by Jaimey Grant
Hard green eyes snapping in anger, she told him, “Of course. What other reason is there for criminal behavior?” She wrenched her arms free and slammed both hands into his chest. He stumbled back, taken by surprise. With what sounded suspiciously like a growl, she added, “Of course there is no money involved, Lord Holt. It only ever was blackmail.”
He smiled. “Why?”
She hesitated, considering a lie. Realizing he would see right through it, she opted for silence instead.
His smile turned grim. “I see. Why are you marrying me?”
Malvina moved to a chair near the window and sat. She gave him an unreadable look. “You possess what every woman desires, my lord earl. Title, fortune, good looks. A woman can be sure she will never starve, she will have all the envy of her peers, and may be reasonably attracted to the man who claims possession of her body. Why would I not marry you?”
He seemed stunned. As though her claim was not something he’d ever considered before. “How very logical,” he murmured finally, “for a woman in your position. Let us hope you do not find your marital duties too unpleasant.”
“Logical?” she shot back, ignoring the rest of his comment. “It is not logical. It is mercenary and cruel. Do you not mind being considered a mere object to be used?”
“My, my. You are an innocent, are you not? One would never think it to consider your age.”
Wounded and unwilling to show it, she said, “Quite. One wonders why you want such an old woman in your bed.”
“Perhaps I am a bit like Prinny. I find myself attracted to women who could be my mother.”
It was perhaps fortunate that the door slammed open before she had a chance to reply to that vexing remark.
Her son marched in, violence radiating from every line. She repressed a shiver at the fierce image he presented, his dark red hair falling about his face and giving him a half-crazed look. Was his anger directed at her, or Lord Holt?
Glaring at the earl, Wolf snarled, “What have you done to her?”
Gideon’s brows quirked upward. “I have done nothing. I was preparing to ravish her but you have rudely interrupted.”
Malvina’s eyes grew impossibly huge. She placed herself between her son and betrothed when she realized the former was about to attack the latter.
“He is jesting, Wolf,” she tried to reassure her child. It did not help that Gideon took advantage of her position by drawing her back against him. “He is in an impossible mood.” A well-placed elbow in the ribs made the man step back. “I was about to do him an injury, in all honesty.”
She magnanimously chose to ignore the disbelieving snort from the man behind her.
Approaching her only child, she asked, “Are you injured?”
“Injured?”
“From the fight outside.” She looked him over, searching for signs of blood and bruising. She missed the embarrassed look on her son’s face.
Gideon saw it. “My dear, perhaps you can give me a moment to discuss this matter with Wolf. It is, unfortunately, a matter between gentlemen.”
A little affronted, Malvina nevertheless agreed. She left the room in a bit of a huff.
Gideon and Wolf eyed each other with distrust and unease. The elder had little experience with young men and the younger had little trust for adults in general.
“I realize you don’t want to replace your father,” Gideon began.
“Not for the reason you think.”
The earl stared. “What was your father involved in?”
“Why should I tell you? I don’t think you are exactly who you say you are. Sure, you’re an earl, but I want to know why you are after my family.”
New respect for young Sir Beowulf filled Gideon’s mind. He studied the boy’s defensive stance—crossed arms, narrowed eyes, tensed shoulders—and knew he would lie to protect his mother even if it meant angering the man who questioned him.
“Be at ease, Wolf,” the earl told him. He gestured for the boy to sit, lowering himself into another chair. “I was not sent to destroy you. My superiors merely want answers.”
“Who are they?” The young baronet finally sat, openly surprised that his companion admitted he was at the beck and call of someone else.
Gideon debated what to reveal and decided to trust the boy to an extent. He needed the boy’s cooperation if he were to discover a way to prove Deverell’s guilt, and determine whether or not there was any truth to the suspicion of Sir Richard Brackney’s treasonous activities.
His observations to date did not lean heavily in favor of the late baronet.
“I work for the Home Office,” he said, deciding there was little harm in the boy knowing that much.
A glimmer of what appeared to be genuine interest lit Wolf’s dark blue eyes. “Ferreting out spies and the like?”
“Among other things,” was Gideon’s careful reply.
“That sounds dashed exciting. Have you ever been shot?”
“No. I hope never to be shot.”
“Are you here to catch the cur blackmailing my mother?”
Gideon felt a partial truth answered best. “Yes.”
The large young man visibly relaxed, slumping a little in his chair. “So your engagement is merely a ruse. Dashed relief, that.”
Ignoring the pinprick he felt, Gideon swiftly disabused his companion of such a belief. “Why should you think it merely a ruse?”
Wolf’s forehead wrinkled, a hank of long dark red hair falling into his eyes. He impatiently shoved it back. “You are younger than her. You cannot possibly want to marry an older woman.”
Gideon’s lips quirked ever so slightly. “Why not?” He leaned back and watched carefully as the boy tried to understand how a man could possibly find Lady Malvina Brackney attractive.
Wolf opened his mouth several times before finally saying, “She’s old.”
“You do realize I am only four years her junior?”
“That’s all? You appear much younger than you are.”
“Thank you for that tactless observation. I am forever underestimated for my appearance.”
