Sattler, Veronica

by The Bargain

  Here Patrick gazed inquiringly at his friend. It had just occurred to him that Brett was no slouch when it came to inviting beautiful women into his circle and, more important, into his bed, and the notion did not sit happily with him that the beauty standing beside them could very well be a candidate for Lady Pamela's replacement in the duke's affections.

  "Well," said Brett, "it happens that Miss O'Brien is a companion to the ward I've recently acquired. You do recall, don't you, Patrick—"

  "Oh, yes, of course," said Patrick enthusiastically. The ward... how could he have forgotten the poor girl and the duke's awkward entanglement there! Well, all the better—at least it was not Megan O'Brien who occupied that unfortunate young lady's shoes.

  "But Megan," Brett was saying, "you're not dressed for dinner. Surely you weren't thinking of abstaining? I thought I'd made it clear, after missing you at the luncheon, that you were to feel free to join the guests."

  "What?" said a startled Megan, for she'd gone back to gazing in rapt fashion at the rugged, virile appearance of the huge man beside her... the one with the startling blue eyes... Irish blue eyes... "Oh, forgive me, Yer Grace," she murmured. "Yes, o' course I'm goin' down t' dinner...." Nothin' short o' some earthshakin' event... "So," Megan added, looking at each of them in turn, "if ye'll both excuse me, I must be off t' change me attire or I'll be late!" And with a nod at the duke and a warm smile at Patrick, she hastened down the hallway toward her chamber.

  * * * * *

  Ashleigh eyed Megan's willowy form with a speculative glance as they entered the drawing room. Her friend looked as beautiful as she'd ever seen her in the tissue-fine, cloth-of-gold Empire gown she wore with perfect grace, and Ashleigh was delighted Megan had changed her mind and decided to join the dinner guests. But what was foremost in Ashleigh's thoughts at the moment was why this change had occurred.

  Megan had offered little in the way of explanation when she'd returned to Ashleigh's chamber wearing the most spectacular of the creations Suzanne had designed for her new wardrobe. When Ashleigh questioned her about her abrupt about-face, the redhead had merely smiled enigmatically and said, "'Tis time we were makin' our way downstairs, darlin', but I promise, once we get there, ye'll be havin' yer answer soon enough—that is, if ye're able t' put two and two t'gither, which 'tis sure ye are."

  Now, as they made their way into the throng of beautifully dressed ladies and gentlemen in the huge room, Ashleigh saw her friend casting about, as if in search of something, but just as she was about to ask her what she sought, a familiar voice broke in.

  "Well, if I ever had any doubts about the value I'd receive for the outrageous fees that French seamstress charged for her services, they've been handily squashed this evening," said Brett as he came up to them. "The two of you look absolutely ravishing, and while I hope I'm the first to tell you so, judging by the heads you're turning with your entrance, I know I shall not be the last."

  Smiling her appreciation at his words, Ashleigh glanced about the room and found he spoke the truth. Underscoring the sudden lull in the buzz of conversation that had filled the room when she and Megan first entered, there was the unmistakably appreciative gaze of every male in the drawing room as it focused on the two women, coupled with the assessing stares of most of the women as well.

  "Unless I'm mistaken," Brett continued, "we'll soon be besieged by a press of gentlemen begging for introductions, Megan. Are you prepared for the crush?"

  Megan gave the room another cursory glance, then looked at the duke. "I've no problem with admirin' males, if that's yer meanin', Yer Grace, but I was rather lookin' forward t' makin' an introduction meself." She glanced down at Ashleigh. "Ah, ye see, there's someone I think the colleen here has yet t' meet, and, ah..."

  Brett noticed the sudden flush of color that heightened the pink of Megan's cheeks. Hmm, so that was the way of things, was it? He'd had his suspicions after coming upon Megan and Patrick earlier in the hallway upstairs, but Patrick had grown uncharacteristically closemouthed about his meeting with the tall beauty when he'd questioned him about it.

  Brett chuckled as he placed his hand lightly on Megan's shoulder and leaned to whisper in her ear. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in the small drawing room across the hall. A few of the guests have gotten involved in a discussion there with Percy Shelley and his thoughts on the Irish Question."

