Captive Scoundrel
Page 23
Vincent knew he was nearly out of control, and he tried to think rationally. Marcus and Carry could be in earnest in their offer of friendship. He could be mistaken in his distrust.
Perhaps Reddington had gone to Killashandra, had lustily taken the wench—any man would—and they’d been forced to marry.
It could have happened. Perhaps.
God knew he’d lusted after her. He couldn’t bloody well blame Reddington. He only wished he’d got there first.
In the public room, Carry pointed his fork and chewed thoughtfully. “Talks his way out every time,” he said, lifting his empty tankard, slamming it down and going on. “Too careful, no matter how corned, salted and pickled he is. Fell on his face before he uttered your name Thursday, and even then, he only wept over his dear brother going to his just reward.”
Justin raised his tankard. “To brother’s just rewards.”
“I think he’s primed and set to bury it,” Carry said. “We need to find a way to catch him out. Deliberate when he talks, y’know, like a man speaks to his wife when he’s been to his bit of fluff.”
Justin smiled inwardly. He would never look at another woman again. Just thinking about Faith made his heart ache for the way they’d parted. He wanted to go home to her, tell her he was sorry, make passionate love—”
“Are you hearing anything I’m telling you, man? He’s got that look again, Carry. Never thought I’d see the day. Justin Devereux, moon-eyed. Makes a man sink into a decline, it does.”
Marcus motioned to the tavern wench to refill his tankard, and he watched her with speculation till she left. “You make me want to find someone of my own to moon over. What’s Faith like?”
Justin grinned. “I’m caught. Guess you can tell.” He chuckled. “Her eyes are like emeralds, but with more facets. Ebony hair like spun silk. And when I touch her, she’s all warm and willing.” He cleared his throat and shrugged.
“Poppycock,” Carry said. “Lust, pure and simple.”
Justin laughed. “You’re a cynic. I was too.”
“I envy you,” Marcus said. “You travelled a bloody long road, damn near died, but you’ve got something a lot of men dream of. I’d like to find a wife that’d made me act all calf eyed.” He straightened and gave a low whistle. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
Justin turned. “Bloody hell!” He went to greet Marcus’s apparition.
“Justin.” Faith stepped into his arms. “You’re safe.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
That took the bluster out of him, and he kissed his wife until his son let out a wail from between them.
“Figures she’s yours,” Justin heard Marcus mutter as he took Brian from Faith. “I should think you’d be used to coming between us,” he whispered, kissing Brian’s brow. He turned to Marcus. “You’re not dreaming.”
Faith caressed his face, his arm, his chest. “You’re all right. I was so frightened.” She unfastened her cape and loosened Brian’s blanket. “Vincent is on his way to London.”
“No he’s not. He’s here. We’re living in the same house.”
Marcus prodded them, a hand at their backs. “Come along old boy; you too my dear. Making a spectacle of yourselves. Not good when in hiding. Bespoke a small parlour. Right this way.”
Vincent extracted his handkerchief from his waistcoat and mopped his brow. He took a great gulp of air to lessen the vice around his chest, but the constriction worsened.
It took ten minutes to breathe easy. Still, his hands shook.
The palsied trembling had begun the moment Miss Faith Wickham had called the familiar man, Justin, and stepped into his strong, healthy embrace. And he wasn’t Justin Reddington, either.
The bastard lived. Lives!
But not for long. Vincent took another calming breath and a large draught of ale and began to feel in control again.
For a while, he considered possible moves, and, eventually, he smiled. Now that he knew his enemy, he could plan his strategy.
This time, he would not fail.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The door to the small private parlour shut. “Thanks Marcus,” Justin said, handing Brian over. “Hold your godson a minute.”
“But…but, but….”
A wiggle, a smile, and the tip of his cravat in a tiny mouth, stole the stuttering bluster right out of Marcus Gordon Fitzalan.
When Justin was certain Brian was secure in his friend’s arms, he took Faith into his own. “Remind me to beat you when we get home.” He stole her response with a kiss meant to make up for every harsh word and moment apart. “Faith, I’m sorry for the things I said, the way I left you. If I could go back and—”
She put her fingers to his lips. “It’s finished.”
He nipped her earlobe. “God, how I missed you.”
“Your friends will be embarrassed,” Faith said pulling away.
Marcus shook his head, denying embarrassment and fixed her in his delighted gaze. “Faith, did Justin say you have a sister?”
“Later, Marcus,” Justin said. “How did you get here, Faith?”
“Squire Kennedy’s coach and coachman. Jem came, too, and since Vincent doesn’t know him, he’s at your house looking for Harris. “Vincent ordered me here to meet with him. He said if I didn’t come, he’d take Beth away from me, and I was so—”
“Bastard. He thinks I’m dead and he’s still got me by the—”
“Justin!” Carry startled Brian with his shout.
