Dangerous Beauty

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Seth knew his future was bleak. He was already personally acquainted with the wholesale injustices the court system could dish out. He knew better than to believe that truth would win through, or that justice would be served.

  The rough treatment he’d received at the hands of the police officers and bobbies hinted at worse to come. They’d already decided he was guilty.

  And Natasha. Would she believe he had nothing to do with her father’s murder? Damn, he should have sailed straight to Ireland. And now Harry was providing more bad news.

  “Word is already out,” Harry continued, “and creditors are arriving left and right. The Artemis needs to weigh anchor, Seth. What do I do?”

  Seth ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “Where in the hell is Vaughn? Did you tell him exactly what I told you?”

  Harry looked hurt. “Of course I did.”

  Seth grimaced. “Sorry. But I’m stuck here and can’t do anything.”

  Harry relented. “I know. Should I head for Ireland, Seth? Get it done for you? I can round the crew up in jig time. They’re spoiling here, too, cooling their heels in the taverns. They’d be glad to leave. It’s too cold here.”

  Seth sighed. Problems. Too many problems. And how could he handle any of them while he was here in this cell? And where was Vaughn? Now that his friend was late, he could measure how much he’d been counting on Vaughn taking care of things for him. Well, he’d just have to rely on himself. It had served him well enough for fifteen years. It would have to serve this time, too.

  And he’d never again reach out for help, or friendship. Or love. He gripped the bars. “Don’t leave yet, Harry,” he told his first mate. “Give me a little time. I get to speak to the judge tomorrow morning—I may yet be able to shrug this off. If I’m not out of jail by tomorrow evening, you should head for Ireland and deliver what food you can. You know well who to seek there—we’ve spoken about it often enough.”

  “Aye, I know it well,” Harry agreed.

  “After you’ve made landfall in Ireland, you can consider the Artemis yours. You can go where you want, do what you want. I’d advise you to head back to Australia, but as you’ll be the captain, that’s your decision to make.”

  “But I can’t do that!” Harry protested, his hands clutching at the bars, too. “What’ll you do when you get out of here? Even if it is later than tomorrow?”

  Seth gripped Harry’s hand. “Harry, if I can’t talk my way out of this by tomorrow evening, then it will go to trial and I will be found guilty. They think I killed a lord of the realm, Harry. They won’t throw me in jail this time. They’ll hang me.”

  * * * * *

  When Vaughn had arrived at the house, he had been mysterious about the reasons why Natasha should come with him—he would not share his purpose even with her.

  She had not wanted to go with him. The hot swirl of emotions she had been suffering since she had seen her father’s body had blanketed her thoughts and cast her body in lead. She wanted to stay in her room.

  But Vaughn had glanced around for witnesses, servants, then placed his hand on hers. “Please, Natasha. This is very important. You must speak for your family in the matter I must deal with—your mother cannot.”

  “Our solicitor is taking care—”

  “No, Natasha. He is handling your father’s affairs. He cares not a wit about yours. Come with me.”

  And so she had come. There had been no resistance to her leaving. Her mother, her face as white as the funeral lilies adorning the house, sat huddled before a roaring fire in the drawing room. She did not stir, nor look at her when Natasha told her she was leaving for a while.

  Even Aunt Susannah, in the corner by the fireplace, merely glanced up before returning to her bible.

  Vaughn’s directions to the driver as they climbed into his carriage gave no hint, either. “Rumpole Mews,” he said shortly.

  Once they were underway, Vaughn settled back in the seat and studied her. “I’m sorry about your father, Natasha. He was an honorable man. He always tried to do the right thing. That’s more than you can say for many of his peers.”

  Tears stung at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. Of all the platitudes and sentiments she had heard the last day and a half, Vaughn’s was the most sincere and honest. He had captured her father’s spirit in a few short words.

  “Thank you,” she told him when she thought she could safely speak.

  He nodded and tugged down his waistcoat and she realized that he was feeling awkward.