  "Ah," said Megan, a delicious smile turning up the corners of her mouth, "a subject after me own heart.... Ashleigh, Yer Grace—" she nodded "—I'll be askin' ye t' excuse me presence fer a wee while, but I'll be back before ye know I've been gone." And with the soft rustle of her cloth-of-gold skirts, she turned and left the room.

  "Megan, what—?" Ashleigh turned puzzled eyes toward Brett. "What was that all about? I—I've never seen Megan acting so oddly!"

  Brett chuckled softly. "I think she means to answer you with a surprise she has in mind, and far be it from me to spoil a lady's surprises! I'm afraid you'll just have to wait 'a wee while,' my dear. I think—"

  "Brett!" a male voice interrupted. "Egad, but it's been a while, eh?"

  Brett and Ashleigh turned to find a medium-tall, middle-aged man with pale blond hair approaching them. By his side was Elizabeth Hastings.

  Brett's tone was cool—even a bit bored, Ashleigh thought— as he answered the older man with a curt nod. "M'lord. I see you've finally made it over here."

  "The deuce, I swear! You know I'd have come about a bit earlier, but the girls'd have none of it." The man shot Elizabeth an accusing glance.

  "Now, father," said Elizabeth, "you know you aren't able to abide these lengthy house parties. Lady Margaret and I had only your best interests at heart."

  "Miss Ashleigh Sinclair," Brett intervened, "allow me to introduce Lord David Hastings, Lady Elizabeth's father and my nearest neighbor."

  As Ashleigh curtseyed, Lord David took a moment to look her over before bending over her hand with an exaggerated bow, "Charmed, m'dear," he murmured. As he spoke, Ashleigh smelled the scent of brandy on his breath.

  Then Lord David turned toward Brett. "Egad, Your Grace, she's a real beauty, she is." Then, to Elizabeth, "Small wonder she's got you hopping, eh, m'dear?" This was accompanied by a small, sly grin.

  Elizabeth's silver eyes narrowed as they fell on Ashleigh, but just as she was about to say something, her father turned abruptly and hailed a passing footman bearing a tray.

  "I say, my good fellow," said his lordship, "I'll be having one of those." He moved rapidly toward the footman with one arm reaching toward the tray.

  The expression on Elizabeth's face changed to one of annoyance. "Father, really, must you?" She turned and followed Lord David, adding, "Oh, where is Auntie Meg, anyway?"

  Brett glanced at Ashleigh who was watching David Hastings down a glass of amber liquid in one gulp. "My erstwhile neighbor and future father-in-law," he mocked with a grimace of distaste, "present-day scion and crest bearer of the infamous Hastingses!"

  Ashleigh watched Lord David reach for a second glass of liquor and raise it to his lips before turning her eyes toward Brett. "I... take it you're not overly fond of the man."

  Brett gave a bitter laugh. "An understatement, if you've ever made one, my dear, for what is there to be fond of in a man who spends all his waking hours drinking himself into a stupor?—unless, of course, he's intercepted by his daughter or my great-aunt, if she's around. And then, if he manages sobriety long enough, what is there to be fond of in what's left? For without drink, he's the dullest nonentity you could imagine, a man singularly without opinions, passions or convictions of any sort. God, what a waste of human flesh and blood."

  As they spoke, Ashleigh watched Elizabeth return from where she'd disappeared at the far end of the room, Lady Margaret by her side. Together, the two women seemed to swoop down on Lord David with hugely disapproving expressions on their faces and, a few seconds later, escort him toward a door at the opposite end of the drawing room.

  Brett fol
lowed her glance, then met it as she turned back to face him. "The reason you've only just now met his lordship is that those two ladies—" he nodded in the direction of Elizabeth's and Margaret's disappearing skirts "—haven't allowed him to join this gathering until now. If he'd put in an appearance any earlier, he'd most likely be under the table somewhere by now—or sleeping it off in an upstairs chamber. But my fiancée and her godmother usually forestall such behavior by keeping a pretty tight rein on him—thank God! I suppose there's something to be said for Margaret's highhandedness at times, after all."

  At the mention of Margaret's name in conjunction with the Hastingses, Ashleigh's thoughts flew back to her encounter with Lady Jane Hastings, and she was just about to comment on this when Brett looked up, past her shoulder, and a wide grin creased his face.

  "Ah, here you two are!" he exclaimed.

