An Unmistakable Rogue (20 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chastity raised her chin. “I’m glad William did not touch me. I’m glad it was you—”

“Do not,” Reed said. “Do not corrupt what we shared by adding it to your pack of lies. Damn it, you never actually told Sennett you stole the children, did you?” Reed ran his hand through his hair. “And Sunnyledge? By God, he would take that back if he knew. Now I understand. That’s why you agreed to our betrothal, because I damned near threw you in deep water. I can be such a fool.” Reed stood to pace, every step seeming to take him farther away. “Why, Chastity? Why did you keep William’s note from me?”

She did not know where to begin.

“Never mind,” he went on. “I know. You wanted to keep Sunnyledge. You knew I could be one of the St. Yves twins, because you knew there was a second note, whereas I kept thinking that if only there were two notes, then perhaps— Blast and damnation, Chastity, why?”

“How much more conclusive is your evidence now that you have William’s note?” she asked. “Does it make a difference, really? Mr. Sennett said the day I met him that William’s claim had ended—if one existed—with his death. That note made no difference to your search at all.”

“It made a difference to my conclusions! Two notes equals two sons, equals twins, equals two empty caskets—which I have. Do not even pretend you cannot see that.”

He would never believe that she had not seen it that precise way, until this moment. She sighed. “You and William look nothing alike, by the way, but I withheld the information at first, because if you had known about his note, you would have asked who he was.”

“What the bloody damn difference would that make?”

“I would have been forced to admit the truth, that he was my husband.”

“The truth?” Reed’s expression went from incredulous to cruel. “Oh, I forgot, telling falsehoods would set a bad example.” He shook his head. “Why, Chastity?”

“I was afraid. There would have been no barriers between us, if you knew that I had been married, but if you thought I was a nun, living together was safer. I was ... drawn to you from the first. I had always craved human contact. I needed the barrier.”

That she had his interest for the first time since she handed him the note, gave Chastity courage. “The sisters rejected affection, and I began to think touching, hugging, kissing was wicked, that I was wicked.” She could not bear to see revulsion on his face, or worse, confirmation, so she looked away, though she saw nothing save the man she loved slipping from her life.

“On my wedding night, when William got into bed with me, I put my arms around him and kissed him, and he pulled away. I will never forget his disgust as he turned from me. Later, he mumbled something about nuns and damnation, and I assumed he was talking about my wicked self. He died the next day.”

At the glimpse of reluctant understanding in Reed’s eyes, Chastity continued. “When I kissed you that first morning, you were appalled, but I liked the kiss, and hated myself for it. Then fate stepped in and you saw my veil. To keep us at a safe distance, I allowed your assumption.”

Chastity raised her chin, tried to laugh, but failed, and only achieved sorrow. “In the end, it mattered not. You proved too much of a temptation, after all.”

Reed clenched his fists and took a breath, fighting the pull, but he would not be duped again. He walked away, but turned back. “You know, Chastity, I used to think that being given away by my parents was the ultimate betrayal. But I have come to discover that being betrayed by the woman I—by
you
—is worse. I will be gone come morning.”

This time, he kept walking.

“Do not pretend that you ever intended to stay, Reed Gilbride. My
betrayal
just gives you an excuse to go. How bloody-damned convenient!”

* * *

She would succeed this time, the Vindicator promised herself, and not miss, again. If she had to follow him every cursed mile for the rest of his life, she would thwart Edward and bring him to his knees.

‘Twas one thing to get an heir on his wife, but now he had dallied with the Somers chit right there in the kitchen. Low as a gin-guzzling blighter, Edward was.

She had heard his voice, husky with passion. She remembered those sounds he made. Was a time only she could bring them, but now, he would rut with anyone.

Well, she had had enough. Edward must die, and soon.

* * *

Reed urged Stealth onward, his journey taking him farther away from Painswick, from Chastity and the children, each mile weakening his resolve, tearing him apart.

He saw Gaudy Green, surprised he had reached Gloucester. The city teemed with activity. And something spooked his horse, sent it into a gallop. He nearly ran down a pie-man, and knocked over his cart before getting Stealth under control. When Reed looked back, the hawker was shaking a fist at him. He didn’t much care.

