He howled in pain and she spurted forward. Her cloak rent about her neck and the garment fell from her body, freeing her from Jacob’s hold.
His curses bellowed after her, but she did not stop her flight. The dim light of the torches finally came into view. Victoria darted outside and gulped the night’s fresh air. She hesitated only long enough to glimpse back inside.
The voracious orange flames had spread; the beast’s fingers leapt high to the rafters and engulfed all in its path.
With a gush of strength and energy fueled by panic, she pushed the solid steel door closed. Jacob carried the lantern, but it would take him longer to find his way out without the aid of the torches.
The rest of the evening was a blur. When her initial fear subsided, she became numb with shock. She trotted through the rain, oblivious to her drenched clothing. Without her cloak and hood, her hair dripped in wet cords around her face, and her skin puckered from the cold.
Somehow she managed to hail a cab and find herself on the front steps of Blake’s town house. Careful not to awaken anyone, she removed her sodden boots, and, barefoot, climbed the grand staircase and shut the door—newly repaired—to her bedroom.
She collapsed against the door and sank to the carpet. Only then did she allow herself to cry. She wept aloud, rocking back and forth on her haunches.
How had things gotten so out of control?
What was supposed to be a simple task had turned into a nightmare. She should have suspected the worst from Jacob and her father—should have known that their plan sounded too simple. After all, she prided herself on her business smarts.
Why hadn’t she seen the idiocy in their plans?
A raw and primitive grief overwhelmed her. Blake’s warehouse and all the goods inside were a total loss. Nothing could have survived that fire. He had forgiven her betrayal once before despite the fact that her actions had aided his enemy. Blake had seen past the destruction of his sham corporation, Illusory Enterprises, to recognize her intelligence. He had even acknowledged that he would have acted the same way if he was in her position.
But she knew he would never forgive tonight’s betrayal even if she had been tricked herself.
Guilt welled within her breast, and she felt an acute sense of loss. She had caused him to lose thousands of pounds tonight. And she had conspired once again with her father and Hobbs. Blake would not understand. Even if she laid her heart at his feet and confessed her love for him, how could he see her as anything other than the liar she was?
Her only hope was that Blake would not discover her involvement. No witnesses saw her and Jacob enter the warehouse. The guards were unconscious. Any evidence left behind had turned to ashes. She would never willingly confess.
She rose and walked to the cheval glass mirror in the corner of the room. She looked a fright, and she gave a choked, desperate laugh at her appearance.
Her dark hair was plastered to her scalp and hung limply down her back. Blood trickled from her scalp onto her forehead.
Gingerly, she parted her hair to see a nasty gash. She became aware of a pounding in her head and stinging in her scalp as if seeing the injury firsthand brought on the pain. Her dress was torn and tattered and stunk of smoke. She had to get rid of it and any other evidence of her guilt.
She stripped quickly, noting the cuts on her hands and knees, and the bruise on her hip where she backed into a sharp corner of a crate.
But it was the raw scrape across her neck that held her attention. She had no recollection of what had caused it. Her cloak had torn when she escaped Jacob’s clutches, but the garment was made of soft wool that would not leave a mark. A sudden realization occurred to her as her hand clutched the red welt.
Her emerald necklace was gone. In her nervousness tonight, she had foolishly forgotten to take it off, and the clasp must have broken when the cloak was ripped off.
Dear God. Would the jewelry Blake gave her be found among the ashes?
She prayed the gold chain would melt from the heat of the fire. Or that none would notice an emerald among the debris.
A sudden sinking feeling gripped her stomach. Tonight had changed everything for the worse; she knew what she had to do.
Ripping a pillowcase off her bed, she put her wet garments inside. They reeked of smoke and betrayal. She opened the window and dropped the sack into the bushes below. She would retrieve her clothes tomorrow and properly dispose of them.
Next, she sat at her desk and penned a note to her brother.
Spencer,
Things have changed. I must leave Ravenspear, but I cannot go home. I plan to see Mr. MacDonald at the Exchange two days from now, on Monday, to withdraw all my funds. Please meet me there at ten o’clock.
Victoria
Chapter 31
Black ashes swirled around Blake’s Hessian boots as he stepped through the debris. Reluctantly, he pressed onward, his movements stiff and awkward as his mind comprehended the overwhelming damage.
“I’m afraid all is a total loss.”
Blake stopped in midstride and turned to see Justin. A glazed look of despair spread over the younger man’s face as he surveyed the destruction.
“Nothing is salvageable,” Justin said. “I don’t believe it’s even safe to be in the building. The rafters are mostly cinders.”
“How much did we lose?”
Justin looked away hastily, then shifted his feet. “It’s difficult to estimate. Warehouse Thirteen held your exotic imports from the Far East. Several thousand pounds, at least.”
Blake closed his eyes, his mind languid, still recovering from the shock of discovery. “And insurance?”
“Lloyds of London has sent out an investigator. Our policy covers natural disasters—flood, lightning, wind, fire—but not arson.”
“We both know this fire was not the result of a natural disaster.”
