Returning to the present, she glanced back to Niall with a frown.
“Where are we?”
Inclining his head, he gestured toward the buildings surrounding them. “These buildings are flats rented by those who cannae afford townhouses, or do not wish to shoulder the expense of rentin’ one durin’ the Season.”
Turning back to study the windows facing the street, she found candlelight burning through several of them. Shadows moved around inside—people going about their lives, oblivious to all else.
“This is where my family lives now.”
“Aye,” Niall confirmed. “The Master supposed ye’d wish to return to them.”
Why would Adam assume such? Did he not realize she was disgusted with what they had done?
But then, he must know until she could deposit her bank draft, she would not have the funds to find a room at an inn. As well, he would surely realize she would wish to confront them about what she knew … what they’d hidden from her.
“Well, then,” she said, parroting the butler. “Do you happen to know which flat?”
“Third level,” he replied. “Second door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
With that, she left the carriage, carrying only a sack filled with the clothing she had worn to Dunnottar. Her horse, she’d left behind upon realizing she would have no place to keep him in London. She could only hope Adam would see him cared for.
Daphne did not look back to watch the carriage drive away with Niall, focusing upon the entrance to the unimposing building. It did not strike her as being a den of poverty, and while it was not the loftiest of addresses, nor was it situated in London’s slums. Still, it was a far cry from the opulent townhome she had resided in since coming to the city for her first Season.
Due to the late hour, she found the corridors of the place empty, for which she was grateful. Making her way to the third level, she located the flat Niall had spoken of and rapped upon the door. Voices and movement came from the other side, and a moment later, she found herself confronted with the familiar face of Ruthers, her father’s valet.
These days, he seemed to work as a servant in many capacities, which included answering the door.
“Lady Daphne!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he took her in from head to toe.
She realized she must look quite inappropriate—showing up in the dark of night without an escort. Her ensemble did not even include a proper hat.
Nevertheless, she did not have the patience to explain her sudden appearance, nor did she feel the need to give an accounting to a man who worked for her father.
“Are you going to let me in?” she blustered, raising her chin imperiously.
The servant blinked, seeming to shake off the shock that had settled over him. Moving away from the opening, he pulled the door open wider.
“Of course … do forgive me. Come right in.”
She swept into a small vestibule that opened into a set of two rooms with large doorways that allowed her to see straight into the back of the flat. This room she stood in must be the main parlor, with what appeared to be a study beyond it. A corridor curved left and right, leading deeper into the flat—toward bedchambers, she assumed.
A flurry of movement caught her eye, and she turned just as Bertram descended upon her with open arms.
“Daff!” he exclaimed. “By Jove, it is good to see you.”
She held her hands up to ward him off, backpedaling before he could wrap her in his embrace. Just the thought of him touching her made her skin crawl, the black stains of his sins sure to rub off on her.
His face fell as he regarded her, seeming hurt by her rebuff. He looked like hell—the auburn of his hair having lost his luster while dark circles had begun to form beneath his eyes. His skin was sallow and pale, though a flush to his cheeks told her he must be in his cups.
“It would seem you do not return the sentiment,” he muttered, scraping his fingers through his locks, tousling them even more.
“Where is Father?” she snapped, gazing about the little parlor. It held none of the furnishings from Fairchild House, which led her to believe they, too, had been sold off.
“Right here, dearest.”
She glanced up to find him coming toward her from an open door to the left—the kitchen, she realized. A woman bustled about inside, who Daphne recognized as a maid from Fairchild House. Perhaps she acted as their housekeeper.
So, they were not completely destitute, after all. Obviously, her father had managed to secure the funds to retain a two-person household staff.
He paused before her with a tray held in one hand, his whitened hair standing on end. Lord Gilliam Fairchild looked older than she remembered, his cheeks drooping and his face etched with deep lines.
“Bertram and I were just about to sit down for dinner,” he said, giving her a smile.
It seemed almost tentative … shy. As if he were afraid of her.
“I am certain Cora made enough. Would you like some?”
Clearing her throat, she lowered her gaze. Knowing what he had done, she could hardly stand to look at him. And she certainly could not stomach a single bite of food with the way her stomach roiled and pitched.
“No, thank you,” she replied as politely as she was able.
She was a perfect little dove, just like Adam had said—remembering to smile prettily and mind her manners, even when in the company of a rapist and the scoundrel who had helped cover his tracks.
“It is good to see you,” her father remarked, setting the tray upon a low table resting before a floral damask sofa. “You look … well.”
Her jaw tightened as she turned to face him. He settled onto the sofa while Bertram shuffled forward and took a nearby armchair, pulling up close to the table.
“Did you expect otherwise?” she snapped.
Bertram scowled, slumping in his chair. “Pheasant again?”
Her father narrowed his eyes at his son. “It is cheap, and one of few meals Cora knows how to prepare. You may eat it or go hungry.”
Ignoring him, Bertram turned his gaze to her. “I know you might be angry with us, Daff. But we could not have come for you … not unless we wanted him to hurt you.”
