The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12)

by Mary Lancaster

  Jess glared at him. He gazed blandly back.

  “Then Blackhaven is crazier than I gave it credit for,” his lordship sneered.

  “Perhaps, but the good folk of the town do have some reason in this case, since Jess herself has been spreading it around.”

  “I have not!” Jess exclaimed, goaded by the downright lie.

  Hector’s eyebrows shot up. “You deny being the source of the rumor.”

  She closed her mouth. “No,” she admitted. “But it was a small untruth to help out a friend, and it wasn’t meant to go any further.”

  Her uncle scowled at her. “What the devil have you been about now, Jess?”

  “Does it matter?” Hector asked, bored. “The point is, the rumor is probably in London by now. The world believes she is engaged to me, within a week of breaking her engagement to Jonnie. What do you imagine it will do to her reputation or her chances of a decent match, if she then breaks her second engagement to me?”

  “It will make absolutely no difference!” Jess exclaimed. “The engagement to you is mere rumor, and we shall simply deny it.”

  “Mere rumor,” Hector repeated with open mockery. “Rather like your last engagement to my prodigal cousin. The world doesn’t look too kindly on those either, particularly when you take full advantage of the additional freedoms accorded to a young lady about to be married.”

  Jess’s mouth fell open.

  “Mind your tongue, sirrah!” Lord Viscral snapped.

  Hector shrugged. “I only mention what others will say. I offer a way out—the only way out, I think you’ll find. Jess will marry me and have every comfort…providing you keep your word.”

  “My word?” Lord Viscral asked, scowling. “I always keep my word. I, sirrah, am a gentleman.”

  “He means about willing your unentailed fortune to my husband,” Jess said with undisguised contempt. “I beg you will leave him nothing at all, sir. For my part, I would not marry Hector if he were the last slug on the planet.”

  She wanted to storm away, but she had seen the flash of venom in Hector’s eyes, and she feared suddenly for the frailty of her uncle. So, instead of slamming doors, she stalked up to the old gentlemen and stood beside him, meeting Hector’s stare with an equally fierce one of her own. Crabby, she noted, came and stood behind them.

  Hector laughed. “How sweet. How touching. And yet, you all know it’s the only solution to Jess’s personal ruin and family disgrace. I’ll leave you to mull it over, my lord. You know where to find me.” And with a faint bow, he strolled out of the room, not even glancing at Holmes who held the door for him and shut it somewhat smartly behind him.

  In the sudden silence, Jess counted to five in her head. She expected Lord Viscral to explode in fury at that point, but he didn’t. Instead, he rubbed his forehead, saying tiredly, “Whatever your reason, you made him a gift of that.”

  Jess swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry. But it makes no real difference to us, does it? Our friends will believe my denial, and the world will not bother us at Viscral.”

  “Maybe. Maybe, if it were anyone but Hector.” His eyes sparked with sudden violence. “If I were only twenty years younger, I’d—”

  “Yes, but you’re not,” Crabby interrupted bravely. “So, what are you going to do?”

  He stared at her until Jess feared her total annihilation. To her surprise, Crabby didn’t run away, just withstood his glare, until his lips twisted.

  “I’m going to send for Jon, of course,” he said.

  And in spite of everything, Jess’s heart soared.

  *

  However, it was not in Jess’s nature to sit back and wait for things to happen around her or to her, so she was deep in thought as she and Crabby walked around to the vicarage. It was to be an unfashionable gathering of friends and children, but instead of looking forward to playing with the infants, Jess’s mind now was on Lady Bella’s fearsome husband, Jon’s friend and captain.

  En route, her vague idea turned into determination, for as she and Crabby turned out of the high street toward the church, she glanced over her shoulder and glimpsed not just the lame man, Masters, but Antonia as well.

  Antonia was thrusting a small parcel into his arms and talking quickly as though instructing.

  “Jess!” Crabby remonstrated. “Really, you can’t walk like that!”

