Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (17 page)

“Dearest.”

Alexandra looked up at Mr. Runyon,
startled out of her despair by the endearment on his lips. An odd thought
occurred to her, of watching cows run about the pen as the herders manipulated
the animals, driving them down the chute.  The cows fought the men’s
guidance, but in the end, allowed themselves to be led down the chute, where
the butcher awaited them. 

 “Forgive me for having to be the
one to destroy your hopes.” He reached for her hands again, this time clutching
her fingers tightly.  “To tell you of your aunt’s betrayal.”

Alexandra’s throat was very dry. A
feeling of hopelessness, of having her choices all taken from her, like the
cows, hit her. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mr.
Runyon.  You are unfailingly kind and a true friend to me.” Panic made her
voice shaky.  “Thank you for speaking to Mr. Meecham.” 

“Miss Dunforth, I wish to be so much more
than a friend.” He peered at her with fervor.  “I desire to be your true
companion, your husband. Pray forgive me for the timing of my proposal coming as
it does, on the heels of you finding yourself without recourse.”  He shook
her hands excitedly. “But you are
not
without recourse!  I wish to
be your knight in shining armor.  I spoke to your uncle before
dinner.  I have told him that I wish to purchase Helmsby Abbey from
him!”  His eyes gleamed in excitement. “Your uncle drove a hard bargain,
but in the end I triumphed.  Paid him more than he asked to assure your
future happiness.  We shall live there, always, if you wish it.  Your
family, your beloved servants, shall be safe.  I will grow to love them as
you do, my dearest!”

The blue eyes glittered with zeal as he
waited for her response to his news.  His hands were moist and clammy as
he clutched at her. 

Her voice sounded far away as she said,
“you would do this for me?  Ensure that all whom I love there would always
be welcome?  Helmsby Abbey, my home, would forever belong to me?” 

“Oh, my foolish little dove!  Of
course!  Just say yes and all shall be returned to you.” Alexandra closed
her eyes. The chute gaped wide. All of the exits, blocked.  The butcher
waited. What choice did she have, really?  An image of Helmsby Abbey, at
sunset, floated through her mind  She could smell Mrs. Cowrie’s
scones.  The housekeeper sent a letter just yesterday, asking Alexandra
when she would return. All of her extended family had no idea how precarious
their situation actually was.

“We would live at Helmsby Abbey? 
Truly?”  She sounded like a beggar in the street.  Shame washed over
her.  Why prolong the agony.  The choice remained simple.  Marry
Mr. Runyon and keep Helmsby Abbey safe.   There was no other
recourse.

“Miss Alexandra Dunforth, would you do me
the honor of becoming my wife?”

The smile on Mr. Runyon’s lips did not
match the look in his eyes.  He gave the impression of a wolf about to
bite into a tasty lamb.  Alexandra shook her head in exasperation, after
all, what did it matter now?  Mr. Runyon would restore her home to her and
make a decent husband.  Most marriages started with less.

He waited, his nostrils flaring
slightly.  The wolf like visage disappeared. A lopsided grin crossed his
face, giving him the look of an earnest puppy.  “Please say yes,
dearest.  I know I am not perhaps the man of your dreams, but I shall strive
to be.” 

Her heart, the heart that yearned for the
smell of cinnamon and dragon tattoos, screamed her refusal, her mind, ever
logical, ignored the desire of her heart. “Yes, Mr. Runyon.  I’ll marry
you.” 

***

Archie watched in pleasure as his little
Hampshire rose agreed to the match.  She must adore that pile of manure in
Hampshire. She practically salivated as he mentioned returning the estate to
her.  The very thought her dusty group of ancient retainers at the estate
becoming homeless nearly made his pigeon faint! He would have to watch her
future attachments to servants.  He simply did not approve.

Archie practiced his proposal all day in
front of the large mirror in his study to ensure just the right amount of
emotion. He felt certain he got it correct.  He toyed with the idea of
getting down on one knee, but honestly, he found that idea so preposterous he
wasn’t certain he could maintain his sincerity.  He found playing the
besotted suitor laughable, but necessary.  On their wedding night, he would
tell Alexandra how he, Archie Runyon fooled her.  That he tore up the note
to Mr. Meecham.  That Helmsby Abbey was gone! Lord Burke informed Archie
of the sale of the estate two days ago. His dove would be devastated. 
Delicious!

