Lucien Tregellas (20 page)

‘I know you were, Madeline, but not half as worried as I was when I heard that blunderbuss and saw you stooped over Boyle's body.'

‘I'm sorry.'

But ‘sorry' would not save her from Farquharson. ‘You play a dangerous game, Madeline. Farquharson could have plucked you as easy as a berry from a bush.'

A little line of pique appeared between her brows. ‘I took John Hayley and a cudgel. My Boyle took his blunderbuss. I thought we would be safe.'

‘Indeed?' he said. The memory of the pounding of his heart and the dread when he saw her through the drifting mist and gunpowder plume spurred him on. ‘Had I been Farquharson, or any other villain, do you think that Boyle would have stopped me? I could have put a bullet through Hayley before the cudgel was even raised in his hand. Then where would you have been, Madeline? Completely at my mercy.'

Madeline's chin tilted in defiance. ‘You are obsessed with Farquharson. Of all the places he is likely to be, Bodmin Moor late on a damp misty afternoon is not one of them.'

‘And you know that beyond all reasonable doubt, do you? You are willing to take the risk? Believe me, Madeline, I know, better than most, the evil of which that man is capable. I will not have you expose yourself to such danger.'

‘We weren't going far. I did not know that the wheel would come off.' She turned from the window so that they were facing one another.

‘That does not matter.' He pushed her excuses aside. ‘You disregarded my request not to travel alone.'

‘I wasn't alone,' she protested.

‘You understand my meaning well.' Exasperation lent an edge to his voice. ‘You seem intent on trying to throw yourself into Farquharson's path.'

‘Oh, don't be so silly!' she replied, anger lending her a foolhardy courage. ‘I'm just getting on with living. I cannot forever be looking over my shoulder. Would you lock me behind these doors, never to venture out again for fear of him?'

‘That's not what I'm saying, Madeline.'

‘Then what are you saying?'

‘It's not too much to ask that I accompany you.'

Madeline's breast rose and fell beneath the dressing gown in a flurry. ‘I'm beginning to feel like a prisoner, Lucien. I love Trethevyn, but I should be able to at least visit a friend when she is ill without waiting for you!'

‘Under normal circumstances I would agree entirely. But the circumstances are far from normal. Until I have dealt with Farquharson, we must both live by certain constraints.'

She hesitated. Dealt with Farquharson. The claims of Farquharson's letter came back to her.
He has stalked me, desiring nothing more than my death.
‘What do you mean to do to him?' she asked.

‘Whatever it takes to stop him.'

Madeline shivered.

He reached across and pulled her into his arms. She was so small, so vulnerable. ‘Farquharson's more dangerous than you realise.' He stroked a hand over the damp tumble of hair, smelling the sweetness of her and her orange fragrance. ‘He will come after you in the most unexpected of places.'

‘But if he meant to hurt us, would he not have done so by now?'

Lucien shook his head. ‘He's biding his time. But our waiting is nearly at an end. Farquharson will strike soon. And when he does, I want us both to be ready.'

 

It should have been her husband that she asked, but it wasn't. Madeline was desperate and so she asked Babbie about the woman Lucien was to have married.

‘Terrible affair it was,' said Mrs Babcock. ‘Almost drove Master Lucien insane. It's not my story to tell, but what I will say to you, m'lady, is please don't judge him too harshly. He was a young man and he made a mistake like all young men do. 'Cept his mistake cost him dearly. Can't forgive or forget. Blames himself even yet, though it weren't his fault.' Mrs Babcock's eyes dampened with a terrible sadness. Her eyelids flickered shut as if gathering the strength to carry on.

Madeline touched cold fingers to Mrs Babcock's hand. ‘What happened?' she asked carefully. ‘Will you not at least tell me that? Please, Babbie.'

‘She was a young lady. I won't divulge her name. Wealthy, titled, only daughter of a viscount. Quiet and shy. Beautiful she was, tall and slender with long black hair and big blue eyes. The most beautiful girl in all of Cornwall.'

Beautiful, tall, black hair, big blue eyes—in short, everything that Madeline was not. A little ball of nausea rotated in Madeline's stomach. She didn't want to hear the words. She knew that she had to.

‘And the most foolish. She was just eighteen when they were betrothed.'

Madeline pressed a hand to her stomach and swallowed hard.

