Taken by the Wicked Rake (27 page)

Once he was sure Verity was safe, he would be free to act. And if the opportunity was there, right in front of him, he would not be able to stop himself from acting. If fate was kind, he would find a way to serve his destiny and keep his life. But at the moment, he did not know what that would be.

Chapter Twenty-One

They arrived at Warrenford Park, having seen no trace of Verity or Alexander, or the big black stallion they had ridden. And since there was no reason to do otherwise, they entered through the front, led by Stanegate. The butler recognized Stephano and greeted him as Lord Salterton, which prompted some raised eyebrows from the men around him, but no comment. When the servant directed them to a drawing room to wait, Stanegate smiled and informed him that they were expected and wished to be shown directly to Keddinton.

Stephano supposed that, in a way, they had been expected. For Robert Veryan must have known that eventually this day would come. When they entered his study together and he first saw Hebden, Wardale and both Carlow sons, on his face there had been a fleeting…something. Disappointment? Anger? Resignation? Whatever it was, it had been a true indication of the man’s feelings. But it had passed so quickly that it could not be recognized. And now, Stephano was sure that it had been filed away so that the man could return to scheming.

He smiled at them, cool and unruffled. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, gentlemen?” He glanced to Stephano. “Have you captured him at last? Do you wish me to see him properly disposed of, Stanegate?”

“I would like to see you attempt it,” Stephano said. “I have told these gentlemen what you are guilty of, and they now stand beside me.”

“Guilty?” Veryan said in surprise. “Am I a thief? Or a kidnapper, as you are?”

“You might as well be, for you were most helpful when it came to the snatching of Verity Carlow from your estate.” There was a stirring in the men next to him, as though the reminder of that crime drew fresh anger. And for a moment, they could not decide who was the enemy.

Stephano glanced at them. “Had you not thought of that? You give me too much credit, if you think that I can waltz into the home of a spymaster and steal a girl out from under his very nose. He was my ally in that. He invited me to his house and left the way clear for my escape.”

Keddinton gave the men a sympathetic smile. “He was invited to my house, of course. But he concealed his identity from me. I was surprised, as we all were, when Verity was taken. And now that she is returned and he is caught, he will say any thing, just to save his skin. But is that not the way of his kind? Liars and thieves, all of them.”

“And yet, if we had a country to betray, we would not do it, nor do we murder our friends.”

“Murder and treason?” Keddinton gave a small shake of his head, and smiled as though he were correcting a minor mistake. “You are talking nonsense and leading the others to the same.” He looked at the Carlows and at Nathan Wardale with the sympathy one would expect from an older, wiser man. “He is nothing more than a lunatic, stirring up a matter that was settled long ago. The man responsible for the death of Lord Framlingham was hanged for the crime.” He spread his hands, as though he had encompassed the whole of the problem. And looking into his eyes, Stephano realized, again, how far he had under estimated him. For the man’s lie was every bit as convincing as if he had been telling the whole truth.

Without another word, Stanegate reached into his pocket and withdrew the message they had found in the rattle. He held it out so that Keddinton could see, and withdrew it quickly, as the man reached for it.

Keddinton’s expression was unchanged. “It is so much gibberish, and could have come from any where. Do you expect me to believe that we were wrong, all those years ago, based on an accusation by this… this… Gypsy?”

Stephano stared at him and the men around him, wondering if they doubted. For to look into the face of Keddinton made him doubt himself, even though he knew the truth. And then, all the confusion burned away, leaving behind a certainty that was even older than his mother’s curse. “Gypsy I may be. But I am also the only living son of Christopher Hebden, Lord Framlingham. Robert Veryan, you murdered my father, and let Leybourne hang for it.”

“It is over, Veryan,” Stanegate said. “We found the code key in a place where only the murdered man could have hidden it. It has rested, undiscovered all this time. And it states your name as traitor. There is no doubt.”

