by Jenna Jaxon
“Yes, thank you, Grayson. Devilishly sorry for the hour, but tell Lord Dalbury I need to speak with him quite urgently.”
“Very good, my lord. If you will step this way?”
Jack followed the night-capped and gowned figure down the hall. Grayson’s dishabille startled Jack badly. He’d assumed the very proper butler slept in his black suit. Everything seemed topsy-turvy this evening.
After ushering Jack into a small, formal reception room, Grayson retired to fetch his master. As weariness descended, Jack sank gratefully onto a delicate-looking rose print sofa. For an evening that had started with a round of carousing with his drinking companions, the night had turned into a nightmarish wedding dance where he seemingly might change partners at will.
Both Miss Carlton and Miss Forsythe needed rescue. He was loath, however, to declare which woman’s need the direst. Miss Carlton had the prior claim to be sure, but she was currently out of danger as long as Trevor could restrain her from returning to the House of Pleasure. Miss Forsythe’s dilemma was more acute—she must marry and soon to have any hope of saving her reputation. He should feel relieved he could not be forced to fulfill that duty, though the memory of her tear-streaked face tugged at his heart. Whatever the circumstances, the girl did not deserve the scandal about to descend on her head should she not marry, and soon.
With a sigh, Jack leaned back into the soft sofa and closed his eyes, immediately seeing Miss Forsythe’s beautiful, pale face. He’d never thought it beautiful before. Perhaps her boldness had created an aura of beauty in both her face and form.
“What in the name of all that is holy brings you out at this godforsaken hour of the night?”
Jack’s eyes popped open to behold his brother-in-law standing over top of him, tying the sash of his dark gray banyan, a dark scowl marring his face.
“Is this about Juliet? Do you have news of her?” Dalbury’s gaze bore into him so hard he began to squirm as he used to before his old school master, Mr. Barton, when he hadn’t done his lessons.
“How the devil would I know anything about Juliet?” Throwing off his temporary unease, Jack sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you knew where she was.” He hadn’t stopped to think how such a late call might be received, especially with his sister-in-law currently in hiding from her faux-husband.
“I do, or rather Kat does. I assumed an urgent call at such an hour must pertain to her.” Dalbury wiped his tired eyes with the heel of his palm.
“I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night, but I’m in desperate need of advice.” There was no way to say it other than blurting it out. “I’ve found myself betrothed to one woman, but perhaps need to be betrothed to another one instead.”
“Good God, not another one.” Dalbury headed for the cut crystal decanter on top of the writing desk. “What have you gotten yourself involved in, Manning?”
“Yes, what have you gotten yourself into, Jack?” His sister, posed dramatically in the doorway, brought him to his feet.
“Katarina.” Dalbury frowned as he poured first one glass, then another. “I expressly told you to remain in bed, my dear.” He offered a glass to Jack, who took it gratefully. “You are most likely carrying my heir and must not take a chill running around in the dead of night.”
“Do you hear what I must put up with, Jack?” Kat smiled indulgently at her husband. “I am fussed over no matter what I do.” She turned to her husband. “I am fine, Duncan. Safe and warm in my own house, though I would like to know why my brother sees fit to call upon us at two o’clock in the morning.” Brows puckered, she turned bright blue eyes on Jack and lowered herself onto the sofa.
Kat had ever been his confessor and fellow conspirator growing up. Her advice would be as welcome as her husband’s. “I am in a dilemma of sorts, Kat. It’s a long story.” He sighed. Dalbury was right. His sister needed her rest, not to listen to his problems.
“Shall I order a pot of tea?” Staring him straight in the eyes, Katarina pointed to the bell pull. “I am all ears, brother.”
“For God’s sake, Manning, just get on with it.” Dalbury sank down beside his wife with a groan. “She’ll never leave until she’s heard you out.”
True. “Well, I will try to be brief, at least. I am currently attempting to rescue two damsels in distress. In one case, only marriage will do to save the lady’s reputation. With the other one marriage is not necessarily required, although I offered her the protection of my name before the other damsel’s plight came to my attention. Christ, that’s good.” Jack took a swallow of the excellent cognac, relishing the slightly fruity taste. Something inside him began to unwind.
