by Cheryl Holt
She couldn’t abide being trapped in the mansion another second. She stood and dashed outside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Pick your ending.”
“I won’t, and as I did nothing wrong, I refuse to have you badgering me.”
Matthew glared at Angela. They were in the library at Greystone, and Matthew had had to send a housemaid to Angela’s room three times before she’d dragged herself in. He was seated behind the desk, and she was standing in front of him.
“You did nothing?” Matthew said.
“Absolutely nothing. I was shocked by Roland’s behavior. My brother seemed so mild mannered. How was I to know insanity lurked just below the surface?”
“How indeed?” Matthew mused.
He had to give her credit. She had more false courage than any man he’d ever met, and he’d crossed paths with some tough ones. She put them all to shame.
“May I sit?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well…I never!” she huffed. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
“At the moment I don’t have it in me to be civil. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”
“Barbarian,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yes, I always have been, and it’s lucky for you that it takes the form of crudeness and insults.”
“Why is that lucky for me?”
“Because if I was the sort of fellow to bestow what you truly deserve, I’d round this desk and beat you bloody.”
“My, my, Captain, does it make you feel manly to threaten a woman? I’m half your size. Should I tremble and weep?”
Michael was prowling behind Matthew, and he said, “I’ll beat her for you.”
Angela gasped. “You’ll…what?”
“I’ll beat you. I’d be happy to. Matthew appears to have a gallant streak, but I don’t.”
Some of Angela’s smugness fled, and nervously she glanced at Matthew. “You won’t let him beat me, will you?”
“It depends how much you aggravate me before this conversation is through.”
For a female who’d conspired to commit murder, she was much too confident, much too certain of her place in the world.
“Where is my brother?” she inquired.
“How would I know?” Matthew replied.
“You were the last person to speak with him before he vanished.”
“Was I? How can you be sure of that?”
“He’s suffered a mishap, and I’m positive you were the cause.”
“I’d have been delighted to kill him, but I didn’t.” Matthew could lie as well as she could. He’d grown up lying. He was an expert.
“If you didn’t kill him, why hasn’t he come home?”
“I gave him a choice.”
“What choice?” she sneered.
“He could walk down the road to London and start a new life there.”
“Or…?”
“Or…I’d slay him. He decided to head for London.”
“Is that your story? You claim he trotted off and left me without a goodbye?”
“It’s not what I’m claiming. It’s what happened.”
“Liar.”
Matthew shrugged. “He’ll never slink in here again either. I’d kill him, and he understands that.”
“I’ll go to the authorities,” she threatened.
“Feel free. I am Captain Matthew Harlow, and you are the daughter of a disgraced, convicted swindler. Who will they believe?”
“I don’t care if I’m believed. I’ll smear your name across the kingdom, and you’ll be ruined.”
“Me? Ruined. You’re hilarious, Miss Merrick. You seem to be conveniently forgetting that your brother kidnapped my wife. When people hear that pesky detail, you and your brother won’t get much sympathy.”
“Roland didn’t kidnap her. Clarissa loved him.”
Matthew laughed. “Really.”
“Once she assumed you were deceased, she was excited to marry him. She went willingly.”
“Willingly? That’s your version of events? I can’t wait to inform Clarissa.”
“She was obsessed with Roland from the day she first moved to Greystone as a little girl. She yearned to be his wife, and when she finally had the chance, she jumped at it.”
“With each word out of your mouth, I like you less, which leaves me less inclined to show you any mercy.”
“Honestly, Captain, why would I need any mercy from you? I keep telling you I did nothing wrong. Why won’t you listen?”
Michael shifted in the corner, his impatience clear. “I’m weary of her drivel, Matthew. Let me gag her, so she shuts up.”
“Gag me!” Angela looked properly offended, but she was worried too, her bravado beginning to slip. “You wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me.”
“Oh, I’d dare,” Michael warned, “so be silent, or you’ll learn a few things about my temper that you’d rather not discover.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she insisted.
“Perfect,” Michael retorted. “I like my victims naïve and unsuspecting. It’s so much more fun for me when I’m doling out punishment.”
Angela’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Michael had Matthew’s penchant for violence and brutality, but Matthew’s worst traits had been reined in during his years in the army. Michael had been raised on the streets and had fought to survive. There had been no army discipline to shape him, so he was direct, blunt, and easily annoyed.
Heaven help the person who crossed him. If Angela wasn’t careful, Michael would exhibit some character traits that she wouldn’t like at all.
Angela turned to Matthew, her gaze beseeching. “Will you allow him to harm me?”
“I might.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “He’s like a rabid dog.”
Michael taunted her with, “This is my good side.”
Matthew held up a hand, silencing his brother.
“When we started this conversation,” he said, “I mentioned you could choose your ending.”
“And I told you I wouldn’t.”
“You’re departing Greystone, and you’re never coming back.”
“Greystone has been my family’s home for two centuries. You will not throw me out.”
Matthew ignored her and continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “It doesn’t matter to me which you select, but if you won’t pick one, I shall pick for you.”
