AN Unexpected Gentleman

by Alissa Johnson

  She found herself picking at the folds of the drapes and forced herself to stop. “You are very cavalier about it.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? I don’t regret my actions.” He studied her a moment, then straightened and moved toward her. “And I’m not inclined to act the remorseful sinner for your benefit. I’d not be a legitimate man of business now if not for the profits I turned as a criminal. I did what was needed to secure my fortune.”

  She wasn’t sure if she agreed with that assessment, but he didn’t give her an opportunity to comment one way or another. He stopped just inches from her, his tall frame towering over her.

  “It’s your fortune as well, you’ll recall,” he reminded her. He lifted his hand and trailed a finger along the green velvet trim at the neck of her gown. The dress was new, expensive, and purchased with Connor’s money. “Willing to give it up now that you know the unsavory truth of its origins?” He let the back of his hand brush across the sensitive skin at her collarbone and gave her a cold, mocking smile. “What say you, Mrs. Brice? Shall we hand it all to charity in the name of making amends? Or do you suppose you could scrounge up the fortitude to stomach my ill-gotten gains awhile longer?”

  Adelaide studied him with curiosity. With every second that had passed, every word that was spoken, he’d grown more callous, more contemptuous. He wanted her anger, she realized. He wanted her to proclaim him a hopeless rotter and toss her hands up in defeat. And she might have obliged him, if she’d not heard the fear in his voice only moments before.

  Holding his gaze, she reached up and placed her hand over his, trapping it in place. “May I ask why you are going to such pains to be offensive?”

  “Merely reminding you who it is you married.”

  “I know who I married. I watched him wipe the tears from a little boy’s cheeks not ten minutes ago.”

  A wariness settled over his features. “Is that who you think I am?”

  “It is part of you.”

  He slipped his hand out from under hers. “The part you like.”

  “I like it better than this.”

  He caught and held her chin; his eyes burned into hers. “I am not ashamed of any part of who I am, nor anything I’ve done.”

  “I can see that.” There wasn’t a hint of remorse in him, not one iota of regret, but there was still the fear.

  It dawned on her then that it wasn’t his own judgment that he feared. It was hers. She remembered something he’d said to her the first night they’d met, when she’d admitted that she was willing to marry a man for his fortune.

  “Perhaps the shame is that you were given no other choice,” she said quietly and waited while the anger in his eyes faded and the grip of his fingers relaxed. And then, because she wasn’t quite generous enough to absolve the man of all his sins, she added, “In Boston.”

  Connor blinked and released her. “In . . . I beg your pardon?”

  “You should be ashamed for what you did at the house party.”

  Astonishment, and the first light of humor, crossed his features. “So, my misdeeds were perfectly acceptable, so long as they didn’t touch you and yours, is that it?”

  She pretended to consider. “Yes, I believe so.”

  He ran the back of his hand over his jaw, eyeing her with frank amusement. “Well, well, Mrs. Brice. How self-centered of you. I’d not have guessed you capable of it.”

  “We all have parts,” she said softly.

  Slowly, his humor faded. His gaze drifted from hers and landed on a distant spot on the floor. After a long moment, he whispered, “I suppose we do.”

  She’d rather see him smiling, but this new pensiveness was an improvement over his earlier mood. For now, it would have to be enough.

  Believing he might like to be left alone with his thoughts, she ran a hand down his arm before stepping away.

  “Shall I see you at dinner, then?”

  He gave a small nod without looking at her, and she turned for the door. She had one foot in the hall when his voice fell on her back.

  “My father caught a poacher on the grounds once.”

  Slowly, she turned around again and found him standing, still as a statue, staring at the same spot on the carpet.

  “I was twelve, nearly thirteen,” he continued. “He handed the man over to the magistrate, who sentenced him to two years on a prison hulk, at my father’s request.”

  She stepped back into the room, drawing the door closed behind her. “That seems severe.”

