Scoundrel Ever After (Secrets and Scandals) Read online

  They stopped in the shell-covered path just before the front entrance. Ethan dismounted and helped Audrey do the same. He offered his arm, as a gentleman ought. She looked at him quizzically, as if such an action were bizarre, and he supposed it was. He hadn’t behaved in the most gentlemanly fashion.

  He’d try to make it up to her in the time they had left. The chill he’d been fighting off all day returned, sending ice down his neck. He didn’t want to think about leaving her. Not yet.

  He rapped on the door and it was instantly opened by a tall, young footman. Ethan vaguely recognized him from his last visit. “Good afternoon, we’re friends of Lord and Lady Sevrin. Would you please tell them that Mr. Ethan Locke and Miss Audrey Cheswick have arrived?”

  The heavy sound of boots falling across marble drew Ethan to look past the footman. Sevrin appeared in the entry hall, his dark brows drawn into a scowl. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  AUDREY TIGHTENED HER grip on Ethan’s arm. Lord Sevrin did not look pleased to see them here. Or at least Ethan. Sevrin hadn’t seemed to register Audrey’s presence at all.

  “Might we come in?” Ethan asked pleasantly. He stepped over the threshold, forcing the footman to move back, without waiting for a response.

  Sevrin stopped in the center of the entry and finally looked at Audrey. “Miss Cheswick, are you all right?” He returned his angry gaze to Ethan. “You didn’t kidnap her, did you?”

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Does she look kidnapped?”

  Audrey moved forward toward their host. Hopefully he would be their host. Where else would they go? They were nearly out of funds and if she had to sleep in a barn again, she might cry. “Lord Sevrin, I am here of my own choosing.”

  All of the stories they’d told over the past days flitted through her brain, but Ethan wanted to tell the truth. The notion still bemused her. What had changed? She glanced at Ethan, but his features were still hardened in a mask of irritation. “Mr. Locke hasn’t kidnapped me. In fact, he’s saved my life multiple times.”

  Sevrin put his hands on his hips and stared at Ethan. He didn’t look as if he believed Audrey. “I’m sure he only had to save your life because he put it in danger.”

  Just then Philippa came into the hall behind Sevrin. “What’s going on?” She stopped short and gasped upon seeing Ethan, then her mouth formed an O when she saw Audrey. “Audrey!” She rushed forward and drew her further away from Ethan. “Ned, close the door, please.”

  The footman complied, but kept a wary eye on Ethan. Ethan stepped to the side, his gaze moving from Sevrin to Audrey. She detected the tiniest crack in his fierce composure—a slight wrinkle in his forehead.

  Audrey put her hand over Philippa’s. “I’m fine. We had to escape London. It’s a dreadfully long story. Might we sit down and discuss the matter?” She longed for a glass of something that would warm her insides.

  “Of course.” Philippa linked her arm with Audrey’s. “Come with me.” She turned and led Audrey from the hall, but looked back over her shoulder at Ethan.

  Audrey also turned back and watched the men stare at each other a long moment before Sevrin put his hands to his sides and then gestured for Ethan to precede him.

  Philippa helped Audrey out of her spencer and took her bonnet, both of which she handed to Ned, who had followed them. “Will you have Mrs. Oldham prepare the chamber in the north wing for Miss Cheswick?”

  The footman nodded and retreated from the room. It was impossible not to notice that she hadn’t given instructions for Ethan’s comfort.

  “Philippa,” Audrey said, “Mr. Locke will also require a bedchamber.”

  Philippa threw a heated glare at Ethan. “I’m not certain I want him staying in my house.”

  “Please,” Audrey said, squeezing Philippa’s hand, “we’ve come such a long way, and he’s recovering from being wounded.”

  “Which I’m sure he deserved.” Philippa shook her head. “I’m sorry, Audrey, but I can’t imagine why you’ve willingly traveled across southern England with a criminal like Jagger.”

