The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler

Thirty-Four

6 July 1818: You are but a month and a half away from giving birth to the possible heir of a viscountcy. It’s become clear to me Harlowe is not coming back. I am livid. I hope the man is dead. If he is not, I shall kill him myself.

9 July 1818: I dare not wait a moment longer. Never fear, Corinne. You have known me your entire life. When have I never not had a clever stratagem up my sleeve? It is all that is left to us. Tomorrow I shall make a chance meeting with the Earl of Kimpton. I will not be denied.

S

lowly, Maeve closed the diary. Based on everything Lorelei had told Maeve a few weeks ago, Rowena’s strategy was becoming clear. She must have threatened to expose Kimpton as Nathan’s father. The ruse had worked, at least to a degree. The only mystery remaining was why and who had attacked Harlowe.

Maeve poured the jewels out on the desk and considered them. She picked through the throng and selected the ruby ring, turning it. The candlelight burned through the brilliant stone that was as red as blood. Maeve decided right then she did not care much for rubies.

“Put me down, you cur. Put me down.”

Maeve’s heart stopped. What the devil? She dropped the ring and rushed from the room to the entry hall. “Brandon, what are you doing with that—”

“Meet Mellie, as she’s known on the streets. She said taking a bath is dangerous.”

“Oh, Lord. You found her!”

“I want my sister.” Her voice rose in hysterics. “This is a madhouse. Let me go. I ain’t takin’ no bath.”

“Don’t let her go, Brandon. McCaskle! Have a bath prepared in the kitchens. Immediately.”

“Where’s my sister? Where’s Penny?”

“Set her down, Brandon.” Despite the calm tone Maeve tried to muster, her voice quavered.

Brandon lowered the girl to her feet but kept firm hold of her hand.

Maeve kneeled down to her eye level. “Penny is upstairs sleeping, Melinda. She’s been quite worried. She has horrid dreams every night, fretting over your well-being.” She gave her a soft smile. “She has a bath almost every day. She’s been eating well. She loves sweetmeats. She told me you do too. Are you hungry?”

Tears leaked down her cheeks. “Terrbly, ma’am.”

“If Lord Harlowe releases you, will you promise not to run away? He needs to go to my vanity…” She glanced up at him. “Retrieve my rose oil. And Agnes. And one of Mary’s new night rails.”

His brows lifted while amusement glittered in his eyes.

“I promise I won’t let you drown in the bath. Will you come with me?” Maeve held out her hand. But it was a long, long moment before Melinda tentatively took it. Maeve came to her feet. “I once fell in the river and almost drowned. So you can be sure I will be right there to keep you safe.” Together they walked to the back of the house, to the stairs, and down to a room off the kitchens where Mrs. McCaskle and Niall were already pouring steaming buckets of water into a copper tub.

“Mrs. McCaskle, Niall, I’m pleased to introduce you to Melinda. Penny’s sister.”

“Nice meetin’ ye, Miss Melinda,” Mrs. McCaskle said in her bellowing way.

Niall inclined his head in her direction.

Agnes appeared in the arch with a vial of rose oil in one hand and a white cotton night rail in the other. “My lady?”

“Melinda, this is Agnes. She will assist me in giving you a bath.” Maeve turned to Mrs. McCaskle. “Please locate two of our softest linens. And tell Cook we require warm beefy stew and some of the lemon tarts left over from the evening meal. And milk.”

“Where’s me sister? Ye promised I could see her.”

“She’s sleeping right now,” Agnes said. “As soon as ye’ve eaten, we’ll wake her. Oh, she’ll be right s’rpised, Mellie. Can I call ye, Mellie? Penny calls ye Mellie.”

Maeve listened to Agnes ply Melinda with Penny’s antics, holding nothing back, including the dreams that woke the entire household night after night.

“Penny was always prone t’ bad dreams.” Melinda squeezed her eyes shut as water sluiced over her face. “She were in the room that night Mum had the babe. He were born dead. T’were terble and it t’weren’t the first time.”

