By Love Unveiled (11 page)

Something in Sir Pitney’s tone made Marianne shudder. Garett clearly noted it as well, for his brow knit in a dark frown.

“Go on back to the carriage now, Bess,” Sir Pitney said with more force. “I’ll be there shortly. Your nephew and I have matters to discuss.”

Lady Bess nodded fearfully and turned away, but before she could leave, Garett stepped forward to block her path. “You’re looking well, Aunt Bess,” he said solicitously. “I hope you feel as well as you look. If you should find yourself in need of my help—”

“I take care of what is my own,” Sir Pitney cut in.

Lady Bess blinked, then fled as Garett watched, his eyes narrowing.

As soon as she was gone, he turned on his uncle. “I’d best not hear you’ve been mistreating her. She and you may have abandoned me to the wolves in Europe, but she at least is my blood, and I won’t have one of my blood abused, no matter how poor her choice in husbands.”

Abandoned him? And what wolves did he mean?

“You whoreson bastard!” Sir Pitney cried. “You ride into England on His Majesty’s coattails, wrest from me the estates I worked hard to improve, and then have the audacity to command me in how to care for my wife!”

Garett laughed scornfully. “How exactly did you improve my estates? By letting the tenants starve while you took their earnings to pay the taxes and finance your grand schemes for power? By abusing the townspeople in every neighboring village until the Falkham title became a hated one?” He strode up to tower over his uncle. “The only place spared your ‘improvements’ was this house and Lydgate. Then you had the audacity to sell
my
house to strangers, forcing me to fight for its return. ’Tis no wonder that Cromwell died. Counselors of your ilk would be enough to send anyone to his grave.”

“I poured money into these lands—”

“And took most of what you poured in back out again,” Garett said coldly. “You stole more than enough from me, so if you’re here to ask for money—”

“I merely came to tell you of the coming babe!”

Garett snorted.

A sneer crossed Sir Pitney’s face. “And to remind you that if you should die without an heir, my son—and it will be a son—will inherit.”

Garett’s face darkened then, making Marianne shudder. She’d seen that black look before. She was glad someone else was the recipient of it.

“ ’Twould be very convenient for you if I should die without an heir, wouldn’t it, Uncle? It might even be as convenient as certain other deaths were for you.”

Sir Pitney’s eyes narrowed. “What other deaths? What are you implying?”

Garett paused, and the rigid set of his jaw showed that he struggled to control himself. “You know exactly what I’m implying. But it takes more than a couple of bumbling highwaymen to bring me to ground, so perhaps you should rethink your plans. You may not find them very easy to carry out.”

At the mention of the highwaymen, Sir Pitney paled.

Garett’s slow smile was mirrored on Marianne’s face, for she enjoyed seeing Sir Pitney discomfited after what he’d done.

“Yes, Uncle,” Garett taunted him with smug satisfaction. “I knew it was you who set them after me. Just as I knew you sent a man to burn my fields. But your little ploys aren’t working. Your hired ‘highwaymen’ lie dead in the potter’s field, and I dismissed the spy you’d hired from the village.”

“What spy?” Pitney said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You’re mad, nephew. All this talk of ‘highwaymen’ and ‘spies.’ You can’t prove any of it!”

Bitterness so transformed Garett’s expression that Marianne could hardly believe him the same man who’d kissed her so tenderly the night before.

“I can’t prove it yet, but I will soon. For you see, the man whom you sent to burn my fields, perhaps even my estate, was captured alive. Your spy tried to kill him, to
keep him from talking, but was unsuccessful. So your lackey lies even now within these walls.”

As Marianne gasped, he bent close to his uncle. “His wounds are being well tended, I assure you. Once he’s well enough to talk . . . well, who knows what things a man might reveal if given the right persuasion? He might even reveal enough to hang the one who hired him.”

Marianne backed into the shadows, her stomach churning sickly. Dimly she saw Sir Pitney glower at Garett and witnessed Garett’s triumphant stare, but most of her thoughts were reserved for her own personal distress.

The earl was all she’d feared and more! ’Twas his thirst for vengeance that had sent him to request her services, not any good deed. Come to think of it, he’d never said one word of concern for the wounded man except to express his desire that the fellow live.

