Captive Scoundrel (34 page)

Hemsted’s cat, his shadow, crawled through an open window beyond Aline’s vision. Faith looked away, examined the room and took her time to glance back. Lord, how she wanted Hemsted to be there. She schooled herself not to react if she saw him. When she finally did—hunched on the parapet outside the window—hope surged. But he moved out of sight and she couldn’t believe it. She’d placed her hope in him and he’d abandoned her.

Aline repeated something Faith had failed to catch, touching the gun to her shoulder.

Looking into the lower library, Faith told Justin with her eyes and her heart that she loved him. And with his, he said the same. “For eternity,” she said aloud, and he nodded.

“Aline, where are you?” Hemsted called and entered below, stopping to take in the sight of Justin by Vincent’s body.

At Aline’s gasp, he looked up. “Darling,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Faith was confused. He couldn’t be surprised; he’d heard them from the ledge. Did he love Aline? They’d been in bed together. His words were in accord with that evidence, and yet they seemed foreign, unreal.

“See if my wretch of a husband is dead, Max,” Aline said then bring the other one up here.

“Aline, the wire to lower the chandelier is coiled up there,” he said. “In a case on the side wall. Truss her up.”

Aline smiled and urged Faith toward the side wall.

She must have been beautiful once, Faith thought, might still be, but for the over-application of powder, rouge and jewels.

Hemsted hesitated when he saw Vincent lived, and when he saw the gun in Justin’s hand, he looked him full in the face.

Justin couldn’t use the gun on him. Aline would kill Faith in a wink if her Max was harmed. And another thing, something about Hemsted had disturbed Justin since meeting him, and his unease wasn’t based on jealousy, either.

Hemsted attempted to take the gun from him. Justin grasped it tight. Hemsted begged for Justin’s trust in an intangible, but undeniable, way and tugged again. Bloody hell.

Faith already trusted this man. And Justin trusted Faith. Was it not time to trust her instincts too? He fought the turnabout a moment longer—it was difficult to let an old habit die—then he let go of the gun.

Hemsted slipped it into his pocket and indicated Justin should stay.

Justin did.

Hemsted climbed the circular stairs.

And why, Justin wondered, did he remain? Because he feared for Faith? Because he trusted Hemsted? Or for both reasons?

Faith’s heart beat with hope, despite her bindings, when Hemsted reached the balcony. “Aline, Vincent lives,” he said.

The woman sucked in her breath and with dispatch turned and spent her second and last shot in Vincent’s prone body.

Faith heard Justin shout, “No,” and thinking he’d been hit too, she fought for consciousness.

Aline dropped the duelling pistol and stepped into Hemsted’s arms. He kissed her with deliberate passion and the Frenchwoman sighed.

Faith struggled from the wire and backed nearly to the door when Aline shrieked, then she saw Hemsted’s gun. Knowledge that he was her enemy flashed across her face. “Treacherous jackal! You want her?” She laughed. “Too late.” She aimed at Faith, but Hemsted stepped between them and took the shot.

Aline and Justin met in the centre of the stairs—her going down and him running up—and Aline fired again.

Faith screamed as Justin staggered. He reached out and caught Aline’s necklace, and amid a shower of jewels, the two tumbled to the floor. Aline’s painted features contorted in shock, her eyes dripping black tears, she lay like a discarded marionette, her neck bent at a ghastly angle.

Justin’s lifeless body lay beside her.

The gunshot that grazed Justin’s shoulder pained him less than his head, which, when it hit the floor, had knocked him unconscious.

Her lap his cradle, Faith wept and thanked God in turn.

Justin was too dazed to speak, but he echoed her prayers in his heart. When he gathered strength, he shifted their positions and took her into his arms, though he couldn’t clutch her as tight as he wished.

When they’d salved their shattered nerves with contact long enough, Justin looked toward the top of the stairs. “Hemsted?”

“Oh, Lord,” Faith said. She shot from his embrace and made for the stairs. “He took the bullet meant for me.”

Justin almost blacked out again. He hadn’t realized how close he’d come to losing her.

Faith knelt by Hemsted, his boyish smile a relief, and examined him. His right thigh was drenched with blood.

He cleared his throat and almost chuckled. “She aimed low when she saw it was me she’d shoot. I thank my Maker for her bad aim.”

Faith’s face flamed.

Justin—despite his lack of colour for climbing the stairs—chuckled. “I take it she missed.”

“Believe so,” Hemsted replied.

“Let’s see,” Faith said, unbuttoning his breaches.

And both men shouted, “No!”

Despite them, Faith bound Hemsted’s wound and got him to the settee where he could lie down. Binding her husband’s shoulder came next. Then she checked Aline. “Her neck is broken,” Faith said, and Justin nodded.

Last, Faith approached Vincent—the man who tried to kill him, then to help him. Emotions battering him, Justin followed her, never expecting to find Vincent watching them.

Justin knelt beside Faith as she fumbled to untie Vincent’s cravat and tear open his shirt. Her hands quickly covered in blood, she tried to stop the flow from the largest of Vincent’s wounds by pressing folded fabric against it.

Hemsted sat up. “I’m sorry, Justin. But he tried to kill you. And to save Faith, I had to make Aline spend that bullet.”

