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Chapter Twenty-Five
The large man with the bald head hauled him to his feet. Jackson stumbled precariously. The whole world was swaying like a pendulum. He knew that he needed to focus; to get his wits about him and quickly. His life depended upon it.
Cardigan was simply standing there watching him with cool, amused eyes. He was obviously revelling in Jackson’s bad state. He took a step back, as Jackson suddenly lunged forward towards him. Slowly, he started to laugh.
“Not so grand now, are you, Fisher?” he said, his eyes flicking over him. “Oh, how the mighty fall.”
“It’s Merriweather,” spat Jackson, glaring at the man. “I’ve told you before.”
Cardigan laughed again. “Merriweather, then, for what it is worth. It matters not a whit. Once I am done with you, no one will be calling you anything at all.”
The large man was subduing him, now, his thick arms wound tightly around him. It was like struggling to escape an ogre, or some other fairy tale monster. Jackson kicked out ineffectually. The monster tightened his grip.
He kept glaring at Cardigan. Now it was all making sense. The reason he had been attacked and dragged into this Godforsaken house. It had been on his nemesis’s orders. The ogre was merely a paid lackey, the muscle employed to do the job properly.
But there were still a thousand questions swimming around in his mind. Questions he needed answers to.
“Why?” he breathed, trying to swallow his rage. “Why have you done this?”
Cardigan laughed again, circling him, rather like a panther stalking its prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
“You are rather obtuse, are you not?” he said, coming close, so that their faces were only inches apart. “You know very well why. Fate brought us together many moons ago, and for some strange reason our paths keep crossing.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I do not like that. I do not like it at all.”
Jackson struggled in the ogre’s arms. “Our paths are not crossing out of fate, Cardigan. You have sought me out repeatedly.” He took a deep breath, trying to regain his wits. “And you are deliberately interfering in my business. I am quite content to leave a low life like you quite alone.”
Cardigan smiled slowly. “Ah, but that is not good enough for me, as it turns out. I thought perhaps that we could co-exist – never as allies, but still. I thought the way of dealing with you was to keep my eye upon you. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, as they say.”
Jackson spat on the floor, in front of him. “I do not want any dealings with you. I have not sought you out, even though your existence is a stain upon this earth.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “Just let me go, Cardigan. I vow to not say a word about this, and we can go our separate ways.”
Cardigan’s face darkened. “Ah, but that is the rub. You shall always be in my orbit. We are both nobles after all. We run in the same circles. And I find that even knowing you are in that orbit is disturbing my sleep. I simply must get you out of it.”
The door opened, and a small man with the look of a weasel came into the room. “There is no one about, milord,” he breathed. “I have been around the house twice. The coast is clear.”
“Good,” said Cardigan, flashing a smile. “We have time then.” He turned back to Jackson. “Because now that I have you, I find that I wish to prolong the process. It would be a simple matter to end you now…but I think not. You must suffer.”
“For the love of God, why?” cried Jackson. “Just let me go. I have not said anything about what happened that day on the battlefield. It was years ago. Why do you think I would now?”
Cardigan glowered at him. “You could end me with a word in the right ear. It does not matter how long ago it was. The threat is still there, and it shall always be there.” He paused. “I am simply doing something I should have done years ago.”
He walked up to Jackson and gripped his face with one hand. Slowly he smiled while his eyes raked over his scar.
“I have always thought it enough that you carry a permanent reminder of that day,” he whispered slowly. “The scar is quite hideous, and for a while it sufficed that your life was forever blighted by it. No lady worth her salt would ever consider you. No proper lady would ever consent to lie with a beast.”
Jackson struggled to wrench his face away, but the ogre tightened his grip again.
“But it seems that I was wrong about that,” continued Cardigan in a fierce whisper. “The beast snared a beauty. That confounded me for a while.” He paused. “Until I read that scandal rag along with the rest of London and found that you had been hoodwinked by her. I laughed very loudly when I read that. The beautiful Lady Patricia only ever wanted you for your wealth and status and loathes the very ground you walk upon.”
A deep rage filled Jackson’s chest. It was so overwhelming, it was like a black stain upon his soul.
“Do not mention my wife,” he hissed. “Do not dare.”
Cardigan laughed again. “Oh, you are still defending her honor? How sweet of you. She is a fortune hunter, Merriweather. A run of the mill flirt, willing to lift her skirts for any gentleman with a gold coin or two. It was the only reason she ever looked at you. She was probably nauseous the whole time she laid with the beast.”
“I swear to God, I shall kill you,” hissed Jackson, struggling in the ogre’s arms. “You shall not mention my wife. You are not good enough to even lick her boots.”
“Oh, I shall do rather more to her than that when I have her,” drawled Cardigan, his eyes gleaming. “I am rather looking forward to the fun I shall have with her on our wedding night.” He laughed. “Did I forget to mention? I am intending to marry the fortune hunter, once I have dispensed with you. She is a beauty indeed…and it rather tickles my fancy that you shall go to your death knowing I shall have her for eternity.”
“She would never have you,” growled Jackson, the rage growing ever stronger. “She would never consider you for a moment. She told me she dislikes you intensely.”
