Lords Of Scandal Boxed Set

by Tanya Wilde

  “She married me, did she not?”

  Her uncle and Bloomington stared at him in contemplation. Did they believe him? At least Anastacia was safe.

  “How do you know she left you?” Bloomington finally asked.

  “She left a note, I burned it,” Sebastian nodded to the fire where the remnants of the letter had burned to black ash. “I’ve no idea where she is since she did not think to inform me. Regardless of her reasons, the marriage has been consummated. Legally, your niece is mine.”

  “Until you die, that is,” Sheffield spat.

  Then, like some brilliant, unexpected storm, rage and incredulity flooded his veins, though he kept his mask firmly in place. Sebastian realized Sheffield could not fathom that a woman possessed the means to think for herself.

  Did he honestly believe if Sebastian died, Anastacia’s fortune reverted back to him? He could not be that dense. Did he truly think that with Sebastian gone, he could force Anastacia to marry Bloomington? The man had sorely mistaken his niece. And Sebastian. Neither Sheffield or Bloomington would ever get their hands on Anastacia’s fortune—Sebastian had made certain of it.

  “I die, I die.”

  “Why would she not have informed you of her destination?” Bloomington asked.

  “I would imagine she did not trust me not to haul her pretty behind back to where she belonged,” the words came out rather bitingly.

  “Hah! She always had little brains, that one. No matter, you will die tonight, and I will tear this place apart for her.”

  “As I said, she left me.”

  “Yes, I heard you the first time, but you could be lying.”

  Sebastian stiffened, not liking where this talk was heading but helpless to stop it. It did not matter whether he died tonight; he had made certain to secure Anastacia’s future. She would never want for anything. But he would prefer to live, given the option.

  “Tie him up,” Sheffield said to Bloomington, and with two pistols trained on him, Sebastian had no choice but to let the fat prick push him into a chair and bind him.

  Where the hell is Dalziel?

  Sebastian had no intention of going to his grave tonight, but after this was over, he’d damn well find his wife and order her never to leave him again. He’d even explain that without her his life had less meaning than a burned out candle, and perhaps she might just listen to him.

  “I do not care what you do to me, you sick bastard, you will never get her,” Sebastian growled, pulling against his bonds.

  “We shall see. Bloomington’s toys often prove to loosen even the most stubborn of lips.”

  And in that moment, Sebastian prayed Anastacia was far, far away from here.

  Chapter 15

  Far away turned out to be not-so-far-away after all.

  Anastacia stood in the dark shadows of the night watching in horror as the men she feared and loathed most in the world entered her home. She had gotten as far as the outskirts of London before ordering the coach driver to stop. The world must have altered its course because she could go no further. She had paced the dirt road, ripe with indecision. She could not leave her husband—that much was clear. But why?

  She came to two conclusions in her deep reflection. One, her feet would never carry her far from Sebastian—apparently they simply refused to obey her—and two, she did not wish to leave him, even if he continued keeping her at bay. Thus, the only option that remained was to fight for him.

  And to fight for him, she’d have to seduce him back into her bed and make him care for her. No small feat, but then, when had she ever shied away from a challenge? No indeed, no obstacle was too great to overcome.

  Running away was no solution. It was cowardly—something Anastacia hadn’t wanted to admit when she penned the note to Sebastian. She had all but convinced herself it was the best thing to do, which if her heartbeat was anything to go on, had been foolish.

  So she had ordered the coach to take her home.

  But on her return, she had hesitated to enter the house, standing in the shadows like some stalking lurker, afraid to enter her own home. Her husband would have read her note by now. Would he be surprised by her return? Happy or indifferent? Angry, even?

  And that was how she came to witness her uncle and Bloomington entering the house. They were the real lurkers, not to mention sly, conniving, and clearly up to no good.

  A shiver of terror tore through her.

  Of course, her first instinct was to flee, but Anastacia was tired of running. Her uncle was cunning and Bloomington, cruel. Sebastian may have had a glimpse of what they could do, but he did not know the true extent of their depravity. And she would not allow him to suffer through it firsthand.

  Her husband had risked everything for her. She would not let him come to harm. Her world had changed because of him, but she had changed, as well. She was free. And now, she was furious. She would not allow them to get away with their cruelty any longer. She would not cower. This time, she would fight.

  With some stealthy sneaking of her own, she snuck through the back entrance that led through the kitchen, her heart hammering in her chest. It was late, and all the servants must have retired already.

  Voices traveled through the halls, coming from her husband’s study. She heard the rough timbre of Sebastian’s voice, then the unfeeling one of her uncle and the deafening silence of Bloomington’s cruel smirk.

  They had come for her, and they would kill her husband if she fell into their clutches. She was certain of it.

  But what to do?

  She needed a plan—a solid one.

  Scampering up to the door, she peeked inside. Her husband was tied to a chair.

  “I do not care what you do to me, you sick bastard, you will never get her,” Sebastian growled at her uncle.

  “We shall see. Bloomington’s toys often prove to loosen even the most stubborn of lips.”

  Anastacia’s heart stopped at the mention of Bloomington’s “toys.”

  Absolutely not.

