Max said nothing. He looked at Harold as if he had never seen him before, and then he turned his head toward the piano. Susannah was seated there, her hands still resting on the keys, but her face was blank, as though she was seeing a ghost.
“Yes, it’s Max,” he said quietly, grief meshing with the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint us?” Harold echoed, puzzled, coming forward. He saw Marietta then, and behind her Dobson, and his expression grew even more confused. “What is this about, Max? What are you doing here? And why have you brought these people—”
“Susannah can tell you what it’s about. Why don’t you ask Susannah?” Max moved toward his sister, his eyes never leaving her.
Marietta had expected to hate Susannah, to be so angry she wanted to strike out at her and hurt her as she had hurt Max. But now…she was confused. Susannah was picking out some notes on the piano, trying to recapture the tune she had been playing a moment ago.
“Harold likes to be played to in the evening,” she said, as if to excuse herself, as if Max regularly forced his way into her house.
“Susannah—”
“We did not have a piano in Jamaica, so I could not play there. We were poor and my father could not afford to have me educated as he would have wished. We had our land and our house and our past glories, that was all. When I came to England I learned to play. I learned to become a lady, a cold and polite lady. Did you know, it is not considered proper to have feelings in England? You must suppress them, you must pretend to be indifferent, and sometimes if you pretend long enough then you begin to feel as if you are dead.”
Anger glittered a moment in her eyes and was gone again. Suppressed. She smiled at Max.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said.
Marietta felt it then, the tragic air that enfolded Susannah. The silent suffering in the line of her mouth and the set of her shoulders. Susannah was in pain, but whether it was justified or not, real or illusion, Marietta could not tell.
“Max,” she murmured a warning.
But Max was beyond understanding such subtleties. “You’re glad I’m not dead?” he shouted, his voice so full of anger and betrayal that it made Marietta wince. “Then why did you pay Slipper to kill me! Do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to you, Susannah? You’re my sister…”
“You don’t understand, Max,” she said, and sighed. Her face was beautiful but it was also gaunt, as though her life was being eaten away from the inside. “This has nothing to do with my love for you or yours for me. This is to do with justice. Papa took me away from my father and our home. He took everything, so that he could use the money to save Valland House and rebuild his fortune. My father had nothing, but he had me, and then the duke stole me too. So my father took his own life. Where was the justice in that, Max? Papa…the duke said he was sorry, afterwards, and I know he felt guilty when he looked at me. I always remind him, you see, of the kind of man he really is.”
“But that’s in the past,” Harold began.
She turned on him, her dark eyes blazing. “I have never forgotten! It is always with me, always!”
“Susannah?” Harold was staring at her, his mouth working. “Why are you speaking like this? Max, why is she saying these things?”
“It’s all right, Harold.” At once the anger was gone and her smile gentle. “I want to explain. I want Max to know why.”
“Know what?” Harold whispered, but now there was dread in his face, as if he was beginning to realize they were entering a place from which there could be no return.
“That the reason I tried to take him away from Papa was because Papa had taken me away from my father and my home. What he did was wrong, and he needs to be punished for it. If I take Max from Papa, then he will understand. Then he will suffer.”
“You tried to kill me,” Max said bluntly.
“Of course,” she replied. “At first it was just a thought in my head, an impulse. The day I threw the coins into the lake for you and Harold to dive in and fetch, that was when I thought, what if I throw Max’s closer to the reeds? What if he gets tangled in them and drowns? No one could blame me for that, and I would have given my father what he wants from me. Justice. But you swim too well, Max. So then I made the hole in the boat when I knew you were going out in it, but that didn’t work either. There were other times, other accidents, but I didn’t really plan them. They just seemed to happen. I didn’t want you dead, you know, Max. This isn’t about you, you can see that, can’t you? You understand, don’t you Max?”
Harold made a sound and turned away, and Marietta saw that he was crying like a little child.
“Last year you tried to shoot me? Was that you, Susannah?” Max’s voice had taken on an emotionless quality, as if he was sleepwalking.
“Yes, I was always a good shot, but for some reason I missed or you moved, I forget. There was a timber that I pushed onto you from the stable loft. I saw it hit and you fell and…After that I…I didn’t try again. I felt sick afterwards. And anyway, Mama died. I was looking through her papers and I suddenly thought: What if there was a letter confessing that Max wasn’t Papa’s son? It just happened, and I pretended to find it and…I was as surprised as anyone when I was believed. Papa was so angry, and I was glad, because I could see that both of you understood then how it had been for me. How my poor father felt when he lost me. You can understand now what it means to be wrenched away from where you belong.”
“You wrote the letter?” Max shook his head. “I don’t believe—”
“Of course I did. I used to do your lessons for you and Harold, didn’t I, when we were children? So that you two could sneak off fishing or whatever it was you boys did. I was always very skilled at copying handwriting, Max, and I knew Mama’s as well as I knew my own. Have you forgotten?”
He said nothing; there seemed to be nothing to say. He felt as if the earth was shaking beneath his feet and in a moment it would collapse and take him with it. Susannah was so reasonable, her tone was calm and persuasive, and her words even made a terrible sort of sense. But Max felt chilled to the bone by her.
