Whisper To Me of Love (40 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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Rage against her and the others of her ilk, the titled members of the aristocracy, those haughty members who formed the exclusive inner circle of the ton, rose up to nearly choke him. Ah, yes, most of them were perfectly willing to enjoy his money and hospitality, content for the males to be closely associated with him, even condescending to invite him to their homes, but let his gaze stray to one of their daughters or sisters and he suddenly found doors slamming in his face! He might be wealthy, he might have learned the manners and style of a gentleman, but when it came to marriage, as far as the more powerful members of the ton were concerned, he was
still
the younger son of some obscure country squire and
not
quite good enough for them! An ugly expression on his face, he stared at Lucinda. Not even good enough to be the lover of one of the most notorious sluts in London!
The look on his face frightened her, and Lucinda asked fearfully, “What are you thinking? What are you going to do?”
Her words brought him back to the present. “But I told you, my dear—I'm extremely curious about what you were doing in your husband's rooms tonight.”
“And I told you! Would you like for me to explain the act to you?”
For a long, thoughtful pause, he considered her. It was clear that she was going to stick to her story. She really needed to be taught a lesson. A smile lifted one corner of his mouth and he reached out to trail a finger suggestively between her breasts. “Why not? I might find it instructive.”
Lucinda's breath caught sharply in her throat. “Don't!” she said thickly, trying not to show her fear.
Ignoring her, with a sudden, vicious movement, his fingers crushed the delicate material and he ripped open her gown to the waist, her full, rosy-tipped breasts spilling free. The dark eye glistened with pleasure at the sight of her lying there helpless before him, the charms that had been denied him now his for the taking. He sensed her fear and revulsion, and it excited him almost as much as the lush, inviting flesh before him. For too long he had been forced to let creatures like Lucinda and her husband treat him with disdain and arrogance; for too long, as the one-eyed man, he had merely been a tool paid to do their bidding, but that time was nearly over.... How often, he wondered idly, his fingers boldly caressing Lucinda's warm flesh, had he let these wealthy; wellborn fools think that they had command over him as he had gently, inexorably, drawn them into his web, until, too late, they discovered that
they
were the ones being commanded?
Soon he would have no more need of the one-eyed man—and he wouldn't need to be careful around people like Lucinda any longer. She and her ilk had served his purpose, and he was free now to treat them as he wished. He had fortune enough, and once he married Morgana and she had taken her rightful place, he would have his longed-for position amongst the most powerful in the land—they would be forced to accept him into their ranks for his wife's sake. A black scowl crossed his features. Of course, Manchester had to be dealt with....
A painful groan from Lucinda as his fingers tightened savagely around her breast brought him back from his wandering thoughts. She was frightened and he enjoyed that, and deliberately he tore the rest of her gown wide open, staring with lustful appreciation at her voluptuous charms. Though she stiffened with outrage and her eyes were full of fury, he didn't fear that she would cry out—she had too much to lose, and he knew he could do whatever he willed with her and she would keep her mouth shut. So many secrets, he thought smugly. So many secrets, and I know them all!
Seeking to extract the greatest amount of pleasure from this confrontation, he intentionally baited her. “Tell me,” he asked in a purring tone, “does Stephen know the part you played in the death of his beloved Hester? I know that when she first fell ill, you and he had already decided that if she were to die, I was to get rid of the child, but did he know that you made
certain
she died? Let me see ... wasn't it arsenic that I arranged for you to have? Arsenic that you so assiduously plied sweet Hester with all the weeks and months before she gave birth! My, but you must have been furious when she simply wouldn't die!” He smiled unkindly at her. “You really should have increased the dosage sooner, my dear, then she never would have lived long enough to give birth, but I expect you were too frightened of being found out to finish the deed before then.”
Her body naked to his gaze and touch, Lucinda had never been so vulnerable in her life. It was terrorizing enough that she had lived for nearly twenty years with the knowledge that he could expose her, albeit not without implicating himself ... but he was a criminal able to lose himself amongst the slums and dregs of London, while she ... she was the Countess of St. Audries. None knew better than she how easy it would be to drop a word here, a whisper there, and even if it could not be proven, she would be ruined, shunned and ostracized by everyone who knew her.
