The Last Wicked Scoundrel

by Lorraine Heath

  Why hadn’t Avendale walked into the residence and announced his return?

  Because he wanted to toy with her, the bastard. He no doubt blamed her for what he had suffered. As much as she wished Catherine hadn’t taken such drastic measures to keep Winnie safe, she also had to admit that she was touched by her friend’s devotion. Angry to be sure, disappointed that they had thought they couldn’t trust her, but also touched.

  Three years ago, she’d been too shy to stand up for herself, had lacked confidence in her abilities. Had even thought on occasion that perhaps she deserved the rough treatment. But now she understood that Avendale had no right to pommel his fists into her, no right to treat her badly. That he thought he could return and begin to torment her anew was not to be tolerated.

  She considered packing her things and taking Whit someplace where they would both be safe, but she didn’t like the way it made her feel to avoid the confrontation that she was certain would be happening very soon. So she had his governess take him to a cousin’s for a few days. She gave the servants the night off. With the doors to the library open onto the terrace, she watched as evening fell, all the while feeling as though she were being watched.

  Sooner or later he would face her, she was certain of it. He could have his place in Society back. But he could not have his place back in her life. Although it would create enormous scandal, she would divorce him. Or more precisely, have him divorce her for adultery. She would admit to sleeping with William Graves. Her butler could testify that he possessed a key so he could come and go as he pleased. She suspected William would confess to the wrongdoing as well. After all, he owed her.

  But regardless, she was not going to stay in this marriage.

  During Avendale’s time away, she had come into her own. She managed the household here in London and at the estates and she managed them well. She had put together the means to raise money for a hospital. She had spoken with architects and builders and a physician in order to discover all that was needed. They had talked with her, offered advice, took her suggestions. She no longer felt small or insignificant. She was confident she could manage her own affairs. She’d been doing quite nicely for three years.

  Thanks to William Graves, who had shown her how it should be between a man and a woman. Even before his interest of late, when she had been recovering, and had first suggested the notion for a hospital, he had embraced it and never questioned her ability to carry it off. He treated her with respect and valued her.

  She could not go back to flinching every time her husband spoke, to cowering when he came near, to expecting to receive a blow.

  While it occurred to her that things might go better if she had all her friends surrounding her, she needed to take care of this matter on her own. They had already put their lives and reputations at risk. Her anger at them was dissipating, leaving her overwhelmed with the realization that they would risk so much for her.

  When it was her battle to fight.

  Graves knew he shouldn’t be standing behind the hedgerows that lined Winnie’s back gardens, that she despised him and didn’t want him near, but he couldn’t force himself to stay away, not when there was a chance that she might be hurt, that her husband might be lurking in the shadows.

  Whatever had made any of them think that their plan would be a permanent solution to Winnie’s problem, and why had they all agreed to it without consulting her? Why had he taken a role in it?

  Because examining her bloody, battered, and smashed body, he had believed, truly believed, that no one should be mistreated as she had been. She had been so small, delicate, and fragile that it had never occurred to him that she would be capable of taking care of herself. Shame on him for not seeing three years ago that all she needed was to develop the confidence to stand up for herself. She had been so determined this morning to brush them off, to make it on her own.

  But making it on her own, taking care of the matter, meant facing her husband, and he couldn’t allow her to face him alone. No matter how strong she thought she was, she was not strong enough for that.

  He’d seen the servants leaving earlier, assumed her son had been taken elsewhere. No light escaped from any of the windows except the ones that looked out from the library. She was preparing to meet the beast in his own lair. He wondered if Avendale would respond to the invitation. Surely he had to know by now that she was aware he had returned.

  Graves heard something rustling off to his left. Hefting the cudgel he’d borrowed from Jim, he cautiously stepped forward and peered—

  Pain shot through the back of his skull.

  Then nothing.

  “Hello, duchess.”

  Winnie didn’t remember falling asleep in the chair by the fire, but the smooth ominous voice sent a tremor through her. Fighting down the fear, she opened her eyes.

  A great hulk of a man was crouched before her. Avendale.

  Only it wasn’t. This man bore a horrid scar from cheek to chin. He was unshaven, his hair an unruly mess. His clothing was not tailored to fit him but looked like something he might have taken from a beggar. He wore a coarse black coat. His arms were beefier, his hands rougher.

  “Avendale,” she replied, grateful her voice was steady. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I think you were expecting me, but I still managed to take your lover by surprise.”

  “My lover? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He shifted slightly and she saw William lying on the carpet, his hands bound behind him, eyes closed, blood pooling at the back of his head. “My God, what did you do?”

  She started to get up, to see how badly he was injured, but Avendale shoved her back into the chair with one meaty hand, and rose to tower over her like Lucifer ascending from hell. “Were you bedding him before I was sent away?”

  “I was never unfaithful.”

  “What do you call last night? I stood outside your bedchamber listening to your cries. I almost barged in to kill him then and there, to kill you both. I would have been within my rights.”

