“And will Aunt Letitia be joining you?”
“She’ll come for the wedding, as will Jonathan—who is finished at Oxford. But neither will stay—they’ve got some house-party planned.” The earl’s tone had chilled considerably when he discussed his wife and son. Magnus had never understood how a man who was so warm and loving with his sister’s family could be so distant from his own wife and son.
Magnus did not know either his cousin or his aunt well—neither did anyone else in his family. Lady Vanstone had always been remote and standoffish with Magnus’s parents. He knew Lord Vanstone’s wife was not of their class and supposed the sudden elevation in status had been more than the woman had been able to manage. Unlike Melissa, who spoke and behaved like a lady, Lady Vanstone still smelled of the shop, even after all these years.
While neither of his parents particularly liked her, they’d made repeated efforts toward her—for John’s sake more than anything. But not only had she remained distant, she seemed to have poisoned their son against his own father.
Magnus had often heard his mother complain bitterly about John marrying such a low-bred woman. “She should be eternally grateful that a man as well-respected, powerful, and gentlemanly as my brother lowered himself to marry her,” the marchioness had said of her sister-in-law after Lady Vanstone had once again refused to accompany her husband to Lady Darlington’s Christmas festivities last year.
Magnus had been stunned by his mother’s vehemence and uncharitable words, but he’d excused her unkindness because he’d also felt the absence of his favorite uncle quite keenly.
“By the by, Magnus—I’m afraid I made rather a mull of it last night when your mother asked me to come by to breakfast today. It turns out I have a business matter I had completely forgotten about and need to take care of early.”
“I’ll tell her,” Magnus said, ignoring the slight pang of regret at the news. After all, it was probably better if his uncle stayed away for the time being. He did not deserve to be exposed to the uncomfortable, charged atmosphere.
“Perhaps we might meet this evening—go to the theater?”
Good God. Magnus hoped not. “I’ll have to check with Melissa to see if we are engaged elsewhere already.” His face heated at his lie, but his uncle merely nodded as they guided their horses through the gates into the park.
“Now,” the earl said, before glancing off to the side, his brow furrowing. “What the devil is that?” He pointed his crop just behind Magnus. When Magnus turned to look, the earl spurred his magnificent horse forward.
Magnus laughed and set off after him. “Such dirty tricks are beneath you, my lord,” he called out, but the older man could not have heard him, his lead was already so great.
Magnus leaned over Friar’s neck and gave him his head. “Let’s show him how it’s done, old chap.”
∞∞∞
Melissa watched the two men greet each other from the window in her sitting room. She’d heard Magnus return and leave her the note—she’d already been awake—but had wanted to have some time to herself. Their conversation had left her wrung out like a rag.
It made her shiver to see Vanstone put his arms around Magnus and watch the two men embrace with so much affection.
Vanstone had kept himself fit and his bone-thin body was still straight-backed. He had always been vain about his person and she knew he went to pains to keep his appearance as youthful as possible. No doubt the gray in his hair annoyed him.
They released each other and he patted the younger man on the shoulder. She was too far away to see his hands, but she could remember them all too clearly. Fine, long-boned hands which had always been soft, pale, and untouched by work. But for all that they’d looked so elegant they’d been powerful and adept at dealing out pain. Melissa probably knew better than his horse that the crop he held in one hand with such apparent negligence could be used to hurt, but not scar. In that one way he was different than Sir Thomas. He did not train his pets by drawing blood. His means were far more subtle.
The men chatted with the ease of old friends as Vanstone’s man prepared his mount. As ever, Vanstone had superlative cattle. He looked as stately as a king as he rode, he and his magnificent gray moving together with effortless grace. But Magnus, she could see, even with her untrained eye, was a cut above him. He and Friar moved as one being, as they had that day on the beach.
She watched them ride away and stood in the window even after she couldn’t see them any longer.
She didn’t turn away until the maid knocked on the door.
“You rang, my lady?”
She smiled at the young girl. “Did you speak to Lord Magnus this morning?”
“Yes, my lady. He said he was going for a ride but would be back in no more than two hours.” She gave a shy smile, her soft cheeks turning red. “He said to let you sleep, m’lady.”
“Thank you. But I believe I’m ready for my bath, now.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy and was gone.
Melissa turned back to the window. The street was quiet—it was early and not even many servants were moving about. She let her gaze linger on the majestic gray house across the street: his house.
Last night she’d sent messages using a footman whose discretion she’d purchased for a great deal of money. She’d arranged for a post chaise and sent word to book passage from Dover. She’d also written three other letters, which would be mailed today.
The only bag she would take with her would be the small cloth suitcase she’d brought to Darlington House. The footman had already taken the bag to the posting inn, where it would be waiting for her.
All she needed to do was bathe, lie to her husband, and then pay one last visit to the Earl of Vanstone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Melissa felt like a fool, but better to feel like a fool than to get caught going into the Earl of Vanstone’s house through the servant entrance in the middle of the day.
