The Greatest Lover Ever

by Christina Brooke

  Slowly, Lydgate said, “So you would jeopardize his chances of inheriting unless he does whatever it is you want him to do.” He looked at Beckenham over the rim of his tankard. The tranquil blue stare made Beckenham uncomfortable.

  Beckenham didn’t let his gaze waver. “That’s the size of it.”

  “You know something to his discredit. Besides running from the duel, I mean.”

  Beckenham gave a brief nod.

  Tilting his head, Lydgate’s long fingers toyed idly with the saltcellar. “Do you mean to fight your way through the relatives to her deathbed to murmur some noxious tidbit into her ear?”

  The implied criticism was justified, but he could survive Lydgate’s scorn. He could survive anything, as long as he didn’t lose Georgie. “A word to her man of business would be sufficient, I expect.”

  “Ah.” Lydgate touched his lips with his napkin and set it beside his plate.

  “Something wrong with the fare here?” said Beckenham.

  Lydgate smiled coolly. “I find I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “I have to see him.” Beckenham was frowning, shrugging away Lydgate’s disapproval. “So far, he’s fobbed me off. They say he’s attending his aunt’s sickbed, but he cannot be there every hour of the day, can he?”

  “One would suppose not,” said Lydgate. He reached for his tankard. “He means to keep you kicking your heels here.”

  “I tried bribing one of the aunt’s servants but it was no use. They were a closemouthed lot.”

  Lydgate stood. “Good God, will you listen to yourself?” The suppressed violence of his tone indicated just how far Beckenham had fallen.

  Beckenham stared stonily back at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t done worse.”

  A muscle ticced in Lydgate’s jaw. “Maybe I have. But we’re not talking about me.”

  Beckenham stood also, braced his hands on the table, and leaned in. “Oh, yes. I’m cast as the noble fool in all our family dramas, am I not? The sort of prig who’d sacrifice everything, everyone he loves, for his honor.”

  Lydgate flung out a hand. “No one else shoved you in that role, Becks. You carved it out yourself, through sheer will and a deep-seated goodness that few of us can even pretend to. Look what you came from! Even that upbringing couldn’t bend you or make you less than you were. Don’t let her do this to you.”

  But Lydgate had it all wrong. Georgie would be just as horrified as Lydgate if she knew what he was about to do. The thought made him hesitate, but only for a second. Once he had eliminated Pearce’s threat, they could be happy.

  “Take care, Lydgate,” he snarled. “You speak of my future wife.”

  His cousin’s blue eyes flashed, then cooled to ice. “That’s how it is. I see.”

  With his usual, elegant, unhurried gait, he moved to collect his hat and gloves. Then he turned back. “Ah. Now I recall the reason for this visit. I came to tell you Pearce is no longer in Bath. He left yesterday.”

  “What?” Beckenham strode forward so swiftly, he knocked his chair backwards. Rage flew through him. “Why the hell didn’t you say so before?”

  A discreet cough from the doorway made him turn his furious gaze toward the servant who stood there. “What?”

  The man coughed again, nervously this time, and said, “There’s a gentleman to see you, my lord.”

  He held a card on the silver salver. Lydgate strolled over, picked it up, flicked it into his fingers to pass to Beckenham.

  Impatiently, Beckenham waved the card away. “If it’s not Lord Pearce, I won’t see him.”

  “My lord, he says it’s urgent. The gentleman is—”

  “I don’t care if it’s the king himself downstairs, I’m on my way out. I’ve no time for callers.”

  As the servant scurried from the room, Beckenham turned his glowering gaze on his cousin.

  “Tell me everything. Everything you know.”

  Dear Georgie,

  Do not be angry with me, dear one. I swear I have not run away in a fit of spite. I have thought of a way to give each of us what we most desire and I could not wait another moment to put my plan into action.

  Pray do not be alarmed for my safety or my whereabouts. I have gone to Mama. By the time you read this letter, I shall be in Bath already, so do not put yourself to the trouble of following me. I shall write to let you know I am safe and well.

  Your loving

  Violet

  “What shall we do?” said Georgie when Lady Arden had read the letter.

  “I must go after her, of course,” said Lady Arden, pursing her lips. “Tiresome girl! What on earth does she think she’ll achieve in Bath?”

  “Shall I go with you?” said Georgie.

  She shook her head. “No, you are staying put in this house until you are safely wed to Beckenham, my girl. I won’t have this betrothal botched a second time. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve made sure the chit arrived in one piece.”

  Lady Arden made swift preparations for departure. On inquiry, they discovered that Violet’s horse was missing from the stables.

  “Do you think she rode to Bath?” said Georgie anxiously. “She did not take anyone with her.”

