A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin)

by Anna Campbell

  The cold wind of their dilemma tempered the warmth in her heart. “This sounds unpleasantly like a farewell.”

  The duke faced her. “Richard’s right. With Fairbrother at large, you’re not safe.”

  “I can hide.” The threat of losing Richard to a bullet constricted her belly with anguished denial.

  “What about your career?” Richard asked.

  Her smile was shaky. Astounding how profoundly she’d changed since falling in love with him. Her ambitions meant nothing compared to this man’s well-being. “My work isn’t worth your life.”

  “Let’s not quarrel.”

  “No, by all means, let’s not quarrel,” she responded sarcastically. “Far better you get your brains blown out.”

  He stepped near enough to catch her face between his palms. The heat of his touch warred with the icy fear lancing her heart. “I have no intention of dying. I’ve got too much to live for.”

  “We’re not alone,” she stammered, trying to withdraw.

  “Cam’s a grown-up. He’ll cope.” His hold, while gentle, was adamant and his kiss, however brief, tasted like he promised her forever. She stared at him, distraught and dazzled in equal measure. By the time anger revived, he’d turned to his friend. “Will you act as my second?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d like to challenge Fairbrother on your behalf.”

  Richard frowned. “That’s not done, is it?”

  “It’s for the best. You’ll murder the blackguard the moment you see him, devil take the rules of honor.”

  “Richard, don’t do this.” Genevieve caught his arm, prepared to restrain him physically if she must. “We’ll go to the magistrate. Lord Neville will hang and never trouble us again. Surely that’s what matters.”

  The tender sorrow in his smile made her want to cry. “Genevieve, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Stupid, stupid man. Rage got the better of discretion. “Losing you will hurt me.”

  He covered the hand curled around his arm. “You won’t lose me.”

  “I must go tonight,” the duke said before she could refute Richard’s fatuous statement.

  “He’s probably run.” She clutched at straws, but she’d seize any chance, even the frailest, to save Richard. “After last night, he must know that the duke’s awake to his games.”

  Richard shook his head. “He wants to spread news of our supposed elopement.” His grip firmed in reassurance, whereas nothing except his withdrawal from this ludicrous duel could appease her.

  The duke spoke to Genevieve who turned to face him. “Miss Barrett, will you stay? Sidonie’s here to preserve the proprieties. Or would you prefer to return to the vicarage?”

  “She’s not leaving my side,” Richard said quickly.

  She summoned an unsteady smile. “I’d like to stay. May I write my aunt a note telling her where I am?”

  “Of course.”

  “Godspeed, my friend,” Richard said softly.

  With a brief bow, Sedgemoor left the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cam strode up to Neville Fairbrother’s exquisite house, making no attempt to disguise his arrival, and banged the knocker hard. The house was quiet, but every instinct insisted that Fairbrother was in residence.

  He slammed the knocker again and this time a footman opened the door. “I am Sedgemoor,” he said coldly. “Pray arrange for someone to hold my horse. Inform Lord Neville that I wish to see him.”

  The ducal manner had its usual effect. Within minutes, he stood in the library. The room was more vitrine for objets d’art than refuge for reading. Glass cases crammed with gold, silver, and glittering gems surrounded Cam. One quick glance confirmed that Fairbrother’s collection included everything from tiny, exquisite statues of Egyptian pharaohs through heavily embossed platters in Roman silver to intricate medieval ivories and enamels.

  Fairbrother rose at Cam’s appearance and it was clear that he didn’t welcome the interruption. It was also clear that beneath his arrogance, he was wary.

  So he damned well should be.

  “Lord Neville.”

  “Your Grace, this call is unexpected.” Fairbrother’s bluster sat oddly with the scratches on his face.

  Without invitation, Cam took one of the leather chairs facing the gilded baroque table where Fairbrother pored over his latest acquisition. The Harmsworth Jewel. Cam had never seen the troublesome artifact, but Richard had shown him drawings. “My lord, you and I are due a serious talk.”

