Gambling on a Scoundrel (23 page)

"If you'd paid me the money you owed me," Lucien said, "you'd still be able to hold your chin up in the city. You knew as well as I did that it was a legitimate bet. You never should have tried to hide behind my grandfather."

Formsworth stepped forward, ready to renew his onslaught, but at the same moment Boothby and Barberry darted forward, each grabbing one of Formsworth's arms and wrestling them behind his back.

Formsworth tried to jerk free but couldn't, so instead he glared at the butler. Barberry didn't seem fazed, and his face remained impassive.

Formsworth turned his attention back to Lucien. "You cheated me," he insisted, his impotent anger ringing through the marble foyer. "You've always been a cheat and always will be."

Lucien shook his head. "It was a fair race. You were simply angry because you lost. I didn't own either of the horses that raced that day, and I didn't wager any of my own money. You always conveniently forget that you insisted that I take your bet. In fact, you begged me to accept your marker."

"You manipulated me. How was I to know the horse would break his leg and have to be put down? That was
your
friend on his back. You stood to make quite a bit of money when the favorite went down in that race. It was supposed to be a sure thing."

Lucien shrugged. "Lots of other people were certain that horse would win too. But they still covered their losses. And I used those funds to pay the winners."

"And kept a tidy sum for yourself. Your grandfather knew you were a cheat and a liar. He knew you'd paid the rider to take a fall. That's what counts."

Lucien snorted. "My grandfather made good on your debt to me. You never knew that, did you? He sent me the money along with a note asking that I ignore all of your accusations because you were his neighbor. He couldn't side with me publicly because he knew you'd make life difficult for him. He always
was
one to take the easy route when possible. But there's one thing I know for sure--if he'd really believed your accusations, he never would've sent me that money."

Formsworth went red in the face again and renewed his struggle to escape from Boothby and Barberry, but failed. "Let go of me!" he shouted, his frustration ringing through the large, echoing foyer.

"Not with the way you're swinging those fists," Boothby said, wrenching Formsworth's arm farther back to underscore the fact that the man was under his control.

When Squire Formsworth heard Boothby's voice, his entire body went rigid for a moment. He slowly swiveled around as far as possible to stare into Boothby's eyes. Then he turned a baleful gaze back on Lucien.

"You...you...," he sputtered. "Why did you bring that man here?"

"Leave him out of this," Lucien said, standing a bit straighter. "Let's stay focused on one outrage at a time, shall we?"

If possible, Formsworth managed to turn an even more livid shade of red. "I've had just about enough of this," Formsworth said, his voice shaking with anger.

"And so have I." Lucien suddenly realized it was true. He focused his eyes just past Formsworth's shoulder and met Boothby's gaze. "Please show this
gentleman
to the door."

Boothby grinned and began hustling Formsworth through the foyer, ignoring both his struggling and his angry protestations of "I'm not done here yet" and "You can't treat me this way."

Boothby and Barberry refrained from literally pushing the man down the single front step of the house, but the unintentional consequences of them suddenly and simultaneously releasing his arms resulted in much the same effect. With his arms abruptly free, Formsworth lost his balance, stumbled forward, and tripped down the step, falling onto his hands and knees in the gravel.

Unperturbed, Barberry gently closed the door on the scene. His calm gaze sought out Lucien's. "Would you like me to serve tea now?"

"Tea sounds like an excellent suggestion, Mr. Barberry," Lucien said.

Tempy let out a snort. "Nothing tea can't cure, right?" she asked.

Lucien glanced at her, surprised by her tart tone, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. Even so, he could see that she was irate. But why?

Millicent hurried down the staircase, a broad smile on her face. "Formsworth looked like a red bantam rooster," she said. "He kept chasing after you, getting angrier and angrier that he couldn't hit you. If I weren't so annoyed with him for all the trouble he caused, I'd feel sorry for him."

"No need to waste any sympathy on him. His problem is that he's used to hitting people who don't hit back."

