The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  “What problem? As I see it, you are the one with a missing wife.”

  Max smiled. “I’m afraid you’ve miscalculated this time.”

  “How?”

  Max sat back in the soft leather and regarded Andallen. He didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer, but Max couldn’t be certain of what he might have already done with Sarah. “Mr. Payne refuses to relinquish any funds from his client’s account without Sarah’s approval. I couldn’t convince him otherwise. What I left for you is her dowry. That’s all there is.” Andallen needn’t know he’d only deposited a portion of it.

  Andallen snorted. “You have the entire Calderbrooke trust at your disposal. Surely you can tap into that?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you will never get her back otherwise,” was the smug reply.

  “And what makes you think I want her back?”

  If the windows hadn’t been open, the silence in the room would have been deafening. For a moment Andallen merely stared at Max in shock, his eyes showing his uncertainty.

  With his efforts to find Sarah yielding nothing, Max spent quite a bit of time mulling over what David and Andallen might have agreed on. Using the knowledge he’d learned from Dodson, he’d come up with his own theory.

  “She’s your wife. Of course you want her back.” Incredulousness laced his voice.

  Max shook his head. “I only married her to keep her from you—and to gain Statler Hall, of course. The ceremony itself served those purposes. Mr. Payne has already accepted my word on the marriage, which is why you are now in possession of her dowry.”

  Andallen straightened and stared down his nose at Max.

  If he hadn’t been so close, Max would have been surprised by the sudden change in him. Instead he understood the laughter that burst from the larger man was more nervousness than genuine amusement.

  “That’s rich,” he chortled. “When I suggested you do away with her not long after the wedding, you balked. Now that it’s convenient, you don’t care?”

  Max shrugged tight shoulders. What he really wanted to do was smash in that smug face and demand what he’d done with Sarah. Further, he would have taken great pleasure in wrapping his hands around that thick neck and watching Andallen turn first red then purple as Max squeezed the life from his worthless self. Instead, he took a deep breath and brought himself under control. Continuing to feather and smooth the quill gave him something to do with his hands, at least.

  “As you’ve said before, what do I need with a wife? Except as a shield. No one need know she’s not at Calderbrooke. And I’m free to do as I wish.” He stood and looked Andallen in the eye. “I didn’t want to marry her at all. You forced me into it—two years ago and again last week. As far as I’m concerned, you can keep her.”

  “We had a deal, Royden.” Andallen was sounding less sure of himself.

  “Remind me again about this deal we had.” Max walked to the small cabinet in the wall beside the window overlooking the front of the house. Picking up a decanter, he turned to his guest, “Brandy?”

  Andallen dearly wanted to refuse. Max could see it in the way he glared at him, but he was nervous. Nothing had gone the way he’d expected it to and now he was floundering.

  Max poured a generous amount into two snifters and handed one to the older man as he crossed back toward the desk. Andallen still hadn’t answered him, but Max only wanted to push him so far.

  The sounds from the street and the mews seemed magnified in the library, and Max thought he heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel as he leaned against the metal railing for the stairs leading up to the half landing. Remembering the time he’d hidden up there and eavesdropped on Andallen and David, reminded him that he still hadn’t heard anything from David.

  As he sipped his brandy, Max watched Andallen take a large swallow of his. Studying the larger man, he discarded the possibility that he could ply the man with enough brandy to loosen his tongue. He released a slow breath. Unfortunate.

  The silence was intense, and Max watched as beads of sweat formed on Sarah’s uncle’s forehead. Keeping his own expression bland, he noted the way Andallen’s hand shook as he took another drink.

  “You agreed to marry Sarah and split her inheritance with me,” Andallen finally blurted. “You would receive Statler Hall, which would complete the lands that were originally part of Calder Lodge. It was an advantageous match for her. She would be a Viscountess and eventually a Countess. You would never get a brat on her, but you didn’t care about that—although I never understood why.”

