Something was wrong, and she wouldn’t tell him. Did she think he would still seek revenge?
He wouldn’t. He’d abandoned the idea long ago. He enjoyed their relationship as it was, wishing for nothing more and nothing less.
Love would not be an option. He would never attempt to gain such deep recognition from Lucy, but whatever they were, it was good. He cared for her, deeply, and knew she felt the same.
Otherwise, she’d not have these bouts of guilt.
Kent had been wondering just what to do about them. He pressed his hand to his coat pocket and then reached inside before he pulled out a ring.
Lucy’s eyes widened as she stared at the gold band that was encrusted with diamonds and rubies. Then she looked at him. “What’s that for?”
He took one of her hands, took off the glove, and slipped the ring on. “We never had a proper engagement so I never had the opportunity to shower my intended with gifts.”
She stared at her hand in the light that spilled from the window. “But…we never had a proper engagement at all.” She looked up at him. “You…despised me.”
“No.” He took her hand in his. “I never despised you, so get that out of your head. I was upset. I’d have seen reason eventually.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
He paused and then sighed. “Because you are you and you have a certain…control over me.”
Her awed expression nearly made him laugh.
He tucked one of her curls behind her ear and continued to hold her hand. “You always have, Lucy. You remind me that the world isn’t full of darkness. There is good here. You are good. You were good to me at Mr. Goody’s home. I just needed time to remember that.”
She looked from him to her hand again.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
She smiled up at him. “Of course, I like it. I love it. Thank you.” She grabbed his arm. “We should go home.”
“So soon?” he asked.
Her smile turned immodest. “Unless you no longer wish for us to exert ourselves...”
Kent needed no more reason than that. Grabbing his wife, he nearly fled from the building.
* * *
Lucy had been staring at her hand later that night but jumped when Kent entered the drawing room. She still had a brush in her hand. Her painting of Jessica was nearly complete. She only wished to make sure the eyes were accurate.
“What do you think?” She motioned to her work.
He strolled over to her slowly. His face bore the expression of a well-rested man. She’d lit a half dozen lamps in the room to make sure she could see perfectly.
He stopped behind her back her, brushed her hair to rest over her other shoulder, and wrapped his arm around her. Her body responded by settling into the embrace. The position was one she’d grown used to. His bulk and warm breath were comforting.
“It’s beautiful.” he said. “It looks exactly like the one by the window. I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference at all.” Tomorrow, Kent would return the original.
“I could do more with her hair.” Lucy said. “And her nose. I’m not sure the artist got it right at all.”
He kissed her jaw. “You’re not ready to part with the original, are you?”
She wasn’t. “Jessica posed for that one. She touched it.” She looked over at him. “Am I being silly? I’m thinking about sending Lord Maltsby my version and keeping the original.”
“He’ll know the difference.” Kent said immediately.
She frowned. “But you just said you couldn’t tell the difference.”
He turned her around to face him and cupped her face. “If I’d been without the woman in possession of my heart for ten years and had then been trapped in a cell for two months with nothing else to gaze at but her face on canvas.” One of his fingers moved down her cheek. “I’d have every stroke of the artist’s hand memorized. I would recognize her face better than my own.”
Lucy had stopped breathing once Kent began to speak and didn’t take another breath until he removed his hands. She told herself he was speaking about her sister and Lord Maltsby, because it was impossible for him to have been speaking about her.
He couldn’t love her, right?
Instead of cultivating love, his mother had destroyed any ability Kent had possessed for it. The place within him, the heart that he spoke of, now did nothing more than pump enough blood to keep him alive.
But he cared for her. If he were in Lord Maltsby’s position, would he have memorized her face?
“You said you were looking for me before Denhallow’s party.” she said. “How did you go about doing so?”
“Strange you should ask.” He grinned. “I had an artist draw your face from my memory and hired men to go around looking for you.”
She smiled. “Can I see this drawing of me?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, one day.” He took the brush from her hand and set it down before taking her fingers and moving toward the other side of the drawing room.
He sat on the couch and she went down with him, landing on his lap. He spread out, his back against the cushion and she followed, settling into her husband’s wide chest. Her cheek and hands rested over the hard slopes of his muscles and she swore nothing felt better.
She closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure as his hands moved through her hair.
They’d rested like this more than a few times over the last few weeks. Sometimes they spoke of nothing in particular while other times they did not speak at all.
The simple ease between them seemed to strengthen every day, and Lucy was certain she would do this with him for another hundred years and never grow bored.
This was what she wanted to do, with him, forever.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She smiled. “How I could do this forever. You’re quite comfortable.”
“Mmm.” His fingers trailed slowly through her hair.
“Will you be all right? With me taking the painting tomorrow?” he asked.
She sighed in resignation. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Don’t start lying to me now. At times, I feel you’re the only person I can trust.”
She looked over at him and then climbed his body and pressed her chest into his. Then she kissed his lips. “Everything I do, I do for you and George.”
