The Captain's Caress (46 page)

“I’d rather be the hangman’s daughter than yours,” she declared outraged.

“The earl wouldn’t like it either. It would start people to asking questions.”

“It is true that it would be awkward at first, but since the ultimate result would be that things stand as they do now, I don’t foresee anything to worry about.”

“Either you’re trying to pull the wool over Summer’s eyes, or you haven’t read that will.” Ashton sounded remarkably sober now. “Most of this land was Boyleston’s grandmother’s, and any heir, male or female, can hold this property in her own right.” Summer looked questioningly at Gowan, but he was staring at Ashton with a look that should have warned the man that his tongue might prove his undoing. Summer didn’t like Ashton, but she felt a sudden urge to warn him.

“I’ve already admitted that things might be awkward at first, but my wife and I would settle things between us,” Gowan said.

“Not if your trustees are like mine.” Ashton refreshed himself from his glass. “It’s nothing to me who has the money, but wouldn’t it be better to let me stay for a while rather than stir up a hornet’s nest?”

“In other words, you’re offering to keep your mouth shut if we provide a bed and all the brandy you can drink?”

“That’s blackmail!” Summer stood up.

“There’s no call to use hard words,” Ashton said reprovingly. “It’s just an exchange of favors among friends.”

“I think you ought to throw him out,” Summer announced brusquely, and stalked from the room.

Chapter 42

The next few days did nothing to improve Gowan’s temper or to encourage Summer to hope she could soon get rid of Ashton. The man spent the better part of his first morning at the castle wandering about and making a mental inventory of its contents, managing all the while to keep himself supplied with drink.

“This is a fine place you have,” he informed Summer when he met her in one of the halls. “I’d warrant I could stay here a fortnight and not run into you except at dinner.”

However, by that evening Ashton had changed his mind about staying at Glenstal Castle. He’d met one of Gowan’s business partners and, over a friendly pint, had learned that Gowan’s yearly income exceeded fifteen thousand pounds. That had started Ashton on a new train of thought.

At dinner he suddenly turned to Gowan. “There’s not much going on here. Even Edinburgh has turned pious. I think I’ll go to London.”

“Whatever for?” Summer was astonished. “You don’t know a soul there.”

“A man of means can always find his way,” Ashton said loftily.

“Do you plan to live there all year round, or do you intend to visit the watering places as well?” Gowan’s voice was deadly quiet.

“He can’t get to the next county without having to borrow money,” Summer declared scornfully.

“But you think you know where to find the funds, don’t you?” Gowan said to Ashton in silky tones.

“It would be only natural for a generous husband to make his father-in-law an allowance,” Ashton stated glibly.

“One ample enough to permit the man to travel to London and to other spots frequented by convivial spirits,” Gowan said coldly.

“I’d come back here to rest up, but London is the only place for a man of means.”

“Drawing all the while on my unfailing generosity,” Gowan continued. His words were like the hiss of a cobra, but Ashton was too enthralled with his vision of having enough money to do as he pleased to pay attention to such warning signs.

“Your partner assured me your income was so large you didn’t need the half of it,” Ashton responded, already able to feel the money in his hands.

“And so you have offered to spend some of it. Don’t hesitate to tell me exactly how much you need. Do you want it in gold, or shall we set up banking arrangements?”

Ashton demurred. “I don’t think such things need be mentioned before ladies. I know we understand one another.”

“I understand you perfectly,” Gowan said smoothly, then he turned the conversation to another subject.

Summer was unable to believe that Ashton could be so stupid as to believe that Gowan would hand over a major part of his income, but a few days later, when Ashton came down to dinner in a new coat, she made some casual remark about its cost and was stunned by his reply.

“I told them I was the earl’s father-in-law and to send him the bills.”

“You did what!”
she ejaculated, unable to keep the shrillness from her voice.

“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up over a few clothes,” Ashton said peevishly. “You can’t expect me to go about dressed like a hayseed.”

“You’ve got to get away from here now,” Summer pleaded, near desperation now.

“It’s too early to go to London yet. Besides, Gowan and I haven’t talked about the money I’m to have.”

“You really expect Gowan to hand over the money to you, just like that, don’t you?” Summer asked, incredulous.

“He doesn’t have any choice if he wants me to keep my mouth shut,” Ashton said bluntly.

“Not even Gowan’s
whole
income could keep up with your spending.”

“I know I overdid things before, but I won’t do that again.”

Summer stared at Ashton, unable to believe that he could be so blind. “Are you fool enough to think you can scare Gowan with your pitiful threats? Do you think people would even listen to the accusations of a drunk?”

“You watch what you say—”

“No one will believe you if both of us deny every word you say.”

“But that would make you a bastard.” Ashton was a bit shaken.

“Not when they already believe I’m your daughter. It’ll just convince people that you’re trying to squeeze money out of Gowan. He already has some of his men looking for the record of Mother’s marriage. He’ll destroy it if he finds it, and you’ll never be able to prove a word of what you say. Please leave this house, and don’t come back. There’s nothing but danger here for you.”

In his own hazy way Ashton didn’t trust Gowan, but neither did he believe the earl would do him any harm. And he couldn’t turn his back on the possibility of a perpetual supply of money. He’d already been cheated out of one fortune after waiting for twenty years; he wasn’t going to miss his chance for another because of cowardice.

Dinner was a depressing affair, and the atmosphere grew even more leaden when Gowan brought up Ashton’s bills.

“You seem to have been remarkably busy these last few days. I must be quite obtuse not to have noticed such prodigious needs.”

“I may have ordered a few more clothes than I really needed,” Ashton mumbled, disliking the look in Gowan’s eyes. “I can send some of them back.”

