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Authors: Bronwen Evans

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

Invitation to Scandal (28 page)

BOOK: Invitation to Scandal
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Christopher moved quickly and yanked Rufus’s head back by his hair and whispered into Rufus’s ear. “She has already agreed to marry me, fool. She’s how I found out that you work for Ashford.”
Rufus kept his face expressionless, but his heart bloomed in his chest. Rheda hadn’t betrayed him.
“She came to me and told me everything. A bumbling idiot is never suspected of wrongdoing. She had no idea that I was anything other than what she saw.”
Relief flooded through Rufus, quickly followed by guilt. Rheda would never align herself knowingly with evil. Yet, Rufus couldn’t help his question. “Why on earth would she come to you?”
Christopher gave a satisfied smile. “To beg me to marry her so she could save you from your honorable sacrifice. She didn’t want to see you involved in further scandal by being forced to marry her. The silly girl loves you.”
Rufus closed his eyes against the anger. Anger at himself. If he’d not been such a coward and hidden from his true feelings for Rheda, she would never have sought Christopher out.
“I saw her go to the cove and watched you follow her. So I set up a trap. Connor was a very convenient tool. You, of course, raced to his rescue. It was too easy. Soon, Napoleon will be victorious and I shall be free to carry on my life. Rheda was to have been my wife. When
I
was ready. Why do you think I encouraged her smuggling operation? For leverage, of course.”
“Rheda knew nothing of your treason. How do you use her to send the communiqués?”
“I exchanged wool for brandy. She never suspected anything. The odd bale here and there. She thought it quaint that a rich earl would risk free trading for brandy.” He laughed. “Little did she know that I’d woven messages into the bale’s warp and weft. This war will be over soon, and the French will win.”
“I hate to pour cold water on your fantasy, but Napoleon is never going to win.”
“That is what your father thought twelve years ago. France has never been stronger. Napoleon is on the verge of a great victory.”
At the mention of his father, Rufus’s heart thudded against his rib cage. His father had died at Hastingleigh. Knowing what he did now about Christopher, this could no longer be a coincidence.
“How does an English earl’s son become France’s deadliest spy?”
Christopher moved close, his mouth inches from Rufus’s lips. Rufus refused to flinch, refused to show how much his erstwhile friend now sickened him.
“You are not stupid,
mon ami
. A man with my tastes—my distinct appetites—is easy to exploit. I was careless in Paris in my youth. I found myself caught in a morally bankrupt position. I’m sure you can guess to what I’m inferring.” He placed a fleeting kiss on Rufus’s lips. “The French had enough evidence to have me imprisoned for ‘the rest of my unnatural life’ if I did not cooperate. For the future Earl of Hastingleigh, that would never do.”
“What has my father got to do with any of this?” All of his body felt cold, even with the fire blazing behind him, and he cringed at the thought of what he might hear.
Christopher’s mouth curled back in an evil smile. “Nothing. That’s the joke, nothing. The added bonus to killing your father was watching you fall apart.” He moved behind Rufus and began running his hands over his back, buttocks, and legs. “You put on such a stoic front when rumors of your father’s treason arose.” Warm lips pressed against his skin, and Rufus realized what it meant to have your flesh crawl.
“I didn’t plan to frame him for treason. Lord Ashford was at that time a field agent, and he was closing in. I had to turn his suspicions in another direction. When Lord Strathmore’s gun accidentally went off in our struggle, I immediately grabbed the opportunity presented. I planted a minor com-muniqué into his pocket. Nothing that would see him found guilty but enough evidence to raise doubt in Ashford’s mind and throw them off my scent.”
“So you killed my father for convenience. So heroic.” Christopher moved slowly around to face Rufus, his hand trailing over Rufus’s skin like a cold reptile. “No. I killed him because he was going to expose me—expose my ‘unnatural’ predilections to my father. He’d caught me with a young stable lad. He’d threatened to go to my father unless I left England immediately. I could hardly do that when the French already owned me.”
Rufus’s head lowered, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His father was innocent. Now all he needed to do was capture Christopher and get him to tell Lord Ashford the truth. Fear slithered away as blood-surging determination to escape seized every inch of his body. His muscles tightened and flexed.
