Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5)

by Cheryl Holt

  “I’ll be sure to thank him next time I see him,” Miles sarcastically sneered.

  “You won’t ever see him again,” Drummond vowed. “Not where you’re going.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re escorting you to Newgate Prison.”

  “You are not,” Miles huffed. “I refuse to let you!”

  Drummond continued as if Miles hadn’t spoken. “You’ll be incarcerated there while your case makes its way through the courts.”

  “What case?” Miles wildly asked. “What are you talking about?”

  Michael Scott kicked him yet again. “Pay attention! We’re having you arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder.”

  “I am the victim”—Drummond grinned an evil grin—“so I will be allowed to request the punishment I seek. This is where your choice comes in.”

  “Just spit it out!” Miles begged. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “You can either be hanged from the neck until dead.”

  “Dead!”

  “Or you can be transported to the penal colonies in Australia for the rest of your miserable life.”

  “Hanging or transportation? That’s not a choice!”

  “It’s more than you gave to me when I was ten.”

  “I can’t be transported! I can’t be hanged! It’s my wedding day,” he repeated for no apparent reason, and he started to weep. “I’ll tell my mother. She won’t permit it.”

  “Your mother will never know what became of you,” Drummond said. “Haven’t you realized, Miles? You’ve vanished off the face of the Earth.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Miles howled. “You can’t do this! You can’t! I’ll hire a lawyer. I’ll sue! I’ll be released, and I’ll get even!”

  Drummond and Scott laughed at the threat, and Drummond asked, “You’ll hire a lawyer? With what money?”

  “I’ll find some!” Miles insisted. “I will!”

  He went on in that vein for a while, pleading and cursing and swearing vengeance. Above him, Michael Scott said to Drummond, “Must we listen to this?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Scott punched Miles and ordered, “Be silent.”

  But Miles couldn’t quiet down. Had any man in all of history ever been so horridly abused? Had any man ever been so mistreated? Damian Drummond and Michael Scott were criminals, but Miles was the one being carted off to prison. It was an outrage!

  He was Miles Marshall, son and heir of Edward Marshall. He was the golden boy, the favored child. No one could tell him what to do. Everyone knew that. He was invincible. How had it come to this?

  “Mother!” he bleated like a toddler having a nightmare. “Mother, where are you? I need you!”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Michael Scott grumbled.

  He hit Miles with the club again. Miles gasped for breath, and Scott bent down and stuffed a sock in Miles’s mouth.

  The last remark he heard before falling unconscious again was Michael Scott saying to Drummond, “There! That’s better. Now we can finish our journey in peace.”

  Sophia was sitting in the front parlor at the coaching inn and watching riders pass by out on the road. There was a market in the next town, which generated a lot of traffic. But she was looking for one horse and one rider in particular, that being Kit Roxbury.

  She’d been at the inn for several hours, and for a few minutes, it had been debatable whether the proprietor, Mr. Turner, would let her reserve a room, but she’d won the fight.

  While she typically viewed herself as being meek and polite, she actually possessed quite a bit of temper and disdain. She’d fiercely asserted herself, and after she’d put him in his place he’d told her she could stay as long as she liked.

  She was acting calm and composed, but in reality she was terrified. What if Kit never came back? Or what if he returned but had changed his mind about her?

  During their prior conversation, she’d been very rude to him, but she kept telling herself it had only been two days. He’d sworn he was desperate to wed her, and he couldn’t shed such strong emotion that rapidly. Could he?

  No. She refused to believe he could.

  She glanced to the vestibule and noticed a footman from Kirkwood was there. He was whispering to Mr. Turner, and from how Turner’s brows shot up it had to be shocking news. He nervously peeked at Sophia, and she couldn’t imagine what chaos might have erupted.

  Had someone died? Had someone been injured? To her delight, she didn’t really care.

  Ultimately the footman departed, and Mr. Turner approached.

  “What is it?” she asked. “No, no, let me guess. There’s been trouble at Kirkwood.”

  “Well…yes.”

  “Feel free to blurt it out. Whatever it is, trust me, I won’t be surprised.”

  “Apparently Master Miles was marrying Portia Smithwaite today.”

  He paused, clearly hoping Sophia would provide juicy gossip he could disseminate, and she was happy to oblige him.

  “Yes, they decided to proceed on the spur of the moment. You knew Damian and Walter Drummond, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. We heard that old Walter had perished, but that Damian was back.”

  “Miles gambled away the estate.”

  “Gambled! My, my.”

  “Yes, he’s lost everything, and Mr. Drummond bought it all as bad debt. So he owns Kirkwood now. Miles can’t seem to come to grips with the situation though.”

  “We had heard all of that too.”

  “But he had Mr. Drummond arrested and taken away—wrongly arrested, I might add—then he and Portia thought they should wed to…achieve stability at Kirkwood or some such idiocy. I have no idea what they were thinking. My brother is mad, and I’m sure Mr. Drummond will return soon and end Miles’s nonsense.”

