Henry's Bride (London Libertines Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  “God’s teeth, woman, you’re serious?”

  “Perfectly. Let Henry find a wife more suited to his taste and status.”

  “You’re making a grave mistake, abandoning your family.”

  “I’m not abandoning them.”

  “Yes, you are.” He lowered his voice. “When I first laid eyes on you, you had such spirit. Fresh, funny, passionate for what you believed in, and determined to do the right thing. So much so, it nearly ruined you. Did Henry and I destroy that spirit?”

  His words picked at her heart, peeling off the protective layers she’d fashioned around it. But she couldn’t afford to show weakness now.

  “Promise me you’ll look out for him, Rupert. Both of them. Edward will need someone after I’m gone.”

  A small cry made her look round. A pair of dark blue eyes stared up at her, laced with despair, anger, and hatred.

  Edward had heard every word.

  *

  A fog of pain formed a thick, hot spiral inside Henry’s mind before sharpening into focus deep inside his chest.

  Good grief, is this what she endured when Oakville had shot her?

  “Oakville…”

  “Hush,” a female voice spoke, low and seductive, tempered by concern. A voice he recognized; the pretty creature Sanderson had taken such a shine to.

  “Rosaline.”

  He opened his eyes and a shaft of light pierced his skull.

  “So, you’re awake at last,” Oakville said. “Bloody fool.”

  “Hush, my lord!” Rosaline’s face swam into view.

  Sanderson stood behind her, a look of adoration on his face.

  Jeanette. Where was she? The woman he’d instinctively thrown himself into the path of a bullet to protect?

  Or had he failed? His heart jolted at the notion that she may be dead.

  “Jeanette…”

  Oakville sat beside the bed.

  “She’s gone.”

  A wave of nausea rippled in Henry’s stomach. His heart threatened to shatter with grief. “Dear Christ!”

  “No, no, you misunderstand me. She’s left you.”

  Relief dampened by abandonment tightened the clamp on his heart. She lived but wanted nothing to do with him.

  “I suppose you arranged it, Oakville. How convenient.”

  “What would you have me do? She wanted to leave.”

  “You could have kept her here! Aren’t you man enough to contain one woman?”

  “You’re the one who humiliated her and sent her away. You should have told her the truth about what you were doing, not let her expect the worst. And now you’ve let her go.”

  Anger and jealousy surged in Henry’s veins and he struggled to sit up. “What the hell could I do? If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been bloody unconscious!”

  A soft hand touched his forehead. “Lord Ravenwell,” Rosaline said, “this isn’t helping.”

  “Tell it to Oakville.” Henry grumbled. “It’s his doing.”

  “Leave her alone, sir,” Sanderson growled, placing a protective arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Lord Oakville only did what your wife asked him to.” He lifted his hand at Henry’s protest. “I don’t blame her for leaving. She’s no soulless lady who only cares for fine gowns and grand carriages. She’s a flesh-and-blood woman who craves an equal partnership in life.”

  “Not you, too,” Henry rasped, before a cough racked his body. “Damn! Help me up, can’t you?”

  “Get yourself up,” Oakville said. “There’s nobody to blame for her leaving but you.”

  “I was protecting her!” he cried. “That’s why I sent her to sodding Sussex!”

  “Dray, we both know there’s no point forcing your wife to do anything. Jeanette isn’t the biddable mannequin society expects a marquis to marry. She knows her own mind and will act upon it. By letting her go on her own terms, I could at least ensure she was safe. With someone who’ll protect her.”

  “Who?”

  “O’Reilly.”

  The privateer. The American who’d blighted the ballrooms of London and set both courtesans’ and debutantes’ pulses racing. A fortune and a piratical appearance had made O’Reilly a fierce competitor for female attention during the past season, until he had offered for the prim Miss Elliott, after which he’d had eyes for none other.

  A coy smile spread across Rosaline’s lips. Had O’Reilly patronized her?

  Henry snorted. “That man is a rogue.”

