The Wicked Lady (Blackhaven Brides Book 2)

by Mary Lancaster

  But even as the blood sang in her ears, Tristram seized Dickie by the cravat, yanked him away from her, and punched him full in the face.

  Dickie fell back against the wall, stunned, no doubt mentally as well as physically. “Why, you, you…” he spluttered as blood dripped from his nose.

  Kate barely noticed. She couldn’t take her eyes off Tristram who looked almost as white as Dickie. His gaze locked with hers in a hundred silent messages. Her throat closed up. They might have been the only two people in the room.

  But they weren’t. Her father let out an urgent cry an instant before she saw Dickie lunge. He’d slung himself off the wall, straight at her. Grant yanked her behind him, but Dickie hadn’t been charging at her. He dropped to the floor, seizing her fallen reticule and ripping it open even as he leapt to his feet once more. In his hand was her familiar little pistol, and it was pointed straight at Tristram Grant.

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered. She’d only brought it from habit, because it was a familiar sight in her reticule, not from fear. Grant had dismissed Tugg and his associates. She hadn’t felt in any danger, and yet now the man he’d saved her from was about to shoot the man she loved beyond all reason, beyond everything before or to come.

  “You struck me,” Dickie uttered.

  “I did. An eye for an eye, Dickie. By biblical justice, I should kill you.”

  “Then it’s as well I hold the gun!”

  “You’re insane!” Kate’s father exclaimed.

  Dickie laughed. With a cry, Kate tried to get around Tristram, but he held her back, behind him. They all knew Dickie would shoot. In was in his eyes, which didn’t waver, even when the door burst open and Lord Vernon exploded into the room.

  There seemed to be no time for him to take in what was happening. Certainly, he didn’t pause, just took another smooth leap straight between Dickie and Tristram.

  “Gil!” Tristram started forward in fear, but Vernon reached, throwing up Dickie’s arm just as the little pistol exploded.

  Vernon’s fingers grasped the short barrel and in another instant, he had wrested it from Dickie.

  Beyond the open door came a scream and several shouts, an upsurge of voices. The orchestra stopped.

  Kate could hear Wickenden’s voice, calming people. “A bit of an accident, Mrs. Winslow. I wouldn’t go in just yet. Let me see to it for you.”

  And then the door closed once more, this time with Wickenden and Cornelius on the inside.

  “You’re bleeding,” Tristram said shakily.

  “Well,” Vernon said. “No one gets to shoot my little brother.” And he sat down quite suddenly on the floor. Kate ran to him.

  “Fetch Dr. Lampton,” Tristram flung at Cornelius as he dropped down beside Vernon and Kate.

  “I’m fine, damn it,” Vernon protested as Cornelius rushed out again. “I’d watch that bastard, though. Sorry, Kate,” he added.

  “I’m watching him,” Wickenden said grimly.

  Dickie, in fact, had sunk into the nearest armchair, his head in his hands. He appeared to be shaking. No wonder. He’d tried to commit murder. In public. He really did seem to have lost all self-control.

  “Idiot,” Grant said, grasping his brother’s good shoulder while easing his coat off the other. “I’m not worth that.”

  Vernon smiled ruefully. “Kate would appear to disagree.”

  Grant ignored that. “Thank God. He just caught you as you pushed the gun upward. It’s only nicked the skin. I don’t think it got the bone, but Lampton will check it over and make sure.”

  Over Grant’s head, Vernon met Kate’s anxious gaze. “It doesn’t matter though. I heard some of what Dickie said, and he’s right about one thing. We can’t avoid the scandal, any of it. It will all be added to and speculated over. All we can do is limit it, and for that, you need to marry me. I’ll call the child Crowmore’s or mine, whichever you prefer, but it’s me you need to marry. Because of the child. Tell her, Tris. You know it’s true.”

  Tristram turned his head toward her. His face was white, his eyes anguished as he tried to consider what was best for his brother’s child. His lips quirked, though it didn’t quite amount to a smile. As clearly as if he spoke the words, he told her he would not choose for her, as he so easily could. To him, this had to be her decision, and it was time she made it.

  She did.

