The Baron's Heiress Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “No!” Margery cried at the same time the marquess snapped, “Yes!”

  When Lily gasped, Rand tightened his hold on her hand. But his gaze was fixed on his father.

  “He murdered my son and heir,” the marquess seethed, “and I intend to see him hang.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  “BENNETT IS NOT a murderer!” Margery burst out. “He did it in self-defense!” She turned to Rand, looking frantic. “Alban came after him in the first place.”

  But all Rand could absorb at the moment was that Margery’s sweetheart had killed his brother.

  No wonder his father was dead set against the match—it would effectively make him father-in-law to his son’s killer. Rand couldn’t blame him for abhorring the thought, no matter the whys and hows of Alban’s demise.

  “My son,” the marquess said, pointing his knife at Margery, “was not a man capable of killing. Your paramour murdered him in cold blood. Of course the blackguard would feign innocence.” He bared his teeth. “Surely even a besotted, addlebrained female like you can see through his lies?”

  “Alban would kill,” she shot back. “I saw him kill, time and time again. A rabbit, a lamb. My very own cat when she pounced on him as he was trying to force himself on me.”

  Lily hid her face in her hands.

  “It’s Bennett who’s incapable of killing without just provocation,” Margery added hotly.

  The marquess bristled. ”And he doubtless considered someone determined to wed his bride as ‘just provocation.’”

  “Stop it, both of you!” Rand broke in. “This squabbling gets us no closer to the truth.” Ignoring his father’s thunderous expression, he asked in a calm, reasonable tone, “Was there an inquest?”

  “Yes,” Margery crowed, “and the bailiff made no arrest—because the accused is innocent.”

  “You foolish girl.” Her guardian’s eyes blazed. “It came down to his word against a dead man’s. Unhappily, there wasn’t enough evidence for an indictment. But there will be soon. I’ve offered a hundred pound reward for information confirming his guilt.”

  Lily looked up at that. “A hundred pounds?”

  “You cannot!” Margery gripped the table, her voice rising in panic. “Uncle William—”

  “I certainly can. And I have. The messengers were sent out yesterday morning.”

  Margery’s eyes filled with tears. “Then Bennett’s as good as dead.”

  Rand couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with her. To do so would be a lie. A footman wouldn’t earn a hundred pounds in ten years, let alone a groom or coachman or maid. For that kind of money, someone would come forward with incriminating evidence, truthful or not.

  The marquess wielded a lot of power in this small piece of England, and if he meant to see the fellow hang, Rand had no doubt he would see it done.

  Plainly seeing the truth in Rand’s eyes, Margery let out a pathetic moan and rose from her chair, rushing to kneel at the marquess’s knees. Her black gown pooled around her. “I beg you, Uncle William, don’t do this. I’ll have no will to go on should Bennett die. Let him live long enough for me to prove his innocence.”

  “Impossible,” his father snapped, “given that he’s guilty.”

  She gazed up at him, the tears overflowing, making tracks down her pale cheeks. “Then you’ll be killing me along with him.”

  Just then, she looked entirely too capable of doing herself in, and Rand watched, amazed, as his father’s features softened with compassion.

  But it wasn’t long before they hardened again. “The blackguard must pay for murdering my son.” His calculating eyes darted from Rand to Margery. “And if you two are thinking of trying something…”

  Rand raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. He wasn’t yet certain which version of the events he believed, although admittedly Margery had the better measure of Alban’s character. Still, he felt the need to look Armstrong in the eye before making any kind of judgement.

  But as usual, the marquess took it for granted that his youngest son was up to no good. “I’ll be sending a contingent of men to keep Armstrong under house arrest. The killer is not going anywhere.”

  A bell sat by his elbow, and now he raised it and jingled it fiercely, as though venting his frustration on the dainty sterling silver trinket.

  “Jerome!” he called, and the footman rushed in.

  In moments, it was done. A dozen men were on their way to surround Bennett Armstrong’s home.

