by Peggy Waide
When he burst into laughter-deep, chortling, malicious laughter-she nearly dropped the gun. "Stop it."
"Oh, my dear. You are simply too delightful." He dabbed at the tears in his eyes before exhaling a restraining breath. "I am sorry. I can't do that."
"I will shoot you."
"I think not. At least, not until you have some answers. Don't you want to know why, Jocelyn?" He sat down in the tall leather chair, crossed his legs and took a long drag of his cigar.
She kept her back to the study door, her eyes fixed directly on her step-uncle's face. "I already know why. You are a greedy, evil parasite."
"Some might think so." He watched the glow of his cigar before he continued. "I think I am a clever opportunist who made the best of whatever came my way. You see, Jocelyn, I had little choice. Your father, my dear stepbrother, was such a paragon, he made my life a living hell. Nothing I did pleased my father after he married your grandmother. Your father delighted in pointing out my minor indiscretions until my father gave me the choice: disinheritance or prison. I vowed, then and there, I would have my day. Luckily for me, my father kept his mouth shut, so no one knew of my dilemma."
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? After all you did to me and my family?"
"Not in the least. I am simply explaining who I am and how I came to be that way. When the earl died, I returned home to plead with your father, my dear stepbrother. I told him I had changed. Do you know what he did? He laughed. That's when I made up my mind. I deserved my inheritance. He had no right to deny me, so I used my skills, shall we say, to maneuver my way into the money. I was very upset when I thought I would be denied the title."
"Why did you have me placed in Bedlam?"
"When you accepted Phillip's suit, I was quite pleased. Then I discovered that the title was not lost to me after all. I disposed of Phillip, but you refused my attentions. I simply had to marry you. Besides, I didn't quite have the heart to kill you. I intended to bring you home, hoping your mental state had degenerated enough to accept our marriage. You'd be insane; I'd be an earl as well as your rich, faithful husband. And Jocelyn, I've wanted you in my bed for the longest time."
"You make me sick. Sign the confession."
"I simply can't do that." He gave a slight nod of his head, and suddenly Jocelyn felt a muscled arm around her waist, the gun plastered to her side. Like the fox suddenly trapped in a snare, all she cared about was escape, kicking and flailing, only to be pulled closer to a hard chest, her breath blowing in wheezing huffs.
"Easy, Jocko," said Horace. "I don't want the chit flat on her back." Openly leering, Horace closed the distance between them, loosened the pistol from her fingers and pressed a kiss to her pursed lips. "Not right now, at least."
All rational thought vanished. She spat in his face.
"Let her go." Horace wiped away the spittle from his eyes. "Now that, my dear, will cost you."
His brutal blow toppled her to the floor. While she crouched on her knees, tasting her own blood and real fear, painfully aware of her danger, she frantically sought some means of escape.
"Help her," said Horace.
Jocko leered. "With pleasure."
When his meaty hands wrenched her up and propelled her to the chair, she noticed a pair of worn boots beside the door. She winced when she recognized the bloodied body of Phillip Bains. "Is he dead?" she asked Horace.
"Phillip? Not yet. I have not decided whether he has lived out his usefulness." Horace raised a brow in speculation. "I'm surprised you care. After all, he did attempt to blackmail you. Don't look so shocked, my dear. The poor lad has little tolerance for pain. With a little encouragement, he confessed all, willingly corroborating what I thought. Your amnesia was all an act.
"You do realize I shall have to kill your husband?" Horace shook his head. "You really shouldn't have married the man. I will have that inheritance. And you. One way or another. Consider Phillip's beating a gift for all his misdeeds toward your person. It will be your wedding gift for our marriage."
"I will never marry you."
Horace toyed with the fallen curls that rested above her breast. "I can see your temperament remains as prickly as ever." Swiftly, the soft caress turned savage, his hand yanking her hair by the roots, dragging her obstinate face toward his. "I will kill Wilcott. I will marry you. I will gain the inheritance. And I will decide whether you live or die. Believe me, I look forward to removing your thorns, Jocelyn. One by one."
His bald statement of expectation chilled her. She shuddered at the image of Mardell touching her, knowing there would be no tenderness, only dominance and pain. She would rather die.
