Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  0 7

  * * *

  Lucy licked her lips as she contemplated her words. “I could have married a few years ago, but my mother thought me too young at the time. She ended the courtship before it could truly begin.”

  “Was the other man a servant as well?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

  She had to hide her smile, just as she had to hide the fact that she was a lady. She decided, however, to tell him the truth. “No. He’s a lord.”

  Ganden’s eyes widened. “A lord wished to marry you and your mother refused?” He narrowed his eyes. “That would have lifted your position significantly. Do you regret your mother’s decision?”

  “Not at all. She was right. I was far too young and not in love at all. It was really my father who wanted the match, but he often did whatever my mother said.”

  His face relaxed. “You didn’t love him, but there are more important reasons to marry than that. Surely, you see that.”

  “I do.” She’d marry anyone if it would guarantee her nephew’s safety.

  “So, you are not impressed by a man who is simply a lord?” Ganden asked.

  She smiled and laughed lightly. “You impress me.” she said honestly. “You’re so strong. I admire how you stand up to Mr. Goody”

  He looked away. “I’m not that strong.” His fingers began to move over her hip, sending heat straight between her legs.

  She swallowed and ignored it. “You are strong, though, I wish you wouldn’t fight him so often. I hate to see you hurt.”

  His gaze returned. “You’re the only reason I don’t fight more. I know what it does to you. I see the tears.”

  Her heart stopped. “You stop because of me?”

  “You think me unaffected by the pleading in your gaze or the stern looks you send when I do not respond to Mr. Goody at his will?”

  “I…didn’t know you saw any of that. You don’t look at me when he’s around.”

  “Because I don’t want him to know that I…” He closed his mouth.

  “You what?” she urged, sure she knew what he would say.

  He rolled his eyes. “I care for you. Not that it means much to you. You clearly have no care for me. You could be unchaining me as we speak. We could be halfway to London before he knew it, but no, here we are, sleeping on this thin mattress, trapped in a house with a mute and a gentleman who pretends he’s in the company of the king, while waiting for a madman to return.” His nostrils flared. “I think about what would happen if I hurt you in front of Mr. Goody. I imagine he’d try and move to rescue you, then he’d be in reach. I could snap his spine in two, but all of that would involve hurting you, which I could never do, and he clearly knows it somehow. I need you too much, and I hate that. I…”

  Lucy leaned forward and pressed her lips against Ganden’s and simply held still for a long moment before pulling away. “Thank you,” she whispered “for caring for me.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. She’d never wept so much in her life until she’d come here to this horrible house.

  Yet now that there was someone here who cared for her, it made everything bearable.

  He took his hand from her hip and placed it on her cheek. “He can never know. You understand that, don’t you? It is why I never look at you when he is in the room.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  He frowned. “I truly do not like you.” Still holding her head, he pulled her closer to his body.

  Her arm went around him, and she smiled as his touch again went opposite of his words.

  “Don’t think for a moment that I wouldn’t leave you at the first chance I got, if it meant leaving this place.”

  She knew he would, just as she’d likely leave him if given the opportunity, but only if George were with her.

  Their friendship was one of necessity, so that neither would lose their mind.

  But she recalled his little rant from earlier.

  We could be halfway to London before he knew it.

  He wouldn’t leave her if he didn’t have to.

  * * *

  Kent knew the minute Harlot awoke. First, her breathing changed. Then, her fingers began to move through his hair. His head was on her chest.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well, and he knew it had been long before he’d been taken. He couldn’t remember the last time any woman had touched him with so much affection. His mother hated him. Prostitutes feared him.

  This was bliss.

  He closed his eyes and imagined that they were anywhere else. He thought of a home he’d have built for her and how pleasant waking up their way every morning would feel. Shifting, he placed his hands on her small hips. She was so small, yet soft.

  She stilled. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  She continued to play with his hair. “I should take the mattress back before Mr. Goody returns.”

  He groaned, not because he’d miss the mattress so much as he’d miss this moment of peace.

  “Perhaps, when he leaves again, I can bring it back.” she said with a smile.

  “If you wish it.” he said. “I’ve slept in worse places.” Far worse.

  She stopped again. “Before you were taken?”

  He sat and met her wary eyes. “Yes.”

  “Why?” she asked with a shake of her head.

  He looked away. “My father wanted me to join the military, so…he trained me for it starting at a very young age.”

  “How young?” she asked.

  “Four.”

  She frowned. “And your mother didn’t stop him?”

  He pressed his lips together in order to hold back his bark of laughter. “My mother had no say.”

  A look passed over Harlot’s face, one that begged to differ, but she said nothing.

  When she started to move, he let her and stood. He was still curious about the resolve he’d seen in her eyes. Would she have fought for her own child?

  He couldn’t see someone as small as her having the chance to do much. Besides, she was a servant, used to taking orders and obeying. Like his mother, she would bend to her husband’s will.

  He lifted the mattress and reluctantly gave it to her. “Don’t bring it back. I hate that I can’t carry it for you.”