And for what? Merely so Garett could torture the truth from him? Could the earl truly be the kind of monster who saved a man’s life only to take it again?

“You haven’t won yet, nephew!” Sir Pitney growled. “I won’t see you lay claim to all I’ve striven for!”

Garett’s harsh laugh was like a knife twisting in Marianne’s heart, reminding her of her aunt’s words the night before. Aunt Tamara was right, she thought despairingly. Bitter water would always be bitter.

“Listen to me and listen well,” Garett told his uncle in an ominous tone. “In London, when I appeared before the Parliament, I kept my anger in check because of His Majesty’s determination to keep peace in England.
But in my own land, where none would fault me for having you drawn and quartered, I find it difficult to endure your presence. So I suggest you return to your powerful friends in London before I decide to test your fencing abilities.”

Sir Pitney backed away from the malice on his nephew’s face, clearly convinced Garett would act as he said. Once Garett saw his uncle was truly cowed, he turned to leave the room.

Sir Pitney’s voice stopped him. “You’re as arrogant as your damned father. Yet even he was brought low in the end. Remember this whenever you think you’re safe in your manor—men are easily bought in these times. Even women have their prices. Don’t be too sure you’ve rid yourself of all the enemies in your house.”

Sir Pitney’s words pushed Garett beyond the limits even of rage. “I could rid myself now of all my enemies,” he ground out, reaching for the dagger he always kept at his side.

Marianne’s heart stopped, but Garett’s gesture evidently alarmed Sir Pitney enough to convince him to flee, for he slipped out the front door, leaving Garett shaking with fury.

“I’ll see you hanged yet, Uncle!” Garett cried into the empty room.

And Marianne, at least, was convinced he really would.

She released her pent-up breath in a long, audible sigh. Then she went still as the sound echoed in the stairwell and off the stone stairs.

To her horror, Garett’s head snapped around, and he strode to where she stood in the shadows. “Why are you skulking about down here?” he snarled.

His tone reminded her of what he planned for his prisoner. “ ’Twas you who brought me here to serve your despicable ends. And now I’m being shown what a beast you truly are!”

His eyes bored into her. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“You dare to accuse me, when you’ve been toying with my life and that of a poor wounded man? Spying! As if I’d deliberately seek to learn how thoroughly you’ve played me for a fool!”

A shadow crossed his face. “Don’t speak of what you don’t understand, Mina,” he clipped out. “You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”

That really inflamed her temper. “I didn’t intend to, but I’m glad I did. Now that I know what you intend, I shall . . . shall put an end to your contemptible plans!”

She didn’t know how, but somehow she’d move the soldier out of the earl’s clutches. Whirling around, she started up the stairs.

He hurried up to clasp her arm. “Don’t behave foolishly. What do you think you could do now? Could you, one woman, move the man out of my house without my knowledge? None of my servants would help you. And your only other choice is to let him die to ‘save’ him from me. You would never do it. Whatever else you may be or might have been, you don’t have the heart to let any man perish if you can help him.”

Marianne’s hand clenched the banister as she acknowledged the truth of his statements. Devil take him, but as usual, he held all the reins.

Still, she refused to be part of his vengeance. Possibly he’d already made her father part of it. She’d have nothing further to do with his hatred for Sir Pitney and his obsession with Falkham House.

That was the third choice, one he hadn’t mentioned.

Silently she moved back down the two or three steps she’d climbed, refusing to look at him. He released her arm then, and she kept walking, her eyes fixed on the oak door of the manor house as if it were her only salvation.

She would leave and not come back. Perhaps she’d even leave Lydgate. Somehow she’d find a way to determine if he’d played a part in her father’s arrest. And if he had, she’d find a way to make him pay for it.

Later. But not now, not while the memory of his conversation with Pitney was fresh in her mind, mocking her for being a fool.

She heard his heavy steps behind her, but she didn’t stop.

“Mina, you can’t leave now. The man may die without you.”

She paused, praying for the strength to ignore his words.

“If he dies, his last hours will be painful,” Garett went on. “You could ease his pain.”

