To Wed in Scandal (A Scandal in London Novel)

by Liana Lefey

Despite her companion’s placid demeanor, Sabrina couldn’t shake off a growing sense of unease. It mounted as the day wore into evening, until she felt positively fidgety. Wedding nerves, she supposed. Her heart scoffed at such a shallow excuse, and she smothered any further thoughts along that line. What was done was done; there was no going back now.

  The sun was grazing the western horizon, throwing them into deep shadow as they left the rutted road and approached an inn on the southern outskirts of Leeds. It was a decent establishment, one that catered to wealthier clientele than the dilapidated, rather unsavory places they’d passed in the smaller villages along the way.

  Scotland was only a day away. They could have ridden through the night on horseback and been there by noon, but Sabrina was just as glad he’d not suggested it. Travel at night was never safe—and truth be told, she was in somewhat less of a hurry than she’d been the day before.

  Fairford got out and immediately made a beeline for the inn, not waiting for her to disembark. She took a moment to stretch sore, stiff muscles. Annoyed at having been left behind without any offer of assistance, she entered the inn’s dim interior, her eyes adjusting slowly to the hazy glow of firelight and candles.

  “A room for myself and my bride,” Fairford was saying to the innkeeper, a rotund, bald-pated man of some fifty years.

  Stalking over, Sabrina interrupted. “Pardon me, good sir, but we require two rooms. We are not yet married.”

  Fairford turned to her, clearly irritated and trying his best not to show it. “We’ll be married by this time tomorrow, my dove. Why bother with the conventions at this late hour?”

  “Because no matter how far I’ve gone beyond the rules of society, I will not defy our Lord’s. I will not sleep with a man who is not my husband,” she snapped, turning away to hide her fright.

  The innkeeper grinned, his moustaches parting to show several gaps between pitted, yellow teeth. “Goin’ tae the Green, are ye?” he laughed in his thick brogue. “Yer a good girl y’are, tae make ’im wait ’til the vows is said afore lettin’ ’im ’neath yer skirts! Two rooms it is, then.” He showed them to her room first. “My finest, an’ happy it is I am tae hae the business.”

  Sabrina looked around with mild apprehension. She’d never stayed at an inn before. She noted the worn shine on the bed’s wooden posts, and the faded cloth of the canopy and bed hangings. Immediately, she went and examined the mattress. No evidence of infestation, at least. She’d heard horrifying tales of insects that bit one in the night. The hearth was swept clean, and the floor as well.

  “It will suffice,” she pronounced.

  She listened as Fairford’s valet ordered the maids to bring in his master’s sheets from the carriage and put them on her bed. He then demanded of the innkeeper that the guests in the neighboring room be moved so that his master could take up residence next to his bride—for her protection.

  After a quick toilette, Sabrina came down to join her affianced for dinner in the common room. The inn’s other guests sat in the dim corners, covertly eyeing their finery. At one point, she saw Fairford lay a hand on the hilt of the sword hanging at his side and look each man in the eye. There would be no trouble here.

  The fare was nothing fancy, despite the owner’s boasts. Roasted capon, new potatoes, and carrots swam in a thin, distinctly unimpressive sauce. Cotters’ food. Still, it was hot, plentiful, and welcome after the long journey. Sabrina finished hers as quickly as manners allowed and then rose. “I am most weary from our travels, my lord. I bid you good night.” She dipped a polite curtsey.

  Rising, Fairford bowed. “Are you certain you do not wish me to accompany you?”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Thank you, my lord, but you need not trouble yourself. I well remember the way.” It came out rather more sharply than she’d intended.

  Stiffly, he bowed acquiescence.

  Sabrina fled to her chamber and immediately barred the door behind her, sliding a heavy trunk across the floor to brace against it, for good measure.

  A tub of hot water had been brought up while she’d dined, and she availed herself of it with gratitude. An hour and a half later, as she was drying her hair by the fire, the sound of someone entering the room next door made her wonder just how thick the walls were. She recognized Fairford’s voice, along with that of his valet. Their conversation came through with crystal clarity.