  “My father could have had him shot. He fancied himself a compassionate man.” He moved, finally, but only to turn his eyes toward the window. “I remember . . . He sat me down in the library and explained to me that there was room in the world for mercy, but none for leniency. He told me that a demonstrable lack of morality was indicative of a weak mind. Thieves like the poacher were to be pitied for their inferior make, but not coddled lest they fail to understand the purpose of the punishment and revert to their shameful ways.”

  “He was wrong,” she said quietly.

  “He was, and a hypocrite to boot, as his own life was hardly free of iniquity.” He was quiet a long moment before, at last, he turned and looked at her. “I loved my father.”

  And he would have remembered every word of the lesson, Adelaide thought as her heart twisted. Even after he’d known those words to be false, they would have retained the power to turn every bite of stolen bread into sour paste and every successful illegal endeavor into a bitter accomplishment.

  She ached for him, unable to imagine what that must have been like, having to choose between the fear of hunger and the fear of shaming a lost, beloved father. She wished she had the words to soothe away those memories, wished she could assure him with some confidence that his father would have been proud of the man he’d become. Failing those, she wished she could go back and give the baron a piece of her mind.

  Because none of those were possible, she did the only thing she could think of. She crossed the room, laid her hand on his chest, and stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

  “I’m not ashamed of you,” she whispered. And then, because the want to see him happy again was almost painful, she patted his cheek with exaggerated condescension. “But you are exceedingly inferior of mind if you honestly believed I would give up this gown.”

  Connor’s smile was slow and accompanied by a wolfish gleam in his eyes. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. Her heart skipped a beat. “What are you doing?”

  “Proving you wrong.” Still grinning, he bent and gently nipped her earlobe. “You’re giving up the gown.”

  “What? No.” She laughed with both excitement and nerves as she pushed at his chest. “We’re not in our bedchamber. We can’t—”

  “Your sister is in the garden. Your brother is in town, and George is in the nursery.”

  Her eyes darted at the door even as she shivered with pleasure from the feel of his mouth moving over the sensitive skin of her neck. “But . . . the staff—”

  “They won’t intrude.” He paused to linger at the juncture of her neck and her collarbone, something that never failed to weaken her knees. “Not if they want to keep their positions.”

  “Oh . . . Oh, but—”

  He silenced her next protest with a two-pronged approach. First, he stepped away to lock the door (a task he accomplished with commendable speed), and then he returned to take possession of her mouth with a long, lush kiss. She gave up the fight without further ado.

  In truth, it had been only a halfhearted argument. She didn’t want to stop. Not really. If she could, she would draw out the delicious sensation of building passion forever.

  Possibly not forever, she amended as his mouth settled over hers for an even deeper taste and pleasure built to a dizzying level. Restless, she moved against him, her fingers seeking the buttons of his waistcoat. There was too much between them, too many layers of clothes, and she sighed with satisfaction as Connor stripped them away with quick
and clever hands. She forgot her fear of discovery and heard herself moan when his tongue found the heat of her breasts.

  She forgot everything when she was with Connor like this, everything but the pleasure of the moment and the building anticipation of what was to come. There were no secrets or bargains when they made love, no revenge and no fifteen thousand pounds. There were only expectations she knew would be fulfilled, and promises she knew would be kept.

  She didn’t feel like a means to an end when he laid her down on the bed. She felt like a cherished lover, a beloved wife. There were no thoughts of marionettes as she drew her hands boldly over the long line of his back and watched the fire leap in his eyes. She was powerful here, an equal to him in every way. It hadn’t taken her long to discover that with a careful brush of her fingertips, she could turn Connor into a man of wild demand. Or she could sap the strength from his limbs and draw a helpless moan from his lips. The choice was hers.

  She chose demanding, reaching between them to caress his manhood with a brashness she’d not have imagined herself capable of only a week ago. The harsh groan that tore from his throat fed her own desire, and as his mouth and hands moved over her skin in rough insistence, she became just as helpless as Connor, just as lost to the demands of her body . . . and his.