“This is damned peculiar, Manning.” Dalbury shook his head, his hand cupping the glass as his thumb slid over the intricately cut honeycomb design. “Trevor came to me in November with a very similar situation.” He gazed keenly at Jack, who barely managed not to sputter into his drink.
“Well, Trevor is mixed up in this affair, if you must know.”
“What?” Setting his glass down with a thump, his brother-in-law stared daggers at him. “Tell me, Manning, and pray do not spare me any of the details.”
The long-case clock in the corridor had chimed the half hour before Jack sat back from his rapt audience. “So I came straight here.”
“Hell of a day you had, Manning.” Dalbury shook his head and sipped from his second glass of spirits.
“Poor Miss Carlton.” Kat shook her head and squeezed Jack’s hand. “And poor Miss Forsythe.” She rubbed her belly where her child had definitely begun to make its appearance known. “It might seem a difficult decision, but I believe there is but one possible road to take, Jack. You must marry Miss Forsythe.”
He shuddered and drained his glass. “Indeed. And what of my betrothal to Miss Carlton?” Jack eyed Kat, who waved away Miss Carlton as though she was an unwanted dish at a dinner party.
“Lord Trevor will see to her welfare. I have every confidence in him.” Kat’s eyes sparkled mischievously at him. “If he was willing to break into the room to rescue her from you, he will find a way to keep her from harm.”
“You seem rather confident of Trevor’s ability to break his engagement.” Not something done successfully every day in the ton. “Will he endure the stigma of the scandal for her?” Jack cocked his head, a glimmer of hope stealing through the murky air that had surrounded him all evening.
“A man will do great and rash things for the woman he loves.” Twining her arm through Dalbury’s, Kat beamed at him. “Is that not right, Duncan?”
Dalbury cleared his throat and rose, assisting her to rise as well. “I concede that arrow, my love, for I know you would cite several rash actions I undertook to secure you.” He brushed a swift kiss on her lips, then headed her for the door. “Go keep my son and my bed warm. I will be up in short order.”
Shooting him a despairing look, Kat went to Jack, embracing him in a ferocious hug. “Do come by tomorrow and tell me the outcome, Jack. I’ll be the first to wish you happy either way.” With a steely glance at his face, she glided out the door.
“That was one of the more civilized exchanges I’ve ever had with Kat. Pregnancy must be agreeing with her.” Dalbury stifled a yawn, his gaze returning time and again to the door where his wife had left.
“I’ll leave you to your bed, then.” His brother-in-law would be impatient until he could assure himself Kat was fine. A doting husband if ever he’d seen one. “But I wanted your opinion. Do you agree with Kat? Should I marry Miss Forsythe instead?”
“I believe you must give Miss Carlton a wide berth. Unless I miss my guess, her fate is entangled with Trevor’s, God help him. Much as I warned him away from her, he would not listen. Like a moth to a flame, those two.” Dalbury motioned Jack to proceed him from the room.
“Much as I hate to admit it, I got that same feeling from Trevor the
entire time we were rescuing Miss Carlton from the House of Pleasure.” If truth be told, the man had scarcely taken his gaze off the woman. Jack had thought he’d have to draw his sword when he’d put his hand on the small of Miss Carlton’s back.
“Just so.” Dalbury nodded. “You can easily cry off the betrothal, especially as you’ve told no one but me and you believe Trevor will intervene on her behalf in any case.”
“I do. Neither does Miss Carlton wish to marry me, I believe. She will likely be relieved when I break off the betrothal.” The small woman in the bedraggled purple dress had stirred his protective instincts. However, something deep in his soul had told him her fate was not entwined with his own. “That leaves the problem of Miss Forsythe.”
“Marry the girl.” Dalbury had stopped at the bottom of the polished staircase, his hand on the newel post.