Blake’s shock at seeing the devastation firsthand yielded quickly to fury. He had interviewed the hired guards himself, and he had learned that both men had been rendered unconscious by an assailant. They were fortunate enough to awaken before being burned alive.
No, this was no accident, no natural disaster, but was a targeted attack instead. It was an act of war, designed to strike at Blake and cause the most harm. Blake’s mind raced with a list of possible suspects, but only one name rang repeatedly in his mind.
Charles Ashton.
Who else would hate Blake enough to take such drastic measures? But why would his nemesis attack now, when Blake held the upper hand? Nothing could stop Blake from calling in Charles’s loans tomorrow.
Unless Charles had managed to steal sufficient funds from the Crown to cover his outstanding debts.
But that still didn’t explain how Charles Ashton or Jacob Hobbs had managed to break into the warehouse. The doors, constructed of steel, had not been damaged. That meant the intruder had to have a key.
And where would one get the key?
“Lord Ravenspear, may I have a word?”
Blake swung around to see a short, wiry man dressed in a cheap suit waiting expectantly. His spectacles, whose lenses were the thickest Blake had ever seen, were perched high on the bride of his bulbous nose.
“Can I help you?” Blake asked.
“This is Mr. Stevens, the investigator from the insurance company,” Justin explained.
Mr. Stevens cleared his throat, and his chest puffed with self-importance. “I have completed my investigation, Lord Ravenspear, and have concluded the fire was the result of arson. I’m sorry to say your policy doesn’t compensate for acts of malice.”
“I see,” Blake said. “What evidence have you uncovered?”
“There was the testimony of your guards,” Mr. Stevens said, “and then I found this.” The investigator raised a hand to show an oil lamp, tarnished to almost black with a thick layer of soot. “I found it on the floor near the front of the warehouse, although I believe the fire was started in the rear. The arsonist must have utilized the
lantern to start the fire, and then used it to exit the building. Does it appear familiar?”
“It does not,” Blake said.
“I shall report my findings to Lloyds immediately. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” The gaunt investigator turned to leave, then stopped. “I almost forgot. There is something else I discovered in the debris. I don’t know if it is of any consequence.” He reached into his pocket and handed a small object, badly blackened, to Blake.
Blake stared at the item in his hand, disbelief crashing down on him. His fist clenched tight around the object until it bit into his flesh. He was suddenly furious at his vulnerability.
How could he be so gullible?
His heart hardened, erecting barriers of anger. He kicked a half-torched crate, and the wood splintered and scattered across the blackened floor. He cursed, and then looked up to see Justin and Mr. Stevens watching him curiously.
“Have the building torn down,” Blake ordered sharply. “The guilty party will pay for the damage.”
Victoria brushed her dirt-stained hands on her worn skirt. On her hands and knees, she tended the small herb garden behind Blake’s home. She had no real interest in gardening, but had used the excuse of needing fresh mint for a homemade facial-cream recipe in order to dispose of the bundle of clothing beneath her bedroom window. She worked furiously, digging and then burying the damning evidence of her betrayal.
In contrast to her dismal mood, birds sang gaily and the fresh scent of herbs filled the air.
“What have we here? I never knew your talents included horticulture.”
Victoria jerked to her knees at the familiar male voice. “Good morning, my lord. You startled me.”
At the sight of Blake, impeccably dressed in tan breeches and a brilliant-white shirt, she struggled to control her rioting emotions.
He doesn’t know of your betrayal. You mustn’t act differently until you can meet Spencer. It was Saturday, the day after the fire, and the Exchange wouldn’t be open until Monday morning. She had to survive the weekend without succumbing to her overwhelming guilt and confessing all. Even if she begged for forgiveness, she knew Blake would never accept a second betrayal.
He took her hand and helped her rise to her feet. At the sign of her old gown, dirt-stained and frayed, he arched a brow.
“I borrowed it from the gardener’s daughter,” she explained. “I didn’t want to ruin one of my own dresses.”
“You look as I did this morning after I returned from the fire at the warehouse.”
She blinked rapidly. He spoke as if she already had knowledge of the event. “What fire?”
His eyes were sharp and assessing. “Why, the fire that was purposely set to destroy every last item that I had stored inside. Justin estimates the loss to be several thousand pounds.”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Bending down she scooped up a handful of fresh mint, and made to move past him.
“Of course you know about it, my dear. There’s no sense continuing to act innocent.”
Blake cut off her escape by gripping her arm, and the freshly cut herbs scattered at her feet.
Icy fear twisted around her heart. She whirled to face him, and struggled to keep her face blank. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Tsk-tsk. I would think you would have perfected your charade by now. Are you actually shivering?” There was a lethal calmness in his eyes as they lowered from her face to her imprisoned arm.
In a heartbeat, she knew she had been caught. Yet she refused to confess and held herself rigid, like a bird caught in an elaborate snare.
“Ah, so you require proof.”
He released his viselike grip and reached inside his pocket. Slowly, he pulled out a gold chain, roughly cleaned and still showing signs of soot. Dangling from the chain was her unmistakable large emerald. A ray of sunlight glimmered off the gem’s faceted surface, as if pointing a guilty finger at her. “My gift to you was found among the ashes.”
