Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (16 page)

Alexandra thought of the cold, hard woman
she met at Cambourne House.  Mr. Runyon’s seemed to be speaking of someone
else entirely. 

He patted her hand and gave another sad
smile.  “I do not wish to say much for I am trying to put the past behind
me.  I tried to protect Cam, you know.  We are only a few years apart
in age, but worlds apart in every other way.  While I studied, he seduced
women and fought duels bringing dishonor to his family. Cam is a devil with
women. His looks you know.” He shot Alexandra a speculative look. “You can
imagine the pain his escapades brought my cousin.  She caught him in an
indelicate situation.” Mr. Runyon looked away.  “I tried to help
him.  He fled to Macao soon after.  Robert blamed me for that, I’m
afraid.  Robert waited for years to make me pay.  The next time he
and I butted heads, it was quite a row.  I decided to tour the Continent
soon after.”

Alexandra’ stomach twisted in
knots.  Mr. Runyon’s assessment of Lord Reynolds character did not ring
false.  Unfortunately, all the pieces fit.  If Lord Reynolds truly
wished her company, he would seek her out.  Instead, he attempted to
seduce when he chanced upon her.  Likely, his treatment of her after the appearance
of Mr. Runyon was nothing more than irritation at having his seduction
interrupted. She clutched at her stomach.  The ache in her head spread to
envelope her entire body.  Silly spinster from Hampshire!  Lord
Reynolds almost had her believe he held her in some esteem.  Well, he did,
she reminded herself, ill to the very core of her being.  He did offer to
make her his mistress.

She misjudged Lord Reynolds character, perhaps
she’d also judged Lady Reynolds too harshly.   Mr. Runyon clearly
adored his cousin and had no reason to lie.  If what Mr. Runyon told her
was true, Alexandra could forgive Lady Reynolds her coldness.

Mr. Runyon looked at her in
expectation. 

“I am so sorry, Mr. Runyon, for what you
have suffered.”  Alexandra offered comfort, chiding herself for allowing
Lord Reynolds to take her mind off of her objective, the safety of Helmsby
Abbey. She truly felt sorry for Mr. Runyon, but she must not allow
herself  to involve herself too deeply out of pity.  She pressed
fingertips to her temples. She felt a bit dizzy.

“I can see my tale has distressed you.” 
Mr. Runyon took her arm and instructed the clerk to deliver the books to Lord
Burke’s address.  He walked her to the carriage, concern etched in his
features.  “I shall never forgive myself if you become ill over these
events.”  Gently, he placed her in the carriage.

Tilda snored in the corner, barely
stirring as Mr. Runyon followed Alexandra in.

”Mr. Runyon,” Alexandra spoke across the
seat from him, “please do not distress yourself, you are not the culprit. It is
just a headache.  I have them sometimes.” She reached over and gently took
his hand.  “I admire your fortitude in trying to put the past behind you.”

Mr. Runyon gave her a half-hearted smile
as if a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. “You are a treasure, Miss
Dunforth.  I am blessed to have a companion such as you.  I am
hopeful that once you and I are married, my father and I can mend our breach. I
feel certain you are the instrument of my redemption.” He gave her hand a
squeeze. “Perhaps even Cam and I can be in the same room together, if not
friends.  Nothing would make my cousin happier.” 

Alexandra stole a look out the
window.   She felt doubly terrible now that she used him for her own
convenience.  He would be devastated.   But she must push
on.  For Helmsby Abbey. 

***

That had been nearly too easy. 
Archibald Runyon sat back in his carriage after escorting Alexandra inside
Burke’s townhome and congratulated himself!  What a boon to have Sutton
and his worthless sister confront him at Thrumbadge’s today.  He couldn’t
have planned it better himself!  Alexandra barely needed a push to accept
that Cam, and his father, were the reasons Archie was reviled.  His little
pigeon was so trusting!  Adorable!   Cam’s reputation as the
great Satan Reynolds, which Archie wisely cultivated while Cam was just a lad,
paid huge dividends! Archie clapped his gloved hands. 

He reached into his vest pocket and
pulled out Alexandra’s note to Mr. Meechum.  Calmly he ripped it into tiny
pieces and tossed them, fluttering, over his head.  The creamy paper trickled
in to a muddy puddle and disappeared from view.  Listening to her rattle
on about beloved servants and such today was tiring and a trifle boring. 
But, it had given him an idea.  Archie stroked his chin.