“I wouldn’t think of asking you to do that,” Gowan said with sinister calm. “I couldn’t have it said that I allowed my father-in-law to be unsuitably dressed … or short of funds.”

Ashton’s faith in the gullibility of others was restored, and he took another swallow of brandy. “I told Summer you wouldn’t cut up stiff over a few little bills.”

“My dear, how could you think that I would deny your father a mere five hundred pounds? One must provide the necessities.”

Summer blanched at the figure.

“As much as that?” Ashton said. “Bleeding bunch of thieves, that’s what those tradesmen are.”

“They aren’t all tradesmen’s bills, but don’t let that worry you. I shall see that they are settled.”

Summer was relieved next morning when she learned that Ashton had gone for an early ride, but when he didn’t return for lunch she began to worry. By the middle of the afternoon she sent her grooms out to search for him. It wasn’t until she came down for dinner that she learned Ashton had been found at the bottom of a gorge, he had broken his neck in the fall.

Summer bit her lip and clenched her hands so they wouldn’t shake. “Where was his horse?” she managed to ask. “Why didn’t it come home?”

“It was grazing a short distance away. Nobody can understand how he could have fallen off such a lazy slug.”

“Had he been drinking?” Gowan asked, coming into the parlor in time to hear the last portion of the story.

“He left with two quarts and both of them were gone.”

“What has been done with the body?”

“It’s in the stables awaiting your orders.”

“I think we should consult the countess,” he said, but Summer was unable to control herself any longer. With a despairing cry she jumped to her feet and fled the room. She knew Gowan had murdered Ashton, she could feel it, and she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. Gowan had talked civilly to Ashton over dinner and had calmly murdered him the next day. That proved he could kill her baby just as easily; she had no choice but to run away.

Chapter 43

The camp lay nestled in a small clearing under a cloud-filled sky. Restless horses breathed clouds of steam into the cold night air, but spring was on its way and the gypsies were preparing to leave their winter quarters. Every now and then someone walked across the clearing or called out to a companion, but most busied themselves getting ready for the road.

A lone figure emerged from the darkness beyond the wagons. Staying within the shadows of the trees, he circled the camp, then sprinted across an open courtyard into the lee of a distinctive wagon. After pausing for a moment to be sure no one was watching, he put his head inside. There was no one within. Drawing back against the brightly painted panels, he remained undecided until he heard a throaty contralto singing the lilting strains of a plaintive Gypsy ballad. He then smiled to himself and carefully made his way toward an open barn door.

In the soft light of a single lantern, a handsome woman of about forty years, with fine features, high cheekbones, and perfect mahogany skin, was busy packing the last of her household belongings. She hummed a mournful tune to herself, occasionally breaking into the words.

“Madelena, why so sad?” the stranger asked, stepping into the light. “You always used to be so full of laughter.” The woman turned, on her face an expectant smile, but when she realized that the huge man was unknown to her, her friendly greeting was cut off in her throat.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the man sounded hurt.

“I never saw you before, and if you don’t get out of here I’m going to call my husband.”

“How unkind of you to threaten me with Roberto, you beautiful old witch. I’m your own Brent Douglas.”

“You can’t be,” she stammered, staring at him suspiciously. “He must be dead by now.”

“You always said I was too lucky to die.”

“But you were only a boy.”

“A boy grows into a man in ten years.” Madelena came closer, hardly daring to believe this stranger was the wild, tempestuous youth who’d so delighted her a decade earlier.

“You do look like your mother, but you’re much taller than Lord Robert.” Her eyes suddenly narrowed as she surveyed the muscular magnificence of his body. “Did you come back to escape the women?”

“I came back because of you and that jealous ogre you married.” Brent laughed and moved toward her with his hands held out. “Where is Roberto, burying the body of your latest admirer?”

“I’m an old woman. I do not attract admirers anymore.” Brent brought both her hands to his lips.

“Then every man must have become blind. You’re still beautiful, still a very desirable woman.”

“How you talk,” Madelena said, beaming. “Stop smiling at me as if you were a cat looking at cream and give me a hug. Roberto won’t mind. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“I’d hug you even if he did mind,” Brent said, and he picked her up and swung her around effortlessly.

“Put me down, you foolish boy. You’ll have me dizzy.”

Brent laughingly set her on her feet, but she clung unsteadily to him.

“See what you’ve done?” she scolded good-humoredly, but her infectious chuckle died aborning. “Roberto, no!” she shouted, and without warning she pushed Brent away from her. Caught off balance, he stumbled, and at the same moment he heard a knife pass through the air close by him. Before he could regain his balance, he found himself staring into the hate-maddened eyes of Madelena’s husband, a second dagger pointed menacingly at his throat.

“I’m going to cut him up into little pieces, and then I’m going to beat you, woman, for falling into his arms,” Roberto raved, consumed by his jealousy.

“You fool, that’s the young master come home,” Madelena informed him. “Those big muscles could break a little man like you in half, but see how he laughs at your stupid temper?”

Roberto stared hard into Brent’s twinkling eyes. “He doesn’t look like Lord Robert,” he said, not lowering his knife.

“He’s the spit of his mother, you blind fox. Now put your knife away. Is that the way to treat a man who’s let you camp on his land for I don’t remember how long?”

“Must I remind you of the time I told my father’s keepers I was the one who shot the rabbits hanging from your belt?” Brent demanded, his eyes brimming with laughter.

“Master Brent!” The dumbfounded Roberto went from murderous rage to joyful recognition in the twinkling of an eye. “I was sure you were at the bottom of the sea.” He helped Brent to his feet.