She refused to be one of them.
He indicated a chair for her and then took his own behind the large desk. Several candles burned in sconces along the wall, as well as on side tables and the desk.
“My cousin will wait upon you tomorrow morning.” He frowned. “But I wanted to ask, first, if this is something you are happy with? Is it possible, I am compelled to ask, that a mistake has been made? That perhaps what is thought to have been seen was not what actually occurred?”
His voice was not at all imposing, rather kindly and understanding. It made her glad to know that Sophia’s husband had such a side to his character.
“No, I mean, yes.” She spoke with conviction. “It is something that I wish for, and no, what was seen has not been mistaken.” And then she took a deep breath. “Did you receive my missive, your grace?”
He raised his brows at her change in subject but nodded. “I did.”
“First, I’d ask for your confidentiality on this matter.”
His expression remained unfathomable, but he nodded once again. “Of course.”
“Do you think the information can be unearthed?” She’d begun to have some doubts.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Some of it already has been. I’m curious, however, Miss Goodnight, why you are interested in the matter.”
“I’ve, er… come across information regarding the rift between the earl and his father.” She drew in a deep breath. “He believes his father killed a young woman and possibly her father after learning that she carried his child. The young woman’s name was Meggie Thistlebum, and according to my calculations, this would have occurred ten years ago this summer. He’s admitted to me that she was somewhat older than he. The woman and her father disappeared and Marcus,—er, Lord Blakely, rather—believes his father had them killed. I cannot help but think that perhaps the villain in all of this might have been the woman. I’ve heard of such things and I believe that perhaps he’s jumped to conclusions.”
“And this is why he refused to consider marrying his betrothed? This is why he hates Waters?”
“It is.”
Prescott took a few notes and then looked up at her. “That is why you asked after this John Thistlebum person. John Thistlebum was this young woman’s father.”
“He was. His death was the catalyst for Lord Blakely’s resentment and eventual estrangement.” If this Mr. Thistlebum was not murdered, then their entire falling out had likely all been one giant misunderstanding.
The duke narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Thistlebum lived until a little over two years ago. So not all is as Lord Blakely believes.”
A chill ran down Emily’s spine.
“I suspected this possibility.” But what of the rest? Had there been a child? Was Meggie still alive?
“I will instruct my investigator to make further inquiries,” Prescott said as though reading her mind. “But I cannot do so without asking… You are concerned for the earl because…?”
Because? She had to search her brain for the logical reason…
Because she cared for him? No. No. There was more to it than that. She was concerned… for Rhoda’s sake. Yes. Only she could certainly not tell the duke of her plans to marry Blakely off to Rhoda.
“He and I are friends.”
He stared hard at her, black eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “And yet you wish to entertain an offer from Lord Carlisle?”
His question seemed redundant. Hadn’t they already settled this?
“Oh, yes. Yes, your grace.”
He sighed deeply and then Sophia slipped into the room. “There you are.” She glanced over at Prescott. “You are convinced?”
He nodded, and Sophia shrugged. “Well, then, I suppose it’s settled.”
“I suppose,” Prescott responded unenthusiastically.
“If the two of you will be so kind as to excuse me?” Emily needed to locate Lord Blakely. She needed to tell him about Mr. Thistlebum. It would change everything. Wouldn’t it? If he softened toward his father, he might not wish to marry Rhoda. But a gentleman could not end a betrothal, even one such as this, could he? But he was doing just that to the poor girl his father had selected, wasn’t he? Poor Rhoda!
Too many scenarios began playing themselves out in her head. She dearly hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.
And on top of it all, Emily was to accept Lord Carlisle’s hand in the morning.
She needed time to think. Walking across the room, she slipped a note into Sophia’s hand. “I’ll bid you both goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Emily.” Sophia raised her brows.
“Miss Goodnight,” the duke said.
Emily closed the door behind her and allowed her shoulders to sag. The duke’s information complicated matters significantly. But could she allow it to change everything?
It could mean Rhoda would remain ruined in the eyes of Society forever. And her sisters! Her entire family!
Marcus swallowed his third tumbler of scotch. This house party was not proving to be the restful holiday he’d expected. Good God, Miss Goodnight and Lord Carlisle! He’d had no idea the vicar had it in him.
Marcus wanted to leave. But where would he go? Marcus glanced around at the book-lined walls of Prescott’s library.
London would not welcome him, and he had no desire to head to Brighton. Vivienne would make demands of him. And the thought of making use of her body repulsed him. What was the matter with him?
Of course, he could not travel home. Although Candlewood Park would someday belong to him, until then, he’d be thrown off the premises immediately.
He felt shaken for some reason but didn’t know why. Where was his cornerstone? A ship? A horse?
The bottom of a bottle?
Marcus tossed back another swallow.
Likely seeing another bachelor caught in Miss Goodnight’s trap had done it.
Had she trapped him? Or was Carlisle not quite the Godly man one would believe?
“My lord?”
As though magically conjured by his thoughts, Miss Goodnight peered from behind the previously closed door and then stepped inside. Such a tiny little thing to have created so much havoc. Without waiting for an answer, she crept inside before timidly sitting down in the chair across from him. “I thought perhaps you might be here.”
