Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  “You didn’t earn the last lot.” Thomas gestured dismissively at the two solicitors. “If you will excuse us, we have some private business to discuss.”

  Golden shrugged and lifted his cup. “By all means.” He didn’t move a muscle.

  Morgan watched the nobleman fume, calculating his best offense. He knew how to threaten a man out of his jewels. He knew how to wield a sword. He knew how to aim a pistol at a man’s heart and pull the trigger without a qualm. But none of these tactics seemed suitable to this time and place. Besides, he had promised Faith that he would do nothing to sully their son’s name. That did limit the field. How did one go about conquering an enemy by wit alone?

  “What we have to say can be said before my friends, Montague. Either take a seat or be gone. I can assure you that you won’t get to Faith without going through me.”

  With a savage glare, Thomas jerked out the chair and sat down. “I am not in the custom of sitting with your sort.”

  “Ahhh, sitting down with thieves and all that. Well, to be honest, these gentlemen aren’t accustomed to sitting down with your sort either. Miles, wouldn’t you prefer an honest thief to a dastardly scoundrel?”

  Miles shrugged and gestured for his tankard to be refilled. “I don’t much care where the money comes from, but generally speaking, it’s a waste of time to sit down with a bankrupt.”

  Thomas spluttered, and Morgan folded his arms across his chest. “Now we see where we all stand, Montague. What can we do for you?”

  “I have a warrant for your arrest, O’Neill. You’re not the only one who knows people in high places. I can have what passes for the local constabulary to lock you in chains and send you back to London for trial, where you will almost certainly be hanged this time, or we can make more satisfactory arrangements.”

  Morgan smiled lazily. “Take me away, if you will. It is a trifle tedious to have to make that journey again so soon, but the weather should be fairer. I cannot imagine what more satisfactory arrangement could be made.”

  Just by the billowing smoke of the long pipes being drawn behind him and the sudden lull in the conversation, Morgan knew that all attention was focused on their table. He would rather they not be overheard, but it seemed the entire town would know his life soon enough. He waited fatalistically for the charges to be named.

  Thomas shoved aside the mug placed in front of him. “And where will your doxy be while you’re waiting in chains? Have you given that any thought?”

  Those were fighting words, and Morgan was ready for any excuse to vent his anger on this encroaching Sassenach. Frowning, he placed his hands on the table and raised his six-foot frame until it towered over the scoundrel. “I suggest you rephrase your question, sir.”

  The low murmurs in the room grew silent. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, Thomas backtracked. “Don’t be ridiculous. What would you have me call her, then?”

  “My wife! Your cousin! You will speak politely of her or I’ll slit your throat while you’re sitting here.”

  “Sit down, man!” Thomas sent a nervous gaze to the ominously silent crowd. “So, you married her. Fine, then. That doesn’t change matters any. You’ll hang, regardless. You can make this easier on both of us and hand her over or you can do it the hard way and I’ll have her anyway. It makes no difference to me. All I mean to do is take her back to the lonely old lady who wishes to know her last living kinfolk. She’ll be smothered in riches. What objections can you have to that?”

  Morgan sat and smirked. “You. I’ve decided I very much object to you. When you’re six feet under, Faith can visit her granny. How does that sound?”

  “Why you damned insolent...”

  A deep, languid voice broke the surrounding silence. “I wouldn’t speak that way to the earl if I were you, Thomas. He might take objection.”

  Chapter 35

  Were it possible, the silence in the tavern grew more profound as the massive newcomer strolled in. A few speculative gazes swung to Morgan. An earl. Eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Not French?

  To everyone’s surprise, Morgan rose at the approach of the portly gentleman garbed in immaculate linen and embroidered gold coat. His wig had obviously been made to fit, and there wasn’t a lock out of place. Tight stockings neatly tied at his breeches knee didn’t dare to sag, and despite the man’s size, he strode across the uneven floor with grace. Morgan matched him in height, but his trim, muscular frame was dwarfed by his visitor.