  Fairbrother’s swine-like eyes darted apprehensively around the room. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed.” Cam leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. Outrage at the thought of Richard and Genevieve suffering a slow death tightened Cam’s gut, but his façade remained as calm as if he discussed a tenant with his steward.

  “We have no mutual interests.”

  Cam’s lips curved. Fairbrother’s unhealthy pallor indicated that the smile’s implicit threat hadn’t escaped him. “You don’t consider attempted murder a matter for concern?”

  “Attempted murder?”

  “Of course,” Cam said almost gently. “When you confine someone as expert in all things medieval as Genevieve Barrett in a crypt, it’s prudent to shoot her first.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.” Fairbrother faltered back a step and cast a panicked glance at the closed French doors. Then he retreated with more purpose toward the desk against the wall where he almost certainly kept a gun. “If you truly believe I’ve tried to kill someone, you’d have the law here.”

  Cam’s eyes sharpened. “You don’t want to menace me with a pistol. I am Sedgemoor. I have influence you can’t even imagine.”

  “You’re the bastard by-blow of a whore mother.”

  Cam’s smile remained. Fairbrother would inevitably use the scandal to jockey for advantage. At least the man had stopped edging toward the desk. “Ah, the old gossip. So old it hardly matters. Whereas if you’re hauled before the courts, the scandal will be fresh. Leath won’t relish seeing his uncle tried as a common criminal. And a hanging will quite blot the family escutcheon.”

  “I won’t hang.”

  “Burglary. Conspiracy. Assault. Attempted rape. Attempted murder. I’m sure those aren’t the only charges. Although they’re sufficient to dangle you from a rope.”

  Fairbrother watched him like a rabbit watched a fox. “So why not have me arrested?”

  “A lady’s reputation is involved.”

  Fairbrother sneered as he came around the table to stand in front of Cam. “No lady worthy of the name.”

  Cam’s voice remained calm. “Careful. I won’t sit quiet while you insult Miss Barrett.”

  Fairbrother showed no compunction. “We’re at point non plus, then. If you can’t inform the law without soiling Miss Barrett’s name, it’s best to overlook this entire matter.”

  “I imagine you think so.” Cam paused for effect. “But gentlemen whose honor is impugned have other remedies.”

  Fairbrother laughed contemptuously. “You can’t intend to challenge me, Your Grace. I’ve done you no wrong, and a man of your status doesn’t risk his life over minor peccadillos.”

  By God, the man must be half lunatic. He’d filled a catalogue of villainies to shame the Devil. “Believe me, if not preempted, I’d happily face you over the barrel of a gun, but someone with more rights has priority. Sir Richard Harmsworth issued the challenge.”

  Bewilderment replaced Fairbrother’s self-satisfaction. “Harmsworth? You jest, sir. I’ve never met the fellow.”

  “Indeed you have,” Cam said softly. “He’s familiar to you as Christopher Evans.”

  “This is bloody nonsense.” Fairbrother finally abandoned all pretense of civility.

  Cam’s tone cooled. “Miss Barrett asked for Sir Richard’s help to protect the jewel.” It wasn’t the truth but it would suffice.

  Fairbrother snickered. “He h
elped, all right.”

  “I’ve warned you.”

  “There will be a scandal if I accept this gimcrack challenge,” he said defiantly, leaning back against the table and folding his massive arms across his chest. Behind him, the jewel glinted malevolently.

  “I agree.”

  Tension seeped from the hulking shoulders. “Then you’re hoping to resolve this matter without bloodshed.”

  “Perhaps.” The answer allowed Cam to introduce his scheme for untangling this deuced mess. Richard and Genevieve had better name him godfather to their first baby or he’d have something to say.

  “If I keep my mouth shut about what that bastard Evans—no, pardon, Sir Richard—got up to with fair Genevieve, we’ll call it quits, shall we?”

  “Oh, no, my lord. Nowhere near compensation for the trouble you’ve caused. I demand the Harmsworth Jewel’s return.”

  “And that’s the end of it?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “If you’re too lily-livered to bring the courts down upon my head and you dislike the alternative of a duel, there’s nothing to negotiate.” The man’s confidence swelled every minute.

