The Problem with Seduction (41 page)

The Recorder banged his gavel down. “Any other questions for the witness?”

“No, my lord,” both barristers said together.

“Who is the next witness?”

The man in the dark cloak looked at Elizabeth’s father. Con couldn’t do the same. He would never be able to witness the glee in Lord Wyndham’s eyes.
He’d
known. Even
he
had tried to warn Con against her true nature.

“We have none, my lord,” the barrister said after conferring with Lord Wyndham. “We believe we’ve made our case: that the woman in question made a financial bargain with the prisoner in exchange for his fraudulent claim to have conducted an illicit affair resulting in the existence of a child, a child known to the victim to be his own son. Therefore, the charge of child stealing with intent to deprive Captain Nicholas Finn, the father of said child, should stand. We believe also that the second count for like offense, only stating the child to be taken by fraud, has also been proved.”

The judge looked to Bart. “And the defense?”

Bart stepped forward. “We believe the prisoner to have acted in a way consistent with his generous nature. We have established the prisoner has a relationship with the woman in question, and the relationship has been blessed in the eyes of the Church and documented legally in the annals of this great nation. We also argue that the prisoner believes himself to be the father of the child and is committed to providing the child with a loving home. A home with two parents who have sworn to love each other unto death.”

The judge nodded. “Let the jurors present their verdict, then.”

A commotion clamored as the jurors banded together to make their determination. Con did his best not to sag against the rail of the bar. He was still too raw to risk looking at Elizabeth.
How he wanted Bart’s pretty speech to be true.

It wasn’t. There were only lies.

Yet he wasn’t alone. Bart walked over to stand by him. He didn’t attempt to talk. And he didn’t judge.

Half an hour passed. Plenty of time for Con to consider he’d married a lying, selfish swindler who hadn’t even had the conscience to tell a dying man that he might have saved himself the effort of being beaten—assuming the thugs would have believed him, or that he’d have had a chance to get a word in edgewise. He doubted it would have mattered, actually. Nevertheless, she
should
have told him. If only he’d known he was in possession of a considerable sum! He might have writhed with fever feeling less of a failure when it came to his family. Not that any discovery on entailed land benefitted him directly, but at least he could have died knowing none of his brothers would be forced to make black deals with prostitutes simply to keep their guts intact.

Now he did know, and it was a cold comfort. He was so angry, he could burn the entire Bailey down. His devastation at her betrayal far outdid his fear of being transported—for
her
child! God, he was a fool. An idiot ten times over. And all this time, they’d been sitting on a bloody
fortune.

He pounded his fist against the bar. Pain shot through his hand. He welcomed it. Was
that
why she’d married him without question? Because their family was no longer wretchedly poor? Surely a woman like her could never have too much money at her disposal.

A juror rose. The courtroom fell silent. The man cleared his throat. “For the charge of child stealing, we find the prisoner: Guilty.”

The word rang in his ears.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

“For the second charge of fraud, we also find the prisoner guilty.”

Con couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t speak. Not even a squeak could pass through the constriction of his throat.
Guilty. Guilty.

“Noooooooooo!” a woman shrieked.
Elizabeth.

“The jury recommends three months’ hard labor on the river.”

Con stood immobile.
Three months.
Three months in the dankest, darkest cell possible, shoulder to shoulder with criminal swine. Rolling on a river of refuse and incarcerated with the waste of a thousand other men. He’d be lucky to come out alive.

He almost retched.

He forced his head up and swiveled to see his brothers in the gallery. They’d come to their feet. Tony had Elizabeth’s upper arms in a death grip, as if she’d tried to haul herself bodily over the rail and he’d only just stopped her. Her beautiful face was a pale, heartbreaking ivory streaked with tears.

The Recorder slammed his gavel down, and Con knew true bleakness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

ELIZABETH HAD SCANT HOURS until Constantine was to be moved from the Old Bailey back to Newgate, where he would be held until he could be taken to the hulks. She pushed her way through the crowded corridors until she found the bail dock. An armed warden hovered at the entrance. She paused before he could realize she was headed for him. She had to collect herself, or Constantine would never hear her apology.

Three months.
It could easily have been longer. She ought to feel fortunate. But the thought of him imprisoned, held away from her in a horrible, cramped cargo that bobbed incessantly against the shore and stank of filth and human misery—she wiped the tears from her eyes and drew herself up as best she could. It was better than seven years’ transportation. Had he not been the brother of a marquis, she didn’t doubt he’d have received the harshest possible sentence.

She approached the warden. “I need to see my husband.”

The man grunted and looked her over. “Ten minutes,” he said, turning the key in the lock. “Keep your skirt down.”

She had no time to for a scathing reproof. Too, insulting as he’d meant it, she would gladly make love to Constantine if he asked. She didn’t imagine him asking. Even with his back to her when he’d stood at the bar, she’d recognized his anger and disappointment. Not just his—all of the Alexanders had hated her.

She would never forgive herself for subjecting them to public humiliation. Or for keeping a piece of vital information from them.

As for Con… If she were in his place, forgiveness would not be easy. Or, perhaps, possible.

A sob caught in her throat.

No. She couldn’t crumble, as she’d done so many times before.
She’d let her father bar her from her family. She’d let Captain Moore leave her. She’d let Nicholas cast her out.
She couldn’t keep giving up. Con was her
husband.

She’d never give up.

She entered the bail dock. Three men besides Con awaited their fate here. They regarded her with glazed, fearful expressions. The same look she’d seen on Con’s face when he’d entered the courtroom.