  “It appears Mr. Drummond might be there even as we speak.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Not about Mr. Drummond, but an odd event has occurred at the manor. Shortly after the vows were exchanged, Master Miles and Miss Smithwaite were headed to the dining room for the wedding breakfast, but Miles was seized by brigands.”

  “He’s been kidnapped?”

  “Evidently.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had in ages.”

  She laughed and laughed, and Mr. Turner gaped at her as if she was deranged. She had to admit she was feeling a tad unhinged. Recent circumstances had left her with no foundation. What would become of her? When she landed on her feet again, where would she be?

  Motion in the yard caught her attention. A rider recklessly galloped in, heedless of the people, animals, and vehicles that were scattered about. Before his horse had completely halted, he leapt to the ground and tossed his reins to a boy who was standing nearby.

  She peered up at Mr. Turner. “Would you excuse me? I have a visitor.”

  “Of course, Miss Sophia.”

  He bowed out, and she stood as her visitor rushed in.

  “Hello, Mr. Roxbury.” She had a saucy gleam in her eye. “I didn’t think you’d ever get back.”

  He looked furious. “Tell me you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “The servants at the manor said you’d sneaked off on your own, without even a maid for company. I could have expired from shock.”

  “I couldn’t stay there after what Miles did to your friend.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Nor could I abide what my mother and Portia did to my cousin, Georgina.”

  “Oh, no…” he murmured. “What did they do?”

  “It’s a long story, but I’m afraid I’ll need your assistance to bring her home.”

  “She’s not at Kirkwood?”

  “No. They made her leave.”

  He blew out a heavy breath. “Then I’m doubly glad I hurried over to fetch you. We have to move them out of the manor before Damian returns. If Miss Fogarty has experienced any difficulties because of them, I can’t predict how he’ll re
act.”

  “I’m told he’s back.”

  “He is.”

  “Is it true my brother has suffered a mishap?”

  “He has.”

  “Will I ever have the displeasure of seeing him again?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Perfect.”

  There were numerous guests in the parlor, waiting for coaches or acquaintances. They had begun to furtively eavesdrop, and she sauntered over to him, liking how everyone was watching her. She kept coming until she was close enough for her skirt to tangle around his legs.

  “My answer is yes,” she said.

  “To what question?”

  “A few days ago, you asked me to marry you, but I gave you the wrong reply. So ask me again—if you’re still interested. Let’s discover what answer you’ll receive this time.”

  He scowled. “It better be the one I want.”

  “It will be.”

  “Whatever fickle impulses seem to drive you, you should rid yourself of them. If you consent, but try to renege later on, I’ll simply drag you to Gretna Green and force you into it.”

  “You won’t ever have to force me.” She wagged a coaxing finger at him. “Ask me. See what happens.”

  He studied her, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Miss Sophia, I realize I’m not worthy of you.”

  “I disagree. I think you’re very worthy.”

  “I’ve had a hard life and a rough past, but I’m steady, loyal, constant, and true. And—wild as it sounds—I believe I might be in love with you.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. Will you marry me and be Mrs. Christopher Roxbury?”

  She didn’t respond immediately. She liked how her audience was on pins and needles over how the encounter would conclude. When they were practically falling from their chairs in anticipation, she grinned too.

  “I would be delighted to be Mrs. Christopher Roxbury. So yes, I will marry you. It’s a fine idea.”

  “The best one I’ve ever had. I can guarantee you that.”

  Then he was kissing her and kissing her, right there in front of all the guests. The room exploded with applause, and the clapping only increased in volume as Kit swooped her into his arms and carried her away.

  “I should have known not to trust her,” Georgina muttered.

  She sighed and stared up at the grand house that had once belonged to her grandparents. They’d been landowners, had successfully farmed a large acreage and had been esteemed and respected in the neighborhood.

  She’d come too late though. They’d been deceased for years, and while she had an uncle—her father’s brother—he’d sold the property after they died and sailed to America.

  After Augusta had supplied Georgina with their information, it had never occurred to her to question whether they were at the same spot. She’d simply been so excited to flee Kirkwood, to finally meet her father’s family.

  It was too pitiless an ending, and she wondered if she wasn’t cursed. Why was the universe allied against her? Why was Fate so cruel?

  She stood in the driveway, too stunned to weep, too disappointed to grieve.

  What was she to do now? Where was she to go?

  The housekeeper had been very kind. She’d invited Georgina into the kitchen and had been gracious enough to feed her. But when the new owners took possession of the place, they’d brought servants with them so there wasn’t a single person in the home who’d been acquainted with her relatives, who could have waxed nostalgic about her grandparents, uncle, or father.

  The absurdities were piling up.

  She’d allowed Augusta to chase her away from Kirkwood, and she’d been glad to leave. She was still glad, but she was terrified too.

  She was all alone in the world. If she dropped dead that very second, who would notice? She’d be tossed in an unmarked pauper’s grave, and there wouldn’t even be anyone to lay flowers once in a while.

  It was the saddest thing she could imagine.

  She spun away and started down the lane to the road. For a moment, she let her heart race, let her panic spiral, but she refused to waste energy being alarmed. She’d always been smart and pragmatic. She had to calm down and think rationally.

