Page 102 of Scandalous

Bile rose in his throat. How could she survive such bleakness? How had the boy survived? Martín would not rest until he found her daughter.

“I will find your girl. Even if he kills me tomorrow, I will leave instructions and money. I know men who will rip the world apart for her. They will find her, buy her freedom, and bring her to you.”

She laughed, the sound so bitter and hate-filled, Martín felt as though she’d raked her nails across his face.

“You will only need a shovel and a little patience to find her.”

Martín stared.

“He sold her to his nearest neighbor. She was only there a few months before she died of some disease that killed everyone on the plantation. I begged him to wait, to—” Valerie stopped abruptly, her face once again impassive, as though she’d never divulged such unbearable horror. That was when he realized she was little more than a beautiful shell, a vessel with nothing other than hate to fill it.

He stared at his hands, which were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. As white as the man who claimed to own him. A hand like delicately carved ebony covered his clenched fists, her touch cool and as light as a feather. He looked up, stunned by the comforting gesture. But there was no tenderness in her face; she was not seeking to comfort or to be comforted.

“I will attend tomorrow, as I have done several times in the past. It arouses him to have an audience to his violence. He likes to display his skill and take me after.” Her hand fell away. “See that our son is cared for.”

Martín’s head throbbed with rage. He wanted to grab and shake some anger into her, but he could see she had already retreated back into herself.

He stood. “Make sure the boy is ready to leave when this is finished. And yourself, too.”

* * *

Adam de Courtney, the seventh Marquess of Exley, looked at Martín without speaking. For the second time in one day Martín found himself looking at a person who gave away very little. With Valerie, it was because she had nothing left to give. With the marquess? Well, who knew what the man was hiding?

He had listened to Martín’s story without asking a single question or making even one comment. When Martín finished, he rose and poured them each a second glass of brandy.

Exley resumed his chair, his posture so rigid it made Martín sore just looking at him. The marquess took a sip of brandy and met Martín’s eyes.

“I saw d’Armand shoot at Manton’s some years ago. He lived in London for a while before he went to America. I shot against him on four occasions.”

Martín hated to ask, but he had to. “And did you best him?”

Exley gave Martín the arctic stare that made it so difficult for some members of the ton to forget his notorious nickname.

“We run even as of our last match.”

Damn! He should have chosen blades.

Exley took a sip and gave a slight smile, as if he could hear Martín’s thoughts. “He is even more dangerous with a short sword.”

Martín nodded and sighed. “You will second me?”

Exley’s bizarrely pale eyes blinked at the question; Martín thought it might have been the first time he’d seen the man exhibit even mild surprise. “I would have thought you’d ask Ramsay.”

“Ramsay has been acting like an old woman since his marriage. He would tell his wife, and she would find some way to stop me.”

Exley sat as still as a cat, his cold stare enough to make any man jumpy. “And you believe I will not tell my wife?” he asked, both his expression and his tone incurious.

“If you recall, I once helped you keep a matter of some importance from Lady Exley. You owe me.”

“Ah, I see. Giving you Oak Park was not enough to clear the ledger?” He did not wait for an answer to his sarcastic question. “I will act as your second, and I will not tell my wife.”

Martín suddenly felt weak with relief. Exley might be an uncomfortable man to be around, but at least he was straightforward and not overly emotional. Unlike Ramsay. Martín grimaced at the thought of the mercurial ex-privateer learning about this duel.

“As your second it is part of my duty to urge you to seek reconciliation. I will only ask you once, Captain Bouchard. Is there no other way out of this?”

“No. He wishes to kill me. Whether it is for the money or for revenge”—Martín shrugged—“I don’t know.”

“Very well,” Exley said, unperturbed. “If you kill him, you must have plans to leave the country immediately. And if you don’t kill him? Well, you must still have plans for the woman and boy.”