by Carrie Lomax
“True enough. Then again, most men don’t grow up with their every need catered to by an army of servants in England, either. I would never have considered going into business had I not come to America.” The precise circumstances of Richard’s departure from his home country were best left undiscussed. Why did he bring it up voluntarily?
“You mean after you killed your father?” Livingston didn’t need a pistol to aim right at Richard’s heart.
“Yes. It was an accident, but still my fault.” This particular admission nearly choked him to speak aloud. Bile rose in the back of his throat as Richard recalled the horrific night when he had knocked over a candelabra and set fire to the drapes in his father’s townhome. The building had been engulfed in flames within minutes. Without his brother Edward’s quick thinking, lives would have been lost in the blaze. As it was, his father had been recovering from an aneurysm brought on by Edward and Harper’s spectacular elopement. Although the late Earl of Briarcliff had been rescued from the flames, he had not survived the night. Guilt plagued Richard as if he had swallowed a nest of snakes. He could assist a thousand slaves to safety and never feel as if he’d atoned for his part in his father’s death. It didn’t mean that he shouldn’t cut them short and see to his new duty, though. “I don’t know how you found this out. I’ve only told a few people.”
Howard. Lizzie. Richard would bet his life it was the latter spreading rumors about him, trying to keep him under her control.
“I’ve made inquiries about you. You are a conundrum, Lord Northcote.” As if taunting him, Livingston poured himself another glass of amber liquid and sipped it slowly. The faint scent of burnt peat teased Richard’s nostrils. He felt his resolve crumble. But he could hardly accept now, when he had already refused. He’d look like the worst sort of liar.
“How so?” Richard asked. He was not much of a mystery. Everything about his life added up to the fact that Richard was the evil son who had killed his father. All his shameful actions in England had been motivated by concern for his family’s legacy. Richard had spent fifteen years believing with every fiber of his soul that his brother was dead and that he would be the next earl. Edward’s incredible return had shattered Richard’s world, and he’d behave like an ass trying to make it otherwise. He had behaved like Lizzie. Selfish to the core. Heedless of who he harmed as long as he got the title which he believed he deserved, damn the rules of primogeniture.
“You have a passable reputation among New York’s finest families,” Livingston drawled. Clearly, Livingston Walsh was too rough-mannered to make the cut. Like Howard, he was a self-made man. Livingston had marginally more polish than Richard’s friend. “In fact, several men speak highly of your track record for delivering returns.”
Thank Howard for that. Richard was not above taking credit if it benefitted him, however.
“What if I want to invest in your new venture?” Livingston asked lazily. A flint-spark of hope lit in Richard’s chest.
“I am happy to share the prospectus with you as well,” Richard replied with all the nonchalance he could muster. There was no prospectus, which meant he had to write one with Howard. His friend’s caution rang in his ears. Do not involve your future wife.
Howard had said nothing about the lady’s father, however. What a neat circumvention of the problem.
“Miriam has a good eye for investments, though I fear her judgment will be clouded in your case.” Livingston grimaced. “She has been impossible to live with ever since I ordered you off our property. I have never seen her so moody.”
Richard stifled a grin with great difficulty.
“You have my permission to marry Miriam. I ask only two things of you. The first is that you care for her health as religiously as I have. Mrs. Kent has saved her life on many occasions. She stays with Miriam.”
“I swear upon my life I shall do everything within my power to keep her among the living,” Richard swore.
Livingston nodded, satisfied. “Secondly, you must never take her away from me. Miriam is my only family. I want Miriam close by, no matter what old age I achieve. Lord knows I’ve already lived a sight longer than I deserve to.”
“Done,” Richard lied. Taking Miriam to England might be far as measured in physical distance, but he reasoned it was closer than the grave. Richard no longer trusted any land where Lizzie walked free.
“Last thing. I won’t have my daughter sailing across the sea unmarried. You’ll have a ceremony here.”
