CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The day of Sir Wallace’s funeral dawned windy and cold, flat gray clouds hanging over the small family plot on the hill above Stanton Manor.

The service itself was brief, a short memorial in the nearby parish church, not the flowery elaborate pageant in a London cathedral her father would have wanted. But Mary thought that in this Sir Wallace would forgive her. She wasn’t up to facing the hundreds of members of the ton who would have been obliged to attend, now that his daughter was married to a duke.

Standing beside the grave, waiting for her father’s ornate silver casket to be lowered into the earth, she thought of Avery with his carefully contrived, sympathetic expression, and his black satin armband, and the image brought a bitter taste to her mouth.

The duke of Carlyle felt no sympathy. And he certainly felt no remorse. Avery had done this—she knew it in the depths of her soul. The duke of Carlyle had murdered her father. He had no scruples, not a single ounce of compassion when it came to getting what he wanted.

Standing rigidly beside him, Mary fervently wished that she were her father’s son instead of the weak, spineless woman she felt like in that moment. She wished she had the courage to plunge a knife into Avery’s ruthless black heart.

The service came to an end and he reached over and patted her arm. “Come, my dear.” His long, sad-faced countenance only heightened her loathing. “’Tis time we left all this sorrow behind and returned to the city.”

Her stomach clenched, then rolled over. “I-I had thought to stay here, your grace, at least for a little while longer.”

Avery shook his silver-wigged head, moving the fat rolled curls beside his ears. “Nonsense, my dear. ’Tis time you returned. You’ve responsibilities, now that you are a duchess. Giving me an heir is one of them. It is well past the time I planted my seed and got you heavy with child.”

Mary nearly swooned. Avery’s hold around her tightened and the moment passed. “I am sorry, my lord. ’Tis merely that I grieve so for my father. Can you not see your way to leaving me here until the feelings pass?”

His mouth pursed with disapproval. “You’ll go home with your husband. That is the last I wish to hear on the subject.” Avery turned away from her, walked over to one of Sir Wallace’s closest friends, and began a discussion of the profitable investments the man had helped her father make over the years.

Mary watched them for a time, reading the distaste for the duke her father’s friend was obviously feeling. At last she turned away and on legs that felt wooden, made her way back to the house. Avery would be leaving that very afternoon. Now she would have to go with him. Christian had warned her, but she wouldn’t listen. Now she was paying the price.

She wondered where the earl was and what he was doing, wondered if he worried at least a little about her. His tall, golden image appeared in her mind as plainly as if he stood there, and tears burned behind her eyes. She knew it was more than grief for her father that caused them to wash down her cheeks.

*   *   *

Jason leaned over the sketch Lucien had made of a warehouse building the marquess owned on the London docks. They had chosen the place as the meeting point for their rendezvous with Avery.

“There is a small room here at the rear.” Litchfield pointed toward the back of the building. “Avery won’t be able to see it. We will position the magistrate inside the room. He can see through a small unobtrusive window and listen to what is being said without anyone knowing he is there.”

“Have you spoken to him yet?” Jason asked. “He may not be all that eager to help.” They were working in the study of the Haversham town house. Since the attack on Velvet outside the Swan and Crown, Jason had been loath to leave her.

“No, but he’ll do it. He is somewhat in my debt for a favorable investment I suggested to him several years back. Thomas is a member of a card club I belong to. I plan to speak to him before the meeting tomorrow night.”

“Are you certain we can trust him?”

“I believe him to be an honest man. I don’t think we can trust him to know the truth of your identity, at least not until after Avery’s confession. He would be duty bound to turn you in.”

What if my brother doesn’t confess? Jason was thinking. What if he doesn’t admit to a bloody thing? But he didn’t say the words out loud. Both of them knew the answer to that.

“If what happened last night is any indication,” Jason continued, “we can be fairly sure my brother knows I’m still alive. He won’t be particularly surprised to receive a message suggesting we meet.”

“True. Unfortunately. Since it eliminates the element of surprise. It would have been better if he hadn’t found out until we were ready. ’Tis certain the man would have been badly unnerved to see you in the flesh after all these years.”

Jason mouth curved bitterly. “I’m sure it would.”

“In any case, we shall have to rub on. We need the bastard’s confession, and one way or another, we’re going to get it.”

Jason stroked the side of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of beard though he had shaved just that morning. “I wonder how he found out I was here.”

A noise sounded a few feet away. “I’m still not certain he has.” Velvet stood just inside the study door. Jason had been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard her arrival.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he said, his eyes running over her, an unexpected jolt of pleasure assaulting him at the sight of her.

“’Tis simply that the more I think about what happened, the less I’m convinced your brother knows anything about you.”

Jason scoffed. “He knew enough to damn near get you killed.”

She walked farther into the room, her dark auburn hair pulled back in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, her apricot taffeta gown brushing gently against her ankles. He watched her and his body tightened with longing. He forced the unwanted response away.

