The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Deep inside her, hatred flamed. “Westwick was weak. He had to use his fists to get me to comply. A real man does not need to use brutal tactics to win a woman.”

  If the insult hit home, he didn’t show it. Her breasts held his attention. Her flesh crawled.

  “Westwick was a spoiled fool.” He lowered the pistol to his side. “I knew what he had planned for you. He would allow the highest bidder some time with you before stealing you back. He thought you’d finally break and be pliable to his demands. But I had my own plans. I couldn’t allow Westwick to take that chance. The purchaser might have killed you. I needed you alive. So I killed Westwick.”

  To hear the murder confirmed by his words came as some relief. Once he was arrested, her nightmare would end. She’d be free of Westwick and his evil brother forever.

  “You killed him to have me?” She snorted. She had to remain calm. Any sign of fear and he’d be on her like a mad dog. “Surely there are other women in London who would make you a more willing companion.”

  For a moment, he stared. “Do you think I killed Westwick just to use your body?” He let out a bark of harsh laughter. “I did not go through the trouble to find and befriend my unsuspecting brother just to steal his courtesan, though bedding you will be an added treat. No, this plan was hatched long before he met you.”

  Laura had suspected he was mad. This confirmed it. If he’d planned to kill Westwick before she’d met him, how then did she become tangled in this plot? She pressed on for answers. “I do not understand.”

  Smiling, he shook his head and clucked his tongue. “I wanted to take away everything he had—his wealth, his property, and you. You are the key to my revenge, to it all, Lady Laura.”

  “This makes no sense. I was his courtesan and will get nothing upon his death. I cannot help you steal his wealth.”

  His smile changed to a smirk. “My dear Lady Laura, you were much more than his lover. You were his wife.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  You should be locked in Bedlam,” she said softly. There was an unsettling glint in his eyes. “As you well know, the wedding was a farce. You helped him fool both my father and me. The parson was an actor hired to play the part.”

  Henry lifted a finger. “That is where you’re wrong, Lady Laura. The parson was a drunken sot. That part of the tale is true. But he was, in fact, a parson. Your wedding was legally binding. You are indeed Lady Westwick.”

  Her body trembled and she dropped into the nearest chair. All the months of thinking she was only Westwick’s whore were false. Was she his wife all along?

  “How can that be?” she whispered.

  “The plan was simple,” he began. “Westwick would never have legally married you. If he ever married, it would be to a woman of his class. But he had to have you. From first sight, he was a man obsessed. Though he could have taken you once your father died, he liked his games. So I suggested he marry and bed you. We planned the farce wedding for his amusement. He took satisfaction knowing he’d take your innocence and make you his whore while you suspected nothing.”

  “Why?” Her head began to throb. “What did it matter to you whether or not I was his legal wife?”

  He shook his head. “My dear Laura, in order to access his fortune, I needed for Westwick to beget an heir. Then, as his grieving brother, once thought dead, I would step forward and petition for guardianship after Westwick’s and the mother’s sad and untimely deaths. A babe would not fight me when I emptied its coffers.”

  Laura couldn’t speak. Stunned, her throat closed up.

  “The day you met him, you all but fell into his lap, a perfect victim—poor, innocent, about to be orphaned. Though he’d spread his seed throughout the land, only a few very distant cousins have any legal connection to his fortune. I realized that you could pull the threads of my plot together. And though you failed to bear his fruit, you are entitled to whatever is left of his wealth.”

  The words rolled around in her mind and brushed aside concerns for her safety, the pistol, everything outside of the news she’d received. She was Westwick’s heir?

  “How could Westwick fall for such a hoax?”

  “I paid the parson well to pretend he was an actor. It was brilliant. Westwick thought he’d gained a courtesan, and I had the wife I needed to steal his fortune. All I had to do was wait for the right moment to end him. After you ran away, I killed him and left the ear bob next to his body. You became the suspect and I was free to continue making plans for us.”

