The Earl's Envy (Scandalous Nobility Book 2)

by Madeline St. James

  Marina suddenly appeared at Beatrice’s side. Through the foggy haze of her mind, Beatrice could barely make out her friend’s features. But the unmistakable sound of James’s angry footsteps did not go unnoticed nor did the shift in her body when Marina replaced the Earl.

  Beatrice wanted to rush after him. She wanted to tell him that he could not have known Lady Dunn would have poisoned her or that she would have been foolish enough to think that she was safe. Beatrice had noticed the strange behavior of Lord and Lady Dunn since their arrival, but had chosen to ignore it. It was her own naivety that endangered her life.

  Marina clutched her tightly against her chest and rocked her gently. “Oh, Beatrice,” she cried. “I should never have brought you here. Please, please do not leave me…”

  Beatrice felt the tears of her best friend soak through the fabric of her nightdress. James returned to announce that Lord and Lady Dunn had fled the estate. He lifted Beatrice from the floor and carried her to the bedchamber she had originally been assigned upon her initial arrival.

  She wanted to protest against the sensation of being on a too-soft bed, but she did not have the energy. Beatrice groaned painfully as the coverings were removed to allow the air to reach her skin. When large tears began to flow from her emerald eyes, he brushed them away as thought they brought him physical agony. His touch was gentle and the only thing that anchored her mind in the storm.

  Beatrice felt herself floating in and out of consciousness. The shadows around her vision grew despite the flickering candlelight beside her. I was foolish to have ever fallen in love with you…Beatrice desperately wanted to take those words back.

  ***

  After years of numbness settling into his soul, James felt too much. He was overwhelmed by the emotions that battered against his control. He needed control, but he felt helpless watching as the poison took hold of Beatrice. Elias and Lady Knight were in the room with them, feeling just as he did.

  James could not stand the way her eyes stayed closed longer and longer each time she blinked. He struggled to find the words to say as he remembered everything she had scolded him for. William burst into the room, eyes wide and fear coloring his features. “My Lord, there is a gentleman named Bacilli here to see you! He has the cure for Miss Haddington’s condition.”

  The room erupted in sound and motion. Elias called after James as he sprinted through the door, down the halls, and nearly jumped to the landing of the staircase. His feet moved with a speed he had not used in years. James stopped abruptly in front of the gentleman William had identified as Bacilli.

  Dread washed over him as the short man smiled and twirled a leather flask in his hand. He spoke with a voice that was raspy and heavily accented. “The King of London sent me in his stead, hope it ain’t too much of a disappointment for ya’. Mr. Ripper sends his best, o’ course.”

  “I do not know of whom you speak, but I need that antidote. I shall pay heavily for it.”

  Bacilli began to cackle obscenely. “Here ya’ are thinkin’ yous can buy ya’ way into me good graces. Not today, ya’ snobbish prat. That girl’s father owes Mr. Ripper far more than ya’ can pay up, I’d wager. Ya’ see, Josiah Haddington promised me king ‘is daughter by ‘er twentieth birthday if he didn’t pay his dues. She be turnin’ twenty in three days.”

  James clenched his fists and stared darkly into the eyes of the man who held all of the cards. He was not accustomed to being taken advantage of, much less losing control of his own life. “What is the price to be paid for her life? How much is a young woman’s soul on the market these days, Mr. Bacilli?”

  “Same price that got ‘er into this mess to begin with. I’ll save ‘er life, but you gotta give ‘er to Mr. Ripper for payment. Unless there be a reason you be wantin’ to hold on to ‘er…”

  So, his feelings for Beatrice were much more obvious than he had considered if a man like Bacilli was able to notice. James did not want to think of what could happen to Beatrice in the hands of a man who called himself the King of London. But the alternative was death, and James could not live with himself if he allowed his selfishness to cause her harm.

  …I have dealt with many gentlemen of nobility. But never, My Lord, have I encountered such an insensitive and pompous child in all of my years!

