by Cheryl Holt
“We are an. . . item, Father. You understand that. I wasn’t about to leave her in town.”
Gregory didn’t add that he couldn’t have left her there.
Creditors had stopped by constantly to demand money he didn’t have. The pathetic situation had encouraged their servants to quit, but only after the spoiled group had created a huge scene by insisting their back wages be forked over. When he’d admitted he couldn’t pay them, they’d walked out.
Evidently, they’d gossiped about his penury because no other candidates had applied for their vacated positions. It was a predicament that simply couldn’t be tolerated, and he had to fix it, the problem being that he had no idea how.
He needed to beg his father for an infusion of funds, but from his dour expression, an advance wasn’t in the cards. Gregory didn’t dare suggest it.
“I haven’t seen Caroline since my failed wedding day,” Gregory said. “I thought you’d locked her in her bedchamber. Wasn’t that what we decided should happen? I thought you’d gotten control of her.”
“She escaped when I was out of the house!”
“A servant must have let her out.”
“None of them had a key that fit except for me. They couldn’t have helped her.”
“Well, she didn’t vanish into thin air, so I don’t believe their claims of innocence. They likely all conspired to aid her. We should line them up in front of Lucretia. She has a nasty way with intractable employees. She could pry out some answers.”
“Don’t mention Mrs. Starling to me again. It’s a mystery to me how you could be stupid enough to bring her back here. How could you imagine she’d be welcome?”
“Why shouldn’t I have brought her? It’s not as if Caroline is going to marry me.”
“I haven’t given up on the prospect.”
“I have,” Gregory said. “Why would I care if she’s angry about Lucretia? It hardly matters now. The wedding is off—permanently. Or have you stumbled on a vicar who’s a little less ethical than our local one? Have you dug up some reprobate who will perform the ceremony, despite her being so mortally opposed?”
“I haven’t a clue how to find a corrupt minister. I talked to a judge instead. He signed a commitment order, but when I arrived home with it, the bloody girl was missing. I’m sick at heart about the whole debacle. She doesn’t deserve to be sent to an asylum, and if she ends up in one, I’ll always blame you.”
“Don’t glower at me as if it’s my fault. I was in town the entire time. You were supposed to handle her.”
“Where could she be?” Samson asked. “Who would she turn to for assistance?”
“Why would I have learned any details about her paltry life? Ask Janet. She’d know Caroline’s secrets—if Caroline has any.”
“Janet ran away too!”
Gregory’s jaw dropped, then he laughed. “You’re joking.”
“No. I figure she’s in London. She was pestering me about moving there. I specifically informed her that she couldn’t, but she left without my permission.”
“Will you search for her?”
“London is a massive city. How would I?”
“Caroline must be with her. They have to be together, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it for a single second.”
“Perhaps you should hire an investigator. There must be people who saw them hire a carriage or buy a ticket on the mail coach. They can’t have flown off like a pair of birds.”
His father pondered the comment, then nodded vigorously. “That’s a good plan, and I swear to God, when I locate them, I will lock Janet in a convent for the rest of her days.”
“The better conclusion would be to shackle her to a farmer. In light of her peculiar views on matrimony, it would be a more suitable punishment.”
“It’s obvious I was too lenient with both of them.” Samson nodded again. “I will marry her to an oaf she’ll loathe. It would serve her right, and Caroline has to be locked away too. Before her birthday.”
“I would appreciate it if you could manage that small task. We can’t lose out on the money that’s vesting.”
“I know, Gregory! I know!”
“It doesn’t seem as if you do. You let her cry off from the engagement. You let her refuse to wed me. And now, you’ve let her run away. I should have Lucretia deal with this as well. You can denigrate her all you like, but she wouldn’t flail around like this. Not when there is so much wealth hanging in the balance.”
He stood and marched out, deeming it quite a pithy parting shot. He exited the room, but he snuck a final glance at his father.
Samson looked older and worn down, but Gregory wasn’t sympathetic. His father had made one blunder after another, and he simply wanted to complain rather than take constructive action.
Gregory couldn’t help him. He had his own difficulties to sort out. Most particularly, he had to shuck Caleb Ralston off his back. Of all the creditors harassing him, the fiends working for Ralston were the very worst.
How had Gregory ever assumed they were friends? It truly boggled the mind.
Caroline walked down the stairs in Caleb’s London house. It was early afternoon, so she’d definitely overslept. She was almost tiptoeing, feeling awkward in a way she hated. Caleb had suggested they meet for a late breakfast, but he couldn’t have planned on it being this late.
He’d crept out of her bed as he’d promised he would, so she hadn’t had to suffer the embarrassment of his being found with her. Yes, they were marrying, but they weren’t married yet. His servants would soon be her servants, and she couldn’t have their immediate impression be that she was very loose with her favors.
A housemaid had shown up to tend her, so she’d been bathed and dressed, and had had her hair pinned up. Then she’d been directed down to the dining room, with the assurance that the staff was waiting for her to arrive.
