Wanton Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) (50 page)

      
This time he clucked over Derrick's injuries but assured Beth that they were healing nicely. Derrick only required several days of rest and nourishing food to restore him to health. The physician insisted on putting a sleeping potion into the herbal tea Martha had prepared and stood sternly over Derrick as he, unaware, drank it down.

      
The impetuous young earl should not have risked his health on such an arduous ride, Dr. Fielding sternly told Beth. He had heard all the gossip about her and the deaths at Lynden Hall and seemed to imply that everything was her fault, even if he did not say so directly. She knew everyone from Carlisle to London blamed her. Derrick would have no difficulty at all securing a divorce.

      
Beth returned her attention to the letter she was composing for Derrick. By the time he awakened and read it, she would be gone,taking Vittoria with her. He would have more children. She would not give up her daughter.

      
As if understanding her struggle, Percy sat at her side, his brown eyes sorrowful as he looked up at her. She finished the letter and signed her name, then laid her head down on the desk for a moment.

      
By twilight everything was ready for their departure. The only one who knew her plans was Donita, who had pleaded to go with her. But the little maid was desperately homesick and Beth knew it would be far kinder to send her back to her family in Naples. With only Percy for company, she and her daughter would sail for America.

      
All the stable men had gone to the kitchens for their evening meal when she slipped into the musty barn where the rigs were kept, leading two of the steadiest of the carriage horses. Seated in a pile of straw nearby, Percy guarded the sleeping baby, watching Beth as she hitched up the team.

* * * *

      
Derrick was awakened from his drugged slumber by a very hesitant valet, who informed him that the sheriff had just arrived from Carlisle and was waiting downstairs. “He says it is a matter of great importance, m'lord,” Conway said apologetically as Derrick struggled to sit up on the edge of the bed, trying to clear his fogged brain.

      
“I feel as if I’ve been drugged,” he muttered half to himself. “How long have I slept?”

      
“Since you arrived, m’lord. A bit over four and twenty hours,” Conway replied as he assisted his master in dressing.

      
Derrick stopped midway in sliding his good arm into a shirtsleeve and narrowed his eyes at the valet. “Damn, I was drugged! Twas that idiot Fielding and his accursed possets.”

      
“I'm sure I wouldn't know, m'lord. Her ladyship did say you needed your rest...but the sheriff—”

      
“Another damned idiot,” Derrick snarled as he fastened his shirt while Conway brought him a pair of breeches.

      
His mouth felt as if he'd chewed through the stable floorboards and an itchy growth of beard gave his face a piratical cast when he walked into the library to greet Sheriff Bosley. Although he was not in the mood to deal with the officious ass, the sooner he set the fellow straight, the sooner the fool would cease harassing Beth. “I understand you have something urgent to tell me, Sheriff,” Derrick said brusquely as the man struggled out of the side chair in which he had made himself comfortable.

      
The sheriff was a short, squat man of sixty years with a pale doughy face that tended to redden whenever he exerted himself. Since he weighed over fifteen stone, just standing up required significant exertion. “Yes, m'lord, I do.” Bosley harrumphed as he produced two thick bundles of envelopes.

      
“These are for you and her ladyship, m'lord...” Bosley handed the papers to Derrick. His voice trailed off in nervous silence before he cleared his throat and continued, “One of the village lads who worked at Wharton Hall brought the whole of them to me after learning of the baron's death...and that of Lady Annabella. It seemed the baron had bribed the post rider to turn over all correspondence coming into and going out of Lynden Hall so that he could inspect it before it was forwarded. These were held back.”

      
Derrick had torn open the ties holding the packets and could see that one was his letters to Beth, but the other packet was letters sent by her to him in London. “Why did he not want us to communicate?” he said more to himself than to the sheriff as he tore open the first of her letters.

      
“It was not the baron, m’lord. ” Now Bosley's face grew quite red. “After I received these, I felt duty bound to go to Wharton Hall and question the staff. It seems the baron only wanted to read them, then pass them on after he learned the contents... Several of the servants accused the former countess of holding back the letters.”

      
Bella's jealousy. Yes, it made tragic sense, he supposed. If he and Beth were gone, she could wed Bertie and once more resume what she believed to be her rightful place. He thanked the sheriff for performing his duty so well and dismissed him after making it clear that the baron and former countess had attacked his wife,who was an innocent victim in their conspiracy. Apologizing profusely for ever suspecting Lady Elizabeth of wrongdoing, Bosley departed.

      
Derrick sat down to read her letters. How lonely she had been. He'd exiled her, then seemed to desert her with callous disregard for her feelings. Her appeals had begun earnestly, much as his had—and much as his had, her letters took on sharper tones each time there was no response. But was he reading too much between the lines when he dared to hope that she wanted to be his wife and looked forward to the birth of their child? The only way to find out was to speak with her, to offer her the freedom to leave him and their daughter if she wished to do so...and then pray she would stay.

      
Slowly he approached her quarters, his heart hammering in his chest so loudly that he feared she would hear it over his knock on her door. When she did not answer, he turned the knob and pushed the heavy oak panel open. She was not in the small sitting room. Years of instinct told him that she was not in the bedroom either. But a small envelope with his name on it sat propped against the candlestick on the table in plain sight.

