The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  In sick horror, Rowena could only watch as he slowly came to the realisation he was outmatched. Niall and Logan heaved him to his feet.

  Lady Selina gasped and turned away as she saw his face. Jenna took her hands and said something in a low voice. The other woman, Logan’s wife, narrowed her eyes, her mouth set in a straight line.

  Logan pulled a rope from his pocket and began binding Drew’s hands behind his back. ‘So we can talk, aye?’

  Drew struggled against the ropes, crashing Logan into the wall, almost breaking free of the two men.

  ‘Stop,’ Rowena said. ‘Don’t...don’t tie him. He’ll give you his parole.’

  Drew lifted his head to look at her and the hurt of betrayal was in his face. ‘Will I, now?’ he said, his chest rising and falling from the effort. He already had the start of a bruise around his one eye and another on his chin.

  ‘You will,’ she said in a voice that had cowed more than one recalcitrant lad.

  ‘Give me your word you’ll do nothing until we get to the bottom of what happened,’ Ian said.

  Drew sneered, ‘So you can pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, you mean.’ His gaze flicked to the Lady Selina. ‘You were always very good at that.’

  Logan began binding his wrists.

  ‘Drew,’ Rowena said.

  He glared at her. ‘All right. My parole. For now.’ He shrugged off the hands that were holding him.

  She became aware of Ian staring at him, at the ruined flesh, and of the regret in his face. ‘Drew,’ he said. ‘I am so bloody sorry.’

  Drew touched his cheek and turned his face side on, a gesture she hadn’t seen from him for a while. It struck a blow to her chest far harder than the mistrust in his eyes. ‘I don’t care about sorry,’ Drew said to his brother harshly. ‘I care about justice.’

  ‘Are we all done with the brawling you Highlanders seem to enjoy so much?’ a cynical cultured voice said from the doorway.

  A tall man with fair hair, handsome in a refined sort of way, sauntered in with an expression of weary distaste.

  ‘Jaimie,’ Logan said. ‘Any luck?’

  The dandy brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his sleeve. ‘It is not about luck, dear boy.’ He looked up and gave an especially sweet smile to the occupants of the room, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘It is about knowing where to look and having the means to do so.’ He turned back to the door. ‘Bring him in.’

  A couple of burly rough-looking men dragged a woebegone figure through the door and pushed down on his shoulders until he sat slumped in a chair. He was conscious, barely.

  ‘Morris,’ Drew exclaimed.

  ‘Oh, have you two met already? Allow me to introduce him to the others.’

  ‘I know him,’ Logan said. ‘Tab Morris. One of McKenzie’s bully boys.’

  One of the toughs holding him, a man who looked like a bruiser, touched his forelock. ‘Ye’ll not be having any trouble with him now, milord,’ he said in a gravelly voice. He glanced over at Logan’s wife and inclined his head. ‘Ma’am.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Growler. Your sister is well?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. In the pink.’

  Both men left the room, leaving their victim behind clutching one of his arms.

  Drew was glaring at the man they had called Jaimie. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Lord Sanford,’ Ian said. ‘Drew Gilvry. Another of my brothers. Mrs MacDonald you met earlier at the Whitehorse Inn.’

  Sanford bowed with languid grace, but Drew wasn’t watching the lordling, he was looking at her, frowning, guessing that she’d been instrumental in his capture, no doubt.

  ‘He’s a friend of my wife’s friend, Alice Fulton, now Lady Hawkhurst.’ Ian’s face hardened to granite. ‘You remember Alice, Drew?’

  Drew’s expression twisted as his gaze went back to his brother. ‘How could I forget?’

  Lady Selina made a small sound of protest.

  ‘Well, now that the niceties are dealt with,’ Lord Sanford said, ‘shall we see what this disreputable chap has to say?’

  * * *

  She’d said she loved him. The force of those words were still battering against his brain even as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

  She couldn’t have read the journal.

  She didna’ know yet what he was. What he’d been. Or she had. And she’d decided he was better off out of the way. Because it didn’t matter what Ian said, or how many paroles he gave, he was not going to give up. Not as long as he lived.

  He forced himself to focus on what the dandified English lordling was saying to Morris.

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘McKenzie,’ that man said, wiping a bloody nose on his sleeve.

