The glee in his voice nearly rendered her speechless. However, they had hours together, and she had questions. Questions only he could answer.
She tried to overlay her revulsion with false respect. “Lord Penhaven, my mother. Tell me more about her?”
He shifted on the velvet-covered squab, examining her head to toe. “You remind me very much of your mother in some ways—strong-willed, a fierce temper, passionate. The incomparable of her Season. However, she was intemperate, unconventional. Any of that sound familiar, my dear?”
“Quit calling me that,” she whispered. Penhaven’s assessment was eerily similar to her father’s. She attempted to transmit her hatred through the dim space.
He snorted and stared out the window but gave the impression of looking inward. “Your mother was the most beautiful creature in England. She would seek out my company during the balls and soirées. I had already come into my title, and she thought me an amusing confidant. I entertained hopes…of course, I did…how could I not…”
The silence was broken only by Albert’s snuffling. “Did she reject your suit?” she prodded.
“I never had the chance to declare my intentions. Your father’s lascivious, wandering eye caught her. He was handsome and worldly, I suppose, but so arrogant. She no longer paid me any heed. Her innocence made her an easy mark, and the earl compromised her in the gardens during a ball. Windor got caught on purpose, I’m sure of it. She would have eventually seen thorough his façade and come back to me.”
“They were in love.” Those long ago letters made her empathetic to a woman she’d spent her life resenting and a man she’d spent her life hating.
“What do you know of such things? Your father had beastly urges. Whenever they fought, even after they married, who was her friend? I was the one who truly loved her.” A red flush crept up Penhaven’s neck and agitation twitched the fingers curled over his knees. “She always returned to him. Always. It was maddening.”
Maddening. It must have been. His unnaturally gleaming eyes and unusually rumpled hair lent him a wild look, like a man left wandering the forest alone for too long. Albert the Bald picked at his dirty nails, seemingly unruffled by the entire exchange.
“You know what happened to my mother, don’t you?”
A great inhalation puffed him out, flaring his nostrils and bulging his eyes. “It was an accident. I never meant to hurt her. I loved her. You must understand.” He reached for her hands as if begging some sort of forgiveness from her. Pressing backward into the squab, she fisted them in her skirt, her skin crawling.
“You did hurt her, didn’t you? Accident or not.” The trembling in her voice lent it an unintentionally gentle quality even as her gut twisted painfully. As a young child, she had nurtured futile dreams of her mother returning—crying, embracing her, telling her she was sorry.
“She came to me one afternoon in a fury, certain the earl had taken a mistress during her confinement with you. He had not been to her bed as often after your birth. She accused him, but he denied it. She always came to me for comfort. This time, I decided I would keep her. No matter what, she would never return to that bastard.”
“Wh-what happened next?” Her lips barely moved. A numbness cascaded through her body, affecting even her heart.
“Her anger eventually abated, and she wanted to return to Wintermarsh because of you brats. Her children with that spawn. I promised her new children, and I locked her away. For her own good, you understand. For her own good!” He paused. One of his hands fisted at his mouth while the other pulled at his neck cloth.
“The next morning, I expected her to be happy and at peace with her new life, but she had torn the room apart in her wrath. Then she attacked me,” he exclaimed in an incredulous voice. “Time and again, she flew at me. Finally—I didn’t want to, you understand—I struck her. Her head hit the bricks around the grate. There was blood, so much blood.” He clamped his arm around his stomach and rubbed his fingertips over his temple as if he’d been the one injured.
“Everyone saw her ride away with a man. How? What did you do with her body?” Sadness over a tragedy that had shaped her family to such detriment twined with an odd relief that her mother had not abandoned them by choice.
“My housekeeper dressed as your mother, and my valet dressed in my clothes. Mrs. Reynolds looked similar to your mother, not as beautiful, of course, but the same size and coloring. It only took me pointing her out as Victoria for the other villagers to agree it was her. They were as easy to lead as sheep. My housekeeper and my valet helped clean up the mess, and we buried Victoria in the woods.”
