Taken by the Wicked Rake (23 page)

Damn Verity Carlow, and all faithless women. Damn his mother, for her loose behaviour and her foolish curses. And damn Magda, as well, for forcing him to learn them. They had all claimed to care about him, yet they were willing to sacrifice him to get what they wanted. But once they were through, they did not care a jot if there was anything left of him.

And damn himself for not telling her every ugly detail of his past and then begging her forgiveness. He had behaved like a cad to every woman in her family, and then been stupid enough to forget that she would hear of it. For the first time in his life, he was truly ashamed. In his mind, he saw the faces of her friends and family, by turns frightened, pleading for mercy, or full of hatred at what he had done. This was his wedding gift to Verity. He was a coarse, bitter villain who tried to destroy everything he touched.

She was right to hate him. What he had done was wrong, no matter what his reasons. And if he had done wrong, he deserved to be punished, more than those he had persecuted. The only reason Verity had treated him kindly was her ignorance of the truth. For with a face as innocent as hers, he was sure that all around her worked to shield her from what had happened, just as he had wished to spare her any hardship when she had been his.

But now that she was home again, he doubted that her family had withheld any detail of his infamy. It was ironic that the very purpose of his life had lost him his love. But then, when had he ever been more than fortune’s plaything?

The first blow came from behind, a strike across his shoulders that spun him around to face his attackers. Then a fist caught him in the jaw and brought him to his knees. He made no effort to rise. For there were several of them, and no point in fighting. He was limp on the ground with his eyes closed when the foot hit his ribs. Nothing broken, judging from other kicks he had taken in his long and unhappy life. But it was enough to take the wind out of him. The pains in his body combined with the pain in his head like a deafening noise, muting the conversation above him, setting him apart from the men who surrounded him and wrapping him in a blanket of agony.

He kept his eyes closed as he curled on the ground, giving them no reason to strike him again. If it was possible to make the feelings worse, he did not want to know. Nor did he care which blows had come from his brothers-in-law, and which from his oldest friend. Lord knew, he deserved what he got.

When he opened his eyes and looked up, Alexander Veryan had stepped from the protective shadow of the larger men around him, and Stephano was sure that the bruise in his ribs would match the pointed toe of the man’s boot. He bared his teeth in a grimace of pain, and felt a moment’s satisfaction as Veryan withdrew in fear, his gloating smile disappearing.

Then he was dragged to his knees, and his arms were jerked behind him and bound. “I thought that the shot would be enough. Or that perhaps you would drown. Or that you would die at the hand of another who you had wronged. How many times must we do this, Gypsy? What must we do to be rid of you?” Stanegate’s voice was dispassionate, as though it mattered little to him what was about to happen.

“When I have destroyed the man who killed my father, you will see no more of me.” He gasped out the words around a knot of pain.

“And who do you think that is today, Stephen?” Nathan Wardale said, sounding more disappointed than angry. “For it was not my father. Nor is it Carlow.”

“I do not know.”

“Then your tormenting of this family has all been for naught?” There was a bitter laugh. “We will never be rid of him. For what happened to Honoria, and to Verity, for the insults to our wives, do we really need to involve the law?” It was Hal’s voice, just as cold. Just as reasonable.

And here was where his old friend, Nathan, would plead for mercy or appeal to their better natures.

Or he could say nothing, as he was.

Stephano looked up into the angry eyes of Marcus Carlow and said, “It is over. Do what you will.”

The men looked from one to another, as though discussing what was about to happen, though no words passed between them.

And then, he heard the scream from the house.
Dear God, no.
If the situation were different, he would have welcomed one last sight of his love. But no good could come of her seeing him humbled by her brothers. It would either poison her against them, or she would stand with them in approval and his heart would break before they could hang him.

“Marc! Hal! No!” She was running across the grass toward them. He could hear her panting breath. And then, she threw herself at him, her arms twining around his neck, her earlier anger forgotten. And even as she did it, he could feel the pain fading, as though it had never existed. It felt so good. She felt so good. It was all he could do not to turn his face into her body and nestle against her as though he were a child and not her lover.

