My Rogue to Ruin, page 27
But here also were redemption and absolution. An opportunity to do the right thing. Make the right choice. To be the good one instead of the bad apple.
This was Adrian’s opportunity to confess his own part in the proceedings and act as the prosecution’s principal witness in the case to lock Snowley up for good… Or he could say nothing and allow Snowley to walk free. Free to exact revenge on Iris or Marjorie.
He swallowed hard and glanced down at Marjorie’s soft hand on his arm. What would the Wynchesters do? Simple. Any act necessary to right a wrong or protect the disadvantaged. Adrian could do no less. Not if he wanted to be worthy of Marjorie.
This was his chance to prove what kind of man he was, once and for all.
“I will testify,” he said at last. “I will be the witness of your dreams.”
Marjorie squeezed Adrian’s arm tighter, hard enough to bruise, but she did not interrupt.
“For the record,” said the Runner. “You personally witnessed Snowley counterfeiting coins?”
“I personally counterfeited the coins at Snowley’s request.”
Adrian’s voice rang out loud and clear in the preternaturally silent parlor.
The Runners exchanged glances.
“You’re confessing… to treason?” Newbury asked carefully.
“I’m admitting to having been forced to commit crimes at gunpoint, as orchestrated by Leander Snowley.” Adrian’s breath shook. “Is that enough to send him to gaol?”
“Snowley? Yes.” The Runner pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. “But since you also committed crimes, until your trial I’m afraid you must call Newgate your home, as well.”
45
Don’t cause any trouble,” warned the guard, fingering his truncheon. “Full moon tonight, and the gaol’s already so full, we have to stuff men in the women’s wing. None of us are in the mood for your mouth or your machinations. Step out of line, and you’ll live to regret it.”
Adrian nodded his understanding.
Satisfied, the guard tapped his truncheon against the iron bars, then strode off to collect the next prisoner.
Adrian slumped onto the low, uneven wooden bench in his cell, his knees pointing up at awkward angles. He tried to keep the back of his new coat clear of the dusty stone wall, but to what end? Why bother if it was to become his bed tonight as well as his attire for tomorrow and every day forth?
He crossed his arms atop his jutting knees and dropped his forehead atop them with a frustrated sigh.
Do the right thing, he had told himself. Be the hero for once.
This was where it had led him. The trial wouldn’t be for months, and it was unlikely freedom was on the other side. The Runners had assured him that cooperating with the Crown’s long-sought-after prosecution of Snowley would at least let Adrian avoid the death penalty for treason.
But which was worse? The loss of his head, or the loss of his freedom forevermore?
“Marjorie,” he mumbled into the shadows between his knees.
He’d left so much undone and unsaid. He should have kissed her one more time. Found the courage to say I love you. There might never be another chance to look into her eyes and express how he felt inside.
On the other hand, perhaps it was best for her that he’d guarded his tongue. What did he expect her to do, wait for a prisoner with a life sentence? Visit him biweekly and pat his hand through the bars?
It would be better not to see her at all than for her to see him like this. At least her final memory of him would be of a clean, well-dressed gentleman, sacrificing himself in the name of justice, and to save others.
Adrian supposed word of his latest scandal should be out soon enough. Like caged animals in the Royal Menagerie, the prisoners were on display to any onlookers who visited the cells. Once the court proceedings became public record, it wouldn’t even be gossip, but actual fact.
Poor Iris. Adrian’s past scandal was just that—in the past. This would dredge up all that old gossip and cause a new wave to come crashing down over the family. Just when he and Iris were starting to become close again, Adrian had managed to turn her life upside down once more.
A guard rapped his truncheon against the bars. “Stay back and stay silent, Webb.”
Adrian nodded. He watched with envy as the gray-haired woman opposite was released from custody. While Adrian was being ushered into his cell, the woman’s husband had arrived to post bail.
He wished he could do the same. The amount had been set at an astronomical sum. Treason did not come cheap.
A commotion sounded down the hall.
Adrian sprang to his feet and ran to the front of his cell. He gripped the bars as he strained to see what was happening.
No less than four guards were leading an unwilling prisoner in his direction.
Snowley.
Elation bubbled throughout Adrian’s body as though his veins had filled with champagne.
They’d done it. Ha! Adrian might be stuck here in this hellhole, but so was the criminal long considered untouchable.
Snowley struggled against the guards to spit at Adrian as they dragged him past.
“I’m not done with you,” Snowley called. “I shall have my vengeance. You will soon rue the day you dared to cross me. Wait and see!”
Adrian had, in fact, been ruing quite a few of the decisions that had led to his indefinite incarceration, but taking Snowley down with him was a silver lining richer than all the coins in England.
“Do your worst,” he said under his breath.
There was no greater punishment than being separated from Marjorie for the rest of Adrian’s natural life. What could Snowley possibly do to top that?
He found out the answer a heartbeat later when new voices sounded down the hall.
“No,” he whispered in horror.
This time, a single guard led a lone prisoner toward the empty cell across from Adrian. A woman with flyaway blond hair and terrified blue eyes and a lavender smudge on the pretty cheek Adrian had kissed mere hours earlier.
