The Blackmailed Beauty

by Ilene Withers

  “To Chittingham?” she asked.

  “Nah, they were on their way to Guildford,” the man answered. “You still want to go home? My wife would be happy to have you stay with us,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Claire said, “but Mrs. Quince and I will be fine.”

  “All right then,” he said, soon pulling into the churchyard.

  Claire leaped down. “Thank you, Mr. Watson,” she said.

  “You’re welcome, Miss.”

  Claire waved goodbye and watched him leave. She turned toward the house, half glad her family was away from home. This way she would have some time to summon up her courage to tell them of their ruin.

  Walking to the front door, she pushed the latch. It did not budge. She tried it again. Locked. Claire walked around to the back of the house. No doubt Mrs. Quince was in the kitchen. Trying the kitchen door, she found it locked, as well.

  Panic began to set in. “Calm down,” she told herself aloud. The windows! She would try the windows. Claire worked her way around the house. Alas, the few windows she could reach would not open either. A dark cloud, which had been in the west, was now overhead and promised imminent rain. Knowing the church was always open, Claire began to run toward it.

  As she left the vicarage it began to sprinkle. Thunder rolled in the sky above. Opening the door to the church quickly, she slipped inside its quiet interior. She shut the door before she saw the lone rider on the black horse, his hat pulled low against the storm.

  Claire moved to the front of the church where the light was a bit less dim. She walked around, dragging her hand along the back of a pew, straightening the altar cloths. The church would offer her shelter today.

  The door opened and a man walked in. Claire turned around to see who it was, but the dimness hid his face.

  “I saw you,” the voice said.

  Viscount Pitt! Fear clutched at her throat. She would never forget his voice. Never. She moved to put the pews between them.

  “Why did you hurt me that day?” he asked. “I only wanted you. I have always wanted you.”

  She remained silent.

  He came closer and she moved to the other side of the church. “I will have you, Claire, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  He moved closer still. She inched along the wall.

  “I used to watch you, playing in the churchyard with your little sisters. I was only a boy, but it didn’t matter. I knew my needs then as I know them now. Your blonde hair was in braids, your skirts above your ankles. But as you grew, Claire, I needed you more.”

  They were rounding the interior of the church, around and around. Claire’s back was to the wall, while he was walking more freely.

  “I saw you flirt and smile at the assemblies. Teasing the neighborhood boys. Always a good girl, you were. While others might slip out for a kiss or a cuddle, you were always proper. It only made me want you more. I’ve never had a real proper woman, you know. Oh, I’ve had many an innocent, but they were always willing.”

  Claire shook her head, trying to keep her wits about her. He was insane, truly insane. She must escape. Her mind flew frantically, thinking of her options. There were no weapons. Indeed, she could think of none. He was between her and the front door, so it was of no use to her. The choir loft – she could slip to the choir loft and through the back. The side door, unused except by her father, always remained unlocked.

  Moving quickly, she leaped the steps and dashed between the seats in the choir loft. Jerking open a door, she ran down the short passage on the other side. There was the side door. She tugged it open and ran out into the cemetery, the rain pouring down upon her. Her dress was drenched in minutes, her slippers left behind in the mud. She ran, gasping for breath, dodging between headstones. If she could make the road, perhaps someone would see her.

  Daring a glance back, she saw he was there, just behind her. She pushed harder and ran faster, but he reached for her. Her dress ripped down the back and she fell. He was on her in an instant, rolling her over, pinning her down. His laugh was evil, his breath panting. Remembering her knee, she started to bring it up.

  “Don’t think I’m not ready this time,” he said as he pulled a knife from a sheath and held its thin blade against her throat. Claire froze. She was certain that he would slit her throat without a moment’s hesitation.

  She could not look into his leering face as his hand brushed against her leg. Instead, she closed her eyes, squeezing them tight against the sight of him. Her thoughts turned to the duke and how much she loved him. In her mind, she saw the faces of her parents, laughing, and loving. Then her sisters, their merry faces wreathed in smiles. Willa. Aunt Blythe. Uncle Yale. They were all there.

