Jo Beverley - [Malloren 01]

by My Lady Notorious

  Generous Elf rose immediately. “Of course.” At the door she hesitated and raised her brows. “I thought I was to be chaperone, brother dear.”

  Rothgar smiled at her. “I assure you, I never ravish my brothers’ promised brides.”

  “None of your brothers has ever had a promised bride before,” she pointed out.

  “Even so.”

  With a shake of her head, Elf left.

  Chastity pulled out the pin and offered it to Rothgar. “Here, my lord. You had best have it back. Not because of Cyn, but because I do not want it.”

  He made no move to take it. “But it looks very well there, and you earned it.”

  When he refused to take it, she let it fall to the carpet.

  He ignored the valuable pin and considered Chastity. “When we kissed in London, I found you intriguing,” he said, startling her into unfurling her fan again. “I see my instincts were sound, as always.”

  Chastity’s heart began to flutter. Dear Lord, not more complexities. She fanned in the rapid way that warned a gentleman that the topic was not to her taste. “Are you claiming to love me?”

  “Oh, no,” he said calmly, watching her with those cool gray eyes. “If I loved you, none of this would have happened, would it? But you interested me . . .”

  Chastity felt as if she were fencing with him, and suspected she was outclassed. She flipped the fan shut and tried a crude, slashing move. “I was with Cyn at Rood House.”

  “But of course,” he parried lazily.

  She threw another wild blow. “I intend to marry him.”

  “But of course,” he said again, a master swordsman toying with a novice.

  “Why ‘of course’?” she demanded.

  “Because if you didn’t,” he remarked, “you’d be just the whore you are painted.”

  It was a thrust at the heart. She looked down at the fan in her hands. “Perhaps I am,” she whispered.

  “But I couldn’t possibly permit my brother to marry such a woman.”

  Chastity felt hope leave her, hope of something she had determined to deny herself, and yet had clung to all the same. She raised her chin to face him. “You might not be able to stop him.”

  She expected him to sneer at such a challenge, but instead he abandoned the contest and stared pensively into the fire. “You are quite correct. And I would not dare try to balk Cyn again.”

  It appeared, incredibly enough, an admission of defeat. Chastity found that she was, quite unconsciously, drawing her open fan across her eyes in a message of sympathy. “Why not?” she asked.

  “I have a somewhat autocratic tendency,” he said levelly. As well say a wolf has sharp teeth, thought Chastity. “When Cyn wanted to go soldiering, it seemed inappropriate. He was not even eighteen and looked younger. If a serious thought had ever crossed his mind, I had been unaware of it. On the other hand, I had extricated him from any number of scrapes, the consequences of which could have been serious. The army has a harsh way of dealing with mischief, even from its officers . . .”

  He looked directly at her, and her fan was no protection at all. “You would not, of course, have ever seen a flogging.”

  Chastity shook her head.

  “Men are flogged even for mislaying their equipment. Fifty lashes, perhaps. For more serious offenses, the total rises into the hundreds. Officers are generally immune to such punishment. They can, of course, be shot. You must remember the execution of Admiral Byng, whose crime was not applying himself sufficiently to the relief of Minorca. He was shot, as Monsieur Voltaire so succinctly put it, ‘pour encourager les autres.”’

  Chastity let the fan fall closed.

  “I misjudged Cyn, of course,” said Rothgar contemplatively. “It was boredom that led him into mischief. He has ordered and supervised any number of floggings, and at least two hangings.” He looked at her. “I am not saying that is as difficult as enduring the punishment, but I am a magistrate, and I know it is not easy.”

  Chastity tried to imagine Cyn in such a situation and failed. Her winsome, lighthearted lover was capable of such harshness? Then she remembered the casual story of the shelter made of corpses. It had been a warning, deliberately given. Did she know him at all? How could she expect to from less than a week of mayhem?

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, and it was a plea that he stop.

  “To answer your question. You asked why I wouldn’t try to balk Cyn again. When I refused to arrange his orderly entrance into military life, he ran away and took the shilling. I extricated him from that, of course, and brought him home, but it became clear nothing short of chains would stop him. I had to give in, but the lingering consequences of my misguided objections have been severe.”

  “What do you mean? He seems happy with his life.”

  “After a fashion. But I set up barriers between him and his family, and by my very interference I prevented him from taking the easy way. I have almost killed him.”

  “No. His illness was not your fault.”

  “Wasn’t it? He would not give in to it.” His lips twisted in a kind of self-derision. “I haven’t given up my meddling, and I know what he does. Another man would have acknowledged that he was sick, and sought help. Cyn, however, feels he must constantly prove his self-sufficiency.”

  Chastity didn’t know what to say. She rather feared Rothgar was right. She also knew it had cost the mighty marquess a great deal to be so honest with her; she could be no less.

  “I don’t intend to marry him,” she said.

  “Don’t you? But I must insist.”

  Chastity stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Quite apart from his wishes, which are important to me, I remember Rood House. If you do not marry him, you are no better than you have been painted. I refuse to believe my judgment to be so at fault.”

  Chastity erupted to her feet. “Damn your judgment! Do my wishes count for nothing?”

