“And I should take my leave.” Lord Justice bowed again. “It was a pleasure to meet all of you. This has been most enlightening.”
Violet watched him go from her place on the balcony, following him with her eyes until he finally disappeared from view, swallowed by the crowd. For a brief moment, she wondered what it might be to like to wed a different man. A man like Lord Justice.
Chapter Two
Six weeks later…
* * *
Justice sat in his brother’s carriage, looking out the window at the rising sun.
His sister, Lady Millicent, sat across from him, her head on her new husband’s shoulder.
Three weddings…
Three Whites had gotten married. What in the bloody blue bullocks was happening to his family?
They’d spent years hardly seeing one another, except for he and Sayden, and now, they were barely apart.
And growing in numbers.
Patrick, Millie’s new husband, was a good enough chap, a fighter like Justice, and a man hell-bent on keeping his sister safe.
Which Justice appreciated greatly.
In the carriage behind them, Ben and Dez rode with their wives.
Justice let out a sigh of frustration as he flexed his sore arm.
Six weeks had passed since the Quagmire ball in Dover. So much had happened in that time. His family had left Dover in an attempt to find their missing half-sibling. They’d been attacked by Will Parricide, who called himself Macklemeyer at the ball. Parricide had tried to kidnap Millie and use her as leverage to steal Dez’s ships from them. Patrick had shot the man, a fact he felt particularly good about, but Justice couldn’t be certain that his brother-in-law had killed him.
Justice looked over at Millie’s half-closed eyes as she tucked deeper into her husband’s shoulder. She was safe with Patrick.
His brothers had a plan. They were going to retreat north to Northumberland where they manufactured gunpowder. It was a place where they could better protect their women.
The decision made sense.
Justice had left Dover because of Millie. He’d wanted her safe.
But now…
Parricide was wounded. Where would the man go to recover?
If Justice could hazard a guess, he’d say Dover. After all, Parricide’s potential bride was there.
An image of Lady Violet rose up in his thoughts. His hand clenched against his side as he grit his teeth. Why did he continue to think about that woman? Even when he wasn’t considering Parricide, she’d cross his mind at the oddest times.
He shook his head. She was not the reason he’d return to Dover. At least not directly the reason.
Parricide was liable to return to the seaside town. It made sense that Justice would break away from his family and follow.
It was his job to see this business with Parricide done and, honestly, he could use a good fight to get these thoughts of Lady Violet out of his head.
In general, he could always use a good fight.
A soft sigh from the other side of the carriage made him shift in his seat.
Millie had fallen asleep.
“Patrick,” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to wake her.
His brother-in-law glanced over at him, his brows rising.
“I need to tell you something.” He sat forward in his seat, flexing his arm again where the flesh wound had occurred.
“What is it?” Patrick asked as he reached for Millie’s hand, wrapping it in his own.
“I’m not going to Northumberland with you.”
“Why not?” Patrick’s gaze narrowed, his thick arms flexing.
“Sayden will be there to help you keep the women from harm.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re not going.”
“I,” he cracked his neck as he pulled the curtain to the side once more, “I’m heading east, to Dover.”
Silence met those words and, for a few moments, quiet filled the air. Then Patrick spoke. “You’re going to chase him.”
Justice gave a terse nod. “He’s attacked us every time. It’s time, like any good fighter, I lead the charge instead of just waiting for him to come after us again.”
Patrick let out a long low curse. “Damn. I hate that you’re right.”
Justice gave a short nod, glad that Patrick understood. “I’m going to need you to explain my absence to my brothers.”
Patrick shook his head. “No.”
Justice quirked a small smile, that lifted one corner of his mouth. He and Patrick spoke the same language and a man could appreciate that. Still. “I don’t want to spend time explaining. And they’ll be concerned for me, worried for their wives, and they will try to talk me out of it. Meanwhile, I’ll lose precious time.”
“Time for what?”
Justice grimaced. He’d not told his family about Violet. Well, he’d mentioned that he’d talked with Parricide at the ball, and that the man was courting a woman of the peerage.
He told himself that he’d been a loner for too long. Sharing was not his strong suit. But he should have mentioned it earlier. It was just that…
He’d been unable to sort out why Miss Violet Wright had gotten under his skin.
Not that it mattered. Besides, he wasn’t going to Dover to see her again only to chase Parricide. And because of her, he knew exactly where to look.
“I have a feeling he’ll fall back on the alias as he plots his next move. I want to follow.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I’ll light out for Northumberland,” he said, raising his hands. “But either way, I’ll be working to keep this family safe.”
Patrick gave him a long stare. “You should talk to your brothers.”
Justice didn’t answer as he gave his knuckles a good crack. The time for talking was over.
Violet sat at the breakfast table staring out the window, aimlessly swirling her tea, her appetite completely gone.
Hope had been building for the past three weeks.
It started when Mr. Macklemeyer had not attended a scheduled outing.
He’d sent a rushed note to her father that explained little about why he couldn’t attend.