His beautiful little Hampshire rose. That
buffoon, Oliver Burke, claimed Alexandra to be plain and devoid of any feminine
attributes.  Burke was an idiot.  True, she was no conventional
beauty, but he found conventional beauty to be tiresome.  She certainly
could never hold a candle to his beloved Jeanette.  Few women could. And
Alexandra was innocent.  Pure.  Untouched.  Archie relished
innocence in women.  He loved to be the person to shake the gentle
perceptions of a young woman, defile her, and degrade her.  Introduce her
to perversions she didn’t know she desired.

His delicious thoughts of Alexandra faded
away as he thought of Cam.  How he hated the man!  Cam’s baiting made
it clear that Lord Robert, before dying, confessed everything to his son. Damn Robert. 
Jeanette convinced herself that Robert would become malleable if only she bore
a son.  Well, Archie sniffed, she didn’t.  Just daughters. 
Leaving only Sutton.

Archie stretched his slender fingers
inside the fine leather of his gloves.  He bet that Alexandra did not
spill her books by chance. Miranda, that chattering simpleton, did not just
happen upon Miss Dunforth in need.   Archie stroked the wolf’s head
absently.  He saw the way Cam looked at Miss Dunforth.  The thought
of Cam’s pain when Archie married Miss Dunforth was simply delicious.  
Imagine!  The great Satan Reynolds enamored of a virgin, a bluestocking from
Hampshire no less!  Incredible!  Wait until he told Jeanette. 

He leaned back into the leather squabs of
his carriage and contemplated the delicate bones of Alexandra’s hands. 
Her hands were so small, her wrists so slender he would need to have special
cuffs made for her.  He couldn’t risk Alexandra slipping out of them at an
inopportune moment.

Archie thought of the beautiful leather
crop he had fashioned in Italy.  Long narrow strands sprung from the top
of the crop, each ending in a small glass bead.  The handle of the crop
was made to fit his hand perfectly, so as not to lose the grip when the crop
was being used.  Just today, he tried it out on the downstairs maid, a
drab little girl who dutifully submitted to him. He imagined it was Alexandra
beneath him the entire time. His elderly father would adore Alexandra. 
Archie would finally appease the old toad and return to his rightful position
in the family.

And Archie would be appeased as well. 
The idea of buying a woman and making her a slave to his needs held much
appeal. Alexandra’s intelligence challenged him, which would make the breaking
of her spirit that much more exquisite.  He planned all types of
activities after their marriage.  Once she broke, his friends could use
her.  Archie would watch.  He would beat her, pulling back the dark
curls of Alexandra’s hair so hard, a scream would come out of her luscious
mouth.  He needed to be careful.  He didn’t want her too bruised. 
He imagined Alexandra’s firm plump bottom, pushed towards him.  Archie
felt himself grow hard just thinking about it.  He rapped on the top of
the carriage.

“Take me to Madame LeFleur's.”  His
coach acknowledged the command with an abrupt turn, heading toward the
direction of the most notorious brothel in London.  Madame LeFleur would
have forgiven him by now for that unfortunate incident.  It had been years
ago when Archie had less control of his emotions.  The girl, no more than
fourteen, balked at all his suggestions for play.  It wasn’t Archie’s
fault her neck snapped. He hoped Madame LeFleur hired sturdier whores now.

Alexandra sat down on the drawing room
couch, a tray of tea before her.  She pressed her fingertips to her
temples and took a deep breath.   Lord, how her head ached. 
Dinner, a long and drawn out affair, exhausted her.  Her appetite, usually
so robust, deserted her tonight. A few sips of consommé were all she could
stomach.  Odious Oliver cheerfully stuffed his face full of food, ignoring
the fact that the duck was dry, the fish overcooked and the vegetables mushy at
best.  Mr. Runyon noticed. He ate mostly bread, downed with a glass of red
wine.   Alexandra cared little.  Mr. Runyon had visited with Mr.
Meechum.  She waited impatiently for dinner to end so that she could hear
Mr. Meechum’s response to her note.

The door to the drawing room opened and
Mr. Runyon entered with Lord Burke trailing behind him.

“May I have a word alone with your niece,
Lord Burke?”  It was phrased as a question, but the words from Mr. Runyon
sounded more like a command.