Maeve’s heart broke with each story Melinda related.

Agnes soaped Melinda’s hair and Maeve spent her time washing the grime from her face and body, in fact, turning her from a street urchin to a sweet and pretty girl. Maeve wasn’t naïve. Melinda, in nefarious hands, would turn some dastardly bastard a tidy profit.

Mrs. McCaskle entered with a tray and set it on the table, filling the room with an enticing aroma of beef and gravy. Melinda’s stomach growled. A small fit of giggles erupted from her.

Maeve met Agnes’s eyes and they both grinned.

In unison, Maeve and Agnes hurried through the rest of Melinda’s bath so she could eat. The child was much too thin.

Ten minutes later Melinda gulped down the last of her milk and Maeve dabbed at her mouth with a serviette. “Did you get enough to eat, dear?”

“Aye, thank ye, ma’am. Might I see Penny now?” Her question reflected her lack of trust, her tone riddled with doubts. Now, sated, she worried for her fate.

Maeve was quick to reassure her. “Of course. Agnes, see if you can get Penny to my chamber without waking Mary. Melinda and I shall meet you there.”

“Yes, milady.”

Agnes disappeared from the room.

Maeve took Melinda’s hand and guided her back to the foyer. From there, she pointed out the formal parlor, the morning room, the dining room, the library. “Miss Bristol is the governess. She holds lessons for Mary, Stephen, Penny, even Agnes on reading, mathematics, writing, and geography. Have you attended school?”

“No, ma’am.” Her awe was touching.

Maeve patted her hand. “Penny adores it. Tomorrow, we shall see about ordering you a new dress. Penny asked for pink. Do you like any specific color?”

“Yeller. It’s reminds me of the sun.”

“Then yellow it is.”

 

The door to Rowena’s office was standing wide. Harlowe peered around the doorjamb. He hadn’t been inside the suffocating room since the night he’d stayed over before letting the house to Maeve. To his irritation and surprise, a candle sat on the desk, burning bright as you please. Maeve must have been in here when he hauled in the screaming Mellie. He went over to blow out the candle, but the flames danced and shimmered against shiny bits of glass.

Harlowe rounded the desk, and his insides dipped at the sight. Brilliant gems of all varieties winked up at him. One piece in particular struck him in the chest. The large ruby ring.

“I’m to paint your portrait, my dear. Rowena is right. The red of this stone rivals the red of your lips.” Harlowe strolled over to the table and placed Corinne’s elbows atop, arranging her hand just so. Then her bonnet. “You look exceptionally beautiful today.”

“Meaning, I don’t normally.” No one could pout better than Corinne Radcliff, the new Lady Harlowe.

Brandon couldn’t quite fathom how Rowena had instigated, and brought, his marriage to Corinne to fruition. Despite having been raised by the most notorious whore in London, Corinne’s upbringing had been extremely sheltered. A child who’d never have crossed his path, if not for the Widow Chancé.

The compromising situation he’d found himself in with Corinne had been orchestrated with brilliant precision. He couldn’t quite quell his resentment at being so manipulated. But he knew full well, Corinne had been played just as he had.

“Corinne is not the daughter of a whore, my lord. She is the offspring of Lord Maudsley’s first wife. A woman he murdered, Lady Hannah, right before my eyes.” Rowena had said. “Please, don’t hold my machinations against her.”

Displaying her guilt was a nice bit of acting, he thought, watching her fingers twist and her pacing to and fro. Rowena never paced. The woman was a block of control.

“She’d just given birth to Corinne. Corinne was her third child,” she said with a desperate edge. “Her two previous births ended in stillbirths, both of which were male. Maudsley was furious. You must believe me.”

Harlowe flinched at the venom emanating from her.

“You could not fathom it, my lord. He hit her.” She swiped a tear away. “She died instantly. Only the midwife and I were present. I stole the child and hid.” She smiled. It was harsh and bitter. “I’ll admit, I’m partial to Corinne’s name, as I was the one who selected it.”

