by Cheryl Holt
Grace started to shake, her mind galloping at an even faster clip as she tried to remember the day’s events. What had she been doing? What had Jackson been doing?
Grace had spent the morning alone, with the sole interruption being her failed appointment with Beatrice. Afterward, she hadn’t seen Jackson for hours. Where had he been? Could he have been discussing marriage with Susan? Was it possible?
She studied Susan, searching for clues, but Susan stared back, her gaze firm and unwavering.
Was Susan telling the truth? How could Grace find out? She and Susan weren’t acquainted, so Grace had no capacity to judge her veracity. But why would Susan lie?
Dread swamped Grace. What if Susan was now engaged to Jackson? Where did that leave Grace?
As to Jackson, he’d briefly visited her room, then she’d received the note about Eleanor. Had he come to confess his situation?
She didn’t think so. Before the maid had interrupted them, he’d been happy and smiling. His mood had provided no hint of trouble, no inkling that he had a secret to reveal, but then, she’d always found him to be extremely enigmatic.
Duncan had warned Grace to watch out for the Scott family, that they would never break ranks when their money and property were involved. Was that what had happened?
She could hardly claim she had some sort of hold on Jackson, that they were promised or bound, but it seemed as if they were. Their carnal behavior had skewed Grace’s view of the world and her place in it.
She felt deeply connected to him and had begun to hope they might end up together, that they might wed. He was above her in station, but he didn’t appear overly concerned about status or lineage.
She’d stupidly given herself to him and—at that very moment—could be pregnant with his child. Yet there was a very real possibility that he was engaged to his attractive, aristocratic sister-in-law.
The prospect for betrayal loomed large, and she was so distraught that she was surprised she didn’t collapse to the floor in a stunned heap.
"Do you admit your fornication, Miss Bennett?" Beatrice inquired, yanking her out of her disturbed reverie.
"What? No!" Grace adamantly replied. "I did nothing inappropriate with Mr. Scott."
Susan snidely interjected, "I imagine you developed feelings for him. With a man like Jackson, it’s easy, isn’t it? He’s so masculine and mysterious. You poor girl; you wouldn’t have stood a chance."
"I’m not in love with Mr. Scott," Grace declared, but her disavowal rang hollow and false.
"Oh, of course you’re not," Susan sneered, "but in light of my recent betrothal, you really can’t stay here another minute."
"This is how we shall proceed." Beatrice had some papers on the desk, and she pushed them toward Grace. "I assume you can read?"
"Yes, I can read."
"Then please quickly peruse this document. It’s just a few pages, and the details are clearly spelled out."
Grace stared at the papers, anxious to reach for them, but not able to pick them up.
Lady Susan’s announcement of her engagement had rattled Grace, and she couldn’t focus. She felt as if they were running a race, that they were far ahead of her and she couldn’t catch them. She felt as if she was trapped in the middle of a horrid dream where nothing was as it seemed. What was real? What was fake?
The conversation had swept past her, and she couldn’t follow it. Lady Beatrice wanted her to read the document, then take action after she’d finished. But Grace was a mile behind everyone else, lost and disoriented and abandoned on a road that led nowhere.
"Miss Bennett!" Beatrice sharply said, but Grace was too flummoxed to respond. Beatrice groused, "Oh, for pity’s sake. Allow me to explain the pertinent parts."
"What are they?" Grace managed to inquire.
"I will give you a hundred pounds, and Mr. Rafferty will escort you off the property."
"A hundred pounds…" Grace mumbled.
"In exchange, you will go away and never return. You will cease spreading your ridiculous stories about my son Edward Scott. With payment of the money, all claims against us on behalf of your ward will be rendered null and void, and you will never contact any of us again."
"For a hundred pounds?"
"Yes."
"And if I don’t agree? What then?"
"Then I shall have you arrested and hauled in front of a magistrate for criminal copulation."
"Jackson…ah… Mr. Scott would never let you."