Apparently his brother-in-law had done with him and turned his thoughts back to Kat, all alone in their bed.
“She is from a good family, a wealthy family in fact, with excellent connections. What more recommendation could you ask in a wife?” Dalbury grinned at him. “She’s comely and will likely warm your bed a sight more lively than Miss Carlton would.”
“Does the fact that she’s carrying another man’s child not concern you at all? Shouldn’t it concern me if it’s a boy and therefore my legal heir?” Having disposed of Miss Carlton as a candidate for wife, Jack couldn’t help but weigh the grave consequences of marriage to Miss Forsythe.
“You and your chivalrous nature have an even chance she carries a girl. If you’re apt to pray on it, I’d start immediate supplications to the Almighty. That is the price you may have to pay to appease your conscience and rescue this particular damsel.” With a mocking salute, Dalbury mounted the stairs.
Correct as always, damn the man. As the figure retreated up into darkness, Jack turned his feet toward the front entry hall. Perhaps he should sleep on the matter and make up his mind in the morning. Surely the dawn wasn’t far off. Collecting his things from Grayson, Jack strode back out into the wretchedly chilly night, less than sanguine about the decision he would make when morning finally arrived.
Chapter 6
Nearing noon the next day, Jack finally stepped into the bitter cold after his interview with Miss Carlton and Lord Trevor. With brisk strides he entered his carriage, well pleased with the morning’s meeting. It wasn’t every day one broke a betrothal and escaped unscathed.
Miss Carlton had been accepting, even gracious, as he had explained, in veiled terms, that he had discovered an impediment to their betrothal. Trevor had been much less accepting of the situation and had in fact challenged him. Miss Carlton, however, in her first real show of spirit, had put her foot down and forbidden Trevor to duel with him. Given the history of her brother and cousin he could scarcely blame the woman. He’d understood last night she didn’t want to marry him and he held no animosity toward her for trying for happiness elsewhere. Indeed, he wished her every success, though since she was in love with an almost married man, he doubted she would find her fairy tale ending with Lord Trevor.
Rapping on the trap, he called, “Lord Braeton’s townhouse, Forbes.”
The carriage jolted forward on the icy streets and he was off to inform Miss Forsythe he would be accepting her proposal after all. Strange as that might sound, the fact that he was about to marry a woman he did not particularly admire was stranger still. To be sure it was done every day, an accepted practice in the ton so none would rebuke him for it. Given Miss Forsythe’s connections and her family’s wealth, some in the ton would say he had stepped in to take advantage of the situation.
His personal concerns, however, were of a different nature. He’d seen his sister’s marriage change from a forced ceremony to a wildly passionate marriage of mind and spirit. Too much to hope for in his own case. Lightning seldom struck twice in the same family. If truth be told, he needn’t have married either woman. Miss Carlton had Lord Trevor to champion her. And he stood under no obligation whatsoever to Miss Forsythe.
Still, the haunted, pleading look on her face last night when she’d asked him to marry her had tugged at his heart harder than he’d ever imagined it would. The reason, in fact, he’d broken the betrothal with Miss Carlton.
If only Miss Forsythe did not look so much like Kat. How would he ever summon passionate feelings for the woman if every time he gazed at her, he saw his sister?
Jack shivered. Best not dwell on that.
The carriage pulled up before the door of the palatial townhouse. Braeton always had the best of everything. Jack had to give the man his due. The structure would have been a credit to Nash himself with its perfectly proportioned columns, alabaster steps and portico, and pale white bricks that seemed to make the building soar over his head when he stepped out of the carriage.
This part of the square was particularly crowded this afternoon. Several conveyances—a sleek phaeton, a well-used barouche, and two serviceable gentlemen’s carriages—lined the street up and down.
“No telling what’s going on here.” Jack nodded to his coachman. “See if you can park in Braeton’s mews. I may not be long, but then I might be.”
“Very good, my lord.” Forbes urged the horses to walk toward the end of the block as Jack turned back to the elegant townhouse.
