Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(109)

Portia froze with the expectation of being shot. Nothing happened, and relief flooded, making her feel both weightless and too weak to stand. But stand she did. She had to keep her wits.

“What happened to her?” she asked. Her voice was full of concern—because deep inside, she did understand why a woman would be in pain over losing someone. “Did you have to give her up?”

“She was taken from me! I was sixteen. My mother was furious when I became pregnant. I wanted my baby and she took the child away as soon as the babe was born. There was ample wealth to care for her. I could have visited her. I could have seen her grow up. But no, my mother made the infant disappear. For years, I searched for her. I learned what horrible things she suffered.”

“What happened to her?” Keep the woman talking, Portia thought. Then what? She didn’t know. She dealt with managing children, not murderers.

What did she do when one child lashed out at another? She found the reason. She talked to the child. She would be firm. She would be in charge. She would be compassionate.

“She died. My beautiful girl was only nineteen and she took too much laudanum. My wretched mother told me my child was to be condemned forever for taking her own life. There was no place in heaven for my poor little one, who had no one to protect her. My old witch of a mother was smug. But she wasn’t so smug when I drove a knife into her chest. After, I felt I had done something to avenge my poor little girl. As I had searched for her, I had learned about her life. She had been hurt by so many people. I knew I must make it right. I would make them all pay. They were all selfish, arrogant, disgusting. I knew how to lure them to this island. It was so easy. I promised the gentlemen their perverse pleasures, or I pricked their pride. The women were easy—all I had to do was invite them to a party with titled men. For the servants, I bribed them.”

The woman paused.

Portia stood close to the edge of the cliff. She feared she might shift her weight and slip off the edge. She managed to take a little step forward as the murderess brushed at tears.

“I am so sorry you lost your daughter.”

“Are you? It was your fault! The fault of your awful, holier-than-thou family!”

Instinct told her to step back as the woman spat at her, but she couldn’t of course. Instead she stepped forward, away from the edge. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t come near me,” Charlotte snapped. She leveled the pistols at Portia’s heart again.

“What did my family do?” Was she goading the woman into doing something violent? But if she was going to die, she wanted to know why. “When we took in a child, it was with the best of intentions. We never hurt a child.”

“You believed those children were less! You taught them to believe that!”

“I don’t understand—”

“Then shut up and listen, Miss High-and-Mighty Lamb. Your mother took my baby into her precious foundling home. And took the money my mother gave for her care. Just agreed it was all for the best, then taught my daughter she should be respectable, she should be good. Taught her she would never be more than a wretched servant and she should be happy to accept that, for that was her place!”

“My mother meant the best for your daughter,” Portia said. “Mother would have ensured your daughter was educated, and she would have striven to give the girl a respectable future—”

“Your saintly mother turned my daughter into prey. And all the rest of them here—they were predators.”

“What did they do to your daughter? She must have left the foundling home, then.”

“Oh, she did. At sixteen, she went to what you would call a respectable house to work as a governess. The son of the house fell in love with her—you know him now as the Earl of Rutledge. The wicked little bitch of a maid, Ellie, worked to get my precious daughter fired, because she’d been bedding the little prick of a son. The butler found out who she was, so he blackmailed my poor daughter, taking every penny she earned. Then, when she was out on the street, that hag, Harriet Barker, dragged her into a brothel. As for Rutledge—did he do right by her? Oh no, once he got her into his bed, he decided she wasn’t good enough for him! He stood by and let her fall into ruin.”

Spittle flew from Charlotte Lyon’s mouth. “The marquis, he visited her at that brothel and whipped her. She escaped that horrid place by becoming the mistress of the Earl of Blute. But he tossed her over. Then one night, she believed she’d finally found her rescuer. She still had some money and pretty gowns and jewels. But when she ventured out to a gaming hell in search of another protector, she was attacked. Viscount Sandhurst rescued her from a ruffian on the street. She fell in love with Viscount Sandhurst, but then he broke her heart. Not good enough for him.” The woman gave an evil, reptilian smile. “But you know what that’s like, don’t you?”