Chasing Scandal

by Leslie V. Knowles

  “But she grew up in England. We were neighbors and I loved her.” He stared at her. “I had everything planned. Halfway through her Season I would officially court her. We would marry in June.” His mouth turned down and his voice turned bitter. “Then my cousin, your father, came for a visit and stole her from me.” His eyes burned with anger. “He stole her from me and took her to France.”

  Julia’s breath caught. This was not the man she’d known and trusted. Her stomach knotted into a twisted ball of grief.

  “But once the troubles started, I knew how to get her back.” Frustration colored his words and lent strength to his voice. “Life in France had become dangerous for a man of his rank and he sent word that he planned to bring Elise and their family to England. I, of course, agreed to help him.” His grin made Julia shudder. “For after all, I was his cousin.”

  He wheezed, and Julia realized he laughed at the irony.

  “I made all the arrangements and sent him word of when to meet me. I gave him explicit instructions. Elise was to be sent ahead while your father brought your belongings along a different route.” Again, he paused to catch his breath. When he finally spoke, his voice took on a desperate quality. “Elise should have been with me when the crowd caught your father in the street.” Lost in his memories, it was as though he talked to himself. “She would have been safe with me.”

  Julia’s hands clenched. Dear God.

  Renard refocused on Julia, and the chill that had enveloped her as he described his actions turned to ice. His eyes burned with fanatic glee as he described how he had destroyed her family.

  “I’d planted a man in the crowd to lead them along your father’s route and point him out to the crowd. But I didn’t expect Elise to refuse to separate from your father.” His fist pounded the mattress again. “If she had followed the plan she would not have died.

  “Instead, I was stuck with his spawn.” He pointed at Julia again. “I wouldn’t have had to depend on you to take her place.” His arm dropped down at his side and his voice became querulous. “She would not have failed me.”

  Julia starred at the older man in horror. Renard had planned it all. He’d directed the crowds, he’d sold her sister, he’d destroyed her life—all their lives. The knot in Julia’s stomach grew until it filled her throat with anguish. Papa! Maman! J’regrette!

  Another coughing fit interrupted Renard’s angry tirade. Mrs. Dawes stepped forward and exchanged his saturated handkerchief with a clean one. He took it but ignored the nurse to continue. “Elise should have married me.” He fixed his glare on her and pounded the bed again. “You should have been my child.”

  “But what of Beatrice? Why—?”

  “She was her father’s whelp.”

  He wiped his mouth again. “She looked like him with her dark eyes and that cleft chin. The sight of her made my stomach turn.”

  He met her appalled gaze. “But you looked like Elise. You had her green eyes and that charming smile. It was clear you were meant to take her place in my life. You had only to grow up to be my hostess, you would mother my children. But you proved yourself to be as unfit as your sister. You had none of Elise’s grace in company. After all I’d done to prepare you for life as my countess, you failed me.”

  Julia could only stare, stunned and incredulous, at his revelations. He felt no guilt, harbored no shame. He’d groomed her, from the age of five, to be his countess.

  His countess?

  She’d known he intended her to act as his hostess once she was of age, but had never once supposed he saw her as his wife. He was madder than the King.

  A tremor rose deep inside, shaking loose the knot of grief and unfurling determination. “What did you do with Beatrice?” she whispered. “Is she truly dead?”

  “Not by my hand,” he shrugged. “Though it is probable.”

  Fury melted the ice that had held her still during his tirade. Her voice gained volume and strength as she demanded, “What did you do with her?”

  “I had Ned sell her to a dockside brothel.”

  It was true. “Is she still there?”

  “I know not, nor do I care. She had no part in my plans.”

  She stared at the man who had destroyed her family without a qualm. He had betrayed his own cousin—her father—in order to claim her mother. He felt no guilt. He harbored no shame.

  Deep inside, the tremor rose, spreading from her core and through her limbs until she feared she’d crumble to the floor. But she would not allow Renard to see how his accusations and boasts tore away the last threads of her manipulated loyalties. She would not let him win again.

