He’d never seen any woman with a more giving heart. She would’ve been a wonderful mother.
Damnit. She already was. Couldn’t she see that?
Someone cleared their throat from behind and Nick turned on his heel.
Tobias waited in the doorway, hat in his hands. “Lord Thornton. I-I know Her Ladyship desired we should keep Mister Landrigan outside the estate should he come. But…”
Nick’s entire body tensed, alerted by the sound of the name. “Go on.”
“He made his way into the courtyard. And he’s set on being heard … by your wife.”
Nick sneered. “Is he now?” He glanced at Aislinn. “Tell your aunt nothing of this. I don’t want her upset.”
Aislinn sat Dinah upon the floor and nodded, her lips pressed tight as she and Tobias exchanged concerned glances.
A charge of dark anticipation electrified Nick’s veins. He was going to relish this. Not only because of Donal’s mistreatment of Felicity, but because that man was the spawn of the earl—the demon who had degraded and wounded his bride in inhuman and incomprehensible ways before leaving her womb desolate and parched for all eternity.
Nick thrust off his vest and tossed it to a chair. Then thinking better of it, he went to the chair and withdrew his carving knife from the vest’s inner pocket. He then brushed past Tobias who fell into step behind him, mumbling an explanation as their footfalls echoed in the marble corridor.
“We were to keep him outside the gate, Sir. He said he didn’t want to cause trouble. That he came only to drop off Miss Lia’s gifts. They were too heavy for him to unload alone, so he asked that we should help him carry them in, then he would leave upon seeing them safe within the confines of the fence.” Tobias gulped as Nick swung open the door and they stepped into the damp evening air. “He lied, Sir.”
“Shocking,” Nick said. He started to place his knife in his right pocket for easy access, then remembered Felicity’s carving waited there and chose the other instead. Sunset had slipped behind the horizon. Another storm rolled in, casting everything in deep purple shadows. As they stepped from the castle stairs into the courtyard, Nick unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs, pebbles crunching beneath his boots. “Where is he?” A pine-scented gale caught his hair and slapped it about his face.
“With the carousel ponies, waiting just inside the gate. Fennigan stayed to watch him.”
Continuing to walk along the pebbled path with the servant, Nick took off his cravat to tie back his hair, already anticipating the taste of blood in his mouth upon the first punch. He’d let the maggot have one hit for the sake of sport … but that would be all. “Felicity didn’t want those horses delivered in the first place.”
“I wasn’t aware, Sir.” Tobias shifted his hat in his hands nervously. “To pacify him, I told him I’d fetch the lady. But I came to you instead.”
Nick slapped the boy’s shoulder. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Even in the dimming light, Nick could make out the stable hand’s reddened ears.
“Fennigan and I can assist—”
“No. I’ll send Fennigan your way.” Nick gestured for Tobias to stay put as he stepped off toward the latticework tunnel which would lead through the trumpet vines, past the greenhouse, and to the gate. “I’ll require no help. Except to carry out the broken pieces when I’m done.” He folded his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. His knuckles fidgeted, craving the crack of Landrigan’s jaw.
“You’re to destroy the ponies then?” Tobias called over the rattling of branches and leaves in the forest.
“No.” Nick strode onward and unbuttoned his collar to relieve the sensation of steam rising from his chest. A brutal smile plucked at the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to kill the Irishman.”
Felicity stepped into the dining hall, hoping to find her new husband with the girls. Instead, she found Aislinn and Tobias alone with their heads together, whispering in front of the fireplace.
“I thought I told you two to always have a chaperone.”
Their heads popped up simultaneously at her scolding. Guilt darkened their faces.
Felicity frowned. “Where’s Nick? I know he’d never leave you unsupervised.”
Aislinn and the stable hand exchanged a meaningful glance. Aislinn started to speak but he shook his head vigorously, flushed from neck to brow.
Felicity smoothed the lacy cuffs of her fuchsia gown, worry stilting her movements. Had Nick left already? Was he so disappointed over her inability to bear heirs that he’d told everyone goodbye, even the servants, without giving her the same courtesy? “What’s this all about?”