  Even as she’d protested, she knew Westwick hadn’t known the truth of the wedding. Much of his torture came from reminding her that he owned her body without the legality of marriage.

  “Why would you want to frame me for the murder?” she continued. “Wouldn’t my hanging ruin your plans?”

  “No one except me knows you as Sabine,” he said. “I could use the ear bob evidence to force you to do my bidding.”

  Laura’s mind spun. “I cannot be Lady Westwick. I cannot.” Saying the title made her ill. She’d rather be a courtesan than Westwick’s widow.

  Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a rolled parchment paper. He tossed it to her. “This is a page torn from the church ledger that you and Westwick signed. If you look at the parson’s signature, you’ll see his name. I assure you the man was qualified to wed you. He lives about half a day’s ride from your old home.”

  The paper lay at her feet but she didn’t reach for it. If he’d gone to such measures to fool Westwick, she knew that his information was accurate. She’d have laughed over Westwick’s comeuppance if not for the gravity of the current situation.

  “Westwick didn’t live to learn of the betrayal,” she said. She wondered what he would have done had he known. Would he have killed Henry? Her? “How stupid had he been to trust you? Couldn’t he see the evil in you, or had he been too blinded by his own wickedness to recognize it in others?”

  “Opium was wasting his brain. I suspect he would have died from it eventually. I did not like waiting.”

  The weight of this was monumental. She’d gone from a courtesan to a Lady, and Westwick’s estate was hers. Her life was no longer a shameful secret. The nights spent in Westwick’s bed were sanctioned by God.

  There was nothing to stop Simon from wedding her if he desired. Though her blood wasn’t old and blue, she was a titled lady nonetheless. No one would question their marriage.

  And she probably wouldn’t live long enough to tell him the truth unless she could extricate herself from this danger.

  Laura lifted her eyes. Defiance boiled in her blood. “You think I will simply hand over his estate to you.”

  “I am not that dense,” he said simply. “I will have to wed you first.”

  Wed, bed, and murder. She had little doubt as to what her fate would be. He did not love her. Why then would he keep her alive?

  “If I thought you would not kill me, I’d give you everything. Alas, I think the only reason I am alive now is because you need me. No one will hand his estate to you without my continued good health.”

  A slow demonic expression crossed his face. “I will gain the estate with or without you. I have my parson ready to wed me to a prostitute if you fail to follow my instructions. She looks much like you. I’ll not be questioned when I present her to the bankers as the widowed Lady Westwick. With your father dead, there is no one left alive to challenge her identity.”

  “You bastard.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Is that language proper for a Lady?”

  Laura wanted to scream out in frustration. She was trapped in the Harrington parlor with a madman.

  Someone had to come along soon. A footman, a maid, a guard. She’d have to delay him for as long as possible.

  “Is she the woman you used when you killed Smoot?” His grin faltered. “We know that he was engaged in a carnal act with a prostitute when he was murdered.”

  “She has been very helpful,” Henry admitted. “Perhaps you’ve heard her name spoken b
y the courtesan Mariette. Josie is her sister and the whore-mother of the ignorant mute girl. I paid Josie well to glean information from Mariette about the courtesan school. They speak daily over the back garden fence. I suppose you don’t know that?”

  This explained how Henry knew of the shopping trip.

  “Mariette betrayed Miss Eva?” Laura asked.

  “Not knowingly. Josie is a clever girl. I will reward her loyalty by making her my wife.”

  As if he’d let Laura or Josie live once he had what he wanted. He’d silence all witnesses.

  “I’ll not help you.” She glanced at the pistol. “You’ll kill me either way. I’d rather it was here than to suffer your abuse before my death.”

  He scowled. “Now I understand why Westwick wanted to sell you. You are a difficult woman.”

  This time it was Laura who smiled. “Westwick would have been better served to have found a more pliable victim.”

  She could see his frustration and sensed his impatience rising. He’d mistakenly expected her to submit to his will without question. Fool.

