The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Read online

  The fresh, sweet scent of ripe, just-picked berries hovered above the fruit. Dutifully plucking three from the bowl, Adaira set them on her plate. Taking a bite of the Scotch pie, she chewed it slowly.

  Her thoughts returned to Marquardt. A traitor wouldn’t hesitate to lie about his identity. She’d found no identifying papers on him. Wouldn’t an earl have something on his person for identification? A signet ring at the very least?

  She toyed with a strawberry on her plate. She dared to venture from her chamber after watching Brayan and her brood of male relatives thunder from the bailey midmorning. As if he’d sensed her presence, Brayan turned to peer at her window. She ducked behind the heavy velvet draperies.

  Traitorous bounder. Rotten knave. Bloody trow.

  How she wished she was a man. A huge, grossly muscled man, so she could pummel Brayan soundly.

  He sent her a note yesterday. She’d stared at her name scrawled on the creased paper before slowly unfolding the page. She grimaced upon spying telltale finger smudges and fish scales.

  Addy,

  Please forgive me. My bum’s oot the windae. I was talking rubbish. It was the whisky. I tell ye true. I swear, I’d never hurt ye.

  Ever yours,

  Brayan

  She’d crumpled the note and thrown it into the fireplace.

  Balderdash and hogwash.

  He wasn’t going to be absolved by blaming his threat on spirits. No, indeed. What was spoken came from the heart and revealed a person’s true character. The fact that he could recall his despicable threat meant his faculties weren’t as impaired as he’d have her believe.

  Brayan’s actions revealed much about him. Things she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t witnessed them herself. Maybe she’d approach Ewan or Father about her concerns. However, that would have to wait until after Marquardt’s presence was revealed.

  “You’re not acting yourself.” Isobel’s concerned tone dragged Adaira’s attention back to the table.

  “Addy, is all well with you?” Mother asked. “Are you sure you still aren’t feeling indisposed?” She rested the back of her hand against Adaira’s brow, like she had in years past. Back before the ugliness happened and changed Adaira forever.

  “You don’t feel feverish.” Mother’s gaze dipped to the mutilated berry on Adaira’s plate.

  She forced a cheerful smile. “Nae, I’m well.”

  To give credence to her claim, Adaira speared another strawberry, and raising it whole to her mouth, took a large bite. A commotion in the hall’s entry drew her attention. A beaming Ewan strode into the room with an equally glowing Yvette on his arm.

  Adaira gasped, choking and gagging on the strawberry. She snatched her goblet and took a gulp, trying to wash the berry down. Instead, she snorted into the vessel and sprayed droplets of wine all over her face.

  She seized her napkin. Peeking over the edge, she dabbed at the wine dripping from her cheeks and chin. When had he arrived home? Last night? This morning?

  After kissing Mother on the cheek, and offering Adaira and Isobel a warm smile, Ewan took a seat. “Where are the others?”

  Passing Yvette the bowl of strawberries, Mother smiled. “Your stepfather’s at the mill. The rest are working in the village at the orphan asylum. Except Seonaid. She’s doctoring a dog that injured its shoulder yesterday.”

  Ewan and Yvette piled their plates with food. One would think they hadn’t eaten in a week. If they took anymore, there’d be little left for Marquardt.

  Adaira bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the irony. For pity’s sake. She was begrudging her brother and sister-in-law their meal for fear the knave in the dungeon would go hungry.

  Fork raised, Yvette eyed Adaira. “Addy, you’re unusually quiet.”

  Adaira’s gaze flicked to Yvette’s before darting away.

  “I am? I’m sorry. I’ve something weighing on my mind.” Weighing? More like suffocating her.

  “Is it anything I can help with?” Yvette asked kindly.

  Guilt wracked Adaira at the concern in new sister-in-law’s eyes. A lovely blonde, Yvette was every bit as generous and kind as she was wealthy and beautiful.

  Adaira glanced around the table. Everyone’s attention was fixed on her. Seizing the first thing that popped her head, she blurted, “I’m simply trying to behave with a bit more decorum. I need to be an example for my sisters. I know I’ve been a hellion, uncouth and all that. I’ve not demonstrated the behavior one would expect of a lady of quality.”

  Ewan quirked a brow in obvious disbelief. Mother stared at her as if she were addled.

  Isobel snorted. “And a zebra can change its stripes to spots.”

  Adaira couldn’t very well explain what was really going on, now could she? She lifted a shoulder slightly and offered a half-smile.

  She added two more Scotch pies, three oatcakes, a pair of apples—as Marquardt seemed to like them—several wedges of cheese, and two rolls to her plate. Staring at the mound of food, Ewan raised his brows again but said nothing.

  She rapidly added six flaky shortbread biscuits to her stash. “In case I run into Brayan,” she explained.

  She peeped at Ewan from beneath her lashes. Should she tell him she held Marquardt captive below?

