Too Wicked to Love (20 page)

Her mother’s expression softened. “Oh, darling. You never take the easy way.” She held out her arms, and Genny stepped into them, grateful for the comfort.

“What if Papa will not give his permission for us to wed?” Genny asked, her voice thick even to her own ears. “I do not know what I would do.”

“I will speak to him.”

She knew that tone; when Mama decided she would speak with Papa, she usually got what she wanted. Genny closed her eyes and prayed.

“I do not like this situation,” the admiral said. He stood behind the desk with his hands folded behind his back.

Seated in the chair in front of the desk, John nodded. “I understand, sir.”

“While any father would take pride in his daughter marrying a duke, you have to admit that your circumstances are somewhat unconventional.”

“I—”

The admiral held up a hand, and John fell silent. “Whispers of murder hang over your head, young man, and you can certainly understand my hesitation as a father to grant you permission to wed my daughter when those whispers say you may have killed your first wife.”

“I understand how it looks, Admiral—”

Genny’s father scowled at him. “Stop interrupting. You are not a duke yet.”

“My apologies.”

The admiral gave a curt nod and began pacing. “I have my concerns. This is an awful situation for a young girl. You and I both know that this whole thing could turn out badly, and Genny would be left with a broken heart.”

“I agree, and I did try to discourage her.”

The admiral paused. “Huh. How did that work?”

John could not stop the smile that tugged at his mouth. “Your daughter is a very determined lady, sir. My resistance stopped her only long enough for her to regroup with another plan.”

“She always was a stubborn girl.” The admiral glanced at the ground, but not before John saw the pride flash across his face.

“I know this is not the perfect circumstance,” John said. “I did not want to drag anyone else into this mess, but she insisted. She stood beside me even when I tried to tell her not to. How can a man resist a woman like that, Admiral?”

“Hmph. How long did it take her to wear you down?”

“A day, maybe two.”

“You have more fortitude than I do, my boy.” The admiral rocked on his heels for a moment. “I do not like this mess you are in. I believe your story, but unless you can discover some evidence to point away from you, the hangman may well have his way.”

“I know. That is why there is no time to waste.” John caught and held the admiral’s gaze. “I love your daughter, sir. I plan to love her as long as there is breath in my body. And if the worst happens, and I do meet my Maker, at least I will be leaving her with the comfortable life of a duchess. She will never want for anything.”

“If I could, I would spare her this heartache,” the older man said. “But I suspect it is far too late for that. Her heart is engaged, whether you wed or not. She will pine for you if she does not have you—and Lord knows what else, knowing that clever girl of mine. She will no doubt be planning some wild rescue attempt if they lock you up! Better, easier, if I give my consent to this marriage.” He let out a long sigh. “Apparently, a short time as your wife is preferable to no time with you at all.”

John let out the breath he had been holding. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding more than I can express.”

“Ha! Understand this, John St. Giles. If you so much as make her sniffle, the hangman might yet be cheated of his day. Take care of my Genny, John. There are rough days ahead.” He held out his hand.

John rose and shook the admiral’s hand, a wide grin spreading across his face. “She will be well cared for, Admiral, no matter what happens.”

“I know.” The admiral stepped back and waved a hand at the door. “I told her to wait in her room, but she is probably lurking in the hall right now, listening at the door. Go to her, son. Tell her the good news.”

John did not hesitate. He reached the door in two strides and flung it open. Genny and her mother lingered in the hallway, speaking in low tones, but as he stepped through the doorway, their conversation dropped off.

Genny took a step toward him, stopped. Glanced behind him. Worried her lower lip.

“Go on, son.” The admiral gave him a little push.

John hurried to Genny and right there in the hallway, dropped to one knee before her. He reached for her hand.

Genny’s eyes widened. Her breath caught, and she sent a wild, hopeful look at her father behind him. Behind Genny, Helen sniffled and pressed her fist to her mouth. John gave a little tug at Genny’s hand to bring her attention back to him.

“Genevieve Wallington-Willis,” he began.

Genny inhaled a shaky breath as she seemed to realize the import of the moment.

