“They did,” she managed at last. “I only…We’re not done with this…other business, are we?”
Lucien looked well and truly confused. “I’m sorry, I thought we were. Was there something else you wished to discuss?”
“…No?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. What’s troubling you about this?” His eyes narrowed a split second before they went wide and he sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Is it the thousand pounds? Because it’s still yours, if you need it. Or if you simply want it for that matter.”
“It is?”
“You’re my sister,” he said with the barest hint of impatience. “If you need a thousand pounds, you’ll have it.”
As simple as that? Surely not. Nothing was as simple as that. “Oh…All right?”
He studied her a moment more, then swore under his breath. “It would help you to have the thousand pounds, wouldn’t it? I apologize, I should have thought of it sooner. It has been a long time since I’ve been obligated to look to someone else for my own funds. I’ve forgotten the restraint that dependence puts on a person, and I’ve taken for granted the freedom in financial independence. I’ll have my man draw up the bank note tomorrow. Then you may cease worrying about your future quite so much and enjoy Caldwell a little more. Sound reasonable?”
A thousand pounds tomorrow, she could scarcely believe it. She’d come to him expecting his disappointment and fearing worse, and now here he was, offering her a thousand pounds. “Yes. No. I don’t understand. Am I to understand you want to pay money not owed to me and you wish for me to stay?”
“Haven’t we been through this?”
“Yes, but…When you invited me, you were under the impression your father died in debt—”
Anna broke off at the sight of Lucien rising from his chair, his face set in hard lines. He looked, she thought, as he pinned her with a hard stare, every inch a peer of the realm…and not the dissipated, ineffectual sort that frequented Anover House.
“I do not invite debts to Caldwell Manor,” Lucien informed her. “You are welcomed here because you are my sister. No contract, fulfilled, nullified, or anything in between will alter that. Are we clear on the matter?”
She nodded but barely found her voice. “Yes.”
“Are you certain? Because I’ve no interest in having this conversation again.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m certain.”
He nodded once, caught his hands behind his back. “Good. Now, I do not know your mother, only vaguely of her, but I am beginning to suspect, by the extent of your misgivings, that she did not bring this information to Codridgeton for the purpose of enlightening you or protecting you. Am I correct in this assumption?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
Anna came around the chair. A giddy relief was growing inside her by leaps and bounds, but it was not enough to squash her fear of anyone from Caldwell being thrown into the same room as her mother. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll send her off tomorrow.”
“Anna, I can’t—”
“Please. She’s my mother. It’s for me to do.”
“Is she a danger to you?”
“Only to my peace of mind,” she assured him.
He considered it, and her, for several long moments. “Very well, but you’ll take two footmen with you.”
“Yes, of course.” Just not into the inn itself. Whatever ugliness Madame might spew would not be allowed to land on anyone connected to the Haverstons.
“And you’ll inform me if she gives you any more trouble.”
“Yes,” she replied and prayed he’d not make her promise to anything specific. The odds of Mrs. Wrayburn agreeing to leave without making trouble in the form of the aforementioned ugliness were slim.
“Good. Then, as I believe I informed you earlier…There’s an end to that.”
Max considered and rejected the idea of asking Anna if she wished for direct assistance in dealing with her mother. There was every possibility she might say no, in which case she would be all the angrier that he had decided to assist anyway.
The woman needed to learn there was more to independence than trusting no one and doing everything for oneself. No one did everything for himself. A tailor didn’t weave his own cloth, a blacksmith didn’t mine his own ore.
And Anna would not be sending her own mother packing, which was why, immediately after he saw Anna leave the study arm in arm with Lucien, he left for Codridgeton on horseback.
Besides, begging permission was generally less successful than begging forgiveness.
And his mission tonight would be successful.
It was quick and easy work to learn which room belonged to Mrs. Wrayburn. The owner of the Bear’s Rest, Jim Alden, had known him since childhood; his wife had been particularly fond of Beatrice.
