Leo’s stomach sank as the thick tentacles of dread wrapped about him. “That is all, then?” he asked hoarsely. They’d simply dismiss all the work he’d done for the Brethren? All the plots against the Crown he’d foiled? The case he currently worked on to flesh out traitors to the country? He slumped in his chair.
“I did mention yours might be a whirlwind love affair with the lady,” his godfather put forward. “I suggested that she might be the one to tame you.”
“How easily you still manage a lie,” he credited. The skills one employed on behalf of the Brethren remained with one forever, even with a loving marriage and family.
“Mayhap there can be truth to it.”
“Truth to it?” he scoffed. First, the lady would have had to say “yes” for it to even be a possibility. And second, he’d have to be capable of that sentiment. “You’ve gone soft.” His heart had been black since before he’d entered this world. He’d made the mistake only once of believing himself somehow… different than what he was.
The piercing intensity of his uncle’s stare was one that saw too much. Leo slid his gaze to a point beyond his uncle’s shoulder. “I’ve no intention of walking that perilous path.” He’d made that mistake in his youth. He’d not do so again.
“Would it be so very bad?” his uncle suggested with a gentleness that set Leo shifting in his seat. “Being in love?”
Leo could handle direct talks about the Brethren and his reputation as a rake and pleading for help. His mouth went dry. When it came to this warmth, he didn’t know what to do with it.
“Marriage has changed even the most hardened rakes.” His uncle flashed a wry grin and gestured to himself.
“You’ve taken a misunderstanding between me and a young lady,” one who, until two days ago, had been nothing more than a stranger, “and gone now to imagining a love match.” A fate Leo was incapable of. One that he had no interest in. Not any longer. Love weakened a person. Destroyed and shattered. Yes, he was better off without that or any other weakening sentiments.
The duke hooded his eyes, the earlier warmth gone. “Then it seems you must also fake being in love… and well. It was not only Rowley who was doubting, but Higgins as well.”
Because they wisely knew Leo for what he was.
“They plan to visit with me tomorrow afternoon. They’ll… we’ll make a decision about your fate and determine…” The duke stared pointedly at Leo.
Puzzled, he shook his head.
His uncle gave a nod.
“What?” Leo snapped. Given the precarious state of his future, he really did not have time to sift through his uncle’s word riddles.
“Do pay attention, Leo. We’ll determine whether you are, in fact, in love with the lady and pursuing a path of respectability now.”
Leo’s eyes slid closed as, with those words, his uncle put the death knell in his last hope.
“Oh, bloody hell,” his uncle muttered. “You didn’t speak to the lady.”
“Of course I spoke to her,” Leo said defensively.
“And?” His godfather leaned forward in his chair. “What was her response?”
“No, thank you.” Despite the precariousness of his increasingly dire situation, a grin curved his lips.
His uncle leaned forward. “My God, are you… smiling?” He whistled. “The lady said yes.”
Leo’s grin instantly died. “She did not.”
Uncle William dragged his hands over his face. “Oh, hell, Leo.”
“I still believe I can convince her.” It was a bald-faced lie. He’d gauged the lady as one who would value her independence and freedom… and made the greatest appeal to those desires, and she’d turned him down flat.
His uncle shoved to his feet, signaling the end of their meeting. “They’re coming tomorrow. They’ve asked that I attend the meeting. Beyond this?” He shook his head again. “There is nothing more I can do for you.”
Nothing more I can do for you…
Only Leo could help himself now.
Nay. Not Leo.
The spirited minx who proved clever enough to know marriage to him could yield nothing of value.
“Thank you, Uncle,” he said tightly, smoothing his features, hiding his panic.
After he’d taken his leave of his uncle, Leo made the short ride to his own residence, frantically searching his mind for a solution that would get him out of this latest scrape.
I could kidnap the lady. Ride off with her for Scotland and…
As soon as the thought slid forward, he killed it.
He might be an immoral blackguard, but even he drew the line at abduction.
That was, abducting an innocent lady for his own gains.
He brought his mount to a stop outside his white stucco townhouse and leaped down.
A servant came forward to collect the reins.
Leo started up the steps and then froze. Would it solely be for his own gains if he abducted the lady? If marriage to her would salvage his career, then he’d be permitted to continue his work for the Crown. As such, wouldn’t it be more a sacrifice to the country that the lady was unwittingly forced to make? He closed his eyes, contemplating the possibility… and then abandoning it. “Bloody bastard,” he clipped out, taking the last two stairs as one.
Why did he have to develop a bloody conscience now, of all times?
The only hope for him was that, by some miracle, the stubborn minx set aside her disdain and accepted his offer.
Leo loosened the hooks at his cloak.
The doors were thrown open by his waiting butler, his usually affable features now stretched with discomfort.
“What is it?” he demanded as he shrugged out of his cloak. What in the blazes could it possibly be now?
“You have a visitor, my lord.” Tomlinson pursed his mouth. “A lady.”
Leo tossed the black wool garment into the man’s capable hands.
