by Diana Bold
Fortunately, Basingstoke was still at home.
The butler showed Dylan into Julian’s walnut-paneled office and disappeared to fetch the master of the house. Dylan sank into a stiff leather chair to wait. He shook his head as he took in the newly redecorated nautical theme of the room. Julian yearned for adventure, but his many business interests kept him firmly anchored in London.
Basingstoke broke into a wide grin when he entered the room. “Blake! What on earth are you doing here? Have you run out of virgins to despoil?”
Dylan sighed and raked his hands through his hair in dismay. “Not you, too.”
Basingstoke’s grin faded. He crossed the room to the small sideboard and poured them both a healthy glass of brandy. “That was meant to be in jest.” He handed Dylan a drink. “Given the look on your face, I assume it was in poor taste.”
Dylan nodded, but he couldn’t contain a small contented smile. “Natalia agreed to marry me tonight.”
“You’re marrying Lady Natalia Sinclair?” Basingstoke sank into the chair across from him. “Bloody hell, Blake. Good for you! However did you manage it?”
Dylan leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I lied to her, of course. And then there was that spectacular scene in the garden when I made damn sure no one else would ever want her.”
Basingstoke laughed. “A bit upset with you, is she?”
“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe the lady’s emotions.” Dylan shook his head and met Basingstoke’s amused gaze. “It’s not a laughing matter. I can assure you.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll come around eventually, and if she doesn’t, you can spend all her money on the fair Cassandra.”
“Natalia is worth ten of Cassandra.”
“Ah.” Basingstoke stared at him speculatively. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize you’d fallen in love with the girl.”
“I’m not in love with her.” Dylan denied it automatically, but his words felt false. Would it be so wrong, if he were to fall in love with his own wife?
Only if she doesn’t love me back.
“I think you are in love with her.” Basingstoke chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day.” Still laughing, he reached forward to touch Dylan’s glass with his own. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m happy for you, my friend. I truly am.”
Dylan downed his glass, more at ease. He could always count on Basingstoke to say the right thing. “Will you stand beside me at the wedding?”
“Of course,” Basingstoke agreed, but he looked troubled. “As long as you’re certain you wouldn’t rather have Michael do the honors.”
Dylan shook his head and tossed down the rest of his drink. He concentrated on the slow burn of alcohol, instead of the ache in his heart. “Michael wanted her for himself. As you can imagine, he wasn’t too pleased with the way things turned out.”
Basingstoke shook his head. “Rough luck on his part. But you need the girl far more than he does. I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
Dylan made an impatient gesture. “His anger is more than justified. I’m surprised he didn’t write me off long ago.”
“He’ll come around. Michael’s not a bad sort under all that conservative bluster.”
Dylan doubted his brother would ever forgive him, but he held his tongue. He’d never gotten anywhere in an argument with Basingstoke.
“I have one other bit of news,” Dylan told his friend, in an effort to change the subject. “Before our row, Michael told me my grandfather left me Aldabaran.”
“Well. That’s news worth celebrating.” Basingstoke smiled and poured Dylan another drink. “I know how much you love that place.”
“Father has known all along but chose not to tell me. I can’t imagine his reasons. You’d think the old bastard would have sent me there with his blessings, merely to get rid of me.”
Basingstoke didn’t seem surprised by the old man’s perfidy, but then he’d been privy to all Dylan’s many fights with the earl over the years. “You haven’t confronted him?”
“No.” Dylan gave a rueful laugh. “I’ve had my hands full with confrontations during these last few days.”
Basingstoke chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you have.”
“Michael thinks I should wait. He says I should go to Edinburgh first, make sure everything’s in order.”
“Michael’s probably right.” Julian shook his head. “If there’s a way for the old man to keep you from having what’s yours, I’m sure he’ll try to find it.”
