by Shana Galen
“I am yours. I never wanted to marry Charles. When I returned, I saw what he was. A drunk and a gambler. He must have thought he could make some profit by nursing my father, but we had nothing. I told him I would never marry him, and he threatened to reveal the contract to everyone and to tell them that I would not honor it. First I had to promise him twenty-five pounds. Then it was a hundred.”
“You will pay him nothing.”
“You don’t understand. H-he’s killed a woman. A prostitute. I saw them together when I was out shopping with your mother. People saw us speaking. Now Charles says if I don’t give him one hundred pounds, he’ll accuse me of the murder. He’ll say I was jealous of her and you were an accomplice. We could both go to prison, Armand. And even if we don’t, the scandal—”
“I will take care of him.”
“Armand, I told you, I don’t want you to kill him. I don’t want you to go to prison. He’s not worth that. At first I thought I might go to the magistrate and tell him what happened, but now I think it’s best if I go away. Perhaps if he cannot find me, you and I will both be safe.”
“But not together,”
She looked down. “No…”
He notched her chin up. “We will be together. Leave St. John to me. I won’t have to kill him.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but a knock sounded on the door, and the captain announced the cliffs of Dover were visible on the horizon.
After that, the time seemed to rush by, and she didn’t have another minute to discuss Charles with Armand. It wasn’t until they were in a hired hackney, on the way to Berkeley Square, that she had the chance to ask him about Charles.
Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer her, and she was forced to throw him evil looks and entertain herself with looking out the window as the landscape changed from dingy, noisy poverty to the tree-lined, quiet streets of Mayfair. The jarvey called out when they stopped in front of the Valère town house, and Armand was out of the vehicle a moment later. He grabbed her about the waist and swung her down, then gave her a stern look. “Let me talk.”
Both her brows shot up. She couldn’t help it. It was the last thing she expected him to say. He marched up the steps, and she stood on the curb, watching in mute disbelief. The jarvey called after him about the price of the fare, and Felicity assured him he would be paid in a moment.
Indeed, the butler was out of the house in second, hastening down the steps to pay the jarvey. A moment later, the duchesse was at the door, rushing to bundle Felicity inside and chattering nonstop about how frantic with worry everyone had been. Her greeting was warm, almost sisterly, and Felicity was shocked by it, shocked at how she felt as though she were coming home.
But as she stepped into the vestibule, she was greeted by the duc, and he did not appear brotherly at all. She could see he wanted an immediate explanation, but Armand was ready.
“Can we speak in your library?” he said.
If the duc was surprised by the polite request, he didn’t show it, merely nodded his head and followed Armand into the room.
Felicity watched as the door closed behind them.
***
Armand began his explanation before Julien was even seated. He kept it short and to the point. When he had to describe going back into Le Grenier, Julien rose and poured him a small glass of the amber liquid his brother was so fond of. Armand had never cared for it, but he took it now and drank it without hesitation. He needed something to keep the recent images of prison at bay.
When he finished his explanation, Julien leaned back in his chair and cursed softly under his breath. “So the treasure was there all the time.”
Armand nodded. “I was the watchdog, but Marius killed my keepers—the Jacques.”
“Do you think Marius will be found?”
Armand shrugged. “Either way, he won’t be back here.”
“And you’re not back for long.” His gaze shifted to peer through the French doors into the barren December garden beyond. “You want to go to Southampton and take Miss Bennett with you, as well, I suppose.”
Armand’s silence was his assent.
“I don’t suppose I can talk you into staying. Ma mère will miss you.”
“She can visit. You can visit.”
“You can’t take Miss Bennett with you until you marry her. That will take a few days to arrange.”
Armand stood, went to the window, and gazed out.
“You do still want to marry Miss Bennett?”
“She’s mine,” Armand said quietly. “But…”
He could see Julien’s reflection in the window, and his brother sat forward. “But?”
“But there are complications. We will deal with St. John.”
Julien nodded. “Of course. I have some information on St. John—”
Armand waved his hand in dismissal. “We will deal with St. John in a moment.”
Julien raised a brow. “Is there something else you’d like to discuss?”
Armand clenched his hands in frustration. Finally, he rounded on Julien. “She keeps talking about love! She seems to need this love to be happy.”
“Do you love her?”
Armand threw his hands out. “How the hell do I know? What’s love?”
“That’s a good question.”
Armand walked away from the window and leaned his hands on Julien’s desk. Julien looked decidedly uncomfortable now. He reached up and loosened his neck cloth. Armand wondered why he wore one when it was obviously so uncomfortable. Maybe The Rules said he had to wear it when he went out, but he was home. “The answer?” Armand demanded.
Julien ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. This is the sort of thing women talk about. I guess… love is a feeling.”
“I have feelings for Miss Bennett.”
Julien raised a brow. “More than just wanting to see her naked?”