“I had hoped for Miriam to meet my family before we made our union official.” Richard protested with all the diplomacy he could muster. In his mind, the marriage would take place after he had established his business and secured the title his brother dangled in his letter.
“If you want to marry Miriam, you’ll do so under my watch. Mrs. Kent stays with her. Those are my terms.” Livingston rocked back on his chair legs and tipped the last of the whisky down his throat. He slammed the glass onto his desk and dropped the chair back to earth in a simultaneous loud bang.
“Done,” Richard agreed, scrambling up. “I shall make the arrangements.”
Damnation. Resisting the temptation to touch Miriam all the way to London was going to be hell. There was one way to keep his promise to her father. Richard would marry Miriam, but he refused to take her innocence until he had more than his stubborn, flawed heart to offer her. He was not Lizzie, and Richard was done trying to claim things he did not deserve.
Chapter 15
Two weeks passed in a whirlwind of preparation. Miriam studied the markets to discover which commodities had the best possibility of profit in England. They identified tobacco and cotton as the surest options for a successful start. Importing tobacco meant they had to go through London and pay hefty excise taxes. Despite this, Howard and Miriam insisted that for the first shipment they ought to stick with sure sales. There were the matters of insurance and customs and taxes and putting together a crew. Richard wrote and rewrote the prospectus a dozen times before he, Howard, and Livingston all signed it. All the Thetis needed was the right captain at her helm and a proper outfitting to make the voyage.
Miriam bit her tongue at being consulted but excluded from the partnership. Richard saw how it cost her to remain silent.
“I have no head for money, Miri,” he told her during one hasty afternoon visit to her father’s office. Miriam had returned to the city for a day to secure new items of clothing for her wedding and for their journey overseas. “Would you manage the finances for me? I trust your judgment better than my own.”
“How will that work?” Miriam scoffed.
“The same way it does with your Stock Exchange account.” Richard dreaded the day of their fast-approaching wedding. Once word got around that he and Miriam had married, Lizzie would undoubtedly come after him to take control of his wife’s funds and spend them on her behalf. “I shall set up accounts with your name listed to manage it all. If you give me an account to spend from, I promise not to touch the rest.”
Miriam’s eyes widened. “You trust me with the money?”
“Yes.” For one thing, the arrangement limited how much Lizzie could extract from him. “I’ll have it written into the marriage settlement.”
Miriam’s eyebrows knit with confusion. “We don’t typically do that here.”
Ah. “Of course. Well. Given our new business venture I feel it might be a good idea to arrange one, don’t you?”
To Richard’s vast relief, Miriam agreed.
There was also the matter of securing a warehouse on the other side of the Atlantic. Richard wished he had better insights to guide them. Instead he was having to count on his network in England, a dubious proposition at best considering most of the people he’d known socially were either chronically debt-ridden or aristocrats who wouldn’t go near a trade deal for any amount of profit or both.
“We shall find a buyer for our wares,” Richard promised with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll see to it. There are tobacco
divans springing up all over the city like mushrooms after a rain,” —although he didn’t know how the establishments went about purchasing their goods — “and I shall ask my brother if he knows of any acquaintances might be interested in securing quality woven cotton. My sister-in-law might be of some help there as well.” Not that Harper owed him a single kindness after the way he’d treated her.
This morning, he had secured tickets on a comfortable ship leaving prior to Howard’s Thetis. Their plan was to arrive before the ship and secure warehouse space, in hopes of selling their goods quickly. Richard planned to use the first few weeks of his homecoming to make connections with merchants. He refused to consider the temptations he faced as his old friends tried to lure him back to his former flawed ways. There was always a newly minted lord with more money than sense to buy drinks.
“Don’t be too reasonable,” grumbled Howard. “The point is to make money, not lose our shirts. When will you see Miriam next?”
“I leave on Thursday to spend the weekend with her and Livingston.” On Friday mornings he woke early and went to the buggy to take him northward. The journey filled most of the day.
