The Madcap Marriage Page 5

  “It’s too late for stitches, Rafe. Once a cut scabs over, nothing can be done. But as long as it doesn’t start bleeding again, it should be fine.” Turning, she met his gaze. “You haven’t grasped the gravity of my situation, Rafe. My uncle is obsessed. He wants Audley Court more than life itself, and he will do anything to get it.”

  “Anything?”

  She nodded. “This is not a recent problem. His lust for Audley is part of a lifelong rivalry with my father. That turned to hatred after Papa refused to cover his gaming debts.”

  “Many men carry grudges.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But this has gone far beyond a grudge. He needs Audley to pay his creditors, so he convinced himself that it should have gone with the title. He’s already talked the trustees into violating Papa’s orders. I cannot give him a chance to do it again. Papa knew that if his brother gained control, he would milk Audley of every shilling and lose most of it at the tables. The tenants would suffer badly. I must protect them, but I can’t do it lazing about here.”

  “I agreed to call at the bank. But once that is done, you must stay in bed. For now, be careful not to tug on the wound lest it break open. And take your time. Paul won’t have breakfast out for another half hour. He has to fetch it from an inn two streets away.” Rafe left the bedroom.

  Helen traced the swelling. Rafe hadn’t exaggerated its extent. If seeing her trustees was any less urgent, she would take his advice. But that was not possible.

  At least he listened to reason, unlike most gentlemen. Her father had turned stubborn when his will was crossed. Dudley became vicious. Steven ignored anything he didn’t like. Was Rafe’s tolerance real, or was he humoring her?

  She washed her face, then began untangling her hair – leaving it down for the night had turned it into a Gordian knot.

  Had she convinced him to stay alert? Steven would be livid about losing the prize he’d long considered his own. And Dudley was more than capable of violence. If Rafe came to harm because of her, she would never forgive herself.

  Defending Audley Court was her responsibility. Cravenly foisting it onto a stranger was unconscionable. She should not have allowed fear to push her into accepting Rafe’s offer.

  It was too late to back out of marriage, but she must at least prepare Rafe for the consequences. Steven never let a grievance pass unpunished. He might be satisfied with destroying Rafe’s reputation, or he might consider assault.

  Yet how could she start? If there was any hope of making this marriage work, she had to retain Rafe’s respect. The time to mention Steven’s character had been yesterday, before she’d succumbed to temptation. She should also have told him that marriage would not place Audley in his hands. He would be justly furious when he discovered the truth.

  Shaking her head, she coiled her hair around the bump, pinned her handkerchief into a cap, then joined him in the dining room.

  * * * *

  Rafe swallowed the last of his tasteless breakfast, praying that his churning stomach could keep it down. Helen was glowering at her plate. He hoped it wasn’t a portent of their marriage.

  He shouldn’t complain, though. He’d remained silent for at least a quarter hour because the words to explain the betrothal announcement wouldn’t form. Every time he opened his mouth, the curve of her neck would distract him. Or her ripe mouth, or—

  He snapped his thoughts back to the job at hand. Postponing it was impossible. All of society would know about the announcement by now. He couldn’t let Helen hear the tale first at the dressmaker’s.

  But how could he explain? Her insistence that her uncle was dangerous confirmed that she considered him her savior. When she learned his motives, her opinion would change. Already he’d tarnished the image with his morning greeting. Once he admitted that he had married to escape his father’s machinations…

  Marry the first girl I see.

  In the cold light of day, that vow seemed ridiculously perverse. She would never respect him again. Worse, such bizarre behavior made him look weak. Too often, confronting Hillcrest reduced him to childish irresponsibility. No wonder the man refused his respect. If he knew even half the things Rafe had done in a fury…

  He stifled a groan. Anger, pain, and wine had corrupted his thinking, validating most of Hillcrest’s complaints. While repudiating the announcement would have caused scandal, it would not have irrevocably ruined him. Society expected him to be outrageous. The sticklers would have been appalled, but the scandal would have blown over in time. Marriage might easily land him in a worse pickle.

