"Well, it mattered to me. I brushed it off as not being important. Told him lads would be lads. Offered to go riding with him. He gave me Blarney, and went to saddle Blaze. I heard them kissing. She said she’d stay up in the hay loft until dusk. That she couldn’t wait to get more of him. I challenged him to a race and unhorsed him at the jump. Bashed him with my riding crop. Then I snapped the bastard’s neck like a pullet."
Isolde almost stumbled and fell at the shock of all he was confessing. He dragged her up under her arm and impelled her forward. Then he continued with his horrifying narrative.
"I went back, broke the news to the family. All the servants went running to bring home his body. She was up in the loft, half-drowsing. She was waiting for him, just as she said. All hot and steamy for him, just dripping for him, the slut. I told her he was dead, and that I had done it all for her. She told me she hated me, not to touch her. I took her and strangled her, and the rest you know. I buried her, and there she stayed. I crept into her house the back way, as I always had. I took a couple of things from her room so that everyone assumed she had eloped. But it’s all Randall’s fault. If he hadn’t tried to take her for himself—"
"It’s her fault for being unchaste, Francis’ for betraying his own brother. You for betraying your own cousin and for killing two people whose only crime was to fall in love! You can’t blame Randall for Clarissa and Francis. They were old enough to know what they were doing."
"But I can blame him for you !" He shook her furiously.
"I was old enough to know as well. I hate you. You’re a murderer!"
"I’ve done no worse than what you let him do to you," he bellowed, pointing at her stomach. "I saw you after he’d had you, all glistening and wet in his bed! Bloodied, even! Like animals. Disgusting!"
She shook her head. "Virgins bleed naturally, but not because you've set out to deliberately harm them. Our marriage is a beautiful thing. He’s never laid a finger on me with anything other than love. Even when you tricked my brother into trying to duel him, even when you tried to fight him, attacked him, called him out for a duel, he never hurt anyone. I’m with Randall because I love him, not because he forced me. You can’t make me believe anything you say about my husband."
Howell began to mutter a string of execrations. "Damn him. He’s always ended up smelling of roses, had everything, Clarissa, you, money...."
A crash of thunder overhead shook the earth. Or was it just her own emotions causing her to tremble like a leaf in a gale?
She sat down abruptly, dragging him down to eye level. Their gazes locked and she glared at him.
"Even if you take me away now, and I never see him again, you’ll never have me. Day after day, night after night I’ll be longing for him, loving him! You can beat me, rape me, kill me, but our love is forever.
"You’ve lost to Randall again, Chauncey. You’ve always lost. He was always the better man. I never wanted you. Desired you. It was my fault for adopting the role of dutiful daughter. I should have told Father no from the outset. But what choice does a ten-year old have?"
"Damn you. Damn you all to hell." White flecks had formed around his mouth.
My God, he’s truly insane... Randall, help me.
"I could have made you love me!"
"The way you did Clarissa?" she hissed.
He slapped her hard then, so much so that she could see stars. But she was damned if she was going to grovel in the dirt due to the likes of him.
Isolde raised herself from the ground by one elbow. He snatched it and began to pull her to her feet once more as the wind howled dementedly around them.
She tried to yank her arm back, unable to bear his touch. "You sick, sorry swine. Clarissa never loved you because you weren’t capable of love! It was all competition, power, possession! Love is about giving, and not expecting anything in return. Everything you’ve ever done, all the harm you’ve caused, has been for nothing except your own pleasure and ambition. You destroyed an entire family when you killed Francis. But that still wasn’t enough for you. You wanted everything Randall had.
"But the irony is you’re wrong . You’re so close, but still way too far off. Randall’s brother Michael is still alive, and has three sons. If anything happens to Randall, Michael will be Earl, or his sons after him. You can’t kill them all!"
He froze. "That’s not possible! He’s dead!"
"Reported dead. A mistake he never bothered to correct. He was badly wounded, wanted time to heal. He’s better now. And a great soldier. The Grim Reaper. If you try to move against him or his family, he’ll mow you down."
She sat down on the ground again, but he still kept dragging her along, over the rough stones and tree roots, bruising and soaking her, until she began to fear for the baby.
Much as she hated to do it, she began to struggle back onto her feet. Perhaps she stood a better chance anyway if she could manage to break free and run.
"I may not be Earl now, but at least I’ll have you to use in order to torment Randall for the rest of his life."
"If he’s as much of a raking swine as you say, why would he care?" she bluffed.
"He’ll care. It’s a matter of pride, for one thing. And the baby for another. And no matter how much of a libertine he is, he’ll pay handsomely to make the parcels with various parts of your anatomy or the baby’s stop coming in the post."
Her eyes widened in horror as he caressed her ears. "I would start with the fingers, but they do have their uses in bed. And the tongue. But ears and toes, well...."
