Bought for Revenge (15 page)

‘So what was it, Belle?’ Celia put her arm through Annabelle’s and led her away. ‘You can tell
me
. Captain Duggan was sure it was a lovers’ quarrel.’

The coaxing tone in her friend’s voice did not tempt Belle to confide. She smiled and shook her head, leaving Celia to her own conjectures. These would most likely run to some lurid romantic entanglement, but even that was better than confessing the truth. So Belle kept her own counsel and waited for Lucas to arrive.

Her hopes were dashed when Captain Duggan came in alone.

‘My cousin sends his apologies,’ he informed his host, his bluff, cheerful voice easily carrying around the drawing room. ‘He is not feeling quite the thing this evening.’ The captain turned
to Sir John with a comical grimace and mouthed the word ‘foxed’.

Belle frowned at the impropriety of such a disclosure and even Sir John’s good-natured smile disappeared momentarily.

For Annabelle the evening was not a success. She enjoyed talking to Mrs Scanlon, who was eager to share news of Lizzie, whose letters home from her honeymoon were reassuringly full of her ‘dearest Keighley’ and the delightful time they were having in the capitals of Europe, but she found Captain Duggan’s constant geniality very wearing. He was determined to be on good terms with everyone, gently flirting with the ladies and treating the gentlemen with a boisterous bonhomie that occasionally made her father wince. By eleven o’clock she had a headache, and was not at all displeased when her father indicated that he would like to go home.

Alert for his elderly friend’s comfort, Sir John immediately sent for the gig and the party began to break up. As Samuel was being helped into his greatcoat, Captain Duggan came up and offered to escort them to Stanton.

‘That is very kind of you, Captain,’ said Samuel, ‘but we would not want to take you so far out of your way.’

‘Not at all, sir. As a matter of fact, that
is
my way tonight. There is a card party going forwards
at the Red Lion this evening and I am invited to look in.’ He grinned. ‘I have booked a room there for tonight, too. I would rather not be at Oakenroyd with Blackstone so sunk in gloom. Takes after his father, you see. When we were boys we would always make ourselves scarce when Jonas was in one of his black rages.’

An uncomfortable little silence followed these unguarded revelations, but the captain did not appear to notice and cheerfully prepared to escort Annabelle and her father into Stanton. The journey was not a long one and Annabelle elected to drive, knowing that she would rather give her attention to controlling the pony than try to make small talk with Captain Duggan. When they reached the Red Lion Samuel assured him that they could manage the rest of the short journey quite safely, and with a flourish of his hat the captain took his leave of them.

‘A genial enough fellow,’ said Samuel as their escort disappeared through the arch and into the inn’s yard. ‘A little indiscreet, though. I cannot think it was quite the thing to talk about his cousin so.’

‘I am sure it was not,’ agreed Annabelle. ‘If Mr Blackstone is not well, his cousin should be giving him his support, keeping him company.’

‘Perhaps the young man does not want company. And if he has drunk a little too much—’
He spread his hands. ‘Strange, though. I had not thought Blackstone a man to succumb to the bottle.’

Annabelle bit her lip, remembering Lucas’s gaunt face that morning. ‘Perhaps he has had some bad news.’

‘Perhaps. I do hope it is nothing too serious.’

They had reached the cottage and as Belle pulled up she turned to smile fondly at her father.

‘Dear Papa, you can wish him well, after all he has done to us?’

‘Of course,’ he said simply. ‘To lose his parents at such a young age and to believe they suffered an injustice—that is a grave burden for anyone to carry. I believe Lucas Blackstone is a very troubled young man, despite his fortune.’ He threw the rug from his legs. ‘Ah, good. Abel has seen our arrival. He will be able to take the gig back to the livery—’

‘No.’ Annabelle was thinking quickly. ‘No, I will take it, Papa.’

‘But, my dear, it is midnight!’

‘And everything is quiet in Stanton, Papa. It is but a step to the stables and this section of the street is well lit. You are very tired, Papa, let Abel put you to bed and I shall be back shortly.’ She looked up and addressed the manservant, who was waiting at the open door. ‘Pray look
after my father, Abel. And there is no need to wait up for me, I will let myself in when I return.’

The old retainer shook his head. ‘You can let yerself in, miss, but I shall sit up and wait for ’ee once I’ve seen the master to his bed.’

Belle could see he would not be swayed and did not waste time on further argument. She set the little pony in motion again and glanced over her shoulder. The door of Croft Cottage was closed. With a deft flick of the reins she set the pony to a trot, past the entrance to the livery stable and out of the town.

Oakenroyd was quiet. The servants had all gone to bed and the house had settled into darkness and silence. Except in the study, where Lucas was sitting in twilight with only the sullen embers of the fire and a single burning candle to lift the gloom. He had discarded his coat and neckcloth, his waistcoat was undone and he was sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched out towards the hearth, one ankle crossed over the other. On a small table at his elbow was his empty glass and a decanter of brandy.

