Marisa had been distraught leaving Lord Rothburg behind, but he’d been invited too and would arrive next week.
The men were still puzzling over their joint enemy. Since Christina had killed Dunmire, they would never know how involved he was in the plot to kill Sebastian. However, the bullet they extracted from Sebastian’s backside seemed to match a bullet Arend had fired from one of Dunmire’s guns.
That evening they all gathered in the dining room, Christian sitting at the head of the table, his beautiful wife at the other end. He hated her sitting so far from him. He also hated the fact that their enemy was still at large while his wife was with child. He could not shake off the idea they were all in real and present danger.
At the end of the meal, thoughts turned to what they had learned and everything they had not.
“We are agreed that our enemy is a woman, a woman whom our fathers wronged in some manner. How exactly, we don’t quite know.” Christian looked at his wife’s face and quickly added, “But we can guess.”
He continued, “We know she has hired six different assassins, two of which we think are dead, Dunmire being the second assassin.”
“We are no closer to knowing anything about her, except that Serena has seen her at her father’s estate, when Serena was a young girl.” Christian’s voice wavered. “Making my wife a prime target.” He smiled at her. “I will not let anything happen to you, my love.”
“I know that, darling.” She smiled at him tenderly. “However, I don’t think she would hurt any of the women. She could have killed Clarice, or gone after Sebastian’s sisters, but she didn’t. I think she hates men but won’t touch the innocent.”
Maitland spoke up. “I have to disagree. Portia Flagstaff.”
“What about her?” Serena asked.
Maitland cleared his throat. “I think her kidnapping was planned by our enemy. It got Grayson out of England. While our nemesis laid the groundwork to ensure he’s been blamed for her disappearance. According to Grayson’s first dispatch, Portia was sold into a harem. Portia’s reputation has been destroyed; worse still, Grayson might never have been able to get her out, leaving her to live her life as a captive. So much for not hurting innocent women.”
Silence descended and Beatrice and Serena looked at each other. Both women were with child and they worried that their enemy might try and destroy their happiness. Beatrice laid a hand on her stomach. She would never let any harm come to her child.
“Actually,” Beatrice said, “what I find more concerning is, what is she going to do next? Has she finished with Christian and Sebastian or will she keep trying to kill them?” She could not hide the fear in her voice.
Christian shrugged. “We don’t know.”
Sebastian bluntly observed, “It’s Hadley, Maitland, and Arend who must be on guard. They need to be wary of any situation where they might find themselves placed in a position of honor. It’s likely a trap.”
Arend had been very quiet but finally spoke up. “I’m taking Maitland with me, and tomorrow we’re going to Deal to meet Grayson’s ship. He sent me a separate missive. I think he’s in danger. From what he has pieced together, someone is chasing them and trying to kill him, and Portia Flagstaff believes she knows who it might be. If that is the case, then they are both in grave danger.”
“Why would he write to you about this? He said nothing to me,” declared Christian, hurt that his best friend had not trusted the knowledge to him.
“He didn’t want you involved. I told him of your marriage and all you’d been through already.”
Arend came straight to the point. “We need to know as soon as possible what Portia has learned. I’m not risking the enemy killing them before they tell us.”
“I can accompany you if you’d like,” Hadley offered.
Arend shook his head. “No. With Sebastian’s sisters and Henry here, I’d like you to stay and help Christian and Sebastian, should the need arise. Maitland and I will leave here separately in case we are being followed. That way at least one of us should make Deal safely.”
Beatrice shivered and just wished this ordeal could be over. She’d almost lost Sebastian once. She refused to consider losing him again. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Christian pushed back his chair. “I suggest we repair to the drawing room, and try and have an enjoyable evening. I refuse to continue to let this madwoman ruin my life.”
Everyone rose and followed Serena back to the drawing room. When they were all settled, the ladies on the two chaises, the men gathering in front of the fire, Serena agreed to play for them.
She selected a cheerful piece and soon the occupants of the room began to relax and let the joy of being safe and in each other’s company soothe them.
Later Sebastian found his wife in Henry’s room, standing by his cot, looking down at him with fierce protectiveness in her eyes, her hand resting on her stomach that still was not showing any signs of the new life growing inside her.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Henry, or the girls, you do know that?”
She turned into his embrace, tears in her eyes. “I know, but I’m sick of being scared. I almost lost you once. I can’t bear it if I lose you now. I just want this to be over.”
“Come, let me take you to bed and love you, sweetheart. You’re exhausted and overwrought.”
He picked her up, hugging her tight against his chest, and carried her to their room. He put her gently on the bed and returned to close the door. “Now I can have you all to myself.”
She smiled for one long moment, lost in his eyes, thankful that he and she were here, alive, damaged a bit, but still breathing. She briefly closed her eyes against the fear that kept pushing at her soul.
“Don’t, Beatrice. Don’t let the enemy in here, in our bed. This is our place. Ours alone.”
