Bought for Revenge (14 page)

Belle had not been enjoying Henry Blundell’s attentions, but how she wished it had been anyone other than Lucas who had stepped in to help her. His being in the room was painful enough, but to have him standing so close, his powerful presence enveloping her, brought back every hurt he had inflicted, as well as memories of his embrace, which she found even more agonising, knowing that it had meant nothing to him and everything to her. She owed him nothing. If he could rid her of Mr Blundell, then all the better, but she would not remain in his presence a moment longer than necessary.

‘Oh, right, yes. Of course.’ Blundell released his fair partner and stepped back, mumbling something about misunderstanding.

Lucas ignored him. He put his hand beneath Annabelle’s elbow and firmly guided her away. He was determined to remain calm, but when
she was so close, her scent filling his head, a madness came over him, a desire for her to realise just what she was throwing away by rejecting him. He could not resist a warning issued in arctic tones.

‘You should be more careful, Miss Havenham. Men like Blundell see women in your situation as easy prey.’ She did not reply, and when she pulled herself out of his grip some of his icy politeness disappeared and he rasped out, ‘You should be grateful to me for rescuing you.’

Her response was low, but despite the chatter around them he heard every word.

‘Do you think I can be grateful to a man who has so effectively ruined my life and that of my father?’

He flinched at her bitterness and he forgot his resolve to be coldly correct. He wanted only to strike back.

‘Your father? Hah! His current situation is nothing less than he deserves.’

She stopped and swung round to face him, her eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed with anger.

‘That is not true. His letter explains—’

‘That damned letter was nothing more than a cowardly attempt to—’

She slapped him, hard, across the face.

A
nnabelle’s hand stung with the force of the blow. Her bare skin contacting with his cheek was like a pistol shot and since the orchestra had not yet struck up again, the sound caused those closest to them to turn and stare. Almost immediately they were surrounded by concerned faces.

Elias Greenwood came up, his pleasant face unusually grim and his fists clenched.

‘Miss Belle, can I be of assistance?’

‘Let me pass!’ Sir John Rishworth pushed his way through to her. ‘Madam—’ his glance quickly summed up the situation ‘—if Blackstone has offered you an insult—’

The crowd around them continued to grow. Mr Scanlon stepped forwards, offering mute support, and Annabelle saw even more familiar
faces ranged about her, willing to take her side against Lucas. This was her chance. She could denounce him, call upon them to defend her. She could ruin Lucas’s good standing with his neighbours in an instant.

Even as the angry thoughts whirled through her head she knew she could not do it. Despite the good harvest, times were hard. Elias Greenwood would lose his position as Lucas’s foreman and possibly his farm if he stood up for her. Nor could the townspeople afford to antagonise him. And she could not embroil Sir John in this argument. A rift between local landowners could only bring more misery for the whole area.

‘It was nothing,’ she said, making sure she spoke clearly enough for everyone around her to hear. ‘It was a jest, a silly misunderstanding, which is now resolved.’ With an effort she looked at Lucas. The angry marks of her fingers were already showing on his cheek and she could tell by the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the glitter in his eyes that he was furious, but he remained silent, which was all that was required. She turned to Sir John. ‘If you will excuse me, I think I should go home.’

‘Of course. I will escort you.’

He led her away. The moment was over, but there would be others, since nothing was resolved.
Belle knew that every time she met Lucas Blackstone there would be conflict.

Lucas watched her walk away. His cheek burned, but that was nothing to the maelstrom of anger and self-loathing raging inside him. He deserved flogging for taunting her so and would almost have welcomed being called to account by Rishworth or one of her other champions. But she had not allowed that. She knew the damage it would do. He was humbled by her actions, while his own had not been those of a gentleman. It behoved him to beg her pardon and he would do so. He would have to do so.

The orchestra struck up and the crowd began to move away, speculating on the cause of the outburst. He heard the words ‘lovers’ tiff’, and ‘the fellow must be drunk’. Let them think what they liked and be damned to the lot of them!

‘By heaven, Cousin, I never thought to see you involved in such a fracas.’ Hugh Duggan was at his side, grinning. ‘What did you say to her? It must have been outrageous to make her slap your face.’

‘It was.’ Lucas raked a hand through his hair. ‘I am going back to Oakenroyd. Do you want to stay on here?’

Hugh clapped a hand on his shoulder.

‘No, I will come with you. I have had enough excitement for one evening.’

When they arrived at Oakenroyd Lucas walked directly to the drawing room.

‘Brandy?’ He held up the decanter as Hugh followed him into the room.

‘Please. Something on your mind, Cos?’ he asked. ‘You have been dashed quiet all evening. Then that little incident with the lady…’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’ Lucas handed a glass to Hugh and carried his own to a chair on one side of the fire. He waited until they were both seated and even then he did not speak immediately. He kept going over the words in his head, trying to find the best way to explain.