  ‘There’s nothing new in that,’ Drew said.

  ‘And what were your orders?’

  Morris gave him a resentful look. ‘I already told you.’

  ‘Then tell Mr Gilvry...if you wouldn’t mind?’

  The soft menace in the quiet voice sent a shiver down Drew’s back. There was more steel in that pleasant request than in any threat he’d ever heard. Perhaps he was mistaken in thinking him a dandy after all.

  ‘I was to bring yon laddie—’ he nodded at Drew ‘—to Edinburgh and put him in irons on a ship bound for Botany Bay.’ He grinned at Drew with an echo of his old defiance. ‘It leaves the day after tomorrow. There’s still time.’

  Drew bared his teeth at him. ‘No, thanks.’

  Sanford shook his head wearily and Morris hunched his shoulders.

  ‘At whose request?’ Sanford asked.

  Morris snuffled. ‘I wasn’t supposed to know that, ye ken, but McKenzie was taking his orders from a lord.’ He glowered at Sanford. ‘A proper Scottish lord.’

  Or did he mean laird? Drew glanced at Ian, who was leaning forward. ‘Do you have a name for us?’

  ‘Carrick.’

  A collective sigh rippled around the room. His brothers and their wives looked at each other in shock.

  ‘Never,’ Drew said. ‘That is rubbish. Carrick has no reason to do away wi’ me.’ He turned back to his brother. ‘Do you know what he said? Your man, right before he pulled the trigger? No! Well, you should then. You’d like it, Ian. He said I have a message for you from your brother.’

  ‘It wasna’ my message,’ Ian said.

  ‘Drew,’ Rowena said. ‘He swore to me—’

  Drew gave Rowena a hard stare. ‘And you believed him over me?’

  She stiffened against his assault. ‘This is the first I have heard about Carrick. But—’ she looked at Morris ‘—was he visiting Mere Castle when we were there?’

  Morris nodded. ‘It was him who set us on when the laddie left the house.’

  ‘I remember now,’ she said, her voice rising as if she was terrified. ‘The man I overheard. He said he’d failed to do away with you once, but this time he would personally make sure of it.’

  ‘And it was Carrick who was in deep conversation with Jack O’Banyon before he tried to kill me,’ Logan said bitterly, shaking his head, ‘just this past summer. Or so Growler thinks.’

  ‘And it was Carrick’s steward who tried to kill Selina,’ Ian said with deceptive softness.

  ‘It makes no sense,’ Drew said, staring at each one in turn. ‘He is chief of our clan. He’s sworn to protect us.’

  ‘I know,’ Ian said. ‘I’m having trouble believing it myself.’

  ‘Who shot you, Drew?’ Niall asked.

  ‘The men I was travelling with to Boston.’

  ‘Men sent by Carrick, no doubt,’ Logan said with a sound of disgust.

  Drew frowned. ‘I met up with them at the inn near the docks. I had a room there waiting.’

  ‘A room booked by Carrick.’

  ‘Gordon,’ Logan said. ‘Remember, he said he heard Carrick’s men laughing about losing Drew while out hunting? It has to be Carrick.’

  ‘Damn it all,’ Niall said. ‘He’s cousin to my wife. I would never have belie
ved it if I had not heard it with my own ears.’

  Drew’s head was spinning. He felt sick. He felt the way he had that time he tumbled over the bank and into the river. Dark water closing over his head. The roar of white water. Drowning. He put a hand to his temple and took a deep breath.

  ‘Drew?’ Rowena said.

  He brushed her concern aside and looked at Ian, tried to hold on to his anger, but found it slipping away. ‘Why?’ he said hoarsely. Then he knew. ‘The land. He wants the land. But it was the Lady Selina’s.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. And I was to marry one of his kin. Perhaps he was worried you would seduce me next.’

  He winced. ‘I would ha’, if the thought had come to me.’

  Ian shifted, his hands balling into fists.

  Drew held up a hand. ‘A jest.’

  Ian relaxed, somewhat. ‘A bad one.’