  An hour later, Rand, Lily, Rose, and Margery were on their way there, too.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  LORD BENNETT Armstrong’s house was smaller than Hawkridge Hall and Trentingham Manor, and from the mishmash of styles and the way the house sprawled this way and that, Lily surmised it was older than Hawkridge and Trentingham as well. Sections looked medieval, other parts Tudor, still other portions modern. But regardless of all that, it was obviously the home of a wealthy man.

  Each of the three doors had one of Hawkridge’s men assigned to guard it, and two more men were posted on every side of the house—in case Lord Armstrong tried to lower himself from a window.

  At first, the guard at the front door refused their party entry. But Rand remembered the fellow, and soon he was pumping his hand and asking after his wife and children. The man seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for Margery as well, and after she swore up and down that they weren’t there to break Lord Armstrong out, he agreed to admit them into the dark, paneled interior of the house.

  The Ashcroft sisters followed behind, Rose looking thoughtful and Lily feeling hopeful. Though her future with Rand was still uncertain, she was beginning to glimpse a possibility of reuniting him with his father. Today she’d seen flashes of warmth in the marquess’s treatment of Margery—albeit faint flashes, but clearly there was a heart somewhere beneath his unpleasant manner. Getting Rand to acknowledge that fact wouldn’t be easy, but the longer they were here, the more obvious it became that he still had strong ties to his childhood home and its people. Father and son both cared for Hawkridge, and if they could work together to save it—with Lily’s money and harmonizing influence—they just might find themselves being a family.

  But first they had to face the troubling matter of Bennett Armstrong. From a quick, whispered conference outside Hawkridge’s stables, Lily knew Rand suspected Lord Armstrong was innocent. Lily hoped he was right, as such a lucky outcome for Margery would clear her own path to marrying Rand. But like him, she was reserving judgement.

  Luck had not been on their side of late.

  The baron’s butler directed the four visitors to a study, where they found the accused gentleman writing a letter.

  “Bennett!” Margery streaked across the chamber and threw herself at him. “Oh, Bennett, Uncle William means to see you hang!”

  “I know, love.” He held her face in both his hands, looking haggard and afraid. “I was just writing to my uncle with instructions of what to do should that come to pass.”

  “Oh, Bennett—”

  Her speech was cut off when he crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her as though he would never let her go. Margery cooperated fully, clinging to him like a fragile, desperate vine.

  Rand’s jaw dropped. “Apparently she’s not as proper as I thought,” he whispered to Lily.

  “Hmm.” She slanted him a glance, thinking that was a bold accusation after what had nearly happened between them last night.

  The two lovers didn’t part until Rose loudly cleared her throat. Lord Armstrong looked up with widened pale green eyes, apparently startled to find there were others present. “Randy? Is that you?”

  “I’m called Rand these days.” He strode forward to shake the fellow’s hand. “And this is my betrothed, Lady Lily Ashcroft, and her sister, Lady Rose.”

  Lily curtsied, trying to dredge up a smile. “Lord Armstrong.”

  Although his gaze didn’t pierce her soul like Rand’s did, he was quite good-looking. He managed a weak, embarrassed smil
e in return. “Pray pardon our…um…enthusiasm,” he said, stepping away from Margery, though he kept hold of her hand.

  “Oh, Bennett.” Margery’s bottom lip quivered. “I’d hoped that after the inquest, Uncle William would come to his senses. But if anything, he’s become even more determined.”

  “I’ve seen evidence of that,” Bennett muttered, glaring at the guard stationed outside his window.

  “He’s offered a hundred pounds for information that leads to proving your guilt.”

  “Blast him.” Sinking back into his bulky wooden chair, Bennett squeezed his eyes shut and pressed Margery’s hand to his lips. “That’s that, then,” he said shakily, lowering her hand. “You know, I thought I was prepared for this. But I suppose one never really is.”

  Her cheeks wet, Margery sagged against the desk.

  Lily’s heart constricted at the sight of such despair. ”Is there no way to prove your innocence?” She didn’t know him, most especially whether or not he might be innocent, but he clearly loved Margery.

  Bennett just gave a helpless shrug. “There were no witnesses.”