  “Nonsense,” Oakville scoffed. “He merely has the appearance of one. You might have an ancient name to lend respectability, but you’re as much of a rogue as O’Reilly.”

  “And now he has my wife.”

  Oakville shrugged. “You should have trusted her.”

  “There’s a bloody lot more I should have done, Oakville,” Henry sighed. “Help me up. I must follow her.”

  “You need to rest; you’ve lost a lot of blood,” Oakville said. “Besides, your chances of winning her back will be much improved if you’re strong enough to handle her.”

  Oakville was right. Jeanette was safe with O’Reilly. Henry could win her back as soon as he’d recovered.

  And win her back he would. It was time to cast off the shackles of his past, and his cowardice. Time to declare to the world that he loved his wife.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jeanette opened the window. The taste of salt stung her lips, and the noise of the docks—captains bellowing orders and sailors chatting animatedly in anticipation of a prosperous voyage—warred with the harsh cries of the birds circling overhead. She closed her eyes and the image overtook her—blue eyes dark with despair, anger, and abandonment.

  Edward’s last words to Jeanette had shredded her heart. Even when she had offered to take him with her, he’d refused, accusing her of deserting Henry. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t bear to live with a man who didn’t love her.

  By acknowledging Edward as her son, Jeanette had set him up for another betrayal. She was worse than the ruffians whose mistreatment he’d endured all his life, for she knew better but had abandoned him anyway. Edward couldn’t hate her more than she hated herself.

  Would she let her unborn child down also?

  A gray shape circled above her, then descended in a spiral to land on the windowsill. Stretching its wings, the seagull squawked before turning its expectant eye on her.

  “I’ve nothing for you.”

  The bird cocked its head to one side, ruffled its feathers, and stood its ground.

  “Talking to the birds, Jeanie?”

  Andrea appeared at her side, a smile of amusement on her face, and waved a gloved hand at the bird. With a screech, the gull launched upward, flapping in earnest to gain height before it picked up an air current and began to soar, ascending in a wide arc to join its companions.

  “Where else would I find intelligent conversation, Andy?”

  Andrea snorted with laughter. Life with a privateer had destroyed some of the inhibitions society had bred into her.

  A cacophony erupted above them, a rush of wings as the seabirds dove toward a ship which was drawing into dock where a deckhand threw scraps over the side.

  Jeanette drew in another lungful of air. “Do you suppose seagulls have accents? Are French gulls distinguishable from English?”

  “I’ve no idea, Jeanie.”

  “Some of those birds will have followed that ship across the water. But perhaps they’re turned away when they approach the English coastline for not fitting into society, their squawks too coarse for English sensibilities.”

  Andrea rolled her eyes. “We’re not speaking of seagulls, are we?”

  A deep voice rumbled from behind. “Ah, my favorite shipmates.”

  “Theo, darling.”

  His chocolate-brown eyes crinkled into a smile. His tanned skin and hair curling over his shoulders made him look every part the rogue. He placed an arm around Andrea’s shoulders. His arm muscles bulged gently, strength concealed under t
he soft linen of his shirt.

  Had Jeanette not known him, she’d have thought him the worst sort of ruffian. As a privateer, he’d have to deal with enemies on the ocean as well as hold command over his crew. The first sign of weakness and the laws of the beast would prevail. Yet his fingers entwined with Andrea’s in a tender, loving gesture.

  The love they shared was rare indeed. It was the passion a man shared with his mistress together with the affection and respect he shared with his wife, united in the same man. It was a love Jeanette had yearned for since she’d understood the concept. A love she could never have.

  Theodore kissed Andrea full on the lips, and in response, she lifted her hands and buried them in his hair, pulling him close with a soft moan.

  He broke the kiss and admonished his wife gently.

  “Later, Andrea, my love.”

  He smiled at Jeanette. “I trust you’re comfortable, Lady Ravenwell, and recovered from your ordeal?”

  “I’m capable of weathering captivity and slavery, Mister O’Reilly.”

