"Why?"
"Does it even matter? You've already passed judgment."
"You need to explain this to me, because I don't like the side of you I just saw. I don't like seeing people resort to solving problems with their fists."
He said nothing.
"Tell me. I need to understand."
"Life isn't as simple and perfect as you seem to believe, Miss Bliss, and justice isn't equal for all. That man's a murderer. He abused his wife and then murdered her. He even bragged to me about it at her funeral."
He'd clearly shocked Tempy, because she suddenly sat back down.
Millicent clattered her teacup as she set it on the table. "That makes no sense. If that's true, why wasn't he hanged?"
"Because my grandfather backed him rather than me. As usual." Lucien sighed and scrubbed at his face with one hand. "It's an old story, but its aftereffects still linger."
"Tell us." Tempy pressed, but her voice was softer now, and not so angry. A long lock of her hair had come lose, and it curved inwardly, framing her face like a parenthesis.
"What you just saw isn't unusual for Formsworth. He's an abusive man who likes hitting people." Lucien paused. "Especially women."
Millicent gasped, but Tempy pressed her lips together. She didn't look surprised. She looked grim.
"And how is it that you know about it?" Tempy asked.
This was the part he didn't like to think about. The part that still haunted him. "I knew two of the women. One quite well, and the other only slightly." He took a breath and held it for a moment, then let it out in a loud sigh. "They're both dead now, and I believe their deaths can be attributed to his mistreatment. One was his wife; the other was his mistress."
"Are you saying he killed them both?" Millicent's hand trembled as she picked up her teacup. She steadied it with her other hand, but other than that, she seemed to ignore the cup.
"Yes. No." He shook his head. "I'm certain that he killed his wife, and he indirectly caused his mistress's death." At their confused expressions, Lucien stopped to collect his thoughts. "He was a cruel husband. He made Rebecca's life miserable--he'd say hateful things to her in front of friends and then pretend it was all in jest, and later he'd scream at her in private, calling her an ingrate and an imbecile. After he found out that her family was becoming upset with his behavior, he began controlling her communication with her family and cut her off from her friends. He deliberately isolated her so that he was all that was left. It chipped away at her, stealing bits of her soul." His bitterness at himself rose up. "I wish I'd been here to help her, but I wasn't. I was in London, and had no notion what was happening.
"It wasn't until I spoke to her brother while he was visiting London that I learned she might have a problem. He was worried, of course, but nobody guessed the extent to which her husband's love for her had transformed into such an obsessive need to control her."
"That's not love," Tempy burst out vehemently. "That's ownership. Possession. Love should lift people up, not tear them down."
"Some people have a warped understanding of the emotion," Lucien said. "Formsworth claimed that he loved her and couldn't live without her. But that obviously wasn't true."
Millicent shook her head. "Legally, it would have been difficult for you to do anything. After all, men are allowed to discipline their wives as they see fit."
Lucien shook his head, rejecting her words. "It was cruelty hiding behind the mask of discipline." He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling memories he hadn't paused to dwell upon in years.
"I was able to contact her and offer my help. She smuggled out a reply to me through a servant. We arranged to meet in secret so that she could go into hiding, but when I arrived at our rendezvous location, she wasn't there. I waited all through the night, but she never appeared. The next day I learned she'd died in a riding accident. Supposedly, she'd been thrown from her horse and had broken her neck." He shook his head. "I had a hard time believing it. She'd been a good horsewoman, and the timing of her accident seemed all too coincidental. I remember wondering if she could have fallen as she hurried to meet me." He clenched his jaw. "But when I attended her funeral, I found out the truth. Formsworth made certain I knew exactly what had happened."
Lucien remained silent for a moment, remembering that day by her graveside. Formsworth had sought him out, staying behind to speak to him. No one else had been nearby to overhear their conversation. Lucien could still see Formsworth stalking toward him, eyes narrowed in anger and an envelope clutched in his hand.