‘Even so, she went up to London for her first Season. Met a gentleman there. Next thing she ran off and married him, even though she were under age and had not so much as a word of consideration for Master Lucien. Whisked off with the gent in the middle of a dance. Most out of character for her, by all accounts. Needless to say, it was a right scandal.'

In the middle of a dance!
‘Oh, God!' Madeline could stop the expletive no longer. For she had a horrible premonition of where this story was heading.

Mrs Babcock's hand balled to a fist tight against her own lips. ‘I've said too much. You should hear the whole of it from his lordship. He'll tell you when he's ready, m'lady. Please, give him some more time. He don't mean to be high-handed. He's just worried and wants to keep you safe.'

Madeline bit down hard upon her lip. ‘Who was the gentleman that the girl ran off with?'

‘That's for his lordship to tell,' said Mrs Babcock.

‘It was Cyril Farquharson, wasn't it?' Madeline stared at the housekeeper.

Mrs Babcock's mouth stayed firmly shut.

‘Wasn't it?' said Madeline, and there followed a deadly hush.

‘Yes,' said Mrs Babcock miserably, ‘Lord Farquharson was his name.'

Madeline gazed in anguish for a moment longer. ‘Please can you go now? I'm tired and would like to rest.'

‘But, m'lady, you don't know the full of it. It weren't just that. There's more. Much more. And—'

Madeline shook her head. ‘I've heard enough, Babbie. Please just go.'

Mrs Babcock rose and hobbled out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

I
t seemed to Madeline that her heart had ceased to beat. She sat stunned, unable to move, barely able to breathe for the tightness that constricted her throat. Everything suddenly made sense. Cyril Farquharson had told the truth. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place to reveal the picture in full. She knew now why Lucien had been so determined to save her from Farquharson, why the wealthy Earl Tregellas had plucked a plain little nobody from beneath that fiend's nose to make her his wife. For in truth it was not Lord Farquharson who was the fiend at all—that title belonged to her husband. He had married her for nothing more than to exact revenge upon Farquharson, to do unto Farquharson precisely what the Baron had done unto him. Madeline Langley was just the silly little fool who had lent herself as the weapon of his vengeance. And that vengeance had not been for her. It had never been for her. It was for another woman from across the years who had betrayed him.

All talk of saving her from Farquharson, of protection, was just a lie. With the harsh brutality of realisation she knew that everything he had said had been a lie. Lies and more lies. Madeline blinked back the tears, determined not to cry. The tip of her nose grew numb and cold. A lump balled in her throat. London had called him the Wicked Earl and with good reason. Madeline had thought she knew better, had refused to believe the rumours. And Madeline had been proved wrong. Now she knew why he would not share her bed. Lucien Tregellas would never love her, for he loved another woman, a tall woman with big blue eyes and long dark hair…the most beautiful woman in all of Cornwall.

Blood trickled down from Madeline's lip and still she did not realise the pain or the pressure of her bite. ‘Damn him,' she whispered. ‘Damn him for the devil he is.' She had thrown common sense to the wind, risked all to avoid a marriage with Cyril Farquharson. Now that she had made her bed, as Mama would say, she would have to lie in it. Madeline screwed her eyes tight against the tears that threatened to fall. She'd be damned if she'd let him see just how much he'd hurt her.

Then a little thought made itself known. If Farquharson had told the truth about Lucien's betrothed, was it also true that Lucien had killed the woman? That he meant to kill Madeline too? No matter how angry she was, no matter how hurt, she could not bring herself to believe either. If Lucien wanted a wife in name, then that's exactly what he would get. That meant no more allowing him to dictate what she could and couldn't do. What had he said the night that he asked her to marry him, or at least when she believed she had a choice in the matter?
You would be free to live your own life.
That was his bargain. A cold-hearted bargain. And, by God, she would hold him to it!

 

Guy, Lord Varington, was concentrating on the two piles of cards on the table when the sensation of someone having walked across his grave shivered across his shoulders. He glanced up to find Cyril Farquharson watching him from across the room. Guy delivered him an arrogant sneer and switched his attention back to the game. Ace. He won the last turn and bowed out with a sense of unease still upon him. It was quite out of character for a man whose lazy arrogant confidence was renowned the length and breadth of London. He meandered towards the fireplace, ignoring the call of several voices for him to rejoin the game of faro. The night was still young, but curiously White's seemed to have lost its atmosphere of indulgent relaxation. He ordered a brandy, sat himself down in a comfortable armchair, and started to browse through a copy of
The Times.

