Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  She let him go and fled the balcony.

  Clive turned to Harry, who was still crouched in a ball by the rail. He wept with a pitiful expression on his face. “You were going to kill Irene the other night, weren’t you?”

  Harry said nothing.

  Clive walked over to him and crouched before him. The pain in his chest began to rise up again, but the anger was a burning distraction. “You live, because she deems it so. Do you understand that?” He leaned close and whispered, “I’d have let you die.”

  “I know,” Harry heaved as he still fought for his breath. “You should. I’m ruined. Cecilia… She’ll never forgive me.”

  “Why would you risk this? What about your family?” he asked

  Harry looked into Clive’s eyes. “When you find the book, burn it. Don’t read it. It’s cursed. I know that now.”

  Clive frowned. “You’re in the book?”

  “Everyone is.” Harry held his eyes. “I saw it once. It’s a tome, Clive.” He laughed. “A large tome, if you can believe it.”

  Clive couldn’t. What man could possibly hold so much information? How would he have gathered it? “Perhaps, you saw him with something else. It could have been a bible.”

  They looked at one another, and Clive had to fight down the wish to laugh. This moment was too serious, and Harry was still his enemy. He still wanted to kill him.

  “A bible. That’s what it was,” Harry chuckled and looked away. “The history of man. A record of their every sin.”

  “We’re all sinners,” Clive said.

  Harry’s gaze returned. “Think of your worst secret, the thing that haunts you at night. Think about that moment when that secret came to be and then think about how glad you were that no one else knew.” He leaned close to Clive. “He knew. Whatever it was, he knew.”

  “Impossible,” Clive said even as fear climbed through his blood.

  “How do you think he became so powerful?” Harry asked. “He used his power to create power. Half the crimes that rest in that tome were probably from his own creation. He likely set half the ton up. He was the devil, Clive. He was the true devil. You married the daughter of the devil.”

  Clive grabbed his shirt and then released him, tossing him back against the stone rail.

  Harry’s eyes were blank. “If left in the wrong hands, it could destroy society as we know it.”

  “Did you see where he kept it?” Clive asked.

  “No,” Harry said. “But he told me he carried it on him. It was the key to everything, he said.” Harry sounded delirious.

  “That’s impossible,” Clive said. “Someone would have seen it.”

  “It’s the key to everything,” the viscount murmured. “Burn the key.”

  Then in a move Clive was unprepared for, Harry jumped and flung himself over the balcony.

  “Clive!” Irene shouted.

  Clive didn’t rise until he heard the thump of Harry’s body meeting the stone three stories down. Then Clive stood and turned just in time to catch Irene and stop her from looking over. He didn’t want her to see what was left of Harry.

  Irene buried her face in Clive’s chest and wept, yet he wagered that none of her tears were for herself. They were likely for Cecilia and the children.

  He carried her inside and put her to bed. He heard the sounds of men downstairs and left Irene to rest while he spoke to the constable.

  The man believed the story of how Lord Brooksett met his end. A doctor came and confirmed that Harry was dead. Clive didn’t see the body as they left. Instead, he rushed to Irene the first moment he could, leaving the servants to see the constable away.

  Irene was up. One moment his knee was in the bed and in the next, she was in his arms.

  “What will I say to Cecilia?” Irene asked. She laid on his chest.

  Clive stroked her hair. “The truth. All you can tell her is the truth.”

  She sniffed. “It will devastate her.”

  “I’m sure it will.” He had no sympathy to offer at the moment. Perhaps, he’d care later, but not now. Now, he was glad the man was gone. No one would hurt Irene again.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  4 4

  * * *

  Irene woke before Clive. After what had taken place the previous night, she thought he deserved to sleep undisturbed, so she tried to climb out of bed.

  She barely had the sheet up when Clive threw an arm over her waist.

  “Where are you going?” he murmured as he pressed his blond head to her belly.

  She made her voice as quiet as possible. “I thought I’d take breakfast downstairs.”

  He lifted his head. His beautiful sleepy eyes found hers. He had a bruise on his chin that she hadn’t seen last night. She’d barely gotten a chance to give it a good look before he jumped out of bed, strolled to the bell, and gave it a tug. The view of him without a shirt allowed her to see the other bruises that covered him. There was a terrible one on his side and a few on his chest and back. “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “A little.” He crawled back onto the bed, slipped under the covers, and said, “You’ll stay here. A maid will bring you whatever you need.”

  Now, more than ever, Clive needed to rest. “But I don’t wish to disturb you.”

  “Then stop talking.” He placed his head back down.

  She slapped his head and was surprised when she did it, but Clive only chuckled and then the room went quiet again. She smiled and waited for the maid.

  She was always mine.

  The words had surprised her. Startled her. Much of last night had startled her, but it was those words that Irene clung to as she went to sleep.

  She was always mine.

  No words had ever been truer. She’d been his since the moment they’d met.

  Irene ate and wrote to Cecilia while Clive slept. The first time they’d been in this position, her sitting up in bed and him resting over her lap, she’d struggled to work with the position, but now she had everything under control.

