The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War)

by Eva Devon

  “Be careful,” Merrill warned abruptly.

  She paused. “I beg your pardon?”

  A muscle tightened in Merrill’s jaw. “He can be quite difficult when in this kind of mood. And honestly, I think I should go and speak to him. We have much to discuss.”

  “All right,” she breathed, relenting, though her heart slammed against her ribs at her own inner confusion and distress. What was her future? It all felt so entirely uncertain now. “You know him well. It is very difficult for me to hold myself back, but I do not wish to act foolishly in this, for I can see it is no small matter.”

  “No,” Merrill agreed. “It is not, and I am glad that you can see it. Lady Phillipa, you must take care too. For one never knows what Captain Adams might try.”

  “I don't understand,” she said.

  “Well, if he wishes my friend to suffer. . .” Merrill let his voice trail off, then finished. “The thing that he could do? Attack someone Anthony cares about. That would bring him the most possible suffering.”

  She blinked. That had never occurred to her, the idea that she might matter so much to Anthony that an attack upon her would be a way to hurt him viciously.

  “I see,” she said, her eyes widening. Oh, how her life had changed in but a few hours. She’d been reunited with the man she loved. And now she was part of something much bigger than herself, or even herself and Anthony.

  It hardly seemed possible, for the love she felt for Anthony was so great.

  All of this was far more complicated than she could have anticipated. She had simply hoped to find love again, to find love with the man that she had shared her soul with. But it seemed that her life was to be far wilder than she’d ever thought possible.

  Once again, danger was creeping in. But she wouldn’t back down.

  Fear did not matter. Many perils seemed to be on her horizon. But her life had not been free of peril in the past, and she did not expect it to be free of peril in the future.

  She was not about to run away. Not when she’d finally found love. No matter how fleeting.

  Chapter 13

  Merrill stormed out into the garden, looking for his friend. Anthony had gone a surprisingly good distance, if he did say so himself. And after having gone a little over three miles, he found himself a spot out by the lake.

  Anger and passion made Merrill’s approach audible. Anthony heard him coming through the tall grass before he came up behind him.

  “You’re moving fast these days,” Merrill growled.

  “I am,” Anthony agreed, staring out at the rippling water. “It’s all the walking. It’s making it a bit more possible for me to move rapidly.”

  Merrill stopped just feet behind him. “And, of course, perhaps your night with the Lady Phillipa has improved your spirits?”

  Anthony swung him a vicious stare. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Is it not true?” Merrill countered, unyielding. “You have indulged yourself as you said you would not, and your spirits have buoyed. I told you she would make you feel better, but I never imagined you would take such advantage of her. I thought you would see reason and that you would declare your feelings and make her your duchess. That way, you would have a lifetime of support, not just a few moments.”

  Merrill took a step forward, his voice imploring, “Please, God, tell me, man, that you plan to make her your wife.”

  Anthony could not reply. His insides were twisting.

  After all, the entire arrangement between himself and Phillipa had nothing to do with marriage. They had made that clear to each other.

  And now, with his plans regarding Adams fading into the wind? He felt completely off foot. None of this was going according to his plans. How had he lost control of everything so entirely?

  Merrill let out a low groan. “I am going to have to kill you,” he said. “Unless Adams kills you first, and then I shan’t have to spend sleepless nights rolling, tossing, and turning, thinking about what I was forced to do because of your own poor judgment.”

  “If you challenge me to a duel,” Anthony said tightly, “I will refuse to fight it.”

  Merrill blinked before biting out, “Who said I was going to challenge you to a duel?”

  “You’re a man of honor,” Anthony replied easily, feeling the pain of having disappointed his only friend. “You would never murder me without rules and a second.”

  “How do you know?” Merrill demanded, clearing blustering now. “I might turn a leaf myself and take a page from your own book. You seem to have eschewed honor quite easily.”

  Anthony stiffened, anger coursing through him. “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?” Merrill spat out. He shook his dark head and let out a cry of frustration. “I think I should march you down the aisle with a pistol at your back.”

  Anthony tried a wan smile. It did not suit. He grimaced instead. “You could try, but I don’t think Phillipa would have me under duress. She’s quite willful, you know. You’d have to have two pistols. One at my back and one at hers.”

  Merrill threw up his hands, paced, then turned back to face him. “You are both fools, then, complete fools. It is clear to me that you are both meant to be together. The very idea that you should resist it so thoroughly is madness.”

  “Perhaps,” Anthony said quietly. “Perhaps we are both mad, and it is a mistake. But circumstances do not allow us to give ourselves to each other in the way you want us to.”

  Merrill snorted loudly, his disgust apparent. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard” — his lip curled as he raked Anthony up and down with a stare that would have left any other man unable to father children in the future — “and the most privileged. You have the opportunity to achieve happiness, and you are going to just. . .”

  “What?” Anthony demanded, wishing he could give his friend peace. “I am choosing happiness right now by allowing her to be in my life.”

  Merrill rolled his eyes, clearly finding the statement preposterous. “So you say, but I think you are setting yourself up for greater pain than you have already experienced in letting her go, as you clearly intend to do.”

