Chapter Eighteen #2
Ian heard the unspoken challenge. Grossett didn’t really believe nothing had happened to the woman he planned to marry and his narrowed eyes told Ian so.
Harrell didn’t miss a thing. His sharp gaze went from one man to the other before settling shrewdly on his daughter.
He stood. “Well, Campion,” he said, “you were true to your word and I am grateful to you for fetching my Lyssa back. I never would have thought she’d head toward Scotland.
Fancy that, because it does make sense. Perhaps I should have talked to my daughter more about her past. Then she wouldn’t have romanticized it.
Here, Parker, pay the man so he can be on his way. ”
Considering Ian dismissed, he turned back to his daughter. “You’ve had quite an adventure, Lyssa, although you don’t look too much the worse for wear.” He ran a critical eye over her person and added, “Well, you could be cleaned up some. And this costume you have on? Where the devil was your maid?”
“Missing,” Ian answered for her. Parker had taken a purse of coins from his jacket and held it out to Ian, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he said, “I found your daughter a day over the Scottish border about ten days ago—”
“Ten days ago?” Harrell asked. “Why did it take you so long to return her?” There was a father’s steel in his voice.
“Because I discovered I’d been trailed by a party of men who attempted to kill your daughter by shooting at her twice, setting the wagon she was in on fire, and chasing us through the woods. Later, one of those same men nearly did us in at Amleth Hall.”
Ian watched Mrs. Harrell’s face as he spoke. She registered shock and then concern. He could have sworn all of this was news to her.
“The man leading the villains was named Fielder,” Lyssa said, finding her voice. She stood. “He knew a great deal about us, Papa. Mr. Campion protected me and we decided it was best we continue on to Amleth Hall with the hopes the Davidsons would help us.”
“They are the devil’s own kin,” Harrell said.
“I know that now, Papa,” she agreed quietly. “Ramsey, my cousin, gave Fielder shelter. His plan was to marry me for my fortune and then let Fielder kill me and Mr. Campion.”
“Dear God,” Harrell said. “Who would have wanted to murder you?”
Lyssa pressed her lips together. The frown line formed between her eyes and Ian took another step forward, ready to say all—but she held up her hand to stave him off, a signal that this was hers.
“My stepmother,” she said. There was no victory in her voice, only sadness.
“Frances?” Harrell said in disbelief.
“Not I!” she quickly objected, rising to her feet. “Lyssa, I would not hurt you!”
Lyssa shook her head. “I don’t accuse you lightly. I heard the truth of those words from Fielder’s mouth.”
“But why would I do such a thing, Lyssa?” her stepmother demanded.
“I don’t know,” Lyssa admitted. “Not any longer. I thought at first you would do it for your child so he would inherit all. Or perhaps you were jealous of my father and I. Whatever, I don’t know anymore.”
Mrs. Harrell turned to her husband. “Dunmore, I had nothing to do with a plot to kill Lyssa. I have no reason to.”
And Ian believed her. Harrell wasn’t certain. The information was too new, too fresh for him to accept or deny.
Lyssa appeared heartsick over the whole matter. Only Grossett seemed ill at ease. He glanced at his mother, who met his gaze with a level one of her own.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Mrs. Harrell protested. “Bring this Fielder here so I can confront him.”
“I can’t,” Ian answered. He looked to Grossett’s mother and said, “He’s dead.”
Now her expression changed—and Ian knew his hunch was correct. “You wouldn’t know a man named Fielder, would you, Viscount Grossett?”
His verbal jab scored a hit. Grossett paled and turned to his mother. Ian waited for them to deny any knowledge. He was surprised when, sweat forming on his brow, the viscount said quietly, “A balding man. Tall. Thin. He has a dark voice.”
“That’s him,” Lyssa answered.
Grossett said, “Mother, you wouldn’t…?”
“I would,” she replied and her chin came up as if daring him to criticize her.
“What is going on here?” Harrell demanded.
Neither the viscount nor his mother spoke, so Ian said, “I believe his lordship’s mother may have attempted to murder your daughter.”
“Why?” Grossett asked his mother, the single word filled with pain. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I couldn’t let you betray your heritage for money,” she said simply as if her statement explained all.
“Betray?” Grossett asked. “Mother, have you gone mad? She was our only way out. I can’t pay your gambling debts any longer. We’re done up.”
“I can still get vouchers,” Lady Grossett snapped. “All the clubs accept mine. But doors will be shut if you marry her.”
“No one was pressing you to pay because they were milking me dry!” her son exploded. “You have ruined me with your gambling. There is nothing left, Mother, nothing left at all.”
“There is our pride!”
“Harrell has pride! He married a duchess!” The words shot out of the viscount as if he’d had this argument before.
“A duchess?” Lady Grossett snorted. “She sold herself to him for merchant money. Nor is she accepted in the best circles, either. Not anymore. People gossip behind her back, and I will not let that happen to us!”
Harrell waved his hands in the air in exasperation. “Will someone tell me what the devil is happening here? And who are you,” he demanded of Lady Grossett, “to insult my wife?”
“I would do anything to save my son from the likes of you,” Lady Grossett returned with ringing tones. “I never approved of this match and have done everything I must to see it broken!”
Her son appeared ready to weep. “Mother, you are ruining us all.” He looked to Harrell. “You must ignore her. She’s not been well lately. For quite some time actually—”
“Don’t humble yourself to him,” his mother said disdainfully. “You are Grossett!”
Her son’s answer was a frustrated groan. He pleaded now, “Don’t send for the magistrate. I’ll have her taken away, far from London. She’ll not bother Lyssa ever during our marriage.”
“You’d still marry her?” his mother demanded even while Harrell frowned.
“I will not let you have my daughter.”
Harrell’s words were the ones Ian wanted to hear. But Grossett fought back. “Please, I care deeply for Lyssa.”
“You care for her money,” Harrell said, “and that would have been acceptable, my lord, since I covet your title. But even we merchants draw a line at murder.”
The lines of Grossett’s face hardened. “Oh, no, you will not take her from me!”
“Robert—!” his mother started, but he cut her off.
“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! I’m the head of this family.
I make the decisions.” He ran a distracted hand through his thinning hair before grasping at a new argument.
“Who else do you think will marry your daughter now, Harrell?” he said.
“She’s been running around Scotland with some Irish bounty hunter completely unchaperoned. Look at her.”
Every eye in the room turned to Lyssa.
“She’s been had,” Grossett accused. “Had by the worst sort who could touch her.”
Ian stepped forward, doubled his fist and wiped the smirk off of Grossett’s face with one well-placed punch to the mouth.
The bastard dropped like a rock.