Simply Scandalous (28 page)

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Authors: Kate Pearce

BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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Emily regarded him steadily. She wasn't used to him being so tentative. “It has already been a difficult day. Are you sure you wish to discuss this now?”
“We'll have to discuss it at some point. I suspect Smith won't wait forever.”
“He will not. I saw him this morning.”
Philip looked up. “Alone?”
“Certainly not. I took Ambrose with me.”
“Ah.” Philip returned his gaze to his boots. “And what further revelations did Mr. Smith offer you?”
Emily took a deep breath. “He merely confirmed my suspicions about something I suspected from reading my mother's letters.”
“That I am a murderer?”
“No, that you are not my father.” There was silence and Emily became aware of the crackle of the fire and the deep ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. “He also asked for an extortionate sum of money, money I do not have.”
“You were willing to pay him off yourself?”
“Naturally, but Ambrose said it wouldn't do, and that a man like Thomas Smith would never go away and would attempt to bleed our family dry. Smith told us it was more a matter of revenge than a matter of money, and I believed him. In his own twisted way, he loved my mother.”
“Emily.” Philip hesitated. “Could we set the issue of the money aside for a moment and talk about what Smith told you about your parentage?”
She met his anxious gaze. “He said that I was conceived accidentally, and that my mother had no choice but to take you into her bed again to pretend I was legitimate. Did you know?”
Philip nodded. “Yes, I even went along with it because it meant I had something to use against her.” He shuddered. “That sounds harsh, but once I saw you, I was determined to keep you safe from . . . from him.”
“Thomas Smith is my father, then?”
“He planted his seed, yes, but your father?” Philip hesitated, his gaze finally meeting hers. “I consider that honor to be mine.”
Emily studied him for a long while. “You never made me feel anything less than loved, but this is still a shock.”
“I understand that. I was a coward. I should have told you the truth. But after your mother died, I prayed that Smith would never come near our family again. I thought you were safe.”
“Because you were afraid he would expose your secret?”
“Emily, for all intents and purposes, you
are
my child. Legally I am responsible for you, and you are legitimate because I was married to your mother. You have nothing to worry about.”
“That is all well and good, but it doesn't answer my question.”
“From the moment I held you in my arms I resolved to forget about your true parentage and just love you as my own.”
“And you did.” She swallowed hard. “I have never felt anything but loved.”
“I'm glad of that at least, although I wish I'd had the courage to tell you the truth. I was too afraid to spoil things between us.”
“Is Richard illegitimate as well?”
“No, for the first year of our marriage, Mr. Smith kept away from your mother.”
“Did you tell Richard that I was not your child?”
“No, I told him that if there was anything you wanted to share with him, you would do so.”
“Then why was Richard so keen to stop me going after the journal?”
Philip dropped his gaze to his desk and began to rearrange the papers. “Because Helene shared something else that might be mentioned in there. Something that doesn't reflect well on me at all.”
“If this is about you murdering my mother, I would think Richard would want to retrieve that journal even more, not suggest we leave it to you.”
Philip clasped his hands together and stared down at them. “No, although I'm fairly sure she writes about that as well. This is a little more personal, something I hoped to avoid you hearing about.”
“Even though you told Richard.”
Philip took an audible breath. “Helene thought Richard needed a good reason to stop chasing the journal, so she told him about my unfortunate encounter with Mr. Smith.”
“You met him?”
“I found him in your mother's bed. We fought.”
“And?”
“He beat me, and then he buggered me.”
Emily simply stared at Philip's bowed head as she struggled to imagine such a scene.
“And my mother did nothing?”
“She was in love with him.”
“But still . . .” Emily found herself shaking her head. “I can understand why you didn't wish me to know about this.”
“Thank you.”
“He is a very large man.”
A faint shudder ran through her father. “Yes.”
“He wants five thousand guineas for the journal, or a monthly payment for the rest of his life.”
“Indeed.”
“I don't have that much money, and I am loathe to give it to him anyway. Ambrose said I should tell you.”
“Ambrose is a very wise young man.” Philip stood up and began to pace the room. “Did Smith say when and where he wished to have the money delivered to him?”
“He wanted the gold left at the Angel Inn, Islington, by Friday of this week. But I believe Seamus Kelly might already know where he is actually living. You might care to consult with him.”
Philip turned to face her. “Will you trust me to take care of this matter?”
Emily held his gaze. “Only if you tell me that you won't give in to all his demands.”
A smile flickered across Philip's face. “You have the heart of a warrior, my dear.” He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “Do you forgive me?”
Emily studied his familiar features for a long time. “For being my true father and never holding my parentage against me?”
His smile was so tender it made her want to cry. “I could never do that. You were always mine in my heart.”
Emily took his hand and he drew her close. She closed her eyes and allowed him to hold her.
 
