Scandalous Brides

by Annette Blair

  At least she had the consolation of knowing her misdeeds had not ensnared her husband.

  Anna nodded reluctantly. She still wore the same tattered dress she had worn two nights ago when she had tried to run away. “Allow me to dress more presentably if we are to go to Paris.”

  ~ ~ ~

  MONSIEUR LE FLEUR, who owned a most profitable vineyard, also possessed the fastest horses on the entire coast, but they were not for hire, Morgie was told. Fortunately, Monsieur Le Fleur’s winery was on the road to Paris, and fortunately for Morgie, Monsieur Le Fleur was most agreeable to accepting one-thousand gold sovereigns for his two best horses.

  Morgie’s good fortune, however, did not include a moon-lit sky. His and Lydia’s ride was painfully slow at times while they slowed for curves and ruts and cursed the darkness that impeded their progress.

  “My brothers face the same obstacles,” Lydia said reassuringly. “And do not forget they will be checking every posting inn along the way. We will easily make up their hour’s head start.”

  As the road left the coast, it straightened, and they could ride much faster. Lydia’s prophecy was fulfilled within two hours when she and Morgie raced over a hill only to ride up on Haverstock and James.

  Haverstock turned sharply when the riders came abreast. “What the deuce?”

  Morgie reined in. “Wrong road,” he gasped.

  Haverstock and James came to a complete stop.

  “You know where Anna is?” Haverstock asked hopefully.

  Morgie nodded. “A place called Chateau Montreaux.”

  “Damned if I don’t know the place!” James said. “Not far from Calais.”

  Lydia nodded.

  “Bloody hard to get in, though,” James added.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Lydia said.

  Morgie slapped his forehead. “We’re in for it now.”

  “Hear me out,” Lydia urged. “Whoever is manning the gatehouse at Chateau Montreaux would hardly be able to refuse admittance to a single female.”

  “Meaning you?” Haverstock asked.

  “Yes. I plan to tell him I have been retained as a companion to the English lady. The fellow who works the gate would hardly know that wasn’t the truth.”

  “Capital idea,” Haverstock said sarcastically. “My very English sister just waltzes herself into a chateau teeming with Frenchmen and single-handedly rescues my wife while I preserve my hide on the safe side of the chateau walls.”

  “He’s wise to dislike your plan, Lyddie,” Morgie said.

  “I wasn’t finished,” Lydia snapped. “I thought you could sneak in while I distract the gatekeeper.”

  “She’s right,” James said. “We could sneak in while she’s talking to the fellow. As dark as it is tonight, we’ll never be seen.”

  Morgie stroked his chin. “Not bad.”

  Haverstock nodded thoughtfully.

  ~ ~ ~

  IT WAS MIDNIGHT when they tied their horses to a tree several hundred yards from the Chateau Montreaux gatehouse. “The less you know of our whereabouts, the better you will be,” Haverstock told Lydia. “Just concentrate on your part. We’ll get in.”

  Lydia nodded, then rode her horse all the way to the gate where she called out, announcing herself in flawless French.

  The door squeaked open and a gray haired man rubbing his eyes directed an impatient gaze at Lydia.

  She gently stroked her horse’s mane and walked to where her face was illuminated from the glow of the lantern which hung beside the gate. “Pardon for waking you, sir. I daresay you looked for me hours ago,” Lydia said. “I was beset by highwaymen who took my bags as well as the very carriage I was riding in. But I’m finally here. By the way, I am the companion to the English lady.”

  Shaking himself into a shirt, he ambled toward the gate. “You are alone?”

  “Yes, quite.” She saw no sign of her brothers or Morgie and became alarmed. But she remembered Haverstock’s words. We’ll get in. She just had to do her part.

  She decided to mount her horse to draw the gatekeeper’s eye to a higher level. He began to pull the gate open. She heard it scraping against the hard earth as he walked forward, his back to her.

  Then she saw them. Three of them lying on the ground, shimmying through the opening. She kicked the horse and it spurted forward, coming abreast of the gray haired main. She must think of something to say to him to keep him from looking back.