  “Why did you bring me?” she asked. “What could you not tell me at the house?”

  “You and I both know that Seth did not murder your father. He could not have done this deed and we both know why.”

  She nodded.

  “But that is something that cannot be publicly admitted. Because we cannot speak of it, all anyone else will see is that Seth had ample reason to kill your father and that he was more than capable of murder.”

  Her heart squeezed and her breath left her.

  “Seth would not do such a thing—”

  “I said he was capable of it, that is all,” Vaughn interrupted. “Most men are capable of murder if their passions are roused enough and Seth has more passion than most. And that is what the judges will see. So I need your help, Natasha.”

  “Of course,” she said simply. “Whatever you ask of me.”

  “I’m about to ask for quite a bit,” he warned.

  She shivered. “Whatever you ask,” she affirmed, “I will do.”

  The rest of the journey was silent, which gave Natasha time to wonder what it was that Vaughn was about to demand of her. The leaden swirl of guilt and grief subsided a little. She was helping Seth, and if she helped Seth then it was possible that the real killer would be revealed and her father’s death would not go unpunished.

  “I hope they throw the murderer in jail for life,” she muttered. “No, I hope they transport him to Port MacQuarrie and he dies breaking rocks after years of misery at the hands of the guards.”

  “Oh, they won’t leave it at that,” Vaughn said. He looked at her sharply, as if he were surprised, or uneasy. “If they find out who murdered your father, they will hang him.”

  A cold sleeve sheathed her heart and squeezed. “But…they think Seth did it.”

  “That’s right,” Vaughn agreed softly.

  The carriage came to a sharp halt, punctuating his simple answer.

  Natasha stared at him, her skin prickling painfully. She made no move to leave the carriage. “They’ll hang him?” Her voice was strained.

  “If he’s found guilty.”

  “But…but…last time he was innocent and they sent him to Australia anyway!”

  Vaughn rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands together. He stared into her eyes. “That’s why I bought you here. You must trust me on this, Natasha.” There was an earnestness in his voice that Natasha could not interpret.

  She shivered. “I said I would.” But her voice lacked conviction.

  Vaughn nodded. “Come with me, then.” He pushed the door open, and helped her down to the cobbles. They were in a pleasant mews that contained a row of elegant office apartments. Behind her, Big Ben struck the hour with a sonorous note and she realized they were in Whitehall, close by the Houses of Parliament. And somewhere, even closer, the courts.

  She shivered.

  Vaughn led her inside the nearest office. The coachman already had the door held open and his tall hat hid the nameplate. They stepped inside the warm, well-lit room.

  A clerk at his high bench turned at their arrival and slid off the stool. He came towards them, wiping his inky hand with a rag.

  “My lord, may I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Davies,” Vaughn said.

  “A moment, m’lord, I’ll let him know you’re here.” The clerk hurried to a door at the back of the room, tapped lightly and stepped inside and shut the door.

  Natasha
looked up at Vaughn, hoping for some hint of what was about to happen, but his face gave away nothing.

  The door opened and the clerk hurried back again. “This way, please, my lord, my lady.” He bowed and waved toward the door, which had been left open. Natasha saw bookshelves, heavy with leather-bound volumes, but nothing else.

  Vaughn led her through the door, into the large room beyond it. Her attention was caught by the large mullioned window and the view of the Thames behind it, then she saw the man who was rising from behind the table and her delight at the view, her thoughts, all slithered to an icy-cold halt.

  The man could be her father! He was identical in all ways except age…this man was nearing his thirties, if he was not past them.

  The hand he held out to Vaughn lowered and his eyes narrowed, as he stared at Natasha.

  She clutched at Vaughn’s arm, her knees a little weak. There was only one explanation for the man’s resemblance to her father.

  “I might have warned you, Natasha, but I thought if you’d known, you might not come with me,” Vaughn said quietly.

  The man’s eyes, so like her father—and her own—narrowed more as Vaughn spoke.

