Chapter Thirty-One
January 22, 2:06 a.m.
Sebastian waited until the worst of her sobs subsided, then hauled himself to his knees. Immediately, she sat up, clutching her drawn-up legs, head bent, in retreat from him and the world. He sat behind her, legs on either side her hips, her back to his front, but not touching her. He gathered her hair into his hands, lifting the copper weight off her back to arrange it over one shoulder. She rocked, forehead bowed to the tops of her knees. He didn’t know whether to touch her or leave her be. His hands lay useless at his sides.
“Tell me, Olivia.”
She moved her head a bit so that her voice sounded clearer. “A vicar can’t marry someone like me. He felt just awfully about it, I could tell.”
“Nonsense.”
“Now you’ve married me, and there’s nothing to be done about it. There’s no way to fix it or make it better.” The devastation in her voice shook him to his core. What if she’d remembered without him, without even the meager protection of his name? Without anyone to hold her.
He wanted to throttle his brother, he truly did. He pulled her sideways, despite her attempt to resist, resting her back against his good arm. As soon as he had her cradled in his embrace, she wriggled free, scooting back on her knees and raising the sheet to cover her. “Look at me, Olivia,” he said. When she did, he said, “I wish to God you’d never remembered.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because of what happened to you. I cannot bear the thought of you—” A shiver of foreboding ran up his spine at the despair in her eyes. What if she didn’t want him any more? What if her restored memory meant she was lost to him? “It doesn’t change anything between us.” He exhaled. “I knew. Olivia, I’ve known for some time what happened to you. I’m not like Verney who didn’t want you afterward.”
“How could you know when I didn’t?”
“Dr. Richards examined you twice that day. Once, after the assault and again after Andrew and Guenevere were killed. If Andrew were alive, I’d thrash him for what he did. I don’t know how he could have done something so despicable.”
“No.” She lifted a hand to her head, tracing the scar along her temple. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, curling wildly around her temples. “Not Andrew.”
Sebastian’s heart stopped. “Dr. Richards told me it was.”
“No. He allowed Dr. Richards to think so. But it wasn’t him.”
“If it wasn’t Andrew, who was it?”
“Hew. It was Hew.”
He rolled off the bed and shot to his feet. He wanted to run, to stay still, to collapse all at the same time. The world pressed on him, crushing him with the weight of his own stupidity. “I should have guessed.” He threw a hand in the air. “I should have guessed.”
“He hurt me.”
“I know. And I want to murder him for it.”
“He shot Andrew and Guenevere.”
“Right now, I don’t give a damn about them, Olivia. I’ll throttle the bastard for laying a hand on you.” His belly twisted into a knot. “He came back later to finish the job, didn’t he? Is that what happened? What an imbecile I am. I told you to marry the man who tried to murder you.” He felt sick. Sick to his heart. He grabbed his robe from the floor and thrust his arms through the sleeves. “Stay here, Olivia. You’re not to go anywhere.” He strode to the bed and glared at her. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s an order. I’m not to be disobeyed.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll throw you in the dungeon myself, if you do.” He threw on his clothes, shirt, breeches, and coat and boots and went downstairs. The party continued. Music and laughter. Did no one realize the momentous events of the evening? He slowed, reining in his emotions during the descent to the Great Hall. Eventually, he found Hew in a room set aside for men who wanted to smoke. The air was thick with tobacco. Mr. Cage was there, leaning against the mantel, and several other of his neighbors.
“Gentlemen,” he said. He had just enough control over himself that his voice sounded cold and flat.
“My lord.” The men bowed respectfully.
Hew was stretched on a sofa by the fire, smoking a cigar. He rose, holding a drink in his other hand. His affable smile appeared, though Sebastian was certain he was drunk. “Lord Tiern-Cope.”
“I need a word alone with Mr. Willow. If you gentlemen would be so kind.”
When they were alone, Hew ran his hands through his hair, leaving it standing up at the back. “Drink? There’s port decanted.”
“Thank you.”
Hew ground out his cigar in an ashtray by the sofa. “Port it is, my lord.” He went to the table and poured two glasses. He extended one to Sebastian. “Here you are.” He bent his knees. “If this is about Lord Fitzalan and my cousin, I tell you I won’t permit it. She’s already agreed to marry me.”
“No.”
