The Wickedest Lord Alive

by Christina Brooke

  “Eh?” said Lydgate.

  “You tell her you love her.” Montford spread his hands. “She falls into your arms and agrees to marry you. Your honor is satisfied. It is really quite simple.”

  “Now, hold on a minute,” said Lydgate.

  “No,” said Xavier. Everything inside him revolted at the idea.

  “Why not?” said Montford. “You don’t believe in the existence of romantic love. You’ve said so yourself on any number of occasions. You have dishonored this young lady—several times, if I’m any judge of the matter—and the only way you can make reparation is to marry her. Tell her what she wants to hear and she’s yours.”

  The duke sighed. “I believe emotion must be clouding your judgment, Xavier. Your thinking is usually so much clearer.”

  Obstinate, Xavier shook his head. He couldn’t do that to her. She deserved better than that. But when he pictured the alternatives—marriage to Huntley, or another man from her village, or maybe even young Tom—a possessive ferocity powered through him. A primitive part of him snarled, Mine, and snapped at any notion of another man having his Lizzie.

  “I’ll think of something,” said Xavier, “but I’m not going to tell her pretty lies, and that’s final.”

  Lydgate gave a hoot of laughter. “You’re in love, man, admit it! It’s as plain as the nose on your face. You ought to pour all those feelings of yours out to Cyprian. Get him to write a poem about it.”

  Still chortling, Lydgate ducked as Xavier picked up a paperweight from Montford’s desk and threw it at his head.

  When Xavier returned to his bedchamber to dress for dinner, his majordomo was waiting for him.

  Xavier saw at once that Martin was mud-splashed and weary, as if he’d ridden a long distance. More than that, he displayed unwonted agitation. His face was pallid, his movements jerky.

  “What news?” said Xavier, pouring the man a large brandy and pressing it into his grasp.

  Martin’s hand shook. He tossed back the brandy in one swallow. Hoarse with the liquor, he said, “My lord, it’s Miss Drysdale.”

  An image of his former mistress as he’d last seen her took shape in his mind, the striking features twisted in a mask of hatred as she taunted him.

  Then, realization hit and Xavier’s head jerked back, as if receiving a blow. “Oh, Christ, no.”

  Because his manservant seemed unable to speak further, Xavier said the words for him.

  “Miss Drysdale is dead.”

  * * *

  The heady scents of roses and honeysuckle hit Lizzie full force as she strolled through the vicarage garden. Her senses swam a little, and she was obliged to take a deep, unsteady breath before continuing around the path to greet Mr. Allbright.

  “Lizzie!” The pleasure on the vicar’s face as he looked up from his gardening warmed Lizzie’s heart. He threw down his trowel and got to his feet. Removing his gardening gloves, he took her hands in his.

  The cleric looked well, more robust than before she’d left Little Thurston, which was undoubtedly due to the persistence of his sister.

  Lizzie ducked under the brim of his straw hat to kiss his cheek and then nodded to Mr. Allbright’s sister. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Payne. How do you do?”

  Mrs. Payne greeted her with a touch more warmth than she was wont to show her before her departure. “I’ll go in and order us some tea.”

  The good lady was all compliance, now that she was assured Lizzie would remain with Clare while in Little Thurston

  “That would be lovely. Thank you, ma’am,” said Lizzie.

  Mr. Allbright placed her hand on his arm and patted it, walking with her as they discussed her doings and the small, day-to-day occurrences in Little Thurston.

  She’d been away for less than the predicted month, but the eight years she’d spent in Little Thurston seemed to belong to another life. After the vastness of Harcourt, everything in Little Thurston appeared to be in miniature. The troubles of its inhabitants no longer filled Lizzie’s thoughts. Unfortunately, she had too many troubles of her own.

  One thing had not changed, and that was Lizzie’s deep affection for Mr. Allbright. As ever, he was her rock in the midst of a stormy sea. She longed for Xavier with every breath she took. But longing for him did not change the fact that he simply could not return her love.

