Chapter 8
“So you’re certain my cousin didn’t see you,” Russell Scott queried the rough-looking man that he’d hired to follow Lord Summerlin if he ever set out anywhere without him. His jaw growing tighter as the fellow nodded, clutching his soiled hat in his work-worn hands, Russell swore between clenched teeth.
“I hid round the corner, is wot I did, milord. Stayed out of sight, but watched like a hawk. An hour after Lord Summerlin arrived at the town house, he came out with two fine ladies on his arm followed by footmen who loaded a trunk onto the back of the coach—oh, aye, and wot looked to me like a hamper for food went inside. Then kisses and hugs all around and tears from that comely blonde in the family way. Not sad tears, mind you. Happy tears, seemed to me—”
“Go on,” Russell grated impatiently, not wanting to hear about tears or kisses or fond embraces. “What happened then?”
“Well, Lord Summerlin assisted the auburn-haired lass into the coach and then he climbed in and they were on their way.”
“No chaperone for the young lady? No maidservant or female companion?”
“None at all, just the two of them in the carriage. So I jumped on my horse and followed them, aye, north through the city to the main post road out of London. That’s when I thought it best to turn round to come tell you, milord.”
“The main post road,” Russell muttered, staring down at the message clutched in his fist that he’d received before his hired man had returned moments ago with this wretched news.
A message from Alexander—no,Walker, that usurper making no effort at all to adopt his true honored name—that said only he’d be away for a few days on business and to give his regrets to Lady Belinda.
The footman who had delivered the message an hour past had left before Russell made it to the door to query from whence he’d come, but no matter. Russell had known his hired man would return eventually with more details about Walker’s whereabouts. Yet he hadn’t expected this turn of events—dammit, foilingeverythingthat he’d planned so meticulously for the evening!
“Stay close, Jack, I may have need of you,” Russell ordered tersely, waving the man from the foyer of the town house that he’d leased at the behest of the duke for himself and Walker for the Season. Except Russell had never intended he would be here for the entire Season, but only a week at best.
A week to enact a plan he had nurtured since he’d heard of the royal pardon that would bring his cousin back to England and the dukedom that Russell had believed one day would belong tohim!
“Ruined…ruined,” Russell muttered, growing more furious even as his instincts screamed that he knew exactly what Walker Burke was about in that coach with Miss Marguerite Easton at his side.
Damn them to hell, they were bound for Gretna Green! He was certain of it! With Lady Dovercourt’s blessing, no doubt, given Jack’s recounting of her happy tears. His hired man’s description of the women had revealed at once to Russell their identities from meeting them last night at Almack’s.
Surely the countess would never have allowed Miss Easton to depart unchaperoned with Walker if that infamous border village was not their destination. And here Russell had planned for Walker’s demise that very night on their way to dine with Lady Belinda, their coach to be set upon by cutthroats masquerading as common thieves!
Why, he had even intended to suffer a knife blade to the shoulder to deflect any suspicion that he might have been at the heart of the attack. He had thought of every detail…but had never considered that Walker might run off to Gretna Green with a common vicar’s daughter. Now what in blazes was he going to do?
Russell stormed into the drawing room and began to pace furiously, wondering what the woman he’d long desired for his wife might think of this swift turn of events.
Walker had chosen another bride over Lady Belinda Cavendish—by God, would she even believe it?
After Andrew Scott’s death, Russell had made his intentions known to her, but when she’d heard of the inquiry into Walker Burke’s true parentage, she had spurned him. And after word had spread like wildfire of Prince George’s pardon, Lady Belinda had made it quite clear that she intended to wed Alexander Scott. What would she say now? What wouldshedo?
That thought made Russell slow his pacing, a familiar idiom coming to mind that made him smile in spite of his fury.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Suddenly he knew he had to see her. Not tonight, but as soon as a carriage could carry him to her door. That is, after he spoke to Jack about seeking out that pair of cutthroats Russell had hired and sending them on swift horseback after Walker and Miss Marguerite Easton.
A pity, really, that the chit had been drawn into what Russell had planned for Walker, but there was nothing to be done about it. She must be slain, too. If those men didn’t reach them until after the marriage was consummated, then there would be the possibility of an heir who could still thwart his intent to become the next Duke of Summerlin.
“Never!” His roar enraged, Russell’s next fierce outcry was for Jack as he strode from the drawing room.
