The Lost Lord (London Scandals Book 3)

by Carrie Lomax

  “Who else?” demanded Howard reluctantly, as if he couldn’t help himself. Like Miriam, the man had been born with an instinct for making money.

  “Miriam’s father.”

  Howard groaned. “That is a terrible idea. What if the ship sinks and we lose everything?”

  “We’ll insure it. Lloyds of London insures anything. I shall write to my brother and ask him to underwrite the expense.”

  “Even with his approval and support, it’s unwise to include your lady love in a new venture.” Howard observed.

  “I’m going to marry her.”

  Howard raised his gaze to the ceiling, then dropped his forehead into one large hand. “You can’t do this. You’re playing right into Lizzie’s hands.”

  “You don’t understand, Howard. I plan to take Miriam to England, marry her, and make her a lady in truth. Lizzie will never follow us that far. She can’t. She’s married. Sneaking around behind her husband’s back for months isn’t the same as up and leaving him to follow a man who doesn’t want her. Pride alone would keep her from following.” He didn’t mention the title. For one thing, Richard didn’t know what was in store for him. Edward had been cryptic on that count. For another, he doubted Howard cared.

  “The number of things that woman supposedly can’t do but does anyway are legion,” grumbled Howard. “Fine. If you can line up financing, I’ll get opinions on whether the Thetis is worthy of a sea voyage. She’s our largest ship and might suit as a transatlantic packet. I’ll need to seek out a new captain with seafaring experience. The only reason I’ll do this is for them, of course.”

  “Right. Making more money than Croesus has nothing to do with it,” joked Richard. His friend snorted in derision. “Pure motives, through and through.”

  “Get out of my office. I hear a woman pining for your kiss all the way from Canal Street,” Howard joked, giving Richard’s shoulder a shove.

  Richard grinned. “Take a bath, Howard. You’re too ripe for company.”

  The afternoon beckoned with possibility.

  Chapter 14

  “I thought I told you never to darken my doorstep again, after what happened with my daughter.”

  There was no mistaking the foreboding storm cloud in Livingston Walsh’s scowl.

  “You did. Yet, I am here.”

  Livingston’s scowl deepened. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t shoot you for intruding on my property?”

  “You don’t have a gun,” Richard pointed out. To his immediate chagrin, Livingston produced a pistol from the small of his back and aimed it at Richard’s chest. “I stand corrected,” Richard said, staring the man down. “Let me in because you love your daughter, and so do I. Miriam would not want to see me shot dead on her doorstep.”

  Livingston cocked the hammer. “I, however, might enjoy the sight.”

  “She’s watching us,” Richard observed. “You wouldn’t force Miriam to witness her beau’s murder, would you?”

  “Miriam can’t see the street from her room.” Livingston’s left eyebrow arched. His gaze and his pistol never wavered.

  “She isn’t in her room. Your daughter is directly behind you.” Richard gestured behind the man. Livingston lowered the pistol and whirled. Miriam rushed past her father and into Richard’s waiting arms.

  “You’re here,” she breathed against him. Richard winked at Livingston over her shoulder. The man rolled his eyes skyward.

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Livingston observed with chagrin. “I suppose running you off was a tactical error. You may as well come inside, Lord Northcote.”

  “Are you well, Miri?” Richard asked, squeezing her shoulders as they entered the dark entryway. Mrs. Kent banged around in the kitchen, clearly displeased at his arrival.

  “I am. My attacks are frightening, I know, but when they are over, I’m right as rain.” Miriam’s naturally pale skin glowed with health and her cheeks were flushed with color. Her eyes were bright with happiness, not fever. Richard relaxed for the first time in a week.

  “I was so glad to see you yesterday,” he murmured. Miriam shifted closer to him despite the warm afternoon flooding in through the wall of windows at the rear, steaming the air like the conservatory at Briarcliff. Her body brushed his, a hint of breast, a definite shoulder, knuckles and fingertips sliding over naked skin. Richard’s body became an inferno, forcing him to conjure thoughts of his grandmother’s perfume to prevent his body from staging a rebellion.

