The Earl's Envy (Scandalous Nobility Book 2)

by Madeline St. James

  “Where am I?”

  “Home,” the man snarled.

  “What is your name?”

  “…Ripper.”

  She scrunched her brow in confusion, knowing she had heard his name once before. “And your title, sire?”

  “King.”

  King? Surely he was not serious. Was she dealing with a madman?

  He chuckled at her wide eyes and dazed expression; the sound was raspy and hollow. “Levi…Harcourt Ripper, former Earl of Rochester…at your service…”

  Former Earl of Rochester? “A-and now?” she faltered.

  “Mr. Ripper…. King of the…London Lords…of Crime…”

  Nothing could have prepared Beatrice for that reply. She would have suspected him of lying, although his expression was anything but playful. Mr. Ripper was not only a criminal, but also the King of London’s most ruthless factions. The reality of her new life caused a shiver to course down her spine.

  “And this is your home?” she asked, gesturing with her hand. “Hidden in plain sight and yet so formidable in nature.”

  “The…fortress…is now your…home, Beatrice.”

  She did not want to know how he knew her name. Beatrice just wanted to disappear into nothing so that the world could not victimize her any longer. Though she did not wish to show weakness in front of Mr. Ripper, lest it be used against her later, Beatrice sniffled quietly.

  “Lady…Dunn is here. She will not…bring you…harm, I assure you. But…I must…warn you…that she will…pay for the…pain you have…endured at her hands.”

  Beatrice was under no misconceptions of affection; she knew a man like Mr. Ripper would not protect her without some form of payment. Thoughts of exactly what Lady Dunn would and could possibly endure at his hands caused her stomach to twist in revulsion. “Why am I here?”

  He attempted to answer, but was thrown into a fit of painful coughs. Beatrice winced sympathetically. And although it hurt her move so soon after the poison was out of her system, she pulled the vanity stool out and motioned for him to sit. Mr. Ripper’s eyes met hers for the first time and she smiled to show him that her actions were not out of charity or pity.

  She had felt genuine concern for the stranger covered in blood. When seated, he answered, “Your…father…promised.”

  ***

  James sat in the carriage beside Elias. His friend had barely spoken to him since Beatrice’s departure from the estate, but James was grateful when he agreed to come along to meet with the captain of the Lady’s Rake. The silence was agonizing. “If you have something on your mind, Elias-”

  “Oh, I have plenty to say to you James. None of which you would be happy to hear,” Elias retorted.

  “Then perhaps I should hear them.”

  “Your staff has seen you watch over her as she cares for your mother, and yet you act as though she means nothing. I, myself, have witnessed you lose all semblance of self-restraint at the slightest provocation since Lady Knight introduced the two of you. I have heard your poetic musings on the color of her eyes only to watch as you frighten her away the instant she comes within sight,” explained Elias. “Before Miss Haddington’s arrival you were difficult at best. But now everyone avoids breathing in your presence not knowing how you will react. I cannot imagine how she felt and I have known you my entire life. The drinking…”

  “It has stopped.” James looked into Elias’s eyes with utmost sincerity. He knew his consumption of the gentleman’s drink had gotten well out of hand in the previous months.

  “Has it? Because if you do this – if you approach her father and fight for her honor, then you can never pick up a decanter again. No more wines, no more ales, no more brandy, nothing. Miss Haddington’s life has been determined by the actions of others for far too long. Now, you must give her something she has never had before.”

  James eyed Elias suspiciously. “And that would be?”

  “A choice.”

  The two noblemen exited the carriage as William opened the door. James adjusted his had hat and strolled along the Port of London until he and Elias came to a stop beside a man who had the same eyes as his Beatrice. “Mr. Josiah Haddington?”

  “Aye, who be askin’?”

  “I am Lord James Ruteledge, Earl of Winchester. My companion is Lord Elias Turner, Marquess of Northampton,” James said as casually as he could muster. All he wanted to do was throw the man into the icy river by his throat. Now that he stood face to face with the root of Beatrice’s pain, he saw red bleed into his vision and erase all logic.

