Captive Scoundrel (33 page)

This blend of fury and fear for loved ones was dangerous, as he suspected. If he were thinking clearly, he would have fetched the pistols before stepping into Vincent’s net.

“Took you longer than I expected,” Vincent said. “Sit down.”

Justin sat, Vincent’s confidence an unpleasant surprise. All right, he could play the game. “This is the last time you come near my wife or one of my children, Vincent.”

“One of your wives you mean?” Vincent said, chuckling.

“I have proof you fed me poison as medicine.”

Vincent’s smile widened. “I never fed you a drop.”

Justin sighed. “Enough. Already I tire of this. Do what you will with me, but leave my family alone. Just indulge me in this last, if you will. Did you plan to throw Catherine over the cliff, or was your decision made on the instant?”

Vincent examined the pistol. “Catherine was a good mistress. And I had planned to keep her as such.”

“Your grief is staggering,” Justin bit off, trying to curb his rage, to keep his cards close, when he wanted to jump the desk and strangle his brother, the bloody gun be damned.

Only fear of abandoning Faith and his children to Vincent’s mercy stood between him and any number of irrational, vindictive deeds. That he and Vincent might be more alike than he wished to admit was a notion Justin thrust aside for later perusal.

Despite all, he must remain calm. The way to wrest control was to make one’s foe relinquish it. “You know, Vincent,” he said, smile genuine, for he could predict a reaction. “With regards to Catherine, I always wondered why you were content with used goods—second-hand, so to speak—especially mine.”

On target, Vincent’s fury came. “The bitch went crazy. When I aimed that gun at your back, she grabbed my arm and sent the shot wide, damn her soul. Still, it served its purpose, though not as well as a bullet would have. It spooked the horses that carried you over the cliff. I thought she’d tear me open with her claws, crying your name and screaming for all she was worth.”

Cat had cared? She’d even tried to save him? That was jarring.

“You didn’t realize, did you?” Vincent’s tone showed grief. “I lived my whole life with people who loved you more. I simply did not need another.” He shrugged. “So I sent her after you.”

What was the matter with him, feeling sorry for the man who tried to kill him? The man who murdered Catherine and abducted Faith and their son. He had to remain level-headed and strong. “You must have been beside yourself when I survived.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes and raised his chin.

Justin cheered inwardly. “How did you feel when you realized I had risen from the dead, so to speak?”

Vincent shot to his feet. His chair teetered and fell, echoing in the vaulted chamber. He steadied his aim and growled.

“As if that were not enough,” Justin said chuckling, throwing fuel on the fire of Vincent’s agitation. “Not only did I survive your poison, I married the nurse you hired to give it to me.”

Nostrils flaring, Vincent wrapped both hands around the gun’s grip and stepped closer.

Standing would affirm Vincent’s advantage, so Justin remained sitting, pretending a calm that was so far from fact as to be laughable, but if Vincent stepped a fraction closer….

“And my son,” Justin said, stretching, crossing his ankles. “What think you of my son?” Fear for his boy pounded in his brain, but Justin silenced it. “A right proper heir, is he not?”

“Stop!” Vincent shouted. “Stop pretending you have it all, you bastard. I do. I have your wife and your precious heir. All you have is Beth.” Vincent’s laugh, as if he’d amused himself, alerted Justin to a shift. “You have Beth, did I say?” Vincent chuckled. “You never questioned her paternity, did you?”

Justin attempted to mask his shock. Failed.

“I see from your look, you did not. I suspect you guess the truth now, then.” He nodded. “Yes. I am Beth’s father.”

Stunned out of mind, Justin forced a smile—weak at best, he feared. Still he persevered. “Did you call me a bastard?”

Vincent revealed renewed agitation, giving Justin heart. “We both know you are the bastard, not I.”

Vincent’s gun hand lowered. “How long have you known?”

“Twenty years or so. You?”

A sneer contorted Vincent’s mask. “On my sixteenth birthday, from that balcony, I heard your father call our mother a slut, naming me her worst mistake. She said I was one of many, her worst, marrying him.” Pain weighted Vincent’s laugh. “I wasn’t even high on the mistake list, no nor on any other. The old man called me a bastard and I stood like stone, praying she would correct him. But she never did.”

A breath, a shake of his head, and Vincent seemed to awaken. “The birthday must have been hard on the old man.” He smiled wryly. “You’ve known longer than I, yet you treated me the same, until I put a stop to it. I didn’t want or need your pity.”

“No, just my title and my money. So much for sentiment.”

“Sentiment is for women like Faith.” The light in Vincent’s eyes foretold another thrust. Justin braced himself. “Hemsted proposed marriage to Faith in Arundel. Did you know that?”

Despite steeling himself, Justin was robbed of breath.

“I see from that tic in your cheek, brother, that our little nurse was…keeping secrets, shall we say?”

By not telling him about Hemsted’s proposal, Faith had in effect, lied to him. How far did her deception extend? Ah, Faith. Faith. Could no woman be trusted?

“Today, Justin, your wife betrayed you again. Do you know what she has been doing this past hour or more?”

He pictured Hemsted, Faith’s cape billowing behind, and shut the image away. “Trying to get away from you, I expect.”

Cunning lit Vincent’s eyes. “Fornicating with Hemsted. Found them myself in your father’s bed. A woman of passion, your wife. Her sounds of satisfaction do tend to inflame the senses.”

Justin’s insides clenched. His fists ached to connect with bone … Hemsted’s, Vincent’s. Hemsted’s words, ‘I left Faith in the gold bedroom,’ became a haunting chant.

