The Lost Heiress

by Roseanna M. White

  “Extenuating circumstances.”

  A metallic sound cut through her laugh, one she recognized only vaguely. A shotgun being pumped. “Non.”

  They all spun at the same time, even as Pratt stepped out of the trees. He held the weapon at the ready, pointed at the three of them. “Well, well. Look at this lovely target. I bet I could fell all three of you with the scatter shot.”

  Before she could even mutter a prayer, Justin and Brice had both put themselves between her and Pratt. Justin kept his hand clamped on her arm—he knew her too well, knew how she readied to elbow her way back up.

  “Are you too stupid to know when you’ve been beaten, Pratt?” Justin’s fingers squeezed a warning into her arm. Begging, that pressure, begging her to stay put. “There’s no winning now.”

  How could a face look so shadowed in full sunlight? His eyes spewed hatred at them. “You think I didn’t know this was a possibility? I’m about to disappear—and one of you is coming with me until I do, to assure my safety. Worthing? You look like you’re in the mood for self-sacrifice. Spare the lovebirds another separation, hmm?”

  “Don’t even think about it, Brice.” Brook kept her voice too quiet for Pratt to hear over the pounding surf behind them and knotted a hand in the back of his jacket to make sure he took her advice. “He could well kill you—and even if not, he’ll only come back. He’ll not give up on the diamonds so easily.”

  Brice shook his head. “You would abandon your wife, Pratt? And she with child?”

  Brook’s hand nearly went lax.

  Pratt edged closer. “Kitty’s resourceful. And she would fare better with an absent husband than an imprisoned one.”

  No doubt they already had a plan to rendezvous. No doubt Kitty knew every facet of his plan, had helped him devise it.

  The betrayal still pierced.

  Justin turned his head a fraction toward her. “I have a pistol at my back,” he said in Monegasque. “Pull it out, Brooklet—you’re the better shot. I’ll get Worthing out of the way.”

  “What did you say?” Pratt stomped closer, his eyes wild and his finger twitching. “Don’t try anything. A hostage would be handy, but if I have to kill you all and make a run for it, I’ll do it.”

  Father, help us. When Justin’s fingers loosened, she moved her arm to his back, slid her hand under his jacket, doing her best not to move the fabric. The pistol was at the small of his back, the grip warm under her hand.

  Pratt’s gaze arrowed into hers. “Step away from the baroness, gentlemen. Now.”

  “Dive,” she whispered. “Both of you. On the count of trois. Un.”

  Pratt brought the butt of the shotgun to his shoulder, his lips compressed.

  “Deux.” Brook pulled the pistol free. Pratt’s finger moved to the trigger. She brought the weapon up, shouting, “Trois!”

  The men lunged to the side, but a shot ripped the air before her finger touched the trigger.

  Pratt jerked. The shotgun fell. Eyes glazed, he staggered to his knees and then collapsed.

  The constable stood behind him, pistol still smoking. Papa was at his side, looking ready to empty his revolver into Pratt’s still form, but the constable put a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of him, my lord.”

  A cloud cleared from her father’s eyes. He passed his gun to the constable and ran forward. Brook handed Justin’s back too and met Papa in a fierce embrace. The moment his arms came about her, a cry took hold of her throat. “Papa. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to go through that again.”

  He held her tight, sucked in a deep breath. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters, my precious girl.”

  “She thought you were dead.” She pulled away enough to look into his face. “He had Maman’s journal, and that’s what Mother told her. She thought you were dead, thought they would kill me next. That’s why she sent me away.”

  Papa rested a hand on her cheek. “I would have gladly gone the rest of my life without knowing why, if it had spared you this.”

  She covered his hand with hers. “But I’m safe. And now we know.”

  “We do. And praise be to God, you are.” He kissed her forehead.

  Hiram ran their way, panic on his face. “Lady Berkeley! Is Deirdre with you?”

  A smile tugged. “Following on foot, led by the constable’s cousin. They both deserve a hero’s welcome. She will be glad to see you, Hiram.”

  Hiram needed no more urging—he took off at a run in the direction she indicated.

