‘Thought you did me in, did you? You may profess your skill at many things, Sinclair, but killing isn’t one of them. Once the cold water of the Thames slapped me awake, I shook off my haze and swam to shore. I’m tougher than you thought.’ Ludlow grinned, apparently proud of his constitution. ‘From there, I found Pimms afore you and together we’ve turned the table, leaving one deed left to accomplish until we flee this bloody island.’ He stood and took a menacing step though he still wore an ominous grin. ‘We’ve watched you, your comings and goings, friends, even that mongrel dog. Pimms warned you, but still you sent your man out. Thought you were above us, one step ahead, but that’s not so.’
Sin levelled a stare that an idiot could read as lethal. ‘It’s just the two of us now.’
‘Might have been a threesome but Pimms is off to overtake your carriage. Pity that or with any ready whore from upstairs, we could have enjoyed ourselves in kind, as we did all those years ago.’
Immeasurable rage fuelled Max as he lunged across the floorboards. He wouldn’t be satisfied until the last lifeless breath stuttered from Ludlow’s throat.
They fell upon the cot, the rickety frame collapsing under the weight of two men embroiled in conflict. Max landed a solid blow to Ludlow’s midsection and gained freedom to connect with the man’s nose, the chilling crack of bone followed by the spurt of fresh blood, a satisfying repayment.
Then the world slowed.
In a flash of silver Ludlow pulled a boot knife. Max grabbed hold, locking his fingers around Ludlow’s wrist, the struggle for possession turning the blade inward where it sunk into the cur’s shoulder, a fast-spreading stain announcing the wound. Ludlow fought on, unaffected by his injury.
With a forceful twist, Max wrenched the blade free, knocking it away though his proximity allowed Ludlow an advantage. The man’s fingers circled his neck and pressed against his oesophagus to choke off air until his vision blurred. Max struggled to breathe. He couldn’t allow Ludlow to win after the torment he’d caused. Considering the pain of a decade, his mother’s honour, his pride and hope for a better life with Vivienne, Max wanted more. He fought for the most important reason.
Vivi waited.
If he didn’t break free, he’d never see her, never kiss her again. Shoving against Ludlow’s bleeding wound with all his strength, he caused sufficient pain to grant freedom and inhaled deep, his throat raw, before he landed a solid punch to Ludlow’s temple. The man stumbled back over the broken cot frame and into a heap on the floor while Max stood above him, his pulse pounding with the need to continue the assault. He watched and waited a breath. With a swift kick into Ludlow’s ribs, he turned away.
This wasn’t what he needed. He wanted a future with Vivienne. At last, the all-important fact that Pimms sought out his carriage took hold and penetrated his brain with clarity. Max had placed her in harm’s way by insisting she make use of his carriage. He ran to the door and out the back entrance of the dwelling house, unsurprised that his horse was gone.
As she had on every other visit, Vivienne climbed the three stone steps to the Underworld and dropped the knocker. Silence answered. Not wasting a moment, she signalled to the waiting driver at the kerb and entered the side alley, where there too she found the entrance locked. If Max wished for her to stay, why was he making it so difficult? She shouldn’t have come. This served as yet another reason why.
Ever-present doubt eroded her confidence. Where was Mr Hewitt? Max had assured her his associate would see her inside and yet despite another hard rap on the door, the hell stood mute, patiently awaiting the night when it would revive in all its glory. She doubled back and lost in indecision, almost colliding with Thomas where he watched at the edge of the fence, a knowing smile his only greeting.
‘Sin’s not here. It’s too early.’ He eyed the sky where light waned, the sun on cue to exchange places with the moon. ‘I told you the same two times before.’
‘I was looking for Mr Hewitt.’
‘Cole ain’t here neither.’ Thomas lowered his eyes and regarded her with open scepticism. ‘The hell doesn’t open for hours.’
‘I know.’ She shook her head to release frustration. ‘I thought I’d wait inside.’
‘There’s no telling when Cole will be back. He left with a few of the birds from downstairs.’ Thomas quirked a sheepish grin with the retelling.
