Chapter 18

 

Overwhelmed by the half dozen gowns she found in her room the next day, Charlotte made her selection with pleasure, instead of the sense of dull duty she usually experienced. She could wear what she liked now. Not that she would count that as the major benefit of marriage.

She had been lucky. Once dressed, in a light green gown that took account of the hot weather, she tripped downstairs to explore her new domain. After she had spent an hour with the housekeeper, she turned in her chair to find her husband standing behind her. The big scrubbed deal table held a collection of books—recipes, inventories, and the household account books, which she’d been absorbed in. The familiar scents of spice and cooking beef surrounded her, but she started when he touched her shoulder.

Already she knew his touch. His presence wreathed around her before she turned her head to smile at him. His smile was equally warm. “I thought you might like me to show you the garden,” he said.

She turned in time to see the housekeeper’s warm gaze. Although she should perhaps have scolded her for her effrontery, at least her father would have punished any servant for looking at him so, she smiled back at the woman. “Perhaps we can resume tomorrow.”

Because she would have a tomorrow here. As many tomorrows as she wanted.

Val took her hand and led her upstairs and outside. The day was fine, the sun beating down on them but she refused everything but a hat. “I’ve had enough of gloves and kerchiefs and warm woolen stockings that itch,” she told him. “I will wear them only when I have to.”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it. “Then I will ensure that only the finest silk and linen touches your body. And me, of course.”

Oh, yes, and him. Already he could send her into ecstasy with a few careful touches in the right places. She had woken up in his arms for the last two days, and already it felt so natural she didn’t know how she’d managed without it for so long.

They walked along winding garden paths, pausing to examine the spring blooms the gardener had brought into perfection. “You’re blessed with your servants.”

“I treat them well,” he said.

“You treat me well, too.”

He jerked her roughly back to him, so she landed against his chest with a soft “Oof!”

“I do more than that with you. You are my wife, not my possession, not someone I pay to do my will.” His gaze softened. “One advantage is that you can never leave me.” He bent his head and kissed her. She responded, marveling how easy this was, passing a fleeting thought to her father, who would have locked her in her room if he’d caught her doing this.

The Duke of Rochfort had no more jurisdiction over her. If she wished, she could ignore him completely from now on.

“Come.” He led her toward a small pavilion at the rear of the garden, overlooking the river. Did he remember that night when he kissed her at the ball?

“Of course I do,” he said as if she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. “I will never forget. Oh, but now I think of it, perhaps I need a reminder after all.”

When he kissed her this time, it was with playful teasing. She opened her lips, as she always did now, and he touched his tongue to hers, and then outlined her lips, drawing away a little to add the sensation of cool air to their embrace. Perhaps she should thank his past mistresses for making him such a wonderful lover.

No, she wouldn’t go that far.

He drew back, smiling, but tension put fine lines at the corners of his mouth.

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something. I don’t know how to begin, but the woman I know you to be would want to know.”

“Oh.” That did not sound good. She settled on the bench inside the pavilion within sight of the river, folding her hands in her lap. He sat next to her, his attention wholly on her, but not in the way she preferred.

“I believe I might have been remiss in sheltering you. You are so much stronger than I imagined.”

That meant as much to her as any declarations of love. He knew her now, and he was proving it by telling her something that was obviously uncomfortable for him to say.

“Have you heard of a place called the House of Correction?”

“In Covent Garden?” she answered immediately and then recalled where she had seen it. “I remember, it was early in the season, before April was out. I was bringing the household accounts up to date, entering a pile of bills into the books, when I saw one I did not authorize or recognize, so I took it to my father, since his name was on it. It had that name at its head. He took it from me, said it was a private account and should not be in the household books. It was his manner I recall. He appeared almost shamefaced, which was so unusual I thought on it for a while afterward.”

“Ah. Then we have the final piece.” He took off his cocked hat and put it on the seat next to him, lifting a hand to smooth his hair back. The hand shook as he turned to face her. “I had suspected as much. I meant to make enquiries when we returned to London. It was what you told me about your punishments that made me wonder.” He met her gaze directly. “Your father probably met Lord Kellett at that place.”

“I did not think they had met until Hervey asked me to speak to my father about breaking the engagement with you. Why, what is the House of Correction?”

“Do you know what Covent Garden is famous for?”

“A market, a theater and…” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Houses of ill repute.”