  Philippa knew him as Jagger? Audrey’s neck prickled with unease. “I told you, he saved my life. I was in danger in London.” And Sevrin had been right, it was because of Ethan. Those men had wanted to take her because they thought she meant something to him. Which she didn’t. Her unease grew until she felt cold and hollow.

  “You were correct, Sevrin.” Ethan’s deep voice cut through the tension clouding the room. “She was in danger because of me. I brought her here because it’s the farthest—and more importantly safest—place I could think of.”

  “It wasn’t all that safe for me when you came last spring.” Philippa’s tone dripped with scorn. Audrey had never heard her friend talk like that, not even when she was bemoaning her parents’ scandalous affairs.

  “I’ve apologized for that repeatedly. And I took care of the matter.” He shot Sevrin a dark glance.

  “By having Swan killed?” Philippa turned to Audrey. Her golden brown eyes were distressed, but earnest. “You don’t know anything about this man. You may have met him as Ethan Locke in London last month, but he’s a criminal.”

  “I know that.” But what did she really know? He’d been mistreated by his half-brother and Lockwood’s mother, and because of that had been driven to a criminal life. He stole and killed with ease and had become an excellent dancer. He was also angry and frustrated because his plans had not worked out the way he’d envisioned. “He’s trying to reform himself.”

  Philippa glanced at Ethan. Her lips pursed. “That may be, but he’s got an awful lot to reform. I can’t let you think he’s a decent person. He may not have kidnapped you, but he abducted me on two occasions, and a third time one of his men took me.”

  Audrey gaped at her. She’d no idea any of that had occurred. She looked at Ethan. His gray eyes were cold. She expected him to look furious, but his features were devoid of emotion.

  “Yes, I kidnapped Lady Philippa.” He moved to a sideboard with several bottles of spirits and splashed some into a glass. “I needed a prizefighter and I wanted Sevrin. I tried inviting him to come see me, but he responded by soundly beating two of my men. Proof that all men possess a degree of vicious intent.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast toward a glowering Sevrin, then took a hearty drink.

  His controlled response befuddled Audrey. She opened her mouth to ask why, but Ethan continued. “I used Philippa to gain Sevrin’s cooperation. Not once, but twice. I had my men take her from a house party outside London and bring her to Sevrin’s fight. That way I could be assured that Sevrin would do his very best to win.”

  Audrey’s limbs felt weak. Her brain struggled to process what he was telling her and why it seemed worse than what she already knew of him. Kidnapping couldn’t be worse than murder, could it? But all of it together . . . “Why did you want to win?” It was the only question her mouth could seem to form.

  “I always win. At least I did until I had to flee London.” Now his tone darkened and the fury she’d glimpsed in the hall resurfaced. “I told you I was ruthless, Audrey. I told you that you deserved better.”

  Yes, he had. But she’d clung to her belief that he wanted to change, that he’d been trying to. There was so much more to him than what he showed on the outside.

  He looked at Philippa, his expression taking on a hint of remorse. “The only thing I regret is bringing Swan with me when I came for the fight. I had no idea he’d planned to abduct Philippa—something he never would’ve done if not for me. Without me, he wouldn’t have even known of her existence, let alone had occasion to be in her presence.”

  Audrey shook her head. She was glad he regretted that, but it couldn’t be the only thing. He had at least half a lifetime he should want to repent, shouldn’t he?

  Audrey was vaguely aware of Philippa stroking her back. It was supposed to be comforting, but her mind was in too much turmoil to relax. She locked eyes with Ethan, who’d gone back to appearing deta
ched. “You told me Gin Jimmy was a bad man. But so are you.”

  His stare was unrelenting. “Yes, I am.”

  And there it was. The cold, stark truth from him at last.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised, and maybe she wasn’t, but hearing him say it brought reality into the cocoon she now realized she’d constructed around them—or at least around herself where he was concerned. She looked away from him, unable to bear her foolishness in trusting him another moment. “Philippa, will you take me up to my room?”

