Three Times the Scandal (36 page)

Giles spluttered in agony. The taste of bile filled his mouth, but his thoughts were only for Fortuna. He had to get to her, had to ensure her safety, but his limbs wobbled, jelly-like as he attempted to rise.

The twins rushed forward to his aid. Darleston struck the lead knave with a bed-pan, knocking him out cold. Neddy squared off against the second. His fists worked furiously as he wove and cut.

Fire streaked through Giles’s side as though he’d been stabbed as he tried to rise. It’d be a miracle if he wasn’t pissing blood for a week.

“
You all right?” Darleston grabbed him and hoisted him upright.

“
Bloody marvellous.” Giles pushed Darleston away. He didn’t want help, better that his friend stayed with Fortuna and protected her.

Giles turned, frantically desperate to find Fortuna. The room spun as he turned. She’d been near the fireplace just before he’d answered the knock. Now, Mr. Allenthorpe stood before his daughter. Macleane flanked him like a malignant shadow. They’d cornered her over by Darleston’s makeshift bed.

Fortuna’s face was ashen, which only made the blue of her eyes more intense. However the fire which had earlier glowed in their depths making her seem so vital and alive was gone, replaced by the vacancy of defeat.

She hadn’t wanted to return home. To save her family she would have done so, but somehow she’d never really believed it would come to that. She’d trusted him to keep her safe and to do the right thing. Now even that hope was gone.

He’d do anything. Fight anyone in order to restore her faith in him. If only doing the right thing was one of his strengths instead of weaknesses. Then they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Giles shook off Darleston’s insistent fussing a second time. “I’m fine.” The aches weren’t going away, but they were mild nuisances, nothing more. Thank God that Macleane thought him down and had foolishly presented his back to his enemy. “Go help your brother.”

“
Ned’s doing just fine on his own.” Indeed, he’d blooded both the eye and nose of the brute he was fighting and had yet to sustain an injury.

Giles cautiously limped forward.

“
Fortuna!” Mr. Allenthorpe’s reedy wheeze inspired neither confidence nor sympathy. “What have you done, child?”

“
What have
you
done, Father?” she retaliated. Her male attire served only to make her seem more child-like and vulnerable, but Giles was pleased to hear that not all her fight was gone as she spat out words of anger. “How could you consent to this, to pairing me with him?” She flicked a terrified glance at Macleane. “Does my happiness mean naught to you? Am I not worthy of your affections and love? Was I not always dutiful and dependable?”

“
Yes, of course.”

“
Then did you not think before you made free with my inheritance, and hence sacrificed me?”

Mr. Allenthorpe extended a shaking hand toward his daughter. “Fortuna, I’m sorry. You must come with me. The arrangements are made. There’s no alternative unless you wish to see your mother and sisters in the poor house.”

Her face twisted in revulsion, and a lone tear trickled over her cheek.

Giles clenched his fists in rage. They were going to pay for this. By God, they were going to pay.

“
Oh, quit your blubbering,” Macleane snarled. He jabbed Mr. Allenthorpe between the shoulder blades, propelling him forward over the rug toward Fortuna. “Grab the buer and take her home. You can mourn the family’s general lack of virtue once we get there, because you are all rather lacking in that regard. I’ll have my hands full keeping the rest of your brood in check.”

Mr. Allenthorpe threw a beseeching look in Fortuna’s direction and extended his hand, only for her to smack it away. Macleane took his place. He reached out one meaty fist and grasped Fortuna by the hair. “Best send for a quack too, to ensure she’s hasn’t the clap or the pox.” He tugged her closer still, transferring his hold to her chin.

A growl of rage rippled up Giles’s throat, but he bit down hard and held it in check. Timing was what mattered now. He’d didn’t want Macleane to realize he was up. Still it tore at his innards to see Fortuna treated so badly. Macleane turned her this way and that as if he were inspecting a horse.