The hackney cab was one of the cleanest of its sort; Mel had to give the young footman credit for that. She’d been stuck inside of it for the past hour and a half while Magnus—unexpectedly—paid a visit to his uncle after she’d told him she needed to visit her solicitor and did not want him in attendance.
After she’d hurt him, yet again.
He’d stiffly agreed with her request, insisting she bring her maid with her.
Melissa had dropped the girl at her mother’s house after informing her that she could take the day as a holiday.
Once freed of her maid’s presence, Melissa had the carriage take her back to Darlington House, which they passed again and again until the footman finally popped out, saw the carriage, and nodded. So, Magnus had left Lord Vanstone’s. It was time.
She flipped down her veil and pulled her rough gray cloak around her before hopping down from the carriage, unassisted. The driver had already received his instructions and only waited until she opened the unlocked door before driving away. He would wait for her where the mews met Hays Street.
Once inside she followed the directions Vanstone had sent in response to her message. True to his word, there were no servants lingering in the back hallways and stairwells.
On the second floor she opened the fifth door on her right.
Inside was a library to rival that at Darlington House. The room was warm—a fire raging in the five-foot tall fireplace. As badly as Barclay said he was hurting for money, he didn’t appear to be stinting his comforts. But then, he never had.
The room appeared empty and she stood in the open doorway, hesitating.
“Come inside and close the door before someone sees you.”
The command came from her right, and she saw he was seated at a massive desk.
The drapes were closed yet he’d only lighted two candles. Melissa knew instinctively he’d done so out of vanity: he’d not wanted even a whore to see how he’d aged.
The notion made her strong and she strode toward him with renewed confidence, staring at him
boldly as she tugged off her gloves.
“Hello, John.”
He smiled, the smoke from his cigar curling around his face. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the two seats in front of his desk. He did not, however, stand.
If he meant the gesture to be insulting, he’d mistaken her. His obvious derision only fed her confidence.
She sat in one of the chairs and tucked her gloves into her reticule.
Mel turned to him and caught his true expression—the one he wore beneath the urbane suit and handsome face. If she’d ever wanted revenge against him—which she had—his gut-wrenching hatred and fear went a long way to sating her hunger.
The expression was gone in an instant, but she’d seen it. And he knew she had.
“I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when I entered my sister’s drawing room to find you sitting there as if you belonged.” His jaw ticked and his smile faltered. “I always suspected you were a shrewd little tart but I never imagined you would have the gall to entrap and marry my own nephew to get your revenge.”
Melissa couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. And when she started, it seemed impossible to stop.
Tears streamed down her face before she could get her mirth under control. By that time, he was no longer bothering to hide his hatred, although he kept his fear tucked away.
Mel wiped a tear from her cheek and shook her head. “I apologize. That was—”
“Obnoxious? Ill-bred?” he suggested.
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“What do you want?” he ground out.
“Nothing you can give me.”
His confusion was like the famed nectar of the gods to her. “Then why?”
“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that I was just as surprised as you when you walked into that room last night?”
His mouth twisted. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”
“I think you are impressively stupid.”
His jaw dropped and the prominent vein in his right temple began to pulse. That sight, more than anything since entering this room, recalled the monster who sat before her.
When she’d belonged to him, that vein was always accompanied by a crop. For a moment she wondered if he would lunge across the desk and strike her.
But then he surprised her. He chuckled. But unlike her laughter, his was not born of genuine mirth. No, his was born of a loathing so weighty it was like a third presence in the room.
“Your husband came to me after our ride today.”
“I know.”
“Can you guess what he wanted to talk about with his favorite uncle?”
She smiled.
“What do you think I told him when he confessed that he’d married one of England’s most notorious whores?”
“I don’t care.”
She could see that was not the answer he’d been expecting and he sat back as if she’d struck him. But as genteel as he appeared, he had the resilience of a weed and sprang back.
“You should care about what I didn’t tell him, my dear. Your real name, for instance. I quickly surmised that the name on the marriage license is not the real one. What do you think he will do when he learns you’re not really married?” He laughed. “Magnus has always been loyal, his standards higher for himself than anyone else. But even so I could see the doubt that is already blooming inside him—he is not yet regretting this marriage, but he will be soon. And when—somehow—he learns you are not really married? Well, he will toss you out like the rubbish you are.” His laughter was ugly.
She looked into his cruel, expectant eyes and smiled. “I don’t recall you being this amusing when I knew you, John.”
His jaw muscles spasmed with words he prudently caught before they escaped. “What do you want, Hannah?”
She shivered at the familiar sound of her name on his tongue and he gave her a venomous smile. Melissa hadn’t expected this encounter to be so entertaining. Regardless, she did not have all day—she had less than an hour to indulge herself before she was scheduled to climb into her chaise at the Swan With Two Necks.