“What are my options again?” She was trembling with rage. If she’d been clutching a pistol, she’d likely have murdered him on the spot.
“There is a cloistered convent in Scotland run by the Sisters of Mercy. You may go there and lock yourself in forever.”
“A convent! I’m not a Catholic.”
“I’ll pay your entry fee. They’ll take you.”
“I’d be sequestered with a bunch of grumpy nuns? I’d scrub floors and empty chamber pots and wear black for the rest of my life?”
“Yes.”
“What is my other option?”
“You can board ship for America. I’ll buy your ticket and give you a hundred pounds to see you on your way. But you must swear you’ll never return to England. If I learn you slithered back, I’ll lock you in the convent myself.”
For an eternity, she studied him, then blustered, “I don’t choose either of those conclusions, and you can’t make me choose.”
“You imagine I can’t?”
They engaged in a staring match she could never win. As with her brother, she couldn’t stay at Greystone. So long as Angela was on the premises, Clarissa would never be safe. Nor would Matthew, and he’d always have to hope—should Angela shoot him as her brother had—that her aim wasn’t any better than Roland’s had been.
He wasn’t willing to risk catastrophe and couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t simply had the authorities hang her.
They would have. With his acclaim burning so hot, people would grant any boon he requested. Though she didn’t realize it, he was saving her mi
serable life. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t kill a woman as he could a man. She was a female, and he’d let her live. She didn’t deserve to live, but he’d let her.
Her expression grew sly. “I’ll have to think about it overnight.”
“No. I must have your answer right now.”
“Captain!” She stamped her foot. “I need a few hours. How can it hurt?”
Michael interjected, “Why would you need a few hours? Are you planning to find a pistol and finish the job your brother bungled?”
Hadn’t that been Matthew’s exact thought? From how furious she became, it was obviously her plan. He had to get her off the property.
“What’s it to be, Miss Merrick?” Matthew asked. “The convent? Or the ship to America?”
Looking crafty and cunning, she said, “I’ll probably pick the ship to America. Give me the money you promised, and I’ll leave at once.”
“The ship it is. My brother will escort you to London.”
“What?” Apparently she’d assumed he’d permit her to trot off by herself.
“I had the maids pack a trunk for you. A carriage is waiting outside.”
“I’m to go…immediately?”
“Yes. Immediately.”
“I won’t do it!” she fumed, and she began to wail like a misbehaved child. “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”
Michael walked over, lifted her off the floor, and carted her off as if she were a sack of potatoes.
Matthew said to his receding back, “Remain with her until she sails.”
“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”
Angela kicked and screamed, fighting so fiercely that Michael nearly dropped her, but she couldn’t wrestle free. She glanced at Matthew, pleading. “I’m afraid of him.”
“You should be.”
“I won’t travel with him!”
“You’re dangerous, Miss Merrick, and I’m glad to be rid of you.”
“You can’t send me away! This is my home.”
“No,” Matthew calmly replied, “it used to be your home. It’s mine now. It’s Clarissa’s.”
“Clarissa will be upset when she discovers how you treated me.”
Matthew hadn’t talked to Clarissa about any of it, and he fibbed. “She already knows. We agreed you can’t stay.”
“But…but…I have to say goodbye to her.”
“She doesn’t want you to say goodbye. She’s heard everything from you she ever wishes to hear.”
Michael started off again, and when her struggles increased, he tossed her over his shoulder and continued on.
Matthew sat in his chair, listening as she cursed and spat, but Michael was very strong, very loyal, and very determined. In a matter of seconds, he had her locked in the carriage. The house grew quiet, and Matthew heaved a sigh of relief.
No one at Greystone would be sorry to see her go, and considering her prior position at the estate, it was the saddest ending Matthew could imagine.
* * * *
“What should we do about you?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
Rafe stared at Matthew, and he understood his brother was asking about Edwina, about what Rafe’s punishment should be for ruining her.
They were in the library at Greystone, with Matthew behind the huge desk and Rafe seated in the chair across. It was a day for unpleasant conversations to be held in the ostentatious room. A bit earlier, Matthew had met with Angela, and the whole house had snickered as she’d been dragged away.
Now it was Rafe’s turn for a lecture and the penalty that would follow. Yet Rafe couldn’t focus on Eddie or the future. He couldn’t even muster any excitement about the fact that it was time for them to pack their bags and head to the army.
He was roiling with complicated emotions: rage, fear, shame, regret, confusion. He was suffering from an odd sense of betrayal too. Ever since Michael Blair had burst in with the news that Matthew had other siblings, Rafe had felt deceived and misled.
Throughout his life, it had just been Matthew and Rafe together. It wasn’t fair for Michael Blair to disrupt what they had. It wasn’t fair for other people to lay claim to Matthew. Matthew had always belonged to Rafe, and Rafe had belonged to Matthew.