She laughed, the sound rough and humorless. “And what makes you think he did not?”
Her father paused in the midst of buttering his bread, wincing as he glanced up to meet her gaze. “You do not look … abused.”
If only they knew. Yes, she had been abused … but, oh, how she had enjoyed being in the clutches of her captor.
“You must understand,” Bertram tried again, his eyes wide and pleading. “He had us over a barrel … there was nothing more we could do if we wanted—”
“Bertram, for once in your life, keep your trap shut,” their father snapped, his gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them.
Daphne narrowed her eyes, a niggling of suspicion beginning to trickle down her spine. “Why was there nothing you could do? What did he say to keep you from coming for me?”
It was the one thing she had never understood—just what Adam’s letter had contained in order to keep her father and brother from coming to Scotland to retrieve her. Had he threatened her life … their lives?
Her eyes widened as she realized she had seen neither hide nor hair of her mother. “Where’s Mama?”
“Gone,” her father sighed, running a hand over his haggard face. “She has taken up residence with her sister in Mayfair. She would not …”
“She wouldn’t descend into the gutter with us,” Bertram said with a harsh, humorless chuckle. “Too good for the likes of us, she is.”
“She is simply accustomed to a certain lifestyle,” her father defended. “Soon, I will be able to give that to her. I will win her back … you will see.”
“Goddamn it, old man,” Bertram seethed. “If you haven’t the sense to realize she is never coming back—”
“The letter,” she snapped, having had more than enou
gh of the both of them. “The one Lord Hartmoor sent … I want to see it.”
She would get the answers she sought, and by morning, she would find herself a hotel to reside in. Not a permanent solution, but one that would buy her time until she could figure out what to do with the rest of her life.
“Daphne, dearest, no good can come of reading it,” her father implored.
“Save your endearments,” she retorted. “I am not the same oblivious chit who ran off to Scotland looking for answers, and I will not be put off by your diversion or your excuses. I wish to read Hartmoor’s letter … now!”
“Dash it all, let her read it,” Bertram grumbled, rising from his chair and stumbling toward an escritoire in the corner. “She may as well know the truth.”
“Bertie, don’t!”
But it was too late. Either her brother was truly too stupid to realize what was happening, or over imbibing had made him reckless. Retrieving something from the desk drawer, he lumbered back toward her.
“Here,” he muttered, thrusting an open envelope in her hand before returning to his chair.
He slouched there and watched as she studied the broken seal. The same one stamped onto the envelope thrust down into her dress pocket. Inside, she found a letter written in Adam’s familiar hand.
Fairchild,
You may cease worrying for your daughter. She has made her way to Dunnottar, where she will remain as my guest for thirty days and nights. The things your despicable son did to my sister were child’s play compared to all the ways I intend to use Lady Daphne. I warn you not to attempt any acts of chivalry that might put you within my reach, for I may not be charitable enough to allow you to leave my presence with your life.
While I feel this particular twist of fate to be your due for what befell my sister, I do understand the worth of one’s only daughter. Enclosed, find compensation in the amount of ten thousand pounds. This is my payment for your daughter’s maidenhead. Rest assured, I intend to exact every cent from her over the next thirty days.
Regards,
Hartmoor
The slip of paper fluttered to the floor, the tips of her fingers having gone numb by the time she’d gotten to Adam’s hastily scribbled signature at the bottom. Her mouth had gone completely dry, and she had ceased feeling her legs. It was a wonder she did not sink to the floor.
“You see, we could not risk it,” her father said, his voice low and soft, as if he worried speaking too loudly might set her off. “He might have—”
“Harmed you or Bertie?” She interjected with a scoff. “You stayed away to save your own necks.”
“It wasn’t exactly—”
“What did you do with it?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“Daphne, please …”
Ignoring her father’s pleading, she dashed away her tears.
“What did you do with the money?” she screamed, hands balling into fists at her sides. “The ten thousand pounds he paid you to bed me! Where is it? What have you done with it?”
“The bank draft only reached us a few days ago,” Bertram said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
He acted as if selling her to Adam had meant no more to him than the turn of a card in a gaming hell.
“By then, we’d already been forced to sell Fairchild House to pay our debts,” her father chimed in. “The money is all we have to live off of now.”
A laugh bubbled in her throat, the sound deranged and shrill, even to her own ears. It began as a giggle, but swiftly grew into a cackle that nearly shook the rafters.
The bloody fools. They had fallen into Adam’s trap, just as she had. He had dangled thirty thousand pounds in front of her, knowing full well by the time she’d earned it, her family would have lost everything. He’d known they’d be desperate and greedy enough to accept payment for the use of her body. How ironic, that the ten thousand pounds her father had taken in exchange for her was not even one third of what she herself had earned.
And to think, she had intended to come home with that money and turn it over to them. Daphne, the unexpected hero … the salvation of the Fairchild family.
Her eyes began to water as the laughter increased, her sides beginning to ache with how hard it rocked her insides. The two men watched her as if she’d gone mad, and perhaps she had. Finally, she’d broken under the strain of it all.