  ‘Aye.’ Drew huffed out a breath. ‘I was just trying to help, ye ken.’ He looked at Rowena’s tight expression. ‘We were in trouble. I thought an heiress was the answer.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that, Drew?’ Ian said. ‘But it was Carrick who advised me to send you off to America. To let the scandal die down. He kindly offered work. I thought it might help the clan down the road if we had someone over there. I feared we might all have to go. It was getting harder and harder to sustain our people.’

  He’d known that. He’d wanted to help his brother. And what he’d done to Alice had been inexcusable. He’d seen it as soon as he’d seen the pain he’d caused. He closed his eyes. ‘Carrick,’ he murmured. He opened his eyes to meet Ian’s straightforward gaze. ‘I should ha’ known you would never—’

  ‘Yes,’ Ian said. ‘You should have.’ He nodded at Morris. ‘Take him away.’

  Sanford poked his head out of the door and in short order his two henchmen were back for their prisoner.

  Morris gave a look of appeal at Drew.

  ‘He’s no’ such a bad man for a smuggler,’ Drew said.

  Logan cracked a laugh. ‘Want to join the Gilvrys?’ he offered.

  Morris nodded his head vigorously.

  ‘You can talk about that later,’ Sanford said. ‘I have need of more information from you, my lad, and if you want to join Logan there, you’ll tell me everything.’

  Morris groaned and shuffled out with his gaolers, followed by the sauntering Lord Sanford, who departed after making an exquisite bow.

  ‘That’s it, then,’ Niall said, when the door closed behind Sanford and his odd little crew. He gave Drew a sharp look. ‘We are all agreed. Carrick is the man behind all of our troubles.’

  Everyone nodded agreement with sombre faces.

  And Drew found himself nodding, too.

  And the anger inside him was gone in the same instant. The rage. The hatred that had sustained him for a great many months dissipated. And he couldn’t summon the same measure of feeling against Carrick.

  The knowledge left nothing but an empty shell.

  He had no purpose. No reason to stay. Not when they all knew how low he had sunk. ‘I’ll be on my way, then.’

  * * *

  Drew looked Rowena’s way, though he did not meet her eyes. He bowed. ‘It has been a pleasure, your Grace.’

  Rowena’s heart sank at his wooden expression. She desperately wanted to ask him to stay, but this was the first time he’d glanced her way in the past fifteen minutes. He probably hated her blatant defiance and for taking sides with his brothers. Even if it was for his sake.

  And when she’d told him she loved him, he’d stared at her as if she was mad. Well, telling him had been a bit of a forlorn hope. She hadn’t really expected that what was between them was more than bedsport. But she had thought he cared a little.

  Apparently not, if he was leaving. When he picked up his scarf and hat and turned towards the door, in her trembling sad little heart, she found just enough courage to risk another rejection. She opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘Wait, Drew,’ Niall said. ‘Where are you going?’

  Drew looked at him. ‘It’s over. I was wrong. I have no reason to stay.’

  ‘But we haven’t yet solved the problem of Mrs MacDonald’s claim. You haven’t heard what Carstairs told me. If the courts accept your testimony, she’ll not only be dowager duchess, she’ll be guardian to the new duke. He’s six, poor little lad, and in charge of his grandmother, Lady Cragg.’ He grimaced. ‘A good friend of Carrick’s, so I’m told. Carstairs thinks your oath before a judge might well be accepted with the proper character witnesses. Certainly Lady Cragg’s involvement in plotting Drew’s deportation with Carrick will work against her claim to keep her guardianship.’

  Drew frowned. ‘What the devil are you talking about? You don’t need me to swear to anything. I gave Mrs MacDonald irrefutable proof that her husband was still alive on September fifteenth. Nothing more is needed. You don’t need to parade me in front of a judge like some sort of freak.’

  Rowena winced at the anger and the lacerated pride in his voice.

  She shook her head when he gave her a look askance. ‘I didn’t give them the....the proof.’

  How could she? What Samuel had described was horrible. A man chained naked like a cur and fed from some old woman’s hand like a wild pet. Samuel said he only knew the creature was white by his tangled gold-coloured hair and matted beard. And when Sam had looked closer, he’d seen a face horribly scarred.

  The Indians had said their yellow dog brought them luck. Even his own guide had warned against noticing, let alone protesting, his treatment, because he feared this particular band would not take kindly to any interference with their prisoner.