  “Are many people here now?”

  “Besides the English couple, there’s just four others.”

  “I do wish you’d do something about your bandits. I’m at a dreadful disadvantage without my personal belongings.” She trotted in, the gloomy chateau at the end of the lane now capturing her attention.

  As prearranged, she dismounted half way up the drive and waited for her companions though she was so impatient, she retraced her last several yards.

  She did not hear them until James greeted her. “Well done, Lyddie.”

  She asked excitedly: “Did you hear how many—or should I say how few—are here?”

  “Only four?” James said.

  “That gives us even odds,” Lydia said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Haverstock said firmly. “You have no part from here on out, Lydia. In fact, I plan to walk in quite alone. James can be my backup.”

  He strode off purposefully toward the big house. It was in darkness except for one lighted room on the first floor. Setting his feet carefully on the cracked ground, he followed the light spilling from a French window. As he got close, he heard muffled voices. One of them was Anna’s. He edged closer and peered through the panes. His heart caught at the sight of Anna. Dressed in a low-cut gown of ivory silk, she sat at a marquetry game table. Her hair was swept away from her face, accentuating the elegance of her slender neck. Sir Henry sat opposite her. No one else was in the room.

  The sight of Anna unhurt and in possession of her faculties flooded him with relief. “My wife plays vingt-un,” Haverstock whispered to James as he placed his ear closer to the window.

  Sir Henry dealt. “The man I had hoped to meet here, my dear, has not come. We will go to Paris in the morning. That fool coachman is driving me quite mad in his impatience to visit the capital.”

  Haverstock tried the knob. It opened, and he strolled into the salon. “I’ve come for my wife, Vinson.”

  Sir Henry flung down his cards and bolted to a standing position, feeling for a sword at his side that was not there. His jade eyes flashed with anger.

  “Charles!” Anna gasped. A flicker of emotion—was it pleasure?—danced in her soulful eyes.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Haverstock asked as he walked to her.

  He held her in his gaze as she slowly nodded. His eyes trailed over her. She appeared physically unharmed, but there was something in her demeanor, a moroseness, he had not seen there before.

  The thought of Sir Henry forcing himself on Anna was almost as frightening to Haverstock as physical harm. “If you have violated my wife in any way, Vinson, I will kill you here and now.”

  “Please tell your brute of a husband that I have not forced my attentions on you, Anna,” Sir Henry said.

  She took a long look at her husband. “I am guilty of many wretched things, Charles, but not of adultery.”

  It was all Haverstock could do not to cradle her in his arms that very minute. Sir Henry took a few cocky steps toward Haverstock. “That is not to say Anna did not choose to leave with me of her own free will.”

  “I have no reason to believe you,” Haverstock said. “You are a traitor, a murderer—and now an abductor.”

  “Tell him, my dear,” Sir Henry instructed.

  Haverstock confidently watched Anna. Hadn’t she just assured him she was not an adultress?

  There was raw pain in her face as she lowered her lashes and spoke softly. “I…I belong in Paris.”

  Her words were a kick in his stomach and a knife in his heart at the same time. “But…you
can’t mean it. The man’s a murderer. I know you loathe him.”

  She nodded but refused to meet her husband’s gaze. “I can no longer live in England.”

  Haverstock swallowed hard. “Even if I vow to accord you the love and honor you deserve?”

  Now she met his gaze, her eyes brimming with tears and an unbearable sadness on her lovely face. “It would make no difference, Charles.”

  Grief as acute as death numbed him. Drawing his lips into a tight line, Haverstock said, “It seems I’ve come here for nothing.” He swept into a bow. “Good evening, madam.”

  THIRTY

  ‘ICAN’T BELIEVE IT, even if I did hear her with my very own ears.” Lydia strode through the overgrown grass. “I tell you, Charles, Anna’s madly in love with you.”

  “And she loathes Vinson,” Morgie added.

  “We did hear her, and she made her wishes quite clear,” Haverstock said bitterly.

  He followed Lydia, his thoughts incoherent. Anna had been the stars in his heaven, and now there was only utter darkness.