  Philippa gently guided her the way they’d come. Audrey paused as they passed by Ethan. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’m sure you’ll understand when I say it’s best if I remain while you continue on. Our association is finished.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  YEARS AGO, WHEN Ethan had taken to the streets, his life had gotten darker. Since then, he’d lived in a constant state of gray where there was no clarity, no right or wrong, just existence. But with Audrey, he’d glimpsed a brightness he’d never known, a glimmer of hope, of happiness. Now, hours after she’d ended their . . . whatever it was, total blackness threatened.

  Ethan looked around the small, sparsely furnished room Sevrin had consented to give him. Though it was lit only by the dying fire and a single candle, Ethan could still catalog its modest furnishings: bed, armoire, chair. It didn’t even have a view of the bay—but it was all Ethan deserved from him. Actually, it was probably more than that.

  Dinner had been simple, but delicious, delivered to him by the housekeeper, Mrs. Oldham, three hours ago. Ethan had asked her where he might go for a bath. She’d pursed her lips at him, indicating she’d already judged him a scoundrel, and told him that her son, Ned the footman, would take care of it. After dinner, he’d brought up enough water for Ethan to bathe himself in a better fashion than he had since Bassett Manor.

  Ethan had spent the intervening time lying on the bed, contemplating his next move. He’d leave for London tomorrow after sending an advance letter to Jason—provided he could even convince Sevrin to do it. Ethan had foolishly underestimated the power of the man’s memory—and more importantly, that of his wife.

  Lady Philippa held him in the lowest of opinions. Could he blame her? He’d given her no reason to like him and certainly no reason to trust him. In retrospect, he should’ve perhaps chosen someplace else to go, but no, this was the best place for Audrey. Sevrin would keep her safe, and she was as far from London as he could get her without putting her on a boat that would take her across the world.

  Ethan jumped up from the bed, where he’d been staring at the ceiling. He needed a drink.

  He grabbed the candlestick and made his way downstairs to the great hall. A fire still burned in the huge grate at the end of the room opposite the staircase. Ethan glanced around, but the room appeared to be empty.

  He went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whisky and downed half of it in one gulp. He tucked the bottle beneath his arm, and carried his candle and glass through the great hall to a smaller chamber with expansive windows. The night was dark, but Ethan dropped onto a settee and stared at the blackness, thinking it mirrored what he felt inside.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, but on his third glass of whisky, Sevrin came into the chamber. “I see you helped yourself to my liquor,” he said.

  Ethan gestured toward the bottle, which sat on a low table before him. “Join me.”

  “How magnanimous of you to invite me.” He left and came back with a glass, which he promptly filled. He picked up Ethan’s candlestick from the table and lit two lamps, then took a chair near Ethan’s settee. “You oughtn’t drink too much. You want to be on the road early, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Ethan said. They’d discussed his departure earlier.

  Sevrin sipped his drink. “I won’t try to detain you, but you should know that I’ve written to Lockwood and informed him of your arrival. My footman took the letter into town to be posted first thing tomorrow.”

  Ethan was mildly surprised, but shouldn’t have been. Everyone would, of course, treat him like the criminal he was. “I wish I’d known. I was going to ask you if I could post a letter to him. I’d like him to be aware of my return before I arrive.”

  Sevrin arched his brow. “You’re actually going to go back to London? I admit I didn’t believe you when you told me earlier.” He shook his head. “A murder charge . . .”

  Ethan shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant, though his insides were an anxious mess. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt as if he wasn’t in absolute control of his life. “I told you, I didn’t murder Wolverton; Gin Jimmy did. There has to be a way to prove it.”

  Sevrin rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. “If you’re vindicated, will you go back to your life of crime?”

  Strangely, this line of inquiry made Ethan more uncomfortable than discussing the murder charge. Maybe because this was what meant most to him. Or, because he doubted his dream would come to pass. “I’d prefer not to. I’d rather resume my place as Ethan Locke.”

  “Does Lockwood know this?”

  “Yes.” It had been a source of conflict between him and Jason, though Ethan believed he’d finally convinced his brother that he was trying to lead a new life. Granted, that had only been after he’d told him the truth about what he’d been trying to do—bring down Gin Jimmy so he could leave his criminal life for good. Would his plan have worked if he’d trusted Jason sooner, as he’d repeatedly asked Ethan to do? Ethan downed a healthy swig of whisky.