  Alquist would have berated him up one side and down the other, and rightly so. The baron had taken him firmly in hand after that month of debauchery. Until then, Rafe had barely known the man who’d married his mother’s sister, so he’d been shocked to find Alquist on his doorstep the morning after the infamous Berkeley Square incident – even today, recalling that particular stupidity made him wince.

  Alquist had taught him far more than how to go on in society. From him, Rafe had learned the ins and outs of investing, the fine points of honor, and an appreciation for learning. Alquist had taught him how to control his temper, which now slipped only with Hillcrest. But Alquist’s wisest advice had been caution – Actions cannot be both hasty and prudent, Rafe. Smart men consider the consequences before they act. It was an axiom that had saved him from many mistakes.

  But yesterday had been hasty, with no thought of consequences.

  Downing the remains of his coffee failed to wash away his bitterness over Alquist’s death. The man had been mentor, friend, and surrogate father. Losing him was a devastating blow. Losing him to the idiotic negligence of an imbecilic stranger made it worse.

  Stop sidetracking. You have to tell Helen about the announcement.

  She might believe him. If her uncle was as venal as she claimed, Hillcrest’s machinations would not seem all that odd. At least Hillcrest didn’t resort to violence.

  He drew in a deep breath. “Helen, we need to—”

  “I’m afraid my uncle will—” she said at the same time.

  “What?” they both asked.

  Someone pounded loudly on the door.

  “Who—” Helen blanched.

  “We are not at home.” Rafe gestured Paul to the door. None of his friends would call this early. Most would have found their beds only an hour ago.

  “Not at home,” said Paul.

  “He’ll see me.” The caller’s voice grated.

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Stand back, you fool! This is an emergency. His ward is missing and likely in danger.”

  “But—”

  A loud smack sent Paul thudding to the floor. Pain stabbed through Rafe’s head.

  “Steven!” gasped Helen, jumping behind the table as a man burst into the dining room. His red face and flashing eyes promised violence to anyone in his path.

  Rafe surged to his feet, then swayed as dizziness overwhelmed him.

  Steven’s jaw dropped. “You!” He advanced on Helen. “What are you doing here? Who told you Thomas was your guardian. I burned—”

  “Guardian!” Helen blanched.

  Rafe’s jaw hit the floor. “What—”

  “We’ll talk later,” snapped Steven, dismissing Rafe with a contemptuous glare. “Come along, Helen. I’ve had enough of your tantrums. Duty calls.”

  “Get out!” Helen ordered. “You have no business here.”

  “You are my business.”

  As Steven circled the table, Rafe pulled Helen behind him. “Leave my wife alone.”

  “Wife! Impossible.” His face purpled. “She is betrothed to my son.”

  “Never,” snapped Helen, escaping Rafe’s grip. “I wouldn’t have him if he were the last man on earth. Leave us! You’ve lost, Sir Steven. Audley is mine and will stay mine.”

  “Every word proves you need a keeper, girl.” Steven sneered. “Don’t you know a fortune hunter when you see one?”

  “You—”

>   He spoke over her. “I’ve no doubt he plans to wed you, but you deserve better. Thomas is notorious. He is already salivating over that forty thou—”

  “Never!” She glared.

  “We were wed yesterday by special license,” explained Rafe, fighting past his weakness to jump between them. His temper hung by a thread. He recognized her uncle now, though they’d not formally met. Steven St. James, a man of questionable honor who would think nothing of attacking a lady. Few would admit him to their drawing rooms.

  “The bishop will take a dim view of such abuse of power.” Steven backhanded Rafe into the wall hard enough to cross his eyes, then grabbed Helen. “Come along. We will rescue you from this bastard. The bishop—”

  “Rescue?” Digging in her heels, she clawed his hand until he let go. “I’ll take Rafe’s rescue over yours any day. It wasn’t Rafe who incarcerated me and replaced my staff.”

