A footman on the box stood up and trained a rifle on Brendan. Mortland sneered, but he backed away smoothing his expensive greatcoat. “I don’t advise you to get any ideas. My footmen are armed as you see. Friends have told me of your dramatic performance at White’s. Rivaled Edmund Kean playing Shylock they say. I believe you’ve missed your vocation. Mr. Kean might have something to fear from you.”
“Not Kean, but you, Mortland. Fear that the truth is closing in on you.”
Mortland rocked back on his feet. “I fear nothing. You are like an annoying wasp. I shall slap you down.”
“You are welcome to try.” Brendan shrugged. “But I seem to recall you didn’t wish to chance dueling with me two years ago. You ran away to the Continent with your tail between your legs.”
Mortland scowled. “You cannot blame me for Anne’s death. She died at the hands of a felon.”
“Another felon, you mean. She was already suffering at your hands.”
“You should have taken better care of your wife. Then she would have had no need of me.”
“Did you introduce Anne to laudanum while I was fighting in Portugal? You knew I couldn’t help her.”
Mortland’s eyes blazed. “I could have you shot down this minute, like the cur you are.”
“Can you rely on the discretion of your staff?” Brendan pulled back his coat to reveal the pistol tucked into his waistband, but he kept his hands away from it. The rifle in the young footman’s hands wobbled, his face anxious. “Not your style, is it? You prefer your dirty work to be done in secret and by others.”
“I don’t need to soil my hands with you.” Mortland shrugged. He turned and climbed back into the coach. “You can’t touch me.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Mortland yelled an order and the coach drove off at a furious pace.
In the taproom at the village inn, Brendan began to talk of the fire. Two older men drinking ale soon joined in the conversation, recalling how they’d all rushed to the Hall and formed a chain to pass buckets of water from the ornamental lake to the house.
“Yes, rumors did abound that the fire had been deliberately lit,” one elderly fellow observed. “A stranger had passed through the village the day before. Asked a lot of questions about the Hall, he did.”
Another fellow slammed down his tankard. “And who benefited, I ask you? Only one man. And he’s above the law.”
The proprietor ran a cloth over the counter. “Mortland’s not popular around here as you see. Not like the old duke. He was a decent sort.” He was swiftly silenced by his wife, who whispered in his ear.
“Mortland has blood on his hands.” A man’s bitter accusation, from a table by the window, drew everyone’s attention. “He killed my sweet Flossie. She was a nursery maid at the Hall,” he explained to Brendan.
Silence fell in the room as Brendan studied the man. Dressed in a yeoman’s clothes, he was around forty, but the deep grooves etched into his face made him look older. He threw back the chair, which tottered on two legs before falling. Disregarding it, he strode from the inn, banging the door behind him.
“That’s Jake Small,” the innkeeper told Brendan when he returned from righting the chair. “He’s always maintained Mortland was behind the fire.” He shook his head. “Never got over losing Flossie, poor devil. They were about to marry.”
“Local farmer is he?”
“He has a small holding a mile south of the village.”
Brendan left the inn and rode south. He dismounted in front of the dilapidated thatched farmhouse and knocked. Paint peeled off the timbers, the weedy front garden bare of flowers or feminine touches. No one answered.
At the rear of the house, Brendan found Small pitching hay in the barn. He looked up. “Ye were at the inn,” he said his voice flat, his eyes impersonal.
“Earl of Trentham,” Brendan said. “I have an interest in the fire at Mortland Hall. Do you have any credible reason to suspect Mortland?”
Small’s mouth turned down and the grooves deepened on his face. “Met a man on the estate when I was returning from visiting Flossie the day of the fire. My fiancée and I used to meet on a bench overlooking the lake where we couldn’t be seen from the house. “He was a shifty lookin’ fellow. I was concerned for Flossie’s safety and demanded he tell me what he was doing skulking about.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“No, but when I asked what he was doing on the estate, he told me he worked for Mortland. I’d never seen him there, and I heard village gossip after the fire that a stranger was seen around making inquiries about the Hall. At the time, I decided to let it go, as I was trespassing myself, and didn’t want to get Flossie into trouble.” He groaned with anguish. “I should have hung around, my instincts told me he was up to no good. It wasn’t ’til afterwards that I put two and two together. By then, he was long gone. Nothing was done to find him. I approached the duke but he brushed me off—seemed intent to close the investigation down.”