  Hastily facing the way they were going once more, Jess still frowned. Antonia’s presence somehow made Masters even more sinister. She neither liked nor trusted the woman, and not just because she had come between Claud and Mary. Jess was honest enough to admit to herself now that her antipathy to the dancer had always stemmed from the way she had draped herself around Jon the night she had first seen them.

  But it did look very much as if they were up to mischief. They had no reason to be following her for any reason unless someone had paid them. She had no idea what they intended or why, but she did blame Hector. Without him, she was sure, Masters and Antonia would have come nowhere near her.

  So perhaps Captain Alban was precisely the man to help her. Of course, he was unlikely to be present at such a female-oriented event at the vicarage.

  But it seemed she was in luck.

  The gentlemen were to attend a meeting in the vicar’s study, something to do with the local chartable hospital. But when Jess and Crabby arrived, the vicar was in the drawing room, along with Captain Alban and a scarred gentleman of military bearing introduced as Colonel Benedict. The colonel had a baby son, currently kicking his little feet on the carpet and blowing bubbles at his sister, a laughing girl of perhaps twelve summers, who was helping entertain the babies.

  “So, you are the newest baby worshipper,” Mrs. Benedict said, smiling at Jess.

  “I don’t know about worship,” Jess said doubtfully, “but they do make me laugh with their tiny fat, little faces and all their smiles and bubbles.” She smiled down at Mrs. Benedict’s small son and got a grin and a kick in return.

  “We could just hold our meeting in here,” the vicar suggested.

  Colonel Benedict wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see Bellamy or Winslow agreeing to hold serious discussions while surrounded by crying, spitting babies.”

  “Yes, but nothing’s serious until Nicholas returns in any case,” Kate Grant said.

  “No, Benedict’s right,” sighed the vicar. “It would be neither proper nor conducive to business! Shall we, gentleman? I think that’s Bellamy now.”

  As the men rose and walked to the door, Jess followed quickly to detain Captain Alban. Or Mr. Lamont. She was never quite sure how to address him.

  “Sir,” she said, choosing the simplest option. “I wonder if I might have a quick word? I will only keep you for a moment.”

  “Of course, please do,” Alban said with a humorous twitch of one eyebrow.

  Jess took a deep breath. “I would like your advice. Or perhaps your help. Concerning a…family matter. I know of someone, someone unscrupulous, who would not hesitate to employ people to act against Jon. Or me. In fact, they may already have.”

  Alban’s eyes were serious “I remember the incidents.”

  “I was wondering how you might feel about…the possibility of employing men of your own, Jon’s men even, to…deal with this threat.” Realizing suddenly how this might sound, she added hastily, “I do not mean kill them or anything like that! Obviously. But maybe they could be frightened? Sent away from Blackhaven or even arrested? Is it something you could advise upon?” Or even carry out? The unspoken words were obvious, she thought. Alban was too quick not to pick up her meaning.

  And in truth, his eyes were even more serious as they bored into hers. There was a hardness in Alban, as there was in Jon. But Jon’s, she thought, was only skin-deep, at least until he had a reason. With Alban, it was his core. On the other hand, his expression was not unkind.

  “Miss Fordyce, if you have any reason to fear for your immediate safety, you must send to me at once. But beyond that, I cannot interfere in Jon
’s family affairs.”

  “Of course not,” Jess said hastily, despite her disappointment. “But what would you advise me to do?” It wasn’t a serious question. She had already asked and been rebuffed. Asking for advice was merely her pride, so it didn’t look as if she had truly been asking him to kidnap or otherwise scare off her cousin.

  Alban’s brows lifted. “Nothing,” he said gently. “I would strongly advise you to do nothing. Miss Fordyce.” And he bowed and strolled out after the other gentlemen, closing the door behind him.

  Jess returned to the women, chastened and just a little angry. Do nothing? What did he take her for?