Undeniable proof of Vincent’s claim. And yet. And yet….

Then everything fell into place. He was being dosed with poison again, venomous poisonous words. Who better to administer this new toxin than the man who knew his every reason to mistrust? Their mother’s bastard, Catherine’s lover. What viler poison than to name Faith unfaithful? The very words were a paradox. Justin laughed. As certain as he was that Catherine betrayed him, was he certain Faith did not, could not.

Faith had delivered him from hell. She had borne his abuse. For the love of God, she had given him life. His. Beth’s. Their son’s. Justin grinned.

Setting his jaw, Vincent tried to collect his tattered confidence. That he searched for his next thrust was obvious. “Why do you think Faith told Hemsted of your marriage? She knew my man would tell me. She wanted me to remove you as an obstacle between them. Max is crazy for wanting her. And she feels the same. Neither of them can get enough of—”

A shriek, piercing, shrill, drew their gazes to the library balcony. “You lie, you wretched excuse for a man. Max loves me!” Aline screamed.

Vincent barked a laugh. “Love you? Who could?”

Justin had never heard him speak more coldly. He saw his chance to disarm Vincent the same moment Aline raised her own weapon. And Justin’s heart sank, for in those hands, his father’s duelling pistols would be as deadly as a loose cannon.

“Stupid bitch,” Vincent said, just loud enough to narrow his wife’s eyes and bring a deadly smile to her lips.

She took aim. The gun exploded.

Justin leapt to push Vincent aside and broke his fall instead. Shocked he lowered his brother to the floor and watched blood seep through the azure waistcoat, the grotesque stain spreading. In the silence, amid the metallic odour of blood, Justin tried to grasp the situation. Was the game finally over?

He caught a movement, looked up, and knew it was not.

The game would continue. New players, new rules.

He had forgotten her, his widowed sister-in-law, the coarse woman he did not know and did not like. And he supposed he should not have been surprised when she aimed the second of the pistols at him. Fate. Destiny. A bite in the backside.

Aline nodded as if she read him. “I will kill you both and make it look like you killed each other. And after I inherit your money, I will go away with my Max.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aline,” Faith said stepping onto the balcony from the upper hall, stopping Justin’s heart. “I stand to inherit, not you. I am Justin’s wife, after all.”

“Faith, don’t!” Justin shouted, the sight of Aline re-directing her aim toward Faith nearly felling him.

With Faith up there, a gun at her heart, and him down here, how could he save her? How? Slowly, he began to rise.

“Get down!” Aline shouted. “Or I will shoot her.”

Justin complied instantly.

“Stay,” Aline ordered. “I warn you.”

He nodded, not certain she caught the move. Faith spoke to her in a soothing tone, but Justin could not discern her words for the fear pounding in his head. He closed his eyes, swallowed. Dear God, he prayed. I love her so much.

Something touched his hand. He looked down. Another shock. Unexpected. Cutting him to his marrow.

With obvious and painful difficulty, Vincent pushed the German pistol into Justin’s palm. Oh, no. Oh, God.

He hated this man. Hated him. Yet a shot of love, the good times passing swiftly through his mind, made Justin both furious and grateful. The result: pain, swift, crippling.

Vincent’s expression just now must mirror the boy standing like stone, waiting for the word bastard to be rejected. Imploring, anxious, desperate.

Tears blurred Justin’s vision. He tried to speak, but Vincent cautioned silence with wide eyes.

“Max does not love you, Aline,” Faith said so loudly Justin knew she intended him to hear. “He loves me.”

Justin turned back to the balcony, the weapon he now held hidden between him and Vincent. He tried slowly to rise and Aline caught the action. “An inch higher and I kill her.”

Justin heard the deadly click. He knelt again, panicked as when he saw that carriage by the cliff. Powerless. He caressed the gun, but he was too near the floor and Aline too far back on the balcony—and too close to Faith—for him to dare a shot.

“Max is taking me away with him,” Faith declared.

“You’re lying,” Aline spat. “Max made love to me all last night.” Her tone was smug, her head raised with pride.

“I just saw Max,” Faith said. “And he told me…” She smiled. “Showed me he wanted me. If you had satisfied him, why would he still want me?” Faith inched closer to the jealous woman putting herself in further peril.

Justin needed to turn their attention, to move them apart. “Damn it, Faith, Aline, stop it!”

They ignored him. “Max begs my favour,” Aline said, voice shrill, defensive, her mind as fragile as her husband’s.

“I’ll fight for him,” Faith said. “He is a magnificent lover and the father of my son.”

With the statement, something in Justin expanded. Faith’s words set him free. He could trust her every bit as much as he loved her. As much as she loved him. If she had not proved it in so many other ways, she did so now—deliberately baiting an irrational woman to save him—but God, oh God, she frightened him to death.

Faith was as scared as she hoped she appeared bold, but if Aline lost her temper, she’d lose concentration and, maybe, make a mistake. “Max does not want you, Aline.”

“He does want me,” Aline preened. “And he will follow me back to France, because I am a duchess.”

Faith tried a trilling laugh, and though badly done, it was good enough to unsettle the woman. “You’re not a duchess. Your husband was never the duke. Vincent stole Justin’s title and planned his murder, but he failed. Your husband died a pauper.”

Aline hurled a string of guttersnipe invectives in her husband’s general direction. “I’m glad the wretch is dead. He could do nothing right. I would kill him again, could I do so.”