Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  Bethany’s heart thundered in her chest, both at his admission and having her suspicions confirmed. Scarbreigh loved Lady Camille, but it was Bethany he’d wanted.

  “That’s not true, my lord. I was never the woman for you. We’re too insufferably stubborn to get along with each other, and if you’ve found a way to see past that, than you’re a better person than I.”

  Scarbreigh chuckled and shook his head. “Kind even in crushing a man’s heart. You needn’t fear, Cousin-to-be. I do adore our dear Lady Camille and will do all I can to make her happy. Ah, good, the number has ended. Excuse me. I’d like to claim my fiancée for the next dance since I was too slow for the first. I’m also determined to keep her away from the punch if I can.”

  Bethany laughed and bid him good luck in all his endeavors.

  Locke bowed to Lady Whitton and handed her to an older gentleman with steel-gray hair just as Mr. Treadwell appeared at the blue salon’s open doorway. Locke went to hear the butler’s news and then left the room with him.

  Curiosity, and more, had Bethany following. She hated that too-familiar gut feeling that something was wrong and resented it, tonight of all nights. She’d barely peaked into the hallway toward Locke’s study when she caught sight of Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas in guarded conversation with Locke and Mr. Treadwell, their expressions far too serious for such an auspicious night. She shrank from their line of sight but when they’d slipped inside the study, she wrestled with the temptation to eavesdrop again.

  Her conscience won. She didn’t need another round of eavesdropping to confess. Locke would confide in her if or when he felt it was right. Until then, her responsibility lay with her mother and her guests.

  The green salon boasted half a dozen tables for card games, and Bethany took the opportunity to visit with the several guests there. Eventually she joined a lone matron who needed three more people for the necessary foursome. Scarbreigh arrived and sat down opposite her, grinning impudently and challenging her to beat him.

  At that moment, Locke ambled into the room, the twins on his heels. The earl rested one hand on Bethany’s shoulder and winked at her, holding his other hand out to her in a bunched fist.

  “My apologies for interrupting, Lady Locke. You said you wanted to wear this to tonight’s festivities. It seems you forgot it.” He slipped that object into her hands, cool and silvery, and she gasped when she realized what it was.

  “My bracelet! Oh, thank you. I did forget about it.” She paused when he offered to put it on for her, thinking it seemed different, but catching the odd look on his face she bit her tongue. She would ask later. “Will you play cards with us?” she said instead.

  Locke shook his head in regret. “I’m afraid I promised Lady Reynolds a turn on the dance floor.”

  “I’m determined to entertain my aunt,” Mr. Nicolas said, grinning at Scarbreigh, “and Lord Matthew insists he has to do his best to talk Lady Camille out of marrying Scarbreigh.”

  Scarbreigh laughed with them. When the others left, he said, “I really do idolize that bracelet. Are you sure you won’t let me borrow it? My London jeweler actually had one similar. I almost purchased it for Lady Camille, with charms of my own for it. The links on this chain, however, are unique, and he’d have to see it to create anything half so delightful.”

  Bethany suffered a moment of weakness but realized she couldn’t give in, especially if it was as important as Locke thought it might be. “I’m so sorry, my lord, but accidents—and highwaymen—can happen. Perhaps when Locke and I next visit London we could meet you at the shop and let your jeweler have a go at it.”

  Scarbreigh sighed and shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame a man for asking, can you?”

  Another gentleman joined their table, and the game began, Bethany enjoying besting the Marquess of Scarbreigh. Laughing afterward, the marquess congratulated her and excused himself, and Bethany did not see him again—or Locke or the twins, for that matter—for most of the evening as she turned to her duties as hostess.

  When darkness of night crept into the dark of early morning, many of the guests began to leave, and Bethany joined Lady Camille, Lady Katherine, and Lord Locke at the front door to bid their guests farewell.

  Scarbreigh and the twins joined them, just as the final guest departed, the marquess taking Camille’s hand and smiling at her. Bethany couldn’t help teasing the man by raising her wrist and saying, “If you’d like to examine this silly piece of jewelry in brightest daylight, I’ll meet with you and Lady Camille on the veranda as soon as we arise this morning.”

