The Wicked Husband (Blackhaven Brides Book 4)

by Mary Lancaster

  A young woman in a flounced yellow gown played upon the piano forte and sang rather beautifully, while several other women circulated amongst the gentlemen, refilling glasses and making conversation. As Dax sat, taking it all in, one gentleman rose with the lady beside him and discreetly left the room. A moment later, another middle-aged gentleman came in and sat down with a smile upon his face. Dax had rarely seen anyone look so pleased with themselves.

  “What brings such a handsome man as you to our establishment?” a girl asked, sitting beside him. Her accent was local but not so thick that he couldn’t understand her. And she was eye-catchingly pretty with jet-black hair and smoldering dark eyes.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Dax said. “In fact, I’m looking for someone.”

  She smiled cheekily. “Is it me?”

  “I wish it was. I understand he’s become a frequent visitor here over the last week or so. Shelby is his name.”

  The girl’s smile vanished, which was when Dax knew the bastard hadn’t changed. “Is he a friend of yours?” she asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Perhaps there’s something I can do for you while you wait. A glass of wine, perhaps?” She picked up a nearby bottle and poured him a glass, which he accepted. “And some company?”

  “I like your company and if I was looking for a girl, it would be you,” Dax said frankly. “Sadly, I’m only here for a word with your other…guest.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, laying her warm hand on his knee. “I can tell,” she said, her hand gliding upward over his thigh, “when a man is in need of love.”

  “I expect you can,” he said ruefully, catching her hand and holding it on his leg before it could roam any higher. “Only it isn’t always the kind you pay for that’s needed.”

  “No,” she agreed, “but it’s better than nothing. And if you pay, you’re not being unfaithful.”

  Dax laughed. “Definitely I would have picked you,” he said, just as Ralph Shelby strolled into the room as if he owned it. Dalliance could do that to a man, but Dax was more than happy to burst his self-congratulatory bubble. He stood up.

  Shelby came to an abrupt halt, staring at Dax in surprised alarm before the inevitable sneer settled on his face. “Surprised to see you here, Daxton. Conjugal bliss worn off already?”

  Dax refused to be riled. “Didn’t come to sample fleshly pleasure, just to see you.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  “God, no. I was a trifle bosky on the night I left for Scotland, so the memory’s been coming back to me in flashes. Tonight’s flash was you accusing me of cheating. I’ve come for your apology.”

  Sudden silence filled the room. Neither the gentlemen clients nor the ladies of pleasure were the center of anyone’s attention any longer. Even the girl in the yellow gown stopped playing the piano.

  Shelby wouldn’t apologize in public, whatever he might have done in private. It was one of the reasons Dax had approached him here.

  “Apologize?” Shelby sneered. “The brandy has addled your brain, Daxton. Certainly your memory is faulty.”

  “Not in this case,” some helpful gent said from across the room. “I was there and heard you say it, Shelby.”

  Shelby shrugged irritably. “Well, I don’t recall it, so I’m damned if I’ll apologize for it.”

  Daxton smiled. “Then I have no choice but to challenge you.” Tamar materialized at his side. “Lord Tamar will act for me.” He nodded curtly, then turned to kiss the hand of his black-haired companion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” And he strolled out, leaving the pink house and walking round to the tavern, where he expected Tamar to join him.

  Barely ten minutes later, the impoverished marquis slid onto the bench opposite him. “It’s arranged for tomorrow morning, so you’d better stop drinking.”

  “I shoot better in my cups.”

  “No, you don’t. And he has chosen pistols. At dawn on the beach beyond the town. Apparently, the tide will be out. One shot each and honor is satisfied.”

  Daxton nodded.

  Tamar hesitated. “He’s not a bad shot, I hear. He practices at Manton’s.”

  “So, do I. And he’s never fought a duel before. Plus, he’s a damned coward.”

  “You think you can make him apologize?”

  “I think I can make him shut himself and his mother up about Willa’s so-called theft. Though I’m contemplating killing him anyway and doing the world a favor.”

  “Would Willa like that?” Tamar wondered.