“Of course. She…” He hesitated. How could he explain how it was when he’d first seen her, first touched her, realized she could touch him without causing him pain? How could he explain how she had made him want to live again, to crawl out of his safe hole and risk all for her? And how could he put into words the fear and desperation he’d felt when he thought he might have lost her at Le Grenier? Nothing had ever terrified him so much. Nothing ever would.
Julien was smirking at him, at his lack of words. “That’s the problem. And, by the way, your solution.”
Armand frowned at him now, watched as Julien rose and poured another glass of the amber liquid. “You don’t make sense.”
“Love doesn’t make sense.” He swallowed half of the liquid, and Armand clenched his fists again. He felt like throttling his brother.
“It can’t be this complicated. I want Felicity to be happy.”
“Tell her you love her.”
“How?”
“You have to go into detail. You have to say when you realized you loved her, and how, and why, and how you’ll always love her.”
Armand felt his stomach sink. “A lot of words.”
“And she’ll want to hear them over and over again. Even Sarah still asks if I love her. I must have told her a thousand times.”
Armand sank into a chair. “I can’t just show her?”
“Haven’t you tried that?”
His brother had a point. He swallowed. Somehow he would have to find the words. “Will you take care of The Rules for the wedding?” he asked.
Julien raised a brow. “Certainly. I’ll get you a special license. When will you be leaving for Southampton?”
“Not right away. I have something else to do first.”
“Are you ready to talk about St. John?”
Armand nodded. “He pays for what he did.”
Julien leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “When you disappeared, I di
d a bit of investigating into the life of our friend Charles St. John. I think I have the perfect solution.”
Twenty-three
Charles did not wait long to find her. The morning after they returned, Felicity was in her room when she heard a commotion downstairs and the sound of a man’s raised voice. She rushed to the marble stairs overlooking the vestibule and felt her heart clench when she saw Charles standing there, arguing with the butler, Grimsby.
“Sir, you shall have to leave now. The family is not at home.”
“I know Felicity is here, and I’m going to stand here and wait until you fetch her.”
“Sir, I will have these footmen”—he gestured to two burly footmen who had emerged from one of the doors off the vestibule—“escort you out.”
“Then I’ll stand outside and make a scene. You won’t get rid of me until I—” He broke off and smiled as Felicity descended the stairs. “There, you see. That wasn’t so difficult.”
Grimsby turned and scowled at her. Felicity rather had the idea that he would have preferred tossing Charles out on the curb. “I will take care of this now, Grimsby,” she said. “Thank you.”
Grimsby gave a stiff bow and hurried toward the duc’s library as though he had an important errand. Even with the footmen still standing guard, she felt quite alone at the moment. She wanted Armand but was glad he was away. She worried what he would do if he and Charles met face-to-face.
“What are you doing here?” she said stiffly.
But Charles either did not hear her tone or ignored it. He rushed toward her, and when she put up her hands, he grasped them warmly in his. “Darling! I was so worried. Are you well? Are you hurt in any way? I came as soon as I heard you were back in Town.”
Felicity shook her hands free of his grip. “Do not touch me. Get out of here.”
He stepped back and smiled. “Not quite yet,” he murmured, low and menacing. “Did you forget our little discussion? I’m sure the magistrate would be interested in any information I can give him about the murder of poor Celeste.”
She almost laughed. “After what you did, do you still think you can scare me with threats?”
“And what have I done?” He gave her a blank look. “It’s your word against mine. I’ve been worried sick about my fiancée. And while I fretted here in London, you and the mad comte de Valère cavorted in a secret hideaway.”
“That’s not true.”
“Who cares? The magistrate might think you ran away to avoid suspicion. No matter. The Times will sell thousands of papers once I tell them my story of the mad comte and the jealous fiancée.”
She wanted to protest, to cry out, to beg and beseech him, but she knew those methods would fail. She was ashamed she had ever tried them in the past. No, she would not beg or plead. And she would not allow Armand or his family to be dragged through the muck. It was too late to run away. She had to stand and face her fate. She had to protect Armand.
“Fine,” she said, smoothing her gown. “When the comte returns, I’ll have him escort me to the Times. We can speak to the reporters together. After that, we’ll see the magistrate. We’ll see whom he believes.”
Charles raised a brow. “I know a bluff when I see it.”
She shook her head. “I’m not bluffing. I’ll tell my side of the story, and you tell yours. We shall see in whose favor his opinion turns.” Her side of the story would leave out everything about her relationship with Armand. She would paint him and the Valère family as generous benefactors.
And if she were not imprisoned, she would leave on the first coach.
“You won’t do it.” Charles sneered. “Not when you can give me five hundred pounds, and this all goes away.”
“Five hundred pounds now?” She smiled. “That’s impossible. I’d rather go to Newgate.”
“But what about Valère?”
She could see Charles was worried now.
“I heard he wants to marry you.”
“I’ve refused him. I won’t bring any more scandal on the family.” She meant it and let Charles see her intent in her face.