  The constable removed his hand from Pratt’s neck and shook his head. “He’s dead, which was not my goal. But Antony helped you?”

  “We never would have escaped without him.”

  With a satisfied nod, the constable stood. “Good. Now—go home, have a meal, rest. When you’re ready, I’ve questions.”

  “And I’ve the answers.”

  “When my men get here, I’ll leave them to see to the body. I’ve a conversation to have with Lady Pratt—and no doubt a few servants to arrest.”

  Brook’s back went stiff at mention of Catherine. She had to have been involved—but Pratt hadn’t once mentioned her. Brook had never seen her. Other than the one time she’d demanded the Fire Eyes, she had, it seemed, kept her hands clean. It had been Pratt who hired Jenkins to attack her, Pratt who killed the major. Pratt who kidnapped her and Deirdre. A sick knot twisted in her stomach. They would have nothing to accuse Catherine of. No proof of her involvement.

  She would walk free.

  Papa rubbed a hand over Brook’s back, no doubt feeling the tension. “Dust yourselves off, gentlemen, and let’s go home. I daresay the chef has cooked enough for an army as he prayed.”

  Brook wouldn’t let Catherine ruin her homecoming. She made herself grin at the exaggerated look on Brice’s face as he brushed the sandy soil from his trousers, and then she turned to Justin, her hand in her pocket again. The gold of his ring was warm and smooth—she’d cleaned it off with some of the water earlier. As he straightened his jacket, she stepped away from her father and held it out to him.

  His grin bloomed, lopsided and mischievous, to match the gleam in his eyes. “Are you proposing, my lady, with that ring?”

  She grinned right back and dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Duke?”

  Laughter rang out all around her. Justin’s loudest of all as he gripped her by the arm and pulled her back to her feet. “Get up, you fool woman. And yes.” He planted a kiss soundly on her lips and snatched the ring from her hand. “I most assuredly will.” The gold back where it belonged, he slid an arm around her and came back for a second, slower kiss. “I’ll ask you properly once we’re back to Whitby Park. I’ve a ring in my room there too. It’s a bit smaller. Has more sparkle. Was my mother’s.”

  She nestled into his side as her father gathered the horses’ reins. “Your yes was binding, sir—asking again would be redundant. But I’ll be proud to wear your mother’s ring.”

  Justin leaned down again, fire in his eyes.

  Brice’s hands appeared between them, forcing their faces apart. “I’ve had trauma enough for one day.” He shoved his way between them, grinning all the while as he slung an arm over each of their shoulders. “Am I best man, Stafford? Or will I have to fight Thate for the honor?”

  “You’ll have to fight me, if you don’t get out of my way.”

  “Touchy, touchy.” With a wink, Brice slid his arms free and moved ahead of them as the constable called out a greeting for Antony and Deirdre, safely out of the trees. “Brook will defend me if you try to pummel me. Isn’t that right, my lady?”

  “Not this time.” She slid her arm around Justin’s waist and tilted her face up toward his. She knew it, knew every feature and expression. And loved none so well as the way he looked at her now. As if she were his yesterday, his today. His tomorrow. “Je t’aime.”

  His smile spoke as much as his words. “And I love you. Always.”

  Epilogue

  LATE AUGUST 1911

/>   The summer sun beat down hot and glorious upon them. The North Sea wind whipped and refreshed. Justin let go of the hand he held so that he could slide his arm around her waist instead, content to stand in the sand with Brook and do nothing but watch the waves roll in.

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m still not sure how I shall survive for months on end without the sea at hand.”

  Chuckling, Justin pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll keep you well distracted, Duchess. I promise. And whenever you can’t suffer it anymore, we’ll come back here.”

  “If my father will have you, after you stole his footman.” She gave him a cheeky grin and walked her fingers up his chest.

  It was nearly enough to ruin a man’s concentration. Justin chuckled and indulged in a long, slow kiss. When he had mentioned before the honeymoon that Peters wanted to move on, out of domestic service, Whitby had been the one to suggest he take on Hiram, so that he and Deirdre could travel together whenever Justin and Brook did. A fine solution. Justin and Hiram didn’t know each other well yet, but he could appreciate a man who went through each day with such good cheer.

