Captive Scoundrel (26 page)

He touched her cheek. “It’s all right, Sweetheart.” He faced his in-laws and bowed. “Justin Anthony Devereux, Fifth Duke of Ainsley, at your service.” All ceremony gone, he took her into his arms, and she began to weep. “Everything’s fine now, Sweetheart. Don’t cry.” He kissed her brow. “I came as quickly as I could. I heard some of what was said and I’m sorry you had to endure it alone.”

He spoke as if there was no one else in the room, and made Faith wish there was not. Now their time alone seemed precious.

“Take your hands off my daughter! If you think, because you have a title, that you may make free with Faith before our eyes, that we will allow her to stay here and bear your bastard—”

“Papa!” Faith blanched, turned white as snow, and nearly as cold.

“Lord, Faith, don’t faint on me,” Justin said, leading her to the settee, torn between anger at her parents’ treatment and concern for her. He knelt to chafe her hands. “Drink this,” he said, offering the glass of brandy her father shoved into his hand.

With a second sip, her colour returned, and though Justin was determined not to brawl with her parents at first meeting, he was angry at the way they treated her. He stood. “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but though you may order me to unhand your daughter, I have a right to tend my wife.”

Satisfied he’d made an impression, Justin nodded. “Pray, be seated so I may sit beside Faith.”

He wiped her tears with his handkerchief, glad for a chance to calm. “Give me a minute, Sweetheart, and I’ll have you tucked into bed in no time.”

John Wickham bristled and Justin was sorry for it, but they must be made to understand, in no uncertain terms, that Faith belonged to him now. He kissed her brow, resisting an urge to claim her lips.

Finally he turned to them. “I understand your shock to find Faith increasing, but we were married last December by your own Vicar Kendrick, who happens to be an old school chum of mine. He kept his own counsel at our urging and is concerned you will not understand his silence. I pray you forgive us all. Secrecy was imperative, several lives being at risk, including your daughter’s.”

Faith’s father jumped to his feet. “No!”

Her mother paled. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s no threat to your younger children, else we would not have come. My life is in danger, and now my wife and heir could be in danger too. Faith needs rest, so I’ll hold explanations for morning, but please say nothing till we’ve had a chance to talk.”

Justin was sorry for his anger. It was obvious Faith’s parents loved her. “I want you to know that Faith means everything to me. I don’t know how I existed without her, and I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy. I understand, to some degree, how you must feel, but if you’ll excuse us, it’s been a trying day.”

They left two bewildered people at the bottom of the stairs, and Faith turned into his arms before their door closed. “They were so upset,” she said. “With everything else to worry about, I never considered their reaction. Thank you for coming. They looked so funny when they saw me. I’m certain I looked quite guilty.”

He sat her on the bed and removed her shoes and stockings. Then he undid her buttons and eased her dress off. He noted the new fullness of her breasts as her body prepared itself to nurture their child.

Faith slept before he could fetch her nightrail. He tucked her in and kissed her cheek. “You’re a tease even when you don’t know it,” he whispered.

From the window-seat, he gazed at the stars and vowed, for the safety of his family, to do two things—bury Justin Devereux and thwart Vincent Devereux.

His in-laws were at breakfast when Justin went down the next morning. “Your grace,” John said standing. “I hope you will forgive an over-protective father.”

“Call me Justin, and I will call you John and Cecile, if I may, as Faith suggested. No apologies are necessary on your part. I wondered how I would react if that were Beth, and I realized you must have held yourself in check.”

Justin explained how Faith saved his life and the danger they faced. “I’d like to be introduced as Faith’s husband, Justin Reddington. He’s an American cousin, and I can carry off the charade, if need be. I do thank you for having us. We will try not to be too much of a burden.”

“You’re welcome for as long you need,” Cecile said. “Had you sought sanctuary elsewhere, we would have been crushed.”

Faith came in and kissed her parents. “Thank you, Mama.”

Justin held her chair. “I thought to let you sleep, but you look well-rested this morning.”

“I feel wonderful. You’re safe. I’m home, and I’m ravenous.”

Smiling, Justin piled her plate with sausage and eggs.

“I’m not expecting a pony, Justin.”

He stopped. “Are you not? I had hoped….”

Faith cuffed him and her parents laughed, but Justin was chagrined to be on display after months of privacy. Now several children stopped as one in the doorway. Very much on display.

“Annie,” Faith shrieked, as she stood and threw her arms around another beautiful young Wickham.

“Faith, you’re home! I have so much to tell you.” She stepped back and regarded her older sister. “But I expect it’s not near as interesting as what you have to tell me.”

Faith introduced the young ones as Andy and Lissa, then the twins as Jeremy and Amanda. When she stood behind his chair, Justin was proud to be claimed by Faith. “This is my husband, Justin.”

“Faith,” Lissa said. “Are you going to have a baby?”

“Yes,” Faith responded, obviously wary.

“Freddy Waring said the father places his seed in the mother, and that’s how babies get inside their mothers.” Oblivious to her mother’s gasp, Lissa sat. “I asked him to show me and he said he would. Did you place your seed inside Faith, Justin?”

Justin strangled behind his napkin.

“Where the devil…er pardon,” John Wickham said. “Where does this Freddy Waring live?” he demanded.

“He’s moved to America,” the wide eyed child replied.

“Praise be,” her father said.

