Corey McFadden (10 page)

Radford had shaken himself, as if from sleep. “Why, of course, sir. We were just finished, weren’t we, Sommesby?” The duke had stared at him, his lips tight, his make-up stark and garish at this late hour. He had said not a word. Radford had stood, taking Carruthers’ arm as they made for the door. And if it was Carruthers who had supported the young Lord Radford on the way out, there had been almost no one left to remark upon it....

“Excuse, me, my lord, I asked if you prefer the wool cape to the satin this evening. I do fear it will rain again,” the valet murmured, unwilling to disturb his lordship’s reverie but needing an answer.

Radford broke from his troubled memories and stared at his valet. “The wool will do, Brooks.” He rose and surveyed his man’s handiwork in the glass. Not bad, if he did think so himself. And when the business end of the evening was concluded, there was Bella to enjoy.

* * * *

The house was dark, Claire noted, as the carriage rounded the road and turned into the muddy drive for the manor. All dark save the library which showed a dim candle glow through the windows. No doubt John was waiting up for her. Thank heavens. She had been on tenterhooks all evening, bright-eyed and excited, barely able to follow the flow of conversation around her as she contemplated what must be taking place back home in her absence. Now, in the dark of the carriage, James snored beside her, unheeded.

Claire leaned forward, her eyes glittering, and peered from the window, as if she could tell from this distance what had transpired. Her excitement grew to urgency as the carriage neared the house. She laughed into the rainy darkness. She had no doubt that John had had to force the chit. Maude would never willingly agree to marry him, she knew. The little witch would be in bed by now, knocked out by the laudanum. She would be ruined, dirty, fit for no decent man as a wife. When the girl awakened tomorrow, Claire would lay it all out for her, slowly, point by point, no money, no virtue, no family other than her worthless sot of an uncle. No alternative but to marry John and live as a dependent for the rest of her life.

Oh, Claire would enjoy that conversation! She would revel in reducing the high-and-mighty Miss Romney to a nobody, to an indigent appendage. It would be all Claire’s finally, after all these years of being merely the unheralded caretaker. And if the young Mrs. Romney were to die of a stomach complaint sometime after producing an heir, well, who would question the will of the Almighty?

The carriage wheels ground to a halt outside the front entrance. Fumbling with the catch on the door, Claire was pushing it open before Joe had a chance to jump down from the driver’s seat.

“Hurry up, you fool! I don’t have all night!”

Her voice pierced the dark and as fast as he could, Joe leaped from the seat, and held the door open while he helped her to disembark. As soon as her feet touched the mud, she was off at a run. He was joined at that moment by Jack, the stableman, who grinned at him and jerked his head toward Claire’s retreating back as if to say women could never hold their water like men could. Together, used to the routine, they lifted out the near-insensible master. It was a relatively good night. He could walk with a great deal of support, of course. But at least they would not have to carry him up to his room.

Claire let herself in the front door which was left unlatched for their return since there was no butler to see to their comings and goings. She paused, on the alert for any noise to tell her things had not gone as she had planned. All was silent. Good! Swiftly, she made for the open door of the library, knowing John would wait for her there to tell her of the evening’s events. She shut the door so that James and the two servants would not overhear her conversation with John when they passed on the way upstairs with their burden between them. She turned, a laugh of triumph escaping her lips, and confronted an apparently empty room. Nonplussed, she stood for a moment, wondering if John had had the nerve to go to bed and leave her to wonder all night. Then her brain began to take in the disorder of the room. A small table lay on its side near the divan. She smiled to herself. So they hadn’t even made it to the drawing room and things had gotten rough after all, she thought, as she moved forward to right it.

It was then she saw John’s boots stretched out on the rug behind the divan. With a small cry, she leaped toward him, then sank to her knees as she surveyed his prostrate form.

“Oh, my love! My precious! What has she done to you?” Claire moaned as she reached her hand to his face, tracing with her finger the ugly gash that ran the length of it.

In response, he stirred, then groaned and opened his eyes. “Mama?” His voice was faint.

