Penniless Until the Earl's Proposal, page 17
‘And yet you want him to live.’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ she said, her eyes blazing with anger. ‘Even though I pity him, if the events of this night have taught me anything, it is that his soul is a cold quagmire of cruelty, deceit, selfishness and wickedness. I loathe him, and to think I would have married him.’
‘I am sure his feelings for you have not changed, but your circumstances have. You are my wife in name, and soon to be my wife in fact, should you need reminding of the vows you spoke earlier today. Juliet, that man has abused you and damn near destroyed you. Don’t ask me to ignore what he did tonight. I would rather hang.’
‘And hang you shall if you kill him.’
He looked down at her, feeling her hand clinging to his arm with all her strength. Unsmiling, he looked at her seriously for a moment, one eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. ‘The minute he walked through the door, he addled your wits. If you had known he was still alive, would you have married me? Tell me, Juliet. I have a right to know.’
‘I cannot answer that. The truth is I don’t know,’ she replied miserably. ‘Truly.’
‘Now that you have seen him again and know what he is capable of, do you still have feelings for him?’ he went on remorselessly.
‘I told you. I hate him for what he has done this night. Whatever feelings I had left for him, he killed tonight. He is a brute, and I would like to see him punished for what he has done, but I beg you not to fight a duel. I no longer love him, but I cannot be the one to bring about his death. All this has come about because of my foolishness, and I have no wish to have the death of either of you to be the result of me making the wrong decision. If you kill him, I shall blame myself as surely as if I had pulled the trigger or wielded the sword. I shall have killed him, and I cannot live with that. The guilt would be too heavy for me to bear. Please,’ she whispered softly, ‘if you kill him, his death will stand between us forever.’
The anguish and pain on her pale face had their effect, touching some hidden chord deep inside him. Marcus didn’t know how to react to this display of grief, but he had to acknowledge the sense of her words, fully aware that he had allowed his hurt masculine pride and anger to cloud his judgement.
‘Has it not crossed your mind what will happen if you do kill Thomas, that despite being who you are, you will be arrested? I cannot bear to think of the punishment that will be meted out to you. It is too horrendous to imagine.’
He considered her intently and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I have thought about it. But put it another way, Juliet. What if Waring proves to be stronger than me? Has it not occurred to you for one moment that I might not return? Have you thought what will happen if he kills me?’
At his words, she stared at him, mortified. ‘I have indeed thought of this, but believing you are stronger and more proficient than Thomas, I have tried not to dwell on it. Tonight my feelings have undergone a considerable change so that I no longer know what to think. But, dear God, not that. After all that has happened, after all I have lost, I could not bear that—to lose you. It would break my heart.’
Deeply touched by her words, Marcus’s heart swelled with thankfulness that she should feel this way. ‘Very well, Juliet. Should I gain the upper hand, I promise you that I shall not kill him. Merely teach him a lesson he will not forget. But he should not go unpunished, leaving him free to assault other innocent women. He is to return to Spain in the near future. Perhaps army discipline will knock some of the wickedness out of him.’
On that note Marcus turned on his heel. At the door he hesitated and looked back at her. ‘Goodnight, Juliet. I trust tomorrow we can put this behind us.
* * *
Juliet stood and looked at the closed door through which her husband had disappeared, his face set in such lines of implacability that it left her feeling thoroughly chastened, stupid, and what little fight she had left within her drained away. Her behaviour had caused a hidden force to erupt inside him, and she was seeing a side of him she hadn’t known existed. Could that cold, angry stranger be her husband? The man she had married, who had promised her and Richard so much for the future?
Crushed by the full weight of responsibility for her stupidity, her gullibility that had wreaked such havoc, she sank onto a chair. The hideous events of the night had unleashed in Marcus all the fury of his passionate nature. Within the past twenty-four hours, her life had been torn asunder, and she prayed fervently that Marcus would return to her unharmed, for she had come to depend on him like the very air she breathed and whose quiet strength she valued a great deal.
Feeling bruised and defiled and weighted down with terrible misery and despair, the thought that she had to go on living beyond this night was inconceivable. Covering her face with her trembling hands, she wept, silently praying for his safe return.
Chapter Nine
Marcus’s anger died the moment he entered his room. Throwing his jacket on the bed and moving to the fireplace, he rested his arms on the mantelpiece, his mind going over the night’s events as he stared down into the flames. He could not find words to describe his defiant young wife. He was enraged by her attitude, yet at the same time, he could not help but admire her courage. She had spirit, too much damned spirit, he thought. He didn’t know another woman who would stand up to his wrath as she did. She had stood up to him from their first encounter, and then angered him by taking it upon herself to visit Waring at his home.
Juliet wasn’t a woman he could wrap around his finger and charm with an irresistible smile. With her back straight, head held high, her hair caressing her spine and her eyes flashing a desperate amber, she had faced up to him. He was intrigued by her eyes, for they would glow with fervour, and at other times they were quiet, looking inward and sad, and it mattered to him. He thought about everything she had said, how vehemently she had expressed her feelings. For a long time he stood there, knowing he must try and make amends for all the wrongs he had caused her, before her hurt really did harden into hatred.
