The Slide Into Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

  Marcus returned that morning with a report that while his father owed money to many gentlemen, his brother, Harold, owed money to the underground. Harold had been gambling with more than his future with a character who went by the name Mr Smith. Not a soul could claim where the man lived, where he conducted his business or even what he looked like. He owned clubs, which resembled high-priced mud huts in the London slums. He dealt in women, cards and liquor and was purported to be ruthless in his punishment of those who couldn’t or wouldn’t pay.

  He summoned fear in just about everyone, so much so that Marcus had had to part with a fair amount of Darius’s dwindling blunt to encourage gossip. Not many had wanted to say anything at all, which told Darius all he needed to hear on the matter. Harold would be dealt with and Darius’s conscience could remain clear on that count. He’d never come for Harold anyway. It was their sire he wanted to see on his arse.

  Now Darius had other responsibilities. It galled him to leave Wickham to wreak more havoc but he had to get Sarah and Eliza and her brood far away from the gentlemen of England.

  Scanning the thronging street once again, Darius failed to find the head he searched for. He needed to locate Penfold’s previous man of business, a Mr Prendergast, but most of the village had turned out for what appeared to be a market day of sorts.

  Part of the bribe to get the man to assist them with obtaining Eliza’s dowry had been to place him in charge of both houses, Darius’s grandfather’s house and the Penfold ruins, until Nathanial returned. He needed to find the man to tell him they were to depart at first light. Darius estimated they would be gone for around six to eight months. He was also going to leave a handful of older sailors behind to ensure it was all done right and above board. Some of the men had become quite happy with life on the land and didn’t wish to return to the sea. They would be in charge of the massive pine forest and fixing the lumber mill that had also gone to ruin.

  Darius wanted to see the land that was now his turn a profit. He was a businessman and it would be nice to have something of his own. A legal income not dependent on the tides or him keeping his position with Deklin. An income he could use to help Nathanial regain his feet when he took the ducal title.

  Pride warmed his insides in a dangerous way yet he couldn’t help it.

  He meant something to someone.

  To several someones.

  Never in his life had he been needed like this and instead of seeing them all as burdens, he saw them as a misfit family that were now all his. His to protect and support. From his sailors and friends to his wife and all the way through to his fragile, tiny sister. Even though barely two weeks had passed since he’d stepped off his ship and into a nightmare, bumping into Eliza in the snow and mistaking her for a trespasser, he felt as though years had gone by.

  Finally glimpsing Prendergast’s light brown hair as the man stooped over a stall table, Darius wasted no time. He had to get to him and let him know of their imminent departure. About halfway, as Darius squeezed between bodies—Tarquin, Wes and another sailor by the name of Leno trying hard to keep up behind him but failing in the crowd—Darius was halted by none other than Harold.

  “Not now, brother, I don’t have time for you today,” Darius warned, attempting to go around.

  Harold shot out a hand and placed it to Darius’s shoulder. “I think you need to hear my words, brother.”

  Darius’s nape prickled as Harold spat the last word. It made him stand still and observe the man and the hatred burning in his eyes. Was he still upset from the other day, when Darius had had him thrown out? “Say your piece. I am busy.”

  “Yes, you have been busy. Murdering peers of the realm so you can steal their daughters and their fortunes would take up no little amount of precious time, one would think.”

  Darius could practically hear the thoughts of those within spitting distance, not that Harold was being quiet at all. Quite the opposite really. “Are you accusing me of something, brother?” If Harold thought he could draw strangers into their arguments by manipulating his words, Darius could too. Confirming that Wickham had at least one bastard on the street, staring down the legitimate heir, would hopefully be remembered by the gossips more readily than the accusations he had a feeling were about to fly.

  “The Duke of Penfold is dead and you have moved his unwed daughters beneath your roof. The tale tells its own truths.”