  For a second back at the chateau he had thought she loved him. Was it not a painful heart that bespoke her fidelity? But then her duplicity twisted her words into barbed dejection.

  Lydia veered from the direction of the path which would have taken them back to the lane.

  “Where are you going, Lyddie?” Morgie asked.

  “To the mews.”

  “And why might that be?”

  “Because we have to see if the hired chaise is here. We did promise the coachman’s wife we would find out about her husband.”

  “So we did,” Morgie said, trotting off after Lydia, with the brothers following him.

  In the stables, they found a traveling chaise, then woke the coachman, who slept in a small room overhead.

  He immediately set about a recitation of the indignities he had suffered at the hands of the arrogant Englishman. Why, he had not received a single franc from the man, yet. And while the Englishman kept saying they would be going to Paris, the coachman was losing many fares in the meantime. And he didn’t for one minute believe that woman was the Englishman’s wife. True, she did want to run away from the insufferable man. He felt ashamed of himself for watching idly as the poor woman’s hands were tied behind her. That was no way to treat a lady. Especially one as beautiful as the mademoiselle.

  On hearing this, a raw, bitter anger boiled within Haverstock. He grabbed the man by his shirt and spoke through clenched teeth. “When did this happen?”

  “Two nights ago. When they left the ship in Calais. The mademoiselle, she tried to run away, but the miserable Englishman caught her and dragged her to the coach. And when they arrived here at the chateau, her hands were bound.”

  “I’ll kill him!” Haverstock vowed, shoving the coachman and stalking off toward the house.

  As he approached the chateau, the drawing room now lay in darkness. His gaze swept to the second floor where light spilled onto an upper balcony. He could reach the balcony by climbing a huge oak. He took off his jacket and began to climb. He straddled a branch which extended to the balcony and feared it would not bear his weight. But it did. He leapt down to the balcony and looked through the window.

  It was Anna’s room. She lay weeping on the bed. The sight tore at his heart.

  He opened the window and stepped into her room.

  She jerked into an upright position, clutching her lace handkerchief to her eyes. “Charles!”

  He stopped short of the bed. “I’m taking you home, Anna.”

  “But…” Her voice faltered. “But I’ll only hurt you. There…there is a letter.”

  “There’s only one way to hurt me, Anna.” He stepped closer to her. “That’s by leaving me. I find I cannot seem to live without you.”

  She hurled herself into his arms. “Oh, Charles, I do love you so!”

  He gathered her into his chest. Her arms circled his waist, her face cradled in the hollow of his chest. He reveled in the exquisite feel of her. His wife. His love.

  “When you went away,” she said, “he told me you had been arrested. I thought to clear you by writing a confession—which, of course, he is using against me now. It will ruin you.”

  He laughed and pulled her even closer. “There you are wrong. If I have you, I have everything.” He lifted her face with a gentle finger. “Besides, your confession can hardly be terribly incriminating. You are guilty of nothing more than having my own groom follow me. Hardly the material for your death warrant.”

  The chamber door snapped open, and Haverstock looked up to see Sir Henry standing there, leveling a pistol at them. “I thought I heard voices.”

  Haverstock pushed Anna aside and stepped in front of her.

  “I was afraid you’d come back for her,” Sir Henry said, kicking the door shut behind him. “But I must insist on keeping her. I need her more than you do, Haverstock. You derive a great deal of satisfaction from your work. My lifeline has always been the glitter of society. And I’m not a young man any more. I need Anna’s beauty and talent to assure my place at the best houses in Paris.”

  “You will not be welcomed in Paris, Vinson,” Haverstock said ruthlessly. “Does the name Thomas Brouget mean anything to you?”

  Sir Henry’s eyes widened. “So that’s why he’s never shown up here.”

  “He never left London. You will get no reward from Boney. In fact, I daresay Monsieur Hebert has a hefty price on your head as we speak. Going to Paris is out of the question for you.”

  “Why, you…” Sir Henry raised the pistol.

