“Will you listen to yourself? You care for your horse, not the woman you plan to marry.”
“Not true.” Perry leaned both fists on the top of Royce’s desk. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Dash it.” Royce ran his hand through his hair. I’m fighting for my life here. “She doesn’t return your feelings.” Royce stared deep into Perry’s eyes. “I know from experience. I could have had her—with ease.”
Pain etched Perry’s features. He paced across the room. “I should kill you for trying to seduce her. Because women fall at your feet, the great, wealthy Lord Rivton, you think to take anyone you please.” Perry’s chin rose to a belligerent level. “I’ll not let you have her.” He thumped his chest. “She is going to be my wife.” Perry’s eyes widened as if he was surprised. “I see what it is. You want her for yourself. You want her, but you don’t intend to offer marriage. You selfish clod. I’ll protect her from you. I promise you that,” Perry railed.
Royce tried to level his voice to a reasonable tone. “Perry, consider carefully.”
Perry rounded the desk with his fist raised. “I’ll show you carefully.”
Before Royce could catch his breath, Perry landed a flush hit to his jaw. Royce staggered under the blow, landing sprawled in his chair. He grabbed at air trying to steady himself when the chair titled backward and crashed to the floor. Jumping to his feet, his hand to his cheek, he glared at Perry.
Perry’s face flared with anger while his entire body bristled with rage. He stared at Royce for a long minute before his expression broke. Twisting on one heel, he strode from the room.
“Perry, come back here,” Royce demanded in a furious tone. He heard the front door slam shut in his brother’s wake.
“Damn.” He rammed his fist against the wall. Had she already accepted a proposal of marriage from his brother? With a sick feeling, he wondered again if she’d been at the lodge to meet Perry. The discord between him and his brother could be directly attributed to her. He tried to tamp down his anger. She had much to answer for. He would never allow her to marry Perry. Never.
Royce spent the rest of the day behind his desk. Against his will, reflections on his argument with his brother whirled through his mind, and his stomach churned with regret. The stubborn, defiant addle-brained . . . Perry doesn’t actually want Bethany. He wants to defy authority. Royce shook his head. The look on his face after he hit me was priceless.
Grinning, he fingered his jaw. A nice, flush hit, too. Still, I’m proud of the way he stood up for her. But against me, his brother. She is trouble. Trouble I can’t forget.
He could envision her clearly as if she stood before him, the soft beauty of her hair, her smooth complexion and perfectly balanced features. Exhaling a deep breath, he forced his mind to return to the records spread before him. Back to work.
Chapter 16
Late in the afternoon, rain splashed against the windows, announcing another brewing storm. Royce looked up from the papers on his desk. Several candles cast a glow across the polished floor and on the newly refurbished chairs. He frowned and chewed the end of his quill, sighing deep in his chest. Perhaps Charles and John had the right of it, and he should let Perry take his own lumps—but not with Bethany.
He rose and poured a measure of burgundy into his glass. Clutching a candle in one fist, his drink in the other, he snuffed out the remaining candles about the room and drifted toward the upper regions of the house.
He shed his clothes, placed the candle on a table and climbed into the huge bed. While rain spattered against the windowpanes, he drew a light cover over his body against the cool night air. His thoughts matched the chaotic lashing of the storm while he tossed and tumbled.
Finally, draping both hands behind his head, he stared up at the shadows of waving tree branches dancing across the ceiling. Trying to forget his troubles, he allowed his gaze to wander around the room. Questions with no clear answers kept popping into his mind. He ground his teeth in frustrated rage. What to do. What to do.
He rolled over to gain a more comfortable position. The part that really rankled had him tied in knots. Perry said he proposed to her, but had she accepted? Royce didn’t know exactly what happened. Control seemed to have eluded him in this situation. He twisted a corner of the coverlet in anger at her, and himself as well, with a dose left for Perry.
