Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) (23 page)

Patterson swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he wisely kept silent.

“Caroline, go!”Raven said.

She ran to the stairs, and once she was out of Patterson’s reach, Raven moved the gun away.

“You’re getting in your carriage,”Raven tightly stated, “and you’ll pick up the reins and point your horse toward London. You are never—I repeat, never!—coming back to Bramble Bay. Do you understand me?”

“You can’t just—”

“Do you understand!”Raven roared at full volume, and Patterson lurched away.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t have to tolerate this treatment. A husband has rights.”

“You can choke on your rights,”Raven spat.

Patterson glared over at Caroline, where she hovered on the bottom step. “Caroline, I command you to accompany me.”

Raven sighed with exasperation. “Are you deaf, Mr. Patterson? Or are you stupid?”

He raised the butt of the pistol and cold-cocked Patterson. Patterson dropped to the dirt, a frantic hand rubbing the spot where the clout had landed. Blood spurted and dripped down his cheek.

“You hit me! You hit me!”he shrieked over and over.

“Yes, and if you don’t shut up, I’ll hit you again.” Raven bent down and pulled Patterson to him until they were nose to nose. “This property doesn’t belong to Mildred and Hedley anymore.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying. My employer owns it, and you’re not welcome. If you ride up the drive ever again, I will shoot you as a trespasser.” He yanked Patterson to his feet. “Consider yourself warned.”

Patterson was dizzy, swaying. Raven lifted him and tossed him into the carriage. He grabbed the reins and wrapped them around Patterson’s shaking fingers.

“Caroline is never coming back to you, Patterson,”Raven advised.

“We’ll see about that!”he huffed, but he didn’t sound menacing.

“Go to London and divorce her. Feel free to cite adultery or desertion. Or use them both. I don’t care what you choose.”

“Adultery!” Patterson wheezed.

“But know this: If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise, and I
always
keep my promises.”

He walked over and swatted Patterson’s horse on the rump. The animal jumped and raced away, Patterson clutching at the reins so he wasn’t thrown off. The carriage careened down the lane and out onto the road, and as Patterson disappeared from view, Raven spun to the house.

Caroline was still there, her expression unreadable. What must she think? Since arriving at Bramble Bay, he’d concealed his penchant for violence. He hoped she wasn’t frightened or disgusted.

He went over and stopped in front of her. With her on the step, and him on the ground, they were eye to eye.

“How did you do that?”she asked.

“It was easy.” Raven waved a hand as if Patterson was a bothersome gnat. “He’s a bully, and bullies crumble when threatened.”

“You told him to go, and he…left! He was afraid of you.”

“As he should be. I can be quite vicious when the situation requires brutality.”

“You swore you’d kill him if he returned. Would you?”

“Absolutely.”

She studied him forever, and he waited on tenterhooks, terrified over what her opinion might be and whether it would bode ill as to his chances with her.

“Mr. Hook,”she eventually said, “you and I are going to be very, very good friends.”

“I believe we are. And you should call me Raven. Since I’m happy to murder your husband for you, we don’t need to be so formal.”

“No, we don’t.”

He untied her wrists and led her inside.

* * * *

“May I speak with Mr. John Sinclair?”

“He’s not here.”

Annalise sat on a sofa by the fire, listening as Raven replied to Phillip Sinclair. It was shocking to have Sinclair pop in and start inquiring about Jean Pierre. He hadn’t yet said why he’d traveled to Bramble Bay, but it wasn’t difficult to discern the reason.

He and Jean Pierre were definitely brothers. There could be no question as to their close blood relationship. Tall and handsome and imperious. Golden-blond hair. The typical Sinclair green eyes.

If she could push back his sleeve and scrutinize his wrist, she was sure she would see the distinctive birthmark, the ‘Mark of Trent’ that would indicate Charles Sinclair’s paternity.

They had always heard that Lord Trent had sired many illegitimate children, but it was a tad disconcerting to bump into one of them. How had Mr. Sinclair discovered that Jean Pierre was in residence? What else did he know that he shouldn’t?

“When will he return?”he asked Raven.

“He won’t,”Raven lied.

“He’s left England?”

“I really can’t say.”

“May I talk to Mrs. Teasdale instead?”

“That won’t be possible. She’s indisposed and not having visitors.”