At Leather Bottle Lane, near the Quay Street Workhouse, he thought, again, of Chastity. Everything reminded him of her since he left this morning. He heard her pace into the night, her every step a new wound. She approached the connecting door between their rooms almost as often as he did. In the end, he realized their break had best be quick and clean. He hoped she knew it, too, else she would be devastated by his note.

Gone to Sennett, he had written. Have a good life. Then he added, Love to the children. He hoped she did not need to hear that he loved her. Then again, he hoped she did, and hated him for not saying it. Life would go easier for her, if she hated him.

Shocked to see Reed led into his office, Sennett sat straighter. “Chastity?”

“Fine sir.” Reed wished it were true.

The wizened visage held relief. “Children fine?”

A nod.

Sennett placed his hands on his hips. “Do not say that we need to hurry the wedding.”

Reed blushed, surprised and chagrined that he could.

Sennett nodded sagely. “Cannot say as I’m surprised.”

“No, sir, that’s not the problem, though, it’s worse to my mind.”

“Well, spill it, man.” Sennett settled into his chair. “I cannot be expected to guess.”

Reed told him everything—mostly—about the notes, the empty caskets, his date of birth matching the twins’, so he was likely the Barrington heir, though he had found no actual proof.

He did not say that Chastity took the children from the workhouse. She had rescued them. She loved them. Until their parents were found, they would need her. He did not lie, he simply failed to mention it—much as Chastity had done—something to ponder in the lonely days ahead.

Reed sighed. “I’m relinquishing my quest. I’m done with searching. I would like Chastity to get Sunnyledge for her children’s home. I have no right to ask, I know, but in my heart I feel it’s mine to do with it as I see fit. I want her to have it. No strings. Free and clear. Will you do that, Sir, for Chastity?”

“But you are so close to learning who you are. I thought that meant more to you than anything. Does this mean that you are placing her happiness above your own?”

“Her happiness is my own.”

Sennett nodded. “So be it.”

Reed requested Sennett’s promise in writing and agreed to send his direction as soon as he settled. Then Sennett said something that turned Reed’s blood to ice and killed every bit of hope left in him. It was done then; he and Chastity could never be together.

Reed headed north, towards Scotland. May as well be as cold outside as in, and as far from sweet Chastity Somers as possible. As he rode, he composed the letter he would send her, someday.

Chastity dusted the highboy in the putrid-green drawing room, not sure if the room, or her thoughts, were more depressing. The children had behaved badly for every one of the six days since Reed left. They stole food this morning. Chastity had snapped and sent them to their rooms. Reed was right. They needed to be punished.

The twenty-year anniversary of the old Earl’s death was fast approaching, less than a week to go. Mr. Sennett would either decide that Reed found enough proof to give him Sunnyledge, or—if Reed did not tell him she took the children—Sennett might yet award it to her. She did not think Reed would tell, though she believed in her heart that the estate belonged to him.

She guessed she had known it all along.

Maybe she withheld William’s note to keep Sunnyledge. She did not know anything anymore.

The only way to show Reed that she wanted him to find his heritage would be to find the proof, herself, she supposed. And the children might be cheered by a race against time. Lord knew, none of them could be any more miserable.

Chastity went to the bottom of the stairs. “Children, come down here please? Matt, Mark, Luke?” Silence. “Rebekah?” Chastity took the stairs. “Where are you?”

Laughter, giddy, guilty, she heard. What were they up to now? With no one to rob or assault, how bad could it be?

Bad. She stopped in the doorway to Thea’s room in shock. “What have you done?”

Matt and Mark stopped snapping garters at each other, and leapt to right a broken pitcher, dribbling water off the dresser. Matt slipped in the puddle it made.

Rebekah and Luke stopped jumping on the bed, but several more books fell onto the floor, adding to the debris. Clothing, jewelry, gloves, spilled from drawers. A crushed hat retained the shape of a small shoe—a very small one. Ribbons were tied around bed posts. Zeke sported a red one, Bekah, a blue.

“You
are
brigands!” Chastity snapped.