  “He’s right, Katherine,” her father said in a strangled voice. “You have to marry Vernon. As soon as possible.”

  This had gone far enough.

  “Why are you all so obsessed with my unborn child?” she demanded. “Do you imagine I would ever have been foolish enough to deliver a child into Crowmore’s power? There was never any possibility of a child. Not Vernon’s since he was never my lover, and certainly not Crowmore’s. Because Dickie’s frightened of something doesn’t make it fact. I am not and never have been enceinte.”

  They all gaped at her.

  Tristram began to smile in earnest.

  Dickie took his head out of his hands and stared at her.

  Her father said, “Then why the devil didn’t you tell us all this in the first place?”

  “Because my marriage was none of your business. You, Father, made that clear a long time ago. Why bother when no one would believe me? Also, I’m perverse.”

  “Kate, you idiot, it nearly got you killed,” Tristram said shakily.

  “Oh, there was always more than that to get me killed. Even without a child, Dickie wanted back all the settlements my husband made on me when we married. The Crowmore estate does little more than pay Dickie’s debts. He needs the money settled on me in order to live as he’s accustomed to. Don’t you, Dickie?”

  Dickie sneered and stood up. “Well, you might have the money, Cousin, but you aren’t going to enjoy it. I think it’s time your hosts learned exactly who they’re entertaining in this ridiculous little town. And trust me, word will get back to London.”

  He made a charge for the door.

  “Keith,” Grant warned, starting after him. But to Kate’s amazement, Wickenden merely opened the door politely and bowed him out.

  “They don’t know him,” Kate said uneasily. “They don’t know who fired the shots. Whatever he’s going to say will cause damage. Who is the magistrate? Is he here at the ball?”

  “Magistrate?” Dr. Lampton said, striding in with his familiar bag and looking around for his patient. “Our host, Mr. Winslow.”

  Kate could already hear Dickie’s voice raised, addressing his hosts in a voice loud enough to be heard by the whole company, which had again fallen silent. Kate wondered dully if Mrs. Winslow would hate her more for ruining the ball or for what Dickie was saying about her, confirming all Blackhaven’s worst suspicions.

  “…all know she was dragged from her lover’s bed to receive the news of her husband’s death!”

  “You’ll live,” Dr. Lampton was telling Vernon behind her. “But you must keep that wound clean. I’ll bandage it for you now and check on it again tomorrow. I’d advise you to rest, for you’ve had a shock and lost some blood besides.”

  “Thanks,” Tristram said in relief. “It was damned impressive. I didn’t know he could move so fast.”

  Kate, glad of their banter, tilted her chin and did what she always did—faced the storm head-on and alone. She had to put distance between herself and Tristram Grant.

  She walked out of the open door as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Dickie, in the middle of the room, was warming to his theme, for his appalled audience seemed spellbound by his salacious revelations. No one noticed her at first as she weaved her way among the other guests. She kept her gaze on Dickie, a carefully amused expression on her face as his crude insults battered her, making her cringe inside, no longer just for herself, but for the man who loved her against all the odds.

  “Would you really accept such a woman into your homes, allow her to contaminate your daughters—and sons!—with her ill-bred promiscuity?” Dick
ie inquired.

  He was too animated right now to resemble the slug Cornelius called him. In fact, his eyes were too bright, and spittle sprayed from his mouth as he talked. The words spilled from him like the poison he’d tried to pour into her glass, years of frustration and hatred, intensified a hundredfold by his humiliation tonight. By his final failure. He’d played and lost, and he meant to ruin her irrevocably, drag her down with him on his way to perdition.

  The worst of it was that he didn’t appear to be performing. He might have been imparting some kindly-meant warning to his hostess, except that his voice was raised a little with passion, and the ballroom had fallen silent to hear.

  “Dear God, ma’am,” Dickie said sorrowfully, “she has no less than three lovers at the very least, in this town alone. In your house this very evening.”

  They began to notice her. More and more eyes swiveled toward her, both men and women, some embarrassed, some angry or appalled, contemptuous or wickedly amused.