She sat up and began to take down her hair, using the moment to gather her wits, her courage, her words.
“I’m scared because I know what I could lose.” She held up a hand when he would have spoken platitudes of safety. “When I first met you, I was terrified. Terrified because you were larger than life. I thought you a wicked man who slept with loads of women, had slept with another man’s mistress, and then coldly killed my brother in a duel.” Before he could interrupt, she hurried on. “You could never imagine my surprise and dread when you accepted my proposal.”
She dragged in another breath, let it out on the words “And then on our wedding night, you were so kind, so gentle, you sensed how scared I was and made the night magical, introducing me to such pleasure I thought nothing could be better.” She looked at him and smiled. “I fell in love with you that night, but thought a man such as you could never come to love a woman like me. All I knew was that I would spend the rest of my life trying to earn your heart, because love is all need, and want, and desire. It’s a hunger like no other, and once I’d fallen, once I’d had a taste, there was no choice but to throw myself into the feast.”
Shifting closer to where he sat silently on the edge of the bed, she brought her hands to frame his face, looked deep into his midnight eyes. “So what scares me to death is that if I lose you, I shall starve, wither, and die.”
She pressed a kiss to his sensuous mouth. “I wake each morning to the sight of your handsome face lying next to me and I have to pinch myself that I’m not dreaming. I feel so lucky to have had you come into my life that I lie awake at night wondering what I did to be so lucky. And panicking that one morning I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone, and I’ll be on my own again.”
“Oh, sweetheart, how long have you been feeling like this?”
“Since you recovered from your gunshot wound. I still have nightmares that the fever took you and I could not stop it, no matter how much you cried for me to help.”
He searched her green eyes. “Why did you not tell me you were feeling like this?”
“What could you do? You’ll tell me for the millionth time not to worry, but there is a mad
woman out there who wants to take you away from me.”
He bent and placed a kiss on her lips. “There are no certainties in life, Beatrice, bar one, and that is I love you and always will. If something should happen to me, I will live on here”—he placed his hand over her heart—“and in our children.”
He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He’d obviously taken for granted that his strong, intelligent wife had gotten over his near-death experience, but it was festering inside her, breaking her spirit, and he couldn’t bear to watch her pain.
“I think it’s natural that when you love someone, you worry about them. I used to constantly worry about my sisters, about ensuring their safety, comfort, and future. I still do. I know Rothburg will likely ask for Marisa’s hand, and the thought of handing her into his care scares me witless.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Then there is you and the baby. When I married you, I ranted about wanting an heir. Now … all I want is for you to get through the pregnancy and our child to be born safe and well.”
He placed his hand on her stomach. “You were the one to teach me the meaning of love. Love is selfless, caring, but it also takes courage. I was such a coward when I first met you. When you stood there dripping wet, looking more like a drowned rat than a woman, a part of me recognized you were my other half, the half that would make me whole, and I fought to keep you out, scared of what loving you would do to me and my family.”
His lips twitched into an angelic smile. “But I was brave enough to open my heart and let you in. I drew courage from you and now all I want is to live by your side and protect you and our family. I just want to live the rest of my live with you, no matter how long or short that is. Are you brave enough to do the same?”
At her silence he added, “If you let the enemy destroy or mar what we share, she wins. Do you want that?”
She shook her head and her shoulders straightened.
“Beatrice, you’ve been the brave one in this relationship from the start. Now that I’ve caught up, don’t lose that courageous spirit of yours.”
“You always know the right thing to say to fire me up,” she said, and laughed, an exuberant, glorious sound.
“I want you to laugh more. The sound is beautiful, like you.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “We will win, I know it, for doesn’t love conquer all?”
He kissed her then. A kiss that lingered, a kiss filled with tenderness, a kiss that slid smoothly, seamlessly into a long exchange of whispered endearments, promises of safety and shared desires and pleasures.
Sebastian loved her as the night rolled on; desire surged, then peaked and waned, only to return again. He couldn’t get enough of her, and with their enemy still at large he was taking nothing for granted.
At the end they lay entwined, his arms around her, their legs tangled, and they defied their situation by making plans for the future: how many children, where Henry would be schooled, where they would spend most of their time, and how wonderful their life would be once their enemy was defeated.
Beatrice’s last thought was that perhaps she owed their enemy everything. If not for this stranger’s dastardly plan, she would never have met Sebastian. Through all the pain and suffering this mystery woman inflicted, Beatrice had gained something far greater than she ever could have imagined. She’d gained the love of a handsome, honorable, courageous, and passionate man—something she never dreamed possible.
She closed her eyes and let the truth of that sink home.
Sebastian listened as Beatrice’s breathing softened, slowed, and sleep claimed her. He hugged her close, feeling her warmth filling his arms.
He offered a silent prayer of thanks. Thanks that he was still alive, that his family was together, but most of all he thanked his enemy for giving him Beatrice. With her love and support he knew he could conquer anything—after all, he’d conquered, embraced, and won the ultimate prize—love.