  “The trustees demanded that I correct a criminal oversight by an obviously deranged—”

  “Liar!” Helen shoved, forcing him back a pace. “Papa was in full possession of his faculties when he set up my trust. You may have duped my trustees, but that ends now. Either leave this instant or I’ll have you prosecuted for embezzlement.”

  “Embezz—”

  “Exactly. Nothing you’ve done is legal. The trustees risk similar charges if they support you. The books prove that you’ve been stealing from me for months. The income listed from wool sales alone is barely a quarter of the current—”

  “Quit blathering about subjects you can’t possibly understand,” he snapped.

  Rafe straightened, shaking his head to rid it of fog. A white-faced Helen faced Sir Steven, her fists held in defensive mode.

  She snorted. “Stupid, as well as venal. Granted, I was distracted while Mother was ill, but I checked the books the moment you proposed this jaunt to London.”

  “But they were in the safe—”

  “So? Father trained me to run Audley. By the time he died, I’d been in charge for years – as anyone could have told you.”

  Rafe watched in fascination as Steven paled. The baronet couldn’t have been more shocked had Helen turned into a toad. He must have thought her a complete widgeon.

  Lust stirred once more, for she looked magnificent. Boadicea in person, crossing swords with the Romans. He’d always admired feisty females. His mother had not allowed anyone to ride roughshod over her.

  “You prove yourself incompetent with every word,” shouted Steven. “Nothing in those books can be twisted into embezzlement. Only a madman would believe you could run a cottage, let alone an estate. One look at your so-called husband proves your lack of judgment.”

  “Anyone is better than Dudley,” she snapped. “As for the rest, I can hold my own with any estate manager in the land.”

  Steven laughed. “You are so naïve. You can’t even recognize a scoundrel. Look at him, the great Rafael Thomas. A notorious gamester, a drunken libertine, and the most desperate fortune hunter in town. We thought we’d seen the last of you when we heard about Miss Pauling, Thomas, but this dishonor exceeds even your wildest exploits. You weren’t satisfied with nabbing a modest heiress, were you?” he taunted. “The moment a bigger prize walked by, you grabbed her instead.”

  Rafe flinched, but before he could form a reply, Helen slapped Steven.

  “You always did have a poisonous tongue,” she said coldly. “Leave. Rafe has more honor in one finger than you can muster in your entire body.”

  Steven’s fist snapped her head back, crossing her eyes.

  “Bastard!” Rafe sprang, landing an uppercut to the chin.

  Helen screamed as Steven plowed a shoulder into Rafe’s chest, then pounced as Rafe fell.

  “Leave him alone!” Helen kicked Steven in the side as he drove Rafe’s head against a table leg. This was just what she’d feared. Steven hated to lose.

  Rafe landed another blow, but the aftereffects of yesterday’s overindulgence slowed him, and Steven outweighed him by at least three stone. Before she realized Steven’s intent, his hands closed around Rafe’s throat.

  “No!” Fear lent her new energy, burning away her dizziness. She grabbed a platter of ham and smashed it over Steven’s head. Two plates and a tankard of ale followed. It didn’t dent his skull, but he let go of Rafe long enough to slap her.

  Jameson and Paul burst in as Rafe landed a knee to Steven’s groin and another blow to the head. They hauled Steven aside and pinned him to the floor.

  Helen threw herself on Rafe. “Are you all right?” Her hands searched for damage.

  “Fine,” he croaked, shakily sitting up.

  Steven twisted, trying to escape.

  “See him to the street,” ordered Rafe. “If he returns, truss him up and take him to Bow Street. I’ll swear out a complaint for assault.”

  “You won’t get away with this!” screamed Steven as Jameson and Paul each twisted an arm behind him and dragged him to the door. “I’ll see you in hell!”

  Rafe ignored him. His head throbbed, and he had to concentrate to pull air past his bruised throat, but one thought remained uppermost. Sir Steven was a bigger threat than even Helen had claimed. He had to protect her.

  And not just from Steven. The son was worse. He fingered his scarred cheek, recalling another fight. At least that one had garnered admiration from his peers. Today must make him seem weak, inviting Helen to take charge. He couldn’t allow that or he would face a lifetime of battles. Pulling himself together, he headed for the brandy decanter.