Lucien cleared his throat. "Formsworth found my letter and discovered her plans to escape. He told me that he killed her while she sat doing her needlework. He crept up behind her and with a quick twist, he broke her neck."
Tempy gasped and reached out to touch Lucien's hand, but apparently she had second thoughts, because she drew it back. He wished she hadn't pulled away. Her touch would have been comforting.
"For years, that image haunted me," Lucien continued, staring at Tempy's clenched hand as she focused her gaze on the fireplace. "I would imagine Rebecca sitting quietly, perhaps lost in her thoughts and dreaming of escape, and then feeling his hands on her. Did she experience the horror of knowing he was about to kill her? Or did she die dreaming of a life without him?"
"But why isn't he in prison?" Millicent asked. "I know you must have told someone."
"Of course I did, but it didn't do any good. Rebecca's body was found out on the moor, and her horse was saddled and running loose. Formsworth accused me of making it all up. Nobody believed me."
Millicent's teacup clattered against the saucer again as she set it on the tray. She gave the nearly full cup an irritated glance and pushed it away from her, as though to remind herself not to pick it up again. "You mustn't torture yourself over what happened. You're not the one who killed her. If fact, you're the only one who made any attempt to save her."
"That's no comfort," Lucien said in a flat tone. "She's still dead."
"What of the other woman?" Tempy asked, still staring into the flames. Her voice sounded hollow and distant. "You mentioned a mistress."
Lucien took a deep breath. "After my friend's death, I arranged to have someone keep watch on Formsworth. I didn't want anyone else to suffer the same fate as Rebecca."
Tempy must have noticed the long lock of hair that had come loose, because she reached up and tucked it behind her ear. "That sounds like an excellent idea."
"Formsworth never remarried. Instead, he kept a series of mistresses. Perhaps he decided that marriage was too messy. Or perhaps he didn't want to have to explain another dead bride. His first mistress lived with him for months before leaving him, and after that, few stayed for long. I think they left when he became abusive. But that first one lasted longer than the rest. It wasn't until she discovered she was pregnant that she broke things off."
"Do you think he struck her?" Tempy asked.
"I know he did. She told me so when I went to speak to her."
"Did you contact all of his former mistresses?" Millicent asked. She raised a handkerchief to her mouth and coughed into it.
"Only those I believed were in danger or needed my help. The man I hired to watch him was to contact me if he believed Formsworth might hurt someone again. He also made sure that Formsworth knew he was being watched, and that if anyone went missing, he'd be held accountable."
"And the man you hired believed this woman needed your help?" Tempy asked.
Lucien nodded. "She loved him. It was only because of her concern for her unborn child that she left Formsworth. After the birth, she tried one last time to convince him to recognize the child as his son, but he refused. She gave up on the man after that, and planned to raise her baby alone, but she developed childbed fever and died a little over a week after giving birth."
"That's all so sad," Millicent said. "What became of the child?"
"A friend of the mother's took him in and raised him. She said she couldn't bear the idea of handi
ng him over to an orphanage where he'd probably die. Over the years, I helped where I could. He's doing very well now."
"I've heard too many stories like that in my life to be surprised by this one," Millicent said. "Life is already hard enough, but when a woman falls victim to an abusive man, her life becomes unbearable."
"Do these women know you're watching out for them?" Tempy asked, glancing over at him.
Lucien shrugged. "Very few of them."
"I'm sorry I doubted you." Tempy said. "I never imagined the kind of man he really was. He looked so normal." She shook her head and sighed. "He's a monster hiding in plain sight." She turned her attention back the fire.
Lucien followed her gaze and became mesmerized as he watched flames swirling around the logs in a loving embrace. As he watched, the flames became Formsworth, consuming and laying waste to everything he touched. The room fell silent except for the sound of the hissing flames and the collapsing logs.
21 - Dinner in the Conservatory
Warm air, redolent with the rich scents of fruit trees, enveloped Tempy as she entered the conservatory. At first, the sound of rain hitting the glass panels of the building and the low murmur of running water muffled any other noise, but as she followed the path toward the center of the conservatory, she detected the low murmur of voices.