“I have spoken to your father, and he has given his consent,” John continued. He cleared his throat as his own emotions threatened to rob him of composure. “Genny, I love you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes, John. Yes!”

He got to his feet, and she flung herself into his arms. Helen’s soft sobs reached his ears, followed by the admiral’s comforting murmurs. He buried his face in Genny’s hair, the sweet scent of honeysuckle filling his lungs and love swelling his heart.

Finally, she was his. He only hoped he could protect her from the challenges to come.

Evermayne

Two weeks later

T
he new Duchess of Evermayne glowed as only a bride could as she danced with her father in the ballroom at Evermayne. John watched them from across the room, unable to believe his good fortune. Genny was his.

“Here you are, still hiding in the shadows,” Samuel said. He handed John a flute of champagne, then clinked his glass to John’s. “Congratulations, my friend. I’m astonished at how quickly you pulled all this together.”

“Well, Timmons had everything sorted out.” John sipped at the excellent champagne that had come from Evermayne’s vast wine cellar. “He had already determined that I was the rightful heir; it was simply a matter of locating me. When I walked into his office with my credentials and my mother, it took no time at all to get everything finalized.”

“And the special license?”

John grinned. “That treasure of yours came in handy for that.”

Samuel chuckled. “That you took ownership of the title
and
managed to marry your lady love within a fortnight simply commands my admiration, John. Or should I address you as Your Grace now?”

“We’ve sweated together for too many hours over the years, Captain. I do not want anything to change between us.”

“Nice to see you’re not letting this duke thing go to your head.” Samuel grinned as a diminutive figure darted out of the crowd around the dance floor and stopped in front of John.

“Cousin, Mrs. Hart says I must have my luncheon now, but if I go to the nursery, I will miss
everything.
” Lady Marianne St. Giles stomped her tiny foot, then gazed up at John with big blue eyes inherited from her late mother, a renowned beauty. “Please say I may stay longer, Cousin.
Please.
”

John looked down into that cherubic face, and his resolve to be stern wilted. Though he had only been their guardian for a matter of days, the duke’s daughters, seven-year-old Marianne and twelve-year-old Felicity, had already wound themselves around his heart.

“Your governess knows what is best for you,” he said in a halfhearted attempt to appear somewhat parental.

She simply held up her arms, regarding him expectantly. Unable to resist the silent plea, he lifted the little girl and settled her on his hip.

Once their faces were level, Lady Marianne patted his shoulder as if approving the action. “I know I should mind Mrs. Hart, Cousin, but I am getting a new mama today, and that is a special occasion. Do you not agree?” She tilted her head, her light brown curls tumbling with the movement, and gave him a smile that showed her tiny white teeth.

“Of course a new mama is a special occasion.” John sent a pleading look at Samuel, who only shook his head and hid his smile behind a sip of champagne.

The little girl propped her elbow on John’s shoulder and gestured with her free hand. “If it is a special occasion, I would expect that Felicity and I should not be banished to the nursery.”

“Uh . . . perhaps not.”

“Marianne!” The horrified hiss came from somewhere near his waist. “What are you doing? We are supposed to go to the nursery for luncheon.”

Man and child both glanced down to see Lady Felicity, Marianne’s older sister, staring up at them with her arms crossed and worry in her eyes.

“I am attempting to convince Cousin John that we should stay,” Marianne said.

“It is not our place.” Lady Felicity glanced around, as if concerned about gossip. Blonder than her sister, Felicity had John’s uncle’s dark eyes, and, like her sire, she saw much and trusted little. After ascertaining no scandal was imminent, she turned that suspicious gaze back on him. “Cousin, do you think it is appropriate for a bridegroom to be holding a child at his wedding? It makes for a most odd spectacle.”

“Oh, do not be such a stickler, Lissy.”

“But he is the
Duke
now,” Felicity whispered. “It is not done.” And lower still, “Father would never have done such a thing.”

The pain beneath her words touched him. He set Marianne back on her feet, then crouched down so he was more on a level with both girls. “I am the Duke, true,” he said, “but I have not been one for very long, so you must forgive me any missteps. Perhaps you can help guide me.”