Millicent's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

What on earth had he been thinking? He hadn't meant to say anything. At least, not right now. But by the shocked expressions on both Millicent's and Tempy's faces, they wouldn't be easily put off. "Let's have that tea, shall we?"

Tempy's eyes narrowed, but she nodded and followed Lucien and Millicent into the drawing room. As soon as they settled into chairs, Barberry set the tea tray on the low table by the sofa.

Millicent poured the tea. As soon as everyone had a cup in hand, Tempy rose to her feet and pinned Lucien with a stare.

"Can you explain that to me? Because it appeared to me that you and that man are carrying on a vendetta. I watched you manipulate him in order to fuel his anger. I've seen you diffuse situations like that at your casino, but you didn't do that here. Instead you goaded him into that brawl."

If she'd slapped him, he wouldn't have been more surprised. "That man doesn't deserve your pity. He's a snake."

"Why?"

"Does it even matter? You've already passed judgment."

"You need to explain this to me, because I don't like the side of you I just saw. I don't like seeing people resort to solving problems with their fists."

He said nothing.

"Tell me. I need to understand."

"Life isn't as simple and perfect as you seem to believe, Miss Bliss, and justice isn't equal for all. That man's a murderer. He abused his wife and then murdered her. He even bragged to me about it at her funeral."

He'd clearly shocked Tempy, because she suddenly sat back down.

Millicent clattered her teacup as she set it on the table. "That makes no sense. If that's true, why wasn't he hanged?"

"Because my grandfather backed him rather than me. As usual." Lucien sighed and scrubbed at his face with one hand. "It's an old story, but its aftereffects still linger."

"Tell us." Tempy pressed, but her voice was softer now, and not so angry. A long lock of her hair had come lose, and it curved inwardly, framing her face like a parenthesis.

"What you just saw isn't unusual for Formsworth. He's an abusive man who likes hitting people." Lucien paused. "Especially women."

Millicent gasped, but Tempy pressed her lips together. She didn't look surprised. She looked grim.

"And how is it that you know about it?" Tempy asked.

This was the part he didn't like to think about. The part that still haunted him. "I knew two of the women. One quite well, and the other only slightly." He took a breath and held it for a moment, then let it out in a loud sigh. "They're both dead now, and I believe their deaths can be attributed to his mistreatment. One was his wife; the other was his mistress."

"Are you saying he killed them both?" Millicent's hand trembled as she picked up her teacup. She steadied it with her other hand, but other than that, she seemed to ignore the cup.

"Yes. No." He shook his head. "I'm certain that he killed his wife, and he indirectly caused his mistress's death." At their confused expressions, Lucien stopped to collect his thoughts. "He was a cruel husband. He made Rebecca's life miserable--he'd say hateful things to her in front of friends and then pretend it was all in jest, and later he'd scream at her in private, calling her an ingrate and an imbecile. After he found out that her family was becoming upset with his behavior, he began controlling her communication with her family and cut her off from her friends. He deliberately isolated her so that he was all that was left. It chipped away at her, stealing bits of her soul." His bitterness at himself rose up. "I wish I'd been here to help her, but I wasn't. I was in London, and had no notion what was happening.

"It wasn't until I spoke to her brother while he was visiting London that I learned she might have a problem. He was worried, of course, but nobody guessed the extent to which her husband's love for her had transformed into such an obsessive need to control her."

"That's not love," Tempy burst out vehemently. "That's ownership. Possession. Love should lift people up, not tear them down."

"Some people have a warped understanding of the emotion," Lucien said. "Formsworth claimed that he loved her and couldn't live without her. But that obviously wasn't true."

Millicent shook her head. "Legally, it would have been difficult for you to do anything. After all, men are allowed to discipline their wives as they see fit."

Lucien shook his head, rejecting her words. "It was cruelty hiding behind the mask of discipline." He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling memories he hadn't paused to dwell upon in years.

