Henry's Bride (London Libertines Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  Charlotte laughed. “I’ll enjoy killing her and the little bastard.”

  “Edward!” Jeanette cried. “What have you done to him?”

  Charlotte shook her head with a snort of disgust. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? I didn’t mean Henry’s bastard, I meant the brat in your belly.”

  A jolt reverberated through Henry’s body as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  Charlotte gave a shrill laugh. “Didn’t she tell you she’s with child? The bet book at White’s must be full of pledges as to who the father might be. Men are such simpletons; to think you believed a man could run my operation! Could a man understand the particular needs and desires of my clients? I cater to their tastes because I observe them. Give a man what he wants and you control him completely.” Her teeth gleamed with a predatory smile. “Is that why you despise Jeanette, because she couldn’t give you what you wanted?”

  She raised her arm. “Say goodbye, Henry, to the wife you never wanted.”

  “No!” With a roar, Henry leapt in front of Jeanette. A brief flare illuminated Charlotte’s face, a twisted mask of hatred, before the puff of gunpowder dispersed into the air. Jeanette screamed, but to Henry’s relief, she looked unharmed. Charlotte had missed.

  He moved forward to take the spent pistol from Charlotte’s hand. A pinpoint of heat pricked at his chest and he looked down. A dark red stain was already spreading across his shirt. Before he could register the pain, he pitched forward as darkness claimed him.

  Charlotte hadn’t missed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jeanette dropped to the ground beside her husband. Sticky red liquid soaked his shirt and his eyes were narrow slits of pain. His body grew limp, and the weapon in his hand clattered to the ground.

  “What a waste,” Charlotte sneered, “a marquis sacrificing himself for a whore.”

  Jeanette picked up the discarded pistol, but Charlotte merely laughed.

  “Oh, Jeanette! Everybody knows you’re a terrible shot. You couldn’t even shoot straight to defend your honor in a duel. Henry and I spent hours laughing about that. You think shooting me will restore your dignity? You had none to start with.”

  “My dignity I can do without,” Jeanette said, her hand shaking under the weight of the pistol, “but it won’t stop me avenging the man I love.”

  “But he doesn’t,” Charlotte nudged Henry’s body with her foot, “or didn’t, love you.”

  “You think that matters? True love isn’t conditional, Charlotte. I’ve known of his indifference from the day we married. But I love him still.”

  “Then you can join him.”

  Charlotte drew a knife and rushed toward Jeanette. Gripping the pistol firmly in her hand, Jeanette pulled the trigger.

  This time, she was ready for the recoil. Charlotte screamed and clutched her chest. Blood oozed between her fingers. She swayed to one side and her legs collapsed beneath her. She gave a cough, spluttering more blood, her final breath leaving her chest in a hoarse rattle.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Jeanette looked up. Four uniformed men stood before her.

  “Murderess!”

  Jeanette had shot her friend at point-blank range and the authorities had witnessed it. Her neck began to itch, her body’s instinctive anticipation of the fate which now awaited her. Such a crime carried only one punishment.

  The gallows.

  Rough hands hauled her to her feet.

  “Please, you must help my husband.”

  “Be quiet!”

  Her captor addressed his colleagues. “She’s murdered one of the women. With luck, Peter’s rounded up the rest.”

  “Why not shoot her now? It’d save the paperwork.”

  “Lady Winters must be questioned. Lord Ravenwell expects us to…”

  “I’m not Lady Winters!” Jeanette cried.

  “Liar,” he snarled, “you’ll say anything to save your skin.”

  “Stop!” a voice called out. A recognizable voice. Rupert stood beside Sanderson who was struggling to his feet, clutching his arm and cursing.

  “Viscount Oakville, what do you want?”

  “Unhand Lady Ravenwell,” Rupert said, “or her husband will have your head.”

  “Lady Ravenwell? Then Lady Winters…”

  “…is lying dead at your feet, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Rupert…” Jeanette fought for breath. “Henry…”

  Rupert knelt beside Henry’s body. “He’s breathing but he’s been shot.”