  “Victory is mine, Grimsby,” said Fairford. “Impertinent chit. She’ll be a pleasure to break, I tell you. By this time tomorrow night, the wench will properly respect her lord and master.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” said another voice—Grimsby’s.

  Sabrina wrapped a blanket around her and padded cautiously over to the wall, not daring to sit on the bed for fear of making some noise that might be heard on the other side.

  “I’ll stick her ’til she begs for mercy,” Fairford boasted, slurring a little. “And when her belly’s full, I’ll find another little sparrow to tickle. Once the babe is born, so long as it’s male, I’ll no longer have need of her.”

  “And if it’s a girl?” asked Grimsby.

  “Well, I’ll simply have to keep plowing the field until I get a proper result, won’t I?” laughed Fairford.

  Though disgusted by his vulgarity, Sabrina reasoned that it was only what she’d expected—wanted, even. He would get her with child and then send her away to live in peace. The delicate clinking of crystal carried through the thin barrier. He must be pouring another drink.

  “You should get some rest, m’lord,” said Grimsby. “You’ve not slept since yesterday.”

  “Yes, yes, I know! Stop your fussing! You’re worse than an old woman,” Fairford grumbled. “I shan’t disappoint the bride, I assure you. I promise you’ll hear my little redbird sing out tomorrow night when I prick her.”

  A loud thump, as of a boot dropping to the floor, sounded, followed by another, and then the sound of creaking wood.

  “By the by, speaking of birds, I think my little French nightingale has outlived her usefulness. Her singing is no longer to my taste. Pity. I was going to wait a bit longer, but I’d rather not take any risks just now. See she’s taken care of, Grimsby.”

  “Same as the others, m’lord?” Grimsby’s voice had lowered but was still discernible.

  The “others”…? Sabrina shifted a bit closer, wondering what Fairford had meant by “taken care of.”

  “No,” said Fairford. “The river is off-limits. The last one surfaced after only a few days and sent the whole of London into a bloody panic. People are still talking about it, and the banks are probably being watched more closely now. Even if they aren’t, if another body turns up, there might be an investigation. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

  Sabrina stood rooted to the spot, hardly able to believe her ears.

  “I shall find another means of disposal, m’lord.”

  “See that you do. Just to be sure you don’t get careless, I’m only giving you half the money up front. You’ll receive the rest after six weeks have passed without discovery.”

  “And what of the Childers woman?” asked Grimsby. “Two might be difficult to get rid of at the same t—”

  “Not her,” interrupted Fairford. “She owes me everything, including her life, and will remain true to me in all things. In fact, once my lady wife has borne my heir and met a tragic end, I believe I shall marry Mrs. Childers.”

  “Surely not, m’lord!” exclaimed Grimsby. “The woman is naught but a common actress.”

  Silence.

  Then, meekly: “Sorry. Very sorry, m’lord. I only meant that a man of your stature deserves—”

  “Mrs. Childers may very well be Lady Childers in the near future,” his master snapped coldly. “I advise you to remember your place when you speak of her.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Think of it, Grimsby!” chuckled Fairford, cheerful again. “Once my bloodline has been secured, I’ll finally be free to do as I please. And having her pla
y stepmother to the brat will be the ultimate revenge on the redheaded bitch, don’t you think?”

  Sabrina’s hands flew to her mouth, preventing the escape of anything other than a slow, silent exhalation of dismay. Beneath her quiet terror, she felt a dangerous stirring of indignant rage.

  “Of course, m’lord,” she heard Grimsby say. “Good night, m’lord. I shall awaken you an hour before dawn.”

  “By George, it just isn’t right for a gentleman to have to be up before the sun,” whined Fairford. “When this is over, I shall be sure it never happens again. Now, get out. And sleep with the carriage tonight. I expect everyone in the vicinity has learned of our presence, and I want no thievery to get in the way of my plans tomorrow.”