He knew he should go to bed, but he was not ready to face the demons waiting there for him. Thank God Hugh had taken himself off. He might not approve of Hugh’s predilection for gambling and keeping low company, but he was
relieved now that Hugh had elected to stay out for the night. He almost wished he had not unburdened himself to his cousin. Hugh was trying to help, but his constant reminders of little incidents that had occurred in the past, evidence of his father’s temper and violent moods, only added to Lucas’s misery.

Black despair pervaded everything, it added to the guilt that gnawed at him. For over twenty years he had blamed the wrong man. Bad enough that he should have done so when he was a child, but when he returned to Stanton and met Samuel Havenham again he should have recognised the goodness in him. Even before reading Samuel’s letter the evidence was there. The man was too kind, too gentle. He was incapable of such a gross act of violence.

As a boy Lucas had convinced himself that Samuel had coveted Morwood, that his whole aim had been to gain possession of the land. Coming back at five-and-thirty he should have realised that nothing was further from the truth. Samuel had done nothing to Morwood. He could not even bear to visit it because of the memories it evoked. His only crime was to allow a good house to go to ruin.

And to love Maria Blackstone. Knowing his own heart, Lucas could even forgive that, now, and if his mother had returned that love it was
because she had not found it with Jonas. The memories he had denied for so long loomed large to taunt Lucas. His father had rarely raised a hand to his son, but when the black rage was upon him he would take it out upon Maria. Looking back, he recalled that his mother had always been at her happiest when Jonas was away.

All day he had wrestled with the problem. The beliefs, the certainties of the past five-and-twenty years had been overturned and he had to face the idea that Jonas had started the fire at Morwood. It was a bitter blow, and the wrong he had done to the Havenhams gnawed away at his conscience.

The thought of seeing Samuel and Annabelle at Rishworth Lodge, making polite conversation with them—it was not to be borne, so he had sent Hugh with his apologies. Lucas doubted he would be missed. Annabelle at least would be relieved. He refilled his glass. One more drink and he would seek his bed. Perhaps things would look better in the morning. He dropped his head in his hands. How could things ever look better? The implication, the guilt, the stain on his family name could never be erased.

He heard the faint scrape of the door handle.
George, perhaps, come to shepherd him off to bed. He looked up.

‘What the devil—!’ He jumped out of his chair. ‘What in hell’s name are you doing here?’

A
nnabelle stood in the doorway. The last person he expected, but the one he most wanted to see. He glanced down at the decanter, beginning to question just how much he had drunk. She had closed the door now and was standing with her back against it, watching him. She was wrapped head to toe in a voluminous cloak, but even in the gloom there was no mistaking that dear face, nor the eyes that looked at him so fearlessly.

‘I was anxious for you. I came to see if you were all right.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘Came to gloat, more like!’

She pushed back her hood. ‘I would not do that.’

‘No, you would not.’ He shook his head, trying
to clear the fog from his brain. ‘No. You cannot be here.’

‘But I am.’

She moved into the light, dispelling the lingering suspicion that she was a dream, conjured up by his imagination.

‘You must go.’ He tried to think of the reasons why she had to leave, but his whole being wanted her to stay. At last he said, lamely, ‘My cousin will be returning soon.’

‘No, he won’t. Captain Duggan told us he is staying at the Red Lion tonight.’

He pushed his hand through his hair. ‘I must be foxed or I would not let you remain here.’ He peered towards the shuttered windows, frowning. ‘The house is locked up for the night. The servants are all abed. How the deuce did you get in?’

‘This was my home, Lucas. I do not need servants to show me the way.’

He could not bear the fond amusement in her voice and threw himself back in his chair. ‘I will have every damned lock checked in the morning.’ There was the whisper of silk skirts as she came closer. He growled, ‘You cannot stay here.’

‘Will you call your servants to throw me out?’

‘The devil I will! If anyone knew you were here alone with me—’

‘Quite.’

She knelt down by the hearth and added a couple of logs to the fire. The embers immediately came to life, sending yellow flames to lick around the dry wood. It enhanced the golden glow in the room, but then, it had seemed brighter from the moment she had appeared. She remained kneeling, hands stretched out to the warmth.

She said, keeping her eyes on the fire, ‘Why did you not come to Rishworth Lodge tonight?’

‘I needed to think.’

‘About the fire at Morwood.’

‘Of course. Suddenly I am faced with a new and fearsome possibility. One I had not considered.’

‘That your father started the fire.’

‘That he…murdered…my mother.’ It was the first time he had uttered the awful thought aloud. The words echoed around in his head, taunting him. He gripped the arms of the chair. ‘It is too horrendous…even now I can hardly credit it.’

‘It is no more than you asked me to believe of my own father.’