  “I thought you were dead. I didn’t know what happened to you, not until today.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I really don’t care if you do or not. Why have you been lurking about in such an unmanly fashion?” His jaw tightened and she could see the red flush of embarrassment staining his skin. If there was anything that irked him more than having his manhood questioned, she didn’t know what it was. Well, maybe being sent to the far side of the world aboard a prison ship was considerably more irritating. “Why not announce your return, why play these silly games?”

  “So no one would question my sending my devoted wife to an insane asylum. My wife who loses things and finds them, who believes in spirits.” He grabbed the arms of the chair and lowered himself until he was hovering an inch from her nose. “I enjoyed watching you panic, although I must confess that you didn’t break as quickly as I thought you would.”

  “You watched the séance last night, didn’t you? And afterward. That’s how you knew where to find your rings.”

  He grinned. “I almost answered the lady’s summons, but better not to let others know I was about—not just yet anyway.”

  “Why do this?”

  “To punish you and Catherine. Maybe she’ll even go mad with guilt, thinking of you spending the rest of your life among the truly insane.”

  “If you want to be rid of me, simply divorce me.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Why not kill me then as you did your other wives?”

  A corner of his mouth hitched up sinisterly. “You can’t prove I killed them.”

  “But you did, didn’t you? No one is going to believe a madwoman, so why not tell me? Maybe knowing I was married to a murderer will be enough to send me over the edge.”

  He released something between a grunt and a laugh. “I’d almost think you’d acquired some spunk while I was gone. That would be a shame as it would mean y
our permanent demise.”

  It bothered her that he would think she would break so easily. But if she’d been tougher before, perhaps he would have killed her. “You did kill them then.”

  “Of course I did. They were barren. I needed an heir. Divorce is costly, time consuming, and scandalous. Now I have an heir, I’m in no need of a wife, especially one who can’t be trusted. After what I’ve been through, you deserve to suffer a bit. Do you know what it’s like on those prison hulks? I got infested with fleas and lice. Fleas and lice for God’s sake. And a rat actually bit me before I snapped its scrawny little neck.”

  His eyes were wide, glittering, and she wondered if perhaps his ordeal had made him mad. Perhaps he was the one who belonged in an asylum.

  “They made me work until my hands bled and my back ached. They laughed when I told them I was a duke. Took a lash to me. It was almost two years before I found a way to escape. And all the while I plotted my revenge. Then last night I heard you with him, and I realized he would have to be punished as well.”

  “You might want to rethink that. He serves the queen.”

  “It’ll just look like he ran into a rough lot who beat him to death and left him in the mews.”

  She fought back her fear. She would not allow him to hurt William. “No.”

  “You can’t stop me. You’ve always been a frightened little bird whose wings were clipped. When I’m done with him, I plan to spend the night getting reacquainted with my wife before sending her off to Bedlam.”

  Her stomach roiled as she thought of him touching her, of him wiping away the touch of a man she loved. She did love William, in spite of what he had hidden from her, she loved him. Wasn’t he the one who had insisted Catherine tell her the truth? He’d known she was strong enough to handle it. He knew everything about her, inside and out, and he accepted her as she was.

  “Go to hell,” she said and shoved on his chest. The great hulk that was her husband barely moved. He just laughed, laughed as he had when he’d hit her before, when she cried out. She’d learned not to cry out.

  A growl echoed around them. Winnie barely had time to register the sight of William charging before he knocked Avendale aside. Both men tumbled to the floor. Still bound, William struggled to stand. Avendale had nothing to hamper his progress. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed William by the shirt front, lifted him slightly, and pounded his fist into his face.

  She heard the crack of bone shattering, a sound that had once echoed between her ears as her own bones took the weight of his fists. Jumping from the chair, she grabbed the fireplace poker and smashed it across his back. He spun around. She put all her strength, her weight, her need to stop him in the next swing, catching him across the head, sending him off balance. He landed on his back at the stone edge of the fireplace, his head at an awkward angle, leaning against his gargoyle.

  Breathing heavily, she stood, feet spread, poker at the ready to strike him again. But he didn’t move. He just lay there staring at her as though he were surprised that she’d fought back this time.

  “Untie me.”

  She jerked her gaze over to William as he struggled to sit up, blood gushing from his nose. “Oh, yes, of course.” As she knelt beside him and fumbled with the knots, she kept darting glances over at Avendale. “How did he come to have you?”

  “I was in the garden, keeping watch, but I was foolish enough to fall for his trick. Are you hurt?”

  “No, not really. He seemed more intent on talking me to death.”

  William released a huff that might have been a laugh. When his arms were free, he cradled her face. “You were extraordinarily brave.”

  “I never stood up to him before, never fought back. I couldn’t return to living like that. I wouldn’t. But I think I hurt him rather badly.”

  “I’ll have a look.”

  She watched as William moved over to Avendale. “Be careful,” she warned.