She heaved at his chest, terror spurring her on, but he clung to her like a leech. "He’ll kill you. He may have been a rake before he married me, but he’s a far better man that you could ever be. He’s only ever acted out of love. Love for others. Not the twisted selfishness you say was love for Clarissa or me. It was just obsession. Wanting what you couldn’t have. Didn’t deserve, because you’ve never loved anyone but yourself," she panted as he dragged her along.
"That may be true. But now he’ll have no one to love either."
"Not true. He has his family, the children. Love begets love. All you've ever created was hatred."
"You will love me!"
She shook her head, sending raindrops scattering in every direction. "Never."
"You're mine now, and—"
"Never yours. So just let me go now. Randall will never rest until he takes back what is his.If you slice me up or kill me, you’ll hang. As soon as they catch you, you’ll go to prison and hang anyway for all you’ve done. They know you killed Clarissa, after all. They won’t rest until they find you. Just leave me here and you can disappear."
"I’m not done with any of you yet. Not by a long chalk." He laughed mockingly at her stricken face.
"You can’t kill us all."
"Can’t I? I’ve managed well enough thus far. Your father, that pathetic secretary with one hand, Clarissa..."
"You’re insane!"
"But killing your husband is too easy. I want to make Randall suffer like I have. Strip him of everything bit by bit. First you, then the children, his brother, Michael’s children. Then finally me becoming the earl when I slice Randall’s gullet."
She shoved at him again, trying to shake him off her. "No! No! It stops here and now! I’ll jump first before I’ll let you touch me or be the cause of their ruin. You’re insane! You’ll never win."
Isolde summoned all her strength and lunged full length at a tree branch she saw lying on the ground. She rolled slightly to protect the baby, and came up swinging.
Howell smiled and shook his head, convinced of his own invincibility. "Put the branch down before you hurt someone."
She hurled it at his head, and ran. The pistol went off, the bullet whistling so close it whipped a hole in her skirt, narrowly missing her thigh. She reckoned she had about half a minute until he reloaded the single-shot pistol. She had to find help, fast.
She went tearing down the path leading to the road. She had to get away,
and she had to stop Howell. No one would ever believe…. They were all in danger...
Isolde could hear footsteps pounding behind her, but had the sense to not look back.
"Randall! Randall!" she screamed as the lighting crackled all around.
She wondered wildly where he was, if he had come looking for her yet. She felt a stitch in her side, and prayed as hard as she could. Oh dear God. Please, not the baby. It would destroy Randall to lose it, lose me.
She ran on through the pain and the drenching rain, and had almost reached the road when Howell sprang out in front of her. She screamed in terror and tried to flee back the way she had come.
He had got up over the high wall and onto the road, and cornered her at the foot of the path leading back along the gorge and down into it. She started and lost her balance in the slippery mud.
Howell grabbed her, and she hung suspended in his arms as he began to tear her clothes off, his bruising hands everywhere at once.
Isolde struggled to remain conscious, and tried to pummel his groin. He grabbed her by the throat and raised his fist to strike.
The loud report of gunfire echoed deafeningly around the gorge. Isolde screamed as the wash of red spattered all over her. The top of the face contorted in fury was transformed into nothing more than a mass of grey matter, blood and bone.
The weight of the dead man landed on her, and then she felt herself tumbling over the edge of the gully.
"Randall! Oh God, no!"
She grabbed onto a gnarled tree root and hung on for dear life, dangling sixty feet above the jagged rocks and boulders which made up the gorge floor. She reached up with her other hand, feeling her right one slipping. "Randall!"
She scrabbled in the dirt for some purchase on the edge of the ravine, and tried to feel with her feet for some sort of toehold. She tried to get one knee up, then the other, but could feel herself slipping down further. Her arms felt as though they were coming out of their sockets, her nails shredding against the stony cliff as she hung on.
"Randall! Randall!" she shouted, clinging on with every ounce of strength she possessed, praying that some miracle might save her.
"Isolde! I’m coming! Hang on!"
Isolde wept in relief at the sound of her husband’s voice. "I’m here! Hurry!"
She could hear running along the edge of the ravine, and footsteps coming from the road as well.
Randall grabbed her forearms in each of his huge hands, and pulled. Then she was in her husband’s arms, and the rain and his tears washed the spattered brains and gore away. She vomited until she could scarcely breathe, and she collapsed in his arms for a brief moment as the rain cascaded down upon them in a torrent.
"Oh, darling."
"Isolde. Thank God, thank God you’re safe."
She looked up over his shoulder at the two people who had come onto the path from the road, both armed with muskets.
She smiled at Michael in relief, then noticed he was grasping the arm of a wild-eyed blowzy woman who looked vaguely familiar.
