The Ruin Of A Rogue (27 page)

“Really? In that case why wait to sell them?”

“It was a matter of discretion, involving a lady.”

“The only way you’d put yourself out to protect a lady’s name was if it otherwise meant death.”

“The late Duke of Castleton was an unreasonable man. He made it impossible for me to remain in England, or return while he lived. Hand them over and I’ll trouble you no more. Don’t worry that your bride will ever meet her unsuitable father-in-law.”

Marcus folded his arms and couched his refusal in terms that Lewis would understand. “She won’t have me if I don’t return the lost Stuart Twins to her cousin’s husband.”

“My dear boy, why didn’t you explain the problem? Nothing could be easier to arrange. You shall be held up by highwaymen on the road and lose the diamonds. We’ll give you a black eye, or perhaps a trifling flesh wound in the arm, to lend veracity and make her sorry for you. The dear ladies do love to nurse us.”

That was Lewis: ever ready with a shady scheme. Marcus shook his head in disgust, partly at his old self who would have embraced the notion with gusto. “Anne won’t believe me. Besides, I need the money. If she weds without her guardian’s permission she gets nothing.”

“The lengths people go to protect the fortunes of heiresses is an affront to the honest adventurer.”

“My mother was not so protected.”

“No, but her fortune was small. I had small ideas in those days.” He spoke with little thought, his eyes darting over Marcus’s person, trying to guess if he carried the diamonds, and where. Lewis’s blatant lack of respect or care for his late wife had Marcus’s fists itching. He kept watch for sudden moves. Lewis in his turn noted a convulsive move of right hand toward the pocket containing the pistol.

“Aha,” he said with satisfaction. “You haven’t yet sold them. I assumed you went to Fonthill to find a buyer. I’d have done the same myself, except that both Beckford and Hamilton would recognize me, unlike the Wiltshire rustics who haven’t seen me in fifteen years.”

Marcus didn’t bother to deny possession of the Twins. Lewis might have lost none of his cunning and Marcus had never equaled his father in ruthlessness. But he could best the older man in a fight and Lewis knew it.

“You are my son, Marcus. I’d be prepared to share the proceeds of the sale. What say you? Half and half. If you can’t persuade the heiress’s guardian, you’ll have a nice little capital sum by grace of your father.”

Hah! He’d be lucky to get ten percent by the time the negotiation was over. “Do you think you sired a fool?”

Lewis stared at him, trying to decide what Marcus’s game was. “Now I understand!” he said. “You intend to parlay the return of the diamonds into Castleton’s support for your marriage. I could help you with that. I recently learned something that he’d like me to keep to himself. I was saving it for a rainy day but I’ll share it with my dear son. Against future considerations.”

Aside from a natural curiosity about what Lewis could know to the discredit of the excessively proper duke, Marcus felt nothing but disgust. “I’ve done much to be ashamed of, but I never have and never will stoop to extortion.”

The gray eyes that usually shone with spurious sincerity and humor grew cold, the only sign that Lewis was losing his temper. When angry he was vicious. “Show your father some respect. You think you’re above me, do you? You still bleed when cut, your sweat still smells, and just because you’re tupping an heiress doesn’t mean you no longer need a privy.”

“The only respect you’ll get is when I refrain from giving you the beating you deserve. You will please speak of her as Miss Brotherton, if you speak of her at all.”

“My God! You’re serious. You’re in love with the girl.” Lewis laughed.

Of course he was. Of course he loved her. If there was one reason to be grateful for Lewis’s resurrection it was this certainty. Anne had told him he wasn’t like his father, and finally he believed it. Despite all the old devil’s best efforts, Marcus was capable of love and decency. He was on his way to claim his beloved, and he couldn’t wait to speak the words he had withheld out of fear and self-loathing.

He felt liberated from his parent as Lewis continued his vicious denunciation. “I was proud of you, Marcus, when I heard you’d gone after the richest prize in England and won her. But it turns out you’re just a fool like ordinary people.”

There wasn’t any point arguing with a man who saw life only as a series of angles to be exploited. “I must be off,” he said. “I have a carriage waiting. Nice seeing you, Lewis. An unexpected pleasure.”