Promptly, she amended her thoughts. If suffering his caresses meant a possible chance for the life she carried, she would tolerate what she must.
"Does your husband know you are here?" Horace smoothly asked.
She refused to answer and stubbornly glanced across the room to the ornately patterned wall clock.
Again, a discreet tilt of the head from her step-uncle and Jocko took action. The solid wumpf of a boot and a tortured moan drew her eyes from the wall to the man huddled in a ball on the floor.
"Leave him alone. Haven't you done enough harm?"
"You always did have a soft spot for injured creatures. I believed Phillip has a purpose after all. There are several foggy details that yet need clarification. Since you deem to display your impertinence right now, we shall play a little game. I ask a question. You answer. For every insolent act or remark, Phillip receives a kick, a punch, a slap. The choice is yours. Of course, I will understand if you choose not to answer. He is a dead man either way, but then I shall be forced to turn my attentions to you."
She knew he would do exactly as he said. "You animal."
A look of sensual pleasure grazed his features, drawing forth a new wave of shudders from her. He fondled the inner ridge of her ear with his fingertip, allowing his hand to drift to her breast. "I look forward to proving you right. Now I shall have answers to my questions."
Like a banshee, Phillip rose from the floor, an unearthly scream torn from his lips. Throwing himself at Horace, he froze before Jocelyn, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," he gurgled before he dropped in a heap.
When she saw the knife in his back, the wound oozing red with blood, Jocelyn screamed at the top of her lungs. Jocko simply carried the body from the room.
Precariously balanced on the rickety wooden box, Reyn cursed himself for a fool. He should never have agreed to Tam's plan. The two had chosen stealth rather than direct confrontation until they located Jocelyn, so here he stood, attached to a battered trellis, peeking through a curtained window, trying to catch a glimpse of his wife. He hoped Tam would draw attention long enough for him to slip through the open window behind the curtain, discover her whereabouts and take her home. Briefly, he wondered if this was the means she had used to gain entrance to the house.
As the box tilted slightly to the right, he grabbed the brick wall and nearly missed Tam's entrance into Horace's library. Settling back to gaze through the crack in the curtains, he saw the broad mahogany doors burst open and Tam fell to the floor in their wake.
With his hair tumbling before his eyes, his shirt hanging from his trousers, one pant leg tucked inside his boot, Tam looked and smelled like a man who had reveled in every sin imaginable. He rolled to his back to grin at the angry face peering down at him. "Good evening. I seem to have fallen."
Reyn heard Tam struggle to an upright position, huffing and puffing like a stuffed pig, and took the opportunity to ease himself onto the window ledge, into the house and behind the heavy brocade drape. He waited and listened. Where was Jocelyn?
"Horace, old chap," Tam said, his voice slurred, "give a man a hand, will you?"
From his hiding place, Reyn watched Horace help Tam to his feet. If this method provided no information about Jocelyn, he could easily slip back outside. If need be, he was here to give aid to his friend.
Horace purse
d his lips together, closely watching Tam. "I must say, Mr. Innes, I am surprised to see you here at this time of night."
Swaying from side to side, Tam managed to sputter. "A fellow needs a friendly chum to drink with now and then, don't he? By the way, what does a gent have to do to earn a drink here?"
Horace forced a smile on his face and poured the drink. "Where are your good friends, Hathaway and Wilcott?"
"Bloody gentry, high-boned nobs. Stuffed, tucked and pleated shirtfronts, that's what they are. No sense of adventure. I prefer the company of real men and"Tam grinned-"real women." As if remembering something important, he frowned. "Where is my brandy, man?"
Reyn saw Horace clench his hands at his sides. Undoubtedly, he would rather have planted a fist in Tam's nose, but luckily, Horace seemed more interested in gaining information.
Tam nodded to one of the chairs. "Do you mind?"
Horace handed the drink to Innes. "By all means. Sit." Guiding Tam toward a chair, Horace tapped his fingers together under his chin.
Tam reacted immediately. "Well, now, if it isn't my special lady herself." He continued in an overly loud, drunken slur. "Jocelyn, have you finally come to your senses and left that whoreson husband of yours?"
