Only ten-year-old Maura to show him the way.
Velouette tilted her head to the side inquiringly. She sensed there was more to the tale. “What did Georgette tell her husband?”
“While I clutched my throat to keep my life’s blood from watering the entire garden, my traitorous stepmother was sobbing and begging her husband’s forgiveness for not being strong enough to prevent me from violating her,” he said bitterly.
If it was possible to return to that afternoon in the gardens, Everod would have picked up the discarded knife and happily cut Georgette’s throat. Unlike his father, he would have succeeded in giving the lady a mortal wound.
“What did you do?”
Agitated, Everod pushed his hand through his hair. The length of it fell an inch past his shoulders. The heavy dark hair helped to conceal his scar from curious lovers.
“I tried not to die,” he quipped, using humor to distance himself from the old pain. “A surgeon was summoned. I suppose my father realized belatedly that he might be tried for murder if I had the misfortune to die from his brutal attack. Those first days I was practically mute and out of my mind with fever. I must give Georgette credit for her cleverness. While I lay helpless in my bed, the lady fueled my father’s hatred by claiming that she feared a child would result from our unholy union.”
“And the niece?”
“She supported her aunt’s accusations. Maura told my father that she heard Georgette begging me to stop.” He scratched his right brow, recalling that Georgette had been begging, indeed, and it had had nothing to do with him stopping. Everod refrained from mentioning that fact.
Velouette brought her hand to her lips as if she were ill. “Was it true? Was Georgette carrying your child?”
“It was utter nonsense,” he snapped. “I had not—there had not been time for me to—” He tried one more time to string the words together. “The faithless bitch lied!”
It was no small effort on Velouette’s part, but she rolled out of her chair. Waddling to his side, she embraced him. There was nothing carnal in her actions. In fact, with her breasts and large belly pressing into his side, she felt soft and motherly. Everod patted her on the arm.
“Is this why you do not mention your family? You were banished?”
“Yes.” The word escaped his lips as a hiss. “I haven’t spoken to my father or younger brother since I was cast out of Worrington Hall.”
“This is terrible.” She pulled away from him, shaking her head. “Why did you not tell your father the truth? You could have written him a letter detailing your account or sent an emissary?”
He had entertained the same thoughts in the immediate years after his ignoble departure. Anger and pride had held his tongue. It still stung that his father had been so enamored with his wife of six months that he did not even question his son and heir. Worrington had aligned himself and bedded Everod’s enemy, and for that, he could never forgive his sire.
“The truth no longer matters, Vel.”
Since she was standing close to him, he affectionately placed his hand on her belly. In return, she lightly touched his cheek.
“Worrington and his wife are here in London. If the truth does not matter to you, what does?” Velouette asked, though she saw the answer in his narrowing gaze.
“Revenge.”
Chapter Six
Maura was certain that Lord Everod was insane. He had been sending her gifts for the past four days. Her aunt and uncle were amused that Maura’s few outings had garnered such a shy, ardent admirer. The earl had believed that his son Rowan had been sending her the gifts until Rowan had flatly denied the accusation and likened the gifts to romantic pander.
The first day, Everod had sent her Mrs. Radcliffe’s tomes. The second morning, a gold oval cameo brooch arrived. In the center was a dove with several flowers clutched in its beak. Forget-me-nots. On the third day a delicate bottle of scent arrived. It reminded Maura of a summer garden.
And finally, on the fourth day, another gift arrived. Displayed on blue velvet was a silver page turner. The hand was the figure of a beautiful woman in Grecian costume. Although entwined wings formed the blade, all Maura could think of when she glanced down at it was the bloodied knife Lord Worrington had thrown to the ground after he had cut Everod’s throat. She could barely bring herself to touch it.
Her aunt and uncle were oblivious to her distress after each delivery. After excusing herself from the breakfast room, Maura had calmly climbed the staircase up to her bedchamber, locked the door, and cried until all that was left was hoarse sobs.
Each gift was a message. A taunt to provoke her into action. It was precisely what course of action he was silently directing her to that cost her sleep at night.
By the evening of the fourth day, Maura had come to a decision. Bribing one of the maids, she had a note delivered to Lord Everod’s town house. This madness had started at the bookseller’s. With luck, she hoped to end it there. She would draw the scoundrel out and confront him. If she was his enemy, then he would have to make his declaration in her presence. Maura could not bear to contemplate what he might send on the fifth day.
This meeting was on her terms. She deliberately arrived earlier than the appointed time so she could watch for his arrival. He would not take her by surprise. Maura felt a flutter of excitement, when at her appointed time of two o’clock, Lord Everod strolled through the front door of the bookseller’s. He was so breathtakingly handsome, she might have smiled in greeting, had she not caught herself. This was not the reunion of old friends.
Their meeting this afternoon would define what they might become.
“Good afternoon, Lord Everod,” Maura said as she curtsied. “My old governess bestowed upon me an appreciation for promptness. To be truthful, I was not certain you would keep our appointment.”
His amber eyes with those intriguing green rings glowed with interest as he surveyed her from head to toe. “How could I refuse your gracious offer to renew our old friendship?” he asked, his husky voice carrying far enough for two ladies to glance at her and giggle.