“
I guess there’ll be no need to tread softly, softly since you’re already broken in. Pray you’ve no buns in your oven, miss, because I’ll not raise another man’s get. I’ll have it dealt with. Make no mistake, your only value is in the form of your namesake.”

Fortuna bit into the fleshy base of Macleane’s thumb. At the same time, Giles leapt forward and brought the heels of his clenched fists down hard upon the back of Macleane’s neck. The baronet toppled sideways into a chair, releasing Fortuna as he fell.

“
Run!” Giles yelled. He loomed over Macleane, placing himself in the way so that Fortuna might escape. She fled past him and her father and straight out of the door into the gloom of the corridor. Darleston followed her. Giles hurried after her too, but Macleane’s remaining lackey caught him by the arm and swung him like a throwing hammer.

Off balance, Giles staggered into the window bay. Fine. If they wouldn’t let him use the door, then he’d use a different route. He hauled open the window sash, and shirttails flapping over the top of his breeches, he swung from the ledge across to the drainpipe and slithered downwards. He landed with an ungainly thump amongst the detritus in the slush-filled gutter.

Fortuna ran past him just as his hands left the pipe.

“
Hey, whoa!” a voice called.

Time seemed to slow as Giles turned. The wagon man pulled hard on the reins, but it was early morning, the street quiet and the heavy drays moving too fast. He stretched, but the horses spun her out of his grasp. The wagon harness caught him hard across the arm, throwing him sideward away from the rumble of hooves and wheels. By the time he’d righted himself, the wagon had stopped and Darleston’s fist held tight about the reins, steadying the horses, while the wagon master, paled to a chalky-white climbed unsteadily down from his perch.

“
Fortuna,” Giles gasped. She lay sprawled across the cobbles like a broken doll, her golden hair fanned around her head like a halo. Darleston knelt beside her.

Giles could barely breathe as he staggered toward her. All he could think was that there wasn’t any blood. No blood. That had to be good. He sagged beside her and cradled her in his arms. How could he have been so stupid? To think of living for even a moment without her. All this time, he’d taken her presence in his life for granted and in doing so had destroyed her. What a stupid, blind fool he’d been. He ought never to have placed her in such danger.

“
I love you, Fortuna. Don’t go.”

A commotion broke out around them. People emerged from shop-fronts and houses to encircle them. Giles was vaguely aware of Mr. Allenthorpe and Macleane emerging from the molly house. The former wailed in despair.

“
Ran straight out in front of me,” the wagon master kept repeating, as if trying to convince himself.

“
Giles, we need to get her to a doctor.” Darleston’s fingers curled tight about his shoulders. He sent a young lad tearing off up the street to the coaching inn on the corner.

“
Never mind that,” Macleane pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I’m taking her home.”

“
She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“
Is that so? Constable.”

“
Giles,” Darleston cautioned. “You have to let go.”

The constable, who had been drawn by the crowd, towered over Giles. “What’s to do?” he asked.

“
This man is a crook, sir. He will not release the girl.” In his ridiculous finery, Macleane unfortunately looked every bit the gentleman Giles did not, with his fight injured face and rumpled attire.

Giles barely gave the constable a glance. He kissed Fortuna’s clammy brow. Her breathing was flighty and shallow. She was still with him, but for how long. Tears pricked at his eyes. He was going to lose her, just as he’d lost Emily.

“
And, who are you, sir?” asked the constable.

“
Her fiancé, Sir Hector Macleane,” Macleane replied. He grabbed Mr. Allenthorpe by the wrist and tugged him closer. “And this man is her father.”

Chapter Fourteen

Eight hours later, Giles lurched along the river bank in Hyde Park, swinging a brandy bottle. He didn’t care that his shirt was heavy with rain or that the wind had claimed his hat, which now drifted upon the dark and turbulent waters of the Serpentine. Come to think of it, he seemed to have mislaid his coat too. None of which mattered, because Fortuna was lost. His stupidity had damn near killed her, and he’d been forced to give her up to that brute, Macleane, and her insipid father, when she’d needed him most. They refused to let him see her, and had threatened him with a kidnapping and molestation charge if he came within sight of the Allenthorpe family home.