  Mrs. Kent banged a tea service onto the table, startling them apart. “Welcome back, your lordship.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Miriam said quickly. “She and father have agreed to tolerate your presence, but I’m afraid you can’t expect pleasantness.”

  “Mrs. Kent,” Richard called out. The woman’s back stiffened.

  “Yes?” she asked without turning around.

  “I should like to learn the treatments you gave Miriam during her attack.”

  “You would?” The woman half-turned, suspicious to the core.

  “Surely two people who know how to recognize the signs of an asthma attack, and how to treat it, would increase Miriam’s safety?”

  Mrs. Kent sniffed. “Perhaps. If you stick around.” She stomped away, though Richard thought he detected a note of acquiescence in her step.

  “That was a smart thing to ask for,” Miriam told him as she poured tea. “Though if she shows you, you must be careful not to let her think her position is in danger. Where I go, Mrs. Kent goes.”

  A warning, and a fair one.

  “I promise I shall never attempt to interfere with your relationship with your companion,” Richard replied. Miriam entwined her fingers with his, raised his hand and brushed the knuckles with her lips. Richard’s cock jerked in his trousers. He inhaled deeply and willed his arousal away. No matter how little he deserved her, Richard wanted her.

  “Will you come with us to Cliffside?” Miriam pleaded. “I know it is fast of me to invite you, but the thought of enduring six weeks until we return is unbearable.”

  The memory of a small, thin arm darting out from a loose crate board for a cup of water flashed in his memory. Richard scooped sugar into his tea and imagined brown hands that had toiled to bring him this small pleasure of good tea and a bit of sweetness. He understood now why Howard couldn’t stop. Once you had seen how it affected people you couldn’t look away. Anything one did was insufficient but doing nothing was no longer possible.

  “How far away is your country seat?” he asked.

  “Seat?” Miriam asked, confused.

  “House. I used an English term for a country estate,” Richard clarified with some embarrassment. He didn’t relinquish her small, soft hand. But the flood of new emotion dampened his arousal and for that he received it with gratitude. It occurred to Richard that listening to his emotions instead of trying to drown them in spirits made him feel better than he ever had in his life. Maybe feelings were to be embraced, not feared.

  “I see.” Miriam squeezed his hand and let go. “Cliffside is far grander than this. It is about two hours upriver in the Palisades. Ordinarily we spend all summer there. My father has had business in the city, and I chose to join him for I get bored while stuck in the country.”

  Richard mentally noted that he would have to bring Miriam to London for regular socializing. Once he was made… Richard hadn’t told her about the title yet. Thanks to Edward’s cryptic note he didn’t know what title he might be elevated to. For now, it was best to keep that information to himself.

  “Is that why you started investing?” Richard asked, returning his thoughts to the woman before him.

  “How do you know about that?” Miriam demanded, her gray eyes wide with disbelief.

  Richard could have smacked his forehead at the slip. Lizzie had told him, of course. “You hinted at it,” Richard lied. “I guessed the rest. It is true?”

  “Yes.” Miriam grinned. “Based upon the results, I daresay I’ve a knack for it.”
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  Richard’s grin spread across his face to match hers. “Interesting. I’m considering investing in a new concern of Howard’s. I’d be glad of your advice.”

  This truth-telling felt freeing. Richard had never contemplated how much effort it took to maintain falsehoods until he stopped doing it.

  “The advice of a woman?” Miriam arched her eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Never say so.”

  “In full honesty, I have a checkered past with managing funds,” Richard replied with more honesty than he’d intended. This truth-telling business didn’t yet come naturally to him. It was much easier to weave the fabrications in with the truth. Yet each time he admitted a failing, it felt as if a chain had loosened. He was freer. Richard had been so accustomed to thinking about power as something you were granted, like a title, that the concept of owning it felt strange to him.

  “In fact,” he continued. “I am hesitant to invest where I don’t know anything about the fundamentals. Might you consider looking it over and advising me?”