  The hardest part was not allowing her weeping to wake Clive. She wrestled with her words and tried to convey her sorrow for Cecilia while hiding her own pain. Harry had tried to kill her. He’d hurt her. He’d almost raped her that first night.

  He’d been her cousin, a distant one, but a cousin no less. How could he have done this to her?

  It made her wary to trust anyone. Everyone she’d thought to be good was turning out to be something else entirely.

  The letter had been hard to write, but she was glad once it was complete. When the maid came for the tray, she told the woman to have it sent to London immediately. Irene wasn’t sure when she and Clive would be leaving and wanted Cecilia to hear the news from her before anyone else.

  That finished, she looked at Clive and grew tired herself. So, she snuggled in and went back to sleep.

  She woke hours later to a kiss on her shoulder that quickly evolved to lovemaking. Irene hadn’t known she could feel such a strong urge for her husband so soon after the tragedy of yesterday, yet she’d been eager for him. Perhaps death had made her appreciate life.

  Clive held her afterward, and she wondered if his thoughts were the same. She was cocooned in the sheets. His arms yet another unbreakable barrier. “Do you want to sell the townhouse?”

  Irene leaned her head back to meet his eyes. “Because of Harry? Because of what happened here?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “I want you to be comfortable,” he said. “Harry crushed the flowerbed.”

  Irene stopped breathing. The image made her sick and sad.

  He grabbed her chin and had her meet his eyes. “We can discuss it later.”

  She nodded.

  He released her. “It’s time to go. I have to speak to the men and tell them what happened.” He sighed. “Harry had much to say before he jumped off the balcony.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  He rubbed her arms.
“Later. You’re still sensitive about this.”

  “And why aren’t you?” She turned her body around to face him. “Have you seen death before?”

  “I have. It affects me, but not the same as you.”

  “Because I am tenderhearted and weak,” she said.

  He cupped her cheek. “Trust me, Irene, it is a blessing. You are a blessing to the world.”

  “You’re trying to shelter me from the truth,” she said. “My father and brother did the same.”

  “They were right to do it.” He pulled her closer. “You would not be so sweet if you were any other way.”

  When desire began to hum between her legs, she told herself not to be distracted. “Who did you see die?”

  She felt Clive’s whole body stiffen and then his expression cooled. “It isn’t important.”

  “Clive, right now I don’t who I can trust. Please, don’t lie to me. Did you kill someone?”

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  She stilled. She hadn’t expected him to say yes. “Who?”

  He said nothing.

  “Is it someone I know?”

  Again, he didn’t reply.

  Troubled, she pressed a hand to his chest. “Clive, speak to me. Who did you—”

  “Your brother.”

  The words plunged the room into silence.

  Irene’s mouth fell open. Her body otherwise remained still even as her mind began to war with what she knew and what she’d just been told. “My father said it was a thief.” Greg had been found dead in a gas laboratory.

  Clive frowned. “I am a thief, Irene.”

  She shook her head. No, he didn’t mean that.

  “It was me,” he said. “I killed Gregory.”

  Horrified, she tried to get away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Clive, no!”

  He grabbed her arm. “I had no choice. Someone else would have died if I didn’t…”

  She slapped him. He let go, and she crawled from the bed. She quickly looked for her dress. She couldn’t leave in her night rail. Her body trembled with despair, but then she thought of what Clive had begun to say and straightened.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

  “Who would have died?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He looked at her. “I killed him. Blame me for his death.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “After everything, you’re still hiding things from me.”

  He turned his body to face her. “I don’t wish to get anyone else involved or in trouble.”

  “In trouble?”

  “With the law,” Clive said. “You’ll tell the authorities, won’t you?”

  Would she?

  She stared at Clive, the love of her life, the man she’d do anything to protect, the man who’d claimed her as his own with his body and word and vow. Would she truly call the constable because he’d killed a brother she barely liked? A brother she knew had been corrupt?

  “I won’t call the constable. I swear. Now, tell me what happened?”

  He gave her a hard look. “Irene, this information can never be told to anyone.”

  She moved to stand before him. “Tell me.”

  He held her eyes for a silent moment and then sighed. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want this to change things between us.” He took her hands, causing her clothes to fall to the ground. “You make me so happy, Irene.”

  Gently, she retracted her hands. “Clive, tell me what happened.”

  His jaw hardened before he spoke. “He’d kidnapped Nora and held a knife to her throat. We tried to get him to put the blade down, but I must confess your brother was not going to leave the laboratory alive.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’d kidnapped Nora and he’d struck her. Garrick was going to kill him anyway.”

  She swallowed and thought about how kind Nora had been to her. Why hadn’t anyone said anything? Did the woman despise her? Did they talk about her when she wasn’t around? “Did you kill my brother or did Garrick?”

  “Garrick did, but I helped. I distracted Gregory long enough for Garrick to aim and fire.”

  She closed her eyes and could almost imagine it all in her mind. “The other men were there, weren’t they?”

