Far Beyond Scandalous (34 page)

"Can't."
 
Drake shook his head, obviously growing
restless because Gibson hadn't departed yet.
 
"The man is in the house every day, especially the mornings.
 
He would know.
 
He has access.
 
He knows
things.
 
All things."
 
Then he waved a bruised and bloodied hand in
the air, stifling a cry of anguish.
 
"Besides, you love her.
 
It's no secret.
 
They all
know.
 
Even him.
 
Especially him."

Gibson's mind was reeling with all
of the information Lord Drake had just provided, but one thing stood out in his
mind.
 
Overton was in Amy's house every
day.
 
Especially the mornings.
 
There was only one person it could be.
 
"Who?"
 
Gibson demanded of Drake, a fearful sense of urgency now sweeping
over him, but needing to be certain, lest he accuse the wrong man.
 
"Who is he?"

"Michaels.
 
The steward."
 
Drake looked up, awash now in misery and a fresh round of
pain.
 
"I forced his hand.
 
If I would have just kept my mouth shut, she
would have been safe, but last night...at the musicale.
 
He heard.
 
He said he had to move quickly now that her brother had returned to
town."

"What does he want?"
 
Gibson was already scribbling a note for Dr.
Hastings and rummaging through his desk for whatever he might need.
 
Not that he had much in the way of weaponry
at his disposal.

"I told you.
 
Her.
 
Dead.
 
Her fortune."
 
Drake shook his head, his agitation growing
by the moment.
 
"I don't know for
certain.
 
Mostly he wants revenge for
his brother.
 
Says that she's a frigid
bitch that needs to pay."
 
He
closed his eyes, and Gibson knew the other man was close to passing out from
what had to be excruciating pain.
 
There
would be no more information forthcoming from him, not that Gibson needed
it.
 
"She is better than I
deserved.
 
Save her.
 
Go."

Before Drake could say another
word, Gibson was racing down the long front hall and out the back door of his
home to the mews where he kept both his own horse, as well as the carriage and
pair of matched grays that Prinny had provided for him.
 
At one time, he had thought three horses and
a carriage an extravagance, but no longer.

Breathless, he quickly saddled his
mount, knowing that he probably had little time to waste, assuming that
Michaels and Amy weren't already half way to Gretna Green by now.
 
Then again, he had only left Mayfair a
little over an hour ago.
 
How far could
they have possibly gotten, especially in the harsh light of day?
 
Gibson doubted that Michaels would risk
abducting Amy in the daylight, or at least at this early hour.
 
There were still too many people about, too
much risk of being seen.
 
The steward
was clever and would undoubtedly wait until fewer eyes were on him, possibly
even until twilight.
 
There was an
excellent chance they were both still at Cheltenham House.

Gibson also gave instructions to
his groom to take the carriage and ride for Bow Street immediately.
 
There, he was to inform anyone who would
listen that Lady Evanston and her family, including the recently returned
Viscount Breckenright, were in danger.
 
When that task was finished, the groom was to ride posthaste to Carlton
House and give the guards at the gate a special coin and inform them of what
was happening at Cheltenham House.
 
The
guards, Gibson assured the groom quickly, would know what to do from there.

As he took the precious coin from
his pocket and handed it to his groom, Gibson expelled a deep breath.
 
Prinny himself had given Gibson that coin
the day he had been appointed as a royal physician.
 
It was a voucher of sorts, good for one favor from the crown,
something that Gibson desired more than life itself.
 
He knew that others in his position had turned in their coins
long ago, often asking for money or prestige in return for their services.
 
Gibson had always known that he could do the
same whenever he chose, and most likely would have been granted the boon he
requested.
 
He never had.

Truthfully, he had never felt
worthy of the honor.
 
What would he ask
for anyway?
 
The only thing he had ever
wanted for himself was not within the power of the Prince Regent to give.
 
It was Amy's heart that Gibson longed for,
and only the lady in question could give it away.
 