  “I do not know you.” She whispered in loathing.

  She stepped closer to the bed, her posture straight and tall. “You are not the man I thought I knew. I do not wish to know your fate, nor do I wish to remain here any longer.” She turned abruptly and strode across the room to the door.

  Halfway there, Tristan’s warm, steady hand took hers and placed on his arm. She did not look at him, fearing she would break down at the sympathy she knew she would see in his eyes. Instead, she gave her cousin one last sorrowful look. His misguided obsessions in both patriotism and love had made him a monster. She stared blindly forward as Tristan led her from the room.

  CHAPTER 20

  Julia’s hand on his arm trembled, though her regal posture hid the conflicting emotions that must be tearing her apart. Tristan guided her away from the man who’d betrayed both country and family. He would make sure she never had to deal with Summerfield again. It pained him that Julia had defended her cousin so staunchly throughout their time together and had never doubted his honor. Her cousin’s revelations had ripped away all her illusions, and Julia’s chalk white features reflected exactly how devastated his revelations had left her. Yet she held on to her dignity in spite of Summerfield’s caustic rant.

  She was magnificent.

  Now that he did not have to temper his reaction to her, Tristan admitted he admired her more than anyone he knew. From the moment he’d tackled her in the mud, she’d held her own against him and their circumstance. She bent under the forces she could not change, but did not break, even when her world crashed around her once again.

  He hated the unfairness of it all, though he knew better than to expect life to be fair. Equally unfair was knowing the bitter man’s title and illness would save him from the hangman.

  Tristan knew Julia considered herself a coward for avoiding notice and fearing crowds, but he had seen her courage in so many ways. She had chased him to defend Alice, she had stood toe to toe with him in his demands, she had saved herself and Alice from her cousin’s henchmen... He respected her strength of character.

  She proved her courage again when they settled into the carriage moments later. Her green gaze focused on him, and he saw the depth of her conviction and determination. “I must find what happened to my sister. How do I go about tracing her?”

  “After all this time it may prove impossible.”

  “True.” Her brow furrowed and her mouth turned down. “But I will have tried.”

  “Very well.” He understood the need to know the truth. It had driven him from childhood. Yet when he’d discovered the truth about his father, it had been far different than he’d supposed. He had been fortunate that the truth had been better than he’d expected. He feared Julia’s truth would be worse. “Once this mission is resolved, I shall undertake the task so long as you realize the results of such a search may prove less than savory.”

  “I doubt the results will prove worse than the truth about my cousin,” she challenged him. “Particularly as he is responsible for whatever we find.” With a quick glance to her left at the maid, Julia continued, “For I shall want to be part of the search. I do not mean to leave the hunt to others.”

  The young maid gave no sign of listening to the unusual discussion, but Tristan knew the servant grapevine would soon be buzzing with interpretations of their less than cryptic conversation. If w
ord spread that Julia searched the flesh markets for a sister, she would never recover her station in life, even if society accepted that she’d not been part of Summerfield’s treason.

  “That would be most unwise,” Tristan argued, “The areas to be searched are dangerous—and far too crude for a lady of gentle upbringing.

  “Had my cousin prevailed, I would have been fully exposed to it.” She snapped. “Do not think to leave me at home”—she stopped abruptly. Her skin took on a green cast and she swallowed hard. Her bravado faded. “The crown will confiscate the cottage along with all of Renard’s other properties. I have no home in which to remain. Nor have I any funds of my own.” Her lips tightened and her voice harshened once more. “It is likely I face an equally unpalatable future, myself.”

  “You will not,” Tristan declared. “If you have no place to go, my brother’s family will provide you with one.”

  “Why would they do such a thing? They don’t know me.”

  “My brother avoids scandal, it’s true. But my foster mother doesn’t fear it, nor would she permit anyone to be left without protection through the actions of others.”

  “Your foster mother may be a compassionate woman, but that doesn’t mean she’ll take the relative of a traitor into her home.”

