The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“He knows.”

He slapped her, not hard, but it did sting. “You have started beating women, Gerard?”

“It was naught but a little slap, Helen. Don’t even try to pretend that I’m a monster. I never touched you in anger when we were together.”

“No, you only touched me to impregnate me, never anything more, and that was perhaps more soulless. How could I have possible lied to you about being barren? There was no way I could have known.”

He didn’t want to hear about that. “If you had known, you would have lied.”

That was remarkable, she thought, but she said only, “You have been gone for eight years. A very long time. Where were you, Gerard? What were you doing? Your father believes you are dead. I sent him your letter, but he said it wasn’t your handwriting. He told me not to harass him anymore. I never did like your father. He seems even more mean-spirited now than he did then.”

He said nothing and she continued after a moment, “Lord Beecham and his friends went to see him. He swore you were dead, but one of the gentlemen believed he was lying. He said it was strange—your father knew you were alive but he didn’t want anyone else to know that you lived. Now, why is that?”

“My father is the monster, not I. He has always been a monster. The ship did go down off the coast of France eight years ago. I couldn’t swim, that was true enough. However, I managed to bind myself to a barrel. Eventually, over four hours later, the barrel was pushed to shore by the waves. I survived. I was also where I wanted to be, where I would be safe.”

“What are you talking about? You were in France. They are our enemy.”

“They are not mine.”

“I see,” she said, and indeed she did see. “Everyone said you were a hero. It was a litany your father sings to this day. Why did you become a traitor, Gerard? Oh, no, now I understand. You were a traitor even before that ship of yours went down.”

He slapped her again. She didn’t say anything this time. She began working at the knots on her wrists, very slowly, barely moving her wrists and hands.

Then he began to laugh. “You have changed, Helen. When I first met you, you were all of eighteen years old and such a curious and bewitching girl, so spirited, so filled with energy and enthusiasm. But you weren’t filled with life, were you? All I wanted off you was a child, but you failed me. You have changed much more than have I. I am not certain what you have become, but I have been watching you for the past three months, and I have seen how you run your very own inn, how you still pander to that damnable father of yours.

“And then you took a lover, knowing that I was alive. That makes you unfaithful to me, your husband. You have committed, knowingly, adultery, Helen.”

She looked at him straight in his very nice brown eyes that she had admired when she’d been eighteen. “There is absolutely no way you can possibly know whether or not I became Lord Beecham’s lover. Was I not sleeping alone when you managed to kidnap me?”

“Well, that’s true,” he said. “But Lord Beecham is reputed to be a man of infinite charm. Why were you sleeping alone, then? Does he take you, then prefer to sleep by himself? Many men are like that. He had to have taken you. I have heard it said that he can seduce the chemise off a nun. You actually held him off? That is difficult to believe, Helen.”

“He loves me.”

“No, I don’t believe you. A man like him feels lust, nothing beyond that. There isn’t anything beyond that, anyway. He feels momentary pleasure, then he becomes bored and moves to the next female. Yes, I could bring you up for divorce to the House of Lords. Adultery. I could ruin your name, your precious father, and everyone would agree with me.”

“Why don’t you, then, Gerard? Then everyone could see you, see what you have become or learn what you always were. Yes, I believe that you were a traitor even then, weren’t you, Gerard? Yes, take your wife to the House of Lords and let us see what happens. At the very least, you abandoned your wife. But there is much more than that. You are a traitor. Perhaps you will be hung by your neck.” She worked the ropes that bound her wrists, slowly, twisting, back and forth.

He rose from beside her on the narrow bed. She watched him pace the length of the small room. The floorboards creaked under his boots. He was well dressed, tall, lean. Gray laced through his light brown hair, and lines scored his mouth. What had he done these past eight years?

He turned to stare down at her for a very long moment. “You are beautiful, so very beautiful, but I can’t take you with me, Helen. I will leave you alive, however, if you will simply tell me where you have hidden this lamp. That’s all I want, all I ever wanted.”

The lamp. He wanted the bloody lamp? That’s what this was all about? She grew very still. She smiled at him. “Do you mean you would never have come back if you hadn’t heard about the lamp?”

“I wrote you initially believing that you would give me money to keep me out of your life. But then there was no reason for you to. You had not remarried. There was no other man you wanted. And so I really forgot about you. Then I learned about King Edward’s lamp. Then I learned about Lord Beecham. And I knew I had the leverage I needed. Give me the lamp, Helen, and you will never see me again. You can marry your rakehell.”

This was very important, and she knew it. She looked at him silently for a good long time, then said in a very calm voice, “Gerard, I truly believed there was a lamp. When I found that ancient leather scroll in an iron cask, I prayed it was about the lamp, and it was. The scroll recounted the story you already know about Aladdin. Then the writer said it was to be buried because it was dangerous.

“Regardless, the lamp wasn’t with the scroll. Someone had taken it long ago. When? I have no idea, but it is gone. Forget the lamp. To be honest, I have.”

“Reverend Mathers was murdered.”

“Yes, and the person who did it was hoping that the scroll told the whereabouts of the lamp. He killed the poor man for nothing.”

She had told him the truth. There was nothing more she could do.

“I will kill both you and Lord Beecham if you don’t take me to this lamp.”

He was perfectly serious. He hadn’t believed her. Well, she’d tried. She felt a spurt of fear, not for herself but for Spenser. No, surely he was prepared for Gerard Yorke to slither onto the stage. He wanted him to appear. He was waiting for him.