  His hand clawed at her dress, dragging it up inch by inch until it was above her knees and then he thrust it even higher, up to her waist. He moved his hand up to her bodice and ripped it down. She dared not scream. She could not. He was going to take her. Here in the rain. In the cemetery. Then he would kill her. She knew it in her heart. He would not leave her this time.

  Then, calm came over her. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil,” a voice whispered. Claire heard it. It was the voice of an angel and she clung to it, silently reciting the words of the comforting psalm in her mind even as she felt him reach between them.

  “Get off her, Pitt.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Get off her, or I’ll kill you.” The words were menacing, his voice filled with loathing. Noel did not blink nor look away. He held the gun steadily aimed at the back of the head in front of him. Claire was on the ground beneath Pitt, her skirts in disarray. The duke hoped he was in time.

  Pitt did not move. The rain stopped suddenly and the sun broke through the clouds. Noel cocked his gun, the sound as loud as thunder in the sudden silence.

  Then the man was off her. Noel saw her struggle to get up, holding her dress together to cover herself.

  “You can have her,” the viscount sneered as he turned to face Noel. “I’ve already had her,” he laughed.

  “Drop the knife,” Noel demanded. “Toss it over there.” He pointed to a headstone some distance away.

  Pitt tossed the knife and stood sneering at him. Then, Noel saw him move. Pitt’s hand reached to the back of his pants. Before Noel could react, the shot was fired. Claire screamed.

  The viscount looked at him wildly. Noel waited for the pain but none came. He had not been hit! Given a second chance, Noel stared the other man in the eye. What he saw was an evil man. A twisted, sick, and evil man. Pitt raised his gun again, but Noel would not chance it. Lowering his own gun slightly, he aimed it at where a normal man would have a heart. Noel pulled the trigger.

  The viscount fell, a growing stain of blood covering the front of his shirt. Noel walked over with surprising calm and used the toe of his boot to knock the gun away, although there was no need. Pitt’s eyes were sightless, staring toward the heavens, but Noel felt sure they would not welcome him.

  Then he turned. “Claire!” he called out hoarsely, running to her. He dropped his gun and pulled off his jacket, wrapping her in it and then pulling her into his arms. Tucking his hand gently under her chin, he raised her face to his and lowered his lips to hers.

  He almost instantly pulled back. What was he doing? A vile man had just attacked her. How could he put her through this now?

  Claire began to cry. “He didn’t hurt me, Noel,” she said sobbing. “I swear he didn’t.”

  Then he realized she had misunderstood, and he pulled her back closer, just holding her in his arms. “I know, Sweetheart. I know he didn’t hurt you, and if he did, I would still want you. I just don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  “But, Noel, the world believes I am ruined,” she said. “Lady Regina…”

  “Shh,” he soothed. “You are not ruined. No harm has been done we cannot fix.”

  He lifted his head thinking he’d heard the sound of a wagon. “Come on, my love, let’s ge
t you inside.” Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her out of the cemetery and past the church.

  “The house is locked,” she said, her arms around his neck. “I tried and I couldn’t get in.”

  “Where’s the back door?” he asked.

  Claire lifted a hand to point to the north. “There,” she said simply.

  Noel walked through the gate and up to the door; raising one booted foot he gave the door a good sharp kick and then he walked up the steps. “Where’s your room?”

  “Right here,” Claire said.

  The door was open so Noel took her in and laid her gently on the bed. “Can you get out of these wet clothes if I leave and go deal with matters out there?”

  Claire nodded, “Of course I can.”

  “And will you be all right alone?”

  She nodded again. Noel dropped a kiss on her brow. “I’ll be back.”

  Noel stopped once he got outside. His lungs craved oxygen. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm himself. He had never been so scared in all his life. Never so scared, nor so angry.

