That dream and any aspirations of the kind had now gone. The possibility was slipping through his fingers as he paced, as though it were grains of sand that he was unable to grasp.
There was something else too. With his reputation so utterly shattered into pieces, he was no longer an eligible bachelor. No woman in grand society would want to marry him now. His chances of providing an heir for the Earldom had vanished too.
“My Lord, read on.” Pip encouraged with a warning look.
Alexander turned the paper to his eyes again, now reading the rest in silence. With each passing paragraph, the anger inside him grew until it built to a tempest, ready to crash and strike on its nearest victim.
“These are lies.” He snapped at the paper, as though it could argue back to him. “‘An affair with the Lady De Winter?’ I would not touch that woman if my life depended on it.”
“There’s more.”
“I know there’s more, Pip!” he barked and looked back down to the page. “All of these women. I have known no more than four of them at most.”
“They list many. Nine in total I believe.”
“I do not know half of them! Only four.”
Pip shifted between his feet, looking decidedly nervy about asking his next question.
“How well did you know them, My Lord?”
Alexander raised his gray-blue eyes to the lad with a staunch warning. “I may give you liberties, Pip, but even I think that is too far a statement to make to your employer.” He gestured to him with the paper.
“My apologies, My Lord. I only wish to warn you. Well, all of London will now think you knew these ladies extremely well.”
“Bloody hell!” Alexander cursed and threw the paper down on the desk. He jumped toward his coat stand and hurriedly put on his knee-length black jacket, buttoning it tightly across his chest and waistcoat to ward off the cold.
“Where are you going, My Lord?” Pip asked, jumping out of the way.
“To The Gazette,” Alexander found his tall top hat, a fine accessory he usually loved and hastily placed it to his head, covering his short black hair. “I shall discover who broke this story.”
He snapped up the newspaper and rushed to the door with Pip following behind. “What will you do once you know?”
Alexander turned sharply back, nearly colliding with the boy. Pip stepped back, collecting himself.
“I shall take my revenge. Someone has to pay the price and recompense me for the life they have just torn from my grasp. Tuck in your shirt, Pip. It’s still not right.” At his words, Pip hurried to follow his orders. “Insure everything is ready for the hall’s opening while I am gone,” Alexander called back as he stomped across the corridor.
Alexander practically kicked down the door to the office of The Gazette when he arrived. It sprung open at his entrance, loudly declaring his arrival.
Beyond the desk by the door were two young men, their eyes turned up to him in immediate recognition of who he was.
“Your Editor?” Alexander barked at them, noticing the way the two men leaned as far back as they could. Wordlessly, they pointed behind him to another door. He followed their hands and made just as loud an entrance to the next room.
There was a group of men before him, all sniggering over the front page of the newspaper in their hands. At his entrance, they looked up – their faces turning pale as they realized they had been caught by the very man they had been gossiping about.
“Who did this?” he raised his own copy of the paper in his hands.
“We are a newspaper, My Lord, not a bear-baiting ring.” A middle-aged man stood from behind a desk, dangling a pipe between his lips. “If you wish to cause a fracas, I must ask you to leave my office.” The man pointed to the doorway with his pipe.
“You ask me to? How polite. That is exactly the kind of language I would expect from the Editor of a respectable newspaper. Not this drivel.” Alexander threw the newspaper on the desk, creating an almighty slap of paper on wood. The Editor jumped back at the sound.
“You thought it too tempting to destroy an Earl’s reputation?” Alexander circled the desk, enjoying himself as he saw the Editor attempt to run away from him the other way. “It was not me. It was just a good story!”
“A good story? I am not your parlor piece, nor your fictionalized character to laugh at.” He threw the desk chair out of his way, striking the wood against the wall to emphasize his point.
The group of men jumped back, all hiding behind different desks as he and the Editor continued their cat-and-mouse chase around the room.
“You have destroyed my life!”
“It was not me!” The man appeared to waver. He dropped his pipe to the floor and hesitated as though about to pick it up.
When Alexander lurched forward, the Editor retreated against a wall. Suddenly blocked in by the much-taller man’s presence, the Editor held up his hands in surrender. “I sincerely apologize, Sir, but if you wish to know the real culprit, I can give you her name.”
Alexander took hold of the man’s coat and held him up by the lapels, emanating threat with the darkness of his voice. “If you value your life, then speak.” Alexander stood still, his frown sharp and making no indication to move away.
The anger and distress that had consumed him the whole morning were turning into something else. He imagined it was taking the shape of an animal. It was his determination – his desire to see justice done and retribution paid. With teeth to bite and arms to grasp, Alexander would not let the real culprit slip by him.