The guard tossed Marjorie into the cell without care or ceremony, then locked the door and strode on by, the keys to her freedom jangling at his hip next to his loaded pistol.
Adrian’s knuckles were white as he gripped the iron bars. He wished he were strong enough to rend them asunder and release Marjorie from her cell.
“What happened?” he asked hoarsely.
“Snowley.” Marjorie’s voice was softer than Adrian had ever heard it before. A rustle of silk over tiny shards of glass. “He correctly determined that your cohorts in your grand escape were the Wynchesters. He couldn’t name the others, but he could describe your apprentice in astonishing detail. If he’s to be hung for his crimes… so am I.”
“No,” Adrian croaked, his throat too raw to make a single sound.
The dirt floor seemed to spiral out from under him.
Marjorie wouldn’t be in gaol, wouldn’t have met Snowley at all, if she hadn’t been trying to put a stop to Adrian and his damnable forgeries. He’d turned himself in to the Runners with dreams of being the hero… and instead mired them both into an even worse nightmare.
He’d destroyed Marjorie’s life as utterly as his own.
46
Marjorie stared bleakly through the iron bars. Adrian did the same from the gaol cell opposite.
This was not how she’d imagined they’d spend the night together.
Her expectations had been more in line with a celebration. A big meal with her entire family, more champagne, then off to the glories of a full-sized bed in which there would be plenty of room to pass the hours any way she and Adrian pleased.
Her insides felt cavernous. Being thrown in gaol was terrible for herself and so many others. There would be no more tutoring Faircliffe, and no more art classes with little girls.
There would also be several dozen defrauded women who would not have the opportunity to receive a replacement of their stolen jewelry because the two people capable of forging them were trapped rabbits awaiting a foxhunt.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Adrian mouthed from across the divide.
No, he wouldn’t. How could he? If they both reached their arms through the gaps and stretched as far as they could, they wouldn’t even be able to touch fingertips—much less save each other.
“How are your boots?” she asked. “They’re not pinching your feet?”
He stared at her. “I will eat this boot, if it would help you—”
A guard strolled by, rattling his truncheon against each cell’s iron bars as he approached. He paused outside Adrian’s locked door.
“You got a lawyer, Webb?”
“That’s Lord Adrian to you,” Marjorie called out.
The guard ignored her.
“I have not,” Adrian answered evenly. “Will I be afforded an opportunity to acquire one?”
“Most trials don’t bother with representation for the defendants. Depends what you can afford.”
Which, with all Adrian’s finances still in France, was nothing.
The guard turned to Marjorie. “What about you, Wynchester? Got a lawyer?”
Marjorie shook her head. But her family had money. And contacts.
“She doesn’t need a lawyer,” Adrian called out. “She’s innocent.”
“Eh? Not what I heard.”
“From whom? Snowley? You’d trust the word of a known criminal over the son of a marquess?”
“Ain’t you in here because you’re a known criminal, too?”
“I know my crimes and my accomplices,” Adrian said firmly, not meeting Marjorie’s eyes. “This woman was never engaged in illegal activity on Snowley’s premises.”
“Is that right,” said the guard. “You’d swear to this?”
“I would.” Adrian’s eyes met Marjorie’s. “Tell the magistrate.”
The guard narrowed his eyes. “Humph. We’ll see. Till then…” He ran his truncheon over Marjorie’s bars. “You’re here for the foreseeable future, duck.”
She jumped backward before his truncheon could bang across her knuckles.
The guard chuckled and sauntered on down the row.
“Son of a…” Adrian growled. “The first thing I’ll do when I get out of here—”
He broke off mid-sentence, the pallor on his cheeks growing deeper as he realized yet again that there would be no getting out of there.
“If they would let me pop over to the bank for a minute,” Adrian jested weakly, “I could clear out my London savings account. There’s not enough for either of our bail, but… I could buy you a nice prison frock?”
She frowned and tilted her head. “You’ve no money at all?”
“Not even a tin shilling. I had to take everything I owned with me.” Adrian’s eyes were hollow. “No term limit on a banishment.”
Marjorie’s heart twisted.
It wasn’t that Adrian had wished to leave. It was that he hadn’t believed any of the people he loved would have wanted him to stay.
He’d braved the return trip anyway, fully expecting to be shut out, not welcomed in. And now he was stuck here, far from family and far from home.
“I made something,” he said. “I wasn’t going to show you, but… you inspire me.”
He reached into his pocket and tossed something small and gray across the divide.
Marjorie trapped the projectile in her palms.
It was a locket. A faithful replica of Bean’s pocket watch case, if it had been made of lead and tin shavings instead of gold.
She undid the clasp. A choking laugh scratched her throat.
Rather than the hands of a watch, each side bore a miniature portrait of a face with pursed lips. The one on the left was presumably her, and the one on the right was meant to be Adrian. With the locket closed, their lips would meet, pressing them together in a kiss.
They were the worst portraits she’d ever seen in her life.