  She wouldn’t let Bloomington touch Sebastian.

  As if he sensed her presence, Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the door, and their eyes locked. At first, his eyes widened in stunned revelation, but his incredulity was quickly replaced with red-hot anger. Sebastian was furious with her, of that she harbored no doubt. The fire in his eyes promised retribution.

  He fought against the restraints of his bonds, shooting her a glare that she translated as get the hell away from here or else you will have worse things to contend with than your uncle—me.

  His struggles drew the attention of both men, who stood, whispering by the fire.

  This was not what she had expected.

  At least he was shooting daggers at her. Anger was an emotional response, right? It was certainly better than indifference. Besides, she had some anger of her own, but she’d deal with that later. Because if she were to survive the next moments of her life and save her husband’s, she would need her wits about her.

  “Well, there’s no sense in delaying the inevitable,” her uncle said. “Bloomington, retrieve your instruments and let us have some fun with our friend here.”

  Anastacia watched in horror as Bloomington’s mouth widened into a toothy grin. She scampered away from the door as he turned and marched in her direction. Sending up a silent prayer he did not spot her, she darted into the nearest room and plastered herself against the wall. He stalked right past her, and a quiet breath of relief whooshed from her lungs.

  She began calculating. If Bloomington were out of the way, there would just be her uncle to contend with. They stood a chance to defeat him together, but with his crony in the way, their chances were much slimmer.

  Anastacia nodded to herself, knowing now what needed to be done: she needed to eliminate a key player from the board. And when he did not return, her uncle would investigate, giving Sebastian a chance to free himself from his bonds.

  With her decision made, she disappeared into the dark in pursuit of Bloomin
gton.

  ***

  Sebastian sat in stunned horror as he realized his wife had just set out in pursuit of one of his captors. Attuned to her now as he was, he had glimpsed her small shadow pass the door, heading in Bloomington’s direction. What the hell was wrong with her? Fear gripped at his throat, threatening to choke him. He was supposed to be the bloody hero. She, on the other hand, was no match against such a big man.

  Sebastian dared not betray his terror, however. Instead, he set forth to work on freeing his hands from their bonds.

  “You surprise me, Blackcress,” the evil one said. “A lecher of report saving my niece and marrying the chit. Those are not the actions of a man hardened by the world.”

  “You know nothing about me,” Sebastian growled.

  “I know you vowed never to marry.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “So you did, which leaves me to conclude you have feelings for my niece.”

  Sebastian shot Sheffield a scowl. One had feelings about one’s food. What he felt for Anastacia surpassed mere feelings.

  And now she had gone after a madman. Did the woman not know he would die if anything happened to her? Of course she did not. He had done a bloody good job at ignoring her the past fortnight.

  “Far more than you have, apparently.”

  Sheffield laughed, giving him a sidelong glance. “I do not trouble myself with matters of the heart. It clouds the judgment. Besides, I desire power. She’s my mistress—always has been the case.”

  “So it’s true then that your nephew’s death and your own brother’s passing was no accident.”

  “What would they have accomplished with this title? Nothing compared to what I will do with it. But after Jonathan’s death, Marcus suspected foul play and changed his will, leaving a fortune’s worth of wealth to his daughter. A woman! I cannot have that.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Yes, curse me all you like; it matters little, for you will die tonight. And it will be a most painful death at that. Then once your little wife, my accursed niece, hears of your ill fate, she will come to heel or suffer the same.”

  Sebastian hid a smile, knowing Sheffield sorely misjudged him and Anastacia. Still, his heart broke for his wife. If not for this man standing before him, she would not have suffered so greatly or lost so much.

  “How long have you planned your family’s demise?” Sebastian asked just as one of the ropes came loose.

  “Since the day an heir was born.”

  Bloody hell.

  “It appears you have gotten all you wished for.”

  “All but one little thing,” Sheffield murmured, casting a frown at the door. “What the devil is Bloomington doing?”

  “Perhaps he had a run in with my wife.”

  He meant only to taunt Sheffield with his low-toned words. It worked better than he hoped.

  “What! Have you lied to me this entire time?” Sheffield roared.

  Sebastian offered his captor a devilish smile and shrugged.

  In a fit of rage, Sheffield lunged for Sebastian and just in time his bonds came loose. Sebastian shot out of the chair, hitting the older man in the chest with his shoulder, propelling them both to the ground.

  Chapter 16

  Meanwhile, Anastacia was forced into her least favorite game: cat and mouse. She and Bloomington were slowly circling a table in the center of the kitchen, she with a blade in her hand, he with a long devilish-looking fork. Needless to say, stealthy movements were not her strongest suit, as was attestable by her current predicament. Circling, eyes glaring pitchforks at one another, Anastacia had to wonder how the hell she was going to get out of this situation.

  She could dash toward the door, but Bloomington was surprisingly quick on his feet. And he had the power of brute strength. And that long looking fork. In fact, he possessed all the advantage.

  “Why not just give up and leave, sir? By now my husband will have dispatched of my uncle.”

  He better have.

  She could not beat Bloomington, could only stall for time.

  Spying a rack of pots behind his head, Anastacia strove for patience while they circled the table. Soon enough she would reach them. While she could do no damage with a pot, she could make a great deal of noise.