He nodded. “It’s a house, a brothel that specializes in a particular preference.” He heaved a sigh. “I cannot think of a delicate way of saying this. People who take pleasure in inflicting punishment or having it inflicted on them. I already knew that Kellett was one such. Now I believe your father might enjoy such practices also.”

Recognition hit her, almost as hard as her father’s whip. Yes, he took pleasure in beating her, but before today she’d imagined it came from his control over her, the way she was forced to bow down to his will. He did enjoy ordering the house, using her sister Louisa to manipulate Charlotte and Sarah. “I didn’t know.” She felt stupid. Why did men keep so much information from them? “When did you find out?”

“Darius told me I should not let you go to Kellett and showed me why…”

“Does Darius like…?”

“No. However that house caters to men and women with that inclination, and they have rules. Killing the person you have paid to spend time with is not one of them, but Kellett did so.”

Her hands curled in and she gripped the fine fabric of her gown. “He killed someone?”

He nodded. “She was alive when we left, but she died later. Darius ensured her death was recorded, instead of her becoming just another poor unnamed unfortunate lost at the bottom of the Thames.”

That showed true compassion. At least the girl didn’t pass unmarked.

Slowly, events slotted into place. Her father’s acceptance of her request to break the contract with Val had seemed a far easier victory than it should have been. Had he boasted of her obedience and the way he’d schooled her to Hervey, told him he had readied her for marriage to one such as Kellett? She felt sick. She closed her eyes.

“My love?” Val touched her hand tentatively.

She opened her eyes, showing him she was not crying. Nowhere near. In fact, anger was closer than sorrow. “I doubt I will speak to my father again.” She swallowed. “Even if you had been the rake I thought you, even if you had chased every woman in London, my fate would have been better with you. That it was so much more than that is not something I looked for. But I am glad. So glad.”

“Your father is not without connections or influence,” Val said. “He could do serious damage to our family if he wished. But I don’t care, and if I tell my family, they will not, either.”

She shook her head. “No, please do not. It’s not kindness or consideration, since he deserves none. Not for him, at any rate. We may be polite to him in public and avoid him in private. That will serve.” She didn’t want to cause another feud. She’d had enough of those. “I would prefer to know that he is not causing harm to anyone else.”

“My love, far be it for me to speak for your father, but as far as I know, he has never killed anyone or lost his temper with them. I am angry that he was over-severe in his discipline of you, but he did not leave you damaged beyond healing.” He paused. “Some men—women too—know how far is too far and when their activities become too much.”

She shook her head. “I cannot believe it is right.” What he had told her shocked her to the bone. She was learning too much, too quickly, but she appreciated his needing to tell her.

“He is better at a place like the House of Correction,” Val said. “The madam is careful of her girls.” He paused. “And the male employees. This vice is not one that is exclusive to one sex. The madam trains her people well, and they are more valuable than the average…”

“Whore,” she added helpfully. “Please speak frankly. I know most of the words, and I know what they mean. At least I thought I did.” Heat warmed her neck when she recalled how much she had not known until a few days ago. “I assumed my father had mistresses or employed whores. He did not remarry after my mother died, although he might have done so.”

“His wicked pleasure in controlling his daughters was probably enough for him. However, he has his just reward. He has lost all of you.”

“When our brother returns from abroad, he will probably lose his heir, too.” George would treat their father with the revulsion he deserved. They were innocents and unwilling. While Charlotte could not understand why anyone would want treatment such as people like her father and Kellett were only too eager to bestow, she could accept that they existed. But she had never wanted it.

“Did you ever believe that your father would kill you with his blows?” Val had withdrawn into himself, but Charlotte would allow it this once. He was trying to control his reaction to his discovery.

She shook her head. “Looking back, I believe he enjoyed it, but that day, when he inflicted the mark you have seen, he stopped immediately and sent me to my room instead. I think he has enough control to know when he has gone too far.”

Val nodded. “I am glad for that, at least.” His gaze strayed to where her scar lay, the one he had first noticed.

She had spent hours studying her back in the mirror, noting how light at a particular angle highlighted the mark. It had faded over the years. It might go altogether, but she would keep that one, if only to remind her what she’d nearly lost. Recalling that day, something she generally avoided, she pictured the expression on his face. That was the only time she’d ever seen her father horrified. He’d licked his lips and said, “You must not scar,” in a quiet voice, almost as if he spoke to himself, before he sent her away.

“What about Hervey? Lord Kellett,” she asked.