"Well, he’s not here, is he? He’s chasing after your whore of a sister. He could be away for weeks." Looking deadly and malicious, Beatrice leaned back in her chair. "What would you suppose I can have done to you while he’s away? Would you care to try me?"
Grace’s trembling increased until she could barely stay on her feet.
What to do? What to do?
She was growing more frantic by the second, and Mr. Rafferty noticed.
"Why don’t you sit, Miss Bennett?" he advised. "Sit down before you fall down."
There was a chair behind her, and she stumbled over and eased herself into it.
Beatrice studied her, her gaze probing and detached.
"If you sign the papers," she pressed, "you may keep custody of your ward. However, if you don’t, I’ll take him."
"Take him!" Grace gasped. "Take him where?"
"It wouldn’t be any of your affair, would it? I’m the daughter of an earl, the wife of an earl, the mother and grandmother of an earl. And you are a poverty-stricken, illicit fornicator. I will go to the law and have the guardianship switched so you are removed and I am instated in your place."
"You wouldn’t," Grace fumed. "You couldn’t!"
"Couldn’t I? Why don’t you call my bluff? Why don’t you refuse to sign and see how it plays out?"
Grace gaped at the floor, trying to figure out the best course.
She had no idea when Jackson would return, so she couldn’t count on him. If he was betrothed to Susan, Grace wouldn’t want to count on him.
Apparently, she was about to be tossed out onto the road. If she didn’t choose correctly, she wouldn’t have Michael with her when she left. Beatrice would keep him, and who could predict when or if Grace would ever get him back?
He was a child, and while he was clever and shrewd, anything could happen to him. Beatrice had many reasons to wish that Michael would vanish. If he did, how hard could Beatrice make it for Jackson to find him again? Would Jackson bother to find him?
If Grace accepted Beatrice’s blackmail, she’d have a bit of cash to tide her over through the coming months. She’d have Michael safe by her side and would be free of Beatrice and her scheming.
She could hide somewhere out of sight, could write to Jackson in the future. Even if he was engaged to Susan, even if Grace had been naught more than a passing fancy, he might still assist his nephew.
Shouldn’t she agree to Beatrice’s terms? Was there any other option?
"All right," Grace breathed, "I’ll sign."
"A wise decision," Beatrice said.
Susan spitefully added, "You’re smarter than I gave you credit for being."
"That’s enough, Susan," Beatrice scolded. "Let’s get this dirty business concluded, shall we?"
Beatrice shoved the last page at Grace, and Grace dipped a pen in the ink jar and applied her name. She blew on the ink, and Beatrice dusted sand over it. Then Beatrice straightened the papers into a neat pile and dropped them into a desk drawer.
"May I have a copy?" Grace asked.
"No, you may not." Beatrice nodded to Mr. Rafferty. "Take her away."
Rafferty lumbered over, looking eager to manhandle Grace.
Grace scowled at him. "I need to go upstairs and pack my bag."
"There’s no time," he claimed.
"You’ll have to make time. I won’t leave without my belongings, and I have to locate Michael and get him packed, too."
"No. You can’t delay this ending."
"We’ll be in the
foyer in a half hour."
"I don’t think so."
He grabbed Grace and dragged her to her feet. At his rough treatment, she was so surprised that they were halfway out of the room before she started to protest.
"Release me!"
"Sorry but I can’t."
"Stop this!"
He ignored her and kept on toward the door. She struggled to yank away, but his grip was very tight, and she couldn’t.
"I don’t have my hundred pounds," she complained, "and I don’t have my ward. I won’t depart until he’s with me."
Susan snickered. "I take it back about your being smart, Miss Bennett. You are very possibly the stupidest woman I’ve ever met."
Grace glared over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"I told you not to threaten me and mine," Susan replied. "I warned you, but you wouldn’t listen."
"I want my money!" Grace shouted. "I want Michael. Where is he?"