Dylan ran his hand through his hair in agitation. If both Michael and Basingstoke thought he should wait to confront his father, perhaps he should take their advice. He had enough to worry about already, without adding another acrimonious scene with his father into the mix.
Still, he burned with the need to make his father pay for all the pain he’d caused. He wanted to look in the old man’s eyes and see his fury when he realized Michael had betrayed him and told Dylan the secret hidden for so long.
But that could wait for some other time. Right now, he needed to secure his estate and regain Natalia’s trust.
“I’ll send some inquiries to the solicitor in Edinburgh in the morning. See if anyone’s been taking care of Aldabaran during the last twenty years. I expect to find it in ruins. Natalia will probably be disappointed. She’s accustomed to far more comfortable accommodations.”
“Well, you’ll have all the money in the world to make improvements. Let her help. I’ve heard even the most recalcitrant woman gets a smile on her face when there is expensive remodeling to be done.”
Perhaps Basingstoke was right. Natalia might feel more at home at Aldabaran if she helped to restore it. And they could definitely afford anything she might suggest, thanks to her dowry.
With a sigh, Dylan finally got around to the part of this visit he’d dreaded. “I have one more favor to ask of you, Julian.”
Basingstoke leaned forward, his face troubled; Dylan hardly ever called him by his given name. “Anything, Dylan,” he muttered, returning the more intimate form of address. “All you have to do is ask.”
Dylan looked away, embarrassed. “Can I stay with you until after the wedding? I’ve been evicted.”
Basingstoke laughed, a deep relieved sound of amusement. “Bloody hell, I thought you were going to ask me to help you get rid of Jonathan Taylor’s body.”
Dylan stiffened at the reminder of the wrongs Jonathan had committed against his future bride. Yes, his father could wait. At the moment, he had other fish to fry. “Not yet. But I wouldn’t count it an impossibility.”
Still laughing, Basingstoke nodded. “Well, just let me know if I can be of service. And of course, you can stay. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
THE MAY EVENING WAS still young, but exhaustion pulled at Natalia like a dead weight. Her emotions were shredded. She felt strange, disconnected from what was happening around her.
As soon as Dylan departed, she headed toward her bedchamber. She wanted nothing more than to slip beneath her covers and go to sleep for a very long time.
“My lady, I didn’t expect you so soon.” Cora, Natalia’s freckled little maid, jumped up from the window seat and tried to hide the book she’d been reading while she waited for Natalia to return.
“It’s all right,” Natalia assured the girl with a weary smile. “If you’ll just help me undress and brush out my hair, you can have the rest of the evening off.”
Cora’s blue eyes lit up, and she hurried to assist Natalia out of her gown. After changing into her nightdress, Natalia sat down at her dressing table, while Cora released the many pins that had held her intricate hairstyle in place. Giving herself over to the soothing nightly ritual, Natalia let her mind drift away.
Scotland. She’d always loved the wild beauty of the Highlands. Apparently, Dylan did, too. He obviously craved the serene peaceful setting enough to risk letting her go in order to live there.
Once again, he confounded her. Who was the real
Dylan Blake? Was he a fortune-hunting cad or a tender hero? A warrior or a lover? She feared he was all that and more.
Why had he pursued her for her dowry? She suspected all he’d ever wanted was a place of his own, a home.
A home. That was all she’d ever wanted, too. Somewhere cozy and comfortable instead of grandiose and echoing. A place where children could run and play without worrying about breaking some precious artifact.
Perhaps she would finally find the home of her dreams in Scotland.
As Cora continued brushing her hair, Natalia let her thoughts drift to her future husband. Exactly what did Dylan expect of her? Was this to be a marriage in name only? Or did he want her to be his wife in truth?
The mere idea of making love to him, of leaving herself vulnerable to those strange exciting emotions, terrified her. But she couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of her life at arm’s length, watching him flip between mistresses while he treated her with polite indifference. Oh, anything but that.