  “I don’t know.” Dax shifted restlessly. “He’s still her cousin, but she don’t like him much. Which isn’t to say she’d condone his killing.”

  “Neither would the magistrate,” Tamar warned. “One more thing. He’s chosen Sir Jeremy Leigh and some chap called Tranter as his seconds. I can’t vouch for their discretion.”

  “Which is why I’m offended by him calling me a cheat and not by his calling Willa a thief.”

  “Tongues will wag,” Tamar warned.

  “I don’t pay attention to that,” Dax said impatiently.

  “Does Willa?” Tamar countered.

  Dax gave a slightly twisted smile and pushed his beer mug aside. “Let’s hope not, since the poor girl is married to me!”

  *

  Willa woke to awareness of someone else in the room. For her, that was nothing unusual. It had happened so often in her aunt’s house as someone came to rouse her to deal with a trivial want. Half asleep, she lay perfectly still and hoped they’d go away, which is what she’d tried to do at her aunt’s when she was totally exhausted. It had never worked, just given her a few extra seconds.

  The knowledge that she was no longer with her aunt, swam slowly through the clouds of sleep. Clara? Was it morning already? She was about to speak when something touched her hair in a gentle caress. Her breath caught, because she sensed him now, his touch, his scent. Dax.

  He’d come back last night just as she was finishing her solitary supper and joined her in wolfing down what was left. His mood had changed completely from amorousness to cheerful companionship, but since the servants were in the room that was rather more comfortable. Unusually, he’d shown no signs of going out again, so when Willa had retired as normal to her own chamber, undressed for bed and dismissed Clara, she’d lain awake for some time, wondering if he would join her at last.

  He hadn’t. But he was here now. She could hear his even breath as he stood by the bed, gazing down at her. She was afraid to move in case she spoiled the moment. Yet, she should speak, let him know she was awake.

  She opened her eyes. The room was in total darkness, for he carried no light. All she could make out was a man-shaped patch of blacker darkness beside the bed. Longing surged, thrilling through her whole body. She wanted him to lie with her again, hold her as he’d done before the wretched Tamar had interrupted them. She wanted her arms around him, feeling the hard strength of his body, stroking his hair and naked back. She wanted his mouth on hers, his hands…

  For a moment, the whole world seemed to stand still. Then he moved, turning and walking away from her. The door hushed across the floor and quietly clicked shut.

  Disappointment flooded her. Why didn’t I take his hand? Speak to him? Why didn’t he wake me? Why did he just stand there?

  In truth, the last was so very unlike Dax that she began to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole thing. She wanted him there so much that she’d imagined it in her sleep, and when she’d wakened properly, he’d vanished.

  Perhaps. But listening, she was sure she could hear him beyond her door, moving quietly across the sitting room. On impulse, she rose and sped through the darkness to her door, all but wrenching it open. But everything was dark there, too. No light shone beneath his bedchamber door that she could see. No one spoke to her.

  She swallowed and turned back into her own room, closing the door and gingerly feeling her way back to bed.

  *

  Dr. Lampton, although he’d come in ans
wer to Tamar’s summons, scowled ferociously at Dax in the lantern light.

  “I should have known it was you. Haven’t you been shot enough?”

  Dax grinned. His wound barely troubled him at all. In fact, it was almost healed.

  Dawn on the beach was beautiful, spreading a grey, eerie light over the sea. Dax had walked down to the beach with his seconds—Tamar and, somewhat bizarrely, the vicar Tristram Grant.

  “I thought we needed God on our side,” Tamar had said irreverently.

  “Well, He isn’t,” Grant had retorted, “There are enough people blowing each other’s heads off in war. Why would He support two more trying to kill each over some imagined slight to their vanity?”

  “Harsh,” Dax commented. “And convincing. I’m surprised you couldn’t negotiate an apology and reconciliation.”

  “He tried,” Tamar said. “He tried very hard. I almost apologized myself. But surprisingly, Shelby would not consider it. He really hates your guts, Dax.”

  “I should have brought the Watch,” Grant muttered as bobbing lights heralded the figures of Shelby, Leigh, and Tranter hurrying down the path to the beach and walked across the sand toward them.

