It was Haines, Lady Shelby’s abigail who opened the door, her eyes widening in outrage and horror when she saw Willa, and then everyone else.
“Good morning, Haines,” Willa said briskly. “Is my aunt receiving?”
“Mama! It’s Willa!” Elvira squeaked. “And Lord Daxton! And, oh my goodness, Lady Romford and—”
“Oh good,” Willa interrupted, catching sight of the back of a lady’s head she recognized only too well. “I see that she has company already.”
The lady didn’t move, though Willa could have sworn her whole posture stiffened. Aunt Shelby, however, jumped to her feet as Willa walked into the room on her husband’s arm. She blinked several times.
“Willa? What is the meaning of this…I do not wish to be rude, but the word invasion springs to mind! Lady Romford, how do you do?” she added incongruously.
Ralph sat by the fireplace, scowling. He looked as if he was considering being too wounded to rise for his guests, though in the end, he sprang to his feet quite spryly. It may have been the realization that he couldn’t have properly won his duel if the other wounded protagonist—Dax—fared better than he. Or he might have just caught sight of Jem, still held between Dan and Carson, although he’d stopped struggling.
“Please sit, Aunt,” Willa said. “And don’t put yourself out, we aren’t staying. We came only to set a few matters straight.” She looked her aunt in the eye. “You’ve been accusing me of stealing.”
Two bright spots of anger appeared on Lady Shelby’s cheeks. “You took my purse and my money. Haines saw you.”
“This purse?” Dax asked, dragging it from his pocket.
Aunt Shelby’s eyes widened. “That’s it!” she said triumphantly. “I knew you’d taken it!”
“I did,” Willa agreed, “on Ralph’s instructions, delivered to me by Haines. I took it to him in the back room of the hotel where some kind of low gaming party appears to take place every month.”
Lady Shelby was gazing at her, perplexed. “Liar,” she uttered at last, while behind her Ralph glared at Willa so fiercely she wanted to laugh.
“Oh no. There were many witnesses. Including Lord Wickenden. They saw Daxton win this purse from Ralph. Daxton elected to return it when I told him it was yours. It was returned to Haines—and then stolen by this man.”
Jem was dragged forward by his captors.
“Then take him to the damned magistrate,” Ralph growled. “Not my mother.”
It was what Dax had been waiting for. “With pleasure.” He reached out and tugged Jem back toward the door.
“Wait!” Ralph commanded, nervously. “What lies has he been telling you?”
“Not lies,” Tamar put in. “Verifiable testimony that you—at Miss Pinkie’s, no less—paid him to kill Dax, which he chose to try with or without your knowledge when Dax was fighting a duel with you.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Ralph scoffed.
“Well, the ball went in the back of his shoulder,” Dr, Lampton put in. “When you, sir, were standing and shooting in front of him. Your pistol hadn’t been fired and yet Lord Daxton was shot.”
“You think I’m Daxton’s only enemy?” Ralph demanded, his eyes lashing Mrs. Holt.
“No,” Sir Jeremy said quietly. “But Mrs. Holt would not kill Dax.”
She’d kill me, though, Willa thought, intercepting that lady’s contemptuous glance.
“No but you might,” Ralph retorted. It had been one of Willa’s suspicions, until this morning.
“And then save my life from your man’s next attempt?” Dax said mildly. “It doesn’t make much sense. You paid Jem Brown, Shelby. Jem admits it and there are people who saw him with the purse and with you.”
“Not people of repute,” Ralph blustered.
Dax stared at him. “Ralph. We know. We all know.”
Perhaps it was the use of his Christian name, the reminder of shared childhood experience, but Ralph subsided abruptly, dropping back into his chair with one hand across his eyes.
“You must stop this,” Aunt Shelby whispered to Willa. “Do you really hate us so much?”
A sudden lump rose to Willa’s throat. “I never hated you.” Her lips twisted. “For one spark of affection from any of you I would probably even have taken the blame for the wretched purse.”
Aunt Shelby clearly saw nothing in Willa’s remarks that would help her, so appealed to Lady Romford instead. “Please, Lady Romford. You must stop your son saying such things about mine.”
Lady Romford drew herself up to her full, regal height. “Lady Shelby. You must grasp that it is your son who will be stopped from murdering mine. The question is, do we let justice take its course and hang the scandal—which I own will be many times worse for you. Or is there some other way to deal with this?”
“How about a duel?” Tamar suggested, and Sir Jeremy laughed.
Willa glared at both of them. Dax only grinned but said nothing.
Lady Romford ignored them all. She spoke only to Lady Shelby. “Your son is an unpleasant man who steals, hurts women of all classes, and feels entitled to murder in return for any perceived slights. He should hang.”
