Page 58 of The Dove
“My God, it is like something out of a novel,” the young woman exclaimed, glancing about the dark, burnt-out building in awe. “It’s all quite thrilling.”
The other women agreed with soft giggles and whispers while Daphne merely stood by, beaming at him as if she were so bloody proud of herself.
Coming toward her again, he took her arm, yanking her close and bending his head to whisper in her ear.
“Daphne, you are trying my patience,” he growled. “I explicitly told you—”
“And I told you,” she interjected, turning her head to look at him. “I will not let you do this … not when there is another way. A better way.”
He had just opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she could be about when yet another familiar voice caught his attention.
“Hartmoor, what the devil is going on?”
The entire group fell silent when Bertram appeared in their midst, his pale face fixed in a mask of annoyance and anxiety, his limpid eyes darting about to take in Daphne’s assembled guests. He blanched when he spotted Winifred, as well as several other women Adam recognized now that he’d gotten a closer look. Lady Cassandra Lane stood closest, at the forefront of Bertram’s collection of conquests. Each one glared at him as if they would crush him beneath their heels if given the chance … as if he stood lower than an insect in their estimation.
Swiveling his gaze to Daphne, Bertram scowled. “What the hell areyoudoing here?”
Daphne folded her arms before her and stepped forward to meet him. “Waiting for you, of course. Now that we are all here, we may begin.”
Adam watched the exchange with baited breath, his hand still deep in his pocket, fingers closed around the butt of his pistol. His foe stood just before him, with no one or nothing between them. If he drew the revolver now, he’d have a clear shot. But he’d be a fool to do it now, with a magistrate and two men he felt quite certain were Bow Street Runners standing at his back.
“My business is with Hartmoor,” Bertram insisted, uncertainty creeping into his tone.
He knew as little about what was going on as Adam did.
“Actually, the nature of your business has changed,” Daphne replied, gesturing toward the man standing just behind them. “You know Mr. Cunningham, the magistrate? He is said to be one of the most incorruptible in all of London, unable to be bribed or coerced into bending the law to suit his own needs. Well, when I informed him that the Earl of Hartmoor wished to prosecute you for a crime, he was all-too happy to accompany me this evening.”
Bertram’s eyes widened for a moment, but he briefly regained control, presenting his typical air of self-importance and unflappable arrogance. “Crime? What crime, dear sister?”
“Why, rape, of course,” Daphne stated.
Adam’s heart seemed to stutter to a stop as his gaze darted from Daphne to Niall, who remained in his place watching the entire scene with rapt interest. So, this was what the two of them had been about, running off from Fairchild House together to arrange all this behind his back. While Cunningham might be incorruptible, he also knew the man’s services did not come free, as magistrates were paid little to nothing at all to do their jobs ... except by peers like him who possessed the clout to compensate him for investigating crimes. How much had Daphne paid him to do this?
“Rape,” Bertram scoffed, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “A woman who surrenders her maidenhead and then feels regret afterward is not entitled to cry rape.”
He edged closer, glaring at first Daphne, then at Adam, his lips curving into a sly smile.
“Besides, prosecuting me means you would have to force Olivia to come forward as a witness,” he whispered so only the two of them could hear. “You will have to expose her as the lunatic she is.”
To Adam’s surprise, Daphne’s smile only widened, and she laughed as if Bertram had just told the most amusing joke in the world.
“There’s where you are wrong,” she declared. “You see, every one of the women standing here is willing to testify that you forced yourself on them … publicly.”
This time, Bertram proved unable to keep his indolent mask in place, his panic beginning to show as he shoved past Daphne and approached the nearest woman. Lady Cassandra Lane gasped when he came too close, beginning to backpedal until she bumped into Winifred, who took hold of her shoulders and whispered soothing words to her to hold her steady. The poor thing was terrified witless.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he spat at Cassandra, before leveling his malevolent stare at the other women. “To testify against me would be to ruin yourselves publicly. Everyone will know you for the whores you are.”
Drawing herself up to her full height, Lady Cassandra pulled away from Winifred’s protective hold, her gloved hand coming up swifter than a snake to strike Bertram across the face.
“Everyone will know you for the lying, scheming lecheryouare,” Cassandra declared, her voice quivering with the force of her anger. “I do not care if no man ever offers for me … I will see you hanged.”
Another woman stepped up in her place, jabbing a finger against the center of Bertram’s chest. “You made me believe that what had been done to me was my fault. It was not until the rumors started and Winifred cried off your engagement that I realized there must be others. Now I know better. I did nothing wrong, and you will get what you deserve.”
One by one, the other women rose up to say their piece, promising to tell the world what had been done to them, ensuring that he received his due. When they had finished, Daphne approached him again, her smile downright predatory this time. She reminded Adam of himself when on the hunt, closing in for the kill, enjoying the moment her prey realized it could not escape. He could not help the surge of pride she made him feel, the way his shoulders squared and his lips curved as he watched her blossom right before his eyes, becoming the woman he’d always known her to be capable of being.
“There you have it, Bertram,” she murmured. “I will see you go down without ever needing to mention Olivia’s or Serena’s name. I will protect them, and the other women of London, from you. You will never exercise power over them, or me, ever again.”
Backing away from her, Bertram shook his head. “No …no! This is not the way things were supposed to happen.”