  “But not a marriage?”

  His gaze, loaded with perception, turned toward her and the heat rose in her face.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mister O’Reilly, for offering to take me to Sussex.

  “Viscount Oakville persuaded me, but even if he did not, it’s my pleasure to be of service.”

  “Oakville,” she sighed. “It seems I misjudged him.”

  “As you misjudged your husband?”

  Andrea nudged him, but he shrugged. “Would you have me lie to her, my love?”

  “No, you’re right,” Jeanette said, “I was wrong about Henry.”

  “Then isn’t it a mistake to leave him?”

  “No,” she replied. “I was wrong to think him involved in those abductions, but I’m not wrong in leaving. There’s more than one definition of liberty, Mister O’Reilly.”

  “Running away doesn’t mean you’ve liberated yourself.”

  Jeanette shook her head. “I’m sure you have the best intentions, but you love your wife. Henry may be a good man, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be happy with him, or he with me. I could better withstand his contempt of me if he was an evil man. Knowing he’s a good man, willing to endanger his life for others, yet still despises me, has destroyed my heart.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  “Theo!” Andrea exclaimed. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.”

  “As you wish.” He bowed to Jeanette. “My carriage is waiting. The driver will take you anywhere you wish to go. I shall await you outside.”

  The door closed behind him, and Andrea shook her head. “I’m sorry, Theo spoke out of turn, Jeanie.”

  “No matter.”

  “But he’s right. Your place is with Henry.”

  “Even if he doesn’t love me?”

  “Are you sure he doesn’t?”

  “He couldn’t dispose of me quickly enough,” Jeanette said, “spiriting me away to Sussex while he indulged himself in London and established a mistress.”

  Andrea sighed. “A mistress is something of a fashion statement.” She lowered her voice. “Shortly before we married, I learned Theo had a mistress.”

  Jeanette recoiled. “And still you married him! Did you not have any self-respect?”

  “My love for Theo surpasses any personal desire to be admired. We resolved the issue by talking to each other.”

  “But a mistress, Andrea!”

  “They were lovers long before he and I met. After she secured a new patron, Theo and she became friends. She’s much older than Theo and has little chance of finding a patron now. But in recognition of their friendship, he pays her a small stipend and visits her occasionally as a good friend, nothing else.”

  “Aren’t you concerned that he and she, that they…” Jeanette’s voice trailed away, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.

  Andrea laughed. “Of course not. I trust him. I’ve even met her. She treats him like a younger brother, with indulgence and gratitude.”

  Her expression sobered and she took Jeanette’s hand. “All men have a past, Jeanie.”

  “I can forgive Henry his past deeds,” Jeanette said. “It’s his present thoughts I cannot endure.”

  “Have you discussed it with him?”

  Jeanette sighed. “The last time we spoke, he turned me out of the house. I heard him tell a whore in her own house how much he regretted our marriage. What more evidence do I need?”

  “I’m not referring to an argument in the heat of the moment or an overheard conversation in a bawdy house,” Andrea said. “Surely you of all people understand the best form of communication is a rational, direct conversation. Or are you afraid of what he’d say if you asked him how he felt?”

  How perceptive Andrea had become! Was it the benefit of an honest marriage with a man of the world, a life on board ship where the niceties of social convention deferred to the rules of survival? Had Jeanette fled Henry to avoid an open admission that he didn’t love her?

  “No matter,” Andrea said softly. “You’ve been through an ordeal. Now’s not the time to speak of it. The carriage is waiting. Would you like me to come with you?”

  “No,” Jeanette replied. “If I’m to accustom myself to being alone, I must begin as soon as possible.”

  Theo waited for them by the carriage. Behind him, the ship had docked. Figures ran along the water’s edge, the gaudy colors of the prostitutes’ dresses as they gathered in eagerness at the prospect of fruitful trade. Men cheered from deck, eager to part with their coins in exchange for a warm pair of thighs. A crowd gathered as the ship drew to a halt, spectators jostling to get a better look.

