A/N: This is the final chapter of Ruthless. Thank you so much for all your readership and support! It has meant much to me. There is a sequel in the making for this story, but for now, enjoy the final chapter!

When Beckett awoke the following morning, he found that Victoria had already risen. She was sitting before her mirror, staring impassively at her own face and the marks upon it. “What are you doing?” Beckett asked, both groggy and irritated.

“Looking at myself,” Victoria replied matter of factly, her eyes never moving from her reflection. “I find that if I start off my mornings reminding myself of the way I look these days, the stares and grimaces of strangers don’t quite affect me so badly.”

“I’m glad,” Beckett said sullenly. “Now come back to bed.”

Victoria smiled and glanced over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling brightly. The scar that sliced a path from her eye to her nose stretched and crinkled with the smile. “Missing me already?” she asked.

“It’s bloody cold in here,” Beckett said gruffly.

“Ha!” Victoria snorted in disbelief, but she rose from her seat and slid under the covers beside him. “It’s only your cold blood that freezes you so.”

“You’re just as cold-blooded as me,” Beckett said, tugging her comfortably against him.

“Not nearly so much. I have only killed one person, whereas you have literally slain and destroyed hundreds, if not thousands.”

“Haven’t reached the thousand mark yet,” Beckett said sleepily. “But I will soon enough…”

“Satan has a special place for you in hell, I’m sure,” Victoria said wryly. “Then we’ll see what good your cold blood does to chill you.”

Beckett laughed lowly and opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment Mary bustled in, head bowed. “Breakfast is ready, milord – milady,” she said, peeking briefly at Victoria’s back.

“Thank you,” Beckett said rather crossly. When Mary didn’t budge, he added, “You are dismissed.”

She glanced up timidly. “Does milady need my help?” she asked softly.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Victoria said curtly.

Mary’s head dropped again, and she turned and silently left.

“I should throw her out onto the street,” Beckett growled.

“Why? Has she insulted you?”

“No – you’re the one she slights.”

“Not really.” Victoria sat up, stretched, and slipped from bed again despite a sharp and uncouth protest from Beckett. “But I wouldn’t object if you found her a new employer. I miss Eleanor most days.”

“As my Lady wishes.” Beckett leapt from bed in one fluid motion, going to his wardrobe and removing a fresh suit of clothes – a silver-gray coat with fine blue edging and a pale blue waistcoat to match. “You’re sure you can dress yourself?” Beckett inquired as he watched Victoria set out the various parts of her gown.

“I’m certain I can’t,” she replied, “But you can help me.”

“I can, but I won’t,” Beckett retorted over his shoulder. “I’ve places to go this morning.”

“Such as where?” Victoria asked scornfully.

Beckett lifted an envelope with neat scripting across its front from his pile of clothes, dropped onto the chair the night before. “Your dear friend Catherine has sent for me – her messenger was rather secretive about it, so I imagine it must have something to do with the child she’s carrying.”

The mention of Cat and Mercer’s baby set a dark mood on Victoria. “Oh,” she said, a bit angrily. “I see.”

Beckett glanced at her, but said nothing.

“What? No smart remark from my husband?” Victoria said caustically.

“None. I’ve only just gotten you to forgive me. I don’t feel the need to receive the cold shoulder for another four months.” He reached over and carefully placed his wig on his head, setting it perfectly in place.

“You didn’t receive the cold shoulder for four months – you sent me away, you bastard!” Victoria cried.

“You ran away,” Beckett pointed out. “I might have changed my mind if you’d stayed here, you know.”

“It was plain I wasn’t wanted,” Victoria said angrily. “Now help me with this before I throw my stays at you.”

Beckett chuckled, but gave in. “How tight?” he asked, taking the laces of her corset.

“If I’m not gasping every time I speak, it isn’t tight enough,” Victoria told him.

“Dear lord,” Beckett said incredulously. “Why do women torture themselves this way?”

“To impress wicked men like yourself,” Victoria shot back. “Why aren’t you pulling?”

Beckett gave the corset a forceful tug. “Hard enough for you?” he asked.

“About as weak as your effort in bed last night,” Victoria said airily.

Beckett inhaled sharply. “Effort?” he repeated furiously. “Effort? I’ll show you effort!” And with that, he gave a vindictive pull that literally pulled Victoria back from the wardrobe she had been leaning against.

“Ohh!” she gasped, clutching at her waist. “Bloody hell, Cutler, I wasn’t serious!”

“You’d best not have been,” Beckett grumbled, remorsefully loosening the laces a little. “But you’re gasping with every word, so I’ve done exactly as you wished.”