If he could clear his father, the Strathmore name would be all about honor once more. He yanked on his chains. He could perhaps gain a little of his life back. If he still had one by the time Christopher was finished with him.
He would survive. When he did, he’d be free to make his life what he wanted. What did he want? He sucked in a breath. He wanted—Rheda ...
Averting his eyes he gulped down his fear as Christopher slipped the robe from his body.
“You may leave us, Samuel,” Christopher whispered, desire hitching his voice.
“I want to watch.”
Christopher moved to the boy and kissed him passionately through the mask. “You may play with our new toy later. Once I have finished.”
Rufus’s insides turned liquid. He prayed he’d have the strength to endure. Stephen couldn’t be far away, unless—his breath faltered—unless Christopher had captured Rheda and Connor before they’d reached Stephen. He closed his eyes. Sweat trickled down his back, and yet he’d never felt so cold.
A warm hand on his chest made him open his eyes and brought him back to reality. The hand traveled toward his groin. He would not be this man’s plaything. He shifted his head back. “Christopher ...”
Christopher moved his face closer. Rufus sent his head crashing forward, but the effects of the opium slowed him down. Christopher pulled back, and Rufus’s head found only air as his chin slammed into his own chest.
Christopher gripped Rufus’s chin in his large hand. “I shall enjoy taking you. I’ve dreamt about having you for years.” Christopher fondled him intimately and began to pepper kisses down Rufus’s stomach as he dropped to his knees. Rufus was like a caged wild animal, fighting his bindings, fighting to avoid Christopher’s disgusting mouth. His eyes screwed tight, not believing what was happening to him.
Suddenly, the door at the side of the chamber burst open. “Get your mouth off him, you pervert!”
Rheda.
Chapter 22
 
E
qual parts fear, embarrassment, and relief swept through him as she stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind her, a pistol pointed directly at Lord Hale. Rufus ran his tongue over his swollen, bloodied lips. He tried to keep his voice steady so Rheda wouldn’t learn how close he’d come to breaking down.
“Find the keys and release me from these chains.” Christopher turned so he stood facing Rheda. Rufus saw the blush sweep up Rheda’s neck and onto her face as she saw the condition Christopher was in.
Christopher slid his hands down his body. “I’m happy for you to search me. However, being naked it is rather difficult to hide a key on my person.” Christopher stepped toward Rheda.
“Keep away from her—”
“It’s all right, Rufus. If he takes one more step, I’ll ensure he can’t molest anyone ever again.” She lowered her aim from Christopher’s chest to his groin, bravely staring the other man down. Christopher halted, a snarl curling his lip.
 
Rheda knew she shouldn’t think it, but Rufus looked magnificent. His split lip the only sign that he’d been hurt, although from what she’d seen when she’d thrown open the door, she wasn’t sure of what he’d had to endure. Terrible thoughts polluted her mind. He was alive; that was all that mattered.
She swallowed back a cry. But if Christopher had ... It would be her fault.
It was then she caught the first waft of the sweet sickly smell. What was it? It was a pleasant odor, but one that sent unease skittering down every inch of her spine. She shook her head. She had to concentrate.
Before her stood a trim Christopher she did not know; one with no softness to his form or his eyes. His pale blue eyes glinted cold and deadly in the candlelight.
Her voice shook with rage. “I want the keys to unlock his shackles.” Christopher made to move. “Don’t move. Just tell me where they are.” He pointed toward the sideboard at the back of the dungeon. She made her way toward the keys, her eyes never leaving Christopher’s face. She scooped them up and made to throw them to Christopher. “Release him.”
“No. You do it, Rhe. I don’t want him near me.” She’d never heard Rufus plead before, and her heart constricted in agony. What had Christopher done to him? No. She’d done this to him. She’d betrayed his confidence, thinking as always that she knew better, and had sent him straight into a trap.
Would he ever be able to forgive her?
She managed to get the shackles at his ankles unlocked, but with growing horror she realized she couldn’t reach the manacles about his wrists. She tentatively touched his chest and looked deep into his eyes. “Rufus, I can’t reach,” she calmly uttered.
