Page 83 of The Rakehell of Roth
Cain had been a part of the Duke of Beswick’s war unit in Spain and had defected, causing the deaths of half his regiment.Thathad been the reason he’d lost his title and estate. Beswick was not a forgiving man.
And neither was Winter.
“You’re aware that assaulting a peer is a criminal offense, Cain.”
The man’s eyes snapped with anger at the use of his surname instead of his title, a deliberate slight on Winter’s part. He didn’t miss how the man’s eyes flashed briefly to the coach behind him. Was there someone else in there? Someone who still held him in esteem as an earl?
He let out a growl. “Iama peer.”
“You were stripped of your title by the Prince Regent, if I recall.” Winter canted his head. “And commanded never to set foot in England again. And yet, here you are, with a gun pointed at a future duke.”
“You stole everything from me,” he snarled. “You and that bitch of yours.”
The boy at his side flinched, a frightened sound escaping from under his mask, likely out of concern for his mistress. Winter wanted to reassure Iz, but displaying any care for the lad would only put him in more danger. As it was, he needed to pretend that the boy was nothing more than a mere servant.
“I didn’t take a thing from you, Cain. You did that all by yourself. What are you doing in Seven Dials?” Winter cocked a brow. “Out for a nighttime stroll, taking in the scents of rot and rubbish? Tell me, who’s in the coach?”
The door to the coach behind them opened, and amidst a flurry of a gown better suited to a ballroom than the filthy streets of the slums, a woman stepped down. “My, my, so clever, Winter,” Vittorina crowed, eyes glittering in triumph.
Winter’s gaze swung between her and Cain. It was obvious they were in league with each other. But what was their connection? Had they become acquainted in Italy? The Duke of Beswick had said that the man had been last seen in Rome once Prinny had banished him, but without a name or fortune, he was of little threat. Though that didn’t seem to be the case now. And a man with nothing to lose was the most dangerous.
“How do you two know each other?” he asked.
Vittorina gave a venomous smile. “But of course, how remiss of me. You must know my intended, the Earl of Beaumont?”
Winter blinked.Intended? Surely, she was jesting. Wasthisthe man she’d become betrothed to? “You do know that he’s no longer an earl, so I fear your quest to avail yourself of a British title and calling yourself Countess is moot.”
Dark eyes panned up to the man at her side. “Naughty Beaumont, keeping such a monumental secret from me. But it’s of little import because plans change, you see. Edmund has always carried a torch for your little wife, and I want you back.” She grinned, taking one of the pistols from Cain. “Two birds, two stones.”
“That’s not how the saying goes, Vitta.”
A startled sound left her lips at the old nickname, but he needed to throw her off-balance, and playing to whatever misplaced feelings she still harbored for him seemed to be the best angle. If he could distract her enough, he might be able to get to the unspent gun on his saddle or the knife in his boot. Either way, it would take a miracle.
“And I’m married,” he added.
She waved a careless arm. “Once we are back in Italy, none of that will matter. You will be mine, and your wife will be his. Everyone gets what they want.”
“Bigamy is illegal there, too.”
“You worry too much. Italy is not the same as stuffy old England. You’ll have new identities. No one will be the wiser.” Vittorina nuzzled the former earl’s arm. “Edmund has grand plans for his little runaway dove, don’t you,amore?”
“You will not touch her!” Winter growled. He felt more than saw the boy’s stunned stare from beside him at the unguarded possessiveness in his tone. Another instinctive reaction to anything to do with his mistress? The lad was loyal, he’d give him that. “Or the boy.”
“Or what?” Vittorina said, her cold laughter echoing in the empty streets. “Nothing, you’re going to do nothing. That boy is a loose end to me, but I can see that he means something to you. So, I’ll tell you what we are going to do. We’re going to collect your wife, who my little birds report is currently ensconced at Vance House like an obedient, spineless, dutiful twit, and then we’re all going to board a ship and disappear.”
Did the groom at his side justgrowl?
“My father—”
Vittorina chortled. “Your father will receive a note that his son is sick of the stuffiness of London and is going on yet another grand tour of the continent. And then Lady Roth, bless her sweet, demure soul, will run back to Chelmsford, whereupon her carriage will be attacked by highwaymen and she will sadly, lose her life. See? Your worry about bigamy will be solved as the poor dear will be no more in the eyes of English law. Once enough time has passed, the duke will receive a letter of your sudden, tragic death. Lord Oliver will become his heir, and everyone will be happy.”
Winter’s stomach dropped at the mention of Oliver. Had his brother been involved all along—a way for him to finally inherit the dukedom? “What does Vance have to do with this?”
She rolled her eyes. “That gullible fool. Edmund befriended him, and the sad, jealous sod couldn’t stop talking about his dreadful big brother.”
The anger that had spiked within him receded on a tide of relief that Oliver hadn’t betrayed him after all. “You have it all worked out, don’t you?”
She gave a theatrical sigh. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
