Clay considered the possibility. It might come to that, if he could not convince the girl to wed him. But his revenge would be all the sweeter if he could flaunt the chit’s misery—and he would make her miserable—right under her father’s nose. He could take her to his estate in Scotland, which bordered Blackthorne’s property to the north. When the duke’s daughter had given him a son to replace the one he had lost, he would take the child and abandon her.
“No kidnapping,” he said at last. “We will try this course first.”
“Foul weather ahead,” Pegg muttered.
“Yes, Pegg,” Clay said grimly. “Foul indeed.”
Clay was too engrossed in his own thoughts to acknowledge the smiles and nods of those he passed in his curricle during the journey from his town house on Grosvenor Square to the Penrith town house on Berkeley Square. The instant he lifted the knocker, his heart began to thump harder.
His revenge had begun a year past, when he had returned to England after an absence of eleven years. He had begun by making certain Blackthorne found no ready market for his wheat during the harvest. He had arranged to meet Lord Penrith and gained his trust. And he had begun a search for the missing Mr. Ambleside, Blackthorne’s former steward in Scotland, the villain who had embroiled him in the affair that had led to his arrest, and who must certainly share in Blackthorne’s fate.
Clay regretted nothing he had done so far in the name of vengeance. The more harm he caused, the better. Lady Regina was a chick ripe for the plucking. What she had gleaned from gossip did not tell the whole story, and it was plain she had no inkling of how much hatred he harbored toward her father. And he had no intention of enlightening her.
Clay had been careful not to show any overt animosity toward the duke since his return to England, though he had consistently refused to see Blackthorne on those occasions over the past year when the duke had presented his card and sought an audience. He did not want to hear the duke’s explanations or his apologies. He did not want to hear Blackthorne’s plea for absolution. There was no forgiveness in his heart.
It had been easy to justify his financial manipulation of Blackthorne’s son-in-law. Lord Penrith knew the whole story, had even been a part of the House of Lords all those years ago, insisting that if Carlisle had done what Blackthorne accused him of doing, he should be stripped of his title and transported. Clay had befriended the man, pretending that the past was the past, advising Penrith to invest in ventures risky enough to cost him a fortune. It would not be long before the duke’s elder daughter was married to a financially ruined man.
But Roger was correct in his conjecture that ruining a woman’s reputation was another matter entirely. And Clay did plan to ruin her—to wed her and bed her and then abandon her.
Nevertheless, he felt no regret for what he was about to do.
In his mind’s eye, Clay pictured the graves of his wife, and the son he had never seen, overgrown with eleven years’ worth of weeds and thistles. He felt the coarse texture of the gravestones beneath his fingertips, the utter cold of the ground in which they had been buried while he was chained hand and foot on a ship bound for Australia.
And felt all the anguish of his loss anew.
He had loved Lady Marjorie Wren more than life but had despaired of ever having her, especially when he learned that his elder brother Charles had gambled away the entire Carlisle fortune before he’d died. Virtually everything was gone except a crumbling castle in Scotland and the Carlisle town house on Grosvenor Square, both of which were entailed. Once the exact nature of Clay’s affairs was known, Lady Marjorie’s family had forbidden the match.
Clay would have lost her, in truth, believed he had lost her, except their dalliance at a weekend house party had resulted in the expectation of a happy event. Her parents had relented and allowed them to marry, holding a quiet ceremony outside London, despite the allegations hanging over his head.
They had been happy for those few months before his trial. He had watched his wife’s belly grow, had laid his cheek against her flesh and spoken to the child inside her, promising he would be a better father than his own had been.
He had been so naively certain he could prove his innocence—because he was innocent. But Blackthorne had brought all his considerable power to bear, and the true villain, Mr. Cedric Ambleside, had disappeared, leaving Clay to suffer the full measure of the duke’s ire.
Clay’s lips thinned with resolve as the front door to Penrith’s town house opened. Blackthorne deserved to be robbed of any joy he might find in his family, or which his family might find in their fortunes … or reputations.
“My lord,” the butler said, bowing low. “You are expected in the drawing room.”
Clay followed the butler upstairs, where he was startled to find only one of the twins. She was dressed in a bright yellow day dress that did not do her beauty justice. Her blue eyes were anxious, and she unknotted her fingers as she rose to make her bow to him.
He waited for the butler to leave before he spoke. “Good afternoon, Lady Penrith.”
“How did you know it was me?” she asked as she sank back onto the brocade sofa. “We are identical, you know.”
And nothing alike, Clay thought. “Lady Regina has a tiny scar at the edge of her mouth,” he said, as though that were the only difference he had noted.
“You are very observant, my lord. Will you join me for tea?”
“Where is Lady Regina?”
“She will not be joining us,” Lady Penrith announced as she poured a cup of tea. She held it out to him, the china rattling slightly, and Clay found himself taking the few steps necessary to retrieve the delicate cup and saucer. He handed her the bouquet of roses in return. “I brought these for Lady Regina.”
“I will make certain she gets them.” She carefully set the roses on the table beside her without smelling them.