He locked his arms around her. His expression was the most relaxed she’d ever seen. “Not a selfish bone in your body, is there?”
She smiled but gave no answer. Then she rested her head on his shoulder.
Lucy had almost drifted off to sleep when there was a knock at the door and a footman came in with a missive. Lucy was settling back down, content to let Kent handle whatever it was, but then he said, “It’s addressed to you.”
She groaned and straightened before taking the note from him. She saw her name scrolled across the front in a small and neat hand she didn’t recognize and then she looked at Kent. His eyes had hardened as he stared at the missive.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked. “Who is it from?”
“My mother.”
Lucy groaned again and was tempted to toss it into the nearby fireplace. “I’ll read it later. Maybe tomorrow or next week.” She’d make the dowager wait.
Kent’s expression relaxed enough to grin. “Open it. If she’s sent it at this hour, it must be her version of urgent.”
She’d caught his words. Her version of urgent.
“So, there is a strong possibility it’s nothing.” Lucy put it on the tea table and leaned back against Kent. “It can wait.”
Kent wrapped his arms around her. “My mother isn’t used to being ignored. If you don’t respond, she is likely to come to you in person.”
And coming to Lucy in her person meant likely running into Kent, and Lucy didn’t wish to drag her husband into whatever this was about. “Oh, very well.”
Kent’s hold on her loosened as she leaned forward and snatched the note
from the table.
It was another summons, for tomorrow, but only for Lucy.
“Go to her.” Kent said after she showed him. “I don’t want her coming here for any reason.”
She looked at him. “Do you fear her?”
He swept her hair back. “I fear no one, but I’ll not allow her to ruin what we’ve created here. This place has become sacred to me, which is something I didn’t think could happen. It is better that any animosity we face with her happens in her home.”
Lucy touched his cheek. “I’ll go to her.”
“Do you fear her?” Kent asked. “You seemed quite capable of handling yourself with her. If I thought otherwise, I’d have you refuse her.”
Lucy shook her head. It was likely time she and the dowager had a conversation anyway. “I don’t fear her. Don’t worry.”
∫ ∫ ∫
4 8
* * *
Kent read the newspaper and then he read it again before releasing a curse.
“Kent.” Lucy called.
He put the paper down and noticed George was staring at him in wonder. “My apologies.” Kent could barely think. It felt as though everything around him were crumbling. His world had shifted so abruptly that he was unable to catch himself. He gripped the table.
Lucy reached out. “Kent, what’s wrong?”
He looked at her but couldn’t see her face. He stood. “Stay home. Tell my mother you’ll visit her another time.”
“But I thought you wanted me to go to her today.” Lucy got to her feet.
He stared into her eyes.
“Kent?” She looked worried.
He touched her chin. “Do not leave the house today. Send my mother a note. She will understand.”
“Why?” Lucy asked.
There was no time to answer. He simply handed her the paper and left.
His carriage had been readied for his visit to Newgate set for that morning. Now, Kent was racing to that side of the city for an entirely different reason. He took a series of deep breaths, but they were of no use. His stomach threatened to empty as his mind filled with Lord Maltsby’s final words to him.
I’ll see you soon.
“It can’t be.” Kent whispered. Everything had been going so well. His life had finally fallen into place. Now this.
When the carriage stopped, he bounded out.
“You certainly took your time getting here.” Astlen said as Kent approached the front of the growing crowd outside the gate of the sessions house. There was a large gathering on Old Bailey. Many were simply spectators who looked on curiously, but Kent was familiar with a few of the newspaper writers blending into the crowd. One pressed close to the men, likely waiting to see their reactions. For such a story, there was only one appropriate reaction.
Rage.
“How did this happen?” Kent asked, unsurprised that the other lords had gathered here as well.
“We’re still not sure.” Astlen turned his dark gaze toward the building. “They aren’t letting anyone inside.”
“The papers.” Fawley said. “They have to be lying, don’t they?” Worry filled his blue gaze as he held onto one of the bars of the black gate.
“We can only hope.” Denhallow said.
Coalwater wasn’t paying attention. He stared out unseeingly at the building.
“No,” Kent said. “I want them to release Lord Maltsby. It’ll make it easier for us to—”
Astlen elbowed him in the side and hissed under his breath, “Watch what you say. They are listening.”
Kent looked around but didn’t care. If the courts released Lord Maltsby, Kent would kill him. According to the article, Lord Maltsby had retracted his earlier claims of guilt and now blamed everything on Mr. Goody…who was conveniently dead. The papers that held the evidence? Not enough to find Lord Maltsby guilty for anything more than ‘borrowing’ a few pounds that he easily returned to the men they’d been taken from.
Lord Maltsby claimed to not have known about the kidnapping, but when he noticed a few accounts hadn’t been touched in some time, he’d taken the liberty to try his hand at a few new ideas. He apologized for not asking Kent, Coalwater, Fawley, Astlen, and Denhallow’s permission, but since the investments had been profitable…
And since it appeared as though the Earl of Ganden had forgiven him when he’d placed his money back into his bank...
