Hamish looked up at her with a frown. “Och, no, dinna go blaming yourself. That wicked banshee over there brought this on ye.”
It wasn’t true. The knowledge lay like a stain on her soul that Ben had paid for his sister’s sins today.
But repenting her misdeeds must wait. Ignoring the sting of her scraped palms, she tried to use the handkerchief to clean the dirt and blood from Ben’s swollen, marked face. But the severity of his wounds defeated her and the linen square was soon soaked red.
His nose sat askew, and his mouth wasn’t much more than a bloody gash. If not for his shock of white-blonde hair, even filthy and matted as it was, she’d have had trouble recognizing him.
“What do you think, Mr. Macleish?” she asked huskily.
“His nose is broken and I wouldnae be surprised if a few ribs are cracked. We’ll get him back tae the castle where a proper doctor can see tae him.”
Hamish’s touch was sure and kind as he tested her brother’s injuries, as sure and kind as it was when he tended the duke’s horses. The thought was strangely reassuring. She bent her head and crooned comfort over Ben, just as she’d crooned when he’d been a child in her care.
“No, Justin! You jest!”
The duchess’s emphatic denial dragged Verity’s attention from her unconscious brother. Mother and son squared up a few feet away from where she knelt. The fine-boned faces that proclaimed their shared blood were stark with naked hatred.
“I am most definitely serious, madam.” Kylemore’s voice was more cutting than Verity had ever heard it. It was the voice of a man who exacted instant obedience to his merest command. “You will retire to the dowerhouse in Norfolk. You will take your odious ward with you. An escort will accompany you there and I’ll set guards round the clock at the house. If you venture one foot beyond Norwich, I cease to be responsible for your expenses and you must rely purely on your jointure from my father’s estate.”
“That’s barbaric! I am your mother!” The rage in the duchess’s voice made Verity’s hands pause in stroking the tangled hair back from Ben’s forehead.
“Because you’re my mother, only I can end the devastation you wreak.” Kylemore’s words dripped such ice that Verity shivered. “I should have curbed you long ago. Foolishly, I believed you powerless without access to the ducal purse. Today that grave error of judgment almost cost me everything I hold dear.”
Verity’s heart leaped with outlaw happiness. It was the nearest thing to an open declaration of love she’d ever have from him.
Kylemore raised one elegant hand to forestall any protest from his mother. “No, madam, don’t waste your breath. I am determined. You are destined for a life of harmless rustication.”
The older woman drew herself up to her full height. “Very impressive, Justin,” she sneered. “But I still have one weapon in my arsenal.”
“Yes, and what’s that?” he asked as idly as if he discussed a trifling wager on a horserace or a boxing match.
“My husband was indubitably mad. To my distress, my son is highly strung and difficult.” Insincere sadness infused her cruel words. “Your recent behavior indicates you’ve inherited your father’s tragic affliction. Proceed with your vile plan to exile me and I’ll have you committed as a lunatic.”
“No! It’s not true!” Verity cried in anguish. Her hands clenched in Ben’s ripped and dirty shirt.
Kylemore glanced across at her, and astonishingly, he smiled. “Don’t worry, mo leannan. This particular tigress no longer has teeth.”
The duchess frowned at his assertion. “You think so, Justin? London is agog at the lengths you’ve taken to regain your tawdry mistress. The gossips always speculated about your sanity. It will need very little to fan those rumors, dear boy.” She had the gall to reach up and tap his cheek as though he were indeed a troublesome child. “So let’s have no more talk of the dowerhouse.”
Kylemore’s smile faded as he turned back to his mother. “The same gossips will relish the reports from your household servants, madam. The sordid tales of your insatiable appetite for brawny young footmen. Or for ruffians off the streets paid a guinea for the foul pleasures you exacted.”
Even at a distance, Verity saw the duchess whiten. “Justin? What are you saying?” she gasped, reeling back.
Still he maintained that uncanny control. The more composed he sounded, the more dangerous he became, Verity knew.
“I possess sworn statements detailing your sexual excesses. Perhaps your endless affairs with members of the ton may be overlooked. Your taste for rougher trade won’t encounter so much understanding. Smithson, your pander, stands beside you. I doubt he’ll keep his mouth shut if he can save himself from the gallows. Consider carefully before you threaten me with your pathetic stratagems again.”
“You’ve had me watched, you miserable little bastard?” she snarled. The contemptuous tone sent a queasy aftershock of terror through Verity, and she held her brother’s motionless body more tightly.
“Indeed,” Kylemore said, unmoved by her insults. “I k
new the day would come when you overstepped even the generous boundaries I set on your behavior.”
The woman’s voice shook as she spoke, and her rouge stood out unnaturally bright on her sallow cheeks. “No, Justin! This is too cruel. If you won’t think of me, think of yourself. You cannot drag the Kinmurrie name through the mire!”
“I only did what I was told, Your Grace,” Smithson insisted from behind the duchess. “It was more than my job was worth to gainsay the lady’s demands.”
“You are a thug and a bully,” Kylemore said acidly. “And I’ll see you and your cohorts hang for today’s work.”