“Madam, I wouldn’t trust your honor if my life depended upon it.”
Blind rage bubbled up and Cam lurched forward to land a solid punch to the marquess’s jaw. Whatever his wife had done, Cam wouldn’t stand for anyone insulting her.
Leath must be built like an ox. The bugger staggered but didn’t fall.
“Cam—” Pen gasped in horror, rushing down to hover behind him. Thank God, she didn’t touch him. Right now he was so enraged, he didn’t trust himself not to lash out at her too.
“You will apologize to my wife,” Cam said in a voice that shook with outrage. He curled his stinging hand at his side. Leath had a jaw like rock.
Rubbing his chin, Leath glared back with unconcealed hatred. “Like hell I will.”
“Please, I can explain,” Pen said desperately.
“Don’t bother,” Cam said coldly. He was so livid that he couldn’t look at her. Sick anger twisted in his belly like hissing cobras.
He clung to his rage. Beneath anger heaved an ocean of anguish. He’d believed Penelope Thorne was true gold. He’d trusted her in ways he’d never trusted anyone, not even his closest friends. And she’d betrayed him.
If those young idiots had eloped with Pen’s connivance—and every sign indicated that they had—there would be an almighty scandal. The kind of scandal that would dog their families for years. Pen’s interference had in the space of weeks undone Cam’s years of work to restore honor to the Rothermere name.
Once, that might have counted as her greatest sin.
Once, before she’d weaseled her way past his defenses and made him believe that she was the one person who would never break faith with him.
Now while he cared about the scandal, he cared more that he’d trusted her and she’d proven unworthy. He’d ignored the lessons of a lifetime to believe that Pen was the exception to the rule that everybody lied.
Then she’d shown herself a liar.
She’d been underhanded and deceitful. She’d known the damage scandal could do, yet she’d gone ahead against Cam’s express wishes and promoted her brother’s seduction of an innocent girl. When her loyalty had been tested, Harry won out over her husband. Cam would never forgive her for that.
The marquess bared his teeth at Pen. “Where is my sister?”
Pen stepped down beside Cam. He resisted the need to move away. He was so incandescently angry, her merest presence made him shake.
“You have no reason to believe me, my lord—”
“How true.”
“Watch what you say.” One punch hadn’t satisfied Cam’s need to smash something.
Pen’s hand curled around his arm to stop him hitting Leath again. “His lordship is right to be upset.” Her voice thickened with tears. “You are too. But we need to find Harry and Sophie.”
Her touch inevitably reminded him of how minutes ago, he’d rested in her arms, congratulating himself on being the luckiest fellow in England. With lacerating bitterness, he wondered if his father had felt the same before learning that his duchess had tupped his brother. His wife hadn’t turned to another man, but she’d betrayed him unpardonably all the same.
“A nice show of concern. I’d almost believe you if you and that whelp hadn’t cooked this up to get his hands on Sophie’s fortune.” Leath’s voice cut like a whip. “You know where they’ve gone, all right.”
Pen’s hold on Cam’s arm tightened. Her touch felt like acid. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
Cam still couldn’t bring himself to look at Pen. She’d see his rage, but he’d rather be shot at dawn than reveal how she’d wounded him. He ignored her soft gasp of hurt when he shook her off and stepped clear.
“Even after you arranged the ruin of my sister?” Leath asked harshly.
“He loves her,” Pen said stalwartly. “I believe she loves him.”
“Sentimental rot,” Leath snarled. “This was a coldhearted plot to set your brother up for life.”
“Harry’s not a liar,” Pen said.
Cam already suffered such a nauseating mixture of emotions. Anger. Grief. Regret. Surprise. Now he had to add piercing jealousy. She was so endlessly loyal to her brother. If only she’d been half as loyal to her husband.
“Of course he’s a liar.” Leath glared at Cam. “Is this part of your vendetta against my family?”
Cam’s weary “I don’t have a vendetta against your family” clashed with Pen’s shocked “You can’t blame Sedgemoor. He warned me against meddling in Harry’s courtship.”
