"It was only at your insistence that we became betrothed in the first place. You may tell Julian that he may break it off at any time. I would wish you good day, my lord, but quite frankly, I don't."
She rose, intending to sweep past him, but he stepped forward and grasped her arm. His grip inescapable, he maneuvered her back to her seat.
"You misunderstand me, Miss Temple.
Eppingham
must be released by you. It would only add to the scandal if he should abandon the woman he
ruined
." He sneered at her, as if doubtful such a thing were possible. "If you release him, then your reputation will be on your own head, and he will have done everything in his power to save you from yourself.
"There will be a little fuss, no doubt, but it will fade. In a few months Eppingham will become engaged, with utmost propriety and decorum, to the lovely and eminently respectable Lady Belinda Ainsley.
She is the only child of the sixth duke of Becton, and her dower lands run side
by side with the eastern boundary of Dearingham. Wedding her will substantially increase the size and wealth of the estate."
The pain was so unexpected, Izzy gasped. The thought of Julian with a wife, a lovely wife whose impeccable lineage matched his own, cut through her like a scythe through wheat. It toppled her heart and stole her breath.
Fortunately, the marquess had paced away from her as he outlined his plans. She was able to hide her anguish before he swung back, his voice flattening with anger as he looked at her.
"I have been aiming for the match for years. The old fellow was willing to hook the girl up with my eldest son, but was put off by Eppingham's wild ways. It seems he has been impressed with the boy's willingness to settle down and do the right thing by you. If you cry off immediately, there will still be time to execute a proper courtship, plan an appropriate wedding celebration, and
bury any rumor of YOU far below the last stones of Hell
!"
The last words were hissed with all the fury caused by years of thwarted plans. She could see it in his coal-black glare, in his fisted, white-knuckled hands. He is mad, she thought, easing back from his face thrust near to hers.
No, don't be silly, she told herself. He is a walking, talking pillar of society. He is only angry, not insane. But the chill in her soul did not fade.
"I am leaving soon," she said quietly. "I need nothing from you, not compensation, nor approval. I am only doing what I have ever intended to do. But I will do it in my own time, in my own way. Now, you have achieved your goal, my lord. I will ring for Madden to show you out."
Long after he left, the chill remained.
Lord Bottomly studied the letter before him. As its meaning became clear, the powerful hand holding the missive slowly clenched. The silent library echoed the crackle of the doomed paper, the sound causing a shiver of apprehension in the young Scots footman who stood at attention with a silver tray.
"Tell the stablemaster I shall be needing my carriage, after all. It seems it is time to return to London."
The young man nodded and, with relief, turned to leave the room.
"And send my man in. I'm wanting to send out a few invitations. My lovely wife is going to hostess a little
affair
for me."
The footman fled from the room, almost running to escape the dreadful malevolent laughter coming from within.
"We must try again tomorrow to match that ribbon for Lady Bottomly, Ellie. I cannot shop for one more minute today."
As the carriage pulled up to Celia's house, Izzy sighed gratefully. Celia had practically thrown them out of the house this morning and Izzy and Ellie had been out all day, armed with an extensive list and the words, "Charge it to Lord Bottomly." Izzy also had taken the opportunity to visit a solicitor and request a passage abroad when the right opportunity presented itself. Now, quite exhausted, she wanted nothing more than a nap before the evening came around.
As they stepped down and the driver brought out their parcels, Izzy noticed a number of coaches idling before the walk. None bore the crests of the nobility, but all were polished and fine, with high-bred stock before them.
"We've callers, Ellie. Quickly now. Perhaps we can get upstairs and freshen up before they spot us."
Without waiting for a servant to open the door, Izzy pushed on the handle and stepped stealthily through.
There seemed to be a gathering of people in the near parlor, so Izzy and Ellie kept close to the opposite wall in order to reach the stairs unseen. Izzy shushed Ellie's giggles and grabbed her by the hand, preparing to rush the steps.
Then she realized that the voices coming from the parlor were boasting and loud. And male.
Celia would never host a group of men in her house, which could mean only one thing.
Lord Bottomly was at home.