“You don’t think you might be wrong? That the fire was accidental?”
“Never! Flossie was extra careful around those mites. The other maids were too.” His brown eyes went hard, and he stabbed the pitchfork into the ground. “I’ve wanted to kill Mortland every day since.”
Brendan left the village. He would not reach the city before dark. Although there were certainly some who believed it to be arson, perhaps Chloe was right. Had too much time passed to prove Mortland’s culpability? It wouldn’t stop Brendan trying to bring him to justice, even if it took him years to do it. He’d employ a Bow Street Runner to investigate. He might have better luck. Brendan felt far too fortunate to let this wasted trip cast him down. He urged his horse on toward London where his lovely bride-to-be awaited him.
“Well, Brendan?” Chloe glanced up from the games table where she sat with Eugenia as he entered the salon.
“Nothing much to impart,” he said easing his tired shoulders.
Candlelight lovingly caressed his beloved’s sweet face. Eugenia threw down her cards and jumped up to greet him. She came over to him shyly, her muslin skirts swirling around her dainty ankles. “We became worried when dusk fell.”
He drew her into his arms and kissed her soft cheek. “No need.”
“Have you eaten, Brendan?” Chloe asked. “Shall I have food sent up?”
“No, thank you.” He sat down. “I’m not hungry.”
“Your betrothed has become far too adept at faro.” Chloe gathered up the cards.
He smiled at Eugenia, who perched unaffectedly on the padded arm of his chair. “I was afraid of that.”
“You still beat me at chess,” Eugenia said, taking his hand and holding it to her cheek.
“For the moment.” He traced his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist, wishing he’d been able to settle the matter with Mortland. If only the duke had challenged him, that would have been a tidy end. But Brendan had done enough killing during the war. He couldn’t justify to himself the act of shooting a man down in cold blood, no matter how much he wanted to. No doubt Mortland relied on the fact that Brendan wouldn’t dispatch Eugenia’s flesh and blood, but he should not count on it. He would do what was necessary to keep her safe.
Eugenia twined her slender fingers with his. “Shall I pour you a whiskey?”
He leaned his head back against the chair and grinned at her. “I should like that.”
She hopped off the chair arm and went to the drinks table. He watched as she measured out a whiskey and brought him the crystal tumbler.
“My goodness, I’ve never seen the like,” Chloe said good-naturedly. She yawned behind her hand. “I’m ready for my bed.”
When the door closed, Brendan put the glass on a table at his elbow. He held out his arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”
With a soft smile, Eugenia nestled in his lap, her head against his shoulder.
“I’ve been too busy to visit Tattersalls, but I’ll hire a hack for you tomorrow and we’l
l ride in Hyde Park.”
“I should like that.”
“Did you and Chloe discuss the wedding?”
“Yes. Chloe thinks we should marry in London, at St. George’s in Hanover Square. A big society wedding will serve to introduce me to society.”
“I don’t see the necessity for it. It will happen all in good time.” He tipped up her chin with his finger, and his gaze lovingly roamed her face, her delicate features and velvety skin. “And what was your answer?”
“That it will take too long to organize,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “And I want to be your wife.”
“I can only agree.” He lowered his head and kissed her soft lips and down the tender column of her throat to the curve of her collarbone. His hand rested beneath her rounded breast, her heart beating fast beneath his fingers, in rhythm with his. Engulfed with emotion, he managed to drag his mouth away from hers. Chloe had left him alone with Eugenia. His sister trusted him to conduct himself appropriately, and by God, he must.
“Brendan,” Eugenia whispered, tracing a finger over his jaw. “You decide where and when we marry. I’ll be happy with whatever you want.”
He drew in a deep breath. “I just want you, my love.” And once they were married, he could better keep her safe.
“Then could we marry at Lilac Court? I should like that above anything.”
“Of course we can. An excellent idea. I’ll get a special license. You’re under age, but I don’t see that it will be a problem.”