Perhaps his anger had made him hasty. If he was honest with himself, then he had to admit that he didn’t want to kill Waring. He was a villain and he despised him, and it was right that he should be punished for what he had done, but he did not deserve to die for it. The last thing he wanted was his death on his conscience. He would prefer to put the whole ugly episode behind him.
But that was before one of the servants brought him a note that had just been delivered to the house. It was from Thomas Waring, and the short missive told him that he would meet him at dawn in Hyde Park, where they would settle their differences with swords. Marcus uttered a sigh of resignation. So, he had no choice. He would have to fight. If he did not meet him, he would be branded a coward, and that was unthinkable.
* * *
It was just before daybreak that he went to rouse Walter, his valet of many years, urging him to get dressed quickly and meet him in the hall. After briefly informing Walter what was required of him, they did a short detour to collect his sword from his home before riding in the direction of Hyde Park. Initially he had considered asking William to be his second, but finding the mere thought of explaining to his brother the sordidness that had brought about the duel and not wishing to cause his mother undue concern should she get wind of it, he had decided against it.
The world as the two men rode through the park in a thick blanket of grey cloud was cold, everything about them dormant, gripped by a beautiful desolation. A slight breeze snaked its pathway round the trees, pointing their leaf-covered branches up to the sky.
Grim-faced they rode hard, the only sound being the heavy breathing of their horses and the rhythmic pounding of their hoofs. As they approached the desired spot where the duel was to take place, it was oddly silent and deserted, the park hereabouts deeply wooded. They entered a circular glade, slowing their pace. They scanned the dark shadows not only for Thomas Waring and his second but also for others, for the constables, for if the law had got wind that a duel was to be fought, then it would spell disaster for them all.
Waring and his second were already there. Accompanied by a physician he had had to pay well for his services, they rode out of the dark shadows as they entered the glade. Quickly they all dismounted, Marcus divesting himself of his cloak and handing it to Walter, eyed Waring carefully as he moved closer. In the cold light of dawn, there was no trace of the drunken creature of last night, when the fumes of alcohol had clouded his mind. Now he met Marcus’s gaze coldly.
‘I trust you slept well,’ he said with sarcasm, ‘and that you said farewell to your bride, for I doubt you shall see her again on this day or any other.’
‘No, I did not, for I do not expect to die.’
Waring smiled almost pleasantly. ‘Then you were too confident, for I promise you, you will not live to see another dawn.’
‘We shall see,’ Marcus said, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the ground.
The two men faced each other in shirts of fine lawn, and Marcus read clearly the evil intent to kill in Waring’s eyes. Both men loosed their swords, freeing the naked blades from their sheaths.
Waring saluted his opponent with a sardonic smile. ‘En garde.’
They circled each other warily before their blades engaged, ferociously slicing the air. The swords clashed, and at first, neither bore the initiative, but they fought with all the violence born of hatred. Both men were evenly matched, although Marcus was the taller and appeared the most powerful of the two with his strong, muscular frame, but Waring possessed a lithe agility and fought with all the skill of an experienced duellist.
It was only after Waring stumbled slightly on stepping back, his weakened leg letting him down, that Marcus seized his chance and immediately took the initiative, lunging, pressing home his attack. Enraged at finding himself at a disadvantage, Waring fought like a man possessed, and their blades clashed faster and faster. A fierce, determined light shone in Marcus’s eyes, but not a muscle in his face moved as his sword flashed, the clash of steel on steel rending the air. With everything to lose, Waring began to fight dementedly, but however hard he tried to attack, he could not penetrate that unwavering guard and was constantly driven back as Marcus proved the stronger, his blade fiercely hissing through the air.
Pure cold fury filled Waring’s eyes at being held constantly at bay, and in desperation, he began lunging wildly, carelessly, while Marcus retained his calm. And at last pressed home his advantage, sliding the point of his sword through the soft flesh of Waring’s right shoulder.
Waring’s eyes opened wide in absolute surprise, his sword slipping from his hand, bright red blood staining the white purity of his shirt as he stumbled and fell, crumpling onto the ground. Marcus stepped back and stared down at him.
Waring cursed softly and attempted to get up but, his chest heaving, the effort proved too much and, smiling bitterly, he looked up at Marcus. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Aren’t you going to finish me?’
‘I shall not kill you, but only because before I came here, Juliet begged me not to. It is she you have to thank for your life, though God knows why after what she suffered at your hands. But be under no illusion, because it would give me immense pleasure to finish you for good.’
‘Then do so,’ hissed Waring, ‘because I swear that while ever there is breath in my body, I shall hunt you down. I shall be avenged. I swear it! You shall regret not killing me. This I promise you.’
Marcus’s eyes were like cold pieces of flint as they met his adversary’s. ‘I doubt that. When we parted on our first encounter, I was aware of your insane hatred, but I did not know what such bitter resentment might lead you to do until I met you again last night. And now this. If I ever catch you on my property or in close proximity to my wife again, I will arrange your judgement day to come sooner than you expect.’