  “You will come with me,” he said tightly.

  “I will not.” For all his evil and bluster, he was nothing more than a petulant, murderous child. She expected him to stomp his feet at her refusal. “You’d better decide my fate, and quickly. The family will be home soon.”

  Without another word, he aimed and fired.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Laura screamed as the bullet ripped through the chair near her head. She dove off the surface and spun to her feet. Her heart squeezed painfully as her eyes met his.

  “To show you how serious I am, Milady.”

  A footman appeared in the doorway. Henry threw the empty gun aside and pulled a knife from beneath his coat. He pointed it toward Laura. “I’ll kill her.”

  The footman stepped back and retreated. Henry rushed over and locked the door.

  Deep gasps did little to fill her lungs. She knew he was capable of murder and would harm anyone foolish enough to try and stop him.

  “If you kill me, Simon will kill you.” Her heart squeezed. She loved Simon with everything in her. It terrified her to know that she might never again see his beloved face.

  “He’ll not live long enough to kill me.”

  Laura flinched. “You are a coward. You’ll not face him as a man. You’ll wait until he’s alone and shoot him in the back.”

  His face turned red. “I grow weary of your insults. Come with me or die. Your choice.”

  Desperate, she said in a rush, “All your plotting will now come to naught. The footman has seen you. Witnesses will gather as we leave the house. You have lost. Flee now or be hanged.”

  His face burned red. He knew he was trapped. “You bitch. You ruined everything.”

  He lifted the knife as a rustle sounded in the open doorway to the library. Both of them spun around. Expecting a footman with the guards, Laura’s eyes widened in terror as she recognized the sweet face.

  “I heard a pistol shot.” Aunt Bernie stood steps away, wearing a dressing gown and robe, hands on her hips, glaring at Henry through red eyes. “Who are you?”

  Without thinking, Laura launched herself at his back. “Run!” she screamed as he pitched forward, taking her down with him. He grunted and hit the floor. The knife flew from his hand and clattered away.

  “Run!” she shouted again. Aunt Bernie vanished.

  Laura had no time to waste. He rolled over, throwing her off, and lunged for her leg as she scrambled free. She turned onto her back and kicked him in the jaw. His head snapped back. But he wasn’t finished with her. With an outraged growl, he launched himself on her, oblivious of her pummeling fists.

  With a free hand, he backhanded her across the face. She cried out and brought her knee up between his legs.

  He arched back and clutched his damaged cock. But her reprieve was short lived. Spitting in rage, he dove for her neck, wrapping his hands around her throat.

  “I’ll kill you.” He squeezed. Laura clawed his hands. She fought for her life as her throat narrowed, cutting off her breath. The room dimmed. She was dying.

  From a far-off place she thought she caught a glimpse of Simon’s face. She felt Henry’s weight lift from her. Rolling to her side, she coughed and clutched her throat.

  It took several deep, welcoming breaths to clear her mind and observe what was happening around her. She pushed to her knees, realizing that Simon wasn’t a vision and was locked in battle with her attacker.

  The fight was violent and brutal. The men were well matched in their determination to kill the other. Laura suspected that Henry had learned to fight while in the foundling hospital and on the brutal London streets.

  She darted a glance around and spotted Aunt Bernie in the doorway, clutching a cooking pot as upraised voices sounded in the hallway. Laura raced across the room and grabbed the handled pot. “Get help!”

  Laura spun and ran toward the men. Simon had the advantage, but only for a moment as he backed Henry against the wall and gave him two quick jabs to the stomach. But Henry leveraged his body and pushed Simon off. Laura took the opportunity and raised the pot. She hit him with a glancing blow to the shoulder.

  He grunted and turned on her with a fist to the jaw. Laura jerked back and heard Simon’s outraged bellow.

  Simon watched Laura strike the edge of a chair and crumple. He had no time to tend her. He lunged forward and knocked Henry sideways. They landed hard.