Both Vincent’s wounds were deadly, Justin knew, and he would tell Hemsted that later, when Vincent could no longer hear. “To save Faith’s life,” he repeated, stunned anew by the unthinkable. “Have I thanked you yet?”

Hemsted shook his head. “It isn’t necessary. I saved her as much for myself.” He smiled at Justin’s frown. “You know what I mean. She’s yours, I know. I guess I’ve always known it.”

Questions came to Justin then. But they would have to wait.

“Don’t try, m’dear,” Vincent said as Faith ministered to him. He looked at Justin. “Wish I could change things.”

Justin touched his shoulder. “You did. Tonight.”

Vincent nodded imperceptibly. “Glad it’s over.” He nearly closed his eyes, then he opened them wide with panic and grabbed Justin’s sleeve with more strength than Justin would have guessed possible. “Beth—”

“Is mine,” Justin said. “She’s mine.”

Vincent relaxed, tears in his eyes. “Yes.”

He looked at Faith. “Knew when I saw you.” He swallowed with difficulty, grasped Justin’s hand. “Meant for you. Gave you a proper heir.”

Justin nodded, his brother’s face blurring, fading with his life.

Vincent’s grip relaxed and he found the peace he sought at last.

Hemsted lay back on the settee as if he could hold himself up no longer, and Faith stepped into her husband’s arms.

“Where’s Brian?” Justin asked after a few minutes.

“Carry has him,” Marcus answered, stepping into the room. He practically growled when he saw Hemsted. “Everything under control?” he asked.

Justin nodded. “Where the devil have you been?”

Marcus looked back at Hemsted, indicating him with a nod. “The rogue knocked me out, took my clothes, and locked me in the closet.” He looked down at himself. “Found these in the gold bedroom.” He smiled. “Carry’s locked in there still—the gold bedroom that is, not the closet—bouncing that bawling tiger of yours. Can’t feed ‘em, I believe. Faith locked him in first, after he tried to rescue her. I locked him in second. He’s not too happy with either of us.”

Faith shrugged. “I was afraid you’d need me, Justin.” She was playing with that silver button again.

“I’ll beat you later,” he said against her hair. He wasn’t going to let her go for a month when this was finished.

“Why’s he loose?” Marcus asked with an aggrieved look at Hemsted. “And what’s he doing cosying up, I’d like to know?”

Eyebrows raised in silent question, Justin turned to Hemsted, that nagging discomfort returning. “Why do I feel as if I know you?”

“I knew you were Justin Devereux the minute Faith said you were Justin Reddington.”

“The devil you say!”

Hemsted smiled.

Justin recovered his equilibrium, though he was still perplexed. “What makes you think I’m not Justin Reddington?”

The charming man of affairs inclined his head. “Justin Reddington, at your service.”

Justin barely heard Faith’s gasp or Marcus’s oath. He was too shaken. He’d both gained and lost a brother tonight.

“I came back to search for my identity,” his newfound brother said. “Becoming Vincent’s man of affairs fell in with my need to search for the truth here at Killashandra. I can tell from your look, Justin, that you already know we’re half brothers.”

Justin went and extended his hand. “Welcome home, Justin.”

Reddington shook it. “Welcome back to the living, Justin.”

“Justin and Justin,” Faith said. “I’ll never know which is which.”

Reddington grinned. Her husband growled.

At midnight, Harris arrived with the magistrate and Aline and Vincent’s bodies were taken away. “I want to bury them in the family vault,” Justin said, and Faith agreed.

Justin, Marcus and Reddington watched a disgruntled Carry, a babe sucking on his cravat, return Brian to his mother.

Marcus and Carry left for London.

“Reddington, make Killashandra yours for as long as you want it. We’ll find you a place of your own, eventually, get you named in the will and all that. For tonight, you can have the gold bedroom.”

The new brothers shared their first hearty laugh. Harris went to fetch Mrs. Tucker to come and care for her new master.

Justin roused the coachman to take him, Brian, and Faith to Arundel. Brian slept in Faith’s arms while Justin told her he couldn’t live without her, and she promised he wouldn’t have to.

Two people had died; a respectful silence was suitable. Still they couldn’t help celebrate life with a kiss or a touch. Justin was safe and free for the first time since they had met, but Faith suspected the realization had not come to him yet. They even slept for a while, lulled by the coach’s rhythm.

When they arrived, the black of night had turned to the smoky haze of morning. They went right to Beth and kissed her. She opened her eyes, smiled, said, “Poppy, Mama,” and went back to sleep. Then they stood in each other’s arms, savouring their new freedom to live and love for a lifetime…

“You surprised me tonight,” Faith said.

“No doubt,” Justin replied. “Which time?”

“You have such a jealous streak, I expected you to charge the stairs in fury when I said Hemsted was Brian’s father so I could disarm Aline, or push her over the railing.”

“Humph. Remind me not to cross you.”

“I was frightened for your life!”

He closed his eyes and held her close. “As I was for yours.”

She stepped back. “Why didn’t you run up the stairs in a jealous rage?”

“Because I trust you.”

THE END

(Formerly: Scoundrel in Disguise)

Newhaven, East Sussex Coast, England, Spring 1827

At first breathtaking sight, Marcus Fitzalan was willing to wager his membership in the Society of Scoundrels that the Lady Jade Smithfield was proud to be a scandal.