Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8)

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Winning the Merchant Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 8) Page 8

by Arietta Richmond


  The sword came up, the point aimed for Arbuthnot’s face, where it traced a curving cut from the side of his hair to his chin, before sweeping back, as he screamed, to slice through his coat and shirt, drawing blood in a long arc across his chest. Charlton knew that the cuts were not deep, but would bleed massively, and cause great pain. For a man who had led a soft and spoiled life, they would be very hard to deal with.

  Arbuthnot proved that thought true. He dropped, screaming wildly, to the floor, his hands scrabbling at his face, then his chest, spreading his blood everywhere in the process. He looked a gory mess, but Charlton had made sure that he was unlikely to die of his wounds. That would have been far too kind.

  Porter Arbuthnot deserved to face the full force of the law for his misdeeds. Charlton stepped in, grabbed Arbuthnot, and slammed a fist to his face. Porter dropped to the floor again, unconscious. Charlton turned to Bella.

  “I do apologise, Miss Morton, for the mess. Give me a moment and I’ll have you untied, and put that rope to better use binding this madman.”

  Charlton pulled the gag from her mouth first, and Bella gulped great lungfuls of clean air as he gently rolled her to her side and undid the rough knots at her wrists. When she first tried to speak, nothing came forth but a dry croak. She swallowed, and tried again.

  “You have my heartfelt thanks, Viscount Pendholm, but… however did you find me?”

  Charlton took the rope, and bound Arbuthnot as he answered.

  “Your brother thinks ahead, and your mother is a brave and clever woman. She made sure that the urchin he was sending with messages kept coming back, until we had been summoned, and could follow the boy. He led us to Arbuthnot, and I followed him to you.”

  “Porter is… quite mad, isn’t he?”

  “I suspect so. It seems his jealousy, and, I gather, his father’s mockery, led him to convince himself that he had the right of things, no matter what he did. I am not sure what he meant about stealing his ideas though.”

  “I am. And it’s all my fault that he sees it so.” Bella’s voice broke a little, and her composure cracked with it.

  She began to shake, and sob. Charlton, sure that Arbuthnot was secure, went to her, and held her as she cried. She reminded him, in that moment, of his sister, on those few occasions when she had been desolated about something. After a while, she settled, and took the handkerchief he offered, wiping her face clean.

  “Will he die? There’s rather a lot of blood.”

  “No. He will carry some scars, but he will live, unless his wounds become infected. The cuts are shallow, but placed where they would bleed most, and horrify him most. I wanted his fear and shock to make him stop fighting.”

  “I… I’m glad. I had come to not like him much at all, but at one time he was pleasant, and an amusing companion. I feel sorry for him, in a way.”

  “That’s most forgiving of you, Miss Morton. Many young ladies I have met would be rather more vicious in their condemnation, after an experience such as this.”

  “I don’t believe in hating people.”

  “A good policy in life. Can you stand?”

  “Yes. But… oh, this is so embarrassing! I really rather badly need to use the necessary. I have been tied up here a long time.”

  Charlton was impressed that she was forthright enough to speak so, and realised that he should have thought of such an issue. Looking around, he spotted an old bucket in the corner. He picked it up and took it to her.

  “Not the most elegant chamber pot, but I believe it will serve.”

  Blushing, she took it, and fled out the door, and into a dark corner of the warehouse. She left it there when she was done, and, far more comfortable, returned to the small room.

  When she opened the door, she found that Charlton had gagged Arbuthnot, and roused him enough to get him on his feet. Porter looked at Bella with hate filled eyes, and she wondered that she had ever found him even slightly attractive. She was glad of the gag, for, had he been able to speak, she suspected that he would have been voluble, crude and hateful.

  “If you’re able to, we should get him out of here, and see if we can hail a hackney. We may have trouble getting one to stop, with such a companion, but I’m sure that the sight of money will convince one of the drivers.”

  “Where will we take him?”

  “To the closest Police Office, where we will both make a statement about his actions. They will likely want your mother to make her statement tomorrow as well. But I will be pleased to see him locked up tonight.”