  The words she had hurled at him during her outburst came to mind. Beatrice was correct. He needed to think of her well being rather than his own selfish desires. “We have an accord, Mr. Bacilli. Please, just save her…”

  For a moment, there was a look of sympathy in the man’s eyes before he climbed the stairs and shut everyone out of the room. The guttural screams that filled the air as his Beatrice was handled by a man he had met only seconds ago crushed what little bit of self-restrained he possessed. Elias had to pin him to the floor to keep him from opening the door and ending Bacilli’s life with his bare hands.

  Lady Knight and Mrs. Buxton were the first allowed into the room as Bacilli took his leave. “Mr. Ripper will expect ‘er in London in three days. Don’t make ‘im come here in person.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ruteledge Estate

  Winchester, England

  Beatrice awakened to the sound of happy birds twittering outside the window. But it was not a happy day. She felt as though she had been run down by a carriage and left for dead. Not since the days of her father’s abuse had Beatrice ever felt so weak. A soft, warm hand pulled her back to reality.

  She cracked open her eyelids enough to see Marina’s beautiful face in the sunlight. Her face was flushed red like she had been crying and her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders. Beatrice attempted to reach out to her, but her arms felt much too heavy. “What…what happened?” she rasped.

  “You were poisoned, Beatrice. We thought we lost you. The Earl was worried sick and a man -well, the important thing is that you are going to live.”

  “James…” her eyes began to feel like sand and her throat felt dry and rubbed raw.

  Marina stood up from the bed and opened the door. An unruly, broken version of her James came into view. Beatrice’s heart ached at the sight of him. Darkness circled his lovely eyes and his cheeks had hollowed. His lips looked cracked and dry. Beatrice was able to lift her hand off the bed slightly.

  James grasped it in his. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked down upon her. Gone was the pity she thought he felt for her. There was only worry and…something else.

  Marina stood across the room; still present, but willing to give them privacy. Beatrice hated that she caused James such sorrow. He did not deserve any more pain, much less the loss of another person he cared for.

  He does not care for you, Beatrice, she reminded herself. If he had, his reaction to her confession of love would have gone much differently. But now, his hands held hers in their warmth. She swam in the depths of his honeyed eyes and imagined what it would be like to see love there.

  “You leave for London this afternoon, Miss Haddington.”

  Beatrice felt his words like a punch to the abdomen. Had she done something wrong? Why did he not call her by name? Did Marina say something? Did Mrs. Buxton? Her mind ran through the many possibilities.

  “James, please,” Beatrice begged. “I do not wish to leave…”

  “It is Lord Ruteledge or My Lord to you, Miss Haddington. I am not giving you the option of staying in my manor any longer. You are not welcome here. William will escort you to London and there will be no further discussion on the matter.”

  And with that, Beatrice finally saw the compassionless Earl everyone had warned her about. The man she had fallen in love with vanished before her eyes. The cracks in her heart grew until nothing but dust remained in the cavity of her chest. Lord Ruteledge released her hand and exited the bedchamber.

  Beatrice hated the ragged breaths and pitiful sobs that wracked her body. Nothing could compare to pain she felt in that moment, not even the poison. The sight of his unforgiving back as he walked through the door was enough to break
her. Marina pulled her into a solid embrace, but it did not help.

  ***

  Two days later, James jumped at the sound of Elias’s furious voice. “You heartless coward!”

  He downed the rest of his bottle of brandy and slumped into the chair behind his desk. The memories of the battle were all but hazy images in back of his mind, now the screams of his beloved replaced them in his nightmares.

  “I had no choice, Elias. She would have died. I did this for her, no matter what you choose to believe. That is the truth.”

  “You could have done more! You could have restrained him or dueled him at the very least. Where is your sense of valor, James? Miss Haddington is the woman you love, not a piece of property for you or her father to barter with.” The Marquess was nowhere near finished with his harangue. “Do you not recall our conversation in the gardens? You just broke the heart of an already damaged young woman!”

  “I know!”

  “Then why are you here? Miss Haddington is half way to London by now and you would rather hide at the bottom of a bottle instead of going after her! You sicken me, James. Your father would be disappointed in your actions.”