As he slipped into sleep, with the woman he loved in his arms, everything felt well with the world, and he’d let nothing change that.
Epilogue
She paced the large drawing room, anger feeding her strides. A curse on Beatrice Hennessey. Because of the girl’s interference, Sebastian Hawkestone, Marquis of Coldhurst, and the other Libertine Scholars knew more than she cared for them to know. Worse, she knew Christian Trent wasn’t dead. She hated being fooled.
These men deserved far worse than death.
Their fathers had escaped punishment for what they did to her twelve long years ago. She’d raged over the ensuing years, carefully planning how she’d extract her revenge on the fruit of their loins.
She’d planned her retribution meticulously. She could feel victory. Scent it. Taste it.
Why had their wives proved the making of these men? Not a surprise, really. A strong, intelligent woman could outwit, outplay, and outfox any man. She knew that. Perhaps these men were more worthy than their fathers.
Both women were rumored to be with child. She could not kill them, or their husbands, and leave them widowed now. It was funny how the thought of children, of her daughter, stopped her bloodlust and quenched her thirst for vengeance. She might not kill Christian or Sebastian, but she could still ruin them or make their lives miserable. One dead Libertine Scholar would haunt them all …
However, Serena was the more dangerous of the two.
What had Serena seen and heard all those years ago? Did she even understand why a young girl had been brought to her family home, or what those men did to her?
She pressed her palms into her eye sockets, trying to force the horrid memories from her mind.
How much had Serena told the Libertine Scholars? Did Serena know who she was? Had Serena realized who would want the men destroyed?
She took deep breaths to calm herself. Serena obviously had no idea who she was, because the men were no closer to uncovering her identity.
She wanted to see her abductors’ sons and their family’s reputations torn into tatters. Have them ostracized from society and financially ruined. Let them have to live as she had lived for many years. In the gutter, with the world’s filth. Would they have had the fortitude to rise up to the dizzying heights she had?
She finally stopped pacing and lay on the daybed before the fire; her corgi, Vindicta, sprang up to join her. She smoothed her hand over his coat. “Well, my little namesake, revenge is proving not as sweet. I have missed with the first two. Lord Markham wasn’t dead nor ruined. Neither was Lord Coldhurst. But I am succeeding with Lord Blackwood.”
Blackwood … Where he’d gone, Egypt, made it easy enough for her to ensure he would never be able to show his face in England again. She felt a small spasm of conscience flitter over her. She’d had to sacrifice a young woman of quality to instigate her revenge on Blackwood. Why was it that women always ended up pawns—playthings in a man’s world? She’d learned that to fight the male of the species you had to sometimes lower yourself to their level, like a rat in the sewer.
She sighed and pulled Vindicta into her arms, squeezing so tightly he barked.
Why should she care about Serena, Beatrice or now, Portia Flagstaff? No one had cared about her when she’d needed help. She did, however, hope the young woman would not suffer. She’d heard about the Arab harems. Why did she care?
She lifted a rose from the nearby vase and sniffed, the light fragrance cleaning her mind of horrid memories. She’d survived the brothels of London. No one saved her. Just as she’d ensure Lord Blackwood would not save Portia.
The only people she wanted suffering were the Libertine Scholars but if it meant sacrificing others along the way—so be it.
And if she had her way, if God was indeed merciful, these men would suffer for eternity …
Six weeks earlier …
“They’ll come for you soon.”
Grayson’s quiet words sent terror and hope coursing through her body in equal measure.
Portia Flagstaff pressed her fingers t
hrough the wire mesh, hooking them around Grayson’s as if her life depended on it. She gave a choked cry. It did depend on it.
Grayson stood on the other side of the wall, dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab. He was already inside the palace, but there was one of him against hundreds of the Prince’s men.
“When they come, you’re to submit. Submit and live. I’ll find you, and I will rescue you. But you must survive. Promise me.” His voice was low and urgent, and her anchor in this strange and dangerous world.
“I promise,” she whispered through the small ventilation mesh. If Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, promised he’d save her, then he would. She did not doubt him.
“Good girl. You’re strong.”
She heard footsteps approaching her cell. A key turning in the lock.
“Submit. Survive. For me—please …” His voice held a desperate edge and she knew the time for facing her nemesis had arrived.
The Arab who entered her cell didn’t speak. He merely gestured for her to precede him out into the corridor.
She walked with her head held high, Grayson’s words—submit, survive—echoing in her head.
For Grayson, for a chance to spend the rest of her life with Grayson Devlin, Portia swore she would face anything … even the devil himself.
Acknowledgments
I love writing stories. Someone asked me if I’d keep writing even if I won the lottery, and I laughed. Most writers don’t write for the money. They write because they have to. My head would be very crowded if I couldn’t let my characters tell their stories. I hope I’m writing for many years to come.
But writing is also stressful. Knowing people will buy my book, I need to ensure it’s the best story I can write. I literally sweat over every chapter, every scene, and every word.
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