As they waited for the man to respond, there was a silence that seemed eternal. And then, Keddinton gave a laugh that came near to a giggle of glee. “Of all the refuse that has surfaced, in the last year…” He glared at Stephano. “Bastards,” and then at Nathan. “Waistrels. And all manner of nonsense cutting up my peace and changing the rightful order of things. You have come here to tell me it is a scrap of paper that will be my end?” He laughed again. “Oh, gentlemen. That is rich. Too rich for me. I have spent all this time hiding files, burning journals and erasing every record of that time. And now a half sheet of foolscap and a little ink, and you have come to get me.”

Keddinton’s laughter continued, and the men looked from one to another, unsure of what they were to do with a man so obviously mad.

He wiped his eyes, to clear the tears of mirth. “But at least, if it is over, I will no longer have to put up with the Gypsy’s pathetic attempts to manipulate me.” He stood up from his desk and snarled at Stephano. “If you had not been so bloody incompetent, there would not be four of you to harass me now. I would think, in the months you have been at this, that there would have been significant mortality. But nothing. In the end, I had to hire someone to take action for you.” He glared at Hal. “And even then, you did not have the sense to die.”

Hal broke his silence with an explosive oath. “I was carved like a goose, you dirty bastard! What have I ever done to you?”

“You, and the rest of your family, are tiresome beyond belief. You and your all too perfect brother. George got you. And I got…” Keddinton shook his head. “Alexander.”

He raved on.

“But then, George got everything handed to him along with his title. From the very first, when I was an under paid junior, your father and the rest treated me as dogsbody and whipping boy. And until Hebden almost spoilt it, they never guessed what I was up to.” He grinned at Stanegate. “If you could see the look on your father’s face, each time he sees a flower in my lapel. I had to do something, to explain the scent of rosemary on my coat that night, and tucked a sprig behind a rose in my button hole. I have made it a habit, because I know the smell annoys him.” He giggled. “I serve lamb when he visits me, just to see him push away from the table. The mere sight of the rosemary makes him too green to finish his meal. If he would admit the weakness, I might spare him. Or perhaps he will someday have the brains to see that I am taunting him.”

“But what is the point of it, after all this time? If you had done nothing, you would have been safe,” Stanegate asked.

“Too many people asking too many questions. Someone was bound to stumble on the truth. When the Gypsy returned, I expected him to remove you, Wardale. Or that one of you would remove him. And in time, dear, weak George would die from the stress of it all. Then someone would kill the Gypsy, and there would be no one left to care. No one left but me.”

“But you must have known that it wouldn’t succeed,” Stanegate said. “There were too many variables. And to assume that we would remove Hebden, as casually as you did his father…”

Although it had been too close to the truth, for Stephano’s taste.

“Do not tell me what will and won’t succeed, boy,” Keddinton said. “You are too stupid to know what men can be driven to with a little provocation.”

Stephano watched as the man’s weight shifted in his chair, and before he saw a real movement, he knew that when next he saw Keddinton’s right hand, it would be holding a pistol. An honourable man might shoot himself. But Robert Veryan had sacrificed what little honour he had, many years ago. If he had a gun, he would shoot the nearest man and use the confusion to run.

And Stanegate stood between Veryan and the window, with nothing but his honour to protect him. When he fell, his brother would go to him. Nathan was by the door, too far away to stop what was happening.

And apparently, Stephano had proven to Veryan that he was easily tricked, and there fore, no threat.

It was too late to stop what was about to happen without bloodshed. Veryan had begun to move. Stephano reached for his knife, secure in the knowledge that what he was doing would be in defence of himself or his friends, and not done from vengeance. But then he remembered. There was no point in reaching for something that resided in his wife’s pocket. He had nothing to stop his father’s killer from killing again.

The gun was out now, and he lunged forward, into the flash, feeling Veryan’s throat under his fingers, and the searing pain in his side as he dragged them both to the floor. He was clinging, grasping, choking the struggling man, while the room grew dim around him. And from some where far away, there was the sound of voices. A man’s shout. And a woman’s cry of anguish.

“Stephano!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

He was in the beech grove again. The light filtering through the leaves was gold on bronze. He listened for the sounds of the camp so that he might know which way he must walk to go home. But there was nothing.

