by Mary Brendan
Chapter Nineteen
‘Hell’s teeth! Who do you think you are, barging in like that?’ Peter had been gingerly bathing the gash on his scalp when the door was pushed open. ‘What do you want?’ he snarled, unsettled by the stranger’s cold stare.
‘Your head on a platter,’ Ryan answered through set teeth as he walked in. His eyes shifted to the sapphire ring on the washstand and a satisfied smile slanted his lips.
Peter threw the bloodied cloth into the bowl. Like an animal confronted by a predator, he grew tense and watchful. Slowly his gaze narrowed in recognition. ‘You’re Ryan Kavanagh, the new owner of Valeside Manor.’ He quickly made an infuriating connection. ‘Did you journey from Wilverton with my fiancée? What the devil d’you mean by escorting her without my permission?’ He puffed out his chest, hoping Kavanagh was ignorant of the violent scene with Faye moments ago.
‘Miss Shawcross travelled to London alone. But I am here because of her and I don’t need your permission for any damn thing where she’s concerned.’
‘Well, I say you do.’ Peter jutted his chin. ‘She told me about you moving your whore into the manor. I won’t have my future wife associating with the likes of you,’ Peter sneered. ‘I saw your concubine on the day of the village fair. Dark as sin, ain’t she? I’ll wager she’s an obliging little thing between the sheets.’ Peter’s lewd chuckle was abruptly cut off by a hand savagely closing on his throat.
‘You’d be wise to button your lip and just listen.’ Ryan shook Peter as a terrier might treat a rat. Then his hand stilled and he said, ‘You are no longer betrothed to Miss Shawcross. You will henceforth stay away from her for if you do not you will have worse wounds to tend than those got from a crack on the head from a tankard. Do you understand?’
Peter’s bulging eyes glared hatred at his captor, but he managed to give a nod, gulping in air the moment he was released. So now he knew that Kavanagh had bumped into Faye fleeing from the building and she’d blabbed. ‘You’ve a fancy for her, have you?’ Peter croaked, peering balefully from beneath his brows. It had never occurred to him that he might have a rival. He’d always thought he had secured Faye’s affection...apart from that she kept in reserve for her dratted kin. ‘We’ve had a tiff, nothing more than that and none of it is your concern in any case.’ He snatched up the ring and pocketed it.
‘Oh, but it is my concern now she is unattached and I’ve taken it upon myself to protect her. I know she gave you that injury and that she’d only lash out in self-defence.’
‘You know nothing about her, or what she’d do!’ Peter roared. ‘She’s not ripe for the picking, if that’s what you think. She’s mine. We’ll be married in a few weeks.’
‘You’ll be approaching foreign shores in a few weeks, courtesy of a trader sailing on tonight’s tide. It’s berthed on St Catherine’s Dock and the captain will be expecting you.’
Peter threw back his head and guffawed. ‘What madness is this? You, my dear fellow, are addled in the attic,’ he spluttered, making a show of wiping a mirthful tear from his eye. ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort.’
‘Oh, I think you will...or I’ll let it be known that you’ve not only been ejected from the navy in disgrace, but you’re a fraudster, too...and a man guilty of attempted rape.’ Ryan took a step closer. He could see in Collins’s sly, hooded gaze that he regretted being thwarted in taking Faye’s virginity. And he wanted to throttle the blackguard again, this time until he expired. Abruptly Ryan turned away and strode to the door, putting a safe distance between them. ‘I’ve enough against you to put you in gaol... Westwood, too. Perhaps you ought to think of your parents and how they’ll feel when they know they’ve bred a coward and a criminal.’
‘I don’t give a toss for them since my father sold my estate...’ Peter pressed together his lips, inwardly cursing at having let that slip out.
‘Fieldcrest House, you mean.’ Ryan turned, planting his hands on his hips. ‘You had ambitions to buy it back with the money you and Westwood swindled from Miss Shawcross, didn’t you?’ His top lip curled. ‘But you’re out of luck.’