  Until he felt Elias’s hand on the center of his chest, holding him in place and avoiding a public scandal. James closed his eyes and counted silently.

  “Mornin’, My Lords. What can I do for ya’?”

  Elias spoke in his stead. “Would you be so kind as to please accompany us into the carriage, Mr. Haddington? We wish to speak with you in private.”

  Josiah eyed the tall servant that stood beside the Earl before he noticed how both of the noblemen themselves were not helpless. James Ruteledge and Elias Turner were nothing like the lords of aristocracy a man like Josiah would have crossed paths with. Whereas James eluded military intelligence, Elias had a quiet patience that bespoke a man who was calculated in his actions.

  The look in James’s eyes did not leave room for argument as Josiah was smoothly maneuvered into the carriage. His legs began to bounce nervously. James and Elias shared a look before turning their attention to the coward before them.

  Again, James allowed Elias to speak so he was not forced to waste his breath on a man who was lucky to still be alive. Elias did not procrastinate, he was an honest man who liked to approach things head on and deal with the consequences when they came. “Your daughter was poisoned by a Raven. Your associate, Mr. Ripper, sent the antidote in exchange for her return to London. We were able to track down the flock, but the trail went cold near Whitechapel.”

  “B-Beatrice? What-”

  “It would be best if you did not speak until Lord Turner has indicated that he has concluded his end of the conversation, Mr. Haddington,” James groused.

  “Thank you, Lord Ruteledge.” Elias smirked devilishly at James for a moment. “We suspect that Mr. Ripper himself has played a role in the sudden disappearance of the renowned assassins – not that they were ever easy to find, mind you. But not one remains in London as we speak. They are in hiding. And unless you cooperate with us, your daughter will remain in the hands of the King of the London Lords of Crime.”

  James snorted at the audacity.

  “If you agree to aid in the release of Miss Haddington, forfeit your ship’s cargo, and confess to your numerous crimes to the authorities, then we may be inclined to speak on your behalf when you are summoned for judgment. Do not think that we are ignorant to the role you have played in your daughter’s suffering.” Elias clicked his tongue against his teeth in a sign of irritation.

  “It is only my friendship with Lord Ruteledge that keeps him in check now. He cares not for my title of superiority nor does he care of the downfall your death would bring. He is a soldier at his very core. And he would risk it all to save her.”

  When Elias nodded his head, Josiah began to rattle off at the mouth. He spewed nothing but excuses. “I swear it, My Lords. Me heart was in the right place! Only wanted to see ‘er happy. I never wanted to hurt me daughter! Love Beatrice!”

  James shoved himself at the older man, gripping him by the collar of his sweat-soaked shirt. “I love her! What you feel is not love! Since the moment she was born, you have done nothing but cause her misery!” He calmed a bit, but not enough. Elias looked fearful at the sudden outburst, though he remained seated, keeping his eyes sharp in case James did something they would both pay for in the end.

  “No matter how much she cares about you, there will be no place for you in her life once I have her back where she belongs. You will never see Beatrice again, and you will pay for your crimes. Perhaps not with your life, as that would
only upset her, but I want you to know that I will be make sure that you are charged with treason when this is over. And your King will soon follow!”

  James slumped back into his seat. His knuckles ached with the force of his fists clenching against the bench. Elias cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the roof to push things into motion. William instructed the driver to where he had taken Beatrice upon Bacilli’s direction.

  The outside of the refuge looked rundown and shabby; grunge covered every surface. There were bars on the windows and brick lining the walkways. Three exquisitely dressed gentlemen stood outside of the front door, they visibly stiffened when the carriage stopped. Elias, James, William, and Josiah stood in a line staring up at the tall building that looked longer than it did wide. James had the impression that the exterior was misleading and the depth of the house beneath the ground was where the true size would be revealed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fortress of The London Lords of Crime

  London, England

  Beatrice tiptoed down the horseshoe staircase and rounded the corner. She followed Mr. Ripper through an iron door and down a second staircase that spiraled downward for several stories. The lower they stepped, the darker the world got and the sounds of screams could be heard.

