Page 74 of A Widow for the Earl
“I knew society would turn on you, and I knew I would be there to hold you up,” he said with eerie softness. “It pained me to see you spoken of so unkindly, and to see you suffering, but you could not be left entirely unpunished. After all, if you had just married me, I would not have had do such things on your behalf. So, although I did the killing, theyaredead because of you.”
“What?” she hissed, snapping her head up to glare at him. “How can any of this be my fault? I did not realize that I was friends with a madman! I did not know that I had been lied to all these years, thinking you were my friend, when really you were just biding your time. Indeed, you are a second son—my father wouldneverhave accepted a proposal from you!”
Frederick’s lip curled. “He has no choice in the matter now. And Iwillbe a marquess. I have already begun the scheme, poisoning my brother very slowly, bit by bit, so everyone assumes it is just a tragic ailment that will, eventually, claim his life.”
“You were never in the Highlands,” she gasped, realization dawning. “You were hunting at Wycliffe instead.”
“No, Iwasin the Highlands, but after your third wedding,” he replied with a shrug. “I could not be seen to be near the manor then, now could I? And I did not want to intrude on your mourning period.”
Her eyes flared with anger and dismay. “Am I supposed to be impressed by this confession? What makes you think, after hearing all of this, that I wouldevermarry you? You are insane, Freddie! Quite insane.” She squinted as a splintering pain shot through her skull. “Indeed, why do any of this at all? Why did you not just ask for my hand?”
“As you said, I was a second son,” he said curtly. “I needed your father to cast you aside first. As for why I think you will marry me now, it is very simple: you do it, or Vincent meets the same fate as your three husbands.”
Beatrice choked on the horror of his threat, her body trembling from head to toe as she met her captor’s cold, dead eyes. He was a stranger to her, devoid of the false warmth and merriment she had grown accustomed to. Here was the real Frederick, seen for the very first time.
She wanted to fight him, scream at him, defy his demands with everything she possessed. But he had already murdered three men and was slowly murdering his own brother; he would not hesitate to carry out his threat toward Vincent. Indeed, Beatrice suspected he would relish it and was merely waiting for the excuse.
For a moment, she was back in the drawing room at Fetterton over a year ago, hearing the hoofbeats of his father’s friends arriving to ensure she did as she was told. Frederick, like her father, had set a trap and she had seen it too late.
Now, she was cornered.
“Why do you think I care what happens to Vincent?” she said, forcing her tone into indifference. “He left me. He does not care about me. Why would I care about him?”
Frederick chuckled darkly. “Because I heard you, Trixie. You are not listening. Just because he left does not mean you do not love him still, but we shall remedy that. You will soon love me instead, as more than a friend.”
She cursed herself for being so foolish as to reveal her feelings about Vincent in her cousin’s hallway. She should have made sure they were alone first. She should have been more cautious. Then again, she had not known there was a madman among them.
“How do I know you will not kill him anyway?” she hissed, her heart splintering all over again.
“Because I will not need to,” he replied. “I will have everything I want. And, I suppose, it will be useful to have the option, to ensure you behave and say nothing of what I have done. Indeed, if you deny me anything, I will have that option.”
With his hands gripping hers so viciously, alone with him in a hunting lodge where no one would find her, she knew she had no choice. He had planned it too well. Even if Vincentdidcare for her, he would not reach her in time, for he was all the way at Grayling House. And who would think to inform him, anyway? The staff at Wycliffe would summon the constables, not him.
“So, my darling Trixie, will you be my wife?” he whispered, his very voice turning her stomach.
“Yes,” she croaked in reply. “Yes, I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Everyone Beatrice cherished had come together to hunt down that wretched weasel, Frederick Sutton. Duncan, Valeria, Teresa, Cyrus, Edmund, Isolde, Amelia, Lionel, Rebecca, Anthony, and Silas. All of them under Vincent’s stern and determined command, they had pooled their resources and connections, splitting off to search every possible place for Frederick.
Vincent had not slept since the moment he rode away with Duncan, hearing the name of Beatrice’s assailant for the first time. It had been a full night and a full day and into night again, with dawn fast approaching, and though he could not give up, he was beginning to lose hope.
His horse plodded slowly down a shadowed country road, heading for the inn that he had earmarked as a meeting point, for it was in the middle, more or less, of every place he had sent the others to search.
For his part, he had gone directly to Frederick’s residence: a small manor tucked away in thick woodland. His brother’s residence, in truth, which Frederick had been granted the use of. But the staff there claimed they had not seen Frederick in weeks, though theyhadgiven him directions to two other properties that Frederick’s brother owned.
Vincent had searched each one, to no avail. And he had searched every inn and farmhouse and barn on the way back to the meeting point, finding nothing.
Candles were still aglow in the windows of the inn as he arrived, weary and despondent. He was just about to get down from the saddle when a dark shape darted out of the entrance, running toward him.
“Lord Grayling!” Anthony gasped, coming to a halt. “We think we know where he is!”
Vincent froze. “Where?”
“I followed the trail to where the driver had to stop,” Anthony explained in a rush. “Ikeptfollowing, tracking the hoofprints. I lost them for a while, but then I had a thought—I rode in every possible direction, and just when I thought I would never pick up the trail again, I found this.”
He produced a silk handkerchief, embroidered with a bright red ‘B.’
