The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

Then she reminded herself that she’d only given herself to Wentworth because her husband had demanded it. No. She’d done it to save her own skin; she had to admit that. If Ulrick had died without an heir, she’d have been at the mercy of her husband’s half-witted brother who’d formed a very definitely expressed disgust of her, though she’d never understood why.

With no other resources to fall back on, her life would have been intolerable.

She shivered and turned her head away, addressing Wentworth coldly. “You used me as it pleased you, and then you discarded me when I could no longer be of use.”

When he pushed his leering face into her line of vision, she was tempted to scratch his eyes out—if only it would have served its purpose.

No, she was doomed, and not even her darling Hugh had the power to save her, if he even knew where she was. Her heart clenched at the thought of him. If she could send him a message…

Lord Mayberry was in brief consultation with his secretary, bent over by the light. Wentworth took her shoulder and drew her attention away. “Ah, but I am clever, my dear Phoebe. Much cleverer than you would allow. You plotted and planned your own future comfort on the basis of the child you desired from me, just so that you could remain dowager Lady Cavanaugh in your poor dead husband’s fine house. Admit it! You’re no better than I am when all is said and done. It’ll all come out in court, and as your reputation is already worse than an opera dancer’s or a fair Cyprian’s plying her trade behind the Red Door, I’d say you had little chance of winning over even the most tenderhearted magistrate.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” She turned back to face his malice. “What have I ever done to you that you would actually see me die—and by your own hand for that’s the truth of it.”

She glanced at the door, half inclined to make a dash for it, but Wentworth’s fingers bit painfully into her wrist, and already Lord Mayberry was clearing his throat and shuffling back to them.

Wentworth chuckled. “Because you thought you were too clever, but it’s my wife who’s the clever one. Ariane saw the danger you posed, and she’s not about to give up what we’ve waited so long for.”

&nb

sp; Phoebe put her hand to her throat, nearly felled by the image she conjured up of the angelic creature for whom she’d searched on Ada’s behalf. She’d imagined her a lost soul, frightened for her life and miserably discarded by an abusive husband. But Ariane was just waiting for Phoebe to be deposed so that she could emerge when the time was right as the new Lady Cavanaugh. Once again, Phoebe had been duped. She really wasn’t a very good judge of character; clearly.

Lord Mayberry indicated for them all to stand, and a stab of fear made Phoebe cry out, “Please don’t leave me here, Wentworth!” despite the fact she wanted never to see him again. Yet he was all that was familiar, and only he had the power to change her fate. Yes, she would die if he’d not vouch for her.

And admit culpability himself? Of course he’d never do that.

“Please…I want to send a message.”

The three men turned. Lord Mayberry’s expression was ameliorating, but immediately Wentworth blew the suggestion into the realms of the preposterous.

“To her lover, no doubt, and then there’ll be no end of trouble as he beats upon your door in the early hours of the morning to interfere with the law. No, Lady Cavanaugh, you are a criminal and must be treated as one.”

“Just one message,” she pleaded, her voice cracking, all other defense dying in her throat, for all she wanted was the kindness and reassurance of her darling Hugh. “Why should he not be allowed to help me? I am not guilty until proven so.”

“You are a self-confessed murderess. You admitted so in your own words in this chamber.” Wentworth appealed to the two other men, both of whom looked momentarily undecided before Wentworth said, “And now who shall convey her to prison to languish with the other criminals?”

Phoebe clutched the froth of black lace at her throat and stared in horror between Wentworth and Lord Mayberry. The extent of Wentworth’s loathing should not have come as such a shock.

Lord Mayberry put up his hand for calm. And although his directive brought some comfort, there was scathing in his tone as he went to pull the bell rope.

“Lady Cavanaugh’s character may be a matter of lively debate, but she is nevertheless the wife of a peer and will be tried as such. In the meantime, I shall house her here until she be removed to a place more suitable, after which she shall be tried as befits one of her station.” He cleared his throat then looked at Wentworth. “Lady Cavanaugh is innocent until proven guilty and is entitled to those items of her wardrobe and otherwise in her possession which set her apart from the lower echelons of society to which she has chosen to align herself while on the run.” He sent a critical look at her clothing. “That is, if she so wishes.”

Hugh had never been more at his wits’ end. It was one thing for Phoebe to have vanished with not a word, but the fact she’d taken no objects of value when she’d been so determined to have a wardrobe befitting her aspirations suggested foul play. While the thought was horrifying, it lessened the likelihood of her simply having waltzed off with the first decent offer no sooner had Hugh departed.

Ada obviously thought this the case. “Hugh, darling; I know your heart is bleeding, but it will mend,” she soothed him on his fourth evening home. She’d dropped her tatting onto the sofa and moved to kneel on the floor by his chair, resting her hand on his arm just as she’d done when she’d been a child. The words resonated for they were the very ones he’d used when Ada was about to be banished from all she knew and held dear after her terrible transgression with the evil, manipulative, Wentworth.

Hugh stroked his sister’s fair hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring Wentworth to justice,” he murmured. “A good brother would have chased him to the ends of the earth as a matter of honor. I set off to do what I could but—”

She cut him off. “There was nothing you could do without dragging my good name into the muck. Remember, it’s only thanks to you I can still hold my head up and pretend to be as good as all the other misses who parade themselves around the dance floor in the hopes of a good marriage.”

“And you have an admirer, Ada.” Hugh ignored the implication that she wasn’t, in fact, as good as her competitors. In his eyes, she was as pure as she always had been. It was Wentworth who had used trickery and cajolery to make her rebel against the careful manner in which she’d been brought up. “And a good man at that. I’m delighted!” Hugh tried to shift his mood. For the first time these past few days, Ada had been in joyful spirits. She’d introduced Hugh to her new admirer, and Hugh had been impressed. Mr Xavier seemed an upstanding chap with a genuine regard for his sister.

“And,” Ada continued, “you rescued Phoebe from goodness knows what terrible situation. I know she’s gone again,” she added quickly, “but it proves that you still have a heart capable of tenderness when I was afraid you were never going to fall in love again.” She stood, smiling fiercely. “And if I can fall in love again, so can you.”

But he wasn’t sure he really could. Every breath was painful. It was as if Phoebe’s loss had dragged the spirit from him. And yet he must retain his fortitude. He had to find out what had happened to her, even if it were only to prove her the venal creature Ada was happy to paint her, and that he feared she may be.

“You will, of course, attend the trial of Lady Cavanaugh, won’t you?” Ada clarified suddenly. “If there’s anywhere you’re likely to find Phoebe, it’ll be there. You saw how fiercely she defended her mistress every time it was suggested Lady Cavanaugh was guilty of anything.”

Hugh shook his head. He’d contemplated it, but he had business that clashed with the court hearing, though the truth was he didn’t want to encourage Ada while his mind was still churning over what to do. He tapped his fingers on the chair arm. “Phoebe was too afraid to see the magistrate or Wentworth. I doubt she’d have the courage to show her face in a place where she might be recognized.”