The room seemed to echo with silence. No one disputed Lady Romford’s words. No one could.
“Or,” Dax said unexpectedly. “He could find himself a purpose. Go home. Look after his estates as a way of reviving his fortunes rather than trying to win heiresses or fortunes at the gaming tables.”
Everyone except Willa stared at Dax with varying degrees of astonishment.
Mrs. Holt actually laughed. “As you will, Dax?” she mocked.
He barely spared her a glance. “As I will. Hell, marry that little fortune hunter who is so devoted to you. She’ll probably help. But this life, spilling out from London, can be poison. Something has certainly poisoned you, Shelby and it needs to stop, or I will lay everything before a magistrate. Even if the law won’t move against you, the scandal will.”
A faint frown formed between Ralph’s brows as he gazed at Dax, as though trying to grasp this possible reprieve had come from his enemy himself.
“Well,” Dax said. “I’m starving. Shall we go and have breakfast?”
“Excellent plan,” Mrs. Holt drawled, rising from her chair. Perhaps she thought to place herself on the right side of the divide once more. Perhaps she really thought it would work and Willa would just sit and watch in silent misery.
“Oh, you’re not invited,” Willa said before she could help herself. “You are part of the poison as your presence here proves. And you’ll stay out of my life and my husband’s.”
Mrs. Holt met her gaze with surprise, and then a tinkling, mocking laugh. “Really?”
“Really,” Dax said. “For your benefit and everyone else’s, let me say for once and for all, that whatever the beginnings of this marriage, Willa is my wife and will remain so.”
His instant defense warmed her, but this was something she had to say for herself. “You might not have tried to kill Dax or even known about it, but your alliance with these people is clear. And known,” she added warningly.
This could easily be one scandal too many, even for Helena Holt.
Helena’s eyes spat venom, for she clearly recognized the truth and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Holt,” Willa said firmly. “Aunt Shelby. Elvira.” And she turned on her husband’s arm and walked out of the room, pausing only to give her mother-in-law precedence as they departed.
Chapter Seventeen
Fortunately, they had the hotel dining room to themselves, for breakfast turned out to be a rather noisy and hilarious meal. Something of the fun spirit of Daxton’s and Tamar’s duel remained, together, perhaps, with relief that the Shelbys had been dealt with. Both Leigh and Dr. Lampton remained with them, and toward the end, the Grants appeared, since rumor had clearly been flying around the town.
“So, what did you do with Jem Brown?” Mr. Grant asked.
“Let him go, too,�
�� Dax said with a shrug. “Couldn’t drag him before the law when I’d let his paymaster go.”
“He seems to have a fancy for adventure,” Tamar added. “So I sent him to see Alban.”
“Well that should keep in order,” Grant said, amused.
“Probably more constructive than breaking his legs,” Dax agreed, “which was Carson’s preferred alternative.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s all worked out,” Kate said with a quick smile at Willa as she rose to go. “Welcome to Blackhaven.”
“Is it always as hectic as this?” Willa asked, amused.
“Surprisingly so,” Kate replied. “I used to think small towns were dull, but somehow Blackhaven never is.”
Lampton left with the Grants, and Leigh and Tamar followed shortly afterward, just as Cousin Harriet arrived to collect Lady Romford.
With the dining room quiet at last, Willa glanced at her husband. “You wondered if it was Lord Tamar, didn’t you? That’s why you arranged the duel immediately after Sir Jeremy’s.”
Dax shifted uncomfortably. “It crossed my mind,” he confessed. “And I acted on impulse. As usual. I hadn’t seen him since we were fifteen years old. He could have changed, and I could see he liked you. Jealousy is a nasty trait. I never noticed it in myself before. Perhaps you’re bad for me, Willie Blake.”
“Willa,” she said dangerously. “Willa Dacre.”
He smiled, “Lady Dax,” he teased. “Shall we go up?”
He seemed unusually thoughtful as they climbed the stairs and entered their rooms—where yet another surprise awaited them.
In the middle of the sitting room, stood Clara, wrapped in Carson’s powerful embrace. They sprang apart immediately, both of them blushing a fiery red.
“Sorry, m’lady,” Carson muttered. “But it’s not what you think.”
Willa, peering at Clara in vain for any signs of distress, said, “I don’t know what I think.”
“I want to marry Clara,” Carson said firmly.
“Marry her?” Dax exclaimed. “Damn it, man, you’ve known her little more than a fortnight!”
Carson looked at him. “That right?” he said sardonically.
Willa couldn’t help laughing. “Perhaps two weeks is a long courtship by our standards, but Clara is only nineteen years old.” A mere year younger than herself.