"I
knew that this would be the season that I would become his whore
." Celia's words rang through Izzy's memory and turned her belly to ice. Raising a palm to keep Ellie in place, Izzy stepped silently along the front wall, easing up to the parlor door. Through the opening she saw four men seated and Lord Bottomly presiding over them, waving his snifter expansively.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, we must come to an understanding. Now, there's no need to grumble, Driscoll. I think we can come to a consensus agreeable to everyone."
All seemed harmless enough to Izzy. Lord Bottomly didn't appear angry at all. On the contrary, he seemed positively jovial as he puffed on his cheroot. Relaxing, Izzy began to move away.
That's when she saw her. Sitting rigidly in a chair behind her husband, Celia sat with head bowed and hands clasped in her lap.
She was clad in a gown with such a decadent neckline that only the most hardened courtesan would have appeared in it. Only the undersides of her breasts were truly concealed. The skirt was nothing more than panels that fell away from her limbs, despite her trembling grip on the topmost ones.
Izzy gasped and Celia's head whipped up at the sound. Her eyes were the worst of all, the blue so stark in her pallor and her gaze so dead that she seemed unable to see what stood before her.
Hard hands came over Izzy's shoulders and shoved her into the room. Flinging a startled glance behind her, Izzy saw the smirking face of Madden and a glimpse of a struggling Ellie in the grip of a footman.
"Miss Temple has returned, my lord."
Izzy staggered to a halt in the center of the circle of men, then flung herself forward to embrace Celia.
"Are you all right, dear one? Oh, why did you send me off—"
"She sent you off to save you, Miss Temple." Bottomly drained his glass. "Fortunately for all of us, you returned just in time. It seems more friends were available for this afternoon's pleasure than I had anticipated, and we were quite unable to come to an agreement over precedence. Now with two high-born ladies to go around, I think the gentlemen will be well satisfied."
"But Bottomly—I mean, my lord—isn't the other one the fiancée of Lord Blackworth? Should we—"
"Oh, I suppose you're right. Pity. Still, this ensures my lady's full cooperation, doesn't it, my dear?" He smirked at Celia, and she whitened further, if that were possible. "And we needn't worry about this one carrying tales. Rotham won't let a word out, not if he wants me to keep a certain nasty little secret about his eldest son. He'll make no fuss even if she tells him, and he'll keep his son in line. Dearingham hasn't signed the entail yet, you know."
Bottomly smiled widely at the snickers the remark received. "Now, perhaps we can reopen negotiations for your turns at pleasure, gentlemen.
"That one," he waved his cheroot at Celia, "is the closest any of you will ever get to blue blood of your own."
"Don't be snide, my lord, not if you want me to back that proposal of yours." One gentleman raised a brow. "We may be common as dirt, but we could buy and sell the House of Lords and you know it."
"Of course, dear man, of course. But all the money in the world won't get you more than a knighthood, and nothing will get you a noblewoman of your own, especially not as your own personal whore, so I suggest we get back to the business at hand." Bottomly smiled easily at the protesting man but his genial gaze had gone steely. "If you double your backing, my dear man, I might see clear to letting you take first ride."
"I say, my lord, that's not fair!" Another man stood and all four began to bicker for the lead. The group followed Bottomly as he stepped to the decanter on a side table, their voices rising as the stakes rose.
"Go!" Celia grabbed Izzy's arm and shoved her to her feet. "Go!" she whispered again. "They won't pursue you, not if they have me."
"I'll not leave you."
Celia shook her head. "I'm not like you, Izzy. I cannot fight back. I am afraid."
"Everyone can fight back, if the stakes are high enough!" hissed Izzy. "Now, come!" Izzy pulled Celia to her feet. "The coach is still outside. If not, we'll take one of theirs. Come quickly, before they see us both."
"But what of Ellie and Betty? We can't leave them!"
"Betty has her day off. I saw the footman take Ellie after Madden caught me, belowstairs I think. We'll send Julian to help her. They don't want her; they want you!"
Celia stilled her struggles and the two women moved quickly to the door.
"Now!" At Izzy's word, they ran for the entrance.
And stumbled to a halt. Madden blocked the way, arms crossed and an ugly sneer on his face. Celia spun and dragged Izzy to the stairs.