Curse the man for playing on her soft heart. She
whirled around to glare at him. “If he lives, you’ll torture him, and that pain would be greater than any pain he suffers in death. I can’t stand by and watch it!”

He gaped at her. Then as comprehension dawned, his expression darkened. “What kind of heathen do you take me for? Am I to hang him by his thumbnails until he tells the truth? My God, I’ve seen enough hacked and bloody limbs in war without wishing to see a man tortured at my own command!”

She watched him warily. His expression of horror made her want to believe him, but she knew better than to trust him. “You told Sir Pitney there were ways to persuade a man to reveal all. I’m not so naive I didn’t know what you meant!”

“I didn’t mean I’d put him on the rack, for God’s sake. I am not the devil you would paint me!” His fierce glower belied him, making him appear the very monarch of hell.

He advanced a few steps, and she backed away instinctively. “I don’t believe you. What else could you have meant?”

“Merely that I intend to imprison him until he tells me what I wish to know. A man whose loyalties are bought will only endure a dungeon for so long before he decides betraying his employer is the most prudent course.”

She surveyed him disbelievingly. “You would merely imprison him?”

“If he lives, ’tis all I intend.”

If he lives . . . “Even to put him in a dungeon is
cruel when he’s newly recovered,” she pointed out lamely.

“The man strove to burn my fields,” Garett growled. “Men could have been killed. Be careful, Mina, that your pity isn’t misplaced. The man’s a villain, after all.”

He might have a point. But would he really only imprison the man? If so, she couldn’t leave yet, for the wounded man would certainly die if she abandoned him.

As if the earl sensed her thoughts, he edged closer. “On my honor, I shall not perform any barbarous tortures on the man. If you wish, you can stay in the dungeon with him to make sure I don’t. I swear you can trust to my honor in this.”

Her head shot around at his seemingly sincere words. “Honor is but a paper sword when a dishonorable man wields it.”

His lips thinned. “If you were a man, we’d duel at dawn over those words.”

She paled but didn’t take back the insult.

At her silence, his eyes glittered. “I needn’t prove my trustworthiness to a gypsy. My past speaks for my honor. So does yours. You lied to me . . . you skulked about my gardens . . . you listened to my private conversations . . . Where is your honor?”

“I only tried to protect myself—”

“From what? I don’t even know that. I know nothing about your past, since both you and the townspeople avoid my questions.”

She swallowed hard. So far he hadn’t pried too
deeply into her past. If he ever did . . . if her refusal to accommodate him in this matter made him seek harder for answers about her, she could be in serious trouble. Still, it galled her to be a party to his plans, even if the wounded man deserved imprisonment.

He stepped closer, sensing her hesitation. “Why is it so hard for you to accept what I wish to do to this man? As a gypsy, surely you’ve seen harsher punishments for criminals.”

Weighing her words, she avoided his intense scrutiny. “Remember, my lord, I was raised a lady. I have a lady’s principles even though my blood isn’t pure.”

“Then uphold those principles and do what you know is best for your patient. ’Tis only your pride that’s wounded now. But that man will die without you. Believe me, pride is a paltry thing next to a man’s life.”

She met his piercing gaze squarely. “If pride is so paltry, why won’t you abandon it and forget all your plans for vengeance? Only your pride suffered when your uncle took your lands and title. Didn’t you live well in France those years you were in exile? Why not forget the past? You have everything you want now. What purpose is to be served in tormenting more people?”

When his eyes locked with hers, they were like two shards of ice. “You know nothing, nothing at all.” Stiffening his shoulders, he added through gritted teeth, “I want you to stay and tend the man. You know what I need of you, and you have the ability to give it. And I know your aunt at least won’t say no to the money I’ll offer for
your skills. But be warned that no matter your choice, I won’t alter my plans for him a whit. So stay or go—’tis your decision.”

With that flat statement, he turned on his heels and strode toward the stairs, leaving her to make an impossible choice.

There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

—Shakespeare,
Hamlet

G
arett frowned into the fire, then glanced at the soldier. The man had lain quiet for several hours in the incongruously lacy bedroom that had once clearly belonged to a lady of the house. Garett doubted the man would live much longer.