by Vanda Vadas
Julian hauled in a shaky breath. ‘The information Ian gathered has been most … revealing. I’m indebted to him. I hope I may one day thank him in person.’
‘Ian will be only too happy to see a monster like Gareth brought to task.’ Lord Wentworth’s face showed his disdain.
‘What became of this young lass? I’d like to compensate her in some way and perhaps find her respectable employment.’
‘That won’t be necessary. Ian has already spirited her away to Scotland. He’ll see she is well settled.’ Weary, Lord Wentworth sighed. ‘I’ll leave you now. Best you write to the viscount. Good night, Julian.’
‘Viscount Derby awaits, my lord.’
Julian thanked the butler. He bent to kiss his wife on the forehead, concerned with the touch of her cool, clammy skin beneath his lips. She was unusually irritable, and this afternoon’s arrangements rankled her.
‘I’m at a loss to understand why Derby has refused our hospitality,’ she complained. ‘Why does he insist he speak only with you, and in his carriage of all places?’
‘The location is irrelevant, my love. What’s important is that I speak with him.’
Lord and Lady Wentworth jumped to Julian’s defence. ‘At least your husband hasn’t spent days away from you, gallivanting across the countryside again,’ said one. ‘And he’ll be here when your child arrives,’ said the other.
Thankfully, their words were enough to placate Catherine. Julian caressed her cheek and gave her a reassuring smile before leaving the room.
The spring day had started crisp and clear. When he stepped outside, his gaze lifted to darkened skies. Rain looked a breath away. Gravel crunched beneath his boots with each lengthened stride towards the carriage. The coachman held open the door and closed it when Julian settled himself opposite the viscount.
Derby was an impeccably dressed gentleman. Beneath his cloak, he wore a brocaded waistcoat. At his throat, he’d tied a fashionable white linen cravat fringed with lace. Ruffles sprouted from his cuffs. Pride in his mature age appearance extended to wearing a wig beneath his cocked hat. Despite the mild weather, perspiration dotted his forehead.
Duly noted, thought Julian. He nodded. ‘Viscount Derby.’
‘Marquess.’
‘I appreciate you availing yourself and stopping by to meet with me.’
Derby’s hand waved off any suggestion that he’d inconvenienced himself by making the journey. ‘With the impending arrival of your first born, better I come to you rather than you leave Lady Catherine’s side. My congratulations, by the way, to you both.’
‘Thank you. Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable indoors? Some refreshments, perhaps?’
‘No, no. I must be about my business.’ He checked his pocket watch and offered up what Julian interpreted as a nervous smile. ‘Time is of the essence. To what do I owe the honour?’
Derby showed himself to be eager to conclude their meeting before it had begun. ‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ said Julian. ‘Is it true His Grace, the Duke of Arlington sold you false title and deeds to land south of the Scottish border?’
Derby bristled and sat straighter. Wiry brows met in a deep, serious frown. His cane twirled like a spinning top beneath his palm. ‘You are direct, Marquess.’
‘As you said, time is of the essence. I must address a most delicate and urgent matter.’
‘The abduction of your sister, I presume?’
If Derby thought to change the subject, then he would be steered back on track.
In due course.
Julian watched him closely. ‘Strange that you congratulated me on the imminent birth of my child, and yet neglected to enquire after my sister.’
The cane stopped spinning. Derby grimaced as though he’d tripped over something in his path. His thumb stroked the bright amethyst on the gold-capped tip. He cleared his throat and fleetingly glanced out the window. ‘I didn’t think it my place to broach such a personal, family matter.’
‘And yet, you just did. In an incongruous way.’
‘Yes, well … I … You must be beside yourself with worry.’
‘An understatement, to say the least.’
Julian listened to instinct. Derby assumed Elly was still missing. Surely the natural progression of conversation would be to first ask if she’d been safely returned, and whether her abductor had been captured and dealt with?
Derby emanated a cautious air. Julian would not let him off so easily. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Viscount. Are you a victim of the duke’s improbity?’