“Cold-hearted prig,” Victoria sniffed, her chest heaving as she took in a breath.

Beckett turned her to face him and kissed her lightly. “You wouldn’t love me if I was anything else,” he said. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and added, “I should go. Cat’s expecting me.”

Victoria frowned slightly. “Be kind to her, Cutler,” she ordered. “She does not deserve your anger or your disdain.”

“I’ll… do my best,” Beckett said – not entirely reassuring. Victoria cast him a stern glance, but he was already slipping out the door. “I’ll be back this evening,” he called over his shoulder. “After the Whitlocks’ I’ll be going to the Company’s headquarters. I’ll be home in time for dinner. Don’t go out – not even into the gardens.”

“But -!” Victoria started to protest, but Beckett was already gone. Victoria glanced at herself in the mirror and saw the angry red flush on her face – the humiliation placed on her by one single order. Don’t go out – not even into the gardens. Her husband was ashamed of her, no matter what he said.

Victoria forcefully swallowed her pride and made to finish dressing. If Beckett was ashamed of her, then she would have to be unashamed of herself. She grabbed her gown and finished her preparations for the day, then sailed out, ready to face the day.

Cat was waiting at the window when Beckett arrived at the door. She was already standing and pacing the room when the butler answered the door. She twisted her hands nervously before her, occasionally pausing to run her hands over her lower belly – knowing her child was growing there.

The butler entered the room, Beckett’s cape swung over his arm. “Lord Beckett, Miss Whitlock,” the butler said with a bow, “Is here to see you.”

“Thank you,” Cat said, waving a hand dismissively. “You may show him in.”

The butler stood aside, and Beckett entered with his usual confident strut. “Miss Whitlock,” he said with a polite nod. “How are you this morning?”

“As well as can be expected,” Cat said shortly, eyes following the butler and remaining locked on him until he closed the door behind him. As soon as the heavy wooden doors were shut she burst out, “I wanted to come to you when I first realized… well, what had happened - but since Victoria was away in the country you were never home when I came by and Victoria wasn’t there to convince you to see me. So I was forced to confess to my parents when I’d only wanted to ask you for your advice and then I found myself engaged to the most dangerous rake in London –!”

“Ah, yes,” Beckett interrupted sardonically. “Duke Lawless. The only man who would step up and claim a damaged woman for his wife.”

Cat flinched at the derision in his tone, but she forged ahead anyway, believing that perhaps he would still help her. “In our meetings so far, Lawless has been generally charming and generous to me,” she said with some relief, “Which endears him to me – but I’m not certain how long such behavior will last once we’re married.”

“It won’t last,” Beckett assured her rather coldly. “Lawless is a dangerous man. He has done terrible things in the past to the disadvantaged and the wealthy alike. To me it seems most likely that he only seeks your fortune.” Beckett glanced sharply at her. “I tell you this not to be generous, but to forewarn you,” he said. “It is plain to me how… innocent you are in these matters and I thought, before you married, that you should know Lawless does nothing without being certain he’ll get something from it. Do you understand?”

She understood, but her thoughts were most certainly elsewhere. “Where’s… Mercer?” she asked, nervously twisting her skirt in her hand. “Is he still in London?”

Beckett’s eyes narrowed, hard, cold blue slits studying her threateningly. “He’s in the country with Victoria,” he said. “He most likely won’t be back for quite some time. Why?”

Cat flushed. “I’d like to see him,” she requested quietly.

Beckett smiled mirthlessly. “I don’t think that would be wise,” he said.

“Why not?” Cat cried. “He should know – and he should hear it from me!”

“Oh, really?” Beckett sneered. “Pity you think so. I’ll tell him for you. As his employer, I’ll also see to it that he’s punished for what he did to you.”

“What he did to me?” Cat repeated in disbelief. “We wanted this!”

“An illegitimate child?” Beckett said mockingly. “That I doubt. Miss Whitlock, I don’t think you realize how grave your situation is. You have been compromised and Mercer is likely to be killed if you confirm he’s the father of your child.”

“He won’t!” Cat gasped in horror.

“Oh, but he will,” Beckett assured her, none-too-kindly. “Is that what you really want, Miss Whitlock – to have Mercer admit to his relations with you, only to be killed? Then you truly will be alone in the world. Your parents will forsake you; then Lawless will refuse to marry you; and your child will have no father and no one save a penniless street urchin fallen far from her former glory to care for it. You’ll live on the streets, begging for a living or, worse still, whoring yourself out for profit. Now, tell me honestly: is that the future you are willing to accept, for both Mercer and yourself?”

Catherine was deeply shaken by this vision of ruin, but she lifted her chin and said proudly, “My parents wouldn’t order Mercer’s death. They might expect us to marry, certainly -!”