‘It was no real swindle,’ Peter spat. ‘As her husband her assets would have been legally mine. I gained a portion of her dowry slightly ahead of time, that’s all!’ He hesitated, assessing his opponent through close eyelids. ‘Why say I’m out of luck? I have bought Fieldcrest.’
‘I fear you have not. A better offer was received.’
‘Nobody else wanted the estate as it is rundown.’ Peter made a dismissive gesture.
‘Apart from me. It’s close to my land and will be of benefit. I’m finalising the purchase this afternoon.’
Peter lunged at his tormentor, fists up, but Ryan neatly sidestepped and put him on his back with a short sharp jab. He strode away, knowing if he remained close to Collins he’d drop to a knee and continue pummelling him.
From his position on the threshold of the room Ryan said through gritted teeth, ‘Miss Shawcross is thanking her lucky stars that she avoided being shackled to a wretch who’d lie and cheat and rob her of her inheritance. You, of all people, she’d believed in and you callously used her trust against her, didn’t you?’ His blue eyes were cold with loathing. ‘What did you pay Westwood for his trouble?’
Peter pushed up on to an elbow and his response was an obscene gesture as he knuckled blood from his lips.
‘Let me guess...a few pounds and your promise to introduce his cousin to your future wife so the chit might socialise in a better circle.’ Ryan snorted contempt. ‘Whitening her reputation would have been no mean feat considering Cissy Pettifer was servicing tars dockside from the age of fifteen. She introduced you to Westwood, didn’t she?’
‘Go to hell...’ Peter snarled, pushing to his feet.
‘You first,’ Ryan drawled. ‘If you don’t leave for the Indies but remain in town, I’ll make sure you’re the butt of jokes in every gentleman’s club and drawing room, that’s the choice you have. Another thing...if you stay you’ll meet me Friday at dawn on Clapham Common or I’ll come and find you and drag you there.’
Peter licked his lips. There was something about Ryan Kavanagh that made his guts roll in alarm. He didn’t boast, or raise his voice or look irate. But he was lethal and best avoided because he meant every threat, Peter knew that as clearly as he knew the game was up with Faye. She wouldn’t willingly marry him now. Even before this fellow had turned up he’d seen the puzzlement in her eyes turn to despising when she’d finally comprehended what he’d been up to. ‘And Fieldcrest House? What of that? I’ll not do your bidding without fair recompense.’ Peter brushed his sleeve, glaring at the man who had him squirming, almost begging for a crumb of conciliation.
‘We’ll talk about that in a few months’ time. And don’t return any sooner than that or I’ll not consider your plea to buy the place.’ Ryan lit a cheroot, savouring the first deep inhalation before saying through curling smoke, ‘I understand that you’ll be busy packing up for your trip this afternoon but spare some time to visit your friend Westwood. Arrange for Miss Shawcross to be sent a banker’s draft for two thousand pounds. I believe that is what her fund was worth when you robbed her of it.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘And add another hundred pounds to it for her inconvenience and interest due.’
‘I don’t have it. All I have left is the money lodged with Westwood for the purchase of Fieldcrest.’
‘Well, borrow what you need from your father; it’s what you usually do, isn’t it? You go cap in hand to the elderly man you say you dislike and inveigle for money to pay your debts.’ The sneer in Ryan’s voice was apparent.
‘Have you bedded her?’ Even the idea of losing the money he’d embezzled and the house he’d longed for couldn’t stop Peter tormenting himself with the idea that another man had taken Faye’s virginity...a prize he’d anticipated having for so long.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Peter, loathing him with his eyes for just a second before leaving without uttering another word.
* * *
On returning to Marylebone Faye was relieved to find that Agatha was out. Her aunt’s maid had turned up to do the laundry and was toiling in the washhouse set behind the kitchen. Betty Peeble had informed her that Mrs Banks had gone to the circulating library as she usually did on a Monday. Quickly Faye accepted the cup of tea Betty offered her, then she went and sat down in the parlour, wondering why she wasn’t tearful. Her eyes felt hot and tired, but self-pity was furthest from her mind even though there was no denying that the best of her youth had been wasted on Peter Collins, a person she now knew to be unworthy of a minute’s devotion.