“Don’t need my help in finding it,” Jim grumbled inside the tavern. “Pair of gargoyles standing right outside the door. Mr. Ox and Jones, they calls themselves. I don’t like ’em. Where does she think she is, she needs protection like that? St. Giles? She’ll start rumors the Bear’s Rest ain’t safe—”
“I could have them gone by tomorrow.”
The innkeeper’s eyebrows lifted near to the top of his head as he realized Max hadn’t come for a social call. “Could you now?” He flicked a glance upstairs. “Can you see to that without breaking me walls?”
The inn’s construction was fairly new, the walls still sturdy. “Possibly.”
“Give it a go, then.”
Max didn’t give Jim a chance to reconsider. He took the back stairs two at a time and, just as Jim had complained, immediately identified which room belonged to Mrs. Wrayburn by the two intimidating-looking men lounging outside her door.
Max recognized the men from his visits to Anover House four years ago. The short, stout fellow with the arms of a blacksmith was Ox. The lanky man with the look of a weasel was Jones.
Though Ox appeared the more imposing of the two, it was Jones that posed the real threat. He was fit, fast, and quick to draw a knife.
Max rolled the tension out of his shoulders as he approached. He clenched and unclenched his hands.
If possible, he’d talk his way into the room. If not…Well, he’d not mind a little battle. Seeing Anna worried and hurt had set his blood to boiling, and since he couldn’t land a blow on Mrs. Wrayburn for it, he’d settle for Mrs. Wrayburn’s men.
“Evening, lads,” he offered as he came to a stop, placing himself closer to Jones than Ox. “Tell your mistress Lord Dane is here to see her.”
“Mrs. Wrayburn ain’t takin’ callers.” Ox straightened from the wall, sniffed mightily. “Milord.”
“She’ll make an exception.”
“I don’t—”
Max cut Jones off with a sharp look. “You may step inside and inform her of my presence, or I can stand here and shout it loud enough for her, and the innkeeper, to hear. Which do you suppose your mistress would prefer?”
Jones took a small step closer and, as expected, drew his blade. “You won’t be botherin’ her.”
Max eyed the knife coolly. It had been some time since he’d engaged in physical combat, but not so long he didn’t remember the basic elements, the most crucial of which being the element of surprise.
And men like Ox and Jones, accustomed to fending off the occasional inebriated and belligerent houseguest—most often with just the threat of violence—were fairly easy to surprise. A drunk dandy was easy to intimidate or overcome. A former soldier willing to fight a little dirty, less so.
Before Jones could think to raise the knife, Max shoved a shoulder into his chest, knocking the man back into the door, which gave Max just enough time and room to deliver a quick right jab to Ox’s nose, followed by a kick to the knee that sent the man crumpling to the floor with a pained cry.
“My leg! You ruttin’ bastard! My leg!”
With Ox out of the fight, Max spun around to face Jones again, just in
time to dodge a swing of the man’s blade.
A quick lunge, grab, and violent twist of the wrist, and Max took possession of the knife and sent Jones to his knees with a pained cry. Another twist, this time taking the arm around the back, and Jones was completely immobilized, except for his mouth, which he used to howl in protest.
Which is when Mrs. Wrayburn opened her door, took in the scene before her with a careless glance, and sighed. “Unhand my man, please. I still require his presence for the trip home.”
Max looked down at Jones, watched beads of sweat pop out on the man’s forehead. Then he studied the skillfully carved ivory handle. “You pay your men well. One would think they’d be more work to dispatch.”
“They function well enough as deterrents. Typically.” She eyed him from head to foot, slowly. “Your desire to see me must be substantial.”
“I’m not here for me.” He pocketed the knife and let go of Jones. “Help your associate into your chambers and stay there.”
To their limited credit, both men turned to their mistress and waited for her nod before dragging themselves away, snarling and swearing.