The bloody tenacious viper. She was unrelenting. “You were instructed to throw her out if she were to come here again,” he gritted. Wasn’t it enough that she’d destroyed his career? Did she truly believe he’d welcome her in his bed? “So do it.” Stalking across the Italian marble foyer, Leo started up the steps.
“Yes, my lord,” his servant acknowledged. “That is correct.” He cleared his throat. “But it is not that lady.”
“I don’t care who she is. I’m not receiving visitors.” Nor did Leo care how the man handled the nuisance, as long as he rid the household of her presence.
“But, my lord.” Tomlinson cleared his throat. “She insisted you’d want to see her. She insisted she’d wait until you arrived.”
What manner of cheeky baggage entered his home and ordered about his servants? “There is no lady I want—” He stopped. There was one tart-mouthed miss who could order about even the most seasoned member of the Brethren. Furthermore, there was one respectable lady he cared to see. His heart increasing its rhythm, he wheeled slowly around. Given the whores and widows he’d bedded over the years, there could be any number of women who’d invaded his private residence at this late hour. But he’d not had any recent entanglements. His efforts had largely been focused on the Cato case.
It was far more likely that it was some discontented wife asking him to debauch her. And yet… hope stirred in his chest. “Who is she?” he demanded, bounding back down the stairs.
“She didn’t give a name, my lord,” Tomlinson informed, handing the cloak off to a liveried footman. “The young woman refused to relinquish her cloak and didn’t remove her hood.”
A woman bent on secrecy. Given the nature of his work, it could really be anyone. Given instincts that had saved his miserable arse more times than he deserved, he knew it was her.
It had to be. He’d given her a day to consider his offer. Mayhap she’d contemplated her future and reasoned that marriage to Leo was preferable to her shattered reputation.
“Where did you put her?” he asked, excitement spilling into his voice.
Of course, the loyal servant who’d been in his employ since Leo had begun working with the Brethren would know not only to bar anyone’s entry into his offices, but also to set a guard on her.
Leo felt something he’d believed himself incapable of feeling—hope. He started down the hall.
“Oh, my lord? There is one more thing.”
He paused. “Yes?” he asked impatiently.
“She had… has a cane. The lady walked with a limp and—”
Leo broke into a near run. He’d ceased to believe in God long ago, but it seemed the fellow might be real, after all.
Because nothing short of divine intervention from the Lord Himself could convince an intelligent miss like Chloe Edgerton to visit Leo in the dead of night.
Chapter 12
If it were discovered that Chloe had sneaked off and now sat in the home of London’s most notorious scoundrel, she might as well pack her valises and prepare for a life abroad. There would be no recovering from such a scandal.
Or her mother’s ire.
Still, with the threat real and her already tarnished reputation at risk of further tattering, she found herself oddly fixed not on the servant who’d been stationed at the doorway as a sentry of sorts… but rather on a fish.
An inanimate one, that was.
Just as she had been for the past thirty-three minutes since she’d been shown to the Marquess of Tennyson’s Gray Parlor.
Seated on the silver satin sofa, she squinted across the room.
Or she believed the object was a fish.
Even after the footman who’d systematically lit the sconces, flooding the room with light, she still could not make out the creature.
Regardless, the bronze piece had held her transfixed the whole of her time here. At first, it was the one splash of oddly contrasting color to the otherwise sterile room that had called her attention. But the longer she stared and the more time lapsed, her focus had shifted for altogether different reasons.
Reaching for her cane, Chloe leaned her weight over the head of it and pushed herself up. Favoring her injured leg, she limped across the parlor.
What in the blazes was it?
She stopped at the Italian marble hearth. Leaning in, she examined the object that had kept her wondering, taking in the details that had, until now, escaped her—the open-work tail fins. She cocked her head. Or were they feathers? Regardless, they arced around the top of the creature’s head.
Chloe stretched her fingers out and trailed them along the bit of patina at the base of the cool metal that hinted at its age. Everything, from the high quality of the casting, to the foreign craftsmanship, marked it as an exotic piece.
Why hadn’t the marquess already sold the piece to cover some of his debts?
Her curiosity piqued, Chloe did another quick sweep of the desolate rooms. Gray curtains, gray Aubusson carpeting, a pair of tilt-top side tables absent of any baubles. In fact, the only ornamental item was the peculiar sculpture atop the mantel. What had made the marquess retain it, when the barren parlor spoke to items that had surely been sold?
Investigating the item again, she attempted to lift the statue.
She grunted as it remained firmly rooted to its spot.
Chloe attempted to lift it once more.
“Never tell me you’ve come to pillage from me, Chloe.”
That droll interruption rang a gasp from her lips. Heart thundering, Chloe whipped around. Lord Tennyson lounged casually against the doorjamb, one broad shoulder propped.
How did a man of his size move with such stealth? “How did you…? When did you…?” Her questions rolled together, forming incoherent ramblings. “How long have you been here?” she blurted, and then her cheeks promptly fired.
Of all the blasted questions to manage to squeeze out.
“Long enough to wonder if you intended to make off with that piece atop my mantel,” he drawled. Straightening, Leo entered the room.
Reaching behind him, he drew the door closed, shutting them in alone. The faint click and turn of the latch added a dangerous finality to her decision to come here.
