by Jaimey Grant
“I like what you’ve done with this barn, Witless. Much more personable.”
Gideon looked up at the ceiling as if entreating God for the patience to deal with his eccentric friend. “You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you say so,” he drawled.
Malvina had heard quite enough. The duke was odd, possibly dangerous, and she had no desire to witness any more of their exchange.
With a slight curtsy, she bid the gentlemen good evening and prepared to leave. Gideon stopped her before she’d taken two steps.
“We marry in two hours, my love. The Jamiesons will stand witness.”
Her knees nearly gave out. “Two hours?”
A muffled snort came from the duke’s direction but when she glanced at him, his expression was innocence personified. Gideon tossed a disgruntled look the other man’s way.
Wolf chose that moment to remind the adults that he was still present.
“Two hours? Are you bloody daft?”
“Language!” three adults said at once.
“Although,” the duke added reflectively, “it is only due to your mother’s presence that we object. If she would make good on her threat to leave, your language would not be out of place.”
“I do not believe gentlemen should ever speak so,” Malvina retorted, wondering why this man managed to annoy her far more than any other man. Perhaps it was fear?
Derringer leveled a blank stare on her. “Are you leaving?”
“Of all the…! You, sir, are abominably rude!”
He laughed. The wretched creature actually laughed. Malvina took a deep breath. “Young man, you need a lesson in manners.”
Derringer’s face darkened. Gideon groaned, stepping quickly between the two. Facing his affianced, he muttered, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Her shock was not feigned. “He is your friend. And rude.”
“He is also unbalanced, Malvina. Tread carefully.”
Leaning a little to the left, she could see the duke where he still sat, his whole body coiled and tensed, as if awaiting attack. She bit her lip, meeting Gideon’s eyes.
“Can we help him?”
“We do not know what is wrong with him.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead, ignoring the sound of vexation that emerged from her son. “Go now, love. Leave us to plot like the villains we are.”
She stared at him long and hard, finally nodding, defeated. “Very well. Wolf, come.”
“Oh, mummy-dearest,” mocked the duke, “please let him stay and play? We need to pick his innocent brain.”
The fear that streaked through Malvina widened her green eyes and stopped her heart. She opened her mouth to object.
“Hart, you fool. Why would any mother trust you with her precious son when you act as though you are only fit for Bedlam?”
Derringer grinned, his white teeth flashing incongruously against his soot-blackened skin. “I have been to Bethlehem Hospital, my friend. It is paradise compared to some places I’ve seen.”
Again addressing Lady Malvina, with far more respect than before, he added, “No harm will come to your child, my lady. We need to steer him aright if you want to keep him alive.”
“Here now!” Wolf inserted, insulted.
They ignored him.
“You, my lord of the Rookeries, believe you are capable of doing this?” A grim smile touched her lips. “How can you save him when you have so clearly failed to save yourself?”
One second later, Malvina found herself standing outside the drawing room, staring at the closed door.
“She meant nothing, Hart. Calm yourself.”
The most noble Duke of Derringer was fit to be tied. His demeanor alarmed Gideon, who had never witnessed a complete loss of control in this particular man. He raved and paced the room, as if seeking some object on which to direct his rage.
Gideon prayed Wolf was wise enough to keep silent. In fact…
“Get out, Wolf. Now.”
Shockingly, the boy did as he was told, immediately quitting the room. Gideon watched him go, catching a glimpse of Malvina still standing on the other side. Her eyes were wide with fright, and haunted by an emotion that went much deeper.
He shook it off. The door closed again, giving Gideon the chance to use whatever means necessary to calm his friend. Lord, if ever there was a time he needed Levi Greville, Derringer’s best friend, it was now.
But Levi was occupied with his new family. Derringer was Gideon’s problem now.
Stepping as close as he dared, he tried to reach him with words. Derringer lunged, Gideon recoiled, reacting without thought. He struck out, hitting the duke on the jaw.
Derringer went down, briefly. He came back up, murder in his eyes. Lord Holt backed away, his hands raised defensively as Derringer worked his jaw back and forth.
“See reason, Hart. Women speak nonsense all the time. They are not to be taken seriously.”
“This one crossed the line, Witless.”
Gideon’s hands dropped. He sighed. “Why must you insist on calling me that? It is a most demoralizing appellation.”
“Hence, the reason I use it.”
“Are you again the well-bred English gentleman that I know is in there somewhere?”
“Only if I ate him,” Derringer scoffed. “A brandy would not come amiss.” The earl moved to comply with the duke’s request.
He stared at Lord Holt. “How bad was it?”
Gideon paused in the act of filling two tumblers with the jewel-toned spirits he favored. He closed his eyes briefly, not glancing up.
Finishing his task, he turned, handing one glass to the other man. “Do you not remember?”
“There are times…. I don’t know what comes over me.” He quaffed the liquid in his glass, staring into the nothingness left behind. He silently held it out.
Gideon complied with the unspoken request, offering, “You were right about Deverell, Hart.”