It was so ridiculous, what could she do but laugh? She had earned the money, only to discover her family was far beyond redemption.
Finally, she fell silent, straightening and swiping at her damp cheeks.
“You sold me,” she said with another little chuckle. “The two of you kept that money knowing what he would do to me … knowing …”
Bertram was on his feet in a moment, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. “We did what needed to be done! And perhaps, for once in your life, you did what was required of you, as well.”
Daphne shoved him so hard, he stumbled back onto the table, splintering the wood and sending china crashing to the floor. Her father leapt to his feet, crying out in dismay—whether in shock over her behavior or in reaction to his lost dinner, she was not certain.
“Do not ever touch me again,” she growled, stepping forward to loom over him. “I did what was needed … by ferreting out the truth about you. You, and Father, and Uncle William.”
“I knew it,” Bertram snarled, struggling to his knees and attempting to wipe the soup from his hair using his sleeve. “I knew he would poison you against me.”
“Poison,” she said with a scoff. “That is exactly what you are … all of you! I know what you did to Olivia, Bertram. Father, I know about all the times you hid his secrets … all the people you paid to keep silent while your son went about raping half the debutantes in London! ‘Tis no wonder we were so easily beggared.”
“Now, see here,” Bertram blustered, finding his way to his feet.
“I know about how Father sent Uncle William to dispose of the evidence,” she accused, jabbing his chest with her index finger. “To dispose of your child.”
Her brother blanched, finally seeming to realize there was nothing he could say to convince her to believe his lies. She knew the truth, and he had been exposed for the lecher he was.
“I loved you,” she whispered, another tear slipping down her cheek, and then another. “I loved you so much, I was willing to risk my reputation, my life, my body, to exonerate you. To set things right. And you let me … you let me put myself in that position, all the while knowing this was a mess of your making.”
“Daff, listen to me,” he said, softening his tone and trying to force a smile. “It was a simple indiscretion, that is all. At times, a gentleman misinterprets a lady’s signals … it was a simple misunderstanding. Surely, you must know—”
“No,” she interjected. “I do not know you. I’ve now come to realize I never did.”
Turning for the door, she put them behind her, now unable to even abide the sight of them. A part of her had hoped they could be redeemed … yet, she knew now what a mistake that had been. They had not been worth her sacrifice—but, God help her, they would not reap the benefits of what she had earned. She would figure out a way to build a life for herself. She would put them all behind her—Bertram, her father … Adam.
“Daphne! Daff … wait!”
She paused halfway down the corridor, turning back to find Bertram rushing toward her, his eyes wide with desperation. Was that fear she saw? Had Adam been right all along? Had ruining her also ruined Bertram? She certainly hoped so.
“I saw her, Bertram,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I saw Olivia with my own eyes and witnessed her fear. She looked at me and saw you … and I’ve never seen a more terrified woman in my life. And you have the nerve to call it a mere indiscretion?”
He lowered his head, finally finding the grace to look ashamed of himself. “Things weren’t supposed to happen this way, Daff. You have to believe me.”
“No,” she agreed. “I w
as not supposed to reach adulthood only to find that the people I love—the men I counted on to protect me—turned out to be the true villains.”
Bertram sneered at her, issuing a derisive snort. “You would take Hartmoor’s side over ours? The man who bought your cunt for ten thousand pounds?”
She almost laughed in his face, nearly revealing that she was now wealthier than he could ever hope to be with what Adam had paid her for access to her body.
“Yes,” she declared. “Because for all his sins, Hartmoor never once lied to me. From the moment I met him, I was never mistaken about who he was or what he wanted from me. You, I have loved and trusted my entire life … which has turned out to be a mistake. I will not commit the error of allowing you to engage me with more lies.”
She put him behind her once again, marching back toward the stairwell. Balling one hand into a fist, she shoved the other into her pocket, finding comfort in the feel of the envelope hidden there. Inside it lay her future … and now, she would put the past behind her.
Coming to the ground level, she swept through the vestibule. She hoped to find a hansom cab to take her to her aunt’s home, where her mother had taken refuge. She could not stay forever, but a few nights would give her enough time to get her affairs in order.
So determined was she on her mission, she did not see the hulking shadow of Niall until he was upon her. She shrank away from him, too on edge to allow the hand reaching toward her to land.
“What in blazes do you want?” she snapped, glaring at the man who only reminded her of the one she was truly angry at.
The one who had ripped the veil from over her eyes and exposed the world for what it truly was. The one who had given her a taste of something that had made her feel alive before discarding her like refuse.
“I would rather be well on my way to Dunnottar, believe me,” he retorted. “But my Master gave me strict orders not to return until I had sat here long enough to ensure you did not come back out.”
Wrinkling her brow, she glanced up to find the carriage that had carried her to London coming back toward them up the lane. It had likely been circling the block since she’d gone inside, while Niall waited in the shadows.
The Villain Page 27