“We don’t need that bastard,” Mark said, dashing from the room.

Luke slid from the bed and pushed his face against Chastity’s apron. “I miss him.” Bekah whined in agreement.

If this had to do with Reed’s leaving, why take their anger out on Thea? Was it because they disliked her and loved him?

“Mark, come back. I have to talk to you, all of you.”

Surprisingly, Mark came. Chastity tried to explain, as best she could, what she had done to destroy Reed’s trust, to make him angry enough to leave. “I’m sorry that I hurt you all.”

Matt sighed. “We understand, Kitty.”

Bekah patted her back.

“It’s all right, Kitty,” Luke said. “We love you, too.”

Chastity burst into tears. The children tried to make her smile, so she did. If they could disguise their hurt, so could she. “Guess what we’re going to do.” She needed to breathe some life into them and teach them a lesson. Pleased at their interest, she nodded. “We’re going to clean this mess.”

Their moans were pitiful. She held up a hand. “Do not fret, there’s enough damage for everyone to have a go at it. I want you to fetch brooms, mops, rags, soap and water.”

They stood like statues, more uncertain than stubborn.

“You’d best get moving.” She prodded them, hands to their backsides. “Scoot. Thea could be back anytime.”

Chastity did not mind admitting that no one would be happier than her, if they never saw Thea Pomfret again, but it would be terrible if the woman returned to this.

To form a path through the debris, Chastity righted some objects and moved others. She picked up and sorted a childish assortment of cockle shells, dolls and dry flowers, treasures a girl would save and a woman would pack away. She turned over a red velvet box, catching a handful of documents. The topmost bore a broken Barrington seal, arresting her movement, but accelerating her heart.

Brittle with age, the document recorded the marriage of the Earl of Barrington to Lady Clarissa Hartfield. Ravaged not only by time, the leaf was riddled with short, random slashes, as if someone had stabbed it. Chastity shivered. Why would Thea Pomfret keep St. Yves records? Had their housekeeper been stealing while living among them?

Box in hand, Chastity went to the top of the stairs. “Matt, Mark? Children, what’s taking so long?”

“Comin’ Kitty.”

Remaining alert to their approach, Chastity opened the next document. Lady Clarissa’s death certificate—alleluia scribbled in huge letters across it—had not been desecrated like her marriage lines. What kind of person approved death and defaced a marriage certificate?

Clumsy with foreboding, Chastity unfolded the next, and when the children reached her, she was startled. “Matt, Mark, go down and secure the locks on the doors, would you?”

Luke and Bekah helped her drag in an empty trunk to fill with whatever survived their rampage, unless it was books or papers. Those, she put aside to examine. A smaller trunk, they would fill with whatever was damaged.

She found a death certificate for Vicar Clive Pomfret, Thea’s brother, ‘Repent!’ written across it in the same hand that scrawled alleluia on Lady Clarissa’s. The hair rose on Chastity’s nape. “Lord help us.”

The children crowded ‘round. “Find somethin’?”

What had Reed said about God’s man? What did it mean? Regarding the children, she shook her head. “No, I didn’t find anything. Something surprised me is all.”

When Matt and Mark returned she had them strip the bed and replace the linens.

“What about me, Kitty?” Luke asked.

“Go through that pile of books, but bring me those papers sticking out.” Chastity made to put the earlier documents back in the box. But it had an unstable bottom, beneath which she found a stack of letters to ‘My dear best friend,’ signed ‘Your best friend,’ written by a boy and a girl, who continued corresponding into adulthood. Chastity saw sexual references she would not have understood two weeks before. An affair, for the man had apparently been married. The signatures did not change, but the handwriting matured, one of them seeming somewhat familiar. Was it the same hand that wrote the word
Repent?

Chastity felt sullied for the little she read, but what could an intruder expect? Except this was her house, however temporary. Though the contents of the box were not hers, the documents, other than the Vicar’s death certificate, should not belong to Thea.

Chastity tucked the St. Yves documents into her apron pocket. The box, she pushed to the back of a shelf. If Thea did not return, Chastity would burn the letters. If she did, Chastity would return her things, tell her they no longer needed her, and pay for whatever the children broke.