Rain drummed against the windows, clocking the viscount’s lengthy pause. The cane resumed spinning between his fingers. ‘From whom did you hear this?’
‘You will appreciate I must protect my source.’
‘And I am forced to hold my tongue.’
‘Forced?’ Julian raised, and relaxed his brow. ‘Then I’ll go to the duke with the very same question.’
Panic sparked in the viscount’s silvery-grey eyes. ‘A threat, Marquess?’
‘A promise. Unless you see fit to loosen your tongue,’ Julian delivered in a cold and uncompromising tone.
Derby pressed his lips together in a show of defiance. He pulled a handkerchief from his cloak and dabbed his forehead.
Julian reached for the handle, ready to vacate the carriage. ‘I have no time for games.’
‘Wait!’ said Derby. ‘With all due respect, Marquess, my dealings with the duke are private and of no concern to you.’
‘On the contrary, his shortcomings are my every concern.’
‘Why?’
‘You have a moral obligation to share with me any alleged truths or evidence confirming the duke’s illegal or immoral actions. Whatever you disclose will be held in the strictest of confidence.’ Julian’s voice held a note of warning.
Derby shook his head. ‘I’m not inclined to slander a man you hold in high esteem.’
‘I seek only the truth.’
Derby fell into silent deliberation. ‘It is as you said. He swindled me. Perhaps one day, soon, I might see him suffer for it.’
‘You, and others, it would seem,’ Julian said drily.
‘He is a dangerous, manipulative and desperate man who faces financial and social ruin. He’ll do anything to replenish his coffers.’
Julian paused to sympathise with the viscount’s heartfelt bitterness. ‘The duke covets my sister’s hand in marriage and I’ve spent the last few years trying to convince her their union would make a healthy alliance.’
Derby narrowed his gaze. ‘Because of your gratitude to him for saving your life?’
The whole county, if not beyond, had learned of that fateful day. And not forgotten, it would seem. Yet it was the first time someone had voiced the very thing Julian’s conscience had, at one time, debated. His heart had known better. ‘I’ve always believed the duke to be an upstanding man. Recent events have sullied my opinion of him. But never would I think to bargain my sister’s life or future happiness in exchange for personal gain, and I will not force her into marriage simply to soothe or settle any manner of debt.’
Derby’s expression relaxed into one of gratifying relief. ‘How pleased I am to hear you admit it. I meant no disrespect, Marquess. I merely reflect on the near-disastrous consequences my failings might have had on my daughters.’
‘Then who better to understand my predicament? I fear my sister’s life is at stake. You’re aware of her abduction. Taken by a highwayman near on a month ago. She’d been travelling with her companion, under the duke’s protection.’
Derby glanced aside. He fidgeted on the seat and intermittently spun the cane.
Julian suspected the viscount withheld vital information. ‘I found and confronted this highwayman, and took great pleasure in wounding him with my sword.’
Derby’s gaze slid to Julian’s. His fingers strangled the top of the cane, and in his eyes, Julian beheld more than a curious amount of interest. Concern lay etched in the
lines of the older man’s face.
‘Unfortunately,’ said Julian, ‘he got away and I’ve not heard from him since. No ransom, no letter of demand. Nothing. My investigation into the abduction has uncovered more about the duke’s character than the man who abducted her.’
‘What did you discover about the duke?’
‘His private dalliances are perverse and dishonourable. He gambles to excess and he is, as you’ve experienced, a fraudster. I believe my sister has been caught in a quarrel between him and her abductor.’
Derby leaned a fraction forwards. ‘What do you know of this highwayman?’
‘Nothing, other than he is a little too well-groomed for a common thief. He is a skilled swordsman and speaks more eloquently than His Grace.’
The cane spun out of Derby’s grasp. Julian snatched and caught it. Derby curled long fingers around the malacca shaft and glanced up when Julian refused to let it go.
Heavy rain lashed the windows and the day grew as dark and intense as the mood inside the carriage.