His confession seemed to offer a measure of exoneration to his black soul. His face cleared of the sadness and regret. Furrows smoothed and lips untwisted. “Mrs. Reynolds and Peter couldn’t be allowed to spread doubt. They had to be dealt with. Quite unfortunate. A good valet is difficult to find.”
“You mean murdered?”
“A rather unsavory way to put it, but…” He waved his hand dismissively.
She was as good as dead after bearing witness to his confession. Then again, Albert’s life was forfeit as well. Had he come to that conclusion yet? She shifted to take his measure. His cow eyes reflected blissful ignorance of their impending doom.
Penhaven had fallen silent, his head resting against the cushion, his eyes closed. Hope was not yet gone. They moved inexorably closer to Gray.
Moreover, she wasn’t a ninnyhammer. Could she successfully embroider a sampler or paint a credible watercolor of the countryside? No. But she could knee a man in the bollocks and punch him in the kidneys. She was handy with a knife and could load and fire a pistol. She could ride like a demon, climb a tree and swim a lake. She would get herself out of this mess.
Could she sway Albert to her cause? The man held no ill will toward her family. He wanted money. That she could offer. The two of them could overpower Penhaven, and then the coachman on their next stop. He could escort her to Wintermarsh, and Rafe would gladly pay for her safe return.
She waited what seemed a lifetime but was probably closer to a quarter of an hour. Penhaven hadn’t opened his eyes or moved. Shifting toward Albert, she spoke softly and slowly. “Mr. Worth, you do realize he won’t let either of us live after what we’ve heard? He’s killed a valet and a housekeeper to hush up my mother’s murder.”
“I ain’t one to judge. I don’t care what he’s done, long as I get my money.” Albert crossed his arms on his chest and stared her down, making no effort to muffle his voice. Had Penhaven’s hand twitched? She took a deep breath, committed to her path.
“Your loyalty is admirable, although misplaced. I’ll pay you twice as much as Penhaven and let you live. My brother is Lord Rafe Drummond. He would see you paid immediately. We’re not far from my home. Help me take control of the carriage, Mr. Worth.” The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, assessing the other’s intentions and sincerity. Something gleamed. Understanding? Avarice? She would take either.
An explosion reverberated in her ears. Smoke hazed the air and burnt her nostrils. Penhaven balanced a dueling pistol on his knee. His lips moved, but his words didn’t penetrate the ringing in her head.
She swiveled back to Albert. Disbelief gaped his mouth and widened eyes stared at her. Accusing eyes. He pressed a hand over his chest. A wet stain spread across his dark shirt. She processed only shades of grey until the brilliant red of blood oozed through the white of his fingers.
“You shot him.” Her tongue was thick and difficult to control.
Help, she should help poor Albert. Press a cloth to the wound. Was that what one did? She scooted across the seat. Before she could do more than touch his hand, he slumped over and his bald head brushed her skirts. Once again as innocent and vacant as a cow’s, his lifeless eyes stared across the carriage.
“He’s dead,” she whispered.
Penhaven s
erenely cleaned the gun and loaded another shot, his hands steady.
“Yes. You killed him.”
“Me? You shot him.” In comparison to Penhaven’s calm, Lily was panicked.
“You would use your wiles to turn him against me. You are a treacherous female like your mother.”
His words planted a kernel of hate in the pit of her stomach. It grew like a weed, and she clung to the hate. It crowded out the paralyzing terror and sadness, leaving her with an anger-fueled determination to live.
“For the first time, I can say I’m proud to be like her. You can be sure I’ll fight you tooth and nail for my freedom as she did. And we’re alike in another way too. Neither of us wanted you.” Her voice mimicked the scathing, cruel quality of his perfectly.
In a blur, he backhanded her across the right cheek, leaving her reeling and seeing stars in her peripheral vision. Her clumsy, bound hands couldn’t correct her fall, and she landed partway across Albert. Still-warm blood soaked through the sleeve of her gown, and she sprang back to burrow in her corner as if bitten by an adder.