Then nothing.
No communication and no sight of the man. If her pride had stung at all, that feeling had been smothered by her overwhelming relief.
A feeling her father did not share.
After a week, he’d begun railing at her. What had she done to push the man away? Had she been cold? Harsh? Indifferent?
She’d met her father’s criticisms with stony silence. How else did a lady react?
She might have cried, she supposed. But despite her father’s words, joy had been bubbling inside her. Where her father dreamed of a future with her potential marriage, she saw only darkness.
Or perhaps that was Macklemeyer himself. When she looked into his eyes, she saw…nothing.
Her uncle had attempted to console her father. “There will be other suitors. She’s beyond stunning. And besides, Macklemeyer is rather secretive. Doesn’t that concern you?”
Violet had held her breath. The two men, her only family, never spoke about such things in front of her. Her uncle was a true military man who kept his emotions to himself.
Her father had huffed. “Easy for you to say. You’re not facing ruin.”
She’d covered her mouth with her hand. Speaking now would surely end the conversation and she wanted to hear what her uncle said next.
“You’ll face it again soon enough if you don’t correct your habits,” her uncle had bit back. “Drinking, gambling—"
“How dare you,” her father had raged. “I am your better.”
“You are at my mercy,” her uncle had fired back, standing toe to toe with his elder brother. “You, who had everything, and me, who had nothing, and look what you’ve done with your advantages. What a disappointment you’ve been to the viscountcy.”
She’d gasped then. A mistake. Both men had turned to lo
ok at her, their faces clearly showing their irritation.
Her father had turned an alarming shade of red while her uncle… he’d given her a long look. She’d sat on the settee closest to the door and he crossed toward her leaning down. “I won’t let him sink you, Poppet.” And then he’d made his way out the door.
“What did he say?” her father demanded.
She’d paused for a split second. “Just goodbye.”
Her father had let out a growl of frustration. “Who does he think he is, speaking to me like that?”
She didn’t think answering was appropriate. So, she’d sat instead and dreamed of a future where she chose her husband.
The image of Lord Justice had flitted through her thoughts. Who could say what he might actually be like? During their brief interaction, they’d barely exchanged a word. But she wanted to know more. She craved to find out if Lord Justice was as mysterious as he’d seemed. And didn’t that say something?
She’d allowed her thoughts to wander to Lord Justice more with each passing day. Was he a fancy meant to occupy her thoughts, so she didn’t consider Macklemeyer?
But after three weeks, she’d concluded that both men had left her life. Lord Justice hadn’t been at any other social gatherings and Mr. Macklemeyer had simply disappeared.
One a disappointment, the other a relief but they’d balanced each other out rather nicely.
Until this morning.
She’d entered the breakfast room to find her father whistling merrily, a piece of parchment in hand. He looked disheveled, as though he’d barely slept. Had he been to bed at all?
But he’d given her a happy if somewhat silly smile. “Fear not, my dear. Mr. Macklemeyer has returned.” And he set the paper down on the table, exiting the room.
She looked down at the paper, not daring to pick it up. Quickly scanning the page, she understood the gist of its contents. A sudden work emergency had pulled Mr. Macklemeyer away. He was under the weather after the trip but would like to rekindle their relationship as soon as he was well enough. He was sorry for any worry he’d caused.
Sorry?
He needn’t be sorry for the worry, just for returning at all. She picked up the paper and tossed it into the fire, watching as it shriveled and then burned, disappearing into ash.
Giving up on breakfast, she returned to her room, and changed from her morning gown into more serviceable clothes, then she returned downstairs.
Ringing for a maid to accompany her, she called for the horses to be hitched to the carriage.
She wasn’t entirely certain where she was going. Running away? Doubtful.
But she needed to leave the house. It was entailed and would remain in their family, at least until her father passed.
What had once been a home now felt like a prison. She needed to be out, to think and breathe and decide how to proceed.
Violet had been raised to be a faithful daughter. Much as she didn’t wish to marry Macklemeyer, would she allow her father to end up in prison? Would her uncle continue to help her father financially if she refused marrying Macklemeyer? Would he help her as he’d just promised?
Her father would be asleep for several hours. Though he’d want a full accounting of her travels when he woke, for now, she was free to find out.
Calling to the driver, it was a short trip to her uncle’s stately brick colonial near the castle.
Would he be home?
He was a busy man, and he very well could have already made his way to the castle.
But even as she pulled up to his home, she noted a carriage was already in the drive.
The Duke of Whitehaven’s…
Lord Justice’s brother.
Her breath caught as her driver stopped the vehicle. The footmen opened the door and she stepped out at the same time a man exited from the other vehicle.
Lord Justice.
He was some distance away, but she recognized his tall stature and broad shoulders anywhere.
Her mouth fell open as her heart skipped a beat in her chest. Were her eyes playing a trick on her?
Her uncle had said all the brothers looked alike. It was his brother’s carriage. Perhaps…
“Miss Wright.” His deep voice shivered along her skin. “How unexpected.”
