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A speeding carriage tore onto the scene, screeching to a halt beside the construction materials.
Daphne’s laughter froze. “Oh my God.” She seized her mother’s hand, feeling it turn to ice.
“It’s Harwick.” All the color drained from Elizabeth’s face, and she began to tremble uncontrollably. “What in the name of heaven is he doing here?”
“Thornton!”
Tragmore’s voice erupted like a gunshot, splintering into sinister fragments all about them. He stalked Pierce in harsh, uncompromising strides, emitting a coiled, bone-chilling aura of triumph.
Slowly, Pierce turned. “Tragmore. What do you want?”
“Quite a bit.” The marquis laughed. “Everything, in fact. My entire life—and yours.”
“Get out.” Instinctively, Pierce took a protective step in Daphne’s direction as if to shield her from her father’s presence. “Get out before I throw you out.”
Unconcerned, Tragmore glanced in the direction of Pierce’s movement. “Ah. My traitorous daughter and my adulterous wife. Your servants didn’t mention I’d find them here as well. And where is the deceitful vicar? I assumed he would complete this cozy picture.”
“Cease this tirade, Harwick.” The vicar dropped the nails he’d been holding, coming to stand beside Pierce. “You’ve done enough damage to last a lifetime. Go back to Tragmore.”
“Ah, there you are, Chambers. I feared you’d disappointed me. As for my going back to Tragmore, I fully intend to. But when I do, it will be as a rich and powerful man.” The marquis flourished his portfolio, a vicious gleam in his eye. “Or, if not rich and powerful, then at least thoroughly vindicated.”
“You? Vindicated?” Pierce laughed harshly. “ ’Tis you who contaminates the rest of the world, Tragmore. Not the other way around.”
“Is that why my wife is bedding down with the pious clergyman?”
Chambers went rigid. “Don’t soil Elizabeth’s name, you unworthy scoundrel. Not in my presence.”
“How gallant!” Tragmore applauded. “ ’Tis no wonder Elizabeth prefers your bed to mine. Tell me, Chambers, are you sharing her room during your prolonged and intimate stay at Markham?”
“Don’t dignify that vile accusation with an answer, Vicar.” Pierce’s eyes glittered with hatred.
“Your Grace?” the foreman called out tentatively. “Shall we wait?”
“It’s not necessary, Mallor,” Pierce replied, his gaze glued to Tragmore. “The marquis will be leaving shortly. Start hoisting the beams. Miss Redmund, watch the children.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Miss Redmund agreed, gathering the children together.
The sounds of construction resumed.
“All right, Tragmore,” Pierce ground out. “You’ve spoken your filthy mind. Now get out.”
“Not quite yet, Thornton.” With cold deliberation, Tragmore extracted five or six sheets from his portfolio. “You see, despite the overwhelming presence of your burly guards, my investigator managed to acquire a significant amount of evidence at Rutland. Enough to prove there is more involved here than my filthy mind, as you put it. Pages of evidence, in fact.” He turned to the vicar. “Would you like a recounting of each and every visit you made to see Elizabeth these past two months? Of the long moments you and she were alone, unchaperoned, in the manor in which Thornton ensconced her? Just the two of you and those thoughtful, romantic yellow roses you brought her on your visits. Not to mention your unexpected and cozy carriage ride from Rutland to Markham, where you’re residing under the same roof, doing lord knows what.”
“We’re talking, Harwick. Something you are incapable of doing except with your fists.” Chambers could scarcely speak beyond his rage. “Not even your devious investigator can fabricate sins that never took place. And deep inside your black heart, you know very well that Elizabeth is incapable of deceit. That so long as she bears your name, she would never be unfaithful to you.”
“Ah, but she’s in the process of ridding herself of my name, is she not? Or so Hollingsby told me when he dropped by Tragmore to sever our association.”
“Yes,” Pierce bit out. “She is. And with just cause, as we both know. You brutalized her, you bastard, just as you brutalized my wife.”
“I? A bastard?” Another bitter laugh. “I believe you’re confused, Thornton.
’Tis you who are the bastard, not I. You were born of a whore who was cast into the streets where she belonged. Had the fates been kind, she would have died there, with you still in her belly, rather than taking up taxpayers’ money in that filthy Leicester workhouse.”
Something inside Pierce snapped.
“You son of a bitch.” His fist shot out, sending Tragmore reeling backward.
“Don’t, Pierce.” The vicar grabbed his sleeve. “That is precisely what he’s goading you into doing. For whatever reason, he wants to appear the martyr.” Chambers indicated the gaping crew and children.