  He had been riding toward the vicarage, intent upon convincing Claire he loved her no matter what. No mere gossip could keep them apart. While practicing the words on his horse, the stallion’s ears flicking to and fro as though he understood and approved, Noel had come to the church. A flash caught his vision from the corner of his eye. The rain had begun to pour and, at first, he had thought it was an animal he had seen. Then he had looked again. It was Claire! And behind her had been a man, chasing her, obviously intent on harming her. Tying his horse up at the church, Noel had followed their path at a run, his gun in his hand. Then he had seen Pitt atop her.

  Pushing the image from his mind, he walked out of the yard, shutting the gate behind him. A team stood in front of the church, a wagon hitched to them.

  A man stood in the cemetery staring at Pitts’ corpse. Noel walked up to him.

  “Blast it, you don’t have to go scarin’ a man,” the other man said jumping slightly.

  Noel held out his hand. “Sorry, Sir,” he said. “I’m the Duke of Lamberton.”

  The man jumped back and started to bow. Noel reached over and firmly took his hand to clasp it. “And you are?”

  “Oh, pardon me manners, Your Grace. I’m Bob Watson, neighbor of the vicar’s here. I’d just dropped off Miss Claire, and when it started to rain I came back to fetch her. I remembered Mrs. Quince had gone to see her daughter.”

  “I appreciate your concern for Miss Stuart,” Noel said.

  “Did’cha kill him?” Mr. Watson asked, looking down at Pitt.

  “I did,” Noel said quietly.

  “I thought I’d heard a gunshot. A couple of ‘em. Doesn’t look like you shot him more than once though. He must have missed you, eh?”

  “I think he nicked the headstone right over there,” Noel said pointing to the one, which had been just off to the right.

  “Yep, it sounds about right,” Mr. Watson said. “His da never could shoot either.” He fell silent for a moment. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but this one was a right evil man. I s’pose he was tryin’ to hurt our Miss Claire?”

  “Trying,” Noel agreed. “He didn’t succeed.”

  Mr. Watson forgot himself and slapped the duke on his back. “Good for you, Your Grace. Somebody had to do it.”

  Noel looked at the other man with respect. “I would like to clean this up without much talk. For Miss Claire’s sake,” he said.

  “Sure thing,” the older man said. “I’ll just fetch the magistrate. He’s a good man. We’ll sweep this thing under the rug in no time.”

  “Someone will have to tell his father,” Noel said. “I’d better get it out of the way.”

  ****

  The church bells seemed to ring endlessly as Claire stood patiently in the foyer of the church. A crowd filled St. George’s Cathedral in London. It seemed the Duke of Lamberton was both popular and powerful, and the people came if only to be seen at the wedding of the year.

  Claire’s gown was all in white, made by the same modiste who had dressed her during the season. Since it was now September, the dress had long sleeves and a modest neckline as befit a vicar’s daughter, a deep flounce along the hem. The tiniest of veils covered her eyes, and her blond hair was piled high atop her head in the most fashionable style. Her mother’s pearls graced her neck.

  The past three weeks had flown by. Noel had been a dear as he had made sure there was no talk about the attacks she had endured. Filled with relief upon hearing of Lady Regina’s exile, Claire still had felt some pity for the girl.

  Noel had promised there would not be gossip about ruin. Indeed, he had made a visit to the prince and had returned with a smile upon his face. Now Claire faced a future filled with brightness.

  The organ music began, and Claire smiled at her father. He held out his arm silently, she laid her hand upon it and they began the walk down the aisle.

  The faces smiled as she passed. She saw many of those she had met in London. Lord and Lady Garwood, the Marquis and Marchioness of Paxton, and Lord and Lady Roxbury were all there. Then she passed her aunt and uncle. At last, she had reached the front pew. There was the duchess. On the other side were her mother and her three youngest sisters.