And Stephen, she thought with a shiver, Stephen would murder her if he ever guessed or even suspected that Hester's death had not been from natural causes. He had adored that mewling little bitch, and Lucinda never doubted that if Hester had lived, Stephen would have wasted little time in putting himself in the position of being able to marry his brother's widow! Whether he would have divorced her or seen the one-eyed man about ridding him of a wife he detested, Lucinda had never been able to decide, but over the years she had gleefully hugged to herself the sweet knowledge that it was
Hester
who lay in the grave and
she
who was the Countess of St. Audries and that it was
her
child who would inherit St. Audries Hall and its broad acres!
All her schemes had been for that one goal, and frightened though she was, she wasn't about to let this one-eyed piece of offal destroy everything.
Her lovely hazel eyes full of hatred, she spat, “You can prove nothing! And if memory serves me correctly, Hester died of a hemorrhage!”
He nodded his head amiably in agreement. “Probably. But it was the poison that
you
gave her over the months that wore her down, that wasted her flesh and put her in such a weakened condition that she could not recover.” Since he no longer cared what Lucinda knew, he added slyly, “It's a wonder the child survived... .”
All the frightened fury she had experienced upon learning that Hester's child still lived, that she and Stephen had paid this wretched creature a fortune over the years to dispose of Morgana and that he had cheated them, suddenly exploded through her. Heedless of her nakedness, forgetful of the power he held over her, Lucinda surged up from the bed, her hands curved in claws as she struck for his face. “You
bastard!”
she snarled. “You
lied
to us when you said you had taken care of her! You lied! You lied! You
lied!”
She was nearly hysterical with rage, but even though she had moved swiftly, he was swifter and easily captured her flailing arms. Effortlessly quelling her wild struggles, he asked sharply, “And how did you know that?”
Realizing she could not beat him, she stopped fighting and said sullenly, “I saw her once in London! She is Manchester's latest mistress!”
Lucinda didn't know it, but her words had given the one-eyed man a definite shock. He had only been taunting Lucinda with mention of the child and he had not admitted that Morgana was still alive, but it appeared that the Devlins had been a jump ahead of him this time—not only did they know, along with half of London, about Manchester's new mistress, but they knew it was
Morgana!
And if they knew it, how many others had seen her and guessed something of the truth? It would be natural for everyone to suppose at first that she was Stephen's byblow ... until someone remembered that Stephen had been out of the country for nearly two years prior to Morgana's birth. The gossips would then name Andrew as her father, and there would be a great deal of idle and malicious speculation about the future of this presumed illegitimate daughter of the dead Earl ... until some old cat realized that Morgana was exactly the same age as the Earl's heir would have been had she lived.... He bit back a curse. Fool that he was, he had told Jane Morgana's actual date of birth, and it wouldn't take much checking for anyone to discover that it was precisely the same as the little heiress's who had died at birth. Their given names were the same too....
Nothing could be proved, of course, he reassured himself uneasily, but he wanted Morgana in his power and at his side as his wife before the storm of curiosity about her raged through polite society. As Morgana's husband,
he
would be the one to reveal the truth!
Suddenly losing interest in tormenting Lucinda any longer, the one-eyed man released her abruptly and stood up. He needed to think, to consider this new turn of events, but first there was Lucinda... .
He eyed her as she lay sullenly on the bed. He had to silence her before he could safely leave the room, not because he feared she would call out the alarm, but because he didn't trust her not to try to spy on him and see where he went. Softly he said, “I'm afraid, my dear, that I really must treat you in a most ungentlemanly way.”
Wondering angrily what new sort of torture he had decided upon, she turned to stare at him resentfully. He was smiling at her, which made her extremely uneasy, and she was on the point of demanding what he intended to do when he struck her a brutally powerful blow on her chin and blackness thundered down around her.
After making certain that she was truly unconscious, the one-eyed man blew out the candle and, in the darkness, slipped from her room. Ever watchful, he swiftly hurried down the hall to the suite of rooms that had been assigned to him.
Moments later, he was safely in his own rooms, the one-eyed man's disguise dispensed with and carefully hidden in his valise. Garbed now in an elegant dark blue dressing gown, he relaxed in a high-backed chair of russet leather, enjoying a snifter of brandy from the tray of refreshments Wetherly had ordered placed in all his guests' rooms.