“Mr. Ross, sir!”
Richard spun around and saw Patrick Kelly framed in the doorway to his lodgings. His apartment was in chaos; the bedroom door smashed off its hinges and his manservant badly shaken after being tied up. Even worse, there was no sign of Violet. They hadn't expected Mr. Brown to act quite so fast. He was still cursing himself for his stupidity.
“I have her, sir.”
Richard could only nod as a wave of unexpected relief threatened to overwhelm him.
Patrick surveyed the apartment and then looked at Richard. “I took her to the pleasure house, sir. It was closest to where I found her.”
Richard paused only to pat his poor servant on the shoulder before following Patrick out the door.
“She's alive?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Damn it all to hell!” Richard growled. “I wasn't there to protect her.”
Patrick grimaced and touched his forehead where a large purple bruise marred his pale, freckled skin. “I'm more to blame. You set me to watch her, and those bastards overwhelmed me. By the time I'd regained my senses, they'd taken her. I had to follow their carriage on foot.”
They were nearing the pleasure house now, and Richard took a moment to look around him before he changed course into Barrington Square. Not many people knew the private areas of the pleasure house backed onto the house behind, and he had a suspicion that they were being followed. He would make sure that everyone at the pleasure house took special note of who was allowed into the private quarters.
“Where exactly did you find her?” Richard asked.
“It was more like she found me, sir. I was tracking the carriage and then suddenly it appeared again, the door opened, and Miss Violet was tossed out into the gutter.” Patrick paused as Richard unlocked the front door. “For a moment, I feared she was dead, but when I picked her up, I saw she was breathing, so I brought her here.”
“Thank you, Patrick.”
Richard made his way down to the connecting basement area between the two houses, emerging into the main kitchen. Christian was sitting with Elizabeth at the table eating, but both of them looked up as Richard entered.
“I put her in your bedchamber,” Christian said. “She wouldn't let me or Elizabeth help her.”
“Why does she need help? Has she been injured?” Richard asked sharply.
“She's not badly hurt.” Christian patted his shoulder. “She'll probably require a bath, though. Go and see for yourself.”
Richard pounded up the backstairs until he reached the second level and headed for his bedchamber. He could see light under the door, but there was no sound or movement. He knocked but didn't wait for an answer before turning the latch and letting himself inside.
Violet was sitting in a chair by the fire, arms wrapped around herself, knees drawn up to her chin. Richard knelt at her feet, looked up at her, and went still.
“Who hurt you? I'll kill him.”
Her face was bloodied and bruised, and her shirt was ripped beyond repair. He put his hand on her knee and she flinched.
“Don't touch me.”
“Did Mr. Brown do this to you?” She wouldn't look at him, and his heart clenched with fear. “Violet . . .”
“You have to go.”
She didn't sound like herself, her voice so cold and distant that it chilled him.
“I'm not leaving you.”
“You don't understand. You must.” She swallowed with some difficulty. “He'll kill you if you interfere with his plans.”
“Does he think me so weak that I'll walk away from you at the first sign of a threat?”
“I'm not asking you to walk away from me, I'm telling you to leave.” She bit her already bloodied lip. “I don't want you anymore.”
“And I don't believe you.” He rose to his feet and went to pull the servant's bell. “You need to bathe and then we'll talk about this properly.”
“I don't
want
to talk to you.”
He stared down at her. “I'm not giving you a choice. You forced me away from you once before, and I've regretted it ever since. I'm not going to let you ruin both our lives again.”
While they waited for the bath to be filled, Richard helped himself to a large brandy and silently observed his shivering companion. She was covered in mud and other unpleasant substances from her fall in the gutter, her shirt had been deliberately sliced open, and someone had hit her. That last made him want to find Mr. Brown and slowly strangle him.
After the servants had left, he walked toward her. “Let me help you out of your boots.”
She stared at him and shook her head. “I can do it myself, and I would appreciate you leaving while I bathe.”
He returned her stare with interest. “I'm not leaving you alone.” He crouched in front of her and grabbed the heel of her muddy boot. “Brace yourself.”
He put the boots outside the door to be cleaned and turned back to Violet. The expression on her face as she attempted to remove her coat made him furious all over again.
“He didn't just slap your face, did he? Where else are you hurt?” He eased her out of her coat and waistcoat, and realized her cravat had already disappeared. Her shirt almost fell off it was so badly ripped.
“Damnation. Where else are you in pain?”
She wrapped her arms around her chest and allowed him to help her out of her riding breeches and underthings.
“One of his men punched me in the stomach.”
She sounded as if she might swoon, and he steadied her against his side. “What else?”
“Nothing.”
She shuddered convulsively as he helped her into the bath. He didn't believe her, but he'd let her bathe first before he demanded anything else. Her clothes lay in a pile on the carpet and he gathered them in his arms.
“This lot is only fit for the rubbish heap. I'll put them outside.”
She nodded, her eyes closed, her head against the back of the metal bath. He could see fingermarks encircling the slim column of her throat. Knowing she was safe, at least for the moment, but worried that she might faint, Richard took the pile of clothing to the door. The scent of blood stung at his nostrils along with something else, something musky and male.
He paused at the door and touched her ripped shirt, which was stiff with blood and other substances. With another curse, he dumped the clothes on the floor and returned to the bath. For a moment, he panicked as he saw her dark head disappear under the bath water. Just as he was about to yank her up again, she surfaced and rubbed the washcloth over her face and then over her mouth again and again and again.

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