The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  She moved toward him, meeting him halfway, and stepped into his arms. “You were thinking of David,” she reminded him, her voice soft. “I do not think he will find this turn of events amusing, either.”

  Contentment stole over her. With her head resting on his chest, the steady thump-thump of his heart soothed her. She hadn’t forgotten that today was her wedding day. That she now stood in the circle of her husband’s arms.

  “I was hoping to be able to tell him the story.”

  She leaned back to look up into his face. There was a faraway look in his eyes. “Do you think the notice your father sent to the Times will bring David home?”

  He turned his attention to her. “I hoped my note to him before we left London would do that. I would have preferred he not learn of his change in status and our marriage through the newspaper. Your uncle, on the other hand…”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but she knew what he was thinking. Perhaps the notice of her marriage would put her uncle’s interest in her whereabouts to rest. She hoped so too.

  “I finished my letter to Mr. Payne,” she told him. “I also told him that we would be heading to France soon, although I could not give him specific dates because I didn’t know them.”

  The gray of his eyes softened as his focus centered on her upturned face. “We will see how my father is doing when I receive Mr. Harmsen’s arrangements.”

  Sarah nodded as his hand came up to stroke her cheek. The caress sent tingles throughout her body and she lifted her face to his. As she searched his face, his arms tightened around her and he bent his head. Her eyelids drifted shut at the first touch of his lips. She no longer needed to see him, she wanted, instead, to feel him.

  Warmth surrounded her and she was aware of her heartbeat pounding a regular rhythm in her ears. Then Max’s tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened to him. Their tongues tangled in the warm cavern of her mouth. She melted.

  His hand slid up her back, pressing her closer, and he shifted slightly, pulling her fully flush against his body. A hard ridge met the softness of her stomach and she whimpered at the sudden need for something she once thought she understood. Max lifted his head, allowing his lips to hover over hers.

  “Ah, Sarah,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers.

  She lifted up on her toes, trying to recapture him. Sliding her hands up his broad chest, she gripped his shoulders and shivered as his hand caressed the back of her neck. Delicious heat flooded her body. The secret place between her legs began to pulse and her world narrowed to Max.

  When he recaptured her mouth, the feeling of being devoured swept over her and she squirmed against him, trying to get closer. The depth of her need shocked her almost as much as the discovery that the small mewling sounds she heard were coming from her. In this moment, she didn’t care whether he loved her or not, she knew she loved him and it was enough.

  He held her firmly when he, at last, broke the kiss. She could feel the pounding of his heart, hear the ragged breaths he drew above her. Her eyelids fluttered upward, encountering eyes dark with passion and desire. Her cheeks flamed and she dropped her gaze to his chest.

  The discreet cough from behind her was her first inkling that they were not alone. Max looked up.

  “Yes?”

  “His lordship is awake, my lord,” said a voice behind her. “He has asked for you.”

  “I will be there shortly,” Max replied, and she heard the shuffling of feet as the footman walked away.

  Max looked down at her, an apology in his eyes.

  “You need to go,” she murmured. “I will be fine.” She reached up and stroked his jaw. “I will see you later.”

  Max sighed. “Sarah, I…”

  “Go. Your father needs you more right now. I’ll still be here when he no longer needs you.”

  “Very well. You might want to speak to Mrs. Wainwright. I think she has moved your sleeping location.”

  Then he dropped a tender kiss on the tip of her nose and was gone.

  Sarah watched him stride across the grass, his parting words ringing in her ears. I think she has moved your sleeping location. Her heart sped up at the implication.

  She knew what happened between men and women. Even if her governess hadn’t felt it necessary to tell her, she had read books no other young lady would have been allowed to know existed, helped her father with new babies, and been living down the hall from Mona for the past two years.

  And if Max’s kisses were any indication, what happened between them would be glorious indeed. She was counting on it.

  For now, she and Max were friends. She expected someday to be able to tell him of her love, but there were more important things vying for their attention. She would wait. Perhaps when they went to France.

  Strolling back to the castle, it occurred to her that this was to be her home from now on. That she was now the chatelaine and hostess. A long chat with Mrs. Wainwright might be just the thing to help her settle in.

  Max blinked at the bright sunlight pouring into the room. Dodson stood beside the bed with a tray.

  “Her ladyship said I was to bring you this and tell you it’s after luncheon.”

  Max squinted as he sat up. He’d remained by his father’s bedside well into the morning hours before seeking his own bed. He wasn’t surprised he’d slept so long.

  “When did you arrive?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Just a bit ago. I found the information you wanted, but you ain’t gonna like it.”

  Max nodded. He’d sent Dodson back to London with specific instructions the day after they returned. If it had only taken Dodson a day and a half to ferret out the information, David must have ignored his note.

  “Do you know if my brother received my note?”

  Dodson nodded. “Yep, but he and that friend of his went off to Templeton Manor.”