  The housekeeper had said there was a boarding house in the nearby town that was clean and reasonably priced. Georgina had a few pounds in her purse. It was the blood money Augusta had used to bribe her into departing without a fuss, but money was money, and she would spend it without hesitation.

  She had to find a room and a job, then she would begin asking after her lost kin. Surely there were people in the area who would remember them, and she might have distant cousins close by who would assist her.

  She’d play on their sympathies, would beg them for mercy. Her pride had to be buried. It was difficult to show up in a strange locale and hope to be welcomed. This was rural England where families lived in the same residence for generations, and they were suspicious of outsiders.

  But she had a way of charming others, of putting them at ease, and she would ingratiate herself, would prove herself worthy of any help others might offer to provide.

  Her portmanteau felt heavy in her hand, too heavy to carry, but she tightened her grip, straightened her shoulders, and continued on.

  What choice did she have?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Where is Miss Fogarty?”

  Portia Smithwaite coolly glared at Damian. “Miss Fogarty? Why would you ask me about her? In my mind, the better question is: Where is Miles Marshall?”

  “How would I know where Miles is?” Damian replied.

  “You horrid man! You kidnapped him!”

  “How curious that you would assume so.”

  “Don’t deny it! People saw you make off with him.”

  “Who? A few servants? Bring them forward if you feel they can prove your accusation.”

  Exactly three servants at Kirkwood had observed Damian as he removed Miles from Kirkwood: the butler and two footmen. All three hated Miles and had been handsomely bribed not to remember what they’d witnessed.

  “I will bring them forward, and then you’ll be sorry,” Portia huffed.

  “You really suppose so? I don’t believe I’ve been sorry about anything my whole life.”

  It was a lie. He’d been sorry for many things, but never when he was avenging himself against someone who thoroughly deserved it.

  “You think you’re so smart,” she said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You think you can lord yourself over others, that you can barge in and take charge where you’re not wanted.”

  “I’ve done precisely that and you’re trespassing.”

  “I am mistress of Kirkwood!”

  “It’s interesting to me that you, Miles, and Augusta, are so deranged. You can all read, and I delivered the appropriate legal documents to Miles. The property is mine and has been for ages.”

  “You liar.”

  They were in the library at Kirkwood. Damian was seated at the desk, and Portia was in the chair across. Michael was standing behind Damian, lurking like an evil specter.

  “If you call Damian a liar again,” Michael said, “I will give you the thrashing you deserve.”

  “You wouldn’t hit me,” Portia scoffed.

  “If that’s what you imagine then you’re an idiot,” Michael responded.

  “Well! I don’t have to put up with that from you.”

  “No, you don’t,” Michael agreed. “Why are you still here? Haven’t you fouled the air in this room long enough?”

  Damian raised a hand, silencing Michael.

  “Let’s get back to Georgina Fogarty,” Damian said. “Where is she?”

  “I’ll tell you where she is,” Portia retorted, “when you tell me where Miles is.”

  Damian sighed, figuring he’d love to have Michael take a switch to her, but he wasn’t in the habit of beating women or having them beaten.

  “I don’t know where Miles is,
” he claimed, “and this is your last chance to confess what you did to Georgina.”

  “I did nothing.”

  “Will you pretend Sophia Marshall is a deaf mute? Her mother told her that you cooked up the entire scheme to hurt Georgina.”

  “I realize Georgina is your doxy, and we’re all aware of how she shamed herself with you. She couldn’t stay at Kirkwood after she was disgraced.”

  He narrowed his gaze, struggling for calm. “It’s your opinion that Miss Fogarty is disgraced?”

  “Yes. Her low morals have been revealed so she couldn’t be allowed to live among respectable people. Nor should you be allowed so maybe you deserve each other. If you go after her, you’ll simply be chasing a harlot. No one who matters wants her at Kirkwood—no one has ever wanted her—so why would I help you bring her back?”

  Portia had rattled off so many insults that Damian couldn’t tabulate them all. Her disdain for Georgina made him glad he’d orchestrated the trouble he had for the Smithwaites. Her brothers were ruinous gamblers, just as Miles was ruinous.

  Although Portia hadn’t been apprised yet, Damian had bought up her brothers’ debts. Her father had mortgaged his assets to pay off what his sons had squandered in London’s gaming halls. With a few swift signatures on official paperwork, he could double the acreage of Kirkwood. He’d been wondering if he should, and her tirade settled the issue.

  Michael chimed in again, asking Damian, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to beat her? I have no qualms about thrashing such a malicious tart. I’d definitely be happier if she learned to shut her mouth.”

  “Please escort her out to her carriage.”

  “I’m not leaving Kirkwood,” Portia insisted. “I wed Miles, and I am mistress of the estate. Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “You’re insane,” Damian advised her, “and I’m too aggravated to fuss with you. Besides, your parents need you to return home immediately.”

  “My parents? Why would they?”

  “They’re about to lose their property to me too.”

  She bristled with offense. “My father would never sell to you.”

  “He didn’t. I’m foreclosing—as I foreclosed on Kirkwood.”