"Are you all right?" she asked. She sucked in her breath when Tam winked. Taken aback by his erratic behavior, she looked closer, but he seemed to stare past her until he scratched his ear and smirked like a cockeyed sailor making the most of one day's shore leave. Didn't the fool realize the danger he was in? She knew if she said anything, it meant both their lives. And where was Jocko? He hadn't returned since he'd left to dispose of Phillip's body.
Horace crossed to take Jocelyn's hand in his. "Trouble in paradise, my dear?"
"If you value your life at all, you will remove yourself from my wife."
Horace straightened. Otherwise he didn't move, forcing Jocelyn to peer around his body to witness the rigid stance of her husband, who was wearing a thunderous expression and aiming a gun at her step-uncle's chest.
"Did he harm you, Jocelyn?" Reyn asked.
Dumbstruck by the fact that he had come to her rescue, she managed to shake her head.
"And that mark on your cheek?"
She had forgotten about the blow. His voice sounded calm enough, but she knew better. He was bloody furious. "It stings a bit, that is all."
Reyn's eyes darkened to black. He spoke to his friend. "And you?"
Tam adjusted his position, combed his hair from his brow and winked again at Jocelyn. "Told you my plan would work. Nary a scratch."
Turning his full attention back to Horace, Reyn gave his order in a hoarse whisper. "Turn around."
Immediately, Reyn's fist connected with flesh and bone, the grisly sounds indicating that his punches found their marks. "Get up, you miserable excuse for a man. You're very lucky. Had you harmed my wife further, I would have had to shoot you on sight. I'm not sure which I would prefer, you dead at my feet or your neck dangling from a rope."
Horace wiped the blood from his cracked lips with a white, starched handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. "Personally, I prefer neither. Now, Jocko!" As he yelled, Horace reached for Jocelyn. A shot ripped through the air, winging by Reyn's ear as he dodged to the left.
By the time Reyn regained his footing, Horace held Jocelyn, his arm wrapped around her neck, while Tam, a knife at his throat, insolently glared at Jocko.
"Drop your gun or I will snap her neck," said Horace.
"Really?" Reyn knew the odds had shifted dramatically, but he also understood that no one inside this room would leave alive if he relinquished his firearm. Bluffing was the only alternative. Leveling the gun at Horace's head, he spoke with all the disdain he could muster. "Be my guest."
Satisfied when Horace appeared stunned, Reyn fought harder than ever to maintain the cold facade of indifference after glancing at Jocelyn. She looked as though someone had knocked her in the solar plexus. Why couldn't she have a bit of faith? He knew his lies would shock her. He had no choice right now. Her pained sensibilities would have to be soothed later. After they reached the safety of their home.
Horace recovered quickly enough and laughed. "Do you expect me to believe that nonsense?"
Although Reyn's eyes glittered ominously, his shoulders shrugged noncommittally. "You will be dead and I will have my bachelorhood back as well as her inheritance, all the blame placed on your ignominious shoulders."
Still disbelieving, Horace scrunched his brows together before speaking. "If she means so little to you, then why bother with the heroics tonight?"
"Actually, there are two reasons. First, masculine pride. Tonight my wife chose to leave me. She couldn't quite understand a man's need for a wife and a mistress. Second, I protect my property. In fact, it's a bit of an obsession for me. It is one thing if I decide to discard something, but no one, I repeat, no one leaves me. Neither does anyone take what belongs to me. Once a possession, always a possession."
Oddly, the arrogance of that statement seemed to make sense to Horace, for he started to evaluate his options. "And your friend? Jocko would gladly slit his throat."
"Just like our times at Oxford," Reyn said as he eyed Tam speculatively, hoping his friend would understand. "Innes will simply have to take his chances."
Tam hissed between clamped teeth, "You coldhearted bastard."
Reyn snickered. "I've never pretended otherwise, my friend."
"Reyn," said Jocelyn as everything fell apart before her eyes. "You can't mean it."