  He addressed Natasha directly. “Adding what Vaughn just said to the fact of your uncanny appearance, I must conclude that you are Natasha Winridge, the only legitimate child of the late Lord Munroe,” he said matter-of-factly, coming closer to her to study her.

  This was her brother. The half-brother who had been born to a Welsh actress. The brother her father would never acknowledge.

  “I don’t know your name at all,” she said and felt her cheeks bloom with color. “They never told me your name. I only learned of your existence a few years ago, and that was…well, because of Vaughn.”

  “Rhys Davies,” the man said, smiling, showing two deep dimples. The lack of a title made the name sound plain, bare. He gave a short, almost mocking bow. Perhaps he understood her thoughts. If her father had acknowledged him, he would now be the new Baron Munroe.

  Vaughn settled Natasha on a chair before the table and straightened. “Rhys is one of the best barristers in London,” he told her.

  “Don’t let the old war dogs along the Bowery hear you say that,” Rhys responded. “As far as they’re concerned, no man can be a good barrister until he’s in his dotage.”

  Natasha recoiled a little at the bitter tone in his voice and he saw it. He gave her a wry smile. “Forgive me, but Vaughn prodded an old ache. I am not acknowledged among my peers because of my ‘youth’.” He shrugged, as if he were dismissing it. “But then, it’s something I’m used to.”

  She felt a touch of sadness. Her father’s failure to acknowledge Rhys had clearly left a deep wound in him, one that would never heal now that her father was dead and could not amend that rift.

  She understood the sense of loneliness he felt, for the last few years she had felt it herself. None of the unmarried women she knew seemed to even think like her and she knew very well her family was horrified at her struggles for independence, for a freedom she could not seem to grasp.

  Yet for the last few days she had found that freedom and independence, contrarily, in Seth’s arms. She looked at Rhys now with an uncompromising stare. “Are you as good at your role as Vaughn says, Mr. Davies?”

  He blinked and looked at her thoughtfully, as if he were reassessing her. “Yes, I am,” he said at last.

  “Then that is all that matters.”

  “Rhys has a record for championing the underdog and winning,” Vaughn said, taking the chair beside Natasha, while Rhys returned to seat himself behind the table.

  Rhys lifted a brow. “What possible underdog could you need to champion?”

  He pulled the writing chest towards him and picked up the quill.

  Natasha straightened her shoulders. “I am afraid I am the bearer of bad news, Mr. Davies. My father, or rather, our father was killed yesterday.”

  Rhys looked from Natasha to Vaughn, his expression indecipherable. “This is not news to me, Miss Winridge. Forgive me when I add that the fact strikes me as neither good nor bad. And I still fail to see why you need my services.”

  “How much of the matter do you know?” she asked.

  “Only what was reported in the Times. I am not intimate with any members of your family.”

  “They’ve arrested a man for his murder. Seth Harrow.”

  “This I’ve also read,” Rhys said coolly. “I thought it strange that the Times didn’t indicate why he was arrested.” His eyes seemed to pin her to her chair. “You know why, don’t you? That’s why you’re here.”

  Vaughn stirred. “You should know, Rhys, that Seth Harrow is actually Seth Williams, heir of Marcus Williams, the Earl of Innesford.”

  Rhys frowned. “I didn’t know Innesford had a son.”

  “He was convicted of treason and transported to Australia as a Fenian, fifteen years ago,” Vaughn explained.

  Rhys’ eyes widened just a little, the only reaction he had given to any of the shocking facts they had provided him so far. He looked at Natasha. “And why would the son of Innesford want your father dead?”

  “He had no reason. He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have.”

  “And why do you seek me out? By rights, Williams should approach me for representation. It is not strange that the daughter of the victim works on behalf of the accused?”

  “I have become…involved with him.” Her cheeks warmed under Rhys’ steady regard. “My father opposed the match so vigorously, I was locked in my bedchamber to keep me from him.”

  Rhys glanced at the sheet of paper beneath his quill, then dropped the quill and pushed the writing chest away again.