  Richard’s breath caught. If this didn’t work, his whole plan fell apart. Howard had been easy to convince. He loved one thing—money—although what he did with it all Richard didn’t know. Miriam was liable to be much more skeptical.

  And Livingston Walsh, the prize who could give his dream wings? He would poke and prod into every detail before committing a single farthing. Cent, rather. This was America, not England.

  He must succeed. His brother might have a plan for charity, but Richard decided then and there that he’d go back to England on his own terms or not at all. He had yet to reply to his brother’s astonishing letter. The one he was composing in his head went something like:

  Dear Edward,

  Or shall I call you Lord Briarcliff?

  I will take you up on your offer. I am coming home an independent man, with a bride whom adores me almost as much as I adore her. I will never be your charity case.

  Most sincerely,

  Richard.

  He would never write it, of course. Any missives between him and his brother must demonstrate his newfound humility. Arrogant sarcasm was Old Richard, not Reformed Richard. Besides, he hadn’t yet secured Miriam’s hand. The lady in question regarded him with serious gray eyes.

  “I need to see a prospectus,” Miriam said.

  “What is a prospectus?” Richard inquired with genuine confusion.

  Marian laughed. “It’s a description of the business. What you hope to accomplish, how you proposed to accomplish it, and estimates of the money required to achieve the goal.”

  “Oh.” Richard has ever considered business as a logical concern before. In England it was something one avoid it unless one absolutely needed to engage with it. It suddenly occurred to him that the time he’d spent dodging creditors had materially impacted their livelihoods. He had taken things from people on the basis of his good name and then failed to repay his debts. His father, time and again, had stepped in to save him from ruin.

  It made him sick to think what he might have accomplished if he had tried his hand at politics or charity work instead of trying to impress a lot of foolish, aimless gentlemen.

  “I will get you one,” he promised. Even if he had to write it himself. “In the meantime, tell me more about Cliffside.”

  Miriam’s hand found its way into his again. Their tea went cold as they talked. By the time he noticed the change outside the windows, afternoon had stretched into evening.

  “Miriam,” he said, “I need to speak with your father. Before I do, however, I want to know… would you marry me if I asked you to?”

  You’re playing into Lizzie’s hands. Howard’s words echoed through his mind. Richard shook them away. He wasn’t. Miriam was worth protecting and he meant to do it the only way he knew how. By marrying her and taking her away from the danger.

  “Yes,” Miriam whispered. “In a heartbeat. Yes.”

  She was in his arms. Richard couldn’t remember standing, couldn’t remember reaching for her, but her body was pressed close against his. Her clean feminine scent beguiled him.

  “I wish you would come and stay with us in the country,” she breathed against his cheek. “I don’t know how it happened, or why, Richard. Every moment I spent away from you is a pain greater than I can bear.”

  Her words sent a shiver up his spine. He didn’t deserve her affection yet having it had awakened an insatiable hunger for more. Needing a woman for more than her body felt uncomfortably raw and tender.

  “I cannot give you this week, but I can promise you a lifetime.” Richard whispered. His own words unmanned him. They made him weak. To stop himself from speaking further he kissed her. Miriam arched artlessly up to meet his embrace. Her lips were damp silk sliding over his.

  Mrs. Kent again interrupted. “Ahem.”

  Richard let his hand slide down her body in a long, slow, descent. Her perfect breasts flattened against his chest. His palm curved at the indent of her waist. Mrs. Kent coughed as he reluctantly let Miriam go with a daring skim over her hips. For the first time in weeks, Richard experienced real arousal. His cock was extremely interested in getting her naked, as soon as possible. They wouldn’t be the first couple to anticipate their wedding vows.

  “Mr. Walsh wishes to see you,” Mrs. Kent declared in a tone of pure judgement.

  “Then, I had best not keep him waiting.”

  Miriam giggled. “I cannot believe this is happening. I wished on a star for it when we were at the beach together.”