“He won’t let you go,” Charles stammered. “Valère went after you in France. He rescued you. You’ll end up marrying him, and if you think I’m going to let you get away with that for free, then you’ve forgotten what I have.” He pulled out the familiar paper with the agreement between her father and himself. Her betrothal.
Oh, Father. If only you’d seen what I see now.
“I haven’t forgotten, and I don’t care. We’ll go to the Times today. I don’t want to waste any more time with you.”
“But—” And then the surprised expression on his face turned to anger. “Why, you little slut!” He grabbed her arm in a punishing grip, all but lifting her off the floor. The footmen called out, but Charles didn’t release her. “You are mine, and if you think I’m going to let you go that easily, think again.”
“Get your hands off her.”
Felicity whipped her head to the side and saw Armand standing in the vestibule. She had not heard him come in, did not know how long he had stood there. Charles was surprised, too. She felt him jump, but still he did not release her.
“This is my fiancée. I have the papers from her father to prove it. If you want her, you’re going to have to pay.”
Felicity saw the look that crossed Armand’s face and closed her eyes. It was nothing short of pure rage—caged rage she had no doubt he could use to destroy Charles, as he had promised to do. “Armand, don’t,” she warned.
Charles laughed. “No, Armand, do. There’s more than one way for me to get payment for my betrothed.”
Armand stepped forward. “Get your hands off her before I remove them myself.”
“You want her?” Charles said, shaking her. “You can have her, but if you want this agreement to go away, then you’re going to have to pay for it.”
Armand stepped forward, and Felicity hissed, “Let go of me or you will regret it.”
“One thousand pounds,” Charles said triumphantly. “For that, I’ll disappear, and you’ll never see me again. I’ll even give you the marriage contract. We can pretend it never happened.”
But Armand was no longer listening. His eyes were cold and flat as he drew back his fist and slammed it into Charles’s face. Shocked, Charles released her and reeled backward. He lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. But he was up again in a moment. “You’ll pay for that!” He leapt at Armand, and Felicity jumped back as Armand easily sidestepped, drew his arm back and hit Charles again. This time blood splattered in an arc over the pristine black-and-white marble floor.
“Armand,” she cried. “Stop!”
For a moment, it did not appear he heard her. He reached down and took Charles by the collar, hauled him up, and hit him hard enough that she heard something crack. Charles made a rattling, wheezing sound and dropped to the floor when Armand released him.
“Open the door,” Armand said, looking over his shoulder at Felicity.
“What?” She blinked in confusion.
“Open the door.” Armand gestured to the door, and she finally managed to force her legs to move. She grasped the cold door handle and pulled it open. Outside stood two hefty men dressed in coats and breeches but with the look of thugs. A third man was smaller and more effete. He tipped his hat at her. “Madam. Your butler sent for us. I believe a friend of ours is here.”
“Pardon?”
The man smiled and gestured behind her. Armand was standing over Charles, looking disgusted.
“May we?”
Understanding filtered in. These men were Charles’s creditors. Armand must have contacted them, and Grimsby sent for them. She tried to feel sorry for Charles, for what would happen to him, but hadn’t he brought this on himself with his gambling debts?
“Yes, I think you may,” she said. Felicity moved a
side so the two henchmen could enter. Armand moved away, nodding his approval. In a moment, the men had bundled Charles into a black, nondescript carriage. The remaining man tipped his hat politely. “He won’t be bothering you again. He owes us quite a deal of money. We shall be certain he repays it. Thank you, my lord.” He nodded to Armand. “Good day.”
And he retreated down the steps, stepped gracefully into the carriage, and was gone. Felicity stood in the doorway for a long minute and stared at the street. Charles was gone. He was really gone. She felt as though a brick had been removed from her shoulders.
Slowly, she closed the door and turned back to Armand, who was studying his bruised knuckles. “Was that—were those—?”
“Acquaintances of St. John’s. They had been looking for him for some time.”
“What’s going to happen to Charles?”
Armand shrugged. “Debtor’s prison? Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
It was true, and still she had a headache forming between her eyes. She reached up to massage it away. Things were happening so quickly. She needed a moment to think.
“Felicity, you’re going to marry me.”
She opened her eyes and saw he was standing before her, holding out a piece of parchment. At first she thought it was Charles’s copy of the marriage contract, but it was crisp and new. She took it from him, unrolled it, and gasped. She looked up. “It’s a special license. I-I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one before.” She knew they were expensive and difficult to acquire.
He stepped closer, and she could see he intended to kiss her. She skittered back, needing a moment to think. Was Charles really gone? Was she really free?
“St. John is gone,” he said matter-of-factly. “My brother helped me acquire the license. Julien and Sarah want us to marry. You have no reason to say no.”
He was right. After hearing of their ordeal in France, the Valères had made her feel welcome, like one of them. The dowager had treated her almost like a daughter, and the duchesse had been warm and friendly. Even the duc had softened toward her—as much as she imagined a man like that could. She desperately wanted a family again, and it was beginning to dawn on her she would have one. “Armand, I—”