“When he read the letter, Papa disinherited you and sent you away just as I’d hoped he would, but I knew that it wouldn’t last. Papa loves you, Max. He loves you more than me, and more than Harold. He loves you best of all. He would never let you remain an outcast. His temper got the better of him for a while, but now it has cooled he will eventually recant.”
“So you hired Slipper?” Marietta had forgotten Dobson was there, but he came forward now. “You got him to attack Lord Roseby in the lane outside Aphrodite’s Club, and tonight you paid him to shoot him at Vauxhall Gardens.”
“That’s right.” Susannah gave him a smile. “I hired Slipper. I couldn’t bring myself to try again, not after the last time. So I found a man who would do it for me, and Slipper was very fond of me. He called me his duchess. Vauxhall Gardens seemed like a good idea, and Harold saw a letter inviting you there, Max, and he told me. And I told Slipper.”
She nodded at her own cleverness.
“Max.” It was Harold, recovered now, although his face was still flushed and stained with tears. There was a desperate light in his eyes. “Please, don’t listen to her. She’s not well, you know that. She hasn’t been well for years.”
“My dear Harold, you must not say that. Apologize.” With a reproving frown, Susannah held out her hand to him. Harold hesitated, and then reached to take it with shaking fingers. He bent and pressed his lips to her skin, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he would hide from the truth.
“Sometimes it is necessary to take matters into one’s own hands,” Susannah said. “Make one’s own justice. The dead demand it.”
Such cold-bloodedness was breathtaking.
Harold gave a sob and shook his head. Marietta knew that Harold could not have known the truth about his wife; he had been so besotted with her that he had believed she could do no wrong. Poor Harold was
just as much a victim of this as Max.
“Well,” Susannah stood up and smoothed her skirts. “This is very nice, but I wish to retire.”
She smiled vaguely and drifted toward the door. No one stopped her, Dobson even stepped aside to let her pass, and they listened to her footsteps fading into silence.
“All those years,” Max said bleakly, shaking his head in disbelief. He looked at his cousin. “How could you not know, Harold?”
“I didn’t know,” he insisted. “There were times when she was low, when she stayed in her room, but Susannah has always had her moods. You know that. We always took great care not to upset her. I did not think it was anything more than melancholy. I didn’t realize it was…”
Madness.
Harold’s voice took on a new urgency. “Max, let me take her home to Jamaica. I’ll buy a house for us and she can live there quietly. I can find a doctor. I can…Please, do this for me. For all the years we have been friends.”
Max turned and read the same misery and shock in Harold’s eyes as he knew must be in his own. It was easy to convict someone in hindsight, and how could he blame Harold for failing to see something he had not seen himself?
“Don’t let her go to court,” Harold whispered. “The scandal. It would kill her, and destroy us. Max?”
“Yes,” he said, “do as you think best.”
Harold stretched out his hand and after a moment Max took it. Their fingers gripped hard.
“Do you think she really wanted me dead?” Max asked as if he couldn’t help it.
Harold hesitated. “She tried so many times and failed. I wonder if she really meant it to happen. She was such a good shot, Max, and yet she missed you that day.”
“Yes,” Max seemed to take comfort from that.
“What does it matter anyway?” Harold went on, his voice shaking. “We’ll be gone and the duke will make you his heir again. You will be Duke of Barwon and live at Valland House. It’s your destiny and it seems that no matter how you wriggle like a worm on a hook, you can’t escape it.”
And with a grim smile, Harold followed after his wife.
Max sat down on the piano seat as if his legs could no longer hold him. He felt sick. How could he have thought he knew Susannah so well? She had been a stranger to him. Had he failed her when she first came to England? Perhaps if he had paid more attention to her, got her to talk about her past…But the duke hadn’t wanted that. He had warned Max and Harold not to remind the girl of sad memories, and they had obeyed him.
“Max?”
The voice was familiar, but for a moment he was so lost he couldn’t place it.
“Max, it’s me,” it went on gently. “It’s Marietta.”
He turned to look at her. “Marietta,” he said. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you can’t marry me now.”
She stepped back from him, startled, her eyes as blue as the ocean. He wanted to lose himself in them, find the love and peace he knew was there, but he held back.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it? My father will want to reinstate me as the heir to the dukedom of Barwon, and all that goes with it—I’ll be one of the richest men in England—and you don’t want me.”
He was not himself, Marietta could see that. She did not blame him for being angry and hurt after what he had just witnessed; he must be wondering if he could trust anyone ever again. But Max had nearly died tonight; Marietta had nearly lost him forever. That tended to put things like soiled reputations and scandals into perspective.
“I want to marry you, Max. I love you. I can be a duchess if you want me to be, in fact I think I would make an extremely good duchess.”
Was that a smile in his eyes? But it was gone as quickly as it came. He looked bruised. “But there’s more, isn’t there?” he asked bleakly.
“Yes, there’s more. I was about to explain to you at Vauxhall Gardens, when we were interrupted by Slipper.”