  She’d seen it all before, in London, when she’d walked into the first soiree after Crowmore’s death. Everyone, even those she’d regarded as friends, who’d accepted her help or given theirs in the past, had turned from her with just those expressions, giving her the cut direct. It had been a humiliating mistake. The world had known she and Crowmore had loathed each other and yet she was meant to pretend grief at his death.

  Honesty hadn’t helped her then and it wouldn’t now. All she could do was keep this to herself. She couldn’t think of the future, the dazzling happiness she’d almost achieved with Tristram before Dickie started pulling it down around her ears. There should have been a way to stop him, but it was too late now.

  His eyes met hers across the room. He actually smiled with triumph, and delivered the killer blow. “She’s only here in Blackhaven to give birth to her illegitimate child out of the public eye. She means to pass it off as the late Lord Crowmore’s.”

  It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. That the lie would be called when no child was born. The damage would have been long done.

  Holding her gaze, he began again. “Don’t allow this trollop, this—”

  “My lord!” Mrs. Winslow’s hand shot up quite suddenly to silence him. “I will hear no more. I beg leave to inform you, you are vilely traducing a friend of mine. A friend of all of us in the vicinity of Blackhaven.”

  Kate’s lips fell apart. There was nothing she could do about it.

  Mr. Winslow strode over to stand by his wife. “And you have the gall to do it in my house, where you were not even invited, using language quite unfit for the occasion. You, sir, despite your noble title, are no gentleman, and you are not welcome here. Or anywhere in Blackhaven, I daresay. My servants will show you out. Though they may call upon you in the morning concerning other matters, such as the firing of a pistol. Good evening, sir.”

  As several liveried servants moved in on him, a hand brushed against Kate’s. Grant’s.

  “How long have you been there?” she murmured.

  “All the time.”

  “You fool,” she whispered. “I was trying to save you.”

  “There was no need. Wickenden was right. Blackhaven loves you.”

  “I don’t know why.” Suddenly she wanted to cry. His fingers curled around hers and she clung to them.

  Dickie was backing away from the servants, his face wild and hunted.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Winslow spoke into the growing hubbub of noise. Dickie turned and bolted up the steps and through the arch, the servants at his tail. Wickenden, Cornelius, Bernard, and several other gentlemen followed discreetly. “We apologize unreservedly for what you were forced to hear. I’m afraid through shock we let him continue too long. Lady Crowmore.” He bowed to her. “We particularly apologize to you for such insult given under our roof.”

  Grant released her fingers, gave her a little push, and she almost stumbled forward under everyone’s gaze. It came to her that some of the anger and contempt she’d seen had been aimed not at her but at Dickie’s disgusting tirade.

  “I hope you will not hold it against us,” Mrs. Winslow said with a slightly nervous smile.

  Kate swallowed, walking up to her with her hand held out. “On the contrary. I’m so glad to have such friends.” And as Mrs. Winslow took her hand, the tears started, and the older lady put her arm around her. “There, my dear, you have had a terrible experience, I think. Come with me, now. Gillie?”

  And Gillie was there, on her other side, helping her out of the ballroom and into the privacy of an empty room upstairs where she could cry her eyes out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grant felt unspeakably proud of his flock for taking Kate’s side. He had been too eager to protect her, but Wickenden, or perhaps Gillie, had known that Blackhaven society would close ranks around her. Even those who disliked her or her reputation, were appalled by Dickie’s nasty performance and couldn’t help but feel sorry for anyone so publicly vilified. More than that, her hard-clinging fingers, her very breathing had told him how tightly she was wound, how everything that had happened since Crowmore’s death, and in all the abusive years of her marriage, had come to the fore, crying for an outlet she refused to give it.

  It had hurt not to be the one to hold her, but some instinct had told him she was better with Mrs. Winslow and Gillie. Perhaps she could weep out the old hurt before truly letting him in to make her happy.

  But as he ran out into the hall to find out where Dickie had gone, her face swam constantly before his eyes. The way she’d looked at him after he’d knocked Dickie down, her heart in her eyes.

  Wickenden strolled through the front door, several servants behind him.

  “Where did he go?” Grant asked. “Have they caught him?”