  “It was Charlotte,” Jeanette sobbed.

  Rupert probed the wound. “The ball’s lodged between his ribs. He’s been lucky; an inch above or below and she’d have got his heart. We must get him to a surgeon.”

  A deep groan rumbled in Henry’s chest.

  “Foolish bastard,” Rupert hissed. “I said your bloody heroics would get you killed.”

  “Go to hell…” the words rattled in Henry’s throat, and he coughed, his body spasming with the effort, culminating in a cry of pain.

  Jeanette’s chest tightened at the sound. Henry, always so strong, lay broken and crumpled. Shame crushed her heart that she could have believed him capable of murder. Instead, he’d been risking his life to save countless women who society cared nothing for. Her love for him, which had warred with her fear and mistrust, burst within her. But it held no value, because he didn’t love her.

  And now he was going to die.

  “Rupert…” the words choked out of her body. “Help him.”

  “How many times must I tell you to be quiet?” Jeanette’s captor tightened his grip.

  “Unhand her.” Rupert barked.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Oakville. We saw her shoot Lady Winters. She’s guilty of murder.”

  “For God’s sake, man!” Rupert roared. “She’s a darn sight braver than you, and she’s Ravenwell’s wife. Let her tend to him.”

  “You’ve no right to…”

  “I have every right! Were it not for Ravenwell and I, those slavers would still be trading right under your noses.”

  The Runner gestured to his companion.

  “John here will help you carry Lord Ravenwell to your lodgings. We’ll send a surgeon there.”

  Oakville held out his hand to Jeanette. “Come with me.” His hand trembled, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Please…”

  “I can fend for myself, Lord Oakville,” she said. “Or do you think me a weak woman incapable of facing danger without swooning in fear?”

  “Why do you insist on battling your femininity?” he sighed. “I see no fear in you. Instead, I see much to admire.”

  He curled his fingers around her wrist and drew his thumb along her skin in the ghost of a caress. “If anything, I’m afraid for myself.” Uncertainty filled his face and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid of disappointing you. Let me prove myself by taking care of you now.”

  His expression hardened as he focused on the man holding her.

  “Let her go.” His words carried a backbone of steel, the voice of a man not to be denied. “Now.”

  Her captor released her and backed away.

  “Jeanette,” Oakville said, “above all, I want to be worthy of a word of praise from you.”

  She flinched, but he pulled her closer. “I don’t expect anything, not after what I did to you. But if I can do something to merit your regard, then I’ll find some peace.”

  “You’ve earned your praise, Lord Oakville.” She entwined her fingers in his.

  Oakville’s nostrils flared as he took in a sharp breath.

  “Call me Rupert,” he said, the need for approval glistening in his eyes.

  “You’ve earned your praise, Rupert.”

  His face illuminated into a smile, so different from the smiles he’d bestowed while courting her, calculated to snare a woman in a game of seduction. It was the honest smile of that rarest of beasts, a good-hearted man.

  “You’ll never know how deeply I re
gret my behavior, Jeanette. I could have married the finest woman in England. I cannot comprehend the enormity of what I’ve lost. Made all the greater for knowing my loss was at my own hand.”

  “We would never have been happy together.”

  He cupped her cheek. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t love you.”

  Rupert drew his arms around her, and his voice rumbled in his chest, his breath tickling her ear.

  “Ravenwell is damned lucky.”

  Her body tightened, the mention of his name reigniting the fear.

  “Dear God, Rupert,” she choked, “he might die.”

  “I’ll do my utmost to prevent that, Jeanette. For you. I’d rather die than see your heart break.”

  *

  Dark gray shapes shifted in Henry’s vision, voices muffled as if he were under water. A hand touched his chest and an explosion of agony burst through him.

  “Shit!”

  A male voice spoke. “He’s alive.”

