Brushed by Scandal

by Gail Whitiker

  Ignoring the slight, Barrington said, ‘So you expect me to believe that you didn’t take her as your mistress simply because she worked for the baroness and you knew that, through her, you could get your hands on the necklace.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’d also like me to believe that you didn’t feed Miss Paisley a parcel of lies about how much you loved her, telling her that if she could steal the baroness’s necklace, the two of you would be able to start a new life together.’

  ‘Most certainly not.’

  ‘Nor did you tell her that you actually wanted the necklace so you could set up your father to look like a thief.’

  ‘You really have got the wrong end of the stick, Parker.’

  ‘Have I?’ Barrington shook his head. ‘I think you planned the entire affair as a way of getting back at your father. You seduced Miss Paisley and then persuaded her to steal the necklace for you. You planted the necklace in your father’s things and made sure Rand would be the one to find it, then you started the rumour that he was the one who named your father as the thief. Everyone knew that relations between Rand and your father were strained as a result of the affair with Lady Yew, so you reasoned it wouldn’t come as any great surprise if Rand took an opportunity to get back at your father. But the fact is that Rand would never do something like that because, unlike you, he has a conscience.’

  ‘A conscience!’ Hayle threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘You have the gall to say that after he slept with another man’s wife?’

  ‘Ah, but you laid the groundwork for that affair, didn’t you, my Lord?’ Barrington said. ‘You told Rand about the state of the Yews’ marriage and you made a point of introducing him to her, knowing full well that she had a passion for younger men. Then, you made sure her husband found out and you asked him to go after Rand in public, knowing how furious your father would be when he learned what Rand had done. And by doing that, you thought you were giving Rand a reason for revenge against your father. It really was very well thought out. By trying to implicate your father and Rand, you attempted to destroy both their reputations at the same time.’

  ‘My God, Parker, you really should be writing lurid Gothic novels for love-struck young females. Either that, or the opium has already got to your brain,’ Hayle said derisively.

  Barrington smiled. ‘Pleading innocence won’t wash, Hayle. I know what you’re guilty of. That’s why both Miss Paisley and her sister are safely beyond your reach. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll confess to the part you played in this whole ugly affair.’

  Again, Hayle laughed, but there was a nastiness to it that warned Barrington to be careful. ‘Why should I? It’s all supposition on your part. You don’t have a shred of evidence. And even if I was guilty, it’s not something that’s going to put me in jail.’

  ‘No, but it would make living in London intolerable and I think to a man like you, that would be almost as bad. When society hears what you’ve done, they will turn against you. No one will receive you and your reputation will be in shreds.’

  Hayle’s eyes darkened with hate. ‘Get out!’ he snarled. ‘Get out before I forget I’m a gentleman and thrash you to within an inch of your life.’ As if to make good on his threat, he rose unsteadily to his feet and took a lurching step forwards.

  But Barrington merely stepped back and raised his cane. ‘I’d advise you to think again, Hayle. This isn’t the typical gentleman’s walking stick. It doesn’t break when it’s brought down with force on a man’s head. I know because I’ve done it before. And my reactions haven’t been slowed by the numbing effects of opium or alcohol. I guarantee that if you take me on now, you will lose.’

  Eyeing the lethal-looking cane, Hayle hesitated, but his voice was rough with emotion when he said, ‘You won’t get away with this, Parker. By God, I’ll make you pay.’

  ‘No, my Lord,’ Barrington said. ‘You’re the one who’s going to pay. Because if I have my way, you won’t be getting away with anything.’

  * * *

  It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Barrington left the Nottinghams’ soirée. He’d had enough of glittering society for one night. He was tired of the games he was called upon to play, weary of the desperation he saw in the eyes of so many. When had it all begun to lose its lustre? When had moving in society become a chore rather than a pleasure?