Justin nodded his thanks and turned back to Faith. “What were you saying, Love, before I interrupted?”
Faith fingered a silver button on his waistcoat, paying close attention to the way it fit into, and slid out of its green silk frog. “Well, you needed warning, and you left upset, and I was sorry, and I missed you.” She sighed, her eyes glistening.
Justin was so glad she was here, his knees went weak. She was his, and no one would separate them. To prove it, he slid his hands down her back and pulled her close, until Carry’s cough brought him back to his surroundings.
When Justin looked up, his friends faced the wall cooing over Brian. “Thanks again. You can turn around now.” He hugged Faith one last time and set her away from him. “Tell me, my would be saviour, where did you intend to stay?”
“At my uncle’s in Cheapside. Come with us. I’m frightened Vincent will see you and….” Tears filled her eyes.
“My brother does not care about his servants. He doesn’t even see them. I’m safe, but you’re not. I want that coach to turn around and take you back to Arundel.”
“But what about Beth and Vincent’s threat?”
Vincent’s reign as master of our fates is over. He has no say in Beth’s life. It’s time to put a stop to all of it, now.
Brian cried in earnest, and Justin had only to look at Faith to know it was time for his son’s feeding. He led her to the hearth and turned a chair away from the company.
When Faith put Brian to her breast, his son’s fury became ecstasy. And with the lusty suckling, he and Faith shared a knowing look. He kissed her, then his son’s plump cheek. “Beth’s with your mother?”
She nodded. “She misses you. She lost you once and she’s frightened. I had to promise, more than once, that you’d return soon, and I don’t want to break that promise.
“You won’t.” He returned to his friends. Marcus examined the ceiling and Carry seemed mesmerized by his boots, just because they shared a room with a nursing woman? But Justin decided to wait to tease them later.
Carry nodded toward the hearth. “Can’t send her back today. Probably exhausted. Come to my place. Big house. Two of you.” He cleared his throat. “Spend some … er … time with y’wife. Room for the babe and all.”
“I’m staying there, too,” Marcus said.
“Thanks Carry. They’ll be safe there, with the two of you, and I’ll feel better.”
Carry nodded. “Settled.”
“That was quick,” Justin said.
“His schedule is off. He wasn’t hungry, simply in need of comfort.” Her look said she too wanted comforting. He put his arm around her. “We’ll stay at Carry’s tonight. Marcus’ll get Jem and Harris. All right Marcus?”
His fellow scoundrel nodded. “Happy to.” He cracked open the door to the common room and snapped it shut again. “Bloody goddamn blighter! Vincent just walked in the front door.”
Justin tightened his hold on Faith. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
“I don’t like it,” Carry said. “Never knew Vincent to slum it. You think this is where he and Catherine used to—” He paled. “Sorry, Justin, Faith. Fools babble and all that.”
“It’s all right Carry. See where he is now, will you?”
He looked again. “Getting propositioned by the wench that fair dipped her—” He coughed. “On his way up the stairs now.”
“Good.” Justin pulled Faith’s hood over her head. “Here, hold the baby under your cloak.” He fastened the pistachio cape. “Time for you to go.” He kissed her quick and hard. “Carry, get them out of here. I’ll meet you at your house.”
“Come with us,” Faith pleaded.
“No. If Vincent saw us together, he’d recognize me and it’d be finished, to our detriment. Much as I want to be with you, you’re safer without me. Carry, leave first to make sure all’s clear. When I tell you, Faith, you march right out that door. Be calm and keep your head down. Marcus will be watching.”
“Now’s the time,” Carry said and left.
Justin kissed Faith quickly and pushed her. “Go. Now!”
She looked back once, hugged Brian close, and went.
Marcus watched a moment, shut the door and smiled. “They’re clear. I’ll go check the stairs, then it’s our turn.”
“I don’t give a bloody damn what happens to me, I just want Faith and Brian safe.”
“They will be.” He checked the common room again. “Wait, the wench Vincent followed up the stairs is back out there. Stay here. I’ll see if I can find out where Vincent is.”
Justin paced with the same frustration as when he’d paced in his chair the night Faith dined with Vincent. As then, reminding himself that an ill-timed appearance could jeopardize everyone he loved, he groaned and swore. If anything happened to them….
Marcus rushed in. “Vincent went out the back door about the time Faith went out the front.”
“NO!” Justin ran.
Outside…chaos.
Imagining carriages and cliffs all over again, Justin pushed his way through a chattering throng in the keeping room. He ignored two men being unbound in the centre of them and barrelled through to the street. Empty. He spun on his heels, sick, adrift.
When Carry shouted his name, dread sizzled through him.