Harlowe dropped into the chair behind him, stunned by her story. Rowena was renowned for her coldblooded calculations, but her words rang true.

“So you see, you would not be marrying a whore. You shall be marrying a proper young lady.” She faced him then, the resolution in her expression unyielding. “But make no mistake, my lord. You shall marry her.”

“Brandon?” Maeve’s voice was a violent slap to his face.

Harlowe jerked and found himself back in the present, sitting behind Rowena’s desk with a pile of beautiful jewelry worth thousands of pounds heaped before him. Next to the jewels was a journal and a stack of banknotes. “What is all this?”

Maeve froze, her hand flew to her neck. “Oh dear. I believe I forgot to mention how Agnes kept the house running with no one living here but her, Mary, and Stephen.”

“Might I suggest you start at the beginning?” he said calmly, while fury seethed just below the surface. He couldn’t quite understand why he was so angry. Circumstances perhaps? Feeling his wife had kept jewels from him? Or that Maeve had likely learned the truth of how he’d ended up marrying Corinne?

There was no logical reason to be annoyed with his wife. If anything, her pragmatic ways were a soothing balm to his frayed senses.

 

It was a good two hours before the children quieted and the household settled.

Maeve paced the thick rug in Harlowe’s chamber as hers was apparently occupied by Melinda and Penny. “I don’t understand your anger, sir. I’ve told you repeatedly, the fact I didn’t mention the contents of the safe was just an oversight. And a good portion of that fault is yours.”

He sat in a Hepplewhite chair near the open window. He propped his bare feet on the matching hassock and crossed his arms over his chest. “My fault! This I’ve got to hear.” Which he did want to hear. He adjusted his robe over his lap to hide his growing ardor. God, how this woman affected him.

She stopped in front of him, her eyes full of accusation. “Certainly. What with our hasty wedding. Finding Penny. Meeting servants I didn’t know I’d hired.” She let out a long exhale. “Frankly, it’s been a little overwhelming.” She pulled herself back up, spearing him, her eyes flashing fire. “How the devil did you find Melinda? And how dare you not tell me where you were off to after… after…”

“After making sweet love to you?”

“In a chair!”

“What’s wrong with a chair?”

“It doesn’t seem… natural.”

Harlowe swallowed his laugh. Oh, the future held wonderful possibilities.

“And leaving like that. I didn’t even have my clothes on.”

“I helped you don your dress. Besides, there wasn’t time to tell you. If I had, you would have insisted on coming along, and that was unacceptable.”

Her lips tightened.

He’d hit that nail on the head. He let out a sigh, his head falling back. “Isn’t the important thing that we found Mellie?”

“Her name is Melinda,” she snapped. “Yes, it’s important. But—” Her pacing started back up.

He waited until she was on her second pass then grabbed her by the wrist and, with a sharp tug, she landed on his lap. “Is she going to stay?”

“Who?” The word came out in a whispered huffed.

“Me-” He kissed her forehead. “Lin-” His lips touched the tip of her nose. “Da.” This, he whispered against her lips in a soft feathered brush.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “But she was most suspicious.”

“And now they’re asleep in your bed.”

“Yes.”

“So you are… bedless tonight?”

Her lips twitched. Another thing he adored about his wife—she had the inability to remain annoyed for long stretches of time. “It’s quite the dilemma,” she said.

He tugged her more snuggly into his body and breathed in her skin at the crook of her neck. Nipped.

She let out a tiny, most feminine, squeal.

“What is in the diary?” He kissed the spot he’d bitten.

“The diary?”

“Rowena’s journal.” He ran his tongue along the lacy edge of her night gown at the swell of her breasts.

“Oh, yes, the, ah, journal.” Her breaths came in rapid takes. She bolted straight. “Oh, goodness. There might be something there to further jar your memory. How could I have forgotten such a thing?”

He kissed her neck, felt her shiver beneath his touch. He moved his hand up her bare leg. Paradise. “Give me the synopsis.”

