She wished she knew what game he played, but at least now she had
him safe for a while. And how he was hating it. She smiled grimly to
herself as she opened the carriage door.
The inside of the vehicle was dark and Chastity had to feel for the
weapon, but she found it just as he had said. She pulled the pistol
out, and in the uncertain light of a quarter moon confirmed that it was
primed and loaded in both barrels. He’d been boasting, of course, when
he’d said he could have disarmed, wounded, or killed her—she’d been
armed too—but she acknowledged he’d had a chance if he’d cared to take
it.
What made her tremble was how careless she’d been to give it to him.
She closed her eyes in despair. Perhaps she wasn’t equal to the task
she’d set herself, to get her sister and nephew to safety.
Verity had arrived only yesterday, though her problems had started
some time before. Her middle-aged husband, Sir William Vernham, had
died nearly two months ago, only days after her son’s birth. This had
triggered a battle for the guardianship of the child between the babe’s
uncle, Henry Vernham, and his grandfather—Verity and Chastity’s father,
the Earl of Walgrave.
Henry had won the first legal skirmish, and arrived at Vernham Park
to take control. Verity had soon come to fear that her child could be
in danger, for Henry was an untrustworthy fellow who stood to inherit a
title and fortune except for this one small life. Her fears had
heightened when Henry tried to keep her from her family and friends.
She had fled with her baby and made her way here.
Now she feared Henry, but did not want to seek the protection of her
father. Lord Walgrave would certainly keep her safe, but would
immediately plan another marriage to suit his convenience. Having
endured the misery of life with Sir William, Verity was determined her
next marriage would be to her childhood sweetheart, Major Nathaniel
Frazer. Chastity had resolved to help her sister to this end.
The difficulty was that the sisters had virtually no money, and the hunt for Verity was already intense.
Henry Vernham had visited the cottage two days ago to question
Chastity and Nana—Chastity had barely had time to scramble into female
garments. They had easily convinced him they were ignorant of Verity’s
whereabouts, for she had not yet arrived. Their bewilderment and
anxiety had been genuine.
Chastity’s fists clenched at the memory of being thus confronted
with Henry Vernham, for he was not just her sister’s tormentor, but the
man who had destroyed her own life and led to her being here, shorn,
and in men’s clothing. She had refused even to speak to him—it was that
or gut him—but he’d managed one parting volley that had almost broken
her resolve.
“I’m sure you regret your rejection of my offer of marriage, Lady
Chastity, but it is too late to reconsider. You are quite beyond the
pale now, you know.”
She’d been filled with hot rage; if she’d had a pistol at that
moment, she would have shot him. When Verity arrived and told her
story, however, Chastity’s rage had cooled and focused. Vernham would
not ruin Verity too.
There had been no time to make careful plans, or to think things
through, for he could return at any moment. But they had known they had
to have money to survive, and would have to steal it. This latest twist
of taking the coach had also been an impulsive decision. Now she saw it
could get them all killed.
Damn Cyn Malloren. Why couldn’t he have been the fat and timorous merchant they’d been hoping for?
Now, looking at the ornate, gilded Malloren crest on the carriage
door, she muttered some dire wishes as to the fate of the owner. Then
she grinned and wrenched a sharp stone from the orchard wall. She took
great satisfaction in using it to scrape away the paint and gilding on
both doors.
When she’d finished, however, the satisfaction left her and she
hurled the stone away. Removing the crest had been the right thing to
do—tomorrow the whole country might be looking for the Malloren
carriage—but her feelings were twisted and wrong. She rested her head
against the vehicle, fighting tears and silently cursing the men who
had made her so bitter.
Her father, her brother, and Henry Vernham.
She let a curse escape into the quiet dark of the country night. “To the lowest pits of hell with all men!”
But then she controlled herself. She would need a cool head and vigilance in order to thwart them all.
She made sure the safety-catch was on the pistol and dropped it in
the pocket of her coat. She considered the rapier, then left it there.