  In the mad rush to completion, she felt only the shameless joy of abandonment and the sweet thrill of knowing there was nothing Connor kept from her, nothing he held back. And in the warm glow of satisfaction that followed, she knew the rare pleasure of absolute contentment. For a little while at least, there would be no need to hope for something more. Connor’s arms were tight around her, and the hard pound of his heart sounded beneath her ear.

  In that moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

  Chapter 23

  Adelaide maintained a buoyant mood for exactly thirty-two hours. Which was how long it took for Wolfgang to seek her out in the library and say, “I need money.”

  Adelaide didn’t bother to look up from the small writing desk where she’d laid out the plans for her garden. She’d known it would only be a matter of time before Wolfgang came to her with the demand for more funds.

  “Dare I ask why?”

  “What does it matter? We’re flush now, aren’t we?”

  They were, she thought, and she meant to keep it that way. She dipped her nib in the inkwell. “What is it for?”

  “It was just a game of cards. I hit a run of bad luck.”

  “You were gambling?” Hardly an unusual pastime for a young gentleman, but in the past, Wolfgang had always preferred his wagers hold at least the taint of business. “This is a new vice. How much?”

  “Four thousand.”

  She felt the pen slip from her fingers. “You’re jesting.”

  Please, please, merciful Lord, let him be jesting.

  “I’m not.”

  “How . . .” She rose from her seat and wondered that her legs didn’t fold beneath her. “How could you? . . . So much . . . In a single night?”

  She’d heard of men losing entire fortunes in a single game, but those stories came from the gambling hells in cities like London. There was nothing like that in Banfries or any of the nearby villages.

  Wolfgang’s bony shoulders rose and fell dismissively. “I’ve told you, I had a run of—”

  “That is not a legitimate excuse!” Sucking in a gulp of air, she pushed past him and began a fast pace in front of the fireplace. “Oh, damn you. Damn you, Wolfgang. That is nearly a third of what I have.”

  “It’s not,” Wolfgang scoffed. “Your husband’s flush.”

  Disgusted, she stopped and jabbed her finger in the general vicinity of Connor’s study. “Well, if it’s his money you’re after, go and ask him for it yourself.”

  Isobel’s voice chimed from the doorway. “Ask who for what?”

  “Never you mind,” Wolfgang snapped. “This is between Adelaide and—”

  “Your behavior affects us all,” Adelaide cut in. Ignoring his mutinous expression, she waved Isobel inside. “Our brother lost four thousand pounds playing cards last night.”

  “What?” Isobel paled, her eyes widening a second before they narrowed on Wolfgang. “You liar. There’s not gambling such as that to be had in Banfries.”

  “Apparently, there is,” Adelaide muttered.

  “There can’t be,” Isobel insisted. “There’s no one in our village who could afford to play. No one . . .” She trailed off and stepped back from Wolfgang as if physically repulsed. “Wolfgang, you didn’t.”

  It took Adelaide a moment to follow her sister’s line of thought. She almost wished she hadn’t.

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t possibly be true.

  “Sir Robert?” She saw Wolfgang’s eyes dart away, and she knew it was true. “You lost the money to Sir Robert?! Oh, how could you? How could you possibly be so . . . so stupid?”

  Wolfgang opened his mouth, but she silenced him with an angry swipe of her hand through the air.

  “I don’t care!” If he’d owed the money to someone else, anyone else, she might have seen her way to helping him. But, by God, she’d not help him with this. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ll not hear one more ridiculous, selfish, infantile justification from you. He’ll not have the money from me. Do you understand? Sir Robert will not touch one penny of what’s mine.”

  Wolfgang’s lips thinned into an angry white line. “You know what will happen if I don’t pay.”