Aislinn scowled at Tobias, clutching her skirt as she spoke. “Nick asked us not to tell you. But we’re concerned—”
The stable hand cleared his throat.
Aislinn’s eyes rolled. “Fine. I’m concerned that if we don’t tell you, there will be bloodshed.”
“Bloodshed?” Dread wound to a nauseous knot in Felicity’s stomach. “Whose?”
“Mister Landrigan’s,” Tobias chimed in reluctantly.
Lianna arrived just in time to catch the name. She clapped. “Uncle Donal has come?” She practically danced over. “Auntie, the Kites must’ve found my cloth! My wish came true!”
Felicity felt her face drain of color. It was over. Landrigan would tell Nick about the guests. Once her husband knew the extent of her betrayal, he would leave and her nieces would be lost to her.
And she would be lost without them, and him.
She rearranged the flowers on Lianna’s head, moving trembling fingers in a monotonous rhythm, all the while trying to catch a breath so she could think. Her pulse thundered in her ears and muffled Aislinn and Lianna’s arguing, as if their voices drifted from afar…
“Your wish was for Mister Landrigan to come to your party?” asked Aislinn.
“No. For him to stay in the castle forever. Just like Mister Sir. All of us together … a family.”
“Well that’s a doltish thing to wish for, Lia.”
“Why? He’s Bini’s nephew. And there’s lots of rooms. They just need furniture.”
“Nick and Mister Landrigan aren’t friends. They don’t even like one another. Tis like asking the dragon to move in with the prince and princess. Ugh. Never mind. What are we to do Auntie? Auntie?”
Felicity snapped back to herself.
As angry as her husband was with Landrigan, Nick would most likely knock him out cold before he could get a word in. If she hurried, she could intervene before their uninvited guest roused enough to talk. It was her place to tell Nick the truth about his father—hers and no one else’s—and she had planned to do so tonight after the gala.
She only prayed she hadn’t already lost her chance to do right by the man she loved.
Chapter Thirty-two
By the time Nick arrived at the gate and saw Landrigan lounging against one of three carousel ponies, his pulse had escalated to a steady and maddening drumbeat in his ears.
Sending Fennigan away with a flick of his head, Nick sized up the situation. Tiny mirrors bedecked the brightly painted flanks of the ponies, sparkling as they reflected the moonlight piercing the clouds overhead. The horses’ tails—made of real hair—waved with the wind. Nick was taken out of the moment, back to his past … the last time he’d seen his twin in person. Years ago, when they had a scuffle on their family’s carousel. Nick had left the ride broken and in shreds, and he’d done the same to his relationship with his brother.
It felt odd and ironic, to be in such a similar situation. Yet there was a big difference tonight, for he’d feel no remorse for the damage he intended to inflict this time.
He met Donal’s gaze. A peppermint stick hung from the Irishman’s mouth, standing out in the dimness against his dark coloring. Offering a cocky sneer, he reached to take out his candy so he could speak.
Nick stepped up. “Not a word. I know that you touched her. I know how you shamed her. Now you answer to me.”
In the sha
dows of the storm, Donal’s features shifted from gloating to cautious. He stood and dropped his candy to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot, all the while keeping Nick in his sights.
“You get one chance.” Nick bared his jaw, jutting it out in offering as cool wind sluiced through the placket of his shirt and ruffled the hair along his nape. “I’ll let you throw the first punch.”
Eyes narrowed, Donal set aside his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, a strained hesitation to his movements. He was obviously caught off guard by Nick’s swift recovery and the absence of his frilly cane. No doubt he wondered if he’d bit off more than he could spit out.
Hell yes you have.
The drumming pulse in Nick’s ears grew to a pounding roar as they stared each other down, muscles coiled to spring.
With every blink, Nick became an unwilling prisoner to his mind’s eye: forced to watch Donal rip Felicity’s dress, violate her with ugly words and harsh touches, ridicule her most sensitive flaw with all the compassion of a bloodthirsty lion taunting its crippled prey.
The image grated his core and decimated any attempt at sportsmanship.