  Darius resisted the urge to clench his fists at his sides, instead preferring to cross his arms over his chest and appear to be at ease. “The Duke of Penfold is a very sick man, though hardly dead yet.”

  “Ah, so you’ve seen him then? Alive? Recently?”

  Darius pitched his voice a little higher now that it was quite clear they had an audience. “The duke returned to his home last night, weary and ill. His family are taking care of him under my roof since his seems to have caved in under the weight of that last snowfall.”

  Harold’s face went beyond red. He almost looked purple for a moment until he shrieked, “Liar!”

  With a shrug, Darius turned away from the maniac but before he got two steps, he was propelled forward with a shove to his back. Wes and Tarquin caught him before he could fall flat on his face. Taking a much-needed moment, the crowd standing stock-still in stunned disbelief, Darius dusted off his trousers with a sigh and then faced his attacker. “Do you need something else, brother?”

  “Your lies will not work here, pirate.”

  A murmur rippled through the onlookers but Darius met the insult with a shrug. “That’s the best of it then? You have proof of these accusations? A magistrate to haul me off?” When Harold only grew angrier, Darius refolded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t think so.”

  He saw it coming, saw his brother’s nostrils flare and his fists clench. He braced for impact but was still shocked when Harold raised his arm and punched Darius in the face. His nose crunched slightly but the blow was off centre and he took most of the hit to his eye. There was pain but he’d experienced worse. Much worse.

  The gasp of the crowd was instantaneous. So was his brother’s madness as he raised his arm to hit him again. Wes stepped in front of Darius and caught the other man’s fist with his hand, murmuring, “You got one in—that’s all you get.”

  The better part of not starting a fight was the ability to keep a clearer head. It was also best not to be insane or desperate enough to start a brawl in the street when you were hopelessly outnumbered. Darius wiped a trickle of blood away that had dripped from the corner of his eye socket and then down his cheek. “I’m not going to fight you, Harold. What would Father say about the scandal?”

  Harold shrieked again but seemed to be beyond coherency as he tried to pull away. Wes only squeezed his fist tighter but did not let go.

  “Run home, Harold. Run home before you embarrass yourself any further.”

  Wes gave a shove of his own but no one caught the future Earl of Wickham as he landed roughly on his backside. Behind him, Darius glimpsed their father in the crowd but then he turned quickly away and was gone before he could call out to him to save his beloved heir. The disgust on his features said he’d rather throw Harold to the wolves anyway.

  Prendergast had made his way to Darius’s side in the commotion so Darius came to say what he needed to so he could get out of the eye of the gossipmongers. “I leave at first light in two days’ time, come past the house for your orders.”

  Prendergast nodded, his gaze flicking from Harold who scrambled to regain his feet, and back to Darius who probably looked fit to put a bullet in someone. “I’ll call this afternoon, Captain.”

  Darius inclined his head in return, appreciation of his using the correct address hopefully conveyed in his short smile, and then without another glance for his impulsive brother, turned and left the village square. Not until they were on their horses did Darius finally unclench his jaw and admit his brother actually packed more of a punch than he’d have thought.

  “Is it bad?” he aske
d Tarquin who rode at his left side.

  Tarquin shook his head. “It won’t be needing to be stitched by your lady wife but she’s going to ask questions.”

  “I have a question,” Wes grunted from his right. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you knock the sod on his arse? He’d never beat you in a fight.”

  Darius chuckled. “A bastard with a history of piracy? I would have been arrested by the end of the day, which I’m sure is the outcome Harold hoped for. He already asked for Eliza once and I’ll bet he hasn’t given up yet.”

  “But she’s your wife already,” Wes said.

  “I don’t want him to know that.” If his sights weren’t set on Eliza, then they would be targeted on Gabriella who thankfully needed her father’s permission to wed since she was far too young to be carried off.

  Darius groaned. Without her father’s permission, her guardian could consent. Is that what Harold was getting at by staging the little confrontation? Did he think Darius a simpleton still? That he would confess the duke’s demise in the middle of the street?