He merely shrugged his shoulders. She couldn't believe it. Reyn cared nothing for her. Because of her idyllic fantasies of love and her hateful need for revenge, Tam might die and so would her child. In fury and determination, she sank her teeth into Horace's hand.
Seizing the opportunity, Reyn lunged, throwing all three of them to the floor, toppling the chair and table, shattering the lamp. Instantly, flames began to lick thenway across the woolen rug to the curtains and fabricdraped walls. Dazed by the fall, Jocelyn lay on the floor as she gasped for air, surrounded by wild destruction.
Reyn delivered a solid punch to Horace's abdomen. With a roll and a kick, Tam quickly dispensed with Jocko. Reyn yelled to Tam, "Get her out of here!"
When Tam heaved Jocelyn to her feet, she began to scream. He threw her over his shoulders to forcibly remove her from the burning house.
"Please, Tam, don't let Reyn die." She continued to plead after he set her down on the street outside. "He doesn't deserve to die because of me."
"He won't die," Tam stated vigorously.
"Please, help him. I will be fine."
Studying her face, he reluctantly agreed. "Don't move," he said, waving a finger at her. "Do you understand?"
Consumed with emptiness, she nodded. Reyn had saved her, but for what? To salvage his pride. To gain her inheritance. Everything had been a farce. Slowly, she edged behind the gathering crowd, immersing herself in the throng of people watching the house dissolve into flames. She waited long enough to see two men stumble to safety. She held her breath when they took the steps two at a time to escape the falling debris. She watched until she recognized Tam and Reyn, then turned and walked into the foggy mist, her ears and heart closed to the haunted voice that called her name.
"I will see your uncle now, Jonathan, or I swear I will break your ruddy neck." Reyn threatened the younger man while he lifted him to his toes by his ruffled cravat.
As he leaned against the six-foot tall mahogany case clock that decorated the dim foyer, Tam added his glib opinion. "I do believe he means it this time. What do you think, Walter?"
"Now that you mention it, he does look a bit piqued. I haven't seen him in such a state since the night he threw that one-armed sailor out the third-story window of St. Ives for lifting his purse. That was only money. This matter regards his wife."
Nervously, the young man's eyes flitted back and forth between the three visitors, nearly popping from their sockets at the last statement. Jonathan
cleared his throat in an attempt to gain their attention. Reyn loosened his grip enough to allow him to speak.
"I don't believe," Jonathan coughed, "you will harm me. I told you, my uncle is already abed. He is aware of your request. He will see you in the morning."
Growling, Reyn dropped his hand, leaving the man to lean heavily against the wall, his pale hand at his throat. "Fine," Reyn brusquely said before he bellowed up the stairs. "Dievers! I suggest you drag your arse from your warm bed, or I shall happily trudge up these stairs and do so myself."
The younger Dievers stared, appalled by the duke's behavior. Walter and Tam grinned like two happy puppies. Reyn tapped his toes, counting to ten, his eyes set on the stairs like a hawk.
"You are a madman," the young man snapped.
"Are you just realizing that?" Tam taunted Jonathan further. "I would have thought you grasped that much after our last visit."
"You must remember, my young pup," Walter clarified with relish, "before you stands a haunted man, a man without substance or joy. Truly, madman is inappropriate. Obsessed, despondent and nauseatingly struck blind with love is what he is. He simply wants his wife. Is that so hard to understand?"
"Walter."
Tam laughed fully now. "Give over, Reyn. You know that everything Walter says is the absolute truth. Admit it."
Turning his head upward, Reyn noticed the startled appearance of a spectacled man, draped in a velvet dressing gown of deep russet.
"What in Aunt Martha's name is happening down there?" Samuel Dievers, as round as his nephew was thin, waddled down the stairs. "Well, Jonathan? What is the meaning of this?"
"Uncle, this rabble-rouser, Lord Wilcott, insisted he see you. I told him-"
Moving back, allowing Dievers space to maneuver himself onto the foyer floor, Reyn interrupted. "I apologize, sir, for disturbing your rest, but this young pup neglected to realize the import of my needs. I have waited months for your return to London." At that point, Reyn's composure evaporated. "I will not wait another minute. Where the hell is my wife?"