"Quickly! Go to my room. I've hidden all the keys. I'd planned to lock myself in, but he returned too soon."
Bottomly's bellow echoed down the entrance hall. Celia pushed Izzy hard.
"Go!" The word was choked off as Madden's arm snaked around Celia's throat. Her eyes filling with tears, she again mouthed the word at Izzy.
Go
!
Instead, Izzy flung herself at Madden, pulling grimly at his arm and kicking him with all her might. Two footmen appeared from the shadows, and they easily subdued her and held her before Bottomly.
"Take her where she won't disturb us again."
Izzy fought mightily, but could not shake the grip of the grim-faced footmen. She righted herself in time to see a sobbing Celia being tugged toward the stairs.
"I'll return her to you, gentlemen, only a little worse for wear. It doesn't do to let them get away with these little transgressions. This will only take a moment."
Izzy twisted once more against the hands restraining her. "Celia!"
Celia flung Izzy a despairing look as her husband pulled her up the staircase. Their eyes met and clung for just an instant. Something flickered in Celia's face, but Izzy couldn't tell if it was resignation or resolution.
"Come on then, you little tart," Bottomly sneered. "Behave yourself or I'll throw your little friend into the pot as well."
"No."
The word wasn't loud, but it echoed down the stairs just the same.
"What did you say to me?" Bottomly yanked his wife onto the landing and glared menacingly into her face.
"I said
NO
! " Eyes blazing, Celia glared right back.
His hand connected with her face loudly, making even the most hardened of the observers below flinch.
Celia's eyes closed and she collapsed limply at his feet.
"Damn woman!" Aiming a foot at Celia's midriff, Bottomly let go of her arm, only to find himself kicking at nothing.
Quite conscious, Celia had rolled quickly away and rose, the panels of the indecent gown fluttering around her legs but not impeding her movements the way full skirts would.
"No!" This time the word seemed to come from deep inside Celia, a hoarse denial of years of pain. "I won't!"
"You will and you'll like it! You'll beg me, as you did last year and again this morning. You'll pay for your rebellion and beg to lay yourself out for my benefit!"
"
NO
! I may die for it, but I'll never beg, never again!" Celia flung her head up and fixed her husband with glittering, desperate eyes. "There are some things worse than death,
my lord
. Imprisonment, for one, as you'll see when the world discovers your plots and machinations against the Crown."
Bottomly froze with one fist raised to strike. A harsh laugh left Celia's throat, echoing in the grand hall.
"Do you truly think me nothing more than a wax doll, to sit in on your 'intimate suppers' and understand nothing? I know more of your affairs than Madden, himself. I know where you keep the most important evidence, and I've read it all."
"Bottomly, you said the plan was secure!" cried the man Driscoll from where he stood with the others. "You said no one—"
"Silence!" Bottomly never took his eyes from Celia's white face. Stepping forward, his hands flexing at his sides, he spoke in a low voice barely audible to those below.
"Who have you told?"
"Everyone!" Celia said hastily. Too hastily.
A vicious twist of his mouth and one swift move was all the warning he gave before he lunged for her. Whirling, Celia tried to flee his charge. She made it only a few feet before he caught her hair in his fist and flung her into a small hall table.
The crash of fine porcelain and the splintering of wood were the only sounds for a moment. In the hall below, Izzy spun in her captors' grip and shoved with all her might.
Absorbed by the drama above them, the two footmen were so surprised that they let go to grab her more tightly—and took hold of each other when she slipped between them. Grabbing her skirts, Izzy ran up the stairs. As her line of sight cleared the topmost step, she shrieked.
Lord Bottomly stood bent with giant hands wrapped around Celia's throat, shaking her limp form in his grasp as a terrier shakes a rat.
At Izzy's cry, his grip slackened and he turned in surprise. Even as Izzy inhaled to scream again, she saw the light glinting from something rising over
Bottomly's head.
The object crashed across his temple and sent him stumbling backward. He crashed into the delicately carved railing, his great weight ripping the bannister from its mooring. He might have caught himself quite safely if his feet had not become entangled in several torn panels of Celia's costume.