  Indeed, Bella realised, it was night, and quite late. At Charlton’s words, Arbuthnot had begun to struggle, until Charlton cuffed him hard across the face, which had the effect of starting the bleeding again, at which he stilled, and simply glared at them. No cabs were to be seen, as they emerged onto the street, and Bella shivered, as much from fear as from actual cold, although the chill was intense.

  They began walking, Charlton leading them back towards the Inn where the boy had met Arbuthnot. At least moving loosened her stiff limbs and warmed her a little, Bella thought.

  After twenty minutes of slow progress, they approached the Inn. Charlton was very glad to see Geoffrey coming towards him.

  “I see you’ve dealt with him – rather messy about it, if I do say. I hope it wasn’t too traumatic, Miss Morton. What were you thinking, Charlton, making her walk like this?”

  “I wasn’t thinking much at all, beyond getting Arbuthnot here to a Police Office as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the cab drivers of London regarded us as obviously too dangerous to take as a fare – even when I flashed some coin in their direction.”

  “Well then, you’ll be pleased to know that I brought a carriage. And, it seems that Arbuthnot left his rig here early this afternoon, so Jenkins and the two strapping young men from the street near the manufactory can take it back to Morton House. We’ll take the carriage and see this reprobate locked up.”

  ~~~~~

  Half an hour later, they had suffered an uncomfortable carriage ride, where Arbuthnot, squashed between Lord Geoffrey and Charlton, had glared bitter insanity at Bella, who was, forced, by the confines of the carriage, to sit facing him. The watchman was roused quickly, and, taking one look at the blood covered Porter, went to fetch the duty officer.

  Explanations followed, and the Police were most helpful, especially once they realised that the two gentlemen before them were returned war heroes and members of the aristocracy.

  Bella sank gratefully onto a chair, and waited to be asked to tell her story.

  The officer took notes, and Arbuthnot stood there, making strangled growling noises against the gag, watching balefully. Once Bella’s statement had been taken, the officer carefully undid the gag on Arbuthnot, and questioned him. Porter made no attempt to deny anything – he simply raved and ranted about what was rightfully his, how Bella and her family had ‘cheated him’ and more.

  Eventually in his ranting he said “I wish the building had burnt down – would have saved everyone the trouble, would never have had to take these steps, damned useless bastard couldn’t even set a fire right.”

  Bella gasped, and the others turned to her.

  “I take it that makes some sense to you, Miss Morton?”

  “Yes, Officer, it does – horrifying sense. To think that all that time ago he was plotting to harm us, and I thought him a nice young man.”

  Bella shuddered, as his words revealed the depths of his madness, and how long it had been growing. She explained about the fire at the manufactory, back in January of the year, and how they had never known what had started it. The Police officer took down many notes and looked rather grim.

  “So, that’ll be a charge of arson, as well as kidnapping and extortion.”

  Arbuthnot finally seemed to realise what was happening, and sagged against the wall, muttering.

  “No, no, not supposed to end like this… no…”

  Bella pitied him – but she pitied his family more.
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br />   “I’ll just put him in the cells, lady and gentlemen, then we can arrange to see you tomorrow to interview Mrs Morton and the others.”

  Finally, it was all done, and they could leave. Bella never wanted to have to deal with the Police again – not because they were unhelpful, but simply because one only had to do so if bad things happened. She’d had enough of bad things to last a lifetime.

  As the carriage set off towards Morton House, she drifted into an exhausted half sleep, lulled by the movement.

  At the sound of carriage wheels on the road outside, Sophia started up from her seat. Sera, Gabriel and Jenkins followed her into the foyer, to stand in hopeful expectation as Potts opened the door.

  When Lord Geoffrey alighted from the carriage, and turned back to the door, Sophia held her breath, then released it in a rush when Bella appeared, stepping carefully down with Geoffrey’s assistance. Charlton followed them out, and waved the coachman off to take the carriage around to the mews.

  Sophia forced herself to stand, and wait for Bella to walk into the house, before sweeping her into her arms. The grubby urchin who had carried the messages appeared from the small chair in the corner, where he had been told to wait, and approached Lord Geoffrey.