In the glow of but a few candles, her brown hair seemed darker but for the golden highlights reflecting an occasional sparkle of the flickering lights.
He raised his glass. “Congratulations are in order.”
She did not meet his eyes but instead stared down at her clasped hands. “If you’re to marry Rhoda, I think it must be done quickly. I’m worried her mother might insist they return to London in light of my… er…”
“Scandalous behavior?” Anger suffused him. Such a conniving, manipulative, deceptive person he’d never known. Of course, she’d trapped Carlisle. The poor bastard had stepped into that closet like a lamb to the slaughter. “You’re no different from any of the other husband hunters.”
This brought her head up with a jerk. “What are women to do?” She returned his slight with equal vigor. “What would you do if you had no control over your life? Where you could live? How you would make a living? Am I to simply allow my parents to send me to the ends of the earth to act as a servant to a spoiled and selfish old woman without putting up some sort of a fight? Yes, women are conniving sometimes, but I ask you, what other options do we have?”
For a moment, he considered her outburst. But then he stated the obvious. “You could be a governess somewhere or a lady’s companion.”
She burst from her chair. “And give over my life to the demands of others? Would you wish to live such a life? Perhaps it is selfish of me. Yes, yes, I am utterly selfish! I wish to have my own home! I wish to read what I want, when I want. I wish to be able to do experiments, garden, and have friends. I wish to travel and, so help me God, I wish to have children of my own.” She’d been pacing back and forth across the carpe
t as she made her speech. When she finally stopped, she looked horrified. “Yes, I acted scandalously. But what other choice did I have?”
“Attract a man honorably?” he dared to suggest. Closing his eyes, he awaited a slap that he likely deserved but nothing came. No burning sting. No vehement response. Only the dizzying sensation that ought to have warned him he’d imbibed far too much of Prescott’s scotch.
When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see her slumped in the chair again.
“I tried that.” She shrugged. “It didn’t work.”
Ah, the crux of the matter. Hadn’t his kiss shown her anything? “But I’ve been attracted to you at times.” Why would he tell her this? “I’m certain there have been others.” He reached for the half-empty bottle he’d been drinking from and tipped it into his glass. Faint regret struck him at the splash of delightful nectar he’d spilled onto the table.
“You did it out of pity. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
Truth be told, he’d wanted her to believe he’d kissed her out of pity. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to, but anytime a woman thought she held sway over a man, she did everything possible to net him.
“It doesn’t matter anyhow.” She sat up straight again. “And I have appreciated your friendship. But I’m here to settle the details of your elopement. Can you be prepared to leave in a few hours’ time? Like I said, I’m worried Rhoda’s mother will want to take her daughters and make an abrupt departure in the morning.”
Miss Mossant.
Revenge upon his father.
The idea had sounded so appealing when he’d first heard it.
What did it matter? He was blacklisted everywhere in London, and he didn’t relish the thought of traveling south. Even Vivienne had left him feeling colder, emptier than normal. At least this way, he would be wed to a woman of his own choosing. Marcus finished off what he’d just poured, waiting for the warmth to travel through his gullet and into his gut. Only when he felt a hit of its sweet lethargic effect did he acknowledge her again.
“Tonight, eh?” He glanced at his watch. Quarter past midnight. “So, three-fifteen in the morning then?”
Miss Goodnight nodded. “Three sharp. She’ll meet you behind the mews. The duchess will have a traveling carriage readied and waiting for you.”
“Three sharp.” His future rushed at him more quickly than he’d planned. An image of him being tossed by an ocean wave danced in the back of his mind.
“Behind the mews.” His mouth could barely form the words. “Very well. I’ll be there.”
Miss Goodnight didn’t look as satisfied as she ought to, as the puppet master would.
“On one condition.” He poured out another scotch and downed it in one swallow.
“What now?” Exasperation edged her voice.
“Promise me you’ll go into this marriage with Carlisle knowing you’re good enough.” Was he slurring his words? “You may have cornered the poor fellow, allowing him nowhere to go, but my eyes did not deceive me. He had his arms firmly wrapped around you and seemed happy enough to have them there.”
“Ha!” The chortle of laughter that burst from her couldn’t have been anymore disbelieving.
“I mean it. Promise me, Miss Goodnight.”
But she didn’t rush to make such a promise. She simply stared at him with those big brown eyes from behind her darling little spectacles.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked instead. “Twice, you did. Did you just feel sorry for me? Were you simply trying to bolster my confidence?”
Marcus would be leaving in three hours. He’d enter into a marriage of convenience, purchase some lands, an estate outside of London… and wait for his father to die? Except he wouldn’t hang around England like a proper husband. No, he’d enter into more business ventures. Perhaps invest in Nottingham and Findlay’s enterprises. Seek out new opportunities in India…
“Because I like you, Emily.”
Her forehead puckered in confusion.
