Captive Scoundrel

by Annette Blair

  Faith shook her head. “But surely Beth calling you, Poppy, will seem odd.”

  “She’s my child from my first marriage. No one need know she was in your charge at Killashandra. I, for one, will be happy to see the last of this sham, but it must continue for a short time. Meanwhile, I’ll be free to come and go as I please.” He placed his hand over this new child of theirs.

  Faith’s eyes closed. She murmured, “Nice,” and fell asleep.

  Sometimes he wished he could say he loved her, because sometimes he could almost feel her yearning for the declaration. If only love were within him to give.

  But he must be as true to himself as to her. She would want nothing less. After all, self-respect must be part and parcel of mutual respect, as well as trust and understanding, which he wanted as much as she. Hell, what he wanted was to love her. He simply didn’t know how. Weary to the bone, he closed his eyes.

  Before he knew it, Faith was kissing his ear. “Wake up. We’re nearly there.”

  “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” he asked, enjoying the playfulness that had been missing since her pregnancy.

  “I am.” She played with the hair at his nape and kissed him with lingering passion.

  “Of all the times for seduction,” he groaned as he returned her kiss. “We’re about to descend on your family, and I fear we’ll never be alone again.”

  Faith giggled. “As wonderful as this is, I’m afraid it’s time you became an invalid once more.”

  “It’s deuced difficult to look the invalid in this condition, Faith. You’re a heartless wench. Do you know that?”

  She laughed as she covered him with the blanket. “The outriders will carry you to the third-floor bedroom, and I’ll come to you as soon as I settle Jenny and Sally with Beth, and explain everything to my parents. My brothers and sisters won’t be up this late, so we can deal with them in the morning.”

  Soon enough, the coach door opened. Faith gave the outriders instructions and let herself into the house. “Carry him up to the third floor, first door on the right. Leave him on the bed then see to the luggage. The large trunk goes upstairs with the patient. Leave the rest here.”

  Faith motioned Jenny and Sally, with a sleeping Beth, to the small parlour. “Wait here. I’ll bring you up in a minute.”

  Her parents emerged from the library in response to the noise.

  “My Lord, it’s Faith,” her mother said.

  “Yes, Mama,” Faith said, and kissed her mother on the cheek, also by leaning toward her.

  “Is something wrong?” her father asked.

  “No. Yes. Mama, Papa, I’ve brought my patient and little Beth. We need to stay here for a while. Jenny will help with the work, and Sally will care for Beth. I thought they could stay in the spare room, and since Matt and John are at school, I could take their room with my patient.

  Her parents could hardly send her away, and though they blustered and asked questions for which she gave no answers, they ultimately agreed.

  After tucking Beth in, Faith went back downstairs, exhausted after three flights of stairs. When she got to the library, she found the two most lovable people in the world waiting for her. “It’s wonderful to be home. I’ve missed you.”

  “You’re looking a bit peaked, Love,” her mother said and as she bemoaned Faith’s appearance and need for rest. Her father helped her remove her cape.

  “Thank you Papa,” Faith said, only to be met with the most ludicrous expression she had ever seen on his face. “Papa?”

  “Good God, Missy, you’re increasing!”

  Faith had always prided herself on her ability to handle any situation, but nothing could have prepared her for this moment. She’d taken such care when she first arrived but being home had simply disarmed her.

  Her mother fell into the nearest chair and began to fan herself. “Faith, what have you done?”

  Faith began to laugh.

  Her father bristled. “This is no laughing matter!”

  “I know it’s not, Papa. It’s just that…well, you see, the patient that was neither alive nor dead…he’s definitely alive.” She laughed at that too. “Oh, don’t be angry. It’s just that I’m so tired and you look so funny.”

  Faith understood her parent’s surprise, but not their anger, not without allowing her to explain. Why hadn’t she prepared for this?

  “Young lady, how did this happen?” her father demanded.

  “Good Lord, don’t you know?” She was so tired, she amused the daylights out of herself.

  Her father reddened. “What have you to say for yourself? You should be ashamed coming here like this to flaunt your…your…In front of your brothers and sisters. After all we taught you…but I see we failed.” He lowered his head, shaking it sadly.

  Faith’s eyes filled with tears, though she willed herself not to become a watering-pot. “Papa, you’re condemning me without inquiry. I’ve never known you to be so unjust.”

  Her mother lifted a hand. “Do be quiet, both of you. Else we’ll have the entire household to answer to.”

  Just when Faith thought her mother was about to bring order to their confusion, she fixedly regarded the doorway in shock.

  Justin, now dressed in his most lordly attire, and silently commanding the respect due any indecently handsome peer of the realm, walked unceremoniously into the silent library, stopped to arrange the cuffs of his starched white shirt and gave her a wink.

  Lord, he looked fetching. With a look, she told him how happy she was to see him, and her parents didn’t miss the exchange.