Beatrice rose from her chair, her expression lethal, like a judge announcing a death sentence.
"You’re not much of a businesswoman, are you, Miss Bennett?" Beatrice clucked her tongue with disgust.
"What are you saying?"
"You should read documents before you sign them."
Grace blanched. "It’s a contract between us! You owe me a hundred pounds!"
"I owe you nothing, and it’s not a contract."
"What is it?"
"A confession."
"A confession of what?"
"Of your attempt to defraud us by bringing a false boy into our home and trying to extort money."
"Extort! You’re insane."
"Goodbye, Miss Bennett. I cannot claim it has been pleasant knowing you." Beatrice gestured to Mr. Rafferty. "Get her out of here."
"Come on."
Rafferty jerked on Grace’s arm, and very quickly, they were out in the hall and through the front door. Grace continued to struggle, but he was too strong, and her paltry efforts had no effect.
She wanted to hurt or slow him, but words were her only available weapon.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.
"I don’t see how it can matter."
"It matters to me." They were marching down the grand stairs, proceeding to a waiting carriage. She idiotically threatened, "Jackson Scott will kill you when he finds out what you’ve done."
"I’m trembling in my boots."
"He will! He’ll kill you."
"First of all, Miss Bennett, he’s a slothful nobleman who’s spent the past decade sitting on his ass, counting pennies in Egypt. He wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to kill me."
"He would! You don’t know him! He’s very—"
He cut her off. "And second, why would he care what happens to you? He’s betrothed to that ice-queen Susan Scott, and they’re marrying as fast as they can get a license. Why would he waste any energy worrying over your fate?"
Why, indeed?
"He’s madly in love with me," she lied. "He’ll learn of this someday. He’ll come after you."
"Really?" Rafferty chuckled. "How will he find out?"
"When I’m free again, I’ll tell him."
"You’ll never be free," he stated in a chilling tone. "Your friend Georgina has been a nuisance to Lady Beatrice for years, which makes you and Michael a problem. But I say that with your disappearance"—they’d arrived at the carriage, and he lifted her and tossed her up—"Beatrice’s problem has been solved."
Grace’s head was spinning, her balance disordered, and before she could scramble to her knees and crawl away, Rafferty leapt up behind her. With a stout foot to her back, he pinned her down. Then he picked up the reins, gave them a furious click, and the horses raced away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Tell me about your home."
"My home?"
"Yes, your London home. What is it like?"
Duncan stared at Eleanor and gulped with dismay.
He’d been short on funds, so they’d only been able to spend the one night in Gretna Green. Of course, she didn’t realize that fact. She thought they’d left because he couldn’t wait to arrive in London, to show her his house and introduce her to his friends.
He’d married her on a lark, on a whim, on some misguided notion that Jackson had bossed him all his life and he was sick of it. He’d wanted to prove to Jackson that he wasn’t ten, that Jackson wasn’t his lord and master, so he’d trotted off to Scotland.
The whole trip had passed like a dream, but reality was slapping him in the face.
Why, oh why, had he gone through with it? Was he mad? Was he ill?
They were back in England, stopped at a coaching in and enjoying a late breakfast. He’d ordered tea and toast, claiming he wasn’t hungry, but the sad truth was he couldn’t afford more. He was counting pennies and worried as to how he’d get them to town. Again, he’d concealed his fiscal situation from her, so she didn’t understand that she needed to be frugal, too.
When they’d been seated at their table, she’d announced herself to be starving, had gaily requested eggs and ham and a plate of pastries. He’d been too proud to inform her that he didn’t have the money for such an extravagant meal.
By the time she finished and he paid the bill, his pockets would be empty.
He was once again glancing out the door, wondering if he could rush to the barn, mount his horse, and ride off without her suspecting.
If he abandoned her, it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d ever done to a female. Over the years, he’d perpetrated many outrages that were much more hideous. He’d seduced women and stolen from them and squandered their assets.
On top of all that swindling, what was a little abandonment?