“Miss Cleopatra Beckett.”
“Beckett?” Alexander repeated the word, thinking on it for a moment.
I know that name. It is familiar.
“Yes, she arrived here two weeks ago with the story and some papers to prove it.” The Editor flinched as Alexander tightened his hold on the man’s lapels.
“A Lady?”
“Yes, Sir. I do not know who she really is. She asked for money in exchange for discovering more on your life.”
“Is she still conducting her investigation?” He pulled his hold higher, making the Editor’s face scrunched in pain.
“Yes, she was determined to find all on you she could, Sir.”
The sudden meaning of these words created a new pit in Alexander’s stomach. Fear spread in him. There was the one secret he had to keep with his life, the one he could not let anyone discover.
He released the Editor and stepped back, allowing the man to scramble against the wall for a minute.
“Publish any more about my life and you will pay the price. Is that understood?”
The Editor nodded, brushing his red and sweating cheeks with the backs of his hands.
Alexander did not wait for a further reply. He hurried from the building, feeling fury in his every step.
He directed his steps back toward the Wicked Souls Gaming Hall. He had never had a problem with his business. He had a love for it, and it had always proved profitable, but he knew how others despised it and loved to talk of scandal.
When he returned, he knew he would have to think up some scheme of retribution.
This Miss Cleopatra Beckett will have to pay for ruining his reputation.
Chapter Two
“Cleopatra? Cleopatra?” John was insistent, his high-pitched voice ringing in her ears as he ran around her chair in their sitting room.
“Oh, John, please be quiet,” she sighed as she turned her attention to the fireplace and the roaring flames beneath.
She pushed thoughts of the little boy to the side, trying to focus on the distraction of the fire. It was a grand sight. A marble fireplace of great proportions inlaid with fine engravings. It was a place in her house that usually brought her such comfort, but not today.
The fireplace had been a proud installation of her father’s, Edwin Beckett.
Cleopatra smiled slightly, remembering him with fondness. Above the marble hearth was a collection of three swords that her father had also installed. After marry
ing a Viscount’s daughter, Edwin, the second son of the Earl of Blythe, had gone into the Navy, quickly progressing to the position of General. He was proud of his accomplishments and their house was ornately adorned with such weaponry.
Swords and flintlock pistols were mounted on all the walls. Both Cleopatra and her elder brother had been taught how to handle all of the weapons. At this thought, her sadness returned tenfold, dwelling on images of her brother.
Oh, Robert.
“Cleopatra? Cleopatra?” Her younger brother, John, was demanding her attention through her curtain of sadness.
At ten years old, John had been reliant on his siblings’ care for many years. “Cleopatra?”
“What is it, John?” she turned her sad eyes to the boy.
Bearing the same black hair as her with similar dark features, he always appeared a sweet boy, but she knew him better than that. Though kind at heart, he was rebellious and loved mischief.
“I thought we could play another game of Jacks?” John was brandishing the cards for her to hold.
“Last time we played you cheated throughout the game and then threw the cards at me when you lost anyway.” She smiled, though it was without feeling, her sadness rested too deeply on her shoulders.
“I did not!”
“You did too, naughty child.” She took the cards from the boy’s hand and returned them to a table at her side. “Here, come sit in front of the fire and stay warm.”
The boy did as he was told with his dark eyes turned up to her watch her carefully through the few candles lit in the room. “What is wrong, Sister?”
She bit her lip, breathing through the sudden lump that had appeared in her throat. “I am missing our brother. That is all.”
“Robert. He’s not coming back, is he?” The wide eyes the boy looked up to her with cracked her heart a little more.
“No, Dearest. He cannot come back.” She bit her lip again, determined not to cry anymore.
“Since he’s gone, the servants have gone too.” The boy’s brow was furrowed in confusion.
“That is right, John.” She leaned forward in her chair, determined to present the boy with a few more realities. “Robert has not left us in a financially comfortable situation.”
I believe that is the greatest understatement I have ever uttered.
“You mean we are poor?”
“In a way, Dearest. That is why we cannot afford the servants anymore.”
“I understand.” The boy nodded and turned his gaze down to the hearth rug, where he played with the loose wool. “What will we do for food?”
“There are ways to find money,” she smiled sadly, considering the bundle of notes that was currently locked away upstairs in her chamber. They were part of the hoard The Gazette had paid her.
“Will you marry?” The boy’s innocent question only brought new sadness to her.
She leaned back again, determined to retreat from reality and honesty for a few minutes. “We shall see.”