“And because I wanted to.” He rose from his chair, crossed the carpet, and pulled her up as well. Standing this close to her, he entered into that field of energy always swirling around her. He’d never known a woman like her. One so stubborn and inquisitive.
“And you want to again?” She tilted her head back in order to meet his eyes. And when she did this, she exposed the nearly translucent skin of her neck.
“I do.” His voice came out gravelly.
“Three is a good number,” she nearly whispered. “It’s the number of completion. The Trinity. Ice, water, and vapor…”
What the hell was she mumbling about now? Even with her head tilted back, he had to bend his knees and dip his head to meet her lips. She felt so fragile, so vulnerable in his arms. He’d kissed her before but this time, his heart cracked a little. This was goodbye. He’d make it last. He’d make it memorable.
Little sighs of wonder escaped her as he slipped his tongue past her lips, her teeth. He soothed the tremble that ran through her by pulling her closer.
Even though he hated the thought of Carlisle having her, he knew it made sense. Carlisle would be faithful; he’d respect and honor her. He might even come to love her. Marcus pulled away but then pressed his forehead against hers. “Promise me?”
She nodded slowly. “I promise.”
It was good to end this, to bring their unlikely alliance to an end.
After she left, Marcus went in search of Crandall. Not before, however, swiping one of Prescott’s full bottles of scotch.
If he were heading out to slip his head in the noose, he’d at least soften the blow with more of the duke’s fine spirits. Good God, he was getting married. Surely, hell must have finally frozen over.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Carried Away
After the door closed behind Emily, Sophia walked over to Dev and slid her arms around his neck. “How did I get so lucky?” She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent.
Dev snuggled her close and then reached his hands behind his neck to grasp her closed fists in his. “Let’s see what this says.” He peeled back her fingers gently and removed the note Emily had handed her.
Sophia nipped at his chin as he did so. She loved this man. She would have handed over the note willingly, but this was much more fun. He thrilled her at the oddest of moments.
“Hm.” He held the note by her shoulder. “Your friend has atrocious handwriting.”
Sophia relaxed her hold and turned around within his embrace. She steadied his hand with her own and made out the note. “Have Rhoda meet Bankly… no, Blakely behind the mews at three in the morning. A readied traveling coach would be greatly appreciated.”
Dev pulled her closer from behind. “How is it you were never as silly as these girls are?”
She tried to think but always had difficulty doing so when his lips trailed along her neck like that. “They aren’t silly, Dev, just scared.”
“Hm. Shall I order a carriage for them?”
Sophia knew he’d do almost anything she asked. She wanted to help them. Rhoda needed to marry for protection, and right away, but Sophia had some serious misgivings about sending her off to Gretna Green with Blakely.
“I didn’t think Emily had it in her to do it, to compromise Lord Carlisle,” Sophia admitted. “I simply thought she’d take the opportunity to garner his attention somehow.”
“She asked me to do something for Blakely,” Dev surprised her by saying. “Because he’s a friend.”
“Blakely?” Sophia twisted around to see Dev’s face. “What could you do for him?”
“I promised her I’d not impart her information to anyone, but it made me think that perhaps her affections lie with someone other than my cousin.”
“But that makes no sense at all! It’s been her idea all along that Blakely should marry Rhoda!”
“Just a thought, my love.” Dev stepped away to tug at the bell pull. When a footman stepped in almost immediately, Dev ord
ered the coach readied.
“I hope they’re all not making a colossal mistake.” Before Dev could respond, she yawned tiredly.
“Shall we retire, then?” Her brawny husband swung her into his arms effortlessly. Striding around the room, he allowed her to snuff out the candles one by one. They’d done this before.
Except for this time, a knock interrupted their ritual. Dev’s gaze met hers, looking resigned.
“Come in,” Sophia called out.
Rhoda stepped in quietly, followed by Lord Carlisle. Sophia couldn’t help noticing that her friend’s eyes were red and puffy from crying, and Lord Carlisle had one of his hands on Rhoda’s waist and the other tucked into her skirts. If Sophia were to take a guess, she’d have to say they were holding hands.
How very interesting!
Dev nuzzled Sophia’s ear half an hour later within the confines of Dev’s chamber, alone once again.
“I thought this house party was going to be relaxing.”
But Sophia frowned. “I forgot to tell Rhoda to meet Blakely at the mews.”
Only she hadn’t really forgotten. Dev would know. She tilted her head and thrilled that her husband’s touch caused her heart to race, her breath to hitch.
“I wondered about that.” His voice rumbled by her ear. “I’m not certain that you should.”
Sophia pivoted and slid her hands around his neck. “I just couldn’t do it, Dev.”
His hooded gaze met hers and then narrowed in suspicion. “We don’t really want to be involved in these machinations any further, do we? Can’t we simply allow them to work it all out for themselves?” His hand dropped to the swell just below her waist, and he pressed her against his very prominent arousal.
Sophia melted into him. “Cecily disapproves. She thinks Rhoda and Emily are acting desperately, and I’m inclined to agree.” Playing with his hair, she released a regretful sigh. “I need to go to Emily. I think she’d best inform Blakely that Rhoda won’t be there.”
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