  “This is an occasion, Lord Stepney. To what do I owe this stunning courtesy?” Morgan’s mockery was light and aimed at himself as well as Edward Montague. He waited for the man to sit before taking his own chair.

  Edward kept his chair well back from the table and balanced his meaty hands on the head of his walking stick as he gravely considered the company. “I wish to see my niece. Where is she?”

  “Unavailable.” Equally poised, Morgan nodded to the tavern maid to take Edward’s order. She fumbled a curtsy and darted away as soon as Edward demanded the town’s best canary wine.

  Edward grimaced as he followed her progress. “Extraordinary. And this is where you dare allow a Montague to be seen?”

  “This is where your father allows a Montague to be seen. This, and worse.” Morgan eyed his adversary with caution. To all appearances, he was an idle fop, but appearances were deceiving. This was the man who had put him behind bars.

  Disliking being ignored, Thomas intervened with a sneer. “It is as I told you, Edward. She is naught but a common whore—”

  A sword flashed to his throat before the cane came crashing down across the table in front of him. Morgan grinned at Edward Montague and lowered his blade. “Why haven’t you slit his throat by now?”

  Edward shrugged and accepted the glass of wine. He inspected the glass before sipping. “He is family, not that he has much care for such niceties. I really must insist on seeing my niece, you know.”

  “I really don’t think you deserve to, you know.” Morgan mocked the man’s superior tone. “She has been nigh on twenty years on this planet without your caring to meet her. From what I can see, she is better off leaving it that way.”

  Edward gave their surroundings another languid survey and sniffed. “Surely you jest. I will admit, until we received word of George’s death, I had no idea of her existence, but that cannot be sufficient reason to allow her to live in such circumstances. I had rather thought you a better man than that.”

  Outraged, Thomas glared at him. “Have you lost your wits? Have you forgotten to whom you are talking? He’s a damned—”

  This time, it was the cane alone that smacked down threateningly near Thomas’ knuckles. The ale sloshed and splattered the table. Edward didn’t raise a muscle to frown, he simply leaned back in his chair. “You are speaking of the Earl de Lacy, am I not correct?” He nodded affably to Morgan.

  This time, Morgan lost his insouciance and glowered. “The would-be Earl de Lacy, my lord. A man cannot lord over lands he does not possess.”

  Edward beamed approvingly. “That can be corrected. Now, where is my niece?”

  The crowd behind them grew restless. They had come for a bit of action, but this bandying of words, while admittedly interesting, was not what they were in the mood for. A chair scraped, and a low mutter began to rise.

  Morgan knew his advantage already lost. Montague had won another round. But so far, he could not see what the man had won. He sent a quick glance to Miles, who merely lifted his shoulders in equal puzzlement. Together the two Montagues might make a difficult enemy to conquer, but apart they accomplished nothing. Thomas sat and fumed, while Edward sipped his wine.

  They had reached stalemate. The slamming of a door and the sound of a cheery voice from farther inside the building brought every man to attention, however. Toby was first to his feet and on the way to the door, but he was too late.

  Faith blithely floated into the room to greet their usual noon crowd and came to an instant standstill at the sight of the stiff, unea
sy men bunched together over their tables. Her gaze swept to Morgan, and she froze at the sight of the strangers with him.

  “My word, the bitch has a whelp!” Thomas rose triumphantly to confront the source of all his troubles.

  Before he could take two steps, Morgan grabbed his coat from behind. He jerked Thomas around and plowed a fist into his jaw with a resounding crack. The elegant aristocrat flew backward. His wig tumbled askew and his satin coat ripped on the rough planks. A few of the onlookers moved aside to allow him room to sprawl.

  Edward sent his relative’s unconscious form a bored glance as Morgan rubbed his bruised fist. “Very effective. I broke a perfectly good walking stick over his pate the last time he asked for that. Thank you for saving me the trouble.”

  Carefully he rose from the chair to greet the woman staring with arrested fascination at them.