Giles stumbled over a tussock and landed on his knees on the soft turf. The numbness that had descended upon him when Macleane had first torn her from his arms, to take her home was slowly dispersing. But the further down the bottle he drank, the more wounds seemed to open in his innards. He’d been cruel and selfish, placing his principles above her needs. Although even now the notion of binding her left a bad taste in his mouth. Too bad that Macleane had no such qualms about forcing her into servitude.

Shame flushed his face, when he thought on that abysmal behaviour, leaving his skin itching from the pinpricks of heat. He’d flown Darleston’s guardianship sometime during the mid-afternoon, needing space to make sense of his actions. Unintentionally, it appeared he’d damned her just as effectively as if he’d arranged the marriage to Macleane himself. Stupidly, he’d let himself think that she’d be his forever, while he’d offered her nothing but physical pleasure in return. Fortuna needed security, more than the freedom to love as she wished. She was selfless, unlike he, prepared to sacrifice herself for those she loved.

Giles’s strangle-hold on the bottle neck tightened, as vivid details of Fortuna writhing beneath him besieged his tired mind. That he’d never have her stocking-clad legs entwined around his hips or experience the sweet taste of her lips again was slowly sinking in.

Over
. Darleston had said the adventure was done. That he had to live with the consequences of all his prevaricating. But how could he, when all he could think of, was the fresh dewy scent of her skin? He wouldn’t abandon her. There had to be a way of extracting her from this bind.

At least he knew she was alive. The physician he’d accosted leaving Jermyn Street had told him that much.

Brandy dribbled over his chin along with more raindrops as he lifted the bottle again. Giles swallowed, and sniffed. The words of song came to his lips.
“Oh, when shall I see you my love… Oh, when shall I see you again? When little fishes fly and the seas they do run dry. And the hard rocks… they do melt with the sun.”
He saluted the river, and toppled forward.

He kept losing them; first his mother, then his sister, now Fortuna. He just prayed Fortuna would not seek the same release as Emily. Morton claimed the child had arrived early, and blamed that for her death—the same fate had stolen away his mother—but Giles didn’t believe it. He’d seen Emily wringing wet. Emily, the girl who refused to go out in a boat because she feared the water, had looked as if she’d taken a swim fully clothed. Somehow, as he strained to the far reaches of his mind, her image became superimposed upon the dark waters before him, white cloth fanned eerily around her still form, her face serenely peaceful as she floated among the reeds.

Morton had driven her to it. Emily had never desired the marriage. She’d pleaded against it, but no one had listened. It was her duty to do what was expected, and the match was a fine one. Two old families linked together and a handsome stretch of land settled upon their future offspring. Only Morton, not content to take a mistress to indulge his taste for flagellation, had inflicted his perversion on his reluctant bride.

That was another matter he’d prevaricated over. He ought to have had it out with Morton right after Emily’s death, but grief and his prior involvement had torn him in two. Then, when he’d managed to start functioning normally again, he’d been too afraid of what he’d uncover to stir that particular nest of maggots again. Instead, he’d practiced free love and allowed folks to brand him a rakehell, rather than explaining to them the reasons for his beliefs.

That had to change.

Giles pushed himself to his feet. Things had to change. He had to stop skulking around in the background. He had to find justice for Fortuna and Emily, and all the other women like them.

The brandy burned his throat as he finished it off. Giles cast the bottle into the river.

It all made perfect sense now. “Just listen,” he told his reflection. “I want to know the truth. The truth of what you did to my sister.” He’d face Andrew and Clemencè and have it out with them. Mayhap, he’d present himself to the Allenthorpes too, and make them see reason. It wasn’t just to have Fortuna marry Macleane. It wasn’t right that she should bear the burden of the family debt when it wasn’t of her making.

Giles dunked his head in the icy water, which helped wash most of the brandy fumes from his head. The walk would see off the rest. He’d see the Mortons first, they lived closest.