by Cheryl Holt
“Felicia accomplished that?”
“With a bit of assistance from James Blaylock.”
“Dammit. I’m sorry, Scott. I had no idea what she was up to. I didn’t realize she was even acquainted with Blaylock.”
“I intend to locate Miss Wells and bring her home,” Michael said.
“Good, good…”
“You can have your daughter back, but I’m keeping the plantation and the ships as damages. I’ll sell them and give Miss Wells the money to compensate her for the trouble Felicia caused.”
“Now, see here, Scott, you can’t just—”
“Do you have a problem with that decision?”
“I…I…”
“If you don’t tell me I can keep them, I’ll make you and your idiotic daughter pay forever. What’s it to be?”
Michael loomed over Lord Stone, looking as fierce and dangerous as he’d always been described to be.
Lord Stone stepped away and hastily said, “No, no, I don’t have a problem with it. I get everything else though, don’t I? I get the rest back?”
Lord Stone’s beady gaze flitted around the room as if cataloguing his possessions, as if Michael might pilfer some of them when he walked out.
Michael scoffed with disgust. “Yes, you can have it all—so you can gamble it away in another drunken rout. Come by my club some night, and I’ll be happy to take it from you again.”
He spun on his heel and marched out, and from behind him, Lord Stone called, “I’ll want it in writing. To be sure of the terms, you know?”
“I’ll have my lawyer speak with you.”
He started for the foyer, pushing by the servants who were hovering so they could hear every juicy word of the quarrel. They were brimming with speculation and would have weeks of gossip in the kitchen.
Felicia was up on the stairs, and when she saw him she straightened, as if bracing to rudely insult him. His fury soared.
He’d been lost as a toddler, had risen from nothing to become one of the richest, most powerful men in the kingdom. People such as her father quailed when Michael went by.
How dare she scorn him! What was there about her that was so bloody grand? Naught that he could discern.
“I realize,” he told her, “that—with me being so lowborn and all—you thought your life was ruined by being engaged to me.”
“It was!”
“My father was a Scottish aristocrat. I am an earl’s brother.”
“You liar. You are not.”
“I am, and in the future I’ll probably bump into you on occasion at social events. Please pretend you don’t know me—for I shall certainly pretend I don’t know you.”
“I’d never pursue an acquaintance after this!”
“And good luck finding another fiancé.” He wasn’t usually cruel to women, but he just really didn’t like her, and he couldn’t help adding, “I fear you may have a lengthy spinsterhood, for I can’t imagine who’ll want you after I’ve had you.”
As a parting shot it wasn’t half bad, and he had to admit that it was better than taking a switch to her. She shrieked with offense, and he kept on out the door, being delighted to see the stable boy holding his horse’s reins.
Michael leapt onto the animal and rode away without a backward glance.
* * * *
“You wished to speak with me?”
“Sit, Miss Wesley.”
“It’s Wells,” Maggie tersely said. “Magdalena Wells, and I demand that I be permitted to contact my sister.”
She glared at the portly, obnoxious man seated across from her. He’d introduced himself as Mr. Turner, and they were in his office in the prison. He had a role of authority, but she hadn’t cared enough to have his position clarified. She simply needed a quill, ink pot, and paper so she could write to Pamela.
She wasn’t sure her sister was still at Cliffside or that Pamela would assist her, but other than Pamela, there were only two others who might actually be able to help her. One was Evangeline, and Maggie would die rather than let Evangeline learn she was in such a squalid place. The other was Michael Scott, and Maggie would hack off her arm with a dull blade before she communicated with him on any topic.
He’d told that brigand, Mr. Blaylock, that Maggie conspired with him to ruin pretty, young girls. He’d lied about her sending them to work at his gambling club. After all the altruistic work she’d performed on his street over the years! After all the mercy and charity she’d extended to the less fortunate! And this was her reward?
“My records say your name is Margaret Wesley,” Mr. Turner informed her.
“Your records are wrong. I’m in complete control of my faculties, and I know my own name.”
Mr. Turner scowled, looking as if he never allowed a prisoner to sass him. That’s what Maggie was—a prisoner. The very idea stirred such a virulent wave of fury that she could barely remain in her chair. She was dizzy with ire, almost too enraged to talk.
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
“Your bail has been posted.”
“My bail?”
“Yes.”
“Who paid it?”
He didn’t enlighten her, but said, “The charges will be dropped too.”
“Why would they be dropped?”
“I’m not a lawyer, Miss. I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“Am I to be released?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
He flashed a dodgy smile that only heightened her unease. What was happening now? Obviously he didn’t have her best interests at heart. Had he orchestrated some other, worse fiasco?
He shoved a paper across the desk. “Would you sign this, please?”
“What is it?”
“It states that you absolve me and the other guards of any erroneous behavior.”
“Erroneous behavior?”
Her fury spiked to a whole new level, one that she hadn’t realized she could attain.
She had been in the jail for two days and two nights. Since she hadn’t understood she was to be incarcerated, she hadn’t brought money, blankets, a coat, or any other personal items that were necessary to survive in the ghastly facility. Nothing was free beyond the most meager sustenance.