“Courtship!” The word exploded from Leath’s lips like a curse. “His cynical pursuit of a naïve girl, more like.” He glowered at Cam. “You need to control your wife, sir.”
Cam heartily agreed. If he only knew how. If he’d only stuck to his plans to marry a chaste cipher. Biddable. Trustworthy. A woman who would never engage his emotions and leave him wanting to die when she played him false.
“Recriminations won’t find Harry and Sophie.” Pen’s dignity impressed, even now when Cam wanted to consign her to the lowest realms of Hades. “Did Sophie leave a note?”
Leath gave a contemptuous grunt. “Yes.”
“Well, what did it say, man?” Cam asked roughly.
Leath’s voice was flat. “That she was sorry to disappoint me and she hoped one day I’d forgive her. She didn’t mention that cur Thorne, although he’s behind this mess.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Cam asked.
“If she did, would I be here?”
“Scotland is the usual destination,” Cam said. Blast Harry for a rash fool. And a cad to play with a young girl’s reputation. “Madam?”
“I don’t know,” Pen said miserably.
“I’ve got men on the north road looking for them.” Leath suddenly looked deathly tired. “Sophie was meant to attend the theatre with Lady Gresham. I wouldn’t have discovered her absence until breakfast, except Lady Gresham sent a note after the play asking after Sophie’s headache.”
“So they’ve got a good start,” Cam said grimly.
“If they’ve left London.”
Dixon cleared his throat to gain his employer’s attention. Cam realized that his butler waited near the library door, struggling to hide his fascination.
“What is it, Dixon?” Cam said, cursing himself for not taking Leath somewhere private whether the bugger wanted to go or not. The staff would know every detail of this brawl before the morning was out.
Dixon approached and extended a salver upon which rested a letter. “Your pardon, Your Grace. A note was delivered this evening for Her Grace and Thomas placed it with the other mail. When I heard the disturbance, I took the liberty of checking to see if Mr. Thorne had sent a message.”
Cam reached out, but Pen was there first. “The letter is meant for me,” she said with a touch of spirit, ripping it open with shaking hands.
“Give it to me.” Leath snatched the paper. He quickly scanned the contents, then crumpled the page with a savagery that Cam knew he’d rather expend on Harry Thorne. Tossing the letter to the floor, Leath headed for the door without a farewell.
“Wait.” Pen bent to retrieve the page and smooth it. “Before you go—”
“Time is of the essence.” He didn’t pause.
“Please,” Pen called after him. “Surely, my lord, you can spare one moment.”
“Thank you, Dixon.” Cam said firmly. Reluctantly Dixon turned to go.
Leath faced Pen, his features a mask of disdain. “I owe you nothing. If you were my wife, I’d horsewhip you.”
“Look to your own household and your hoyden of a sister,” Cam bit out. “My wife isn’t your concern.”
“Thank God,” Leath said fervently.
At last Cam glanced at Pen. She was paler than the paper she held and her black eyes were lifeless.
“I have no excuse,” she said dully. Cam had never heard her sound like this. “But before you go, please, tell me how you know I was involved and how you know about Russell Square.”
&nb
sp; Leath’s laugh was so cutting that Pen jerked back as if he’d hit her. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. Word is everywhere about the duchess playing pimp for her brother.”
“But how—” Pen looked utterly horrified. “We were so careful.”
“Not careful enough.” He sighed and spoke less aggressively. “Just as I wasn’t careful enough with Sophie. Believe me, I make no excuses for my own faults in this matter.”
“I’m sorry.” Piercing regret weighted Pen’s voice.
“Too little too late.” Leath inhaled, fighting to control his temper. When he spoke, he sounded more like the man Cam had faced in so many parliamentary debates. “A hackney driver recognized Sophie. The gossip rags pay for items of interest. A journalist dug up the rest of the sorry facts, including your ownership of the house where Thorne lured my sister. That journalist has trailed them all week. The story hit this evening’s papers. I’m guessing the elopement will make a fine follow-up piece tomorrow.”
