The Ruin Of A Rogue (26 page)

Chapter 26

M
arcus raged against fate.

He tossed on the fine mattress of his luxurious Fonthill bedchamber, cursing the chance that had led Anne to that one particular volume among all the thousands in Beckford’s library. It was the final bitter proof that luck had deserted him. He had come to count on his father’s “legacy” when he should have known that anything from that source would be tainted.

Fortune hunter or thief? Those were his choices now. Or there was the alternative of abandoning his love, his land, and his home and taking to the road again, wandering Europe forever, scraping a living from whatever fools he could lure to the tables.

He could have left Fonthill with a handsome bank draft in his pocket, Anne at his side, their future secure. He’d been nervous about arriving at Castleton for Christmas, but he’d counted on charm, groveling, and Caro’s ancient affection to earn her forgiveness, and Caro’s charm and persuasive powers to bring the Duke of Castleton to a similar, if less enthusiastic, state of acceptance.

Presenting Castleton with his lost family heirloom would doubtless help with the latter goal. It stuck in his gorge to give up his only chance at independent fortune. Yet he knew he had to, or lose Anne forever.

Somewhere in the house a clock struck five. Soon it would be dawn. Monks all over Europe were rising to recite the office of Prime. Perhaps he should turn papist and enter a monastery, a real one, not Beckford’s fantastic folly that lay two miles away. A lifetime of prayer and atonement held a certain appeal in this darkest hour.

He remembered one Christmas at Conduit Street with Caro and Robert Townsend, soon after their marriage. With customary excess, Caro had dragged them out to Richmond Park in the middle of the night to gather illicit greenery, with which she festooned the house with more exuberance than art. Since they were suffering one of their periodic servant shortages, the Townsends’ Christmas feast had come from a bake shop, but none of the young guests crammed into the small house had cared as long as the wine flowed, which
chez
Townsend always did. It was the happiest Noel he’d ever spent except for faint memories of quieter celebrations with his mother.

This one could have been even better because of Anne’s presence. While Caro had turned respectable on becoming a duchess, she couldn’t have changed that much. The food and decorations would be better prepared and the wine consumed with less abandon. Not even a ducal mansion and its very correct owner could douse Caro’s warmth. He pictured her excitement at being reunited with her dearest cousin, Anne’s joy in Caro’s company. He would be introduced as a future member of the family and, after an interval for charming, groveling etc., accepted as such. Caro would be his cousin twice, through Anne and through Castleton. He would make the acquaintance of Castleton’s sisters, who had been born after his sole disastrous visit to the ducal seat. He and Anne would dance at a ball and exchange stolen kisses under the mistletoe. Under the eyes of their relations they would complete their courtship and plan a wedding with a benign innocence outside his experience.

A viscount with his own estate, even if a small one, was a suitable if not brilliant match for the heiress of Camber. Morrissey might not relent, but Anne need not be entirely excluded from civilized society. And he, Marcus Lithgow, rogue and outcast, would, for the first time in his life, be included too. Part of his own loving family—himself and Anne—and of a wider kin by blood and marriage. Perhaps even the greater fellowship of the reputable world.

All this could have been his had Anne not read that damnable book. She would never have known.

You will know, Marcus. You will always know.

Those had been her parting words. Not
I will know
but
you
.

He, Marcus, would know. His vision of what might have been dissolved into mist. It was a chimera, an illusion. He understood what Anne had been telling him. One could not be truly at home among honest people unless one was honest oneself. Selling the diamonds would make him perpetually a scoundrel and unworthy.

Chapter 27

A
pproaching Castleton, a mansion, of a similar age to Hinton but many times bigger, Anne contrasted them unfavorably. Marcus’s house was so delightfully pretty and cozy compared to this vast barracks. Gray skies and her own black mood did not help her first impression of Caro’s new home.

Happily the welcome inside belied the exterior. She’d hardly had time to take in the display of greenery trimmed in an excess of red ribbons, the dozens of candles that banished any hint of gloom, when Caro danced down the staircase, red curls bouncing furiously.

“My darling Annabella!” her cousin cried, wrapping her in a fond embrace. “We were worried you had been held up by highwaymen, were we not, Thomas?”

The duke, who had followed his wife at a more stately pace, shook her hand. “That was Caro’s theory. I thought a broken wheel a more likely accident.” Anne had never seen her erstwhile suitor so open and unguarded. He actually winked at her. Predictably, life with Caro had shaken Lord Stuffy out of him. “Welcome to Castleton, my dear Anne. Your presence makes Christmas complete.”

“But where have you come from, my dearest? Cynthia wrote that you had been staying in Wiltshire with—”

“Caro,” the duke interrupted with a warning glance at the servants. “Why don’t you take Anne to her room. She’ll wish to rest and change before dinner. My mother and sisters are dining with us,” he added, “but you have more than an hour before they arrive.” He and Caro exchanged a significant look and Anne prepared to be interrogated.

Luckily she’d had a journey of several hours to decide what to say.