  He remembered how it had been when he’d first come home from France. How surprised he’d been at the extent of society’s welcome. Within days of his arrival, invitations to select gatherings had begun to roll in, as had sponsorships to the right clubs from gentlemen who had seemed genuinely interested in his welfare. He had been told which families to befriend and which to avoid in the same breath as he’d been told which tailors to patronise and which to ignore.

  Then, of course, had come the ladies. All of them beautiful, many of them titled, a fair number of them married. They had shamelessly flirted with him, some in the hopes of eliciting a proposal of marriage, others in the hopes of prompting a very different type of proposal. Had he chosen to partake, he could have had a dozen of them lining up to warm his bed.

  But he hadn’t accepted their come-hither looks and it wasn’t long before the rest of the pleasures had begun to pall as well. A brief affair with the widow of one of his father’s friends, though sexually fulfilling, had left him feeling curiously dissatisfied, much like a hungry man who, having sat down to a magnificent buffet, discovered that the wine was bad and the food tasteless.

  But the final blow had come during the investigation of the two men his late father had trusted and done business with. Men with whom Barrington had socialised and for whom he’d felt admiration and respect. Men who had turned out to be nothing more than parasites on the flesh of society. Greed had fuelled their quest for power and money and once their masks of civility had been stripped away, Barrington had seen them for the monsters they were.

  The discovery had come too late to be of help to his father, but from that night on, Barrington had done what he could to make sure that other decent men were not so foully put upon. He’d begun listening to conversations, and when he heard something he didn’t like, he’d started asking questions. Quietly. Unobtrusively. Always careful not to raise suspicions in anyone’s mind. But he’d asked the questions he’d needed to get the answers that mattered.

  He’d also started cultivating different friends. Friends not as highly placed in society. Friends who put more stock in a man’s worth than in his title. People he found himself able to trust. He also stopped putting faith in a person’s appearance. A lovely face could hide a heart of stone, just as an ugly one could disguise a generous and giving nature. He’d stopped basing his decisions on emotion and gut feeling and turned to uncovering facts, doing whatever he’d had to in order to get at the truth.

  It hadn’t always made him popular, but he hadn’t done it to win friends.

  As the soirée wasn’t far from his house, Barrington decided to dismiss the carriage and walk home. He needed time to think through his situation with Anna. They hadn’t spoken since their last conversation and Barrington was beginning to think they never would again. Of all the disagreements they’d had, this was by far the worst…because he’d found her vulnerable spot and struck it hard. He had called her father’s honour into question. He had accused him of having a child with another woman and of not telling his legitimate son and daughter the truth.

  And she, loyal to a fault and believing wholeheartedly in her father’s integrity, had retaliated by accusing Barrington of being a liar and completely insensitive to her father’s feelings. When he had tried to make her see her brother for what he was, Anna had told him he’d had no right to criticise and had steadfastly refused to believe that she was in any danger from Edward at all.

  Unfortunately, Barrington had absolutely no doubt that Hayle was capable of violence and it infuriated him that Anna still tried to see the good in him, believing that
his role as her brother would prevent him from visiting upon her the cruelty he so freely visited on other people. So it was up to him, Barrington realised, to keep her safe. Until Hayle could be dealt with, his priority had to be in keeping him away from Anna.

  But apart from that, there was the other far more emotional situation between them: the one concerning their feelings for one another. Growing slowly but steadily, his had changed from simple liking and admiration to a deep and abiding love. Thoughts of Anna filled his days with longing and his nights with hours of sleepless frustration. He wanted her in his bed. In his heart. In his life.

  But the life he offered was not one most well-bred young ladies would wish for—and it certainly wasn’t what Anna deserved. For one thing, she would be settling for far less than was her due. As the daughter of an earl, a marquis or a duke wasn’t out of the question; given her incredible beauty, Barrington knew she would have no trouble attracting either. And yet she remained single, professing to want him. She’d told him as much in the way she’d kissed him, in the way her body had melted into his, in the way her arms had closed around him and drawn him close. She was a passionate woman with a heart that beat for those she loved and she would defend them to the bitter end, Peregrine Rand being a case in point.