“There is another possibility, you know,” she said.

“Which is?” Lucien shifted his position beside the mantel.

“Which is that the note we received was real. There really is a man who saw something the night of the murder. He didn’t reveal himself to me because he wanted to speak to Jason.”

Jason frowned darkly. “And the presence of Celia’s assassin—that was merely a coincidence, I presume.”

“You know it was not. He was watching the town house, just as you expected him to do. When he saw me leave, he simply followed, hoping for a chance to do me in.”

“Which he very nearly succeeded in doing,” Jason reminded her with a scowl.

Lucien pushed away from the mantel, his long-limbed frame moving with elegant grace across the carpet. “You know, old friend, she may very well be correct. There is no reason for Avery to suspect your return from the dead. The countess might have told him before she died if Avery had been the one to kill her, but he sent his henchman instead. I doubt if Celia would have said anything to him.”

Jason pondered that. He looked at Velvet and a hint of respect curved his lips. “You never fail to amaze me, Duchess.” To Lucien he said, “I think in this the lady is correct. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Unless my brother stumbled across the information by accident, he has no reason to suspect I’m still alive.”

Lucien’s mouth curved up. “Which puts the element of surprise back into our plan.”

“It also means there may be someone else out there who can help us,” Velvet added. “Someone who knows the truth. Perhaps he’ll try to contact us again.”

“Perhaps,” Lucien agreed. “In the meantime, I’ll finalize the details of our meeting and speak to Thomas Randall about it.”

“What will you say?” Velvet asked.

“That I suspect the duke of Carlyle may be involved in a smuggling operation, that he may be using my empty warehouse for nefarious gain. I’ll tell the magistrate I’ve arranged a meeting that could establish the duke’s guilt and ask Randall to stand as a witness.”

Velvet smiled. “Except that the crime Avery will be admitting to won’t be smuggling, it will be murder.”

“If all goes well,” Jason reminded them, his hands unconsciously balling into fists.

Velvet lightly touched his forearm. “It will, Jason—it has to. You’re innocent. It’s beyond time people knew the truth.”

But Jason wasn’t so sure. So much could happen. So much could still go wrong. Part of him wanted to forget the vengeance he had been seeking for so long, to return instead to his West Indies plantation and continue the simple life he had been living these past few years. But there was Velvet to consider. Until he found a way to stop Avery, her life would be in danger.

An image flashed of the night before, of Velvet in the darkened alley, of her terrified face, of deadly glittering steel. He closed his eyes against a vision of her lying in a spreading pool of blood, dead in the rat-infested alley.

His stomach tightened and the bile rose into his throat. In an instant the awful vision shifted and began to change. The pool of blood ran toward him, across the canted deck of a tall-masted ship. He could hear the women screaming, begging them to stop, begging someone to help them.

Jason braced his hand against the table to steady himself, to push the vision away, but the crimson pool kept spreading, forming a bloody pool at his feet. “No…” he whispered, but the screaming only grew louder. He tried to block the sounds, but the blood kept creeping toward him. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move. He had to escape. He had to—

“Jason? Jason, are you all right?”

Her soft voice filtered in, sweetly soothing. The crimson pool began to fade and the screams slowly retreated, withdrawing themselves into the back of his mind.

“Jason?” Her hand encircled his arm and he realized he was trembling. “Dearest, are you all right?”

The gentle endearment slid over him like a balm. He shook his head to clear it, found himself still standing in the study. The heat of embarrassment felt warm at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I was just … I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s all right.” She didn’t press him to explain as he thought she would, just rose and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure you’ve just grown weary. You’ve accomplished what you meant to, and the marquess was just leaving.”

He felt his friend’s solid grip on his shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of everything. As soon as the pieces are in place, we’ll be ready to send word to your brother.”

Jason just nodded. His thoughts were still in turmoil, the images of blood and death remained, making his worry for Velvet even stronger.

God’s breath, if anything happened to her, the fault would be his, another sin added to a long, weighty list.

It was a thought too awful to even consider.

*   *   *

Christian Sutherland, sixth earl of Balfour, felt like a complete and utter fool. He was standing in the garden of the duke of Carlyle’s town house, waiting in the shadows like a lovesick pup for a glimpse of Mary Sinclair.

It was the second night he had been there, lurking among the potted plants, hiding behind the geraniums, hoping to catch her attention and garner a moment alone. He knew she had returned to the city. She was in deep mourning for her father so she hadn’t gone out, but the duke had made no secret that he had brought her home.

“The chit knows better than to gainsay me,” he had said. “She does as I tell her, and a damned good thing. The girl has no love for the marriage bed, more’s the pity, but I’ll see she does her duty, and she had better not complain. A man needs a son, by God. A few days more to mourn her old man, then she’ll spread her legs and be glad of it—until I’m sure she carries my seed.”