  He touched her cheek. “It’s all right, Sweetheart.” He faced his in-laws and bowed. “Justin Anthony Devereux, Fifth Duke of Ainsley, at your service.” All ceremony gone, he took her into his arms, and she began to weep. “Everything’s fine now, Sweetheart. Don’t cry.” He kissed her brow. “I came as quickly as I could. I heard some of what was said and I’m sorry you had to endure it alone.”

  He spoke as if there was no one else in the room, and made Faith wish there was not. Now their time alone seemed precious.

  “Take your hands off my daughter! If you think, because you have a title, that you may make free with Faith before our eyes, that we will allow her to stay here and bear your bastard—”

  “Papa!” Faith blanched, turned white as snow, and nearly as cold.

  “Lord, Faith, don’t faint on me,” Justin said, leading her to the settee, torn between anger at her parents’ treatment and concern for her. He knelt to chafe her hands. “Drink this,” he said, offering the glass of brandy her father shoved into his hand.

  With a second sip, her colour returned, and though Justin was determined not to brawl with her parents at first meeting, he was angry at the way they treated her. He stood. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but though you may order me to unhand your daughter, I have a right to tend my wife.”

  Satisfied he’d made an impression, Justin nodded. “Pray, be seated so I may sit beside Faith.”

  He wiped her tears with his handkerchief, glad for a chance to calm. “Give me a minute, Sweetheart, and I’ll have you tucked into bed in no time.”

  John Wickham bristled and Justin was sorry for it, but they must be made to understand, in no uncertain terms, that Faith belonged to him now. He kissed her brow, resisting an urge to claim her lips.

  Finally he turned to them. “I understand your shock to find Faith increasing, but we were married last December by your own Vicar Kendrick, who happens to be an old school chum of mine. He kept his own counsel at our urging and is concerned you will not understand his silence. I pray you forgive us all. Secrecy was imperative, several lives being at risk, including your daughter’s.”

  Faith’s father jumped to his feet. “No!”

  Her mother paled. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s no threat to your younger children, else we would not have come. My life is in danger, and now my wife and heir could be in danger too. Faith needs rest, so I’ll hold ex
planations for morning, but please say nothing till we’ve had a chance to talk.”

  Justin was sorry for his anger. It was obvious Faith’s parents loved her. “I want you to know that Faith means everything to me. I don’t know how I existed without her, and I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy. I understand, to some degree, how you must feel, but if you’ll excuse us, it’s been a trying day.”

  They left two bewildered people at the bottom of the stairs, and Faith turned into his arms before their door closed. “They were so upset,” she said. “With everything else to worry about, I never considered their reaction. Thank you for coming. They looked so funny when they saw me. I’m certain I looked quite guilty.”

  He sat her on the bed and removed her shoes and stockings. Then he undid her buttons and eased her dress off. He noted the new fullness of her breasts as her body prepared itself to nurture their child.

  Faith slept before he could fetch her nightrail. He tucked her in and kissed her cheek. “You’re a tease even when you don’t know it,” he whispered.

  From the window-seat, he gazed at the stars and vowed, for the safety of his family, to do two things—bury Justin Devereux and thwart Vincent Devereux.

  His in-laws were at breakfast when Justin went down the next morning. “Your grace,” John said standing. “I hope you will forgive an over-protective father.”

  “Call me Justin, and I will call you John and Cecile, if I may, as Faith suggested. No apologies are necessary on your part. I wondered how I would react if that were Beth, and I realized you must have held yourself in check.”

  Justin explained how Faith saved his life and the danger they faced. “I’d like to be introduced as Faith’s husband, Justin Reddington. He’s an American cousin, and I can carry off the charade, if need be. I do thank you for having us. We will try not to be too much of a burden.”

  “You’re welcome for as long you need,” Cecile said. “Had you sought sanctuary elsewhere, we would have been crushed.”

  Faith came in and kissed her parents. “Thank you, Mama.”

  Justin held her chair. “I thought to let you sleep, but you look well-rested this morning.”

  “I feel wonderful. You’re safe. I’m home, and I’m ravenous.”

  Smiling, Justin piled her plate with sausage and eggs.

  “I’m not expecting a pony, Justin.”

  He stopped. “Are you not? I had hoped….”

  Faith cuffed him and her parents laughed, but Justin was chagrined to be on display after months of privacy. Now several children stopped as one in the doorway. Very much on display.

  “Annie,” Faith shrieked, as she stood and threw her arms around another beautiful young Wickham.

  “Faith, you’re home! I have so much to tell you.” She stepped back and regarded her older sister. “But I expect it’s not near as interesting as what you have to tell me.”

  Faith introduced the young ones as Andy and Lissa, then the twins as Jeremy and Amanda. When she stood behind his chair, Justin was proud to be claimed by Faith. “This is my husband, Justin.”

  “Faith,” Lissa said. “Are you going to have a baby?”