She’d be better off if he sneaked away. She could plead for assistance from the proprietor, and surely, the owner would help her. She could write to her sister and confess what had happened. Jackson had seemed fond of Grace. Maybe she could convince him to send Eleanor money.
In a pinch, Jackson could be quite chivalrous. He might want to impress Grace, might come himself to fetch Eleanor. It would be the perfect ending!
Eleanor could be returned to her sister where she belonged, and he could slink to London and hide where Jackson could never find and murder him.
He scowled, deciding it was a bad plan. London was too small, and Jackson would be so angry. Duncan would probably have to flee the country. It was the only way to be safe. An acquaintance was arranging a botanical trip to South America. Duncan could pretend to have developed a sudden fascination with exotic plants. He could beg passage, climb aboard, and sail away.
Yes, that was it. He’d sail to Brazil! Jackson would never locate him there.
"Why are you frowning?" Eleanor asked.
"I can’t fathom how a girl your size can eat like a farmhand."
She leaned in and murmured, "I’m expending a lot of extra energy these days. I need more food than I used to require."
At her referring to their numerous couplings, which were totally disgusting in their indecency, his cock hardened. Right there in the middle of the taproom, it grew so painfully erect that he had no idea how he’d get up and stroll out without all the other men pointing and snickering.
His cheeks blushed bright red, and she laughed and laughed.
"You are such a prude, Duncan."
"I am not. I’m simply trying to keep up with you. I didn’t realize a female could be so blatantly foul in her language and conduct."
"You’re wild about how I act. Admit it."
"Well…I suppose it’s been interesting."
"Interesting, ha! If I could stumble on an empty closet in this place, you’d drag me into it."
"I wouldn’t refuse. I never decline what is freely and willingly offered."
She pushed her plate away and bent forward, her elbows on the table, and he bent forward, too, like a magnet to metal. He was unable to avoid her or pull away.
"I’m happy," she said.
"So a
m I." And he was happy in a vague, unnerving sort of way.
If he wasn’t so panicked over what would become of her, if he wasn’t so panicked that he was about to be murdered by Jackson, he’d have been positively ecstatic.
"What’s the first thing we’ll do in London?" she asked.
She was so trusting, and she was staring at him as if he walked on water. What man wouldn’t love to be worshipped? What man could shun a woman who adored him?
"I was thinking we should buy you a wardrobe," he lied.
"Oh, could we? I’m so weary of these ugly old school clothes."
He raised a brow. "I’d like to get you out of those old undergarments, too."
"I can have lingerie?"
"Yes, we’ll purchase French. I know a shop that imports directly from Paris."
"What color are the walls in our bedchamber?"
"They’re a bland white, but you can change whatever you wish. The décor was selected for my bachelor’s life. I’m sure you’ll want new furniture and such."
"Only if you want it, too."
"If you pick it, I’ll be fine with it."
"You’re much more fun when you’re behaving normally."
"I always behave normally." At least he had until he’d met her.
"You do not. You can be an absolute fusspot, but I’ll fix you up in a hurry. In a few months, I won’t even remember how you nagged and complained."
"I don’t nag. You’re a girl, Eleanor. I’m giving you necessary advice. There’s a huge difference."
"Not on my end. It sounds like nagging, but I’ll get you out of the habit." She grinned. "I simply won’t listen, so you’ll grow tired of lecturing."
"If you don’t listen"—he leaned even nearer—"you might need a spanking."
"I might."
He grinned, too, and they were gazing at each other like a pair of halfwits.
He might have sat there all day, mooning over her and making a fool of himself, but he was distracted by a horse and rider careening into the yard. The man flashed by the window, and Duncan drew away and scowled.
"What is it?" she said.
"Probably nothing."
He shifted in his chair and was trying to peek outside, trying to see who had raced by, when the front door of the establishment slammed open. The other customers were craning their necks, curious as to who had entered in such a temper.