“Excellent. I assume, then, this is about my dear cousin’s request that you broker our marriage settlement.” He laughed. “Shouldn’t take long. She hasn’t a thing to bring to the marriage.”
Here stood the man who’d murdered his brother and his sister-in-law, and all he could think of was Olivia. He wanted to strangle the man with his bare hands for what he’d done. “Congratulate me, Willow. I am now a married man.”
“Indeed?” He lifted his port in salute. “Felicitations, my lord. I am sure the former Miss Royce is deliriously happy.”
“I did not marry Miss Royce.”
“Really?”
“I married Oliiva.”
He tipped back his glass, swallowing half the contents in one gulp. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“I’ll sue her for breach of promise. And you for the interference in my expectations.”
“Be my guest.”
“On the other hand, perhaps I’ll wait. Once you’ve consummated the union, you may want to annul the marriage.”
“There won’t be any annulment.”
Hew laughed. “Then she tricked you, my lord. I assure you, she’s no innocent.”
“Olivia is safe from you now.”
Hew blanched. “Safe from me?” His eyebrows drew together. “Whatever do you mean?” But his confusion rang false, and they both knew it. He sat down hard, staring at his hands. He gulped the rest of his port.
“Safe, Hew Willow, as my brother and his wife were not.”
He stared at his trembling fingers. “She’s recovered her memory.”
“There wasn’t any duel.”
“No, of course not.”
“You killed my brother and his wife, and you tried to kill Olivia.”
“I’m glad you know. It’s a relief in a way.” He shook his head, chewing on his lower lip. “I haven’t been able to tell a soul. Sometimes I can almost convince myself none of it happened. God knows I wish it hadn’t. Ever since that day, it’s been eating at me.” He stared at his hands, now palm up on his lap. “I’m rotten inside. I lie in bed at night, and I feel the rot. I dream about it, you know. Imagine that it didn’t really happen that way. I see it all in my head, only instead, I leave. Sometimes I miss and other times someone comes in and stops it, and my life goes on as it was meant to.”
“What did happen?”
“Everything went wrong. Right from the start.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose you found Mr. Melchior.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know about my father. Stubborn old fool. Every penny of their fortune. By the time I found out, it was too late. Nothing left. Then, after your father died, your brother came to live at Pennhyll, and he took quite an interest in her.” He raised his hands. “Not in that way. At least not so I could tell. He was pleasant enough about it when he confronted me. Didn’t threaten. Just said he expected Olivia and her mother to be made whole. That, of course, was not possible.”
“How did they die?”
“I never meant to kill anyone.” He took a drink, but his hand trembled so badly he only just managed to get the last drops. He rose, scrubbing one hand through his hair. “God it’s a relief to tell somebody. More port, my lord? No?” He refilled his glass and lifted it to the light. “Hands are still shaking.” He faced Sebastian. “People have affairs everyday. Though I never did until I met Guenevere. Saving myself for my bride, don’t you know. But she was such a lovely woman, so unhappy, and we got into the habit of talking about London and how she wanted to live there and how her husband neglected her. One day I took her in my arms, just to stop her sobbing, make her feel better and once I had her in my arms…. Well. She was so lovely.” He hung his head. “I adored her.”
“Go on.”
“Then, one day, we were in the library. Olivia and your brother walked in on us. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Guenevere planned it that way. She was certain he was carrying on with some other woman. God, but she was jealous. Beautiful woman, but jealous of her husband and jealous of me, too.
“I’m not making excuses.” He shrugged. “Tiern-Cope, your brother, I mean, meant to divorce Guenevere and seek damages against me. Thanks to Guenevere, proof wasn’t at issue. He had the crim con and Olivia as a witness to back up what he’d seen with his own eyes. He’d have gotten his divorce and ruined me in the bargain. Well, I thought, if I married Olivia, he wouldn’t dare ruin me, would he? She’d be worse off than ever if she was my wife, and he ruined me. That was the very last thing he wanted. Trouble was Olivia and the vicar were all but engaged. So, I decided I’d get us caught but good so we’d have to be married.” He laughed. “Your brother would have done anything to protect her from scandal, even if that meant her marrying me. I’m not so bad a catch, you know. Lots of girls set their caps at me. It would have worked. It really would have.”
Sebastian put down his glass and walked to the fireplace.