  The crowd parted to reveal the darker hues of men in uniform. Soldiers approached Theo’s house and formed a semicircle around Jeanette and her friends.

  “Lady Ravenwell?”

  Theo’s body stiffened at the voice, and he moved in front of Jeanette, as if to shield her body from the man who pulled out a sheaf of paper from his coat pocket.

  “Jeanette Frances Drayton, Lady Ravenwell. You’re to come with us.”

  A cold hand of fear brushed her skin at the grave tone of his voice.

  Theo placed a protective hand on her arm. “For what purpose?”

  “This woman is under arrest for murder. Stand aside or we’ll take her by force.”

  Theo cursed. “You cannot be serious! Who the devil is she supposed to have murdered?”

  “My wife.” The soldiers parted, and another man appeared. Elegantly dressed in a dark green coat, the normally mild-mannered man shook with hatred.

  Daniel Winters.

  “Do you deny you killed her?”

  Ignoring Theo’s warning glance, Jeanette shook her head. “Sir Daniel, I’m sorry…”

  “You bitch!” he cried. “She was your friend, and this is how you repay her? My Charlotte could never hurt anyone, and you murdered her.” He turned to the soldiers.

  “What are you waiting for? You heard her confess!”

  Theo pushed her aside and drew his pistol.

  “Theo, no!” Jeanette cried. The soldiers were armed. To avoid bloodshed, she had to surrender.

  “Jeanette, you’re innocent.”

  “I shot Charlotte,” she said. “I took a life. I must pay for what I did.”

  “But…”

  She bit her lip to prevent her voice catching with fear. “If you try to stop these men, they’ll shoot you down. Lower your weapon, for Andrea’s sake.”

  “No!” Andrea cried out. “Theo, can’t you do something?”

  Jeanette placed her hand on Theo’s arm. “Don’t provoke them; they outnumber us. Either way, they’ll take me. I’d rather you survived it.”

  Theo uncocked his weapon. “This isn’t over, Jeanette. I’ll go to my lawyer directly.”

  “That’ll make no difference,” Sir Daniel said. “Nothing can bring my Charlotte back, but I’ll at least have the satisfaction of seeing that bitch swinging fro
m the hangman’s noose.”

  Strong, unyielding hands took Jeanette’s arms and dragged her away from the house. The last thing she heard before she was hauled away was Andrea’s sobs, punctuated only by the screech of the seagulls overhead.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dawn broke, casting a cold gray light onto the walls of Jeanette’s cell. Eager voices rumbled outside as a crowd began to gather. One of her fellow prisoners was to hang.

  Thick mucus glistened on the stones. The damp air provided a nurturing ground for mold and disease. If she stayed here too long, she wouldn’t have to fear the gallows; sickness would get her first. Her stomach twitched, and she caressed her belly. Her poor child would never see the world.

  Sir Daniel’s words rang in her ears. You murdered my wife! Did you begrudge our happiness? I loved her, but your husband despises you. And so he should. You’re evil, nothing but a filthy whore!

  “You’ll be next.”

  The jailer’s face appeared at the window in the cell door, grinning to reveal a row of rotten teeth.

  “Leave me alone.”

  He laughed. “They won’t even give you a trial seein’ as you confessed. You’re not a fancy nob anymore; you’re one of us. About time one of you lot swung from a gibbet.”

  His eyes glittered with fervor. “Do you know what hanging is like? The rope tightens round your neck, then they drop you. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a long rope and your neck will snap on impact. If not, the noose will cut into your throat until you choke for breath. You’ll jerk and dance as you try to break free, but it’ll only work tighter and tighter.”

  He licked his lips. “I’ve paid the executioner well. He’ll ensure the rope is short enough so you entertain the crowd before you die. Ye’ll dance like a maggot on a fish-hook.”

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  At the new voice, the jailer’s stance turned from predatory to deferent.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, I…”

  “Unlock that cell.”

  Keys jangled in the lock before the door swung outward to reveal a liveried soldier.