Maura’s eyes flared at his insinuation that they were on intimate terms. “We are not—I did no such thing!” she whispered with a fierceness that left her almost breathless. “I—I …” She glanced around, already regretting that she had summoned the viscount to the shop. The public place had seemed fitting, safer for their discourse until he had demonstrated that he was willing to risk all, because he had nothing to lose.
She could not make the same boast.
“I thought I could reason with you, but I now see that I have made a grave error asking you here,” she said, her misery welling in her eyes.
Everod remained silent, which only increased her agitation and embarrassment.
“May I offer you my compliments, my lord. Your gifts were so clever and cruel. I should have known that I was no match for your wit.” She nodded at him. “Good day.”
Almost blinded by the tears she fought back, she was unaware that the viscount had followed her out of the bookseller’s until he had grabbed her arm. “How dare you? Release me at once! What are you doing?” she demanded as he marched her in the direction of his awaiting carriage.
“Since you find the shop so distasteful, I assumed you would not mind if I offered an alternative,” he said, his voice clipped.
He maneuvered her into his carriage with such admirable ease that Maura wondered how often he dealt with fractious females. “How often do you kidnap ladies off the streets of London?” she asked after he ordered his servant to continue onward.
“Daily,” he said humorlessly. Pointedly, he changed the subject. “Since you are here alone, I presume you have been suffering my little gifts in martyred silence. After all what would the family think if they learned that you were the one who demanded that I join you this afternoon?”
His mockery was not worthy of an answer. “How do you know I haven’t told your father and Georgette about your mischief?”
“I have not told them,” she said glumly, confirming his suspicions.
“Tell me something I have not already deduced on my own.” He dug into his coat, and retrieved a clean handkerchief. Instead of offering it to her as she had expected, he gently dried the tears on her cheeks. “For instance, where is your coachman? I highly doubt you’ve been wandering the London streets on your own.”
“I told the coachman that there was no reason for him to wait while I shopped. He will return to the bookseller’s in two hours. I did not know how much time I would need—” She glanced away, unwilling to finish her admission.
“Poor Maura,” Lord Everod said, making a soft sympathetic noise with his tongue. “You haven’t challenged too many scoundrels in your young life, have you?”
Her chin lifted at his outrageous statement. “I had no intention of challenging you, my lord. I just wanted to speak with you.” Her reasoning sounded weak even to her own ears.
Lord Everod grinned as he folded his handkerchief and tucked it away into a hidden pocket. “How fortuitous! I have desired for the chance to speak with you for a very long time, Maura Keighly,” he said so silkily that she almost missed the underlying menace in his tone.
“Rowan, I am so pleased you were able to pull yourself away from your amusements to visit your family,” Georgette said cordially. With her Blenheim spaniel, Beau, filling her arms, she tilted her head and studied the young gentleman she had had, a hand in nurturing.
Only three years older than her niece, Rowan Lidsaw was another splendid example of her husband’s bloodline. He was tall like his father, and his dark handsome features occasionally sent even her cynical heart racing. Rowan was not an exotic beast like his elder brother, Everod. Everything about him was muted, more conventionable. He was shorter, his build not as broad, nor were his eyes as unique as the banished heir. In spite of this, when Georgette gazed into his pale green eyes, she saw a man who could keep her secrets. A man with whom she could subtly let down her guard, and be more than Worrington’s countess.
“Really, Georgette, you speak as if we have not seen each other in months,” he chided, circling around her as she closed the door. “I saw you and Father two evenings past.”
She turned her cheek upward, expecting a small token of affection.
A dutiful stepson, Rowan leaned closer to brush his lips against her cheek. As soon as he moved in, the white and red chestnut patched spaniel growled threateningly at his intrusion. He abruptly straightened and gave the little dog a baleful look.
“You must forgive Beau, my darling,” Georgette said before she murmured soothing unintelligible reassurances to her pet. To Rowan, she said, “My poor baby has not been himself since we left Worrington Hall. Can you believe that he will not eat a single morsel of food unless it comes from my own hand?”
Rowan distanced himself from Georgette and her precious Beau as he sought out a chair in the drawing room. “You spoil that beast, Georgette,” he said, not bothering to conceal his disdain. “You have ruined a good animal with your coddling.”
Georgette’s lips tightened at her stepson’s criticism. He had been such an amiable boy when she had married his father. The man he had become could be difficult when he felt slighted. Still, she had learned that there was little distinction when mollifying a man or dog.
“Come, Rowan, do not sulk. I am very pleased to see you,” she said, choosing the sofa adjacent to his chair. Beau laid his head onto her lap, giving her a pleading look with his protruding large liquid dark eyes. The look always managed to twist her heart. She placed her hand on his head, and lightly stroked his long ears.
“Should I ring for some tea?”
“No, thank you. Where is Father?” her stepson demanded, glancing about as if he expected the earl to walk through one of the doors.
“At one of his clubs, I suppose,” she said indifferently, not particularly caring where her husband went once he left her side. “I summoned you this afternoon because I felt it was time to discuss your intentions toward my niece.”
