Apparently, Malden had not been discreet enough if the torrent of cards left by callers was any indication. The gossips in London were whispering that Arabella was quite ruined. And by Malden no less.
“Nick. You’re home.” His sister looked exhausted but otherwise unharmed. Arabella halted as she walked in the study, frowning as she considered his greeting. “Betrothed?” She snuck a look at Malden who followed her slender form at a distance. “Whatever are you talking about? If you are attempting to be amusing, you’ve missed the mark.”
“Miss Lavinia Woodstock.” Nick sucked the whiskey through his teeth. He did so enjoy whiskey.
“Lavinia Woodstock?” Arabella’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t —”
“Come now, don’t you remember her for she certainly recalls you.” He was deliberately being vague with Arabella, wondering how she would explain herself.
“Oh, yes. From school. A terrible girl. Something was always wrong with her skin for she itched constantly. I caught her stealing the cream Aunt Maisy sent me to keep me from getting freckles. What has she to do with anything?”
“She has announced your betrothal to the ton.” He took pleasure in watching his sister’s face redden. “Or rather, your ruination. Miss Woodstock observed you and Malden at a coaching inn together. You were in a disheveled state and wearing Malden’s coat around your shoulders.”
Malden gave Nick an exhausted look but seemed otherwise unbothered by the accusation.
“Corbett…he…ripped my dress.” Arabella choked out.
“Thankfully, Miss Woodstock was oblivious to your…abduction. At least from Corbett. There was absolutely no mention of him.”
Betting at White’s had been brisk on the reason why Lord Malden, one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton would be spotted in the company of Lady Arabella Tremaine. No one could fathom Malden in a scandalous liaison with Arabella.
Nick couldn’t imagine such a thing himself.
Malden, a man whom Nick considered a friend and who rarely lacked a smile, was not smiling now. “How nice to see you, Your Grace. I did my best to protect your sister’s reputation. I assume you’ve come up with an explanation to keep the ton at bay?”
Nick nodded. He would discuss the details with Malden in a moment. “I assume Corbett is dead?”
Arabella entered the study, her body folding down into the leather couch across from him, like a tiny ship whose sails were suddenly devoid of wind. “Everyone thinks that Malden and I…” Her face reddened further, and her hand twitched against her skirts.
Nick studied his sister carefully. Something was different with Arabella, for she wasn’t arguing with him nor flinging insults around the room. Most disturbing of all, there were no death threats to Miss Woodstock.
“Corbett is quite dead, Your Grace. I saw the body.” Malden looked as exhausted as Arabella, perhaps even more so. Dust covered his coat and bits of muck fell from his boots. “I long to take credit for his demise but cannot. The idiot fell out the window and broke his neck. The constable, MacLauren, has filed a report. He will likely seek you out to confirm my rescue of Arabella was with your blessing and I had not kidnapped her myself.” Malden ran a hand through his hair and Nick watched, fascinated, as his sister’s eyes followed the movement. “I asked to have him buried. I will leave it to you and Jemma whether you wish to inform Corbett’s sister.”
“Nick—” Arabella whispered looking nearly as lost as she had when their parents died.
He held up a hand. “I wish to hear the story from Malden. You have a habit of garnishing the truth, Bella.”
His sister’s eyes narrowed, but she did not snap at him. Nor argue. Completely out of character for Bella. Arguing was how he and Arabella communicated.
Malden gave a weary nod towards the sideboard. “Do you mind?”
“As long as you pour me another as well.” He held out his glass, wondering why Malden wasn’t defending himself against the accusation of ruining Arabella. Or running from the premises at the thought of a betrothal.
Malden took the glass from Nick’s outstretched hand and moved towards the decanter of whiskey. He passed Arabella and somewhat deliberately did not look at her. After pouring each of them two fingers of the dark amber liquid, Malden settled himself in a chair.
“How would you like me to begin?” Malden seemed unconcerned with being interrogated by the Devil of Dunbar.
“The ton is rife with speculation about you and my sister.” Nick growled back at him. He’d long suspected Malden was not at all the delightful scamp he appeared to be. He certainly wasn’t if he had the slightest interest in Arabella, which Nick was beginning to think was the case.
Malden didn’t flinch, but he downed his whiskey in one swallow. “Your sister was an unwilling victim of Corbett. He kidnapped her somewhere outside of Camden, I think.”
That much Nick knew from Aunt Maisy. “Were you unwilling, Bella?” He peered at his sister over the rim of his glass.
“Of course. I didn’t go with him of my own accord. Don’t be ridiculous. He tore my dress. I had to stab him with a fork to protect my virtue.” Her voice and fingers trembled as she spoke. His sister looked on the verge of tears, something that rarely happened.
“Go up to your bath, Bella.” He watched as her features contorted in protest. “You and I will discuss things tomorrow.” Taking pity on her, for he did love her dearly no matter their estrangement, Nick stood and enveloped her in a warm embrace, kissing her temple. “I am glad you are safe. I would not wish for anything to happen to you.”
Arabella clung to him, shaking, and began to sob quietly into his coat, like the lost child she had been and likely still was. “I am truly sorry, Nick. For all of it.”