She fell back against his chest. “Miss Hollerfield—Rowena—worried you were falling in love with her. That distressed her immensely, because she wanted you to marry Corinne. It appears you were trapped into the marriage.”

He stiffened. Trapped. The memories rushed in.

Rowena’s hysterics. Some crisis at Corinne’s school.

Rowena begging him to accompany her to the school to retrieve Corinne.

Corinne’s locked bedchamber with him inside.

Corinne’s schoolgirl attempts to seduce him.

His laughter at the absurdity.

Corinne’s hurt feelings.

The door bursting open.

Rowena’s outrage. All witnessed by the headmistress and another teacher or two.

His and Corinne’s stiff wedding. His fury. His mission.

His mission? What had been his mission?

Maeve’s palm cupped his jaw. “Oh God. You’ve remembered, haven’t you?”

“Almost everything.” He moved his mouth over hers to distract her. He should know by now that trying to distract Maeve usually ended with a contradictory result.

Except right now he couldn’t make himself care. Grinning, he took her mouth again.

“So. Were you in love with Rowena Hollerfield?”

“Certainly not. She was Kimpton’s lover before he married Lorelei. The very idea is appalling.” Harlowe shifted Maeve around to face him. He pulled her head to him and kissed her lips.

She pulled back, her breaths coming in rapids intakes. “Oh.”

Harlowe took his time kissing her, tasting her, sating her until he thought he would explode under her sweet ministrations. Her tentative touches, on his chest, his cock, grew more confident, until he was tossing her on the bed, determined to have her beneath him using the entire bed as their playground.

She writhed under his mouth, his hands, his body. He spread her legs and drove deep. Pulled back, and took her again. Over and over until she was clutching his shoulders. Until her muted screams singed his chest. Only then did he allow himself the painstaking release he’d been withholding, falling atop her, their chests heaving in unison.

He moved aside, drawing her into his arms. He gazed down into her upturned face and knew a moment of panic even as his heart swelled. He loved her. And it was nothing remotely similar to what he’d felt for Corinne or Rowena. The very idea was ludicrous. The realization that he loved Maeve was a sharp dagger to his heart. He would kill to keep her, and those she held dear, safe, including every single rapscallion she brought into their home. He had no doubt there would be many more in their future.

Harlowe touched his lips to her forehead and held her until she fell into the depths of sleep. He rose from the bed, widening the window and leaning out into the icy February night.

The comprehension of his mission hit him. He had been hired to infiltrate the Althenaeum Order. A group of debauched betters who took their pleasure at the demise of those unable to fend them off. Children and women. The shadowy figures in his memory still remained unknown. It took a moment to remember… they’d worn masks.

Another image infiltrated—

“Quiet now.” Harlowe counted the heads as he ushered them before him through the underground tunnel. One, two, three, four, five. Three girls, two boys, ages five to seven. All accounted for. Yet so many he’d had to leave behind. They were scheduled for delivery. He’d no choice but to act. The Slavs were a dangerous lot.

They reached the end of the tunnel. Harlowe turned to the eldest child. Harriet was almost eight. She’d been the most dangerous to the order. Not so easy to eradicate her memory.

“Harry”—her preferred name. Harlowe didn’t object. It was far safer for her that way—“You remember the plan?”

“Yes, sir.” She clutched the coins he’d given her in the event of disaster. “Hide first, then find Lord Dorset.”

The name jolted Harlowe to the cold pouring in the window over his skin.

Dorset. Friend or foe? What had the man been saying the night he’d been so soused at the widow’s salon? Something about harms and brothers? Brothers… brotherhood… arms… Brotherhood of Arms?

Harlowe turned around and slid down the wall to the floor, holding his head between his hands. The Brotherhood of Arms was a consortium of do-gooders who worked for the crown.

Was Dorset part of the Brotherhood? Was Harlowe?

Either way, Harlowe’s instincts were sound. His family was in danger.