  Bareheaded, wearing her thick curls caught in a ribbon at her nape, Faith looked no older than a schoolgirl. Her diminutive size added to the illusion. But her poise and grace was more accomplished than that of any schoolgirl. The wide-eyed infant in her arms reminded every man there that she was a woman and already taken.

  Faith glanced up to her tall husband as Morgan caught her waist and tried to draw her away from the taproom. He was frowning, but she knew the frown wasn’t for herself. Although he wore dark blue and not black today, he still appeared every inch the dangerous brigand. She touched the linen at his throat and turned a questioning gaze to the massive man in the taproom.

  “What is this all about, Morgan?” She had seen barroom brawls before. The man sprawled across the floor had no interest to her, except in why Morgan had sent him there.

  With a gesture of resignation he indicated the nobleman waiting for an introduction. “Faith, your uncle and your cousin have arrived.” At her startled jerk, he led her toward the table. “Edward, Lord Stepney, my wife, Faith Henrietta de Lacy.” With a grimace of distaste Morgan indicated the man on the floor. “And that, my dear, is your cousin Thomas.”

  Faith glanced at the man on the floor, then up to her towering uncle. She bridled at the stare. “My lord,” she answered, making only the briefest sketch of a curtsy. Then she noticed the other men at the table and broke into a delighted grin. “Miles! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Miles had risen with the others. He bowed and studied the infant in her arms with interest. He poked the tiny hands curled around the blanket, and smiled when they grasped his finger. “Looks just like his father. What a pity.”

  Faith laughed, and her uncle watched with almost a look of longing. Morgan registered that with surprise, but as the culprit on the floor was stirring, he turned his attention elsewhere.

  “Toby, why don’t you and some of the others entertain Faith’s cousin for a while? I’d recommend a gag and rope, myself, but suit yourselves. I need to remove my wife from this company.”

  Edward watched with interest as the patrons of the taproom acted as one upon this command. Nothing could have more effectively indicated the danger he had been in while sitting in this room at the mercy of the Irish earl.

  “Perhaps a private parlor...?” he suggested.

  Morgan nodded, then gestured toward Miles. “You’ll understand if my solicitor joins us?”

  “Probably not, but I can see the choice is not mine to make. Let us proceed.” Edward stalked toward the taproom door, leaving the room in a buzz of speculation.

  “Perhaps I should ask Bess to take George...?” Faith hurried after the two men, each of whom seemed determined to out-arrogance the other. She had seen Morgan in chains and with sword in hand and knew his pride, but never had she seen this coldly haughty expression. Even the formal Edward had met his match.

  Her uncle was the one to answer. Turning more quickly than his size should allow, he offered his arm. “Bring the child. The heir to two fortunes deserves the best nannies. Bring him here and let me have a look at him.”

  Wrapping both arms protectively around her son, Faith warily regarded this stranger who would bestow fortunes upon a child he had never seen. He was either mad or wicked, but she could find no sign of either on his face. Edward’s gaze was keen and almost amused by her defensive posture. Reluctantly she held George aloft for his perusal.

  Amazingly, instead of taking him, he raised a quizzing glass to inspect the babe. Morgan grinned at her outrage that the man would not hold her infant son and lifted the bundle from her arms.

  “Your credibility has just plummeted irreparably, my lord. Let us go inside and see if we can restore it.” He nodded toward the side room that served as private parlor.

  Once inside with the door closed, Morgan offered the infant to the big man to hold. “He’s quite tame. I won’t promise how long that will last, so you had best take advantage of it while you can.”

  Edward gingerly accepted the infant, clutching the blankets as if he feared the creature would escape at a moment’s notice. George solemnly eyed his massive relation, waved a tiny fist, and popped it into his mouth. Edward managed a paternal smile.

  “He is quite handsome, so far as these things go. You will, of course, want what is best for him.”

  That struck the mode for the remainder of their brief conversation. Faith indignantly removed her son and moved closer to Morgan’s side. “Indeed, I will. He will fare much better than I did, thank you.”