  Ewan smiled at Yvette, adoration in his eyes. It was quite obvious they’d shared a joyful homecoming. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to know of such things. Her family would be surprised at precisely what she knew. Truth to tell, appalled at her knowledge, and even more so, at how she’d come to acquire the information.

  Adaira took a careful sip of her wine, and then began piling the food from her plate onto her napkin. No, she’d wait until tomorrow to tell him. She’d give Ewan and Yvette this day. The onset of their marriage had been difficult enough. They deserved some happiness.

  Marquardt could wait another day. He’d be exchanging one prison for another in any event. Compared to Newgate, his Craiglocky accommodations were luxurious.

  “I think I’ll take my luncheon with me and eat it later, if you don’t mind, Mother. I need to speak with Father. You said he’s at the woolen mill?” She loathed lying to her mother.

  Mother waved her away. “I believe so. Either there or the orphanage. Do be careful, chére. With all the construction in town, there are an unusual number of wagons and carts on the roads, not to mention strangers wandering about.”

  Truer words were never spoken.

  Gathering the corners of her napkin, Adaira covered the food. “I shall.”

  She stood. After grabbing a crust of bread, her favorite part, she left the great hall, headed for the lower level. She’d gone but a few feet along the hallway when Yvette’s words halted Adaira mid-step.

  “Would it be an inconvenience to have the earl underfoot for a few days?” Yvette asked.

  Making her way back to the hall’s entrance, Adaira idly slid the cross at her neck from side-to-side while unabashedly eavesdropping.

  “By all means,” her mother said. “Write the earl a letter, and ask him to pay us an extended visit.”

  “I did suggest a visit when I wrote him a few weeks past, Yvette said, “but I never issued a formal invitation. Rory’s a stickler for propriety.”

  What? Adaira inched closer, cocking her head to listen.

  Yvette continued, “He’d never impose without a written invitation.” She gave a soft chuckle. “I’ve never known anyone with a more rigid sense of honor or who adheres more strictly to society’s dictates.”

  Yvette hadn’t invited the earl yet? That meant the deceitful cur below was Edgar Marquardt. Adaira knew it! A loadstone lifted from her shoulders and the noose loosened round her neck.

  Thank God.

  She heard some rustling about. She dared to peek aro
und the doorframe. Yvette was embracing Mother. Adaira smiled. Her new sister-in-law was fitting into their family very nicely.

  Standing upright, Yvette murmured, “Thank you. Rory’s nothing like Edgar. My stepmother told me that as a boy, Rory was whipped by the old earl. He bears the scars to this day. Rory has a soft heart and is very compassionate toward those less fortunate than himself.”

  No doubt about it, none indeed. There was nothing soft-hearted or compassionate about the ill-tempered brute prowling about below the keep.

  Adaira’s smile widened into a gratified grin.

  The off-tune singing of Iona, one of the orphans who lived at the keep and helped Sorcha, rang the length of the hallway. Careful to walk on her toes, lest her boot heels rap on the stone floor, Adaira crept from the door. She resisted the urge to kick her heels together like the wee folk.

  The red-haired moppet skipped into the entry, a feather duster in her hand. She wore a faded yellow dress. “Pleased I be to see ye, Miss Adaira.”

  Iona grinned exposing her missing front teeth.

  “Ye be all better now?” She brandished the feather duster like an enraged rooster flapping his wings. Dust particles flew everywhere. Above the keep’s entrance, streams of sunlight slanting through the leaded glass window depicting the McTavish crest illuminated the floating bits.

  Adaira smiled and tousled the urchin’s hair. “Aye, that I am.”

  Indeed, she was much better. She nearly rubbed her hands together in glee. Oh, she couldn’t wait to see the look on Marquardt’s face when she told him Ewan was home. And that Yvette had confirmed she’d never sent the earl an invitation to visit.

  Marquardt, the rotten imposter, was done up, by Jove.

  CHAPTER 10

  Adaira hummed a cheerful tune as she made her way to Marquardt’s cell. She popped the last of the savory crust in her mouth. Things had turned out splendidly. In less than a day, she’d be heralded as a hero for detaining him.

  There was still the awkward business with Brayan, though. She wasn’t certain how to remedy that situation. Their friendship had taken an ugly turn. She couldn’t fathom a way their relationship could be repaired. Truth to tell, she didn’t want the friendship restored. She would never trust him again. One didn’t threaten a friend with extortion.

  There was darkness in his soul.

  She’d keep his threat to herself. There was no reason for anyone else to know, although she’d been sorely tempted to tell her father. But he’d tell Mother. Then Adaira would have to lie to cover up Brayan’s involvement with Marquardt.

  Her footsteps slowed, and she found herself tiptoeing as she neared her prisoner’s cell. Odd, it was unlit and eerily silent. Unease skidded over her.