  But now the question was raised and by the end of the day, the village would buzz with news that Penfold was either dead or on his deathbed. Either way, when they failed to produce a duke, the guardian would be able to step in and interfere. Darius just had to hold on to the hope that Wickham knew nothing of the state of Penfold’s last will and testament. Whoever had broken into his study that night and set the fire had those documents. It wasn’t Harold.

  “We have to be prepared to leave tomorrow, at first light if possible.” They could make the ship the day after that and then they only had to wait for the tide. Three days. If the Persecutor was ready.

  Damn it, Darius knew they were running out of time and there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The very best thrill about having a secret was no one else need ever know the details. Eliza’s developing relationship with her husband was certainly no secret. He’d kissed her at the breakfast table. In front of his men. In front of her sisters. Gabriella had asked question after question the day before when she and Darius had emerged from the attic, her hair a mess, Darius with dust all over his clothes, both wearing rather large, silly smiles.

  Eliza had out-and-out lied to her sister. This morning, after the dining room display, Gabriella had asked yet more questions. She wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man. Did he taste different? Did he hold her that close each time he pressed his lips to hers? Did she enjoy the act or was it terribly awful as their father had told them?

  Eliza pursed her lips and bit down on her tongue. She had presumed their father had only spoken to her, being the eldest and closest to marriageable age, about ‘the act.’ She had been wrong. When questioned though, Gabriella had blushed and turned away and denied knowledge of how it all worked. She understood her sister had questions, a lot of them apparently, but Eliza would not tell. These secrets were hers to keep as close as she wanted.

  The wicked things they did behind closed doors were not for the ears of the young or impressionable. Eliza wasn’t even sure she was old enough to know about such things. What she did know is that she couldn’t stop thinking. Her brain wouldn’t switch off long enough to allow her to get to sleep so there she lay, in her cot in the nursery between a sleeping Grace on one side and a softly snoring Sarah on the other, the infant happy and thriving.

  Having never been apart from her siblings, she’d never had anything she wouldn’t share with them. She’d never wanted to keep anything from them either. Until now. Should she think herself terribly selfish?

  She didn’t.

  She felt gloriously alive for the first time in her life. Darius made her feel like a woman.

  Strange that she’d never known she was missing out on anything. She certainly didn’t resent her family or even her father or mother for her life so far but she did wonder, in the dark there, alone, if Darius hadn’t come into their lives, would she have ever discovered what it was like to be touched? To crave his hands on her body and hers on his. So far, he’d done all the caressing and she had barely clung to sanity. So far, he hadn’t let her put her hands on him much other than his arms and back and her fingers in his hair. Well, he hadn’t not let her, but he hadn’t encouraged her either. Strange.

  Darius also hadn’t asked her again to move back to his rooms and despite his declaration that he would have her dragged back, he hadn’t shown his face at bedtime to convince her either way. Had he but asked, she feared she would have eagerly gathered her meagre belongings and followed him wherever he asked her to go.

  Even as she bit her lip against the understanding that she was indeed selfish, heat suffused her body and she clenched her thighs together. The urge to throw the blankets off and seek him out was so strong but there was still will in her yet. She didn’t need him. She just wasn’t tired. A book. That’s what she needed. Perhaps an hour of reading might make her tired. She was wound up from the tension of the day, from the anticipation of the next day too.

  Tarquin had told them to start packing their things, not that they had many things to pack. Only a few items of clothing they’d managed to cut down and remake from the attic gowns. They dressed like renaissance paupers with wide yellowed collars, moth holes and threadbare waistlines that didn’t sit right. Eliza and her sisters would never make livings from their seamstress skills.

  Hurrying down the great stairs in the darkened gloom with only half a candle to light her way, Eliza cursed that she didn’t have slippers. Her toes were like icicles by the time she entered the library. A fire crackled in the grate but was the only source of light. Closing the door behind her, she spent a few moments lighting more candles so she could pick a volume from the dusty shelves and then make herself comfortable in the enormous armchair before the flames.