  Morgan circled her shoulders and rubbed his hand up and down her arm. He was less certain that the question could be easily answered, and he regarded the Sassenach lord with misgiving. He knew all the arguments in advance. He had used them all on himself already. His place at Faith’s side was precarious at best, and too newly won to hold with certainty. He waited for the blows to follow.

  Miles brought out a chair and offered it to Faith. When she reluctantly took a seat, the men joined her at the table.

  Edward returned his gaze to his niece. “I am here to offer recompense for past misunderstandings. My father, your grandfather, regrets heartily his treatment of your family. Unfortunately, it is too late for your parents, but it is not too late for you and your son. He wishes to be reconciled with you. As he has been increasingly ill of late, the matter has become of great importance to him. If for no other reason, I beg that you return with me.”

  Faith looked badly rattled by this approach. Morgan watched her with sympathy. It was one thing for a father to irrationally write off a son out of pride and ignorance, but to ask a warmhearted woman like Faith to turn her back on her only living relations was a strain to the imagination. Faith had learned much in this past year and a half, but cynicism wasn’t a lesson that she had taken to. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  Faith sent him a grateful look and answered simply, “That would be most difficult. I will need time to consider it.”

  Edward nodded and went on. “I understand. However, you might not understand entirely what I am saying to you. You also have a grandmother, your mother’s mother, who grieves over the loss of her daughter. She has been heartbroken in her search for you. She had been under the impression that my father was looking for you after she learned of your mother’s death. When she discovered he was not, she took it upon herself to search. The worry has been detrimental to her health. I believe she lives only to see you again. Surely you must see that you cannot deny her that simple request She had nothing to do with your parents’ banishment. She has never ceased in her efforts to bring them home.”

  Tears sprang to Faith’s eyes, but she shook her head. “I am sorry it has taken so long for me to learn of my family, but it is too late. My life is here now. A journey such as you suggest should not be undertaken lightly, especially with a small child. Perhaps when George is older, we might return for just a little while, just to make amends. I cannot promise more than that.”

  Morgan watched her proudly, knowing what it took to say these words. The quiet, shy child who had swept his hearth had become a woman of her own, and he was proud that she h
ad consented to be his wife. If only matters could be otherwise...

  Edward scratched his chair backward. “I do not think you understand, my dear. I am offering you a home with your family, not a visit to make amends. Your son will grow up with the finest tutors, knowing the finest society, going to the best schools. You will be gowned according to your station in life, never having to lift a hand to work again. Even if you can deny yourself all that, you cannot deny George the family and wealth he deserves.”

  The pampered heir squirmed in Faith’s arms and sucked his fist a little louder. Faith shook her head with disinterest and turned to Morgan. “Talk to the man, Morgan. You know perfectly well that I would be bored silly with such a life, but if you think it is necessary for George to have such an upbringing, perhaps something can be arranged when he is older. I really should visit my family sometime, and perhaps by then you will be ready to bring over more stock. I think it best if I take your son upstairs now.”

  All three men rose as Faith did, but Morgan caught her arm, holding her back a second longer. “The decision to return is yours, Faith, I’ll not make it for you. But if you give me your permission, I will try to decide what is best for George.”

  Faith stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You are a worthless, conniving scoundrel, Morgan de Lacy, but I love you. Remember, I will not be parted from either of you, so make your decision accordingly.”

  Smiling confidently, she left the men to their games of push-and-pull.

  Glaring defiantly at Edward, Morgan returned to his chair. “You heard her. Now what do you suggest?”

  Edward stretched his legs out before him and regarded his toes. “I suggest you persuade her otherwise. You know as well as I do that you are a blackguard and a wanted criminal. Your marriage is on shaky ground, at best. I would not see the child declared bastard, but a convenient death certificate for one James O’Neill can be arranged. You will have your lands back in Ireland, reclaim your title, take an annual stipend for your silence, and Faith and the boy will be returned to the luxury that Faith has been denied for too long. You know yourself that you cannot provide what I can provide for them.”