Rescued from Ruin

by Georgie Lee

  Randall shoved the pendant in his pocket. If Strathmore hurt her, he’d kill the man.

  ‘I readied the horse for you, my lord. It’ll be faster.’

  ‘Well done.’ Randall snatched up the reins and mounted, sure he could spot Strathmore’s ostentatious coach along the main streets. ‘Miss Domville is in the carriage. See to her until I return.’

  He kicked the horse into a gallop, making for Drury Lane.

  * * *

  The tense minutes stretched on as Cecelia sat in the dark carriage with Lord Strathmore, rubbing her sore arms. The Earl hung out the window, shouting along with his driver for the other carriages to move. She eyed the opposite door, the brass handle temptingly close. She could leap out while he was distracted, but not without tripping over his thick legs and risking more bruises from him.

  At last, after more screaming and the crack of a whip, the carriage broke free of the crush and Lord Strathmore resumed his seat, his eyes fixed on her breasts. ‘At last, we’re alone.’

  She covered her chest with her hand. ‘Lord Strathmore, we cannot wed.’

  His piggish eyes snapped to hers. ‘You’ve already agreed to the marriage and, if Madame de Badeau has told Lady Weatherly, all society will learn of it before the third act.’

  ‘I only agreed because Madame de Badeau threatened me.’

  ‘Threatened you?’ he scoffed. ‘What is she, some kind of highway robber?’

  ‘No, but she failed to tell you the true state of my finances. I’m penniless and in debt.’

  She expected the news to send him into a stuttering panic. Instead, his eyes sharpened into two hard points. ‘Are you trying to make a fool of me?’

  ‘No, Madame de Badeau is trying to make fools of us both.’

  ‘You’re the only one making a fool of me,’ he shouted and Cecelia pushed back against the squabs. ‘All the attention I paid to you, the loan of my horse, the painting, everything, and you run off to Falconbridge Manor like a common Cyprian. Well, you won’t embarrass me again, you’ll be mine.’

  He flew across the carriage, his weight pressing down on her until she could barely breathe. ‘Get off me.’

  ‘I won’t hear any of your lies. You owe me.’

  He clawed at her dress and a seam ripped. She pushed her hands against his chest, struggling to free herself, but he grabbed her arms, forcing them above her head and pinning them in one large hand. His legs straddled hers as he struggled to raise her skirt and, with all her might, she rammed her knee into his groin. He gasped, his grip on her loosening, and she wrenched herself free, shoving him back. She lunged for the door, ready to break an arm to reach safety, but he snatched her around the waist. She gripped the frame of the open window, struggling to keep him from pulling her back, but her fingers slipped from the lacquered wood. He threw her down on the squabs, his bulk pinning her as she fought against his pawing hands.

  ‘Now you’ll know the humiliation you’ve subjected me to. All London was laughing at me and I won’t have it, do you hear me? I won’t.’

  His hot mouth covered hers, his teeth grating against her lips as he gripped her wrists, pulling her clawing hands from his face.

  Outside the carriage, the faint sound of someone calling out carried above the horses and Lord Strathmore’s laboured breathing. The horses whinnied and the carriage came to a hard stop, sending her and the Earl tumbling to the floor.

  Lord Strathmore’s head jerked up. ‘We’ve stopped, why have we stopped?’

  The carriage door swung open and Randall stood there, eyes blazing.

  * * *

  Randall hauled Strathmore from the carriage and slammed him against the side.

  ‘It isn’t what you think,’ Strathmore squealed.

  Randall banged him against the carriage again. ‘Then explain to me what it is.’

  From the high seat, the driver clutched the whip, ready to climb down. With a shake of his head, Randall warned him not to interfere.

  ‘She’s mine. She’s going to marry me,’ Strathmore rushed in a shaky voice.

  ‘No, never,’ Cecelia called out, slipping from the carriage and coming to stand behind Randall.

  ‘You promised me, you little whore,’ the Earl spat.