  A rhythmic creak of strained wood moved away from the wall. A door opened and then shut. Sabrina dared not even breathe as footsteps paused in front of her door. After a long, tense moment, however, they progressed onward. Quietly, she released the air from her lungs.

  The man she’d set out to marry was a murderer! It didn’t matter that someone else had committed the actual killings; he’d ordered those deaths with the same sort of nonchalance as one orders a new suit of clothes. There was blood on his hands.

  She had to escape. Her terrible error in judgment would be a fatal one if she didn’t manage to find a way out before it was too late. But how? There was no way Fairford would just turn around and take her home, and they were a great many miles away from London, in the middle of nowhere.

  Fear and hopelessness fought for supremacy in her breast.

  Henry.

  His face flashed before her—his sparkling violet eyes and warm smile. Her head lifted, and she swiped at her eyes before the flood of tears could begin and alert the monster next door. If she could just get to Henry and explain, perhaps he would forgive her for being such a fool and help her.

  But would he still want her?

  It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting out of here. Now that she had an escape to plan, however, her legs refused all commands. Fear of treading on a noisy floorboard paralyzed her, so there she remained, motionless, until a log shifted in the hearth behind her, causing her to flinch.

  A distinct rumble intruded upon her consciousness a moment later. It was the sound of snoring. Fairford was asleep. Deeply so, from the sound of it.

  This knowledge freed her from terror’s spell, and she tiptoed over to the satchel she’d brought up with her. Quickly, she pawed through it, finding clean stockings, a spare cloak, a hairbrush, and a pair of combs. There was a small amount of money, too: a little over ten pounds tied in a kerchief.

  She grimaced with disappointment, mentally kicking herself for not bringing more. It would have to be enough. A small bottle of wine and an apple joined the contents of the bag. Other provisions would have to be bought along the way in one of the many little villages along the road back to London, for she dared not send to the kitchen here for food.

  He’d be sure to follow her as soon as he learned she was gone, but if she had a good head start…

  All she needed was a horse.

  Her only other gown had been hung to let the wrinkles out. Her shaking fingers smoothed over mint brocade and creamy lace; how odd to think she’d come so near to being married in this. A clean change of clothes might be needed, so she took it down and refolded it, stowing it with the other items. The outfit she’d worn today was dark blue and would better serve for an escape in the dark.

  Looking to the door and the heavy trunk she’d put in front of it, she frowned, again berating herself. The whole bloody place would stir if she tried to move it. The window looked as if it hadn’t been opened in an age, but it was her only other option. She had to try. Maybe he’d downed enough liquor to keep him unconscious.

  Biting her lip, she tried the latch. Surprisingly, it released with only a small complaint. Easing it open, she looked out. There were no trees to climb down, but there was a narrow ledge she could follow until she reached the long, low slope above the entryway.

  Motion below made her hastily draw back from the casement. She peeked out to see Grimsby walking out into the courtyard toward the stables.

  She would have to wait until later in the night, and she’d have to find a horse someplace else. The nearest village was only a short distance away, just to the west, the innkeeper had said. The moon should be bright enough to guide her.

  Quietly, she dressed, struggling once more to tighten the stays of her corset unaided. No wonder women never traveled alone! She managed to get it secure and donned the blue gown.

  Drawing her cloak over her shoulders to ward off the encroaching chill, she planted herself on a little stool before the fire and waited, unwilling to lie on the bed for fear of making a noise—or of sleep overtaking her. Despite her fright, she felt exhausted enough to nod off.

  All around her, the inn quieted. The fire died down until all that was left were the dim embers at its very heart. When she felt she could stay awake no longer, she rose, shook off her drowsiness, stretched, and padded over to the window once more.

  The courtyard was dark and empty. The dim light from the windows only reached out a short distance before being swallowed by total blackness. Sabrina gazed up in dismay. The moon would provide little, if any, light through the thick clouds that had moved in over the past few hours.

  Under her breath, Sabrina let out a stream of invective. There was nothing for it. If she did not get out now, she’d have to try and pretend ignorance until another opportunity presented itself, if indeed one did. Could she manage to hide her terror well enough?

