by Kelly Boyce
He shook his head. He did not care why Lady Franklyn had sent him the note, only that she had and when he arrived, he found Rebecca no worse for wear. This time. But what of the next time? If she continued to insert herself in these matters, she ran the risk of being injured, ruined, or worse.
“Promise me you will stay away from Walkerton.”
“I only want to help. This is my future too, after all.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head, her soft hair tickling his skin. The idea that she looked forward to their future made his heart swell, but first he must ensure they had one, and he could not do this if anything happened to her.
“You have helped more than you know in ways you can’t imagine.” She had given him purpose. Strength. The ability to look past the present and see a much different future than he thought possible. And she had removed the restlessness that dogged him since his run in with the pointy end of a brigand’s knife. She had allowed him to dream, something he had forgotten how to do.
“Promise me,” he repeated, whispering the words against her hair. Her body relaxed into his and her arms slid around his waist and squeezed.
“I promise. But I do not want to give Walkerton a chance to ruin you. I know the watch holds a sense of attachment for you, but I truly think it best if you return it as planned. For all our sakes.”
Marcus pulled away. The absence of her warmth bled through him and he longed to have it back, but not now. Not yet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch.
“I will catch up with him on the hunt and return it as promised. I have all I need.” The journal contained the essence of his mother, who she had been, what she had felt for him. The watch was nothing more than a means to an end. Something she had kept to perhaps lead him in the direction he needed to go without having to say the words or commit them to paper for anyone to see. She had considered her downfall a private matter, to be shared with only him and while it made identifying her near impossible, he had not given up hope yet. “When I come back, we will speak with Nicholas and procure a special license.”
Her hands reached up and grabbed his where they held the watch, her smile luminous. His heart swelled. She wished the marriage as much as he and embraced their future despite all the things he could not give her. She looked beyond what society expected from her, what she had been borne to assume as her due and had the courage to follow her heart. To see him for who he was at the core.
He could not wish for more.
“Then I shall let you go and wish you luck.” She lifted his hand and pressed her lips against his fingers where they curled around the watch. “I love you, Marcus.”
The words, plainly spoken, shot through him. How easily she accepted him, how warmly she gave to him. She was a wonder. His wonder. He would do whatever he must to ensure she had everything she deserved.
“No more than I love you.” Though he’d uttered the words to her over and over in his mind for years now, he’d never spoken them out loud. They held a magical quality and seeing her expression light up with joy went beyond anything he could have imagined.
He leaned down and captured her mouth in his, putting into his kiss everything in his heart until they were both breathless and Charleston, who lingered nearby, cleared his throat, on the verge of an apoplectic fit at such a bold display of impropriety.
Marcus broke the kiss and peered down into her face, memorizing its angles and the way the light played against her ivory skin. He loved her. Heart and soul. It seemed such a simple thing. Such a perfect thing.
It was everything.
“I must go and catch up with the hunt.” He kissed her fingertips and slipped the watch back into his pocket for safekeeping.
“Go. I am off to meet with Mother. Be safe, Marcus. Do not take any unnecessary chances with Lord Walkerton. As you said, the man is unpredictable.”
He nodded, but made no promises in that regard. He had every intention of warning the man away from Rebecca by whatever means it took to prevent a repeat of this morning’s incident. He would thank Lady Franklyn for her interference and call their accounts square.
With reluctance, he left Rebecca behind and went to catch up with the hunt.
And with the bastard who had fathered him.
* * *
Finding Walkerton proved an easy task. He had lagged behind the others and Marcus came upon him suddenly in a clearing. Walkerton’s unmanned horse stood grazing in the tall grass as Walkerton ambled out from behind a copse of trees, fumbling with the fall of his trousers having just relieved himself.
“Walkerton!”
Marcus drew his horse up and dismounted, noting the man’s hunting rifle remained secured in its holster against his saddle. The earl stopped his approach when he spotted Marcus and pulled a flask from coat pocket.