  Randall pulled back his arm and slammed his fist into Strathmore’s cheek, the pain in his knuckles unequal to the anger tearing through him. ‘Speak to the future Marchioness of Falconbridge like that ever again and I’ll tear you apart.’

  Behind him Cecelia gasped, the delicate sound cutting through Randall’s fury and giving him the calm he needed to not beat the life out of the earl. Instead he opened his hand and Strathmore slumped to the ground, clutching his bruised face and whimpering.

  Randall stood over him, disgusted. ‘She’s poor, Strathmore, penniless, living off pawned silver and credit.’

  ‘Then why did Madame de Badeau encourage the match?’

  ‘Because she hates you for humiliating her two years ago. This was her revenge and you fell for it.’

  Randall watched as the truth sank into the man’s thick skull.

  ‘I’m ruined.’ Strathmore sobbed. ‘Ruined.’

  Randal stepped back and held out his arms to Cecelia. She rushed to him, clinging to his chest, trembling as he held her tight.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cecelia.’

  ‘I know, and I am, too.’ She slid her hands around his waist, meeting the tightness of his embrace. Relief slowed his pounding heart, and he kissed her forehead. In the pressure of her hands against his back, the soft weight of her cheek against his chest, he felt his forgiveness and a warmth no wine or reputation could ever provide.

  ‘You came back,’ she whispered and he slid his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face to his. ‘Your aunt said you’d come back, but I didn’t believe her. I was wrong.’

  ‘No, I was wrong, about so many things.’ Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the pendant, dangling it between them on its broken chain. ‘I came to make you respectable again. I want to give you that and more. Cecelia, will you marry me?’

  She laid her hand on his cheek, the love in her eyes touching his soul as she drew him down to her, the answer in the sweet taste of her kiss.

  * * *

  Cecelia leaned into Randall’s body, his heart beating beneath her hand. In his firm kiss lay the fulfilment of every promise all the others in her life had ever broken. His tongue caressed hers and her fingers tightened on the back of his neck. She would never be lonely again and she and Theresa would be safe, free from uncertainty and ruin, and protected by Randall’s love.

  At their feet, Strathmore snivelled.

  ‘What about Madame de Badeau?’ She stiffened, one last threat to her happiness lingering. ‘She won’t leave us in peace after this.’

  ‘Yes, she will.’ He swept her lips with a comforting kiss and her fear faded.

  He let go of her and knelt down next to the earl, who backed up as far as he could against the carriage wheel.

  ‘Don’t hurt me, please,’ the pathetic man whimpered like an injured rat.

  ‘Unfortunately, I need you too much to hurt you.’

  ‘But I have nothing, nothing,’ he gasped, about to sink into a fresh fit of blubbering when Randall grabbed him by the collar and gave him a sobering shake.

  ‘Shut up and listen to me. If you do everything I tell you, you may just save yourself from complete ruin.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘The Marquess of Falconbridge,’ the footman announced and Randall strode into Lady Weatherly’s salon.

  Conversation hushed and the rustle of people stilled as he walked the length of the long room. A few were brave enough to watch him, but their eyes dropped the moment he noticed them.

  He stopped by the open terrace doors, his position
offering an excellent view of everything.

  In a short time, everyone fell back to their conversations or card games. Even the young lady at the pianoforte resumed her playing and the dancers returned to their turns and twirls. No one approached Randall and he ignored the many curious looks thrown at him, his attention fixed on the doorway.

  He didn’t have to wait long before Madame de Badeau appeared, announced by the footman. If she noticed the furious whispering spreading through the room, it didn’t show in the wide smile she wore as she crossed the room to join him. Her fine dress fluttered about her legs as her misjudged triumph emphasised her swinging gait.

  ‘Randall, I see you’ve returned from your little folly in the country.’