The words were softly spoken, but they hammered into him, battering his already smarting conscience. He jerked forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.

‘I was so
certain,’
he said slowly. ‘I know I
saw someone, a man…and not a servant, I am sure of that.’

‘But you did not see his face.’

‘No.’

‘Then it may not have been your father.’

‘The trouble is…’ he chewed his lip ‘…the trouble is, I can believe my father might have started the fire. He was prone to fits of rage. He rarely lost his temper with me, but the servants, my mother—’

He stopped again, rubbing a hand across his face. The memories were too painful to recall and he had to push them away before he could continue.

‘My father wanted more children. He often said he regretted that I was the only one. He blamed my mother for that. Maybe…’ He exhaled, a long, slow breath. ‘Perhaps, if there had been more children, he would have mellowed.’

‘You cannot know that.’

Lucas stared into the fire. ‘He loved her,’ he said at last. ‘Even if he did start the fire, he died trying to rescue her.’

She reached out and covered his hands with her own. ‘Then hold on to that, Lucas. Remember he tried to save her.’

‘Do you know what my greatest fear is?’ His gaze shifted to the pale, ringless fingers wrapped over his. ‘The hatred, my thirst for vengeance—
it was all-consuming. Even when I was in the army it was there, in the background, the knowledge that some day I would come back and demand justice. In the early days I thought only that I would become an expert with a sword and challenge your father to a duel, but as I grew older I wanted a more subtle reckoning. When I sold out I was prepared to spend everything on retribution. I could see nothing else, think of nothing else. It was only when I came here that I began to realise how much pain my plans would cause.’

‘But you would not abandon them.’

He shook his head. ‘No, but I did change them. At first it didn’t matter what you thought of me, but then I decided the revenge would be all the sweeter if I made you fall in love with me.’ His lip curled in self-disgust. ‘Think how that would hurt Samuel. He had already told me you were his only joy.’

She withdrew her hands and immediately he missed their warm comfort. What else did he expect? What else did he deserve?

‘Is that what you meant?’ she asked quietly. ‘At the Red Lion, when you told me not to think badly of you?’

‘By then I knew I—’ He sat up, pushing his hair back from his forehead with an impatient hand. ‘I knew I did not want to hurt you. I
thought—foolishly—that somehow I could punish your father, but make it up to you.’

‘With marriage.’

‘Yes.’

She did not respond. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the spit and crackle of the fire. A burning ember fell on to the hearthstone and absently he slid from his chair to sweep it up and add another log to the fire. He remained on his knees beside her, staring into the red-hot heart of the blaze.

‘I have wronged you,’ he said heavily. ‘You and Samuel. I have spent all these years blaming an innocent man. I refused to see what was so plain to everyone else.’

‘Not everyone, Lucas. It was only Samuel and Sir Angus, the old magistrate, who suspected your father.’

‘And my cousin. He has pointed out to me enough instances of my father’s ungovernable rages to convince me.’ He shook his head. ‘And I have been so blind, determined on my revenge, no matter what the consequences.’ He swallowed, resolved to conceal nothing. ‘I have inherited his temper, but I am even more culpable. My revenge was not the heat of the moment, it was carried out in a cold, calculated manner. Pure wickedness. I am the worst sort of villain.’

He closed his eyes, unable to put into words
the horror of his thoughts. In his army career he had been an exemplary officer, tough, determined, but rigidly fair. He was aghast now at how unjust he had been in his own affairs.

‘Lucas.’ He felt her hand on his shoulder. ‘Lucas, you are no villain. You believed you were doing what was right.’

‘How can you say that?’ He shrugged her off. ‘How can you defend me?’

‘Because if you were truly wicked you would not feel like this.’ Her hand touched him again, this time on his cheek. She said softly, ‘You are a good man, Lucas Blackstone, I truly believe that.’

He opened his eyes. She was kneeling beside him, her face just inches below his own and there were tears in her eyes. He shook his head.

‘No. I am my father’s son—’

‘You are your own man, Lucas. Whatever your father was, whatever he did, it is not your fault.’

She cupped his face, gently pulled him down to her and kissed him. For a moment he did not move, but her arms crept around him. She drew him closer, her lips working against his, parting them and deepening the kiss. It was balm to his wounded spirit and he responded, holding her against his heart, allowing himself to forget everything
except the relief, the joy of having her in his arms.

Annabelle leaned into him, her body melted as he drew her closer. Until then she had thought only of Lucas, wanting to comfort him, to drive the tortured, haunted look from his eyes, but as his tongue moved over her own she recognised the tug of desire deep inside, reminiscent of the feelings that had overwhelmed her in the dark, shadowy alcove at the Red Lion.

When she feared he was going to stop kissing her she caught his lip between her teeth and nipped it gently. His reaction startled and thrilled her. His whole body stiffened and he pulled her even closer. He began to cover her face with kisses. She let her head fall back, offering up her throat for the light, warm touch of his mouth. His lips nibbled at her skin and she moaned softly, her body responding, aching for more.