“Oh, Marcus!” Lewis shook his head in mock reproach. “Just because you’re in love you think you’re a reformed character. I know better. You and I are one of a kind, both by blood and through my careful teaching.”

“You did your best and you may be right. But I also had my mother and Josiah Hooke. I don’t know if we’ll meet again, Lewis, but congratulations on not being dead.”

Ready to counter any sudden move, Marcus stalked out of the coffee room and the inn, filling his lungs with clean air.

Soon afterward he and Travis rolled briskly east. As the miles passed, love and optimism fought fear of the task ahead of him. Longing to see Anne was fueled by an added anxiety. Lewis had given in too easily. The sooner Marcus reached Castleton the better.

Chapter 28

“Y
ou’re very quiet, Anne,” Caro said when the party gathered in the drawing room after dinner.

“I’m enjoying the evening, Caro,” Anne replied, not altogether truthfully. Throughout the meal she’d been on edge, wondering if Marcus would appear. Or whether he remained at Fonthill, concluding negotiations for the sale of the Castleton gems known as the Stuart Twins.

“Castleton is a beautiful house and I can see your touches everywhere.” She pointed at a painting over the mantelpiece, a redheaded reclining woman, dressed in but a wisp of transparent fabric, her little boy at her feet. “That must be Venus and Cupid. Didn’t you once own a Titian of the same subject? I thought you sold it.”

“That is my Titian. We . . . recovered it.” Catching Anne’s eye, Caro mouthed a word at her. It looked like
Marcus
. Did she mean Marcus had stolen the Titian? It fit what Marcus had told her, back when she first met him, about trying to take Caro’s cherished possession in payment of Robert Townsend’s gaming debt. The knowledge made her feel no better.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” The dowager duchess entered the conversation. “We never had many good pictures at Castleton. Thomas has begun to add to the collection and I’m happy to say he has better taste than his father.”

Anne let the conversation wash over her, her concentration fixed on the door. She tried to prepare herself for bad news, stoically to accept the truth that she’d been gulled by an unworthy trickster. It hardly mattered. All she had to do was return to her former state as the great heiress of Camber and do her duty by finding herself a suitable husband. It might as well be Lord Algernon Tiverton, if he would still have her. At least her guardian and Lady Ashfield would be happy. And presumably Lord Algernon, though she found it hard to imagine him feeling or expressing joy, except possibly over the arrival of more Tivertons into the world. Or Brotherton-Tivertons.

She must not think of the never-to-be-born Brotherton-Lithgows because bursting into tears in the Duke of Castleton’s drawing room was not the kind of thing Anne Brotherton-Tiverton did. Nevertheless, she wanted to stand up, perhaps on a table, and loudly proclaim her own wishes and desires: that she loved Marcus Lithgow and didn’t care if he stole pictures, jewels, or anything else from them because he was the only thing in the world that made her happy. As she envisioned this shocking display, her attention wandered from the door and she missed his entrance.

“Mr. Marcus Lithgow,” the butler announced.

It seemed like a month since she’d set eyes on him, when it was only last night that they had loved and parted in a secret corner of Fonthill Abbey. The sight of his strong, confident body and beloved face refreshed her. She would have run to him, taken his hands, kissed him even, in view of the Castletons and their servant. But she sensed a strain about him, a tension in his stance, a mixture of determination and fear on features that displayed not a hint of humor or easy charm. Finding her, he caught her eye and regarded her warily for a long moment, then addressed himself to his hosts.

“Caro, Castleton,” he said, remaining motionless at the threshold of the great saloon. “I apologize. For arriving late and unannounced, and for other things.”

I
n the course of his life Marcus had frequently entered places where no one wished him well and had stared down his enemies without betraying doubts of his survival. Never had he made a more difficult entrance than into the lions’ den of Castleton House. His first priority was Anne. To his great joy and relief, her face reflected his own pleasure, her pale skin flushing. He deflected her approach. Before he could claim her—and he intended to do so with all triumph—he had work to do cleaning up some of the other messes of his life.

Castleton would like to knock him down and throw him out of the house and would doubtless have done so had Caro not forestalled him.