  “Afternoon will suffice,” Scarbreigh replied, grimacing. “Surely my brains would fry before two o’clock.”

  Camille giggled, her eyes sparkling and cheeks ruddy. Bethany feared she’d overindulged in the punch, despite everyone's efforts to thwart her. Lady Katherine, herself rosy-cheeked and exhilarated with pleasure, hugged the young women in delight.

  “Thank you, my dears, for such a wonderful get-together. I’m exhausted but thrilled. We’ll talk about it in detail tomorrow. Good night, Lord Scarbreigh. I’ll see Lady Camille to her room. She’s had enough fun tonight.”

  Lady Camille laughed, blew Scarbreigh a kiss, and then mounted the stairs alongside the countess. The rest of them followed, Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas on either side of Scarbreigh, and then Bethany and Locke trailing behind them, arm in arm.

  Bethany paused outside her room, puzzled by the concern written in Locke’s eyes.

  “I fear I must speak with your rapscallion cousins for a while in my study,” he murmured, kissing her with something that felt like regret. “I’ve some trouble with a matter from London on which I need their opinions.”

  “Will you join me later?”

  “Do you mind? I’ll try not to wake you.”

  “I hope you do wake me,” she whispered.

  He laughed, kissed her quickly, and headed towards his study.

  CHAPTER 23

  Candlelight did little to dispel the shadows in Locke’s study, or on the three men’s grim faces while they talked over as many versions of their plan as they could imagine. Twenty minutes became an hour, then near an hour and a half, and Locke was exasperated by the time they’d come to the conclusion their first inclination was the best, even it was far from ideal.

  “And I repeat,” he said. “Lady Bethany knows too much to be left in the dark about this. She’ll be safer if she knows what’s coming.”

  Lord Matthew sighed and scratched his head roughly, like a boy fresh out of bed. “You’d be violating orders.”

  “But if she’s hidden the bracelet so he can’t steal it, he could go out of control. I won’t chance it.”

  Mr. Nicolas grinned impudently. “If you’re in bed with her, he’s not likely to cause a ruckus.”

  “If he’s thwarted, he could get desperate. I’d rather not get shot.”

  “Then you should take your lady into your bedchamber,” Mr. Nicolas said with amusement. “If he sneaks into her empty room and finds the bracelet easily enough, he’ll take what he wants and go.”

  “Lady Bethany would have too many questions if she saw my room, and then I’d have to tell her anyway.”

  Lord Matthew snorted quiet laughter. “He has a point, brother.”

  Mr. Nicolas sighed and shrugged. “I’m still disputing the idea that we need to trap our quarry with the bracelet. Haven’t we enough evidence to arrest him without it?”

  “In my opinion, yes, but Westminster doesn’t agree. They consider the bracelet the linchpin,” Locke said. “And my lady needs to know.”

  “It’s your neck on the line, Locke. You’d best go now. Our ‘friend’ has been most dutiful tonight, a sign he’s not worried. Might mean he’s not planning to move tonight, but maybe not.”

  “My point exactly,” Locke said, coming to his feet. “If he does act, my wife is in jeopardy.”

  “Let’s pray for some sleep,” Mr. Nicolas murmured. “Just a little of it. And for a private arre
st when the sun rises.”

  “Mostly I want to avoid a ghastly scene,” Lord Matthew said. “It would worsen matters exponentially.”

  Mr. Nicolas rose and stretched out some kinks. “The reason our boys from London arrived after the party was in full swing, to avoid anyone observing and making a scene. Their numbers will also strengthen the men Locke has had secretly patrolling his borders since Lady Bethany arrived. Oh, by the way, Locke, Seaworth decided to put the detachment up in your long-row bunk house. A bit more comfortable than the hayloft.”

  “Hmmm, yes, but I hope the watch keeps an eagle eye out. Men in the loft might hear something. Maybe not so easy from the bunk house. If anything goes wrong, we’ll need help quickly.”

  The twins agreed, even while all three of them felt suitably confident. Locke doused the lantern, and the three men returned to their rooms.