  Claire looked up. She smiled at Willa and Fayre, waiting patiently in the front and at John, not yet a groom but soon to become one, and Lord Paxton. Then she saw her duke. Noel looked serious once, but she had learned to recognize this expression. What others took for seriousness, she knew to be desire. Her heart swelled with love for him.

  Her father stopped and took her hand. He pulled her into a gentle hug and kissed her on the cheek. Then he handed her to Noel as the minister began the ceremony.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

  “I do,” she said, the strength of her love filling her voice.

  “I do,” Noel repeated. Then he whispered, “For always.”

  “You may kiss the bride.” The minister’s words filled the sanctuary.

  Noel took her hands in his and leaned forward. He dropped a kiss on her lips leaving her wanting more, so much more. Then he leaned close to her ear.

  “I’ll save the best for later,” he said, his breath sending tingles of excitement down her spine. Keeping her hand firmly in his, he turned them toward the crowd.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the minister intoned, “The Duke and Duchess of Lamberton.”

  The walk back up the aisle took much less time. Claire’s feet barely touched the ground. Outside the cathedral, a group of people had gathered to watch them as he hurried her toward the carriage, emblazoned with the duke’s crest. A liveried footman held open the door, and the two stepped within, the door quickly shutting behind them. Noel pulled her into his arms and kissed her much more thoroughly this time, but it still left her aching for more.

  “Again,” she begged.

  He filled her request but then pulled away. “We still have to make it through the rest of the wedding festivities,” he reminded her.

  “I know,” she said with a little pout. “The best way to quiet gossip is to face it bravely,” she mimicked him in her deepest voice.

  “And you’ve done such a good job,” he praised her, laughing.

  “I thought you said the Prince Regent would be there.”

  “He was, my love. He was in the balcony.”

  “Oh,” she giggled. “I forgot to look. All I could see was you.”

  “I like the sounds of that,” he growled as he nuzzled her neck.

  Claire giggled again. “I thought we were to behave circumspectly,” she said, “at least until after the wedding festivities.”

  “My thoughts aren’t exactly circumspect right now,” he said. “Shall we tell the driver to keep going?”

  “I’d love to,” Claire admitted.

  “But we would disappoint a lot of people,” Noel said.

  “Noel?”

  “Hmmm?”
<
br />   “I love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  Epilogue

  Noel handed the reins to his groom and walked through the front gates of Lamberton Castle. He noticed a dead flower on one of the plants in the courtyard and strolled over to pluck it. Then he saw another, and another. The gardeners were going to have to pay a bit more attention out here. When guests arrived, it gave them a shabby view of the place.

  He walked toward the door, and it swung open just as he reached it.

  “Your Grace,” the butler said with a harried look. “We’ve had people out looking for you.”

  Noel’s heart beat a bit faster. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “It’s time, Your Grace.”

  “Time? What are you talking about?”

  “Her Grace. The doctor is with her.”

  Noel froze and gasped for breath. Then his mother’s voice came from above stairs.

  “Noel, is that you?”

  He drug in some air. “Yes, Mama.” His voice was weak and filled with fear.

  “Hurry, son, the doctor is in with her now,” she said.

  “Is she all right, Mama?” he asked.

  “Of course she is, Noel,” his mother replied. “This is the most natural thing in the world.”

  Yes, but women died from it all the time, and it was a fact he was well aware of. Fear clawed at his heart and he reached up to pull at his cravat, but it still felt tight. He ripped it off and threw it on the floor as he suddenly burst into action. Noel took the steps two at a time and practically ran into the wing where their private apartments were.

  Meeting the doctor he asked, “Am I in time?”

  “For the most important part, Your Grace,” the doctor replied holding the inner door to the chamber open.

  Noel ran through it and into the bedchamber he shared with Claire, and there he stopped. For sitting up in bed, her pale hair loose around her shoulders, was his wife of just less than a year. In her arms was a tiny babe, nuzzling at her breast.

  It was then Noel fell in love all over again.