Another one of Perry’s starts—how like him to rebel against Royce’s authority as the head of the family. Perry usually recovered quickly after Royce thwarted him, and this would be no different. Royce’s whole body relaxed. Perry would see reason, and peace would be restored.
With that thought, he allowed sleep to claim him.
Early the next morning, his valet shook him from his dreams. “Sir John requires your presence in the library as soon as may be. Your garments are laid out in the dressing room. I have your shaving water hot.”
Royce sat up and rubbed his hand down his face. He certainly intended to shave and dress. An immaculate appearance would give him the superior ground when he faced Perry again. He needed a cool head. No more slinging insults or fists about. He would simply explain the situation to his brother and admit his emotions were conflicted.
After a quick shave, he donned his apparel and headed to the library. He froze in the entrance. John’s expression was grim and determined. Something had happened. Royce stared at his cousin, and his heart thudded heavily. “Did Bonaparte launch his attack? Are we too late to find the traitor?”
John gave a negative shake of his head. “Sit down, Royce.”
Highly alarmed, Royce sank into an overstuffed chair beside the hearth. If not the war, what? Hearing the fire crackle while chasing the chill from the room did nothing to stop the cold dread filling him. He waited for John to explain.
“It’s Perry,” John said and swallowed loudly.
For a moment, Royce couldn’t speak over the lump in his throat. He could hardly breathe but finally whispered, “What?”
John’s voice wobbled. “Royce, he’s dead. Someone stabbed him to death in the alley beside the pub.”
Royce tried to reject those awful words with every ounce of his being, but the refrain echoed in his head. Dead. No. That cannot be. Not my little brother. Not Perry. He gasped out the words, “Perry is young, too young to be dead. I’ve taken care of him most of his life, protected him from our stepmother. Guarded him against every ill. He can’t be gone.” Lost.
Touching his head, he finally allowed his hand to rub down his face. He fought the urge to curse, rant, and throw things. “I must be alone for a while.”
With a look of sympathy, John spun away. “I’ll be in the parlor.” He quietly shut the door behind him.
Royce buried his head in his hands. Furious and battered with grief deep in his soul, he pulled at his hair. The pain did nothing to relieve the guilt and bitter regret. After their battle of wills, Perry had stormed out. Why didn’t I stop him? Why? My brother would still be alive if I had listened to him, instead of thinking I knew best.
Royce bolted up and grabbed the brandy decanter. He poured a long drink and gulped it down, and then another, until everything faded into blessed oblivion. He was barely conscious of time shifting; sunlight flashed against the crystal decanter on the floor, then blessed darkness again. He drifted and drained bottle after bottle without being totally aware. He shunned the knowledge of days passing and the necessity of facing the truth, but the reality of Perry’s death finally seeped into his dreams.
He jerked awake and knuckled his eyes. Darkness blanketed the room when he sat up on the side of the bed. When had night fallen? He didn’t remember the day ending. Then it hit him. Perry was dead. How could he have forgotten? He gasped. The funeral was over. Perry was in the ground. Groaning, he fought for breath while his throat tightened. He barely remembered the funeral. How long had it
been?
He didn’t remember much about the burial, a thing he regretted. Striking a flint, he lit a candle and stared around his bedchamber. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs or falling into bed either. He couldn’t bear to stay cooped up in this room a minute longer. He needed to move, to ride, to forget. After scrambling into his clothing, he headed out to the stable.
A sleepy-eyed stable lad emerged from the sleeping quarters and saddled the horse Royce requested. Impatiently, he mounted and thundered out of the barn.
Urging his steed to run, he raced across the turf. He didn’t slack his mount’s gait when entering a stand of elm trees that guarded the trail through his estate. His constant grief had dulled him to an uncaring numbness for all except his pain. Now, no longer falling down drunk, he battled against the wind and his memories of Perry’s death.
When he broke into the path leading to his hunting lodge, he noticed a figure of a female trudging down the path in the moonlight. He watched her walk. Bethany. He recognized the graceful sway of her hips and her tattered cloak.