“Yes, love, I am here. What has happened? Where is Maude?” Gently, Claire dabbed at his face with her handkerchief, but the blood had dried and did not come off.

“I do not know where the she-devil is. Upstairs, I suppose. I will kill her when I find her.”

“She would not agree to the marriage, I take it? She fought you?”

“Yes, blast it! Does it look like she was faint with joy at the thought?” John was recovering himself and he struggled to sit up. “I made her an honorable proposal. She damn near sneered at me. And when I went to convince her she would enjoy the marital bed, she brained me with this.” He held up the neck of the brandy decanter, its deadly point glittering in the candlelight.

“We must fetch a doctor to see to your face. I will go upstairs and find the bitch. I’ll have the law on her for this,” Claire snarled, as she struggled to rise.

“No! For God’s sake, Mother, are you mad? I’ll look the perfect fool in my set for letting her get the best of me. Just wait a bit, give me a few moments to collect my thoughts.”

Slowly, he heaved himself up with Claire’s help, and sat heavily on the divan. In the hallway, Claire could hear the noise of the servants moving slowly past, James’ stumbling feet clattering as they pulled him along. She glanced at the door and put her finger to her lips. They sat in silence until the noise receded up the steps.

“I should like a brandy. Mother. Is there any in the house that hasn’t been poisoned?” he asked sarcastically.

Looking at the empty decanter, she rushed to assure him. “Yes, pet. I’ll get some from the dining room.”

She patted him absently, listening for the sound of James’ door closing. Joe would need the stableman’s help in getting her husband undressed and in bed, so she would have time to slip out and get the brandy. She had no wish to face any of the servants tonight. At the distant thump of the door, she arose and left, returning in a moment with two glasses and a full decanter. She locked the door behind her.

“Now, precious, drink this, it will revive you.” She handed him a brimming glass and poured herself a generous portion. She sat next to him, a scowl darkening her visage as she turned to look again at his ruined face. “We must decide what to do. I still say we should go to the authorities first, before Maude has a chance to do so. They will never suspect you of rape if you get to them first.”

“Mother, that is absurd. She will not dare. You know how she reveres the Romney name.” He gave a short bark of bitter laughter. “The precious Romney name. Embodied in that broken-down lush upstairs with no one but Maude to carry on the true line. How fitting that it will be my descendants who carry on the name.”

He knocked back his glass, draining it, and Claire moved to refill it. “You mean we can still bring it off?” she asked.

“Indeed, Mama. I propose we carry on as planned. After all, nothing in this little scenario has really changed, except that now Maudie will find more pain than pleasure in her marriage bed...” he paused, sipping again from his brandy, an ugly smile twisting his bloody face.

“In fact, I suggest we do it tonight—lay it all out for her in painful detail. She was very upset when I told her she was much in your debt, financially—seemed shocked by it, as a matter of fact.” They both laughed. “Didn’t question it at all though. I don’t think she has an inkling as to the true state of affairs. If she is still near to hysteria from our little... encounter, we will have the upper hand. And I don’t think the little she-devil will be able to get the better of both of us.”

He touched his face gingerly and winced at the feel of it. “We can just tell her that she marries me or we sue the estate for debts and throw her out. She’ll have no alternative.” He drained his glass again.

Claire looked thoughtful as she poured him another brandy. “She might go to James for verification,” she said.

“I think we can stop her from doing that.  I’m the one with the savage injury, not Maude.  We threaten to bring the wrath of the criminal courts down on her if she breathes a word to anyone. And tell her James’ doctor has told you he has a heart condition and any shock or upset could kill him. He’s the only one she cares about.”

“I suppose you are right. At least we can prevent her from going to the authorities—you will be scarred for life, my darling. But you must remember that legally speaking, we haven’t a leg to stand on. The Romney estate owes me nothing. To the contrary, we’ve managed to skim a pretty penny from it over the years. We can bear no close scrutiny at this point.” She paused to drain her glass.

“Still, there’s no reason for the chit to know any of this and if, as you say, she was taken in by our tale, she’ll have no way to dispute it—at least not unless she undertakes independent inquiry and I doubt if she will think of that. I must remember to write to Mr. Parsons and let him know what has happened. If she were to write to the solicitors, I must be certain he knows what story to give her.”