      
A feeling of intense foreboding swept over him as he tore it open and extracted the letter, reading:

My Dearest Derrick,

Please forgive my taking the coward's way out, hut it seemed easier. I possess the courage to write what 1 could never say directly to your face, for I know your stubborn sense of duty would force you to bid me stay when we both know it is best that I leave. I have become even more of an embarrassment to you than I was in London. Bertie and Annabella's deaths will fuel the gossip mills across the nation and I shall be at the heart of it. Please believe that I intended no harm to either of them. The servants will verify what went on just prior to Vittoria’s birth. I am taking her with me since I cannot bear to be parted from her. She will only grow up to be a wanton hoyden like her mother. If I had borne your heir, I do not know if I would have possessed the courage to leave him behind. Perhaps 'tis an omen, that I did not have to make such a painful decision, for I surely would have stayed rather than lose my child. Now you may have a dutiful English wife from a noble family, a woman who will make you happy as I could not. There is nothing to stand in the way of that happiness now.
 

Beth

      
She had added a postscript, explaining that she had sent for Constance and her nursemaid and begged Derrick to allow Tilda to continue to care for his niece now that the little girl would be his ward.

      
As always, puss, I have completely misunderstood and underestimated you.

      
How long could she have been gone? Frantically, he tore down the stairs, yelling for Mistress Widlow to assemble the entire staff. In moments, he knew that she had not been seen since the preceding evening, having instructed Donita to bring a tray to her quarters at half past six. The maid tearfully confessed under his daunting interrogation that her mistress had set out for Bowness, the nearest small port, so that she could arrange passage to Liverpool, where Blackthorne Shipping had offices.

* * * *

      
The small seaport was just beginning to show signs of life when she reached the waterfront. She'd driven by the light of a full moon until it set, then fed Vittoria and dozed in the carriage until sunrise. Feeling unutterably weary and sad, she surveyed the small coastal trawlers bobbing in the tiny harbor. The smells of ocean brine, fish and early morning fog were familiar, reminding her fleetingly of Naples.

      
But she must not think of that, for to do so would bring memories of Derrick and she could not bear it. She had taken only the jewelry she owned, leaving behind all the Jamison heirlooms for his new bride, including her wedding ring. If the money she had brought along was not sufficient, she hoped the glitter of an opal brooch would be impressive enough to convince a simple fisherman to make the long passage south.

      
As a safety precaution, she carried not only her old stiletto from Naples but also the small Parker pocket pistol that had been a gift from her brother Rob when she'd left Savannah. A woman alone with an infant would be at best a curiosity and a scandal, but at worst she might attract thieves or rapists. Because this was a small, hardworking community, she doubted there would be trouble. Percy remained close by her side after she climbed from the carriage. The village shacks were rundown and dirty, reeking of fresh fish and old poverty.

      
She did not see the tall shadow of the figure following at a discreet distance. He observed as she approached the lone fisherman sitting at the bow of an old craft that looked not at all seaworthy. Blessing the good fortune that had sent her his way, he waited until the man told her what he had been paid to say. Beth turned and headed for a large deserted-looking shack standing some distance from the rest.

      
Having been informed not to knock but simply to enter and call upstairs, she cautiously opened the creaking door and stepped inside. He did the same from the rear, blinking his bright green eyes until they became accustomed to the dim light.

      
“Hello,” Beth called up the rickety stairs. The place was filthy, with thick dust and cobwebs everywhere. If not for the candle on the desk, she'd think the fisherman had misinformed her. The pistol hidden in her cloak pocket gave her a measure of confidence, but she knew that she could do little to defend herself while holding Vittoria. Just as she took a step toward the table to place her daughter on it and instruct Percy to guard her, the dog began to growl.

      
“Tie the beast to that post, else I'll be forced to kill him,” Liam Quinn said conversationally as he stepped out from a hallway of the old warehouse. He sighted in on Percy with one of the ornately engraved Neapolitan Miquelet-lock pistols he had carried as a corsair. Another of the deadly weapons was in his left hand, pointed at Vittoria.

      
“The baron is dead, Quinn,” she managed in a far calmer voice than she felt. “He cannot pay you, nor can Annabella. She's dead, too.”

      
He shrugged, drawing slowly closer, then stopping far enough back so the dog could not get a running jump at him. “Alas, a pity, that. I would have been paid double. Now I shall just have to settle for the price Kasseim promised me. Perhaps I'll get a bonus for bringing him your girl child. He can have her trained to be a much more proper odalisque than you.”

      
Beth fought the surge of nausea that swamped her at the mention of such a fate for her innocent daughter.
Think! You have a pistol and a dagger. Get Vittoria out of the line of fire.

      
She commanded Percy to sit and stay, then laid her baby on the floor by his side. ”I have nothing with which to tie him,” she said in what she hoped was the dull voice of defeat, starting to move away from them.

      
“Not so fast, sweeting. Stay close by your little one's side just as a good mother should always do...you are a good mother, are you not?” he asked as he tossed a length of rope at her feet.

      
“My husband will pay you more than Kasseim,” she bargained. Quinn was without principles, but not without sense.

      
He laughed aloud. “The earl would hoist me by my balls if given the chance. He does have the devil's own luck. Have you any idea how many attempts on his life have failed since his dear cousin finally learned he was in Naples?”

      
“You're afraid of him.” Perhaps anger would cause him to become careless. But Quinn only watched her closely, seeing that the knots fastened to the dog's collar were secure. She was three steps from Vittoria. This might be her best opportunity for a shot without endangering her daughter.

      
“I would have liked nothing better than to kill another Englishman, most particularly an earl, but a duel in London would not have been...expedient. This is the better revenge—taking his woman from him. I have been waiting and watching you since winter's chill. Imagine my delight when you rode off with your babe and no man to protect you. Your earl's servants kept a close leash on you until now.

      
“He was the lover you pined for when first we met, was he not?” Quinn studied her for a moment, then said, “I thought so. If I had killed him, a swift version of English justice would have been meted out to an Irishman.”