  “Good lord,” another voice interjected, “if that’s the diagnosis of an expert, you can call me a surgeon.”

  His manhood stirred at the familiar female timbre. Something cold and hard nudged his lips open. Liquid spilled into his mouth and he swallowed involuntarily.

  “Keep him still, can’t you?” the first voice barked.

  “Just do your job.” Oakville’s face swam into view.

  “I can’t operate while he’s still awake.”

  “Wait much longer and he’ll bleed to death on the table.”

  Despite the pain which covered every inch of his body, Henry’s mouth twitched into a smile. When under duress, her regional accent always broke through. What had once been evidence of her low birth had now become soft music to soothe his pain and fulfill his dreams.

  Perhaps it was because her accent came to the fore when she cried his name as she climaxed. The French called it “la petite mort”, the little death. He had never understood its true meaning before. But at that single moment in time, each time he took her, he died. His mind and soul entered the unattainable paradise which parsons preached about in order to convert the unbelieving. Before he returned to life, reborn with the love he bore her.

  He loved her.

  How unfashionable for a man in his position to love his wife. But she was no ordinary woman. Rather than reduce her status to that of a biddable female, she stood up for what she believed in, even if it placed her life in danger.

  What a relief to know she was safe! The Runners had rounded up the whores, delivering them to the townhouse Oakville had rented, where they were being interviewed. But Henry had wanted to collect Jeanette himself. He’d recognized one of the women, a pretty little thing. Sanderson had taken quite the shine to her, not surprising, for she was a charming creature. What was her name again? Ah yes, Rosaline.

  “Rosaline…”

  Jeanette’s face swam into view. The flame in her eyes dulled and she looked away.

  Oakville’s form materialized beside her. “Don’t listen to him, Jeanette. He’s in pain.”

  Jeanette, how dare he show such familiarity!

  “Don’t defend him,” she said. “Pain hampers a man’s ability to deceive. Torture has always been the most effective method of securing the truth.”

  “No.” Henry croaked. The words stuck in his throat as the laudanum took effect. His tongue thickened in his mouth and the world dimmed until only his hearing remained.

  “Get that woman out of here, Viscount Oakville.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You think because I’m a woman I can be ordered about?”

  “Jeanette, perhaps you should leave. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Not you, too!”

  “For the love of God, get her out! An operating table is no place for a woman, especially a marchioness.”

  “I’m the daughter of a farmer. I’m capable of withstanding the sight of blood.”

  “But he’s still in danger of death.”

  “Then stop bloody arguing and let me help.”

  She was still cursing when Henry slipped into oblivion, not knowing if he’d wake again.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When Jeanette woke, a bright ray of morning sunshine stretched across the room. The previous night, she had yielded to Oakville’s insistence and her own exhaustion, and let him escort her to a small bedchamber overlooking the docks. The surgeon had left some hours before, a pile of blood-soaked linen the only evidence he’d been there.

  “You’re awake early,” a male voice said. Oakville stood in the doorway with a broad grin on his face.

  Hope ignited within her. “Is Henry awake? Has he asked for me?”

  “Not yet. But I’ve a surprise for you.” He looked behind him. “Come in, she’s waiting.”

  A small figure appeared at his side. Clear blue eyes widened as they recognized her.

  “Edward!”

  Jeanette fell to her knees, her fears for him dissipating into paralyzing relief as he ran into her arms.

  “Mama!”

  “Oh, Edward, my precious son! I was so worried about you. Are you hurt?”

  “He’s fine.” Oakville knelt beside her, placing a hand on her arm. “We rounded up the rest of the traders and the women last night. I found this little man among them.”

  “You found him?”

  Oakville smiled. “I told you I hoped not to disappoint you.

  She kissed the boy’s forehead. “Edward, dear. Let’s get you fed and rested. You look exhausted.”

  “Where’s Papa?” the boy asked. “I want to see him. Lord Oakville told me about his bravery.”

  “Your papa is still asleep,” Oakville said. “I’ll take you to him when he wakes up. But for now, you must listen to your mother.”