“Marcus.” She crossed the room ahead of her angry husband and offered her hand. Not the kiss on the cheek he would once have merited, but not a slap either.

“Duchess.” He treated her to his best bow.

She smiled, a faded facsimile of her generous grin. “Don’t be silly, Marcus.” She addressed the oldest lady in the room. “Marcus and I have been friends for years, Margaret. Allow me to present Lord Lithgow. Unless”—she looked at him curiously—“your status has changed again. I notice you were announced without your title.”

“I’ve decided to give it up. I only acquired it by accident and it means nothing to me.” His father was alive and Marcus had resolved, as far as he was able, to live without deceit.

With properly duchesslike pomp, Caro presented him to the dowager duchess and her daughters. The latter, pretty and almost identical girls, looked only curious, but the dowager seemed appalled. Marcus had a faint recollection of her from years ago, a quiet, proud woman. Her looks had faded but her memories of the Lithgows evidently had not.

“Thank you for receiving me, Caro. I would like to have a word with you and Castleton in private.” Better have Caro there and prevent bloodshed. Perhaps.

Anne stepped forward. “I will join you too.”

“You sound too businesslike for after dinner,” Caro said. “Later. My sisters-in-law are anxious to play whist and you are the very person to instruct them.”

What was Caro up to? Something, for certain, but he couldn’t see what, aside from postponing the moment when her husband tried to kill him. He wished he knew how much Anne had told her.

“Not tonight,” the dowager said. “Sarah, Maria, it is time for us to leave.”

Marcus possessed himself in patience as the family made their farewells and departed for the dower house. He prayed the older lady’s obvious fear that association with him would taint her daughters wasn’t a harbinger of the future. Even Caro seemed affected by the tense atmosphere. Hardly a word was said while Castleton escorted his mother and sisters to their carriage.

“Caro—” Anne said, as soon as the duke returned.

“Castleton—” Marcus began again, almost at the same time.

“Mr. David Bentley.” The servant had returned and ushered in Lewis Lithgow, who sauntered in at his most confident. A part of the old Marcus admired the old man’s gall, but only a part, a negligible grain. Mostly he felt nothing but disgust that he’d sprung from the loins of such a scoundrel.

“Your Graces.” Lewis bowed with shameless bravado. “Miss Brotherton. You’re looking as lovely as ever.” Anne stared at him as though he were a snake. “And Marcus. I’m sorry to bring the duke news of a certain valuable property stolen from his family. It is presently, if I am not mistaken, residing in your pocket.”

“You . . .” Anne’s indignation warmed him. “Marcus did not steal it!”

“No, I did not.” Marcus strode across the room and flung open his father’s coat, patting his pockets and hips in search of a weapon.

“I’m quite unarmed, dear boy. Such distrust.”

“That’s because I don’t trust you, Lewis.” This time there were three gasps. “Castleton, Caro, Anne. Allow me to present Lewis, Viscount Lithgow. My father.”

Lewis greeted the ladies with unruffled assurance. He’d always possessed an excellent leg, a graceful bow, and unlimited effrontery. “Recognize me do you now, Duke? You were only a boy when we last met. You’ve grown quite large.”

Castleton, muscles turned to stone, fixed his eyes on Lewis. “What stolen property?”

“These,” Marcus said. He pulled the diamonds, wrapped in velvet, from his pocket and thrust them at Castleton. “You would have had them in your hands in five minutes.”

The duke unfolded the cloth and pulled out the dazzling gems. “You had them,” he said quietly. Then looked at Lewis. “This is what you . . . took?” His muted reaction surprised Marcus, who would have expected Castleton to barrel in with both fists, hit one or other of the Lithgows, probably both, then call the magistrate. He had sustained a severe shock, that was clear, but his response was more complicated than the predictable righteous anger.