“Here is what I’m going to do, John. I am going to offer you a proposition that is far better than you deserve. I will leave here today and disappear from Magnus’s life. I will not tell him or his family about the monster you really are. In return, I want you to release the girl you have now and I want you to compensate her with twice as much as you promised her.”
He stared, his nostrils flaring, as if he were struggling for breath.
“But that is not all I want.”
His thin-lipped mouth twisted into a hateful sneer. “Oh, here it comes—the demand for money.”
She snorted. “You really are stupid, John. I know you are below the hatches. I know you are taking loans—loans you have no chance of repaying.”
His expression of horror was most gratifying. “How—who—”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is this: I don’t need your money, even if you had any. I have plenty of my own—far more than you, Lord Vanstone.”
His breathing was audible. “Then what?”
“After you release the girl from her servitude you will never take another. I’ve written down enough gory details of our years together to tarnish even your name. And I’ve given the letter to my solicitor to hold if you do not abide by my demands.”
“You’re mad,” he said, but the accusation lacked heat. Instead, it reeked of fear.
“And then there are the names of the men you invited to use me. Just how do you think they’ll be received when it is known they were involved in repeatedly raping a sixteen-year-old while you watched?” She allowed all the hatred she felt for him to come to the surface. “What do you think your darling sister would say then?” She sat back, indulging in another chuckle. “And when the truth is known, how will you appease your creditors—men like Sir Thomas Barclay?”
“That bloody bastard,” he hissed.
“Ah, but he is a rich bastard. I daresay he’s not the type of man to look kindly on men who cannot pay their debts. He is no tailor—he will not extend you endless credit. He will want to be paid, and he will take the money out of you somehow. There will be no—”
He was like a blur, diving across the surface of his huge desk and landing right on top of her, his hands unerringly finding her throat.
“You bitch!” He squeezed her neck so hard her eyes bulged. “You fucking, grasping bitch,” he repeated, shaking her. “If you would have just left—just tucked your tail between your whore thighs and taken yourself off to some hole I would have left you alone. But you had to—”
A fist struck the side of Vanstone’s face and knocked him to the floor, his head bouncing against the leg of the nearby chair.
Melissa knew who the fist belonged to even before Magnus crouched down beside her. “Can you breathe, darling?”
His anxious blue eyes flickered over her, fear and love flowing from them.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Thank God,” he gasped.
“Magnus . . .”
Magnus’s expression hardened at the sound of his uncle’s voice. But before he turned, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Are you certain you are all right?”
She smiled and squeezed back. Hard.
He released her hand and turned to face Lord Vanstone.
***
Magnus’s stared down at his uncle’s prone figure through a maelstrom of emotions so thick he could hardly see.
His hands wrapped themselves around the neck of a man he’d loved like a father until mere moments earlier. Fueled by rage, Magnus easily lifted the older man and slammed him against a bookcase.
“You bloody monster!” He shook him hard enough that he could actually hear his teeth rattle. “You’re a rabid animal that needs to be put down. Death is the only way to stop you. I will be doing the world a favor.” His hands began to tighten around his throat
“Please,” the earl whispered in betwee
n head-bashings. “Mercy.”
“Mercy?” Magnus repeated in a voice three octaves higher than normal. He turned to look at Melissa, who was watching them with eyes that burned. He knew she would not stop him; did he want to stop? He didn’t think so.
He swung around and stared at Vanstone’s red face. “Did you show mercy to Melissa? Or the other girls you purchased and repeatedly raped and abused?” A grating sound filled his head as he thought of this man defiling the only woman he’d ever loved.
Death was too quick—too good for him. Even eternal damnation for his shriveled, evil-ridden soul was not enough. He deserved to live on and suffer under the condemning eyes of those who’d once loved and respected him.
Magnus looked the other man in the eyes and then flung him away, feeling as if he’d been clutching something so unclean that he might never wash away the stench.
“Killing you would be too kind. You’ll have to live with what you’ve done. You may not be put in jail—where you belong—but your life will be worth nothing between the scandal and the debt. I will ensure you never hurt another girl again.”
He turned to his wife, expecting to see disappointment that he’d let the other man live. Instead, she smiled up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
He snorted. “I didn’t. I left my bloody hat here—it’s the only one I have left since I abandoned my other hat at the vicarage—and came back to fetch it. On a whim I decided to pop up and ask the bastard to ride with me again tomorrow.” He shook his head. “What a bloody fool I’ve been. I’m so sorry, Melissa. So very sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Magnus. You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know because I’ve been naïve. Far too naïve for far too long.”
Melissa’s body shook and the tears began to fall.
“Oh, darling,” he said, catching her up in his arms and hugging her so close neither of them could breath. “Don’t cry, Melissa, we shall see each other through this.”
She began to squirm in his arms, gasping into his chest.
Melissa and The Vicar (The Seducers Book 1) Page 31