He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a ring of heavy keys, with the key to Warehouse Thirteen ominously absent. “There is also the missing key. Thinking back, you did see where I stored these. Shame on me—I never thought to lock them away from you.”
There was a hard bite to his words now, and she felt the fight drain out of her body. A wave of guilt overtook her, and unbidden tears came to her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “The truth is Jacob Hobbs and my father fooled me. They asked me for the key so that they could get inside your warehouse to discover what goods were stored there. They claimed other attempts to determine its contents had failed. They swore that once they knew what your ‘secret’ commodity was, then they planned to invest heavily in it and use the profits to pay off the money they owe you.”
“And you believed them?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why did you agree to help? I trusted you—trusted that you would not betray me again.”
She lowered her dark lashes, fighting back tears. Here was the moment of truth, more terrifying than admitting she allowed Jacob to torch Blake’s property.
“I agreed because I have come to care for you,” she said, “despite everything—our families’ horrific past, my coming to live at Rosewood and my own efforts not to feel anything for you other than resentment. My father sensed how I felt, and in his usual manner, he exploited my emotions for his benefit. You see, he knew that if the loans were paid off and I was free to leave, then it would force you to confess your true feelings for me. Either you would allow me to walk away, or you would ask me to stay of your own free will, without the incentive of revenge.”
She wiped her tears with the back of her dirt-splotched hand and then raised her eyes to find him watching her intently. Taking a deep breath, she plunged onward, “I agreed to help them because I’ve fallen in love with you.”
He blinked, unmoving, and she sensed the tension in his body. Then he laughed harshly, eyes narrowing. “Bravo, Victoria. Such a fine performance should be reserved for the theater. And to think, for a mere heartbeat, you had almost convinced me. But then a woman that loves a man wouldn’t betray him with her ex-fiancé, now, would she?”
Her heart plummeted at his hostility. “I swear, every word I said was the truth! I could never lie about my feelings.”
“You could never lie?” he asked, disbelief written on his handsome face.
He didn’t believe her. She had bared her heart and soul, and he thought her a liar. Could she blame him? She closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable. She couldn’t bear the sight of him without breaking down herself.
“I’m truly sorry. I shall leave your household immediately if that is what you want.”
“Leave?” Reaching out, his fingers bit into the tender flesh of her shoulders. “I’ve bought a whore for a year, it’s about time I got my money’s worth.”
Her breath caught in her lungs. She stood before him, blank, amazed and shaken.
“Despite everything, Victoria, I still want you.” Unspoken pain was alive and glowing in his blue eyes. “I’m a damn fool, for I cannot trust you, but I refuse to allow you to go home to him.”
Jerking her toward him, he took her mouth with savage intensity. The stubble of his unshaven chin scratched her sensitive skin. Her palms pressed against his solid chest in resistance.
It was not a loving or tender kiss, but a kiss intended to bruise and punish. Crushing her struggles with his powerful arms, he forced open her lips with his thrusting tongue and ravaged her mouth. She squealed in protest. He released her abruptly, and pushed her away like she was a leper.
His chest rose and fell with exertion. “That’s how I should have treated you from the beginning.”
“You mean as retribution for your sister?”
He stiffened, and his fists clenched at his sides. “You spoke with Justin. There is no other way you could have learned about Judith.”
“I would have found out eventually,” she argued. “You now have an
incentive to treat me the way Judith suffered. You must have planned it that way all along, but your conscience could not allow you to use an innocent woman in such a manner. But now that I’m not so innocent, you won’t suffer from guilt.”
“Since you have it all figured out, there is nothing else for me to say. I expect you in my bed tonight, Victoria, willingly or no.”
Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the garden.
Victoria stood in stunned tableau, watching his broad back disappear around the corner. Slowly, she became aware of the birds chirping and the afternoon sun heating the bridge of her nose. But still she found it difficult to move. Her throat ached with defeat, and her sense of loss was beyond tears.
Blake despised her. How had it come to this when what she had intended was to prove he cared for her? Ah, yes, he desired her. But lust and love were two entirely different emotions. His forceful embrace alone had shown her that. The kiss had been full of hate and bitterness, and had been used to punish.
She could live with him as a loved and cherished mistress. But could she tolerate life as a despised and distrusted whore?
Never.
“Miss Ashton? Are you well?”
Victoria’s reverie was broken by the approach of Mr. Kent. The butler’s normally impassive expression was touched with concern. She realized she must look a fright, dressed in a soiled gown and standing in the middle of the garden as pale and still as a marble statue.
“I’m fine, Mr. Kent. Were you searching for me?”
“I had your note delivered to your brother’s household as you requested this morning. The messenger returned with a missive for you,” Mr. Kent said, holding out a sealed envelope. “I thought you’d like to read it as soon as possible.”
“Yes, thank you.” She took the envelope from his hand, frowning at the unfamiliar handwriting on the front. Why hadn’t Spencer written it?
When the butler was out of sight, Victoria tore open the envelope. As she read the message, her body stiffened.
My Dear Victoria,
Lady of Scandal Page 26