  “Do I need to be hangin’ about here for more messages, now or tomorra?”

  Geoffrey produced some coin from his pockets.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. The gentleman will not be available tomorrow – he’s currently being held at the Police Office.”

  Geoffrey handed the boy the coins, which disappeared with the expected speed.

  “Oh. Well then. I guess I’d best be off.”

  “Actually…” Charlton’s voice stopped the boy as he started towards the door. “You’d best stay. We may need you to tell about the things he asked you to do, for the Police.” The boy looked scared, and ready to run, so Charlton continued rapidly. “You’re not in trouble, not at all. But you can help us make sure that man never hurts anyone again. I’m certain that Potts here can find you a nice warm bed belowstairs for the night, and a good meal.”

  The boy’s face brightened at that, and he turned to Potts expectantly.

  “Aw right then. If you say so, Milord.”

  Potts took the boy’s arm and led him away.

  Sophia and Sera had taken Bella into the parlour, accompanied by Gabriel and Geoffrey, whilst Charlton was speaking to the boy. Charlton turned and followed them. Sophia settled Bella onto the couch, and Bella collapsed into tears again, as the relief of being home struck her. Sophia cradled her like a small child, letting her cry out all her fear and pain.

  “Oh Bella dear, I am so glad that you are returned to me safe – although I fear that my entire gown will be soaked before all of your tears are done!”

  Bella managed a small strangled laugh, amongst the tears. At that, Sera saw Gabriel finally relax, sure that his sister would be alright, if she was capable of laughter. As Charlton entered the room, Sophia looked up at him, her gratitude showing on her face.

  “Viscount Pendholm, I will forever be in your debt. You are the hero of the day, I hear. Lord Geoffrey was just describing what he knows of how you rescued Bella.”

  At the word ‘hero’ Charlton cast a wry glance at Geoffrey, knowing full well that Geoffrey had likely described him that way with intent.

  “Mrs Morton, there is no need for any sense of debt. I could never allow a madman like that to hold a young lady against her will. The Police Officer assures us that he will answer for his crimes. And, in his mad ranting, he also incriminated himself – he spoke of having arranged the setting of the fire that almost destroyed the favour manufactory at the start of the year. He deserves whatever fate awaits him.”

  The moment that Sophia had spoken that name, Sera had frozen in place. She held herself still, whilst her mind whirled chaotically. This… this was the devil Pendholm? But… surely this man, who had just saved Bella, could not possibly be the one who had ruined her brother? She was utterly confused. Her brother had described him, if she remembered aright, as being dark haired and arrogant – yet the man before her had hair the colour of ripe chestnuts, with the golden highlights that came from having spent much time out of doors. His eyes were a warm golden brown, and seemed filled with genuine care for Bella.

  A faint memory returned to her, of something that she had heard, not long after James’ death, a piece of gossip caught before all social events were closed to her, as the ton shunned them. Something about a scandal associated with the Pendholm name, a… death? At the time, she had ignored it, not wanting to ever hear the name again, but now, she wondered. When Raphael had mentioned this man as a friend, she had looked no further than the name – near two years of grief and unresolved anger had risen to the surface, and driven her reaction. What if… there was more to it than she had thought? What if there was information that she did not have?

  As she thought it through, finding more and more points that did not align, Bella’s tears finally dribbled to a stop, and she raised her reddened face from her mother’s soaked shoulder to speak.

  “Viscount Pendholm, I thank you too – I should have done so the moment that you rescued me, but I was so overwrought that I did not think to. I assure you that I am even more grateful for your heroic actions than my mother is. Porter was quite mad, yet you managed to be completely calm, and to know how to trick him, and then you were so precise, so clever with your sword. To cut him just so, without killing him. Had I had a sword in my hand at that point, I fear I should have simply done my best to kill him.”

  “Ah – now your bloodthirsty side comes out, Miss Morton. I did wonder if you were always so calm, and forgiving.”

  Charlton’s eyes sparkled with good humour as he spoke, and Sera’s confusion increased with every moment.