She was still gently trembling from the shock of what had happened, but was determined to buck up before her aunt returned. She didn’t want to alert the woman to the magnitude of it all; neither did she want to upset Agatha by telling her the sordid details of Peter Collins’s behaviour. She would simply say that she’d fallen out of love with her fiancé and had decided to break her engagement and return home. It was the truth, after all, if abbreviated. Faye deemed Peter deserving of punishment for what he’d done, both in defrauding, and attempting to ravish her; but the uproar that would follow a public accusation would be too much to bear.
Finishing her tea, Faye gazed whimsically into her cup at the pattern of dark leaves on white china. She sank back against the upholstery and her weary eyelids fell. In her mind’s eye she saw her uncertain future now as an empty room. She was standing on its threshold, chary of opening the door because she knew she might find within a strange, lonely space. Her long curly lashes still lay on her cheeks, but her full lips curved wistfully as images of those she’d like to invite inside...one gentleman in particular...drifted past her inner vision. A new chapter of her life was about to begin, just as it was for Claire, and he had been instrumental in helping them both turn the first page. But would he soon disappear back to a life in Ireland that suited him better than the one he had in a remote English country house? How could she tell his thoughts when he’d shown her so little of himself...and yet...she’d seen something in his eyes and heard something in his voice just a short while ago that made her hold tight to her hope that Ryan Kavanagh might see her as more than a passing fancy.
She opened her eyes. Jumping up, she went to the window, scouring the street for a sign of a curricle driven by an impossibly handsome man. He’d said he’d sort things out, then come to see her, but he might be unable to do so immediately on parting company with Peter. She hoped they wouldn’t fight. Did Ryan have a weapon? Did Peter? Unable to sit and do nothing with that dreadful thought in her head, she went quickly upstairs to start packing.
The rattle of a vehicle approaching at speed made Faye drop the nightgown she’d been folding and rush to the window. By the time she’d peered out there was just a glimpse of a man, broad of shoulder, with hair like a raven’s wing, passing out of her line of vision beneath the porch on the way to her aunt’s front door. Then, as though sensing her watching him, he took several paces back and looked up at her window. Faye felt the heat in his gaze scorching her face to a pink glow. She let the curtain fall and turned around. In seconds she had darted down the stairs and met Betty, wiping suds on to her pinafore as she came out of the kitchen to answer the rap on the door.
‘I’ll open up, Betty, I believe the visitor is here to see me,’ Faye announced in a gulp, hoping she didn’t look too flushed, or sound too odd.
‘Righto, miss,’ Betty said cheerfully and disappeared.
‘Would you like some tea?’ Faye offered as soon as she’d closed the parlour door. They were facing one another, blue and green eyes locked together.
‘Thank you...no, I can’t stop for long.’
‘Why not?’ Faye blurted, then sank her teeth into her lower lip to prevent herself begging him to stay. She realised she longed for him to always be close by. With Peter it had been different. She had been distracted by her family and he had been concentrating on building his career. She had accepted her fiancé’s long absences without questioning if it were healthy to hardly miss him. She knew she would have done without his company quite easily after they were married, too. If Ryan Kavanagh were her husband she would count the hours till he came back home from shooting pheasant for dinner...
Faye turned away. It was as well she still had some pride, she told herself wistfully. She’d frighten him away in a shot if he knew how intense were her feelings for him.
Discreetly she looked him over, but could see no sign of any damage to his face or clothes. She had barely started to relax when the fist he had propped on the mantelpiece uncurled and she spotted grazes on his knuckles. ‘Did you fight with Peter?’ Her heart seemed to cease pounding while she awaited his answer.
Ryan smiled ruefully. ‘I punched him, but on balance you probably inflicted more damage than I did.’
Faye’s soft gasp preceded, ‘I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to get away.’
‘Don’t fret about it, he got off lightly,’ Ryan growled. ‘I would have given him the beating he deserved, but...’
‘But?’ Faye sounded alarmed. ‘Were you interrupted? Did somebody see what happened?’
‘Nobody was about; I didn’t think you’d want me to hurt him badly.’