There should have been a modicum of fear.
And yet, she followed his every movement, measuring his steps as he made for the corner of the room. Had the gentleman intended to harm her, he could have done so in Lord Waterson’s offices and then again a few short hours ago when he’d entered her bedchamber.
With his back to her, the marquess contemplated the half-empty bottles before selecting a crystal decanter from under the mahogany drink cart.
“What is it?” she called over to him.
He paused, sparing a glance over his shoulder.
Chloe gestured to the peculiar artwork.
Returning his attentions forward, Leo proceeded to uncork the bottle. “It’s a lamp.” He tossed aside the stopper, and it clattered noisily upon the surface of the table.
“I gathered as much,” she clarified, glancing back and exploring the piece with her gloved fingertip. “What I meant is… what is it supposed to be?”
“It’s a swan,” he said impatiently.
Her breath caught in a noisy inhalation as she whipped around. Chloe hurried to right her precarious balance. All the while, she clung to that annoyed utterance. “A swan,” she breathed. It was a sign. Surely it was no mere coincidence that, of all the adornments in his sparsely decorated residence, the Marquess of Tennyson should have… a swan, the creature that had brought scandal down on Mrs. Monroe’s Finishing School and opened the coveted post of headmistress.
“You insist on being on your ankle, madam?” he observed, calling her back to the moment.
Fighting to settle her thoughts, Chloe made her lips move. “It is feeling marginally better.”
It wasn’t altogether a lie. Though the ache lingered, the mind-gripping pain had receded.
The clink of crystal touching crystal and the steady stream of liquid as he poured his drink intruded, resurfacing the dangers posed by this man—and all men. Making a mockery of the bronze swan. This was real. This man’s dependency on spirits. “I hardly…” As he spoke, his voice drifted in and out of focus.
She fought through the humming in her ears to make sense of his words.
Unbidden, her gaze fell to his glass and lingered upon the reddish-brown liquid contained within.
The potent stench of brandy assaulted her senses as another man, a hated one, flashed to her mind, haunting as he invariably did.
I know you’re herreee… I’m not happy with you, girl. Time to pay the price…
Chloe clung to the head of her cane, welcoming the bite of the carved handle as it dug into her palm, keeping her on this side of sanity.
“Chloe?”
That heavily impatient baritone pulled her back from the precipice.
What had he been saying? And more… why had she come? And then it all slammed into her again: Lord Waterson’s ball, the gossip, Mrs. Munroe’s.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she asked, getting to the heart of the question that had brought her here.
Lord Tennyson froze, his glass halfway to his lips. “Beg pardon?”
Nay, not Lord Tennyson. Leo. At the very least, given that she was even entertaining the prospect of marriage to him, she should muster the use of his Christian name.
“Well, it is just…” She paused and gestured to the chairs. “May I?”
“Please do.” He waved his drink in the general direction of the silver upholstered sofa.
With those brief utterances and the veneer of politeness, one might believe they were any proper lord and lady engaged in a casual discourse, and not a pair who’d rocked Polite Society with their scandal and sought to come to an agreement amenable to both. Settling into the seat she’d vacated a short while ago, Chloe rested her cane against the nearby side table. “Why do you want to marry me?” she r
epeated.
“I don’t. I need to. And it is in your best interest to marry me.”
Her lips twitched. That honesty she could appreciate. “It is that ‘need’ that I’m most curious about.”
He trailed a finger distractedly around the rim of his glass. “It would be enough for any lady that I made you an offer to spare you from scandal.”
He was hedging.
Chloe smiled wryly. “I am not ‘any lady,’ my lord.” She was a woman who knew her mind and what she wanted, and whose reputation mattered only for what it represented—her freedom.
“No, you’re certainly not,” he groused under his breath.
And mayhap it was a trick of her ears, but they pricked up at the hint of appreciation in that reply.
Nor did it escape her notice that time was marching on as he evaded answering her.
Collecting her cane, Chloe thumped it on the hardwood floor, the plush Aubusson carpet muffling the sound. “Well?” She didn’t know what drove him, but she knew that he was no honorable gentleman hoping to rescue a virtuous lady from ruin. “A rake with your reputation must have been discovered in countless similar situations, and you’ve remained unwed. Why should you marry me now?”
Something dark flashed in his eyes. Leo tossed back his drink, downing it in one long, smooth swallow. The column of his throat worked quickly. Instead of setting the glass aside, he reached for the decanter.
Her black-hearted father had subsisted on spirits, a poison that destroyed.
“Must you do that?” she asked quietly.
Leo followed her stare to the bottle dangling between his long, gloved fingers. He hesitated, and for a long moment, she believed he intended to pour the next glass. She believed he’d do it as a testament to his power and to thumb his nose at her insolence for daring to question him.
And when he did, her reputation be damned, she’d walk out. She’d turn on her heel as quick as her still-aching ankle allowed, accepting that Mrs. Munroe’s would never be hers and that her future would be forever set. She would be the eccentric aunt whose name had been ruined in a scandal that had shaken Society and, as such, marriage, employment, or any other opportunity would be denied her.
The Lady Who Loved Him Page 13