  ‘I have.’ He looked around the room. ‘Tell me, where is Miss Domville tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know where she’s gone.’ Madame de Badeau frowned. ‘I’d like to believe she eloped, but the girl’s too stupid for such a rational step. No doubt her current escapade is only another of her many attempts to spite me, despite everything I’ve done for her.’

  Randall laced his fingers behind his back, struggling against his disgust to maintain the detached London facade which used to come so easily to him.

  ‘Of course, she isn’t the only one who’s acted like a fool,’ Madame de Badeau continued, her sister forgotten. ‘People are whispering about how a little-known widow humiliated the notorious Marquess of Falconbridge. It’s all I seem to hear about of late. No doubt this whole room is filled with people laughing about it.’

  ‘If they are, it makes no difference to me.’ And for the first time in ten years he knew it was true. They were whispering about him and who knew what they really said, but he didn’t care. They could all go to Hades and take Madame de Badeau with them.

  ‘I see your pretty little widow has not arrived,’ she purred, following the line of his gaze to the door.

  ‘Yet.’

  She slapped her fan against her hand. ‘No, she’s not coming, not tonight or ever again.’

  ‘You seem so sure.’

  ‘Oh, I am. You see, I received a letter this morning from Lord Strathmore. It contained the most delightful account of his trip to Gretna Greene with your precious Cecelia.’ She reached into the small gap of her bodice and withdrew the missive, then held it out to Randall. ‘You may read it if you like.’

  ‘No, I already know what it says.’

  The steady rise and fall of her chest paused before she took a deep breath. ‘Did your precious widow already write to you of her happy news?’

  ‘No. I drafted that letter and gave it to Strathmore to copy and send to you.’

  The paper crinkled in her hands as her fingers curled into a tight fist. ‘But I saw them leave together.’

  ‘You did, but you didn’t see me intercept them, nor pay Strathmore in kind for what he tried to do to Cecelia. It’s the reason you haven’t seen him. He’s at his estate, recovering from a nasty black eye.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Her confident tone wavered.

  ‘Then you won’t believe this, either. The price he paid to avoid my calling him out was to write the letter you’re holding and another to Lady Weatherly outlining your plot to ruin him and Cecelia.’

  Horror flashed across Madame de Badeau’s face, followed by searing anger. ‘You’re trying to get the better of me, but you won’t, and neither will that little whore.’

  ‘Mind how you speak of her,’ he warned, fingers laced tight together behind him.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do. Do you really think I’ll allow you or her to make me a laughingstock, to let her do to me what her mother did before?’

  ‘You’ve brought this and more on yourself.’

  ‘More?’ Her voice cracked.

  ‘I know where Miss Domville is. She’s with my aunt at Falconbridge Manor. Before she left, she entrusted a packet of letters to me describing your life in France, your plans to destroy Cecelia and Lord Strathmore and how you tried to pass off your daughter as your sister.’

  Madame de Badeau covered her mouth with a shaking hand, her horror the most genuine emotion he’d ever seen cross her face.

  Before she could answer, another flurry of whispers wicked through the room and all eyes turned to the door.

  Cecelia stood at the threshold, dressed in her black silk dress with gold embroidery, diamond earrings dangling from her ears, the pendant warm against the smooth skin of her chest. She met the curious stares of the guests and he sensed the ripple of nerves spreading beneath her confidence. She touched the pendant and then her eyes met his. He winked at her and a sweet smile spread across her lips, matched by his own. He saw her stand a little straighter, his silent encouragement bolstering her courage.

  Conversation ceased as everyone waited while Cecelia whispered to the footman.

  ‘The Marchioness of Falconbridge,’ the footman announced.

  The collective gasp nearly shattered the plaster ceiling, but none was as loud as Madame de Badeau’s.

  With the delightful sound ringing in his ears, Randall strode across the room to stand beside his wife. He would crawl over the shards of his own reputation, cross a hundred ballrooms on his knees with all London laughing at him to be by her side.

