Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters

by Reed, Kristabel

  “Tomorrow,” Lockwood said, calmer now — cold and calm.

  “Then do as Mr. Denley says. Find your friends,” she sneered, “and take care of them. Or do you not value your own neck?”

  “I’ll still need coin ta find these friends,” Lockwood said.

  Eleanor’s face flushed unattractively. She disappeared from Edmund’s sight and he heard her skirts swish along the floor, the opening of a chest, and the clinking of several coins.

  “Do not return,” Eleanor spat.

  Edmund jerked when Trent moved beside him. “I’ve heard enough,” he said in barely a whisper.

  Nodding, though it was too dark for Trent to see the movement, he walked with controlled movements to the door. Uncaring who saw now, he wrenched it open. For an almost comical moment, the three conspirators froze.

  “What is this?” Eleanor demanded. Her eyes widened when she saw Edmund and recognized him.

  Before Trent could say a word, she rounded the desk. She reached for a drawer, but Trent pulled out his own pistol, forestalling any escape she could make.

  “I can give you money,” she promised, her gaze solely on Trent. “Just let us leave.”

  “The only place you’re headed is to the noose,” Edmund promised.

  Lockwood, closer to the door, turned and ran.

  Edmund leaped at the taller, broader man, and they crashed to the floor. Edmund heard Hamilton call for Hawkhurst and Bromley, as he fought Lockwood. But Lockwood didn’t go down easy; the man was big. Edmund was determined that none of them were leaving this office of their own will.

  Not tonight.

  Edmund dodged a punch, then another, and before Lockwood could swing again, he landed several of his own. He managed to get the upper hand, or thought he had, when Hawkhurst landed his own punch.

  It took the two of them to keep Lockwood still as Trent instructed Hamilton and Bromley to escort Eleanor and Denley out of the office and to the waiting carriage.

  His breath came in short bursts of pain, but Edmund barely noticed it.

  It was over.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Guilty.”

  Edmund breathed a sigh of relief, the first complete breath he’d taken since Selina disappeared. His next breath once again felt like knives along his lungs, but it was a step. Another step in clearing the path for Selina’s return.

  And the very serious discussion he planned on having with her regarding her fleeing in the middle of the night.

  He missed her. A constant ache never left him but had grown in the months she’d been missing. He barely slept, rarely ate. Lost himself in drink all too often. Edmund wanted nothing more than to find her. To hold her, just hold her. Breathe in her scent and see her smile and never, ever let her out of his sight again.

  In the silence between the jury’s verdict and the judge handing down the sentence, he looked across the courtroom to where Eleanor Ashworth stood in the box, pale and shocked, tears falling in great sobs of desperation.

  He had no sympathy for her, as she had none for Selina or Arthur.

  Lockwood and Denley had already been found guilty of murdering Clayton Ashworth. Denley had a whole host of additional charges against him that had only added to the heavy burden of guilt. The charges against Eleanor were equally long, and Edmund felt no remorse.

  No remorse for any of it. Only vindication on Author’s part. And Selina’s. A vindication he’d give nearly anything to have come sooner.

  Hawkhurst had been instrumental in navigating the court system and in ensuring the maximum charges were brought against the three. Edmund would forever be in the other man’s debt. Hawkhurst sat beside the judge, an untouched goblet of wine before him as he, too, carefully watched the proceedings.

  Beside him, Octavia gripped his hand. She’d only recently returned from Strathmore Hall and Strathmore and Isabella’s heir, Oliver Jonathan Alexander, the Earl of Glenmoore. Edmund was grateful for her presence. He tore his gaze from the judge and glanced at her. She glared down to where Hawkhurst sat, her fingers jerking in his grip.

  Not for the first time he wondered at her reaction to the earl. Every time Hawkhurst entered the room or spoke, Octavia’s icy glare should’ve been enough to freeze the other man where he stood. Her reaction to the earl made no sense — as far as Edmund knew, Octavia and Hawkhurst had no social interaction and other than this trial, no contact whatsoever. But she refused to elaborate.