“Ask Miriam what she thinks of transporting passengers as a packet ship,” Howard requested. To Richard’s unending relief, his friend had no objection to Miriam’s involvement in the venture. Howard valued Miriam’s analysis. It didn’t matter who held knowledge to him. Howard wanted the best work he could get no matter what the source.
“I assume you mean something other than our guests in need of transport?” Richard said with a cocky half-grin.
Howard cast him a dark look. “We don’t discuss them. For you, it’s all fun and games. For our guests, this is a deadly business.”
Chastened, Richard dropped his gaze to the floor. “Miriam thinks it’s going to delay the ship, waiting for passengers to sign-up. Particularly since this is our first voyage attempt.”
“I like to diversify our income sources,” Howard countered.
Richard chuckled. “You and Miriam think alike. She prefers to have her fingers in multiple pies as well.”
“She’s a smart lady, your Miriam. Pretty too.” Howard observed. It was the first time Richard had ever heard him express approval of a woman. Richard didn’t know what the man did to satisfy his base needs. Dock whores, most likely. Richard shuddered and immediately recoiled with guilt. Not that that emotion was ever far away from him. A woman had to be fairly desperate for money to tolerate a man like Howard in her bed. Richard found himself wishing for a stiff drink to ward off the discomfort of his newfound empathy.
“Miriam is far more intelligent than I am,” Richard agreed. His heart pinched. Somewhere between nearly killing her and asking for her hand, his affection for her had morphed. He was selfish enough to want her for himself.
“Has she figured out your connection to Lizzie yet?” Howard demanded.
“Miriam knows.” Richard swallowed. They had been so busy sending messages, planning a wedding and their new shipping venture that he hadn’t found a moment to try and appraise Miriam of her friend’s betrayal. It had taken all of Richard’s talent for fibbing to convince Miriam not to ask Lizzie to be her bridesmaid. Only the fact that Howard, his proposed groomsman, and Lizzie despised one another had dissuaded her. Soon, if all went according to plan, Richard would be able to stop looking over his shoulder as if to conjure Lizzie.
“You’re headed north this evening?” Howard asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.
“Yes. To Cliffside.”
“Give your lady and her father my regards,” Howard said without looking up. He looked like a bear as he hunched over his desk strewn with papers.
“I shall.” Richard grinned. “When we next meet, I will be a married man.”
Howard only grunted in reply.
Anticipation sweetly twisted in his stomach all the way up the steep road to Cliffside. Richard had come to appreciate the minor luxuries that a bit of coin in one’s pocket offered. He had rented a horse for a month, which gave him a freedom of movement he’d once taken for granted. Nightfall had darkened the valley below, through which wound the Hudson River, by the time he arrived.
“I was afraid you’d fallen in,” Miriam said as he handed up his satchel to one of the domestic servants they employed here. On his first visit Richard had called him a footman and been corrected. Now, he’d forgotten the man’s name but was reluctant to ask. It didn’t matter, for the moment the servant disappeared with his luggage Miriam fluttered down the stairs like a wraith in a billowing white wrapper.
“We were afraid you’d fallen into the river.” She bent her head for a kiss. Richard obliged. Her warm mouth warmed him. Miriam pulled back enough to murmur, “You’re chilled.”
“The wind coming off the river was fit to freeze me in my saddle.” It felt so nice to be fussed over. The world was a friendlier place when there were people who would miss you if you fell off a cliff than it was when everyone wished for such a calamity to happen.
“Do you want supper?” Miriam asked, clutching the neckline of her wrapper. Her modesty made Richard smile.
“No,” he answered. “Only bed.”
“This way,” she replied. “Father has let you stay down the hall instead of the guest house, on account of the cold snap. Our wedding is also a factor I presume.”
“Does that mean you’ll come to visit me in my room this evening?” The louche invitation popped out of his mouth without his brain’s intervention. He’d meant to talk but Miriam’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“How shall I resist the temptation?” she chuckled with newfound sultriness.