“I’m a sculptor, not a painter,” Adrian said, as though reading her mind.
“I adore it.” Her voice cracked. She pulled a guinea from her pocket. A real one, made of solid gold. “I’ll pay you for it.”
He shook his head. “Keep it. For free.”
“Never undervalue yourself,” she said fiercely, and threw the guinea to him. “You are worth far more than your family sees. Than the world believes. You always have been, Adrian. I see you. I believe in you. I…”
Love you.
She choked on the words, unable to squeeze them free from her tight throat. She closed the portraits to lock her and Adrian in an eternal kiss, and added it to the chain about her neck.
Did he realize he held her heart in his hand, as well as the guinea?
“Marjorie,” he said, visibly gathering strength. “No matter what happens, I want you to know—”
Guards spilled into the passageway. Two new ones she didn’t recognize.
One unlocked Marjorie’s cell while the other tapped his truncheon against his palm.
She stepped back, alarmed.
“That’s enough chatting, love.” The one with the keys went in and dragged her forward by the elbow. “You want to come with me.”
“Wait!” Adrian banged on his iron bars in panic. “Where are you taking her? On what authority? I’ll give you a guinea to give us another moment together. If you so much as disturb a hair on her gorgeous head—”
The guard slammed his truncheon against the iron bars of Adrian’s cell, cutting his words off mid-sentence.
As they led Marjorie away, she twisted backward in order to touch her chest and lift her hand skyward, trying her best to make the Wynchester salute, a gesture she and her siblings made when they felt something deeply or wished to make a solemn vow.
Distantly, she could see Adrian’s arm rise through the bars, as if he had reciprocated the sentiment.
Barely slowing, the guards herded Marjorie through the connecting hall and into a private room.
Inside, the Duke of Faircliffe paced before a window. His posture melted in unconcealed relief at the sight of her.
“Marjorie, thank God.” He held on to her shoulders and looked her up and down. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“I’ll leave you to it,” said the guard, shutting the door behind him and leaving Marjorie and Faircliffe in privacy.
“What’s happening?” she said in bafflement. “Did you bring papers that will allow me to spend my inheritance on bail?”
“You won’t have to.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Tommy came up with a plan.”
“Tommy would,” she said with pride. “She’s been detained on countless occasions, each time under a different name.”
“Exactly. Different names.” Faircliffe’s eyes twinkled. “Snowley’s complaint is against a Mary Wynchester. Who, in case you are wondering, is your twin. She has run off to parts unknown, confounding her beloved family, and causing nothing but strife for poor Marjorie Wynchester, who bears a superficial resemblance.”
“Mary,” she breathed. “That little minx.”
“We have plenty of proof that you are not the same individual. Not only my word as a duke, and your siblings’ word as your family members, but also the book club Mary attends on Thursdays, and the matron of an orphanage we might have recently helped to solve a problem. She clearly remembers how naughty your twin was.” He winked. “You, my dear, are sweet Marjorie. Not at all the alleged miscreant the law is looking for.”
“You mean… I can leave?”
“And never return.” Faircliffe held out his elbow.
Marjorie hesitated before taking it.
As thrilled as she was not to spend another moment trapped in that cell, she had been with Adrian—who was currently out of his mind with panic and fear for her safety. This turn of events was as terrible as it was wonderful.
Marjorie would have to leave Adrian behind.
47
Long after the guards had taken Marjorie away, Adrian still gripped the bars of his cell, straining for any sight of her, for the sound of her voice. He rested his forehead against the cold iron and sucked in an uneven breath.
There was no way to know what was happening to her at the moment. And nothing Adrian could do about it even if he did. How he hated feeling this powerless! He’d meant to be the hero. And instead all he could do was press himself against the solid locked gate and pray.
A new sensation, that. It had been a long time since Adrian had held faith in anything.
Not until Marjorie.
She filled him with emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Purpose. Happiness. Hope. She gave him a reason to keep trying, no matter what the odds. If the current road led back to Marjorie, Adrian would crawl through fire to get there.
If he wasn’t locked in a gaol cell, that was.
Defeated, he let go of the bars and slumped back onto the low wooden bench. There was nothing to do but wait. For news of Marjorie. For his trial and sentencing. For decades of confinement.
There was no doubt the judge would find him guilty. Even though he’d been coerced into this particular felony, he had no expectation of leniency. People had believed the worst of him his entire life, whether it was deserved or not. His black soul was common knowledge, regardless of the truth. There would be no mercy.
A door swung open at the end of the walkway, followed by footsteps. Adrian sprang up from the bench and flew back to the bars.
Two guards approached. Alone. One had thick red side whiskers, and the other a long gray mustache.
“Where’s Marjorie?” he called out.
“Far away from the likes of you,” responded Side Whiskers.
Panic seeped into Adrian’s bones.
“Please,” he begged. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”
Side Whiskers rolled his eyes. “Ain’t touched her. Went off with a duke.”
“With a duke.” Adrian sagged against the iron bars in boneless relief, doing his best to ignore the pang in his chest that said he might have already seen Marjorie for the last time.