He took another sip of his brandy and turned his mind to tonight's events. So Stephen and Lucinda knew that Morgana was alive and was Manchester's mistress....
His face twisted with fury and he swallowed the remainder of his brandy in one huge gulp.
Manchester!
I should have killed him weeks ago, he admitted with impotent rage. That or have stormed the house and forcibly removed Morgana and
damn
the public outcry that would have resulted from such a violent act taking place in the very bosom of the ton!
Even now he could hardly contain the bitter rage that filled him whenever he thought of Morgana lying in Manchester's arms ... whenever he thought of her lost virginity ... virginity that was to have been his! How many nights had he lain awake visualizing the moment when he would finally make Morgana his, when she would finally realize that he was her fate, that she would belong to no one but
him!
But all
that
has changed, he thought viciously. There was nothing that he could do about his failed attempt in London to kill the American, nor could he change the fact that Morgana was no longer a virgin and that when she came to his bed, it would be with the memory of Manchester's kisses upon her lips!
With an oath, he violently threw his snifter against the wall, uncaring when it shattered, uncaring if anyone heard the noise. He was going to kill Manchester, and take great delight in doing so, and then he was going to erase virtually every vestige of the memory of the American from Morgana's mind. It would be only
his
kisses she remembered, only
his
lovemaking that she hungered for, and this time spent with Manchester would be utterly wiped from her memory!
But first, he thought with a sudden, sobering return to cold sanity, first there was Jacko and Ben, who badly needed to be taught a lesson, and Newgate was only the start of it. And then, he mused slowly, an ugly smile on his mouth, and then there is the lovely Countess and her charming husband....
C
HAPTER
25
T
he one-eyed man was not at
all
pleased with the current state of affairs. Lucinda and Stephen should never have learned that Morgana was still alive ... not until he had decided that the time was right for them to learn of that fascinating little snippet. He had anticipated for months the exquisite enjoyment he would take in taunting them with the news that she still lived.
Thoughtfully he stroked his chin, staring blankly at the rich ruby color of the carpet. It would appear, he concluded acidly, that the source of his current troubles, troubles such as he had not encountered in all his years of being the one-eyed man, could be laid squarely at the feet of that upstart American, Royce Manchester!
Until Manchester's appearance on the London scene, he'd had events well in hand, and in the years since he had first donned the disguise of the original one-eyed man, he'd grown very used to feeling all-powerful. Until Manchester, he thought angrily, remembering the race when Manchester's horses had run Devlin's animals into the ground.
That,
he admitted viciously, had cost him a grand sum and had been the beginning of his present unhappiness.
Because of Morgana and his obsession with her, he had made many mistakes, mistakes that had proven costly and would prove even more costly if he wasn't careful and didn't start using that icily analytical brain of his instead of letting his emotions rule him.
The Earl and his wife were definitely a problem for him, now that they knew about Morgana. Originally a nuisance, the Devlins were now dangerous—they knew he had betrayed them, and they had nothing to lose and everything to gain by arranging Morgana's death!
He frowned as another problem occurred to him. Morgana's resemblance to the St. Audries was striking, and if Lucinda, with only one glimpse, had recognized her instantly, then as she was introduced to more and more members of society—which would happen, even if her introduction was only to certain
male
acquaintances of Manchester's—someone would be bound to realize that she had to be Andrew's daughter, and it wouldn't be long after that before the coincidence of names and birth dates would be discovered. He had slipped up rather badly in telling Jane of Morgana's real name and date of birth!
Springing up from his chair, he began to pace aimlessly around the room, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. At least I didn't slip up with young Ben, he thought with a malevolent smile. But his smile faded as he remembered that Jacko shouldn't have escaped his net—Jacko, as well as Ben, should have been currently residing in Newgate! And yet ... and yet he wasn't so very sorry that Jacko had escaped—at least he knew without a doubt that Jane's brats were no longer loyal to him, that they had been working hand in glove with Manchester these past weeks.
Jacko may have eluded his net in London, but it had been easy enough to follow his panicked trail to Lime Tree Cottage, just as it had been easy enough to learn of Manchester's frantic dash to London and his meeting with Ben.
Originally, having the brothers thrown into Newgate had been planned only as a safeguard, merely a ploy to make certain that Morgana remained in England. With her brothers locked in prison, Morgana would never go off to America and he would then have had plenty of time to make plans of his own.
