summoned, the ladies left to walk the gardens or ride while the men retreated to shooting across the lawns. Arabella played her part despite the party’s indifference. There was no reason to shame the Jenkins family. After all, she had warned Edmund herself that it would be wise for his family to publicly cut ties with her. And now it had been done with typical English precision.
Except in the case of Lizzy. The young woman showed her face when it was time to stroll. Eyes red and puffy, she looked to Arabella, so utterly sorry that her lip shook. But she obeyed her mama’s silent warning and did not approach.
Mamioro sensed his mistress’s dejection, fussing at the slow pace. The stallion, like her, wanted to get away, but Arabella knew there was nowhere left to go. This was it. Whatever Gregory had put into place must play out.
When the ride was over, when the men approached with their guns draped over their arms, Payne was there to lift Arabella from her saddle. Thus far she’d had no opportunity to tell him that the monsters were at their backs, but he saw in her eyes the old fear no matter how hard she tried to fight it.
“William Dalton and Sir Statham are here.”
That was when the shot was fired, when her horse screamed, and when Payne took the brunt of the spooked beast’s wrath, trapped underhoof. Her friend, her dearest companion, was trampled into the earth, Arabella desperately clinging to the saddle as Mamioro shot off.
Wind whipping the hair in her face, the world moving too fast, Arabella sailed through the air, landing on the gravel, tangled in her skirts and unable to breathe. Fighting the dress, fighting a body stiff in the shock of pain, she rolled to her knees.
The women were shrieking; she didn’t hear them. The baroness did not hear the men rushing forward, or the sound of her name in the air. Her thoughts were automatic, focused on Payne, where he lay motionless on the cold ground.
Landing across his chest she screamed his name, fighting any hands that thought to pull her from him.
Chapter 20
T he barn smelled of hay and horse, the sweetness overpowering the stink of vinegar used to wash the multitude of abrasions on Payne’s body. Up and down, in even rhythm, his chest expanded with breath, half lidded eyes staring at the ceiling beams.
“The opium will ease his discomfort.” It was the same doctor who had attended the baroness through her fever, though he seemed remarkably less excited about repairing a servant. “Are you sure you wish to see this, my lady?”
If he asked her one more time to allow an outsider to brace her friend, Arabella was going to strike him. “I will stay.”
“It will be upsetti—”
“Set the bone!” Loud enough to be heard across the yard, the baroness shrieked, “You are wasting time, sir!”
Payne may have looked dazed, but the instant the doctor pulled his crooked arm straight, the large man screamed. She was there through it, pressing him back to the wooden table, talking to him, Mary and Hugh having been sent from the house to help where they could.
Her little family had gone to ground in the Jenkins’s stable while the party carried on indoors, as if nothing had happened only a few hours prior. Servants brought water and linen, even precious ice was offered. Though the gifts were generous, they came at a price. All who came looked at the noblewoman oddly upon delivery, having never seen a titled lady take up the grueling work of caring for a retainer so far below her station. It was unheard of, shocking, and would lead to gossip both outrageous and endearing.
Arabella cared not what was bandied about Stonewall Grove. Though Payne’s bones may have been set, the patient recovering, Arabella and her household were in peril.
Her friend could not be moved, and all she had to protect him was a silver saw she had swiped from the doctor’s bag when he’d been occupied with his patient. So, at her first opportunity, Arabella pulled Mary and Hugh aside, drawing them close to whisper.
Hugh was openly troubled, his pale brow tight and his eyes wide. Trying to soothe him, she took his shoulder, nodding that he had done well in following her orders and obeying the doctor.
With her free hand, Arabella held Mary’s cold fingers, eager to speak to them both. “It is not safe here and I need you each to promise me that if anything happens, if anyone comes for me or Payne, you will run. Run and hide no matter what.” Arabella took Hugh’s face in her hands, smoothing his rumpled hair. “Do you understand?”
The boy was ready to argue, but one sharp look from his mistress and he obeyed. “Yes.”
“Mary?” Arabella knew the girl would give no vocal response, but Arabella did the same to her. Cupping the young maid’s cheeks she said, “William Dalton is here, as is Sir Statham. You remember who they are. Remember why we ran. Until Payne can be moved, we are all in danger. I will protect him. I’m counting on you and Hugh to protect one another. If the worst should happen, get to London. Solicitor Griggs will take you in. Magdala will find you.”
On the verge of tears, Hugh stuttered, “I do-doo-do not understand what you are so afraid of, my lady.”
Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Arabella murmured, “Go lie down and get some rest while you can.” Mary was next i
n receiving the affection. “You too, Mary.”
They obeyed, Arabella going back to sponging the sweat from Payne’s brow.
A few more hours passed before Edmund made his overdue visit to his stable.
Cautious, the master of the house approached, hands grasped before him. “I have been assured that you are uninjured.”
Disheveled, hair half fallen and riding habit torn, Arabella nodded agreement. “It was not the first time a horse has thrown me. A little rest and I will make a full recovery.”
“And your servant?”
Blotting a wet cloth over Payne’s forehead, Arabella said, “Payne is badly wounded, otherwise I would drive my carriage back to Crescent Barrows myself.”
For a moment he sounded like the Edmund she had adored. “Lady Iliffe, you should come inside and allow yourself to be tended to. A fresh dress and a glass of wine might settle your nerves.”
Ignoring his offer, Arabella asked, “Has there been any sign of Mamioro?”
“No.”
“Then he will have gone to Crescent Barrows...”
“Shall I send someone to—?”
Arabella scoffed, looking to her host as if he were insane. “Mamioro is dangerous.” Edmund did not deserve the softness of her voice, so she spared him none. “Return to your party and your new friends. I do not welcome your false concern or your presence. Tell Lizzy that I do not blame her for the actions of her brother and mother.”
At that, Edmund Jenkins dropped his guard. “That is unfair.”
“Do you believe the pistol shot was an accident? Do you even know who you have invited under your roof? Considering the stories they must have told you last night to change your character so quickly... I would assume you do not.” Incredulous, Arabella pulled a face. “And it is troubling to see you so changed, for I had been warned that you were not as noble as you appeared... and I had refused to listen.” Eyes on him, seeing he was uncomfortable with her disgust, Arabella conceded. “I see it now. Return to your party and your titled guests. Enjoy the acclaim their presence alights upon your family. I will stay here with Payne.”
“But he is a servant, Lady Iliffe. There will be even more talk.”
Every last word was stressed by Arabella’s distrust. “You invited the two men I hate most in the world into your acquaintance, two men that have harmed me in ways that would turn your blood to ice. Why, Edmund?”
At her questions, embarrassment made Mr. Jenkins’s cheeks go red. “Mama thought it would be practical to introduce myself to the head of your family. Lilly had a connection through a friend, letters were exchanged.”
It was almost laughable, the man both blind and foolish. He was being played by a master at the game. All of it, everything, went back to Gregory. “The friend being Mr. Harrow... he brought them here to your house.”
Her malevolent lover wanted Edmund and his family exposed to the men to further his own aims.
Body aching, knees stiff, Arabella settled onto a stool near piled hay. “I do not wish to quarrel with you, Mr. Jenkins. Abandon me to this place and return to what awaits you inside.”
When Edmund moved to leave, Arabella offered parting advice. “Be wise and keep an eye on your sisters. William will want Lilly’s pretty face and fortune. He has none of his own. Sir Statham will want Lizzy’s innocence. They are both conniving, evil men.”
Mr. Jenkins didn’t know how to answer, frozen for a moment before making an awkward turn for the door.
The eavesdropping doctor cleared his throat, looking to her host as if expecting to be invited inside for refreshment now that his patient’s immediate danger had passed.
Arabella snarled as savage as a highwayman. “I, Baroness of Iliffe, am paying your fee, physician. You will stay here and care for Payne. If he so much as twitches, you will attend him. Retake your seat.”
Huffing, the man did as he was told, his resentment palpable. “Yes, my lady.”
Edmund Jenkins raised a brow at her outburst, but wisely kept his mouth shut before making a full retreat.
Day became night, music and laughter drifting cheerfully across the courtyard. A platter of food was sent, a bottle of wine, most of it devoured by the doctor who stuffed himself, belched loudly, and began snoring in his chosen corner.
Arabella could not bring herself to eat, but she did her best to see both Mary and Hugh took supper. When their bellies were full, each of them were tucked into a stall to sleep upon the hay, Arabella remaining on her stool at Payne’s side surrounded by the sounds of soft breaths and deep snores.
In the folds of her skirt she fingered the silver saw, warm tears running down cool cheeks to see her friend suffer because she had been foolish. Half of Payne’s face was swollen, his breath had begun to rattle, and she feared the blow to his head would finish him before any infection in his arm might do its work.
Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “If you die, I will follow. Do you hear me, Payne?”
“Magdala assured me Payne’s proclivities for male attention made him no threat. Seeing you weep for him, I abruptly doubt her word.”
Startled, Arabella drew back, her grip tight on the hidden saw, and found Gregory watching from the dark. It had been so quiet, even the raucous party inside having diminished, that she had not heard a soul approach.
The doctor woke from her shriek, coughing mightily.
Mr. Harrow’s attention went to the man in the powdered wig. “The gentlemen are soon to retire, if you hurry, a port and cigar might still await you inside.”
Arabella refused to be undercut. “No.”
“Go.” Mr. Harrow went right up to the woman in question, growling. “I will handle the baroness.”
All it took was the word of the bastard gentleman for the doctor to abandon his chair and rush from the stable to the civility of the house.
On her feet, like a she wolf protecting her pup, Arabella put her body between her lover and her friend. “How dare you, Gregory!”
Looking her over, eyes lingering on each bruise, every last tear in her dress, Mr. Harrow growled. “You are unsteady on your feet. Sit.”
The command was not enough to move her. She had not eaten, her body ached from the fall from her horse, but she would not stand down. “You brought them here. Payne’s misery is your doing.”
A storm gathered in Mr. Harrow’s eyes, the man moving forward to physically push the rabid woman back upon the stool. “Point that finger at Lilly. Her meddling complicated my original plans, and for that she will pay. Now sit.” When he had her where he desired, his hands went to her hair, picking out stray pins, freeing the tangles, and smoothing mussed curls off her face. “I asked you to trust me. I seldom ask for anything, my love.”
He didn’t frighten her, large and imposing, as she thought he would. Not anymore. “Why are they here? Why here, Gregory? Why now? To act as if you had no hand in this is to lie to me outright.”
“Lilly would court the Iliffe title with her fortune— if her flirtations this night speak for her, she fashions herself the new baroness. As it is, she will have brought the scandal on herself. By the time I am finished with the chit, she will be ruined.”
“I do not blame her for any of this.” Arabella was unforgiving and adamant. “I blame you! You put her up to it. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did. You wanted the Jenkins family to reject my acquaintance. You wanted my opinion of Edmund to diminish.”
It might have been the light of a nearby lantern, but a flash of regret lit behind the black of his eyes. “Yes.”
Heart breaking, Arabella’s tears fell free. “And still you ask me to trust you.”
Running a hand over his hair in the first nervous gesture she had ever seen Gregory make, the man swore. “Everything was put into motion with hardly a day’s notice. It could not be stopped without drawing suspicion. So long as I am here, they cannot touch you, I swear it to you, my love.”
The morning had been full of hope, the afternoon terror, and
the evening sorrow. “It was you who pulled me from Payne, who called for a doctor, who brought me to the stable in place of the house and left my friend on the stones. If you do not think men of their nature failed to notice, you are wrong.”
“Come morning, it will not matter.” Arrogance returned to Gregory’s wicked expression. “Dalton procured the key to the women’s wing. He will go to Lilly, she will accept him in hopes he might consider her for a bride. I have paid a maid to discover their amour.”
Thoughts of Lilly willingly spreading for such a man turned Arabella’s stomach. “I thought she was in love with you...”
“She is in love only with herself.” Gregory, grin growing by the lingering flicker of lamplight, crooned. “As I am in love only with you, and you are in love only with me.”
When he spoke to her that way, his voice gentle and touch sweet, Arabella never knew what to make of Mr. Harrow. “I have so many questions, Gregory. Ion...”
Standing over her, he took her face in his hands. “What of Ion?”
Guilty to her core, Arabella swallowed. “Ion died on that ship.”
Gregory dared to stroke his thumb over the hollow of her cheek. “What did he have left to live for?”
Arabella could not answer. All she could do was close her eyes. “You used him up, convinced him to take his own life.”
“I ask you again, Arabella. What did Ion have to live for? Do you not think he might have desired to die now that his family was avenged? Do you not think he longed to go to them in heaven?”
Eyes spilling, she whispered. “Murderers do not go to heaven.”
Sweet as honey, ravenous smirk in place, Gregory swore, “I would fight my way past the gates of hell to find you in heaven and be at your side. Do not doubt his love for his wife and the child stolen from him would be any less.”
Leaning down to claim her lips, groaning in triumph, he took and took. She let him have her mouth, she let him have her breath, wanting reassurance even from the devil.