The duke snorted. “Of course I was right. You doubted me?”
Jerking his head slightly in agreement, he said, “You are not easy to believe, my friend. If it were not for your mad starts, one would listen without conscious thought. You, however, discount your warnings with a new scandal, intrigue, or threat.”
This pronouncement caused the duke to shrug, unconcerned. “If everyone heeded my dire predictions, life would become very dull indeed.”
“Why the devil did you not report to the Home Office when you learned of Deverell’s activities?”
Derringer’s look was almost pitying. He moved to set his newly emptied glass on the side table. “I do not put myself out to do anyone a favor, Witless. That includes the government.”
“You told me.”
“I stumbled upon the knowledge and gave it to someone I knew was involved in Prinny’s dirty work. That was as far as I was or am willing to go.”
“I need proof, Hart.”
“You have proof, or did, at one time. Did you give in to his blackmail, then?”
“Of course I did. He feels he can have Brackney convicted of treason.”
“The man’s dead,” Derringer pointed out reasonably. “What real hold does Deverell have?”
“They can still lose everything should the government wish to take it. Even then, all of Society will condemn them. Treason affects everyone.”
Derringer picked up a little Dresden figurine. He examined it minutely before stowing it away in one capacious pocket of his moth-eaten coat. Gideon said nothing, knowing full well that the duke would deny ever stealing a thing. And Gideon would probably end up believing him.
“You have wealth enough,” the duke pointed out, holding up an enamel snuffbox. He added it to his newly acquired possessions with an unrepentant grin.
“Brackney was a baronet.”
“Do the boy a good turn, then, Witless. Take the title and let him be himself.”
“Not all view the responsibility of a title with such loathing.”
�
�Be that as it may, your young puppy is not desirous of his duties. He wants freedom. Freedom from his father.”
Lord Holt refilled his own brandy glass, two fingers worth, quaffing it immediately. He grimaced at the burn but felt the need for it.
Derringer was a trying fellow in the best of times. When he was blatantly larcenous and argumentative, he was impossible.
“We will not get into that. I do not want Malvina going through the inevitable scandal.”
The duke leveled a stern gaze on him. “And in protecting her good name you have opened yourself up to charges of treason. Is she worth it?”
“Yes.”
Derringer’s black brows shot up. “Indeed? Is that how it is, then? I pity you, you fool.”
He moved to leave, having helped himself to the countess’s favorite silver candlesticks.
“What the devil are you doing?” the earl asked.
Derringer glanced down at his pocket. “What, this? I need things to fence.”
“Fence your own bloody possessions, you lackwit.”
“I can’t. No one knows I’m in England except you.” He frowned. “And your new family.”
“They will keep mum.” He studied Derringer closely, noticing the signs of strain around the dark eyes. “Why must it be kept secret?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
He didn’t get one. Instead, the duke said, “I believe you have a visitor.”
It was no surprise when Jamieson suddenly entered, announcing the Reverend Dr. Buckley. Derringer always did have uncanny hearing.
“Jamieson, inform her ladyship of the good reverend’s arrival.”
Lord Holt greeted his guest, indulging in some inane chatter. Turning about, Gideon realized his friend had slipped out.
He shrugged. It was just as well. Derringer would most likely have done something unpardonable, such as kiss Malvina.
Which only served to remind him that in a few hours, that would be his privilege. The mere thought made him turn to the door, anticipating his imminent marriage far more than he should.
With an abruptness unusual in the earl, he excused himself to his guest and left the room. He needed to change into something more appropriate and he needed to see Malvina, an urging inside him that he didn’t understand.
What he didn’t understand made him nervous. When he was nervous, he was jumpy, anxious, the complete opposite of the man he presented to Society.
He realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was more like Derringer than he’d ever thought possible.
Jamieson met him—almost running over him, in fact—in the corridor, handing him a sealed note.
“This was left for you, my lord.”
Gideon knew before he opened it that it was from Derringer.
He scanned the few words, bit off the curse hovering on his tongue, and crumpled the vellum in his hand.
“Where is Lady Malvina?”
“Her ladyship’s maid said her ladyship would be down presently, my lord.”
Gideon nodded. She was still in her chamber. Good. “That will be all, Jamieson.”
As soon as the butler was out of sight, Lord Holt made his way to Malvina’s room.
He didn’t knock. The maid squeaked when he threw open the door.
“Out.”
He was grimly aware that he’d managed to frighten the maid out of her wits. She fled as if pursued by Satan himself, slamming the door as she went.
He really must take care or he would be considered as balmy as Derringer.
Malvina stood at her dressing table, strands of dark red hair draped artistically over one shoulder. He had a lovely view of her naked back where she stood, half turned away. Maddy must have been fastening the long row of buttons down her mistress’s back; the better part of them were still undone.
If he hadn’t known better, Gideon would have searched her chambers for a male companion, such was her appearance. Her lack of corset was quite a scandalous decision on her part.