Julian squared his broad shoulders and leaned forwards. ‘If you have something to tell me, then do so. Without your counsel I’ll be forced to confront the duke about yours and other issues. I’ll not sit idle knowing my sister’s life is in peril. If need be, I’ll reveal your plight to the authorities along with what I’ve recently discovered about the duke.’
Derby let go of the stick and shrank back against the carriage. ‘An unwise move, Marquess. Any interference on your behalf could prove detrimental to the timing of your sister’s return.’
Julian hardened his resolve. ‘Convince me otherwise.’
Locked in a stare, Derby finally relented. ‘This highwayman. I am fortunate to have him as my … friend.’
The cane shook in Julian’s fierce grip.
Derby pleaded, ‘Let me explain. He has a score to settle with the duke. His grievances far exceed anything you could possibly imagine.’
‘I don’t care about his grievances. Who is he, damn it?’
Derby dragged the handkerchief across his brow. ‘I’m sworn to secrecy. But rest assured your sister is safe and well.’
‘With a scoundrel? I don’t believe you.’
‘He is no scoundrel.’
‘Put me out of my misery, or so help me God I’ll –’ Julian cut short his threat when Derby cowered to the side of the carriage. Like a blow to the gut, shame immobilised Julian. He should not inflict the anger and aggression he felt towards Gareth and the highwayman on an innocent elder. He backed off.
Outside, the wind escalated, whipping leaves and debris into a frenzy. Clouds rumbled overhead. Wary, Derby sat straighter. ‘Your sister’s abduction was not part of the plan, but when he learned of her betrothal to –’
‘She is not betrothed to anyone.’ Julian handed the walking stick back to Derby.
‘If you say so.’ Derby paused to draw a deep breath. ‘The duke, as I know him, is a guileful man, capable of twisting any situation to suit his needs. Heed my warning. If he gets the slightest whiff that you suspect him of anything untoward, you could possibly undo what has taken the highwayman years to accomplish.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘It’s not for me to say.’
Patience had all but deserted Julian. His chest ached, ready to explode. Elly’s whereabouts and welfare tormented him. She was blind and vulnerable. He felt helpless to identify friend from foe. Yet he could not believe Derby in any way unscrupulous, or lacking in rectitude. ‘Why is it so important that your friend keep Elly captive?’
‘He believes it best to put as much distance as possible between the duke and your sister. That way, she and her dowry are well-protected.’
‘Does your friend abduct every marriageable woman the duke comes into contact with?’
‘No.’
Ominous suspicion unsettled Julian. ‘Then why my sister?’
Derby sighed. ‘All will soon be revealed. I understand your distress, but in light of what I’ve revealed thus far, you must not do or say anything to anyone, especially the duke. You’ll see your sister in two months.’
‘Two months?’
‘When the time comes, I’ll send for you.’
Hope soared. Julian shifted to the edge of his seat. ‘They are with you?’
‘Not anymore. And don’t waste your time trying to find them. You won’t succeed.’
The rumble of thunder overhead rolled right through Julian. ‘When finally I come face to face with this man, I swear I’ll –’
‘Thank him. You can’t see that now, but you will. This man has spent years plotting his revenge against the duke. The least you can do is wait two months. Believe me when I tell you, he has your family’s best interests at heart. If ever you were to place your trust in a man, invest it in him.’
‘How can I place blind faith in your words, and in the actions of a nameless, faceless stranger?’
‘You have no choice. Your anguish is just, and the next couple of months will be difficult, but I implore you not to question the duke. Treat him as you normally would.’
‘And your reward from all this?’
‘Don’t sound so cynical, Marquess.’ Derby eyed his decorative walking stick. ‘This bitter old man lives vicariously through the revenge of another. I live for the day His Grace gets that which he deserves.’ He looked up. ‘Now. Say nothing of our meeting to him. Swear it.’
Julian’s fingers gripped the edge of the seat. ‘You seek to muzzle me like a dog.’
‘For your own protection. And your sister’s.’
Julian agreed with a barely discernible nod.