  * * * *

  The moment Steven left, Helen’s knees gave out. Spots danced before her eyes.

  “Drink,” ordered Rafe, rising to shove a glass into her hand. “You’ve had a shock.” He drained his own.

  She complied. The brandy burned all the way to her stomach, but it cleared her head. Steven had come to see Rafe. Her own presence had been a surprise.

  “My guardian?” she demanded, glaring. “How interesting that you didn’t mention that little detail.” Her guardian would know about her trust. Rafe must have thought he’d won the lottery the moment he’d heard her name. No wonder he’d insisted on accompanying her to the bank. He expected to twist her trustees around his thumb – and might already have done so. How had he arrived so providentially outside the church?

  Rafe shook his head. “I don’t know where he got that idea. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Right.” She swallowed more brandy.

  He frowned. “I suppose it’s possible. Alquist married my mother’s sister. We’ve been close for ten years.”

  “But you were at his burial. You must have seen his will. And he would hardly pass the duty without warning.” It wasn’t logical, yet Rafe’s eyes seemed honestly puzzled. Was he truly ignorant or a better actor than even Alex had been?

  “I rode down to Hampshire immediately after his death,” he admitted. “But my aunt’s grief made mine so unbearable that I left from the churchyard. I wasn’t up to facing society, so I stopped in Oxford to visit a friend. When I arrived home yesterday, my father’s summons met me at the door. I was returning from Hillcrest Manor when we met.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “I didn’t stay to hear Alquist’s will – aside from a few books, I wasn’t expecting anything. His solicitor will have sent me the details, but I wasn’t here to receive mail.”

  “Then let’s look at your mail.” She stood.

  His desk was in a corner of the bedroom, stacked with a mountain of cards, unopened letters, and newspapers. So he’d spoken truly on that point.

  “Why would he put you in charge of his ward without discussing the matter first?” Such negligence seemed odd. Of course, Alquist had made no attempt to see her during his tenure as guardian, so perhaps he was heedless.

  “How should I know?” Rafe dropped into the desk chair. “Maybe his will offered an explanation.” He grabbed a stack of mail and started sorting.

  Helen shrugged
. The truth would come out eventually. Until then, she must guard herself. She picked up the Morning Post and moved closer to the window.

  “The Regent created Wellington a duke,” she murmured moments later.

  “Hardly a surprise.”

  “I suppose not, now that the war is over.”

  “Why don’t you help me sort these? There should be something from Alquist’s solicitor even if Sir Steven lied about the guardianship.” His voice sounded odd.

  “He wouldn’t lie about something so easy to check. He expected you to know about it. He came here to demand your assistance in finding your runaway ward.” Which meant that Steven had intercepted the letter notifying her of the change. She frowned. How many other letters—

  “Are you sure he didn’t trace you here?”

  “Positive. He was shocked to see me and concluded that he’d missed at least one letter – he must have been confiscating my mail. I’ve received nothing from Alquist since Father died. Not even a note of condolence.”

  Rafe nodded. “Alquist would never ignore a duty – even an unwanted one. You can read the paper later, Helen. I need help. There are too many invitations. We must leave for the bank, but sorting this will take half the morning.”

  “I doubt it. Besides, that errand is less urgent now. Steven will be too busy confirming our marriage to bother the trustees yet. I haven’t read a paper in months – Steven wouldn’t allow it. It’s a pleasure I’ve missed.”

  Rafe sorted faster, scattering invitations right and left as he searched for personal letters.

  Helen turned a page. “The allied leaders will arrive next month to celebrate Napoleon’s abdication, but this story gives no details. Do you know what is planned? I’ve been so out of touch since Father died that I’m amazed I even know the war is over.”

  “The details will probably be in last week’s papers.” He gestured to the pile.

  “I’ll look when I’ve finished this one.”

  More invitations slid to the floor. Rafe seemed almost panicked in his search for the letter, but she ignored the thought, more interested in reading.