Clay settled on the cushioned chair across from Lady Penrith, who remained perched on the edge of the sofa as though she were a canary and he a cat about to pounce.
“I hope Lady Regina is not indisposed,” he said.
“My sister is otherwise occupied this afternoon,” Lady Penrith said.
“Does she always disappear when company is expected?” he asked, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.
“She had a prior engagement which she had forgotten.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” Lady Penrith said, her eyes searching his face. “My sister will not be bullied, my lord.”
Clay lifted a brow. “That is frank speaking.”
“I believe the truth will serve best.”
“And what is the truth, my lady?” Clay asked.
“You know that better than I. Why did you come, my lord? You cannot be looking for a wife.”
Clay considered what to say and finally replied, “I came for tea and conversation.”
“Very well,” she said. “It is fine weather we are having, is it not?”
Clay found himself unexpectedly admiring Lady Penrith’s poise under what were difficult circumstances. It was too bad she had such a blackguard for a father. “A beautiful day, indeed,” he said. “I am only sorry your sister is not here to drive out with me.”
“Perhaps another time, my lord,” she said.
He was disappointed that Lady Regina had avoided the skirmish he had planned, but this was only the first sortie. When the butler arrived to announce another guest, Clay rose and excused himself. “Please tell Lady Regina I was sorry to have missed her.”
“I will give her your message,” Lady Penrith promised with what could only be described as a relieved smile.
As Clay stepped up into his curricle and took the ribbons in hand, he saw a slight female dressed in a ragged gray dress, a black woolen shawl draped over her head, scurrying around the side of the town house. At first he thought she was a servant, but when the figure cast a single furtive look over her shoulder, she gave away the game. He would have recognized those de
licate features anywhere. It was Lady Regina.
Why, the chit was in the house all along! He had suspected as much but had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. For a moment he considered letting her escape. A second look revealed no maid had joined her. Where was Lady Regina going unchaperoned, in such a disguise—and in such a hurry?
He followed her at a distance, keeping his cattle in check. He tried to imagine where she might be going. The only thing in this direction was a neighborhood that catered to ladies of another sort entirely. She walked several blocks before stopping on a corner, where she stood looking anxiously about her, leading him to believe she was waiting for a carriage to carry her to an assignation.
Clay’s stomach knotted. Who was it? What man had she agreed to take as her lover? He tried to remember whom she had graced with her smile the previous evening. Lord Malroux. Davison. Willowby. Even Viscount Sheppard. He could name a dozen others. The chit had smiled at all of them with innocent allure. He had even succumbed, momentarily, to that smile himself.
Clay remembered too vividly the kiss he had taken from her, how soft her lips had been, how she had trembled in his arms. He had not believed his heart could be touched, and yet he had found himself in turmoil when their lips parted. Wanting more. Needing more. Determined to have more.
His cattle were restless by the time the chit finally turned the corner, after one last furtive look around for the lover who had not arrived. Her step continued toward the part of town where gentlemen kept houses for their ladybirds. Surely she did not mean to walk there! It would be dangerous for any woman alone in such sordid surroundings, but especially so for a gently bred young lady.
Clay could think of only one reason why a lady might travel disguised into such a neighborhood, on foot and without her maid. The Ice Princess had obviously melted for some gentleman or another, fooling him—and a great many others.
Clay realized he was disappointed. And furious at having been duped the previous evening. He should have allowed Lady Regina to accept his offer of carte blanche. He might even now be enjoying her favors.
He could see no reason to avoid confronting her with what he knew. Perhaps he could tempt her away from her current lover with the offer of some bauble. He would not need to marry her to ruin her. He need only expose her current behavior to the light of day.
At any rate, he meant to have her, if for no other reason than to throw his conquest of her in her father’s face. He gave his cattle a taste of the whip and pulled alongside her. “Good day, Lady Regina. Fine weather we are having.”
She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. The shocked O formed by her lips was almost comical. It was followed by a shuttered look of guilt—for having been found out, no doubt—and then a flush of what appeared to be embarrassment, though he suspected that was counterfeit. He would wager this was not the first time she had snuck out alone, though perhaps it was her first time to be caught out at it.
“May I offer you an escort to your destination, my lady?”
“What are you doing here?” she said breathlessly.
For a moment he was speechless, entranced by the sheer beauty of her face in the sunlight. He cursed himself for being transfixed by a pair of wide eyes that only looked innocent and said in a voice that insinuated everything he believed, “I am enjoying the spring air. What are you doing here?”
Her cheeks heated under his stare. “That is none of your concern.” She turned abruptly and began walking again, more briskly than before.
He gave his perfectly matched bays enough rein to keep pace with her.
She turned to eye him suspiciously. “Why are you following me?”
“It appears you have been abandoned by your escort, my lady. I only sought to offer you my protection.” He barely managed to avoid giving the words a different, and altogether more suggestive, meaning.
She sighed, looked desperately around her, then chewed on her lower lip in a way that made his insides draw up tight. “It is a very long walk,” she said. “I suppose it would not be so very scandalous if I were to accept your offer. After all, we have been formally introduced.”