Swallowing back the bile that burned his throat, he gritted his teeth. Guilt, a heavy burden too difficult to bear, ate at him. If only Perry had never succumbed to her ethereal allure, none of this would have happened. I should kick myself. He should have made a push to discover her involvement with the traitors, or established her innocence, but he let the matter ride because of his desire for her. Now, here she was, alone at night. Why?
Against all his finer instincts, he jerked the reins, hauling his mount to an abrupt halt. I shouldn’t do this. Not feeling the way I do. Grinding emotions ate at him, and the need to lash out became overwhelming. The heart of the problem stood before him. Try as he would to gain control, he couldn’t prevent his harsh snarl from flying out at Bethany. “Where have you been? Why are you out here alone?”
Her eyes widened with fright, and she clutched her cloak together at the neckline. “I—I. Uh.”
He noted her dismay, both in her expression and her stance. She hunched her shoulders, seemingly trying to hide beneath her cloak. Why? With emotions so tangled with pain he couldn’t wait for her answer, he rode away at a furious pace. Heat scorched his cheeks. He clenched his fists as he rode back to the hall, his demons in pursuit.
After he slammed into his library, he sloshed a measure of brandy into a glass and gulped it down. He heard voices in the corridor. In his opinion, John and Sara had lingered too long at Stroter Hall. He no longer cared about a traitor. That was John’s problem. Not in the mood, he refused to join them in the parlor. Grief and guilt dominated his emotions. His own selfishness and his tendency to surmise he knew best for everyone concerned had brought him to this pass. If only he hadn’t quarreled with Perry.
What to do about Bethany, traitor or not, he didn’t know. He couldn’t face her yet. He longed for her with every fiber of his being, but he would never again allow her allure to capture him. Had she agreed to marry Perry? He managed to repress a snarl. Royce couldn’t accept that, even now.
If only he’d possessed the grace to step out of the way, to ignore his own personal feelings, Perry might be alive today. He’d tried to protect his brother from danger, from the coils of a traitor, but instead he lost him. He spewed a savage oath. He didn’t even know if Bethany had involved herself for gain, or if she was a tool used against her will. At least Perry is at rest, but I’m vexed to my very soul.
When sleep eluded him night after night, he fought his tormenting thoughts with strong drink and even took his misery to the village pub. The Hound and Fox tavern became his favorite retreat, where not a soul did more than stare at him. No matter how much he drank at the tavern or in his library, his gnawing sense of helplessness drove him, and he rode out on meaningless, reckless rides in the dead of night. Even in the daylight hours, he rode and rode, trying to escape. But try as he might, demons inhabited his memories, whirling through his thoughts in never ending circles. Traitors. Death. Perry. Bethany.
At the end of the week, the answer still eluded him. Royce approached the paddock and headed for the stable. Leaping from the saddle in the shadows cast by a weak sun, his batman emerged from the depths of the building. Hopkins caught the reins of the gray stallion.
Hopkins and Royce reached for the bridle at the same moment. “Milord, give way.”
Royce leaned against the stable threshold with a grim smile. “Pardon, Hopkins. I know you prefer the stable quarters to the house, but you need not serve as postilion or one of the hands, all the same. Obviously, I wasn’t thinking when you appeared.”
“‘Pears not, Ye Lordship.” Hopkins cast him a look of reproach. “If you was thinkin’, you’d be after them what done Sir Perry in—not ragin’ round killin’ a fine bit of horse flesh like this here. Ye near run him off his legs.”
Royce lifted his head to observe his servant. Then he glanced at his horse. The stallion’s flanks were soaked with sweat, and Royce clenched his jaw. “I deserved that reprimand,” Royce exhaled with a brittle laugh.
“Hot at hand, ye be. Never broke to bridle, so to speak.” Hopkins accompanied his accusation with a frown.