‘Did he now?’
‘He can’t help it really. The birds who work the hell floor chase after the men upstairs in the offices and today Cole was in a bad way. They offered to help him feel better.’ This was relayed with a broader grin and additional wink. ‘Cole’s never bothered with the same one twice. You’d think he’d have worked his way through the lot by now.’
Her brows climbed high as she muttered, ‘I doubt I know what to do now.’ Thomas didn’t miss a syllable.
‘You should go home and do whatever it is the betters do in the afternoon.’ He stuck his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Tea and embroidery, isn’t it?’
‘And what do you know of tea and embroidery?’ That piece didn’t fit the puzzle that was Thomas.
‘I’ve overheard plenty when no one thinks I’m listening. The birds say “there’s one meant for tea and embroidery, not the bed of a handsome bastard.”’ At her fallen expression, he amended. ‘Or something to the like.’
The nonsensical conversation might have amused her on any other day but now, on the cusp of indecision, Thomas’s words proved further that she needed to get herself home. She didn’t belong at the hell or with a man who didn’t value her worth beyond a convenient tumble, a pleasure promise, he’d called it all those days ago.
She bid Thomas good day and left with her spirit defused as she passed the waiting coach and beyond to the hackney stand on the next corner to make her way home, though both alternatives disturbed her. Somehow the acknowledgement that she was nothing more than a careless distraction for Max paralleled Cole’s distasteful habits with the working ladies at the hell. A woman’s worth should be valued beyond her allure. The conclusion struck a sensitive nerve and, suddenly empowered, she raised her chin in an attempt to overshadow any lingering heartache. She was his better in many ways. She would do well to remember it.
Thank heavens she hadn’t confessed her love and become yet another female who’d succumbed to the enigmatic charms of Sin, bastard hell owner and irresistible rogue. Still her anger didn’t achieve authenticity. She ignored remaining hope without extinguishing her deeper emotions. Max would never reciprocate her affection with sincerity. Perhaps he wasn’t capable of loyalty and devotion. The suggestions saddened her further.
She’d noticed from the first time they’d met, something haunted and consumed him, but without his permission or allowance to understand, they would never form an intimate or lasting bond. The only time she’d seen a different nuance in his eyes, one of truth and dedication when the dark secrets he kept didn’t obliterate the light of his heart, was when they’d made love. As foolishly as she might believe, she was not so blinded by his attention that she didn’t understand the tragedy in their circumstances.
She boarded the hack, numbed by the rush of disappointing conclusions, and leaned against the well-worn seat cushion, a wobbly smile breaking free, all too aware of the irony. From Max’s velvet interior to the dirty pads of a hired cab: he the proud bastard who needed little from the world and she, the genteel lady who doubted her decisions at every turn. He was right, of course. They hardly suited. If only she could convince her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Max slapped the reins, the horse he’d borrowed adequate at best, capable of only a moderate gallop. His brain and heart set a collision course and he had no way to stop the tormenting suggestions, vivid and rash, threatening Vivienne’s safety with implicit peril were Pimms to encounter the carriage with her inside.
Not one to jump to unnecessary conclusions, he couldn’t assuage his immediate fear Pimms would assault
her in kind to his mother’s death, the cruel act of revenge meant to sacrifice another innocent and retaliate for his thirst for vengeance.
His heart pounded in his chest, his brow beaded with sweat as he yanked the leather straps and aimed the animal across the roadway. Bloody horse couldn’t go fast enough, the streets clogged with every type of conveyance but his.
Hope, anomalous and unreliable, fought through the maelstrom of foreboding that drove his pulse into a frantic beat. Perhaps Vivienne hadn’t heeded his advice. Perhaps with the same vigilant deference she’d shown in support of Daventry’s cause, she’d decided otherwise and right now risked no danger, safely tucked away at home. Nay, he wasn’t brave enough to trust hope having known so little of it.
He couldn’t rescue his mother, hadn’t been there to save her. Reason objected with the knowledge he’d no way to predict the tragedy instigated by his father’s wife, aware he couldn’t have aided his mother from where he’d remained blissfully ignorant at university, but none of it mattered now.
