Quimbly knew something and, by God, Vincent was going to find out what it was.
And after that…
Vincent would return to his wife, sister-in-law in tow, so long as he wasn’t required to kidnap the girl, and he’d make known to her his feelings regarding their marriage once and for all.
Because after sitting in the saddle for hours on end, he’d turned the circumstances over in his mind quite thoroughly.
She’d had reason to fear her father before their marriage, and he’d been an ass not to acknowledge this the night before. She merely feared for her sister. Of course, she’d seek protection for her as well!
To hell with the fact that she hadn’t told him right away; they weren’t in dun territory after all. She’d been going through papers for days now, and she’d only wanted to be certain before getting his hopes up.
He owed her one hell of an apology.
He loved her. It frustrated him that he hadn’t said it before, that he only realized it when he could do nothing about it.
He loved her. He shouldn’t have left. At least not in anger.
A dark cloud drifted over the sun, sending a chill through him at the same time Bryony Manor appeared in the distance.
She’d said she thought her father could have had something to do with Keenan’s death. Was it possible Quimbly had been at Glenn Abby?
Vincent rolled his shoulders. He would not have known. He’d spent most of his time in the fields. He should have been paying better attention. The thought of him inheriting the title had never entered his mind. Ever.
They turned down the long drive and only then became aware of a flurry of activity in front of the manor steps. One of the manservants hopped onto a horse and rode toward them.
“Ho, there!” Vincent vaguely remembered the man from when he’d been here before. He’d seemed inordinately loyal to the earl.
The man pulled hard on his horse, having recognized Vincent immediately. “He won’t take her back so you’re wasting your time. I’m making haste for a physician. The master is ill!” As quick as that, the man spurred his horse and began racing off the property once again.
Vincent met Calvin’s gaze and then the two of them raced toward the manor, arriving at the entrance in a matter of seconds. A young girl had stepped outside and for a moment, Vincent had to blink his eyes, almost certain she was his wife.
“Lady Arianna?”
The girl nodded with narrowed eyes.
Vincent landed on the ground and handed off his mount. “I am Pemberth.”
“Where is my sister?” She lifted her chin in a remarkably familiar gesture.
“She sent me for you.” But if Quimbly was ill, he might be running out of time. “Take me to your father.”
She studied him for a moment, as though taking measure of his character.
“And then have your maid pack your things. My wife desires her sister’s company during the holidays.”
At these words, she finally sprang into action. “This way.” She led him up the stairs and around but one corner. As they neared the master suites, crying drifted out from one of the chambers.
Lady Arianna stopped at the door. “Agnes, leave them be a moment.”
An older servant, a woman who’d apparently been the source of the crying, stood at the threshold, eyeing Vincent skeptically. “Is he the physician?”
“I—” Vincent began.
“He is. Step away please.” Lady Arianna was obviously made of the same stock as his wife. He’d have found some humor in the two sisters’ stubbornness if the situation hadn’t taken such a dire turn.
Once the woman had reluctantly backed out, Vincent followed the girl into her father’s chamber.
Not one, but two people were laid on the bed.
On the nearest side, a man, Quimbly, his skin a parchment-like white, his lips blue, his eyes…
Gazing lifelessly up at the ceiling.
An uncovered chamber pot sat on the table beside him emitting a vomitus odor: a foul, almost chemical stench that stirred a vague memory in the back of Vincent’s mind.
“Mama?” Lady Arianna had gone to the other side of the bed to where her mother lay.
“I took care of him, darling.” The countess’ words barely sounded between her gasping breaths. And then the woman held out her hand atop the coverlet and slowly opened her fingers. Inside of her hand lay two vials. Lady Quimbly chuckled. “Gave him a taste of his own, my dearest Arianna.”
Seeing it in her hand, smelling the stench of death, Vincent was not mistaken. It was the same vial he’d found in his brother’s palm. The same red cap. The same traces of powdery substance lining the glass.
“No more,” the countess said, sounding weaker. “He’s taken too many lives, hurt too many people.”
Lila’s sister’s shoulders began to shake, the magnitude of what was happening hitting her. “But why you, Mama?” She leaned forward to rest her face by her mother’s.
“He killed my brother?” It wasn’t really a question. But Vincent needed to know.
The woman finally seemed to realize he was in the room. Meeting his eyes, she nodded. “My husband needed a duchess for a daughter. I never understood. But your brother refused to marry her. My poor Lila.”
Vincent struggled between the relief he felt to learn his brother hadn’t taken his own life and anger at the dead man lying on the bed.
Feeling sick himself, at the tragedies caused by a madman, Vincent accepted the former emotion and dismissed the latter.
It was over.
“You love my Lila?” the countess implored him. “She is happy.” Her breathing had become more labored. If she’d swallowed the arsenic, she was likely moments from death, nothing to be done.