“Another word and this bullet will be yours. Do you understand me?”
“You daren’t kill me. I have a part to play, do I not?”
“Indeed you do. I won’t kill you…yet. But I can put a bullet in a shoulder, a leg. Cause you unbearable, excruciating pain. Would that do?” The malicious glint in his eye indicated he would do it and do it gladly.
She clamped her mouth shut even though more questions—and a few insults—burned. She rubbed at her throbbing, hot cheek. Shooting outraged glances at Penhaven would gain her nothing except limited personal satisfaction. She needed to gather her wits until luck graced her. She rested her head against the side of the carriage and closed her eyes, sitting next to a dead man and across from a mad one.
Chapter Twenty
Gray and Rafe pushed their horses hard, changing to fresh mounts at posting inns and arriving at Wintermarsh in record time. They spent several hours in the study with Gray’s father discussing details of the evening’s planned raid.
Lionel Masterson drew up a picture of the general layout of Penhaven’s estate. Gray was particularly interested in the cellars or rooms in the very highest reaches of the house. If alive, the earl would be well hidden.
Servants would surely be aware of his presence, yet not a hint of gossip circulated. Penhaven either inspired tremendous loyalty, or more likely hired servants with few moral predilections to interfere and paid them well.
Their reconnaissance would begin after midnight. The nearly full moon would be both a blessing and curse on what promised to be a clear night. Without a doubt, Penhaven had posted extra guards in anticipation of their arrival. The man was no oaf. His flamboyant costumes and fey mannerisms disguised a dangerous, unpredictable core.
Uneasiness had plagued Gray all day. Of course, the hellcat he’d left tied to the bed didn’t soothe his state of mind. Lily would take off his head when next they met—and rightly so. What if she truly hated him for it? No, his actions were justified—for her safety and his sanity.
A commotion in the entry hall distracted the three men. The study door flew open, framing Penny, road-weary and filthy. Gray’s guts clenched, almost doubling him over.
“Tell me.” Gray’s voice was rusted iron.
“Penhaven came to the house this morning to take Lady Lily for a carriage ride. She refused him, but he pulled a knife on Mrs. Winslow and forced my lady into his carriage. I found Mrs. Winslow passed out and bleeding on the front steps. The wound was superficial, but she was hysterical and it took time to get the story out of her. As soon as I got the gist, I rode like hell.”
“Christ! Where were you? You were supposed to be watching over her.” He grabbed the back of the nearest chair, his legs weak.
“I know.” Penny pulled at a hank of hair. “I’ve beaten myself roundly for falling for his tricks. The man’s clever. He’d orchestrated a distraction around the corner. An overturned hack. A boy came running for help. He said his mother was trapped. Most likely a hired doxy and a street urchin. I’m sorry, I truly am.”
A buzzing filled Gray’s ears. Steady, steady. He repeated the mantra, but images flew through his head. What vile plans would Penhaven enact before Gray could reach her? Rape or something worse? And there was worse.
“Don’t turn mawkish on me. I need your focus, man.” Rafe took Gray’s shoulders and gave a strong squeeze. “We’ll get her back. Penhaven’s headed to his estate. Something’s afoot, and he wants us there as well. As witnesses, victims, who the devil knows. Looks like we’ll have to oblige him, even though it goes against my better judgment.”
“We’re walking into a trap. One he’s planned for months, maybe years.”
“Of course we are. But we’ve walked into traps before and made it out to tell the tale,” Rafe replied, his eyebrows daring Gray to argue.
“Not unscathed.”
Rafe’s hand touched his cheek. “No, but alive. And isn’t that all that matters?”
“Lily may hate me,” Gray whispered for Rafe’s ears alone.
Rafe heaved a sigh. “What now?”
“She insisted on accompanying us. I thought she’d be safer in town, far away from here. So…bloody hell, I gagged and tied her to her bed.” Gray braced for a well-deserved facer.