He’d bloody damn well save Vivienne. He repeated the vow as horse hooves assaulted the roadway.
He turned the corner in West End, the Underworld ahead on the right. From there a short five blocks would bring him to his town house, though he had no idea who would be there and what awaited. He crossed the roadway and reined the horse to a controlled walk. His carriage stood at the kerb, the box empty. What reason could there be for it? Was Vivienne inside? Had Pimms already done his damage and punished him through her? The sickening consideration had Max vaulting from the saddle to find the interior empty, the door unlocked.
He turned, ready to bound up the stairs, key in hand to slide into the lock in one fluid motion that bespoke of urgency until—
‘It took you longer than I expected.’
He froze at the sound of Pimms’ menacing taunt.
‘What do you want?’ Any conversation would allow Vivienne a greater chance at safety while offering Max a way to ascertain how to thwart the despicable man.
‘I wanted nothing from you.’ Pimms moved from the shadows of dusk with stealth and cunning, rising from behind the stoop’s pediment like an evil nightmare long buried and now released. ‘You should have let matters lie. I did what I was paid to do all those years ago. You can’t fault me for injecting a little amusement into the task.’
Max bowed his head, inhaling deep and fighting against the urgency to overtake the man. Where was Vivienne? Had Pimms already committed the worst? He wouldn’t accomplish anything if he allowed his temper free rein, yet the insistent demand he obliterate the miscreant had his fingers clenched into fists.
‘You can’t blame me. Your mother was a temptation—’
Pimms never finished the sentence. Max leapt from the stairs, the first punch striking the man’s jaw with enough force to snap his head back, the splatter of blood from his face arcing through the air before the man dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap. Every ounce of unresolved rage and frustration fuelling his revenge through the years manifested into that one punch. Still the urge to step on the man’s throat and exorcise even more anger thrummed in his blood. Max didn’t look back, already at the kerb where he unhitched a grey from his carriage and, grabbing a handful of mane, kicked the horse into motion as he pulled up and astride. Something more important waited. Someone who offered a beginning, not an end.
‘You’ve returned.’
Vivienne froze, her stepfather’s voice causing a rush of indecision, her feet unable to move forward though her pulse raced; all the while better sense warned she needed to proceed carefully.
‘Yes.’ The one word served as answer and revelation. She would not allow him to intimidate her. No tears. No crying. Control. She angled a glance over her shoulders, held straight in defiance, unwilling to offer him the slightest indication she would commit to conversation. Truly, she wished to lock herself inside her bedchamber and sort through the tumult of emotions suffocating her every inhalation.
‘You are upset.’
His voice came nearer.
‘I’m confused and angered you’d mar my mother’s memory with your thoughtless actions. Perhaps these last weeks speak more to your character than anything you’d revealed during your brief courtship.’ She turned, aware that to command the conversation in earnest she’d need to risk exposing her vulnerability. ‘I agreed upon a new beginning, but never intended for it to mean we’d be together.’ Her voice shook slightly. ‘How could you imagine the situation?’ A shiver of revulsion escaped. ‘I could never become your—’ She stuttered, unable to complete the absurd suggestion.
‘Then get out.’ He stormed closer, his eyes ablaze with fury. ‘Leave. I have no reason to keep an ungrateful chit under my roof.’ He stopped so close, his breath struck her cheek. ‘Leave and do not look back. Your mother is dead and now you are to me as well.’
Appalled by his irrational indignation, Vivienne hurried to the staircase, her slippers pounding the treads in a race to the top. She dismissed her maid with a sharp command, slammed the door and turned the key in the lock, never as alone as in this moment.
But any sense of security lasted less than a heartbeat.
‘Open the door, Vivienne.’
Her stepfather’s thunderous demand permeated the room and she gasped, a yelp of panic wrangling free before she aborted it by placing her fingers over her lips. Frightened, she was all at once aware she’d trapped herself were he to gain entry. What would she do? There was no lock on her dressing room door. She’d dismissed her maid and the only unlikely weapon seemed the brass lantern on the bedside table, the hearth void of tools. How had matters unravelled into this demented mess? Perhaps she could soothe him with conversation. It was worth the effort when little else came to mind.