"Is he dead?" the woman asked, the rain streaming down her harshly-lined face. "Is the bastard dead?"
Michael peered over the edge of the gully. "Aye, he’s dead. Skull smashed to bits, don’t you know. Terrible fall."
The bedraggled woman looked over the edge herself, and spat. "May the bastard rot in hell for what he did to Molly."
Isolde stared, and recognised at last as the whore who had beaten Howell out of Randall’s house their first night together.
"She died in the end, in the worst kind of pain," the woman said numbly. "Never even would have gone on the game if it hadn’t been for her brothers and sisters. I was supposed to protect her, show her the ropes. He wanted ‘em young and pretty like. The better to corrupt ‘em. I swore if she died, I’d get me revenge one way or the other. So I watched and waited, 'ad an old soldier friend teach me 'ow to shoot. Figured I’d get 'im in an 'unting accident.
"When I found out 'e’d been arrested, I went to the jail to tell ‘em what I knew of all 'e’d done in London. Saw him escape. So I followed him. Followed 'im here. It’s all right, guv’ner. I won’t run. You can 'and me over to the magistrates. It’s what I deserve."
Isolde and Michael exchanged looks, and Michael shook his head. "No magistrates. He jumped. I was shooting snipe. Saw him do it. Come along, Madam. Let’s take you to see my wife. She’ll get you fixed up with some medicine."
Randall, still sitting on the ground trembling, turned his head to see his wife embrace the tall, dark man with pale blue eyes.
"Thank you, Brother. So glad you could make the picnic after all," Isolde said with a barely suppressed bubble of hysterical laughter.
He smiled tightly. "Our children convinced me to come in the end. Better late than never, they said. Rather glad I did." He began to reload the musket automatically with an ease which spoke of long practice. "Got rid of some rather foul vermin today, don't you know."
Randall was sure he had to be in the throes of the worst nightmare of his life, or the best dream. He rose from the muddy ground and reached out to touch the newcomer’s shoulder, his eyes staring out of their sockets in wonder.
"Michael? Is it really you?"
"Hello, Rand. Yes, it’s me. Good to see you. Very good."
The two brothers embraced and wept.
Isolde rubbed both their backs soothingly. When they had quieted, she took the woman’s arm to lead her to the waiting carriage on the road, which Bryony was just now emerging from.
"Come, Madam. Let me help you."
"Thank you, Miss."
"Please, call me Isolde. And what’s your name?"
The dazed prostitute sniffed. "Me real name? Clarissa, Ma’am."
Isolde stiffened slightly, then smiled. "Well, Clarissa, let’s get out of the rain, shall we? You've had a long journey, and must be tired."
Chapter Twenty-Five
After a quick look at Isolde to make sure she and the baby were safe, Blake and his wife stayed behind to deal with the apparent suicide of Howell.
A sombre party returned to Brimley, all the Rakehells wishing them well, and Thomas determined to try to get to the bottom of how Howell had managed to escape from Newgate. He must have had help....
But who? Only time would tell.
Randall was so shaken by the whole experience that he hardly dared to let his wife out of his sight. Isolde continually reassured him that she was fine, just tired, and clung to him sleepily as they headed home.
His brother shifted some of the children into Bryony’s care in the other carriage, and sat along side them now, all three of them holding hands as Michael recounted his life after Toulouse.
Randall reacted in exactly the way Michael had predicted, wanting to renounce the Earldom, but his elder brother maintained it was not something he had ever wanted.
"And you have eight children to provide for now that this lot are all properly adopted, and you are bound to have at least a dozen more on the way if you and your wife don’t restrain yourselves," he said with a laugh, for Randall was unconsciously fondling Isolde’s breasts in a most obvious manner.
He tugged his hands away and blushed. "God, sorry."
"Don’t apologise. I know exactly how you feel. Nothing like a delectable wife to keep you warm at night."
"I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, Michael. My brother, my best friend."
"I’ve missed you too, Rand. When Isolde came to me, I couldn’t believe all you had been through. I swore I would never come back. But never is a long time. Especially when I have such a wonderful family." He smiled at the slumbering children.
As Isolde watched him, she decided that the Grim Reaper was gone at last. He had been healed by Randall just as much as Randall had been healed by him.
"Just wait until Mother sees you. But we’ll need to break it to her gently."
In the end they couldn’t wait, though, and there was a joyous reunion in her room which Isolde could barely keep he
r eyes open for.
Bryony and Eswara took her to her bedroom, undressed her, and put her into a hot bath. They tended her cuts and bruises, and advised a couple of days of bed rest.
"And we really mean rest. So tell your husband you can tiddle his knob but not twiddle it," Eswara said with a knowing smile. "After all, you'll have to cut down a month before and stop for a month after."
Her face fell. "I’d forgot about that."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection #4 Page 49
