The Disgraced Lords Series 3-Book Bundle

by Bronwen Evans

  “You should also warn him, Hadley. Your brother the Duke was never a Libertine Scholar, as he had already finished school when our group began, but since he is your father’s son she may decide to go after him as well.”

  “I had wondered if perhaps Hadley is the target and not his elder brother,” Arend said.

  “I believe you could be right,” Hadley said quietly. “Because I look like my father, while my brother takes after my mother.”

  Sebastian looked expectantly at Arend, who shook his head before saying, “Let’s just get this bitch.” With that somber statement Arend bid them all goodnight.

  The four remaining gents sat in stunned silence.

  “Arend’s not taking this well,” Maitland said, stating the obvious. “His father was the only one to leave the evening the young lady was, well, raped—although we have yet to know what exactly happened, but knowing our fathers, I can imagine. So I suspect he’s wondering why he’s being targeted.”

  “He might not be. Fanselow, the assassin, only said the Libertine Scholars. It might not be all of them.” Hadley drained his glass and banged it down on the side table. “We should let you get to bed, Christian. A big day for you tomorrow. Too many of us are marrying, if you ask me.” He rose and left the room, Maitland following close behind, muttering about doing their duty to their title.

  Sebastian rose too.

  “Stay, Sebastian. We haven’t spoken since our time in Jamaica.”

  Sebastian knew what Christian was going to want to talk about. But he could not deny his old friend, given that Christian was going to be married tomorrow morning.

  Christian got right to the point. “Beatrice Hennessey?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Now that you know you might not have killed Doogie Hennessey, are you upset that you ended up married to his sister?”

  Sebastian narrowed his gaze. “Not particularly,” he said, and reached for his brandy. “Since I had no intention of ever marrying for love, unlike you, a marriage to a woman like Beatrice will be sufficient.”

  Christian studied him. “Sufficient? I see.” His pause said it all but Christian couldn’t help making his point stick. “I feel sorry for you.”

  Sebastian bristled and moved restlessly in his chair. “There is no need for you to feel sorry for me. I was going to marry at some stage. I need an heir.”

  “Procreation,” Christian said, nodding. “Important, true, but there has to be something more if you are going to spend fifty-odd years with the same person, in the same house, sharing the same bed.”

  “Who said I’d be sharing the same house and same bed for fifty years?” Sebastian scoffed. “I know on the battlefields of Waterloo you made a vow that you wanted to find love. The idea of having someone that I respect and admire is all I require. A grand passion leads to complications. Can you really say you’ll desire no other woman for the rest of your life? Variety—that’s what keeps a man young.” He watched Christian closely for his reaction. He really could not imagine making love to only one woman. His father hadn’t been able to manage that feat and he’d professed to love his wife.

  “You’re obviously not in love with your wife, because if you were, the idea of lying with anyone but her would have absolutely no appeal. Making love—love—is like touching heaven: it makes you reverent, humble, and can turn you inside out.” At Sebastian’s barely disguised sneer, he added, “Every man should experience love. It would make us better men.”

  “You know what my parents’ marriage was like. Love brings out heated emotions—jealousy and rage. My life was always a battlefield and I don’t intend to inflict that upon any of my children.”

  “Your parents didn’t love each other. Marriage to them was a competition. True love means you’d give anything to make your partner happy. They did their best to make each other unhappy.” Christian rose. “On that succinct note I shall retire. I promise no more preaching. I just wish you weren’t in this situation. Life is lonely enough without having to live with a stranger for the rest of your natural life.” He stopped at the door and watched as Sebastian rose and poured himself another drink. “See, you would rather sit down here on your own than go to your bride of less than a day.” With that, he shut the door, pity written all over his face.

  Chapter Five

  Beatrice had meant to have a light supper, freshen up, and then join Sebastian downstairs. But she must have dozed restlessly on the bed, as she was still in her robe and the pillows were now on the floor.

  She gazed across the room at the clock on the mantel above the fire and saw almost three hours had passed since their arrival. It was now too late to go downstairs. Besides, she was no longer presentable.

  It was close to midnight, and the stress of the day fell heavily upon her shoulders. She hadn’t slept much the night before her wedding; she’d been so nervous about her upcoming marriage, and whether she was doing the right thing for herself and her family. All she wanted to do was crawl underneath the covers, but would Sebastian think she was eagerly awaiting his attentions if she did that?

  The servants had been in to clear away her tray and the lamps had been lit and the fire burned cheerily in the grate, but no one had woken her.

  The draperies had been closed against the night air. She rose and walked across to the window, drawing them wide, letting the moonlight stream into the room. For some time Beatrice stood at the window, looking out over the parklike grounds, letting the glow from the full moon soothe her frayed nerves. She would need all her courage to face what was to come tonight.

  With a sigh she realized putting off the inevitable would make it worse. She didn’t want to strip in front of him. She viewed the covers like a child’s safety blanket. In the semidarkness she removed her robe and was thankful for her plain nightdress, wondering wryly what Sebastian Hawkestone, the Marquis of Coldhurst, would think of her modest attire. She hoped it would dull any of his baser desires. Her horror was that he might require her to put on a flimsy negligee or some such trifling costume.