Max waited until the men disappeared into their room before following Mrs. Wrayburn inside. She swept through the room before him and immediately took up a pose next to the cold fireplace. She didn’t appear the least unnerved to be in the company of an armed, angry man she scarcely knew. Max wondered if the confidence was a sham or if she’d fooled even herself into thinking she could control every situation.
“Lord Dane.” She drew his name out as if tasting it. “My goodness, I’ve not had the pleasure of your company in some time. Not since you came sniffing about at my daughter’s heels. Such a sincere, adorable little puppy you were.”
“Ah, fond memories, those.” He matched her pleasant tone and casual manner as he took up his own position in the center of the room. “I remember the days as well. We were so much younger, bit less lined around the eyes, bit more gullible.”
“I’ve never been gullible.”
“Shortsighted, then.”
“I’ve not—”
Max decided he wasn’t in the mood for banter. The few hits he’d landed on Ox and Jones had barely taken the edge off his anger. “You thought you could keep her locked up forever, didn’t you? Thought the truth would never come out.”
“We are speaking of Anna, I presume?” Mrs. Wrayburn rolled her eyes. “Locked up, indeed. You are every inch as gullible as you were four years ago to believe that.”
Max decided he wasn’t in the mood to beat around the reason for his visit either.
“Go back to Anover House, Mrs. Wrayburn.”
She blinked rapidly. “Heavens, you are blunt. Rest assured, I’ve every intention of returning, my lord. With my daughter.”
“That will never happen.”
Full lips curved into a mocking little smile. “You’re still angry I sent you away all those years ago, aren’t you?”
“Not angry, no,” he lied. He was going to be angry about that for a good long while. “I just don’t like you.”
“Because I turned you away?”
“And a myriad of other reasons, some of which I’m sure I’ve yet to learn.”
“And some of them may warrant your censure,” she agreed easily. “But I’ll not apologize for sending you or any other man who came sniffing at my daughter on his way. Drunks and libertines who would have turned Anna into a whore. She was better than that. She is better than that. I was right to do all in my power to protect Anna from—”
“From the very men you invite into your home? The home you’d not allow her to leave?” Max scoffed.
“She is safest with me. I am her mother. Who else would care—?”
“You missed your calling as an actress,” Max cut in. His patience was nearing an end. “And this debate is closed. You’ll leave Codridgeton at first light, or you’ll pay the consequences.”
“The…?” Mrs. Wrayburn’s mouth fell open and a short, harsh laugh emerged. “What consequences, you ridiculous boy? You’re but one man. A viscount, to be sure, but not a particularly influential one, and I’ve a half dozen peers in my pocket at any given time. There is nothing you can do to me.” She threw her shoulders back and spoke with great pride. “I am the most popular woman in all of England.”
“No, you are the most infamous woman amongst London’s demimonde,” he corrected. “At present. And you’ve been fortunate in your competitors. Mrs. Fisher? Eliza Tomlison?”
Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Do you imagine them lambs?”
“I imagine they’ve not a fraction of the influence in all of society as someone like, just as an example…Lady Engsly.” He saw the tiniest flinch, knew he’d hit his mark. “London adores that woman. Your modiste, I’m sure, would be happy to have her, even if it meant forsaking you. Your staff would flee to her employ in the blink of an eye. What gentleman would attend a ball at Anover House when Lady Engsly has decided to hostess a last-minute party on the same night?”
“You would hide behind the skirts of a woman?”
“One does not hide behind a sword, Madame. One wields it.”
Mrs. Wrayburn had so much to say about that, it took several seconds of rage-induced sputtering to sort the words out.