  It didn’t occur to her the fire shouldn’t be fed up quite so high at such a late hour. It also hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be alone. As she neared the hearth to set her candle down, she stepped back with a gasp.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I didn’t know there was anyone here.”

  Darius smiled up at her, or at least he appeared to be trying to smile. The side of his eye was cracked and swollen. “I wasn’t hiding,” he said but it wasn’t convincing.

  “What happened to your face?” She placed her stub of a candle on a small table and then dropped down on the leather next to him. She wanted to inspect the damage but wasn’t sure if he would welcome her fussing.

  “I had another run-in with my brother.”

  Eliza shook her head. “I hope he looks worse than you.”

  Darius’s mouth tightened to a thin line. “I didn’t lay one finger on him.”

  “But he hit you? You didn’t fight back?”

  Darius attempted another smile. “You’re a bloodthirsty wench tonight. Considering we were standing in the middle of the village with hundreds around to witness, no, I did not hit him back.”

  “That must have been hard.” She would have hit back, witnesses be damned.

  “His intention was to have me brawl with him and then probably have me taken in. Then he would have galloped his horse straight here to you.”

  “Me?”

  Darius laid his hand over hers where it clenched in the folds of the robe she wore. “He wants your dowry still. I’d be a fool to believe he didn’t want you too, but it’s your dowry he pines after.”

  “But it’s too late for that. What use would I be to him?”

  Threading his fingers through hers, he played with her hands before finally answering with a long drawn-out sigh. “He doesn’t know you’re mine.”

  Instead of outrage at Darius’s possessiveness, his declaration made her fairly glow inside. “Well then, just tell him. He’ll leave me alone.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, setting off sparks within her body, sparks she tried valiantly to suppress but to no avail. She migh
t have even breathed a sigh of her own.

  “If he leaves you alone, then Gabriella will be the one he sets his ambitions on.”

  Eliza tensed and drew her hand away so she could stand and pace. “But he can’t have her. She is too young, barely sixteen.”

  “But she is sixteen. With her guardian’s approval, she can be married off.”

  The room spun and dipped. Eliza’s knees buckled. Darius caught a hold of her and sat her on his lap, drawing her head to his shoulder. “I won’t let it happen. We leave first thing, all of us together. When we get to London, we’ll board the ship straight away. Marcus should have everything in order by then. We can set sail the dawn after that.”

  “Do you really think that will be the end of it? That it will be so simple?”

  Darius dropped a kiss into her hair. “No. Not simple. Not the end. Harold will never let this go now.”

  “What about Wickham?” she asked, sitting up straight so she could meet her husband’s eyes. How it must kill him inside to know Wickham was free to roam about, his debt unpaid, his lungs and legs still working.

  Darius shrugged but his eyes betrayed him with a flash of anger followed by defeat. “I don’t know what will happen to Wickham. He is ruined though. It’s only a matter of time before society hears of his exploits, his gambling, his bastard and heir fighting in the middle of the street in view of women and children. I’ll have to make do for now with the knowledge that he suffers.”

  “It isn’t enough.” Eliza’s statement shocked them both and she immediately wished she could take back the words.

  “Would you slay dragons for me, my queen?”

  Eliza placed her hands against his shoulders and leaned closer, her lips touching Darius’s like a feather floating towards the ground only to be lifted again by the wind. “Give me bullets for my gun and I’ll slay them all.”

  Darius threw his head back and laughed, the sound pleasing to Eliza’s ears. She hated to see a man so full of life sitting alone in the dark, brooding about a family he neither chose nor wanted. He had more honour in a soul swimming in blood than the two legitimate men who could claim rights to the title of Earl of Wickham. But life wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been fair to either of them so far but now they had each other. She wondered if it would be enough for her husband.