  It was cold so far beneath the ground. The ceiling dripped an ominous liquid and the smell of rusted metal swirled about. She gagged when the coppery, metallic tang of blood hit her like a brick wall. Shivers ghosted upon her flesh, causing chill bumps to appear and the hair on her arms to rise. Beatrice swallowed thickly and breathed through her mouth.

  Two of Mr. Ripper’s men stood guard outside of another iron door. They pulled it open when he came near before they dropped to their knees, waiting for him to pass. Beatrice scowled in confusion, but followed anyway. She was both terrified and intrigued to see what she would find beyond the doorway.

  Lady Dunn had been lowered to nothing more than a crumpled, bloodied, figure shivering on the floor. Several of her fingers were missing. Her face was bruised and barely recognizable from the swelling. Several other women were in the holding area as well. Two were chained up along with Lady Dunn, but there were four who circled the others.

  Beatrice took note of the women who stood. They wore all black attired, tightly corseted, slim-fitted gowns with barely an inch of skin revealed. Each woman was beautiful in an otherworldly sense. There was no cruelty on their faces, but the blood trickling from their gloved fingers told a different tale. They wore elegant hats with black feathers and a jeweled bird charm that dangled about at the close of their high-neck gowns.

  It was a style borrowed from an age that had since long passed, but was striking nevertheless. The woman Beatrice had suspected was the leader stepped toward her. She bowed at the waist, shocking Beatrice momentarily. “Simonetta Bacilli,” introduced the woman. “I am one of the Mothers, a pioneer of the Order of The Ravens. We are delighted to meet you.”

  “M-me? Why would you want to meet me?”

  “As Queen, my dear, it would only be appropriate for you to lead the flock. I and the other Mothers would accept you within our ranks as a leader. Lady Pricilla Dunn has already consented,” Mother Simonetta said. “You see, we did not permit her to harm you. That is why she was punished.”

  “What does this have to do with my father?”

  “Your father made a deal with our king, but he did not uphold his end of the bargain. He continued to embezzle funds from the operation and even went as far as to withhold cargo and profit from those who supported him,” she explained. “But our king sees all. When he confronted Josiah, your father offered you as payment for his debt if he was unable to pay by your twentieth birthday. In all rights, you have belonged to our King for one week.”

  “Do I not get a say in the matter?” Beatrice was tired of her own destiny being determined by others.

  “You never had a say, my dear. Your father took away your right to choose when you were only a girl. The deal was made not long after his attempt to betray Mr. White.”

  Beatrice now remembered the night so many years ago. She had been introduced to four gentlemen, unaware that they were the London Lords of Crime. Mr. Ripper, Mr. White, Mr. Delaney, and Mr. Bacilli were offered her hand in marriage in exchange for the forgiveness of her father’s debt. She cried endlessly that night, thinking she had only ever been a piece of property. And she had been correct.

  Her father stumbled around the foyer, empty aside from four chairs that sat in a row. He paced as well as the liquor in his blood would allow. Beatrice stayed in the shadows, fearful of what her father may do if she were to make a sound.

  “Ya’ must do this for me, Honey Bee. Do ya’ no want yer father to be safe? These are bad men who want to do ya’ papa harm, ya’ hear? Be a good girl and do as I say.”

  Beatrice hated the sound of her mother’s nickname falling from his slurring mouth. She detested him even at her tender age. The cuts and bruises down her back served as a reminder that although he was her father, he did not care for her.

  She watched the four gentlemen enter her home, larger than life and more vicious than she cold have ever known then. Her entire body trembled as Beatrice attempted to shelter herself further into the darkness. But a handsome man smiled kindly at her and offered her his hand. “Come, young bride.”

