Silent Revenge (2 page)

Jessica shrugged her slim shoulders. “It’s amazing what people say when they think no one is around to overhear them.”

“I’m going to get us that punch. I’ll be right back.”

Jessica watched her friend cross the ballroom and then looked again at the empty entryway. Lady Drummond obviously preferred to be fashionably late in the extreme.

Jessica breathed a sigh of frustration, then scanned the crowded dance floor. A myriad of muted rainbow shades twirled hither and yon, bold and vibrant with the movement, captivating her until Melinda returned with two glasses in her hand.

“Lord Parley seemed very interested in seeing the Duchess of Stratmore’s azaleas. And James said to tell you thank you. He knows the new company to which you are referring and is grateful for the warning.”

Jessica lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. “Have you noticed Lady Ellis this evening? Someone should really take pity on her and tell her how absurd she looks in that dress. She’s entirely too buxom to wear something so revealing, and a woman her age should never wear pink. She should only wear—”

Mel grabbed her shoulder in silent warning, and Jessica instantly quieted. The cautionary look on her friend’s face gave her pause, and she became even more concerned when Mel placed a silencing finger against her lips. Jessica turned around, her gaze taking in the suspended stillness that covered the ballroom. She’d never seen anything so odd. Anything so astounding.

Wide-eyed servants stopped where they were, balancing teetering trays of glasses in their hands. Musicians held their horsehair bows awkwardly above the silent strings of their violins. Hundreds of shocked dancers stood frozen in transfixed amazement, like marble statues in a garden. Every mouth of London’s nobility gaped in shocked disbelief, as if the incredulous sight crossed so far over the line of comprehension that it paralyzed them in midmotion.

Jessica looked at Melinda in confusion, and her friend squeezed her hand in a death-clenching grip. She studied Mel’s serious expression, then followed her gaze to the man poised at the top of the stairs.

Every nerve in Jessica’s body tingled with a charge that came from somewhere beyond the here and now. His presence captured her and refused to release her. She tried to shift her gaze from his imposing form, but could not look away from the tall dark stranger who towered above them from the entryway. The scorching look on his face as he stared out into the crowd sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She was fixated by the daunting figure, waiting for him to move. The power he exuded engulfed her in an uneasy mixture of vibrancy and fear.

He stood ramrod straight, his shoulders back, his chin high, and his long, muscular legs braced for battle. The broad expanse of his shoulders filled out his midnight-black dress tails to perfection. The snowy cravat at his neck glowed in contrast to his bronzed skin. His impressive height and extraordinary stature dominated the entire room. But it was his deadly glare that caused her heart to skip a beat. The lethal glare he cast over the ballroom defied any of London’s elite to challenge his presence.

No one did.

No one moved. No one breathed.

No one dared.

With overt certainty, he allowed the gaping nobility to drink their fill, and then slowly, deliberately, he followed one step with another until he stood at the bottom of the staircase. As if he didn’t care that all eyes remained riveted on his every move, he greeted his host and hostess with unquestioning self-assurance and aplomb.

Not wanting to miss even the slightest detail, Jessica leaned a little to the left to see around the portly gentleman blocking her view. She stared in fascination as the broad-shouldered stranger reached to kiss the duchess’s hand. The duchess’s mouth dropped, and her complexion paled.

Jessica held her breath as she waited for tragedy to strike.

The intriguing stranger executed a low bow. His unsmiling eyes did not soften, nor did the stony expression on his face relax. When he straightened to his full height, the Duchess of Stratmore clenched a trembling hand to her throat in obvious discomfort.

As if he realized how close his hostess was to losing her composure, he nodded curtly and squared his shoulders, then walked away as the duchess crumpled in a heap at her husband’s feet.

The foreboding stranger seemed oblivious to the chaos he’d left in his wake. He took a few steps into the ballroom and lifted a glass of champagne from the tray of a benumbed servant, then stopped. With slow deliberation, he turned to face the gaping crowd.

As if some mysterious force controlled her destiny, Jessica felt compelled to get a better look at the handsome stranger before he disappeared. She stepped into an opening where she could get a better view.

His gaze caught her movement, and his haunting intensity locked with hers.

A shivering awareness ran through her, heightening the sensation that prickled at the back of her neck, tightening the pronounced confusion that struggled deep within her breast.

His frown deepened, and his brows narrowed to a thick, formidable line. His telling expression warned her that he was as aware of her as she was him.

All stability ceased to exist while he held her captive with his concentrated look. Her blood blazed hot as a raging fire. The air she needed to fill her lungs vanished.

He held her captive, and then, with a brutal jolt, he released his grasp of her. Her heart lurched violently as if she’d just fallen from a very great height. With a final commanding look at the crowd parting before him, he strode through the open double doors that led to the garden.

The nighttime darkness enveloped him as if he was one of its own, swallowing him into an inky blackness.

Melinda sank down in the nearest chair and stared at the empty doorway. “He’s come back.”

“Who is he?” Jessica watched the doorway, hoping he would reappear.

“Simon Warland. The Earl of Northcote.”

“His entrance caused quite a commotion.” Jessica looked at the stunned faces in the ballroom. No one was dancing. The more curious of the
ton
fitted from one group to another as they discussed the appearance of the Earl of Northcote with growing animation.

“I cannot believe he’s here.”

“Why not?”

“The scandal. His father was found dead three years ago. Everyone believes Northcote killed him.”

“You don’t?”

Melinda lifted her chin. “James refuses to believe he did. They have always been close friends, and James says the earl is incapable of murder.”

Jessica looked at Melinda, amused at the unquestioning confidence she placed in her husband’s opinion. “Why do you think he’s come back?”