‘No...I certainly didn’t, thank you...’ Faye sank to perch on the edge of a seat, sensing an explanation of sorts was required from her for drawing him into this mess. ‘We were engaged for a long while and I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me...’ She gave a sorrowful laugh. ‘We spent so little time together yet stupidly I assumed I knew him. It’s hardly surprising that eventually we drifted apart. But I wish it had not ended so very badly.’
‘Many couples are kept apart by employment or family circumstances and cope with the separation.’
‘You sound as though you think I should try to forgive and forget,’ Faye said indignantly.
‘No!’ Ryan hunkered down beside her chair, clasping her hands in his. ‘That’s the last thing I think you should do. Collins isn’t worthy of you, Faye, and I doubt he ever was. Don’t speak as though you’re responsible for what has happened. He’s a duplicitous wretch and a coward who has greatly wronged you. I imagine he has always been at pains to keep his true character hidden.’
‘My father never took to him...nor my aunt. I don’t think the Gideons liked him much either. Oh, they were all polite enough in his company, for my sake. But how I wish they had not spared my feelings.’ She smiled with a hint of self-mockery. ‘Of course, had they told me outright they believed him a nasty piece of work I would not have listened. I would have thought I knew better.’
Ryan used a knuckle under her chin to make her look at him, his eyes twinkling. ‘You are quite like your sister then and my daughter and every other young lady, I imagine, who thinks she has fallen in love for the first time and that her beloved can do no wrong.’
Faye smiled into his deep blue eyes, loving him all the more for finding excuses for her credulity. She angled her face into his palm as he tenderly cupped her cheek. ‘It’s true that at sixteen we think we know our minds and our hearts...though we don’t. How can we, when we have experienced so little of the world and the rogues in it?’ She gazed at him earnestly while explaining, ‘Claire is sixteen and for a short while she believed that she loved and wanted to marry Donagh; now she seems to have forgotten him. I was that age when Peter gave me my first kiss. I was flattered, and excited, thinking myself quite the worldly woman when in fact I was still a child inside. I believed he was the only man I’d ever want...and I remained loyal to that thought and to him for so many years, even though I believe I knew...’
‘You knew what...?’ Ryan prompted huskily.
A silence throbbed between them, then Faye whispered, ‘I knew I wa
s a fraud. Life is not a fairy tale that will promise a happy ending, but I wouldn’t let go of a hope that it might be so, if I just stayed true to the fantasy...’
‘I felt that way about somebody...when I was young,’ Ryan said simply.
‘You must have loved her very much...you must miss her very much...’ Faye held her breath, desperate to have a crumb of information about the woman who’d won Ryan Kavanagh’s heart and given birth to his daughter.
Ryan pinched at the bridge of his nose as though he regretted bringing up the subject of Shona Adair right now.
‘Will you tell me about Ruby’s mother?’ Faye’s soulful voice drew his eyes back to hers.
Ryan stood up, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘God knows I owe you an explanation and I want to make it. But not now. I have to go and see to something that won’t wait.’
Faye was hurt by his evasion, yet believed that he hadn’t exaggerated the importance of an appointment he had to keep.
‘I shan’t detain you then, sir,’ she said stiffly. ‘My aunt will be back soon, in any case, so you should leave to avoid difficult explanations. Thank you for all your help today.’
Ryan barked a laugh at the ceiling. ‘That’s it?’ he asked sardonically. ‘You’re shutting me out again because I have to get to St Catherine’s Dock and secure your damnable fiancé a passage to the Indies?’
‘What?’ Faye burst out. ‘Why on earth is that necessary? He will be gone soon enough of his own accord as he is due to ship out to Malta.’
‘Not any more he isn’t,’ Ryan returned bluntly. ‘I’m afraid his crimes extend beyond the fraud perpetrated on you. He has been cashiered from the navy. Some months ago in Gibraltar he was found guilty of stabbing a man following an argument over a gambling debt. His disgrace will eventually leak out and, for your sake, the further he is from England when it does, the better it will be.’ Ryan paused. ‘People will believe you jilted him over that and sympathise. It’s possible it’ll come to light that he attempted to cheat you out of your money, too.’