He was too heavy to remain relaxed atop her like this, but he didn’t want to move; it was too good, this intimate exchange and each tiny movement. Finally, however, he rolled them to their sides. Her knee nudged between his, and Charlotte positioned herself to allow his top leg to be supported by hers. It had become their way.
“I should go check on Persa, make sure she’s settled in the kitchen,” Charlotte suggested, yawning.
David tucked the covers around her shoulder. “I’m sure when we didn’t come back Boone took care of her and doused the lights.”
“Mmm.” Charlotte snuggled closer. Her naked upper body pressed against him, her slim arm curved around him, possessive yet relaxed. He hugged her in return and luxuriated in utter contentment.
#
“Good morning, Lady Haliday.”
George Chetney stood as Charlotte entered, a huge grin making his face appear even more boyish. Persa scampered up to him and was rewarded with a brisk rub.
“Good morning, Mr. Chetney.” Charlotte pulled off her gloves and removed her bonnet. “I believe today may be the day I finish catching up with my correspondence.” She’d returned from the poisoning to find a mountain of letters and other business awaiting her. “I’m so grateful for your help. I wouldn’t have been as efficient without the benefit of your system of arranging things in order of importance.”
Chetney’s cheeks reddened. He held back another smile but still managed to look pleased. “You’re very kind, my lady. You received several new items in this morning’s post. They’re on your desk.”
The sounds of his arrival preceded David, who came through the door looking more splendid than any man had a right to. Sometimes it felt as if he carried a bit of the sun with him in that bright red-gold hair. Why did men wear hats, anyway? Charlotte wondered. David was altogether pleasing without one. It still amazed her how intelligent, steadfast, handsome and yet humble he was.
The nervous awareness she’d once had of him no longer plagued her. Now it was the memory of his strong arms and the heat of desire that afflicted her.
She must have worn something of her thoughts on her face, for he looked at her with amusement glowing in his eyes, one eyebrow lifted in question. “Good morning,” he said. “You both appear eager as dogs with meaty bones.”
Persa barked, dashed over, and leapt onto David’s lap. He laughed, petted her, and she settled across his thighs.
“And that’s pretty eager, isn’t it?” he said to the dog.
Their day began. One of Charlotte’s duties was writing to widows who received money from the Fund, evaluating their situations and needs, and she was eager to get back to that. She and David also planned on working late today, and Charlotte hoped to clear her desk.
At midmorning, David sent Chetney to Wandsworth Common with a note for Mr. Myers, who was in the middle of constructing the Royal Victoria Patriotic School; building had begun and was proceeding at a remarkable pace. Chetney was nice enough to take Persa with him, knowing she’d love running about the common, so Charlotte was uninterrupted and wholly engrossed in work when a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Vivian Garret stood in the office doorway.
Charlotte shot to her feet. Her nerves quivered like clattering tambourine jangles. “David?” she called.
The baroness wore a black gown adorned with glittering jet buttons and satin trimmings. A delicate white lace collar, cuffs, and gloves turned the otherwise unrelieved black into an elegant frame for its wearer. But in spite of her sophisticated appearance, Lady Garret looked ill: face pale, mouth thin and tight, dark shadows under her eyes. Those eyes glittered with pure, unadulterated malice.
She edged into the room and angled her back to the wall. “You shouldn’t have called him,” she admonished, raising her arm. She held a pistol aimed straight at Charlotte.
Dear God. Charlotte’s legs quivered. She grabbed the edge of her desk. “Don’t. Don’t do this. Hurting me won’t change anything.”
A thin smile curved Lady Garret’s lips. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, Charlotte,” she said with a warm honey voice. “I intend to kill you, but if you’re lucky you won’t feel a thing.”
Charlotte’s mind foundered, buffeted by a wild sea of disbelief. Her insides quivering like a wobbling jelly, she gave her head a little shake. Devil take it, she needed to stay sharp, yet she couldn’t even comprehend that Vivian Garret held a pistol aimed at her chest.
David rolled through the door suddenly and turned his chair to face the baroness. He looked unfazed. Relief swept through Charlotte in a rush and helped anchor her. Some of the wobbly jelly in her legs firmed.