  Something akin to relief swept through Max. Hopefully David wouldn’t hear of the marriage until he returned to London. Enough time for Max to write him another letter.

  “I’ll be congratulating you and her ladyship, but I might be needin’ an explanation.”

  Max laughed at the indignant look on his batman’s face. “It’s a bit of a story,” he told him. “I’ll tell you as I get dressed and you can tell me what you discovered.”

  An hour later a grim Max emerged from his room and went to check on his father. Receiving no answer to his knock, he opened the door and found the room empty. He frowned but turned and headed downstairs.

  Tibbens directed him to the library when he inquired about his father’s whereabouts.

  The earl sat behind his desk reading a letter. He looked up when Max entered.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  His father laughed. “I’m not the one who was up half the night, although I appreciate the concern.”

  “Point taken. And you’re welcome.” He watched his father for a few moments more, noting the healthy color and seemingly no after affects from the previous day, before gesturing toward the pile of correspondence and asking, “Anything in there for me?”

  “I don’t think so, but you’re welcome to check.”

  Max pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the desk. He picked up the stack of letters. Finding nothing for himself or Sarah in them, he started to leave, when his father asked his opinion on a request from a tenant.

  Several hours later, Max stood and stretched.

  “Perhaps we should save the rest for tomorrow,” he said. “I have yet to see Sarah today and would like to see how she is settling in.”

  His father nodded then looked contrite. “I should not have kept you so long.” He waved his hand in a shooing motion. “Please convey my apologies to her for doing so.”

  “She understands, but I will do so nonetheless,” Max responded.

  An hour later Max still hadn’t apologized to Sarah. In fact, he hadn’t found Sarah, and he was beginning to worry. Seeking out the housek
eeper and butler, they both informed him Sarah had last been seen in the garden. Even Annie was surprised he hadn’t found Sarah there.

  “Sometimes she walks down by the lake,” Annie said. But Max hadn’t seen anyone down by the lake, although he hadn’t actually walked down to the water’s edge.

  As he headed in that direction, he wondered if Sarah could swim. An unfamiliar terror gripped him at the possibility and he ran the rest of the way. Reaching the shore, he called her name and heard nothing but the soft lap of the water in response.

  Sunlight glinted off the surface of the water, and he looked around in desperation.

  Where could she be?

  Hurrying back to the house, he sent footmen out to comb the garden and immediate area surrounding the castle while he went to the stables. It had been a while since he’d last ridden, but he didn’t have the patience for the curricle today. Hoping he wouldn’t damage his leg, he ordered a horse saddled.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Throbbing pain in her head roused Sarah into consciousness. She clenched her teeth against a moan and slowly opened her eyes. Whatever she rested upon was soft, but nothing she could see was otherwise familiar.

  Moving slowly, she rolled over and sat up.

  The plain and sparse furniture in the room told her nothing. Where was she? Was she still at Calderbrooke? How did she get here? Who had brought her? And where were they? The questions swirled through her head between flashes of pain. Closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to her temples, she tried to remember what had happened.

  She was walking in the garden at Calderbrooke. She’d been sitting by the fountain, reading, but tired of it and decided to go and find Max. As she rose from the bench, someone grabbed her from behind. Before she could cry out, an odd-smelling cloth had been pressed over her mouth and nose and she remembered nothing more.

  Cautiously, she rose to her feet, pleased to find herself steady despite the pain in her head. Going to the door, she found it locked.

  “I should have expected that,” she muttered and turned to the window.

  She was not at Calderbrooke. One look out the window at what looked to be a small village told her that. She was also at least two stories above the ground. That might not have deterred her, but she couldn’t open the window. Breaking it would do her no good as it was made up of four small panes, not one of which was large enough for her to squeeze through.

  “Blast!” Now what?

  She sat in one of the two chairs before the empty fireplace to think. As she looked around the room, she realized there was little available to use as a weapon, not even a poker for the fireplace. She would have to rely on her wits to get herself out of this.

  Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on them. Why would anyone want to kidnap her? She took a deep breath. Wrong question. The question she needed to answer was who? Then she might know why.

  Had David come to Calderbrooke and spirited her away? She doubted it. Her uncle would be a prime suspect if he knew where she was. She didn’t think he did, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t found out. Her new father-in-law had sent an announcement of her marriage to the Times. If her uncle had already seen it, would he have assumed she was at Calderbrooke?

  What would he gain by kidnapping her? Now that she was married, if something happened to her, Max would inherit her fortune. With her marriage, her aunt and uncle no longer had anything to gain.

  The speculation was making her headache worse, so she gave up. She would find out soon enough. She hoped.

  Sooner, she thought as she heard footfalls outside the door. Moments later the key turned in the lock and the door opened.

  A young woman entered with a tray and set it down on the table near the door. Sarah would have spoken to her, but her attention was caught by the man who entered behind her.

  “Will that be all, milord?”