Caro gave her about five minutes to wash her hands and face, then led her firmly to her own charming sitting room. “Let Maldon unpack. I know you won’t need much time to dress, unless you have changed even more than I suspect.”

“Oh, look! It’s Tish.” Anne bent over to stroke Caro’s cat, who was stretched out on the carpet looking large. “He’s plumper. Has your husband been feeding him from the table?”

“He always becomes fat in the winter, spending less time outside. Wait! You’re distracting me. Leave him alone and sit down. I want to know precisely what you were doing with Marcus Lithgow after I warned you to have nothing to do with him. You’ve become very sly, you and Cynthia, writing to me that you were at her house when all the time you were in Wiltshire at an estate that Marcus has somehow got hold of. Did he win it at cards?”

“An inheritance from a great-uncle. It includes the site of an important Roman settlement. I’ve been digging it up.”

Caro leaned in from her unquiet perch beside her on the settee and examined her suspiciously. “I don’t understand you, Anne. You’re behaving like me, or rather like me before I became a reformed character. I understand about the lure of Rome, but you never do anything that isn’t correct. What does your guardian think of this adventure?”

Anne merely raised her brow. “Did you ever encounter Lord Algernon Tiverton?”

The story of her attempt to taint her reputation to dispose of a tedious suitor was guaranteed to appeal to Caro. She laughed heartily at Anne’s account of making Marcus take her around London. “You clever, wicked thing. But why put yourself in his hands at his own estate? I can tell you, when Thomas heard he was furious. If you hadn’t arrived today he was ready to drive to Wiltshire himself and kill Marcus.”

Anne had made up her mind not to reveal why the duke had even greater reason to do his old enemy bodily harm. Considerable restraint had been required not to creep through the corridors of Fonthill and shake him. She wanted to rage and argue until he bowed to her will, or seduce him into acquiescence. She fancied she could do either. But poor Marcus had got himself into a muddle over the question of honor. Believing with all her heart that he possessed a core of decency, she knew that he needed to believe it himself, and act on it.

She didn’t want him to bow to her will. If he couldn’t do the right thing for the right reason, their future together was doomed.

“You’re looking very fierce,” Caro said. Anne looked down at her lap and discovered her fists clenched. “Now tell me everything that happened and don’t leave a single thing out.”

Total disclosure was impossible. Her version of events omitted any mention of lost treasure, lovemaking, or betrothal. “So you see,” she concluded calmly, “he saved my life and then I was stranded at his estate for days.”

Caro’s response was anything but serene. “You’ve ruined yourself,” she shrieked.

“Really Caro, you’re the last person I’d expect to get upset about this. Castleton has made you quite priggish.”

“Luckily I have made him less so. We discussed the matter already and agreed that we will back you to the hilt if any gossip leaks out. I expect it will, even if you were stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere. You don’t need to marry him.”

“It’s possible that Marcus will come here,” Anne said, trying to sound careless when in fact she counted on it, dreaded his nonappearance. If by tomorrow he hadn’t followed her to Castleton she would reveal the truth about the diamonds and try to persuade Castleton not to prosecute him. Tempting as it was to let Marcus keep them, and attempt to lead a happy and useful life at Hinton with the money he badly needed, it wasn’t an option.
She would know.

She clenched her fists. Picking up the threads of her life without him was dreadful enough. If her actions led to his complete ruin she would never be able to forgive herself.

“Come here!” Caro took Anne’s head between her hands to face her squarely. “You’re in love with him, I can tell. Oh, Annabella! You’re the last person I would expect to fall for a charming wastrel.”

Anne squeezed her eyes to stop escaping tears. “You don’t know him as I do. He’s good at heart but he’s never had a chance. I saw him at Hinton, trying to do what is right by his tenants. I saw how hard he worked.”

“Working to impress and seduce you, as you were sensible enough to realize in London.”

“I changed my mind. He changed.”

“How can you be such a fool?”

“Am I a fool? He used to be a friend of yours.”

“As Robert’s best friend I was devoted to him for years. Then he tried to steal from me.”

Anne winced. “He explained that,” she said with as much certainty as she could muster. “As I understand, it was one of Robert’s gaming debts. He is deeply sorry for it, but he was in grave straits and the matter wasn’t black and white.”

“He was vile to Thomas too. Thomas won’t tolerate him.”

“Even for me?” Anne asked in a small voice, praying that tolerance rather than prosecution would even be an option.

“I’m not sure he’d even do it for
me
. There’s the whole question of Marcus’s father who also stole from
Thomas’s
father. Not a paltry matter either. I can’t tell you the whole story, but it makes any kind of alliance with a Lithgow absolutely out of the question.”

“Marcus is not his father,” Anne said, hoping she was right.

H
e must finally have slept or how else could he be awakened by Travis, with a swish of curtains and a cup of tea?

“Goddamn it, Travis, leave me alone. It’s scarcely dawn.”

“Long past, sir, and you need to get dressed and be on your way to Castleton.”

Marcus’s stomach roiled. “I’m not sure I’m going to Castleton.” It depended on the result of his conversation with Anne.