In the end, no one wished to see a lord go to prison and rarely was one put to death. The very thought of it being possible scared more than a few members of the ton. Kent had heard— though no one had dared say it to him personally— that there were a few lords who thought the Lost Lords should put the matter to rest and let it go.
No harm was done. No one was killed.
Lord Maltsby’s punishment would be to retire from banking. He’d not be allowed to run the Gentlemen’s Society anymore, but that was a laughable punishment. Everyone knew he’d simply tell his son what to do from the shadows.
Kent struggled to breathe around the indignation.
“He must have some pretty powerful people on his side.” Denhallow said.
“More powerful than a duke, a marquess, an earl, and a viscount combined?” Astlen asked. “Doesn’t anyone care? We were…” He closed his eyes and tightened his fist. Then he shook his head. He was struggling to watch his words as well.
Kent’s gut began to burn. Was there no justice in the world? He’d thought this was over. Finished. He’d been ready to move on. He’d been ready to try and be…happy.
But he couldn’t. He chuckled at himself for even thinking he’d had the right. Hadn’t everything in his life told him he’d be nothing more than miserable? Peace was an illusion.
One of the sheriffs finally left the building with a few other guards at his back. A carriage rolled into the courtyard from another entrance and the guards huddled around who could only be Lord Maltsby.
He was being freed.
“Impossible.” Fawley whispered.
“I told you.” Astlen said. “This is far from over.”
He’d been right all along. Somehow, it felt more like a terrible beginning.
A hand wrapped around Kent’s arm and he jerked away and turned, ready to fight.
Only to find Lucy standing there, staring up at him with open concern. “Kent, I’m so sorry.”
The carriage beyond the gate began to pull away. Kent wished he could tear through the iron that separated him and Lord Maltsby. He wished he could get his hands on the man again. He should have finished him when he had the chance.
“Is that him?” Lucy asked, staring beyond the gate.
Lucy. She was the very last person he needed to see at the moment. An illusion in itself. Just how long would God allow their contentment before that, too, was ripped away from him?
He felt like such a fool for not seeing it before. Thirty years and he’d never been happy a day in his miserable life. Nothing would change now.
“How did you get here?” Her carriage couldn’t have been readied that quickly.
She turned to him, likely surprised by how harsh he sounded. “I came in a hackney. I knew you’d come here.” She grabbed his arm again.
Holding him. Her touch began to calm him, which in turn irritated him, because Kent didn’t wish to be calm at the moment. He needed to feel his anger and let it burn.
Resentment was all his mind knew. It was familiar. It would see him through to the end.
Gently, he lifted her hand and moved it to down to her side. “You were to stay home. You were to write my mother.”
She frowned. “You believe I could concentrate on your mother or anything else while you’re dealing with all this?”
The crowd did not need to hear them. Locking a hand around her arm, he pushed them through the people until they were a few paces away. “You were to stay home, Lucy.” he said as he came to a stop in front of his carriage.
“Kent—”
“Go and do as I instructed.” he whispere
d before shoving her lightly toward the open carriage door.
Her eyes flashed with pain…which might have affected him had he not already hardened himself against her. How easily his shields had fallen back into their rightful place.
His wife continued to stare at him. So sweet. So innocent. Something he never should have touched but had done so before he’d known better. It was best he placed some distance between them.
Kent’s mind was turning dark, and he did not wish to take her there with him.
He was going to kill Lord Maltsby, and he didn’t need Lucy’s goodness as a distraction.
* * *
Lucy stared up at Kent and didn’t move. She couldn’t. Behind the irritation in Kent’s gaze, she recognized an old acquaintance of theirs. Violence.
Violence had been there the first day they’d met. There had been no doubt in her mind that had she released Kent from his chains that night, he’d have snapped Mr. Goody in half. Perhaps even thirds.
She’d seen that look before.
She’d attended him, slept next to him on the coldest nights, and had endured his threats, caring for him until that look that had promised nothing less than bloodshed had cooled to spiteful anger.
It hadn’t been peace, but it had been enough for a time. He’d no longer been a man standing on the edge, fearing nothing, not even his own death.
Yet now the rage had returned and she understood why.
He’d likely not rest until he found his own form of justice. He would be judge and executioner once he got his hands on Lord Maltsby. Evidence need not be presented again.
Those eyes with a hue that only an hour ago had made her think of fields of clovers now said that someone’s luck had just run out.
She liked his strength and even a touch of his danger, but not this. She was disturbed by the hostility she saw. She wanted the Kent from a few days ago to return to her. “Kent, please. Come with me and George. Let’s go to the park.”
He laughed. The sound was raw. “The park? Lucy…” His gaze called her a fool.
She reached out to touch him, but the slight lift of his brow warned her against it. So instead, she wrapped her arms around herself.
Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 23