“What do you want?”
“To speak with you.” He moved closer but stayed out of arm’s reach. Walkerton had exposed his volatile temper at the Devil’s Lair and he had no wish to get pulled into it if such could be avoided. Though doing the man violence after his attempt to lure Rebecca into the garden maze was no less than what he deserved.
“I’ve nothing to say to the likes of you.”
So much for fatherly love. “What were your intentions this morning with Lady Rebecca?”
Walkerton grinned, but the expression held no mirth, only a sickening insinuation. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she? Hardly surprising my son practically salivates at the mention of her name.” Marcus’s body tensed and his fists clenched. Walkerton snickered. “Guess you and Selward have inherited your father’s appreciation for beauty, though neither of you seems to have two blessed clues what to do about it. I thought at least you would have, given what you are.”
He delivered the last bit with a sneer of derision, as if his offspring had disappointed him greatly. What had his mother seen in this man? What did anyone?
“And what am I?”
Walkerton took a step toward him, taking another swig from the flask. “A bastard, my boy. Or didn’t the lofty Lord Ellesmere inform you of such? Likely not, I suppose, given the stodgy old man’s aversion to anything that holds the stink of scandal about it.” He whispered the last part and Marcus itched to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck and squeeze but he held himself in check.
Not yet.
“I’m surprised he agreed to take you in, given what people must have assumed,” Walkerton continued. He leaned back on his heels but the motion off-centered him and he had to put a leg back to stop from toppling onto his arse.
“Lord Ellesmere is a good man, not something I believe you’ve ever endorsed with your own behavior.”
“My, my. Such lofty judgments from the high and mighty Mr. Bowen. Are you still calling yourself Bowen? Born to aristocrats and raised by servants. Such is the lot of a bastard, is it not? No one really wants the burden. I imagine Ellesmere cursed God and everyone else when he discovered the Bowens had up and died on him. Though, I don’t know why he didn’t just leave you to rot in Cornwall. Guess the old man had a bit of a soft spot for his kin in the end. Such as it were.”
Marcus stilled, the words reverberating through him. “What do you know of it?”
Walkerton snorted. Another swig. The damn flask had to be near empty by now at the rate he sucked on it. “I might have had a few drinks at the time, but I still remember which doxy I stuck my prick in.”
Marcus’s brain worked furiously, pulling the cryptic words offered by Walkerton and marrying them against the clues already in his possession. His heartbeat increased and banged out the seconds.
“I do like the young ones,” Walkerton continued. “They like to put up a fight, don’t they? Pretend they don’t like it, don’t want it. Makes the taking more exciting that way, with a bit of a tussle. Hardens the cock better than the most skilled whore, I always say.” He grabbed the member in question as he said the words. The motion disgusted Marcus. The truth splayed bef
ore him in unforgiving hues.
His mother had not given up her innocence. It had been taken.
I could not protect myself, but I will not fail you…
Walkerton had raped her.
Calm. Breathe.
He struggled to hold back. To not kill the man where he stood. Would the same fate have befallen Rebecca had Lady Franklyn not intervened?
“Who was she?”
Walkerton leaned forward close enough for Marcus to smell the stench of brandy on his foul breath. “Who?”
Breathe. Just breathe. He did, but it offered little help. He still wanted to strangle the life out of the man and leave him in the woods to rot. “My mother.”
Walkerton threw his head back and laughed then looked at him with amusement. Marcus clenched his fist with such force the bones of his fingers ached.
“You mean to tell me Ellesmere didn’t tell you? Well, that is rich, isn’t it?” The idea appeared to delight him and Walkerton stumbled out something akin to a two-step, giggling like a child as he did so. He stopped mid-dance and fixed his gaze on Marcus. “It was Ellesmere’s precious little girl, of course. Oh, and let me tell you, she was a prize. Tight and tasty and feisty as—”
Marcus didn’t recall swinging. He barely registered the impact of his fist against the hard bone of Walkerton’s jaw. The man hadn’t even hit the ground before Marcus jumped onto his chest and pummeled his face with a fury he could not contain, had never experienced before. Before the secrets were revealed. Before the ugly truth stared him in the face.