“Of course you are, sir.” Travis was at his most annoyingly brisk. “I’ve arranged for one of the Fonthill carriages to take you as far as Salisbury.”

“
You
have arranged it? What about Miss Brotherton?”

“Miss Brotherton left an hour ago.”

The roiling was replaced by sinking. “Left? Did she leave a note?”

“No, sir. Miss Maldon informed me of her plans. I have your shaving water hot and your bags packed. Are we going?”

“We most certainly are,” he replied, thrusting the teacup back at Travis. He tossed away the covers and bounded out of bed. “What are we waiting for? Your researches don’t happen to have revealed the time of the coaches from Salisbury to Basingstoke, I suppose.”

“We will naturally hire a post chaise. It’s the quickest way.”

Marcus slapped his bare chest as though looking for his purse. “I don’t think I have enough on hand to pay for one.”

“Never mind that, sir. I have plenty.”

Marcus stared at the man. “Travis, I don’t even pay you. Now you’re offering
me
money.”

“The important thing is to get you there. You’ll pay me back.”

“I hope so. No, I will.” His man’s confidence made him unaccountably more cheerful. Now he had to restore Anne’s faith.

Few guests were at large so early. Leaving messages for his host and the Hamiltons, Marcus and Travis set out for Salisbury. At the Red Lion they were told there’d be a half hour wait for a chaise so, possessing his soul in patience, Marcus settled in the empty coffee room and ordered breakfast. When he served the coffee, cold beef, bread, and butter, the host told him that a Mr. Bentley had arrived at the inn and was asking after him.

“Bentley, eh? Show him in.” One mystery might be solved at last. The Stuart Twins were nestled deep in the left pocket of his greatcoat. The right contained his loaded pistol.

The voice exchanging words with the landlord in the passage made him shake his head. Anxiety must have affected his hearing.

The door opened fully to reveal a well-dressed country gentleman. Last time Marcus had seen him, about three years ago, his hair had been longer with less gray, his garb that of an urban man of fashion. A year ago he was dead.

“My dear boy,” said Lewis Lithgow, holding out his arms. “Aren’t you going to embrace your father?”

His recent acquaintance with Anne Brotherton aside, very few things had ever surprised Marcus, let alone rendered him speechless. A good son would be thrilled at the resurrection of his parent. Marcus was not a good son.

“Lost your voice? You never were as glib of tongue as I. How often have I told you, never let yourself be at a loss for words. Except on purpose.”

“How did you . . . never mind. I just wish I hadn’t paid for your funeral.”

“I hope it was a magnificent one as befit a viscount. Had I known the title had come to me, I might have stayed alive, despite the pressing problems that made my demise desirable. Regard it as my legacy to you, Marcus. Of course you have no right to it. Deception is, after all, the Lithgow stock in trade.”

“I’m obliged to you for the education, Lewis.” And the other poisonous legacy. Marcus was not, however, about to be the first to raise the subject of the diamonds. “Will you join me for some breakfast? Our reunion will have to be a short one. I am expected elsewhere.”

“Did your heiress flee the coop? I hear she left Fonthill ahead of you. Fie, Marcus, I thought better of you. I’d have made a bid for Miss Brotherton myself but I didn’t wish to poach on my son’s territory.”

“You astonish me.” Marcus remembered that “Bentley” had tried to flirt with Anne.

“And you wrong me. I returned to England as the respectable David Bentley for only one reason: so that I could finally lay hands on the Stuart Twins. For years they’ve been my insurance and it was time to claim them. Enough time has passed for a discreet sale, and old Josiah’s death left his house empty. I’d scared off the servants and almost finished searching when you turned up. Broke my heart not to be able to embrace my own dear son.”

Marcus declined to indulge his father’s theatrical nonsense, and Lewis, winning no greater reaction than a shrug, continued his tale. “I knew the gems would still be in their box. Josiah was too scrupulous to open it. When I didn’t find it in the house, I remembered him telling me the furnace chamber at his villa had a fine hiding place for valuables. Miss Brotherton, splendid young woman that she is, did the heavy digging for me once I gave her a hint or two. I was keeping an eye on the place after the storm and saw you both leave with the box. Too bad you got there first.”

Marcus permitted himself a humorless smile. “You shouldn’t have been afraid to get your hands dirty.”

“I am curious about one thing. You didn’t find the diamonds by chance. How did you know to look for them?”

“You wrote to me, from Vienna in 1784.”

“Ah, I remember! Very troublesome, those Russians. They had me quite worried for a while. Although I managed to shake them off, I never did get back to finish my business with the countess. She adored me.”

During his boyhood Lewis would often return to their shabby lodgings to put up his feet and boast of his conquests while Marcus served him food and polished his boots. Now Marcus let him reminisce. As soon as the post chaise was announced he‘d be on the road and Lewis would have run out of time for argument and bluster.

The latter sensed his lack of interest. “Enough with the polite chatter. Let’s get down to business. It’s only fair that since you have the heiress, I should have the diamonds. They are, after all, mine.”

“As a matter of fact I believe they are the property of the Duke of Castleton.”

“I earned them legitimately.”