“There can be only one reason,” Melinda said decidedly. “He has come to find a rich wife.”

Jessica raised her eyebrows and gave her friend a skeptical look. From the expressions on the faces of the eligible females in attendance, a dark grave would be a more pleasant alternative. “A wife?”

Melinda nodded. “It must be so. The earl is bankrupt, and James says that without a miracle, he’ll lose everything. The creditors will have control of all Northcote properties by the end of the month.”

Jessica looked again at the empty doorway. She let her gaze focus on the darkness beyond the patio door and the shadowed figure that had walked through its portals. “I pity the unfortunate female forced to become the sacrifice. It doesn’t seem the most pleasant of futures,” Jessica said.

Although she couldn’t explain it, Jessica sensed a connection to this stranger. Like two threads woven through a piece of fabric. Each thread separate, yet both necessary in order to make the pattern complete.

Perhaps it was because society thought of both of them as oddities.

Jessica looked back to the top of the stairway. Lady Drummond stood at the entrance in all her regal splendor, wearing the dress Jessica had waited all evening to see.

Her heart pounded in her breast, excitement rushing through her veins. The gown was stunning, beautiful, absolutely divine. The most magnificent creation she had ever designed. She couldn’t wait for society’s reaction to it.

She looked around the room, anticipating the smiles of admiration, the exclamations of wonder. But not one person looked toward the entrance. All in attendance stared at the terrace doorway, at the spot where the stranger had been swallowed by the darkness.

Her heart fell. No one gave Lady Drummond or her gown a second glance. No one even noticed she was there.

Simon Warland tried to relax the muscles that bunched across his shoulders. Bloody hell. Coming back had been harder than he’d anticipated. He took a healthy swallow of Stratmore’s excellent liquor and stared out into the darkness. The sound of footsteps approaching caused his muscles to knot. He didn’t relax until the stranger spoke.

“Without a doubt, Simon, when you make an entrance, it’s one society will talk about for weeks.”

His longtime friend, James Wallace, the Duke of Collingsworth, crossed the lantern-lit patio and stopped beside him.

“How could I think of missing tonight’s ball? It’s always one of the most coveted events of the year.” Simon fought the hollow pain in his gut and swirled the amber liquid in the crystal snifter. Perhaps downing the whole amount would help. He lifted the glass, but James’s words brought the glass to a halt halfway to his mouth.

“You just missed her. Rosalind left not even ten minutes ago.”

Simon clenched his fingers around the fragile crystal and squeezed. “How unfortunate. And I so looked forward to seeing my stepmother.” Releasing a controlled sigh, he lifted the glass to his mouth and took a swallow.

“I’ll admit I was surprised to see you, Simon, but not nearly as shocked as the Duchess of Stratmore. I’m afraid she’s still crumpled on the floor at her husband’s feet.”

Simon tried to smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know, James. I wasn’t sure until the last moment whether or not I’d be able to attend. An invitation was not exactly waiting for me when I arrived.”

“Do I dare ask how you acquired one?” His Grace asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the carved railing.

“I have my solicitor to thank for tonight’s pleasure. He knows a man who knows a man who…” Simon laughed. “You get the idea.” He lifted his head and breathed deeply. “I hope it didn’t tax his bank account overmuch. I’m afraid with my limited funds I will never be able to pay him back.”

Simon lifted the glass and took another long swallow. It lit a fire all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He welcomed the feeling.

“Whatever the cost, it was well worth the fits and vapors you caused. I haven’t seen such a commotion for years. Too bad Rosalind wasn’t here to see it.”

“Yes. Too bad.” Simon took another long swallow. “I had hoped to shock them all at once.”

Collingsworth threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Well, if that was your goal, you accomplished it well enough. Did you see Baron Woolsley? To hold himself up, the pompous old fool groped a statue of the goddess Venus in a most improper place. The poor red-faced baroness couldn’t release his grip. And I thought they were going to have to carry the Earl of Carlysle out on a board. Luckily, the countess is twice his size and she managed to keep him on his feet.”

Simon was tempted to smile, but that wasn’t what he remembered. He remembered the shocked looks of abhorrence and embarrassment. The disbelief, and tainted looks of repulsion.

“They’re convinced I killed him. I saw it on their faces.” Simon’s words hung in the air like a heavy yoke across his shoulders.

“You know London’s elite,” his friend said, his voice flat, his tone factual. “The more impossible the story, the more embellishment it receives.” Collingsworth paused. “Why did you come back, Simon?”

Simon took a deep breath and digested the question he knew was utmost on James’s mind. The same question he’d asked himself a thousand times over.

Simon shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps just to see Ravenscroft one more time. To ride through the gate and climb the steps and walk through the rooms. To relive the memories and let the earth sift through my fingers before it’s lost to me forever. To say good-bye.”

“There is nothing you can do?”

Simon’s chest tightened painfully, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “The creditors sent me notice just before I left India. The estate is bankrupt.”

“Perhaps if you had returned sooner?”

Simon hesitated. “That was not possible.” He lifted the glass to his mouth and let the potent liquor warm the ice water that ran through his veins. “Do you think my father killed himself?”

James shook his head. “I don’t know. His body was found at the bottom of the cliff the morning after you left. It’s possible he’d had too much to drink and lost his balance.”

“But you don’t think so?”

The duke shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ll never know. There were no witnesses, except for your stepmother. She claims not to have seen anything.”

For a long time, Simon said nothing. He only breathed in the cool night air and let the warm liquor seep to every part of his body. “It’s funny,” Simon finally said, abandoning the empty snifter to drag his hands through his hair. “There was nothing I could do to stop him from wasting my inheritance while he was alive and nothing I can do to save it now that he’s dead.”