  Max did. David was counting on him to eventually marry. Would David have eventually summoned him back to England once Millie’s murder blew over? Or did he have other plans? The twists and turns of what may have been David’s plan made little sense to Max, but perhaps David hadn’t completely thought them through either.

  “There’s a small problem with our bargain.”

  “What’s that?” Andallen took another gulp of his brandy.

  “The solicitor won’t release Sarah’s inheritance until there is positive proof Viscount Lakersby is dead.”

  Andallen put down his glass with a snap. Max was surprised the glass didn’t break.

  “Of course, he’s dead. The man I hired assured me the job had been done.”

  Max regarded him thoughtfully. “Murder and kidnapping. A man of many talents, I see.”

  “Talents that you share, as I recall,” Andallen shot back.

  Max leaned forward and put his glass down on the desk. He heard Andallen shift, but did not expect to be staring down the barrel of a dueling pistol when he looked back up.

  “We have danced about the issue long enough,” Andallen snarled as he cocked the pistol. “Now, either you sit down and write another letter to the bank releasing a substantial amount of funds to me, or it won’t matter what I do with your lovely bride as you won’t be here to save her.”

  Max’s smile was grim. “You haven’t thought this through very well, have you?” Max sat and pulled a sheet of foolscap out of the top drawer. “I suspect Griffin knows who you are and won’t wait until you’ve left the country to notify the authorities.”

  “He’s only a servant,” Andallen scoffed. “They won’t take his word against that of a peer.”

  Max picked up the quill again. “Ah, but they will take my father’s word over yours.”

  “And mine too.”

  The familiar voice from the doorway sent relief cascading through Max. He looked up as Andallen swung around to face the newcomer.

  “It’s about time you arrived.” He rose from the desk and rounded it. Not fast enough to catch Andallen off-guard, however. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

  Andallen backed up a few steps, keeping his pistol trained on Max as he looked in astonishment from one twin to the other.

  “I had to check on something before I came. On a whim, I made a stop and it paid off.”

  “You came alone, I hope,” Max stated.

  David leaned back against the still open door. He frowned then adopted a neutral expression as he replied, “No. But I didn’t bring who I suspect you thought I would.”

  “Put the pistol down, Andallen,” Max said. “You can’t shoot both of us.”

  “And you’d never get past the one you didn’t,” David added.

  Visibly shaken, Andallen moved near the fireplace, keeping both men in his sight as David came into the room.

  “You never believed there were two of us,” David stated. “But that no longer matters. What does matter is that it’s over. Put down the pistol and you can walk out of here.”

  “After you tell us where Sarah is,” Max added.

  “Not unless I get what’s coming to me.”

  “That can be arranged, Samuel.” Another voice joined the threesome from the door.

  Andallen turned and froze, the blood draining from his face, as a white-haired gentleman entered the room.

  “You’re dead! He sa
id you drowned. He saw you go under.” Andallen was babbling now. The pistol in his hand wavered dangerously and Max hadn’t forgotten that it was cocked. If he dropped it, it might go off and anything could happen.

  “One does not live on a river and not know how to swim,” the newcomer replied. “Even at my age.”

  Andallen backed up against the shelves beside the fireplace, glancing around as if getting his bearings. Both Max and David stood in the center of the room together. They were dressed similarly, with dark morning coats and trousers. Max knew Andallen had no idea who was who from where he stood. As Andallen moved in front of the fireplace and to the side, Max wondered why he was backing himself into a corner. Surely, he could see that once he used his one shot, he would be trapped. Andallen reached for something on a shelf beside the fireplace and David tensed beside him.

  Desperation etched Andallen’s features. He had lost, but Max recognized the gleam in his eyes. If it was all over, he was going to take someone with him. Max wondered if it would be the gentleman in the doorway, whom he’d deduced was Viscount Lakersby. Andallen was closest to him.

  Then David moved, just as Andallen pulled a small box off the shelf, and pandemonium erupted.