“Time’s up,” he said.
Donal’s eyes widened, but too late. Nick lunged, aiming the heft of his weight in toward opponent’s midriff. His head collided with the Irishman’s chest—the pounding knock against his skull an intense yet coveted burst of pain which shook loose the tortured images of Felicity.
Donal grunted as Nick plowed them both sideways into the pony’s flanks. The horse spun and hit the stone side of the fence, its mirror designs busting and cracking. Shattered glass rained all around.
Nick and Donal fell into the mud. As Nick rolled to get back on his feet, a sensation of heat leaked out of tiny cuts in his nape. He trailed his palm along the abrasions. Tiny shards prickled his skin where the wind chilled his oozing blood to an icy wetness.
Wincing, Donal rose and glanced at his own forearm. A spatter of cuts blossomed to patches of blood along his blue shirt. With a throaty growl, he grappled Nick in a bear hug and rammed his back into another pony that was propped against a tree.
Air shunted out of Nick’s lungs when they collided—a bitter-hot rush bursting from his lips. Scalding jabs shot from between his hips to his spine. Gulping a breath, Nick braced his lower back and elbows on the pony for leverage and cuffed a knee into his opponent’s abdomen to shove him off. The effort jarred Nick’s leg from ankle to thigh and cast Donal into a backward sprawl. His bag of candy slipped from his trouser pocket and scattered to the ground.
Trying to regain balance, the Irishman stumbled toward the iron gate. The peppermint sticks rolled beneath his boots and tripped him. He landed, wedged between the busted pony’s hind legs. The tail draped like a curtain from Donal’s brow to his chin.
Dazed, Donal raked off the long straggly strands and shook his head to refocus.
Before his opponent could gather his bearings, Nick clasped his lapels, tensing to lift him. Hot red fury lapped at his soul. “You’ve been bullying her for months. Now she has me. And I’ll see you dead before you’ll ever hurt her again.”
“Wait…” Donal caught his wrists. A trickle of blood crept down to stain the corner of his mouth. A small gash marked his lip; he must’ve bit it during the fall.
Nick paused, an exertion which strained every muscle and tendon in his body. “Give me one reason…” He drew a measured breath into his lungs. “One reason not to pound you against those bars until your teeth fall out and I bag them up with those peppermints you’re so fond of.”
“Ye’ll make balls of yer Da’s visit if ye’ve killed a man.”
Stunned, Nick let his fingers go limp and eased back, allowing the Irishman to crumple at his feet. “My Da? You mean my father? The hell you say.” Nick looked around—half expecting his father to step out of the shadows and berate him.
“So ye don’t know.” Donal’s statement grounded him. “I suspected such. See, I’ve done some checkin’ on ye, Nicolas Thornton. I know ye nigh on ruined yer family’s reputation by knockin’ up an investor’s wife. But yer not the only one who has a penchant for secrets. Seems yer wife has been lyin’ to us both.”
“What are you talking about?” Nick asked.
Donal gulped some air, his smug demeanor returning along with the deepening wash of color in his cheeks. “Fennigan tells me ye’ve bog workers on the way soon.”
Nick gritted his teeth. “Right. To appease your bloody condition so you’ll sign the contract about the peat bogs.”
“I ne’er asked for a condition. Ne’er agreed to sign anythin’.”
The angry roar hazed Nick’s hearing again and he started toward Donal. “Backing out, are you?”
The man scooted on his haunches toward the fence, scuttling out of Nick’s reach. “Yer wife’s been lettin’ on the malarky with everyone! It be the patrons of her caterpillar business comin’ for a tour, and it be on the morrow.” Groaning as he shoved onto his feet, Donal leaned against the gate and ran his palms along his thighs and arms, as if checking for injuries. “I stole her list … sent the wires to bring ‘em here. It was to force her hand, ye see. But she forced yers instead.”
Nick froze, a sick thud starting at the base of his throat. Could this be what Felicity had meant earlier by deceptions?
