He turned back to her. “We’re partners, Megs. Did you know that?” She didn’t respond. “Better hope you don’t know anything about my business. That brat of yours knows. That’s why I need him back. I’ll get him too.”
Rand promised he’s safe, she thought. He promised his family would protect him. Pray God they can.
“Don’t expect the blasted English to be any protection, Megs. They’ll crumple when I threaten their precious family with disgrace. Don’t doubt it for a minute.”
He yanked her toward the bed. “Meantime, we may as well make use of what Fairweather provides. Expected the bed to be used anyway.” He tossed her down and began unbuttoning his falls.
Meggy withdrew to the safe place in her mind, the place where her husband disappeared and numbness took over. Thoughts of Rand pursued her, and she almost wept.
Chapter 27
Dawn threw crosshatched shadows on the stone floor on which Rand lay. He nursed newly bruised ribs, barely healed from his fruitless efforts in Bristol. At least he could breathe; they hadn’t punctured a lung. He nursed other hurts, ones that cut deeper than physical pain. When the constables had dragged him to his feet and out the door, he heard what Blair said.
Good girl. He had known it for a trap, but those words ate at him. She cooperated. His good sense told him she did it under threat to Lena. Sense didn’t always hold sway; old memories fed his distrust. When they talked about framing him for kidnapping Drew, she couldn’t meet his eyes. The revelations Charles made didn’t help. Julia, the woman he loved, had completely bamboozled him. He wondered if Meggy was really any different.
He could still feel her response to his kisses. She didn’t fake that. I would stake my life on it. Perhaps I already have. Maybe if I had made love to Julia, I’d be less naïve. His instincts told him Meggy was different, but his fears nagged him.
The stench of unwashed bodies and foul water assailed his nose and throat. When he put one hand down to push himself up, it landed in something soft and vile. He sat up and wiped it on his trousers while he sought a place to lean against a wall. All available space seemed to be taken. The sunken eyes of a prisoner stared back at him across the room.
“Bad plan to anger the constables,” the man whispered. “Don’t like it. Goes hard on ya. If’n they break somethin’, ya won’t be able to grab the bread when they bring it.”
“Did I anger them?” Rand asked, leaning his aching head on the cleaner of his hands.
“Musta, dint ya? You look right beat up.” As the cell lightened, Rand could see that the man’s arm lay at an odd angle and his thinness approached skeletal.
“You anger them?”
“Once. Learned, dint I?”
After a moment, the man went on. “From the looks, you’re a nob. Your folk’ll buy you care if they can’t buy you out.” A wheezy laugh followed that bit of wisdom.
I hope so. Soon. Where the hell is Charles? It occurred to Rand that his cousin’s real interest lay in arresting counterfeiters. He’d leave me here if I got in the way. Old bitterness and the memory of betrayal consumed him.
By late afternoon, doubts gave way to certainty. My damned cousin left me here to rot. The earl will get me out, but how long will that take? If Blair bribes the guards to manhandle me, I may not live that long. And what will he do with Meggy and Lena in the meantime?
Once darkness threatened, so did despair. If the guards don’t kill me, the other prisoners might. Packed eleven to a tiny cell, competition for wall space was exceeded only by the rush for food. The shadows on the floor disappeared and the light through the dirty window faded away before he heard the rattle of keys, the tramp of boots, and “But, Your Grace . . .”
Charles appeared at the cell door, a scented handkerchief to his nose, and drawled, “Which of these wretches is my cousin?” He looked directly at Rand when he said it. If he doesn’t wipe that amusement off his face, I will do it with my filthy hands as soon as I get him alone.
The iron clinked in the lock, the door swung open, and a constable entered, pushing men out of his way to get to Rand.
“I can stand, no thanks to you,” he said, pushing the man’s hands away.
“Blair never told us you were kin to a bloody dook.”
“Blair’s a dead man. I suggest you keep your distance,” Rand retorted, shoving by him to stand in front of Charles.
“Took you long enough,” Rand accused.
“Take him to my carriage,” Charles said over Rand’s shoulder. He turned on his heels and minced out, still covering his nose.
The constable attempted to put a hand on Rand’s arm, but he shook it off and limped after his cousin, past the jeers of prisoners and the sneers of guards lounging at the door. When he got to the jail entrance, he saw Charles standing at a desk. The duke picked up a quill and signed a document with a flourish. The guards tried to hand Charles a copy; he gestured for Henri, hovering near the door, to take it. He left the building without turning to see if Rand followed.
Henri bustled ahead of the men to the carriage. Rand put foot to the step to climb in and saw that the valet had covered the cushions of the rear-facing seat with a sheet.
“Damn it, Charles—” Rand began, still one foot on the step and both hands on the doorjamb.
“Stow it, Randy,” Charles whispered without glancing at him. “Eyes and ears. You only need to appear chastened and pathetic until we are on the open road.”
Rand almost balked. Only thoughts of the squalid cell gave him pause. He heaved himself into the carriage and onto the covered seat. When he opened his mouth to let out a stream of abuse, his cousin hissed through the handkerchief covering his mouth and nose.