  “Tell me what you wished for,” Richard winked and cast a sidelong glance at Mrs. Kent. She frowned like a thunderstorm. “When we are alone. Some secrets are best kept from audiences.”

  Mrs. Kent, overhearing, conveyed her disapproval by clattering the tea service as she gathered it on the tray. “Mr. Walsh has been exceptionally patient with your extended visit this afternoon. Go and see him.”

  Richard reluctantly parted from Miriam and made his way through the gloom to the front portion of the house. He found Livingston in his study, boots propped on the desk, pistol within easy reach.

  “I ought to have shot you when you kissed my daughter.”

  “No one could have blamed you,” Richard observed. “Least of all me.”

  The gruff man chuckled. It sounded like rocks clattering down a cliff, gathering speed as gravity pulled them to earth ever faster. “Close the door.”

  “To spare the women the sight of my blood on your floor when your shoot me for what we both know I’m going to ask?” Richard responded archly. Firearms were a normal part of life in New York. Even in London it had been unwise to venture out at night without them. It was the thought of one being used on him that unnerved him. When Livingston threw back his head and laughed, Richard’s anxiety eased.

  “I don’t want like you, but I do.” Livingston declared. His boots hit the floor and he sat up in his wooden chair. “Have you cleared this with Miriam?”

  “I told her that I was planning to ask you for her hand. She was very happy,” Richard responded, eliding the truth. In England, it was customary to approach the bride’s father first. Here, there were different rules. Richard didn’t know what the expectations were. He acted based on his understanding of Miriam’s close relationship with her father balanced with her own, fiery spirit of independence. For once, it appeared he’d hit the mark.

  “No father looks forward to the day when his daughter turns her affections to another man,” Livingston observed. He reached for a decanter of amber liquid that sat on his desk and poured two glasses. The man pushed want across the scratched surface.

  “Thank you, but I don’t drink.” The words were out of Richard’s mouth before temptation could speak for him.

  “That isn’t what I’ve heard,” the man said. “I’ve heard you’re something of a sot. How do I know you’re not putting on a show for my benefit?”

  “I suppose you don’t.” Richards hands shook. The amber liquid beckoned like a familiar lover promising
solace. Like Lizzie, if he would only bend to her will. As that was impossible to contemplate, Richard wove his fingers together in a semblance of prayer. Let me get through this without succumbing to temptation. “I have not had a drink since meeting Miriam. I won’t deny it hasn’t been easy. You’re not making it any easier.”

  Livingston Walsh peered at him with new respect. “If you say so. Don’t like to see good whisky go to waste.” He tipped it down his throat. “Now then, I understand you’re going to ask me something.”

  “With your permission, sir, I’d like to ask your daughter to marry me.” Richard dared to lean back in his chair, matching the older man’s posture. Relief and pride at speaking his mind eased the knot in his midsection that he didn’t know had been there.

  Since becoming sober Richard had discovered a number of Gordian knots tying up his emotions in ways he’d never contemplated.

  “What qualities do you bring to the table, other than a worthless title and questionable sobriety?” demanded Livingston Walsh.

  Richard hadn’t seen that coming. He fixated on the empty glass, thinking how much easier if this would be if he’d tossed it back like a man. He swallowed and tasted the memory of many draughts before. Alcohol was part of what had brought him under Lizzie’s spell. Richard couldn’t go back to that life. The only way through this was total honesty.

  “I am heir to nothing, lord of no one. What I have is a thousand dollars in the bank, a family with a vast fortune, and a business plan.”

  “Is that so?” Livingston echoed. Richard couldn’t tell if he was sneering, skeptical, or both. “You’re a man of many surprises, Northcote.”

  “We have both surprised one another this afternoon,” Richard observed. “I’m to bring a prospectus to Miriam for review. She has a better head about these things than I. It will take time, but I am hopeful that this joint venture will allow me to provide for Miriam in comfort, even a measure of luxury.”

  “Hm,” was all Livingston said. “Most men get their start in business much earlier in life. Not to insult you, Northcote, but you are not a young man.”