“But it seems right, m’lady,” Clara said anxiously. “With Jem, and Dan, it was never right.”
“You’ll have to tell Dan,” Willa said firmly. “And your father, Clara.”
“I know. And we won’t rush it, honest. We won’t get married for a few months yet.”
“Go and see your parents, then, and take Carson with you,” Willa advised, going into her bedchamber to deposit her cloak and bonnet. “But speak to Dan first.”
“No elopement for them, then,” Dax said, wandering after Willa. Deliberately, he closed the door.
Excitement twisted through Willa. “Just as well,” she said lightly.
“Oh, I don’t know. I rather enjoyed ours.”
“You were drunk or asleep through ours,” she pointed out. “You barely remember it.”
“I remember everything,” he assured her, advancing. “Including a rather delightful and passionate interlude in the chaise. I kissed you here.” He caressed her lips with one finger and then slid it downward over her chin and neck to the pulse that beat at the base of her throat. “And here, and here.” Her breath caught. Teasingly, his hand slid lower to cup her breast. “And here. The only real mystery left to me is how I managed to fall asleep with you half naked and willing in my arms.”
“A three-day spree and no sleep for twenty-four hours,” she managed.
“What a waste of a life,” he observed. “And certainly of those few hours in the carriage with you.”
“Are you declaring your reformation?” she asked lightly.
“No, I wouldn’t keep such a promise,” he said frankly.
She reached up, slipping her arms around his neck to press her cheek to his. “I don’t want to change you, Dax. I never did.”
“It wasn’t fun anymore,” he said into her hair. “I woke up every morning knowing I would do the same thing. Drink and behave badly. Whenever I tried to do something different, something worthwhile, like at Daxton, I was thwarted, and instead of working at making it happen anyway, I just drank even more and behaved more badly yet. With you, I enjoy my fun again. There is more fun. I mean the convivial games and late-night sessions, all the old stuff, but also there is you. Every minute with you is fun.”
She closed her eyes, smiling against his skin. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“There’s more. You never have to fear the humiliation of Helena or any other woman. Now there is only you. I will keep to that promise.”
“Thank you,” she said again, with more difficulty. “I only ask for discretion—.”
“No, you misunderstand,” he interrupted. “Don’t thank me when it’s what I want—I’m not granting you a favor here. I don’t want anyone else.” His fingers curled in her hair, drawing her head back to look into her face, his own unexpectedly fierce. “Willa, you’re my rock, my life. I love you.”
Her mouth opened in soundless shock. Sudden tears sprang into her eyes, her throat.
He stroked her hair, smiling. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t cry. I ask nothing more of you than what we already have. We are friends and lovers, and that is more than enough. God knows it’s more than I ever deserved.”
She took his face between her hands to make him listen. “Stop, Dax. Do you really not know that I love you? That I always have?”
His breath came quick and uneven. He said, “I know there was some childish hero-worship—”
“It’s not childish now,” she interrupted.
He stared down into her face. “You really love me,” he whispered in wonder, touching the escaped tears trickling down her cheeks.
“You really love me,” she said on a sob, and then he fell on her mouth with such overwhelming passion that she stumbled backward. Fortunately, the bed was there to catch them.
After that, there was really only one possible ending to the discussion. It was long and sweet and unbearably tender, an open and very sensual giving and receiving of love.
When the storm calmed, they lay in each other’s arms. Willa had never believed such total happiness was possible.
Dax said, “Willa?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to elope again?”
“We’re already married.”
“We can still run away together. Get up and just go.”
She smiled. “Go where?”
“Daxton?”
Her new home. Her new life. With Dax—fun, flaws, and all.
“Yes,” she replied, sitting up. “Let’s just go.”
And they did.
Mary Lancaster’s Newsletter
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Other Books by Mary Lancaster
VIENNA WALTZ (The Imperial Season, Book 1)
VIENNA WOODS (The Imperial Season, Book 2)
VIENNA DAWN (The Imperial Season, Book 3)
THE WICKED BARON (Blackhaven Brides, Book 1)
THE WICKED LADY (Blackhaven Brides, Book 2)
THE WICKED REBEL (Blackhaven Brides, Book 3)
REBEL OF ROSS
A PRINCE TO BE FEARED: the love story of Vlad Dracula
AN ENDLESS EXILE
A WORLD TO WIN
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster’s first love was historical fiction. Her other passions include coffee, chocolate, red wine and black and white films – simultaneously where possible. She hates housework.
As a direct consequence of the first love, she studied history at St. Andrews University. She now writes full time at her seaside home in Scotland, whi
ch she shares with her husband, three children and a small, crazy dog.
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The Wicked Husband Page 21