  “Prison again?” Isobel guessed, not sounding the least sympathetic. “Consequences are something to be considered before one acts like a selfish twit, not after. This is a mess of your own making. You may see your own way clear of it.”

  Wolfgang didn’t take his gaze off Adelaide. “I won’t go alone.”

  A shiver passed over her skin. “What does that mean?”

  His lips thinned briefly. “A boy belongs with his father, don’t you think?”

  Isobel’s gasp blended with her own. It was not unheard of for children to live in debtors’ prison with their parents. But she’d never met a man willing to subject his child to such a fate out of spite. She would never have guessed Wolfgang to be that sort of man.

  “You cannot mean it,” Isobel whispered.

  “I do.”

  Adelaide shook her head. “What’s happened to you? What have you become?”

  “A man,” Wolfgang bit off. “A grown man bloody tired of taking orders from his own bloody sisters.”

  Isobel spun to face her. “Fetch your husband. He’ll not stand for this.”

  Adelaide swallowed hard. She couldn’t go to Connor now. He was with his men in the study.

  Wolfgang sneered. “Oh, by all means, bring the matter to the attention of Mr. Brice. No doubt he’ll be keen to keep me under his roof after learning of this.”

  Isobel shook her head in denial. Adelaide remained utterly still, rooted to the spot by shock and heartache.

  Sensing victory, Wolfgang sniffed and shot the cuffs of the coat she’d paid the tailor for only days before. “If I am forced out of this house for any reason, then I take George with me. Understood? Have the money ready before the end of the week.”

  He walked past them, back straight and eyes fixed on the open door.

  “Wolfgang Ward,” Isobel called out. She waited for him to turn around, then she lifted her chin and spoke the words Adelaide had long feared resided in her own heart. “You are not my brother.”

  A hint of something that might have been pain crossed his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

  “End of the week,” he repeated and left.

  What followed was a long, painful silence broken only by the sharp retort of Wolfgang’s boots echoing down the hall. The sound faded, then disappeared.

  “What will we do?” Isobel whispered at last.

  “I don’t . . .” Adelaide shook her head helplessly. She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. They were supposed to be safe now.
George was to have a nanny, and toys, and treats, and—

  “I won’t let him take George. I won’t. I won’t.” The sharp note of panic in Isobel’s voice yanked Adelaide from her stupor.

  “No, we won’t,” she agreed, careful to keep her voice calm and even. “We’ll think of something. Right now . . . Right now, I need you to speak with the staff. See if they’ve heard rumors about where Wolfgang was last night and who else was—”

  “What good will that do? We know—”

  “We know only what he told us. Maybe there were witnesses to the game. Maybe there are whispers of cheating. I’d not put it past Sir Robert. Every bit of information helps.”

  “You’re right.” Isobel nodded her head vigorously as if trying to convince the both of them. “Of course you’re right. I’ll see what’s to be learned.”

  Isobel spun about and dashed out the door, leaving Adelaide alone in the library with her fear. Shoving it aside, she slipped off her shoes and began to pace again with brisk, purposeful strides.

  She walked for what felt like hours, until the heels of her feet grew tender and her legs began to throb. It was easy to ignore the physical discomfort. The turmoil in her heart and mind all but drowned it out.

  She had to make a decision. She had to make the right decision. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. But no matter how she turned the puzzle, no matter from which angle she looked at the problem, she couldn’t come up with a solution.

  If she paid the price and kept silent, George would be safe. But only until Wolfgang made his next demand. She didn’t doubt for a moment that there would be a next demand, and a next, and a next. Eventually, her funds would be gone and she would have to turn to Connor for more. He would toss Wolfgang out, and Wolfgang would take George with him.

  If she refused to pay the price and told Connor, Wolfgang would be forced to leave, and he would take George with him.

  If she refused to pay the price and kept silent . . . That wasn’t even possible. Wolfgang would leave with George, Connor would want to know why, and—

  “Is there a reason you’re wearing a hole in my new carpet?”