Leading the riding horses, she walked up to her true home, Walgrave
Towers. The great house was dark, for none of her family was there. Her
father and older brother spent most of their time in London, and now
were presumably hunting Verity; her younger brother, Victor, was at
school. She left the mounts in the stables and slipped in a side door.
Silence reigned except for the ticking of clocks in deserted rooms,
but for Chastity the place rang with pain and bitter memories. Recent
memories. She had not been unhappy as a child here. Her father had
generally been absent, and their timid mother had never looked for
trouble. But this was where Chastity’s father had brought her not many
months ago. This was where he had tried to force her to marry Henry
Vernham.
Chastity made her way to the gun room without illumination, and once
there, used flint and tinder to light a candle. She unloaded and
cleaned the dueling pistols and replaced them in their velvet-lined
case. Her older brother would be beside himself to think his indulgent
training of his little sister had enabled her to pursue this plan.
Chastity’s hands stilled as she remembered the last time she’d seen
Fort—his rage, his cruel, hurtful words…
She stiffened her lips and continued her work, cleaning the musket
and setting it in its rack. She was not particularly surreptitious. The
servants doubtless knew she was here, and what she was doing, but they
would ignore it if they could. She liked to think it was because they
cared for her a little. Cynically, she supposed they didn’t want to
become involved in such a bitter fight among their betters.
The atmosphere of the house pressed in on her, and she needed to
escape. She blew out the candle and hurried down cold dark corridors to
the West Tower door, and out into fresh air and freedom. She strode
back to the cottage, consciously using the manly stride she’d perfected.
She’d better get back soon, before her softhearted sister and nurse
made fools of themselves over that pretty, sweet-seeming viper they’d
trapped.
Chastity found Nana innocently occupied in the kitchen.
“The meal will be ready shortly, dear,” said her old nurse. “Are you going to let him free, or will I have to spoon-feed him?”
Though Nana’s tone was mild, Chastity heard the disapproval in it.
“We can’t trust him, Nana, and we all have too much to do to be
watching him every moment. He could escape and lead the magistrates
straight here.”
Nana looked up from the pan. “You should perhaps have thought of that before you brought him here.”
Chastity raised her chin. “I needed a coachman.”
“Ah.” The old woman took plates off the dresser and began to lay the
table. Chastity noted that she was laying four places, and at two
months old, Verity’s baby was not yet ready for table meals. “I think
you can trust him, Lady Chastity,” said Nana.
Chastity sighed. “Remember, my name is
Charles
.”
She went off to confer with her sister. She passed through the front
room without acknowledging her prisoner except to place his pistol on a
box there, then ran lightly up the steep stairs. Verity was dressing
her baby after a change, talking nonsense to him and tickling him.
Chastity snapped, “I don’t know how you can act like that when you think of his father.”
“I don’t think of his father,” said Verity simply. She tied the last
lace on the sleeping gown, picked up the babe, and placed him in her
sister’s arms. “Look at him. He has nothing to do with Sir William
Vernham.”
Chastity settled the soft burden in her arms, unwillingly captivated by the magic of a baby. “He
is
Sir William Vernham,” she pointed out as she made the faces the child seemed to like.
Verity stopped clearing away the soiled clothes. “I know. But he’s a
different one.” She added fiercely, “He won’t be the same kind of man.
I’ll make sure of that. And now that Sir William’s dead it will be a
great deal easier.”
Chastity looked up sharply. “Be careful not to say so in front of
anyone but me, Verity, or your brother-in-law will think to raise a cry
of murder.”
Verity blanched. “How could he do that? William died when his heart gave out in the arms of his mistress.”
“True, but men are capable of anything in pursuit of their ends,
especially Vernham. The magistrates would probably credit you with a
poison too subtle for human detection.”
“Not all men are cruel,” said Verity gently. “Nathaniel is a good man.”
“I suppose so, but if the world was just, you’d have been permitted to marry him.”
“Oh, Chastity…”
“Father
knew
you loved Nathaniel, and yet he forced you to
marry Sir William—a fat old squire with more money than taste.” She put
the baby up to her shoulder and patted his back.