  James flipped over his desk, which was no easy thing to do as it was made of solid oak. It had belonged to his father, an antique James inherited after his death. “Get out!”

  “If I cannot sway you, perhaps Lady Knight can inform you of the nightmares your precious Beatrice has endured in the streets of London.” Elias slammed the door behind him; it shook the items on the shelves in the study. Already the world seemed darker and emptier without Beatrice’s light surrounding him.

  Despite what Elias believed, it was not his father who would be disappointed. James still had to face his mother’s wrath and find her a new caretaker. Mrs. Buxton was an extraordinary housekeeper, but she did not possess the skills necessary to watch over his mother.

  In the nights since Beatrice left, James began to notice small things that had changed. There was no longer tea waiting on his bedside table when he woke in the morning hours. He could not sleep without the sound of her voice reading to him, even when she thought he did not know. The scent of her still lingered, but only faintly. It pained him to think of the day when it would be gone forever.

  A soft knock against the door pulled him from his thoughts. Lady Knight entered, her expression unreadable. James looked down in shame. Each of her movements was measured and cautious, but the fire in her eyes was anything but. He had forgotten what it felt like to stand toe to toe with a woman who was not from his world, aside from Beatrice.

  “If you are going to save my best friend and love her in the way she deserves to be loved, the drinking, My Lord, must end here,” Lady Knight demanded. “While I am willing to tell you what Beatrice would never have the heart to say, I am entirely unwilling to allow you to harm her anymore.”

  “I never wanted-”

  Lady Knight grabbed the decanters and tossed the many types of liquor into the fire, ignoring his words. “Beatrice Ann Haddington was raised by an drunken, abusive cow with a heart blacker than the night sky. The scars you noticed in the stables were caused by his fits of rage, My Lord.”

  James felt his stomach roil. Nausea fluttered in his gut as Lady Knight described the horrors she endured.

  “Imagine being a frightened, beaten, young girl forced to live alone for months without food or basic human necessities. Imagine watching your mother die while fearing your father would blame you for it. Imagine being stuck at sea with the man of your nightmares and the crew who serves him, alone and powerless,” Lady Knight sobbed. “Josiah Haddington is a cruel man who lied to Beatrice at every turn. He gambled away their earnings and…just know that Mr. Ripper is not the only London crime lord he attempted to sell Beatrice to.”

  “What do you know about the debt her father owes to Mr. Ripper?” James asked. He needed to save Beatrice before her father’s mistakes…no, before his mistakes hurt her again. James had no one else to blame. Reaching into the drawer of the turned over desk, he pulled out the necklace he had never had the chance to give her.

  “Forgive me, but I was never involved much in the London underground. My focus was on Beatrice’s safety and that was all. She was my only concern.”

  “Do you know where I could find her father?”

  Lady Knight chuckled bitterly. “He is away at sea.”

  Of course he was…“Where did they live in London?”

  “Beatrice never showed me. She did not want me to see just how bad things were and I was in no better position, so I respected her privacy. It must be near the port, though. If you have trouble finding her, look for any woman wearing a raven feather in their hats. The infamous leagues of lady assassins are rumored to work for Mr. Ripper. I suspect Lady Dunn was part of the mysterious flock known as the Ravens.”

  The report from Lady Knight kicked James into action.

  ***

  Mr. Ripper wiped the blood from his hands onto a silk handkerchief and tossed it to the floor. He stood over the laughing figure of Lady Dunn, while she was chained to the floor, and her husband stood to the side. Lord Dunn had been forced to watch his wife’s interrogation for several hours.

  The men along the walls looked sickened by the display of violence that had unraveled in the cellar of Mr. Ripper’s fortress that was well hidden in London. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the thick smoke from his cigar and puffed the fumes from his nostrils. Mr. Ripper looked like the monsters of legend.

  His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and the artfully tailored suit clung to his sculpted body like a second skin. Although his hip was disjointed, his flesh was scarred, and his brutality was nothing to admire, it was evident that Levi Harcourt Ripper, former Earl of Rochester, was a handsome man at one time.