Raven had her locked in her room, and she could only venture out when he was around and available to watch her every move.

Mr. Sinclair was very bright and obviously grasped that Raven wasn’t being candid. But Sinclair was a stranger and unannounced caller, so he could hardly bluster and demand answers that Raven wasn’t inclined to furnish.

“May I inquire,”Mr. Sinclair said to Raven, “as to your relationship with John Sinclair?”

“I am his partner.”

“Are you allowed to conduct business on his behalf?”

“If I feel like it.”

“My father is Charles Sinclair, Earl of Trent.”

Raven snidely muttered, “Give him my regards when you get back to London.”

Annalise recognized the statement to be a sort of threat. Raven and Jean Pierre had been whispering about Charles Sinclair, and she presumed the exalted man had trouble coming his way.

Mr. Sinclair let the remark pass. He kept assessing Raven, peeking at Annalise, as if trying to figure out their game. But she and Raven had lived lives filled with swindles and deceits. Mr. Sinclair would never learn what they didn’t wish him to know.

“My father received a letter from Mrs. Teasdale,”Mr. Sinclair explained, “which is why I’ve traveled to Bramble Bay.”

“If the earl would send you on such a long journey,”Raven said, “the issue she addressed must have been quite riveting. What was it?”

“She claims John Sinclair is my father’s son—and my half-brother. We thought him deceased years ago in Paris, so we were surprised to discover that he was hale and hearty and engaged in mischief in England.”

“In mischief? What makes you think so?”

“Mrs. Teasdale tells us that her son, Hedley, gambled away their estate to John. She asked my father to intervene on her behalf.”

“To intervene in what fashion?”Raven scoffed.

“To convince John Sinclair to give the property back to the Teasdales.”

“Isn’t your father a gambler?”

“Well, yes, he is.”

“Then he should understand that a gambling debt has to be honored.”

“He does understand.”

“Yet you came to Bramble Bay anyway,”Raven mused. “I’m curious as to why you’d accept Mrs. Teasdale’s tale that you’re kin to John. You share a surname, but there are many families in the kingdom who can say the same.”

“Your Mr. Sinclair confided to someone at Bramble Bay that the earl is his father and his mother was Florence Harcourt, Countess of Westwood.”

Annalise swallowed a gasp. He had to have confessed to that pasty-faced witch, Sarah Teasdale, and the notion that Jean Pierre had revealed such a personal detail was infuriating. What else had he told the annoying, indiscreet girl?

Mr. Sinclair paused, expecting the disclosure would loosen Raven’s tongue, but it didn’t.

“Monsieur Sinclair,”Annalise asked, “what are you hoping to achieve by coming here?”

“I simply wanted to see if the rumor is true, to see if he actually is my brother.”

“And if he is?”

“I’d like to invite him to visit our family in London. He has several half-sisters there. They would love to meet him.”

Raven scowled, and he and Annalise exchanged a significant look.

Family meant nothing to Jean Pierre. The fact that he had a father, that he had siblings, was irrelevant. He would never meet them. He would never allow himself to be claimed by them.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair,”Raven ultimately said, “but you’ve been misinformed as to John’s identity.”

“Have I?” Mr. Sinclair’s skepticism was overt.

“John has no kin in London,”Raven insisted, “and the Earl of Trent is not his father.”

“What about Mrs. Teasdale’s letter?”Mr. Sinclair asked.

“She must have been confused by what she was told.”

Mr. Sinclair studied Raven, then he tried a different tactic. “Is Mrs. Teasdale related to Florence Harcourt?”

“I believe they were sisters,”Raven admitted, just to stir the pot.

“Sisters…”Mr. Sinclair murmured to himself. “That explains it.”

He waited, but Raven supplied naught more. Finally, Raven rose and motioned to the door. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Sinclair? We’re busy today. It’s a pity Mrs. Teasdale wasted your time.”

“I appreciate your seeing me.” Mr. Sinclair pushed himself to his feet. “Would you give Jean Pierre a message for me?”

Raven and Annalise held perfectly still, not providing any hint that John was also called Jean Pierre.

“As I do not know anyone named Jean Pierre,”Raven said, “I can’t pass on any message.”

Mr. Sinclair gnawed on his cheek, his perplexity obvious.