She’d yearned to pepper the girl with questions about Caleb: Where was he? What time had he risen and come down? Had he eaten already? But she hadn’t thought she should seem too interested in him, so she’d politely, casually asked after him and Miss Jones. Miss Jones was out shopping, but the girl wasn’t positive about Caleb, so Caroline was anxiously wondering when she’d bump into him.
She was so happy! She kept pinching herself to be certain she wasn’t dreaming.
A footman greeted her in the foyer and guided her to the dining room. She strolled slowly so she could furtively assess Caleb’s home. The prior day, she’d been too distraught to notice much of it. It was spacious and comfortable, with big windows, thick rugs, and colorful paintings on the walls. She’d be very content residing in it.
As she entered the room, she was surprised to find Blake Ralston in it too, and he’d just finished his meal. In all her musings about Caleb and when she might cross paths with him, she hadn’t pondered his brother who was obviously still on furlough.
“Miss Grey!” he said. “I heard you were here.”
“Hello, Ensign Ralston.”
“That sounds terribly formal. You should call me Blake.”
“I’d like that, and please call me Caroline.”
She nearly added, You’re about to be my brother-in-law, so we can be on familiar terms, but she didn’t. Caleb should explain the situation to his brother.
“There’s a rumor circulating,” he said, “that you experienced some problems after Caleb and I departed your wedding celebration.” He grinned, appearing a tad wicked. “It’s the gossip the servants are spreading anyway.”
“Yes, I had some trouble. I cried off from my betrothal, but my uncle and fiancé were vexed about it.”
“I can imagine. Have you been looking for Janet?”
It was an odd query, and it startled her. “Well. . . ah. . . yes, I have been looking for her. She left before I learned of her address in to
wn. I had hoped to locate her, but I couldn’t figure out how.”
“She saw your advertisement in the newspaper, but she was scared to reply. She was afraid it might be her father tricking her so he could catch her and drag her away.”
Caroline was astonished. “How do you know all that?”
He leaned in, as if they were conspirators sharing secrets. “Don’t tell my brother—he’d wring my neck—but I helped her run away.”
“You scamp! It never occurred to me that she had help or that it might have been from you. Where is she living?”
“She’s renting an apartment over in the theater district.”
Caroline was stunned. “Is she all right?”
“She’s grand.”
There was a desk in the corner with a writing tray on it. He jotted down the directions, and she tucked them into her skirt.
“We could visit her later this afternoon,” he said. “I could take you to her. How about around five?”
“Five would be fine.”
“She’ll faint when you waltz in.” Blake lowered his voice. “Don’t forget: Not a word to my brother.”
“My lips are sealed.”
He gave a mock salute and sauntered out, and once the air settled behind him, she realized she was ravenous. A pair of footmen seated her and plied her with food until she was filled to bursting. She thanked them profusely, then fled, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to keep herself busy.
She spent some time snooping through the various parlors, but despite how she lingered, there was no sign of Caleb or Sybil Jones. She decided to head up to her bedchamber. The housemaids had laundered and mended the dress she’d worn the previous day, and she had to check how badly it had been damaged.
The inspection only took a minute though, then she was at loose ends again. She went out to the hall to investigate the other bedrooms. It would be her home very soon, and she doubted Caleb would mind.
She started up the stairs to the next floor, and when she was nearly at the top, she noted two people were talking. She stopped and listened, discovering it was Caleb and his brother.
She considered marching up the rest of the way and blustering into the middle of their conversation. She almost stepped toward them, when suddenly, Blake said, “Miss Grey is here. What a coincidence.”
They were discussing her! Would Caleb mention their engagement? What would he say? How would his brother respond?
The old adage rang out: Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. Yet she couldn’t tear herself away.
“After we left Grey’s Corner,” Caleb said, “some problems arose for her. She sought my assistance, and I’m happy to give it.”
His brother snorted. “Is that what you’re calling it? A bit of assistance?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean I walked by your bedchamber last night, and I conveniently noticed you weren’t in it. It’s interesting how her door was closed tight. Would I be surprised to learn you were in there with her?”
There was a painful silence, then Caleb said, “Watch your mouth. I won’t have you denigrating her.”
“Who’s denigrating her? I like her. You know that. I just find the situation curious. Was it her wedding night? Did you win your bet with Gregory?”
She frowned, as Caleb warned, “Shut up, Blake!”
“I never assumed you’d collect on that stupid wager. You weren’t planning on it, were you?”
There was a loud crash, and a grunt of dismay. It sounded as if someone had been punched, then Caleb said, “I told you to shut your mouth.”
“I think you broke my nose!” Blake complained. “It’s bleeding like a cracked pipe, and you’ve ruined a perfectly good shirt besides.”
“Get out of here or I’ll hit you again.”