The unpleasant discovery that all this time, Jane's brats had been in Manchester's pocket had enraged him, but it had also explained a few things that had puzzled him of late. Their failure to effect Morgana's escape from Manchester, for one, and for another, the uneasy sensation he'd had recently that someone had been following him—knowing what he did now, he was positive that Jacko and Ben, no doubt at Manchester's orders, had been stalking him all over London with an eye to his death or capture.
Deceitful, ungrateful little bastards, he thought furiously, betraying me the moment my back was turned! Once I've taken care of Manchester, I'll teach those two a long overdue lesson! First, however, he concluded grimly, plans must be made to thwart any arrangements made by the Earl for Morgana's death! When that problem was solved, he'd not waste any more time removing Morgana from Manchester's hands! A thin smile crossed his mouth. Once Morgana is in my power, all of them—Manchester, Jane's brats, and the Devlins—will learn how unwise it was, how
very
unwise it was, to meddle in his affairs!
His brain busy with schemes and visions of the various methods of revenge he would employ against Manchester and the others, he finally sought out his bed. Devlin, he decided venomously, would have to be taken care of immediately... . And then there was Royce Manchester... .
Unaware of the vindictive plans being formulated for him, despite his own restless night, Royce woke that Monday morning feeling surprisingly lighthearted. Glancing at the clock and seeing the time, he hurriedly completed his morning ablutions. After donning fresh clothing and enjoying two cups of coffee, served to him by George's morose valet, he went in search of George, a cheerful smile on his handsome mouth.
George, who had not returned home until long after Royce had fallen back to sleep, did not find his relative's request at all cheering—especially when Royce bounded into his room and woke him from a sound sleep, inquiring after bishops! Viewing his disgustingly robust cousin with a decidedly jaundice eye, George pushed himself upright and, leaning back against a nest of several large, down-filled pillows, observed scathingly that there was something utterly amoral and depraved about individuals who rose with the sun!
Knowing that George was never his best before two o'clock in the afternoon, Royce laughed and, handing him a cup of hot, black coffee, said, “Come now! It is half past the hour of twelve, and the sun has been up for several hours.”
Sipping his coffee, George continued to eye him with acute dislike. “Indecent to be so lively this time of day! Must get it from your mother's side of the family.”
Helping himself to the other cup on the tray, Royce poured himself some coffee from a silver pot and, settling comfortably in a large wing-backed chair of Venetian velvet, proceeded to gently tease George into a more amiable frame of mind. Royce succeeded very well, and by the time George had consumed several more cups of coffee and had, with elaborate ritual, bathed and painstakingly selected his wear for the day, he was once more in harmony with his American relative. They had by now removed to a small alcove where George was wont to enjoy the few meals that he ate at his rooms, and both men had just finished consuming a light repast that had been ordered from the same tavern where Royce had dined the previous evening.
Able to face the day now, George pushed back his chair from the small, oval table where they had been sitting and, sipping one last cup of coffee, murmured, “Now, what was it that you wanted me to do this afternoon? Something about a bishop?”
Carefully setting down his own cup of coffee, Royce nodded his tawny head and proceeded to explain his plan.
The dismay that filled George's pleasant face was almost comical, and with a note of pleading in his voice, he bleated, “But you said—! You told me just yesterday that you wouldn't—! Remember it distinctly!”
“I know what I said yesterday, but I've given the situation some deeper thought since then. By your own words, she is a little nobody—no prominent family or powerful friends, except for myself and Zachary, to particularly care what happens to her. If the one-eyed man were to break through the defenses I have erected around her and take her captive, no one would do more than lift an eyebrow.” At George's protesting croak, Royce admitted fairly, “Oh, all right, perhaps a bit more than that! But no one will
really
care! After all, she is only my mistress and just some little waif I found in the gutter, but if she is my
wife,
her position is vastly different, don't you agree?”
“Well, yes,” George admitted unhappily. “But isn't marriage a bit
drastic?
You'll be leg-shackled for life!” An expression of horror crossed his face. “Why, if you marry her, she'll be my cousin, too—have to acknowledge the chit!” He shuddered at such an unpalatable idea and begged, “Think of something else! Can't have some little guttersnipe as your wife! Corked-brained notion!”