He was so much like Jean Pierre. Clearly, he yearned to stomp over to Raven, to force him to spill secrets that Raven would never divulge. But Mr. Sinclair was very smart, and he sensed that Raven couldn’t be intimidated.

Instead, he kept speaking. “Tell him that our father is worried about him. He’s growing too reckless, and we’re afraid he’ll be caught and hanged. Tell him we’ll help him to change his path, and if he ever comes to London, he’ll be welcome in my home.”

He laid his card on a nearby table and left.

Raven and Annalise stood quietly until the front door was shut behind him. Then they went over to the window to watch as he mounted his horse and trotted away.

“What do you make of that?”Annalise asked.

“Odd.”

“He and Jean Pierre are so much alike.”

“That old reprobate, Charles Sinclair, has strong bloodlines. I’ve heard that all his children look exactly the same. Apparently, the stories are true.”

“Poor Mildred,”Annalise crooned. “The earl won’t be riding to her rescue.”

Mr. Sinclair rounded the bend and was swallowed up by the trees, and Annalise swung to face Raven.

“When will Jean Pierre be back?”

“He said a month, but how can I guess with any certainty? He’ll return when he’s ready and not a moment before.”

“Is he setting me aside? What did he tell you?”

“I realize you imagine yourself to be extremely important in his life, but you were not mentioned between us when he departed.”

Raven couldn’t bear to suppose that someone else might get close to Jean Pierre. So Raven had always hated Annalise, and she had always hated him.

He deemed her to be inconsequential and disposable, and he was adept at rattling her. She wished she could rattle him too, but he was incredibly self-possessed. It was impossible to make him feel anything at all.

“What of Sarah Teasdale?”she pressed. “What are his plans for her?”

“Again, I have no idea.”

“Will he replace me with her? Will he keep both of us? I won’t share him with her!”

“You’ll obey his commands,”Raven tersely replied, “and you’ll obey them gladly or you’ll be sent back to Paris.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d
like
whatever makes Jean Pierre happy. You don’t factor into the equation.”

“
I
make him happy.”

“Do you?”he casually mused.

She studied his eyes, wondering what he meant. What had they discussed? What had they arranged?

Raven could deny all he wanted, but he and Jean Pierre were so attuned, they could read each other’s minds. They were one man in two bodies. If she was to be tossed aside, Raven would already have the separation terms drafted.

Ooh, how she detested being a woman. Because she was female, he and Jean Pierre had never trusted her. They never allowed her into their private circle. They viewed her merely as Jean Pierre’s concubine, and her reduced role was galling.

Well, if they thought she could be shuffled off to Paris, they were in for a surprise. She would not be discounted!

“You spew lies about me to him,”she seethed.

“As I said, Annalise, we
never
discuss you.”

“He won’t let me go.”

“He lets everyone go—eventually. You have to be prepared for it.”

“If he tries with me, I’ll know you were the cause. You’ll be sorry.”

He snorted with disgust. “Don’t threaten me, Annalise. You sound ridiculous.”

“I’ll make you pay. I swear it!”

She stormed out, fuming that she couldn’t garner the respect she deserved. Raven was so obstinately ignorant over how she could assist Jean Pierre, how she could propel him to ever higher achievements.

She trudged to the stairs and climbed, eager to sulk in her bedchamber. She was bored and on edge, and she loathed Bramble Bay. The food was awful, the servants slothful and rude. With Jean Pierre away, there wasn’t a single interesting person with whom she could occupy her time.

But as she reached the landing, she noticed Hedley on the floor above. He hadn’t returned to London, but had stayed in the country, purportedly to help his mother pack, but he was actually a hindrance for Mildred.

Annalise suspected that the true reason he hadn’t gone to London was because—in the city—he was hounded by creditors. Jean Pierre had spread word that Hedley was destitute, so his lines of credit had been revoked. Debt collectors showed up wherever he went. It was easier to hide at Bramble Bay.

Usually, she avoided him. He was young and imprudent and pathetic, but he was used to the entertainments in town, and he had to be chafing as she was chafing. Plus he was fascinated by her, which was soothing to her bruised ego.

He considered her sophisticated and worldly, and she fueled each of his impressions. He envisioned himself to be an appealing rogue who could win her from Jean Pierre. She wouldn’t tamp down his idiotic expectations.