Unlike Penfold. Harold drew a deep breath and made a suggestion he hoped might lead his sire in the right direction rather than all over the rest of the countryside. “I believe we should go and snoop around the Penfold estate a little more. Perhaps question his former man of business? What if Penfold fled the country?”
His father shook his head. “No. He would never have left without the children and I won’t have that little bitch hold us at gunpoint again. She might just be cracked enough to shoot. Then there’s the bastard’s men too. They haven’t left her side in days.”
Nor would they, he wanted to add but kept his tongue between his teeth. His father was quick to temper these days and Harold had enough bruises on his person without adding more. They had reached a definite crossroads and Harold had been thinking the time had come to part ways with his wastrel father. Part ways before the earl considered giving up his only legitimate son and heir to pay his considerable, and still mounting, debts. Prison would not suit him.
There were only three ways the following weeks would play out. Either they found Penfold and demanded what was theirs—not the money, they knew he had none. But the daughters did. Harold had been in the room when the matter was discussed. He’d thought to coax Eliza Penfold into becoming his wife by choice rather than taking her and riding like the hounds were after them to Gretna. But he’d misjudged and shot his chances with her.
Cold bitch she was anyway. There was no way, not for all the money in England, would he have her in his bed. It was beneath him to rape a lady and he needed an heir and a few spares. There were the two younger sisters. He could easily lead one of them to his way of thinking. If their bloody sister wasn’t always around to get in the bloody way.
Penfold had promised Wickham that Harold would have his wife and their money. He’d asked for time though, time to bring a daughter to heel. It was the last desperate measure for a desperate man. Desperate men were unpredictable. Harold didn’t care for unpredictable.
The other two ways the situation could swing meant death or exile. If they didn’t both get a knife in the back first, they could flee. He could flee. His father seemed to have too much pride to run away and never return. Harold was still debating the merits. As a last resort. Maybe.
“I’m going to take a look around anyway. I’ll go in on foot.”
“You’ll get yourself shot.”
Harold rose to his feet and glared at the man who seemed to have no true emotion in his heart at all, other than greed and fear of course. “There are worse ways to die.”
Wickham hadn’t been there to see the nameless stranger lit on fire in a seedy back alley deep in the slums. His father hadn’t been there to smell the flesh of a man as he burned to death over a debt he couldn’t pay. To be held on to tightly by the vice-like arms of burly guards so he couldn’t look away. To feel the same threat as it was whispered in his ear before being thrown out onto the filthy street.
Harold knew—in a way his father was completely and deliberately obtuse to—that there were far worse ways to die and they were all coming for them. Man and fire alike.
*
The feelings of freedom Eliza had experienced at her wedding feast had not made another appearance in the two days since she had said the vows to a perfect stranger. Well, he wasn’t perfect. Not even a little bit. But Darius was patient with her siblings. He took Ethan onto his knee whenever the boy had a story to tell or a complaint to make. There were far more of the former and not too many of the latter but Darius took them all in with a chuckle when it was warranted and grave understanding even when it was more than clear to the rest of them how he wanted to howl with laughter. She had been pleasantly surprised to see Darius laugh so much, thinking him a most serious sort to begin with, and wondering several times if it was all an act for the children’s benefit.
She didn’t mind either way.
For Nathanial, Darius had organised some of the men to begin teaching him how to wield a sword and throw a dagger. Not pursuits Eliza would normally condone but she did quietly admit such skills may come in good use one day. Probably sooner rather than later.
Gabriella and Grace spent their days reading in the library. It seemed the old earl was an avid reader of just about everything from poetry to romantic novels to thrillers and books about other countries around the world. Darius had granted them full access to any book they could reach from the safety of the floor. He had secretly whispered to her that the truly naughty books were on the top shelves. Her cheeks had grown warm and she had found herself wondering what was so naughty about them but had been too thoroughly distracted by his hot breath in her ear to give it more thought.
None of the Penfold children were brave enough to upset Darius or his men, the tension thick in the house despite the hours of merriment. They couldn’t relax even though the men tried their best to make them feel at home.
Eliza didn’t feel at home at all. She felt like a stranger, an intruder and a fraud. During the day she made idle talk with the sailors and at night she lay in Darius’s large, cold bed thinking about the man and his kisses. Thinking about her shocking behaviour after too much liquid courage. More than that, she thought about her brother’s words that she should seduce her husband to better manage