“And I suppose that too would please you?” Beckett said furiously. “Well, understand this: if, indeed, you should marry Mercer, I won’t support either of you. The stain on my reputation will be great enough if Mercer admits your child is his; keeping him on as a servant would further the scandal, and I can’t have that. Mercer has a good amount of money tucked away, I know, but not enough to support all three of you in a style even remotely similar to that in which you were raised. And when that money ran out, he’d be reduced to far more unpleasant and difficult work than you can imagine. He would do it, and he would do it well – he’s not unused to hard labor, having come for extremely difficult circumstances. But you’d never be certain that your money came from a legitimate source; you’d certainly never be sure that there would be enough of it to begin with. Now, is that what you want?”

Catherine stared at him, lip trembling. “I-I-I… no,” she admitted with a sad sigh. “No, that’s not what I want.”

Beckett rose, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Well, then,” he said, “Let’s keep this between ourselves, shall we? It’ll be best all around. Mercer may even visit the child every now and again, if you stay silent enough and I permit him.”

Catherine had never wanted to hit someone so badly in all her life, but her good upbringing forced her to remain polite. “I thank you for your generous advice,” she said bitingly. “I had hoped for something better, but I suppose I can’t expect such kindness from the man who ruthlessly slaughters innocents.”

“Innocence is a matter of perspective,” Beckett said coolly. “And when you’ve finally come into a true understanding of the world, you’ll realize that.”

Cat had nothing to say to that. “Give my regards to your wife,” she said, her voice chilly.

“I shall,” Beckett said airily. “Good day to you, Miss Whitlock.”

Then he’d left her alone to contemplate her bleak future and mourn for what could never be.

It was a bit astonishing how quickly word got out among the aristocrats in London society. Even Rosemary was rather amazed at how speedily she had heard the news that Victoria had returned to London. Ironically, she had learned of Victoria’s arrival from Charlotta Harris and Emma Clark, who had come to small card-playing gathering at Presbery’s home despite the fact that they had not been invited. They had been avidly gossiping with the other ladies at the card table, telling them that Victoria had jealously interrupted a deep conversation they’d been having with Beckett. “He was quite taken with me,” Charlotta had been saying. “But Victoria appeared out of nowhere and tossed both of us out in a fit of envy. And you wouldn’t believe the ridiculous cloak she was wearing – couldn’t even see her face!”

Rosemary had felt a sickening wrench in her gut at that – she remembered all too well the bloody gashes all across her friend’s face, and she was more than aware that there would most likely be scars. Of course, no one else in the aristocracy was aware of the damage – or even that Victoria had been kidnapped. Rose had said nothing to Charlotta and Emma except, “I didn’t recall sending you two an invitation,” at which point they promptly excused themselves to the other women and said they had other parties to attend. But Rosemary had kept their story in mind, and had promised herself that she would visit Victoria the very next day.

She had expected to be received immediately into the Beckett household when she arrived that morning; but although she was brought instantly into the parlor, Victoria was nowhere to be found – and Oscar wasn’t telling Rose where she’d gone.

“She is here, isn’t she?” Rose finally asked Oscar in passing, after she’d been sitting in parlor nearly an hour.

“Perhaps,” Oscar said slyly, glancing at her with a raised brow. “Perhaps not.”

“Oscar Boddie!” Rose cried angrily. “I want to know how my best friend is faring!”

“She’s quite well – quite well indeed… if a little… changed.” Oscar laughed darkly and turned away.

“What do you mean?” Rose said in alarm. She leapt from her seat and grabbed Oscar’s arm. “Oscar, where is she?”

“Locked in the attic with the other prisoners of Beckett’s fancy,” Oscar said mischievously.

“Not funny!” Rose snapped angrily. “Oscar, please – I’m her friend. She’s like my sister.”

Oscar sniffed, completely unmoved. “I was told not to let anyone see her,” he said with an air of great finality.

“What?” Rose said sharply. “Why not?”

“Beckett’s orders,” Oscar said with a shrug.

“But I’m… me!” Rose exclaimed. “Victoria and I have been together since the cradle! I’m not just some passerby stopping by to gawk at her! I have to see her!”

Oscar shrugged. “Not my problem, Miss,” he said. “Ask the fairies for help.”

“Ask the – what?” Rose repeated in astonishment, but he was already gone.

Hmmph. I won’t budge. I’ll wait here until she has to see me.