  Ashleigh whirled about to see Megan coming through the doorway through which she'd disappeared earlier. But it was the tall, dashing figure at her side that made her gasp and then freeze where she stood.

  Brett caught her reaction and glanced down to find her staring straight ahead as all the blood drained from her face. "Ashleigh?" he questioned softly. "Are you all right?"

  Ashleigh stared at the beloved face that had haunted her thoughts and dreams for twelve long years and wondered if she wasn't dreaming now. "Patrick?" she at last managed to whisper. Then, finding her voice over the lump of emotion that had formed in her throat, she shouted, "Patrick! Oh, my God... Patrick!"

  Patrick St. Clare gazed, bewildered, for a moment at the exquisitely beautiful young woman standing beside Brett, wondering at the stricken look on her face. Then, as he heard her speak, he noticed the tiny mole high on her left cheek, and a shock of recognition rocked him.

  "Ashleigh!" he shouted, even as he rushed forward to sweep her into his arms. "Ashleigh, darling, is it really you?"

  Ashleigh couldn't speak as the old familiar arms enveloped her. Mutely, she nodded into her brother's chest as sobs began to shake her slender frame.

  "Ah, God in Heaven, I cannot believe it!" cried Patrick, his own voice threatened with tears. "Little one... oh, little one, I knew I'd find you.... Oh, thank God!"

  Brett and Megan stood beside them wordlessly, although, by the expression on their faces, it was difficult to tell which was more thunderstruck by the events of the past several seconds.

  At last Patrick broke his hold on Ashleigh, but only long enough to place her at arm's length while he perused her tear-streaked, laughing face. Then, his laughter joining hers as a roomful of guests looked on, he drew her boldly to him again, lifting her off the floor as he swung her about in a joyful embrace.

  Ashleigh was alternately laughing and crying as she cried, "Oh, Patrick, I thought you were dead! Oh, I love you so much!"

  "I love you, too, sweet, darling sister!" Patrick's big voice boomed, tears running unashamedly down his rugged cheeks. "I never gave up hope, did you know that?"

  At last he set her down in front of him, taking a moment to let his gaze wander completely over her fragile form. "You've become a beauty, little one," he said softly at last. "Every bit the beauty that was the promise of your youth."

  Suddenly Patrick's gaze flickered to Brett, and when it returned to Ashleigh, he questioned, "But how is it you've come to be here, at Ravensford Hall? I was just a few days' short of tearing London apart, looking for you."

  Ashleigh stared into her brother's deep blue eyes—eyes so much like her own. How could she begin to explain how it was she'd come to be here? In her childhood there'd never been anything but total honesty and truth between them, but the circumstances of her coming to Ravensford Hall were far more complicated than the childish fears and confidences she'd shared with Patrick all those years ago. Time... she needed time to think on this, but, seeing the expectant expression on Patrick's face, she knew she couldn't dodge his question entirely at this point, and so she decided to give him the safest part of the truth for the moment.

  After a glance in Brett's direction, she returned her eyes to her brother's. "Patrick," she smiled, "you'll be happy to know I am currently Brett Westmont's ward."

  Patrick heard her words and remained stone still for several seconds as he digested their import. Then his features went rigid, and a moment later he turned a cold blue gaze on the man who'd been his lifelong friend.

  "Your Grace," Patrick said quietly, an undercurrent of steel lacing his softly spoken words, "I think I shall have to kill you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ashleigh sat in the blue velvet armchair in her chamber and thought. She was very still. As it had for a good while now, her mind tripped desperately over the facts that had been lodged there, one by one, since the fateful moment, the night before, when her beloved Patrick had come back from the dead.

  First, there was the excitement that had erupted among the amazed dinner guests when they witnessed the emotional scene of recognition between Patrick and her. But it was an excitement that gave way to puzzled, sidelong glances and hushed whispers after Megan suddenly coaxed Patrick and Brett out of the drawing room following a few low-spoken words between the two men, for it left only Ashleigh and a grim-faced Lady Margaret to see everyone through the rest of the evening.

  That dinner party had been one of the most difficult events of Ashleigh's adult life. Hour after hour, she had somehow managed to play the perfect hostess, making small talk, seeing to the efficiency of the serving staff, forcing a smile she did not feel, while the minutes ticked by with her heart racing and her brain in a turmoil, wondering what was happening in another part of the Hall, expecting at any moment to hear the sounds of a violent quarrel, or worse, a duel taking place.