“I doubt Mortland will object to the marriage.”
“No.” He thought again of the duke’s eyes darkened with hate and wished the man to Hades.
Chapter Seventeen
AFTER BREAKFAST the next morning, Brendan, Eugenia, and Chloe joined the few early riders in Rotten Row. Eugenia watched Brendan on his black stallion, riding ahead with a friend in deep conversation. She sighed. How handsome he was. When he’d kissed her last night, she wished he hadn’t stopped.
She liked the well-bred mare Brendan had chosen for her. “Why can’t we gallop in the park?” she asked Chloe, who rode beside her.
“It simply isn’t done, my dear.” Chloe glanced at her. “I would not be tempted to flaunt convention, Eugenia. No matter how much you wish to. Not until you’ve been married for some years and any eccentric behavior is tolerated.”
A man approached, trotting toward them. Eugenia waved. “Why, here comes Lord Beale. He looks very pleased.”
Chloe smiled. “He is. Do you know this time we’ve spent apart has been a most successful exercise? He appreciates me more.” She giggled. “And I appreciate him.”
Eugenia laughed. “I’m delighted to hear that your enforced separation wasn’t a complete trial to you both.”
“Au contraire.” Chloe nodded to her husband as he rode up beside them and bowed in the saddle.
When Brendan joined them, they cantered to Serpentine Road, where carriages had stopped on South Carriage Drive. A group of horse riders milled around. “I wonder what this is about?” Brendan said. “I’ll go and see.”
He rode back sober-faced.
“What is it, Trentham?” Beale asked.
“News has just come from the country.” Brendan moved his horse beside Eugenia’s. “This will shock you, sweetheart. The Duke of Mortland is dead.”
She stared at him. “Dead?”
“A fellow by the name of Jake Small murdered him.”
“Good God!” Chloe reached for Lord Beale’s hand.
Eugenia drew in a breath. “Why Brendan? Do you know?”
“Small believed Mortland was behind the fire that killed his fiancée. He’s been stewing over it for years. Waited for him early this morning as the duke rode over his estate. Pinned him to the ground with a pitchfork, apparently. Then he gave himself up to the local magistrate.”
“Someone was bound to do it one day,” Lord Beale observed pragmatically.
“Come, let’s return home,” Brendan said. “Beale, you’ll join us for luncheon?”
“Indeed I will.”
As they rode back through the park, Genie joined them.
“You’ve heard the news,” she asked, her eyes tearfully.
Eugenia felt deeply sorry for her. “Genie, I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, as everyone offered their sympathy.
“Thank you. May I ride a little way with you?”
“Please do,” Eugenia said.
When Brendan, Beale, and Chloe rode ahead toward the park gates, Genie drew her mount close. “The murderer must have been deranged. We’ll never know why he would commit such a violent act. You must be distressed, my dear, to lose your father before you even got to know him. I hope you are not cast too low. I was pleased to learn of your engagement and trust we’ll see a lot of each other during the Season.”
“We are to marry at Lilac Park, and will remain in the country for some months. You must visit us there when we have a house party, but this won’t be for a while, you understand.”
“Of course. We must observe the mourning period. I shall look forward to it.” Genie smiled. “You have a large family eager to meet you when the time is right.”
Eugenia felt a swift rush of warmth. “I have brothers and sisters?”
“No, the duchess was unable to have children. I have four children, two are married. And my brother, Ainsley, is the heir to the dukedom. He returns from the Continent with his family soon.” She leaned across to touch Eugenia’s arm. “Another thing my dear. Mortland told me only yesterday, that he was settling a handsome dowry on you.”
“A dowry?”
“Yes he was much struck that he had a daughter it seems. He said you remind him of a lost love.” She looked up. “I see your handsome fiancé awaits. I must return home. This family has been touched too often by tragedy.”
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Brendan studied her as she joined them to ride to the stables.