  “Yes, for now. Don’t forget to bring the tea later,” her uncle replied and handed the woman a coin. The woman never even glanced in her direction before hurrying out. He locked the door behind her and pocketed the key.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” he began casually. “I’m sure it’s been hours since you last ate.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Come, come now, girl. Eat up. You’ll need to keep up your strength.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she finally answered, ignoring the hollow feeling in her stomach that gave truth to his words. She’d noted the lateness of the day—dusk had fallen already. It had been shortly after luncheon that she’d been in the Calderbrooke garden.

  “Don’t play the martyr. It doesn’t become you.”

  “Why am I here?”

  He sat at the table and began uncovering dishes. “Join me and I will tell you.”

  She still did not move, but watched his every movement. He was thinner than she last remembered. Although the difference between corpulent and merely overweight didn’t come to much, she noticed the buttons on his waistcoat didn’t strain in their holes. He wasn’t dressed as flamboyantly as he had in the past. She’d often grimaced at his portly figure in yellow breeches with a gold-embroidered, sky-blue waistcoat, topped off by a burgundy coat. Today, however, he was dressed in somber shades of black and gray. Just the right colors not to call attention to himself, but look important.

  “C’mon, girl. I won’t hurt you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Forgive me, Uncle, but I don’t quite believe you. The last time I was at odds with you, the bruises took nearly a week to disappear.”

  He put aside the covers and arranged the plates on the table. “Yes, well, life would have been much easier if you had married Royden then, instead of waiting for another two years.”

  Her stomach protested at the delicious smells coming from the table and she gave up and joined him, seating herself across the table out of his reach.

  “I would have married the wrong man had I done so two years ago,” she replied, helping herself to a slice of shepherd’s pie and a large piece of ham.

  “What do you mean, the wrong man? I saw the announcement in the Times. You married Royden after all.” He took a large swallow from a tankard of ale. “I should have known better than to believe that folderol about going to Templeton for a few days. He owes me and I plan to collect.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant. He thought she’d married David. What had Max told her? Her uncle didn’t believe David had a twin. She took her time eating, trying to decide what to tell him.

  “He doesn’t owe you anything. That bargain was made two years ago. It no longer applies.”

  “Possibly,” he said between bites, “but he’ll pay to get you back.”

  She was almost afraid to ask the next question. “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then he’ll never see you again.”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  He chuckled, but it was not a humorous sound. Putting down his fork, he put his hand over his heart and said dramatically, “Not one hair.”

  “Then how…?”

  “With your coloring, I’ve heard you’ll fetch a hefty sum in a slave market in the east. The infidels have a liking for pale skin and pale hair, I’m told.” Ignoring her gasp, he resumed eating.

  Sarah put down her fork. His bald statement had killed what was left of her appetite. If she was honest with herself, she shouldn’t have been surprised. He wanted her father’s fortune, but she’d managed to put it out of his reach by marrying. If he wasn’t going to do away with her, she supposed selling her was as good a way as any other to get rid of her. Especially if what he really wanted was money.

  “You won’t get away with this.”

  “But of course I will,” he stated. “No one knows where you are, and no one here will help you. Not even Royden knows I own this little backwater inn.”

  He stared at her, hatred surfacing in his black eyes for a moment before disappearing behind
a facade of false joviality.

  “Eat up, now.” He looked around for a moment. “Where is that girl with your tea?”

  There was a knock at the door and he rose to unlock it. The same girl carried in a tray with a teapot, a decanter of golden liquid and two cups on it.

  “About time,” he grumbled as she set it down on the table then scurried out. Returning to his seat after relocking the door, he poured himself a generous amount of the liquor into one of the cups and took a sip before looking at her. “Do you want some of this or the tea?”

  She really didn’t want either, but tea sounded nice, and since there was little she could do to try to escape at the moment, a cup or two wouldn’t hurt. Besides, it might get rid of the last of the headache she’d awakened with.

  “Tell me, Uncle,” she asked as she poured herself a cup. “How fares my aunt? Does she aid you in your nefarious scheme?”

  He shook his head. “Ahh, your poor aunt, God rest her soul, departed this world nearly a year ago. Poor thing. Never did recover from your betrayal.”

  Her eyebrows shot up and she put down her teacup with a click. “My betrayal? I think you misremember what happened two years ago. I distinctly remember telling both of you I would not marry his lordship. You should not have been surprised by what happened.”

  He ignored her reminder that put him at fault for the disastrous scene in the church two years before. “Nevertheless, my poor Judith was never able to hold her head up in society again. It destroyed her.”

  For a moment, Sarah felt remorse for her possible part in her aunt’s demise. Then she remembered the woman who kicked her when she lay on the floor in the church. The same woman who called her an ungrateful wretch more times than she could count because she refused to write to her father and ask for funds on their behalf. That woman she would not miss.

  Absently, she poured herself another cup of tea. Her uncle helped himself to more of the liquor. It was probably too much to hope for but, perhaps if she was agreeable, he might continue to drink and eventually fall asleep. It was worth a try. At this point she had no other options.