Felicity hesitated, then gave a short nod. Marianne nodded enthusiastically.

“Excellent. Now, Felicity, while a wedding is a very important occasion, I consider this one to be doubly so because not only do I get a wife, but you get a new mother. Genny and I will be your guardians, and we are very much looking forward to making you a part of our family.”

“Do I have to call you Papa?” Felicity asked, her voice wavering.

“Not if you do not want to. I know you loved your father very much, so perhaps you do not feel right addressing anyone else as Papa. If that is the case, you may call me John or Cousin or Evermayne or whatever strikes your fancy.”

“I like Cousin,” Marianne said, sending her sister a look of challenge.

“I can call you Cousin,” Felicity said, her shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Good. Now, Felicity, I am going to ask Mrs. Hart to allow you girls to eat with the rest of the guests. This is your family, too, and you should share in the festivities.”

This won him a little smile from Felicity and a huge one from the irrepressible Marianne.

“Ladies! There are you are!” Mrs. Hart arrived, clearly harried by the escape of her charges. “I am so sorry, Your Grace. The children are supposed to return to the nursery for their noon meal.”

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Hart. I would like to ask that you deviate from your normal schedule and allow the ladies to remain with the rest of us for their noon meal. This is a very special day, and I should like to have my whole family around me.”

Mrs. Hart blinked. “Well . . . of course. If you insist.”

“I do. And I also insist that you help yourself to some of the wedding breakfast. This way you may supervise the girls and still share in the joy of the day.”

Surprise melted into pleasure on the woman’s face. “Of course. Thank you, Your Grace. Come along, ladies.”

“Thank you, Cousin,” Felicity said, and made her curtsy.

“Yes, thank you, Cousin!” Marianne curtsied and followed the action with an audacious wink before Mrs. Hart shooed them along.

“The little one is going to be a heartbreaker,” Samuel said. “They seem to be getting very fond of you.”

John heard the concern in his voice. Shared it. “I know.”

“If things do not go well—”

“I know. But at least they will have Genny.”

“You underestimate your impact, I think.”

“What should I do? Be cold to them so they will not miss me if I am hanged?” John clamped his mouth closed, shook his head, sighed. “I apologize for snapping. I am well aware of the pain they may suffer if Scotland Yard decides I am the villain, but I cannot be distant. It is not my way.”

“I would no doubt feel the same way. The whole situation is monstrous.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

John looked at the servant who had interrupted them. “Yes, Tristan?”

“A gentleman is here to see you, Your Grace. Ernest explained it was your wedding day, but he is most insistent.” He lowered his voice. “He says he is from Scotland Yard.”

His blood chilled. Had they come for him already, today, on the day of his wedding?

“I will see him in my study,” John said. “Samuel, please make my excuses.”

“I will.”

John headed out of the ballroom.

The inspector from Scotland Yard stood in the center of the study, perusing the leather-bound volumes contained in the huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelves from his position in the middle of the room. He was a large man, broad in the shoulders with a few extra pounds around the middle. Silver peppered his dark hair, and his nose gave the impression it had been broken more than once. When John entered the room, the man gave him a wide, friendly smile, but his sharp blue-eyed gaze gave the impression that he missed very little.

“Your Grace.” The inspector bowed. “I am Inspector Brooks of Scotland Yard. I apologize for disrupting your wedding celebration. Might I extend my congratulations?”

“Thank you, Inspector.” John moved behind his desk and gestured toward the chairs on the other side. “Please take a seat.”

The big man moved with surprising grace—probably good in a fight, John thought—and sat down. He pulled a worn notebook and silver mechanical pencil from his pocket, then withdrew a set of spectacles and slipped them on. “I am investigating the death of your late wife, Elizabeth St. Giles.”

“Of course,” John said, projecting calm while his guts knotted.

Brooks flipped through the pages of his battered book. “According to witnesses, you were last seen attending a ball at the home of Lord and Lady Canthrope on the twelfth of May, 1869. This was the last time your wife was seen alive.”

“That is correct.”

“It was also the last time you were seen in England until your return approximately a week ago.” Brooks regarded him over the top of his spectacles. “Why did you leave England, Your Grace? Certainly you had to know there would be questions about the circumstances of your wife’s death.”