If marriage to Dylan was to be her lot in life, she had to figure out a way to either trust him more or love him less. Trusting him again might take more courage than she possessed but loving him less seemed impossible.
Chapter Sixteen
During the next few days, Dylan busied himself with wedding details and preparations for the move to Scotland. He arranged a special license and spoke to the minister who had agreed to perform the ceremony. He also sent a message to his grandfather’s solicitor in Edinburgh to inform the man he would arrive to collect his inheritance within the month.
He’d had a very uncomfortable meeting with the duke and his solicitor, where the marriage contract had been signed and he had received Natalia’s dowry, which had been larger than he’d even imagined. They would want for nothing, and as much as it took a load off his mind to have his financial future set, it burned his pride to know that he didn’t have a thing to do with it.
Every evening, he paid a call to the duke’s residence to report his progress and dined with his future bride and her parents. The four of them pretended nothing was wrong, but the looming wedding wasn’t the happy occasion it should have been.
Natalia treated him with eerie politeness. She smiled and said all the right things, but he could see the panic building in the depths of her emerald eyes. She made certain he had no further opportunity to speak to her in private.
Dismayed by the way things were progressing, he struggled to find a way to reach out to her and recapture the essence of that evening in the garden. Those few moments had changed his life—given him a glimpse of heaven on earth—but as time wore on, he feared he’d only dreamed it.
This proper, demure girl, who hardly ever spoke and never met his gaze, couldn’t possibly be the same sweet hoyden who’d begged him to kiss her.
So, on the third evening of his engagement, he sent his regrets. Drinking and gambling at the club with Basingstoke seemed far preferable to another night at Clayton’s mansion. What good did it do to sit beside his future bride and worry and wonder? The arrangements had been made. The die was cast. All he could do was hope things would get better after the wedding when he had her all to himself at Aldabaran.
The moment he and Basingstoke arrived at the club, Dylan knew he’d made a mistake. Clayton had been right about the gossip and speculation. As they moved through the crowd, Dylan caught enough of the whispered buzz to realize Natalia’s fall from grace was still the main topic of conversation. His protective instincts rose in proportion to every vicious insult he overheard.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” Dylan muttered as Basingstoke led him to an empty table in the corner of the smoking room.
“You’re a legend, my friend.” Basingstoke lit a cigar and took a few puffs before expounding. “Very few men ever attain this sort of notoriety. But don’t worry. It will pass. They’ll find someone else to talk about.”
“Well, I hope it’s you. Then you’ll understand what I’m going through.” Dylan ignored the drink the waiter place before him. He no longer felt like drowning his sorrows.
In fact, the whole vice-ridden atmosphere no longer held much appeal. The heavy cloud of smoke choked him, and the ribald jokes and laughter hurt his ears.
Basingstoke laughed at his willful expression. “I wouldn’t mind, my friend. Not if it meant ending up with what you’ve got—a bride you can’t stop thinking about.”
Dylan smiled, but his momentary good humor faded as he spied Jonathan Taylor on the other side of the room. He and his wastrel friends whispered and pointed in Dylan’s direction.
“That little bastard.” Dylan suddenly remembered his vow to make Jonathan pay for the disgrace he’d brought upon Natalia. “If he’d only kept his mouth shut, no one would have ever known what happened.”
Basingstoke winced and laid a steadying hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Just ignore the little bugger. Don’t let him goad you.”
“You don’t understand.” Dylan thought his voice sounded surprisingly calm, considering the maelstrom of emotions within him. “I have a score to settle with our friend Jonathan. And I might take you up on that offer to act as my second.”
Basingstoke shook his head. “Don’t waste your energy. In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve a wedding to attend in less than a week.”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about him.” Dylan surged out of his chair and strode across the room.
Basingstoke groaned and hurried to catch up as Dylan made his way through the suddenly quiet crowd. “Just don’t kill him. I refuse to come visit you in Newgate.”