  She half expected a slap, as Fort had slapped her, but Rothgar merely raised a brow. “Are you saying you do not wish to marry him?”

  “Yes.”

  “That the passion you have shared was just base lust?”

  Chastity felt her face flame. She wanted to say yes, and deny him his victory, but the words wouldn’t come. It was as good as a denial.

  He grasped her shoulders. Chastity flinched, but he said, “Peace, my dear. My intentions for once are both honorable and benign. You can no more deny Cyn the right to wed you than I could deny his right to choose his way in life. If you try, you risk pushing him into disaster, as I nearly did.”

  “There can be no greater disaster for him than marriage to me.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “There is bound to be, and I assure you he will find it.”

  Defeated, Chastity leaned forward against his shoulder. To her dismay she began to cry, weary tears of despair. Apart from Cyn, who was as much problem as support, this was the first strong shoulder to be offered her since before Henry Vernham had sneaked into her bed. Rothgar said nothing, but his arms were firm about her, and his very aloofness was a part of his reassuring power.

  When she conquered her tears, he sat her on the chaise and gave her a handkerchief.

  “Lord Rothgar,” Chastity said, blowing her nose, “it cannot be. Even if he is able to weather being married to me, do you think I want to be forced to move in circles where every back will be turned on me?”

  “Of course not,” he said, as if they were discussing the weather. “We will just have to straighten out those unfortunate rumors.”

  “Unfortunate rumors!” She wondered if he was mad. “I am thoroughly ruined, my lord. There’s not a wellborn lady in England will stay in the same room as me.”

  “Elf didn’t flee. Are you questioning her birth?”

  “Of course not. She accepted me out of love for her brother.”

  “Then we will have to hope he is widely loved.”

  “You are being ridiculous.” She wondered at he
r temerity but faced him all the same. “I have no doubt Cyn would be drummed out of his regiment for marrying me.”

  He raised his elegant black brows. “Then I would buy him another one. He should be a colonel anyway.”

  Chastity was lost for words.

  He sat down opposite her and stretched out his long legs. “Now, tell me why you were in bed with Henry Vernham.”

  Chapter 18

  Chastity shook her head. She didn’t want to go over it again, when he wouldn’t believe her, and could do nothing about it if he did.

  “Don’t you want to resolve this?” he asked.

  “It can’t be done.”

  “Let us at least try.”

  The sheer power of his will shattered hers. Haltingly, she told the story, even including her father’s part in it.

  “Walgrave did this to force you into marriage with the likes of Vernham?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” They were back to fencing, but the fact that he was challenging her meant he took the matter seriously. It was more reassuring than daunting.

  “Does it seem reasonable to you?” he asked. “What you would expect from your father?”

  She looked away from those indomitable gray eyes. “Not at the time. Now, I don’t know. I think he’s mad.”

  “Why do you say that? What has he done since?”

  Chastity didn’t want to talk about it. “Lord Rothgar, this is pointless. There’s nothing to be done.”

  “There’s always something to be done, but I need all the facts.” When she still hesitated, he said, “Don’t you want to take your rightful place in Society again, to marry Cyn without a cloud over your name, to be happy?”

  Tears swelled in her eyes. “It’s impossible . . .”

  “With a Malloren,” he repeated, “nothing is impossible. Well?”

  Chastity sighed. “As you say, there’s the matter of Father trying to force me into marriage with Vernham, which made no sense. There’s also the desperation with which Father has been pursuing Verity. He claimed it was paternal concern, but there is something more. I don’t know what, though.”

  “He claimed? When was this?”

  Chastity fiddled with the fan. “He caught me in Maidenhead. I thought he’d be furious to find me there in men’s clothing . . .” She realized Rothgar wouldn’t know of her disguise, and faced him defiantly, “I’ve been dressing as a man for months.”

  “That doubtless accounts for a certain refreshing briskness in your manner. Was there a reason?”

  Chastity didn’t want to talk about that either, but after a moment she took off her wig.

  “Ah,” he said softly. “Your father?”

  She nodded and restored her appearance.

  “A not-inappropriate punishment for an erring daughter, I suppose. Was that the sum of it?”

  She told herself the whippings had been more to force her to the altar than to punish her. “Except for the clothes.” At his look she said, “They came from the local house of correction.”

  “And you preferred something more suitable. I salute you, my dear. So, your father did not rage at your unseemly dress, but . . . what?”

  “He believed I knew where Verity was, and he wanted her. His anger toward me seemed mainly because he thought I’d encouraged her to evade him. I know he regards his daughters as mere pawns for his playing, but his manner was not in keeping with the situation.”

  Rothgar leaned his head back and contemplated the painted ceiling. “And Lady Verity fled . . . why?”

  “She didn’t trust Henry Vernham. As soon as he turned up to take his position as guardian, she feared he would do little William some injury.”

  Rothgar studied the ceiling with rapt attention. A clock chimed the quarter, dimly echoed elsewhere in the house. A coal rolled, sparking in the grate. At last he spoke. “Why did your father marry Lady Verity to Sir William? He too was a nonentity.”

