Caught in Scandal's Storm. Helen Dickson
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had Roberta’s best interest at heart. Yes, I kept the letters from her, Lord Tremain. I admit it and have no conscience for having done so. I know what happened to you before I became acquainted with you in Paris. How could you possibly expect me to consider you a fit suitor for my niece after hearing that?’
Lord Tremain’s expression froze. Apart from his close family and his fellow sailors who had shared his incarceration, the world at large knew nothing of the years he had spent in captivity—although it came as no surprise that the truth had surfaced now. ‘And that would have made a difference?’
‘Of course it would. You were less than honest with me. My main concern was how Roberta would react to such knowledge. I wanted to protect her.’ A sudden flame leapt in Lord Tremain’s eyes and she sensed the murderous anger behind his stare. ‘Indeed, what happened to you left me wondering if your experiences at the hands of your captors had affected you in ways I could not begin to imagine. Roberta is of a gentle nature. By agreeing to her becoming the wife of a man with such a dark and troubled past was a risk I was not prepared to take.’
Ewen’s eyes narrowed into glittering slits and he stared back at her as if she had struck him a physical blow. A thousand memories of his suffering rushed through his mind and coursed like poison through his veins, when the shadow of death had darkened the days that slipped by and fear had tortured his soul.
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes intense. ‘Madam, your words are of the vilest nature! You may hide behind your title and your wealth, but beneath all your fine airs and graces you have the manners of a shrew. Were you a man I’d demand satisfaction for what you have just said.’
Lady Marchington’s expression was one of scorn and contempt. ‘I do not doubt it. I expect you learned that kind of brutality at the hands of your captors.’
The words Ewen would have uttered turned to ashes in his throat. His pride refused to let him divulge the torment that still bled in the core of his heart after all this time.
Watching him closely, Alice saw Lord Tremain was wearing the same grim expression she had seen when she had become aware of him in her room. He looked strained with the intensity of his emotions, but slowly, little by little, he was getting a grip on himself. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set and rigid with implacable determination, and even in this pensive pose he seemed to emanate restrained power and unyielding authority.
‘I hope I have made my feelings clear.’
‘As crystal, Countess, so that even a misfit like myself can understand.’ Her cold, insulting slight had brought him rudely to his senses, a cutting reminder of the impossibility of any further association between Roberta and himself.
‘Roberta is to wed Viscount Pemberton. No woman in her right mind would give up the like of his title and wealth for a man who has lived as you have lived.’
‘As a slave,’ Ewen stated with sharp icy clarity, ‘and not of my choosing, I assure you. I did not go to the villains of my own free will.’
‘I do not imagine you did. But you cannot escape the fact that the taint of slavery still hangs over you. You shall probably never shake free of its degrading grip. I feel I should also remind you that you are also a Roman Catholic and a defender of the Jacobites.’
‘I do not need reminding of my faith. I am a defender of my family.’
‘With a brother who was involved in plans to bring James Stuart back to the throne—a brother who fought at Culloden—and afterwards his whole family were held to be traitors.’
‘It is my brother Simon you speak of,’ Lord Tremain replied, his voice thick with unsuppressed wrath. ‘Whatever he has done in the past, he has suffered at the hands of those people who wish harm to the Catholic church.’
‘If he were my brother, I should have become a Protestant long ago. All your troubles might then have been avoided.’
‘I do not think my brother ought to be censured for doing what he believed was right. Had I been of an age, he would have had my full and active support.’
Ewen felt a perverse pleasure in seeing the Countess’s face blanch at his carefully flung remark. He was surprised also by how angry her attack had made him. He had certainly never considered himself a defender of the Jacobites, not even of his own religion, but the Countess had forced from him a loyalty that he had not known before. After all, Simon had been stripped of his right to property and position. It was easy enough to forget now that twenty years had elapsed since the battle that had blighted his family and the Scots loyal to King James.
‘Nevertheless, it is one of the reasons why I cannot countenance a marriage between you and my niece.’ A mild-mannered woman might have quaked beneath the murderous contempt Lord Tremain directed at her, but Lady Marchington had never known anything but wealth and power. Her imperious disposition had been carefully nurtured by a demanding father, who had instilled in her the importance of aristocratic breeding and the family’s pre-eminent ranking above worthier nobles than Lord Tremain. ‘It is done.’
‘Is it?’ With those two words hanging in the air he turned away. Halfway across the room he turned and looked back. ‘Have a care, Countess,’ he warned. ‘Have a care, for I would not hesitate to expose your most intimate family linen to the scrutiny of the illustrious company partaking of your hospitality below.’
Lady Marchington paled. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Oh, no? Try me,’ he challenged. ‘We both know there is one member of your own family whose connections to the Jacobites could not withstand the most scrupulous examination. I believe you know what I am talking about.’
He had hit a nerve. His words made Lady Marchington recoil. Her voice was barely audible. ‘How dare you?’
‘But I do dare. Where is he now, Countess? Or perhaps you have no idea since you quietly disowned him after he, too, fought at Culloden. You may not wish to know, but I will tell you anyway. He is in Italy, and on occasion in France, with Charles Edward Stuart, the Bonnie Prince. Although after all the years the Prince has spent in idleness and good living, he is not quite so bonnie these days.’
Lady Marchington stared at him in horrified silence as she weighed up his words. Should it come out that her only brother was a Jacobite who had once taken up arms against the King, it would be the society scandal of the year. There were many who would like to see the proud and mighty Countess of Marchington brought low. She would not allow that to happen.
‘Whatever else you claim to be, sir, you are not a gentleman.’
His lips curled scornfully. ‘Did you expect to find one from the slave pens of Morocco?’
‘What are you trying to do? Destroy Roberta?’
‘Destroy Roberta?’ Lord Tremain echoed with a twisted smile on his firm lips. ‘Oh, no. I am not here to harm Roberta. I intend to marry her. As God is my witness, Countess,’ he grated out, ‘I shall see our bargain carried through.’
Lady Marchington must have been aware of Lord Tremain’s anger, for whatever she saw in his eyes made her let the matter rest without further discussion.
The moment caused a peculiar unease and Alice felt a little chilled when she looked at Lady Marchington and saw her staring at Lord Tremain. She could not begin to recognise the depth of Lady Marchington’s fury, but she saw the taut rage emanating from every line of her body. There was a look of such cold calculation in her eyes as they rested on Lord Tremain that Alice felt the cold hand of fear race up her own spine.
Lord Tremain turned sharply on his heel and headed for the door.
Alice took a step forward, wondering if he would acknowledge her, but he was encased in his anger and resentment and either did not or would not see her. She watched him go with a feeling that Lord Tremain was a man with no room for forgiveness or emotion. Dismissing her without a glance, he strode to the door and went out, letting it swing shut behind him with a bang that echoed in the very depths of her heart.
Bringing