She blinked. It was unexpected to see her at her uncle’s home? Justice was the one who had disappeared without a trace. Exactly like Macklemeyer. How interesting. And then appeared again on the same day. “The same to you, my lord,” she replied. “I assumed your family had left Dover weeks ago.”
“We did,” he replied as he approached, offering his arm. His dark eyes glittered as they held hers and she had that same breathless feeling she’d experienced the first time they’d met. “We needed to travel to London as no less than three of my siblings have married.”
“My goodness,” she answered, as her footman fell in step behind her. “What a happy coincidence.”
“I’d call it odd,” he replied with a grimace. “Marriage is running through my family a bit like the plague.”
Her free hand came to her mouth as she covered a small laugh. She dropped it again as she thought about her own situation. “Marriage can feel like a disease, can’t it?”
His muscle flexed under hand, causing her own body to tense. “Are you engaged, my lady?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Yet? Are you expecting to be soon?”
The door opened for them, the butler standing just to the side, and he entered the foyer as though he belonged there. Not like a man paying a visit for the first time. “I…” she started because she didn’t know quite what to say. Yes was the obvious answer. And yet she couldn’t make the words pass her lips. She couldn’t very well tell him she was revolted by the man her father had chosen and that she’d come here to throw herself at her uncle’s feet and beg for help and mercy.
“My lord,” her uncle’s voice called down the stairs. “Good of you to come.”
“General Wright.” Lord justice inclined his head. “Thanks so much for seeing me.”
“Violet. What are you doing here?”
Her tongue came out to wet her lips as she attempted to decide how much to say in front of Lord Justice. “I got a missive this morning, or rather Papa did. But I’d hoped to discuss it with you and…”
Her uncle bounded the stairs, moving like a man much younger than his grey hair would indicate. He was still trim and fit for being in his fifties, exactly the opposite of her father who had managed to become quite round. “My apologies, Poppet. I’ve an appointment with Lord Justice and then I must leave for the castle.”
She nodded, her chin dropping. “Of course. I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“Should I come for dinner this evening?” her uncle asked.
Without thinking, she shook her head. The last thing they needed was for her father to overhear this conversation. “No. That’s all right. It can wait.”
His grey eyes, lighter than her hazel ones, narrowed. “Does it involve Macklemeyer?”
She glanced at the floor, her lips pressing together.
Lord Justice tensed under her hand again, his muscles stiffening. She looked over at him wondering at the response. As his arm tightened, it naturally drew her closer.
“Lord Justice,” her uncle said, as his gaze flitted between the two of them. “Can you spare a minute’s delay while I speak with my niece?”
Lord Justice looked at her, his gaze seeming to penetrate straight through her. “Of course.”
Slowly, she slipped her hand out from his arm, the heat from his skin still warming her even after she’d let him go.
Her uncle made an about-face and started toward his study. She followed at a slower pace. She only looked over her shoulder once, but when she did, Lord Justice’s gaze glittered back.
Chapter Three
Justice followed the butler into the front parlor and stretched himself out on a settee, looking for all the world like a relaxed man
. But the moment the door closed he was up again.
Waiting for the butler’s footsteps on the hardwood floor to recede, he opened the door slowly, wincing when it creaked. But only silence followed the noise, so he slipped out of the room as he left the door open a crack, making his way down the hall.
The study was not difficult to find, tucked in a quiet corner at the end of the hall. The door was ajar, and the voices of Violet and her uncle drifted clearly to his ear.
“What did the missive say, Poppet?”
“He’s back,” she whispered, her voice giving a tremble and leaving little doubt about her unhappiness. “Macklemeyer’s returned from wherever he went and he’s hoping to resume our…” she trailed off.
Justice flattened himself against the wall. It was clear she did not like William Parricide, or Erwin Macklemeyer, or whatever he called himself. But if that was the case, why would she be considering marriage to the man? Was it at her uncle’s request?
Justice couldn’t help but wonder. He’d come here today to try and answer two questions. The first…was Parricide here? That had already been answered. But the second was how were Miss Wright, Violet, and her family involved with the man? With her uncle running the castle and Parricide stashing his stolen goods in the tunnels below, one had to wonder if the two men didn’t have an agreement of some sort.
While it seemed cruel to sell one’s niece for smuggler’s money, his own father would have done such a thing. Hell, their father had sold space on Dez’s ships to the very same smuggler. He’d used the money to build his behemoth of a Gothic Revival home. His tribute to God built on thievery and deception. He hoped the former duke was rotting in hell for the transgression.
Her uncle gave a sigh. “Does he? I had also hoped…”
“I…” her voice faltered again. “I know my father thinks that he is a good choice.”
“Forgive me, Poppet. But your father is a fool.”
Justice blinked. Well, that answered that. Her uncle was as much a fan of Parricide as Justice.
Her Wanton White: Dark Duke’s Legacy Page 2