  “Yes, but you can’t—”

  “I know.” She opened her eyes. “This happened the night you came to my house. Did my father know what my brother had done?”

  Clive shook his head, and Irene began to relax when another thought struck her. “Why did my brother take Nora?”

  Clive frowned. “Irene, it’s a long story.”

  “We’ve a long journey to London. You can tell me everything then.” She turned away and began to dress. A part of her whispered it was best she forgot the whole thing and moved on with her life, because whatever Clive had to say would not make her feel better.

  But it was time she knew the truth. Irene could not go through life blind to the misdeeds of those around her.

  Her father was behind it all. She could feel it.

  But was she ready to truly hate the man who’d fathered her forever?

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  4 5

  * * *

  “I would like to start by saying that none of my friends hold any of this against you. They know you were innocent of your father’s crimes and do not blame you for anything he or your brother did.”

  Clive watched as most of the tightness in Irene’s face fell away.

  “Tell me everything,” she said. “Don’t leave any of it out.”

  She had no idea what she was asking him for, but as the carriage left the city, Clive decided it was now or never.

  “Your brother kidnapped Nora because he thought it would save his life.”

  Irene frowned. “That makes no sense. Who was going to kill him?”

  “Garrick.”

  “Why?” Her eyes showed she was anxious to know the truth yet feared it.

  This was the hard part. “Because Gregory was part of the plot to have James, Garrick, Kent, Marley, and myself kidnapped.”

  Irene’s entire face paled. “Gregory knew…” Her mouth worked silently for a long time and then she asked, “My father?” She began to weep again. “Please, Clive, no.”

  Clive reached out and took her hands. “No one blames you.”

  “No,” She shook her head, begging it to not be true. “My father did that to you? I thought it was Lord Maltsby.”

  “Maltsby, Mr. Goody, everyone worked for your father. Everything was done at his bidding.”

  She grimaced and closed her eyes. “How can you bear to touch me? You must hate me.”

  “I could never hate you,” he said. “Even when the others wondered if you were guilty, I knew you were not.”

  Her eyes flashed open. “They thought me guilty?”

  “We looked into you,” he said. “We watched you, but when we found you to be innocent, we hired watchmen to protect you.”

  Her fingers felt moist against his own. She was worried. “Why would you protect me?”

  “Because you were a woman without protection.”

  She lifted a brow. “There are plenty of women in London without protection, Clive.”

  He shrugged.

  She smiled. “Is it because I was yours?”

  Was it? He had pushed the others into doing it. At the time, he’d claimed it their duty since they’d killed her brother. They’d left her with no one, but perhaps there had been more to it. In fact, he was sure there was. Irene had cared for him. There were few who did. “Yes.”

  She took her hands from his, and he gave her his handkerchief so she could clean her face. “I can’t believe my father did this to you and the others. Was anyone else involved?”

  “A few.”

  She looked at him. “Are they… alive?”

  “No.”

  She swallowed. “Did you…”

  “No.”

  She nodded and looked out the window.

&n
bsp; The countryside was beautiful, but Clive could not enjoy it. “How are you feeling?”

  She shook her head. “Lost.”

  “What would make you feel less lost?”

  “I don’t know.” She smiled at him shyly. “Some time, I think.”

  He didn’t want to give her time. So much could happen with ‘time.’ He wanted to give her answers. He wanted to work everything out with her, but he knew he couldn’t. She would need space to come to her own understanding. He feared what she’d settled on.

  “Why did he do this?” Irene asked. “Why you? Was it because you stole my hairpin?”

  “Yes, and to fund a war in another country over their natural resources. He won, of course.”

  Irene frowned. “He likely hurt many innocent people for it, didn’t he?”

  “I never inquired,” Clive admitted. He’d already had enough reasons to hate Van Dero. He didn’t need more.

  “I need to know,” Irene said.

  Of course, she did. “I’ll inquire.”

  They were close to London when she finally said, “You’ve told me nothing about your time with Mr. Goody, aside from the fact that he taught you how to tie ropes.”

  Clive crossed his arms. “It was a dull existence. We ate and slept at his bidding. He read the paper to us, kept us up on current events. There was little else unless you made noise about the captivity.”

  “What do you mean ‘made noise?’”

  Clive’s fingers tapped his knee. “Some of the others resisted. They… fought. They complained. They were beat for it.”

  Her eyes widened. “You didn’t complain?”

  “I did not.”

  “Because he fed you,” Irene said. “It was food you didn’t have to steal. You had a whole year to not be a criminal even if you wished it.”

  No one had ever put it quite that way. Garrick’s explanation had been close, but Irene understood him. “Yes.”

  She smiled. “You wanted to be a better person. God made a way.”

  “God?” He scoffed. “You believe he worked with your father to arrange this?”

  She shook her head. “No, I see the beauty in the ugliness of the situation. You said you haven’t stolen since you took my hairpin. You regretted doing it. You were taken by Mr. Goody right after. Therefore, it is possible that God used your suffering to make you a better person.”