The Wicked Husband (Blackhaven Brides Book 4)

by Mary Lancaster

  “For my aunt’s health. And my cousin Elvira’s. She is enceinte.”

  “He ain’t here for anyone’s health.” Daxton jerked his head at Ralph.

  It was tempting to tell him the story of the heiress. She bit her lip instead. Daxton spared her a quizzical glance.

  “What’s in Scotland?” she asked hastily.

  “No idea. Never been.” He returned to the dice, but not before she’d glimpsed something grim, almost desperate in his drink-clouded eyes. And although this would have been an opportune moment to slip away, she didn’t.

  Daxton had always been more than the wild, reckless boy everyone had thought him. And now that he’d grown up into this notorious rakehell, she didn’t doubt that the boy she remembered was still in there. That dark look troubled her, and at the same time made sense of this ruinous game he played with Ralph.

  She knew without being told that Daxton had baited her cousin into it. He was spoiling for a fight, and Ralph had likely appeared at just the right moment. She’d no idea how much Daxton had won from him, but she was sure it was enough to make life difficult for the Shelby household. At the very least, his rudeness in actually counting Ralph’s money was surely grounds for a duel.

  And so, in spite of the harm it would do her reputation, and despite the punishment she knew Ralph would heap upon her for disobeying him, let alone for sitting with the enemy, she stayed where she was. She even found herself distractedly sipping from the champagne glass. Perhaps it was the wine that gave her the courage to stay.

  The game was over quickly, the contents of the purse soon back in Daxton’s possession.

  “Your health, Shelby,” the viscount said cheerfully, raising his glass. “Very glad I ran into you.” As he drained the glass and reached once more for the brandy bottle, his restless gaze fell on Willa. His delighted smile was not altogether free of surprise, which at least kept her from feeling too flattered.

  “Willie,” he said. “You’re still here.”

  “You only ever called me that to annoy me.”

  “True. I suppose I should call you Miss Blake, now.” He sprang to his feet. “Walk with me.”

  She cast a quick, indecisive glance at Ralph, who was desperately pretending not to feel either the loss of his money or his defeat by the enemy. He was strolling among the other tables, observing the play which had all but stopped for a while as everyone had watched Daxton annihilate him.

  “Dash it, Will, do something for yourself,” Daxton said with sudden violence.

  She glanced at him, brows raised. “I thought I was to do it for you.”

  He scowled before a sudden grin smoothed his brow. “That’s how I remember you. Be kind to me, then. Stroll with me to the door. You shouldn’t be here at all, should you?”

  The girl glaring at her from the wall—the one who’d been sitting in his lap when Willa first arrived—clearly agreed.

  “No.” Willa rose to her feet. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice further. “Very well, I’ll walk with you on one condition. Give me back the purse I brought. You don’t need the money, and Ralph has already been humiliated. It isn’t his money. It’s my aunt’s.”

  Daxton blinked, then stared at her as if he imagined he’d misheard her. Then a laugh broke from him. “Damn it, I must be drunker than I thought. You strike a mean bargain, but it’s a deal.”

  She let out her breath in a rush, relieved that he could still be reasoned with. “Thank you.” She took his proffered arm, wondering what on earth the other guests would make of the gesture. Nothing, presumably, if he merely bowed her out of the door. And in this company, she was glad of the escort.

  “Bring your champagne,” Daxton advised. “You might as well have what fun you can on the way, and in this state, I suspect I’m just not intoxicating enough.”

  “I don’t recall your being so modest,” she said wryly.

  “I was expecting to be refuted,” he mourned. “But you’ve let me down. Are you happy with them, Will?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “I’m as happy as I’d be anywhere else. I have a home.”

  “So you said.”

  At least he remembered that much of their conversation. He didn’t lurch either, but remained perfectly steady as he walked beside her.

  “You can’t win, can you?” he said abruptly. “Even if you run away. You’d always be somebody’s drudge.”

  “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted.