  Rand began pacing. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was hunting and, as sometimes happens, had become separated from my companions. Alban rode up almost immediately, as though he had been following and waiting for such an opportunity. He dismounted, pointed a pistol at me, and accused me of plotting to steal his bride.”

  Rand paused and leveled him with a stare. “Were you?”

  Bennett looked to Margery for help. Wiping her face, she met Rand’s gaze. “Your father wouldn’t allow us to marry, so we were planning to elope. But I’ve no idea how Alban could have found out.”

  “Alban had his ways,” Rand said darkly. “So then what happened?”

  Bennett’s swallow was audible from across the room. “I dived off my horse to knock the gun from his grasp, and it went off. Then he drew his sword, and I panicked. Alban was known for his swordsmanship, and he wasn’t looking for a duel of honor—he’d made it clear he wanted me dead. I swiped a stout branch off the ground and bashed him over the head. He went down like a sack of flour.”

  Rand still paced. “And he was dead.”

  “Dead as a doornail, I’m afraid. I didn’t mean to kill him—I could have shot him if I’d wanted that. I was hunting and had a musket, after all. But I wasn’t sorry. He didn’t deserve Margery—he treated her abominably.” Despite the strength of his words, Lord Armstrong’s eyes skittered away guiltily.

  Apparently he was sorry…about something, anyway.

  “Don’t you see?” Margery straightened and went over to Rand, halting him with a hand on his arm. “It was self-defense. If he hadn’t done Alban in, Bennett would’ve been dead instead.”

  “But how to prove it?” Lily asked.

  “I don’t know.” Margery looked around the room pleadingly. “But you must help me find a way. You all must.”

  Lily looked to Rand with a question in her eyes, and he nodded his agreement. Rose’s face was impassive, but Lily could tell from the way she was leaning forward in her chair that she, too, felt sympathy for the young couple.

  “Of course we’ll help,” Rose said softly.

  FORTY-NINE

  “WE CANNOT HELP.” Rose fluffed her wine-colored satin skirts as Etta attached the matching stomacher. “I feel sorrow for Margery, but I fear there is no solution. The baron will hang.”

  “There is a solution.” In fact, Lily was planning to set to work on it this very evening. Seated at the gilt dressing table, she chose her jewelry with extra care. If she was to have any hope of influencing the marquess, she’d have to exceed his exacting standards of female elegance. “Lord Hawkridge must be made to see reason.”

  Rose snorted. “He’ll sooner see a goat rise up on its hind legs and perform ballet.”

  “Now, now,” Etta said on a chuckle, “you mustn’t speak so of his lordship. He can be a hard man, but he is not entirely without reason.”

  Holding a sapphire bob up to one ear, Lily examined herself critically in the mirror. “What reason could he possibly have for the way he treats Rand? For despising the good son and revering the bad?”

  Etta laughed again. “You’ve bested me there, milady—his lordship is certainly guilty of misjudging his children. But then, we all have our blind spots.”

  “Blind spots?” Lily’s gaze shifted from the mirror to Etta. “How could he miss the fact that Alban was a monster?”

  The woman grimaced. “We all wish to think well of our children.”

  “Except in Rand’s case,” Rose said dryly.

  “Lord Newcliffe is a special case.” Etta straightened a final ribbon and stepped back. “Lovely. Are you pleased with your appearance, milady?”

  But Rose was peering at the maid instead of her reflection. “Special how?”

  Etta hesitated, scrubbing her clean hands in her tidy linen apron. “The new baron was a troublesome child at times,” she said finally.

  “Perhaps as a boy he got up to a bit of mischief,” Lily protested, thinking of him pilfering his brother’s journal, “but that should hardly matter now. Now he’s a respectable, honest, hardworking young man—a man anyone should be proud to call Son.”

  “And how,” Etta said quietly, “would his father have come to know that?”

  Lily frowned, realizing Lord Hawkridge had spent just a handful of days with his son in the past decade. Because Rand had left. “But he wanted Rand to leave,” she said, mostly to herself.

  The older woman shook her head. “It’s not that simple. I don’t mean to say his lordship treated Randal fairly…but he wasn’t entirely without reason.”