  A strange look crossed Merrill’s face. A dawning idea, and he gasped. “Bloody hell, Grey. That’s it. Isn’t it? You want that suffering? You think you deserve it? You’ll have a dose of happiness greater than the rest of us could ever dream of and send it away. Then you can beat yourself up for the rest of your life for having let her go.”

  Merrill’s jaw dropped at his own horrified certainty. “Are you in love with suffering now, Anthony? It’s not something I ever thought you would be known for, but it does seem as if you are choosing to be the brooding lord.”

  Anthony longed to go over and pop his friend in the face.

  “That’s enough, Merrill,” he gritted. “We are friends, but you are on dangerous ground.”

  “Perhaps you need to be on dangerous ground,” Merrill taunted with surprising force. “You need to be shaken up so you can see what you’re doing to yourself. It has been months since the battle. Nigh a year. Since. . . Do you think Joe would like seeing you like this?”

  “Enough,” Grey grated, fury bubbling up inside, and a wall shot up inside him, making it almost impossible for him to listen further.

  “No, I won’t. I’m your friend, and that means I have to say hard things to you,” Merrill snapped, his eyes flashing with anger that had apparently been held at bay for a considerable time. “Things you don’t want to hear.”

  Whatever dam Merrill had erected to keep his true thoughts at bay had broken. They were pouring out now.

  Anthony was not prepared for that. This was indeed dangerous ground. He did not wish to lose Merrill’s friendship, but he was making assertions Anthony was not prepared to address at present.

  Anthony gave his friend a ball-crushing stare, praying he’d cease. “You are my friend, it’s true, but you do not speak to me like that.”

  “Like what?” he mocked, the gloves
now off, it seemed. “With honesty? Why?” Merrill’s brows rose. “Because you’re a duke?”

  Anthony ground his teeth together.

  He’d never thought of himself as superior to Merrill in the entirety of their acquaintance. It did not matter he outranked him in every way. In birth, status, and rank. None of that had ever truly mattered to Anthony. But he could see why Merrill might think that.

  Because. . . Those things? They did rule their lives and shape the world around them.

  And though he loathed to admit it, perhaps he’d begun to have an edge of that sort of superiority that his own brother had had.

  The very thought struck him with horror, and he felt sick at the idea he could have made his friend feel less. That he could have made anyone feel less.

  He could never allow that in himself. It was the height of everything he stood against.

  “I’m listening,” he said, though it was damned difficult to actually do, so he added, “but you’re infuriating me.”

  Merrill gave a terse nod. “Good. I want you to be infuriated. I want you to question yourself because, what you are doing now? You are digging yourself a grave and putting yourself in it early when so many men died.”

  Anthony fought the urge to actively recoil. He folded his hands into fists and forced himself to continue to listen even when every part of him begged for him to retreat in fury, arrogance, and indignation.

  Merrill’s face twisted with frustration and pain. “They would give anything to be in your place. And it seems to me that you are not cherishing this life you have been given when so many cannot have it.”

  Anthony ground his teeth together, determined to disprove his friend. He must. Otherwise. . . What was he? He could not bear to contemplate it. “That is not true. I am pursuing justice. I am making certain people are safe-”

  “And,” Merrill cut in without mercy, “you’re ensuring you don’t enjoy a moment of it.”

  Anthony’s mouth tightened before he all but roared, “How can I enjoy a moment of it? My wounds-”

  “Your wounds?” Merrill repeated brusquely over him. “It’s true. You are wounded, Anthony. And you will be wounded possibly, as you know, for the rest of your life, but you cannot live behind those wounds.”

  Dear God, it was all he could do not to show Merrill his back and demand he leave and never return.

  But Merrill had been too long at his side to treat him thus.

  No, he’d have to bear the crush of Merrill’s brutal summations.

  “You know nothing of it,” Anthony growled, unable to formulate a better argument in his own stewing anger.

  Merrill swallowed, his face paling. “You’re correct. I can never understand how you feel, but I hate seeing you condemn yourself to a life of both emotional and physical suffering as if it is the only recourse.”

  Merrill let out a harsh sigh. “I refuse to believe that. I believe there is hope, Anthony. And I think Phillipa is the one who can flame your own hope back to life.”

  His face softened with memories as he urged his friend with recollections. “Whenever her letters arrived on board, they completely changed your demeanor. They made you wish to go on. To do right. To aid others. And to never give in to darkness.”

  Only the soft sea wind coming in off the coast filled the sudden silence between them.

  Merrill’s words hung on that wind.

  They spun around Anthony’s head.

  “It’s true,” he allowed at last, even as agony and dismay tore at his innards. “But how can I drag her into my life with my difficulties? It’s not she who will pull me up, but I who will pull her down.”

  “Can you not listen to yourself, man?” Merrill demanded with less understanding than one might have hoped for.

  “I am listening to myself. I am speaking reason,” Anthony countered.

  Merrill threw his hands up. “That’s it. We cannot continue this conversation at present. I’m going to have to call you out or beat you to a pulp in the ring if we continue on like this.”

  “Well, that will be a fair fight,” Anthony drawled.