Walkerton had raped Lady Lilith Kingsley. His mother.
She had died years before his arrival to London, at the age of sixteen. Just a girl. Everyone believed she had fallen ill while she and Lady Ellesmere toured the continent and passed away before their return. She hadn’t even been presented to society for her first Season and yet somehow, Walkerton had gotten his hands on her, robbed her of her innocence and left her to her fate as if it was just another day to him.
Time lost all meaning. Marcus could not say if he’d been beating the man for a minute, an hour, or the better part of the day. His hands had gone numb beneath his leather gloves, the only feeling left in him cold, hard rage.
In the distance, someone shouted his name. He ignored it.
This man, whose seed had fathered him in such a violent manner, had to pay for what he’d done. Be prevented from ever doing it again. Was that his intent when he attempted to lead Rebecca into the gardens? Would she have met the same fate as his mother? And how many others had there been?
Someone shouted and something solid and unyielding slammed against him, throwing him off Walkerton. He landed flat on his back, the weight of whatever hit him landing across his chest, trapping him against the hard ground. The breath whooshed from his lungs, paralyzing him for a brief moment. He blinked and looked up.
Glenmor.
“Let me up,” he rasped.
“I’ll not. You’ve done your damage. Leave it be.” Glenmor had him well pinned, his arms at his side allowing him no range of movement to toss him off.
“Shit!” Nick snarled from nearby. “Is he dead?”
“Sadly, no.” Spence.
“I’m not done,” Marcus shouted and tried to buck Glenmor off.
He held fast and called over his shoulder for reinforcements. “A little help here!”
Spence landed on his legs. “Sweet Judas, man. What were you trying to do? Kill him?”
“He deserves nothing less.”
Nick joined them and loomed over Marcus and the blanket of bodies that held him down. “What the hell is going on?”
Marcus remained silent. He did not know what to tell them, the truth still too raw and ugly to repeat. Lady Lilith Kingsley was his mother. Lord and Lady Ellesmere, his grandparents. He glanced up at Spence. His cousin. How long had he wished for family, only to learn it had been there all the while without his ever knowing?
How many times had he passed Lady Lilith’s portrait in the hallways of Ellesmere House and Lakefield Abbey, without realizing the import of her life and death? Her loss had left a deep hole in the hearts of both Lord and Lady Ellesmere, so much so that her name was seldom spoken. Her stories rarely told.
The truth, so far from anything he had ever imagined, twisted inside of him seeking a place to land. He closed his eyes and allowed the pain and anger of being denied the truth for so long seep deep into his bones until it replaced the blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs. The beat of his heart.
With Walkerton dragged from his sight, Glenmor and Spence released him and the three men formed a wall between him and the earl. Slowly, reason resurrected itself.
He stood and brushed the grass and dirt from his jacket then strode to his horse, offering no explanation. He needed time to come to terms with what he had learned. He mounted and kicked his heels against the horse’s sides, urging it forward, demanding it outrun the voices calling him back. There was no going back.
Eventually he slowed and turned the horse in the direction of Northill. In the distance a shot rang out, but he paid it little heed. A hunt was going on. He pitied the poor fox, cornered and scared. Is that how his mother had felt when Walkerton preyed upon her innocence?
He reached into his pocket for the watch. In all that had happened, he had not returned it. Had his mother grabbed it as she tried to fight off Walkerton’s advances? Had she hung onto it as proof of what he had done, something to use if necessary?
He would never know. Anger surged anew and the watch burned against his palm. He had promised Rebecca he would return it to Walkerton to prevent him from trying to ruin them. Beating him senseless had not been part of the plan. In all likelihood, it would only make him more inclined to take action. Assault and thievery.