  Sevrin was watching him guardedly, like a hawk circling its prey, or a thief identifying his mark.

  Ethan took a deep breath and then a massive leap of faith. “I lured Gin Jimmy out of the rookery so that Bow Street would arrest him as the mastermind of several theft rings, including one run by the Marquess of Wolverton. I made sure Jimmy learned that Wolverton had told Bow Street that he was behind the rings and that he’d orchestrated the deaths of Lord and Lady Aldridge.”

  Sevrin’s eyes widened briefly. “He killed Lady Aldridge? I thought she died of laudanum poisoning.”

  “She did, but it was due to Gin Jimmy. He wanted me to make sure she died, but I couldn’t do it.” He looked out at the black night, regret swirling in his gut.

  Sevrin leaned slightly forward. “You couldn’t kill Lady Aldridge?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I tried to save her.” He’d worked to persuade her to leave London, but she’d refused to leave the house she and Aldridge had spent most of their time together in. She’d been devastated by his death last spring. Though Ethan hadn’t caused the earl’s demise, he also hadn’t been able to stop it, which served to bring out every shred of guilt Ethan had worked to bury over the years. It was perhaps this guilt that was driving him to face Bow Street. That, and Audrey. He wanted to deserve her, though he feared he never would.

  Sevrin settled back against his chair. “What changed? You were—to use your own word—ruthless, in our dealings with you. I still want to punch you every time I see you.”

  Ethan didn’t doubt it. “I wouldn’t try to stop you, despite your deadly hook.” Sevrin had hit him once, and it had been enough for Ethan to want to never be on the receiving end of his fist again.

  Sevrin fixed him with a direct stare. “What happened? You were a king—or so it looked to me when you brought me to your den. Why would you want to leave that?”

  Ethan laughed, but it sounded empty, even to his own ears. “Everyone licks my feet because they’re afraid. I never know who my friends are.” He couldn’t bear Sevrin’s scrutiny another moment so he studied his whisky. “I don’t have any friends. When you agreed to fight for me, I thought . . . I imagined we might’ve been friends. If things had been different.” He looked up at Sevrin. “I regret what I did to you—and even more what I did to Philippa. Seeing you together . . . your love for each other.” He took a fortifying drink. “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

  “A c
riminal with a heart.” There was a touch of something in Sevrin’s voice—disbelief, wonder? “I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

  Ethan scowled. “I don’t have a heart, just a growing conscience. I don’t like doing what I have to do. I never really liked doing it, but I didn’t have much of a choice.” He lifted his gaze to Sevrin’s and stiffened his spine. “Besides, I was bloody good at it.”

  “There’s the Jagger I know,” Sevrin said softly.

  Anger sparked through Ethan. He banged the glass down on the table in front of him, his body quickening into fight mode. “You know nothing. I’ve more wealth than I can spend, and I command the respect and admiration of a good many men.”

  Sevrin set his glass down also, and he leaned forward, his nostrils flaring. “Do you want that, or do you want to be a gentleman? You can’t have both—at least not the way you’ve made yourself.”

  “Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Ethan stood as he shouted, fury grinding through him. He went to the window and rested his forehead against the cool glass. It soothed the ragged edges of his temper. He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be a criminal anymore. Problem is, it won’t let me go.”

  “Because of this charge from Bow Street.”

  Yes and . . . “No. The things I’ve had to do since I took Audrey out of London.” He turned from the window and released the anguish stored deep in his bones. “I’ve had to steal. I’ve had to kill. To keep her warm and well and safe.”

  Sevrin’s eyes glittered. “That’s not being a criminal. I would do anything to protect Philippa.” He dropped his gaze for a second. “Though I understand feeling guilty. I’ve spent many years battling that emotion and I still wonder if I’ll ever truly defeat it.” He looked up again. “Fortunately, I have Philippa at my side to help me.”