“Not yet. They think I’ve abandoned my investigation and I’m bringing you, chastened and subdued, to the family seat, having paid a fine for your crimes. At least the magistrate does, insofar as he cares about the whole affair. His passion for justice faded as the size of the ‘fine’ grew.” He kept a resigned face turned toward the windows while he spoke. The shades had been left up so the world could see his distress and woe, his disappointment in a dishonorable family member. He sighed dramatically.
Performance. This is all one big drama. Rand hung his head in his hands and stared at the floor, doing his part. “What took you so long? Letting me stew in my own juices?”
“I did warn you not to go alone,” the duke said. A moment later he went on, “But there is more at stake here than your problems. I had a look at the quartermaster’s books. They don’t add up, by the way. The general kept me listening to excuses and possible justification for at least an hour. I also had to sop up Fairweather’s obsequious sympathy over my disreputable cousin while dodging broad hints that such scandal might harm me in some imagined fashion.”
Rand snorted at the floor.
“The charming Sergeant Blair paid me a visit also.”
Rand’s head shot up.
“Audience, Randy, audience,” Charles said through his linen. “Blair seems to think I will pay him large sums of money to keep this terrible scandal quiet.”
“You don’t actually plan to do that, do you?”
“Of course not. We will implement the rest of my strategy.”
A few hours later, all pretense gone, Rand could just make out his cousin seated in the shadows to the right of a flickering fire in the best inn in the village of Horndeam. Henri had been dispatched to air the carriage and burn Rand’s clothing. Charles watched Rand soak in a hot bath—his second—and berated him.
“After all this, you don’t plan to go back for her? Has jail rattled your brain?” Charles demanded, gesturing with his hands, one of which held a snifter of brandy.
Rand cupped his own glass in two hands and sank lower into warm, scented water, ignoring his cousin. The first tub of water took the stench a
nd most of the dirt. He intended the second to bring pure pleasure. He breathed in the lavender scent, closed his eyes, and tried to block out Blair’s voice. He couldn’t do it. Well done, Megs. You’ve been a good girl.
“I know you can hear me, Randy. Don’t pretend you can’t,” Charles persisted.
Rand rose, like a whale breaching the surface, and sloshed water over the sides of the copper tub. Rivulets ran down his back and over his right cheek from his sodden hair. He took a sip of his brandy and then a deeper drink, emptying the glass. He held it out to be filled. “I can hear you, more’s the pity.”
“So answer me. This is the part where we go back and remove the woman and her child from the clutches of the evil husband. Do you remember? Isn’t that why we came?”
“I thought we came so you could investigate a seditious and evil forgery ring.”
“That, too, and that excellent notion bore fruit. I think we have enough that the crown’s agents will bring an end to it.” Charles pulled his chair closer to the tub, carrying the bottle with him. He filled his cousin’s glass. “The woman, cousin. Don’t change the subject. Blair forced her. You must know that.”
Rand considered slipping back under the water, Blair’s voice echoing in his mind. Megs. Good girl.
“She’s in Blair’s thrall, Charles. He forced her, but she thinks she has no choice. She has given herself into his control and can’t see a way out. It is the devil she knows.”
“And you’re the devil she doesn’t?”
“Something like that. She doesn’t trust that I can keep her children safe. She doesn’t trust”—he took a swig of brandy and mumbled—”me. There’s more. She won’t have me as long as she’s married. He’s a worthless waste of skin, a stinking piece of excrement, a creeping slimy snake, but he’s her husband.”
Charles started to laugh. He bit his lip and tried to stop, but the laughter overcame him. He had to put his glass down and pull out a handkerchief to wipe his face.
“What is so damned funny?” Rand demanded, stiff with outrage. He climbed out of the tub and padded naked over to the bath sheet warming by the fire. He wrapped the sheet around his body and leaned one arm on the mantel to stare into the fire, unable to face his cousin. “Well? What is funny?” he demanded.
“We are,” Charles said behind his back. “The pair of us. I married a harlot who will spread her legs for anyone, and you? You fell for the last virtuous woman on the planet.”
Rand watched the fire dance and shoot sparks up the chimney. Julia. The subject still lay between them. Julia and Meggy. The Julia of his memory never existed. What of Meggy?
Charles joined him by the fire. Rand glanced sideways and saw that his cousin’s mood had soured as if laughter drove a man to morose contemplation.
“Did you love her?” Rand asked at last. The ticking of the carriage clock filled a long silence until Rand thought Charles wouldn’t answer. He didn’t repeat the question.
“She dazzled me,” Charles said at last. “She convinced me she adored me. What did I know of love? My parents didn’t teach me anything. Did you?”
“Love Julia? I adored her. I—at least I loved the woman I thought she was, the one I believed loved me back.”
“She told me you were a foolish boy who bored her but would not take no for an answer. She implied she tried to be kind but that you would come to understand the depths of our love,” Charles replied. “At least, those are the things she said until I discovered she was not a virgin on our wedding night and that she was pregnant soon after. Then she said—”
“That I forced her.” There seemed little point in repeating the revelations of before. The crackle of the fire filled the long lag in the conversation, both men lost in memories.