  “And yet here you still are. Better the devil you know?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You should marry a rich man.”

  She curled her lip. “A different form of drudgery.”

  Daxton laughed. “Only you would think so. Isn’t it the ambition of every well-born girl to marry a rich man?”

  “I think it depends on the girl. And very largely on the particular rich man”

  He frowned, veering away from the fast-approaching door. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, staring at her. “Why didn’t I think of this before?”

  “Because you weren’t foxed before?”

  He waved that aside. “I’m always foxed. Which ain’t exactly selling the idea to you, but you must see it would answer perfectly.”

  “What would?” she asked.

  “Marriage,” he said impatiently.

  “What marriage?”

  “Yours,” he replied. “To me.”

  Chapter Two

  The pain took her breath away.

  “Don’t look like that,” he said ruefully. “I’m not so very awful. At least I won’t be.”

  “Sober,” she managed, “you have no wish to be married to anyone.”

  “Sober, I might not have thought about it,” he allowed. “In fact, I didn’t. But now that I do, and you just happen to be here, it’s clearly the perfect solution.”

  “To what?” she demanded, refusing to take him seriously.

  He veered her away from two approaching young men, tugging her into a quieter part of the room. “To my financial woes, and your intolerable position with the Shelbys.”

  “I fail to see how saddling yourself with the expense of a penniless wife would solve your financial troubles.”

  “Well, it would. I can’t get my hands on my grandfather’s money until I’m either thirty years old or married. If I have to wait another six years, I’ll be dead.”

  She blinked. “Then you’re proposing widowhood rather than marriage?”

  He grinned. “No, I’ll be good if you marry me.”

  Something twisted in her stomach. “No, you won’t, Dax,”

  “No, I probably won’t,” he agreed honestly. “But I will be better, and with the money, I can do things. Think about it, Will. Wouldn’t you rather a life free of Shelbys? And you were never remotely frightened of me like all the insipid misses my mother keeps throwing at me. We could even have a little fun. More than this at any rate.” One backward wave of his hand encompassed the room and, she suspected, by extension, the rest of his life. Or hers.

  Again, she had the notion something other than brandy inspired him, but she couldn’t allow the rising excitement, the joy trying to break out… For there wouldn’t, couldn’t, be any joy. It wasn’t Willa he wished to marry. It was his inheritance. At best, he believed he could tolerate her. But it would never get that far. For Willa, such a marriage to him would be intolerable.

  “They wouldn’t allow it,” she said, grateful at least that she wouldn’t have to explain her personal objections to his plans.

  He frowned. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Your family and mine.”

  “There’s no denying they can be dashed unpleasant,” he agreed without heat. “Which is another beauty of elopement.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You want to elope?”

  His eyebrows flew up. “Didn’t I say? Aren’t we in Blackhaven?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Next to the Scottish border.”

  She b
linked several times. “I believe it’s only a few miles.”

  His eyes gleamed, an invitation to mischief. “We could walk out of here now and be in Gretna Green by daylight.”

  Her breath vanished, along with any words that might have made sense.

  “Of course, there will be a scandal,” he continued. “My father will kick up a storm and my mother will cry, which is probably worse, but we won’t need to go near ’em until it’s blown over.”

  She regarded him with continued fascination. “And my cousin Ralph will be livid.”

  Daxton grinned with undisguised delight. “So he will! Do you know, I can see nothing against this scheme at all?” Far from a prime motive, his ongoing quarrel with Ralph didn’t seem to have entered his erratic head before Willa brought it up. “So, what do you say? Shall we do it?”

  She sighed, with a hint of genuine regret. “Of course not.”

  His eyes narrowed. He’d never liked to be opposed. “You’re turning me down?”

  “You’ll be very grateful in the morning that I did.”

  “No,” he said dangerously, “I won’t. If you won’t come willingly, I’ll simply abduct you.”

  With a start, she realized they were almost at the door once more. “You wouldn’t,” she said breathlessly.