‘You remember, Hugh, when Morwood burned down?’

‘Aye, of course. How could I forget it?’

‘I don’t think it was an accident.’

Hugh clasped his hands around his glass and watched him. ‘What makes you think that?’ he said carefully.

‘The fire was discovered in the drawing room, but by then the east wing was well alight at the opposite end of the house. There was no way the fire could have spread like that naturally.’ He paused, forcing himself to keep calm. ‘I saw someone that night. Someone moving around
the outside of the house. And I saw the glow of a light. I thought nothing of it at the time, thought it was the light from a cigar, but it could have been a taper.’ Lucas stopped again, not wanting to ask the question, but knowing he had to do so.

‘Do you think it could have been my father?’ When Hugh said nothing he continued, ‘I have been trying to think. You remember there was an almighty row that night, after we had gone up to our rooms?’

‘Yes, of course. Your father had been in a black mood all day, which was why we took ourselves off to the lake, fishing. Then Mama went up to bed, and told us we should do the same, to get out of the way.’

‘That just left three people in the dining room. My father, my mother and Samuel Havenham.’

‘Miss Havenham’s father?’

‘Yes.’ He shot a glance at his cousin. ‘He was in love with my mother.’

Hugh was silent for a moment, digesting this information. ‘I beg your pardon, Lucas, but I have to ask you. Were they lovers?’

Lucas shook his head. ‘I think not.’ He bit his lip. ‘But my father was not an easy man. You knew that, Hugh, you were there often enough to see it. He had a terrible temper. Your mother would take herself off to her room and we would disappear into the grounds out of the way, but
Mama—’ He finished his brandy. ‘She was not happy. Father had made her life a misery. Looking back, I can see it now. Havenham urged her to go abroad with him and that night she had decided she would do so. Do you think…?’ He fixed his eyes upon his cousin. ‘Is it possible, if my father knew this, if he was in a rage, that he would have set fire to Morwood?’

Silence hung around them. Hugh looked down at his glass, turning it between his hands.

‘You said yourself my uncle was a hard man,’ he said at last. ‘He was not the sort to settle for anything less than perfection. If his wife was unfaithful—’

‘She wasn’t,’ said Lucas swiftly. ‘I would stake my life she would not have thought of going off with Havenham if my father had not pushed her to it.’

‘But if he couldn’t have her, no one would.’

Lucas looked up. ‘What made you say that?’

Hugh shrugged. ‘I cannot say. I think I must have overheard Uncle Jonas say as much.’

‘So you think it possible he was so enraged he set fire to the house?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Hugh. ‘It is very possible. Nay, it’s likely. I am very sorry, old fellow, but there it is.’

Lucas closed his eyes. He did not want to believe
it. Every fibre of his being cried out against the idea of his father as a murderer.

‘It does not make sense,’ he said slowly. ‘Why should he work so hard to try to put out the fire? And he went back for my mother.’

‘Perhaps he came to his senses once he saw the damage he had done. And thank heavens you were awake and raised the alarm,’ added Hugh, ‘or we might all have been burned in our beds.’

‘If my mother had not locked herself in her apartments then we might have been able to save her, too,’ said Lucas. ‘My father tried to force the door, but he was beaten back by the flames—’

He broke off, shaking his head to dispel the memories that crowded in.

‘Too late to think of that now, Cos.’ Hugh rose from his chair. ‘I am going to bed and I advise you to do the same. There is no point worrying over something that happened so long ago.’ He put his glass down on the sideboard and walked to the door. He reached for the handle, but stopped and looked back. ‘That little affair with Miss Havenham tonight, does that have anything to do with what we have been discussing?’

Lucas paused for a heartbeat.

‘How could it?’ he said at last. ‘She was not even born when all this occurred.’

Samuel was still playing chess with Dr Bennett when Annabelle arrived home. She managed to smile when they quizzed her about leaving the assembly before the final note had been played and she retired quickly to her room, saying she was fatigued. But it was a long time before she slept. She was angry with Lucas for tormenting her, but even more angry with herself for lashing out. They could not agree, it was unlikely that they ever would, so she must find some way to avoid his company. Leaving Stanton seemed to be the only solution. Yet how could she leave? How could she take her father even further away from his friends and everything he held dear?

Annabelle awoke to the sound of the rain dripping from the eaves outside her window. The dismal weather matched her mood. Heavy cloud hung low over the town and the rain poured down steadily. She wanted only to bury her head under the bedclothes and go back to sleep, but there was work to be done, so she slipped out of bed, trying to throw off her depression. When they had lived at Oakenroyd she had ridden Apollo on many such days as this and enjoyed it, so she would not let the weather prevent her from going out.