  Merrill snorted. “You don’t care about fairness right now. You are hitting as many low points as you possibly can by insisting your emotional damage is as limiting as your physical, and perhaps you are scarred beyond all repair, Anthony. Perhaps your heart is broken forever, but you must understand that if you insist on clinging to that, you are going to break Phillipa’s heart, and her heart will be broken forever too. So there will not be just one of you suffering. . .”

  Merrill leveled him with a hard stare. “But two.”

  And with that, Merrill turned around and stormed off.

  Anthony watched him go, unable to draw a full breath.

  He wondered where his friend was headed.

  Probably back to the tavern in town so he could order watch arranged on the road and small towns along the way for Captain Adams.

  Anthony turned back to the vast man-made lake one of his ancestors had made to show his dominance on the landscape. It wasn’t natural. It was formed. Seemingly perfect, but only kept going by gardeners and maintenance and sheer will. If it was not tended to. . . it would grow algae. It would become a swamp. Thick. Murky. And eventually, it would disappear, reclaimed by the land.

  He looked out at the rippling water and wondered if, perhaps, he was a bit like that man-made expanse. If he did not take care. . . he would fill up with sludge and lose all that had made him worthy of Phillipa.

  It was damned upsetting.

  He didn’t like to think he might be the reason Phillipa suffered for the rest of her life. Surely, he didn’t have that sort of power over her, did he?

  But then he thought about the way she had told him she loved him. And he thought about the deep emotions he felt for her. The way that, after the battle, the very first person he had thought of had been her and how he was going to go to her and propose. . . Until he’d realized the extent of his wounds, until he’d realized Joe had not survived, until he’d realized his brother was dead. . .

  “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  Anthony whipped towards his servant.

  It was odd to be bothered when clearly seeking solitude, so he knew it was an emergency.

  “Yes, Tom?” he prompted, waving his hand to reassure the boy. “Come.”

  Tom, in his silver-and-green livery, came through the grass and cleared his throat. “Forgive me for bothering your privacy, Your Grace, but you did say if a certain note arrived, I was to give it to you. . . From France.”

  Anthony tensed. “Yes, I did,” he replied, doing his damndest to keep his voice even. “Please give it to me now.”

  Tom bowed and handed him the small folded note sealed with red wax.

  “That’s all, Tom,” Grey said. “Thank you.”

  Tom nodded his russet head, then quickly turned around and headed back along the path.

  But just as he was about to crest over the small hill leading back to the castle, he turned around and called, “Your Grace?”

  “Yes,” Anthony called, surprised. A note of alarm teased along his spine.

  “Lady Phillipa’s father has come to call.”

  Anthony’s hand crumpled the note.

  The note was an important one, but his concern was suddenly severe.

  He had had people looking for Joe for months.

  The truth was, he hadn’t quite believed the boy had died. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. He still didn’t. Some part of him still clung to hope that perhaps he’d washed up on some beach or some ship had picked him up and taken him as a prisoner. And though Merrill knew nothing of it, Anthony wasn’t going to give up until he absolutely had to.

  He did not care if that made him a touch mad. He owed that to Joe.

  So, he’d sent skilled men out, searching, seeking, and every now and then, a note would come back to tell him that, no, nothing had been found. Joe was still lost, likely at sea, but Anthony still had to try.


  It made him feel a little bit better to try.

  Yet, at the words of his servant Tom, his heart chilled.

  “I beg your pardon, Tom,” he called. “Can you repeat that?”

  “Lady Phillipa’s father,” Tom reiterated. “The Earl of Harrowton. He’s come to visit.”

  Anthony was unable to make reply. He merely gaped at Tom, not believing his words.

  Hadn’t Harrowton gone abroad?

  Was the man back in England?

  Would he now demand money from him in exchange for Phillipa’s happiness? Would Harrowton make trouble? The man certainly had a reputation for it, and he was certainly capable of duplicity.

  But something cold snaked down his spine, some suspicion he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then his gut tightened.

  My God, Phillipa could be in great danger, and it would all be because of him.

  Chapter 14

  There wasn’t enough tea in the world to repair Phillipa’s confusion and feeling of tumult.

  So, she and Clara had decided that a glass of wine just before lunchtime was not the end of the world.

  And so, as they sipped their red wine from beautifully cut crystal, staring at each other in not exactly companionable silence, but definitely comforting silence, she wondered what the devil she was going to do next.

  Anthony and Merrill seemed to be most out of sorts.

  She felt out of sorts as well.

  This whole business with Captain Adams was most surprising and horrible.

  How far would they have to go to achieve justice?

  Would Anthony ever be able to feel free?

  Would bringing Captain Adams to justice allow Anthony to permit himself to fall in love with her again? Oh, not fall. That was not the correct word. She knew in her very heart of hearts and to the depth of her bones that Anthony loved her. Present tense.

  The way he looked at her, the way he had tried to protect her, all his foolish nonsense? He did. He loved her. She didn’t need to hear him say the words to know it, though she hoped one day he would utter them.

  In his absolutely misguided masculine manner, he was trying to protect her from the very thing she wanted. That they wanted. That they deserved.