Captive Scoundrel (12 page)

Vincent must have lured him there for just such a purpose. The setting, as Faith retold it, away from everything, sounded so perfect, the carriage so terribly close to the edge. But to be so vile as to kill a child? Justin was beginning to distinguish the difference between his nightmares and reality, yet the puzzle pieces in his brain did not yet fit.

Did Catherine know what Vincent planned? She may not have wanted a child, but even she…no, he wouldn’t believe it. This was on Vincent’s plate. Justin would stake his life on it. He nearly groaned at how close he’d come. He already had staked his life but Faith had won out.

She was correct about one thing. If Vincent knew he was recovering, his brother would try again. But Justin needed to live, to care for his tenants. Though if he were able to walk out of here, he would no longer need Faith.

But he did not need Faith. He needed no one. Besides, Faith had plans for her life. Squire Kennedy awaited her in Arundel.

Justin scoffed at himself. Then why could he not let her go? Why did the very idea bring him pain? God’s teeth, six children?

Perhaps his jealousy was not based on need, but simple lust. Likely so. And why would that please him; he couldn’t satisfy his own lust, not in a hundred years. So he should let her go.

What rankled was the notion of someone else sharing Faith’s bed, bringing her pleasure, giving her children. Why? She was a woman like any other, was she not?

“Bloody hell! Stupid bastard.”

Faith heard, rose and re-pinned her hair. “What’s wrong?” she asked returning to his room.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She lit a candle. “Are you all right?”

“Feeling sorry for myself. Cheer me up, will you?”

She settled into the chair by his bed. “I will do my best. See now, how shall I cheer you? More tales of my childhood? Jimmy Kennedy and I used to—”

“Absolutely not!”

“Shall I sing? Or dance?” She rose and did a fair imitation of a highland fling. “Or would you like to tell me what’s troubling you?” She folded her hands in her lap. “Speak to me.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never felt like this. I’m stuck in bed while my brother neglects his responsibilities—my responsibilities. I worry about my tenants, but I am in no condition to do anything about them. How Catherine died is driving me insane, and Beth. Dear, sweet, Beth.” He shook his head in despair. “Just stay and talk to me.”

Faith’s heart beat wildly. “I think you’re ready for the best surprise of your life.” She touched his hand and looked into his eyes. “But you must allow that I had no choice in waiting until your health improved. Promise you won’t be angry, because, Justin, it was not only your welfare at stake, and should you have denied—well, it could not have been borne.”

“You distract me, I must say, but you give me the headache.”

Faith clapped her hands. “I’ll be back in a blink. Don’t move.”

Despite his dejection, Justin was charmed. Had he ever seen her so excited? Rather enchanting, he must admit. She returned moments later, offering her surprise…a child. “Dear, God.” Pain sliced him. He fisted his hands to keep from snatching at it in useless hope. He sneered at Faith. “I believed you more compassionate than this.”

“This is Beth, Justin.” Faith’s pity nearly undid him. “Take her. She’s not made of porcelain.” She placed the child in his arms.

With a murmur, the sprite sought his warmth. God. Justin had no choice but to hold the little one, yet he could not bear to look at her. “I cannot.” His voice broke. “My daughter is dead. Whose child is this?”

Faith reclaimed Beth. “She is your child, Justin. But this was a dreadful mistake, which is why I waited. Thank God she’s asleep; she could never bear your rejection.”

Justin felt a failure. “Why are you tormenting me?”

“Had I set out to torment, I would have dosed you to death. I might have let your fever burn you alive, or let you freeze beneath layers of ice.”

“Enough.” Justin shook his head. “Tell me true. Who is this child?”

“Her name is Beth Devereux. She is your daughter.”

“This can’t be Beth,” Justin said, afraid to believe. “I saw the carriage—”

“Did you see Beth inside that carriage?”

Justin fought confusion over the events with the pull of promise in Faith’s eyes. “You have no idea how much I….” Faith, his tormentor—no, his saviour, stepped near, and the child in her arms whimpered.

A palsy shook Justin, one that had nothing to do with ill health, and everything to do with bone-deep fear. If he allowed the hope…“God, how I want to believe. But I cannot. I dare not.”

Faith rubbed the child’s back. “Believe.”

Justin took a breath. He’d lived through his daughter’s death—a thousand, times a thousand—in the hell of his nightmares. But had he lived it in truth? He was no longer sure that he knew the difference.

Without volition, he raised his hand to the baby-fine curls, but stopped short of touching them. Fear had a taste. Acrid and throat-burning. He saw that Faith hurt for him, but she remained silent. He took a breath, reached again. Stopped again. Faith sat beside him, against his pillows, cradling the child so he could see her face. She brought the small hand to his, palm to palm. He ached to his soul for this to be as real as it seemed.

The sprite curled her fist around his finger. Justin closed his eyes and bowed his head so Faith would not see his tears.

Faith felt the anguish Justin tried to hide. With a groan, he stroked the tiny fist with his thumb, then he gazed finally into the perfect little face, his own a study in longing. “I want it to be her so badly.”

Faith touched their entwined hands. “After the carriage went over the cliff, you didn’t see her fall from it. By your claim, you don’t remember her being at the site. Why do you believe she was there?”

He shrugged. “Vincent,” Justin said, and looked sharply up at her.

Faith smiled. “Justin, you thought Catherine lived. You were wrong. You think Beth died. You are wrong.”