  “That gives Williams ample reason to kill your father,” Rhys said softly. “So there must be more you need to tell me.”

  Natasha could feel her cheeks blazing now. “The night my father died, I… I…was with Seth.”

  Rhys absorbed this as if it were simply one more fact to add to the story. “Do you have proof that you were with him the whole time?” he asked.

  Her humiliation was complete. “Mr. Davies, you dare question my word?” she returned heatedly.

  Vaughn laid a hand on her wrist. “I took her there, Rhys. And picked her up. And there was a first mate onboard, too, who would have seen her arrive and leave.”

  Rhys nodded. “You must forgive me, Miss Winridge, but the questions I’ve asked you so far are mild compared to those the prosecuting barrister will direct towards you.”

  Natasha felt her heart stutter to a stop. She flashed a glance at Vaughn, her eyes wide. “She cannot appear in court,” Vaughn declared, quickly.

  “Ah.” Rhys pursed his lips. “Then we are at the heart of the matter, aren’t we?” He looked at Natasha again, assessing her. “I read of your engagement to Sholto Piggot, the son of the Duke of Marlberry, a few days ago.”

  Natasha kept her gaze steady. “My parents arranged the match behind my back and without my consent. When I read the item in the Times I was as surprised as you.”

  Rhys considered this for a moment. “I wager you were even more surprised than I, Miss Winridge.” His smile was utterly charming, capped by an irresistible dimple in each cheek.

  Natasha found herself smiling back. “I’m sure I was, Mr. Davies.”

  He sat back. “Would you like some tea, Miss Winridge? We may be here for a while and I have many questions to ask you.”

  “Does that mean you will take the case? You will fight for Seth?” Her breath stilled as she waited for his response.

  “Yes, Miss Winridge. I will take on the case. Vaughn has the rights of it. This is a case no other barrister in London would demean himself enough to take on and I like the tough fights.” Again, the irresistibly charming grin, which seemed to have more than a bit of the devil in it. “You strike me as a sensible, levelheaded lady and that will help enormously, for we have a lot of work ahead of us and you will find much of it uncomfortable because it will require you to be
perfectly frank, perfectly candid about yourself and your relationship with Seth Williams—with my client. Is that agreeable to you, Miss Windridge?”

  She smiled a little. “Only if you call me Natasha, Mr. Davies.”

  He considered this. “Under the circumstances, you’d better call me Rhys.” He held out his hand to her, in a man-to-man gesture that she understood immediately. If he had been acknowledged by her father, she would have spent years already calling him Rhys. She liked the gentleman’s form of agreement, so she took his hand like a man and shook it.

  And for the first time in two days she felt her body awaken and her spirit stir. Finally, she had hope.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Natasha had heard terrible stories about Newgate Prison, but the reality was far worse.

  Once it had been a gate into a much smaller London. Now, the prison towered over one of the poorest, most squalid sections of London Natasha had ever seen. Black filth seemed to cling to everything, including the white-faced, ragged people huddled on the pavements that turned to watch the carriage go by with hopeless eyes.

  The stench was indescribable and each time it wafted through the window, Natasha recoiled. She looked at Vaughn, holding her handkerchief to her mouth.

  The corners of his mouth shifted into a grimace. “It’s wretched, isn’t it? Would you have suspected such a world exists, walking the manicured rows of Hyde Park?”

  “Is this the rough world men constantly seek to hide from us women?” she asked.

  “It is a tiny fraction of it,” Vaughn admitted.

  “Why hide it at all?” she demanded. “Why not do something about it? How can you see this and not be shamed?”

  “I do what I can,” Vaughn said evenly. “Elisa and I have established an orphanage, out in the clean countryside. There are over one hundred children there already.”

  Natasha stared at him. “You didn’t tell me.”

  He grimaced again. “Charity of such a practical sort is rather frowned upon by the gentry. We didn’t want to have to explain ourselves over and over again.”

  She nodded. He was right. People like her mother wouldn’t understand at all. They would be puzzled by such an act.