  *

  Jeanette stroked Edward’s head. His breathing eased and he relaxed into sleep. So much had happened since the night she’d first tucked him into bed, the night Henry had brought him to Ravenwell Hall. He’d done it to punish her, then affirmed his contempt by rutting with her like a beast before abandoning her the following morning.

  Other than physical exhaustion, Edward seemed unaffected by his ordeal. Had a life on the streets of London rendered him immune to a world of slavery and murder?

  Oakville entered the room. “Henry was awake a few moments ago.”

  “Has he asked for me?”

  Relief and hope warmed her body which he crushed with his response.

  “No.”

  “Has he asked for her?”

  “Rosaline?” Oakville hesitated. “It meant nothing when he said her name. He only saw her once.”

  “But he saw her after he married me, didn’t he?”

  Oakville colored and looked away. Jeanette sighed and turned her attention to the sleeping child. His features were so like his father’s. Would he grow to despise her also?

  “If I ask you a question, Rupert, will you answer it honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “Does Henry love me? Did he ever?”

  Oakville opened his mouth, and she lifted her hand.

  “Don’t try to foist niceties upon me, Rupert. You owe me honesty. Does he love me, to the exclusion of all others?”

  Oakville’s eyes flinched, betraying his answer even before his lips formed the words. “He’s not said as much, but he’s a good man.”

  A good man, yes. He cared enough about the world to help those who society ignored. But, to him, Jeanette would only ever be someone he’d married in a momentary fit of charity.

  She placed a hand over her stomach. Henry had bred with his wife; time to give him leave to love his mistress. She had no wish to become one of those bitter, shrewish society wives she despised. She would leave while she still could, with her dignity intact.

  “Rupert, can you arrange my passage to Sussex?”

  “Henry would never permit it.”

  She turned away from the sleeping child. “He wanted me out of si
ght and mind while he enjoyed life in London. Help me to leave, and he’ll thank you for accomplishing his desire at so little trouble to himself.”

  A warm hand closed over hers, the soft skin of a man who had never done a day’s labor in his life.

  “Stay for him, Jeanette. You can make him happy.”

  “What about my happiness?”

  “Then stay for Edward. You’ve done so much for him.”

  “If it weren’t for me, he’d be safe in Sussex, not subjected to a slave auction.”

  “If it weren’t for you, Jeanette, he’d be motherless. Few women would take in the child of a prostitute. Because of you, he has a mother now. Don’t take that away from him.”

  “He has his father.”

  “He needs a mother’s love, Jeanette. Don’t let your pride get in the way of what’s best for him.”

  “I’m not leaving out of pride.”

  “Then what? You think because you love someone, they must love you in return? Or that if you’re not loved yourself, you must refrain from loving others? Love isn’t a commodity for you to withhold as you see fit.” He sighed. “Forgive me, but over these past months I’ve grown to understand much about unrequited love. But love for a child is something more. Don’t be the next person to abandon Edward. He deserves better from you.”

  Jeanette blinked away the moisture behind her eyelids and hardened her voice. Oakville’s words threatened to melt her heart, and she couldn’t afford it, not when her resolve was already weakening.

  “I didn’t ask you to give me a lecture, Lord Oakville. I asked if you could arrange my passage to Sussex. I want to leave this house. Tonight.”

  Oakville sighed. “If I refuse, you’ll only find someone else. I happen to know Mister O’Reilly’s at home. He has a townhouse overlooking the docks.”

  “Theodore? And Andrea?”

  “I assume she’s with him. Shall I take you to him?”

  To think Oakville, the man who’d masterminded her ruination, was now her key to freedom; freedom from a husband who had never loved her.

  “Thank you, Rupert.”

  “Don’t thank me for something I know to be wrong.”

  She bit her lip. “Tell Henry I won’t trouble him if he wants to divorce me. I’ll ask only a small stipend to ensure a comfortable existence.”