  So how did he go about resolving this mess? How did he change her opinion of him without hurting her—or convince himself to marry her despite all the reasons he should not?

  More importantly, how was he to go on living, if he was unable to do either?

  He was passing a small copse of trees when he heard it. The snap of a twig. The sound of laboured breathing. Someone hiding in the bushes, waiting to spring. But even as he jumped to the left and drew the sword from its ebony holder, Barrington knew it was too late. His enemy was upon him, the sudden, sharp pain in his right shoulder proof that the danger was much closer than he’d anticipated.

  Clamping his teeth against the pain, Barrington whirled and saw the man standing behind him. Darkness hid the contours of his face, but he had no need of lamplight to know who his enemy was. The hatred emanating from Hayle was a tangible force. And when he lunged again, Barrington knew it was in the hopes of finishing him off.

  Fortunately, this time, the lethal blade missed its mark.

  ‘The opium must have muddled your brain,’ Barrington said, switching the sword to his left hand, knowing his right was now useless. ‘A skilled fencer wouldn’t have missed an opportunity like that.’

  ‘I didn’t miss with my first strike,’ Hayle growled. ‘Shall I take pity on you and finish you off quickly, Parker? Or are you as good with your left hand as you are with your right?’

  Barrington shifted his weight to compensate for the change in fencing arm. ‘I am, by nature, a right-handed fencer, but I learned to use a sword in my left so I might be doubly prepared.’

  ‘Then we shall see how well you were taught,’ Hayle cried, lunging again.

  The sharp clang of blades echoed in the night, but Barrington knew better than to look for help. No sensible person was abroad this time of night and the watchman was likely asleep in his box. Hayle had chosen the time and place of his attack well.

  ‘I must have caused you considerable alarm,’ Barrington said, the edge of his blade gleaming dangerously in the moonlight, ‘to provoke you into coming after me.’

  ‘You said enough.’ The earl’s son aimed a deadly blow at Barrington’s right side, obviously hoping to worsen the damage he’d already inflicted. ‘I don’t intend to let you or anyone else humiliate me again and I certainly don’t intend to let you expose me.’

  Barrington skilfully deflected the attack, but Hayle was fighting like a man possessed. While his skills were inferior to Barrington’s, his anger and fear combined to make him a dangerous adversary. Fortunately, with that much opium in his system he couldn’t hope to last long in a sustained fight. ‘Killing me won’t change the situation with Rand,’ Barrington threw out. ‘He’ll always be your father’s son.’

  ‘His bastard, you mean!’ Hayle shouted. ‘And I’m damned if I’ll let him take what’s rightfully mine.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Hayle. Your father won’t leave his estate to Rand. You’re his legitimate son and heir.’

  ‘But he likes Rand,’ Hayle spat contemptuously. ‘He wishes I was more like him. But I’m not and I’m never going to be. Rand’s a spineless interloper who’s going back to the country as soon as I can make it happen.’

  Barrington felt a sudden wave of light-headedness. He must be losing more blood than he thought. And the pain in his right shoulder was a constant reminder of his carelessness…

  ‘Feeling the strain, Parker?’ Hayle taunted. ‘It’s all well and good to put on a fancy show in front of others, but we both know this is what it’s all about. The fight to the death.’

  Barrington took a deep breath. He was getting weaker, which meant he had to change his strategy. If he hoped to survive, he had to convince Hayle that he was failing. Lull him into believing that he could close in for the kill at any time.

  Fortunately, Barrington had a feeling his opponent wasn’t looking to make this a quick kill. Hayle was the kind of man who enjoyed prolonging the agony. By doing so, he would unwittingly give his opponent the advantage he needed.