“He is more dangerous than your father. His temper is more volatile, and he has less control. We must move to destroy him, my love.” His lips firmed. “Kellett has killed more than one woman.”

Terror struck her dumb, but Charlotte forced herself out of her stupor. “What will you do?”

“Take him down. And out.” He shook his head. “Darius is working on the answer. We want him to pay for what he did, so do not fear we will take underhand measures.”

“You will tell me.” She made it a statement rather than a request.

He got to his feet. “What I’ve learned of you made me want to tell you sooner rather than later. If you’d been a shrinking violet, I would have sheltered you and ensured you came to no harm. But you are not. You have withstood so much, my love. Much as I wanted to protect you from this, I consider you my partner, and I know you are strong enough to bear the knowledge. You will be stronger for it and know why we do what we do.”

“I wonder you did not kill him when you fought him.”

“I considered it.” A flicker of a smile threatened. “But I had too much to lose. You, sweetheart. How could I have lost you? I would not bring a death to your door.”

She let him help her up and they left the pavilion. At its edge, just as they stepped into the garden, he caught her shoulders and turned her to him. Over his shoulder the river flowed, a small boat bobbing at anchor a little further up. “Let’s create a tradition,” he said, drawing her into his embrace. “A garden pavilion deserves a kiss.”

Gladly she went to him. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her. Their lips parted reluctantly, and he was smiling. He glanced back. “I forgot my hat. I won’t be a moment.”

Gazing out over the river, Charlotte let her new knowledge sink in. Her father enjoyed pain, enjoyed torturing people mentally and physically. Now she knew, now she understood, the last trace of guilt left her. That had been one of his favorite things, to make his children feel guilty for something they could not help or wasn’t their fault.

Someone moved behind her, probably a gardener. Before she could turn and discover who it was, a cold, hard circular object was slammed against the back of her head.

Val stood in the opening to the pavilion, his eyes wide with horror. “Let her go,” he said.

“Not until you give me what belongs to me,” Hervey Smithson, Lord Kellett said.

* * * *

Val glared at his nemesis, thinking more rapidly than he had ever done in his life. He did not trust Kellett. The man would kill Charlotte just for the pleasure of seeing Val’s pain. He did not see people as anything but objects, to be used for his pleasure. Or maybe just to make him feel alive. That would explain his extreme violence. If he lived in a cage, forever reaching out and not touching, then he would take any opportunity to force emotion on himself.

Val had met one such person before.

Therefore, Val could not let him know how much this woman meant to him. Leaning against the central pillar holding up the pavilion, he crossed one foot over the other, a study in negligence. How much had Kellett heard of their conversation? If he heard Val tell Charlotte that he loved her, this act would be harder to pull off.

“What do you want?”

“The garment you stole from me.”

Kellett wanted the shirt. Kellett knew as well as Val did that it was the one item that could prove what they asserted, if the matter came to a court of law. The madam who witnessed the crime would be tainted in the court, and Val’s grudge against Kellett was well known. Their evidence could be discounted if it were not for the bloodstained shirt.

“What will you give me if I let you have the item?” he asked, by way of opening negotiations.

“Her. You can have your wife back.”

Kellett appeared wild, not at all his usual tidy self, but Val supposed the rowboat moored a little way up the river had something to do with that. It would not have been an easy task to row all the way here. If Kellett committed murder today, he could get back to London and nobody would be the wiser. He had another gun stuck in his belt. That meant he probably planned to kill both of them. Even if he got the shirt, they wouldn’t live.

At least he could get them to the house, where there were witnesses. “You’ll have to come up to get it.”

Kellett’s lips moved back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl. “Do you take me for a complete fool? Bring it to me. Then you can have your wife back.”

Val curled his hands, relieved to see they weren’t shaking, and examined his fingernails, as if the conversation bored him. “I’ve had her. I’ve spent the last three days rutting. You can have her. If you kill her, you’ll be guilty of murder. That saves me a job.”

“Don’t tell me you’d kill her.”

Val shook his head. “I have more sense. No, I’ll leave her in the countryside. I’ve only worked my way through half of society. I have the other half to go yet.” He grinned, and glanced up. “I don’t even have to produce an heir. Younger sons don’t have that burden.” He daren’t meet her eyes. Did she believe him?

Better she hated him and lived than loved him and died.

He needed to separate them. “How’s your wound?”

