Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy (23 page)

She blew out the lamp, turned, and left, so Georgie had to suffer to the end all alone.

Georgie imagined herself rising up and hurrying after her. She'd advise the Countess of all the ways she was stealing her husband, which had been easy since Lady Derby was an obnoxious shrew whom the Earl hated.

But the reality was that Lady Derby had been correct: The poison did indeed work very fast. After a few more desperate minutes, death was a welcomed relief.

Chapter
Sixteen

I
tried to explain to your father about your whoring, but he wouldn't listen." Caroline stared at her mother, wondering how someone so obviously crazed could appear so sane. A hint of madness glowed in her eyes, but other than that abnormal glimmer, she seemed as fussy and straitlaced as she'd always been.

Caroline was sitting in a chair, pretending to be very meek, when, in fact, she was terrified and confused and angrier than she'd ever been.

She wanted to scream for help, to bring the servants running, but as she'd discovered from her long night of pounding on the door, they wouldn't cross Britannia. She'd trained the staff well. If she locked Caroline in a closet, if she beat and starved Caroline, nary a one would intervene.

Caroline couldn't count on anyone but herself, so she was alert for the slightest inattention by her mother. The minute Britannia's back was turned, Caroline would sneak out and race to Ian. He would protect her.

After he'd received her letter but she hadn't arrived, what must he have thought? Was he panicked and fretting? At any moment, would he rush to her aid?

Or what if the footman hadn't delivered the note? What if Ian didn't know she'd been intending to come? If she never had another chance to speak with him, if he went on assuming she'd chosen Mr. Shelton, she'd never forgive herself.

She had to get away!

"Your father couldn't focus on business," her mother was saying, "so he told me to handle everything."

"He wouldn't want you to be so cruel, Mother."

"Wouldn't he? Do you really suppose he cares? He's been so preoccupied, sticking his rod in that harlot's hole—"

"Mother!"

"—that he won't notice how I treat you."

"Perhaps we should ask Father to come upstairs," Caroline coaxed, anxious for him to see what had happened.

Britannia gave a sinister laugh. "We don't need your father to solve our problem with Ian Clayton."

"We have no problem with Mr. Clayton. I scarcely know him."

"I understand your attraction, Caroline. He's a rugged, handsome sort, and after the Wakefield debacle, you were humiliated. It was only natural that you would seek inappropriate comfort."

"I didn't misbehave with Mr. Clayton," she insisted.

As if she hadn't commented, her mother continued, "I, myself, sought physical consolation in the arms of another man when I had my own pathetic fling."

Her mother had had an amour? How very peculiar!

"Did you love him?" Caroline probed, trying to find common ground, trying to lower Britannia's guard.

"Love, bah!" she sneered. "He never came for me, even though he swore he would. I was increasing and frightened and alone."

Britannia talked as if she'd been pregnant with her paramour's child. Had Britannia met him before marrying the Earl? Was she claiming that the Earl wasn't Adam's father? Or had there been no child? Was Britannia so deranged she simply imagined there was?

"It must have been awful," Caroline soothed. "I'm sorry for you."

"Why would you be sorry? I learned a valuable lesson—as you have not—that there is nothing but treachery in the world. Now as to how we'll proceed ..."

She walked to the window and peered outside, studying something only she could see. She held up her hand, and she was wearing a ruby ring on her smallest finger. Grinning, she looked at it like the cat that had eaten the canary; then she whipped around, her expression cold and stony, once more.

"The wedding will go forward, and your indiscretion will remain our little secret."

"I can't do it for you, Mother."

"Your opinion is completely irrelevant."

"But I—"

"Be silent, Caroline. I'm weary of your protests. I selected Edward for you, and there's no use quarreling." "And if I refuse?"

"I'll murder your beloved Mr. Clayton." "What?"

"You heard me: I shall kill Mr. Clayton. I would rather see him dead than let you defy me."

"What an absurd threat." Caroline scoffed. "I've known you all my life. As if I'd believe you'd . .. you'd . . . kill someone." "You presume I wouldn't?"

"I'm positive you wouldn't. You seem to be experiencing some type of noxious spell, and so far, I've humored you, but I won't listen to any more of your ranting. It can't be healthy. I have to advise Father that you're ill."

Britannia chuckled. "You won't have to notify Bernard. He'll be apprised soon enough." "What do you mean?" "I killed his mistress." "You did not." "I did." "When?"

"Last night, while you were locked in my dressing room. I went to her home and murdered her." "With what?"

"With poison—the spurned woman's weapon. What would you expect? It was extremely satisfying, too." "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am. He'll stop haranguing about a divorce, and when the next pretty girl catches his eye, he'll think twice about becoming involved with her." She gazed at the ruby ring, twirling it round and round on her finger. "If I'd been aware of how easy it was to accomplish, I'd have started doing it years ago. It would have saved me so many headaches."

Caroline's mind reeled with questions: Could her mother actually have done such a terrible thing? Could she have stooped to homicide? Did Caroline know her, at all? From where had this bloodthirsty stranger sprung?

"You're stark-raving mad," Caroline murmured.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Britannia agreed, which made it so much worse. "Now then, let's go down to dinner. After, I'll lock you in again, which is where you will spend every minute until the ceremony."

"I have to tell, Mother," she declared. "I have to tell everyone what you did."