  “He won’t hurt me.” He pressed his ear to Avendale’s chest, then gently lifted Avendale’s head. She saw the blood seeping onto the stone.

  “Looks as though he took quite a blow. I should get some linens to stanch the bleeding,” she said.

  William moved back over to her, folded his hands over her shoulders, and met her gaze. “Winnie, he’s dead.”

  Winnie sat in a chair in a corner. After covering Avendale with a sheet, William had sent for Inspector Swindler. She watched as he first studied the door, then crouched down and lifted the sheet to examine Avendale.

  “Obviously someone from the streets,” he said.

  “He’s the Duke of Avendale,” she corrected.

  He looked at her, looked at William, looked at Avendale. “I see a man of the streets, a thief who has no doubt been breaking into your residence and stealing things. My report will indicate that the door has been tampered with by somewhat of an expert.”

  She was on the verge of protesting again, when it dawned on her why William had sent for Swindler. “Of course. You’re part of the group that lived with the Earl of Claybourne’s grandfather.”

  William took a step toward her. “Winnie, I know you despise me but no good will come from revealing the truth now. Swindler can make all this appear as though he broke in.”

  “Are you saying that to protect yourself?”

  “No, to protect you from the scandal. Everything about your life with him will become fodder for gossip. Yes, there are those of us who will no doubt suffer because of what we did, but you also have to consider the impact the tale will have on your son.”

  She’d never spoken ill of Avendale to his son, had never wanted Whit to know the brute that his father was. He would suffer if the truth came out.

  “But I killed him.”

  “Not really. You hit him. He fell. The blow to the head killed him, but you had no influence over that. It was an accident.”

  “Which is how my report will read,” Swindler said. “With all due respect, Your Grace, no one will question my findings.”

  “You can live with this?”

  “I can live with justice being served. In my profession, I see a lot of people who are hurt or killed and the culprits aren’t always caught. So I take justice where I can. Your husband treated you poorly, almost killed you, probably would have killed Bill here tonight. He was a man who didn’t feel remorse or regret. I’m not sorry to see him go. As I’m given to understand his two previous wives met with unfortunate accidents. Poetic justice, I say, that he should die from a blow to the head.”

  “Is it really? In convincing me to say nothing are you not also striving to protect yourself? I imagine you played some role in his incarceration. You would have had access to the prisons that none of the others had.”

  “We all knew the risks, Winnie,” William said. “We were all prepared to live with the results if what we did was ever discovered. Do what you must.”

  She thought of how courageous they must have all been to risk so much when only Catherine truly knew her. What was she to them, other than someone the law wouldn’t protect? So they had done what they could to protect her.

  She took a deep breath, a long sigh. “He’s wearing my husband’s rings. I’m not certain when he stole them, but they belong to my son, are part of his inheritance.”

  Swindler nodded. “I’ll add that to my report. I’ll take the body to the coroner now if you have no objections.”

  “I want him buried in the family crypt,” she informed them. “You don’t have to remove the other fellow, but Avendale should rest with his ancestors.”

  “I’ll see to that,” William said.

  She wasn’t surprised by his offer. He’d been looking out for her longer than she’d known, and he also had the skills to manage the task by himself. “We should see to your injuries,” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine from here,” Swindler said. “I’ll finish up. You go let the lady tend you.”

  It appeared that William was going to
object, so she said softly, “Please.”

  She couldn’t have been more relieved when he acquiesced.

  After taking him to her bedchamber, she sat him at her dressing table. She dipped a cloth into the washbasin, then kneeling before him began to gently wipe away the blood that he’d overlooked when he’d stopped the bleeding with his handkerchief. He grimaced, and she lightened her touch.

  “I’m sorry if that hurt,” she said.

  “I’ll live. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you what I suspected when you first told me about the strange happenings. I was hoping I was wrong.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “You’d rather I be mad?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was hoping for another explanation.”

  “I’m relieved that it’s over, that he’s truly gone, and yet I’m melancholy.”

  “That’s to be expected I think.”

  “If I hadn’t hit him so hard—”

  He cradled her face between his palms. “Winnie, make no mistake. He was going to kill me. Bound as I was, I doubt I could have stopped him. In spite of his plans to have you committed, I suspect he would have killed you as well. I heard a bit of your conversation with him. He practically confessed to killing his other wives. You acquired justice not only for you but for them.”

  “Will the guilt lessen in time, do you think?”

  “I know it will, but it will never completely go away.” He averted his gaze for a moment, a distant expression on his face, and she couldn’t help but believe he was visiting the past. How often had she done the same? She watched as he swallowed. When he brought his gaze back to hers, it was raw, tormented. “Mrs. Ponsby had the right of it. I was responsible for my mother’s death. She was beating me one day, at the top of our stairs, outside for all the world to see. I was huddled, trying to deflect the blows, and I struck out at her, tried to kick her. I’m unclear as to exactly how it happened, but our legs got tangled, she lost her balance, fell backward through the railing and landed in the street. Broke her neck.”