  Anastacia wondered what Bloomington would do if she fainted. He would take her to her uncle, of course. But perhaps, in the midst of being carried, she could poke his eyes out?

  A comforting thought, but not a smart plan.

  As if to taunt her plan to start a racket with the pots, a gunshot fired through the halls of her home. They both stilled, their gazes whipping in the direction of the horrid sound. The entire world came to a halt, and Anastacia felt that silence like a deafening blow to the gut.

  Had enough time passed for Sebastian to get free from his bonds, wrestle with her uncle for the pistol, and shoot him? Or was he on the receiving end of the shot?

  God, please no. Please let Sebastian still be alive.

  “Well, it looks like Blackcress is the one who was dispatched, you silly girl.”

  When Bloomington’s face filled with glee and drops of saliva splattered across the table from his laughter, Anastacia died inside. Just died.

  How did he know? How could he guess it was her husband who lost his life when they were both away from the scene? But as she watched his chin juggle with merriment, the “how” suddenly didn’t matter—only the fact that Sebastian hadn’t come running in to oppose Bloomington’s claim.

  Something in Anastacia snapped—or broke free. Years of anguish and anger filled her, burned deep in the pit of her belly. A scream tore from her throat. Not one of wild hysteria but that of a woman scorned, a warrior’s cry filled with loathing and pain.

  Bloomington’s laughter died.

  Overcome with grief, Anastacia did not think, just reacted. She lunged. First, her feet hit the chair, then the table top and then she went for his throat. Rage and pain blinded her. All she wanted to do was avenge her husband, the man she loved with all her heart.

  Arms circled her waist, and she was swept against a large firm body, arms caging her in. The last thing she remembered before her eyes shut in her struggle was Bloomington’s astonished gaze, his features frozen in shock. She thrashed wildly against the chest she’d been hauled against, kicking and elbowing her captor—it must be a cronie of her uncle’s—with every breath left in her body.

  Voices shouted.

  “Anastacia! Christ. Stop fighting me!”

  The arms of steel that shackled her tightened. The knife was twisted from her hand.

  “Let me go, you cur!”

  “I should take you over my knee! First, you leave me, then you put yourself in unspeakable danger, and now you call me a cur.”

  The last fighting breath left her body as reason returned and her mind registered the speaker.

  Anastacia sagged against Sebastian and her gaze swept the room. For the first time, she noticed the presence of two servants, two men she did not recognize, and Bloomington, who was now trussed up like a Christmas turkey on the ground.

  “Sebastian, I—” She stopped, recalling her note, the rage in his eyes when he spotted her. What could she say?

  “Do not say another word,” he ground out and motioned a servant forward. “Escort the Duchess to her chambers and do not let her out of your sight until I say so.”

  Trembling, and still numb to the bone, Anastacia was all but shoved into a footman’s arms and guided from the room. She did not glance back to her husband, did not dare to. If she did, she might just crumble into a heap of blithering hysterics.

  ***

  Sebastian, I—

  Two little words forming an incomplete sentence had almost been his undoing.

  He could not be undone. Not now. Not yet.

  Sebastian fought for a calming breath. The sight of his wife, lunging for Bloomington, knife in hand had rocked his world. And not in a good way, but in a bloody terrifying
his-heart-will-never-beat-the-same-way-again way.

  Dalziel stepped forward. “That was a bit harsh.”

  “How could your man let this happen?” Sebastian accused.

  “He was about to intervene but you leaped for her first.”

  “Why had he even permitted it to get this far? She could have died.”

  “We would not have, Sebastian. We were hoping Bloomington would confess some of his own crimes to her.”

  “She could have died.”

  “But she didn’t, Sebastian. It’s over. We have all the proof we need to convict Sheffield and strip him of his title. And we’ve likely enough on Bloomington, as well.”

  “While that should reassure me, I’m still reeling from my wife almost dying.”

  “Give it a moment,” Dalziel replied dryly, “it will pass.”

  Sebastian shot his friend a murdering look. It would never pass. Years from now, when he held his grandchildren in his arms, he would still reel from this day. “Wait until you get a wife. I’ll be sure to enjoy your misery.”

  “If that happens, I’ll be sure to let you.”

  By the saints, Sebastian still couldn’t believe their scheme had worked. It had consisted of only two elements: ignore all Sheffield’s threats so that he would attack first, and wrench a confession from his lips in the presence of the law. For the last part, Dalziel and his partner Marcus had taken up residence. For that, and to protect Anastacia from harm.

  “You could have come to my aid sooner,” Sebastian snapped once he had gained reasonable control over his heartbeat.

  Dalziel shrugged. “I shot him, did I not?”

  And not a moment too soon. Sebastian was all too aware just how awry this night could have gone. He cursed, still fighting to reign in his emotions.

  “You should go to your wife. We will take care of this mess,” Dalziel said, motioning to Bloomington.

  “I don’t think I can manage a proper conversation without shouting out my displeasure,” Sebastian admitted.

  There was still a lot to be done this night before he could go to his wife. Before he could betray every rakish instinct he possessed and confess his heart.