  Cecelia slipped her hand around his arm, Aunt Ella’s diamond sparkling on her finger as he escorted her into the centre of the room.

  Lady Weatherly approached, greeting them with a regal curtsy. ‘Lord Falconbridge, you’ve outdone yourself.’

  He squeezed Cecelia’s hand. ‘It will be the last time.’

  ‘Oh, I think we’ll shock a great many people with your newfound respectability before we’re through.’ Cecelia laughed. ‘Imagine what they’ll say when there is a little one in the nursery?’

  ‘Are you increasing?’ Lady Weatherly asked, almost hyperventilating with the excitement of new gossip.

  ‘No, but I’m sure it will happen in time.’ She shot Randall a sinful glance, her hope for the future as strong in the look as her desire for him.

  ‘I’m sure it will.’ He raised her hand to his lips, wanting to give her this gift and ease the last of her past heartaches.

  ‘No, this can’t be,’ Madame de Badeau screeched, rushing at them. ‘How dare you, how dare you?’

  Cecelia’s hand tightened on his arm, but she didn’t draw back, steady as ever by his side.

  ‘Madame de Badeau, remember yourself,’ Randall commanded and for a moment the woman was stunned silent.

  ‘Perhaps it would be best if you left,’ Lady Weatherly suggested.

  ‘Don’t you dare chastise me, you whore,’ Madame de Badeau spat. ‘I know your secrets, all of them.’

  With her head held high, Lady Weatherly turned on one heel and walked off, leaving Madame de Badeau to stand by herself, a spectacle to amuse the room.

  ‘How dare you cut me?’ Madame de Badeau screamed after her before she noticed the others watching. ‘How dare any of you look down on me? I know all your secrets, yours and yours, and yours.’

  She jabbed a finger at first one lady and then another. As she did, they rose and followed Lady Weatherly into an adjoining sitting room until one by one the salon drained of people and only Randall and Cecelia remained.

  Madame de Badeau whirled on them, her face creased with rage. ‘You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. You think you’ll be able to walk through society with your heads held high, but you won’t.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do to make us feel ashamed,’ Cecelia shot back.

  Madame de Badeau’s eyes hardened on Cecelia, ready to attack like some rabid dog.

  Randall stepped forward, dropping his voice to a tone as red as hot iron. ‘Say one word against us, breathe even one insult, and I’ll reveal to all of London the truth about your
time in Paris and about Miss Domville.’

  ‘No, Randall. You see, I have letters, too, and I’ll write more if you dare share my secrets. Imagine how all of London and everyone you’ve ever humiliated will salivate to see you brought low.’

  He leaned in so close he could see the grains of face powder covering her skin. ‘Let them. I’ll gladly accept their ridicule if it means never having you in our lives again.’

  Her jaw dropped open, her bravery vanishing under the force of his words.

  He straightened and took Cecelia’s hand, leading her towards the terrace.

  ‘Might I suggest Italy?’ he said carelessly. ‘It can be quite a haven for those who’ve been disgraced.’

  The quick click of Madame de Badeau’s shoes as she fled the room was the only response.

  Outside, the darkness of the sky melded with the faint lights illuminating the windows of the city. He took Cecelia in his arms and she glowed like the diamonds gracing her ears.

  ‘You were bold to tell Lady Weatherly of our intimate relations.’ He touched her cheek, revelling in the love making her eyes sparkle.

  She wound her hands around his neck, falling into him with a sigh. ‘I very much enjoy our intimate relations.’

  ‘Careful, my dear...’ he grazed her throat with his teeth ‘...or you’ll earn yourself a scandalous reputation.’

  ‘Let everyone be scandalised by our love,’ she murmured in his ear, pressing her hips against his. ‘I intend to flaunt it through town.’

  ‘Good, because I intend to create quite a scandal with my ardent passion for my wife.’

  He covered her lips, kissing her with all the strength of his love and she fell against him, her embrace full of the promise of this night and every night to come.

  * * * * *

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