The Mark of a Rogue (Scandalous Sons 2)

“Then I shall relate the events that I believe led to my cousin’s untimely death.” Other than the fact he had been born an idiot.

“And the events that led to your need to save my brother’s soul.”

“Yes.” Verity inhaled deeply and gathered her composure. “My cousin invited me to a house party. A weekend away in the country so I might meet the lady he was considering for a bride.” That should have been an indication something was wrong. “I found the whole notion of him settling ludicrous. But he begged for my support, and what with me having so few relatives living, I accompanied him despite my reservations.”

“Mr Vale strikes me as an unreliable chaperone. A lady would be unwise to place her faith in any man with questionable principles.”

The comment gave her pause. Was it a veiled warning? Illegitimate sons were known for their recklessness and immoral manners. And yet with this gentleman, she sensed the opposite was true.

“Many odd things happened on the second night, but you want the short version so I shall be brief.” Traumatic pictures entered her mind. “A shirtless man wearing a mask attacked me in my bedchamber. His only identifying feature was the letter B branded on his chest, the symbol of a crown perched rakishly on top.”

Verity had clawed and thumped the rogue’s chest as he mauled her like a crazed animal, had felt every scorched line that made up the identifying mark—but never saw his face.

Mr Trent stiffened. He scowled as if the villain sat in the opposite pew and he was ready to drag the devil to the floor and beat him black and blue. “A sensible woman would have slept with her maid.”

“You wanted a summary,” she said with mild annoyance. “My maid took ill. She was receiving assistance in the housekeeper’s room when the masked figure entered my chamber.”

Mr Trent squirmed in the seat and gritted his teeth. “Tell me someone heard a commotion and came to your rescue. Tell me this scoundrel did not go unpunished.”

“My cousin burst into the room.”

“And a vicious fight ensued?” His countenance brightened at the prospect.

“No.” Verity shook her head. Too many times, she had relived the scene only to come to the same harrowing conclusion. “They walked out onto the landing, exchanged a few hushed words. I’m convinced my cousin knew the gentleman, though at no time did the rogue remove his mask.”

It wasn’t until her cousin’s death a month later that she learned Sebastian bore the same branding mark—a symbol of supreme arrogance and a right of entitlement.

Silence ensued.

Mr Trent looked lost in thoughtful contemplation. Had someone abused his cousin in such a violent manner, she imagined he would have shot the villain at dawn.

“And did Mr Vale offer for the lady who had captured his interest?” His question dripped with suspicion.

“No. He paid scant attention to her during the whole time we were there.”

“Then one must draw the obvious conclusion.”

A shudder ran the length of Verity’s spine. She could almost hear Mr Trent’s thoughts. Wicked thoughts. Cruel thoughts. Thoughts she had entertained on many a cold, lonely night. Sebastian Vale lacked scruples, but no one wanted to believe one’s kin was capable of such contemptible betrayal.

“You think my cousin had prior knowledge of the attack in my chamber?”

The hard angles of Mr Trent’s face softened. “Men sell their sisters’ virginities to settle their debts. Why not a cousin’s? T

he lucky ones get a trip down the aisle and a wedding band. In your case, it seems Mr Vale discovered his conscience before the devil claimed his prize.”

Verity gulped.

She hung her head, fought to stop her mind playing out alternative possibilities. If she’d let the blackguard have his wicked way, would Sebastian still be alive? It seemed ridiculous to think the two events were related, but she could not shake the crippling sense of guilt.

“In that case, Mr Trent, I failed to settle my cousin’s debts on all counts.”

He firmed his jaw. “You are not to blame for Mr Vale’s demise. I cannot conceive how you believe yourself responsible for Charles Farrow’s accident, either.”

Somewhere in her heart she knew that. But an injustice had occurred. No sane man would swim in an icy river in his clothes. And if Sebastian had intended to take his own life, there were quicker, more certain methods.

“This might seem ludicrous to you, sir, but something strange is afoot. Evil is at work.” Verity shuffled forward in the seat. She would forever carry this burden unless she convinced this gentleman to help her discover the truth. “After the incident in the bedchamber, we left immediately. We reached London at three in the morning, and yet my cousin visited Mr Farrow and remained with him for almost an hour, leaving me to wait in the carriage with my sick maid.”

“I see nothing strange in that. I trust my friends with my life and would turn to them without hesitation.” Although he played devil’s advocate, she could hear mistrust in his voice.