“She invited you to join her? Seriously? The wager had naught to do with it?” There was another loud crash, then Blake said, “Sorry! Sorry! You’re such a prick anymore. Your sense of humor has completely vanished.”
She was frozen in her spot, too shocked to creep away as she ought, and before she could blink, Blake was on the landing above her. He had a kerchief pressed to his nose, and blood was splattered down the front of his shirt.
“Dammit,” he muttered on seeing her. “My apologies for any offense I might have caused.”
He kept on down the hall, probably to his own bedroom, and the door closed.
She stood there forever, urging herself to slink away. The humiliating predicament was her own fault for listening when she shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t she ignore what had occurred?
Finally, she grabbed the bannister and pulled herself up the stairs, feeling as if she had ice in her veins. She went to the only open door and entered the sitting room of what had to be Caleb’s bedroom suite.
He was over by the hearth, picking up a decorative table that had been smashed in his altercation with his brother. He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. They stared for an eternity, then he forced a smile and said, “I was about to inquire if you were up yet. I was hoping we could have breakfast together.”
“I heard the two of you arguing,” was her reply.
He turned to face her. “We weren’t arguing. Blake was simply being his usual obnoxious self.”
“You wagered over me with Gregory?”
“No, don’t be silly. I never would have.”
He couldn’t hold her gaze, providing galling evidence that he was lying.
She stomped over, approaching until they were toe to toe. “Tell me you never gambled with him over me.”
He appeared flummoxed and frantic to devise a response that wouldn’t infuriate her. Ultimately, he claimed, “It only happened once.”
“Once!” she fumed.
“It was my last night at Grey’s Corner. He was very drunk, and he was being belligerent. I didn’t care to dicker with him when he was so intoxicated.”
“What were the terms?”
He fussed with the decorative table, his movements very deliberate. He was buying time, struggling to settle on a remark that would paint him in the best light, so the debacle would seem less horrid.
“Let it go, Caro,” he quietly said.
“I won’t. I can’t.” More vehemently, she demanded, “What were the terms?”
“There’s no point in hashing it out.”
“I suggest you inform me immediately or I shall walk down and accost your brother. I’ll nag at him until he spits it out. I’m certain he will. Shall I ask him?”
He sighed. “Gregory had lost everything he had, even the clothes on his back, but he wanted to keep playing.”
“And you being such an ethical fellow, you continued even though he was beggared.”
His rage flared. “I’ve told you this before: I am not Gregory Grey’s nanny. Nor am I his mother. I have no duty to control his behavior, so don’t try to make me feel guilty. You can’t.”
“Fine, you had no duty. What was the wager?”
She braced herself, as if for a hard blow, recognizing that he should never speak the terrible words she was insisting he impart.
“He had nothing left to bet,” he said, “so he bet you.”
“I have no idea what that means. You’re talking in riddles. I need you to be very, very clear, so let’s use plain English.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “I won your virginity with a shuffle of the cards.”
She was so stunned she was amazed she didn’t faint. “You discussed my virginity with him? You gambled over it?”
“He gambled over it. I was protecting you from him. I was afraid—if I didn’t jump in—he’d hand you over to someone else.”
“You were doing me a. . . a. . . favor? Is that how you view it?”
“Yes, Caro, I was doing you a hug
e favor, so stop glowering at me as if I’m a monster. You don’t understand the world where I live. You don’t understand the kind of men who wallow in it with me.”
“Obviously not.”
“Men constantly raise the stakes when they’re desperate. They toss out their daughters, sisters, and wives with nary a ripple in their corrupt consciences. He was desperate, so he tossed out you.”
“I don’t believe this,” she mumbled, feeling sick at heart.
“I swear to you, if I hadn’t consented, he’d have rushed to London and thrown you into a pot with some fiend who was much more debauched than me. You wouldn’t have been notified, and one day—when you weren’t expecting it—you’d have been kidnapped off the lane and forced to supply what your cousin had offered.”
“I’d have been kidnapped and forced? The entire notion is despicable. Who would dabble in such filth?”
He shrugged, as if it was the most ordinary of circumstances. “It happens, and I tried my best to ensure it didn’t happen to you.”
“You made that bet with him, then you packed up the next morning and abandoned me there. Didn’t it occur to you that I might have liked to be apprised?”
“I couldn’t explain it. I realized how much it would hurt you, and if I remember correctly, I warned you to be careful.”
She studied him, as she assessed the various sentiments pummeling her. She was very angry with him, and she was right to be, wasn’t she? She was also offended and shocked. Those were appropriate reactions, weren’t they?
He was so calm, so nonchalant, they might have been conferring about the weather. She grasped that he carried on in a spot where rules and morals were different, but what type of rogue wagered over a woman’s virginity? What did it indicate about his genuine character?
Because they shared such a potent attraction, she’d convinced herself that she knew him better than she’d ever known anyone, but that wasn’t true. They were barely acquainted, and she possessed scant facts about his history, his ancestry, his upbringing.