“At the time, my uncle, the previous Duke, was the head of the family. He decided it would be better if I left the country until the scandal died down.”

“So the Duke coerced you to leave?” He made a notation in his book.

“ ‘Coerced’ is a hard word, Inspector.” John frowned. “The Duke was the head of the family. He could make life very easy or very difficult.” When the inspector raised his brows in inquiry, John added, “Let us say he encouraged me to leave until the scandal died down and leave it at that.”

“So the Duke
suggested
you leave England. Did you give no thought to the investigation that would follow?”

“I was young, Inspector, and besides, I had no knowledge of what had happened to Elizabeth until my uncle told me.”

“You did not notice when she did not leave the Canthrope home with you?”

The disbelief in the man’s voice grated. “I am still not certain what happened to me that night. I . . . blacked out, then awoke later in the gardens when the last of the guests were leaving. When I could not find Elizabeth, I assumed she had gone home without me.”

“I see. Had you been drinking that night, Your Grace?”

“Some, but I was far from foxed.”

“Hmmm.” The inspector made a note in the book.

“I told you, I was
not
foxed.” John hesitated. How much should he reveal? Could he trust this man to listen to him? “I think I was drugged.”

The inspector lifted his head. “Indeed?”

“I was looking for Elizabeth. She had a habit of wandering off on her own during these sorts of affairs. There was a servant who told me he had seen her in the gardens, led me out there. Then I felt a prick on my neck, and, suddenly, everything went dark.” Even now, the memory lingered in his mind like a spider in the corner. “When I woke up, it was hours later, and the ball was nearly over. I could not find Elizabeth, so I went home.”

Brooks flipped through the scribbled pages of his notebook. “According to the other guests, you were disoriented, staggering.” He raised his gaze to John’s. “Sounds like you were indeed foxed that night, Your Grace.”

“I told you, I was drugged. I went home and passed out, and I did not hear that Elizabeth had been murdered until the Duke told me the next morning.”

“Why would someone go to such lengths to make you look guilty of murder?” The inspector’s reasonable tone gave no indication whether he believed John’s story or not. “From what witnesses have told us, you had some trouble controlling your wife, Your Grace. Also, you were clearly impaired in some way that evening. What’s not to say you drank too much and accidentally killed your wife in a fit of rage?”

John fisted his hands on the desk. “I am no killer, Inspector.”

Brooks sat back in his chair as if they were just passing the time in casual conversation. “If you did not kill her, who did?”

“Raventhorpe.”

“Raventhorpe? The Earl of Raventhorpe?” Brooks raised his eyebrows.

“That is my guess. Raventhorpe was my rival for her hand. After we married, he began an affair with my wife.” He could see the man did not believe him, and he leaned forward, pressing his conviction. “The earl is not all he appears to be, Inspector. You could talk to Samuel Breedlove. The earl tried to kill him. Or Miss Annabelle Bailey. He kidnapped her and tried to force marriage on her.”

“Samuel Breedlove.” Brooks scribbled in his book. “A friend of yours?”

“Yes, we worked together aboard ship back in America.”

“And what about Miss Bailey? What is the connection there?”

“I recently spent several days as a guest at a house party at her parents’ home.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Do you really, Inspector Brooks?” John waited until the investigator met his gaze. “I did not kill Elizabeth. Perhaps if you speak to some of the others I have mentioned, you will see that I am telling the truth.”

“Perhaps.” The inspector closed his notebook and pocketed both that and his pencil. John could not tell from his impassive expression whether or not he was inclined to believe him. “I will make inquiries of the people you mentioned. In the meantime, I should let you rejoin your wedding celebration.”

“Thank you.” John stood as the investigator rose, still uncertain about how well his story had been received. “Please let me know if you have any further questions.”

“Oh, I will. By the by, where are you and your bride going on your honeymoon?”

“We have postponed our wedding trip. The duke’s daughters only recently lost their father, and we did not want to go away together too soon after so many changes in the girls’ lives. There will be time for a wedding trip later on.”
He hoped.