He pressed a kiss to Alexandra’s cold
cheek. “Wonderful!  This is just wonderful news!  You make me the
happiest man in the world.  I shall inform your uncle right away.” 
And he
was
happy.  The thought of having Alexandra completely in
his control made him lightheaded.  The special cuffs he’d ordered from
France would arrive by the end of the week.

Alexandra closed her eyes and her hands
shook as she pressed her fingertips to her temples.

Archie wasn’t pleased.  This was not
quite the reaction he hoped for.  She acted odd, slow, at dinner, but he
put that down to nervousness over his supposed meeting with her solicitor.

“Alexandra, dearest?” 

Sweat beaded on her forehead. “Just a
little tired.  I have not been sleeping well.  Would you mind ringing
Tilda, and ask her to bring another pot of my special tea?”

“Special tea?  Are you ill?”  If
Burke sold him a sickly bag of goods, the fat man would pay dearly.  Did
Alexandra have consumption or some other distasteful disease?  She seemed
well enough on their recent outing to Thrumbadge’s.  He noted the paleness
of her skin.  The way her hands shook.

“I’m just a little tired.  The
doctor told me I am prone to nervousness and stress.”

Archie found that statement absurd. He
rang for Tilda.

When the maid brought the tea, Archie poured
Alexandra a cup.  The dark steaming liquid gave off an acridly sweet
smell.    She’d barely eaten tonight.  Her pupils were
slightly dilated.  The headaches.

Alexandra took a deep swallow of tea and relaxed
into the cushions of the settee.

Damn Oliver Burke!  Damn him!
 Did Burke think Archie stupid?  “I
will be back, my dove.”  He patted her hand.  The vein in his temple
throbbed.  Burke overstepped his bounds.   “If it suits you, we
will make a formal announcement of our betrothal at my cousin’s birthday fete.”

She nodded slowly.  “Of
course.  Whatever you wish.” The words filtered out, her lips barely
moving.

Archie stood and strode out of the
parlor, pausing only to grab his wolf’s head cane where it sat in the
foyer.  His angry footsteps echoed on the bare wooden floor as he beat a
path to Burke’s study. 
Really!
  He was so incensed he thought
of killing the man tonight instead of waiting until after the wedding.  He
flung open the paneled door. Burke sat behind an enormous desk, his eyes
closed, his two large, ham like hands clasped together across his bloated
stomach.  Grunting in surprise, he sat up.   His hands flew down
below the desk.  No doubt to pull up his trousers.

Tilda crawled out from under Burke and
the desk. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and gave Archie a sly
grin.

Archie wished for a pistol. He wanted to
shoot the shameless old whore.  And Burke.

“Get out.  Now.” He pointed the
wolf’s head at Tilda. 

Casting a baleful look at Archie, Tilda
scurried like the rat she was, from the room.  A cloud of brandy laced
with the aroma of body fluids tickled his nose as she passed. 
Disgusting!

Burke faced him, red faced and
blustering.  “You should learn to knock Runyon.  A man deserves some
privacy in his own home.”  Burke pushed away from the desk, still
adjusting his trousers.  His eyes were bleary with drink.

“Sit down, you fat, disgusting
toad.”  Archie hurled the words at Burke.

Burke complied immediately, a wounded
look on his face.  He mopped his brow with a hastily produced handkerchief.  
Burke’s eyes widened in terror, like a child who has been caught doing
something vile, by a parent.

Archie expected Burke
was
terrified.  The fat man should be.  Archie’s blood boiled with rage.
He felt this same insane rage when he’d killed Lucia and her groom in
Tuscany.  No one defied him. Undermined him.

“Alexandra agreed to marry me.”  He
spat the words out, his voice choked with anger.