  Samuel, ever a coward, had decided the prisoner, who had turned his back to them, seemed quite content and had parted company with the Indians after an exchange of whisky for gold and a description of where it had been found. All Samuel had been thinking of was gold in the hills of North Carolina and convincing the duke to fund another expedition.

  The moment she read those few words from September thirteenth, she’d known why Drew had held the journal back. And she didn’t blame him. She could only wish he had trusted her enough to tell her. No one would ever see the journal.

  ‘It was very kind of you, mo cridhe,’ she said softly. ‘But I don’t care about the money. I care—’

  Drew’s face had grown more and more thunderous as she spoke, the scarred side of his face becoming more and more devilish looking. ‘Give them the journal.’

  ‘You can’t possibly want me to,’ she pleaded.

  In one stride he was standing before her, towering in his anger. ‘Will you no’ let me have a shred of my pride, then? If I had not escaped and led those savages to your husband, he’d still be alive and you’d be a duchess now. Am I to have not even a morsel of redemption from my guilt?’

  ‘What the deuce are you talking about?’ Ian asked. ‘What journal?’

  Drew kept his gaze fixed on her face. ‘Her husband’s journal. He wrote in it every day. Including the day he died. Where is it?’

  Instinctively, she clutched her reticule tight to her chest. ‘You can’t have it. You gave it to me. It is my decision.’

  He wrenched the reticule from her hands, tore open the strings and pulled it out. ‘This shows the last date that Samuel MacDonald wrote in his diary. Two days after Mere inhaled his last breath.’ He handed it to Niall. ‘There’s your damned proof.’

  He was so angry, he had lost all vestiges of civility.

  ‘Easy, man,’ Ian said.

  ‘Easy? I’m not some dog to be soothed with soft words, damn you.’

  Rowena backed away as everyone started shouting at everyone else. She nipped the little book from Niall’s hand, the way she had nipped illicit material from more than one pupil in her recent past, and with two quick steps tossed it into the flames.

  Not quick enough. Drew had seen what she was about. He lunged for it, pulling it clear of the flames. His sleeve began to smoke. Logan whipped off
his coat and swatted at the smouldering cuff. The smell of singeing wool filled the air.

  They were all breathing hard.

  Ian held up a hand. ‘It seems to me that you two need to sort out whatever it is between you.’ He took the journal. ‘I don’t know what is in here, but if it is as bad as Mrs—I mean, her Grace seems to think, then you both must agree, before anyone reads it.’

  Drew gave a snort of disgust. ‘When did you start putting words before action?’

  A small smile softened the laird’s hard mouth. ‘When I got married. I have the wee book, Drew. I’ll keep it safe in my pocket and you’ll tell me when you come to a decision. Come on, everyone. Out.’

  Another man who liked to dish out orders. But she felt nothing. No shiver. No pleasure. Not even a whisper of a fantasy.

  Even so, there was power behind the words, and the room cleared quickly.

  Drew stood in the middle of the room, glowering like a fiend. ‘There is nothing you can do to change my mind,’ he said the moment the door closed and they were left alone.

  ‘I love you,’ she said, throwing caution and pride to the wind.

  He groaned. ‘And I love you too well to saddle you with a man who is little more than an animal. You know now what I was. I would see it in your eyes every day. And I canna bear it.’

  She gave a short bitter laugh. ‘If you loved me, you’d want to do everything you could to stay. So we could be together.’

  He muttered something under his breath.

  She raised a schoolteacher brow.

  He just stared back at her, immobile, immovable, his eyes full of pain. Pride. It wasn’t going to let them be together. And how could she ask him to forgo his pride? It was who he was. It must have been what had kept him alive under the most cruel of conditions. That and his need for revenge. And she’d been the instrument in taking both from him.

  There really was nothing more to say. Tears forced their way into her throat and she did her best to swallow them.

  ‘I am such a fool, aren’t I?’ she said, scrabbling in her reticule for her handkerchief. ‘I thought I had actually found a man who would be so much more than my fantasies. A man who would actually understand these strange thoughts in my head.’ She tried to laugh, and it sounded pathetic and broken. ‘You were just being kind. Pandering to my nonsense. How ridiculous you must have thought me, a dried-up, ageing governess with such dreams.’