Carlyle had made the remarks across a green baize table in the gaming parlor at Brook’s.

It had taken Christian’s full control not to hit him.

Instead he had wound up here, waiting like a fool in the garden, hoping no one would discover his presence, except, of course, for Mary.

Movement in a room upstairs. It was far too early for the duke to be home. Christian watched the flicker of a candle as it floated out of a bedchamber and down the stairs. The light disappeared for a moment, then reappeared in the library. Flattening himself against the wall outside the window, he peered into the interior and smiled with relief to see Mary.

Christian rapped lightly on the tall mullioned window and the candle lifted in that direction. Another soft tap. He stood away from the bushes, allowing her to see him. Recognition dawned. Mary’s hand flew to the base of her throat then she hurried toward the window and threw it open.

“Christian? Whatever are you doing here? You must leave immediately, before someone sees you.”

Instead he took her hand, urging her over the sill and out into the garden. “I-I’m not properly dressed. My hair is unbound. I-I must look a frightful mess.”

Christian smiled. With her silver blond hair and pale blue eyes, she looked like a delicate angel. “You look beautiful.”

Her hand relaxed in his and she let him lead her into the darkness and up the stairs of the gazebo at the far end of the garden. “What’s wrong, Christian? Why have you come?”

“I had to see you, Mary. I had to be sure you were all right.”

Mary glanced away. “I’m fine. The duke insisted I come back with him, just as you warned me. I should have listened to you, Christian.”

“It isn’t too late. We can go away just as I said. We can leave England, Mary. Start over somewhere else.”

She looked at him with pale, sorrowful eyes. “You would give up all that you have? Your home? Your businesses? Your family? Why, Christian? Why would you do such a thing?”

His hand came up to her cheek. It was as soft as the down of a dove. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since the moment I left you. I love you, Mary. I was a fool not to see it. I love you and I want us to be together—no matter what it costs.”

Her gentle blue eyes filled with tears. “I love you, Christian. More than my own life. And that is the reason I cannot go with you. Since I left Windmere, I’ve had time to think things over. Whatever Avery has done, I don’t believe my life is in danger. I’ve no choice but to stay, to make the best of the life God has seen fit to give me.”

Christian shook his head. “Mary…”

“Please, Christian. I am a married woman. There is nothing else I can do. In time, I shall learn to tolerate Avery and eventually there will be children. I can find solace in that.”

“Your children would also be mine, if you would come with me.”

She simply shook her head. “It is too late for us, Christian. I won’t let you suffer for what the duke’s greed and my father’s mistaken intentions have done. I know what I must do.”

A sharp pain rose in Christian’s chest. He found it difficult to breathe. “Are you certain, Mary?”

She nodded. “It is better this way. At any rate, I would have made you a very poor wife. Avery has destroyed whatever passion I ever thought to feel for a man. I loathe the act of loving and always will. You deserve a better sort of woman than that.”

His hand shook as he cupped her cheek. “That is what you think? That you have no passion?”

She tried to glance away, but Christian would not let her. Instead he turned her face to his and gently settled his mouth over hers.

It was a soft kiss, unbearably gentle, but Mary felt it like a warm, teasing wind through her body. His tongue slid along her lips, coaxing them apart, then slipping inside. He tasted her, urged her to taste him, and knowing she shouldn’t, knowing it was the wickedest thing she had ever done, tentatively she did so. Christian eased her closer, tighter in his embrace, his hard body pressing the length of hers. He deepened the kiss, and she found herself clinging to his shoulders, swaying even closer against him.

His hand found her breast, but instead of a brutal squeeze, his fingers lightly brushed the side. He cupped the fullness and a soft sweet warmth unfurled in her stomach, began to seep through her limbs. It was incredible, so wonderful she found herself pressing more fully against the bands of muscle across his chest. It was Christian who pulled away.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Mary. Nothing gentleness and patience could not cure.”

Her breath came in short, breathy little gasps. “I shouldn’t have let you … I know it was wrong, but once you touched me, I didn’t want you to stop.”

Christian ran a hand through her hair. “I’ll teach you passion, Mary. Come away with me. Make a life with me somewhere else.”

She wanted to. Dear Lord, she had never wanted anything so badly. But Christian would be ruined. They both would be. They would have to give up their homes, the land of their birth, their families.

“I cannot, Christian.” She pulled away from him and turned away, started down the stairs of the gazebo, stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. Tears sparkled on her lashes. “Go on with your life, my love. Find a way to be happy.”

Christian said nothing, just stood there in the darkness, his chest aching, his throat closed up. He would go on. He was that kind of man. Perhaps he would even find happiness of a sort.

But he would never love again, never risk the sort of pain he felt in losing his Mary. Christian knew that as certainly as he knew he would draw in the next breath of air.