The same butler, more awake and sure of himself than this morning, bowed and showed him into the same reception room, this time, however, teeming with gentlemen. Jack bowed to Lord Mallory, fashionably attired in a well-cut brown wool suit, who sat in the rose-colored Queen Anne chair, hands crossed gracefully on his ebony walking stick. Across from him on a spindly sofa sat the Earl of Ghent, sixty if he was a day old. Jack had made his acquaintance at Braeton’s house party in July. Old devil had chased almost anything in a skirt. His beady eyes were sunk into his head, but his gaze continued to sweep the room. An old fox could be just as dangerous as a young one.
A third gentleman stood with his back to Jack, pouring spirits deeply into a glass. From the back Jack couldn’t place him. When he turned around, however, his identity became immediately apparent. Black beauty patches adorned the man’s face as though someone had pelted him freely with tar. Lord Murchison, disease ridden and wizened prematurely, sipped whiskey, though his hand shook badly. Jack prayed the man had heard Miss Forsythe wanted a husband and that Braeton wasn’t so depraved as to summon him and try to saddle her with this monster.
The door to a private room on the far side of the opulent fireplace opened and Lord Cryr emerged, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I say Manning. Didn’t think I’d see you here. You’re not in need of a wife, are you?”
’Sblood Cryr could be an ass. “Not particularly. Is that what brings you here?” Jack feigned boredom, all the while seething that Braeton could be so heartless as to bring these men in wholesale, as though he were selling Miss Forsythe at a slave auction. Why had she agreed to such a thing?
“Lord, yes. Best prospect I’ve had in a long while. And just in time, if I’m to be the lucky chap.” His friend grinned and motioned Jack to a corner. “I really think I have the inside track, old boy. Miss Forsythe would do better with me than with the rest of this lot. These others are too old or sick”—he threw a disgusted glance at Murchison—“or looking for a replacement wife. I, however, am young and fit, with a respected title. Obviously she could do much worse.”
Indeed she could. Although after the woman’s condemnation of Cryr earlier this morning, he’d hardly think she would lead the man on. “Did Miss Forsythe encourage you to think so, just now?”
“Miss Forsythe was not present at the interview with Lord Braeton.” Cryr gave him an odd look. “Why the devil should she be? She’ll be lucky to get any husband now.”
Had Braeton taken leave of his senses? Was he telling these prospects the true reason for Miss Forsythe’s need to marry? Jack’s refusal this morning must
have put the earl in quite a temper for him to take this measure. Well, he would put a stop to these proceedings this minute.
“So why are you here, Manning? You said you’re not in the market for a wife.” Cryr eyed him suspiciously.
“N’tall.” Jack shook his head, thinking furiously. “I’m supposed to speak to Braeton about the sale of one of his horses. As I take it he’s rather busy at the moment, I’ll return tomorrow. The animal will keep until then.”
“Just so.” The doubtful gleam in his friend’s eyes extinguished. “Walk out with me?”
“To be sure.” Damn. How could he speak to Braeton now? “Let me just send him a note.”
At Jack’s request, the butler produced pen and paper. A short but forceful statement of his intentions to marry Miss Forsythe and the request that Braeton therefore cease all interviews took next to no time to compose. “Take this immediately to Lord Braeton.” Jack placed the folded sheet into the butler’s hand. “Tell him I shall return shortly to discuss the matter.”
“Very good, my lord.” The servant bowed and left.
With any luck, Cryr and perhaps only one other gentleman would know the truth about Miss Forsythe’s circumstances.
He and Cryr collected their cloaks and walked onto the portico and into a brisk breeze.
“There’s my rig.” Cryr motioned to one of the small, plain carriages.
“I need to call for mine. Thought I’d be with Braeton a while so I sent it to the mews.” What was the next best plan of action? “See you later at White’s?”
“I expect so. Going there now for a little premature celebration.” A wide smile split Cryr’s face as he jumped into the carriage. He spoke to his coachman and they moved off at a fast clip.
As soon as Cryr had merged with the throng of traffic, Jack turned around and knocked on the door again.