Her voice and touch seemed to soothe him. She could physically feel his body gather itself. He nodded, his expression murderous. She hated to think what he was planning to do to Christopher once he was free.
No doubt the same thought had occurred to Christopher. He would be getting desperate. She needed to watch him like a snake watches its victim before it strikes.
She beckoned Christopher closer and tossed him the keys. “You do it. If you touch any part of him except the chains, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Christopher approached Rufus as timidly as a deer advancing into an open field. At Rufus’s side he hesitated.
“Get on with it,” she ordered, trying to keep her voice firm when inside she was shaking like a leaf.
She knew the last lock had been released when Rufus swung his fist around and connected with Christopher’s chin. Christopher went down on his bare behind with a thud. Rheda would have smiled had not Rufus followed him to the floor, his legs buckling beneath him.
Without thinking, she rushed to his side. She tried to grip his arm, but her hand slipped on his oiled skin. The pungent smell was very strong; it dawned on her the sickly stench came from his skin.
“Opium,” he croaked. “I can’t get my limbs to function properly. I’m about as useful as an inebriated sailor in a storm.” He tried to smile as if his condition was not important, but she knew they were in trouble. She didn’t have the strength to carry him.
“If I wipe the oil off would that help?”
“It couldn’t hurt. It will at least stop the opium from continuing to soak into my bloodstream.”
“Take the gun.” She shoved it into Rufus’s hand. Then she hurriedly crawled across the jagged slate stones to Christopher’s discarded robe, and, trying to ignore the beauty of Rufus’s body, she rubbed as much of the oil off his skin as was possible.
Although conscious, Christopher had not moved. He sat watching her rub Rufus down, his expression that of a beggar who suddenly finds himself a chest of gold. She tried not to look at him, the man she had considered a confidant and friend. However, as she bent down to rub Rufus’s legs, Christopher groaned. She glanced over, and her stomach heaved. Christopher was fully aroused and enjoying her ministrations to Rufus’s body. She stood quick and turned her back on Christopher and his disgusting condition. She handed the robe to Rufus. “Put this on.”
Rufus flushed. He also seemed mortified at Christopher’s condition. He, too, could not look at the man. Or at her.
He took the robe from her without glancing up. But the material had barely left her fingers when Rheda suddenly found herself jerked backward off her feet by her hair. Pain slashed at her scalp, her hair almost ripped out at the roots. Too late she understood their mistake. Christopher had wanted to distract them. He’d wanted Rufus to be self-conscious in front of her.
Christopher pulled her tight against his nakedness, wrapping one arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides, while the other gripped her neck so tightly her eyes began to water.
“Drop the pistol. You know I have the strength to break this pretty neck.”
Rheda whimpered as his fingers dug into her flesh.
“If I drop my weapon, Rheda is as good as dead.” Rufus cocked an eyebrow. “As am I.”
“Then we appear to have a stalemate. One that I shall win. All I have to do is wait for Samuel to return. He shouldn’t be long. Allowing him to prepare you has made him anxious to play. Your superbly masculine body was almost too much for him. I’ve never seen him so excited before. Not even for my attentions.”
Rufus would not look her in the eye. His steely gaze was fixed on Christopher. Rheda had never seen such hatred blazing from their depths. Something stirred in her chest—hope. He was beautiful beyond imagining, yet his countenance screamed rage, an avenging angel. He would not let Christopher win.
She listened to the venom as it flooded his rich baritone voice. “I am perfectly aware of what your lapdog wants with me.”
 
Rufus lifted the pistol and aimed it at Christopher’s head. “But I insist on disappointing you.”
Damn
. Rufus cursed under his breath. Christopher moved so that he was more firmly shielded by Rheda’s body; Rufus couldn’t get a clean shot.
“I don’t know why you are so eager to dispatch me to the underworld. I’m the only one who can clear your father’s name.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rheda’s head lift. “I know the truth. That is all that matters.” He hoped the lie did not reverberate in his voice. He needed Christopher alive. He needed his confession in order to once and for all squash all the rumors. Without Christopher’s testimony, all he’d have to convince a society that viewed him as little more than dirt under its boot was his word. It would not be enough.
“What has Christopher got to do with your father?” Rheda asked.