Stepping from the crush, Carry, hands bound, accelerated Justin’s fear. “Faith? Brian?” The horror in Carry’s eyes pierced Justin with stark reality, alarming and calming at once. He was no good to them if he was frantic. He released Carry’s lapels, his hands shaking so much, he could barely untie the rope.
Carry apologized, chafed his wrists, apologized again.
He must mistake raw fear for fury, yet Justin hadn’t the time to sidestep. “Tell me.”
“Put ‘er in the coach, gave directions, and just like that, the coachman here….” He indicated a wounded stranger. “Fell at my feet.” He shook his head in apology. “Got hit from behind.”
Justin swallowed the anguish clogging his throat. “Find Faith’s brother and see him safe, will you? Marcus, come with me.” He grabbed Carry’s arm. “You did your best.”
Faith regarded Vincent across from her as the speeding coach whisked them away. She knew not where they travelled, but it was far away from Justin. Perhaps forever.
Cold eyes, bruised and sunken by depravity, examined her with such bone-deep perusal, instinct warned her to mask her panic.
Though she could not measure Vincent’s state of mind at this moment, she knew she and Brian were in the gravest danger, and as if he sensed it, her babe stirred and whimpered. She must be strong for his sake, and for Beth and Justin.
Justin had already travelled a long, dark road from death, to claim her once; surely he could find her now, among the living.
Brian’s whimpers progressed to a disenchanted wail.
Vincent’s steel gray eyes impaled her. “Feed him. I want to watch.”
Faith was unable to check her shudder. “He’s not hungry.”
His smile profane, Vincent’s laugh iced her heart. “I would have liked to watch, too, while you took your pleasure of a dying man to conceive his son. Too bad my brother was too ill to…ah…participate. Was it your ride killed him?” His obscenity incited him to raucous laughter. He laughed so long that for the first time in her life, Faith considered, nay wanted—despite her healing instincts and with full cognizance of the sin—to do murder.
As Brian’s fussing duelled with Vincent’s mirth, she began to suspect that she might conquer Vincent’s power if she denied it. And since starving her son would be like affirming it, she attempted to feed him under cover of her cape.
Vincent caught her movement, his sudden silence and hot eyes sending prickles through her. “Take off your cloak,” he ordered.
The prickles froze in her veins and expanded painfully.
Vincent leaned forward, and the instant Faith lowered her eyes to conceal her terror, he snatched her son from her arms. Her involuntary scream startled Brian, making him cry in earnest. But when she reached for him, Vincent pretended to drop him.
The more Faith begged, the hotter Vincent’s look.
When she lunged for Brian, Vincent’s boot to her stomach cut her breath.
With a foul grin, barely holding Brian under his little arms, Vincent raised her son, until his head touched the carriage roof.
Brian not only stopped crying, he wiggled and cooed, enjoying the ride. That seemed to startle and unsettle Vincent, and as if he couldn’t bear such joy, he silenced it by releasing one of Brian’s arms, dangling and frightening him.
Faith screamed and screamed.
“Bare your breast!” he shouted. “Bare it and prepare to feed him, else I drop him. Do it now!”
Faith scrabbled to untie her cloak, her hands shaking so hard, she could barely unbutton her bodice. When it was undone, her face aflame, Faith lowered the fabric to expose herself. She would do anything—Anything!—to protect her child.
The icy air on her breast became her enemy—if she did not know by the feel of it, she would know by the look in Vincent’s eyes exactly when her nipple budded, and she shuddered.
Seeming calmed by the sight, Vincent lowered and cradled her son, smoothing a slanted brow, fingering a dark, baby curl, before giving him back.
Once she had him, for a wild, crazy second, Faith considered throwing open the coach door and jumping. But Brian sought her breast so fast, she forced herself to allow the physical connection to wash over and calm her, closing her eyes to thank God for Brian safe in her arms again.
He suckled greedily as always. How could she have thought to do this quietly, even under cover of her cloak? He made such lusty little sounds when he nursed.
“If I had not been certain of Justin’s miraculous resurrection before seeing your child, I am now.” Vincent’s words opened her eyes and pulled her attention to himself once again. “However did you manage it?” he asked reaching toward her—to touch her breast, she feared. And she prayed for the strength to do what must be done for her son. “Your plan was brilliant,” she said in a rush.
As she’d hoped, her words stopped him.
“How was I brilliant?” He sat back against his seat in anticipation of her answer.
“The poison,” she said. “Disguised as medicine, and someone to administer it while you were in F
rance. Very clever.”
Vincent’s smile turned to a scowl. “Then why didn’t it work?”
“Because every time I was late giving Justin his medicine—”
“Miss Wickham!” he shouted, sitting forward. “I told you my brother’s health would be in jeopardy, his very life at risk, should you dose him even a few minutes late.” He shook his head with what appeared to be genuine sorrow and deep disappointment. “I believed I could trust you. How late were you?”