  “I asked my friend Viscount Hillbrook to look into your activities. Jonas Merrick has resources mere mortals like you and I only dream about. Although I gather unearthing your unsavory dealings required little specialist knowledge.”

  Fairbrother went as pale as a fish’s belly and he sagged against the table. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Jonas came up with quite a list, even in the short time he devoted to the issue. Items stolen from museums joining your collection. Bribery and coercion in pursuit of your mania to possess. An inherited fortune squandered so that you now operate brothels and opium dens to fund your purchases. Violence. Murder. Theft. Fraud. I could continue.”

  “You can’t prove any of this,” the man said, but he already looked diminished, as though someone had sucked the air from him.

  “Right now, it’s merely reports on Hillbrook’s desk. But he esteems Sir Richard and he’s ready to investigate every last rumor.”

  “You’re blackmailing me to be silent.”

  “Quite so.”

  Sweat sheened Fairbrother’s jowls. “So let’s be clear—if I remain discreet about Miss Barrett, you won’t pursue these inquiries.”

  Cam shook his head with false regret. “Again, far too easy. After all, you tried to kill my friends. Not to mention my friend’s dog.”

  “That mongrel?”

  “He didn’t deserve the treatment you handed him. But we digress.”

  “What do you want?”

  Cam straightened. This was the important part. This was why he’d come alone. “You will sign your collection over to Miss Barrett. Lord Hillbrook and I will reinstate all stolen items to their rightful owners. Anything you purchased legitimately forms Miss Barrett’s dowry.”

  “Nobody will marry that slut.”

  Cam leaped to his feet. His fist slammed into the man’s gut, smashing him into the gilt and marble table, sliding the massive piece backward. Fairbrother slumped and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught the gold chased edge.

  “Your decision?” Cam asked pleasantly, opening and closing his bruised hand against his side.

  Fairbrother scowled with undisguised hatred. “If I say no?”

  “Then you meet Sir Richard at dawn.” He paused. “My friend is a crack shot. That’s not the alternative I’d choose. Particularly as unless you agree to my terms, I intend your ruin. If I were you, I’d surrender the collection, then make for the Continent.”

  “You’re a cold bugger, Sedgemoor.” Fairbrother’s gaze swung around the glass cases as if he counted each item.

  Cam shrugged. “What’s it to be?”

  The man seemed smaller, less formidable than he had ten minutes ago. “I’ll send the relevant documents tomorrow.”

  Cam shook his head. “This ends tonight. You’ll sign an undertaking to relinquish your collection to Miss Barrett. If you steal even one pawn from a chess set, Hillbrook and I will hunt you down like the feral cur you are.”

  “Then what?” His hands clutched at the table, the big ugly knuckles shining white.

  “You go to France or Italy or hell for all I care. But remember, if I hear one whisper about Genevieve Barrett or any resident of Little Derrick, if I discover you’re back to your bad old tricks, if I learn you’ve set foot on English soil, I will present the evidence I’ve amassed to the Crown.”

  “How will I live?”

  “That’s up to you.” Cam ostentatiously checked his gold pocket watch. “My time runs short. Will you sign the paper and go, or would you rather face Sir Richard on the field of honor? Believe me, he’s itching to place a bullet in your lardy carcass.”

  Without a word, Fairbrother trudged across to the desk and opened the top drawer. Cam maintained his relaxed posture, but suspense spurred his pulse. Would the fellow produce a gun? Fairbrother must know that all his schemes came to dust and killing the Duke of Sedgemoor ended any hope of escaping legal consequences. Still, he was a desperate, angry, vengeful man. A cornered rat.

  When Fairbrother withdrew a thick sheet of cream paper, Cam silently released his breath. He hadn’t been sure his gamble would succeed.

  The over-ornate room was silent as Fairbrother scrawled on the paper. Flames crackled in the hearth and candlelight gleamed on the treasure lining the walls. Cam wasn’t nearly the connoisseur Genevieve was, but he knew enough to recognize that Fairbrother’s collection put his family heirlooms in the shade. Beautiful, costly items surrounded him. Beautiful, costly items that had earned their ransom in blood and misery.