Rafe’s expression was unreadable. Finally, unbelievably, he burst into sputtery laughter. “To see her face. How did you manage to keep your bollocks intact?”
“She got a couple of good kicks in.”
Rafe shook his head, his laughter replaced by stoic determination. “What’s done is done, and now we’ll get her home. That’s all you should think about.”
Somehow, Rafe’s words calmed the storm of worry battling for domination inside of him. With a stronger voice, Gray said, “I won’t leave her at Penhaven’s mercy a minute longer than I have to.”
“I’ll ride to Lipton to get the magistrate and gather extra able-bodied men. If Penhaven travels by carriage, he hasn’t even arrived yet. We have some time, thanks to Penny.” Rafe flung the study door open and stuck his head out. “Bertie, send word to saddle Aries.”
The nightmare would end tonight. If Penhaven had laid a finger on Lily, he would die by Gray’s hand. Otherwise, Gray might allow Penhaven to hang by order of the court.
“As soon as the moon rises, I’ll perform a reconnaissance of the manor. We’ll meet at the large oak on the path from town. If I’m not there by midnight, don’t wait. Proceed with the plan,” Gray spoke calmly, steel binding his words.
“I want to help.” Penny stood behind them, looking grim but determined, turning his hat in a circle and crumpling the brim.
“You’ll come with me,” Gray said. “You need darker clothes. Do you have some blacks Penny can wear for the night, Rafe? You’re of a size.”
“Come on then,” Rafe said, leading Penny out the door.
Gray felt his father’s regard and turned to prop a hip on the back of the settee, finally meeting his soft brown eyes.
“I asked Lily to marry me. She consented, although she was a mite upset with me last night for leaving her behind.” A vast understatement, but Gray hardly wanted to confess he’d ruined her—several times over—and left her tied up.
Lionel smiled a knowing smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised. The two of you could catch a room on fire. Your mother would have been thrilled. She adored Lily.”
“I’ve only just found her. What if I can’t get her back?” An unwelcome hint of desperation crept into his voice.
“You will. I have no doubts.” His father was not clairvoyant, yet his words imparted a sense of confidence that could only come from a father. “I’m terribly proud to call you my son, Gray. I don’t know if I told you enough.”
With greying hair and shoulders stooping with age, Lionel had seen his fai
r share of grief, yet laughter crinkled his eyes, and joy was never far from bubbling out. The earl had taught Gray about subterfuge and survival, but his father had taught him about life and love. Gratitude washed over him for having such a man to emulate. When he had Lily back in his arms, he would make sure she understood how much he loved and needed her. He would sacrifice everything for her.
“I could never ask for a better father,” Gray managed to say past the gathering tightness in his chest. His father pulled him in for a hug.
Clomping on the stairs signaled Rafe and Penny’s return. After one last comforting squeeze, his father backed away. Rafe and Penny were dressed almost identically—loose black breeches and boots, dark gray woolen shirts and black jackets.
Rafe’s enormous black horse, Aries, waited in the front drive with a young groom. After Rafe galloped away, lost in the gathering darkness, Gray sent the groom to ready two more horses. While they waited, Gray outlined what they knew of the layout of the house.
“There are downspouts here and here.” Penny pointed to the drawing. “And you’re missing a window from each floor. The window ledges are wide enough, but no balconies. It’ll make climbing difficult. The room up top—” he pointed to a turret, “—is used for stargazing, windows all around.”
“In other words, too exposed. The cellars then. Do you know anything about them?” Gray asked.
“Not much. Passed time in the kitchen the last time my lady visited. Stairs led off the side.”
“When was this?”
Penny cursed. “Last fall. The earl could have been a few steps away.” He ran a hand through his hair and jammed his ill-used hat on top.
Bertie tottered into the study and announced the horses were waiting. The elderly butler’s white, wispy hair stood on end and he looked ready to collapse.
Gray poured a generous glass of brandy and shoved it into Bertie’s hand. “Buck up, man. God willing, we’ll all be back safe and sound by morning.”
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 26
