The Counterfeit Gentleman (33 page)

The rest of his reply was drowned out by the ensuing
laughter.

“And—and—” Lord Bomford finally managed to say,
“—and no doubt you were pulled from the sea by a fisher
man.”

His jest was received with great glee, and soon other
gentlemen and ladies were likewise engaged in baiting
Lord Blackstone, whose rage grew with each minute.

Lady Letitia signaled to Bethia and Digory, and the three
of them managed to walk quietly away without anyone tak
ing notice of them. But it was only when they were safely
in Lady Letitia’s carriage and the mob was far behind them
that Bethia’s heart gradually slowed to normal.

“I will never forget what you have done for us,” Digory said. “I only hope you do not come to regret your very gen
erous actions this evening.”

“Don’t talk gammon,” Lady Letitia replied. “I can do
what I please and say whatever I want, and there is no one
in London or indeed in all of England who would dare give
me the cut direct, or even host a party without sending me
an invitation.”

“I can only hope you are right,” Digory said.

“You may count on it,” Lady Letitia said, “not because I
am beloved by one and all, but because I know too many
secrets. If I wanted to, I could destroy the reputations of
virtually everyone who was at Almack’s tonight. But
enough of this—I must know more about what happened
this evening so that we can figure out how best to get you
out of this coil.”

“The earl denounced us as you doubtless heard,” Digory
said. “And when we left Almack’s, Wilbur Harcourt ac
costed us.”

“Yes, he was apparently drunk,” Bethia said, “for he
started screaming at me that I had stolen his fortune. Then Lord Blackstone came up beside me, and before I realized
what he intended, I saw a gun in his hand. Without hesitat
ing, he shot my cousin.”

“And did you also see the gun?” Lady Letitia asked Dig
ory.

“Not until he tossed it down at my feet and began to
shout that I had just killed Harcourt. Apparently no one else
was close enough to see what happened.”

“Dear me,” Lady Letitia said. “This is worse than I
thought.”

“But I saw him shoot my cousin,” Bethia said, fear
squeezing her heart. “I can swear under oath that Lord
Blackstone is lying. And he is not only a murderer, but also
a blackmailer. I paid him £3,000 not to tell anyone that my husband is his half-brother, and you need not tell me how
foolish that was, because Digory has already given me a thorough lecture.”

“We must assume,” Lady Letitia said, “that you will be tried for murder.”

Bethia clutched Digory’s arm more tightly. “But I can
swear on the Bible that he had nothing to do with it.”

“Unfortunately,” Lady Letitia said, “you will not be al
lowed to speak in court. As far as the law is concerned, a
man and wife are legally one, and so a woman may not tes
tify for or against her husband.”

“And even if you could,” Digory said, “no one would be
lieve you. In the court of public opinion, we have already
been found guilty of deceiving the ton, and a more heinous
crime than that is scarce imaginable.”

“But everyone knows the earl is a wicked man,” Bethia
protested. “Why, he is notorious—his nickname is Lord
Blackheart. Surely no one will believe his lies.”

Lady Letitia shook her head, and her expression was sad.
“He is a peer of the realm, and that is all that matters.”

* * * *

Digory stood at the window of his room and looked out
at the night, which was not as dark as his thoughts. He had
been so sure that he knew the worst that could happen, but
he had been wrong. By trying to protect Bethia, he had destroyed her life.

It had not been necessary for Lady Letitia to explain that
the judge and jury would not believe him. From the mo
ment the earl shouted out his accusation, Digory had known
that his life would end with a hangman’s noose around his
neck.

Moreover, the revelations of this evening—that he was
the bastard son of the Earl of Blackstone—would not be a
“nine-day wonder.” The ladies and gentlemen of the ton would never forget how they had been duped, and they
would never forgive Bethia for her part in it. They would
not be merciful, and he would not be there beside her to de
flect some of the more vicious attacks.

And when the time came that she wished to marry again,
she would discover just how vindictive the ton could be.
Even though she had sufficient money to buy herself a hus
band, her choices would be limited to the dregs—perhaps a widower with too many children, or more likely a gambling man who would quickly game away her fortune.

Knowing just how helpless he was, Digory did not have
the courage to go into her room and face her. She was
doubtless soaking her pillow with tears, and there was noth
ing he could do—nothing he could say—that would alleviate her misery.

And despite his promise, after tonight she would have to
sleep alone.

He heard the door behind him open and knew his wife
was there. But he could not turn around and face her. He
was indeed a failure in every way that counted.

A moment later her hand slid into his, and she gripped
him with surprising strength.

“You were right,” she said calmly. “You do not belong
in my world any more than I belong in yours.”

She said no more than what he already knew, but some
how hearing her words made his pain worse.

“But do you know,” she continued, “I have come to realize that I do not belong in my world either, nor do you actu
ally belong in your world.”

Her words reached to the innermost part of his soul,
where he had been trying to hide. Without conscious volition, he turned his head and looked down at her.