Sighing, Royce persuasively set out to change George's mind. It can't be said that he succeeded fully, but after two hours of calmly and concisely explaining his reasoning and making it clear that he was not going to change his mind, he wore George down. It was apparent that George was of the mind that his cousin was half-mad! It was as plain as the nose on your face that Royce was blithely determined to commit social suicide and that he would eventually come to bitterly regret this rash act and perhaps even blame
him
someday. But even though George was unhappy with the situation, he helped Royce obtain the special license, albeit reluctantly.
It was late afternoon when they returned to George's rooms, the special license resting snugly in Royce's pocket. Letting George down from the gig, Royce then departed immediately for the shipping office where he had first obtained passage for Jacko and Ben.
On his way to the shipping office, Royce came to another important conclusion—there was no
real
reason for him to remain in England. He had come to London in search of an antidote for the vague restlessness and boredom that had plagued him of late and with the half-formed intention of seeking a bride—he had, to his dismay and profound astonishment, found both in the small, slender shape of Morgana Fowler! He smiled faintly. From the instant Morgana had pitchforked into his life, he could readily attest to having not suffered a moment of boredom—quite the opposite in fact! By this time tomorrow, he would have his bride, which had been his second reason for coming to England, and since he would feel a lot safer the farther away Morgana was from the arms of the one-eyed man, there was no logical reason why he shouldn't arrange passage back to America for all of them. Marrying her was certainly going to give the one-eyed man pause, but putting an ocean between Morgana and the one-eyed man seemed even wiser! Which, he admitted with a wry grimace, is what I should have done in the beginning, if my brain hadn't been so addled!
His mind made up, after conferring with the shipping agent, a Mr. Samuelson, and discovering that there was a ship which suited his needs sailing for New Orleans on August the fourth, he promptly purchased several passages.
Very pleased with his afternoon's accomplishments, Royce returned to George's rooms. Since Royce's business with Mr. Samuelson had not taken long, George was still there, having not yet departed for his usual haunts, and in spite of his earlier unhappiness with Royce's plans, he seemed quite glad to see him. Glad, that was, until Royce indicated that he would be leaving within the hour for Lime Tree Cottage. A crestfallen expression on his pleasant features, he stared despondently at Royce. “Thought you'd stay another night,” he protested feebly. “Thought we might dine together and discuss, er, wedding plans.”
Feeling sorry for his cousin's dilemma, Royce flashed him a disarming smile. Clapping him affectionately on the shoulder, Royce murmured lightly, “What you mean is you want more time in which to try to talk me out of it.”
George had the grace to flush and mutter, “Honorable thing to do! What friends are for—help each other avoid mistakes!”
“Contrary to what you think, my friend, I am not making a mistake,” Royce replied easily. An odd note in his voice, he admitted, “I really do want to marry her, and if I don't marry her, I doubt that I shall marry at all.”
Incredulous, George regarded him. Misgiving evident in his voice, he said, “Think she's put a spell on you! Dangerous creatures, women! Avoid 'em myself!”
“Perhaps she has put a spell on me, but if she has, it is one that I am thoroughly enjoying. Come now, wipe that unhappy look from your face and tell me that you are going to accompany me back to Tunbridge Wells. I shall want a friendly face at my wedding tomorrow.”
George was thoroughly rattled, but despite Royce's warm entreaties, his firm belief that Royce was making a disastrous mistake, one he could make without
him,
remained unchanged. Shaking his head decisively, he said, “Come down on Wednesday—after you've done the deed!” He thought a moment, then added with paralyzing honesty, “Don't want the family blaming
me!”
Royce laughed. “Very well. I shall look forward to your arrival then.” A teasing gleam in his golden eyes, Royce said dulcetly, “My bride and I will be waiting eagerly to see you.”
Looking very like he had just discovered a bug in his porridge, George eventually forced a smile and nodded his head. Royce took his leave and, with mounting excitement, urged his horses away from London and headed them in the direction of Tunbridge Wells.
Since he had gotten such a late start from the city, it was well after dark before he and Matt finally stopped the tired and sweat-flecked horses at the gateway guarded by the Bullard brothers. The oldest of the Bullard brothers, Harry, was at his post, and slowing his horses, Royce waited patiently until Harry realized that the visitor was his employer and then hurriedly unlocked and opened the stout iron gates.

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