There was nothing else he wanted more.
 
There never had been.
 
Not
even the restoration of his family's name and fortunes.

Last night, Amy had offered him
that very heart he had so longed for, and he had turned her away, unable to say
the words she had yearned to hear.
 
Mostly out of fear.
 
And cowardice.
 
In that way, he was no better than his
father had been, despite a lifetime of attempting to be otherwise.

Gibson had also lied to Amy.
 
It was a lie of omission, but still a
lie.
 
He had not said that he loved her
in return.
 
More over, he had said that they
needed to part, that they could no longer see each other.
 
Over and over, he had pushed her away,
usually each time she offered him a glimpse of paradise.
 
As well as her love.
 
He had meant those words and actions only to
keep her safe.
 
He hadn't meant to hurt
her, yet he had done so all the same.

So now, he would call in his favor
with the royal court, the one owed him for his service to the crown.
 
Only he was not asking for himself.
 
He was asking for Amy.
 
And he prayed that he was not too late.

Once he was satisfied that all was
in order, Gibson dug his boots into the side of his mount, a fiery and spirited
chestnut gelding that had been his only extravagance in life, and took off,
racing through the streets of London at a breakneck pace.
 
He hoped and prayed that he would find all
in order when he arrived at Amy's door, and that he would merely look like a
besotted fool.
 
However his gut instinct
told him that he would not, and that made him ride all the harder.
 
He loved Amy.
 
He had admitted it both to himself and aloud.
 
He would not lose her now.
 
Not when he was so close to finding his own
happiness with her by his side.

"Wife?
 
Surely you are mistaken.
 
It is known by all that I prefer to remain a
spinster and therefore, unwed."
 
Amy attempted to stare down Michaels, or rather Mark Overton, and did
her best to keep calm.
 
Panic would not
help the situation, especially not when the man was brandishing a gun in their
morning room.

"Wife," Overton repeated
moving further into the room, the gun still clutched tightly in his fist.
 
"And no, I do not believe that I am
mistaken at all."
 
He had a casual
stance, but Amy knew well enough not to be fooled.
 
She had seen Michaels shoot at her father's insistence during a
house party at Heatherton Abby several years previous.
 
The man was a crack shot and could take down
birds in flight rather easily.
 
She had
no doubt that three people in a closed room with only one exit would be easy
enough to dispatch.
 
Especially when two
of them had medical issues.

Rising as gracefully as she could
while her legs shook with terror, Amy raised a hand to stay both her mother and
Marcus, both of whom made moves to defend her.
 
She would not risk either of them when Michaels quarrel was obviously
with her.
 
Amy knew that Marcus would
defend her to the death, but she did not want him to make that sacrifice.
 
Not to mention that his vision was poor, and
she had no way of knowing precisely how much he
could
see.
 
He could lunge for Michaels and miss.
 
That would not be good for anyone.

She did not even want to
contemplate the idea of her mother attempting to take on the crazed man.

"I see."
 
Amy smoothed her hands down over her pale
rose silk morning dress, noting with discomfort the way Michaels stared openly
at her breasts.
 
She almost thought,
much to her disgust, that he was practically salivating as he gazed at
her.
 
As if he wanted to strip her naked
where she stood and have his way with her.
 
Just like his brother.

She had chosen the frock that
morning because it reminded her of the scandalous garnet gown she had worn the
previous evening when she had been with Gibson.
 
She had wanted to keep that memory alive inside of her for just a
little longer.
 
Now, she thought that
perhaps something that showed a little less
décolletage
might have been preferable.
 
Then again, she had not expected to be
accosted at her breakfast table by a man wielding a gun.
 

"And
may I ask why you seek me as a wife?
 
As
I recall from a conversation not quite a fortnight ago, you said that you found
me tedious and bothersome."
 
Amy
did her best to keep her voice even and low so as not to anger the man further,
lest he start shooting.