Kellett lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug, the opposite shoulder to the one Val had injured. He wished he’d killed him in that duel now. “I hardly notice it. Healing well.” He was using his good arm to hold the pistol. The other hand was tucked in his belt, close to the handle of his second pistol.

Val could make his move, but if he did, he could risk Charlotte’s life. For all his words, that was the last thing he would ever do. He was too far away to leap for him, and the bastard had his weapon cocked and ready. The guns were quality, well made, which meant they had good responses. He couldn’t depend on a misfire or a jam.

Thoughts raced through his mind, but not in a haphazard way. As he always did, he was assessing the risks and the odds, with one difference. Where Charlotte was concerned, there were no odds. There was only win or lose.

He would not lose.

Kellett moved the gun he was holding against Charlotte’s head in a way that made Val feel sick. “Come on, I’m waiting. Go and get the shirt. That’s all I want.”

Val made some swift calculations. If he went in the house, ostensibly to fetch the shirt, they were both dead. When Kellett had sight of him, he’d kill Charlotte and then he’d draw the other weapon and shoot Val. He couldn’t do it. He had been waiting for a gardener to notice them, or a boat passing by on their part of the river, but so far everything was infuriatingly tranquil.

He could go to the house, get a pistol, race to the top floor and shoot Kellett. No, he couldn’t do that. The only way he’d get a shot from the house was to climb up to the roof and hang off the eaves. Even then he was too far away to be sure of getting his man. And by that time Charlotte could be dead.

“You’d risk this morsel?” Kellett took his eyes off Val long enough to give her an insolent, raking visual scan. “If I’d known what was hidden under that hair powder and dowdy clothes I wouldn’t have let her go so easily.”

Although it killed him to do it, Val shrugged. “There are other morsels, some even more delectable.”

“But none as well trained as this one. Her father brought her up exactly the way I like. I never intended to let her go completely. She’s most likely loving this. You know they like it, don’t you?”

As if Charlotte were a creature, a thing. From the way she’d sobbed in Val’s arms, he would not have said that she liked what was done to her.

He could only find one solution. He had to take the first bullet and pray he had enough stamina left to reach the other before Kellett did.

He could brush past Kellett, hurt his injured shoulder and shove his wife behind him. That was all he could think of.

“Go and get the shirt,” Kellett said, as if he were talking to a child, patiently and slowly. “Tell nobody and alert nobody. I swear your wife will be alive when you return if you do that, but if you alert anyone or call for help, she will be the first to die.”

He could return to the house and fetch something. Kellett wouldn’t kill Val until he had the shirt, and likely he’d keep Charlotte alive until he was sure of the garment. A pity Val had left it in London, locked up in the safe in the City office. But he could fashion something, ask the cook for some animal blood, and call the alarm at the same time.

He couldn’t risk his wife.

Charlotte had said nothing through this exchange. She had shut down, adopted that mask she always used, the one that had kept Val at bay for so long. She stood as if she were in the middle of a ball, utterly composed, her back straight, her face revealing nothing.

He glanced at his wife. Her eyes gleamed as she looked down to the ground and then at him again. She was obviously trying to tell him something, but what?

Yes, he had it. And she was right—that was their only chance. She would collapse. The sudden laxness in her body would shake Kellett’s hold.

Standing here, too far away to do anything, did not help. Kicking away from the column he was leaning against, he strolled down the steps, watching Kellett carefully. The silence was palpable, stretched tautly between them. Nobody else seemed to exist.

Until a shout came from the end of the garden. Even at this distance he recognized his brother’s voice, calling his name. “Here!” he cried back, and at the same time, he lunged.

Charlotte dropped. From where she stood she went down, as if she were a silk balloon pricked with a pin. As she collapsed, she reached up and grabbed Kellett’s arm, the one that held the gun. When his grip loosened, she snatched it out of his hold. At the same time, Val went for the other gun tucked into the man’s waistband.

He missed it. Kellett jolted back, pulling the pistol out with one hand. He cocked it with the other. The sights were firmly on Val. He breathed a sigh of relief. Charlotte was free.

His next move took him to Kellett, wrenching his wrist, twisting, trying to grab the weapon and turn it into the bastard who had hurt his wife. A wave of red fury engulfed him but Kellett threw him back. Val prepared to spring at him once more.

An explosion next to his ear and a scream had him reeling, but not for long. Before his brother reached the spot, Val had the gun in his hand and his arm around his wife. Kellett lay on the ground with half his head blown off.

But Val hadn’t been the person who’d pulled the trigger.