  Had the fool truly used all the candles? How was that possible? She’d left him more than a dozen. Each one burned for at least six hours. She quickly calculated in her head. A trifle over thirty-eight hours had passed since she’d left him. He should have a few candles remaining, even if he burned them around the clock.

  Holding her breath, she edged closer to the cell, afraid of what she might see. “Mr. Marquardt. . .?”

  “You’re a vindictive wench, aren’t you?” His voice was scarcely more than a hoarse growl.

  Adaira peered into the gloomy chamber. Where was he? She lifted the lantern. He sat wedged in a corner, the table propped before him. Or rather, what was left of it. He’d broken the legs off. The armchair lay on its side, jammed against the destroyed table. He’d built himself a makeshift fortress.

  Adaira’s mouth fell open. “What in heaven’s name. . .?”

  Marquardt rose, slowly unfolding his tall frame from a hunkered position. His expression savage, he held a battered table leg in his hand.

  “Do you have any idea, you heartless bitch, how vicious and brazen rodents become when there’s no light?”

  Dumbstruck, her gaze dipped to the floor. Twenty or more rats lay dead, their thrashed bodies strewn across the ground, some in puddles of blackened blood. A wave of revulsion engulfed her, immediately followed by swirling dizziness. Inky spots flickered before her eyes.

  Stop it! You will not faint, Adaira Brenna Georgette Ferguson. You. Will. Not!

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her forehead and sucked in a gulp of clammy air. She started, her eyelids popping open in alarm, when he viciously kicked the table aside. It skittered across the cell and crashed into the wall, splintering into several pieces.

  He’s gone mad. Off his head, he is.

  “I’d a hard enough time keeping the vermin at bay with a candle lit.” He stalked to the cell door. Fury fairly radiated from him. He no longer wore his coat. His muscled arms and chest strained against the confines of his once white shirt. He’d torn the coat into strips and wrapped several lengths around his forearms.

  To ward off the rats?

  “Dear God,” Adaira whispered, horrified. Even he didn’t deserve such treatment. For every predatory stride Marquardt advanced, she retreated a leery step.

  “You drugged the wine. Laudanum I’d guess from the effects. While I was unconscious,” he waved the hand holding the table leg, indicating the dead rats, “the little demons ate every morsel of food.” He snorted contemptuously. “And the candles too, I might add. After all, rancid mutton fat must be quite a treat to these vermin.”

  Marquardt pointed at the dead rats again. “A few decided to have a go at me.”

  Appalled, her gaze flew from him to the rats, then back to him once more. “I. . .” She swallowed against a wave of sickness. “I had no idea. . .”

  She stuttered to a stop, gaping at him in disbelief.

  “Drugged? Did you say the wine was drugged?”

  His lips curled into a sneer. “It’s too late for half-hearted theatrics, my dear. Don’t insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance.”

  He stared at her hard. “Who else but you had access to the wine?”

  Brayan. The scurrilous lout.

  Adaira willed her thrumming heart to stop its assault on her ribs. She clenched her jaw against the unpleasant emotions assailing her. Fear. Guilt. Remorse.

  She opened the bulging sack she held. “I came to tell you Ewan’s returned home.”

  Holding the bag to her chest, as if it offered her protection from the fiery darts spewing from Marquardt’s rage-filled gaze, she lifted her chin and boldly met his eyes. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  She’d intended to wait until tomorrow. But given the half-mad look in his eyes, and the ghastliness of what he’d undergone defending himself against the rats, her Christian conscience wouldn’t allow him to suffer further. Never mind, he’d brought this on himself or that according to rumor, Newgate’s conditions were far harsher.

  She’d never deliberately cause another to suffer mental or physical anguish. A bit of discomfort perhaps, if she’d no alternative. But prolonged torment? No. She knew too well some things haunted one for the rest of one’s life.

  Except, as noble as it sounded, the sentiment was drivel. She’d imagined all sorts of fitting punishments for Godwin, and each included various forms of severe suffering.

  Shame beset her. “I’ll seek Ewan out as soon as I’m above stairs.”

  “How very generous of you.” Marquardt haughtily looked down his straight, aristocratic nose.

  She resisted the urge to touch the slight hump on hers.

  He tossed aside the table leg before beginning to unwind the fabric from his arms. He paused and glared at the bundle she clutched to her chest like a makeshift shield. “Well, are you going to continue to starve me?”

  Adaira shook her head, saying, “No, I . . .”

  Her stomach coiling into a sickening knot at the stench of blood and dead vermin, Adaira set the lantern on the floor. She knelt b
eside it and rested the sack on the top of her thighs.

  “If you’ll move away from the door . . .”

  “Bloody hell! Still playing that game, are we?” Glowering, Marquardt raked his hand through his hair. Righting the armchair, he flopped into it, then continued to unwrap his arms. “I don’t suppose you brought anything to treat wounds?”

  In the act of removing his food, Adaira froze. “They bit you?”