  “No, he’d left his carriage waiting, for apparently he hadn’t meant to stay. He just jumped in it and drove off. Bernard and some of the others have ridden after him to see where he goes, but his horses aren’t fit for much more. He’ll have to stop at the hotel. I’m sure Winslow will arrest him in the morning. Which won’t stop him spewing his filth in the dock or anywhere else. Newspapers will have a field day. But I believe it’s he who’ll be the laughing stock. Public opinion will turn back toward Kate.”

  “She can’t stay at the hotel tonight, then,” Grant said firmly, latching on to the immediate.

  “Absolutely not. I’m sure Gillie will bring her back with us.”

  “He’ll need to be watched,” Grant added, frowning. “He’s unstable and he sees Kate as the root of all his problems.”

  “She’ll be fine with us,” Wickenden soothed.

  Grant cast him a quick smile. “Am I being too—ah—mother hen?”

  “Not in the circumstances.” Wickenden laid a hand on his shoulder and lowered his voice. “You know what you’re taking on with her?”

  “I believe so,” Grant replied steadily.

  “She’s wild and willful as well as fun, but her heart is true. And Grant … Gillie believes there was cruelty in her marriage.”

  “So do I.”

  Wickenden’s fingers tightened painfully. “Christ. And I didn’t see. Nobody saw. You will be good to her, my friend?”

  It wasn’t quite a question, but he must have seen in Grant’s face that it required no answer.

  Wickenden grinned and dropped his hand. “In a million years, I could never have imagined her with a curate.”

  “Ah well, I’m not just any curate, am I?” Grant said lightly.

  “No,” Wickenden agreed. “That, you’re not.”

  From the ballroom came the strains of music once more. As they re-entered, couples were already forming for the next dance. Leaving Wickenden to report to Mr. Winslow, Grant went toward the anteroom in search of his wounded brother.

  He met Vernon emerging from the doorway, his arm in a sling, his coat dashingly loose around his wounded shoulder. He and Cornelius seemed to be comparing wound stories, in which contest Vernon was not best please
d to be coming off second best.

  Behind them, Lampton shrugged his shoulders at Grant. “I hope you have no more brothers.”

  Grant sighed. “You know. I thought you would work it out.”

  “My dear fellow, everyone knows. They’re not hiding it.”

  “My father will explode,” Grant observed. He didn’t greatly care. “Thanks for taking care of him. Both of them!”

  “Pleasure, dear boy.”

  Mrs. Winslow appeared in the entrance arch, searching, until her gaze found Grant. She descended at once, coming directly for him.

  “More patients?” Lampton asked. He seemed very good natured about losing his leisure time in work.

  “Possibly,” Grant said worriedly, going forward to meet his hostess. “Mrs. Winslow, how does Lady Crowmore?”

  “She was a little overcome,” Mrs. Winslow confessed. “And who can blame her? However, she is recovering quickly. I left her with Gillie—um Lady Wickenden. But she is asking for you. I believe it would make her comfortable to return to the ballroom on your arm.”

  “Doesn’t she wish to go home?” Lampton asked in surprise.

  Grant smiled in spite of himself. Not his Kate. She never gave in. Even asking for Grant’s support was rare.

  “Apparently not,” Mrs. Winslow said, preening slightly as though she took it as a complement to her ball. “She claims she will be ready to return in five minutes. How is your patient, Dr. Lampton?”

  “Young and strong, and he will mend,” Lampton said.

  Grant left them to it and rejoined his brothers, now the center of a little group of mainly young men demanding to know what had occurred and who had shot Vernon. Both thrived inevitably on the attention, although they turned it into a joke, belittling Vernon’s heroism and dismissing Dickie Crowmore as crazy.

  When Vernon’s erratic gaze fell on Grant, he eased himself away from the group with a joke and joined him. “How’s Kate?”

  “Recovering, I think. She was very touched by the Winslows’ support.”

  “Surprised me,” Vernon admitted. “I heard they cut her dead in London. Don’t look at me like that,” he added, scowling. “I heard your last lecture and I haven’t come to quarrel with you. In fact, I’ve got something for you. Come back in here for a minute.”