  In the span of a heartbeat, Max watched helplessly as David launched himself toward Andallen.

  “No!” Max’s shout was too late.

  Andallen took a startled step backward and stumbled against the wood carrier. As he fell, the pistol went off. David jerked, but grabbed Andallen and the two crashed into the fireplace. David landed on top, but neither moved.

  Max rushed to the pair and pulled David off Andallen. Turning him over, Max discovered his shirtfront was already soaked in blood. Moving David away from the other man, he tore open David’s coat and found the wound. It was close to the heart, blood pouring from the hole.

  “Send for a doctor! Quickly!” he shouted as he began to untie David’s cravat.

  Lakersby came to his side. “Let me take a look. A footman has been sent for a surgeon.”

  “David. Oh God, David. Why?”

  The unhealthy pallor on his brother’s face scared him more than he would admit. From somewhere, Lakersby produced a thick pad of cloth, which he pressed over the wound. “Put pressure on this and try to stop the bleeding,” he instructed.

  David was lowered to the floor and Max held the pad, adding David’s cravat to it to provide more cushion. David opened his eyes and stared up at him. “Had to do it. He was reaching for the knives.” A grim smile touched his lips. “I’ve made a mull of this one. It was all my fault. You shouldn’t have to live with my mistakes hanging over your head.”

  Behind him, Max heard rustling then Lakersby curse and mutter, “Where the hell is she, you bastard?”

  “Don’t talk,” Max urged David. “The doctor will be here soon.”

  “It’s too late, Max. I’ve botched things. I have to…tell you.” His breathing was becoming shallower and dread settled in Max’s chest like a dead weight. “Millie…Millie was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill her. After you turned her away, I…I tried to comfort her, but she turned on me.” He coughed. “She called me horrible names and I snapped. Then I panicked.” His breathing became more difficult, but he managed to continue. “It wasn’t until after you were in France that I decided to be you while in town and myself while at home.”

  Lakersby came to Max’s side again. This time he held a cushion Max recognized as coming from one of the chairs. He slipped it under David’s head.

  “Samuel’s dead.”

  David’s weight had thrown him into the fireplace, causing him to hit his head on the marble. Max wouldn’t mourn him, but he still didn’t know where Sarah was.

  He looked up at Sarah’s father. Viscount Lakersby was ordering the removal of Andallen’s body, instructing the footmen what to do with it. The man’s face was drawn tight, but Max recognized the frustration in his tone. He felt the same. How would they find Sarah now?

  “You shouldn’t have come back,” David’s weak voice claimed his attention again, as Lakersby left his side. “I would have gotten rid of Andallen then sent for you.”

  Max sighed, remembering the entry in the book he’d found in the desk. “Like you got rid of Millie’s father?”

  “He threatened Geoffrey.” He tried to take a deeper breath, but coughed again, this time bringing up blood. “I didn’t care…for me, but I couldn’t let that happen to Geoff. It would have destroyed his career.”

  The smell of blood filled the air around him. Max didn’t want to press, but a part of him knew this was his only chance to try to understand the puzzle of the last five years. “And the thug you sent after me?”

  David closed his eyes as he fought for breath. “Another impulsive mistake, but it wasn’t for you. I knew your friend was looking into Millie’s death. Jarvey was to tell him to stay out of my business and scare him off. I had no idea you’d returned to England.”

  A commotion in the doorway caught his attention. He looked up, hoping to see the doctor entering. A whirlwind in blue silk rushed past a startled Griffin.

  “Madam, you can’t go in there,” Griffin exclaimed. He was speaking to air as the vision stopped a short distance into the room, taking in the room with wide, worried eyes.

  She rushed to Max’s side and dropped to her knees. For a moment she looked from one to the other then raised her eyes to Max. “How badly is he hurt?”

  Max couldn’t answer her, but his eyes did. Her own filled with tears. “Oh, Max.”

  “Sarah?”