Not even the sound of the wind.

Standing before him was a Gypsy girl, her fingers reaching out to pluck one of the leaves from the tree, turning it over slowly in her hand.

“Nadya.” He said it softly, but the girl did not answer.

She turned slowly to him, looking up. And he realized he’d been mistaken.

“Jaelle. Mother.” He had never seen her, but it must be. And she did look like her daughter, hair rich and black, with the same almond-shaped dark eyes.

She smiled in response. “Stephano. My son.”

He swallowed, for his throat tightened at the sight of her. “Yes.” He stepped closer, and then froze, as she reached out a hand and signalled him to stop.

She dropped it to her side. “You have grown strong, little one.”

“As you hoped.” He thought of Verity. And suddenly, he was full of doubt. “But very tired. Do you have what you want? Is it enough?”

“Are you happy?”

He thought of Verity again. And he smiled. “Yes.”

His mother smiled back at him. “Then I have all I want.” She stepped close to him. “Rest.” And he bent his head so that she could kiss him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stephano woke. He could still feel the kiss, cool on his forehead. And there was the headache again. But it was unlike the old pain. This was more akin to what he might get if some other man had tried to peg his skull.

And there was the dull ache of a bullet wound. Deep, he suspected, because it was accompanied by the weakness from blood loss and the dry mouth of extended unconsciousness.

But there was also the feeling of cool sheets on his skin. And the gentle touch of a lover’s hands.

“Verity.” The word came from his lips, hoarse and cracking, but he could feel the increase of pressure on the cold compress at his forehead and the brush of water against his dry lips.

“Here, darling.” She fed him carefully. The water trickling down his throat was cool and delicious and did much to restore him. He took the moment to gather his thoughts. He felt bad. But not so bad that he could not sit up and tend to himself. He had managed worse before, without a woman fussing over him.

But in a rush, it came to him that he did not wish to manage. He wanted to lie there for ever and allow Verity to do for him. Her hands, so gentle, made the pain fade. And they could do so much more.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, safe and whole in front of him. “Thank God. You are all right, then?”

“Of course, darling. But I fear Alexander is not. I had your knife. He got a nasty cut on his hand, and Zor threw him into the bushes and then took me back to camp. I made Val take me to the Veryans. I knew you would look for me there.”

He gave a dry chuckle of approval, but stopped short, for to laugh hurt very much.

She kissed him on the forehead again. “You worried about me? You foolish man.”

It had been foolish of him, he remembered. To rush at a man with a gun, when you had no weapon, would land you in the position he currently occupied. Or worse, under six feet of earth with no more opportunity to regret the act. “I could not help myself.” And he still could not. “He meant to shoot.”

“At Marc. My brothers are both quite vexed at you. Hal especially, for he is so good at playing the hero in such situations. Although I think Marc is secretly impressed by the way you stepped into the line of fire. He said you were very fast in divining the way of things, and that even half unconscious, you were on the floor with your hands on Uncle Robert’s throat, like a terrier worrying a rat. They had to pry you loose from the man before they could arrest him.”

“He would have killed your brother. I could not allow it.”

“Foolish. All of you are, for arguing over the right to be the one who was shot. But so very brave.” She was pressing her lips to his cheek now, and he relaxed and enjoyed it. If this was the reward that brave fools got, then it did not say much for choosing to be a wise coward.

“What happened to Veryan?”

“For now, Uncle Robert is still alive, and with much to explain. But he will have to do it in Newgate, for the world knows better than to trust him again.” She paused, watching carefully, as though she were afraid to see his reaction.

At one time, the thought that his true enemy lived would have been enough to send him reaching for his clothes. He would have ridden out to win the vengeance that he had been seeking for so long. But he remembered his mother. And he sank back into the pillows again. “It is about time, for the sake of Wardales, Carlows and Hebdens alike, that the past gets a proper airing and all of his crimes are accounted for in court. Once the truth is known, the state can do what it likes with the man.”