  The betrayal of his eldest brother had been the cause of his fall from grace. Three years at the gallows, tortured beyond recognition before his inevitable hanging, had been the greatest lesson in life. He could trust no one. London was an unforgiving lady, but he had tamed her with sheer force and cunning.

  Mr. Ripper had climbed the ranks much faster than any of the other criminals in his city; they all had small dreams while he held fast to pioneering ambitious. Taking control of all of London’s illegal imports from across the Atlantic had been as simple as giving Josiah Haddington a taste of power.

  Now, he stood above one of the best Ravens in England. She was half mad with the pain he inflicted. Sure, the Mothers taught their fledglings how to withstand an interrogation.

  But he was the King of the London Lords of Crime and they had not prepared Lady Dunn for his wrath. She would pay for harming his intended wife.

  “If you believe…that I am…finished…with you, there…is a lesson…to be…learned today, Lady Dunn.”

  “You should have heard her screaming while we rode into the sunrise. She belted out for a man that was not you!”

  Behind him, Mr. Ripper heard the gurgling of Lord Dunn as Bacilli held his head in a barrel of frigid water. Lady Dunn looked over to her struggling husband and shivered with fear. The Ravens should learn not to get their hearts tangled in the web of spiders that truly ran the underground.

  “Start…the clock…for three…hours,” Mr. Ripper ordered one of his men. “I will poison her…with her own…concoctions. If…she screams, cut off…a finger.”

  Lady Dunn began to fight against the chains that held her to the ground. Mr. Ripper limped over and fisted his hand in her hair before forced the vile of green liquid down her throat. She wiggled and jostled beneath his clutches, but his grip was relentless. When she stopped struggling and passed out from terror, Mr. Ripper ascended the stairs.

  Slowly, he climbed, breathing through the pain that rippled through his body. When he arrived in the foyer, he plopped down into a large chair near the window. The cellar was closed and the pained shouts were once again silenced. A carriage pulled to a stop just outside the door.

  A tall gentleman lifted
a delicate figure into his arms and carried her to the door. Mr. Ripper smiled to himself. His bride had arrived to her new home. He looked around and wondered what changes would come with a lady to tend to the household.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fortress of The London Lords of Crime

  London, England

  “Please, William. Do not leave me here.” Beatrice sat on the corner of the large bed that was covered in ebony silk. Her eyes pleaded with her friend to take her somewhere far away. London had never brought her anything but pain. And when she had been carried to the room, led by the scarred man from her trip with Lady Ruteledge, Beatrice had lost all courage.

  She did not know why she was here, but part of her wondered if her father had anything to do with it. Josiah Haddington had a talent for attracting the unsavory sort of folk who dwelled in London’s underground. From the outside, the building had looked like any other hovel near the river. But once William had carried her across the threshold, she noticed metal reinforced walls.

  Bars were on all of the windows, and heavy locks graced all of the doors. But the entire home, or what she had been privy to see, was exquisitely decorated. Lovely, handmade draperies were all that concealed the barred windows. Elegant rugs covered the floors, and candelabras caused light to dance through the rooms. The scent of chocolates and orange blossom filled the air. It was nothing like Beatrice could have expected.

  Her assigned room was called, “The Queen’s Quarters”. But she did not know what that meant. The man with the scars had yet to speak since her arrival.

  Everything in the bedchamber was colored in dark hues of purple, blue, and red. Only gilded embroidery lined the fine fabrics. It was stunning. The bed alone must have cost the man a fortune. Beatrice did take notice that the interior of the scarred man’s home was much larger than it appeared.

  Beatrice glanced about, waiting for William to look at her. Still, he refused. Once the man with the scars paid him a shilling or two, he dashed from the house without a glance over his shoulder. Beatrice reacted to the gentleman’s presence like a canary being stalked by a cat. He kept a respectable distance, but the blood on the cuff of his sleeve and the malicious vitality that encircled him was anything but respectable.