Dylan ignored his friend’s warning and concentrated on the task before him. Besides, he didn’t intend to kill Jonathan—he just planned to make him sorry he’d ever been born.
Jonathan paled a bit as Dylan approached. His slimy confederates quickly slipped away, leaving him alone to face Dylan’s fury. “Blake,” he said, with false enthusiasm. “Good evening.”
“Cut the bloody civility,” Dylan snapped. “You know why I’m here.”
Jonathan cast a quick glance toward Basingstoke, expecting him to intervene. But Julian just shook his head disapprovingly. Frowning, Jonathan returned his attention to Dylan. Apparently, he’d decided to brazen it out. “Have you come to pay your debt? I only saw you dance with the lady once.”
“Yes, but you saw me do far more than dance with her, didn’t you? And you made damn sure everyone in town heard about it.” Dylan kept his voice low. He refused to give the rest of the spoiled young gentlemen who crowded the room any more gossip.
Jonathan smiled. “I may have mentioned your little rendezvous to a few people. Can you blame me? Don’t tell me you weren’t secretly glad to see her ruined, especially after she refused your proposal and told you she never wanted to see you again.”
“Oh, you heard that, did you? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s changed her mind. She’s agreed to become my wife.”
“That’s impossible.” Jonathan paled. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe me. I guess the better man won, after all.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth in impotent frustration. “There’s still the matter of the 200 pounds you owe me.”
“You’re not getting a shilling of it. And if I find out you said even one more damaging word about my bride, I’ll call you out.” Dylan took another step forward, intimidating Jonathan with his superior height and fiercest glare. “I won’t back down the way you always do.”
Jonathan flinched. “Are you threatening me?”
“Hell, yes.”
Jonathan glanced once again at Basingstoke.
Basingstoke grinned. “Blake is the least of your worries. You’re lucky Clayton hasn’t gone after you. He’s ruined men for far less.”
Jonathan went white as a ghost. While Dylan might be able to hurt him physically, Clayton could hurt him socially. To a parasite like Jonathan, that was even worse.
Jonathan made to leave, but Dylan stop
ped him once more. “I want you to retract everything you said about her. Publicly. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Jonathan muttered, but his eyes promised hellish retaliation for the humiliation Dylan was causing. “I understand.”
Dylan gave his nemesis one last threatening glare and reluctantly turned away. He’d have felt much better if he’d beaten the little prick to a bloody pulp.
Sometimes, it was hell being a gentleman.
“OH, CLARICE. IT’S STARTING already.” Natalia reread Dylan’s brief note for the tenth time, then crumpled the fine parchment into a tiny ball and tossed it into the fireplace.
She felt only a tiny spark of satisfaction as she watched the paper burn to ashes.
The two women waited in Natalia’s bedchamber for the overworked seamstress to arrive. Madame Toussaint had promised to have Natalia’s wedding gown done on time; her people were working on it around the clock and charging the duke an exorbitant fee.
“What’s starting already?” Clarice didn’t seem the least bit upset by the fact that Dylan hadn’t shown up for dinner this evening.
“Dylan. We’re not even married yet, and he’s already finding excuses to avoid me.” Natalia flung herself into the nearest chair. At first, she’d been hurt, but she’d quickly moved beyond that paltry emotion. Fury consumed her now.
“Who’s avoiding whom?” Clarice shook her head. “When he’s here, you make every effort to ignore him. I know there are things he wants to say to you, but you’ve done your best to ensure the two of you are never alone.”
Natalia felt heat rise up in her cheeks. Clarice was right, but that didn’t excuse Dylan’s behavior tonight. “I’m not trying to avoid him; I just don’t know what to say when we’re together.”
“You could start by forgiving him. Perhaps he’d want to spend more time with you if you gave him the least little bit of encouragement.”
“I’m afraid to forgive him,” Natalia admitted. “Because once I do, once I let myself start caring for him again, he’s bound to break my heart. What he’s done tonight proves it.”