“All will be well, Bella.” The tears frightened Nick. Arabella was well and truly distraught by her adventure. Gently he pushed her towards the door to the waiting Peabody, nodding for the butler to take her upstairs. Shutting the doors to the study he turned to face Malden. “Start with how you found my sister.”
17
“Are you mad?”
Nick smiled slyly over his cup of tea, set it down and proceeded to tear into a rasher of bacon. He was starving and he loved bacon.
“I would like the answer to that as well.” Jem, in the presence of her barely tolerated sister-in-law, looked ready to attack him with the pot of honey sitting next to her plate.
Snatching another piece of bacon, Nick crunched away. “I’ve spoken at length with Malden. He and I are in agreement. The scandal is monumental. I would not have my sister become a pariah nor have you upset in your condition.”
“I was not aware how fragile you thought me.” Jem slathered honey on a scone, the pastry crumpling beneath the pressure of her knife.
“This entire conversation is ridiculous,” Arabella spat.
“Bella, your name has found its way into the betting book at White’s. The odds are four to one that you bewitched poor Malden and he came to his senses too late. No one can believe he ran away with you of his own volition.”
“Because he didn’t.” A hurt look passed over her face.
“There are three to one odds I’ve threatened Malden’s life should he not marry you.”
“What about the scandal if I go mad and murder my husband?” Arabella turned back to him, a snarl on her lips. “I can barely tolerate his company for the measure of a coach ride and you expect me to endure Malden for a lifetime?”
Jem slammed her knife down on the table making the footman behind her jump. “You ungrateful—”
Nick held up his hand. “My love, please. It is apparent that your family has a penchant for rescuing mine.”
He waited for Arabella to launch into a tirade about Jemma’s treasonous father but surprisingly, she did not. Her hands were clenched tightly against her sides, probably to keep herself from pummeling Jem.
“I will not do it. I will not marry Rowan.”
Nick raised his brow at Malden’s given name, do
ubting his sister realized she’d used it. He also doubted she was indifferent to Malden. “You will, sister, else you find yourself scandalized and sent back to Twinings. Perhaps you like Wales.”
Arabella’s face fell. “No, I beg you. Please do not send me back there again.”
“Can we not,” Jem had picked up her knife again, “just say that a mistake has been made with assurances from both parties that nothing improper occurred?”
Good Lord his wife was frightening when she had a weapon in her hand. It was incredibly arousing. “You, more than anyone, know what gossip does to a woman’s reputation. And this is London, not Bermuda. Far worse. Also there is the matter of Corbett and his death. I would prefer no one go looking too closely at what actually happened at that inn.”
Jem glared at him, biting into her scone.
“My love, I am aware of my sister’s failings, in particular towards you, but surely even you can see that this is the only way, else Arabella will be doomed to live out her days at Twinings or somewhere else far away.”
The flicker in his wife’s eyes told him Jem would like nothing more than to have Arabella as far from London as possible. While Jem wished Nick to forgive his sister and repair their relationship, she had not gone so far as to actually wish Arabella to be in her presence. As for himself, Nick was trying to forgive his sister.
“Have either of you bothered to look at today’s newspaper?” He opened the paper and laid it on the table for both women to see. “This morning’s edition contains a cartoon. All of London is supposed to guess who the cartoon refers to, although I think it clear.”
The cartoon showed a snarling woman with snakes on her head instead of hair, dressed in a gown at least twenty years out of fashion. She was clinging to a handsome man who bore a striking resemblance to Malden. The artist was very good.
“A terrible likeness, don’t you think?” he asked his wife. “I don’t think Arabella looks nearly that sour.”
“I’m Medusa?” Arabella sounded rather angry. And stricken. “God, look what I’m wearing.”
“Bloody Hell.” Jem cursed and buttered another scone.
“Can’t you silence them?” Arabella turned to him. “You’re the bloody Duke of Dunbar. What good is it to be considered the Devil if you can’t force people to bend to your will? Surely you can—”
“There is also worry any scandal will hinder Petra’s chances of a good match.” Petra was Malden’s younger sister who had made her debut only last year. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell both his wife and sister that while Malden didn’t appear overjoyed at the turn of events, neither did he attempt to wiggle out of the situation. “Malden agrees that he must do the honorable thing for both Arabella’s sake and his sister’s.”
“And my delicate condition, no doubt.” Jem’s eyes had grown thoughtful.
He could see his wife had come to the same conclusion he had. “We will put out the story that the two of you were on your way to Scotland to seek my blessing for the wedding before going to Gretna Green. You were overcome by your affection for each other and didn’t wish to wait. Such was your passion.”
A horrible noise came from Arabella.
“I pleaded with you to return to London and be wed properly. Which you will be.” The cartoon was terrible, but all things considered, the match was a good one. Malden had his fingers in a handful of business ventures and had a talent for making money. His father, Lord Marsh didn’t approve of a future earl being in trade, but Nick thought Malden quite astute. No doubt Malden had already decided an alliance with the Duke of Dunbar and his fleet of ships could be most profitable.