  He heard the viscount say her name, saw her look up, before David commanded his attention again.

  “Papa?” A flurry of movement beside him and she rose to her feet.

  “I’m sorry, Max.” David’s breath hitched. “I didn’t mean to cause so much pain. All I wanted was Father to be as proud of me as he was of you.” David gasped for air then closed his eyes. “Take care of her. I would…I would never have hurt her.”

  “Stop talking,” Max said, but he couldn’t keep his voice firm. “Hold on.” Despite the soaked pad he still held, Max shook him.

  David opened his eyes again. His voice was a bare whisper. “It’s best this way. He need not know what I was. Please…spare him the shame.”

  By the time the doctor arrived, Max had acknowledged to himself it was too late. He’d seen too many wounds in battle like David’s not to know that it was fatal. And as he sat on the floor of the library and watched his brother die, Max couldn’t suppress the regret. Tears sprang to his eyes, and for a moment, he wished he’d stayed in France.

  Then he looked up as Sarah sank to the carpet beside him. Her eyes were awash in tears spilling over and down her cheeks, but he didn’t know whether they were tears of sorrow or joy. When she put her arms around him, he knew they were both.

  The day was warm, but the breeze that occasionally disturbed the solemn crowd was cool. Max stood with his father, Sarah and her father, and watched David’s coffin being lowered into the ground beside their mother. So much had happened in the past week, he and Sarah had barely spoken to each other.

  So many questions he wanted to ask that would never be answered. Dr. Clayborne had discovered that monkshood had been added to the salve his father used. Remembering the recipe and vial he’d found in David’s chest in London had partially supplied his answers. The why might never be known, however. He could only speculate that David hadn’t wanted their father to come to London, and making him think he was ill was the best way to accomplish that.

  As for David’s secret life. He would never tell his father. He didn’t want to tarnish his brother’s memory. There was no way to know how many people might have known, but that information would never come from him. If someone else chose to tell his father, he hadn’t decided if he’d go so far as to deny it, but he would certainly not confirm it.

  The vicar’s voice interrupted his thoughts, indicating the pile of dirt beside him. As he tossed the first handful and
heard the pitter-patter of it landing on the lid of the coffin, he hoped David was at peace.

  The crowd was dispersing when he noticed a lone figure standing a distance away beneath a spreading oak. Max might not have noticed him at all except for the way he stood. Tall and straight, a military man. He wondered who he was and whether he was waiting for one of the mourners.

  There had only been a few close friends at the funeral. He had no idea of David’s friends, and none seemed to come forward. Most of those who had made the trip from London came to get a look at Sarah, the new Viscountess Royden. Stories of her aborted wedding two years ago to David had begun making the rounds and the gossipmongers took the opportunity of David’s funeral to come and gawk. Although no one commented on it, he wondered how many knew that David was the one she’d nearly married back then.

  He helped Sarah, her father, and his father into the coach before joining them for the trip back to the house. Luncheon would be laid out for the guests, but he had no patience for their curiosity. Once back at the house, he excused himself and headed for the stables.

  He made no effort to disguise his approach as he rode back toward David’s final resting place. The man under the oak tree was no longer there. Instead he stood beside David’s grave. Max watched him for a few moments before closing the distance.

  Shock reverberated through him as the man turned to face him. Geoffrey Shafly had been one of the captains who served under him at Waterloo. He had been young and a bit brash, but competent nevertheless. Max had taken him under his wing, treating him like a younger brother, discussing campaign strategy and military history with him. He had apparently remained in the army. He wore a clean uniform now, the rank of Major proudly displayed.

  Sliding from his horse’s back, Max landed on his good leg then approached.

  “Major.”

  “My lord.”

  Max noted the lines of grief etched on the man’s face. His eyes were filled with anguish.

  “Why didn’t you come to the house?”

  Major Shafly turned to look back at the grave. The men hadn’t come to finish filling the hole and the coffin shone dully in the sunlight overhead.