  * * *

  Bethany left her candle burning when she climbed into bed. Exhausted, she quickly drifted off to sleep. Another nightmare assailed her, however, and she came awake shuddering. This time she’d caught the barest glimpse of the man in the shadows at Almack’s. The fellow whispering to ... Viscount Beckwood.

  Viscount Beckwood! She remembered his name! The monster who’d coaxed her onto the veranda, where the gentleman in the shadows had shared some private words with him. The gentleman departed and Beckwood persuaded her to walk with him. She flinched when the images transformed into the horrors of her kidnapping.

  Glancing towards the candle on her night table, she saw from the taper’s length she’d not slept more than an hour. The blanket snagged on her bracelet when she turned to her side, and she gently freed the jewelry from it, raising it to admire the metallic sparkle of candlelight on the links. Whatever it was that was different about it disturbed her, which in turn had made her want to wear it to bed tonight, so that she wouldn’t forget to ask Locke about it.

  She jumped when a soft knock came at her door. Locke? No. He’d enter through the door between their rooms, not the hall, and she doubted he’d bother with knocking. Only a moment later, the tap came again.

  Rising and tossing on her robe, Bethany took her candle and went to crack the door open.

  “Lady Bethany. I’m sorry to disturb you,” a familiar voice whispered. Bethany opened the door a little more and saw Scarbreigh standing there, hair rumpled and face drawn. “I’m afraid I must beg your help.”

  “Scarbreigh! What’s wrong?”

  Scarbreigh shifted from one foot to the other, then admitted, “Nothing earth shattering, but embarrassing for Lady Camille.”

  “What?

  “I was just awakened by the sound of an angel singing. Thought it was a dream, and then I roused enough to deduce that the noise was outside my window. It faces the stables, you know, and I got up to see someone serenading the stars in the middle of the night.”

  Bethany groaned. “Lady Camille had too much to drink after all, didn’t she?” It wasn’t like her cousin to indulge as much as she had lately. They would have to talk about it tomorrow.

  “Yes, I fear so. I can’t go after her alone. Wouldn’t be proper, but I don’t want anyone else to catch her. For her sake, of course.”

  “Of course,” Bethany replied, thinking it edged indecency for her to go with Scarbreigh alone in the middle of the night. Should she? How fearful she’d grown this last year. Wonderful things had happened to her, but so had terrible ones, and they made her doubt even her old friend. But what about Lady Camille? Her cousin needed help.

  Only these circumstances persuaded her. “I’ll change my clothes.”

  Choosing haste over propriety, she donned her tunic, riding breeches and a thick sweater for the chilly night, clothes that didn’t sport myriads of buttons and would require Melissa’s help. London might be scandalized, but she just wanted to collect Lady Camille.

  Scarbreigh’s brows furrowed when Bethany joined him, but he made no comment about her wardrobe. He’d seen her this way many times in her childhood. Noting her bracelet, he said, “Must mean a lot to you if you sleep with it.”

  She smiled. “Proof I’m far too sentimental.”

  She glanced towards Locke’s study and saw the faint gleam of lamplight under the door. Her husband and the twins must still be in conference. She was tempted to knock on his door, or at least leave him a note, but it would only slow her down and endanger Lady Camille’s reputation.

  Still, she questioned her decision all the way to the stallion barn, praying they would collect Lady Camille quickly. A mere sliver of moon was near setting, leaving faint starlight to light their way. Rather than wearing her boots, for the sake of haste she’d pulled on her slippers, and now the gravel stabbed her scarred feet and occasional rocks twisted her ankles. Thankfully Scarbreigh took her arm to steady her.

  Bethany paused when they came in sight of the stable yard. “I don’t see her. Or hear her. You said she was standing here?”

  “Yes.” He pointed towards the window that was his. “My room’s up there.”

  “You’re sure she was here?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Foreboding crawled up Bethany’s spine, cold and prickly. “My lord, I’m going back inside. I want to knock on Lady Camille’s door. Perhaps she returned to bed when you weren’t looking.”

  “No. I saw her out here,” he insisted, gripping her arm too tight.

  Bethany shook her head. “Scarbreigh? Please let go of me.”