  Adroitly, she had sidestepped and parried the barrage of questions directed her way. How long had she been an orphan? How had she come to believe her brother dead? Could she account for the variation in the spellings of their surname that had, perhaps, made it difficult for Patrick to locate her? How did it feel to realize she was now the Honourable Miss Sinclair, and how was it she had not taken the title earlier, even in her years in the orphanage?

  On and on, the questions had come, but somehow, Ashleigh had managed, until at last the hour had grown late and the dancing began. Then the dancing had ended, and there had still been no word from upstairs; still no Patrick, still no Megan, still no Brett, duke of Ravensford. Finally, when it became apparent that His Grace had inexplicably deserted them—for the one question their rearing and manners forbade their asking had to do with this apparent rudeness on the part of their host—one by one, these polite members of the ton had taken their leave, this accompanied by sympathetic looks directed at Ashleigh, Lady Margaret and Lady Elizabeth, until at last, the three women had found themselves alone.

  Of course, that had set the stage for the following scenes: Elizabeth's tirade over her "insufferable humiliation" as she raced upstairs to seek Brett out; Margaret's tight-lipped anger as she followed; and finally, the discovery, by all three women, of Brett and Patrick in the library with Megan, where the duke, white with suppressed anger, had just completed the signing of a document of betrothal—to wed, as a somber-faced Patrick put it, "the girl he has wronged, my sister, Ashleigh St. Clare!"

  Now, as she sat in the chair, Ashleigh felt herself wince as she relived that mind-wrenching moment. She remembered feeling the blood drain from her face as she gazed at her brother in disbelief, even as Elizabeth Hastings's shriek of denial rent the air, followed quickly by Margaret Westmont's gasp of outrage; and then the older woman had actually smiled when Elizabeth resolutely marched forward and struck Brett across the face!

  Immediately afterward, Ashleigh now realized, much that happened became a blur. She vaguely recalled Brett ordering Margaret to remove herself "and that screeching harpy" from the chamber, faintly recalled Megan and Patrick rushing to her side as the room began to spin, and then, suddenly, all had gone black.

  That had been late last night, when she h
ad fainted and been carried to her chamber—here, where she'd chosen to remain, even after Megan and Patrick had summoned Hettie Busby and they'd revived her with salts and cold compresses. Pleading shock and weariness, she'd succeeded in sending Megan and her brother away, saying she needed time by herself... time in which to rest... and to think....

  But, of course, the morning had come, and with it a solicitous inquiry from Patrick, saying he was concerned for her health and thought they ought to talk. And talk they did, with Patrick giving her a quick summary of his time away, the amnesia that kept him from locating his past, the prosperous years in America where he now made his home, and his use of an earlier spelling of their family's name when beginning his seafaring venture, in a youthful effort to be his own man, to avoid capitalizing on the fact that he was a baronet's son and scion of a family that, although no longer wealthy, had one of the oldest and most respected names in the peerage.

  Then it was her turn, and Ashleigh haltingly went over the significant details of her life during the past twelve years, culminating in the awkward series of events that had led to her final arrival and position at Ravensford Hall.

  Then had come her heartfelt pleading with him to cease this madness to have her wed to Brett Westmont. She had seen the anger in Brett's face, read the fury in those turquoise eyes as they'd briefly fallen on her when her brother broke the news; Brett Westmont was as opposed to this marriage as others in the household, and they both knew the severity of those forces of opposition! Why couldn't he see that this would constitute a grave mistake?

  But Patrick, for all his loving, gentle looks, had been adamant, and no amount of pleading could persuade him to change his mind; Brett Westmont might be his closest friend in England, but either he would do the proper thing by Patrick's beloved sister, or Patrick would see him dead.

  Seeing the resolution in her brother's eyes, and recalling all too well the mind-set that had always made him a determined man once he set his will to something, Ashleigh had at last relented. She felt she had no choice; she certainly didn't want a man's death on her conscience, nor did she relish the thoughts of the consequences to Patrick, should this occur. Of course, neither did she wish a marriage to a man who, given the temperament she'd witnessed from time to time, would probably come to despise her for it... but she wished for the alternatives even less.