“Marietta,” he groaned, “will you just tell me.”
“Aphrodite and my father plan to leave me the club. Not now, of course, but later on, when Aphrodite can no longer run it. They’ve said they want me to have it and, Max, I think I would like that very much. But I can see you may not approve of your wife being the owner of a place like that, and I’ll understand if—”
Max frowned. “What nonsense is this?”
Marietta was trembling.
He stood up. And then he said, loudly, so there could be no mistake, “I love you. If I have to be a duke, then the least you can do is make it bearable by being my duchess. And as for the club, I don’t give a damn. Do what you like. Open half a dozen.”
He meant it; he really didn’t care about anything except having Marietta as his wife.
She began to cry, and then she clung to his neck and kissed him, and he kissed her back.
“I thought he was going to shoot you,” she sobbed. “I thought I would lose you, Max, oh Max, I love you so.”
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he retorted hoarsely. “Don’t ever play the heroine again.”
And then they just held each other, finding comfort in their love, and grateful that despite all of the bad things that had happened they still had each other. And that was the best thing of all.
Epilogue
One year later in Cornwall…
Blackwood wasn’t as grim as Max had threatened, although it was certainly no Valland House. Marietta found its isolation rather exciting, especially at night, like now, with the sky ablaze with stars and the sea breaking gently against the sand. They had been married for ten months and every day was wonderful, but it was no easy matter being the wife of a man in Max’s position. She had duties to perform and tasks to oversee, and hundreds of underlings who looked to her for guidance.
Exhausting.
Which was why it was so nice to be here, at Blackwood, alone together. Well, almost.
Marietta grimaced as she picked her way down the cliff path that led to the cove and its white sand. Max had been very diligent, checking over the details of the running of the old mine he had reopened. The people in the village had applauded him, actually cheered and clapped as their coach passed through, on the way to the house. Marietta had not realized until then how much the mine meant to them, and how desperate they were for the employment Max had given them.
He was a hero.
But even heroes need to enjoy themselves, and Marietta had something she wanted to tell him, so she’d left a note on his desk, where he could not help but see it.
The duke had reinstated Max as his heir and publicly apologized. Max had not forgiven him yet, not completely, but Marietta had seen signs of him weakening. Whatever the duke had done in the past, he was Max’s father after all, and despite herself, she had felt almost sorry for him. Sensing it Barwon had begun to turn to her more and more—they dealt quite well together these days. But Max had warned her not to take sides against her husband, and proceeded to show her what she would be missing if she did. Very pleasurably.
Harold and Susannah were gone, although there were letters. Max had insisted that the duke return Susannah’s property to her, and although it was far too late and far too little, at least it went some small way to balancing the ledger. Susannah seemed not to remember what she had done and why, and Harold spent his days making her happy. Marietta wanted to be angry, and she was, for Max’s sake, but she pitied them, too. At least, she told herself, they had each other.
Lady Greentree and Mr. Jardine were very coy of late, but Marietta was beginning to believe they might find their happy ending. As for Lil and Ian Keith…matters had cooled between them. Lil would not discuss it, but Marietta hoped that whatever impediment lay between them would eventually be resolved.
Love conquered all. Didn’t it?
The night was warm, and a salty breeze stirred the sea. It was calm, hardly any waves at all, and Marietta smiled as she reached the sand at last. She glanced back then and saw him following, his
dark shadow against the moon. She begun to remove her robe as she walked, letting it fall to the sand. The air was cool against her skin.
She heard his steps quicken, drawing closer.
“Marietta?” he sounded as if he needed to swallow.
“You’ve been neglecting me,” she said gently, walking naked toward the waves, her golden hair rippling down her back and brushing the curve of her bottom and thighs.
He cursed, and when she glanced over her shoulder, saw that he was hastily removing his own clothing. With a smile she began to wade into the water, shivering a little.
His arms came around her, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth hot against her cheek. “My darling courtesan,” he murmured. “Have I really been neglecting you, Madame Coeur?”
“A little. I just wanted you to myself for an hour or two. It’s impossible at Valland House, and even in London there’s always something to do or someone to see.”
“Ah, the hectic life of a budding duchess.”
He turned her in his arms, letting the waves wash over their legs, content for a moment to hold her naked body against his.
“Are you sorry you married me after all?” he asked her at last.
Marietta reached up to kiss his mouth, her hands stroking the hard flesh of his chest, and smiled into his eyes. “No, never. Every moment is wonderful.”
Max grinned back at her. “My scandalous wife.”
“Very scandalous,” she whispered.
He dipped his head to kiss her breasts, eagerly, his hands sliding down her back to cup her bottom and lift her, so that when he bent his knees slightly, and parted her thighs, he could enter her and be where he longed to be.
Marietta gasped and arched her throat, gazing up at the night sky. The stars shone down on them, their reflection dancing in the wash of the waves. The pleasure built as gently, peaking and then slipping away to leave them basking in its glow.
When they were dressed again, Max carried her in his arms across the sand, back toward the house on the cliff.
Rules of Passion Page 30