Having to walk everywhere was taking a toll
on her shoes and she must take at least one pair to the cobbler to be mended. Wrapped in her cloak and armed with her umbrella, she set off for the cobbler’s house. It was market day and despite the rain Stanton was bustling. Not only was the square filled with animals and stalls packed with local goods, but farmers and corn merchants were making their way to the Red Lion to do business, taking or placing orders and settling accounts. Belle hurried through the crowds, thankful that the pouring rain made everyone disinclined to stop and talk. Once her errand was complete she made her way back along the main street, holding the umbrella low to keep the worst of the rain from her head and shoulders.

‘Miss Havenham.’

That deep, familiar voice broke into her thoughts and she stopped. She was aware of a pair of muddy top boots standing in her path. As she raised her umbrella the rest of Lucas Blackstone appeared. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, from which the rain dripped on to the shoulders of his caped driving coat. Even his sodden appearance could not stop her heart drumming heavily against her ribs, nor prevent the exquisitely painful yearning from enveloping her once more. In silence she tried to turn it all against him, to summon up every ounce
of anger she should feel for him. He wasted no time on pleasantries, not that she wanted them.

‘I came to see you. Your father said you had gone out.’

He was blunt, straight to the point. Well, she could do that, too.

‘As you see, sir, and I would like to get home as soon as possible.’

‘I shall not detain you long. I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night. It was inexcusable.’

Annabelle said nothing. She glanced at the road. If she stepped off the pavement she could walk around him, but the muddy water was ankle-deep in the gutter. If he did not remove himself soon, then she would suffer that unpleasantness rather than remain in his presence a moment longer.

‘I also wanted to say…’ he spoke again, with obvious difficulty. ‘I wanted you to know I…I could be wrong. About the fire.’ For the first time she looked up into his face. What she could see of it beneath the brim of his hat appeared more rugged than ever. Haggard, even, as if he had not slept. ‘I have read your father’s letter and—I can see that there may be some doubt. That is all.’ He stepped back. ‘I shall not plague you further. Good day, Miss Havenham.’

With a slight nod he turned and strode away.
Belle watched him, her thoughts and feelings once more in a tumult. Just when she had decided he was beyond forgiveness he had surprised her with an apology and an admission that he might be mistaken.

In a daze Annabelle walked on to Croft Cottage and hung up her wet clothes. While she bustled about the little house, her thoughts careered around wildly, but they kept coming back to Lucas. Papa would be pleased to think he was willing to consider that someone else might have set fire to Morwood, but with Oakenroyd sold it would make very little difference to their circumstances. She decided to say nothing to her father. Lucas himself must speak to him. They were engaged to dine at Rishworth Lodge that evening and there was every chance Lucas would be there. If so, she would make sure he knew what was expected of him.

By late afternoon the rain had eased, but the roads were still too wet for comfort and, having refused Sir John’s offer to send the carriage for them, Annabelle hired a gig to take them the mile or so out of Stanton to Rishworth Lodge. The vehicle and its sturdy pony were spattered with mud by the time Annabelle drew to a halt at the door. A lackey hastened out to take the gig
to the stables, leaving Annabelle and her father to go indoors where their hostess was waiting.

‘Just a snug little gathering,’ Lady Rishworth announced, leading them into the drawing room. ‘I have invited Mr and Mrs Scanlon to join us. They are feeling the loss of Lizzie quite desperately, but there, that is what happens when one marries off a daughter.’ She glanced at Celia. ‘I have invited Mr Blackstone, of course, and his cousin Captain Duggan, whom Celia insisted should be included.’

‘Well, you could hardly leave him out, Mama,’ remarked Celia, coming up. ‘He is staying at Oakenroyd, after all.’ She reached for Annabelle’s hand. ‘You are the first to arrive, and I am going to take you away to a corner and make you tell me just what it was Mr Blackstone said to upset you last night.’

Samuel looked up quickly. ‘Upset, Belle? What is this?’

‘No, no, it was all a mistake, Papa,’ Annabelle was quick to reassure him. ‘Mr Blackstone was funning, only I did not understand him.’ She managed to laugh. ‘It was a silly trifle, and I am afraid one or two people thought we had quite fallen out, but it was nothing, I assure you.’

‘Well, it certainly looked to be more than nothing,’ observed Celia with alarming frankness.
‘You with your face as red as anything, and Mr Blackstone looking positively murderous—’

Sir John held up his hand to silence his daughter. ‘Celia, you are embarrassing Miss Havenham by bringing up a subject she would much rather forget. Let us talk of more pleasant matters. Mr Havenham, I am so glad you are well enough to join us this evening. Come and sit by the fire, sir, and take a glass of mulled wine to drive off the evening chill…’