She could not marry anymore. That was the truth. Up until a little while ago, she had been engaged to marry, to a dear friend of Robert’s, Mr. Charles Brockenhurst. Yet when Robert had died, her dowry had disappeared with him.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Mr. Brockenhurst’s proposal had evaporated along with the vanishing dowry.
I should have known. I was fooled into believing such a man would care for me beyond a dowry.
“But if you marry, will we not have money?” John was persistent, rushing to his knees, alight with the brilliance of his new idea. “We will have a man to protect us too.”
“To protect us?” She leaned forward with sudden mischief in her own eyes. “You think I cannot protect you?”
“Well, I have never seen you in a fight, Sister.”
“I will have you know, Dearest,” she poked him repeatedly in the chest, “Father’s lessons taught me how to raise a pistol and use a sword to a greater ability than our brother’s.”
He laughed at her pokes and leaned away.
“No, Dearest. I need no husband and I can protect you.”
“Then I shall protect you too.” The boy jumped to his feet, planting his fists to his hips and attempting to look very tall indeed.
“You shall?”
“Yes, Sister. Everyone talks of white knights coming to a damsel’s aid. I shall be your white knight!”
“Ha! How delightful!” She clapped her hands together in good humor, laughing at his words. “Then my white knight better climb the stairs to bed because it is long past his bed time.”
As the boy started galloping out of the room, as though he were riding a great steed, she followed him, dwelling on his words.
I do not know if I like the idea of a white knight. They would expect me to stay in my place and not speak out of turn. I have never been very good at that.
As she helped John prepare for bed, conversations with Robert returned to her about this very problem.
He had talked often of the difficulty to find her a suitor when she was so outspoken. Far from being demure or quiet, she was confident, forthright, and bold in conversation.
When at parties out in society’s circle, it became abundantly clear that men enjoyed her company for the humor of it. They treated her as a brash friend, but no one desired such a candid woman for a wife.
It was little wonder Mr. Brockenhurst had retracted his proposal when the dowry had gone.
She tucked John into bed as he kissed her on the cheek. “Sleep tight, Dearest. And don’t you worry about a thing now, John. I will keep you safe.”
“Good night, Sister.” He yawned sleepily as he closed his eyes.
Cleopatra hurried to leave the room, carrying a lone candle with her and casting the boy into the darkness of the night.
She returned to her place by the fire downstairs with her thoughts on the newspaper that stood on the table beside her. She allowed herself the smallest of smiles at the headline.
It is but a first step, yet it is a good one.
She could not help indulging in a fantasy of how much despair it had caused for the Earl. Perhaps he marched around his gaming hall, furious at his life being so turned upside down. Or maybe he had retired to his grand Manor the better to hide himself from society’s judgment of him.
After a minute, she collected a bundle of letters from a nearby drawer of a sideboard that she had found after her brother’s death. She returned with them to her seat, holding each page of parchment up to the lone candlelight, watching as the orange flame lit the dark-inked words.
Addressed to Robert and bearing the mark of the gaming hall, Wicked Souls, they were signed with the Earl’s initials.
Each letter demanded payment of debts. As she shifted through the pages, the threat with each notice grew worse. The final letter had promised punishment without indicating what kind.
Yet she knew what they had done. There was not a doubt in her mind. They had taken Robert from this world in revenge and probably her dowry too in order to pay his debts.
The day he had been lost from her life, he had left the house to visit the gaming hall. She had overheard him speaking of his intent with one of the servants. When she had confronted him on the matter, he had merely shrugged, claiming there was no judgement from visiting gaming halls anymore.
She had disagreed and begged him not to go, but he had not listened. It was only after he had parted that she found the letters in his room and discovered just how much debt Robert had placed them all in.
The language of the letters from Wicked Souls left little to the imagination either. They held a deep threat and promised comeuppance for the crime of no payment.
Cleopatra felt the pain within her stretch wider at the sight of the sums left unpaid. Her fingers tightened on the pages, crimping the parchment.
The Earl will pay for murdering my brother.
There were many layers to her plan, and she had only just started the first step. She lifted her eyes back to the fireplace and
the weapons lodged above, smiling slightly at the sight of them.
Her first goal had been achieved, the destruction of the Earl’s reputation, but there was much more to come.
In a way, she hoped he was afraid.
The following evening, Cleopatra stood outside Larson Manor, watching her breath make small clouds in the cold air of the night. She was hidden in the shadows across the street, affording her a perfect view of the Manor gate and the front door far down the driveway.
In Temptation and Damnation with the Earl: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 2