  Barrington let his arm fall, as though weakening. ‘What do you hope to gain by killing me, Hayle? Freedom from persecution?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Hayle withdrew a few paces, but kept his fighting arm extended, the point of the blade level with Barrington’s chest. ‘With you dead, there will be no one to challenge my father’s guilt. He won’t go to jail, but he will be ostracised. And Rand will go back to the country where he belongs and I’ll see to it that Anna is married off to some harmless bumpkin who prefers life in the country. Maybe I’ll push her in Lord Andrews’s direction. She’d do nicely for him once he has knocked the spunk out of her.’

  Fighting down rage at the thought of Andrews getting anywhere near Anna, Barrington took a step, exaggerated a wince and made sure his opponent saw it. ‘You’ve thought of everything.’

  ‘I always do. It’s taken a while, but it’s all come together,’ Hayle said. ‘Rand’s humiliation, Father’s disgrace and, eventually, my marriage to the lovely baroness. And with it, an end to all my financial worries.’

  ‘So that was the final part of your plan.’

  Hayle inclined his head. ‘I’ve already told her it was my father who stole the necklace. She didn’t believe me, of course, but she won’t have a choice once it all comes out. And I have been very careful in my addresses to her. I am, of course, in utter despair over my poor father’s circumstances. But if a man cannot bring himself to act according to the law, he must suffer the consequences. Julia will see that and, in time, she will agree to be my wife. I have expensive habits and they need constant feeding. I intend to make damn sure no lawyer puts her money beyond my reach.’

  It was shameless, Barrington reflected, but he couldn’t fault Hayle’s strategy. Through careful planning, he had removed each of the obstacles that stood in the way of his getting what he wanted. Barrington saw the anticipation of victory on the other man’s face and knew he believed success lay within his grasp, confident it was only a matter of minutes before it was his.

  But he’d reckoned without his opponent’s equally fierce determination to prevent any of that happening. Barrington let his arm fall another inch and saw the smile break out on Hayle’s face.

  ‘Well, I think it’s time to bring an end to this. Goodbye, Parker. I hope your skills with a foil serve you better in hell than they did here.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anna stared through the window of the carriage as it made its way home from the card party. Peregrine was dozing quietly beside her, but even though the hour was late, she was far too wide awake to sleep. She had hoped an evening with friends might help her forget her concerns about Barrington and her family, but not even the constant chatter about balls and
betrothals had been enough to do so—because she couldn’t stop thinking about Barrington. She couldn’t stop remembering everything he’d said to her. Everything he had come to mean to her.

  And in remembering all that, Anna knew she had no choice but to tell him she loved him and dare him to turn her away! She would suffer the embarrassment of being spurned, take whatever chances she had to, but she was not going to let him walk out of her life without having made one last effort to get him to stay. She had no intention of spending the rest of her life alone, knowing she had no one to blame but herself if that’s how it ended up.

  They were passing the end of the park when she saw a flurry of movement in the trees. Two dark figures—then a shimmer of silver in the moonlit darkness. Swords! She sat forwards and pressed her face to the glass. ‘Peregrine! Wake up!’ She thumped on the roof of the carriage. ‘Stop!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Peregrine said, groggily coming to.

  ‘There’s a fight,’ she said, throwing open the carriage door. ‘In the park.’

  ‘Anna, wait, are you mad?’

  She ran across the grass, deaf to his cries. Some sixth sense warned her that this was no ordinary fight. She hadn’t seen her brother or Barrington the entire evening, but Lord Richard Crew, appearing late at the home of Lady Bessmel, said he had been at a hell earlier in the evening and that both Barrington and her brother had been there and that neither of them had looked happy. Had Barrington gone to confront Edward about his conduct with Eliza and been met with threats of violence?

  Those words echoed in Anna’s ears now as she ran towards the two men. One of them was tiring. He was staggering backwards, hunched over, his right arm hanging limp at his side. The other man raised his sword for the killing blow and she felt the scream build in her lungs. ‘Barrington!’