His face clearing considerably, Sir Beowulf Brackney confided, “As am I.”
“Indeed,” the earl murmured with interest. “Then perhaps you will do me the honor of not referring to my age or appearance with such regularity.”
Wolf had the grace to flush. “Sorry.”
“Do you return home for holidays?”
A little startled by the turn of the conversation, Wolf hesitated. “Not always. Father liked me to come home but I was inclined to visit Claremont.”
“Claremont?”
“Lord Preston’s heir. Deveraux, Earl of Claremont. I stay with his family when I can. Father didn’t always allow it but Mama could usually persuade him.”
How curious. “Your mother encouraged the connection?”
“Of course. Father did, as well, but Mama did seem to prefer me to stay with Claremont instead of coming home.” He paused, his face creasing in thought. “In fact, there were times when Mama was quite adamant that I not come home. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“Before or after your father’s death?”
“Both.” He met Gideon’s eyes. “Could she have been trying to keep the robberies from me?”
“Most probably. Many mothers would not want their children involved in their problems. Considering your temper, Malvina was probably terrified you’d do something brash and get yourself killed.”
The hotheaded baronet shot to his feet. “I would never…!”
“Never…what?” the earl interrupted. He gazed up at his soon-to-be stepson, silently amused at the young man’s defensive response. “You would never charge in, hell for leather, intent on bodily injury?”
Wolf glared, an incongruous expression when his face was slowly turning red in embarrassment. He opened his mouth but nothing emerged. Instead, he turned and stormed from the room.
Given much to ponder, the earl didn’t follow for s
everal minutes. When he reached the door, he was prevented by the entrance of his mother, an occurrence that surprised a reaction from him.
“Mother, what the devil?”
She frowned at her only son. “Must you use such coarse language, Holt? I blame That Woman’s influence.”
Her use of ‘That Woman’ reminded him so much of Malvina that he actually laughed. Apologizing quickly, he added, “My betrothed’s influence has little to do with my language, Mother.”
She sniffed, moving further into the room. Sinking gracefully into the chair just vacated by her son, she made use of her ever-present sal volatile and murmured plaintively, “She is upsetting the household, Holt. You must curb her inclination to meddle.”
“How can she have been meddling? She has only been from my side for an hour.”
“She is with Samantha, asking all sorts of improper questions about those horses and weapons and any number of vulgar things. I do not want someone of her ilk influencing my daughter.”
Gideon’s face took on a closed expression, his lids drooping to conceal his eyes. After learning how she had protected her son from the ugliness she couldn’t control, he knew Lady Malvina Brackney would never harm Samantha.
“You go too far, Mother,” he warned softly. “Lady Malvina may not have been born in the upper echelons of Society but she is a lady. She is also a mother and would never do anything to harm Samantha.”
Lady Holt’s eyes snapped dangerously. “She harms her by bringing that malefactor into my home,” she uttered darkly, the loathing in her voice a surprise to the son who’d mostly known her as a discontented lover of tonics and powders. “She harms her by encouraging her in unladylike pursuits. She is determined to finish what you started eight years ago.”
Bowing, the Earl of Holt said, “Good day, Mother. We will depart for London in a few days time.”
Lady Malvina was of two minds about going to church. She did not know what rumors flew around the neighboring estates and she had no desire to know. It was not improper for her to visit her betrothed’s family, but she was the daughter of a London merchant. Marrying a baronet could not change that fact in some narrow minds. Trapping an eligible earl would endear her to no one.
Maddy informed her mistress upon entering her chamber that the master was desirous of attending services that morning and would her ladyship join him?
Hardly able to decline, her ladyship agreed.
The family party, Lord Holt, Lady Malvina, Sir Beowulf and Lady Samantha, arrived at the quaint little Norman church in time to be seated. They arrived late enough to avoid having to accept toadying compliments from those who would further their position in Society.
Gideon’s eyes scanned the assemblage as they moved to the family pew in the front of the church. Dr. Phelps, the reverend whose living belonged to the earldom of Holt, nodded but didn’t smile. He was notoriously sour-faced.
In a pew near the back sat a man who did not belong. He smiled in a friendly fashion at Lord Holt, tipped his hat to Lady Malvina and Lady Samantha, and gave Wolf an appraising glance.
Malvina faltered in her trek to the front. She stumbled against Gideon, who steadied her with a hand on her elbow and guided her the rest of the way.
“Are you well?” he asked as he seated her.
She smiled, nodding her head. “Indeed. I merely trod on my hem.”
Gideon accepted her excuse. He knew full well what had her so skittish. Deverell sat in the back of the Church, bold as brass. Gideon could say nothing to indicate he knew of the man’s connection to Malvina. He had to behave as though he was actually glad to see his old school chum.
He clenched his jaw and nodded to Dr. Phelps. The old curmudgeon’s stentorian voice boomed out, causing the Brackneys to jump. The reverend’s voice was something else and quite startling to someone unaccustomed to it.
As the good reverend boomed out his sermon on the wages of sin, Malvina fretted about that very thing. The stranger at the back of the church was That Man and she had little doubt he was there for her.