  When Lizzie and Mr. Allbright entered the parlor, there was a gentleman standing there with his back to them.

  A tall, black-haired gentleman … “Oh!”

  Xavier turned and crossed to her, the gravity of his expression lightening a fraction as he took her hands.

  The door closed quietly behind Mr. Allbright.

  Lizzie’s heart beat hard and fast. She couldn’t imagine why he was here. Had Mr. Allbright told him about the baby? But how would he have known? She only just found out herself, had been agonizing over how to tell Xavier the news without causing him to renew his insistence that they marry.

  With a sinking feeling, she realized that even if he did love her, she’d never drag such an admission from him now. He knew he had her where he wanted her. She was trapped into marrying him. She could be carrying his heir this very moment in her womb.

  She resisted the urge—a constant one now—to rest her palm on her belly.

  “What is it, my lord?” she said. “Do you have news for me?”

  His face settled into harsh lines. “Bad news, I am afraid. The very worst.”

  She braced herself, wondering what could possibly be worse news than the fact that she wasn’t married after all to the father of her unborn child. That now he would be obliged to marry her without love.

  He said, “I told you why it was imperative that I beget an heir.”

  “Your uncle.” She nodded. “I cannot help agreeing with you there. And of course, Cyprian is not at all suited to the position he would inherit.”

  “You put that more diplomatically than I would,” said Xavier dryly.

  “No doubt. But go on, I understand that part.”

  His lips pressed together. He strode back to the window, to look out upon the bright sunshine as it glittered on the stream.

  “Xavier?” she prompted gently.

  He turned to her, and his eyes were bleak. “It will sound fantastical, but I have reason to believe there is a plot to eliminate me from the succession.”

  Lizzie felt the heat drain from her face. “What?”

  “I said it was fantastical. I cannot blame you if you don’t believe me.”

  Her head felt as if it were floating from her body. “But…” A wave of nausea swept her words away.

  Impatiently, he said, “Lizzie, we do not have time to stand about debating it. You need not accept it, but just please, do what I am about to ask you. I never thought…” He bowed his head and kneaded the place between his eyebrows as if it pained him. “It never occurred to me that she would hurt anyone but me. That was stupid. I won’t make that mistake a second time.”

  “She?” Lizzie started. “You don’t mean it’s your mother who wants to kill you.”

  His smile was bitter. “Oh, yes. She is in this up to her neck. I’ve seen the proof, so you can stop shaking your head at me, my dear.”

  He began to pace again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think someone like you can ever understand the black depths of my mother’s soul.” His head tilted back and he sighed. “The word ‘evil’ sounds so melodramatic, doesn’t it?”

  “A woman who is capable of plotting that sham of a wedding must be capable of anything,” she said. “I agree, the notion of murder is shocking enough to be fantastical, but I think you are a man not given to imagining things.”

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For a long time, I managed to convince myself I was imagining things. And even when I finally accepted the truth, I did not realize she might hurt you.”

  “But to murder her own child…” She broke off. “I still think of her as that poor creature cowering beneath my father’s whip.”
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  “Of course,” he said. “You saw her that night, didn’t you? Weeping and thanking me when I saved her from Bute. Saved her! What do you think she was doing there in the first place?”

  Lizzie just stood there, staring at him dumbly.

  “I married you to satisfy my mother’s gaming debts to your father.” The words pummeled her like fists.

  Lizzie flinched. There was no logical reason she should be hurt by this. She’d known at the time he must have been forced into that union. Why, then, did the truth hurt so much?

  Xavier went on. “She swore to me that if I went through with the marriage, she would cease all contact with your father. But that night, that very same night, she was back with him again.”

  “He … he forced her. Blackmailed her, perhaps.” Still, she could not let go of her hope that Xavier merely misunderstood his mother. Lady Steyne could not be so heartless. No woman could be.

  “And that was my error, too,” he said grimly. “Even though I knew what she was capable of, she could still surprise me. I ruined your father in revenge for that night. I bankrupted him, had him hounded out of the country.”