"I was able to contact her and offer my help. She smuggled out a reply to me through a servant. We arranged to meet in secret so that she could go into hiding, but when I arrived at our rendezvous location, she wasn't there. I waited all through the night, but she never appeared. The next day I learned she'd died in a riding accident. Supposedly, she'd been thrown from her horse and had broken her neck." He shook his head. "I had a hard time believing it. She'd been a good horsewoman, and the timing of her accident seemed all too coincidental. I remember wondering if she could have fallen as she hurried to meet me." He clenched his jaw. "But when I attended her funeral, I found out the truth. Formsworth made certain I knew exactly what had happened."

Lucien remained silent for a moment, remembering that day by her graveside. Formsworth had sought him out, staying behind to speak to him. No one else had been nearby to overhear their conversation. Lucien could still see Formsworth stalking toward him, eyes narrowed in anger and an envelope clutched in his hand.

Lucien cleared his throat. "Formsworth found my letter and discovered her plans to escape. He told me that he killed her while she sat doing her needlework. He crept up behind her and with a quick twist, he broke her neck."

Tempy gasped and reached out to touch Lucien's hand, but apparently she had second thoughts, because she drew it back. He wished she hadn't pulled away. Her touch would have been comforting.

"For years, that image haunted me," Lucien continued, staring at Tempy's clenched hand as she focused her gaze on the fireplace. "I would imagine Rebecca sitting quietly, perhaps lost in her thoughts and dreaming of escape, and then feeling his hands on her. Did she experience the horror of knowing he was about to kill her? Or did she die dreaming of a life without him?"

"But why isn't he in prison?" Millicent asked. "I know you must have told someone."

"Of course I did, but it didn't do any good. Rebecca's body was found out on the moor, and her horse was saddled and running loose. Formsworth accused me of making it all up. Nobody believed me."

Millicent's teacup clattered against the saucer again as she set it on the tray. She gave the nearly full cup an irritated glance and pushed it away from her, as though to remind herself not to pick it up again. "You mustn't torture yourself over what happened. You're not the one who killed her. If fact, you're the only one who made any attempt to save her."

"That's no comfort," Lucien said in a flat tone. "She's still dead."

"What of the other woman?" Tempy asked, still staring into the flames. Her voice sounded hollow and distant. "You mentioned a mistress."

Lucien took a deep breath. "After my friend's death, I arranged to have someone keep watch on Formsworth. I didn't want anyone else to suffer the same fate as Rebecca."

Tempy must have noticed the long lock of hair that had come loose, because she reached up and tucked it behind her ear. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

"Formsworth never remarried. Instead, he kept a series of mistresses. Perhaps he decided that marriage was too messy. Or perhaps he didn't want to have to explain another dead bride. His first mistress lived with him for months before leaving him, and after that, few stayed for long. I think they left when he became abusive. But that first one lasted longer than the rest. It wasn't until she discovered she was pregnant that she broke things off."

"Do you think he struck her?" Tempy asked.

"I know he did. She told me so when I went to speak to her."

"Did you contact all of his former mistresses?" Millicent asked. She raised a handkerchief to her mouth and coughed into it.

"Only those I believed were in danger or needed my help. The man I hired to watch him was to contact me if he believed Formsworth might hurt someone again. He also made sure that Formsworth knew he was being watched, and that if anyone went missing, he'd be held accountable."

"And the man you hired believed this woman needed your help?" Tempy asked.

Lucien nodded. "She loved him. It was only because of her concern for her unborn child that she left Formsworth. After the birth, she tried one last time to convince him to recognize the child as his son, but he refused. She gave up on the man after that, and planned to raise her baby alone, but she developed childbed fever and died a little over a week after giving birth."

"That's all so sad," Millicent said. "What became of the child?"

"A friend of the mother's took him in and raised him. She said she couldn't bear the idea of handing him over to an orphanage where he'd probably die. Over the years, I helped where I could. He's doing very well now."

"I've heard too many stories like that in my life to be surprised by this one," Millicent said. "Life is already hard enough, but when a woman falls victim to an abusive man, her life becomes unbearable."

"Do these women know you're watching out for them?" Tempy asked, glancing over at him.

Lucien shrugged. "Very few of them."