‘You...threaten me?’ Waring’s tone was mockingly incredulous. ‘Don’t be too sure about that, Cardell. It’s your life and all you hold dear hanging in the balance, not mine.’
‘I am stating what our future relationship will be,’ Marcus said coldly. ‘We have fought a duel. I won. You had your chance to get rid of me and failed. You are a sad excuse for a man, Waring. I pity you.’
Thwarted of triumph, Waring’s fury burst. ‘Pity? You pity me? His face darkened with rage as he watched his adversary begin to move away.
‘That is what I said.’ Marcus stepped back. ‘Come, Walter, our business here is done. Waring is not dead and it was a fair fight. Whatever he threatens, I doubt he will bother us again.’
And without paying further attention to the recumbent figure with the doctor ministering to his wound, he turned and strode away, firmly believing as he did so that he would never set eyes on Thomas Waring again.
* * *
Back at the house Marcus found Juliet in the drawing room pacing up and down as she waited anxiously for him to return. When he entered the room, he paused for a moment and looked at her, so still that she might have been carved out of stone. Her face was white, one hand at her throat as she waited, taut with suspense.
‘Marcus,’ she uttered softly. ‘Thank God you are safe, that you have returned to me unscathed, haven’t you?’ Hope that this was so was mirrored in her eyes, plain for him to see.
‘I am unharmed.’
‘I was—I was so worried. I could not have borne it if... You are telling me the truth, Marcus? Thomas did not hurt you?’
‘Cease your worrying, Juliet. I come back to you in one piece.’
She swallowed hard. ‘And Thomas? Is he—is he dead?’
Marcus saw that she trembled slightly with fear at what he might tell her, and the intonation of his voice when he spoke was cold and distant as he replied, ‘You will be relieved to know that I spared him. When I left him, I regret to tell you he was very much alive.’
At the relief that flooded her eyes, his face hardened and he was conscious of a sudden surge of anger.
‘Thank you. Was—was he badly wounded?’ she whispered, her voice dying away into the silence of the room.
Marcus looked at her incredulously. ‘You astound me, Juliet. Does it matter to you so much? Is it possible that after all the harm he has done, you can still feel compassion for Waring?’
‘It is natural for me to feel concern.’ She looked down at her hands despairingly. ‘How can I make you understand the torment I have been through since you left? How can I make you believe that I never want to see Thomas again—ever? But that neither do I want him to die at the hands of my husband. And how can I make you believe that after much soul-searching, I realise that if one man had to forfeit his life during the course of the duel, then I would rather it have been Thomas?’ She stared up at him, and as she met his gaze miserably, she said, ‘This has been the most terrible night of my life. I shall never forget it as long as I live.’
‘Then you must forget it. For your sake as well as for mine,’ he said. ‘And I will tell you this, Juliet. I never want to hear the name of Thomas Waring mentioned again. Do you understand? You are my wife now and I expect you to behave as such. I will fight no more duels on your behalf. I have Adele to consider. She has already lost her mother. I cannot risk leaving her an orphan.’ He turned from her. ‘And now perhaps you would be good enough to be ready to leave for Surrey as soon as possible. I have to go and collect Adele. William is to leave for Sussex with my mother, to welcome a new addition to the Cardell family, I expect. With such a long journey ahead of him, my brother will not thank me if I am late.’
‘Yes—yes, of course. I have instructed Daphne to begin packing my things.’
Following him out of the room, with her head held high, she proceeded up the stairs. Marcus watched her, aware of the wretchedness she must be feeling and detesting himself for venting his anger on her, knowing that the manner in which he had spoken to her was unforgivable. On reaching his house, he strode quickly into the dining room cursing angrily and, taking a decanter, poured a generous helping of brandy into a glass, but not even when he drank deeply, feeling the fiery liquid course through his veins, did it lessen his self-loathing.
* * *
Juliet was glad to be leaving London for Mulberry Hall. Daphne had completed the packing and, to Juliet’s delight and relief, had agreed to go with her to the country to act as her maid.
When Juliet considered what her life would be like from now on, she felt that it would be like spinning about in some great vortex without the stable influence of Endcliffe House, on which she had always depended and from which she had been wrenched, and she was totally unprepared for the scale of misery that engulfed her.
Adele, who was supposed to be travelling in the coach behind with her nursemaid, Daphne and Marcus’s valet, became fractious and tearful to find she was to be separated from her adored father.
‘Adele can surely travel with us,’ Juliet suggested, hoping Marcus would agree, because Adele’s presence in the coach would go some way to alleviating the tension that existed between them.
Adele immediately caught on to the suggestion, and her little face became alight with hope. ‘Please, Papa, let me go with you.’
Marcus looked down with concern at his daughter and his expression softened. ‘If she’s going to be difficult, then I suppose she must.’
Juliet was pleasantly surprised when he reached down and lifted Adele into the carriage.
The little girl was clearly delighted to be travelling with her father and her new stepmother. A happy smile stretched her pink lips as she nestled as close to Marcus as was possible, which made him smile.
He cocked a dark brow at Juliet as she settled herself opposite, waiting for the nursemaid to join them. ‘How I wish I could pacify all the women in my life as easily as I can my daughter.’
