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Newton dropped his head into his hands. “I was desperate,” he rasped.
But Daniel hardly heard him for the roaring that started up in his ears. “You destroyed Margery’s memories of her husband. It’s all she had left of him, those memories. And now she thinks her husband betrayed his country, that he’s a deserter.” He turned to fully face the man, fighting against the urge to grab him by the shirtfront and shake him until his teeth rattled. “When all along,youwere the one deserting.Youwere the one turning your back on your battalion, on your country.”
A sob escaped Newton, quickly stifled as he bit his lip. “Are you going to tell the authorities?”
“Worried about your own skin?” Daniel snarled. Unable to sit close to Newton a moment longer, he lurched to his feet and looked out over the waves. Down the beach a couple strolled in the cool evening air, and several young girls laughed as they packed up their game of battledore and shuttlecock. But Daniel felt a world away from those happy scenes.
Breathing deep of the briny sea air, he closed his eyes and said, his voice rough, “In regard to your desertion, I was at that battle; I recall the chaos, the fear, the stench and noise. And so, while I despise you for your cowardice, there’s little point in seeking justice now.”
He turned to face Newton. “But your despicable act of tormenting Margery is another matter entirely.”
The man swallowed hard. “It was but a hundred quid,” he said, his voice dropping to a whine that made Daniel clench his back teeth so hard he thought they’d shatter. “She’s related to two bloody dukes, is daughter of a viscount. That sum is a mere drop in a bucket to one such as her.”
Daniel’s control snapped. “You bastard,” he snarled, lurching forward to loom over the man. “You bloody sniveling coward. If you were as close to Aaron as she seems to think you were, you would know that her father cut her off without a cent.”
Newton’s eyes widened in fear, his gaze snagging on Daniel’s cheek. His scar must be standing out in frightening relief. But for once Daniel was glad of it, was glad that it was terrifying to behold.
“B-but surely,” the other man stuttered, “she receives support from the others. They could not have all left her out to dry with no financial help. She practically lives at Seacliff, after all.”
“You obviously know nothing about her. Margery has pride. She would never go running to another for funds. And she would protect Aaron’s memory with her life.”
Once more he recalled the desolation on her face when she’d believed Aaron to have deserted his battalion. She’d held out hope that her husband had been innocent. Until Daniel had gone and made her believe such a heinous thing was true.
How she must be suffering. And he refused to allow her to believe such a thing for even a second longer.
Reaching down, Daniel grabbed Newton’s shirtfront and hauled him to his feet. The man gasped, flinching. If Daniel had looked down to find the man had wet himself, he would not have been surprised.
“What are you going to do to me?” Newton cried.
“I’m going to haul you before Margery, so you might tell her the truth of your deceit yourself. She’ll be your judge and jury.” He bared his teeth in a grin, felt the pull of tight scar tissue as he allowed his features to take on a terrifying cast. And was rewarded as Newton paled and blanched at the sight of it.
“If you’re a praying man,” he bit out, “I’d start praying now.”
***
Margery should have expected her grandmother to question her disappearance. She’d given her no real excuse, after all, merely leaving a note stating that she would be gone to Dewbury for the night and would return the following afternoon.
She should have expected it. Yet she had not.
Margery threw open the door to her room and strode inside, not realizing she wasn’t alone until her grandmother spoke.
“Finally back, are you?”
Gasping, Margery placed a hand over her racing heart. She searched the room, spying the older woman seated near the window.
“Gran, what in the world are you doing here?”
“I think,” her grandmother said in a tone that brooked no argument, “that you and I are due for a talk.”
Margery, still emotionally drained from her time in Dewbury—facing her grief over Aaron, the unexpected anger she’d been carrying, reconciling with her father, and realizing that she still loved Daniel no matter what he had done—was in no mood to sit and talk with her grandmother in what she was certain would be a stressful conversation. But she also knew that, if she asked the woman to leave, she would be courting a much bigger problem than just having an unpleasant conversation. Namely, Lady Tesh’s effrontery, which could be frightening, indeed. And so, sighing heavily, she trudged to the chair facing her grandmother and sat.
Gran pursed her lips as she regarded Margery. Freya, seated in her mistress’s lap, eyed her with equal intensity, and Margery felt, inexplicably, as if she were being judged and condemned by the pair of them.
“You went to Dewbury, did you?” her grandmother drawled.
Just keeping herself from rolling her eyes, Margery said in the pleasant, singsong voice she usually adopted with the older woman when she was in a snit, “I did. As you well know, seeing as I left you a note telling you just that.”
Gran’s eyes narrowed, proof that she had heard the little jab. “You did. But what you failed to tell me in your frighteningly succinct letter”—here she raised one eyebrow imperiously—“waswhyyou went to Dewbury. A place, I might add, that you have not been to in some years.”