Arabella sputtered and stomped about the breakfast table, terrifying another one of the new footmen. Curses, many of them directed at Malden, were uttered under her breath. Without a backward glance at either he or Jem, Arabella flew out of the breakfast room probably to hide somewhere and sulk. She bumped into the footman, a young lad from Surrey who shrunk back further, probably frightened out of his wits.
He made a mental note to have each and every servant thoroughly investigated again. Knowing Corbett placed two men in his employ, and beneath his nose, infuriated Nick. Some of the blame for this incident fell in his lap. He had been so concerned with Jem and his newfound happiness he hadn’t adequately protected his sister.
Once Arabella’s footsteps had receded, Jem said, “My uncle is most distressed that his heir likes to dirty his hands in trade and I’m sure he’ll be less than pleased to know Rowan has some sort of plans for your ships and would marry your sister to gain access to the fleet.”
“I would give your cousin the use of the ships anyway. He does not need to marry Arabella to have my backing.”
“True.” His wife reached across and ran her fingers across his scarred knuckles. “I know my cousin better than most. Rowan rarely does things without a distinct purpose. He would not marry Arabella without a good reason.”
“Mmm.” Nick pretended to mull over that bit of information. Malden had a reputation for being single-minded in his pursuit when he wanted something. One might even call him ruthless. But Nick suspected he knew what Malden wanted and it had nothing to do with business.
“He plays the charming scamp for my aunt and uncle’s benefit, though he’s less and less inclined these days. If Arabella thinks she will lord over Rowan, she is sadly mistaken.” Jem looked at her empty cup of hot chocolate and sighed in disappointment. “Drat.”
Nick knew Malden’s secrets, or at least some of them. Jem’s cousin was more than a match for Arabella. “Your aunt and uncle will be less than pleased over this development.”
With barely a sound, a pot of hot chocolate appeared at Jem’s elbow as if by magic, brought by the ever-present Peabody. The butler fussed over Jem, constantly seeing personally to her well-being and comfort. Nick was beginning to find all the attention somewhat annoying.
“Good Lord, stop mooning over my wife, Peabody.” His teeth tore into another piece of bacon. “It’s disturbing.”
The butler ignored Nick and instead asked quietly if Her Grace wished for anything more before shooting his employer a bland look and leaving the room.
“I should have him sacked, the old bugger. He’s constantly making cow eyes at you. Anticipating your every need. I live in fear he will trip me as I go down the stairs so that he may have you all to himself.”
Jem laughed merrily and reached out to take his hand. Turning it over, she pressed a kiss to his palm, her eyes full of love for him. “Don’t worry, husband. I will rescue you.”
18
“Your mother is in a state and has taken to her bed over this whole affair. Lord White is furious, and Lady Gwendolyn devastated.”
The Earl of Marsh accepted the glass of scotch from Rowan as he settled himself on the leather sofa. “That will be all,” he intoned to the butler. “Shut the door behind you.”
“Delicious.” Rowan sipped at the amber liquid. “Dunbar has something similar.”
“His Grace was kind enough to share his last shipment with me. Which I appreciate. But that does not mean I am happy over these developments. What is this about? I know you weren’t suddenly overcome with affection for the lady.”
“Corbett is dead.”
The Earl paused, his glass of whiskey still just shy of his lips. “I see.” Lord Marsh finally took a sip. “How—”
“He abducted Arabella as she left Wales determined to force her into marriage. I went to retrieve her,” Rowan stated. “I found them at an inn on the road to Scotland.”
“Why?” his father snorted. “Surely any number of other gentlemen could have gone after her.”
“Because I was asked to.” Rowan didn’t wish to try to explain his reasoning to his father when he wasn’t so sure himself. It was easy to rationalize he’d had no other choice, not with Lady Cupps-Foster sobbing into his shoulder, but that wasn’t entirely the truth.
“Would have served her right had Corbett succeeded. After what she
put your cousin through, marrying Corbett would have been a most fitting punishment for Arabella.”
“Not even Arabella deserved Corbett,” Rowan said in a low voice.
His father raised a brow at Rowan’s answer. “She is an unpleasant young lady.”
“What’s done is done, Father. We were seen together and assumptions were made. While the story His Grace put out may not be easily believed and slightly scandalous, it is better than the alternative. Questions about Corbett would not only reflect poorly on Arabella but would ultimately lead back to the Duchess of Dunbar. Would you have Jemma gossiped about as well? Or Petra?”
“Why should you be punished for doing the lady a service? Arabella is a termagant and in light of her devious nature her reputation would be ruined eventually in some other way. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her smile. Lady Gwendolyn is a much better choice for you.”
“Because you and mother chose her?” Rowan said lightly.
“There is an understanding in place with Lord White.” His father looked away.
“I agreed to no such understanding. You did. I am a grown man with no need for you to dictate my choices.” Anger slowly unfurled within Rowan’s belly. It was always this way with his parents. He was surprised it had taken his father so long to mention their grave disappointment in him. His entire life had been lived under the cloud that he could not possibly live up to their expectations, expectation that his older brother would have satisfied had he not perished.
“If James—” Lord Marsh started.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 9