  She welcomed the softness of the bed as she climbed back in. The long journey and the tension of the day had taken a greater toll than she had realized, and before she knew it, Beatrice surrendered her worries to sleep.

  She tried to think of anything other than the man who would soon come to her bed, but she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband as he looked on the deck of his ship, dripping wet, his hair plastered to his head, his chiseled features stark in their glory, his clothes clinging to every muscle. She tossed and turned. Dreams of Sebastian carrying her to his bunk … What would it have been like if he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her? He certainly didn’t live up to his surname. There was nothing cold about him. He was heat and fire.

  Her body moved restlessly beneath the bedcovers, her hands gripped the sheets, as kisses as seductive as his smile made her heart pound in her chest. Her nipples pebbled beneath her starched nightgown, aching to be touched.

  She moaned into the stillness of the room, the sound waking her from sleep. She lay there panting. Her faced flushed at the realization she was aroused and wanting. She heard a discreet cough and she closed her eyes in mortification.

  She lifted her gaze to stare across the room, directly into the smoldering eyes of her husband. The man she now belonged to.

  Oh no. She wondered how long he’d been sitting there watching her wanton display. Heat infused her body and she throbbed between her thighs. How embarrassing. To lust after the man who had killed your brother. What must he think of her?

  Why was he here? Why was he simply sitting by the fire? He had changed into a robe; his legs were bare. She swallowed down fear as she guessed he was not wearing anything underneath the brocade garment.

  More heat swept her body.

  She watched him take a sip of his brandy, her mouth suddenly dry.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

  His voice sounded tired and strained. The meeting downstairs must not have
gone well. The sad expression on his handsome face tugged at her heartstrings. She actually felt sorry for him.

  Beatrice was puzzled and somewhat offended. Being told to go to sleep was not what she had expected his response to be. Perhaps, like every other man, he didn’t desire her. She was surprised to find that his disinterest irked her. But then, maybe it was not so surprising: she was now his wife and she wanted children.

  She wanted to feel as she had in her dream.

  She sat up in bed. “Is everything all right, Sebastian?”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I suppose you could say that I’ve learned something this evening that changes things between us.”

  Unease began to creep down Beatrice’s back. Had he heard of Dunmire’s interest in her, and that she’d misled him into marriage?

  “I’ve just discovered that it’s likely I didn’t kill Doogie.”

  Beatrice’s heart stilled. She fumbled for the silk wrapper draped across the foot of her bed. “What on earth do you mean?”

  When she stared at him, he shrugged. “Why don’t you come and join me here by the fire? Then I can update you on what I’ve learned. For it affects you as well.”

  Not wanting to remain in such a vulnerable position, she drew on the wrapper over her nightdress and rose from the bed. Once she’d covered her nightdress, she approached him and took the chair opposite his, next to the fire. “Tell me everything.”

  He sighed and rested his head on the back of the chair, closing his eyes. “It would appear, not yet proven, your brother has been used by an enemy of mine. And for that I’m eternally sorry. There is someone out to destroy the Libertine Scholars. Do you know who the Libertine Scholars are?”

  Beatrice nodded. “Of course, every debutante in England has heard of the Libertine Scholars. Your group consists of Christian Trent, the Earl of Markham, whose house we are now staying in; Hadley Fullerton, the younger brother of the Duke of Claymore, the man that greeted us; then there is Maitland Spencer, the Duke of Lyttleton. He is a very cold man, I’ve been told. The dashing Frenchman Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, is one of your members. And finally, besides you, there is Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood.”

  “An unknown enemy is out to discredit, then kill, all of us.”

  “But why? What have you done to deserve this? What had my brother done?” She gave an anguished cry.

  Sebastian kept his head back and his eyes closed. “That’s what none of us can figure out. But I’ve returned from Jamaica to learn that whoever it is set Christian up for the rape of Harriet Penfold, the Duke of Barforte’s daughter, and is out to destroy all six of us, including me.”

  Beatrice’s hand flew to her mouth. She felt bile rise. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Someone who is ruthless enough to hurt the innocent in order to punish the guilty.”

  “My brother is the innocent? Who is the guilty? What is it that the Libertine Scholars have done? I can’t believe being a rake warrants being framed for rape. And that someone raped an innocent girl merely to accomplish that. It’s barbaric.”

  Sebastian gave a low growl. “That’s what none of us can work out. Yes, we are rakes. But we have never been dishonorable. We have never caused anyone harm.”

  Beatrice didn’t know what to think. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. The only conclusion the others can come to is that it has something to do with our fathers.”

  “One should not be blamed for the sins of one’s father.” Beatrice knew that very well. Her family should not have to suffer because her father was a wastrel, a scoundrel, and promiscuous, so why should any other child bear the sins of their father?

  Sebastian raised his head and opened his eyes and looked across at her. “You’re right, of course. But what it does mean is that someone killed your brother in cold blood; there was nothing honorable about shooting a man just to blame another.”