  His glittering eyes darkened. If he hadn’t been quite so foxed, she’d have been flattered to recognize hot, male desire. “Try me,” he said softly.

  Her heart dived, thundering hard in her breast. He radiated genuine menace, enough to frighten her. She could still escape. She’d always been nimble.

  She cast a quick, desperate glance back into the room. Two debauched young men she’d noticed trying to attract his attention earlier, still held each other up while they waited for Daxton to conclude his business with her. She suspected they were ready to go on with him to some less reputable establishment.

  And with blinding clarity, she saw that the world was right, that Daxton truly was going to the devil.

  “If I have to wait another six years, I’ll be dead.”

  Daxton opened the door, held it open for her to precede him. Her whole body trembled with the hugeness of the decision she was about to make. And as if everyone in the room felt her tension, the voices suddenly quietened, all except Ralph’s which spoke with disastrous clarity.

  “…lose, he cheated. The dice were clearly loaded.”

  Dax turned back to face the room. If the noise had quietened before, now you could have heard a pin drop.

  Daxton looked directly at Ralph, who stood only a few yards away, amongst a group of people who suddenly stepped back from him.

  “You talking about me, Shelby?” Daxton asked dangerously.

  “None of your business,” Ralph retorted, although two bright spots in his suddenly pale cheeks, betrayed his anxiety. “It is a private conversation.”

  “I can’t let that one go.” Daxton sounded almost apologetic.

  “Apologize,” someone hissed at Ralph. “Or at least deny it. For God’s sake man, in this mood, he’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  Ralph glared at the speaker and then, almost defiantly, at Daxton. Of course. Proving he was not afraid. But Willa had grown up with him; she knew that he was.

  “My lord,” she said, low.

  No one paid her any attention.

  Daxton said, “I’m busy tonight and tomorrow, but I can shoot you after that. My friends will call on yours.”

  Ralph sneered. “If that was your shabby challenge, I refuse to fight a duel over your ill manners in eavesdropping.”

  “You do?” Daxton said with apparent interest, walking up to him. “Then fight it for this.” And before anyone could guess his intentions, he drew back his fist and struck Ralph a staggering blow in the face.

  As Ralph stumbled into the arms of those nearby, Daxton simply turned around, walked jauntily back to Willa, and offered her his arm once more.

  “Don’t you dare!” Ralph screamed at her. “I’ll wash my hands of you! We all will!”

  It was all Willa needed. Laying her hand on Daxton’s arm, she walked out of the room with him. He kicked the door shut behind them and yelled for his horses.

  Willa barely had time to leave the controversial purse with the reception clerk, instructing him to give it to Haines first thing in the morning. And then they swept out of the hotel.

  Daxton flung his arm around her waist. She jumped at the unfamiliar intimacy, though his only intention appeared to be to hurry her up.

  “Are you actually covering for him?” the viscount demanded, rushing her across the foyer. “To keep his mother from knowing what he did?”

  “No,” she confessed. “To keep them all from knowing what you did. Ralph would throw it back in your face.”

  By some miracle, a curricle and pair of fine, high-spirited black horses arrived in front of the hotel just as they stepped out of the door.

  “Down you get,” Daxton ordered the groom, and handed her up into the vehicle, while the groom ran to the horses’ heads. Daxton leapt up beside her. “Let ’em go!” he commanded.

  The groom jumped out of the way and the horses lunged forward. At the last moment, someone flew out of the hotel and threw himself on to the step at the back of the curricle.

  Daxton laughed. “Carson,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s here to save you if I overturn the carriage.”

  It was, she supposed as they bolted up the Blackhaven High Street, a very real possibility. Their chances of reaching the Scottish border were probably slim, in which case, she’d burned her boats for nothing. Certainly, he drove the horses at break-neck speed through the town. They were lucky not to have the Watch after them. But Willa kept her wary gaze on Daxton’s hands, which were surprisingly sure and steady, and by the time they drew out of town, she’d stopped worrying. Especially since the useful Mr. Carson had brought not only the viscount’s driving coat but a travelling cloak and a blanket which she was very grateful for in the chill of the night.