  Bella pouted a little at being teased.

  “In this case, I fear that I will struggle to forgive. I might have forgiven what he did to me, for he was obviously quite mad at this point. But I cannot forgive that he almost killed Lady Serafine with that fire at the manufactory. For that was months ago, when he seemed remarkably sane.”

  Sera was so shocked at Bella’s words that it pulled her out of her confusion enough to speak.

  “The fire? What did he have to do with that? How…?”

  “He admitted it when he was ranting at the Police Officer – I knew immediately what he meant, when he mentioned a fire. The Officer said that he will be charged with arson, kidnapping and extortion.”

  Sera fell back in her chair, mind reeling again. It was good to know now, who had set the fire, to feel sure, as a result, that such a thing was not likely to happen again, yet the thought that they had been trusting Bella to such a man for so many months made her feel ill. Charlton smiled at Bella.

  “Yes, and I am so glad that you were there to hear it, and explain what he was referring to. For I had no idea. I remember, faintly, Raphael mentioning a fire, but, at that time, I was rather caught up in some difficulties of my own. I did not remember, until you explained it.”

  His courteous manner, and the way that he gave credit to Bella for her contribution to things increased Sera’s confusion all over again. She had to know the truth, she realised. She had an opportunity that she might never have again, to ask, to discover more about the events that had led to her brother’s death.

  “Viscount Pendholm.”

  Sera’s voice shook as she spoke the fateful name. Charlton turned to look at her.

  “Oh, how remiss of me! Lady Serafine, might I make known to you Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm? And this, Lady Serafine, standing so quietly by him, is Lord Geoffrey Clarence. Gentlemen, this is my dear friend, and Raphael’s business partner in the favours manufactory, Lady Serafine Parkington.”

  Sophia looked embarrassed to have left them unintroduced for so long. Charlton and Geoffrey bowed politely.

  “Delighted, Lady Serafine. You wish to ask me something?”

  “Yes, my Lord,
I do. Forgive me if I am very forthright. I fear that more than a year away from society has rather removed my social polish, and diminished my desire to be correctly ladylike. I am confused, and I would ask you to clarify something for me - you were in France and Spain with Mr Morton, I believe - were you not Viscount at that point? For I am sure that I remember mention of the doings of Viscount Pendholm here in London, well before the war ended.”

  Sera was watching his face closely, and saw a fleeting expression cross his countenance. An expression that she recognised, that she knew only too well, for she had worn such an expression herself, as had her mother, much too often. It was pain, and a touch of fear, quickly suppressed.

  He took a breath, and nodded slightly, before answering.

  “You are correct. I was amidst that terrible war, with Raphael, and with Geoffrey here, as well as others.”

  His voice was strained, as if he dreaded what he was about to say.

  “And for most of that time, I was not Viscount. My older brother was. He died, an unpleasant and violent death, almost a year before I returned home. Forgive me for being as forthright as you, but there is no way to gild a hard truth. If you heard gossip, it was likely well based in truth, for my brother was, I am sorry to say, a most unnatural and vicious man. He delighted in hurting others. Men, he hurt by ruining them at the gaming tables. Women he hurt more directly, physically. My mother still struggles to forgive herself for bearing a child who became such a terrible man. And society still gossips about us. I have spent the last year attempting to undo the damage to my family’s reputation that he managed to cause in his two years as Viscount.”

  Sera felt a chaotic rush of emotions as he spoke – relief, that this was not the man who had ruined her brother – indeed, he seemed a man of a very different cut. But mixed with that was a growing horror, that she had made so many assumptions, that she had cast aside Raphael for the presumed sin of having a friend who shared a name with one who she hated, without checking if they were, indeed, the same man. And in Viscount Pendholm’s story, there were so many echoes of her own. The pain of being penalised by society for something one had no control over, the fear, every moment, that people would remember, would ask, or would assume. And she had just asked. And forced him to speak of it!

 

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