And when she spoke again, there was nothing in her voice that reminded him of the sweet young girl that he had felt the need to protect. Hers was the voice of an avenging angel, and her arms tightened around him as though no force on earth would rip her away. “Release him immediately.”

“Verity.” Stanegate’s voice held a warning note, and Hal reached out a hand to her, trying to detach her arms from Stephano’s neck.

She clung tighter, and he could feel her tears on his cheek. The pain of the beating subsided with the growing knowledge that she still cared for him, even if she could not forgive. “Shh. Shh.” He murmured softly back to her, wishing that he could free his hands and give comfort to her, just as she was trying to give to him. “It is all right. Go back to the house and let me talk to your brothers.”

“You are not talking to them.” She gave an incredulous laugh. “They will kill you if I leave.”

“Verity.” Stanegate repeated his warning. “Go back to the house.” He acknowledged Stephano with the barest turn of his head. “And you. Do not dare to speak to her. Not another word.” It was clear from his tone that once Verity went back to the house, Stephano would pay dearly for the few words they’d already shared.

Verity’s head snapped around in response, and she glared at her brother. “Do not treat me like a child, Marc. Nor you.” Now she was glaring at him, and he felt more threatened by that look than he had by the beating.

She stood, smoothed her skirts and pointed to her brothers. “Release him at once.”

They did not move.

“Unbind his hands,” she said, her voice cold with fury. “Whatever nonsense you have planned here will be impossible to accomplish, now. Unless you have the nerve to do it while I watch.”

“Verity, go back to the house.” But now, her brother sounded more exasperated than demanding.

“You will have to pick me up and carry me. And I will not make it easy for you.”

“She will not. I know from experience,” Stephano said. There was the faintest glimmer of amusement in Verity’s eye. But her brother’s anger seemed to double at the thought that Stephano had laid hands upon her.

“This man.” He waved a frustrated hand in Stephano’s direction. “Do you understand what he has done to your family? To your friends? What has he done to you, Verity, that you would plead for him now?”

“He married me.”

Marcus seemed near to apoplexy. He was incapable of speech. As he lunged forward, Hal grabbed his arm and gripped tightly, pulling him back.

Stephano closed his eyes again. It was certainly not that he regretted what he’d done. But he had hoped for a better time and place to present his suit to her family. As a fait accompli, when bound and on his knees before armed men, would not have been his choice.

After twenty-one years, Lady Verity had found her voice, and was having none of it. “If you are going to take him to task for not seeking permission, I will remind you that you have already given it. You have told me often enough that I could marry whomever I liked, so long as it was done quickly, with no more fussing about.”

“But, Verity.” Stanegate’s hand was at his temple, and for a moment, Stephano suspected he had found the location of his lost headache. “I did not mean for you to marry this…this…criminal. You will come to your senses, and then we will seek an annulment, if that is even necessary.”

“An annulment?” His wife stood before them with hands on hips and a triumphant smile. “Let me disabuse you of the notion, Marcus, that we are married in name only. It is every bit as you must suspect, though you insist on pretending it is not.”

“Verity.” Stephano muttered a warning that was as weak as he felt. If she kept on in this vein, he was dead the moment she left him alone. It was one thing to bed the man’s sister. And quite an other to come and rub the facts in his face.

She shot him a warning glare that was every bit as ferocious as Magda’s. “Be quiet, Stephano. This is a matter between my family and me.”

Her glare returned to her brother. “There is no fraud involved, nor was I forced to do what I did. I knew exactly what was happening, and I freely agreed to it.”

Which was not true at all. But when she was angry, she sounded very convincing.

“If you wish to part us, you will have to declare me mad and lock me away from him. And even if you do, I will scream to all around me exactly what went on between us, and I will never, ever be a fit wife for any other man.”