She remembered very clearly the day
she had overheard Michaels' conversation with Gibson when the two men were
discussing who would escort her about town.
 
It had been evident that the steward had little love for the upper
classes, and even less regard for her in particular, but she hadn't taken much
note of it.
 
Perhaps she should have.

Michaels moved deeper into the
room, the pistol in his hand shaking a bit, though from rage or fear, Amy
wasn't certain.
 
If she had to guess,
she supposed rage.
 
The man was angry,
and it radiated from him like a beacon.
 
"You killed my brother," he spat, and she noticed that his
eyes were a bit glassy.
 

Michaels had been drinking.
 
Marvelous.
 
That made him twice as dangerous.
 
Really, what was it about a man's mind that made them act so stupidly
most of the time?
 
What made them think
that drink was the answer?
 
Amy wished
she knew.
 
It really was becoming rather
annoying.
 
However, it also fueled her
own anger and prevented her from cowering before the man, which was probably
precisely what he was hoping she would do.

"You ruined Thomas' good name,
and then you killed him."
 
Michaels
waved the gun wildly once more, and Amy prayed that it didn't accidentally go
off.
 
She had no idea how the safety
mechanisms on those things worked.

"Your brother raped my
daughter!"
 
Thea rose on unsteady
feet, unable to keep quiet any longer.
 
Her words slurred all the more the angrier she became.
 
"He ruined her and her future!"

"She seduced him!

"She was a child!"

The air was thick with tension as
Michaels reached into his coat pocket and produced a worn piece of parchment
that Amy recognized as having come from her father's study.
 
Her old music master must have stolen it at
some point when he was still working for the family.
 
Before the incident, for there would not have been time after,
not if he had taken time to pen that infernal note.
 
Just how long had the man been taking advantage of them?

"I have it all here in my
brother's own hand."
 
Overton shook
the letter so hard that Amy feared it might fall apart before their eyes.
 
"He wrote to me in the hours before you
tossed him out, said how his sprightly young pupil used her feminine wiles on
him, how she made him crazed with lust for her.
 
How she seduced him into taking her innocence with promises of
great wealth and power."
 
Michaels
threw the letter on the breakfast table but no one reached out to take it,
least of all Amy.
 
She had a very good
idea of what it said.
 
"She
promised him everything his heart desired, if only he would take her away from
her controlling, manipulative family."

"Your brother was sick
man."
 
It was Marcus' turn to
stand, keeping one hand on the table to steady himself.
 
Amy had never seen him look so
thunderous.
 
Or ready to take someone's
head off.
 
Not even last night when he
had faced down Drake.
 
"He
assaulted two of the maids and seduced Lady Amy's governess in the weeks
leading up to that day.
 
He attempted to
seduce my mother that very same morning, but she rebuffed him and had him
sacked.
 
Before he could be removed from
the home, he defiled my sister.
 
Thomas
Overton deserved precisely what he received in the end."
 

There was a cold, dark edge to the
viscount's voice filled with bitter rage, one that Amy had never heard
before.
 
If that had not shocked her,
his words certainly would have.

"Mama?
 
Is it true?"
 
Amy felt flashes of hot and cold all over her body, and her chest
tightened painfully.
 
"I didn't
know."
 
She thought Gibson had
discovered everything.
 
Obviously, he
hadn't.

Thea drew in a deep breath as if to
calm herself.
 
"You were not meant
to.
 
We had hoped to keep you safe and
protected for just a bit longer, in the hopes that you would never learn the
true nature of a man you seemed to like and whom you learned from rather
easily.
 
You were young and
innocent.
 
You did not need to know men
like Thomas Overton existed.
 
His
departure was to be quiet and gentlemanly, or at least as much as was possible
given the circumstances.
 
But Thomas was
a sneaky, conniving man, and he managed to get away from the guard we had
assigned to hold him until a magistrate could be brought to the house."

"He came to the music room
where I was practicing," Amy said, recalling that hot and rainy afternoon
more vividly than she had in years.
 