Exasperated, Rowan curled his left hand around the back of his nape and rubbed his tense muscles. “Damn me! You have made your intentions remarkably clear when you persisted in throwing Maura at me every time I was visiting Worrington Hall. Father, on numerous occasions, has reminded me of Maura’s intelligence, charm, and beauty.” He gave her a steady look. “Fortunately, I happen to agree with you both. I have every intention of marrying your niece. Nevertheless, I am a grown man, Georgette. Let me court Maura in my own manner.”
“Your manner is deplorable,” she said crisply, not sparing his feelings. “While you spend your evenings at your clubs and bedding your mistress, Maura is being courted by some unknown admirer.”
Rowan raised his brows in surprise at her sharp tone. “Father mentioned that Maura has received several gifts. At first, he believed I was the one who was responsible.”
“Worrington has already told me that you denied it,” she said, disgusted that Rowan had not thought up a clever scheme to court her niece.
Intriguingly, Maura’s reaction to her mysterious admirer was a trifle baffling. On that first morning, the books had pleased and flustered her. However, with the arrival of the subsequent gifts, Maura had become quieter, more withdrawn. Oh, she smiled at Worrington and accepted his affectionate teasing good-naturedly, but Georgette understood her niece better than Maura’s own parents. Something was troubling the young lady. Did she know the identity of her admirer? If so, for the first time in years, Maura was not confiding in her beloved aunt and that did not bode well.
Discreetly, Georgette had questioned the butler about who was making these deliveries. She had learned that each delivery was made by a different messenger who never offered his name or the name of his employer. This mysterious gentleman was a wrinkle she had not anticipated to her carefully laid plans for Rowan and Maura.
Beau whimpered and rolled onto his back. Too used to satisfying the demands of the men in her life, Georgette obligingly scratched her dog’s belly.
Rowan stifled a yawn with his hand. “Have you summoned me to track down Maura’s bashful admirer?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head and rolling her eyes upward at his dim-wittedness. “We will deal with this man, if he ever finds the courage to approach my niece. However, there is something that you can do for me.”
His lips slowly curled into a grin, and for the first time since he had entered her drawing room, Georgette finally had his attention. “I am yours to command, Lady Worrington.”
Oh, how she wished her life were that simple. She gently nudged Beau off her lap, and moved from the sofa to Rowan’s side. “Darling boy, you must cease these endless nights of cards and whoring, and concentrate on your future bride. Despite Maura’s affection for you, she is not easily won. You must woo her, Rowan. You can be charming when you want to be. Seduce her heart and mind. And if your skills are lacking, then coax her into your bed.”
Rowan tipped his head back and laughed. The gesture was so reminiscent of his older brother, Everod, she was momentarily speechless. “Why, Georgette, how vulgar of you to suggest that I should bed Maura to gain her consent to an alliance she obviously does not crave—at least, not as much as you seem to do. What would Father say if he knew of your plans?”
Georgette did not like his shrewd expression. To distract him, she slid onto his lap. “You’ll have Worrington’s blessing if his grandson already sleeps in Maura’s womb.” She played idly with a lock of hair near his left ear.
Beau sat up and barked several times. He was jealous of anyone who stole his mistress’s atte
ntion.
“Infernal dog,” Rowan muttered, his gaze focused wholly on Georgette’s face. “Its barking will summon a curious servant.”
“The staff is used to Beau’s barking, and no longer heeds it,” she said, gliding her fingers from his hair to his lips. Rowan was feigning indifference; however, his cock had swelled significantly with her bottom pressed against the pliable organ. “Besides, I took the liberty of locking the door. No one will disturb us.”
Rowan cleared his throat. “And what do you plan to do with me, Lady Worrington?”
Georgette silenced him with a scorching kiss. Although she was his stepmother, she had never felt motherly toward Worrington’s sons. Drawing back, she said huskily, “I will show you how to seduce a lady properly.”
Both of them ignored Beau who whined pitifully at his mistress’s feet.
For a young lady of two and twenty, Maura was entirely too trusting. This was rather unexpected when one considered the deviousness of her aunt. Everod’s limited knowledge of the young woman’s life had revealed that she spent months being veritably ignored by her highly intellectual, narcissistic parents only to be sent to Worrington Hall during the summer. His brother, Rowan, timed his visits to the family’s country seat when young Miss Keighly was in residence. On the surface, it appeared his younger brother had developed a sweet affection for Georgette’s niece.
Staring into her wary sea-gray eyes, he was not completely immune to her vulnerability and artless beauty. Still, Everod did not trust her. “Did you not like my gifts, Maura?”
He discarded formality for the sake of keeping his quarry off balance. As he had guessed, she blinked at his gentle tone before she looked away.
“Gifts?” She spoke the word so softly that he had to lean closer to hear her. “Is that what you called them when you ordered your man to deliver them to your father’s town house?”
His decision to purchase the tomes Maura had been admiring had not been a whim. He sensed that if he had not startled her that afternoon, she would have trotted back to her aunt with her prized books clutched in her hands. It gave him a perverse sense of pleasure knowing that whenever she read Mrs. Radcliffe’s tale, she would think of him.
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