‘Varington…' a familiar voice feigned pleasance ‘…the very man I was hoping to see.'

Guy looked up into the face of Cyril Farquharson. Without showing the slightest hint of surprise he answered, ‘Back in London so soon, Farquharson? But then again, I had forgotten your need to trawl the marriage mart.'

The barb hit home as Farquharson's cheeks ruddied, but he controlled his temper well. ‘What ever made you think that I had departed the metropolis? Gossip can be so misleading.' He sat himself down in the chair opposite Guy's. ‘Don't mind if I join you, do you?'

Guy became aware of the murmur of interest in the room around them. He smiled a smile that did not warm the ice of his eyes. ‘You have five minutes to say what it is you that you've come to say, and then…' Guy's smile deepened ‘…if you're still here I feel I must warn you that I'm not endowed with my brother's restraint.'

‘Five minutes shall more than suffice,' said Farquharson. The grey of his snugly fitted coat mirrored the smokiness of his eyes.

They looked at one another, dislike bristling beneath a veneer of civility.

‘How fares Lady Tregellas in Cornwall?'

A dark eyebrow arched in sardonic surprise. ‘All the better for choosing my brother over you as her bridegroom.'

Farquharson's lips narrowed. ‘That's not what I've heard, sir.'

‘Then you ought to have a care to whom you listen.'

The closed face opened with mock-innocence and he leaned forward in a confidential manner. ‘Even if it comes straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak?'

Guy smiled his deadly smile again. ‘Your time is running out, Farquharson. Waste the remaining minutes in riddles if you wish.' But the chill of anticipation was upon him and Guy knew that Farquharson would not be sitting there attracting the attention of White's patrons if he did not have something worth revealing.

‘Perhaps it would be better if you saw the evidence yourself.' Farquharson reached into his pocket and produced a letter, ensuring that no one in the room missed him pass the paper into Varington's hand. ‘I should tell you that I've had my lawyer make a copy signed as a true representation of the original…should anything untoward happen to the letter while it's in the possession of another.' A row of teeth was revealed.

Even before he touched it Guy could see that the broken wax seal was that of Tregellas. The note opened to reveal a tidy flow of ink script upon his brother's headed writing paper. Guy's eyes followed each and every word down to the flourish of the neat signature. He balked at the letter's contents, but the face he raised to the red-haired man seated opposite showed nothing but a bland disinterest. ‘Another one of your efforts at amusement.' Guy let the paper fall to his lap and proceeded to examine his fingernails. ‘And another failure. May I remind you, sir, that forgery is a crime.'

‘Indeed it is. That's why I've had the authenticity of the paper and seal checked. I wouldn't want anyone to believe any misrepresentations that may have been circulated about me. The letter verifies what I've said all along about Tregellas. That's why I plan to publish it in a certain London newspaper, so that all may see it.'

Pale blue eyes locked a focus on smoky grey.

‘But as you are aware, Varington, I'm a just and fair man, and even though Tregellas has wronged me I'm prepared to give him the chance to do the right thing.' A slim white finger stroked his upper lip. ‘Take the letter and show it to him. If I hear nothing from him within the next fortnight, then I'll go ahead and publish.'

‘Go to hell, Farquharson. I'll not be your messenger.'

Farquharson's mouth stretched to a semblance of a smile. ‘Then you forfeit your brother's chance to prevent publication. Thank you for your time, sir.' Farquharson reached to retrieve the letter, but Guy's fingers were there first, removing the letter, tucking it safely inside his coat, knowing that he had no other option.

Farquharson stood and made to leave. ‘Just one more thing, Varington. When you see Tregellas, ask him if he has come to appreciate Madeline's acting skills. She is really rather good, but then again I did train her myself. Tregellas is so very predictable. I couldn't have “guided” his actions nearly so well without her.'

Guy rose quickly, but Farquharson was halfway across the room, making his escape, smiling his gratitude at the captive audience that allowed it. There was nothing that Guy could do without causing a scene, and that was the last thing that Lucien needed right now. Guy forced himself to sit back down, to finish his brandy and read a few more news articles in
The Times
before strolling out of the gentlemen's club as if he had not a care in the world. It was only when he reached the haven of his townhouse that the affected air of boredom was cast aside.