  Then, too, there was the danger that Fairford or Grimsby might hear her moving about through the wall in the morning and wonder if she’d heard anything she oughtn’t the night before. Even if she managed to fool them both, escape would be impossible once the vows were spoken.

  It was now or never.

  Stuffing her boots and cloak into the satchel, she tossed it out the window as far as possible, praying no one heard it land. After a moment of reassuring silence, she hiked up her cloak and gown and eased a leg over the sill.

  HENRY GRIMACED AS he made his way toward the inn, its dim windows a blaze of brightness against the pitch backdrop of a moonless night.

  For a little over three years, there had been whispers about town, rumors of girls going missing from Covent Garden. And bodies had been washing up along the banks of the river every six or seven months, bodies so horribly mutilated as to be unidentifiable, save for the fact that they were female. No one had so much as an inkling who the murderer might be.

  Until now.

  Fairford had moved to London a little over three years ago. Coupled with what he’d learned through his investigation of the man, Henry had little doubt he’d discovered the killer’s identity. And Sabrina was with him.

  He’d ridden all day and all night, stopping at this or that village to verify whether Fairford’s carriage had passed through. Thankfully, the man’s desire for haste had driven him to take the most direct route from London.

  He had also used his own carriage rather than a hired affair.

  If the bastard wished to announce his presence to the whole English countryside, so much the better.

  He walked his horse as near as he dared before loosely tying the reins to a branch and creeping up behind the stables.

  There it is. Adrenaline rushed through his veins at the sight of Fairford’s coat of arms emblazoned upon the door of a carriage in the courtyard.

  She was here. Somewhere in this shabby building, Sabrina lay sleeping—alone, God willing. He prayed she had made Fairford wait for the ceremony.

  The front door was locked. He moved around the sides, looking for another means of entry. The door to the kitchen was propped open, allowing for some relief from the heat within.

  Drawing his pistol and loosening the hilt of his sword, he made his way to the innkeeper’s quarters.

  A floorboard creaked softly outs
ide her door, and Sabrina froze, one leg out on the ledge outside her window, the other still inside the room. Grimsby must have come to check on her!

  The latch rattled once, and then there was quiet.

  She breathed again, just as the door shuddered from a heavy impact. A muffled outcry of discontent came through the wall from Fairford’s room, even as her door banged against the trunk. Whoever it was trying to get in, it was not her fiancé! Panicking, she made haste to pull herself the rest of the way out.

  With a muffled grunt, her uninvited guest shoved the offending obstacle out of his way and leaped into the room. “Sabrina?”

  She nearly lost her grip on the sill, so startled was she to hear that voice. “Henry?” she called back, unbelieving.

  He rushed in and plucked her from the opening.

  “Henry!” Never in all her life had she been so glad to see another human being! Hysterical sobs erupted as she clung to him with all her might. Now that he was here, the full terror of this night held her in its grip.

  “Has he hurt you?” he inquired, prying her loose to examine her face in the hearth’s glow.

  “No, he has not touched me.” She was shaking so hard she thought her bones must be rattling against one another. “I refused him my bed until after the wedding.”

  Doors had begun opening down the hall, and angry voices could be heard inquiring about the hubbub.

  “I say! What is all this commotion?” Fairford’s voice bellowed out into the hall. “What sort of an establishment is this? Where is the owner? I demand an answer this inst—”

  His voice suddenly fell silent. A moment later, he appeared at Sabrina’s demolished door, which was now dangling by one hinge at a crazy angle. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Sabrina?”

  Henry’s arm whipped up. In it was a pistol. “If you so much as twitch a finger, I will pull this trigger and rid the world of your worthless hide.”

  “Montgomery? What the hell do you mean coming here in the middle of the night and accosting my fiancée?” barked Fairford.

  “I mean to take her back home, you son of the devil!” he replied. “And if you follow us, if I so much as see a hair of your head on the horizon, I will kill you.”