“I have even been to Penrith House to visit you, though you were not there to greet me.”
Her face flushed, but her eyes flashed defiance. “There could be no purpose in meeting you, since I have no intention of furthering the acquaintance.”
“I see.”
“What is it you see, my lord?”
“That it will take a bit more persuasion to convince you to accept my suit. Unless you would prefer the carte blanche?”
She wrinkled her nose in disdain and marched away in high dudgeon. “I have changed my mind about the ride. Good day, my lord.”
Clay found himself smiling. He was glad she was not making it easy. His spirited bays fought the bit as he kept them to a pace equal to hers. “Perhaps I should submit to your father for permission to wed you,” Clay said, thinking how much he would relish such a meeting with Blackthorne.
“My father would never—”
“Are you sure you would not prefer to sit up here with me? At least then we could keep this conversation between ourselves.”
He watched as she noticed they were attracting an audience of street peddlers, beggars, and other less savory characters. She shivered, wrapped her shawl more closely around her, then continued on her way. “I am not afraid, my lord.”
Apparently not. But he was becoming alarmed on her behalf. The way had narrowed, and little sunlight made it past the close-set buildings. The shadowy streets were filled with refuse so foul that even these poor souls could find no use for it.
Clay glowered at a sly-looking beau-nasty who was following her too closely. “You there, step back and give the lady room.”
For his efforts, he got a leer that exposed blackened teeth. Clay regretted not bringing a carriage that required a tiger who could attend his team while he walked beside her, since the neighborhood was becoming more and more threatening.
“If you are afraid to ride with me, of course I will understand,” he said.
She whirled to face him. “Stop your curricle, my lord.”
Clay barely managed to avoid grinning. Plainly, the best way to manage her was to challenge her. “Can you reach the step by yourself?”
She had clambered into the high seat beside him before he finished speaking. She looked straight ahead, her black-gloved hands hidden in the folds of the faded gray dress. “Continue to the corner and turn right, please.”
Clay turned right at the corner and recognized the street as one where he had rented a house for his first mistress. He had been a boy of one-and-twenty, a younger son dependent on his elder brother, then Earl of Carlisle, for his subsistence. In those days, he had spent—overspent—his quarterly allowance on gambling, women, and wine. No wonder Blackthorne had believed the worst of him.
“Why did you follow me?” Lady Regina asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Clay stared down into a pair of blue eyes that stared right back. There was nothing coy or practiced about her, he realized. “What makes you think I followed you?”
She rolled her eyes. “It must have been obvious I did not wish to see you today. Why did you insist upon forcing an encounter?”
“Do you always abandon your suitors to your sister?”
“I had forgotten a previous appointment,” she said, sticking to the story her sister had given him.
He snorted in disbelief. “An assignation, you mean.”
“What?”
“I recognize the neighborhood, Lady Regina. Who is he?”
“What?”
“The name of the gentleman you are meeting. Come, come. Let us be honest. I will match his price, whatever it is.”
Her lips pursed in annoyance, and for a moment he thought she was going to deny his accusation. She shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally said, “If you must know, there are two gentlemen.”
“Tw
o!”
“Mr. Edwards and Mr. Connelly … Simon and Harry. I try to see them at least thrice each week.”
“You don’t find that a bit … fatiguing?” Clay asked through tight jaws.
“Why, of course I do,” she admitted with amazing candor. “But when I see the smiles on their faces after I have hugged them and kissed them and made them as comfortable as I can, I feel the effort has been worthwhile. I would see them every day if I could manage it, but social engagements interfere far too often.”
The chit wasn’t even blushing! “It cannot be easy for you to engage in such activities unnoticed by your sister.”
“She is indulgent, my lord, as you can see.”
“Does she know you entertain two gentlemen at once?” he asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
“Of course.”
Clay could not believe he was having such a conversation, neither the fact of it nor the matter of it. He would not need to indulge in debauchery to ruin the chit. She was already beyond redemption. All he need do was inform her father of her activities and … and be laughed out of the duke’s house. Who would believe it of her? He could scarcely believe it himself. He needed proof. “I will double whatever they have offered,” he said.
Her chin slipped up a notch. “Simon and Harry need my attentions far more than you ever could, my lord,” she said. “Turn right at the corner, please.”
Clay concentrated on keeping the ribbons loose, though his hands had tightened into fists.
“Furthermore, I am convinced there is no way you could match what they give me in return for my affection. Stop here.” She was stumbling onto the uneven cobblestones before he had brought the high-wheeled curricle to a complete stop.
“Wait!” he exclaimed. “You will hurt yourself—”
She had already disappeared into a dark, narrow alley between two houses. “What the devil are you—?”
Damn the chit! He tied up the ribbons and leapt to the ground in one graceful move. His hand clamped onto the filthy shirt of the first street urchin he saw. “Watch my cattle. There will be something for you, if they are safe when I return.”
The Bridegroom Page 3