“This is outrageous.” She sputtered a bit more, then seemed to land on a thought she could get a proper hold of. “By God, this is her fault. The ungrateful little brat. So like her father, takes what she wants without a thought for anyone else. She’s had her own way for years, doing whatever she likes while I work to see she has food in her belly and a roof over her head. I ought to have taken a strap to her years ago.” She shook a bejeweled finger at him. “I am still her mother, you know. She’s mine. She will always be—”
“She will always be the acknowledged half sister to the Marquess of Engsly and Lord Gideon Haverston and respected friend of Viscount Dane. More importantly, she is a grown woman who will have nothing more to do with you. You have lost this battle, Madame. You’ve no ground to stand on here. Fall back—”
“I don’t need your ground,” she spat, and her eyes darted toward the wall that separated her room from her men’s. “You have your sword. I’ve weapons of my own.”
His blood went from boiling to ice cold in the space of a heartbeat. He wanted to believe Mrs. Wrayburn wouldn’t strike out at her daughter in anger, that she was, as Anna had implied, a woman of empty words. But he wasn’t willing to risk it.
“You’ll not have the chance to use them in London. You’ll be out of Anover House by month’s end.” After he convinced Anna to return to London with him, the last thing either of them would need or want was to be looking over their shoulder for her lunatic mother. “Bath has a thriving society. You’ll do well enough there.”
Mrs. Wrayburn’s eyes grew almost comically round. “Bath? Bath? Are you mad?”
“Did you really think you could make a threat such as that and I’d do nothing?” he asked coldly. “Month’s end, Madame, or I’ll see to it there’s not a door in Britain open to you, not a gentleman in England willing to take you on.”
“You can’t do that. You’d not—”
“I assure you there is no limit to the devastation I will inflict upon you should you misplace one hair on Anna’s head.”
“You would lay hands on a woman?”
That hadn’t been the sort of devastation he’d had in mind, but he’d rather Mrs. Wrayburn worry he might be capable of violence than Anna discover that her mother truly was.
“Harm her, Madame, and I will end you.” How she wished to interpret his meaning was up to her. “Have I made myself clear?”
He didn’t bother waiting for her answer. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. Mrs. Wrayburn would take herself off to Bath, or he’d see to it she was dragged there. It made very little difference to him.
Naturally, Mrs. Wrayburn still had quite a bit to say on the matter, and her fury followed
him to the door. “She’s mine! Do you hear me?! I made her! No man will ever take what’s mine!”
“End of the month,” he called over his shoulder before stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him.
A thin screech and the sound of glass breaking against the door was the only response.
Chapter 23
Max returned to Codridgeton before first light. He watched from across the street as Mrs. Wrayburn’s carriage pulled away from the inn just as the first grays of dawn appeared on the horizon. And then he turned his horse around and rode back to Caldwell where he waited for Anna in the front hall.
She came down the stairs not ten minutes later, a yellow-and-blue bonnet in her hand, and the shadows of a sleepless night beneath her eyes. She smiled when she saw him, but not the way she did most mornings.
“Good morning, Anna. I thought you might come this way this morning.”
“I’m headed out to see my mother.”
“About that…” Max took her elbow as she stepped off the stairs and led her into the front parlor. “She’s not there. She’s gone back to London. For now.”
“Gone back?” Anna pulled her arm from his grasp. “I don’t understand. Why would she—?”
“I left her no choice.”
“You…?” He watched, caught between fascination and concern as all emotion was wiped from her face. “You went to see my mother?”
“Last night,” he confirmed. “After we spoke. I’d have told you of it directly after, but you went straight to your chambers after dinner.”
“I see. Well…” She took a noticeable step back from him. “I should like to hear of this meeting now, if it’s not too much bother.”
“Right.” Just how angry, he wondered, was she? “Would you care to sit first, or—?”
“No.”
More than a little angry, evidently.
Max gave her a quick but thorough accounting of what had happened at the Bear’s Rest, omitting only the scuffle in the hall and Mrs. Wrayburn’s most blatant threat of violence. The fact that there was now evidence Mrs. Wrayburn was a monster where her daughter was concerned was simply not something he could bring himself to tell Anna. Most people spent their adult lives with copious illusions about their parents still intact. Anna should damn well be able to keep one.
Practically Wicked Page 24
