Sweet Surrender (38 page)

"I’ll act however I please."

"You’ll act as I tell you or I’ll lock you in a convent.  How would you like to spend the remainder of your days, praying and scrubbing floors?"

"I will not be disrespected by you!" she bellowed.

"Who’s disrespecting?  I’m merely offering a comment about your bad behavior.  Our people hate you, and they’re glad you’re going away."

"I made the estates thrive and prosper. 
I
did it.  Not your father.  Not your lazy, insolent brother."

"I wouldn’t denigrate Edward if I were you.  With the mood I’m in, I’m not inclined to listen." 

"I won’t be treated like this!"

"If you didn’t wish to be ill-used, you should have been more cautious with Grace Bennett."

"Grace Bennett, bah!  Who cares about her?"

"Me.  I care."

"The servants said you’d lifted her skirt a few times.  Apparently, you assume she was worth it."

"Yes, she was definitely worth it."

"Then I take great delight in informing you that her disappearance was thoroughly planned.  You’ll never find her—even if you search the rest of your life."

"I’ll find her."

"You won’t."  She grinned maliciously.  "It’s my petty revenge for how I had to put up with you."

"I never understood your hatred, Beatrice.  What did I ever do to you?"

"You were the only one who was never afraid of me."

"You wanted me to be afraid?"

"No matter how I disparaged or beat you, you wouldn’t bow down."

"You’re a woman and my mother.  Why would you have needed me to bow down?"  He shook his head.  "I always thought you were simply a bully, but I’m beginning to suspect you’re crazy as a loon.  I’m happy that Percival will be removed from your company and influence."

"That child is a trembling wreck.  He has no spine or intellect.  He required my brand of discipline to whip him into shape."

"No, he required kindness and compassion, and he’ll have them now."

"Who will provide it?  You and your precious Grace Bennett?"

"Yes.  I’m marrying her."

She snorted.  "You are not."

"I am—if she’ll have me.  She’ll fix your mess.  She’ll change everything here."

"Isn’t she lucky?  She waltzed into town, spread her legs, and rode off with the biggest prize of all.  How much of our money will you let her squander?"

"She won’t squander our fortune.  She’ll be too busy helping the new earl learn his role."

"The new…earl?"  She frowned, and her heart pounded.  "What are you saying?  Are you saying what I think you are?  Oh, you wretch!  You swine!  You will not elevate that common boy to earl of Milton.  It will happen over my dead body!"

"I’ll make sure you have a lovely funeral."

She lunged through the window, her hand shooting out to grab him, but he stepped out of reach.  She flailed about, her arm waving back and forth, so she appeared every bit as crazed as he’d just accused her of being.

"Susan will never permit you to get away with it," she ultimately insisted as she stopped her thrashing.

"Susan can’t stop me."

"Why is that?" Beatrice sneered.

"Because we have an affidavit from one of her father’s grooms."

"An affidavit about what?"

"About a drunken party Susan engaged in right before her wedding to Edward."

"What are you claiming?"

"You’re smart, Beatrice.  Reflect on it.  You’ll figure it out."

Images of dull, clumsy Percival and dashing, charming Edward flashed in her mind.  Over the years, she’d heard all the rumors, and she’d studiously ignored them. 

Yet after all this time, after all her effort with the bumbling, idiotic child, he was the wrong boy!

She started to giggle, then laugh, and gradually, the laugh grew into a howl of fury. 

"Bring me to Susan," she told him.  "Let me put my fingers around her slender, lying throat so I can choke her to death."

"I’ll deal with Susan.  You simply need to go away."

She leered at him, her revulsion showing.  "I should have smothered you in the cradle."

She’d been eager to wound him, but he merely grinned.  "Ah, Beatrice, you’re such a maternal person."

"I loathe you."

"For no reason.  Look where it’s left you."

"I always land on my feet, Jackson.  Just you wait.  I’ll survive this rough patch, and then, you’ll be sorry."

"I doubt it.  I’ve never been sorry about anything in my entire life."

"I’ll come after you."

"You have no money, Beatrice, and it takes wealth to have any real power.  You keep forgetting that you’re broke."

"I have friends in high places," she blustered.  "They’ll help me fight you."

He chuckled.  "When you line up this chorus of
friends
, be sure to let me know.  I’m dying to hear who they are."

He walked to the front of the carriage, murmured to the driver, and the man clicked the reins.  The horses pulled, and the wheels turned.

Up until that very second, she’d assumed she could engineer a different ending. 

The wheels turned faster so they were passing the house, the barns, the manicured lawns.  Very quickly, they would be out on the main road. 

She climbed up on her knees and leaned out the window. 

"Jackson," she shouted, "I apologize!  I’m sorry!  I’ll do whatever you ask.  I’ll pay any penance.  Please!"

"Goodbye, Beatrice," he called.

Duncan was standing with him, and he added, "Have fun in Wales."

"Shut your mouth, you rude oaf," she yelled at Duncan.

He laughed and waved as if she was off on a casual jaunt.

She shouted again, begging, cursing, and one of the maids tugged on her skirt.

"Sit back, Beatrice."

"It’s Lady Beatrice to you," Beatrice snapped.

"Sit and be quiet."

"I won’t.  You can’t tell me how to act."

"Actually, I can.  Mr. Scott says you’re under our arrest until further orders arrive from him."

The other maid said, "Behave.  Or we’ll have the footmen tie you to your seat."

Beatrice glared at them, but for once, her stern glower had no effect.  The moment was too humiliating. 

She had no assets, no power, no friends, no family, and she was being whisked out of the country by a group of disrespectful, lazy servants.

There was no justice in the world!