“I bow to your superior judgment.”
Hopkins grimaced. “Here now. Don’t be givin’ me none of that flummery. Find ye wits and start doin’ somethin’, I says.”
Royce followed Hopkins into the stable and grinned. “Do you suppose we’re back in the military? In those days, you used to ring a peel over my head in just such a manner. After the battle had ended, you would give me a fierce scold about my reckless behavior.”
“All a body could do to keep ye alive.” Hopkins squinted over at Royce. “Duty of a solider to guard his commanding officer.”
“I’m thankful you served as my batman. I appreciate you now too. I needed a good knock about the head.”
“I appreciate the job, what with being ready to hang up my rifle, so to speak.”
Royce lowered his chin and shuttered his eyes with his lashes. “Naturally I intend to set about bringing the guilty party to the hang-tree. If it takes years to search out Perry’s killer, I’ll not rest until he swings for his crime.”
“That’s the ticket.”
“I visited the village pub today.” He held up his hand at Hopkins’ frown. “Only to see if I could discover the rumors flying round about the murder.” Royce continued, “Not much happening, so I came away.”
“Lord love ye. Tain’t nary a soul what’ll cozy up to ye. I be the one as will nose around.”
“I’d be pleased if you would. The patrons only stare at me.” Royce raised his brows and invested enough censure in his gaze to still any unpleasant remark from his henchman.
“Course. Whoever did the dirty deed, Sir Perry were acquainted with him,” Hopkins surmised. “Else a stranger wouldn’t been able to walk up and take a knife to him. He bein’ too wily a cove for such.”
“Your reasoning is excellent. Perry was very handy with his fives.” With a despondent sigh, Royce straightened. “I was blue-deviled earlier. I felt I should wait to speak to the Ed or Maggie Albert until this black mood lifted.”
“It be a ticklish business, I’ll be bound. Best ye jump back in the saddle and give it a go. In a trice, ye’ll be in prime twig again.”
“Later today then. After I sustain myself with some nourishment.”
“See as that’s all ye swaller. Doin’ it too brown, what with all the drink.” Hopkins shook his head and called, “Hot at hand ye be, hot at hand.”
Royce scraped Hopkins with a glare for delivering his advice, turned on one heel, and headed for the house. Perhaps Hopkins had the right of it. No more drink.
Chapter 17
Royce emerged from the house in a more determined frame of mind. With a firm line of action before him, the helpless rage fueling his restless frustration had e
ased. His headache lessened with the filling of his belly, and thankfully he could function again. In charge once more, he straightened his shoulders and marched toward the stable. There was something he intended to do—bring the killer down.
Entering the stable, he mounted his horse and headed for the village. He had questions that needed answers, but his resolve faltered when the afternoon sun dimmed through the moisture filling his eyes. Furtively wiping his lids, he gazed into the distance. Grief for his brother would always be his, but he shoved self-pity away and stiffened his spine.
The rays from the sun managed to pierce the thick foliage of the trees casting shadows on the trail. He ignored the frantic chattering of a squirrel above him. Nothing could be allowed to distract him from his mission to bring Perry’s murderer to justice.
While he traveled through the stand of elms, the memory of Bethany walking down the trail in the dark rushed forward to overwhelm him. Why had she been out after nightfall? Did it have anything to do with treason? He tightened his grip on the reins. He caught a disturbed breath and fought free of the image of Bethany. Let John deal with that issue. He had a task—to find Perry’s murderer, regardless.
Dismounting before Maggie and Ed’s shop on High Street, he stepped through the door. He spied Ed behind the counter, and the faint sound of singing floated to him from the back quarters. Royce curled his fingers when a swift stab of annoyance shifted through him. The sound of such cheerfulness grated on his nerves.
“Afternoon, Ye Lordship.” Ed paused in wiping some merchandise free of dust. With a sharp look, he peered at Royce from under heavy brows. “Wot can I be doing for ye?”
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