  Hamilton, on her other side, shifted and snapped Edmund’s attention back to the judge.

  “To be executed. Hanged by the neck until dead some two days’ hence.”

  The black cloth dropped over the judge’s wig as he passed sentence. Edmund barely heard Eleanor’s wail as the judge spoke.

  Satisfaction moved through him, but it was momentary, there and gone in a heartbeat. He’d seen justice delivered, but it was far, far too late for Arthur.

  “I’ll make sure every paper in the kingdom runs the story,” Hamilton promised as he stood.

  Edmund turned to his friend, the man who had bribed, threatened, and cajoled on his behalf. He nodded to Hamilton and watched him leave to see word of this trial — and its verdict — spread as far as the reaches of the Empire.

  He’d never be able to repay Hamilton for all he’d done for him and Selina.

  He’d never be able to repay any of them for standing by him, for the help they’d given so freely.

  Now that the true murderers had been found and sentenced, Hawkhurst promised to secure Arthur Lyndell’s exoneration. He also promised an apology from the Crown for the grave injustice committed against an innocent man.

  Edmund once more looked around the courtroom, as if Selina had been watching the entire time. He knew it was unrealistic, but that seed of hope refused to die. Now, with Bromley’s help, and with Eleanor and Denley convicted, Edmund nourished that seed.

  He would find Selina.

  Edmund turned to Bromley. “Thank you,” he said and shook the man’s hand. “For everything.”

  “I hope you find her, my lord,” Bromley replied and nodded once before leaving.

  “Let’s go home, Edmund,” Octavia said softly. She smiled up at him, a small, sad smile, and tugged his arm.

  Perhaps she, too, searched for Selina in the crowded Old Bailey.

  “She wouldn’t come here,” Octavia added.

  Nodding, he guided her through the crowds to their waiting carriage. But not before he noticed one final glare Octavia leveled in Hawkhurst’s direction. Handing her inside, Edmund closed the door on the noise from the streets and settled in, just the two of them.

  “Selina will hear of this,” Octavia promised. “She will — Hamilton promised every paper in the kingdom will carry the story.”

  She leaned across the carriage and squeezed his hand. “What you’ve done shows her, and the world, how much you love her. I can’t imagine she won’t return now.”

  Edmund managed a tight nod. His lungs once again felt as if he breathed through knives, and his heart pounded in foolish anticipation that Selina waited for him at home. Logically he knew she wouldn’t be, but he hoped, oh he hoped, she did wait for him.

  “Thank you,” he said and swallowed against the emotion clogging his throat.

  “For what?” Octavia asked, her voice soft in the carriage.

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “For everything.”

  Settling back on the bench, he watched her in the comfortable silence. His mind jumped from Selina to the trial to Octavia and Hawkhurst. Eyeing his sister, he briefly wondered if now was the time to mention anything, but he jumped right in.

  After all that had happened in the last months, Edmund promised himself he’d never wait again.

  “I noticed, while we were at the Old Bailey,” he started slowly, “the look you gave to Hawkhurst.”

  Octavia looked at him, that cool disinterest he’d seen her give so many potential suitors, masking her emotions. “I’ve no interest in the ma
n.”

  Edmund resisted a snort of disbelief and raised an eyebrow. “By the glares you gave him, I gathered not,” he acknowledged. “They weren’t exactly friendly.”

  She let out a long sigh and looked out the window for several moments. “The man is full of himself,” she snapped. Then she turned and smiled again. “But I am pleased his legal connections have been of service to you.”

  Octavia grinned now and waved any mention of Hawkhurst away without answering his questions, implied or not. “But let’s not talk about him,” she insisted.

  “Has Hawkhurst slighted you in some way?” Edmund demanded. “Or has he injured you?”

  Despite Hawkhurst’s help these last weeks, especially with the trial and rule of law, Edmund would call him out if he’d hurt Octavia.

  “No,” she said quickly, sincerely. “No, Edmund,” she added in a softer voice. Her smile was sad and she shook her head. “Nothing of import transpired between Lord Hawkhurst and myself.”