DC

Rafferty didn’t have an office.

In his type of employment, it wasn’t a good idea to be too visible.  People found him when they needed to find him, and he didn’t make it easy. 

He kept a table at the Stag and Bull, his favorite taproom down by the docks.  If he was out, he could trust the proprietor to take a message, to track him down and convey it accurately.

He’d just received such a message, that a new client was desperate to speak with him immediately.  He was hurrying down the street toward the establishment, eager to learn what opportunity would be presented. 

In his thirty years of living, he’d carried out any number of distasteful tasks:  bribing unsuitable swains so they’d vanish, kidnapping recalcitrant sons and delivering them to the navy against their will, sneaking off with a bastard baby so an angry father could lie to his too-young daughter and convince her that her child was stillborn. 

He supposed he should have felt guilty, but he was summoned when a person was at his wit’s end, when every avenue had been pursued and there was no other option.  If his conscience bothered him, he persuaded himself that he was rendering a service that couldn’t be obtained through other, less drastic means.

His attempts to rationalize didn’t always succeed, though.  His recent assistance to Beatrice Scott was a case in point.

She was a nasty piece of work, but she offered such exorbitant fees that, when she contacted him, it was difficult to refuse.

He’d handled many assignments for her.  Usually, he agreed that she was dealing with a miscreant who should be brought low.  But not always.  There’d been that pregnant housemaid.  Another occasion, he’d carted off an older footman where she’d leveled a false charge of theft merely because she had no desire to provide a pension. 

As he’d walked the man out the door, his wrists bound behind his back, Percival Scott had been watching from down the hall.  He still remembered the lad’s look of censure, and Rafferty couldn’t think of it without suffering a wave of shame.

Grace Bennett was another unlucky soul who’d enraged Beatrice Scott.  She’d simply shown up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

All the way to London, Miss Bennett had claimed a fond relationship with Jackson Scott, and her insistence had disconcerted Rafferty.  He’d never met Mr. Scott, but he wouldn’t want to cross the man.  He was wondering if he shouldn’t retrieve Grace Bennett, if he shouldn’t visit Mr. Scott on her behalf. 

Miss Bennett had repeatedly mentioned how Mr. Scott might reward Rafferty for saving her.  Shouldn’t he find out if Scott would? 

He strolled along, lost in thought, trying to decide the best course, so he wasn’t paying attention.  Suddenly, movement off to the side made him jump, but he couldn’t avoid the blow that was coming.  He was hit on the head, with a stick or a club, hard enough to daze him and knock him to his knees.

He’d planned to leap up and defend himself, but the clout had been quite fierce.  He was discombobulated, and he collapsed down, having adequate sense to roll onto his back.  He was cursing himself for his stupidly, for being caught off guard.

Gradually, his vision cleared, and he was staring down the barrel of a cocked pistol.

"Hello, Mr. Rafferty," a man said.

He was large and muscular and very, very angry.  He had dark hair and the type of blue, blue eyes Rafferty had only ever observed on one other person:  Edward Scott.  It was easy to discern his identity.

"Jackson Scott I presume?" Rafferty asked.

"Yes.  How interesting that you would guess."

"Dammit."

"Let’s have a chat, shall we?"

"About what?"

"Do you really have to inquire?"

Mr. Scott grabbed Rafferty and lifted him to his feet.  Rafferty was dizzy and swaying and could barely keep his balance, but he was sufficiently cognizant to see that Scott had several ruffians with him.

They were armed with clubs and pistols, and Rafferty wondered if he’d still be alive later in the day.

"This is my friend, Duncan Dane."  Mr. Scott indicated the man beside him.  "He’s married to Grace Bennett’s sister."

Rafferty gave Mr. Dane a half-hearted smile.  "Hello."

"I’m extremely fond of my wife," Dane said, "and I wouldn’t take kindly to any harm coming to a member of her family."

"And these hale fellows"—Mr. Scott gestured to the others—"are debt collectors with whom Mr. Dane has recently been intimately acquainted." 

"Hello," Rafferty said again, but they were stoically silent.

"I’ve hired them to work for me," Mr. Scott explained.  "They’ll commit any mayhem in order to please their employer and earn their wages.  They like to break bones and scar and maim.  You and these gents could be chums."

"I’m a professional," Rafferty huffed, "not an uncivilized barbarian.  I don’t scar and maim."

"No, you just terrorize and kidnap.  How many poor people has my mother arranged for you to hurt over the years?"

Rafferty thought it was ten, but it might have been eleven.  He couldn’t recall.  Still, he claimed, "Not that many."

"When I’m through with you, I expect you’ll give me a full, written report about each case."

It didn’t appear that he was about to be murdered—it might occur after Mr. Scott was gone—but he decided it wisest to assist however he could.

"I’m always happy to help," Rafferty replied.

Mr. Scott snorted with disgust.  "Let’s talk about Grace Bennett."

"What did you wish to know?"

"Where is she?"

"Over on the next block.  Would you like me to show you?"

"I’d be delighted."

Rafferty stepped away, and the group tensed and raised their fists.

"Easy, easy…" he murmured.  "No need for trouble.  It’s this way."

He started again, more slowly, and Mr. Scott said, "Yes, lead on, but if you try to run, I have no qualms about shooting you in the back."

"I’m not planning to run.  I’ll gladly take you to Miss Bennett.  I’d just been thinking I should fetch her away and bring her to you."

"Really?" Scott scoffed.

Mr. Dane said, "You’re a veritable angel of mercy, Rafferty."

"Aren’t I, though?"

"Shut up," Scott snapped, and he urged Rafferty forward with the barrel of his gun.