  “I still need your help, Lady Bethany,” he pleaded. “Look, maybe she’s gone inside the barn. She might have gotten confused or maybe fallen asleep in one of the stalls. She’ll scandalize anyone who finds her. Check it out with me, will you?”

  The worry in his voice made Bethany fear for her cousin.

  Scarbreigh unlatched the stable door and pushed it open, creaking softly. Her breath caught when lantern light eked out, buttery yellow against the shadows that hung from the rafters.

  Scarbreigh nudged her inside, and then he closed the door behind them. Bethany blinked as her eyes adjusted. The long corridor stretched out before her, every stall door closed. Why? Hadn’t Dimity said he left them open to allow for a breeze?

  “Does Dimity usually burn a lantern all night?” Scarbreigh’s near-whisper echoed her thoughts. “Not too safe, in my opinion, around hay and straw.”

  “I’ve never been here at night, but I can’t imagine it.” What’s going on? she thought.

  “Lady Camille?” She raised her voice enough to hope her cousin would hear her if she were awake. No answer.

  The scent of hay and horses blended with a few equine snorts, grumbles and stomping hooves from behind the doors.

  “Shall we begin the search?” Scarbreigh said. “I’ll take the right hand stalls, you take the left?”

  Bethany’s stomach tied itself into knots. Anyone could hide behind closed doors. Anything could happen inside a darkened stall. Dear Lord, what if someone has kidnapped Lady Camille, as they had her, what seemed a lifetime ago? What if they were lying in wait for Bethany?

  “I won’t do it without a lantern,” she insisted, although what she really wanted was a gun.

  “Of course, my dear,” he murmured, tip-toeing up the aisle. Bethany shuddered, seeing him pass door after fastened door. Waking nightmares taunted her, of Shadow’s stabbing, of Locke’s assault in London. Of flying arrows and overturned furniture and monsters in the dark.

  Scarbreigh reached for the lantern and more images jumped into her mind: of men in forest green waistcoats; Locke, his head bruised and aching. Her aunt and uncle breaking the news of the attack on Whitton. Broken shelves. Shattered Dresden dolls.

  Bethany telling Scarbreigh all about them at Carlton House. Locke troubled by her having done so.

  Scarbreigh took the lantern and carried it to her, looking her over in too familiar a way. Then he glanced left and then right at the closed doors, and the ghosts of Bethany’s past welled up like evil specters, cast in the profiles Scarbreigh pr
esented her. The shadows that defined the distinctive planes of his face triggered those hateful memories like frightened bats.

  She envisioned the man at Almack’s, the silhouette that had leaned towards Viscount Beckwood, whispering to him, and nodding to what Beckwood whispered back. Then the form, tall and lean, had turned and walked away, and left her to ... them.

  Horror welled up inside of her and it was all she could do to keep from crying out in shock.

  Scarbreigh! It was Scarbreigh who’d given her to the kidnappers! The realization tore her world apart.

  Scarbreigh raised a brow and twisted his mouth into a smirk. “Ah, I see my beautiful Beth has had an epiphany. I knew you’d realize it sooner or later.”

  “You mean, about what you did to me?”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything to you.”

  His amusement made her want to strike him. “You’re an animal. No gentleman could do to a woman what you ordered done to me.”

  The marquess’s gaze hardened. “We thought you withheld important information and did whatever we needed to get it. I made sure they avoided the obvious, like your face, but personally, I don’t care about scars.”

  “I withheld nothing from them. I knew nothing.”

  He barked soft laughter. “But you have what I wanted; it simply took happenstance to find it.” He leaned down and yanked the bracelet from her wrist, ignoring her outcry of pain, and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Where’s Lady Camille. If you’ve hurt her—”

  “I assume asleep in her bed, my dear.”

  “You lied.”

  “To get you here.”

  “You have the bracelet. Let me go.”

  “Never.”

  A hot rock of terror dropped into her stomach. Was he going to kill her? If he took the bracelet and rid himself of the only witness to his crimes ….

  Angry tears burned her eyes, and her lips trembled as she bowed her head in fear. “Please, Kirk. Let me go.”