Charles broke the silence. “Once she had the title, it became clear Julia loved only Julia. I could bear it, knowing that the ton is full of men who act like predators and women who have everything yet take lovers to relieve their boredom, but sometimes I still feel like a fool.”
“Did you?”
Charles bobbed his head up and gaped at Rand. “Act the predator? I hope not. There were a few willing widows, and I confess, the occasional straying wife. I found I wasn’t particularly adept at adultery. I always long for more.”
“Will and Cath set the bar high. When we doubt the whole institution of marriage, they loom on the horizon, don’t they?”
“Yes. One longs for what they have.” Charles straightened and looked directly at Rand. “There is something else you need to consider. Abuse isn’t confined to the lower classes.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“I’m thinking about Meggy,” the duke said. “Hear me out. My father was a beast of the highest order. He cowed my mother into submission until she believed she deserved it. She could no longer conceive of anything better. Will and Cath rescued me. They healed Mother.”
“I remember. Do you have a point?”
“We have to remove Meggy from that situation whether she cooperates or not. We have to put her someplace safe long enough to shed the shackles he has imbedded in her soul. Do not doubt it, Randy. The chains lie deep as long as she believes she has no escape. We have to take her away from him.”
“We?” Rand raised a sardonic eyebrow.
“After what happened last night? You don’t think I’m letting you do this alone, do you?”
Chapter 28
“You’re enjoying yourself.” Rand grumbled. They sheltered in the shadow of a ship’s winch on the wharf, watching Meggy’s rooms for signs of life. Both men were dressed in black. They had forgone linen shirts and tied black scarves around their necks. Charles had covered his face with charcoal and liberally sprinkled his hair with ash.
“We didn’t all get to muck about on the frontier making the earl wealthier. Allow me some bit of fun,” the duke whispered.
“You ought to have gone on the stage,” Rand shot back softly. “And as I recall, I’m making all of us—” He snapped a hand out in front of Charles, forestalling any movement or reply, put a finger to his lips, and then pointed to the doorway.
“I see it,” the duke whispered back.
The dim light flickered and moved as if someone carried a tallow candle. The two men crept closer. The footsteps they heard sounded soft.
Not Blair. Rand moved to the broken door. It gave way but made a scraping sound. He paused on the threshold and saw a woman holding a candle. She froze, eyes wide with terror.
“Meggy,” he whispered.
She glanced frantically toward the door to the back room and put a finger to her mouth.
Blair? he mouthed. She nodded, backing up against the wall.
Rand stood riveted in the doorway, afraid his boots would make too much noise if he stepped on the uneven floorboards. Meggy stared back at him, one hand on her throat, the candle in the other. She wore a torn shift, and it seemed obvious she had come out to wash herself. Rand’s guts churned. He gestured for her to come to him. She approached reluctantly, glancing toward the backroom repeatedly. He pulled her out into the street and into his arms as soon as she came in reach.
“Don’t,” she whispered, wiggling free. “Blair sleeps like the dead when he’s drunk, but I don’t want to—”
“Where is Lena?” Rand demanded in a harsh undertone.
Meggy noticed Charles and pulled her arms up to cover herself. “Who is this?”
Rand squirmed out of his jacket and wrapped her in it. “Meggy Campeau, may I present His Grace, Charles Wheatly, the Duke of Murnane.” He still refused to call her Blair.
She stared at the duke with his blackened face and plain clothing.
“My cousin,” Rand added.
The duke swept her a magnificent bow and said, “I’m Charles.”
“My husba
nd wasn’t lying,” she whispered.
“About me, at least,” the duke replied. “We’re here to take you where Blair can’t find you.”
She began to shake her head in denial. “You can’t.”
“Enough. Where’s Lena?” Rand hissed. “At O’Sullivans?”
“No. Asleep on her pallet—in the corner by the fireplace, but Rand, he’ll know, he’ll—”
He gestured Meggy toward Charles and bent to pull off his boots.
“Easy cousin. Let’s reverse this,” the duke interrupted. He pushed Meggy, still protesting, into Rand’s arms and tiptoed toward the door. “One of us at least thought to wear soft shoes.”
Rand peered down at Charles’s feet and shook his head. The damned idiot is in dancing slippers.
“Bring ‘round the horses, Randy. There’s a good man,” the duke told him, entering the building. Rand did as he suggested, pulling Meggy along. She tried to pull her hand loose.
“You aren’t going to give it up, are you?”
“No. You’re coming with us tonight. We’ll take you where he won’t find you,” Rand said, helping her slip her arms into his jacket. He put both hands on her waist and lifted her effortlessly to the saddle, took the reins, and led both horses back out to the street.
A commotion inside greeted them. “Damn you, Wheatly. You can’t steal a man’s property,” Blair roared from deep in the room. Rand tossed the reins up to Meggy and strode toward the door.
Before he could enter, Blair bellowed as if in pain, and Charles shot out carrying Lena. “Mount up, mount up!” he shouted, climbing into his own saddle with Lena over one shoulder. The little one clung to him tightly. Rand followed suit, mounting behind Meggy and seating her firmly between his thighs.
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