“Let’s have a little talk about this,” Lewis said. “I met up with my dear son this morning in Salisbury and we had a small falling out. A falling out among thieves, you might say. I generously offered to split the proceeds of the sale with him but he had his eye on a bigger fish. ‘Thanks, Papa,’ he said.” Marcus had never called the old devil Papa in his life, and certainly not in the past ten years or so. “ ‘Thanks, but I have a better use for the Stuart Twins. I have a lovely heiress panting to wed me but she’s just a mite distressed about me keeping stolen jewels from her dear cousin. I’m going to return them to the good duke in exchange for his support in winning over Miss Brotherton’s guardians. For what, my dear papa, is half a pair of diamonds compared to the wealth of the Camber estate?’ ”

That was the genius of Lewis: to take a morsel of truth and twist it into a huge—and believable—lie. As far as Marcus could see, his only motive was spite against his son. He couldn’t, surely, expect to walk away with the diamonds. Meanwhile, Caro was regarding Marcus with a look of betrayal as bad as when she’d found him with the Titian.

And Anne. She stared at him with her eyes huge and flat in a face as pale as vellum. He would like to think she trusted him, but what reason had he given her?

“You’re a liar, Lewis. A liar as well as a thief.” It was the best he could come up with and he wondered why he took the trouble. No one would believe him because, until this morning, he had been just as bad.

“Harsh words from my own flesh and blood.” At the mocking words his blood boiled and he made a vow. If Lewis’s spite lost Marcus his chance at redemption, then he would add patricide to his long list of sins. His life would be over but at least the world would, once more, be rid of its most worthless citizen. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you all, but I must be on my way. I’ll just take those little darlings with me, if you don’t mind, Castleton.” Cool as a cucumber, Lewis held out his hand to the duke.

“I’m curious to hear why you think I should hand over my family property that you acquired from my mother.” Marcus had seen Castleton pompous, he’d seen him dismissive, and he’d seen him angry. He’d never seen the duke look so grim. There was something more here and the dowager duchess was part of it.

Lewis smiled as genially as though accepting a cup of tea. “You wouldn’t want those sweet sisters of yours to know who their father is, would you?”

Anne gasped at the revelation. Standing next to her, Caro covered her mouth with a hand and Marcus had the impression she wasn’t surprised. Distressed, yes, but not shocked.

Lewis continued to address Castleton, whose large frame exuded coiled tension. “Lovely girls. I saw them getting into the carriage on my way in. It was all I could do not to introduce myself to my daughters.”

“I’ll kill you if you ever go near my sisters.” The duke spoke softly but with deadly menace.

“I will too,” Marcus said. For if Lewis told the truth—and a lot of things made sense if he did—they were his sisters too. The late duke had thrown the Lithgows out not because of a horse, or even a theft, but because Lewis had been up to his old tricks and seduced his host’s wife. When discovered he’d cut and run, helping himself to the Stuart Twins and leaving the poor deluded lady with her own twins in exchange. Then, to escape the duke’s ire, he’d left England, intending to return one day to retrieve the diamonds.

Far from cowed by the double threat, Lewis beamed at them. “It’s such a pleasure for me to bring you two together now that you know what you have in common. It makes you almost brothers. But since I’m sure you’d prefer to celebrate your new kinship in private, I’ll be on my way. Just as long as I have those pretty jewels there’ll be no reason for me ever to mention the fact to a soul. Word of honor.”

“Honor!” Castleton and Marcus spoke in unison.

“You can count on it. The honor of a successful thief. I’ve a mind to settle down with a nice little nest egg and live out my days in peace. I’ll not trouble you again. Or I can walk out of here empty-handed and the whole world will be highly interested to know that the Ladies Maria and Sarah are no true Fitzcharleses.” He stroked his chin. “Maybe I’d prefer that course. I’d enjoy getting to know them. I’ve always fancied a daughter or two, my son having been such a disappointment.”

Castleton opened his large fist that had closed around the pendants and stared at them, actually considering Lewis’s demand. Marcus could understand and respect his desire to protect his sisters. He would do anything if it were Anne in the same position. Giving up the jewels was nothing. He realized that now.

But Castleton didn’t know Lewis as he did, didn’t know that one could not, should not, take his word on anything.

Running through the options in his mind, he could see only one solution. Nausea fought grim determination. He was going to have to kill his own father.

The decision barely made, the door opened and the dowager duchess stood at the threshold. The exquisitely dressed lady with the air of deep reserve had vanished, to be replaced by a madwoman, her hair in disarray and a hectic flush on her pale powdered face. Convulsively she clutched the full skirts of her lavender silk gown.