  Damned mercenary, she accused Alban unkindly in her head and then felt guilty as she encountered the intelligent, kindly gaze of Alban’s wife. In any case, Alban was right. She must not rely on friends in matters such as these. She had to take things into her own hands.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It seemed a lifetime ago that she had last waited for her uncle and Crabby to retire so that she could sneak out. Only this time, she had every intention of going beyond the hotel foyer. And there was no chance of running into Jon Tallon.

  There had been no party that evening.

  “Just as well,” Crabby had said comfortably. “It gives us a chance to clean your evening gowns properly.”

  For some reason, that caught his lordship’s attention, for he glanced up from the latest newspaper from London and scowled. “How many do you have?”

  “Two,” Jess replied with pride. “And the ballgown.”

  The old man’s face almost contorted. Then he ordered, “Holmes. Bring my purse.” When it was duly brought, he rummaged inside and brought out a roll of notes. He halved it and stuffed one part back inside. The other he thrust toward Jess with his eyes narrowed so tightly they were almost closed.

  “Order another,” he commanded. “And something for Crabby, too. Can’t have her disgracing you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Uncle,” Jess said in awe. “If you’re sure.”

  “Take it quickly, before I change my mind,” he growled.

  She did, but as she put it away in her own reticule, she realized she had never had money of her own before. Admittedly, this was for gowns, and she was more than happy to spend it on such a frivolous purpose. On the other hand, if a guinea or two went on some other, much more vital cause, that was surely fine, too. Hopefully, he need never find out.

  She knew where to go to find men like Masters, like those who had attacked her and Jon and tried to kill them in the runaway carriage. She had never been in any such establishment before, but she knew where it was.

  As soon as dinner was finished, she changed into her old gown and delivered both her evening gowns up to Holmes to be cleaned. Thus, she had a good reason for being in her old clothes when his lordship and Crabby retired. Her reticule lay under her hat on the table by the door.

  At last, everything was quiet, and she slipped out of the room with a key. In the hall, she donned her old bonnet and gray cloak, before hurrying downstairs. Since there was no gaming club or other event held in the large back rooms, the foyer was quieter tonight than the first time she had bolted down there to have her letter to Claud posted. Vaguely, she wondered if it would ever reach him, and what he would think of it.

  But mostly, she thought of the matter in hand, and exactly what she would pay her mercenary ruffians to do. They had to understand that they weren’t to kill Hector, merely remove him from Blackhaven and make sure he understood he was never to come near her, Jon, or Lord Viscral again.

  High Street was still busy with pedestrians and carriages, and besides, was well lit with streetlamps. Jess glanced all around but saw no sign of Masters or anyone else paying her any undue attention.

  Once she turned into the market square and the narrow street leading to the harbor, it was much dimmer and much quieter, and Jess found herself anxiously avoiding shadows as she approached the disreputable tavern. Her heart drummed, for entering the tavern which had just ejected two sailors flailing their fists at each other in pointless, drunken fury, no longer seemed quite such a good idea.

  She waited in the shadows until the drunks forgot what they were fighting about and weaved off toward the harbor with their arms round each other’s shoulders. Then, she drew herself up to her full height and stepped out of the shadows, making straight for the tavern steps.

  Almost at once, she was aware of clattering hooves behind her, two horses and a wheeled vehicle traveling much faster than was safe on such a road. She paused to glance wildly behind her, but there was no time to react.

  Someone leapt out of the shadows just as the carriage door flew open. She cried out but it was too late. Hands seized her, sweeping her right off her feet and all but hurling her inside the carriage.

  “Drive!” growled the owner of the hands and leapt in beside her only just in time before the carriage bolted onward. Somehow, he managed to catch the flapping door and haul it shut and at last, by the pale, frightening light of the carriage lantern, she saw his face.

  Masters.

  The scream died silently in her throat. Blood sang in her ears. Only anger at her own stupidity kept fear from swamping her. She was a novice, and she’d been out-ruffianed. It had probably been inevitable, but she had so wanted to deal with this herself and impress Jon.