She stared at the locked door, her heart in her throat. To approach it, no matter that it remained locked, frightened her pulse into a rapid beat. She straightened her shoulders. How ridiculous, really. He couldn’t reach through the door. She doubted his strength were he to attempt to enter by force. The sturdy oak panel would never give way to his efforts. With an exhalation of determination, she stepped closer.
‘Why don’t we talk about this later, when both of us have reclaimed our emotions? I’m certain we can discuss the path of the future in a more reasonable manner.’
She screamed as the door swung wide and her stepfather entered, his eyes flashing with rage. ‘Silly child, did you not think I had the key?’ He rushed forward and grasped her wrist in a painful hold that brought a fresh sting of tears. ‘Now we will talk. Not later. Not tomorrow. Now, and you will listen and obey.’ He jerked her forward, twisting her arm while his other hand gathered the lengths of her hair to wrap tight in his fist. ‘Such a pretty little thing, why must you make things difficult?’
‘What are you doing?’ Her brain faltered, unable to process his abusive advance. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Had you waited until we were in Surrey this all would have progressed much more smoothly, but now I’ll need to take things into my own hands.’ He sneered, amused by his unexpected pun and, at the same time, tightening his hold. ‘I need an heir. I won’t live for ever. Your mother promised me a son in exchange for security and instead she took ill and died, leaving me with an ungrateful daughter. Now—’ his voice took on an unholy vehemence ‘—you’ll fulfil that responsibility. She failed me, but you’re young and strong. We’ll succeed. You’ll bear my son.’ He reached across her body and slammed the door shut, managing the lock with a fast turn of hand. ‘We wouldn’t want any nosy servants interfering, would we? Let’s get on with it.’
‘What?’ There was no help for it. Tears overflowed, blurring her vision with fear, her heart in an erratic revolt. ‘No.’
‘Yes, most definitely, yes.’ He gripped her, his fingers biting into her arms. ‘Think of your future. I can protect you. I’m offering you my name.’
‘I don’t want your name. Leave me
alone.’ She pulled against his hold in a frantic attempt that proved to be of no use. He twisted her hair tighter and she whimpered, trapped in place and at the same time mortified, unable to defend herself, his control of the situation unyielding, her arms and legs useless to connect with his body with her head tipped backward, his mouth near her ear. The door remained locked. Would anyone answer her scream? No servant would dare intercede in the household of an earl.
Max kicked the grey into an urgent gallop. A persistent premonition of danger lingered no matter that he’d eliminated the threat posed by Ludlow and Pimms. Something unidentifiable goaded him, telling him every minute counted and it wasn’t fear Vivienne would reject him. The feeling was far more ominous and detrimental.
On another layer smothered questions from the past resurrected in tune to his frantic ride. Why would Vivienne want him? He’d made every mistake and offered little in the way of reparation. The truth in these insecurities caused him to ride harder, newborn anger all for himself and the path of poor decisions that constituted his life.
Night had begun to fall by the time he reached Nettlecombe, the two-storey stone building a portentous spectre against the starless sky. Candlelight illuminated the downstairs windows, though the upper floor remained dark as pitch. He took it all in a blur, collecting these facts as he dismounted and accomplished the steps by twos.
Was Vivienne inside? An image of the detestable haughty earl forced upon her through marriage to her mother composed with clarity and he banged on the door with impatience. He’d raised his fist to repeat the process when at last the tall oak door cracked open to reveal the same dour butler, his face cast into an ashen pallor by the small lantern he held.
‘Lord Huntley is not receiving.’
The servant made to close the door, but Max shoved against the panel, causing an upset as he pushed into the main hall. Things appeared quiet within the dim interior. He eyed the stairwell and paused to discern his next move, all the while ignoring the outraged objection of the servant near his elbow.
The Den of Iniquity Page 22