Verity bit her lip. “It is a daughter’s duty to marry where her father wills.”
“So ‘tis said, but it would be pleasant to at least see the purpose
in the sacrifice. Father not only married you to Sir William but also
tried to make me marry his brother. What could he gain from such an
alliance?”
Verity put soiled cloths in a bucket. “I don’t know,” she confessed.
“One thing is clear,” said Chastity. “You have done your duty. You
are not even to consider obliging Father again. You are to marry
Nathaniel.”
Verity nodded. “I am determined on it, though my conscience plagues me. I wish I had your resolution.”
“Faith,” said Chastity with a shudder, “it was seeing your marriage
that gave me the strength to resist Father over mine. Sir William was a
vile man and his brother, though smoother on the outside, is cut from
the same cloth. I can certainly believe he would plot to murder an
infant.”
“But I don’t know how you found the courage to stand up to Father.
Look at me now. The only way I can try to thwart him is by running
away.”
Chastity stood and placed the sleepy baby gently in his bed and
covered him with a blanket. Then she wandered over to the tiny gable
window to look blindly out at the garden, illuminated only by the
square of light from the kitchen window. “I honestly don’t know if I
would have been brave enough, Verity, if I’d known… I never imagined he
would go so far. But once I’d started to resist I somehow could not
stop…”
Verity gathered her sister into her arms and the two young women
clung to one another. “Only two years ago,” said Verity, “we were happy
and full of hope. What happened?” But then she pulled herself together.
“We must go down to supper.” She picked up the bucket and glanced at
her sister. “Don’t you think you should change into a gown, dearest,
with a man here?”
Chastity wiped away her tears and stiffened her spine. “Assuredly
not. It wouldn’t be wise to let him know he’s dealing with three
females.”
“Oh, Chastity,” Verity protested. “He’s a gentleman.”
“How the devil can you think that a recommendation? Sir William was
a gentleman. Henry Vernham and Father are supposedly gentlemen. And
besides being a
gentleman
, our prisoner is a
Malloren
.
They’re handsome men, and have a fascinating air, but they’d all cut
your throat before they’d step aside on the road. Don’t be taken in by
Cyn Malloren’s lovely lashes.”
Verity chuckled. “Amazing, aren’t they? I really can’t fear a man who looks like that.”
Chastity’s tone was curt. “I’m sure a lot of people have made the same mistake. A fatal one.”
“Really, Chastity. You can’t think him deadly. Shooting pheasant is probably the closest he’s come to bloodshed in his life.”
Chastity shook her head. “He’s dangerous, Verity. I can sense it.
Please try to call me Charles at all times, or at least Chas. And don’t
reveal our full names. Rothgar and Father have been at daggers drawn
for years. Let Cyn Malloren know we are Wares and all hell will break
loose.”
Verity shook her head at this but made no objection. She checked
William, then blew out the candle and led the way toward the stairs.
She hesitated at the top of the steep flight. “Chas, what if he tries
to marry you off again?”
“Father?” Chastity laughed harshly. “That’s the only blessing. My
defiance pushed him into ruining me with absolute thoroughness. No man
is ever going to want to marry the Notorious Chastity Ware.”
Cyn watched her stride through the room and go upstairs. She had
found the pistol, and so he assumed she was convinced of his good
intentions. She didn’t appear particularly mellowed.
He wanted to see her smile. He wanted her to talk to him, to tell
him her problems so he could shoulder her burdens. He was surprised to
find that on very brief acquaintance he had developed a warm
appreciation for his captor’s spirit, and for her unconventional
appearance.
That sleek, otter-fur hairstyle was extremely strange, but it showed
off a beautifully shaped skull. Why had he never realized the potential
beauty in a skull? He relished the notion of stroking that sleek head
as much as he would anticipate running his hands through a mass of
silken curls.
That hair also pulled into focus the clear strong lines of her
face—the smooth, high forehead, the straight chiseled nose, the firm
jaw. Even those ordinary blue-gray eyes, when properly framed, were
unforgettable. She was decidedly not in the common style of women, but
then, he had never favored the common.