  “Nothing of import?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing on his sister. He’d never known her to be so evasive. Octavia always spoke what was on her mind. Always, whether it was polite to do so or not. “So something has transpired?”

  Octavia hesitated, and he watched her carefully. Edmund leaned forward and waited.

  “Nothing,” she said haltingly, “has transpired that is apparently memorable.”

  Edmund frowned. He didn’t like her phrasing one bit. But Octavia offered a light laugh and patted his hand.

  “Don’t concern yourself with this,” she said in clear dismissal. “It’s simply a girlish whim.”

  “Be careful of your girlish whims,” he warned. “It could damage a man’s reputation.”

  The scowl Octavia gave him, though brief, shocked Edmund. It wasn’t an annoyed look over his warning. It was angry. Furious. But then her face smoothed back into that disinterested mask she wore at parties and balls, and she nodded. Once. Curtly.

  “And we’re home,” Octavia said, once more dismissing the conversation.

  Torn, Edmund dropped it for the moment. He’d never known Octavia to be so cutting over another. And what girlish whims did she mean? Octavia wasn’t the girlish sort, unless he knew his sister far less than he’d always believed.

  But the carriage pulled up to the townhouse, and they exited.

  Once more anticipation made his heart pound, though Edmund knew deep in his soul Selina was not waiting for him to open the door. He swallowed his disappointment as the butler took their things.

  “I’m going to rest,” Octavia said and kissed him on the cheek. “Edmund… ” She trailed off and kissed his cheek again. “She’ll come home.”

  He nodded and watched her walk upstairs. He didn’t for one moment believe the day and trial tired her. Octavia’s energy knew no bounds, and she often outlasted the hardiest of revelers at whatever ball or party they attended.

  There was something more to her obvious dislike of Hawkhurst. More she didn’t wish to speak of, or wish him to know.

  With one final glance up the stairs, Edmund returned to his study. It took him the entire walk down the hallway before he realized it was relief he felt. Relief this was over.

  Edmund called for a late lunch, but even as he embraced the relief, he felt that same simmering anger at Selina. She’d left. She’d left him. Rather than staying, rather than facing things together, she’d chosen to run.

  He scowled at the tumbler of whisky he’d poured and set it down, untouched. The maid brought in the luncheon tray and quickly left. The household staff was still terrified of him, after the months of angry outbursts and drink-fueled rage that had consumed him.

  But still that hope remained. Edmund was under no illusion that once she returned — or he found her — that things between them would be as they had been. It didn’t matter, and he’d work through anything they had to.

  He simply wanted the chance to do so. To hold her and to argue with her. Yell and fight and make up, as long as she was back in his arms.

  He needed her back. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her until she’d left. He loved her, he wanted her, but until the murder and trial, Edmund hadn’t known how he needed Selina to remain sane. Simply hearing her voice again would calm him, remove the anger he felt. The frustration.

  With a deep breath, he broke a chunk of bread and slowly chewed it. Taking a sheet of paper, he stared at it for several long moments as he absently ate through his lunch. He started by congratulating Strathmore and Isabella on the birth of their first child, Oliver.

  Adding his solicitations for Isabella’s health, Edmund told Strathmore of the trial and outcome.

  “With Arthur Lyndell’s exoneration, I hope Selina returns. If she chooses to travel to Strathmore Hall first, as an intermediary stop, I hope you inform me at your first convenience.”

  Edmund quickly sealed the letter and addressed it. Outside the late spring day shone brightly down. Trees were in bloom and the gardens a riot of color and fragrance. Selina would love it there, sitting on a bench in the garden, just the pair of them.

  Calling for a footman, Edmund ordered the man to Strathmore Hall just as Hamilton and Hawkhurst were announced.

  He’d find her. After all this time, now that the true perpetrators of Clayton Ashworth’s murder received their justice, now that the gossipmongers wagged their tongues over the injustice committed upon Arthur Lyndell, Edmund knew he would find her. No matter how long it took or where he needed to travel, he’d find Selina.