  Masters said nothing, merely gazed at her from the other side of the carriage. He looked wary, which at least restored some of her fast-failing courage. Reaching up, she extracted her trusty hat pin.

  “Where do you imagine you’re taking me?” she asked, and was proud her voice did not shake.

  “Whalen,” he replied. “Don’t be frightened. I won’t lay a finger on you as long as you sit still until the carriage stops.”

  “Frightened?” she repeated with disdain. She even raised one haughty eyebrow. “It’s you who’ll be a lot more than frightened if you do not set me down this instant.”

  His expression was neither fearful nor contemptuous. If anything, he looked somewhat frustrated as he began, “Look, if you…” He trailed off, frowning beyond her at the back window of the carriage.

  Beyond the racket of the bouncing, swaying coach and the clatter of the horses’ hooves, Jess imagined she could make out another vehicle behind them. Hope sprang in her breast as she twisted around to peer out of the window. There was definitely another carriage behind, thundering after them. It looked like one of the hackneys that usually waited outside the hotel. The driver whipped his horses, yelling encouragement.

  Surely it was vastly improbable there should be a second carriage travelling at such speed out of the town and along the Whalen road? Which meant someone was trying to save her. Had Crabby seen her departure after all? Had Lord Viscral? Or was Captain Alban aiding her? Was this why he had told her do nothing? Because he was already watching for her safety? Had Jon asked him to before he left? The thought both warmed her and shamed her. How could she keep getting into so much trouble? He must have known she would…

  Forcing her mind to practical matters, she laughed aloud with joy and knocked furiously at the roof.

  “Stop that!” Masters cried in alarm, though he needn’t have worried.

  Either the driver of their own carriage didn’t hear or simply paid no attention. He swerved around the bend in the road so fast that the carriage seemed to take it on two wheels, hurling both Jess and Masters into the side before righting itself by some miracle. After that, to Jess’s disappointment, they seemed to pull further away from the coach behind, though it was still visible, still following. And certainly, their own carriage showed no signs of slowing. There was never a chance to risk throwing open the door and leaping out. At least, not without serious injury.

  As the coach finally slowed a little, through the streets of Whalen, Masters scowled at her and held on to the door.

  “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “Whatever you’re being paid, I will give you more just to take me back to Blackhaven.�
��

  His eyes slid away from hers. “I can’t do that, miss,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

  At their slower pace, the carriage behind drew closer again, travelling too fast and forcing theirs to do the same to keep ahead. Fortunately, at this time of night, the streets were relatively quiet, but as they drew nearer the harbor, they swerved round huddles of people and staggering drunks until they emerged onto the docks, still at a fast trot.

  Dear God, I’m to be put onboard a ship! The implications of that truly terrified her. Under no circumstances could she allow that to happen. Gripping her hat pin tightly, she prepared to jump and flee.

  The carriage lurched to a halt, jerking her forward so that she almost fell and had to cling to the seat to avoid falling to the floor. She tried to be quick, to reach the door first, but Masters was there, grasping her wrist.

  She stabbed him with the hat pin.

  “Ouch!” he yelled but didn’t let go. Nor did he hit her, which was her next fear. At least she retained the pin, even if she had no time to use it to more effect. He wrenched open the door and dragged her to the ground.

  In front of them was a large ship, a gangway running between its deck and the quayside. Two sailors were running down it, calling over their shoulders. Masters was shouting, too, but she was too busy trying to wriggle and jerk herself free of his hold to make out his words.

  At last he held her still, yelling in her ear, and she finally realized what he was saying. “Look at the name of the ship!”

  It made no sense to her but surprise brought about instinctive obedience. She did look, and there it was, painted on the side.

  The Albatross.

  Her shock gave Masters the moment he needed to yank her over to the gangplank where she was surrounded by seamen, separating her from the shore.

  The coach which had followed them so hard from Blackhaven had pulled up now, too, and a man emerged from it, furious but dignified.