He gazed at her, at every nuance of her expression, as if he might read the truth there. She smiled so he could. “When you woke, you said Beth died in that accident. I told you then that you were wrong. Do you remember?”

“Yes, but…” Myriad emotions crossed his face. Hope. Belief. Disbelief. Pain. Struggle. Hope again. He reached for his daughter, exhaling on a ragged sigh. “She’s bigger than B—she’s bigger.”

“The morning I withheld your medicine for the first time, Beth called you Poppy.”

Justin swallowed hard. His hand shook as he fingered a bronze curl. Tears in his eyes, he grinned. “She never could say Papa.” He kissed the small forehead. “My Beth?”

The little one’s sleepy eyes opened. She traced his lips. “Poppy,” she said on a yawn, and slept again.

Justin sobbed and caught his breath. “Faith, I…If not for you, I would never have known. Before you came, I had given up, in my head and heart, as I waited for the grave. But you roused me from hell even so. You were my angel, and so I thought you, and knew it for truth the moment I saw you.” He caught her hand, kissed it. “I can’t believe that this is Beth I hold in my arms. What do you know about the accident? Where was she that day?”

“With Catherine’s old nurse outside London. I was hired to care for you both.”

“Care for?” Justin frowned. “Was she ill?”

“Frightened. She’s better now, but having you back is what she needs.”

“Thank you for your care of my daughter. And her father. I can hardly credit my brother with such a wise choice of nurse.”

“According to Harris, Vincent was being forced to find you a nurse, under threat from a local Magistrate and a group of powerful men—”

“Scoundrels,” Justin said with a grin. “Powerful scoundrels.”

“All right. Scoundrels forced him to find you a nurse. Then Vicar Kendrick of our parish recommended me.”

“Gabriel,” Justin said. “Gabriel Kendrick, Vicar, I mean; he’s another scoundrel, or a knave of hearts, whatever you will.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Faith added, brow raised.

“I’d say it to Gabe’s face.”

Faith scoffed. “Better you than me. At any rate, I only met your brother on the day I arrived. I believe he was disappointed. He accepted me only so he could satisfy the Magistrate breathing down his neck and leave Killashandra behind.”

“I’m surprised he left after seeing you. And be glad he did.”

Beth stirred, catching his attention. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know. She reminds me of you, after all. Mrs. Tucker says she acts like you, too. She delights in chasing kittens and riding your old hobby horse. And you should hear her talk. I’ll reintroduce you tomorrow when she can appreciate the reunion.” Faith took Beth, kissed her nose, and rose to take her back to her bed.

“I hate to let her go. Wait.” He touched Faith’s arm. “Come back.” When Faith did, he kissed Beth’s cheek. “Sleep well, Muffin. I’ll see you in the morning.” He crooked his finger, and when Faith responded by bending toward him, he kissed her cheek too. “Thank you for my daughter.”

As she carried Beth to her room, Faith was seized with a longing so strong, it weakened her. She felt as if Justin had thanked her for giving him a child—their child.

What would it be like carrying his child, nurturing it with her body? Her womb clenched with need, and Faith recognized the yearning. She wanted a life with Justin. Lord, she loved him. The kind of love Mama spoke of, the forever kind, God help her.

Justin gave thanks. He had Beth. He had Faith. He would soon have his health. Nothing mattered more than that. He felt more alive than he had in years.

Faith cared for his daughter. Loved her, she said. Perhaps she didn’t use the word love as indiscriminately as he’d at first believed.

He missed Beth already. But he would see her again tomorrow. And every day after, God grant it.

He had to get out of this damned bed. He had to get well.

“I see you’re properly cheered,” Faith said upon returning.

“I have the inclination, if not the ability, to waltz you about the room. Consider it a promise for the future.” He pulled her down and kissed her, consumed her. At her dazed expression, he kissed her once more. “I’m starving, but I’ll become a bear if you feed me pap again.”

Faith stood—unsteadily, he thought with pride—and smoothed her dress. “We can’t risk ordering you normal food. Someone will guess you’re better.”

“Because someone will not be happy if I recover. You stopped giving me the medicine because you thought it was poison.” He remained calm so she would know he was ready for the answer.

“Perhaps.”

“Vincent coveted my title and money. Likely he planned the carriage accident, or something near, by luring me out of London. Failing that, poison does not seem illogical.”

She touched her throat. “Not…the carriage accident.”

“Why not? If he wanted me dead by poison, why not the other?”

“I don’t know. It’s…he’s your brother. Perhaps he didn’t know the medicine was poison.”

Justin shook his head. “I wonder you suspected danger at all.”

Someone knocking on the hall door interrupted their painful discourse, just as well. For now.

“Pap,” Faith said, returning with a tray. “For the bear.”

Justin sighed in resignation. “I’ll feed myself. And you have to eat, too, else it will be you needing a nurse.”

Faith placed a small table between them. “Fiddle. I’m as strong as Squire Kennedy’s favourite bull.”

“I would prefer not to speak of your young swain.” He stirred his mushy peas and poked his marrow pudding. On her plate sat Cornish pasties, roasted parsnips, Yorkshire pudding and cabbage. Clotted cream capped a strawberry tart. Justin’s stomach rumbled in anticipation, but that was not his dinner. “Care to trade?”

“Would you like to share?”