“I love her.” Vincent’s own throat felt thick. “She is happy.” And she would be, too, as soon as he could get home and clear up all of their misunderstandings.
The countess fell back with closed eyes. “She won’t be needing my sleeping draught then.”
Vincent rode as though the hounds of hell chased him. Thank God for the moonlight. Thank God a horse had been available at the last inn, a good, strong horse.
He never would have driven an animal so hard, but…
His wife.
He dared not contemplate what he might find at his own home.
Please, don’t go! She’d begged him.
And his words. Words he’d regret for the rest of his life. Words said out of temper, and hurt, and shame: Get some sleep, Lila. Take some of that draught your mother gave to you.
Why hadn’t he recognized it then? The vial was the same as the one he’d discovered with Keenan. He’d been so blinded by his own damn pride. He allowed the horse to slow to a walk. He could not make any animal run such a great distance. He’d be more the villain for doing so.
And then he realized… he could run.
He was close. He could not sit atop a horse ambling along while…
He could run. The horse would follow.
Vincent dismounted, landed on the ground, and settled into a run he could maintain for a great distance, pumping his arms and legs, punishing himself in the only way he knew how. Ironically enough, the horse chose to trot beside him.
Vincent ran faster.
If she’d done as he told her, he’d never forgive himself.
Let her have been stubborn. Let her have defied her stupid ass husband. His mind alternated between chastising chants and desperate prayers.
Chapter 11
Fourteen hours earlier
He’d left her. She’d been right to fear his learning the truth. Even in the shadows, she’d seen the hurt in his eyes. And then came the anger. She’d almost felt it physically rolling off of him as he’d donned the clothes he’d worn that evening. He’d been unable to even stay in the same house with her.
She had wanted to please him so that he would help her save Arianna. At first. That had been her reason at first.
But could she
have acted the same with anyone else?
She could not have!
Only him.
After the door slammed shut behind him, she’d sat frozen on the bed, waiting for him to return. Hoping he’d only gone for a ride to cool his temper.
She’d learned that about him during the weeks since they’d married. Being out of doors, with his horse or tending to one of the herds—it cleared his head—helped him think.
And so she’d waited.
The next morning, she’d discovered the note in the salver and that was when her terror had set in.
He’d gone to confront her father. Her father was not a man who took well to having his actions questioned.
Pemberth was a large man, a strong man. But he was also an honorable one.
Her father would use that against him.
She’d wanted to go to Bryony Manor right away but Pemberth’s driver had fled with him. Knowing he was not to be alone while confronting her father gave her some small comfort. He also had Calvin at his side.
Two sturdy and loyal men.
All morning, she paced the stone corridors, fighting the urge to go after him. At the end of one particularly long hallway, she found herself in front of a painting. He’d pointed it out to her that first week.
Keenan. The former duke. His brother. Lila had come to know the man’s handwriting almost better than her own, she’d gone over so many documents, read pages and pages of his correspondence.
Pemberth’s brother had been a good man.
Whom her husband must have loved as greatly as she did Arianna.
How must he have hurt to believe Keenan had taken his own life? And yet…
It did not make sense.
Feeling a sense of purpose for the first time all day, she strode back to the library, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew the secret documents once again. Letters between the local magistrate and Pemberth.
Arsenic poisoning. Small glass vial discovered in the deceased’s hand. And then she discovered the most damning evidence of all.
The suicide note.
My dearest brother,
The coffers are empty. We’re in too much debt to save the dukedom. I cannot continue this way. Please contact the Earl of Quimbly who can be found at Bryony Manor to finalize payment of my debts.
Signed,
Keenan
If she hadn’t read through the falsehood of the note, she would most certainly have known who’d written it by the extra twirl on the tail of the “Q” in her father’s name.
He’d forged it.
Her father was despicable. He’d killed Keenan. Likely he’d not been alone, he would have taken Egan and Stan, his two most loyal brutes along to assist him.
Pemberth did not have to live believing his brother had committed the unforgivable sin.
The remainder of the afternoon she spent matching investments with notices sent of incoming shipments. Her brother-in-law had not impoverished his estate, quite the contrary.
Lila would show Pemberth everything if—no—when he returned. Because, of course, he would return to her!
Only not on this day.
After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, unable to sleep, Lila slid off of the tall bed in her husband’s chamber. She could take the draught. Get some rest tonight. If he did not return by tomorrow, she would enlist one of the other male servants to ride with her to Bryony Manor. Her father had killed at least once, that she knew of. He’d not hesitate to kill again.
Lila slipped through the adjoining door into her own chamber and once inside, slid open the drawer of her jewelry box and withdrew the velvet bag.
Holding up the vial of white powder, she realized she’d probably need some water.
Should she take all of it? Her mother hadn’t specified? Had she?
Use it on your husband, her mother had advised. Likely this meant that Lila would only require half the amount to sleep.