Faith rose. “I’ll get Beth. She’ll love Andy and Lissa.”

“Eat,” Justin ordered. “I’ll get her. Mother, make sure she eats.”

As soon as he was gone, Faith’s family spoke as one and she laughed. “Wait, I’ll tell. Yes, he’s the man I went to care for. We were married in December.” She looked at her mother. “I want very much to be here when my baby is born.”

Her mother clasped her hand. “I wouldn’t hear of it coming into the world anywhere else.”

Justin returned, Beth shyly cuddled up to him, until she saw Faith, and she opened her arms. “Mama.”

Faith’s heart fluttered. “Justin, did you tell her to say call me that?”

“I told her you were her mama now. She made the choice.”

Later that day, Justin formally addressed Faith’s parents in a closed parlour. “It’s unfortunate you weren’t present for our wedding, but perhaps you’d like to attend my funeral.”

He chuckled at their horror. “Can you think of a better way to make a man intent on murder stop trying?”

So the Fifth Duke of Ainsley’s funeral took place on a drizzly June morning. And though Justin hated the necessity, Faith wrote to Hemsted. “I did all I could for him, but alas, it was not enough. Justin Devereux is dead.”

While a portly Marquis boasted of his grapes and vines, Vincent wondered how he’d tolerated this place so long. He’d wanted to leave weeks ago, but his father-in-law wouldn’t hear of it and he couldn’t afford to cross the rich bastard.

“If you please, your grace.”

A footman beside him held a silver salver with a letter on it.

His companions stood in silence as Vincent opened it.

It was from Hemsted. ‘I regret to inform you of the death of your brother—’

Vincent began to shake. ‘…cemetery…Arundel…advise…arrangements…child’s return….sympathies.’

Victory!

Vincent wanted to shout…but he must be seen to grieve.

He lowered himself to a chair. Don’t smile. But he couldn’t help himself, so he bowed his head, and covered his eyes and his triumph.

Everyone watched. He had become the centre of attention. His favourite place to be.

So he milked their curiosity, garnered their sympathy…and rejoiced inwardly. That ripe little tart had assured his success by taking Justin on an extended journey. He’d hoped when he heard, that the carriage ride would finish him.

At first opportunity, he’d thank her in a most pleasurable manner.

His smile hovered, but happiness would not do. He visualized that which could utterly destroy him, if Justin were well and his wife were penniless. And he succeeded in his goal. Too well. It brought such anguish, his panic rose to the point that he shot to his feet to free himself from the horror.

The gasp of those assembled added to his anxiety. “My brother,” he said, his voice breaking. “My brother is…dead.” He took a breath, realizing it was true. “I must go home.”

His pain receded. It was only an act. He had what he wanted.

A short while later, in his personal carriage, Vincent finally shook off his agitation. “We must make haste,” he told his wife. “I must see to my niece.”

“You are also guardian of the money?” she asked.

“Yes.” He smiled into the darkness.

“Ah, but you must be heartbroken. I am so sorry, mon amour.” Aline’s kiss became an outlet for his rapture. For the first time in months, their passion stemmed from happiness rather than hate, and they did not wait to reach fulfilment.

Once they arrived at his wife’s home, his home now, Vincent took her again. Perhaps he had not made a bad marriage after all. This had been the best sexual experience since his brother’s wife, the fair Catherine, who, it turned out, loved her husband.

Damn it, Justin had always had it all, wealth, title, power, women…a father who wanted him. He’d never found himself alone, abandoned, desolate…at least until recently. Even then he’d been senseless, so he couldn’t have known. Could he?

Had he suffered? All those months? His brother. His first playmate. Suddenly Vincent recalled a scene—twittering birds, Justin rolling on the floor laughing. Vincent’s chest tightened. And fast upon the tide of memory came sorrow. Guilt.

Catherine and Justin, both dead.

A horrific trepidation rushed Vincent.

It mocked him through a sleepless night, dogged his journey to Calais the next morning, and it wailed in the wind as he crossed the Channel toward England.

During a walk through the village, Justin met Squire Kennedy’s son, him proud as a peacock, because Faith was his, and big with their child. He was still swaggering ten minutes later as they approached a copse. “Look,” Faith said, eyes sparkling. “This is where I came to dream. Just move these branches. Careful or you’ll get scratched.”

He lifted some bracken and Faith beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

In the centre of the tiny paradise, a brook ran beside a grassy slope, Pimpernel and Sundew at its edge. On the periphery stood a proud but gnarled beech tree, its upper limbs reaching for the sun, its lower branches for the brook. Justin let go of the foliage and, like a door to a secret garden, it closed them in.

“I forgot how beautiful it is here,” Faith said. She led him to the tree where he removed his jacket and spread it on the grass. If he felt tired, how must Faith feel? He helped her down and sat against the tree. “Here, rest against me.”

A robin chirped. A hawk screeched. The silence seemed blessed.

Faith glowed with sensuality as she raised her face to the sun. Justin stroked her hair, traced her ear. Such strange emotions she awakened in him—if only he could understand them—but wisdom danced just out of reach. And with the bewildering sentiment marched need, a physical exigency, banked, suppressed, ignored, but never, for a moment, absent.

They were alone in this sheltered Eden, secluded from the world, no abigails, nursemaids, children or parents. Faith was finally, joyfully well…and huge with child.