“Come here, Charlotte. Stand behind me,” he said.
His steadiness pulled everything into focus. Charlotte obeyed and clasped the hard, unyielding lifeline of his shoulder.
Gaze fixed on Lady Garret, David tilted forward, his hands curled around his chair’s wheel rims. “Give me the pistol, Lady Garret.”
He sounded so calm, his voice so even and reasonable. Charlotte settled a bit more. David had faced hundreds of guns. Thank God he was here.
Lady Garret laughed. “Do you really expect me to? I’m sorry to disappoint.” Her pistol waggled between David and Charlotte and then settled on Charlotte. “He can’t protect you. Although, I suppose you could crouch down behind him.”
Charlotte straightened. Being behind David, she couldn’t see his expression, but when he shook his head she knew he’d sensed her movement and was telling her to stop making herself a bigger target.
“Ah. Have I offended you? Well, I’m glad you refuse to hide behind Mr. Scott. Although I suppose I’d best kill him as well. This pistol’s a double-barrel, and things will be much less complicated if he’s not left to tattle.”
“You don’t want to do this,” David said. “Even if you kill us both, the police will know. The other office is full of workers. They’ll hear the shots. The police already know you poisoned Charlotte. Killing her would make Newgate a certainty. You could even hang, and it would all be for nothing. This won’t bring Haliday back.”
Lady Garret’s smile twisted. “You pride yourself on your intelligence, don’t you, Major?” She stuck out her lower lip in an aggravated pout. “How sad. I know you’ve been puzzling on this and you’re not even close to the answer.” Her lips pinched together. “I didn’t love Haliday, I used him. He was arrogant, ridiculous, and incredibly easy to manipulate.”
Charlotte blinked. These words made no sense. “Used him? If you weren’t jealous, then why did you do so much to hurt me?”
“Hurt you? Two years ago I wanted to ruin you. Wanted to destroy you. Now that’s not enough. I want you dead.” A short laugh burst from the baroness. “Your husband provided a convenient way to harm you. I didn’t intend for him to die, but in the end it was his own fault. The ruffian I hired was supposed to rough him up and say something to implicate you, Charlotte. Only, your husband, the fool, fought the man I engaged. They weren’t supposed to kill each other.” Her voice broke off in something that almost sounded like a sob.
“You hired someone to attack Haliday?” Each revelation added to Charlotte’s confusion. “The affair, the novel to impugn my character, everything you’ve done—if it isn’t jealousy, why are you attacking me?”
“Yes, why does Charlotte matter so much?” David asked. “At first you were trying to hurt her, and now you want to kill her?”
Lady Garret’s gaze dropped to him. “She’s no more than a means to an end. I wanted her father to suffer. Shelby knew he was to blame when his daughter’s marriage and reputation were ruined, so for a time I was satisfied. But then Charlotte came back to London ready to begin again, starting life over and probably glad to be rid of Haliday. I realized hurting her wasn’t enough. When I kill her, Shelby will feel the ultimate pain—the pain of a parent losing a child.”
“Father knows? What does Father have to do with you?” Charlotte clutched both David’s shoulders. “What are you tal
king about?”
Vivian’s eyes flared. “I’m your sister.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Charlotte gasped. A panicky breathlessness squeezed her lungs. David’s hand reached back and she grabbed on. Vivian Garret—Charlotte would never again think of her as Lady Garret—was her sister?
“That’s…that’s not possible.”
She’d know if she had a sister. Wouldn’t she? Even though Father was no man to share his feelings or his memories, wouldn’t she have at least heard rumors? Charlotte had never heard even the whisper of another daughter. Or of Matthew Shelby having a mistress.
Vivian stiffened and her gun bobbed. “You think I’m lying? I always wondered if Shelby—our father—told you. Evidently he did not.”
“He knows?”
“He’s always known.”