She looked alarmed, but not frightened. “What is it?” she asked, turning toward him, her bodice drooping precariously. Her hand automatically went up to hold it in place. “Is it Wolf?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Gideon forced his eyes away from the tempting picture she made. But staring in the direction of her bed was a mistake. “He is not hurt, however.” Yet, he added to himself.
Malvina blushed. “Oh, dear. What has he done now?”
The sound Gideon made resembled something between a snort and a growl. Malvina’s brow creased. She twisted one arm behind her back, trying to hold her gown closed, cursing inwardly at the slipperiness of the pale silk.
Turning redder still, she ventured, “My lord, could you help me?”
Gideon’s eyes locked on her and he wondered briefly if he was being punished for some past wrong. He moved up behind her, flexing his hands, trying to quell the urge to remove the gown instead of doing it up.
He reached toward her, his fingers brushing lightly over her satin skin, lingering near the small of her back. He fastened one button, stepping even closer, fascinated by the shiver that rippled across her flesh.
He leaned closer, his breath on her neck. “Are you cold?”
Malvina managed an infinitesimal shake of her head. She was anything but cold. Her body felt over warm, almost feverish. She was acutely aware of him behind her, knew that all she had to do was turn ever so slightly and raise her lips to his, let her gown slip to the floor.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought for control. In a matter of minutes, they would be married and she could let her desires take control. She would not succumb to a man she did not call husband.
A tiny exhalation slipped out when his lips pressed intimately against her neck. Her mind told her to distract him, turn his attention away from seduction.
“Gideon.” Her voice was soft, breathy, nearly trembling as his lips traced a path over her jaw and to her ear.
“Yes?”
She said the first thing that came to mind. “I am sorry about Black.”
Mentioning his horse did have the desired effect. He managed to fasten the buttons in short order, only lingering over her skin for a brief second.
“You did nothing,” was his reply.
Stepping back, Gideon forced his thoughts back to the newest threat to his family.
“Derringer has informed me of something I wish you had told me.”
Malvina turned fully, her face showing a certain amount of trepidation with lingering traces of passion.
“Told you what?”
“That Wolf may have killed his father.”
They were married in short order. Jamieson and his wife stood witness, the former straight and proud in his dark livery, the latter plump and motherly, her face beaming with happiness.
Malvina forced Gideon’s revelation from her mind, not daring to believe there was any truth in the claim. She focused on the man at her side, tried to determine how she could feel safe and threatened at the same time.
After his accusation had drained her body of color and nearly the remainder of her senses, she had been tempted to call off the wedding, such as it was.
Her immediate defense of her only child had been concise and biting; Gideon had accepted it with what she could only call relief. But there had been something in his manner that suggested he did not necessarily believe her. His relief stemmed from some other fear. And Malvina withheld the information that Wolf was as much Brackney’s victim as she was, that Wolf was the one who discovered his father, dead, all those years ago.
Shaking away the terror of that night, Malvina focused wholly on the present. She spoke the same words she’d spoken so many years before, when she was still a girl, little more than a child, words that had held meaning for her even then.
Despite her immaturity, she had been raised to believe vows were meant to be kept. Vows before God held more meaning than those before men. She had always felt a certain amount of failure whe
n she’d never managed to love her first husband. And even though he had treated her abominably, part of her still felt guilty.
Lord Holt’s voice when he spoke was easy, lacking any hesitation. She realized with a start that he felt no qualms at all about marrying her. Which meant one of two things: He either believed her completely innocent of her husband’s activities, or he had no reservations about making vows he had no intention of keeping.
What a lowering thought that was!
She felt herself being turned, felt her new husband’s lips press briefly to her fingers, and tried to ignore the disloyal thought that she may have made a colossal mistake.
Immediately following, the reverend was invited to dine and they all shared a rather stilted meal.
Wolf darted angry little glances at his mother and new stepfather, taking bites of food between glares. He was clearly displeased that the marriage had come to fruition and frustrated that he could do nothing about it.
Malvina grimaced at the eels in cream sauce, a dish she personally loathed. She concentrated on eating bite after bite, focusing all her attention on keeping it down. It gave her some relief from the new troubles plaguing her mind.
It was her wedding night. While she had no qualms about her desire for her husband, she did not like the way he looked at her son as though he was already found guilty of some crime. Her logical mind—not to mention her experience with Gideon to date—told her that even if he suspected, he would not harm the boy. Therefore, to feel guilty for desiring his lovemaking was illogical.
Malvina drained her wineglass and accepted another helping of eels, caring little what the others thought of her sudden appetite.
Gideon ate nothing. His wine glass was refilled several times, however, each new one disappearing quicker than the last. He alternately eyed his wife and stepson, wondering dismally why he felt so strongly that she was innocent and that her son was guilty.
It would have been preferable had he suspected her. Malvina Brackney—Holt, he reminded himself with an odd twinge—was incredibly protective of her son. Far more so than most mothers whose sons neared manhood. It hinted at some sort of trauma in the boy’s past, something his mother didn’t believe he could endure on his own.