She lifted a nearby pitcher and poured some tepid water into a matching glass and then emptied a little less than half the contents of the vial.
She would sleep tonight. Tomorrow could turn out to be a very long day, indeed. He had to be all right! Please let him be unharmed. Please?
She closed her eyes, lifted the glass to her lips, and—
Something solid and wet and cold sent the glass flying from her hand.
Pemberth! Shock replaced her worry in an instant.
She hadn’t even heard him enter.
Without saying a single word, he tugged her tightly to him.
He was here! She wound her arms around his waist, feeling only relief as she pressed herself against her husband. He dripped with sweat despite the cold of the night air, but she did not care. His heart pounded rapidly beneath her ear. She didn’t mind that her nightgown absorbed the damp from his clothing. She slid her hands up to his neck and tilted her head back, taking in his haggard appearance.
“You didn’t drink it? The sleeping draught?”
She shook her head. “I never meant to hide anything—”
“It was poison! I thought I’d lost you.” He swallowed hard, searching her eyes, his hands running over her arms, her shoulders…
Poison? She shook her head. “It was for sleep.” She had just been going to drink it. “You knocked it from my hand. I haven’t slept since you left…”
He shuddered, looking pained. “Thank God. It was poison and I told you to take it and then I saw the same vial… I had to get here.”
What was he saying? Her mother had given it to her to subdue her husband. Had she actually told her it was for sleep? Or had Lila simply assumed…? “Poison?”
He nodded, and then swept her up against him again.
Her mother had told her to use it on her husband! Lila could have killed him! She clutched him back, just as tightly.
I could have killed him! Oh, Mother, why? But she knew. She’d suspected what her own mother had endured for years.
Dear God, she’d nearly taken it herself.
Pemberth tilted her head back and claimed her mouth with an onslaught so desperate that it was almost painful.
The good kind of painful.
The wonderful kind of painful.
Her heart overflowed with emotion at the same time her body hungered for more. “I’m sorry,” she managed to gasp against his lips.
“No. Oh, God, Lila. I am the one who is sorry.” He lifted her and she wound her legs around his waist. A need unlike any she’d known consumed her. The need to reaffirm life. A need to show her love in every way. She needed…
Him.
Dragging his mouth along her neck, her shoulders, he walked them both forward and backed her up against the wall. “My love. I thought I’d lost you.”
My love.
One of his hands released her to unfasten and then tug at his breaches. She didn’t wait.
She did not need him to prepare her. Taking hold of his length, Lila placed him at her opening.
He pressed inside. No hesitation. No questions or play.
He knew what she wanted. She ached to be filled.
This was what she’d been made for—to join with this man.
This man. “Vincent.” His name escaped on a rasping breath.
He was her other half. Together, two imperfect souls made perfect.
Lila arched her back, grasping his arms with her hands at the same time his teeth tore at her gown, exposing all of her for him to consume. Like a storm that had hovered on the horizon, passion overtook them both. Lila moved with him. Deeper. Harder. Her heart sang as they mated together in their own unique rhythm, reaffirming life. Their physical bodies said what words could never comprehend.
Gasps and moans of need melded with the sounds of flesh against flesh as he satisfied them both.
The wall shook behind her. Her legs trembled but it was he who held her up, he who pumped forcefully, increasing in both intensity and pace.
“Vincent!” He was her protector, her giver of
pleasure.
Two last thrusts, each seemingly touching the core of her body and then, pinning her between his own body and the wall, he spent inside of her.
They stood that way, taking deep breaths, in a silence that quickly began filling with questions.
Lila grasped him around the neck once again and leaned forward.
In a rasping breath, she barely managed to whisper two words. “What happened?”
Chapter 12
Bittersweet
What happened?
Vincent lowered her feet to the ground, sliding out of her while he did so, and somehow kept one arm wrapped around her as he fastened his breeches.
At that moment, he never wanted to let her out of his sight again.
“Why would my mother give me poison?” She stepped back, causing his arm to drop away.
He had wanted this season to be a happy one for her. It was likely she hated her father, but she’d had hope for her mother. Staring at the broken glass spread at the other end of the room, he scrubbed one hand down his face.
“Your mother…” He couldn’t just blurt it out. Not in here. Not with the sweet sickly smell of arsenic hovering in the air.
Not giving her a chance to resist, he scooped her up and carried her into the master’s chamber.
His chamber.
Her concerned look revealed that she sensed his news was not going to be good. He did not want to tell her this. After lowering her to the bed, he climbed up and gathered her up against him, holding her head against his heart.
“Your mother…” He swallowed hard. “She has passed.” And because she would find out anyway, he would not hide her parents’ manner of death. “She poisoned both your father and herself. I saw the vial in her hand. It was then I realized…”
A gust of wind shook the window, but aside from the rattling of the windowpane, the room fell silent. Her head tucked into his chest, she did not speak or move. She simply absorbed the horror of his news.
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