And she stuck to that, too – even when Oscar intentionally walked by her with Victoria’s lunch on a tray, then later with tea, although he offered her nothing. Her stomach growled alarmingly loud as Oscar walked by, but he seemed heedless. In fact, even when she repeatedly railed at and insulted him, he continued to ignore her with a serene expression that gave her the idea he didn’t hear a word. Finally, she was reduced to sitting slumped and defeated in her parlor chair, pouting excessively.

She received no further attention until long after dark, when Beckett returned home with Mercer in tow. Rose didn’t realize who had entered the house until she heard Oscar speaking to him. “Miss Wellington’s been here all day, sir,” Oscar said with respect. “I tried to have the faeries boot her out, but they’ll not listen to me…”

“They’d best not,” Beckett grumbled. “I worked damn hard to keep them under my control and only mine. What’s the Lady Whore want?”

“She wants to see Lady Beckett, sir. I told her it wasn’t allowed.”

“Good.” At that, the parlor doors swung open, and Beckett stood there, eyes narrowed at Rose. “Out,” he said tersely.

Rose leapt to her feet. “No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not leaving without seeing Victoria!”

“Actually, you are,” Beckett said coldly. “Mr. Mercer!”

“David Mercer, don’t you dare -!” Rosemary yelled into the hallway.

“Who is this ‘David’ you speak of?” Mercer drawled as he entered the room. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“But – but Cat -!” Rose said in bewilderment.

“You’re not Cat,” Mercer said darkly, grabbing her arm. “I’ll see you home, Miss Wellington – unless you have a different man’s house to visit.”

“Who else would I visit?” Rosemary demanded, violently attempting to wrench herself from Mercer’s grip. “Presbery’s out of town for a few weeks.” She turned and screamed as loudly as she could, “VICTORIA!”

There was a pause, and then a door burst open. “Rose?” Victoria’s voice echoed in the entryway of the house.

“TORI!” Rose called in relief. “Tori, Beckett won’t let me see you and I’ve been waiting all day –!”

“Tori, don’t move,” Beckett ordered from the base of the stairs.

“Cutler, what in the name of God are you doing?” Victoria cried in alarm, her hurried footsteps echoing through the corridor.

“Victoria Trilby Thorne, take one step further and I’ll chain you to a wall for the next month,” Beckett warned.

The footsteps halted. “It’s just Rose,” Victoria said in confusion.

“I don’t care,” Beckett snapped. “No one is permitted to see you, not even the bloody King himself.”

There was dead silence at that – and that silence said more than any words could have. Rosemary attempted to tear away from Mercer, but his grip was too firm; and with one swift pull he wrested her from the landing and out the door. Beckett’s carriage was still waiting outside, and Mercer wasted no time tossing Rosemary violently into it before leaping up, taking the reigns, and starting off at a mad pace back into London while Rose banged on the window and stared hopelessly back at the disappearing manor that now acted as a prison for her former best friend.

The carriage rode at breakneck speed down the road into London, with Mercer at the reins. The carriage jolted crazily along the path, but he didn’t care. His passenger needed a little jostling every now and again, in his opinion – if she wasn’t getting it from her soon-to-be husband in a more sinful form. And anyway, he was feeling a little reckless that night; it was, after all, the last night he would be in London.

Victoria’s tip on the pirate ship Redemption had led Beckett to some valuable information. The Redemption was headed to Delhi in India to meet a French contact by the last name of Bussiere. Supposedly, this Bussiere knew the location of a mysterious Arabian treasure referred to mostly as the Hand. That was all they could discover, but it was enough.

In Beckett’s office that afternoon, when Mercer had returned with what he’d gathered and set it before Beckett, he’d said abruptly, “I want to follow them.”

Beckett had glanced up at him curiously. “Oh really?” he said. “Why so anxious?”

“Too many… distractions here,” he’d said with a slight grimace. “And it’d be best if I make myself scarce.”

Beckett had studied him carefully. “You realize you’ll be gone a long time – maybe a year or more,” he’d said casually.

A nod from Mercer.

“All the pirates will have to be killed, and Bussiere too if he proves to be a menace.”

“I can do it.”

“I don’t doubt your capabilities,” Beckett had said, “Merely your emotional state at the moment.”

“Getting out of the country will help my emotional state,” Mercer had assured him. “And don’t you think my anger will serve me well in a mission requiring me to kill people?”

Beckett had laughed at that. “Well, if that’s what you want, Mercer… then go,” he’d said. “You’re the best I have. And it will be well to… forget little Catherine. She’ll survive here. You know that… don’t you?”

Mercer had felt rather sickly at the mention of Catherine, but he’d remained completely calm. “Her body will survive,” he said. “But her soul won’t.”

“Does that trouble you?”

Mercer hesitated, then shook his head. “No, sir.”

