The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (33 page)

Her hand throbbed, and she felt like an idiot
for losing her temper so abominably, but she had to admit to a
twinge of satisfaction at finally bringing her husband to his
knees. Or, rather, his backside. At last gaining her freedom, she
stood over him, breathing heavily, watching him scramble to his
feet, one hand still over his eye. He lowered the hand. And the
remorse began. His poor eye was red and rapidly swelling,
especially near the brow line.

Backing up a few paces, she absently rubbed
her knuckles. She hadn’t meant to
hurt
him. Not really.

“Good God, Victoria,” he said incredulously.
“Where did you learn to hit like that?”

She tightened her lips and raised her chin.
“I grew up with two brothers. Not that it matters to you.” Brushing
briskly at her skirts, she continued bitterly, “If you had your
way, I would never see them again. What did you think I would do,
hmm? You claim Harrison robbed you of your only family. Did you
expect me to sacrifice mine without a fight?”

He tentatively pressed the skin at the corner
of his eye, wincing and clenching his jaw. “Considering you are my
wife, I expected you would accede to my wishes.”

“Rubbish. You knew better, or you would not
have enlisted the servants to aid in your deception. Tell me, how
many letters from Harrison were intercepted by Billings?”

Lucien sent her a dark look from beneath
lowered brows.

“I thought as much,” she said tartly.

He shook his head, suddenly appearing tired.
“I do not wish to discuss this here.”

“I can only surmise you place a dear value on
the punishment for Harrison’s sins—”

“Victoria.”

“—but surely you considered the consequences
for me. Your w-wife.” She heard the strain, the heartache in her
own voice, causing it to go thready and high. “Did you want to
punish me, as well, Lucien? Losing your brother must have been
agonizing. Did you ever think I might experience similar misery
upon losing mine? Is that what you wanted? Or was it simply a wound
you were willing to inflict, so long as you could have your
revenge?”

“Victoria, stop,” he growled.

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She needed to
know.

“Do I matter to you in the slightest,
husband?” she whispered.

He hissed and moved swiftly toward her,
grasping her upper arms before she could take her next breath. It
hurt—not physically, for while his grip was firm, it was also
gentle. But, oh, how it hurt to be touched by him, to feel her
breasts press against him, to be surrounded again by his heat and
spice. As though sliced and bleeding inside, her heart writhed and
became sluggish. Her head grew light, her body weak.

He gave her a small shake. “Stop this. You
are upsetting yourself needlessly.”

She braced her palms on his gray woolen
lapels and leaned closer to him. Her forehead slowly fell into the
cushion of his cravat. Her eyes squeezed closed, forcing tears down
her face in a warm trickle.

When she spoke, her voice was raw, muffled.
“Please just tell me, Lucien. Do I matter to you?”

A long pause was followed by his deep
baritone rumbling above her head, beneath her fingers. “He must pay
for what he’s done.”

The simple statement was all the answer she
needed. Darkness yawned before her, clawed viciously at her,
whispering and then murmuring and then shouting that he did not
love her at all. He never had.

She had been his weapon. Nothing more.

Stupid, stupid girl.

His hands stroked up and down her arms in a
soothing motion, much as a parent would gentle a child. A cold
shiver ran through her, and she pushed away from him. He let her
go, his expression strangely closed, vaguely desperate. His arms
remained stretched outward for several seconds as though he did not
know what to do with them. They dropped to his sides.

That was how Harrison found them a moment
later, standing in his parlor staring at one another. Utterly
lost.

“Tori? What the devil is going on here?”

She and Lucien swung around to watch her
oldest brother stride into the room. He swept off his hat and
handed it to Digby, who followed him like a shadow then retreated
without a word.

Seeing him again, so tall and solid, his
handsome features so familiar, caused Victoria to rush toward him
instinctively. His eyes widened before he frowned and enfolded her
in a tight embrace. Tears coursed silently down her cheeks, and she
whispered his name.

Harrison’s arms hardened and his entire body
stiffened. When he spoke, his voice was quietly ominous.
“Atherbourne, I warned you what would happen if she was
harmed.”