 

At first light next morning, Viscount Varington was seen leaving his house, travelling light on the fastest horse in his stables, with only his trusty valet for company.

 

When Farquharson heard the news that Varington had left town he could scarcely contain his glee. The bait had been swallowed. He knew there was only one place that Varington would have gone, and that was exactly where Farquharson wanted him to be: Trethevyn. Farquharson smiled. The first aim of the letter had been achieved. The second would follow soon, when Tregellas read the words penned upon that paper. Farquharson's smile deepened. Contrary to his threats, he was not ready to publish, not until matters in Cornwall were completed. Publication of the letter would meet its third and final aim: a fitting end to Tregellas. Farquharson sniggered. The five years of waiting would almost be worth it. His plan was coming together nicely…beginning with Varington. The last of Farquharson's valises was carried from his bedchamber. He made his way down the stairs and out to his waiting carriage to begin the journey to Cornwall. And the thought of just what he planned to do there excited Cyril Farquharson almost to a frenzy.

 

The woman who faced Lucien over dinner that night was not the woman he had come to know in the months since he'd married her. It seemed that the light in Madeline's eyes had dimmed and a new coolness had crept into her manner.

‘I met Mr Bancroft while I was out today. He invited us for dinner tomorrow evening. Mr and Mrs Cox will be there, along with Mrs Muirfield, Reverend and Mrs Woodford, and Dr Moffat.'

‘Unfortunately I shall be unable to attend,' said Madeline in the voice of a stranger.

He couldn't help but notice that her cheeks looked pale tonight. Indeed, something of the bloom that had settled upon her in the past weeks seemed to have faded. She was once more picking at the food set upon her plate. ‘Why might that be?'

‘I'm planning to return to London tomorrow morning. It's a while since I have seen my family, and I would like to visit them.'

The sudden silence within the dining room grated. Only the clock upon the mantel sounded.

Lucien dismissed Mr Norton and the footmen. Only when the door had been closed behind their departing bodies did he speak. ‘I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it does not suit me to leave Trethevyn so soon. Perhaps in a week or two we shall make the journey. I'm sure that your parents will understand.' Lucien waited for his wife's reaction.

Madeline did not look up from her dinner plate. ‘I'm perfectly content to travel alone. You may stay here.'

Another silence.

Was she so keen to be rid of his company as to risk exposing herself to Farquharson? A sliver of hurt stabbed at Lucien's heart. Even as he closed his mind to the pain, he wondered how she had managed to pierce the protective numbness that the years of torment had forged. ‘I'm afraid I cannot allow that, Madeline,' he said.

Her knife and fork were set down upon her plate, the pretence of eating the food forgotten. Gone was the warm biddable woman, replaced instead by someone that he did not know. ‘Cannot allow?' For the first time he saw a spark of anger in her eyes. ‘Did we not have an agreement, sir?' Without waiting for a reply she rushed on. ‘I have fulfilled my side of the bargain—do you seek to renege on yours?'

Lucien found himself frowning across at her. ‘I'm doing exactly what I said I would.'

‘You said that I may visit my family whenever I wished. Well, I wish to do so now.' A hint of a pink stain stole into her previously pale cheeks.

Lucien gritted his teeth. ‘You may also recall that I promised to protect you. And I cannot do that if you are insistent upon exposing yourself to danger. It's not that I do not wish you to see your family, but I won't have you put your life at risk to do so. Patience is a virtue, Madeline. The visit will be all the sweeter for waiting a few weeks more.'

‘You would know all about patience, wouldn't you? Please do not presume to lecture me on it, for I would rather act on one foolish impulse after another than have your cold, calculated patience!' A deeper blush flooded her cheeks and her chair scraped back hard against the polished wooden floor. ‘And as for protection and safety…please spare me any more of your untruths. I know full well what this is about, sir. You may cease your game.' She rose swiftly, threw her napkin down upon the table and started to walk towards the door.

In one seamless motion he was out of his chair and across the floor, his hand grasping her arm, pulling her back to face him. He was aware of the tension that resonated through them both, of the pulse that throbbed at her neck. ‘I think you had better explain your words, Madeline.' The softness of his voice belied the turmoil of emotion that roared beneath that calm façade.

She looked up into his cold pale eyes and felt a tremor flutter deep within, but it was too late to pull back. She had fired the first shot and now she would have to finish the fight. ‘You know of what I speak. There is no need for me to spell it out.'