  At least when such a man didn’t constantly interrupt when he wanted to kiss his wife, with cleared throats and loud ahems.

  He pulled away with a scowl for Worthing, who stood a few feet away, his feet in the grass rather than the sand. “Have you made it your life’s work to harass us, Worthing?”

  His friend grinned. “You would think so, but no. It only seems that way because there’s never a moment when you’re not sneaking off with your wife for a kiss.”

  “I didn’t know you were here—or coming.” Brook left Justin’s side long enough to greet Worthing with a kiss on his cheek. “On your way to Scotland?”

  “Aye, that we are,” he said in a fine imitation of the Highland burr. He nodded back toward Whitby Park as Brook returned to Justin’s side. “Ella and my parents are having tea with Whit, who has already convinced them to tarry here until tomorrow. He said you were greeted with a visit from Catherine upon your return yesterday.”

  Justin settled a hand on Brook’s back in time to feel her shudder. “A lovely homecoming from our honeymoon.” They had envisioned a quiet evening telling Whitby all about their trip through the Mediterranean, their visit with Prince Albert. A quiet evening at home before their planned trip this evening to Azerley Hall, to get to know the new Lady Cayton. But then Lady Pratt had glided in, all sugary smiles over the venom they knew hovered beneath. “Put a pall on the whole evening.”

  Worthing pressed his lips together. “Did she try to make friends again?”

  “She tried. As if I’m stupid enough to fall for her tricks a second time.” Brook’s fingers went to her necklace, to the pearl-hidden diamonds she still wore. They needed to decide what to do with them—but had all agreed to focus first on the wedding, on getting settled in at Ralin Castle. The long, cold winter would give them time enough to discuss red diamonds and Indian curses with her father. “As if I couldn’t see the hate in her eyes. She loved Pratt, unfathomable as it seems. In her eyes, we killed him. Yet another person dead because of the Fire Eyes—yet another reason for her to think they should be hers.”

  She was playing it smart, though, Justin had to grant her that. Gathering a horde of supporters, making herself into a celebrity. Hand-in-hand with every article about Brook had been one about Catherine—the poor, deceived fiancée and then pregnant wife, who had been used by her husband because of her connection with the jewels.

  The telegraph clerk hadn’t been able—or willing—to identify Catherine as the one to send that false note. But Justin knew it. He knew it.

  Brook wrapped her arms around her middle. “This isn’t over. She’ll bide her time, she’ll let us get comfortable and perhaps focus for now on her coming child. But she’ll strike again.”

  Justin drew in a slow breath. “Pratt waited nineteen years to avenge his father’s death—I daresay Catherine won’t be quite so patient to avenge his. We can’t afford to relax, to let our guards down.”

  Worthing shoved his hands in his pockets and stared past them, to the glimmering sea. “You should just get rid of the things. Donate them to a museum.”

  “Even if we did, she would still seek revenge for him.” Brook’s fingers fell away from the pearls. “And she would still seek the diamonds. I know she would, and probably others besides her. If we donate them, then we pass along the curse to some unwitting museum staff. Guards would end up dead in attempted thefts. Other property destroyed. Other lives ruined because of these stupid things. I can’t do that. I can’t make someone else pay for them.”

  With a sigh, Worthing looked at Brook, then at Justin. “I see your point. The poor chaps at a museum wouldn’t know how to defend against this. Wouldn’t know that the best way to hold the evil at bay is through prayer.”

  A chill possessed Justin, despite the hot summer sun. He nodded. “We know, though. We know how to fight it.”

  “And yet … you’ve lost so much already. Both of you. You’ve had so much sorrow this past year.” Worthing’s brow had a furrow as deep as the sea. “You deserve peace as you start your life together.”

  “Brice—no.” Brook shook her head wildly, sending curls into the clutches of the wind. “This isn’t your fight. We appreciate all the prayers you’ve prayed for us, all the support you have given. But your involvement ends there. Don’t try to take any of this upon yourself. I won’t let you.”

