Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 19
Eliza woke to a narrow finger of cold light shining through the window. Malcolm stood within it, dark as a sentinel, looking out at the seamless gray sky. Though he seemed calm enough, he’d been like a ravenous beast the night before.
She had done as he’d asked, removing every stitch of her clothing and letting her hair loose while she waited for him, her pulse pounding in her ears. When he came into the room, she sensed a primal change in him. He crawled over the mattress toward her, feral and hungry, kissing his way up her body until he hovered over her. “Do you want me?” he asked. She bucked her hips in answer. He laughed. “Good. I mean to have you begging, darling.”
He had teased her to the edge, then denied her until she twisted and pleaded beneath him. He’d finally taken mercy, and their coupling had left her breathless and quaking afterward. She’d learned her husband was all fire once the sun went down, but there was none of that fire left as he turned to look at her now. His eyes were tormented, his mouth drawn into a grim frown.
“Malcolm, what is it? What’s wrong, my love?” Eliza scrambled out of bed and went to him. She put her palms on each side of his face, and he turned from her gaze, as if ashamed.
“You asked what Eastleigh and I spoke about last night.”
“Yes?”
“It seems the money for the mortgages wasn’t enough for his liking. He’s holding the title to the London townhouse unless I give him what he wants.”
“What is it? My land? Sherbourne House?”
Malcolm’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “The price is much dearer than that, darling.”
Eliza’s stomach dropped, and a stinging nausea crawled up her throat. “What do you mean?”
“He bid me take you to the Gryphon Arms this very evening, to a private room where he could do with you as he wished.”
Fear and helplessness pulsed in her chest. “Did you refuse?”
“Of course! What would you take me for?” Malcolm’s eyes flashed. “He’ll seize the townhome instead. He can have it, rats and all. I told him if he gave one more lecherous thought to having you, he’d face the barrel of my pistol. Coward that he is, I’ve no worries he’ll heed my warnings.” Malcolm turned from her, passing a hand through his unruly curls as he studied the mist-shrouded countryside. “There are many old grievances between our two families. There always will be. No amount of money will heal them.”
More dark secrets. “I think you’d better tell me what you mean, Malcolm.”
“Eastleigh and I have history. Being six years older, he bullied me constantly when I was a child, and I’ve already told you how he and his father cheated at cards and robbed our livelihood, but our feud goes much deeper than that. Our families have been rivals for nearly two hundred years. To the time of Queen Anne. It all started with a pig.”
“Really? That sounds a bit ridiculous.”
“It was likely a Berkshire pig. The lands around Havenwood Manor once belonged to the Crown—dating all the way back to the Norman Conquest. It was used as a hunting ground for the aristocracy. When my great-great-grandfather Reginald Winfield was granted the title I now hold, Queen Anne parceled off the land and gave him one thousand acres as payment for his service during the War of Spanish Succession. Eastleigh and his three sons continued to hunt here, ignoring our boundary lines, tracking anything they wanted to set their guns upon. Even our livestock.”
“They were poaching, then.”
“Yes. A capital offense. One day, Eastleigh’s eldest son and heir was chasing a pig through the underbrush. Reginald was waiting with his musket. Blew his head clean off his block, without hesitation.”
“God.”
“Lord Eastleigh was just as belligerent and vengeful as you’d imagine—it’s an unfortunate family trait. He kidnapped Reginald’s eldest daughter, Abigail, his favorite child. His two remaining sons had their way with her, then took her out on the moors to die of exposure. It’s said that before she was abandoned, she cursed the land around Clairborne Hall to become barren. And it still is, to this very day.”
“Poor Abigail. What an awful story. Do you really believe in that kind of blood magic, though? Curses and such?”
“Perhaps. Crops that had once flourished withered, and cattle dropped as soon as they set foot on Eastleigh’s estate. It was all rather biblical.”
“Couldn’t science explain it? Perhaps it was a blight.”
“I’m sure there could be any number of rational explanations. In any event, the first Lady Havenwood was so distraught she took her own life. Reginald never remarried.”
“Goodness. All of that over a pig!”
“Indeed. The corn depression of the last forty years hasn’t helped Eastleigh’s plight, which is why he’s been loath to let go filching from my land. My crofters have always gained healthy profits for themselves and the estate—profits and rents Eastleigh has seized for years. Until now.” The downstairs clock chimed six times, and Malcolm crossed the room to give Eliza a lingering kiss. He pulled back to search her face, his fingers stroking the hair back from her brow. “I must be going, love. I aim to find workers to begin repairs. We’ve much work ahead to restore this old house to its former splendor, but I’d say Captain Reginald Winfield would very much approve of my choice of wife.”
Eliza smiled. “Let’s only hope I meet a better end than the first Lady Havenwood.”
“You’re just the type to buck a trend, darling.”