  He drew a long breath. “I told myself I did it for you, and perhaps that was part of it. But mostly, I did it for her. I’ve never been able to resist trying to see the best in her. Never been able to hear her maligned or see her hurt without rising like some idiotic knight-errant to her defense.”

  “You love her,” Lizzie whispered. “It is the hardest thing to go on loving someone when they cannot stop being cruel to you. But love isn’t like a tap on a barrel of ale. You can’t simply turn it off.”

  That haze was over his eyes again. It was a long time before he nodded. One brief jerk of the head in acknowledgment of her words.

  Did he know it was true for her, also? That no matter what he did, she would go on loving him? But no, he was not thinking of that now.

  “After he was gone, do you know what she said to me?” he demanded. “She thanked me, because she’d run up more debts to him, beyond what I’d managed to settle. But she also said it was a pity, for she’d never found a man with such a finely tuned notion of precisely how much pain she could take.”

  Lizzie didn’t understand.

  He laughed at her expression, but not in an unkind way. “I must have looked as shocked as you when she told me. Even with all of my newly acquired worldliness, I was wholly unfamiliar with those kinds of practices.”

  Her lips parted, but it took her some moments to find her voice. “What practices?”

  “Do you know, she laughed at me?” Xavier rasped. “I’d thought her delicate sensibilities damaged beyond repair by Bute’s cruelty. I’d pursued him with awful vengeance and I’d do it again for the scar he gave you. But there are some people who enjoy being whipped and beaten, Lizzie. I do not understand it. I do not partake in either the giving or the receiving of pain. My mother is one of those people. Which would be her business alone if she hadn’t dragged me into it. And by extension, you.”

  “She laughed at you when you told her how you’d avenged her?” said Lizzie.

  “Oh, God yes. She was so pleased with herself, you see. Even as young as I was, she could rarely deceive me. I simply did not yet comprehend the depths to which she would stoop.”

  He took Lizzie’s hands. “And now she has reached her nadir. I have long suspected she plotted with my uncle to do away with me. But until now, I did not believe there was anyone else at risk besides me.”

  He turned away from her. “God, what a fool I’ve been, Lizzie! By bringing you into this, I’ve put your life at risk.”

  He turned back. “If you are pregnant with my child, you will be in danger.”

  “But we are not wed, and she knows that.”

  “She cannot take the risk. What if I persuade you to marry me, after all, and you carry my child? It could be a boy, a legitimate heir.”

  Her hand immediately went to her belly. She wasn’t ready to tell him. It was early days. She couldn’t be sure. She managed to keep her mind on track. “But what does your mother have to gain by your uncle’s succession?”

  “She will have made some sort of bargain with him,” he said grimly. “Poor fool. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. None of us ever did.”

  He took her hands in a strong grip. “Believe me, if I’d any suspicion she’d come after you, I’d have left you in Little Thurston.”

  She watched him for moments in silence before she pressed his hands. “What are you going to do about her?”

  His jaw hardened. “If she were a man, I’d kill her in a fair fight.”

  “But she’s your mother, Xavier. You can’t,” said Lizzie. “And I suspect she knows it.”

  He grew alert then. “You believe me.”

  Slowly, she nodded. She felt his pain as keenly as if it were her own. Moving closer, she put her palm to his chest. She couldn’t resist making that gesture of comfort. “You think me so innocent, Xavier. But I know more about people than you might realize. After all, I lived with my father for seventeen years, didn’t I?”

  “Thank you,” he said huskily, bending his head to kiss her with a hunger and a fervor that knocked the breath from her body and fired her blood. “Thank you for believing me.”

  “Of course I do.”

  He put her from him gently. “I must go. Mr. Allbright told me you make your home with Miss Beauchamp, so I have explained the situation to Tom and asked him to guard you.”

  “But I don’t need—”

  He silenced her with a finger upon her lips. “Will you accept his protection for my sake? I cannot attend to the business of finding my mother and eliminating the threat she poses while I am out of my mind with worry over you.”