Gently he eased her down on to the floor. The cool satin lining of her cloak was some slight comfort, though she was hardly aware of it. She cared nothing for the boards beneath her, only for the man stretching himself out at her side. He pulled on the strings of her cloak and it fell away, leaving her neck and breasts free for him to ravish with kisses and caresses that set the blood pounding through her body. She had lost weight over the past few months and instead of fitting
snugly over her breast, the bodice of her gown was loose enough to allow his hand to slide over one soft swell, his thumb circling the tender nub until it hardened. She gasped, her body arching towards him. She was eager for him to run his hands over every inch of her skin although some small, disconnected area of her brain knew this was impossible—they were both fully dressed.

Even as she thought it, his hand was gathering up her skirts. His fingers trailed over the bare flesh of her thigh, moving upwards, pushing aside the filmy folds of muslin. Belle knew a moment’s panic as he reached the delicate spot at the top of her thighs. The knot of desire in her belly tightened, pulling on muscles from all around her lower body. Her legs parted at the oh-so-gentle pressure of his hand and it was all she could do not to cry out with longing as his fingers gently caressed her.

She had no idea when he had unfastened his breeches, but as he moved over her she felt his flesh upon hers and instinctively her hips arched upwards, inviting him in. His fingers had prepared the way, she was hot and slick with desire. Her body flinched a little as he pushed into her, but it was a pleasurable pain and she found herself moving against him, matching his rhythm whilst returning the hot, passionate kisses that he pressed upon her mouth. She had never known
anything like this, to be so close to another person, so at one.

He held her close, whispering her name, his body stroking hers, lifting her spirit until she felt as if she was flying. When he stopped kissing Her she threw back her head, gasping for air. She felt such joy, such exhilaration she wanted to cry out. Her body was moving of its own accord, in unison with his, and the wave inside her was building, threatening to crest and flood her senses. Lucas gave a groan, a gasp. Belle clung on tightly, aware of him over, around, inside her. She was almost swooning, her body locked into a spasm of uncontrollable pleasure as he thrust into her again and again before collapsing down beside her, his passion spent.

Silence followed. Annabelle cradled Lucas in her arms, smoothed the dark hair from his brow and held him until his breathing steadied. Now the moment was over she was aware of how undignified they must look with their clothes in such disarray. But it did not matter, it did not matter one jot.

Until Lucas groaned and rolled away from her. ‘Dear heaven, I must be more drunk than I knew.’

No gentle words of love. His tone was one of profound regret. Belle closed her eyes, determined
not to cry. Carefully she sat up and pulled her skirts down into a more decorous position.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he demanded roughly, tucking in his shirt and fastening his breeches.

‘I wanted to comfort you.’

His breath whistled out through his teeth. ‘So to all the grievances your father has against me is now added your seduction. Folly! Do you not realise just what you have done?’

‘I did not know how else to reach you,’ she told him in a small voice.

‘Oh, you reached me,’ he muttered, turning to face her. ‘You reached me only too well.’

The glow in his eyes and his rueful smile drove away the chill that had been forming around her heart, but it hovered, not quite banished. Something in his manner made her uneasy. He rose and held out his hand to her.

‘Come, make yourself tidy, and I will take you home.’

‘Then what do you propose to do?’

‘Do not look so anxious, my dear, I do not intend to abandon you. Tomorrow I shall call upon your father, explain the whole, confess the full extent of my transgressions towards him…and to you, my dear. Then I shall set about putting things right. You shall return to Oakenroyd. The lawyers will handle the whole, no one need
know what has occurred, save that your father has come into funds and I am restoring his former home to him. To you.’

‘And what about us, Lucas?’

She had given him her hand to pull her to her feet. Now he turned the hand over and stared at it, running his thumb over the roughened skin. He released her and turned away.

‘There is no “us”, Belle. You have every right to demand that I marry you for what has just occurred, but you know as well as I that it would not work. There is too much between us that cannot be put right.’

Belle stared at his back. ‘You d-do not want me.’

With an anguished growl he swung round. ‘Want? Of course I—’ Exhaling, he looked up as if searching for a solution in the dark shadows above them, then he reached out for her. He took her hands and looked at them, saying softly, ‘My dear, do you not see how impossible this is? You should hate me for all I have done to you and your father. I hate myself for it, but it is more than that. My family name is ruined. By his heinous act my father has destroyed any hope I had of happiness.’ He added quickly, anticipating her response, ‘And before you tell me that it does not matter, that no one knows, it
does
matter, because
I
know of it and I cannot, will not allow you to share my shame.’

He looked at her then, the pain in his black eyes so angry, so deep it sliced into her heart like a knife. She clung to his hands.