She took a breath and steadied herself, staring into the faces of her shocked brothers. And then she smiled sweetly at them. “Or you can simply accept things as they are and wish us well. Would that not be easier?”

“Now, Verity.” Stanegate went white, and looked for a moment as though the girl in front of him had cowed him. “There will be no more talk of mad houses, or screaming unpleasant truths. But surely you do not wish…”

“I do indeed. Most heartily.” For a moment, her expression softened, and then the glare returned. “I am already married to Stephano, and happy to be so. There will be no more fighting. Not from either of you.” She stared at Stephano. “We will sit down and reason this out like adults, with no more Gypsy curses or mad quests for vengeance.” Then she turned to her brothers. “And there will be no debts of honour repaid by the bunch of you. Do you think to demonstrate your nobility by beating a lone man to the ground?”

Her brothers had the grace to hang their heads at this, apparently shamed by their behaviour.

Verity seemed to tower over them all, her soft hazel eyes blazing. “If, when we are through, Stephano deserves punishment for previous misdeeds and the unspeakable way in which he has treated my family, then I will be the one to give it, not you.”

Stephano felt a thrill go down his back at her words. She would punish him, would she? By the look in her eyes, she probably would. She was a formidable woman, his little
romni
. Then she bent her head to his and kissed him, open-mouthed, with the sort of demanding passion that he would expect from the wildest Gypsy wench. And bound and helpless as he was, he was incapable of doing anything but accepting it.

“We will discuss it later,” Stanegate announced, as though there was a way for him to control his little sister. But the look on his face told the truth: that the girl had become a force of nature, and he might just as well try to stop the wind.

“We will discuss it now,” she said, with a note of finality. “Untie him. Or I shall.” When her brothers hesitated, she reached easily into his boot where she knew to find his knife, drew it and split the scarf that held him. Then she put the knife in her own pocket, leaving him defenceless in the midst of his enemies. She stared at her brothers. “Back to the house, then?” She looked to him. “And do you give me your word that you will behave?”

“Behave?” Stanegate almost exploded. “His word?”

He bowed his head to her. “I am at your disposal.” Then he looked at her brothers. “For Verity’s sake, I will do anything, including submit to your justice, should she wish it. But for now, she wishes us to talk.” He glanced around him at the men gathered there.

Stanegate gave a breath that almost seemed to shudder at the thought of allowing him across the thresh old, and then said, “For Verity’s sake, we will talk. Whatever is done, it would be better in the house, than in the middle of the yard.”

“Where there are no witnesses?” He sneered at his host.

Stanegate caught the insult and sneered back. “In the comfort of the salon, and not sitting on the grass like a bunch of damned travellers.”

“Stop it.” Verity’s voice cut through the rancour, and once again Stanegate seemed startled to silence at this strange beast that inhabited the body of his normally content sister. “We will go to the white salon. I will ring for tea. You will all drink it in peace if you know what is good for you. Then we will discuss the matter before us.”

And then, Stanegate smiled, as though he knew something about the situation that his sister did not. “Very well, then. The white salon.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Hal asked, with a worried smile.

“I believe it is. Verity?” Stanegate gestured her forward, and they began their walk to the house. She had taken Stephano protectively by the arm, and he took the opportunity to rearrange her grip so that it was her arm that sat at the crook of his elbow. He would rather it at least appeared that it was he who escorted her. He noticed the other men had chosen positions to flank him, as though they suspected that he might run at any minute.

They entered the house and made their way to the salon. And Verity, first across the thresh old of the room, stopped dead in her tracks. Then she dropped his arm with a gasp, and ran to the man seated there.

“Father!”

Chapter Eighteen

It was the most uncomfortable tea party of Stephano’s memory. Given that he had dined with a maharaja who held matched tigers on thin gold chains, while his own pockets were full of the man’s stolen rubies, it said something to the amount of tension in the room.

The men around him stepped closer so that there could be no question of escape, as the Earl of Narborough hugged his daughter. “You are well, Verity? Truly?” He held her back from him, as though to search for signs of damage.