  He loved her and if there was anything these last months taught him, it was that that love was real.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Three weeks. In that time he’d moved into Selina’s townhouse, rehired the majority of her servants, promised Octavia daily he was perfectly fine, and continued his search for Selina.

  Thus far, all he’d managed was to wade through the ever-increasing pile of correspondence from those who’d once slandered Selina, Arthur, and him; now they offered apologies for their words. Some were heartfelt letters of contrite regrets. A small few were from Selina’s friends who hoped she’d returned to London. Some were clearly sent because it was the proper thing to do.

  Edmund cared for none of them.

  He answered several from some of the more sincere writers, for lack of anything else to do. He left the letters from Selina’s friends for her to respond to — those friends who hadn’t stood by her as they should’ve while the trial progressed were her business.

  Three weeks wasn’t a long time to wait. Not compared to the months he had waited. Still, Edmund found himself pacing the townhouse at all hours of the night.

  He didn’t sleep well, falling into bed only as the sun rose and his body literally refused to stay awake a moment longer. He ate when a maid placed a tray before him or Octavia turned her glare to him, but tasted nothing.

  Edmund once more hired Bromley and sent him to look for Selina in Scotland, her last known address. He’d also written a glowing recommendation for the investigator; he’d never want for work again.

  Now, as another day drew to a close, he stepped outside into the small garden and breathed deeply.

  Useless. He was utterly useless.

  He couldn’t find Selina on his own, didn’t know where to begin. Edmund had spoken with each one of her friends, despite their lack of loyalty for her during the trial. No one had heard from her or knew where she might’ve gone.

  Jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists, he swept a potted flower off the ledge in impotent rage. It shattered to the flagstones. Edmund stared at it for several long beats, but still that rage hammered through him.

  With an inarticulate growl, he scrubbed his hands over his face. What more could he do? What more was there to do?

  True to his word, Hamilton had seen that every newspaper in the kingdom ran the story of Arthur’s exoneration. Edmund had seen every French and Portuguese newspaper also ran the story, just in case she traveled there. He’d scoure
d her favorite places, though he knew that to be useless.

  She wasn’t in London.

  Worse still, she hid from him. Part of Edmund, a blackness that scrapped along his very soul, wondered if he shouldn’t let Selina be. Clearly she didn’t wish to be found. Just as obviously, she didn’t want any contact with him.

  And in the dark of night, in his loneliest times, Edmund wondered if he needed to simply let her go.

  But then he remembered her smile. Heard her laugh. Woke to the phantom feel of her body pressed to his and the memory of her taste on his tongue.

  He couldn’t give up. He’d done so once, allowing his own sorrow and too much drink to cloud his purpose. Never again. The instant he heard from Bromley, or one of Bromley’s associates, that they’d located her, Edmund was ready to leave.

  Turning sharply on his heel he left the garden and the shattered pot, and stalked into the house. He couldn’t stay here, not tonight, not a moment more.

  Edmund grabbed his hat, cane, and gloves, made sure the servants knew not to expect him that evening, and stalked across the foyer. He didn’t see it at first, lost in his own thoughts, but the front door eased open.

  He crossed the remaining steps in two long strides and yanked the door open. Annabelle Barton, Selina’s cousin, stood there, her eyes wide and mouth open in stunned shock.

  “Lord Granville!” she managed.

  Moving on instinct, Edmund pulled Annabelle into the foyer, barely looking at her. He scanned the area outside, looking for Selina. But the doorway remained empty.

  “She’s not with me,” Annabelle said quietly, as if afraid to add to his disappointment.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice low and harsh and angry. Yes, angry. “Why hasn’t she returned? Does she not know her father has been found innocent? There’s no further reason for her to stay away.”

  Annabelle lowered her gaze to the marble floor and nodded. “She knows,” she whispered. Looking up she said stronger, “And she is very grateful. But… ” Annabelle trailed off and shook her head. “She doesn’t wish to return.”

  Edmund stared at her, the words foreign. Suddenly they hit him, another knife in his chest, sharp and dangerous. “Why? Has something happened to her?” His voice was insistent, his panic overriding all else.