  Chastity couldn’t stand this. “I don’t know. Don’t you think we’ve struggled to understand it? Nothing makes any sense, but what’s done is done. If Verity ends up safe and happy, I’ll be content.”

  He lowered his eyes. “But that will not solve Cyn’s problem, and I fear even your sister’s happiness may be in jeopardy. Unhindered, your father could make the new couple’s life extremely difficult.”

  That was all too true. “But what can I do?”

  “Help me discover what is behind all this. There is something, something we can use. I can smell it. Tell me everything. Every little thing.”

  In her own cause, Chastity couldn’t have done it, but for Verity she would do anything. She went over every confrontation with her father, recalling his words as best she could, detailing—eyes on the fan—his minor and major cruelties. She could be particularly clear about her time in Maidenhead, as that had been so recent.

  If her story affected the marquess, it did not show in his face or voice. “So your father asked particularly about why Verity had not run to him.”

  “Yes, but he would be surprised. I think, despite all, he believes himself to be a good father.”

  “What reason for her actions could frighten him?”

  “Frighten him?” Chastity echoed in surprise.

  “Oh, yes, Chastity. You have been telling me about a very frightened man. He must have thought Verity was avoiding him because she knew something to his detriment.”

  “She knew he’d mistreated me.”

  “Would that matter with him?”

  Chastity had to shake her head.

  “I think,” said Rothgar, “this matter hinges on the death of Sir William Vernham.”

  Chastity frowned. “But it can’t. He died of a seizure and anyway, it happened after my problems.”

  “The same factors could be behind both. What connection existed between Sir William and your father, before Verity’s marriage?”

  “None.”

  “Think,” he said sharply.

  Chastity snapped back, “None, I tell you. Sir William was a nobody, a lowly squire, with more money than breeding.”

  “He was rich?”

  “Not by your standards, or Father’s, but richer than most of his sort. Fort said he made his money as a Special Investigator after the ’45, stealing valuables or taking bribes to overlook evidence of treason. Loathsome man.”

  “Yet when this loathsome man asked for Verity’s hand, he was given it,” Rothgar mused. “He must have had a hold over your father. Can you imagine what?”

  “No. Father is the Incorruptible, remember. He doesn’t gamble, he is moderate in drink, I have never heard even a rumor of women . . .”

  “What about treason?” The words dropped like a stone.

  “What?”

  “Would your father sacrifice his daughter, both his daughters, to save his head?”

  “Treason! Father!”

  He leaped to his feet and began to prowl, reminding Chastity of nothing so much as a hunting beast. “Treason,” he repeated. “It smells. It smells right. The one thing that is certain about the Earl of Walgrave is his ambition. What if he lost his nerve back in the ’45 and thought Bonnie Prince Charlie might be victorious?”

  “But he’s always been strong against the Jacobites!”

  “Words cost little. His friendship with Prince Frederick tied him to Hanover, but with the Royal Family packing their bags as the Jacobites approached London, he might have seen everything slipping away. There is still a memory in the land of the way things were when the Stuarts returned in 1660, and Charles II rewarded his faithful friends. Little chance then for a servant of the Commonwealth, no matter how worthy. Not too surprising if your father made discreet contact with the Jacobites.”

  Chastity was numb with shock.

  The marquess continued, almost lovingly, “And what if some evidence fell into the hands of Special Investigator Sir William Vernham, and the man had wits enough to conceal it in such a way th
at merely killing him would do the earl no good? You know, those investigators did not generally make a great deal of money out of their unpleasant work. Few of the guilty had much to offer, and few situations here in the south of England were ripe for that kind of plucking. But the Earl of Walgrave . . .” He smiled. “Vernham must have received his income from the earl for over fifteen years.”

  “And Verity?” Chastity asked.

  “Perhaps Sir William wanted to tighten his hold on the earl. Possibly he genuinely desired your sister. There would be her dowry to consider as well. Perhaps it was simply an abuse of power, the taunting of a chained lion. A very dangerous thing to do. I wonder if that was not the blow that broke your father’s mind. Money to men like us is of little account, but to be forced to link his blood with such a cur . . .” Rothgar’s voice was almost a snarl at the thought.

  “And it was demanded again with me . . . But then why did he try to force me to it so cruelly?”

  “Because Sir William still had the whip hand.” Rothgar stared at nothing. “Perhaps still has it, even in death.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If there is evidence, where is it? Your father must be desperate, no longer knowing from whom to expect attack.”

  “What of Henry Vernham?”

  “I doubt he would have been seeking the child if he’d had a greater source of treasure in his hands.”

  Chastity sucked in a breath. “Unless he is seeking that source . . .”

  Rothgar turned sharply to her.

  “Perhaps he hasn’t been seeking the child to murder him, but seeking what his brother had. He must think Verity holds the key . . . Lord Rothgar!” Chastity exclaimed. “Verity has been carrying around this document. Sir William impressed upon her that if he died, she must take it to the Lord Chief Justice in London. She supposed it affected the inheritance, so she took it when she fled . . .”

  His eyes were bright. “Where is the document now?”