  When she said no more, Rose pouted. “Vagueness is worse than silence. I suppose you refuse to tell us exactly what Rand did to upset the man?”

  “Heavens, look at the time,” Etta said pointedly, though she carried no watch. “His lordship does not look kindly upon late supper guests.”

  Lily hastened to fasten her earbobs and dab herself with scent. She would have to do.

  Walking down the corridor, Rose cast Lily an appraising glance. “You look especially pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Lily said in surprise.

  “It was an observation, not a compliment. Do you imagine a fancy gown will impress the marquess into changing his mind about Lord Armstrong?”

  Lily coughed, then cleared her throat. Her sister was far too shrewd for her comfort. “It cannot hurt, can it?”

  Rose shook her head. “You’d do better to stay out of it, Lily. Lord Hawkridge would make a formidable enemy.”

  Lily rolled her eyes, a gesture she’d learned from Rose. “Am I supposed to merely stand aside while he hangs an innocent man? Not even try to help?”

  That earned her a snide look. “Lord Armstrong may not have murdered Rand’s brother in cold blood, but do you really think he’s innocent?”

  “You don’t?”

  Rose shrugged. “He’s hiding something. Couldn’t you tell?”

  Lily tilted her head. “You cannot mean…you don’t think he deserves to hang?”

  “Of course not!” Rose’s horror seemed genuine enough. “I’m just trying to show you that you’re out of your depth here at Hawkridge. You cannot be sure of Margery’s or the baron’s true motives, and yet you’re challenging a powerful nobleman on their behalf. And all this just to marry Rand? A man who, in the end, may very well cast you aside and marry Margery instead?”

  Lily stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs. “Why should he do that? They love each other like brother and sister, not husband and wife. Even if—heaven forbid—Lord Armstrong cannot be saved, Margery would—”

  “Then Margery will have lost the only man she loves like a husband. Will the distinction make much difference to her anymore?”

  “I don’t know.” Lily couldn’t even contemplate what it would be like to have Rand ripped from her, his life cut short like Bennett’s very well might be. It hurt too
much. “But the distinction will still matter to Rand. He cares for her, but he loves me.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Rose said in a flat tone, “and he’s honest and upright and should have a whole fleet of ships christened in his name.”

  Lily planted her hands on her hips. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “Then what will Mr. Honorable do when he sees the vulnerable girl he grew up protecting left heartbroken and alone? Leave her at the mercy of her callous foster father?”

  Lily opened her mouth. She closed it. She ran her fingers along the scars on her hand, thinking.

  “Come, Lily,” Rose went on, “you’ve seen the two of them together. The way they charmed that guard at Armstrong’s house. And earlier today, they kissed—”

  “How do you know that?” Lily demanded. “You stayed behind to finish breakfast.”

  “I finished.” Rose shrugged. “Then I decided to take some air.”

  Lily narrowed her eyes. “You want me to doubt him. You seem to want me to go home, though you were the one who urged me to come here. Why?”

  Rose crossed her arms, as if she were cold. “I’m telling you what I see. When I brought you here, I didn’t know it would be so complicated. I thought it would be…manageable.”

  “And now you believe I cannot manage?”

  Rose shrugged again.

  “And you’re not trying to sabotage my relationship with Rand because you still want him for yourself?”

  For a split second, Rose looked like a statue of a vengeful goddess. She was still with cold fury. Then she was gone, without a word, so quickly that Lily hadn’t yet decided whether she regretted making the accusation.

  After the ugly argument, Lord Hawkridge didn’t even show himself at supper. Claiming a backlog of work due to Alban’s loss, he’d rung for a tray in his study instead.

  Rose silently fumed all through supper, and afterward, when the four young people passed the evening hours in the north drawing room, she sat with her nose pointedly buried in a book. Lily played gentle tunes while Rand and Margery sat nearby puzzling over Lord Armstrong’s fate. In spite of herself, Lily watched them closely, Rose’s words of caution echoing in her mind. Every so often, Rand would catch her eye and smile, and she’d get that melty feeling inside and feel reassured. What did Rose know, anyway?