  The French window burst open. James poised on the threshold, his drawn sword gleaming under the light of the torchieries. “Here, Vinson,” he called in an effort to detract Sir Henry’s attentions from his unarmed brother.

  Sir Henry threw a panicked glance at James. In less than a heartbeat, Sir Henry aimed his pistol at James and fired.

  The smell of gun powder, the hiss of his brother’s gasp, the patch of blood on James’ sleeve spurred Haverstock into motion. He dove at Sir Henry, but not before the older man flung the smoking pistol to the floor and grabbed a knife from his waistcoat. Haverstock lunged and pinned him against the cracked plaster wall, grasping his knife hand.

  Haverstock’s huge hand covered Sir Henry’s bony wrist and repeatedly slammed it into the wall.

  Though he cried out in pain, Sir Henry would not let go of the knife.

  Haverstock next sent his fist crashing into Sir Henry’s face. But still Sir Henry held the knife firmly, even as the two men fell to the floor. They rolled like a lopsided windmill. Haverstock wound up on top his adversary. He watched as the blood pooled around Sir Henry’s head, and the life stilled from his ashen face. The knife, still in his hand, had sliced Sir Henry’s throat.

  Haverstock sprang to his feet and turned sharply toward his brother. “James?”

  James let the sword drop to the floor as his fingers spread across his wound. Blood oozed down his arm. “Nothing but a scratch.”

  Lydia leaped onto the balcony, took one look at James, who had fallen back through the open French doors, and she swooned.

  Morgie sprang to the balcony next, took one look at Lydia and fell to her side, taking her hand in his. “Oh, my poor Lyddie. I’ll never forgive myself if something’s happened to you.”

  “Nothing’s happened to her,” Haverstock said, walking to the balcony where the rapid pounding of hooves below drew his attention. Four horsemen hurriedly rode off from the direction of the mews down the main road to the gatehouse. “Despite my sister’s propensity for controlling most situations, she seems not to be able to tolerate the sight of blood.” Still watching the lane, Haverstock added, “It seems the Frenchmen who were here have no desire for a fight.”

  He turned to Anna. “My dearest, how do you tolerate the sight of blood? Will you be able to give me a hand with my brother?”

  Anna, flinching from Sir Henry’s grim death scene, directed her gaze to James. “This
is James?”

  James made a half bow. “Your most obedient servant, my lady.”

  “Oh, but you’re hurt. This is too terrible. Charles! Help me get his coat off,” Anna cried.

  Haverstock removed his brother’s coat and determined James had not been far from the mark when he said he only sustained a scratch. The bullet singed his coat but entered only the fleshy part of his arm. They wrapped it in strips of lawn from Anna’s undergarments.

  Turning her attention to Lydia, Anna fetched vinaigrette from her reticule and held it under Lydia’s nose until she stirred. Morgie helped lift her upper torso.

  “Gave me the fright of my life, Lyddie,” he said. “Thought you’d been shot.”

  She turned the most wistful smile on him. “You cared, then?”

  “Of course I cared. You’re like a sister.”

  “I already have two brothers, Morgie. I do not need another.”

  “Well, you certainly don’t need a fiancé, either, since you’ve already got one of those, too.”

  “A pity,” she said.

  “Why is it a pity?”

  “If you were…well, there is something so romantic about the idea of marrying in France.”

  Her words rendered him speechless for a full minute. Then he said, “As you’ve pointed out, my French is very poor. I might not understand the clergyman.”

  “Can you say yes?” she asked.

  He squeezed her hand. “Oui.”

  “It’s about time you two realized you belong together,” Haverstock said.

  “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black,” Lydia said, looking affectionately at Haverstock.

  He smiled at his sister, then walked to Anna and took both her hands in his and dropped to one knee. “If I had been in possession of half a brain those months ago I took you for my wife, I would have begged for your hand and told you there was no other woman on earth I would rather have.”

  A troubled look crossed her face. “But I’ve done such terrible things.”

  He stood and gently set his palms on her cheeks. “Like cheating at cards?”

  “You knew?” she asked, her eyes widening.