  “I see. Well, in that case, I suppose I must agree,” said Lizzie. She did not doubt that with Clare’s help, she could escape Tom when and if she needed to.

  Xavier took her hands and kissed them, one by one. “Thank you, Lizzie. I must go now, but I will come back for you when this is over.”

  He drew her against him, adding in a rough tone she hadn’t heard, “And then I will make you my wife. Just try to deny me.”

  She put her hand up to touch his lean cheek in a gesture that was affectionate yet tinged with pity. The poor, deluded man. Did he truly expect she would be a sweet little lamb and stay out of the way until the big bad ogress was defeated?

  Lizzie Allbright was shrewder than Xavier believed. Stronger, too.

  And while Xavier might have scruples where his mother was concerned, Lizzie most certainly did not.

  * * *

  Lizzie was nearly mad with waiting for something to happen. She’d written to Rosamund begging for news but for weeks, there’d been nothing, until Rosamund had reluctantly informed her of plans for an ambush at one of her brother’s parties. Until then, she was forced to fill her days as best she might, wondering and worrying about Xavier.

  “Ribbons!” said Clare, making a determined beeline for the haberdasher’s. “Tom, we are hardly likely to be molested in amongst the bolts of cloth and dress pins. You may wait outside.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes at her, but said, “Don’t be too long. And don’t buy too much, for if I know anything about it, I’ll be the one required to carry your parcels. I’m not a footman, you know.”

  “Tom is turning into a dead bore,” complained Clare as the bell tinkled above them and they entered the shop. “And Little Thurston is just as bad. Do you think we shall ever return to Harcourt?”

  “You won’t give Harcourt a thought once the season begins,” said Lizzie. “Unless Lord Lydgate has been haunting your dreams, hmm?”

  “Not at all,” said Clare, wrinkling her nose. “Aunt Sadie was right. He did not have serious intentions toward me. Besides, Lord Lydgate has no political ambitions whatsoever, so he isn’t the right man for me.”

  Lizzie pretended interest in a knot of ribbons in a hideous combination of yellow and purple velvet. How could she
even begin to think of ribbons at a time like this?

  “I hear there is a plan afoot,” she murmured. “Some sort of party at Lord Steyne’s Brighton villa in a fortnight.”

  “Indeed?” said Clare. “Who is your informant?”

  “Rosamund,” said Lizzie. “She says all the family will be there, so it sounds like it must be a respectable event. For once. They expect Lady Steyne to make her move then.”

  Brighton was no great distance from Little Thurston. Lizzie did not mean to wait behind tamely while matters came to a head elsewhere. If only she did not feel so unwell all the time …

  At least there were no strong scents to speak of in the haberdasher’s, she thought, as she waited for Clare to pay for her a stack of parcels she’d managed to accumulate in an amazingly short space of time.

  Lost in her own thoughts, Lizzie hardly noticed when the bell jingled and a newcomer entered.

  Expensive French scent accosted her first, sending her senses spinning. She looked up to see a very sophisticated young woman reach to draw two lengths of pink satin ribbon in slightly different shades from the wooden tree over which they hung.

  “Is it that I may ask your opinion, mademoiselle?” said the woman in a heavy French accent. “This? Or this?” She held the ribbons against her gown.

  A little startled at being accosted by a stranger, Lizzie tilted her head to judge.

  Without waiting for her reply, the woman whispered, “I have a message for you from Lady Steyne.”

  Lizzie’s heart bounded into her throat. She glanced back toward the counter, but Clare was fully occupied in conversation with Mrs. Trotter and did not notice the exchange. “Yes?”

  “Milady is at the inn. This afternoon only. You are to come to her there. You must ask for Mrs. Jones.”

  There was no time to consider the matter. Instinct told her she could not allow this opportunity to slip through her fingers. If she met with Lady Steyne, she might see a way to resolve the problem, once and for all.

  Lizzie gave a quick nod to signify her agreement to the rendezvous. As the woman seemed to have nothing further to add, Lizzie hurried to join Clare.

  “I need to get away this afternoon,” she murmured to Clare. “You know what to do.”