"Who will you tell, Caroline? Who would believe that I—the Countess of Derby—would bother with murdering a strumpet? Your father's had dozens. And don't forget: If you whisper a word of this, I will kill Mr. Clayton. I'm afraid I'll have to insist on it. So .. . you can marry Edward, as I've requested, and your precious Ian will be safe forever. Or you can tattle, and he will be dead shortly. The choice is yours. What will it be?"

She opened the door, gesturing into the hall as if it were an ordinary day, as if they'd been having a pleasant mother-daughter chat.

"Let's go down, shall we? I'm starving."

She strolled out, fully anticipating that Caroline would tag along without argument.

Shaken, stunned, Caroline rose and trailed after her.

9r

B
ernard, this came for you. The messenger said it was urgent." Britannia was holding a sealed note, and Bernard scowled. "Who is it from?"

"Your latest trollop. Or perhaps her mother. I'm told something has happened and the girl was incapable of writing herself. Isn't she a drunkard? She was probably too intoxicated to pick up a pen."

His heart skipped several beats. "Give it to me."

He snatched it away and tore at the seal. The sentences seemed to swim on the page, and he had to read it over and over before they made any sense.

"Georgie!" he gasped, and he collapsed onto the nearest chair.

"Are you all right, Bernard? Is it bad news? Oh, how I hope it is!"

He skimmed the note again, the import sinking in. "You were there! You were the last to see her alive." "Was I? How intriguing." "What were you doing?"

"I tried bribing her to stay away from you—as any rich, sane wife would do. I offered her a fortune, too, but the stupid child refused it. It must have been true love, after all."

She giggled and fluttered her hand over her enormous bosom, and he was shocked to find that she was wearing Georgie's ring. He was sure it was hers!

Could Britannia have . .. ? Oh, he couldn't finish the thought!

"Where did you get that ring?" he asked, aghast but struggling to remain calm.

"This old thing?" She waved it about as if she'd forgotten she had it on. "You gave it to me ages ago. Don't you remember?"

Speculating, horrified, inconsolable, he gawked at her.

His dear Georgie! She'd brought him such joy! Had Britannia been so jealous that she'd been driven to homicide? Was it possible?

"If I ever learn that you were responsible for this atrocity, I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?"

It was a valid question. What could he do to her? Who would believe that his countess, his spouse of thirty years, would suddenly commit murder?

"If I discover that it was you," he warned, "I'll strangle you with my own two hands."

"You haven't the nerve."

She spun and left him to stew and grieve all alone. &

I
an paced across his parlor, his anxiety rising, his worry extreme. Caroline's letter was clutched in his fist, and he'd read it a thousand times. She'd sworn she was coming so that they could elope to Scotland. Where was she?

He'd waited all night. He'd waited all morning, but she hadn't arrived, and he didn't know what her nonappearance indicated or what he should do about it.

Should he continue to wait? Should he storm to her father's house and demand to speak with her? Or should he face reality and admit that she hadn't been serious?

Just then, carriage wheels sounded on the street. He raced to the window and peered out, delighted to see the Earl's coach pulling up.

She'd come! She'd come at last!

On pins and needles, he tarried, much too eager for his first glimpse of her, but as the footman lowered the step, it wasn't Caro who emerged.

The Countess lumbered out, and as she approached, his dread spiraled.

What did the visit portend? He steeled himself against disappointment, against the mortification and regret that he was certain the Countess would make him feel.

He stood, gaping and frozen, curious as to how their liaison had been exposed. Had Caro confessed it? Had someone else? Did it matter how the Countess had been apprised? Probably not. The damage was done, and he could only move through the aftermath.

"Hello, Mr. Clayton," she said as the butler showed her in.

"Lady Derby." He tipped his head. "Shall we sit?"

"There's no need. This isn't a social call, and I intend to be brief."

She glanced at Caro's note that he still held.

"Since you obviously know why I am here," she began, "I'll be blunt."

"By all means," he mocked.

"Lady Caroline isn't coming."

He'd already surmised as much, but it hurt to have her voice the truth aloud.

"I've been wondering what happened, so thank you for stopping by."

He gestured to the door, wanting her to grasp that their meeting was ended, but he should have known it wouldn't be easy to get rid of her.

She jeered, "I'm not sure why you had the gall to initiate this affair."

He shrugged, loathing her tone, and determined to aggravate her as much as he was able. "It seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"I understand how your connection to Lord Wakefield has skewed your view of your place in relation to an exalted family such as ours."

"My brother definitely let me run amok. Because of him, I'm always putting on airs."

He was being sarcastic, but she nodded in agreement, deeming him sincere.

"I imagine you thought you'd become rich if you married her. I imagine you thought her father would eventually pardon you and give you some of her dowry."

"It was at the top of my list of reasons," he lied.

"I hate to have you thwarted financially."

"Do your'

"Money difficulties can make a fellow behave in desperate ways." "Yes, they can."

"This development could leave you in a fiscal crunch, so I'm prepared to remunerate you for your troubles." She passed over an envelope. "It's a bank draft. Cash it, and the full amount is yours."

He peeked inside, his eyes widening at the large sum. "Why, Lady Derby, this is too much. What am I to assume? You must want something in exchange."

"Of course I do. I'm buying your discretion."

"Well, this should purchase an enormous quantity of it."

"Don't be smart with me. I won't have stories circulating about some ridiculous amour between the two of you. Nor will I have you slithering out of the woodwork to ruin her wedding. I'm told you're a pragmatic man, Mr. Clayton."

"I am."

"So you can see how I might worry over your future comments."

"Oh, absolutely."