She nodded thoughtfully. It had been a shock. Mortland had entered her life and exited it again so quickly. And now to think he’d wanted to accept her as his daughter. But at breakfast, Brendan had told her the extent of the duke’s culpability. It squeezed her heart to realize how her poor mother must have suffered. Mama must have guessed what Mortland was planning, and would have been afraid that he’d come after her. No wonder she’d never wanted Eugenia to know anything about her past. Peter Hawthorne had been more a father to Eugenia for all his faults. And Mortland could no longer hurt them. She smiled into Brendan’s blue eyes. “I am.”
Chapter Eighteen
EUGENIA AWOKE and stretched in the luxurious duchess’ suite, all yellows, whites and golds. Daylight peeked through damask curtains lined with gold silk. She smiled, feeling safe, and warm, and loved. Her handsome husband took up a large amount of the bed beside her. Eugenia smiled, recalling how he’d come to her through the interconnecting door last night, splendidly naked beneath his silk banyan. He’d made love to her so tenderly, and then again quite passionately only a few hours ago. She shivered with delight recalling the blissful details, and ran her fingers over the smooth olive-toned skin of his chest. “Are you awake?”
Smiling, heavy-lidded blue eyes met hers. “I am now,” he said with a quirk of his lips.
“I have been thinking,” she said, although his hand cupping her breast and thumbing a nipple made it difficult for her to retain the thought.
“Mmm?”
“Are you listening?” Slipping into a haze of desire, she grappled with the thread of the conversation.
He caressed her hip with a tempting smile. “You have my attention, although I’m surprised to find you awake so early.”
Her cheeks heated, she’d never realized that this side of marriage could be so…delicious. “Perhaps Molly should be returned to the walled garden. I’m worried that she’s not happy at the home farm.”
“I’m sure my gardener will welcome the goose with open arms,” Brendan said, tracing a finger around her navel.
Shivers of delight followed his touch. “William is a friend. He will understand.” She was not entirely sure that was true. Molly did fancy his herbaceous border. She pushed back a silky lock of hair from his brow. “It’s wonderful to be here amongst my friends again, Barker, Vanessa, and Jeremy.”
“I’ve already explained, my love, that a countess doesn’t make friends of her servants…oh never mind. I am feeling far too contented with the world this morning to argue. How about we visit the home farm after breakfast?”
“Oh yes, darling, thank you. Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous.” He nuzzled her neck. “For you.”
Brendan pulled her atop him, his lean length hard beneath her. His sleek caresses over her skin made her thoughts scatter. When he took her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss, her muscles turned soft, yielding to the passion he aroused in her so easily.
She framed his dear face in her hands. “I love you.”
His arms enveloped her holding her tight. “Oh, my love,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “What a lucky fellow am I. I love you with all my heart.”
After breakfast they rode to the home farm. The air was fresh and cool, and the magnificent trees had begun to turn the glorious shades of autumn. In the paddock, Molly hurried over to Eugenia, her crimson feathered tail wagging. The application of the dye, Cochineal had been Vanessa’s idea to protect Molly from the pot. A handsome gander followed the goose but stopped a few feet away.
“Molly girl, are you happy here?” Eugenia asked. Molly stretched her neck to be petted and then turned and waddled back to the gander. Eugenia laughed, but she felt a little sad as she retraced her steps to where Brendan waited with the horses.
“It seems Molly has found a new love. She doesn’t need me anymore.”
“Will I do?”
She laughed up at him. He was gorgeous, and he was hers. The weather had been perfect yesterday when the vicar had presided over their small wedding in the village church. Except for the Beales, and the best man, fair-haired James Belvedere, Viscount Fairbank, no guests were invited. Chloe had waited upon her and to Eugenia’s surprise, her papa agreed to give her away. The tenants and villagers came to cheer them, clustered ten-deep around at the church door. Eugenia had chosen to wear a muslin gown with a lace bodice, long sleeves with lace cuffs and rows of lace at the hem, a pink bonnet trimmed with roses, and Chloe’s pearls. Brendan was dashing in a double-breasted dark blue tailcoat with gold buttons, white waistcoat and buff trousers. After the wedding breakfast, where champagne was served to toast the occasion, Chloe had made good her promise and left for Beale Park with her jubilant husband. James had tactfully declined the invitation to stay on for a week, and ridden off after breakfast.
The Earl and the Highwayman's Daughter Page 14