  Her atrocious uncle gave one of
his pig-like snorts.  He disgusted her.  She thought him larger,
getting fatter like a goose before Christmas. 

“Of course!  Of course! I’ll just
have a glass of port in my study.  Leave you two lovebirds alone.” 
Odious Oliver blinked one bleary eye at Mr. Runyon. 

Alexandra watched her uncle with
apathy. 

“Try to stay awake to entertain Mr.
Runyon.  It amazes me he’s interested in anything you have to say.” 
Her uncle gave a huge wheezing chuckle and headed towards the door.

“You will not speak to Alexandra in such
a way again, Lord Burke.  Do I make myself clear?”  Mr. Runyon glared
at her uncle, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.   What a
lovely man to defend her.  Mr. Runyon stood firmly in Alexandra’s corner.
He didn’t take advantage or try to seduce her on books.  Not like Lord
Reynolds. 

Alexandra’s eyelids fluttered down as she
thought of Lord Reynolds.  He toyed with her.  But she ached for him
all the same. She dreamt of the dragon tattoo and the earring nearly every
night.  Felt the dark sable hair beneath her fingers.  Oh, she knew
how foolish her feelings for the notorious Lord Reynolds were.  Ridiculous
actually.  His torturing of her was merely a game for him, ruining women a
hobby.  Oh, but to be ruined by a man such as that.  She smiled and a
wistful puff of air escaped her lips.

“Um, yes, Runyon.  I meant nothing
by it.  Alexandra doesn’t take offense, why should you?”  Her uncle
shuffled his feet, his fat fingers nervously tapped on his pant leg.

“I will join you later, Lord
Burke.”  Mr. Runyon gave a chilly dismissal.  

Odious Oliver nodded with a warning
glance at Alexandra.  He needn’t have bothered.  She would never say
anything to hurt kind Mr. Runyon.

   Mr. Runyon sat down gingerly
next to her on the couch.  His golden hair gleamed in the
candlelight.  She found him attractive.  He did not have Lord
Reynolds’s angelic beauty, but he was a rather good-looking in his own
way.   He took one of her hands, rubbing it gently in his larger
one.  His hand circled her wrist, squeezing for a moment, then, letting
go. The pale blue gaze settled on her, the pupils dark as he squeezed her
fingers. 

“Miss Dunforth,” Mr. Runyon sighed. “I
spoke at length with Mr. Meechum.” His voice trembled slightly.

Dread settled over Alexandra like a dark
mist.  The consommé threatened to leave her stomach.

She took another sip of the tea. 
Her head began to throb.  “Yes?”  How pathetic and hopeful her voice
sounded, even to her own ears.

“I am sorry, Miss Dunforth.  I
regret to inform you that apparently your aunt may have misled you.”  He
glanced away, refusing to meet her eyes. “Unintentionally, I’m sure.”

She put the tea down, sloshing a bit on
to the saucer. She tried to pull her free hand from Mr. Runyon, but he
resisted. “Misled me?  How?”

Mr. Runyon coughed.  He gave her a
wan smile, his blue eyes troubled. “The terms of the will, I’m afraid. There is
no expiration on your uncle’s guardianship and Helmsby Abbey most assuredly
belongs to him.  Not you.”

Her vision narrowed to pinpoints. 

“What do you mean? ” Aunt Eloise lied?

“I’m afraid that your uncle, Oliver
Burke, is your guardian until you are married.  Helmsby Abbey and
everything that goes with it...” He paused and his eyes saddened. “...belong to
your uncle.  It is
you
that has no claim on the estate.”

Alexandra sat back against the cushions
of the couch, pulling her hands free from Mr. Runyon.  A giant whoosh of
air forced through her lungs and out.  She told herself to breathe. Her
hands clutched at the arms of the couch.

“Please, Mr. Runyon.  Please do not
say this to me.”  My God.  What would she do?  Odious Oliver
would sell the estate.  She had failed Helmsby Abbey, and all who depended
on her. 

“Miss Dunforth.  I am deeply sorry
to bring you this news.” He moved closer to her on the settee, his voice low
and empathetic. “I suspect your aunt misled you to keep you from leaving her. She
never encouraged you to marry, did she?  Perhaps she didn’t wish to be
alone or perhaps she was incapable of running the estate without your
assistance.”

Alexandra stomach clenched.  A deep
wracking pain centered there.  Could it be true? Her mind, sluggish and
tired as it was, searched for a rationale.