  The smile disappeared when he noticed the welts that began to rise on her arms and her turned to glare at her father. Beatrice felt satisfaction at knowing someone else hated Josiah Haddington as much as she. The evening was filled with arguments and barks of laughter, but she shut most of it out.

  Beatrice turned to face Mr. Ripper, knowing he was the kind man from that evening. The one who sat beside her on the floor instead of in one of the chairs and ignored her father’s desperate attempts to sway them. He had been the one who agreed to protect her until he felt she was old enough to marry. In truth, even the younger, unscarred version of Mr. Ripper had cared for her more than her own father.

  She looked deeply into his sorrowful eyes and knew that if he had not been taken to the gallows soon after that night, Beatrice would never have lived through the horrors of her youth. The Mr. Ripper she knew as a girl would have saved her from her father’s anger and given her food to eat. Tears fell to her cheeks as she brushed his face with her palm.

  He flinched away from her touch and shuddered slightly.

  “I remember you,” Beatrice whispered.

  She saw the disbelief register on his face before he moved away and limped from the room. Beatrice wanted to follow him and thank him for that one happy memory, but she knew he would only reject her acknowledgments. And although that night had been a shimmer of hope in the center of bleak days, Beatrice understood that it had been that night that nearly caused her death at the hands of Lady Dunn.

  Every decision her father had made leading up to that night and every day after had sealed her fate. Mother Simonetta implied that she was, by all gravity of the word, engaged to Mr. Ripper. He was not the man he had been all those years ago, but she refused to believe that he was entirely evil. If he truly cared for her, then he would understand.

  Beatrice had to convince him that she deserved to be happy and that her happiness would only be found in the arms of her truly beloved. She yearned for the right to love James.

  ***

  Mr. Ripper slammed the door to his bedchamber and drank the medicinal remedy he purchased from one of the doctors that worked for the Order of The Ravens. He should be reluctant to accept and consume the healing works of someone who specialized in deadly poisons and antidotes, but it was the only thing that eased his pain. I remember you…

  Her voice had been the sweetest sound to echo through that hall of nightmares. The softness of her hand against his jaw had been his undoing. Mr. Ripper tore off the coat, trying to rid his body of the crimson stained fabric. His waistcoat and shirt followed, leaving him in his trousers and tall boots.

  Shame darkened his cheek
s as he looked at the scars that covered his muscled torso and half of his face. He too thought back to that night when he had been promised Beatrice Haddington’s hand in marriage, only to be arrested soon after. Part of him wished that he had died at the gallows, but the other half looked forward to a life at her side.

  His betrothed had been scarred long before he succumbed to the tortures of his punishment. Nearly ten years had passed between then and now. Mr. Ripper could only imagine the suffering she endured in his absence. He was many things – merciless, brutal, guilty, and perhaps pathetic, but he was not heartless.

  No. Not since the day he met Beatrice Haddington. While it may not be love between them, he cared for her. He knew that he could never allow the soil from his world the taint the purity of her heart and the virtue of her soul. He would die to preserve what light still lingered in her scarred, fragmented existence. Even if that meant he could not keep her for himself.

  ***

  The three guards escorted James and the others into the foyer. They entered the room in time to see Beatrice herself walking down the hall. Her eyes cast to the floor when she saw him. James wanted to remove that look of uncertainty from her eyes, but now was not the time.

  He took a seat as instructed and waited to be introduced to their leader. A man with a cane limped down from the main staircase that rivaled his own back at the manor; long hair fell over the side of the man’s face. To James’s surprise, Beatrice darted toward the unknown gentleman.

  James looked away momentarily as she helped to straighten and tuck in the man’s shirt before buttoning his waistcoat and adjusting the cravat at his neck. The familiarity of her actions caused every male in the room to look away with either longing or mortification. For James, it was a combination of the two. She brushed away the man’s hair and helped secure the hat atop his head, making him presentable to the room.