Burke sat back, relaxing and resumed
mopping his forehead with the handkerchief.  “Well there was no need to
barge in on me with the news!  Isn’t that what you wanted?  You
didn’t want her forced.  You told me she must come to you of her own free
will.  My congratulations.” Burke lurched one arm across the desk and
poured himself another brandy.

Archie swung the cane over his head,
threatening Lord Burke. 

Burke put his hands over his head in a
defensive gesture, spilling the brandy. He sobbed in fear. The wolf’s head
slammed down on the center of the desk sending pieces of wood into the air.

Burke jumped up, his chins
wiggling. 

“You’ve
drugged
her. 
Laudanum.  Do you think me so
stupid
I wouldn’t notice?  No
wonder she barely spoke at dinner.  How long have you been drugging her?”
He wished to tear the fat man limb from limb. This wasn’t how the game was
played!  Burke ruined it for him. 
Ruined it!
  Archie
wanted to sob in frustration.  He had such
plans
for
Alexandra.  The cuffs! 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Burke blubbered. 
“The night we dined at your home she told me you didn’t want her as a wife. 
She said her opinions put you off and you wanted a woman more biddable.  I
just made her biddable!“

“She was toying with you!  She hates
you.” He swung the cane again, enjoying the pounding sound it made as it hit
the wood of Burke’s desk.

Burke swatted away the bits of wood
flying at his face as he tried to squeeze his corpulent form underneath the
desk. 

“You’ve made her an addict!  She
barely knows what is going on around her.”  He clutched the cane in his
hand.   He wanted to beat Burke until the man’s head split open like
a pumpkin.

“Wait!”  Burke held up a fat
hand.  “Please!  Don’t you see I’ve done you a favor?  Alexandra
is the most tiresome twit.  She won’t break easy.  She’s
stubborn.  But now,” Burke sputtered, “you have leverage.  You can threaten
to take away her tea.  Use it to control her.  Won’t you like
that?”  Burke’s brows lifted up to his greasy pate, in an expression of
hope. 

Archie stopped swinging his cane. 
The suggestion had merit.  Her addiction could prove useful.

“Think what she’ll do for her tea. 
Think how Alexandra pleading for the tea will entertain you.  She’ll let
you do anything.  The laudanum will always give you control, especially
once she finds out I’ve sold Helmsby Abbey.” 

Runyon stroked his chin.  A vision
flashed through his mind of a naked Alexandra handing him the cuffs, allowing
him to do anything if she could have her tea.  Anything.  He pursed
his lips, tapping one finger against them.  A begging Alexandra
would
amuse
him.

He would give the fat man a reprieve.
Pointing the cane at Burke he warned,  “Tilda is not to increase the dose,
do you understand?  If Alexandra’s given any more she’s likely to become a
blithering idiot, and she’ll be of no use to me.  I want her to still have
the presence of mind to fight me.  Or beg.”

Burke nodded effusively. “I swear,
Runyon.  No more than she already takes.  I don’t wish to be the man
to spoil your fun.”

“No, I don’t expect you do.”  Runyon
looked at Burke, wishing he could just gut the man like a fish.   He
couldn’t
wait
to rid the world of Oliver Burke.

“Tell Miss Dunforth the Dowager
Marchioness of Cambourne and Lady Miranda Reynolds have arrived to call on
her.”  Donata commanded the snide butler of Oliver Burke’s town house. How
dare he refuse her entry!  The man smelled of onions and his clothing was
disheveled. Atrocious!  Donata did not care for his insolence one
bit.  She put her cane against the door.

“Madam, Lord Burke is not home.  He
left specific instructions for Miss Dunforth to rest, with no visitors.” 
The butler put his hands in desperation against the door attempting to politely
shut it.

“I am not just
any
visitor. 
I am the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.  If you wish to find gainful
employment after Lord Burke falls into poverty, which is likely at any moment
given the state of your uniform, you will step aside this instant.  Or I
shall have you removed.” The silvery head gestured to the large Cambourne
footman hovering protectively over Donata. “Do I make myself clear?”  Her
tone brooked no disobedience. 

The butler eyed the muscular young
footman and moved aside, muttering to himself he’d be fired for sure.

Donata was not impressed nor was she
surprised. Few people
ever
defied her.