Marcus pulled up on the reins. He’d lost his head and made things worse.
He’d been ill prepared.
Despite the warnings he’d received about digging up the past, he hadn’t prepared himself for the truth when it finally came. His birth had killed his mother, as if she had not suffered enough at his conception. Meanwhile, Walkerton roamed free, likely perpetrating the same violence against other women as he had Lilith.
He wanted nothing more to do with Walkerton, save to stop him from destroying any more lives. The sight of the watch made him ill. He wanted nothing more than to return it as promised; to shove the tainted gold timepiece down Walkerton’s throat until he choked on it.
Marcus turned his horse around and returned to where he had left the earl prone on the ground, unsure of what his friends had done with him, or what lies Walkerton may have told them about the altercation. Likely he had painted Marcus in the worst possible light. It hardly mattered. His friends would discern the truth.
But as Marcus approached the spot where he had left Walkerton moaning on the ground, the man was not to be found, though his horse remained off in the distance standing in tall grass making a meal out of it. Nick, Spence and Glenmor were gone. Had they taken Walkerton with them to see to his injuries and left his horse behind? It seemed unlikely they would leave a prime piece of horseflesh roaming about the woods.
Foreboding slithered up Marcus’s spine. He nudged his mount forward, pulling the reins up short. Twenty paces away, Walkerton laid on the ground, sightless eyes staring up at the cloudless sky. Next to him rested his rifle.
A hole had ruined the front of the earl’s expensive buff riding jacket. Blood spread dark and crimson across the breadth of his chest, discoloring the wool. A chest that no longer rose and fell.
Behind Marcus, the pounding of hoof beats drawing closer.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rebecca’s slippers barely touched the steps as she flew downstairs to the main floor, skidding to a stop at the scene that greeted her when she reached the receiving room. She had been out for a walk with Caelie and Abigail when the men had returned and wasn’t aware of what had happened until after Nancy reached her room, breathless from running
up two flights of stairs to deliver the news.
Lord Walkerton was dead—murdered!—and the local constable now questioned Marcus upon the suggestion of Lord Selward!
Nicholas approached her as she entered, holding his arms out as if to shield her from what took place behind him. She noted Huntsleigh and Lord Ellesmere, and several men she did not recognize by name though their uniforms would indicate they had come with the constable.
“Rebecca, you shouldn’t be here. Wait for me upstairs and I will come as soon as I can.”
“Do not shoo me away. What has happened? Why are they questioning Marcus?”
Nicholas used his body to force her backward into the hallway, his form too large to see around. “It is still being sorted out.”
“Nancy said Lord Walkerton was murdered. How can that be? And why would they suspect Marcus?” None of this made sense. He had promised to return the watch to Walkerton and let the matter drop. Hardly a meeting that should have resulted in the kind of violence that left a man dead.
“They are merely questioning him, for all the good it is doing them. He hasn’t said more than ten words since they began their infernal inquisition.”
The tone in Nicholas’s voice did nothing to soothe her nerves. “Do they truly believe he did it? Why? And do not order me to go upstairs and wait patiently. I am not going anywhere until you tell me!”
Nicholas’s shoulders slumped. “Very well. But I doubt you will like what I have to tell you. Come.” He led her to a small bench farther down the hallway and waited until she sat down before he joined her.
She braced herself. “What happened?”
He took her hand. Not a good indication of things to come. She wanted to snatch it away, as if by doing so she could change the news from bad to good.
“We came upon Marcus and Walkerton during the hunt. Walkerton had lagged behind, too drunk to find his way, we figured, though no one seemed too concerned. But we had also lost sight of Lady Franklyn and a few others from her party. We thought perhaps they had become lost where the pathway divides near the stream, so Spence, Ben and I doubled back. When we reached the open field near the old cabin, we came upon Marcus and Walkerton. Marcus was on top of him, beating the man senseless.”