  “I wish you had,” Lampton said grimly. “I wish I’d thought of it.”

  “I imagined you must have attended dozens of such affairs, with the barracks being here,” Dax said.

  “If the officers decide to shoot each other, they use their own doctor,” Lampton retorted. “Although right now, the vast majority of them, including the surgeon, are on the Peninsula, being killed for king and country instead of for nothing.”

  “You’re bad for morale,” Dax observed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Tamar and Grant went again to consult with Shelby’s seconds, but again apology was ruled out. Tamar suggested moving further down the beach away from the path, but Shelby said impatiently, “Here is fine. Just get on with it!”

  Since the sun wasn’t yet risen, looking into it was not an issue. The seconds placed lanterns strategically so that both men would be able to see in the poor light, but not be blinded.

  Seizing his pistol, Shelby stood facing the sea. Dax strolled over and stood back to back with him, facing the shore.

  “Twenty paces, gentlemen,” Leigh said quietly. “Then turn and fire.”

  Dax had fought several duels before this. The excitement, the actions, were all familiar to him. But he couldn’t remember ever feeling this grim before. Almost…nervous. Afraid. Of course, he’d generally been bleary from lack of sleep, or even still foxed from the night before, but he’d never thought of himself as a fearful kind of man.

  Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps he really would die today, failing to protect Willa’s honor. Willa… He wanted to live for Willa. In previous duels, he hadn’t much cared whether he’d lived or died. If he’d thought about it at all, he had a blind and quite unreasonable faith in his own survival. Plus, he was a good shot and he never aimed to kill, although such things tended to be in the lap of the gods.

  Something glinted above the path. He thought they were about to get interrupted, but it was too late to stop now.

  “Twenty,” said Leigh, and Dax turned, his side to the sea, his right arm stretched out as he took aim and fired.

  The crack of the gunshots was familiar, too, though the sharp pain in his shoulder was quite unexpected.

  The bastard hit me!

  The “bastard” in question had gone down, so at least Dax had hit him, too.

  Dax threw his pistol on the ground and ignoring all etiquette, strode across the sand toward Shelby, who lay on the ground, his coat ripped off his right arm, bright red blood staining the shirt beneath. His face was white, his eyes wild with pain and fear.

  “Here, Dax,” Leigh protested. “Go away, old man. Let the doctor in.”

  “I will,” Dax assured him, fixing his erstwhile opponent with his scowl. “I’m still standing, Shelby, so you lose. If there’s a next time, I’ll sue you in court and see which of us hates that more. Or I might just kill you.” He turned away. “He’s all yours, Dr. Lampton.”

  “Sit down before you fall, man,” Lampton growled. “You’re hit in the shoulder.”

  “Nonsense,” Dax said, striding back toward his friends who were hurrying to meet him. He was only half way there before the blood singing in his ears rose to a crescendo and the sand rushed up to meet him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Willa woke early as usual and lay still, thinking over the events of yesterday evening and last night. It came to her that Dax really was beginning to care for her as more than the adoring little friend who’d followed him around and been on his side during most of the games played with the Shelbys and other local children. It was a sweet thought.

  Unusually, there was movement beyond her door, in the sitting room. And it wasn’t Clara. She heard lowered voices conversing. One of them was surely Dax. Another might have been Lord Tamar. She couldn’t really tell. Then she heard footsteps and the sound of the passage door opening and closing. And all was quiet.

  Either Dax was up extraordinarily early—for it was not yet quite dawn, judging by the light—or he had not yet been to bed. He’d certainly never gone out this early before. Rising, she padded across her chamber and opened the door to the sitting room. Clara was straightening cushions and yawning.

  “You’re up early, m’lady,” she observed. “Shall I bring you hot chocolate? Or coffee?”

  “It seems there’s coffee here already,” Willa said as the maid stood aside, revealing the pot and three cups.

  “It’s still warm, and only one cup’s used,” Clara said. “I’ll bring it to you in bed, if you like.”

  “Yes,” Willa said faintly. “Yes, please…Was his lordship up and drinking coffee at this hour?”