Beckett had looked amused. “Liar,” he said with a shake of his noble head. “But it won’t trouble you much longer. You’ll recover someday. She’s just a girl.”

She’s just a girl. Well, Mercer wasn’t confident he believed that yet… but he would. He was certain of it. If Beckett wanted him to forget, then he would. If India would help him forget… if the mission would harden him… then so much the better.

He halted the carriage before the Wellington manor. Mercer waited a few moments to see if Rosemary would get out herself, but when she made no move to do so, he leapt down. He threw open the door and glared at her. “Out,” he ordered.

Rose glared stonily at him. “Cat’s pregnant,” she mentioned offhandedly.

His face darkened. “I know,” he murmured.

Rose studied him carefully. “She’s going to marry Duke Lawless,” she said. “He finally gave up on me after I publicly humiliated him at my engagement party.”

“Good for you,” Mercer groused. “Now get out.”

“Are you going to do anything to stop him?” Rose questioned.

“No.”

She looked incredulous. “No?”

“No.” He stood aside from the door, motioning widely with one hand. “Get out.”

“Why ever not?” Rose exclaimed. “It’s your child! And you love her!”

“No, I don’t,” he said irately. “Get out, before I toss you out.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a soulless bastard,” she said hatefully. “I hope you know that.”

“I take pride in the fact,” Mercer said, completely unruffled. “Shall I forcibly remove you, or will you get out willingly?”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” Rosemary said frigidly. “I’m leaving.” She climbed down from the carriage and paused to look directly into his eyes. “I hope you realize what a terrible person you are,” she said cuttingly.

He thought of Beckett’s orders and the pirates soon to face his menace. “Oh, believe me, Rose,” he said forebodingly. “I know.”

Beckett waited until the door was closed before ascending the stairs to his wife. She was standing near the top, hands clenched at her sides. Her face was otherwise completely blank. “Tori -” he started, but she held up one hand to silence him.

“Don’t,” she said coldly. “I don’t want to hear your reasons or excuses.”

“Yes, you do,” Beckett said irritably.

Victoria glared at him. “Well, I certainly can’t prevent you from sharing them,” she said, turning on her heel and starting to walk away from him. He rapidly followed behind her.

“Obviously you aren’t willing to listen,” he snapped, reaching out to grab her wrist.

She jerked away. “Should I be?” she asked harshly. “You’re ashamed of me. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Beckett said impatiently. “I may have -”

“If you’re not ashamed of me, then why are you keeping me locked in the house?” Victoria demanded. “You don’t want anyone to see me; isn’t that it?”

“Yes, but -!”

“But nothing,” Victoria said in disgust, turning away from him. “You wouldn’t feel as if you had to hide me away if you weren’t ashamed.”

“Victoria, will you shut up for five seconds and listen to me?” Beckett snapped.

“No!” Victoria exclaimed, storming down the hall.

Beckett watched her for a moment, his teeth gritted, and finally shouted after her, “I’ve found a way to make the scars disappear.”

She froze, then turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “Wha- how?” she whispered, going still as a statue.

“There’s a book,” he said, smirking in satisfaction now that he had her attention. “A book of magic that once belonged to Morgan le Fay, King Arthur’s half-sister. She was unparalleled in the arts of necromancy and dark magic.”

“I know,” Victoria said breathlessly. “And… and you think this book… can help?”

“I know it can,” Beckett told her softly. “I’ve found the spell to heal all scars – to create even greater beauty than existed before.”

“Then you’ve seen this book?”

“Not the book itself, but a copy,” he explained. “The agent who brought me Arthur’s sword recently offered me the original. He hasn’t traded it for it yet, but he said he was working on reclaiming it. The copy he showed me is apparently from an old monastery somewhere near the coast, but the original was found in France, for whatever reason. He should have it soon.”

Victoria’s hands began to twist before her. “Is the spell easy?”

Beckett snorted. “Hardly,” he said. “We’ll have to learn Morgan’s arts before we can even think of attempting the spell. But if we devote as much time as possible to the learning, then we will soon be able to change the marks the pirates left you.” He took a step towards her. “It will be a slow process,” he warned. “And none from the aristocracy can see you before your transformation. If even one of them learns of your scars, they will all begin to wonder where they’ve gone.”

Victoria smiled wryly. “They’ll think I’ve gone to the devil for help.”

“Something to that effect.” He studied her carefully from down the hall. “Are you willing to try it?” he asked her.

Her green eyes were shining. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, by God, I will do it. And I’ll even stay locked away willingly in here.” She shook her head, her smile bright. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’ve had dealings with the devil…”

Beckett laughed mirthlessly. “Tori,” he said darkly, “I am the devil.”

END