  “She took me in,” Tristan told her.

  That caught her attention and she tilted her head.

  “I am a bastard,” he said bluntly. “To be precise, I am the late duke’s bastard.”

  Her eyes dilated and she caught her breath.

  “And it is not done to take your husband’s illegitimate son into your home to raise with his legitimate children—but she did. That is how I know she will not hesitate to offer you a respectable haven.”

  The carriage arrived at Ravencliffe’s home and Billings himself opened the door as soon as it stopped. Alarm replaced Billings’ normal unflappable demeanor and his voice revealed his agitation. “There is an emergency. Lord and Lady Ravencliffe await you in the drawing room.”

  Julia leapt down and rushed up the stairs to the townhouse without waiting for help. Tristan caught up with her as they hurried to the upper floor. Several maids, their eyes wide with apprehension, watched them pass. The doors to the drawing room were open, in obvious anticipation of their arrival.

  Lord Ravencliffe stood beside the tall windows overlooking the street when Julia and Tristan entered the room.

  “Alice is missing.”

  Lady Ravencliffe stood with Nan, the young maid charged with the Alice’s care.

  Nan turned toward Julia and Tristan, her eyes red and tear-swollen. “We never left the garden.” She trembled and her lips quivered. “Miss Alice was telling me about the kittens in your stable when this great hulk of a fellow dropped down from the garden wall, grabbed her, and was gone afore I could blink.”

  “Does that describe Ned or Tom?” Tristan asked Julia.

  “Ned.” she assured him. “He is taller and more solidly built than most men. Tom is shorter and leaner.” And loyal as Ned was to her cousin, he was not as stupid as Renard thought.

  But how did he know where to find Alice?

  The answer wasn’t difficult to work out. It made sense that since Ned had run errands for the earl for so many years. No one would think twice if Lord Summerfield’s man asked about the lord who’d replaced the earl, or to reveal that Ravencliffe had sent his condolences.

  She suspected Ned would take pleasure in proving his loyalty to Renard one more time, while lining his pockets as much as possible, then escaping London. Ned was not the misguided madman her cousin had become. He was mean-spirited and greedy.

  Retaking Alice proved Ned’s determination to fulfill Renard’s plan. Tom had indicated Ned was prepared for when Renard succumbed to his illness, and he lost his position. Would he contact Goodwin again, or would he simply sell the child out of spite?

  Julia’s heart hammered in her chest. Ned had Alice and this time he would not wait politely for the deadline set by her cousin.

  “He won’t take Alice back to the rooms where you were captive,” Tristan said. “But he was known at the Gray Whale. I’ll go there again and see if anyone knows other places he frequents.” He exchanged a grim look with Ravencliffe before turning back to Julia. “Do you know how Ned came to work for Summerfield? When he began working for him?”

  “He was already in my cousin’s employ when Renard brought me to England, though he was promoted to footman soon after I arrived. I remember, because the housemaids whispered about how grand he looked in his livery. He was not yet twenty, but was already of solid build.”

  “That would put him in his late thirties today,” Ravencliffe said. “Is Tom of similar age?”

  “He is a little older.”

  “What of hair and eye color, or any other features that stand out about them?”

  “Ned has dark hair and eyes and regular features...” Julia shook her head, not knowing how else to describe him. “Tom has lighter hair though I never noticed his eyes.” The truth hit her and she took a quick breath. “I must go with you. I am the only one who knows what they look like.”

  “Respectable women do not frequent taverns, Miss Sheffield... particularly at night. I shall go alone.”

  “We have established that my association with my sister and traitorous cousin put the opinion of my respectability in question. I shall go with you.”

  “You will not.”

  “I shall.”

  THE HACKNEY COACH NEARED the Gray Whale Tavern and Tristan turned to Julia. “Are you sure you are ready for this?”

  “Yes.” Julia’s response was firm and her low voice stroked his senses as it always did.