She followed the sound. Delicate gas torches lined the gravel walkway, lighting her way like fairy lights. When she passed a bushy tropical plant and rounded a bend, she found herself in a large open area. Lucien and Millicent were already there, seated at a dining table in the center of the space.
Lucien stood as soon as he saw Tempy, his large form in the black frock coat making an inky blot of darkness against the shiny green foliage. Tonight, he wore a rich purple waistcoat that seemed to drink in the light.
"Welcome," he said. "Did you have any trouble finding us?" His gaze scanned her from head to toe, causing her to warm slightly.
What did he see when he looked at her that way? She glanced down at her white dress, wondering if it was an appropriate choice for dinner in an indoor garden. When she glanced back up at Lucien, his expression remained impassive. That was fortunate; otherwise she was certain she would have blushed even more. Something seemed different about the man. Or perhaps it was simply that she was learning more about him. He was more complex than she'd imagined. And perhaps a bit more dangerous. At least, dangerous to his enemies.
The tension in her shoulders eased a bit. "I had no trouble all," Tempy replied as she moved toward her seat at the table. "I simply followed the torches."
A silver charger plate was set in front of each of the three chairs at the small table, and the crystal wine glasses glittered in the torchlight. Tempy took her seat.
Millicent cleared her throat. "You had an inspired idea to have us dine in the conservatory this evening, Lucien. This room feels so lush and primal. We really should be reclining on couches while someone feeds us grapes, just like in ancient Rome." She touched a handkerchief to her upper lip.
One of the young footmen lost his stoic expression, showing momentary shock at hearing her words before restoring his face to its formerly impassive state. The poor man must actually think Millicent wanted him to feed her. Tempy couldn't stop herself from grinning at his discomfort. "I can't imagine living such a decadent lifestyle," she said, in an attempt to put the young man at ease. "Having someone feed me that way would make me quite self-conscious."
Millicent's gaze flickered toward the now-composed footman, and Tempy realized that she had noted his reaction as well. "I've always thought that in one of my former lives I must have been a pampered citizen of Rome. I can easily see myself being carried about in a sedan chair and wearing a toga, although how they managed to keep all that draped fabric from falling off their bodies, I'll never know."
The group of footmen worked silently through dinner. As each small course of the meal arrived, one of the footmen would whisk away the last dish while a second footman set a plate bearing another tempting dish in the center of Tempy's charger plate.
Toward the end of the meal, Millicent suddenly turned her head to one side and let out an odd little chirping sound three times in quick succession. "Chew-chew-chew."
Tempy stared at her for a moment, startled, and then comprehension dawned on her. "Bless you," she said.
"Thank you, dear," Millicent said. "It must be the rich air in here."
Tempy inhaled deeply, breathing in the floral and citrus aromas as she watched the footmen noiselessly clearing away the remaining dishes. "It's a shame that it doesn't agree with you." She turned her gaze to Lucien. "This conservatory must have been a wonderful place to explore as a child."
Lucien looked at Tempy blankly for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, it must."
His face revealed nothing, but that very lack of expression made Tempy look at him more closely. "But you didn't do any exploring here, did you?" Her words contained a note of sadness, and she immediately regretted speaking them.
A footman set a small dish of raspberry trifle in the center of Tempy's charger plate. Topped with fresh raspberries, it looked too tempting to resist.
"Growing up, I was never allowed in here," Lucien replied, his voice sounding tight. "My grandfather was protective of this place. Children were prohibited."
Judging by Lucien's clipped tones, there was something more to this story. Of that, Tempy was certain. She put a small spoonful of trifle into her mouth, savoring the taste, but that small distraction did nothing to keep her from asking more questions as she searched for an answer to this new puzzle. "You don't seem the type of man to be dissuaded by a grandfather's tight rein."