  Eventually Fairbrother straightened and shoved the paper toward Cam with a contemptuous gesture. “Here.”

  “Good.” Cam read the document, expecting some trick. But the will, which to all intents it was, appeared straightforward. He glanced up. “And I’ll take this.” He closed his hand over the Harmsworth Jewel and slipped it into his pocket.

  “You’re a bastard, Sedgemoor,” Fairbrother said in a low, shaking voice.

  “So they say.” Cam’s smile was icy. “Now ring for the footman.”

  Fairbrother frowned. “Why the devil do you want a footman?”

  “Humor me.”

  Fairbrother shrugged with ill grace and wrenched the bell pull near the desk. The footman who had greeted Cam appeared.

  “See His Grace out.” Fairbrother stumbled over the title. His outrage boiled closer to the surface. Cam had a feeling that if he asked for that signed paper now, Fairbrother would consign him to hell, whatever the consequences.

  “Good evening, my lord.” Cam rose with a nonchalance designed to irk.

  At the door, he turned back. Only to catch an expression of such despair and fury on Fairbrother’s face that briefly he almost pitied the fellow. Fairbrother stared at his priceless objects with such naked pain, it was like he surrendered his children. Then Cam recalled this man’s sins, and compassion dissolved into loathing.

  Cam strode across the marble hall with its porphyry columns and coffered ceiling. In the huge space, his footsteps echoed eerily. This gaudy house seemed more mausoleum than home. He shook off the breath of evil and ran down the stairs. He tipped the groom holding his horse and mounted.

  Instead of galloping off, he ambled along the lime tree avenue. Once away from the house, he circled off the drive toward the back. From here, he could see the gorgeous and oppressive room where he’d confronted Fairbrother.

  He reined Gaspard in and bent to pat his glossy black neck, soothing the horse into stillness. The footman drew the curtains, the footman who would swear that when Sedgemoor left, Neville Fairbrother had been in perfect health, if a little bruised around the midriff and bearing abrasions from the previous night.

  Darkness cloaked Cam. A faint rustle from the trees. The scent of clean air, purer and fresher than anything he’d breathed in Youngton Hall. A bird fluttered overhead, making him j
ump. Dear God, his nerves were more on edge than he’d realized.

  Ten minutes passed. Half an hour. Still he sat.

  Finally he straightened from his slouch and firmed his grip on the reins. It was time to go, to assure Richard and Genevieve that their future was secure from Lord Neville’s poison.

  It was only then that he heard what he’d waited for.

  A single shot rang out from the house, shattering the peaceful night.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Lord Neville was dead.

  Exhausted, dazed, overwhelmed, still aching from her recent trials, Genevieve lay in her luxurious bedroom at Leighton Court and struggled to accept that Lord Neville’s evil influence had ended. Even more important, Richard wouldn’t perish on the field of honor. Thanks to Sedgemoor, she and the man she loved were safe at last. The duke still made her shy, but she’d never forget what she owed him.

  After a couple of hours, Sedgemoor had returned to Leighton Court. But they’d only received confirmation of Lord Neville’s death when the local magistrate sent the duke a note as a courtesy to the premier nobleman in the area. Until that moment, Genevieve couldn’t trust that the nightmare was over.

  The clock struck three with Genevieve staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Sighing, she shifted on the crisp white sheets. She was so weary she felt close to tears, yet still she couldn’t sleep. If only Richard was here to hold her against the clamor in her head. In the last two days, she’d lived through so much. Abduction. Losing her virginity. The revelation of Richard’s identity. Her father’s betrayal. Those blissful stolen moments in the barn. Captivity. Declarations of love. The escape. Lord Neville’s final defeat.

  She’d never again complain about a dull life.

  If she must be restless, why couldn’t she bask in the joy of love returned? Instead a quieter moment played ceaselessly in her mind. The doubt and self-hatred in Richard’s voice when he spoke of his bastardy.

  She’d learned enough about him to realize that for every slight he described, he’d endured a thousand more that he’d never reveal. His long-concealed anguish made her stomach cramp with pity—and anger at those who disparaged him.