He sat on a bench with his elbows braced on the table, his hands clasped and pressed to his forehead. Her heart went out to him.
She’d done this.
She took a step in his direction.

He looked up, and the venom in his eyes made her recoil.

“Guilt doesn’t become you, Elizabeth.” He rested his hands on the tabletop. He didn’t move to rise. As if he preferred having the table between them. She was almost afraid of him, and the hateful way he looked at her. “How long did you know?”

She didn’t want to admit how long she’d deceived him, yet he deserved to have the truth even if she couldn’t go back and do things differently. She hugged herself. “A week.” She hated the fact that she
was
guilty. She had no defense for her decision, aside from her terror he’d leave her. A conviction that now felt ridiculous in light of everything he’d done for her.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke as she choked back a sob. If only she’d known how it would all turn out, she would never have kept the letter from him.

The crease between his brows deepened. His blue eyes looked at her with incredulity. “I do hope you have more to say than that.”

She went to the table and seated herself across from him. The wooden slats smelled of mold and a rent sounded at her hem, but she hardly noticed. She reached and placed her hands over her husband’s. He yanked his hands back, then folded his arms across his chest. “Well?” he demanded. “What have you to say?”

She swallowed. How to explain when she had no excuse? None that withstood the test of time. “I
meant
to tell you,” she said feebly. “I planned to tell you, after you proposed. I wasn’t keeping it from you on purpose—” She pressed her lips together lest she lie to him again. “I did keep it from you. I felt I
had
to. I didn’t know you were going to propose. You’d just been arrested on my account. I thought you’d surely leave, and we’d never see you again, and I’d lose my baby and you both, all at the same time…” She bent her face into her hands because she couldn’t stand the stony expression on his face. “I couldn’t lose either of you. Not again.”

She took several deep breaths. Then she wiped her eyes and looked up. Con gave no appearance of softening toward her. He said nothing, silently seething, and watching her with those hard blue eyes. “You didn’t trust me.”

“How could I?” Her voice broke at the hurt that flashed across his face. “I should have. I
should
have. I didn’t know you would propose. How could I think you would? I’ve given you no reason to believe I’d bring you anything but trouble.”

He offered her no comfort. She didn’t deserve any. She was the worst possible wife, one who deceived her husband. Not at all the partner she wanted to be. Her shame caused her to ramble, as if the reasons tumbling from her could ever explain how frightened she’d been, or how wrong she felt now. “I didn’t think you’d want to marry me. I didn’t think you’d
stay.
But when you did, I wanted to tell you. So that—this—wouldn’t happen. Then you were set upon, and Lord Bart told me not to upset you—”

“He knew?” The words ripped from Con. Anguish darkened his eyes.

“No! No, he just warned me to be good to you.” Even that sounded foolish to her ears. She tried again, realizing too late what Lord Bart had meant for her to do. “It was my own perverseness that confused what he meant. I thought he wanted me to keep you from any notion of my perfidious nature, but in retrospect it was a warning. He and Montborne…” She looked at Con. “They have a sense of who I was. If I’d done anything to wrong you, he wanted me to tell you so we could start anew, with no deceit between us. I should have. I’m not that person anymore, Constantine. I love you. I would never want to hurt you.”

He looked away.

She glanced around the holding area and saw nothing but gray stone and the despondent faces of the other prisoners. She turned back to Con, redoubling her efforts to convince him of her earnestness. “Even if Montborne
had
come into a fortune a week ago, he wouldn’t have wanted to give Lord Darius a shilling. You would still have been set upon. We would still be facing this trial, because my father has been ruthless in proving to me just how little he cares for me. If I’d have told you about the letter, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

He slammed his fist on the table. His eyes were cold steel. “It would have changed
me.
”

The guard entered the bail dock. “Time.”

She looked back to her husband. Her empty fingers scrabbled at the rotted boards. She wouldn’t see him again for months. They couldn’t end things like this. She wasn’t even sure what
this
was. “I regret what I did. Constantine, look at me. I wanted to trust you, but I was scared. I would give anything to make it right. But I don’t regret our marriage. I can’t.” She reached toward him. Her fingers curled around air. “I love you. You are the only man I know who would have done what you just did.”

“Stupidity,” he ground out. His gaze stayed on her. He watched her hungrily, even as his body and his words kept her at arm’s length.

“Bravery. Kindness. You,” she stretched her hand toward him again, “you have become everything to me. Without you, I have nothing.”

He glared at her. “I wish you would have thought of that before you decided to turn my life into your own personal drama. We’re through, Elizabeth. I cannot be married to a woman who would so thoroughly use me for her own gain.”

Her stomach fell to the floor. She leaned forward, doubled over both by her belly cramping and by reaching for him at the same time. He couldn’t be serious. He was just angry—

“Our marriage is a lie.” He looked with disgust at her hand straining toward him. “It’s built on a lie. Any feelings you claim to have for me are a lie.”

She couldn’t help but cling to a thread of hope. He didn’t say his feelings for her were a lie.

“Time,” the guard said again, more forcefully. He tapped the glass face of his pocket watch for emphasis.

“Go home,” Constantine said. “There is nothing more you can do for me here.”

Elizabeth stared at him tearfully. Go home? Without her husband, or her son? To what end?

Con rose. Without a backward glance, he crossed the bail dock and sat down at a different table, his back to her. There was truly nothing more she could do here without distancing him even further.