  “With the vicar and Lord Tamar, though Lord Tamar didn’t have any. They both called for his lordship, and Carson already had him up and dressed, and off they went together.”

  Willa frowned at the strangeness of such behavior and accepted the cup of coffee from Clara. Dax was up to something, and it made her uneasy. He would hardly have taken Tamar and the vicar with him on a tryst with Helena Holt, but there was more dangerous mischief than dalliance. What had Dax told her about rakehells? Womanizing, gambling, drinking, dueling –

  “No,” she uttered, sitting bolt upright in bed. A little coffee sloshed out of the cup and into the saucer. He wouldn’t, would he? Distractedly, she raised the cup to her lips, drinking the coffee while she remembered his rushing off with Tamar instead of returning to their sudden intimacy in her bedchamber. He’d said he was going to take care of something. And then, last night, he’d surely entered her chamber again and merely watched her sleeping before he’d left again without trying to wake her. He hadn’t known she was awake already.

  “Where were they going, Clara?” she asked with foreboding.

  Clara, who was picking clothes from Willa’s ever-increasing collection, merely shrugged. “They didn’t say. Fishing, maybe? Or sailing. I heard them mention sand. Perhaps they were going for an early walk on the beach.”

  “To watch the sunrise?” Willa said skeptically. “I’m not sure his lordship is quite so romantic.” Not with Tamar and the vicar at least. Though when she thought about it, the presence of Mr. Grant was actually comforting. How much trouble could he get into with the vicar? Surely no one would take a vicar to a duel…unless to administer some kind of blessing or last rites?

  “Oh no.” She thrust the cup aside. “Hurry, Clara, I need to get dressed right away.”

  *

  With Clara trotting after her, Willa sped down to the harbor, from where you could see most of the way along to the castle beach. The sun was rising on another beautiful late summer’s day, but she could make out no one on the beaches on either side.

  “Blackhaven Cove,” Clara suggested. “It’s mostly hidden from the town. Smugglers land there sometimes.”

  “Lead the way,�
�� Willa commanded.

  She knew at once this was the place. Two closed carriages with their placid horses stood at the side of the road, just next to the path down to the beach. Willa hurried in that direction, but the door to one of the carriages was open and with sinking heart she recognized Dr. Lampton sitting on one bench and leaning over a patient stretched out on the other.

  The patient was not Dax. She saw that right away because his hair was dark brown not golden. Then, as Dr. Lampton caught sight of her and straightened, frowning, she saw that his patient was her cousin.

  “Ralph,” she whispered. “Oh God, he isn’t dead, is he?” If Dax had dueled with Ralph, if he’d killed him…

  “No, he just fainted,” said quite another voice when the doctor didn’t answer her, merely returned his attention to the patient. The speaker was Sir Jeremy Leigh, whom she’d met last night. He stood at the other side of the coach, looking in. “What is Shelby to you?”

  “My cousin. What happened to him?”

  “Just an accident,” Leigh soothed.

  “Don’t let her go down to the beach,” Dr. Lampton ordered. “Not until I’ve seen to her husband.”

  With a cry, Willa fled without listening to the words the doctor called after her. Vaguely, she was aware of Clara scuttling after her as she slid down the path. “Oh wait, m’lady, please wait. Let me go down there.”

  And the deeper voice of Sir Jeremy Leigh: “Lady Daxton, wait. It is not fitting…” She didn’t hear the rest of that either. She was aware of his pounding feet in the sand behind her. He even caught her arm at one point, but she shook him off with a strength that must have surprised him, for she’d already seen the figure on the ground. Lord Tamar and Mr. Grant were crouched on either side of him, though both rose hastily as they saw her approach.

  “He’s alive, Lady Dax, don’t fret,” Tamar said, trying to ward her off.

  She swerved around him, throwing herself onto the sand beside her husband. They’d taken off his coat, revealing a bloody shirt and a gory hole in his shoulder.

  “Oh, Dax,” she whispered, dragging her appalled gaze from the wound to his pale face and closed eyes. She took his face between her hands. “Don’t you dare die, Dax, don’t dare!”