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile, and his gaze flashed toward her. "Normally you'd be right, but on our visit I made an effort to refrain from disgracing my father."
Tempy pressed her lips together. That comment raised so many questions, she couldn't decide which to pursue first. "You mean before today, you've only been here once?"
That Gallic shrug rippled across his shoulders. "Only once to this house, but we visited the nearby village more frequently." He scooped up a fresh raspberry with his spoon and popped it into his mouth. "How did you enjoy your meal?"
"It was excellent," Tempy replied. "Why did you visit the village so often?" she continued, unwilling to be sidetracked.
Millicent interrupted with another of her triple-sneezes, and Tempy repeated a "God bless you."
Lucien settled back in his chair. "There are always maintenance tasks that need to be performed around an estate such as this. My father liked for us to be here to help with the swaling each year." He pronounced the strange word as though it rhymed with whaling.
"Swaling?" Tempy parroted. "I've never heard that word before. What does it mean?"
Lucien sipped from his glass of red wine. "After we left the inn, did you notice some of the burned areas on the moor?"
Tempy gave a nod. "Yes. I thought perhaps lightning had struck. The areas seemed to have burned recently."
"It wasn't lightning. The fires were intentionally set. It's important to keep the heath and furze under control in the common, so we regularly burn it off. It's a process called swaling. For a number of years, my father and I helped the villagers swale. Our job was to ensure that the fire didn't jump out of control and threaten any homes."
"It sounds exciting. And dangerous."
"And hard work. But you're right about it being exciting."
She noticed he didn't comment on the danger. "How old were you when your father first had you help?"
"About ten or so. I took part in the swaling over the next four years."
Tempy tried to picture him as a boy, his dark hair tousled and unruly, trudging through the heath and digging firebreaks to inhibit the spread of the fire.
"We'd keep the fires small so they couldn't escape our control. They couldn't burn too hot or too long, or they would've killed the plant roots rather than simply keeping the gorse
under control." He sipped his wine. "A quick, sharp fire is what's needed. It keeps the land strong and healthy, and helps prevent fires that might take homes or lives."
"It sounds like important work," Millicent said, her voice cracking on the words. She cleared her throat and winced slightly.
Tempy noticed that Millicent hadn't touched her raspberry trifle, and recalled that she'd only picked at each course that had been served. "Are you well? Your voice sounds slightly husky."
Millicent cleared her throat and then grimaced. "Perhaps some tea would help."
One of the footmen gave a slight nod and slipped around a tree, presumably intent upon fetching tea for Millicent.
"Perhaps you caught a chill in the rainstorm," Tempy said.
"Perhaps," Millicent agreed. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "My head has been aching all day, but now it's getting worse. I believe I'd prefer taking my tea up in my bedchamber. Can you have it sent up?" She pushed back her chair and stood, perhaps too abruptly, because she gripped the seat back and wobbled slightly. She glared at Lucien and Tempy. "Why is it that the two of you were drenched to the skin and are entirely sound, whereas I stayed dry and am now feeling wretched? It is quite unfair." She tried to smile at them, but instead she sneezed again. This time, her ladylike little chew-chew-chew repeated itself twice. Millicent glared at them balefully, as though annoyed with them for their apparent good health.
"Goodnight." Millicent moved toward the path as she sneezed once again, and one of the footmen hurried to join her. Tempy could just overhear his murmured offer to escort Millicent to her room. She nodded and took the young man's arm.
"She'll feel better once she's slept," Lucien commented. "It's been a busy day." He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "Would you care to walk with me? I wanted to explore the conservatory."
Tempy tilted her head back to look up at him. "Now that it's yours?"
Lucien arched his eyebrows in surprise, and then he grinned sheepishly. "I think you're right. I need to stake my claim on a place that used to be forbidden to me." His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, but she couldn't decipher his expression. He moved closer and then stepped behind her chair. He pulled it back as she rose to her feet, and then he pushed it back in place.
Gambling on a Scoundrel Page 18