She still couldn’t fathom why she’d been arrested, why Mr. Scott had so cruelly lied about her. But she had a sneaking suspicion of why the catastrophe had developed. As Blaylock had watched the prison gates clang shut behind her, she’d asked him, “Why would you do this to me? Why?”
He’d grinned and said, “Lady Felicia sends her regards.”
Maggie couldn’t comprehend why Lady Felicia hated her, and any animosity was ridiculously misplaced. Maggie had been a trifle to Michael Scott and posed no challenge to Lady Felicia’s betrothal. Maggie had begged Michael Scott to cry off from his engagement, but he’d refused.
She pointed to Mr. Turner’s paper. “If I don’t sign, will I still be allowed to leave?”
“Well…ah…yes.”
“Then take your document and stuff it.”
If circumstances had been different, if her bail hadn’t been paid by an unknown benefactor, she couldn’t predict what reprimand her sarcasm might have produced.
Mr. Turner glowered with such evil dislike that she was alarmed by it. She leaned away in her chair, wishing she could put more space between them. He seemed ready to storm around the desk and strike her.
If he did, it would simply be one more degradation in a lengthy line of degradations that hadn’t stopped since the day Gaylord Farrow had crossed her path.
Why was life so hard? Why was she constantly punished?
She spent all her time helping others. Her only moral lapse had been her affair with Mr. Scott, but she’d loved him, and she’d proceeded because she’d thought he loved her too. She’d been horridly wrong, but she’d believed it nonetheless.
Couldn’t there be a bit of forgiveness? Of redemption?
Luckily Mr. Turner never had
his chance to lash out. Footsteps sounded in the hall. They were heavy, male boots marching toward her so…not Pamela. And not Gaylord; he walked like a dandy.
“Ah, here he is now,” Mr. Turner said.
“Here is who?” Maggie glanced over to see Michael Scott enter the room. She gasped and demanded, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to fetch you. Let’s go.”
“If I was dead and dying and you were the sole person in the kingdom who could save me, I wouldn’t leave with you.”
“Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed. “Come. I won’t linger in this rat hole one second longer than I have to.”
He reached for her, but she leapt up and skittered behind the desk to stand by Mr. Turner. She couldn’t figure out why she’d feel Mr. Turner was the better option, but she wasn’t thinking clearly.
She’d been tricked and deceived and kidnapped and arrested and incarcerated. She was filthy and hungry and terrified. She’d had her family ruined, her heart broken, her life destroyed. Michael Scott had been front and center for most of it.
She couldn’t imagine departing with him, and he was no woman’s savior.
She peered beseechingly at Mr. Turner, who glared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Don’t make me go with him,” she said to Turner.
“Of course you will,” Turner replied. “It’s all arranged.”
“I’m afraid of him.”
“Aren’t we all?” Mr. Turner muttered, and he stood and turned his sleazy smile on Mr. Scott. “She’s all yours, Mr. Scott, and the warden wanted me to tell you that he hopes there are no hard feelings.”
“Not yet,” Mr. Scott said, “but if I learn later that any of your guards had a hand in her mistreatment, there will have to be consequences.”
He looked very regal, very imposing, as if he could carry out any threat of violence, and Mr. Turner certainly deemed that to be the case. At the overt warning, he blanched with dismay.
“I’m sure there will be naught to learn about the guards,” Turner said. “I’m told it was all Mr. Blaylock’s scheme.”
“Blaylock has already paid some of the price, but he still owes me more.” Mr. Scott’s stony gaze shifted to Maggie. “Let’s go, Maggie, and I won’t ask again.”
“How dare you come for me,” she raged.
“If I hadn’t, who would have?”
Exactly so, Mr. Scott.
It was the saddest comment ever, and to her horror she burst into tears.
In the entire world, who cared about her? No one. Not a single, solitary soul.
“Are you crying?” he said like a complaint. “Stop it. You know it wounds me when you do.”
“I’ll cry if I want to. If I’m upset, it’s none of your business.”
He held out his hand, appearing apprehensive, as if she was a wild animal that might bolt, and that’s precisely how she felt. Alone. Scared. Abused. Neglected. Unloved.
The events of the past few days were too awful to describe or endure. She was just an ordinary woman. How was she to survive such an ordeal? How was she to muddle through it in a sane manner? She had no idea.
She pushed away from Turner and brushed by Mr. Scott, ignoring his outstretched hand. She marched into the hall, momentarily confused about which direction she should go.
A guard was there, and he gestured to her right. “This way, Miss.”
“Thank you.”
She hurried off at a brisk pace, and behind her Mr. Scott called, “Maggie, slow down. Wait for me.”
“I won’t wait for you, Mr. Scott. Not ever again. So I suggest you walk a tad faster if you mean to keep up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“A little gratitude wouldn’t be amiss.”
“Gratitude!”
Michael scowled at Maggie, finding himself inordinately hurt by her temper and disregard. Wasn’t that just like a woman? He’d finally found himself smitten, had finally admitted he might be in love, and she couldn’t care less.