Richard swallowed. Painfully. The greater question was, how would he resist sleeping down the hall from the woman who tempted him beyond reason? She was hardly the first woman who had gazed at him with adoration—hell, Lizzie could fake that—but every time Richard had known the woman’s affection for him extended only as far as his purse. With Miriam, an answering tide of desire sucked at him until Richard wanted to drown in her storm-gray eyes.
“By locking your door,” he replied, grasping her bare fingers and raising her knuckles to his lips. He brushed a kiss across her knuckles and heard her faint inhale. The shy dimple at her cheeks appeared. “As I shall do to mine.”
Miriam didn’t pout, but she did duck her chin and peer up at him through thick lashes. “We are to be married, Richard. I don’t wish to wait until our vows are formalized before a pastor to make our love real.”
She pressed a key into his palm. A hush fell over the darkening hallway as she closed his hand around it. The simple glide of elegant fingers over his sent a shiver promise up his arm.
“Our love is real, Miri.” Richard whispered. His resistance hung by a thread, ready to break at the slightest provocation. He wanted her, too. He wanted to taste her salt, drink in the feminine nectar of her skin. His cock throbbed with the unaccustomed sensation of thwarted desire. His feelings were as new and tender with inexperience as Miriam’s body, gentle, fierce, and confusing.
A man who loved his wife-to-be would be honest with her about how their union had come to pass. Richard traced her petal-soft cheek with the back of his knuckle. He could not hurt her, this woman who gazed up at him with all the trust in her generous heart.
Miriam shifted on her feet. Richard released her, but Miriam’s arms wound up and around his neck to pull him closer. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Richard was lost. He grasped the only solid rock he could hold as feelings raged through him. His arms circled her waist. Her wrapper gaped open to reveal a modest white night dress. The row of buttons at the back of her neck dragged over his palm with a thrilling sense of trespass. The tips of his fingers grazed the nape of her neck and burrowed into her hair like a terrified animal, pulling her hard against his front. With his other arm he clutched the key until its metal teeth bit his flesh as he held her close to him. As if he could meld their bodies into one and keep her safe.
Prote
cted.
Wanted. So badly wanted. In ways and for reasons Richard didn’t fully understand. He wanted her forgiveness without telling Miriam what he’d done. No matter how he ached to tell her the truth, he knew that it meant losing her. She must never know even if he had to live with this dark secret for the rest of his life. With luck, in a few years he’d have left this American scandal an ocean behind them.
Best not to think about the way he was abdicating his responsibility. If Arthur Van Buren refused to acknowledge Lizzie’s child Richard ought to take the babe away from her less-than-maternal care. But then, what? Ask Miriam to raise his bastard?
Miriam tipped her face up to his. Their mouths met in a slow sweep of sensual contact. Richard tasted her breath and needed more. He took it with a glide of his tongue. Miriam’s parted lips were wet with warm desire.
Richard took her kiss and returned it with all the words he didn’t yet know how to say.
I need you.
I cannot live without you.
I have betrayed you in the cruelest possible way, and I cannot bear to tell you for fear I will lose you.
Her hands fisted in his linen shirtsleeves. Richard ran his hand back down her body to the small of her back. Then, a fraction lower. Miriam mewled and tilted her hips against him. It would take nothing to lift her, pin her against the wall, and give her what she whimpered for. What she had asked him to do.
Deflower her.
Richard stilled. He could not…would not take her under false pretenses. He grasped at the thin straws of his honor. Miriam wanted to give herself to him, yet he could not accept her gift in good conscience. What a wonderful thing to discover now, after so many years of believing the utility of a conscience limited one at best and served as a liability at worst.
Miriam was the cure he hadn’t known he needed to heal from the yawning gap of loneliness and insecurity that no amount of money or status could ever fill. His belladonna, stopping the bleeding ever since Lizzie had coerced him into this disastrous plan.