Sharp and lethal, a dagger stabbed Charlotte’s heart. Father knew Vivian was his daughter? He knew Vivian had a far different reason than crazed romantic jealousy for what she’d done? Those days of misery, while Charlotte’s marriage crumbled, Father’s knowledge would have helped her. The months when Vivian flaunted her affair with Haliday and made Charlotte the object of rumor and innuendo… How could he have withheld what he knew? If he’d had even the slightest suspicion that Vivian’s parentage could be even partly responsible for her actions, he should have told Charlotte.
The dagger twisted. He’d also known when she was poisoned, and he’d stayed silent.
Her eyes grew hot and she blinked hard, staving off the looming tears. This was not the time to cry. Her pounding heartbeat filled her ears. The gun kept drawing her gaze, making it hard to think. The air in the room seemed too thin to breathe, and she tightened her grip on David’s hand. Had he felt this kind of fear and confusion during battle? Or when he’d contemplated life in a wheeled chair? The thought that he had—and mastered it—steadied Charlotte and helped focus her thoughts.
Was there any resemblance between them, anything to physically support the woman’s claim? Vivian was near her height, but their coloring was very different. And Charlotte’s finger lifted to her mouth and pressed against her full lips. She didn’t need a mirror to confirm Vivian’s lush mouth was all too similar to her own.
“Father knows?” She’d already asked and been answered, but she still couldn’t believe the affirmative answer.
“Our father seduced my mother, that’s what happened,” Vivian snapped. The pistol dropped a bit as she leaned forward. “She was innocent and he ruined her. She loved him. She expected to marry him, but her father was a mere knight and Shelby intended to marry higher than that. The arrogant weasel. He may have been well on his way to being rich, but he was common.
“He married your mother—a baron’s daughter—almost immediately after seducing my mother, who had no recourse when she found herself pregnant. She begged him for enough money to support herself and her child. He laughed. Laughed. Said he didn’t need a second family to generate gossip and impinge on his growing acceptance by society. But he gave my grandfather enough money to provide her with a generous dowry, and that worked. The dowry enticed the eldest son of a baron. A very proud and pious son of a baron. When I was born early but fully developed, he knew I wasn’t his get and he’d been cuckolded.”
Vivian’s flushed skin gleamed with moisture. Her fervent speech, rather than dissipating her strong emotions, appeared to be making her even more volatile. Her eyes had the wild, panic-stricken look of a bee-stung animal, and she brought her other hand up so that both hands wrapped the pistol grip. The barrel angled down, though, as if the gun had become too heavy for her to hold level.
“The man preferred to punish my mother through me. I grew accustomed to the taunting about my parentage, but eventually my quiet humiliation wasn’t enough to satisfy him. For even the smallest offense, he…” Her head shook with her emphasis, and her amber eyes glowed with the intensity of burning coals. “He whipped me. He was careful not to scar my skin, but oh, he left mighty scars upon my soul.”
Vivian paused and gasped in air. Inside, Charlotte cringed and grappled to comprehend. This woman, who had always appeared utterly self-possessed and powerful, stood threatening her with a shaking pistol. Vivian Garret. Her half-sister.
“He said I’d been created in sin, and it was his charge from God to beat the sin out of me.” Vivian stopped speaking and advanced two steps. Her lips thinned. “Lord Garret was seventy-eight years old at the time, but he offered my only way out.” She spat the words as if they tasted foul. “He wanted a young wife to care for his eighteen children, and he didn’t mind one in his bed, either. I was seventeen. I comforted myself that I was finally safe, the wife of a baron.”
“How do you know the man…the man who sired you…that he was my father?” Charlotte had many questions, but this was the one she needed answered the most.
“Once, before Mother died, we saw him on the street. She pointed him out as the man who’d fathered me—Matthew Shelby.”
Charlotte’s small hope that it wasn’t true wilted. “I’m sorry, Vivian,” she said.
“Are you? For what?”
The question stopped Charlotte. Did she really feel sorry for Vivian, after everything the woman had done? “For…for the abuse.”
Vivian’s shoulders slumped. She seemed to be calming down. “You needn’t be sorry for that. At least, not for Garret. He gave me George.”
“George?”
“My son.”
“Oh. Of course.” How could she have forgotten that Vivian had lost a young child to consumption? It had happened several years prior to the affair with Haliday, but it was generally known.