  She adjusted it in a way that was more comfortable and looked at him. “Are you sure?”

  “It was nice, but I don’t need it.”

  She nodded and left.

  Mr. Goody returned later that day, and he was not alone. He’d brought another captive with him.

  The Marquess of Fawley.

  Mr. Goody was more than excited to share the news of their new guest. Having another man in the house made Kent realize how foolish he’d been to even hope for another life. He would likely die in Mr. Goody’s care.

  The meals they were given were not terrible, and, as he’d told Harlot, he’d slept on worse beds, but he had not had his ability to choose taken away from him in a very long time.

  Since the day of Fawley’s arrival, Kent had asked his little maid not to visit him. He’d seen the rejection in her eyes, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was having trouble controlling his temper again. Fear and an ever-present cloud of defeat followed him and clouded his head. He knew it was only a matter of time before he hurt someone.

  He thought it would be himself.

  He got to know Fawley better the evening he was sentenced to sleep in the basement. He’d broken his plate at dinner, flinging it and hitting Mr. Goody in the face. After receiving a beating far worse than anything he could have imagined, he’d been chained to the wall in much the same fashion of his arrival.

  But the blood that had ran from Mr. Goody’s nose had been worth it.

  “How long have you been here?” Fawley asked with a great lack of feeling. He seemed to know he was doomed. Perhaps seeing Kent was answer enough to the true question in Fawley’s mind.

  “I’ve been here a year.” Kent said. “Coalwater has been h
ere three. Astlen two.” And there was no getting out.

  “Well, if you didn’t manage to get out, then I see no hope for me.” Only a single wrist and ankle was chained on Fawley, giving him the luxury to stretch out on the floor. “They think you all are dead. Well, mostly.”

  “They?” Kent asked.

  “The ton.” Fawley said as he closed his eyes. “You clearly don’t get the gossip rags here.”

  Even when Kent had lived in London, he didn’t read the rags. “And, who is supposed to have killed us?”

  “The Duke of Castelle, the rumor is.” Fawley sighed. “You know how he killed his father a few years ago? Well, they think he might have a penchant for killing lords. Bad lords, they say. You’ve a temper. Coalwater lacks social decency, and Astlen got a young lady with child before fleeing the city.”

  Kent may have gotten word about Astlen’s scandal, but his own lack of social decency made it difficult to keep up with everything.

  “Well, I’m not dead.” Kent said. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “Will they think you’re dead?”

  “Yes. I stole something of great value, or so they say.” Fawley seemed unbothered by the rumor. “But they’ll blame Castelle, I’m sure. What does the man in the mask want from us?”

  “Nothing but our acceptance.” Kent said. “We’re to be good little lords and engage him in any conversation he sees fit.”

  Fawley opened an eye. “Truly? That’s all?”

  “That’s all?” Kent asked. “I did not choose to be here. I would never willingly befriend such a coward.”

  “From what I’ve read about you, you have no friends.” Clearly, Fawley was someone enjoyed the gossip rags. “No one but your brother still looks for you.”

  Colby was looking for him? Hope bloomed in his chest once more. “I’ve been gone for a year. Are you sure he still searches?”

  “Quite.” Fawley sat up. “There’s a joint group made out of families from the missing that meets. Your mother is involved. Though, only your brother cares to find you.” He gave him a sad look.

  Kent wasn’t surprised. His mother would likely rejoice at his death. That truth burned like poison in his chest. No matter how much he pretended to not care…How could a mother hate her child so much?

  Fawley was right. Kent had no friends, because he trusted no one.

  He heard the door to the basement creak and then soft footfalls.

  Harlot.

  She appeared with tea. The sight of what he knew to be drugs was kindling to his foul mood, but the very sight of her face calmed him.

  “Well, hello, angel.” Fawley called with a smile. “Is there enough there for me?” Something in his voice made Kent sure he was not only speaking about the tea.

  “Don’t look at her!” Kent shouted before he could think better of it. Then he turned to the maid. “Don’t go near him.”

  “Why would you tell her that?” Fawley said. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” He did, however, take a moment to sniff under his arms.

  “Would you like tea, my lord? I’m afraid it will put you to sleep.” Harlot was looking at Fawley.

  It was only then that Kent realized she’d not looked at him since she’d entered the room. Her back was straight. Her knuckles were white where her hands were wrapped around the tray.

  “Opium?” Fawley said. “Bring it on!”

  Harlot turned to the table and began to serve. While she handed Fawley a cup, she asked Kent without looking at him, “Would you like tea?”

  “No.” He waited for her to counter him just as she had upon his arrival.

  But she said nothing. When Fawley was finished, she took her supplies and left.

  “Well.” Fawley said drily. “She’s mad at you, that’s for sure.”

  Kent studied the stairs, where Harlot had disappeared, and told himself not to care that she was upset. In fact, he thought it best. He’d wanted her away and now he’d gotten just that.