  Much as he had argued against it, Julia had prevailed in her determination to be a part of the search for Summerfield’s men. As she’d pointed out, many men fit Ned and Tom’s general descriptions, but only she could identify them.

  Lady Ravencliffe had been aghast at the idea of Julia mingling with the patrons of a common tavern, and Tristan had been blunt in his description of the indignities she would face in the night streets of the docks. But she would not be deterred. Finally, Tristan had given in and done his best to prepare her for the task, including the procurement of a frock to help her blend in.

  The hackney stopped and, with renewed concern for her fear of crowds, Tristan assisted Julia down to the streets. The pungent mix of brine, beer, and grime filled the air and all manner of refuse clung to the cobbles of the dockside street.

  The Gray Whale was popular with the locals and already the crowd spilled out into the streets. The flaxen-haired girl he’d seen days before now hung on the arm of a bull of a man. His features, however, were course and irregular. Not Ned. Several men eyed the girl appraisingly, but a glare from the big man warned them to keep their distance.

  Julia stood beside Tristan, dressed in a gown he’d found at a second-hand market. Beneath her shawl, she revealed an expanse of bosom that would make any courtesan proud, a bosom that captured his attention and added to his concern for her safety. Lady Ravencliffe’s maid had arranged Julia’s dark hair in a loose style that softened the sharp planes of her face and made him want to see it cascading down her back free of the pins that held it in place. As would every other man who saw her. He would need to stake his claim as firmly and clearly as the big man to avoid challenges from the other patrons of the tavern.

  “Come along, then.” He took her arm to lead her through the gauntlet of men looking for a good time. Inside, he located a space at a long table for them to sit and ordered two tankards of ale.

  When the tavern girl delivered the tankards, Julia took a tentative sip, then made a face. “It is dreadfully bitter!”

  “Pretend to enjoy it,” he warned. “I doubt you’d like gin any better.” He put his arm around her and surveyed the crowd. “See anyone you know?”

  She tensed against his arm for an instant, though he’d told her they would need to appear intimate lest the patrons
think her available for casual dalliance. To his surprise, she relaxed her body and leaned her head on his shoulder while her gaze darted around the room. “Not yet,” she murmured into his ear. “Though I believe the man in the corner over there is the one who shut his door rather than help me.”

  Tristan followed her gaze and spotted the man whose conversation had given Tristan the clue where to look for Julia and Alice days before. One reason he’d chosen to return to the Gray Whale this evening was that the man had known Ned by name and reputation. Clearly, this was familiar territory for Summerfield’s footman.

  Julia continued to observe the room and its patrons. Her wide eyes and occasional blushes told him she had noticed the liberties taken by many of the men with the tavern maids. When one of the streetwalkers led a customer through the laughing crowd, her hand holding his member through his bulging trousers, she gave a startled gasp and buried her face in his shoulder.

  Tristan brushed his lips across her forehead. “I warned you,” he muttered. The clean scent of her hair rose to mask the rank odors of mutton stew, cheap candles, and tar. She didn’t belong in such rough surroundings. “If it is too much, I will take you back to Ravencliffe’s and search alone.”

  “No.” She raised her head sharply. “I was merely—taken by surprise.” Her cheeks burned red but her eyes had a twinkle of amusement. “I assumed you exaggerated in order to frighten me off.”

  “That may not be the worst you see tonight.”

  “So long as I see Ned or Tom, I shall not complain.” She cast her gaze to where the big man sat with the blond girl on his lap and his hand possessively toying with her half-exposed breast. “Though I hope we are not driven to extremes to fit in.”

  For a brief, lust-slamming moment, Tristan imagined Julia’s breast filling his hand. He gripped the tankard instead. “Not all men stake their claim so crudely,” he managed to say. He took a healthy swig of his ale and forced himself to focus on a congealed grease spot on the table. A trickle of sweat ran down his back and he shifted on the bench to ease his discomfort. It took all his concentration to keep his other hand firmly at her waist.