Although Matthew seemed fine and was healing from his ordeal, Rafe was terrified as a young boy over Matthew’s condition. Matthew was an impressive, inspiring character, a genuine hero, and Rafe couldn’t envision a world without Matthew in it. The realization that Matthew was human, that he was mortal, had rattled Rafe.
What if that snake, Roland Merrick, had killed Matthew? How would Rafe have survived? How would he have carried on alone?
With those issues plaguing him, it was difficult to worry about Edwina.
“What is your opinion about Miss Edwards?” Matthew said. “I’m curious as to how you believe we should resolve the situation.”
“I don’t have an opinion.”
“Humor me. Pretend you’re sitting at this desk instead of me. Pretend you have to decide.”
Rafe thought and thought, then he shrugged. “I suppose I’d wait to see if there’s a babe.”
“And if there is?”
“Then…I guess I have to marry her.”
“You guess?”
“Yes.”
“There won’t be any guessing about it. If she’s in the family way, you’re about to be a husband.”
Rafe pondered the notion, and it didn’t sound as awful as it might have.
“What if she’s not increasing?” Rafe asked.
Matthew scowled. “There’s the rub, Rafe. I’ve warned you about girls. I’ve warned you about fortune hunters and greedy mothers. I’ve warned you to be suspicious of every female’s motives toward you.”
“Eddie doesn’t have any motives.”
“She doesn’t? I’m quite sure she’s up in her room, on pins and needles, eager to hear that she’s about to be your wife.”
“I doubt that. She’s very sensible.”
“Rafe! She is madly in love with you.”
Women usually were. It was his lot, his burden, and he enjoyed the attention they paid to him. He never deflected it. “She’s not interested in my money.”
“Well, then,” Matthew facetiously stated, “that makes your acting the cad all right, doesn’t it? She doesn’t care about your money so it was fine to ruin her. Is that what you’re claiming?”
“Ah…ah…”
When Rafe was with Eddie, when they were laughing and chatting and loafing in his bed, it was easy to justify his behavior. But when he was facing his brother, the man he revered, the man he worshipped, it was hard to rationalize.
“I haven’t mentioned this to Clarissa,” Matthew said.
“Good. Please don’t.” Rafe liked Clarissa very much, and she seemed to like him too. He yearned to retain her esteem.
“Don’t tell her? Are you joking? I wanted to speak to you first. Then I’ll speak with Miss Edwards. Then I’ll talk to Clarissa, but I don’t need to confer with her to know what her response will be.”
“She’ll demand I marry Eddie?”
Matthew slapped a palm on the desktop. “Of course she’ll demand it. What else would you expect?”
His disgust obvious, Matthew stood and went to the window to gaze across the park. They were silent, Matthew lost in thought and Rafe studying him.
Eventually Matthew murmured, “I planned to elevate you with the money. I planned that we would buy you a place very high in society.”
“It doesn’t matter to me if I rub elbows with those rich nobs.”
“If you consider the sin we committed to make you rich, I always felt we should use it to the best benefit. Otherwise, what was the point?”
“To save my life?”
“I suppose.”
Matthew spun around, his hips leaned on the windowsill, his arms over his chest. They stared, a thousand unutterable comments swirling between them.
Rafe’s life had been a long slog of end
ured whippings that had increased in frequency and intensity as his father’s drinking had worsened. Other than an occasional backhand, Matthew had typically been spared the man’s wrath, but Rafe had been a constant target.
Rafe hadn’t resembled his father in the slightest way, and in his father’s drunken stupors, he’d rage that Rafe wasn’t his son, that he looked like an old flame of Rafe’s mother. Had Rafe’s mother had an affair? Was that how Rafe was sired?
Rafe couldn’t guess what was true, but he liked to think his mother had found some happiness. He liked to think that some man—besides his horrid, violent father—had given him his stellar traits and sunny character.
When his father was sober, he never mentioned being a cuckold, but when he was foxed, his anger poured out at Rafe until he and Matthew began to worry Rafe might be killed.
After a particularly brutal beating, Rafe’s father had suffered an accident, and they hadn’t had to plot or scheme to bring it about. He’d staggered into the woods outside their tent and passed out next to a stream. Matthew had dragged him into the rushing water, and he’d drowned of his own accord.
Matthew had been eighteen and Rafe ten.
No questions had ever been raised, no investigations initiated. Everyone in the regiment was aware of the drinking, and no one was surprised he’d drowned. No one missed him or was sorry that he was deceased. It was generally acknowledged that Rafe was much better off with Matthew to watch over him instead of his father.
It was a secret they would take to their graves, and it had united them in ways no two brothers could ever imagine. It was patricide—Rafe couldn’t refuse to admit it—and he probably should have been consumed by guilt, but he’d never regretted what Matthew had done. He’d been glad then, and he was glad now, and he’d been glad every second in between.
“Are you coming back to the army with me?” Rafe suddenly inquired.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Do you feel well enough to go?”
Matthew shrugged. “I feel well enough.”
“What about Michael Blair and his sister and their story?”
“It’s not a story, Rafe. It’s the truth.”
“You have a whole new family.”