  Her eyes narrowed upon him. “Blame? I don’t understand …”

  “I’m positive, and Hadley is positive, that I aimed wide of Doogie. After I fired, a second shot clearly was heard. If I’d mortally wounded Doogie, how would he have fired his gun? Plus, do you believe Doogie would shoot after I had all but deloped?”

  She bit her lip. Would he? “No. Doogie had some honor. He would have simply lowered his weapon and decided satisfaction had been received.”

  Sebastian’s steely gaze glinted in the firelight. “I believe, as do the other Libertine Scholars, that someone else fired a gun deliberately at Doogie to ensure I was blamed for his death. And I mean to prove it.”

  “How do you propose to prove this scenario?”

  “I propose we go back to the day of the duel. Do you know the physician that Doogie would have used for the occasion?”

  “Yes, he would have used our family physician. Dr. Taylor. Why is it important that we talk to the physician? Surely he would have forgotten the details of what happened that day. And if he had seen that someone else had fired a shot, surely he would have spoken up.”

  “I would like him to tell me exactly where Doogie was shot and at what angle the shot entered his body. It should be easy enough for us to see whether it was my shot which killed Doogie or someone else’s.”

  A surge of anger claimed Beatrice at his words. If Sebastian was right, her brother had been shot in cold blood. He’d been murdered.

  If this was true, then it was not Sebastian’s fault her brother died.

  A heavy yoke of guilt began to smother her. Each breath hurt. It dawned on her, so it must have dawned on Sebastian, that he was now married to a woman he needn’t have married. If he had known the truth of this, there was no way he would feel responsible for her family, nor would he be obliged to offer his financial support.

  A shudder ran through Beatrice. “How long are we going to stay at Lord Markham’s estate?”

  He seemed to ignore her. “The more I think about it, the more I am certain I was set up. I remember thinking how odd it was that Clarice propositioned me. Normally a mistress does not go looking for liaisons when she has a protector. I didn’t think about it carefully because I deduced she was looking for a new protector, given Doogie’s engagement and lack of funds.”

  Beatrice didn’t know what to think. She took in the man sitting casually in the chair across from her and his relaxed pose. His long legs were spread out in front of him, his bare feet crossed at the ankles. He held a brandy balloon in one hand and his robe gaped open at his chest, revealing the sculpted muscles there. He looked like sin personified. Any woman would want him. She could quite understand why Clarice would proposition him with no other motive in mind except an evening of pleasure.

  A laugh escaped from between his bewitching lips. “Vanity, thy name is man. I should have questioned her further.”

  “You weren’t to know. How could you know that she wasn’t looking for a protector as you thought?”

  Sebastian turned his head to look at her and gave her a steady gaze. “There is one way to find out. We should return to London after Christian’s wedding tomorrow morning, and I shall speak with both the physician and Clarice.”

  “We need to go and speak to them. Don’t shut me out of this. It was my brother who was killed, and I want to know why and who was behind this.”

  “It could be dangerous. I’m assuming that after all this time she is not being watched, but I could be wrong. It may also get a little bit nasty. I’m not sure what I may have to do in order to get the information out of her. Are you prepared for that?”

  Beatrice couldn’t hide a little shiver. The intensity in his gaze and the coldness in his manner indicated just what an enemy he could make. But he was someone who was on her side. He was also her husband. At the back of her mind, she tried not to recall he was a man she knew virtually nothing about.

  “I just want to learn the truth. It would give me peace of mind to know the man I’ve married, the man I’m going to share my life with, did not kill my brother.” She gave a b
ig sigh and stood and walked to the sideboard and poured herself a small amount of sherry. After everything she had learned this evening, her whole world had changed. She was no longer married to a man she should despise. He was suddenly a man she did not know, and a man she had trapped in marriage.

  She returned to her chair and plopped back down. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly.

  He looked deep into her eyes. “What are you sorry for? None of this is your fault,” he said.

  “But I made you marry me. You only married me because you thought you had killed my brother. You were honorable enough to try and right a wrong.”

  Sebastian sighed. “I doubt any woman could make me marry them. What has been done cannot be undone.”

  “It could be,” Beatrice whispered. She glanced toward the bed. “We haven’t consummated the marriage. You could, if you wanted to, have the marriage annulled. You could accuse me of using Doogie to trap you. And you could walk away, wiping your hands of the Hennessey family.”

  He sat staring at her for several moments. His eyes trailed from her feet slowly up her body and settled on her lips. Heat followed in his eyes’ wake.

  “But if I did that, what would happen to your family, what would happen to you?”

  Beatrice hugged herself, fending off the strange glint in his eyes. “You know what would happen to us. We have no money. And it’s not as if any man is going to want to marry Henpeck Hennessey, is it? Not if you have our marriage annulled. The scandal would destroy me. But we—I—am not your problem.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You know of your nickname then?”

  “Of course. The spiteful element within the ton took pleasure ensuring I knew.”

  “I doubt you deserve the name. I suspect you earned the name by trying to stop your foolish brother from wasting the rest of your family’s money.”

  Beatrice remained silent. Sebastian was right. She hadn’t cared what society thought of her. All she cared about was saving her family.

  “You married me even knowing I had the nickname Henpeck Hennessey? What would you have done if I really was a henpeck?”