everything.
A hollow, sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach. Knowing how unhappy she was, he’d planned to send her home, rehearsed what he would say over and over, all the while hoping she might want to stay.
It was better this way. She’d gone of her own accord. Less painful. Then why did his chest ache? A small scrap of white poked out from under the bed and he picked it up. A minute square of lawn edged in fine lace. He pressed it to his nose. It smelled clean, fresh with traces of vanilla. Ellie. It was the only thing left. No note. Nothing to show she had ever lived here. He stuffed the handkerchief into his coat pocket and went back to the kitchen.
Barely conscious of his actions, he pulled a bottle of brandy and a tumbler from the dresser and set them on the table. He fought his bitter disappointment. Why not say goodbye? Had she found him so lacking?
He pulled out the plain ladder-back chair, turned its back against the scrubbed table and sat astride. Chin resting on his sleeve, he glared at the honey-coloured table top, as if it could provide an answer. Had she somehow seen the evil in him? She didn’t lack for courage, but it was enough to send anyone running off into the night.
Bloody hell. Why couldn’t he accept she loved Castlefield instead of trying to place the blame elsewhere? An urgent need to drink one glass after another and dull the pain tightened his gut. He reached for the bottle, astonished at the way his hand shook as he splashed liquid oblivion into the glass and on to the table. The pungent aroma stung the back of his throat, brought tears to his eyes. Oh, yes. Fool yourself about this, too. He smiled wryly. Tomorrow reality would stare him in the face, the way it did every day. He ought to be glad she’d gone, glad she’d never look at him in horror.
He buried his head in the crook of his arm. Rage, despair, roiling emotions he couldn’t name, made his skin feel too tight, as if he might burst like an over-filled water-skin. With a muffled roar, he rose and lobbed the glass into the fireplace. It shattered with the sound of hail on a tile roof. Then silence. Brandy fumes hung in the air like the stink of an inn on a Saturday night.
What the hell good had that done, except waste perfectly good brandy? He picked up the bottle to put it away. The front door slammed back against the wall. Ellie?
Garrick turned, his heart beating hopefully against his ribs. Without warning, a blond, red-coated soldier lurched across the room and grabbed at his throat. Choking, he tore at the man’s fingers.
‘Where is she, you goddamned thrice-misbegotten whoreson?’ the man yelled.
Even as his vision blackened around the edges, Garrick knew this man. ‘Hadley?’ His enemy.
A red wash coated his vision, rage running like liquid fire through his veins. He embraced it. Used its strength. He brought his arms up and around. Broke the other man’s hold, shoved him backwards and raised his fists, longing to beat the furious face to a pulp.
‘Not so fast, my lord.’ The muzzle of a rifle pressed coldly against the back of Garrick’s neck.
With his back to the door, Garrick had not seen the man enter, but he recognised the deep rumbling voice. He released his breath in a long, shuddering sigh, gaining control, clearing the red mists from his sight, tamping down the killing rage. ‘Well, if it isn’t Ben.’
‘No, my lord. Martin Brown, at your service. Put up your weapons.’
Martin Brown, the relative she’d spoken of, was also Ben the highwayman? Merde. How many more lies had she told him?
Garrick lowered his fists.
Martin Brown withdrew his rifle and held it ready across his chest.
Hadley fixed his hard grey gaze on Garrick and repeated his question. ‘Where is she?’
What the hell was going on? What did this man have to do with Ellie? No. This must be about some other woman. He racked his brain for possible contenders, women he’d forgotten, while he kept his face a blank slate. ‘What are you doing here?’
Anger boiled up again, at Ellie, at himself, at this man from his past. He curled his lip and glanced down at the man’s twisted right leg. ‘Come for another beating, Hadley?’ He shouldn’t have said that. Hell, he’d always denied being Hadley’s night-time attacker.
The other man reddened. ‘Castlefield now.’
Garrick reeled. The breath left his body as if he’d been struck in the kidneys. This was Castlefield? ‘But—’
‘Haven’t you done enough, you bastard? Did you have to take your revenge out on my sister?’
For a long moment Garrick’s mind stuck on the word revenge, the old issue between them, the fight over a woman and the accusations hanging over him at school. The reason for Castlefield’s halting gait. The second occasion he’d lost control and couldn’t remember.
Finally, the word ‘sister’ forced its way to the surface. The floor beneath his feet seemed to tilt. ‘Ellie is your sister?’
‘Lady Eleanor Hadley, to you. My twin.’
His twin sister? He could only stare in stunned silence. Finally he found a shred of voice. ‘She left.’ His mind scrambled to make sense of what his ears were hearing. ‘She must have gone home.’
Martin Brown shook his head. ‘The bailiffs are gone, but no sign of her ladyship.’
A sense of dread filled his stomach. ‘Then she went to her sister.’ He refused to think about where else she might have gone.
‘Damn you, Beauworth!’ Castlefield choked out. ‘If I find that one hair of her head has been harmed, I shall hold you fully responsible.’ He drew his sword.
‘Put up, my lord,’ Martin Brown said sternly, his ruddy face grim. This time his rifle was pointed at the Earl. ‘This was all her own doing. I did my best to stop her and when I could not, I did my best to protect her.’ He nodded at Garrick. ‘He became involved when we held up his coach and he followed us. She said she would set him free and go to Scotland.’ He flushed. ‘I had a feeling there was more to it. That was why I waited for your ship in Portsmouth. But if she’s gone, she’s gone to your aunt, or to her friend in Scotland. We should look for her there.’
Oh God, Ellie. What were you doing? He stared at her enraged brother. No wonder she’d longed for him to come home. The bastard had left her to face everything alone. Well, now he’d know the truth, because he wasn’t fit to take care of her.
Garrick crossed his arms across his chest and stared down his nose at the other man. ‘You were right to worry, Martin. She became my mistress to retrieve the mortgage and pay his debts.’ He curled his lip as the other man squirmed. ‘Not once did she tell me the truth.’
Horror etched on his features, Castlefield limped to the sofa and collapsed. He covered his face with his hands. ‘Eleanor,’ he moaned. ‘Why?’
A wave of remorse washed away Garrick’s anger. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but you have only yourself to blame.’
Martin Brown assisted his young master to rise. ‘Come, my lord, we have to find her and bring her home.’
Castlefield glared at Garrick. ‘You despicable cur, taking advantage of a woman.