Derby sagged against the window. ‘You won’t regret the outcome. You have my word on that.’ He lifted the cane to the roof and thumped twice.
A few moments passed before the coachman opened the door. Julian stepped out into the driving rain. There he stood for what seemed an age, soaked to the skin, watching the carriage roll out of sight.
He held on to the knowledge that Elly was alive and safe. Waiting for Derby’s summons would be like waiting for the end of eternity. Harder still would be stomaching Gareth’s presence and affording him a modicum of civility.
Like a deck of cards, his mind shuffled snippets of Derby’s conversation: The duke … trust … score to settle … twisting any situation … highwayman … guileful … years plotting his revenge. These, and other stored scraps of information led down a path where logic trumped the implausible.
And yet one man’s face continued to haunt him day and night.
Miles.
Lightning flashed across the late afternoon sky, followed by another cracking clap of thunder. Above the noise of the rain Julian heard someone shout his name. He turned to see Lord Wentworth beckoning him from the open doorway.
‘It’s Catherine! She’s gone into labour.’
Chapter Nineteen
Eloise leaned her back against the rail, arms outstretched on either side, enjoying the afternoon sun on the main deck of the mighty square-rigger. She held a chunk of bread and took a bite, marvelling at the full set of sails driving the Justice.
During the past four weeks, she’d grown accustomed to the ship’s movements. Now, it forged through the virescent waters of the Caribbean, nearing its destination. With each dip of the ship’s bow spearing the waves, its powerful force would then surge up and onwards. Acclimatising to the motion and rhythm had become as much a part of life as it was to breathe.
She’d long since discarded her feminine attire in favour of rolled-up trousers and a shirt cinched at the waist with a length of cord. Their baggy fit did little to hide her curves. Zach had disapproved of her dressing like one of his men. Her stubborn nature had won out, forcing him to accept the sense in her wearing garments that allowed ease of movement in climbing up and down ladders, through hatches, and walking the narrow passageways below deck.
Not once did she complain about conditions aboard the Justice, choosing instead to lend an ext
ra pair of hands wherever needed, from mending clothes to scrubbing the deck with holystone.
The crew’s lively banter kept her amused. In one particular moment of light-hearted humour, she’d picked up a cutlass and donned a battered tricorn hat. Parodying the crew’s piratical image had seen them tease her in kind, comparing her, dressed in their garb, to the infamous Anne Bonny and Mary Read.
As her gaze roamed the deck, crewmen returned her smile or nodded their heads. How fortunate to have unwittingly earned their respect when she’d thrown her meagre strength alongside them to rescue their captain and lieutenant in the storm. She may have won their hearts, yet she was no closer to softening Zach’s. Revenge still darkened his door and barred her entry. He’d dismissed her every attempt to discuss proving his innocence, and in bringing Gareth to trial.
Only in the privacy of his cabin, and in each other’s arms, did Zach lay bare his troubled soul. Every minute of each intimate encounter had heightened her addiction to him. She lifted her gaze to see him emerge from below deck. Her heart skipped a beat as it always did whenever she laid eyes on him. He stood with one hand on the rail, the other on an overhanging rope. A leather buckled belt hugged the waist of dark trousers resting on lean hips. His cotton shirt billowed open in the breeze. His face was set in deep concentration.
If only she could read his thoughts with the same accuracy as her hands and lips knew of every contour of that exposed, sun-bronzed chest. His gaze suddenly flicked to her. He sent her an easy smile before looking beyond the bow.
Squawking gulls overhead drew her attention. She studied their black-feathered heads and greyish-white wings. Black feet and spindly legs dangled like toothpicks beneath their bodies. How different they looked to their English cousins.
Fascinated, Eloise watched them hover on the sea-breeze currents, utilising the slipstream of air in aiding their flight. Unexpectedly, one brazen bird swooped to steal the bread from her hands.
Judd rushed to her side and waved the gull away. ‘A sure sign of land, miss. Mercy Island is not far off now. ’Tis surely paradise under the sun.’