“I could have left your shapely ass in there to rot,” he told her.
“Why didn’t you?”
“If you’d rather, I can give you back to Mr. Turner.”
They were in his carriage and headed for their rundown, tumbledown neighborhood. He’d tried to sit next to her so he might have held her hand or put a comforting arm over her shoulders, but she was having none of it. She’d slid onto the seat across, making it perfectly clear she had no desire to have him anywhere near.
He wasn’t sure what to do with her now. He’d have liked to take her somewhere else besides their decrepit street, to his country house perhaps, or out to Cliffside, but they were both too far away.
Her sister, Rebecca, was an option, but with her and Ramsey being newlyweds—and considering how disgustingly they carried on—he didn’t suppose Maggie would enjoy being a guest.
He had his bachelor’s apartment, but she’d never agree to stay there. The only other place was her charity mission, and he was vehemently opposed to that idea.
Yet, if not there, where? A hotel? A coaching inn?
She was nestled against the squab, her eyes shut as if she was extremely weary. He studied her, thinking she appeared so young and defenseless. Though she’d been incarcerated for just two days, she seemed to have lost weight. Had they starved her? She was skin and bones.
He looked closer and was upset to see she was crying again. Or maybe she hadn’t stopped.
“Maggie,” he murmured, wishing he could calm her.
“Leave me alone.”
“It will be all right.”
“How will it be?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
He patted her knee, but she yanked away, her eyes flying open.
“How dare you have me locked away!” she absurdly charged. “How dare you tell lies about me.”
“What?”
“I’ve spent every minute of the past seven years helping other people. I’ve been kind to every downtrodden person I’ve met. I’ve never sent a girl to work in your despicable club.” She glared with an enormous amount of animosity. “I never would.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“You’ve destroyed my family, seized my home for your own, and stolen my virginity. But was that enough for you? No! You had to ruin my reputation too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“As if you didn’t know,” she fumed.
“I don’t. I swear.”
“The fiend who arrested me, Mr. Blaylock? He explained everything.”
“What did he explain?”
“He said there were witnesses who accused me of pandering. He said he questioned you about it and you admitted the whole scheme.”
Another sin for which Blaylock will pay…
A muscle ticked in Michael’s cheek. “It never occurred to you that he might have been lying?”
“Not for a second.”
“You don’t know me better than that?”
“I only assumed I knew you, but I don’t. You’re a disloyal, pompous bully—as you’ve proved to me over and over.”
“That’s not true,” he mumbled, feeling incredibly wounded by her scathing opinion.
Obviously she was tired and afraid, and she’d just endured more than any woman should ever have to endure. But he’d always believed people were more likely to be candid when they were distressed, and he couldn’t abide that she thought so poorly of him.
Typically he would have lashed out and ordered her to be silent, but for once he swallowed down the angry words. She needed to eat and bathe, to rest and be pampered. He decided he would whisk her off to Orphan’s Nest, and he’d remain there with her until she was hale and happy again.
The carriage rattled to a halt, and she pulled on the curtain and gazed out. They were in front of his club, and she frowned.
“Why have we stopped?”
“I’m taking you to the country in the morning. We’ll stay here tonight.”
She gaped at him as if he was insane. “In your den of iniquity?”
“If you’d rather, we can rent a room at a coaching inn, but still, I have to make arrangements before we depart.”
“Mr. Scott, you’re laboring under the delusion that I would accompany you.”
“You’ll recover faster in the clean, country air. It’s the best place to recuperate.”
“I don’t need to…recuperate. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re not fine, Magdalena. You’re a mess.”
“It’s Miss Wells to you. Now take me home.”
“To where? Cliffside?”
“No, to my charity mission, you thick oaf. Where would you suppose?”
“It’s not safe for you there.”
“According to whom? I’ve lived there for seven blasted years, and I never had any trouble until I met you.”
“It’s not safe!”
He was scared to let her out of his sight. She was prone to landing herself in jams. If he wasn’t around to keep any eye on her, what might happen?
She leaned out the window and called up to the driver. “Would you drop me at the Vicar Sterns Rescue Mission? It’s just up the street.”
Michael’s temper flared, but he tamped it down. How could he make her see reason? How could he make her understand how afraid he’d been, how he wanted to watch over her forever?
“Why won’t you listen to me?” he asked.
“Because I don’t wish to hear anything you have to say.”
“You’re being foolish.”
“No, I’m leery and I don’t trust anyone. You. My family. Every person in the world. I don’t trust any of you.” She leaned out farther and complained to the driver. “Will you take me home? If you can’t, I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“You’re not walking,” Michael scolded.
“Don’t boss me, Mr. Scott. You can’t.”
Michael leaned out too, and ordered, “Take her to the mission.”
The carriage rolled on, and they plopped into their seats. Furtively he observed her, struggling to figure out how to calm her, but it seemed impossible.
“Blaylock is leaving London shortly,” he said. “He won’t ever hurt you again.”
“Good.”
“I have no idea what he told you about me, but I wasn’t complicit in your arrest. I haven’t spoken to him in nearly a year, and I’ve certainly never discussed you with him.”