“Couldn’t you ask the damned scribbler about their destination instead of barging in here?” Cam asked sharply, even as visions of cataclysmic scandal battered him. While his deepest fury centered on Pen’s breach of trust, he didn’t discount what hell life would become for Fairbrothers, Thornes, and Rothermeres in the wake of this rash imbecility.
“I tried. For a few shillings, the man proved disgustingly voluble. Such is the worth of my sister’s honor.”
Cam had seen immediately that Leath’s anger, while powerful, couldn’t compare with his profound hurt. How odd that he and Leath were in exactly the same boat. A sinking one.
“He saw Thorne collect my sister in a closed carriage from the back gate of Leath House, but lost them in traffic.”
“So publicity is unavoidable,” Pen said bleakly.
Leath cast her a look of loathing. The mark on his chin looked red and sore and promised to become an impressive bruise. “My sister will be branded a harlot. Your brother’s name will become a byword for dishonor. You will be derided as a bawd who promoted a young girl’s destruction. The world will sneer at your husband as a fool in the hands of a brazen woman. A fine result for your interference, madam.”
Pen looked brittle enough to shatter. Furious as he was with her, Cam couldn’t bear it. He grabbed Leath’s arm. “Get out before I throw you out.”
Leath snatched free. “With pleasure.”
His boot heels clicked across the marble tiles, and then he was gone, leaving the ruins of Cam’s marriage behind him.
Pen watched Cam with a devastated expression. “I’m so sorry—”
He held up an astonishingly steady hand. In the last few seconds, he’d battened his raging, ferocious anguish into the dark depths of his soul. The same dark depths where his pathetic longing for parents who loved him still lurked. Even his voice was calm. Although flat and dead like a desert. “Just tell me where they’ve gone.”
“Cam—”
He sighed and grabbed Harry’s note from her shaking grasp. After reading the short message, he stared at Pen in shock. “The fool is taking Sophie Fairbrother to America?”
“He’s not—”
“I told you not to bother excusing his behavior—or yours.”
Her eyes flashed. “Cam, don’t go all ducal on me. We need to fix this.”
Her teasing about his ducal ways had—mostly—amused him. Now the reference grated. “As his lordship pointed out, you’ve done enough. Go to your room.”
Her mouth flattened with defiance. “I’m not a naughty child, Cam. I’m your wife.”
“More’s the pity.”
She whitened and staggered back, fumbling for the banister. Her eyes were like dull black coals in her strained face.
He sucked in a breath and struggled to rein in his anger. “That was unworthy. My apologies.” His jaw was so tight that every word felt carved from stone. He bowed stiffly. “We’ll discuss our future when I return.”
“You’re going after them?” she asked unsteadily.
“Of course I’m bloody going after them.” His attempt at control frayed almost before he’d told himself to settle down, for the sake of his pride if nothing else. “I need to stop Leath from killing Harry, much as the sod deserves it.”
He was Camden Rothermere, famous for his self-possession. How he longed to be that man again. Not this agonized, confused, enraged creature who wanted to march away from his wife and never see her again. And who wanted to seize her in his arms and kiss her and make her swear that everything he’d learned tonight was spiteful lies.
“I didn’t think you cared what happens to Harry,” she said heavily.
“I care that this scandal gets no worse than it bloody is already.”
Unfortunately that wasn’t nearly the whole truth. He cared about much more than that. He cared about Pen, although he intended to eradicate that affliction before the night was done. He cared for reckless, thoughtless Harry Thorne. He cared for silly, headstrong Sophie Fairbrother, who right now imagined the world well lost for love. She’d face a bitter awakening once she’d abandoned the privilege and protection of life as the Marquess of Leath’s sister.
Love! The world would be a better place if there was no such thing.
“This is my fault,” Pen said in a leaden voice.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. When the silence extended, she turned away with a despairing gesture.