Truthfully, she had never wanted to think of it again, so she had done
her best to push it aside.
 
"He was
angry, and I asked him why, for I was concerned about him.
 
He wouldn't answer me, just kept asking if I
cared for him."
 

She looked at Michaels, finally
able to see a bit of Thomas in the man she and her family had trusted for so
long.
 
"I did not understand what
your brother was asking of me.
 
When I
did not give him the response he obviously wanted, he shoved me down on a
nearby settee and loosened the placket on his breeches.
 
He had my skirts up and was inside of me
before I knew what he was about."
 
She swallowed hard, finally allowing the horror of that day to surface
so that she could deal with it once and for all.
 
"He raped me, Mark, even though the act was not fully
completed.
 
It was not a seduction.
 
I can assure you of that much."

"Lies," Michaels hissed, his
eyes narrowing on Amy once more.
 
In
that moment, Michaels the steward was gone, replaced by the hard, unyielding
Mark Overton, hell bent on revenge.
 
"All of it is nothing but more lies."

Marcus stepped forward and the
steward swung his pistol in the viscount's direction.
 
"Your swine of a brother planned it.
 
That made it all the worse."
 
There was anger in Marcus' eyes that the
years had not dulled.
 
If anything, it
was now worse.
 
"After he eluded
his guard, he stole into my father's study to write that note.
 
He had an unsuspecting stable hand take it
to post and then rushed to the music room where he knew my sister to be, all in
an attempt to exact his revenge on an innocent child.
 
I have no idea how he thought he would succeed.
 
It was not logical, but then, madness rarely
is."

Marcus started down his nose at the
steward, every inch the haughty aristocrat he truly was, and Amy nearly
blanched with fear.
 
She could tell her
brother was deliberately taunting the man, almost as if he wanted Michaels to
shoot.
 
Then she realized that if the
crazed man did so, the weapon would be spent and there would be no time to
reload before the sound of gunfire brought the staff running.
 
Marcus might die, but Amy and her mother
would live.
 

Well, if Amy had anything to say
about it, they would
all
live to see a ripe old age.
 
It was time that The Paragon took firm and
complete control of her life.
 
It was
time to finally break free.

"You will take back those
filthy words about my brother!"
 
Michaels was sweating now, and Amy wondered if the man simply thought
the three of them would give up easily and without a fight.
 
After working for the Cheltenham family for
so long, he should have known better.
 
Then again, the steward was foxed, so anything was possible.
 
"He was not mad!
 
He was a good man dealt a grievous
injustice."

"He destroyed my life before
it even began."
 
Amy raised her
chin and brought all of her regal blood to bear.
 
There had to be some good in having been educated in the ways of
the royal court since the cradle.
 
"I was a mere child, and he took everything from me.
 
Why do you think I have not married?
 
True, there have not been many men that I
fancied, but I could have made a good match had I desired it.
 
But to what end, Mark?
 
I would have to admit to my future husband
that I was not an innocent or find a way to deceive him on our wedding
night.
 
Neither option was appealing,
and I could not very well tell him the truth.
 
So I did not choose a husband at all, knowing that any man I encountered
would find me lacking.
 
In his eyes, I
would be judged unworthy."

That, apparently, was the wrong
thing to say.
 
"Then since I
already know your dirty little secret, whore, it should not be a hardship to
marry me."
 
Michaels took his time
in perusing her body again and if the gleam in his eye was any indication, he
liked what he saw.
 
"In fact, I
think we should leave for Gretna Green right now.
 
Before anyone stumbles upon us.
 
We have tarried far too long as it is."

However, Michaels did take a moment
to slide his hand down Amy's arm in a caress, and it was all she could do not
to recoil from his touch.
 
She could
feel his desire in the way he stroked her skin, but unlike Gibson, who touched
her out of love and with respect, this caress was born from a desire to hurt
and possess.
 
To force from her what she
would not give freely.
 
It chilled her
to her very bones.