Claire rose and moved toward the door, listening before she opened it. “I don’t hear anything. I suppose they’ve put that sot to bed. I’ll go and get her now and bring her back down here. We’ll have to be careful not to let her make a scene. James wouldn’t awaken for an earthquake, but Joe could hear her if she kicked up a real ruckus, although she’d have to be loud for the noise to reach the attic. Now just let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don’t try to clean up your face. I want the bitch to see what she has to answer for.”

* * * *

Much the little vixen will care, thought John to himself, polishing off his third glass of brandy and reaching for the decanter. He found his loins tightening at the thought of confronting her again this evening, humbling her, forcing her to agree to wed him. He had enjoyed their tussle, right up until the moment she’d hit him. He could see her creamy globes spilling from the silk of her décolletage as he had ripped it from her, and the feel of her warm flesh beneath his fingers where he’d torn aside her undergarments that covered her sweet honey pot. That she had screamed and clawed at him had only heightened his pleasure. She would pay dearly for what she had done to him. Again and again and again....

The sound of running footsteps roused him from his lascivious reverie and he turned as the door burst open.

Shutting the door as quietly as she could, Claire stood panting, leaning against it. “She’s not there,” Claire hissed at him. “Her bed’s not been slept in! Where the devil has she got to?”

“Damned if I know, Mother. I was out cold, remember? I expect she’s about the place somewhere. No doubt ready to spring at me from a dark corner.” He shuddered delicately and took a noisy swig from his glass. “What about the stables? She likes horses better than she likes any of us.”

“We’ve got to find her immediately. We cannot risk her going to any of the neighbors with her tale. We’ll be the laughingstock of the neighborhood.” Claire paused only to draw breath. “John, you go to the stables. I’ll check the other rooms upstairs. She can’t have gone out in this weather, so she must be here somewhere! Look in the downstairs rooms before you go out. She could be hiding anywhere in the dark. A bloody lot of good that will do her when I get my hands on her!” Claire was clearly frantic. “And be quiet about it! Joe is in the attic along with the maids and Jack is sleeping in the stable loft. I don’t want any of them awakened.” Out she flew into the darkened hallway.

With a last, lingering sip from his glass, John stood somewhat unsteadily. He did not relish the thought of prowling through the house and the filthy stables half the night. In fact, the more he thought of it, the more he realized the perfect place to be was his own bed. But he did not dare cross Mama. Better to get it over with. He lurched toward the door, his girth yawing from side to side, threatening his precarious balance. Damn the bitch!

* * * *

Thirty minutes later, Claire returned to the library, disheveled, out of breath, and definitely out of patience. John lay sprawled on the divan, one leg off, snoring like a sot.

“Wake up! Wake up, John!” She shook him so that his teeth rattled. “I cannot find the girl anywhere! She was not in the stables?” Claire pulled at John’s jacket, trying to pull him upright.

“Enough, Mother...stop! I am awake.” John sat up, looking plainly befuddled and out of focus. “No, she was not in the stables or anywhere downstairs. If she is hiding, she is hiding. Mother. There is nothing more to be done about it tonight. My head is pounding and this cut on my face feels like it’s on fire. Let’s just go to bed and find her in the morning.”

“Don’t be such a fool, John! We must find out where she is. And if she has left the house, we must get to Mr. Parsons in London right away. If Maude manages to raise an inquiry, he will be able to fob her off. I’ve checked her wardrobe. I see no clothing missing at all.” Claire paced up and down.

“Well, I hardly think she can have gone out calling on the neighbors in her shift, Mother. I seem to recall her riding habit lacked a stitch or two to be presentable in public. Perhaps you are getting into a bother about nothing. Maybe she has just crawled off to think it over and will show herself at breakfast.” John was more than willing to assume the best and go to bed.

“We won’t be here at breakfast, John. Don’t you understand? We must get to London, to Mr. Parsons, as soon as his office opens. He’ll know what to do. She’s gone. I know she is. I just don’t know where.”