  What in the world had she been thinking of, leaving the hotel in nothing but the gown she stood up in? She hadn’t exactly left discreetly either. After Daxton hit Ralph, the story would be all round Blackhaven by morning. Lord knew exactly what figure she would cut in it. And yet, funnily enough, she didn’t seem to care. Excitement stirred her blood and she was ready to face the world head-on.

  In the open country, Daxton gave the horses their heads and despite the darkness, they galloped on at full tilt.

  Daxton cast her a grin of approval. “I said you weren’t frightened,” he observed, transferring the reins to one hand while he reached inside the many-caped coat. His hand emerged with a flask which he politely offered her first.

  “What is it?” she asked dubiously, fairly certain it was not water.

  “Brandy,” he replied. “Keeps the cold out.”

  Recklessly, she took the flask and sipped. Although the strength of the liquid almost took her breath away, she managed to swallow without choking. When she returned the flask to Daxton, his eyes gleamed with amused approval.

  As they thundered along the coast road, Willa was overwhelmed by a strange, exhilarating sense of unreality. It was as if there was no one else in the world except the man beside her, humming softly to himself as he drove his horses on at the same thundering pace. The rippling sea reflecting the soft, yellowish moonlight, was one of the most beautiful sights she’d ever seen.

  Daxton varied between quietly singing in a rather fine, musical baritone, and making entertaining conversation. Even foxed as he undoubtedly was—although his speech never slurred once—he conversed with wit and unexpectedly deep knowledge about subjects as diverse as literature, European politics, and modern agriculture. She wondered if he talked to keep himself awake. Certainly, he supplemented it with frequent draughts from the brandy flask, until Carson obligingly swapped the empty for a full one.

  “Keeps him level, Miss,” Carson explained when she frowned at him. “And aw
ake.”

  It was dawn, and they’d pulled into a posting inn to change horses. Daxton had got down to see to it and was pouring some fresh brandy into his flask under the admiring gaze of the innkeeper’s boy.

  “Although,” Carson added, presumably in the interest of honesty, “he can’t last much longer anyway. That was his third night in a row.”

  Willa’s eyes widened. “Hasn’t he slept at all?”

  Carson shrugged. “A few hours here and there, between bottles. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my eye on him. Have we far to go?”

  “Gretna Green.”

  Carson blanched. Then he laughed. “Very well, Miss, he does seem to like you, and you manage him pretty well. But if you change your mind, just say the word and I’ll stop it.”

  “How exactly will you manage that?” she asked, almost amused, although his words caused her a pang of sudden fear at what she was planning to do.

  “Hit him,” Carson said amiably. “When he’s not looking, of course, otherwise I’d never get near him,”

  “Won’t you lose your place for that?” she asked.

  “Lord, no, it’s what he pays me for. Among other things.”

  Willa regarded him with renewed fascination. “He’s done this before?”

  “Eloped? Lord, no, that’s a first. But he’s done just about everything else.”

  The curricle swayed as Daxton leapt back into it. He threw the brandy bottle to Carson and took the reins from Willa’s hold. “Another hour and we’re there,” he said cheerfully.

  Dear God, am I really going to do this?

  *

  She did. The infamous blacksmith’s shop was easily located in the center of the village, and a large wad of money—presumably that won from Ralph last night—ensured Daxton and Willa were married before the indignant couple already waiting there for the same purpose.

  “There, I knew rank had its advantages,” Daxton said with satisfaction.

  With only Carson and the blacksmith’s apprentice as witnesses, it was a simple, casual service, culminating in the crash of the hammer on the anvil, which pronounced them married.

  Daxton’s fingers tightened on hers. He seemed to be shaking with laughter. His eyes gleamed as he swooped and pressed a kiss on her stunned lips. He raised his head, a faint frown forming between his brows, even while the smile played around his lips.