“I had it all worked out for the next day. For your brother’s festivities at Pennhyll. I got Olivia alone and—” He lifted his hands again. “And—Didn’t matter who caught us, as long as we were. Only no one came. I—Just lost my head, I suppose. I never thought I’d have to go through with it, but, she’s a pretty woman, and I’m a red-blooded man. Lovely, really, even with that hair. Besides, I meant to marry her. God, it just all went wrong, and I—She shouldn’t have gone anywhere alone, you know. In a way, it’s her own fault. If she hadn’t fought so hard. The door was open, for God’s sake, but no one came.” He shuddered. “She screamed and even though I wanted her to scream, I couldn’t bear the noise and, well, things…got to a point where I wanted to finish. So I made her be quiet. But then she hit her head. I thought sure her head was cracked open. She didn’t move. I thought I’d killed her or that she was dying, and I ran. Back to the party.” He made a sort of helpless gesture. “Not long after that, I saw Dr. Richards arrive.”
“Poor devil.”
“Yes. We soon heard there’d been an accident, and that Olivia had been injured. I was glad she wasn’t dead. I’m not a monster. I didn’t want her dead. I thought I could still manage the situation. Even better, actually. How could something like that be kept quiet? Tell your brother I’d heard what happened and offer to marry her if he’d keep my involvement with Guenevere quiet. He clapped his hands on either side of his head. “A few hours went by. The party was in full flow, dozens of people wandering about. No one remarked me leaving. I found them in one of the parlors, all three, Guenevere, Andrew and Olivia. Olivia wanted to go home, but Andrew wouldn’t let her. Would have been foolish, her going anywhere. She was white as a sheet. Her head dressed, her arm splinted.
“The problem was, Olivia took one look at me, and Andrew, I’m afraid, guessed right away. Wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say. I had a gun with me—I didn’t mean to use it, but I thought—I’m not sure what I thought. I suppose I thought I might have to use it to make them see reason. But I never meant to shoot anyone. I could see my life unraveling just like that, and I hadn’t done anything so awful. I was mad, of course, not in my right mind at all. I know that now. Olivia jumped in the way, thought she could save him, I suppose. It all happened so quickly, and like that, they were all three of them dead, or so I thought.” He shrugged. “I could hear the servants calling out. I left. Went through that door I showed your friend Fitzalan, and then out the library way.”
“You left them for dead.” A draft swept through the room, and whatever wind had sprung up found its way down the flue because the fire flared, sending a swirl of ashes and embers above the height of the screen before it settled back to a softer glow.
“I thought I’d killed them all. I rarely miss, even under duress, and I saw the bullet hit her. Marksman’s instinct, I suppose.” He shuddered, unaware of the tears spilling down his cheeks. “Killing women. A nasty business. Not at all like a duel. I never wanted to kill anyone like that. I’ve consigned my immortal soul to Hell when all I wanted to do was marry Olivia so I wouldn’t lose everything when your bother’s solicitor and barrister got through with me. I fled. The country, for God’s sake, and nobody came after me.” He swiped the back of a hand across his eyes.
“Why did you come back?”
“After a while, I decided they must all be dead, and no one knew it was me. So, I came back. You can’t imagine what went through my head when I saw the two of you in Far Caister that day. Have you any idea how much you resemble your brother? I thought you were Andrew.”
“How do you live with yourself?”
His eyes held a desperate appeal. “You’ve killed men. How do you live with yourself? Knowing you’ve committed the blackest sin of them all?”
“Maybe you don’t.”
He gave a shrill laugh. “Do the dead haunt you?” He raised red-rimmed eyes to Sebastian. “I think we’re both going to hell.”
“Perhaps so.”
“I’m going mad, you know. Ever since I came back, he’s been haunting me. Your brother. Every time I close my eyes I see his face.” He drew in a shuddering breath and pointed at Sebastian. “I can see him right now. There, behind you.”
Sebastian rose. “There’s no one here but us.”
“Yes, there is. He came in with you. Can’t you hear him? He’s calling my name.”
“Put your affairs in order, Willow. I mean to see you hang.”
Willow stood, staring past Sebastian’s shoulder with eyes the size of sixpence. “He’s talking to me.” His voice was a low, coarse whisper. Then he laughed, a sound that sent the hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck standing upright. “Don’t you hear him? He’s right you know. I only have to pull the trigger one more time.”