  “Yes,” Faith responded, obviously wary.

  “Freddy Waring said the father places his seed in the mother, and that’s how babies get inside their mothers.” Oblivious to her mother’s gasp, Lissa sat. “I asked him to show me and he said he would. Did you place your seed inside Faith, Justin?”

  Justin strangled behind his napkin.

  “Where the devil…er pardon,” John Wickham said. “Where does this Freddy Waring live?” he demanded.

  “He’s moved to America,” the wide eyed child replied.

  “Praise be,” her father said.

  Faith rose. “I’ll get Beth. She’ll love Andy and Lissa.”

  “Eat,” Justin ordered. “I’ll get her. Mother, make sure she eats.”

  As soon as he was gone, Faith’s family spoke as one and she laughed. “Wait, I’ll tell. Yes, he’s the man I went to care for. We were married in December.” She looked at her mother. “I want very much to be here when my baby is born.”

  Her mother clasped her hand. “I wouldn’t hear of it coming into the world anywhere else.”

  Justin returned, Beth shyly cuddled up to him, until she saw Faith, and she opened her arms. “Mama.”

  Faith’s heart fluttered. “Justin, did you tell her to say call me that?”

  “I told her you were her mama now. She made the choice.”

  Later that day, Justin formally addressed Faith’s parents in a closed parlour. “It’s unfortunate you weren’t present for our wedding, but perhaps you’d like to attend my funeral.”

  He chuckled at their horror. “Can you think of a better way to make a man intent on murder stop trying?”

  So the Fifth Duke of Ainsley’s funeral took place on a drizzly June morning. And though Justin hated the necessity, Faith wrote to Hemsted. “I did all I could for him, but alas, it was not enough. Justin Devereux is dead.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  While a portly Marquis boasted of his grapes and vines, Vincent wondered how he’d tolerated this place so long. He’d wanted to leave weeks ago, but his father-in-law wouldn’t hear of it and he couldn’t afford to cross the rich bastard.

  “If you please, your grace.”

  A footman beside him held a silver salver with a letter on it.

  His companions stood in silence as Vincent opened it.

  It was from Hemsted. ‘I regret to inform you of the death of your brother—’

  Vincent began to shake. ‘…cemetery…Arundel…advise…arrangements…child’s return….sympathies.’

  Victory!

  Vincent wanted to shout…but he must be seen to grieve.

  He lowered himself to a chair. Don’t smile. But he couldn’t help himself, so he bowed his head, and covered his eyes and his triumph.

  Everyone watched. He had become the centre of attention. His favourite place to be.

  So he milked their curiosity, garnered their sympathy…and rejoiced inwardly. That ripe little tart had assured his success by taking Justin on an extended journey. He’d hoped when he heard, that the carriage ride would finish him.

  At first opportunity, he’d thank her in a most pleasurable manner.

  His smile hovered, but happiness would not do. He visualized that which could utterly destroy him, if Justin were well and his wife were penniless. And he succeeded in his goal. Too well. It brought such anguish, his panic rose to the point that he shot to his feet to free himself from the horror.

  The gasp of those assembled added to his anxiety. “My brother,” he said, his voice breaking. “My brother is…dead.” He took a breath, realizing it was true. “I must go home.”

  His pain receded. It was only an act. He had what he wanted.

  A short while later, in his personal carriage, Vincent finally shook off his agitation. “We must make haste,” he told his wife. “I must see to my niece.”

  “You are also guardian of the money?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He smiled into the darkness.

  “Ah, but you must be heartbroken. I am so sorry, mon amour.” Aline’s kiss became an outlet for his rapture. For the first time in months, their passion stemmed from happiness rather than hate, and they did not wait to reach fulfilment.

  Once they arrived at his wife’s home, his home now, Vincent took her again. Perhaps he had not made a bad marriage after all. This had been the best sexual experience since his brother’s wife, the fair Catherine, who, it turned out, loved her husband.

  Damn it, Justin had always had it all, wealth, title, power, women…a father who wanted him. He’d never found himself alone, abandoned, desolate…at least until recently. Even then he’d been senseless, so he couldn’t have known. Could he?

  Had he suffered? All those months? His brother. His first playmate. Suddenly Vincent recalled a scene—twittering birds, Justin rolling on the floor laughing.
Vincent’s chest tightened. And fast upon the tide of memory came sorrow. Guilt.

  Catherine and Justin, both dead.

  A horrific trepidation rushed Vincent.

  It mocked him through a sleepless night, dogged his journey to Calais the next morning, and it wailed in the wind as he crossed the Channel toward England.

  During a walk through the village, Justin met Squire Kennedy’s son, him proud as a peacock, because Faith was his, and big with their child. He was still swaggering ten minutes later as they approached a copse. “Look,” Faith said, eyes sparkling. “This is where I came to dream. Just move these branches. Careful or you’ll get scratched.”