Alarmed by his threatening tone, Victoria
shook her head and wiped her face. She pulled away enough to gaze
up at Harrison. His jaw was tight, his face stony as he glared over
her head at Lucien.

“I am all right, Harrison. Simply happy to
see you.” Her weak, wobbly smile did nothing to erase the furrow of
concern from his brow.

“You are a fine one to speak of harming a
woman, Blackmore,” Lucien remarked coldly.

She could almost feel Harrison bristling at
the implication. He set her gently to one side and approached
Lucien. “Your accusations are as baseless as your brother’s. If you
continue, you may reach the same end. Right now, making my sister a
widow is rather tempting.”

“Spare me your denials. And your threats,
your grace,
” Lucien spat. “Both have grown tiresome.”

Harrison’s head tilted in a predatory way
Victoria had seen before, albeit rarely, in her dignified sibling.
He could be intimidating, but this particular look signified a
rather alarming seriousness of purpose. He opened his mouth to
reply, but before he could utter a word, she interrupted by
blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Harrison, did you
mistreat Lucien’s sister?”

Both men swiveled to stare at her. Harrison
was the first to recover. “I never met the chit.”

“You lie,” Lucien growled.

Harrison ignored him, addressing his answer
to Victoria. “The previous Lord Atherbourne accused me of grave
misdeeds against her, but I have no idea how he reached such an
appalling conclusion. I told him as much, but … well, it is obvious
he did not believe me.” He glanced to where Lucien stood, visibly
fuming. “It appears your husband is suffering under the same
misapprehension. Unfortunate, that.”

“A mistake, was it?” Lucien said, his voice a
lash. “I suppose it was mere coincidence that Marissa was seen
entering and leaving this very house on multiple occasions. Or that
her letters were delivered here over the course of several
months.”

In an unusual show of agitation, Harrison’s
nostrils flared and his jaw flexed. “To my knowledge, your sister
was not even out yet.”

Victoria blinked. “She wasn’t? Then, how
could you have met her?”

Her brother’s blue-gray eyes flashed with a
spark of irritation. “As I said, I knew nothing of her until the
day Gregory Wyatt stormed in here demanding satisfaction. Even if I
had, I would not have touched her. She was little more than a
child.”

“A child you seduced and then discarded as
you would a common doxy,” Lucien snarled.

Turning toward her husband, Victoria said
softly, “What if he didn’t?”

Lucien’s glower grew fierce, his lips
flattened. “He did.”

“What if you are wrong, Lucien? What if
Gregory was wrong?”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine. You want to play
this game? If I am wrong, explain her presence at this house. Not
once, mind you, but again and again. Explain why she would have her
letters delivered here if she were not corresponding with someone
in this household.”

“Perhaps she was visiting someone else.
Writing to someone else,” she suggested.

His mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile.
“She left a letter for me and Gregory, did you know? Before she …
died. It was on her bureau beside a vase of flowers.”

She was afraid to ask, but she had to know.
Being kept in the dark had led to this … this disaster. Although
she would probably not like the answers, it was well past time that
Lucien told her the truth, ugly though it might be. “What did it
say?”

“That the man she loved considered her
unworthy of marriage. She had been raised in the country. It was
her first visit to London. Terribly unsophisticated, you know. He
worried she might sully the exalted Blackmore legacy.”

Victoria shook her head in confusion and
glanced at her brother, who stared back with an equally puzzled
expression. “She mentioned Harrison by name?”

“Blackmore, yes. Still convinced your brother
is so bloody pure and righteous?”

Just then, the clack of boots on marble
floors sounded from beyond the open doors of the parlor. Colin’s
voice, slightly slurred, could be heard in the entrance hall,
echoing as he spoke a bit loudly. “Digby, old boy. The library is
appallingly bereft of brandy. Be a good chap and fetch me a bottle,
would you?”

Forever afterward, Victoria would wonder what
made a prickle of suspicion race through her head in that exact
moment. It was two puzzle pieces fitting together precisely. It was
a voice whispering, “Not Harrison. Colin.”

