Rosalind turned at the deeply unwelcome greeting. “Lord Brittingham,” she said without feeling. “Good evening.”
“Will you dance tonight? May I add my name to your card?”
“You know I haven’t danced…since…” She fell silent. She owed him no explanations and wanted no pity from his quarter. “I daresay there are many ladies here who would fall over themselves to dance with you. You needn’t attend upon me.”
His intent eyes flashed with stubborn zeal. Gods, but he was tiresome. What would it take to turn him off? Just as she was preparing a rather rude dismissal, a man’s voice sounded above the ballroom’s noise.
“Brittingham. You jackal. Step away from my wife.”
Rosalind spun as if she were on a swivel. The band’s playing came to an abrupt halt. This could not be. It was not Marlow, surely. He could not be here after the things he’d done.
He crossed toward the place she stood with Brittingham, his features contorted with rage, his hands balled into fists. Townsend separated himself from his dance partner and moved to intercept him. Marlow? How could it be? She could not breathe. In his year’s absence his hair had grown wild and long again. His clothes looked rough and ill-fitting. Marlow pushed by Townsend with a snarl and stalked to Brittingham.
“You scoundrel. You bloody criminal bastard. If you don’t step away from her, I’ll murder you where you stand. As it is, I’ll have the law after you. Don’t think I’ll let you run to the Continent and escape justice after what you did to me.”
Rosalind could hardly process his words, she was so confused by his sudden, vitriolic appearance.
“This madman,” Brittingham muttered. She could see he was taken aback.
“You’re the madman if you imagined I wouldn’t return to seek revenge upon your cursed hide. You should have killed me if you wanted to get away with your scheme.”
“What nonsense is this? You don’t belong here. Throw him out,” he said to the gentlemen around them. “Mind the ladies, they’re growing upset.”
“No one’s throwing him out,” said Lord Warren, pushing through the crowd. “Let my son speak.” He took Marlow’s shoulders, studying his face. “I can hardly believe you stand here before us. What has happened?”
“He’s lost his mind, that’s what’s happened.” Brittingham tried to draw Rosalind behind him.
“No,” Marlow shouted. “Do not touch her.” He moved past his father and launched himself at the finely dressed marquess, clutching his neck as if to strangle him. Rosalind gasped and Marlow glanced sideways at her, right into her eyes.
And she knew, in that instant, that he had never left her. He had never been lost, either. He had been taken away.
“You sent your henchmen to kidnap me,” he shouted at Brittingham. None of the guests moved, nor said a word, as Marlow throttled Brittingham until his face was crimson. “You hustled me into a coach and delivered me to a convict ship in beggar’s clothes. I sailed all the way to the damned Australian colonies thanks to you.” He shook Brittingham one last, vicious time, then let go. “Speak, you bloody bastard.” Some ladies gasped. “Or will you deny it?”
Her brother, who’d looked ready to attack Marlow a moment ago, now turned on Brittingham. August, Wescott, and Lord Warren took up a place on his other side. Her mother took her arm and pulled her away from the fracas, though she didn’t want to leave Marlow. He was here. How could he be here? What had been done to him?
“You wanted my wife, didn’t you?” Marlow shouted, shoving Brittingham back. “You thought you could trundle me off to the colonies and all would be well. It might have worked if I wasn’t experienced in jumping off damned ships to save my life.”
The ladies gasped again at the profanity, or perhaps the spectacle. She could see now that Marlow was shaking. He was weak and thin, and angrier than she’d ever seen any man in her life. God knows how he’d gotten here, tonight of all nights, from peril in Australia.
Tonight of all nights.
“Are you saying Lord Brittingham was responsible for your disappearance a year ago?” asked the Earl of Warren. “Is that your accusation?”
“Yes. He had me kidnapped from the street and bundled onto a convict ship while I was out cold. I woke up hardly knowing my name. Murder would have been easier, but you wanted me to suffer, didn’t you?”
Her father had joined the fracas now too, and other gentlemen, all surrounding Brittingham, who’d gone red as hot coals.
“No, that’s not true. None of this is true.” Brittingham finally seemed to find his voice. “Preposterous fantasies trumped up to excuse your own reprehensible behavior. How dare you accuse me, sir? How dare you, by God—”
“How dare I?” Marlow thrust a finger under his nose. “Your sneering henchman revealed everything to me as I lay in chains on that stinking ship. How he’d switched my clothes with that other chap. How they’d put him on a ship to India under my name so it would seem I’d abandoned my wife.”
His eyes found her as he said it. Even though her mother had drawn her a safe distance away, he’d known exactly where she was the entire time. “I never left you, Rosalind. Never.”
“I know.”
She whispered the words, ashamed, because she had allowed herself to believe it when she should not have believed. He’d never left her. He’d been kidnapped by Brittingham’s accomplices.
“I’ll have the name of every man who helped you,” he shouted at Brittingham, turning away from her. “I’ll have the name of every criminal who conspired against me at your hand and the lot of you will pay with your lives.”