She was smiling up at him, and although there was pain
in her eyes, there was no fear. “In your little cottage in
Cornwall, we made our own world, and here in this room
we also do not need to concern ourselves with anyone
else.”

Reaching up, she laid her hand against his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. “I would cross the widest ocean alone
just to be with you. I will never stop loving you. You are
the other half of my soul.”

Shaken by the intensity of her emotions, he could not
speak, could not reply.

“Do you love me?” she asked, the merest hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Finally, he managed to say, “I love you with all my heart
and soul. I would willingly lay down my life for you.”

She stopped him by laying her hand on his lips. “You
will never die,” she said, “for you will always be alive in
my heart.”

“Tomorrow—” he tried to say, but again she stopped
him.

“Tonight,” she corrected him. “We have tonight to be
alone together in our own world, so do not think of tomor
row. Please! Please. Please
...”
Her voice trailed off.

He knew what she was asking, and she was right. No
matter what they did, tomorrow would come. No matter
how hard they struggled against treachery and deceit, they would soon be separated forever.
But they had this one night together, and no one had the
power to take that away from them.

“Yes,” he said softly. Then he bent his head, and pulling her close, he kissed her. Her arms slid around his neck, and her passion flared up to match his own.

After a long time, he lifted her in his arms and carried
her over to his bed.

* * * *

Bethia lay still, encircled by his arms, her head on his
shoulder. “I do not think I will ever forgive you,” she said.

Her words would have hurt, except that he could hear the
smile in her voice. “For what?” he asked, stretching out
until his joints popped and then pulling her closer.

“For wasting all those nights,” she murmured, stroking his chest and dropping little kisses on his face and neck.
“We should have done this that first night in your cot
tage ... and every night since.”

“Forgive me. I have been a fool.”

“Most men are,” she said with a laugh.

He made no attempt to dispute her statement. There were
more pleasurable ways to spend the rest of this night than
in pointless arguing. Besides, his wife was correct—he
needed to do everything he could to make up for opportunities they had missed.

* * * *

The force of her love was so great, Bethia felt as if she
could surely prevent the sun from rising—as if she could by sheer will power keep the day from dawning.

But the light coming in through the window was already chasing the shadows back into the corners of the room, and
on the street outside the milkmaids were calling their
wares.

Bethia had not slept a wink all night, nor had her hus
band. They had loved each other until they were exhausted,
and then they had talked of everything except what this day
would bring.

“I do not want you to come to the inquest today,” Digory
said, breaking the silence.

“I must,” she replied. “I must be there with you.”

“There is nothing you can do. No one will be allowed to
testify except the coroner, Lord Blackstone, and I, and the magistrate will not believe what I say.”

“I cannot bear for you to face them alone,” she protested.

“And I cannot bear for you to watch.”

You ask too much, she wanted to say. You cannot know the pain you are causing me.

But she could feel his pain in the tension of his body, in
the words he had to force out, and she knew she had no
choice. She would do what he asked, no matter what it cost
her.

* * * *

Lady Letitia was one of the few women present at the in
quest, and as she had anticipated, Digory was bound over
for trial on the word of Lord Blackstone alone.

The mood of the spectators was ugly, and the mob wait
ing outside was even worse. Were it not for Big Davey, she would never have made it back to her coach, and she could only be thankful that Digory had refused to allow Bethia to
attend.

Just as the vehicle began to move, the door was jerked
open, and Lady Letitia swung her cane up to repel the
roughly dressed intruder. Fortunately, she recognized Lord Cavenaugh just in time to check her blow.

He was no longer dressed as a dandy, or even as a gen
tleman, and looking into his eyes, Lady Letitia could see
why Digory thought him the most dangerous man in Lon
don.

“Matthew and I are going to speak with Lord Quis
senworth,” he said. “We may be able to persuade him to
approach our beloved Prince Regent about a pardon. And if that option fails, we shall be making other arrangements on
our own.”

Without waiting for the coach to stop, he opened the
door and swung down, leaving her to go on alone to the
Rendels’ residence, where Adeline was keeping Bethia
company.

Lady Letitia was not looking forward to telling them
about the outcome of the inquest, but Bethia surprised her.
Instead of weeping and wringing her hands, she said, “I
shall not let them hang Digory. If I have to kill Lord Black
stone myself to prevent him from testifying against my hus
band, then I shall do it.”

Her determination was such that Lady Letitia could only
marvel at how completely Digory failed to understand his
wife’s character. This was no timid little mouse who
cringed at a harsh word, or hid herself away in a corner,
afraid to face what life offered.

“It is clear how Lord Blackheart came by his wicked
ness,” Adeline said indignantly. “Bethia has been showing
me the letters the old earl wrote to Mr. Rendel’s mother. He promised—not once, but many times—to marry her. See—
it is all right here.”

Taking the sheaf of papers that were shoved in her face,
Lady Letitia said, “I agree that it is unfair, but I do not
think the courts will be willing to hear a suit for breach of
promise of marriage brought by a dead woman against an
equally dead man.”