  All he could see was the bastard’s face as he hit him in the nose, the jaw, anywhere he could find a target. The man was a street fighter and tougher than he’d anticipated. But Simon had two women to protect and wouldn’t falter.

  However, Henry wasn’t finished. He managed to get Simon off balance and pushed him away. They rolled to their feet as shouts filled the house.

  Fists upraised, they faced each other.

  “I’ll take pleasure in killing you,” Simon growled.

  Spitting out blood, Henry smirked. “You will not kill me unarmed. You noblemen have too much honor. It will be me who takes pleasure showing your beautiful lover every depraved way there is to please a man.”

  Simon grinned evilly. “Give me your best, you bastard, for you’ll never live to take her.”

  Henry grinned through bloody teeth and reached to lift his pant leg. He jerked a thin blade from his stocking. He bent for an attack but never got the chance to take a step. The bark of a pistol echoed through the room. His eyes widened and he pitched forward on his face.

  Simon looked down at the man, then back up. Behind the dead man, smoking pistol clutched in her two hands, stood Laura, her angry eyes flashing. “I’m weary of men controlling my life. It was time I take charge of myself.” She dropped the spent pistol. Taking a shaky step forward, she wobbled toward Simon. He stepped over the body and caught her in his arms.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, her words muffled by his chest.

  Simon looked down. The large bloody hole in the bastard’s back confirmed what he suspected. “He’s dead.”

  Laura sighed and held tight. “I could not let him murder anyone today.”

  Relieved and pleased she was largely unharmed, he leaned back and stared into her face. “I take insult. I had no plans to let him kill me.”

  She pressed her hands to his chest. “Oh, I am well aware that you would have won the fight. My concern was that you’d bleed to death after. Your face is quite damaged.”

  Reaching up, he found his lip split and his nose bleeding. Wiping the blood off on his cravat, he knew that neither was potentially fatal. He looked in her eyes and realized she was teasing him.

  “So you came to my rescue,” he said and wrapped his hands around her waist. He glimpsed the library doorway filling with guards and footmen. They all stood frozen, staring at Henry’s prone form.

  “I had to. And no, I was not rescuing you. The fight had to end before Aunt Bernie returned with another pot and endangered herself. I saved her l
ife.”

  Chuckling, Simon led her away from the body, through the library, and into the hallway. The crowed parted.

  “I never thought of my aunt as a fighter.” He escorted Laura to the drawing room and pulled her inside. Closing the door, he eased her back against the panel. “You, on the other hand, I would want guarding my back in a fight. You are well trained in the use of both pot and pistol.”

  “I had to live.” Laura pulled him close. “I have a title and estate to collect.”

  Simon’s brow when up. “What is this?”

  “Kiss me first and I’ll tell you my news.” She rose onto her tiptoes as he willingly complied.

  It was a little more than an hour later when the rest of the Harringtons arrived home. They were stunned to find Bow Street Runners in their parlor, questioning their son, Laura, and the servants.

  Crawford quickly explained the matter to the family. Simon had sent for him first, before the Runners, knowing he could help sort out and explain the situation. Everything.

  Kathleen went first to her son and then to Laura. Lady Seymour took her into her arms. “Thank goodness Simon returned home early. He couldn’t settle his fear that you were in trouble.” She pulled back and darted a glance to the covered body. “Though it looks like you had the situation well in hand.”

  Laura peered at Simon. He was telling the Runners the entire story. For Laura to be truly free, Sabine had to be cleared of the crime and buried in the past. The two Runners didn’t seem willing to end Laura’s rule as their suspect, but with the evidence turning toward the dead man as the murderer, and the viscount vouching for her character, they were willing to listen.

  “I’d hoped to end the case with an arrest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be,” Laura said as the countess released her and took her hands. “Thankfully, your husband keeps a loaded pair of pistols behind a set of books by Huntley. I’d found them just yesterday morning.”

  The countess lifted a brow.