A glint sparkled in Donal’s amber eyes, as if he not only sensed but savored the ugly speculations going on inside Nick’s mind. “Mayhap I’m mistaken, since ye’d already agreed to marry her when I made me last visit. She said ye were in town that very day to get a marriage license; it’s why she was alone here, with the girls. That weren’t a lie too, was it?”
A fine mist started to spatter all around—a cold awakening—as if raining down reality. Bits and pieces started snapping into place in Nick’s memory. The guilt on Felicity’s face at their wedding when she said she hoped he wouldn’t have regrets, her discomfort each time they spoke of the bog workers, the extra hours she’d spent in the butterfly consortium the past few days and nights—as if readying things for inspection.
He swiped the rain from his face, blinking hard. No. Not Felicity. She’d lied to him about her barrenness, but not this.
She knew of his determination to never see his father again. She wouldn’t betray him. Not her. Not the woman who understood him on a level no other human could.
Not the woman he loved.
Love.
The untimely epiphany lumped, mute and knotted, in his throat. He’d been lusting after her since the first day they met. Had his feelings evolved? Was he—a rogue, an addict, and a thief—capable of reaching such noble heights of sentiment?
This wasn’t the time for such debate. One thing he knew: he trusted Felicity with his life. The Irishman was trying to put a rift between them. And that he wouldn’t stand for. “You’re a lying son of a—”
“Nay there.” The rain had ceased and Donal wiped watery streaks of blood from his chin. “I can see ye have some issue with yer Da comin’. Must be why she kept it secret. But I’ve proof. In me jacket … yer old man’s at the top o’ the list.” He pointed toward the discarded piece of clothing rumpled on the ground.
Keeping a wary eye on his opponent, Nick bent to retrieve the article, his wet clothes sticking to him with each movement. Bits of glass rolled from the jacket and scattered to the ground as Nick searched in the pocket and drew out a piece of crisp parchment.
He held the paper to the faint moonlight. The corners flapped on the wind, but he could make out the script.
Like the Irishman claimed … his father’s name headed her London clientele.
Nick shoved the folded paper into his waistband. His legs numbed and he sat heavily on the carousel pony behind him, its curves hard and cold beneath his hands.
All along he’d thought their arrangement benefitted them both. He thought she was offering him sanctuary in exchange for him overseeing the bog enterprise. But those weren’t the reasons she’d wanted to marry him at a
ll. Men from London were coming. Men who might remember her past.
She should’ve warned him. In the very least, she could’ve told him his father was among the visitors.
But he would’ve turned tail and ran. She knew that. She kept him in the dark because she had no more faith in him than his old man did. No more faith than he had in himself.
“Wise up ye gack. Ye been bein’ led by the wrong head. We both know what she is. Whores are good for two things … lyin’ and wettin’ a man’s stalk. Seein’ as she lied to both of us, I think it be only fair I get to sample her other talent like ye have. Look what she did. Made a fool of ye for her own purposes. Reclaim yer pride, man. Turn around and walk away. Leave her to me … I’ll see she gets fair recompense. Just like me old Da wanted, before that bollox Clooney put a gap in his bush and ended his life.”
Although Nick’s thoughts were tangled up in his wounded ego, somewhere along the back roads of his mind, he remembered the heartrending sound of Felicity’s gurgling cries as she sprawled on her back, twisting in agony from a gaping knife wound.
The image spurred a wildfire through his veins. He stood, slowly … purposefully. “Clooney didn’t cause your father’s fall,” he grumbled, his stomach tight and burning. “I did.”
Donal’s face contorted in shocked disbelief. “Nay, that not be possible. Ye would’ve been only—”
“Sixteen. Old enough to visit a brothel and throw that vile bastard down the stairs. My one regret is that his neck didn’t snap the instant he hit the bottom. He deserved that and more for all the evil he heaped upon Felicity’s life. But there’s a saying where I’m from, about the sins of the father being visited upon the son.”
Donal cocked his head, suddenly alert.
Oblivious to anything else around him, Nick plowed into the Irishman, propelling them both into the iron gate. They hit so hard the bell on the other side gonged with the jolt. Donal yowled upon impact.
The Glass Butterfly Page 33