The sermon ended rather abruptly when Lord Holt gave the reverend an exasperated look. He dismissed the congregation and scowled at the earl. Gideon smiled lazily back.
Being very careful to behave as Deverell would expect, Gideon waited to be approached. He sensed the tension in his betrothed and resisted the urge to reveal his knowledge of her tormentor’s identity.
The only thing that kept Gideon from truly donning his relaxed, lazy persona was the fact that Deverell was not attempting to hide. What was he involved in that gave him such a feeling of security?
There was one possibility that gave Gideon a chill down his spine. If Deverell planned to kill Malvina, there was no need to conceal himself. He certainly had her terrified enough to keep his connection with her a secret. If Deverell suspected that Gideon was trying to help her, however…
Lord Holt was wise enough to realize that Deverell did, in fact, suspect his involvement with the widow. Gideon would have to tread carefully.
Greeting each other amiably, the gentlemen talked of trivialities for a moment. Then, turning to his companions, Gideon performed the introductions.
“Lord Delwyn Deverell, my betrothed, Lady Malvina and her son, Sir Beowulf Brackney. You remember my sister, Lady Samantha.”
“Indeed,” Deverell murmured, favoring Lady Samantha with a charming smile. She smiled back but Gideon could tell she wasn’t the least impressed with the man.
Deverell shook Wolf’s hand and turned to Lady Malvina. Donning his most charming manner, he kissed the air above her hand. “Holt is a most fortunate man, my lady.”
Malvina barely suppressed the shudder that threatened at his touch. Smiling back, she murmured the appropriate response and drew her hand back. Her eyes widened when she realized he had transferred a twist of paper into her palm.
Wanting nothing more than to toss it into his smug face, she instead slipped it into her reticule. She could not be sure if Gideon saw; he missed little.
After returning to the Moorview Park, Malvina managed to find a moment alone when she changed for luncheon. Opening the little spill of paper, she read the few words, frowning.
Old folly. Half past one.
Glancing at her mantel clock, she realized it only lacked fifteen minutes to the designated time. Not bothering to ring for Maddy, she scrambled into a sturdy walking dress. Tying on her bonnet, she left her room, being careful to avoid everyone. She didn’t like to lie and felt avoiding the necessity was the best plan.
She followed a well-worn path from the house to the edge of the estate. The old folly stood to the north, near a pond. The first Earl of Holt had it built shortly before follies became all the rage. Some estate owners had even hired a man or instructed a servant to play the part of a hermit to enhance the ambiance of the setting.
Malvina approached the small tower, wondering why the current earl did not have it torn down. It was more of an eyesore than it was romantic. Checking the watch fob pinned to her bosom, she realized she was nearly five minutes late.
What revenge would Lord Delwyn Deverell take if he thought she had not appeared?
She nearly jumped from her skin when the man in question appeared from behind a large rock. How appropriate it was for him to lurk near rocks. Very snakelike.
“Lord Delwyn, is it? What a relief it is to be able to put a name with the face,” she said, trying—and failing—to keep the biting sarcasm from her voice.
“There is no need for you not to know,” he replied. “How are you adjusting to your engagement?”
“I will not discuss any aspect of my personal life with you, sir. Say what you have come to say and begone.”
He smiled. “Ah. Straight to the point. A woman after my own heart.”
His comment made her slightly sick but Malvina refused to be drawn.
“There is a certain document, I am given to understand, that resides within the home of Lord Holt. Perhaps you would be so good as to
retrieve it for me.”
“What kind of document?”
“A simple list, nothing more. Names and dates, amounts of money. Nothing important.”
“Then why do you want it?”
“My reasons need not concern you. Only be aware that your precious earl will bear the brunt of my anger if you do not cooperate.”
She felt suddenly faint. She was quite sure her face dramatically paled. “Excuse me?”
“I am upping the ante, my dear lady. Your cooperation will safeguard Lord Holt. My superiors do not care for his interference and would like to see him”—he paused—“removed. I may be able to convince them otherwise.”
“He is your friend. How can you do this to him?”
“He is a childhood acquaintance, nothing more. Besides, there are more important matters to consider than mere friendship.”
Malvina could only nod her assent to his demands, any words she might have spoken strangling on her tongue. She glanced away, fighting the urge to clear the nonexistent blockage from her throat.
Finally, she returned her eyes to her companion, biting back the words she really wanted to say, asking instead, “How will I know the correct document?”
“I’ll make this easy for you,” her companion said with false concern. “Bring me every document matching my description.”
Malvina nodded and moved away. “Will you then return my husband’s journal?”
Lord Delwyn studied her, his eyes sharply aware of every nuance of her expression. “The chances are greater, to be sure.”
Unsatisfied but able to do little about it, Malvina left him. She didn’t look back.
The logical place to look was the earl’s study. Good fortune—if one could call it that—smiled on her the following day.
Gideon had just that morning left for London, informing them all that his business was urgent and he must travel alone, on horseback. They waved him off and Malvina breathed a sigh, relieved. It was one less thing for her to fret over, one less person to catch her at her despicable task.
She left her chamber quickly, eager to be done with the whole sorry business. After a cursory knock on the study door, she entered.