“When Garret died I was left with next to nothing. His oldest son, Frederick, got everything—not that Garret had much—and Frederick had eighteen of his father’s progeny to provide for. George was one of them, but the stipend we received was modest. Until Georgie contracted consumption, it was enough.
“When Georgie became ill, I needed money. There was a new treatment, and it was working. I had no choice but to go to Shelby and beg for help. For what he’d done to Mother—and indirectly to me—I’d always hated him.”
Oh, dear God. Father hadn’t refused to help her, had he? He couldn’t have been that cruel.
“You went to Father?” Charlotte said.
Vivian nodded. “He’s one of the richest men in London. The amount I needed was nothing to him.” For the first time since she stepped into the room, her expression conveyed pain. “I should have believed Mother when she said he was unfeeling. He certainly felt nothing for me. Nothing for Georgie. And no remorse or responsibility for all I’d experienced.” A series of fluttering blinks softened her expression. “He refused me. I needed money to save my son’s life, and our father didn’t care.” Vivian emitted a strangled sound. “He sired me, and bloody hell but I’d earned that money.”
A cold frisson slashed down Charlotte’s spine like a crack down an icy puddle. She shivered, and David’s fingers, still wrapped around hers, tightened.
“I couldn’t afford the new treatment, and Georgie…died.” Her last word became a tortured wail. Tears streaked down Vivian’s face. “I wanted Shelby to hurt as bad as I did, and for him to know why. Only…how was that even possible?” She took one hand away to swipe at her cheek. “Then I realized. You.”
Vivian jabbed the pistol in Charlotte’s direction. “He spent his life making sure you had every advantage. He built his empire for you. He wanted his grandchildren to be aristocrats. So I seduced Haliday. I ruined your marriage and reputation. I made a pariah of you. I didn’t mean for Haliday to die, but when he did, Shelby’s plan for a titled descendant died, too.” Vivian rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. “And Shelby knew it was all because of him.”
David released Charlotte’s hand and rolled forward an inch. “Put the gun down. Haliday’s death was an accident. If you kill Charlotte, you’ll hang.”
Vivian shook her head. “It’s the only w
ay, now. Before, making her life a misery was enough. But when she came back she was different. Confident. You became lovers.” She waved the pistol toward David. “I couldn’t let her be happy. I…could…not!” she finished, yelling the last word.
“But it’s Shelby you want to hurt.” David’s chair inched forward. “You have no reason to kill Charlotte. She didn’t hurt you. She had no idea of your connection.”
Charlotte looked at David. He was so calm and collected. But then he’d looked down other gun barrels.
“An eye for an eye,” Vivian shrieked. “To his misfortune, he has only one child he acknowledges.” A harsh laugh erupted. “If Charlotte dies, he’ll have no one. His dedication to work, his money and power. All pointless.” She brought her other hand up and steadied the pistol. “This is the way to make him hurt.”
“Vivian,” David snapped. “You know the police are looking for you. They’ll know you did this.”
“They haven’t caught me yet.”
Charlotte stepped out from behind David. He gave her a startled look, tightened his mouth and rolled his chair forward, ending up a bit closer to Vivian.
“Vivian.” Charlotte focused on the woman’s red-rimmed eyes. “This won’t bring Georgie back. And Father won’t hurt the way you did, even if you do this.” She wasn’t sure she could say what needed to be said, even though in her heart she knew it was true. “He doesn’t love me like you loved Georgie.”
Vivian’s chin dropped slightly and her eyes widened. Then she shrugged. “He’s a man with a stone for a heart. No matter. Whatever caring he’s capable of, I know he holds you most dear.”
David suddenly bent forward and gave his chair a mighty push, barreling straight toward Vivian. “Run,” he shouted at Charlotte.
The gun cracked, and smoke exploded from the barrel. David plowed into Vivian. He lunged from his chair, taking the woman to the floor. His wheelchair crashed onto its side.
“David!”
He couldn’t expect her to run and leave him like this. He lay sprawled across Vivian, who struggled to unpin herself. There was something—it was blood!—on the woman’s hands and bodice, and Charlotte realized it was coming from David.
A Hero to Hold Page 27