  Loneliness settled upon him, but it was a garment he was quite used to.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 8

  * * *

  A Year Later

  June 1817

  Mr. Goody knocked on the door right before he entered Lucy’s room. “I’m going to town for a few things. Shall I give you my warnings of what will happen if I return and something’s amiss, or do you already have it memorized?”

  Lucy put down her paintbrush, turned away from her easel, and met his eyes. Her days were easier when he was preparing to go. She never had to make her usual feast. The men ate whatever she served and remained in their rooms until Mr. Goody’s return.

  But more recently, Mr. Goody had been gone more than present, leaving Lucy very little to do. He was also dressing with more care than ever before. Every detail in his ensemble was in place, down to the shine on his shoes.

  She had a feeling something was taking place but didn’t know what.

  Apprehension was growing. She felt like she was at the end of something, but she didn’t know what. For now, she played her part as best she could.

  “I have your threats memorized.” she told him.

  She was not to unchain any of the men for any reason. Even if the house caught on fire. If she disobeyed this rule, George would suffer for it.

  “Excellent.” Mr. Goody smiled. “And I’ve other news for you as well. There may be a change of scenery for you soon.”

  She kept the fear from showing on her face. “How so?”

  He pointed at her. “You and I might be traveling to London soon. I’ve already procured another house.”

  London?

  She had friends in London. George was there. She could likely get away if she made every move count. She didn’t want her and her nephew to live life on the run, but she saw no other choice.

  He frowned. “Don’t get any ideas in that head of yours. If you step out of line in any way, I’ll punish the boy myself.”

  She reeled at the thought. She knew how Mr. Goody punished. He liked knives.

  He smiled again, seeming satisfied at her fear. “Be prepared for anything.”

  “Shall I prepare the men as well?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Only Denhallow will be traveling with us.”

  He’d been Mr. Goody’s latest catch. The Marquess of Denhallow still resided in the basement and was not allowed to come up for meals.

  “The others will remain here.” he said.

  She frowned. “And who will feed them?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll leave them some food before we depart. If they’re wise, they’ll ration their meals well.”

  She thought about the other four men who wouldn’t be going with him, chained in the middle of nowhere, without food.

  And against her will, her mind focused on Ganden. Even though they’d not spoken in months, she still cared for him deeply. He’d shared so much with her, things she was certain very few others knew.

  Yet once he’d began to fight his confinement again, Lucy had had no other choice than to distance herself. He was all but begging for Mr. Goody to kill him now. Every few weeks, he managed to get close enough to Mr. Goody to warrant death.

  Lucy’s heart would break when it came.

  She hated that he’d given up, that he’d lost hope. She could not afford to think that way, however. She had someone who depended on her.

  “Good day to you.” Mr. Goody rapped lightly on her door before leaving.

  Lucy followed and closed it behind him, not that it truly made a difference. There were now five men in the house with her, but none of them could leave their rooms. They were all chained one way or another.

  She moved to the window and watched Mr. Goody mount a horse and ride away.

  It was not even an hour later that Lucy heard what she thought to be something hitting metal. But the chains were always rattling when the men moved.

  She put it down as nothing…yet still felt the need to check. She moved through the rooms. S
ome of the men were asleep. Astlen had a book and barely gave her glance.

  In Ganden’s room, she realized something wasn’t right.

  He sat on the floor, his back to the metal bed, and was reaching toward her, it seemed. Straining.

  Blood dripped from his hand. Something caught the light from the window as she moved to aid him. She realized what it was immediately.

  A knife.

  It was at her foot. It had likely slipped from his hand. That was the metallic clattering sound she’d heard.

  She gasped, looking at his hand and then the knife. “Were you cutting yourself?” Would he sever his own hand just to get free?

  He looked at her and glared. “Of course not. I’m breaking the chain. I’m getting out of here.”

  She gasped. “No, you can’t.”

  He gave her a hard look. “Try and stop me.”

  She would. She easily picked up the knife and moved it to the table, which was a distance he could never reach while chained.

  His growls turned into full-blown shouts. “Give me that knife or I’ll…”

  She waited for the threat, but nothing came. She closed her burning eyes and kept her back to him. He’d almost broken free. She was sure of it. And if he had…

  George would feel the pain of it.

  There were moments when she simply didn’t know what to do anymore. What was right? Was it right to make these men suffer for the sake of a child who wasn’t even her own?

  But George was hers. He was her nephew.

  Ganden continued to scream behind her and then she heard a thump and turned.

  He was on his knees, looking up at her. “Please. Let me go. Help me!”

  “I can’t!” She covered her face as her body was racked with mourning. She felt like she was bleeding on the inside. There were so many moments when she wanted it all to be over.

  “Please.” he begged louder, over her tears.

  This man had likely never begged for anything in his life.

  Walking over to him, she dared to draw near. He grabbed her the moment she was in his reach. His hands went around her throat. The pressure from his thumbs was light but there.

  She knew how vulnerable she was in his hands. She held his wild gaze as her tears fell harder.

  “Why?” he asked roughly. “Why won’t you help me? What does he have over you?”