And when she once again met Harrison’s eyes,
she could see the same voice had spoken to him. Almost as one, they
turned toward the doorway through which Colin could be seen
clapping Digby on the shoulder.

Not Harrison. It was Colin.

It had been Colin all along.

*~*~*

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“
Some secrets are better left undiscovered. Not
by me, of course. But generally speaking.”
—The Dowager
Marchioness of Wallingham to her son, Lord Wallingham, upon
learning of his remarkable cache of French cognac.

Lucien watched his wife turn pale and
wide-eyed. Both she and Blackmore were staring silently through the
open door at Colin Lacey, who chuckled at something the butler had
said. What the bloody hell had them so riveted? Victoria glanced
back at Lucien, a stricken expression in her eyes. The dawning
horror and sadness he saw emerging there caused a chill to run
through him.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Her gaze dropped, briefly met Blackmore’s,
then returned to Lacey. Her hands twisted at her waist, a clear
signal of her distress. “Please don’t hurt him, Lucien.”

Every muscle in his body tensed. She was
begging him not to harm her brother. There was just one problem—she
was referring to the wrong brother. And she appeared genuinely
anxious, as though at any moment, he would discover a devilish
secret about Colin Lacey and explode in rage.

A dark suspicion seeped along his mind’s
lower edge. Instincts honed on the battlefield drove him to
contemplate the notion that his true enemy was not the one he had
been targeting, but another entirely. One he had not previously
considered. Part of him protested, remembering Marissa’s final
letter in which she mentioned Blackmore. But as he stared at Colin,
her precise wording echoed in his head.

Marissa had discussed her lover’s concern
over the Blackmore legacy, which was more characteristic of the
duke than his brother. That was why Gregory had assumed Harrison
was her seducer, and Lucien had not questioned it. But she had
never written or spoken the man’s name.

And if it truly was Colin, rather than
Blackmore …

The very thought sickened him, his gorge
rising, the room receding, Colin’s laugh becoming muffled and
faint. Lucien wrestled with this new possibility, wondering if he
was slipping back into madness. But no. Victoria and Blackmore
remained fixed, frozen in an odd tableau. It seemed they were all
caught in the same sticky web, and it was up to him to untangle the
mess. For his sister’s sake, for all their sakes, he must learn the
truth.

Within seconds, he had crossed the parlor,
entered the foyer, and without slowing, drove Lacey backwards until
he was pinned against a wall, his forearm braced across the younger
man’s throat. Lucien watched as he struggled and shoved, his face
growing red.

“Did you know my sister?”

Choking and gasping, Lacey managed to wheeze,
“You’ve gone mad, Atherbourne.”

Lucien clutched fistfuls of cloth and slammed
Lacey against the wall. “Answer me, damn you,” he gritted. “Did you
know Marissa Wyatt?”

Lacey coughed roughly, sucked in a deep
breath, and muttered, “Mind the waistcoat. It’s new.”

The flippant response caused black rage to
engulf him. His fists instantly tightened and, almost of their own
volition, shoved Lacey violently upward until the man’s toes barely
touched the floor. “You will pray your waistcoat is the only thing
torn asunder.”

Distantly, he heard Victoria say his name.
Face reddening alarmingly, Lacey sputtered for several seconds,
then nodded. Lucien loosened his grip and allowed him to slip down
onto his feet.

“You knew Marissa,” Lucien barked.

Lacey coughed and eyed him balefully. “Yes.
What of it?”

Stunned, Lucien gradually released him and
staggered back several steps. The pale green walls seemed to shift
and waver around him as he absorbed what he now knew to be
true.

Marissa’s seducer had not been the Duke of
Blackmore. It was Lacey.

Gregory had fought a duel with an innocent
man, and had died because of it. Lucien himself had attempted to
punish Blackmore, who had only sought to defend himself. A part of
him wanted to laugh at the absurdity, the farcical nature of such a
grievous misunderstanding. Another part wanted to roar in an agony
of guilt.

Lucien’s eyes drifted to Victoria. She stood
strangely still, white and tear-stained, her eyes awash with
sadness, sympathy, and shock.