He needed to leave if he meant to overtake Leath. But still he lingered to watch Pen climb the stairs. Her head was up, her shoulders were straight and her spine could double as a ship’s mast. But he didn’t misunderstand that if she’d dealt him a killing blow, he hadn’t been much kinder. If he had a heart, he’d feel sorry for her.
But he had no heart. She’d crushed it when she proved herself untrue.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cam ran down the front steps. His phaeton waited, his two fastest horses restless after being roused from a warm stable before sunrise.
He wanted to concentrate on his immediate need to find that blockhead Harry Thorne and his brainless inamorata. Not to mention prevent Leath from committing murder and making this elopement a matter for the authorities. But he couldn’t help dwelling on the failure of his lifelong efforts to bury the old scandals. Scandal fattened on scandal, so all the stories about his mother and her taste for Rothermere brothers would do the rounds again.
Still, he’d rather think about scandal than about his duplicitous wife.
He’d already calculated the quickest route to Liverpool, where Harry had chosen to embark on this ill-considered adventure. There were closer ports offering passage across the Atlantic, but God forbid that his brother-in-law should make things easier. Perhaps the long journey was a blessing. It would give Cam a chance to cool down. At this juncture, if Leath didn’t shoot Harry, Cam would.
Jenkins, who had served the Dukes of Sedgemoor all his life, held the restive chestnuts. “Are you sure I shouldn’t come, Your Grace?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going alone.” He grabbed the side of the carriage and vaulted into the seat, seizing the reins. “Stand aside.”
“Wait!”
With a sense of inevitability, Cam watched Pen rush from the house. She was dressed for travel and she carried a small bag. “Go back to bed.”
“I’m coming,” she said breathlessly, reaching for his hand to help her into the phaeton.
Cam didn’t release his grip on the reins. “No, you’re not.” He nodded to Jenkins. “Release the horses.”
“No!” Pen darted forward to block the carriage. “Not without me.”
Jenkins looked at Cam, then at Pen, then at Cam. He didn’t release the horses.
“Jenkins, you heard me,” Cam said through lips made of ice. If only his heart was.
“You won’t run me down,” Pen said with a confidence he resented.
“You’re making an exhibition of yourself,” he bit out.
“I don’t care.”
“Try me.”
Cam raised his whip above the chestnuts’ glossy rumps. “Jenkins.”
“Your Grace,” he protested.
“Now.”
With obvious reluctance, Jenkins stepped away.
“Are you that angry with me?” Pen didn’t shift as Cam urged the horses forward. Her face revealed no trace of fear.
Instead of setting off smoothly, the horses moved choppily in the shafts. One neighed its confusion, the other tossed its head.
Across the distance, Pen’s eyes burned into his. At the last minute, as she knew he would, curse her, Cam turned the horses to avoid her.
She stepped into his way again.
“Stand aside.”
“No.”
“Damn it, woman,” he muttered.
“Harry will listen to me. And you’ll need a woman’s help with Sophie.”
It wasn’t the best moment to remember Pen’s stubbornness. If you gained her cooperation she’d go to the ends of the earth for you. If you didn’t, bullying only made her dig her heels in.
“Cam, you need me.”
No, he bloody well didn’t.
He glowered at Pen while his horses stamped on the cobblestones and tugged at the reins to evade this madwoman. Would she budge if he tried again? She was so blasted mulish, he suspected that she wouldn’t. He might want to strangle her, but he drew the line at cold-blooded murder.
Not that there was anything cold-blooded about his reactions. He wished to Hades there was.
“Come on, then,” he said grimly, firming his hold on the reins.
He waited for some evidence of relief or gratitude, but Pen calmly stepped around his horses, patting them on the way. “Thank you, Jenkins.”
His coachman bowed to her. “Your Grace.”
She stood beside the carriage and passed Cam the bag. “Help me up?”
“Don’t push it,” he growled, but he reached for her. Once she was settled, he dug around under the seat and found a travel rug which he shoved ungraciously in her direction. It was a deuced cold night for early May.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.