Christopher’s hold tightened on her neck. “Don’t talk, my sweet. This is between Rufus and me.” Christopher kissed the top of her head. “Do behave. I have plans for you once Rufus is dead. I want an heir. I’ll keep you locked away until you give me a son. You wouldn’t wish the authorities to know your brother is Dark Shadow.”
The thought of the bastard forcing his attentions on Rheda made Rufus’s gut crawl. It was bad enough knowing the monster had his filthy hands on her now.
“Rufus, shoot him. You have the gun. All you have to do is wound him, and he’ll drop. You don’t have to kill him.”
Rufus hesitated. What if he missed and shot Rheda?
“You won’t miss.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “But you won’t risk it, will you, Rufus?” Rufus watched helplessly as Christopher tightened his grip on her throat. “Honor won’t let you sacrifice her for the cause. You’d rather let me go than have an innocent woman’s blood on your hands.”
Rufus growled low in his throat. He was right. Christopher wasn’t worth Rheda’s life. He slowly lowered the gun. “I’ve caught you once; I can catch you again.”
Christopher, still with his hand wrapped tightly around Rheda’s throat, edged toward the door. “A deal then? You let me go and I’ll let Rheda live.”
“Once through that door you’d best leave her behind, or I’ll kill you.”
Rheda began to struggle. “Don’t do this. You can’t let this monster go.”
Rufus held Christopher’s victorious gaze.
“Rufus! My life is nothing compared to stopping Christopher.”
“Don’t struggle, Rheda, please ...” Rufus raised the gun again as Rheda tried to break free of Christopher’s hold.
“He knows the truth about your father—you can’t let him escape. I’ll not let you.” Her words were a scratched cry as Christopher’s fingers began choking her in earnest.
“Shut up, bitch. You’re ruining everything.”
Rufus watched with his insides tearing apart. “He killed those boys,” she gasped. “You can’t let him go free, he’s a monster. You can’t ...”
Anger tightened like a fist in Rufus’s gut as he watched Christopher’s face twist in a mass of fury. Both his hands were now squeezing the life out of her. If Rufus didn’t act soon, Christopher would snap her neck like a twig and escape through the door.
He pointed the pistol, but Rheda was struggling so much he was scared that if he fired he’d hit her instead of Christopher. Horror like he’d never known almost paralyzed him as her body went limp. She was dying in front of his eyes.
He pinched himself hard. He had to stay alert. He wasn’t about to let the woman he loved die.
With a roar, he threw himself at Christopher, knocking Rheda sideways and onto the floor and driving Christopher back against the stone wall.
His
fingers wrapped around Christopher’s throat.
Remorselessly, Rufus squeezed with all the strength he had left, but with all the oil on Christopher’s body he couldn’t maintain his hold. Christopher’s right knee lifted and kneed him in the groin.
Their fight raged around the stone. Each time Christopher tried to go for the pistol that lay next to Rheda’s inert body, Rufus drove him back. As Christopher’s desperation grew, his face twisted into a mask of rage and hatred.
Rufus’s arms began to tremble with effort. He felt his strength wane. Christopher landed a solid punch on his chin, and his legs buckled. His knees hit the slate floor. Luckily, the intense pain cleared his mind of the opium’s numbing effects. With a sudden lunge Rufus rolled on his back, scrabbling for the pistol. Snatching it off the floor, he turned and fired.
Christopher crumbled to the floor, blood trickling down his naked chest, a bullet hole over his heart.
He shook his head to focus. Christopher was dead, but they weren’t out of danger yet. The pistol held only one shot, and they had to escape Samuel.
His heart constricted with terror as he registered the prone form of his beautiful, gallant, unconscious love.
Get up!
He snarled to himself. On hands and knees, he crawled across the cold stone chamber to Rheda. She was so still. Tentatively, as if he didn’t want to feel the truth, he gently touched her neck, checking for a heartbeat. The cold knot in his stomach eased as he felt a flutter under his fingers. Her pulse was erratic, but she was alive.
Gently, he cradled her face. “My love, wake up.” His voice sounded gruff and angry in the stillness.
BOOK: Invitation to Scandal
5.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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