  Worthing’s grin reemerged, bright if a touch sad. “But I’ve gotten a taste for adventure. Let me help here or I’ll have to go find a mountain to scale. A horde of pirates to fight off. Maybe a sheik to challenge.”

  “No.”

  The mirth fell away. “I have to, though. The Lord has made that very clear—and I’ll have no peace if I don’t obey Him.”

  Justin’s fingers curled over his wife’s shoulder. “Worthing—”

  “She wouldn’t have forgotten that I was there, too, when Pratt was killed. If she blames you, she blames me. If she’s made a target of you, she’s made one of me.” He shrugged. “Might as well make it count and tell her I have the diamonds too. Get her to focus more on me than you for a while.”

  Brook shook her head. “She’d never believe it. She wants them too badly to think we’d ever give them up.”

  Justin shook his head, too, looked off into the distance. Narrowed his eyes at the glint of sun on blond hair. “Don’t look now, but I believe she’s watching us as we speak. No doubt thinks we’re plotting how to keep the things from her.”

  “Then let’s make it count.” Worthing swallowed and pasted on a smile. “She’ll believe it if she sees it. If you give them to me now.”

  “Brice.” No laughter laced Brook’s voice.

  Worthing’s grin faded again. “This is what we’re supposed to do.”

  Justin felt the breath she drew in and sucked in one to match. “You can’t be sure of that.”

  His breath of laughter sounded more cynical than amused. “You think not? If you have an argument with it, take it up with the Almighty. Perhaps you’ll convince Him where I’ve failed.”

  Only Worthing could talk so calmly about arguing with God. “You can’t actually want them. If you try to sell them, if word gets out, you’ll be hunted down just like Rushworth was.”

  “What I want is for my friends to be safe!” He shoved a hand through his hair—his tell, Justin had learned, of the deepest unrest. “She could already be carrying your child, Stafford, or if not now, then soon. What then? Why would you not take whatever safety for them I can offer, meager as it is?”

  While Justin tried not to let the hope and fear of a possible coming child overwhelm him, Brook gripped the dangling pearls, the diamonds within. “It won’t help. She’ll still come after us.”

  “Yes.” Worthing held out a hand. “She’ll come after all of us. But if I can get her to come after me first, then you two can focus on your marriage f
or now. On your baby—whenever one joins you.”

  Brook’s eyes went narrow. “Why do you keep speaking of—?”

  “Call it a hunch.” A wink of a grin, quickly gone. Worthing wiggled his fingers. “Let me help you. I promise I’ll tread with the utmost care. With constant prayer. I’ll find a way to expose her for what she is, to see she meets justice. And then I’ll return the diamonds. You have my word.”

  Brook took her bottom lip between her teeth and then looked up into Justin’s eyes. Hers were damp. “He could be right. We could … I could be …” She splayed a hand over her stomach. “I don’t want to bring a child into the middle of this.”

  Was she saying … ? She couldn’t be sure, it was too soon. But if she thought it possible … Justin exhaled shakily. “All right. All right. But we’ll help you plan. We’ll help you catch her.”

  Brook was already working at the pearls. A diamond dropped into her palm, and then, a moment later, its twin.

  Justin swallowed. All the times they’d spoken of them, but this was the first he’d seen them. She held out her palm, and the sun angled down and set the jewels aflame. Could Catherine see it, from where she stood on her bluff on Delmore land? Probably not—but she would guess. She would assume.

  Despite his words, Worthing stood there a long moment staring at them. He lifted his hand slowly and scooped them from hers. Held them up to catch the light … and perhaps the attention of their distant observer. “Hello, trouble.” Lowering his hand again, he slid it and the gems into his pocket. “I had better at least be named the child’s godfather for this.”

  Brook breathed a strained laugh and leaned into Justin’s side. “Be careful, Brice.”

  He nodded, waved a hand at them, and turned back toward the house. “I’m going to go and tell my parents you’ve invited us to spend Christmas with you at Ralin Castle. It’s the least you can do, after all.”

  “We’ve rooms enough, I suppose.” Justin chuckled as their friend stomped back down the hill.