  Her blood turned cold at the thought of a young girl like her sister riding all that way alone.

  Lady Arden said, “No doubt she hired a carriage in the village. I’ll inquire at the inn.”

  Before Lady Arden left, she said, “Something I should warn you about before I go. The new tenant at Cloverleigh … Have you any idea who that is?”

  Impatience gripped Georgie. Why was Lady Arden wasting time with such trivia? “No, I never caught his name.”

  “It’s Lord Pearce. Take good care not to go too far from the house while I’m gone, won’t you?”

  With that, Lady Arden swept out of the house.

  Stunned, Georgie turned to climb slowly back upstairs.

  Pearce. Good God! He was the man she’d seen driving up to Cloverleigh in his curricle this afternoon. No wonder he’d looked oddly familiar.

  Confound the man! What was he doing here, and not in Bath? Where was Beckenham? Had he not met with Pearce yet? Would he be close behind?”

  Georgie’s mind reeled. Why? Why take over the tenancy of Cloverleigh and never make one attempt to approach her?

  She clutched the banister hard. Had it been Violet Pearce wanted to see?

  Had he succeeded?

  Might Violet have given Bath as her destination when she really meant to travel only as far as Cloverleigh? That would explain taking her horse.

  On a sudden impulse, Georgie shot up to her sister’s bedchamber and found her little escritoire.

  Violet’s traveling desk was locked but a hurried application of Georgie’s penknife soon took care of that.

  The usual accoutrements of the writing desk were all there: quills, parchment, ink bottles, blotter, sand … Several small bundles of letters, none of them from any man.

  One bundle, tied with red ribbon, was in Violet’s friend Lizzie’s hand. Georgie tugged at the ribbon, fumbling a little as the notes cascaded from the pile.

  Hesitating but a second, she snatched up the top letter that slid from the pile. She needed to read only one of them to realize her worst fears.

  * * *

  Georgie knew all the secret ways into and out of the house at Cloverleigh. Taking care that no one saw her, she crept into the house that night.

  She’d set her groom to keep watch over the house all day, asking him to inform her immediately if Pearce left.

  At dusk, the groom brought the news that his lordship had given the servants two days’ leave, but that he hadn’t gone anywhere himself.

  That convinced Georgie. He had Violet. He meant to compromise her thoroughly, then shame the family into agreeing to let them wed.

  She waited until darkness swallowed the landscape and a full moon rose to shine with a brightness that made everything seem eerily enchanted. The delay was excruciating. But if she stormed the hous
e in broad daylight, there would be no containing the scandal. Perhaps it was too late to contain the scandal even now.

  If only she hadn’t argued with Violet like that! She couldn’t help concluding that their disagreement had been the catalyst for this flight.

  She frowned as she stole down the narrow servants’ corridor. How on earth did Violet think marriage to Pearce would solve their problems?

  Georgie held her breath as she opened the false panel in the library wall a fraction.

  The room was lit by a few branches of candles. Pearce sat alone in an armchair with a glass of what looked like brandy at his side.

  Where was Violet? Georgie knew a moment’s indecision. Should she try to find her elsewhere in the house? She could be anywhere. Besides, perhaps it was time for a confrontation with Pearce. Best if she said her piece to him without Violet’s interference.

  She straightened her spine and pushed the door wide.

  Pearce looked up, his rather disheveled dark locks falling in an attractive tumble about his brow. She could appreciate the sheer beauty of him, even if it did not attract her.

  His eyes widened in surprise. Then they took on a gleam of masculine satisfaction that made her furious.

  “I’d no idea it would be this easy,” he said softly.

  “Where is she?” Georgie bit out the words, her fury rising along with her panic. “What have you done with her?”

  He rose to his feet, bowing. “My very dear Georgiana. Have you lost your sister? How careless of you.”

  “You might have guessed I am not in the mood for frivolous nonsense tonight, sir. If you hand Violet over to me, we will go quietly back to Winford. No one, not even Beckenham, need be the wiser.”

  “Do you think I’m afraid of Beckenham?” said Pearce, setting down his glass and walking toward her. “You, at least, know why I didn’t meet him that morning.”

  “You have my letter,” she said with a bitter taint to her voice. “Why did you need Violet, too?”

  “You are very sure of yourself,” he observed coolly. “What makes you so certain it’s you I want?”

  She straightened her spine. She could do this. She moved closer to him. The very idea of casting out lures to him bucked her pride, but she’d do anything to save her sister.

  Anything.

  She shrugged, never taking her eyes from his. “A woman knows these things, Lord Pearce.” She didn’t know it, but she counted on reawakening the passion he’d once felt for her. She despised herself, knew she betrayed Beckenham, even though it was only a pretense. But this was Violet! She couldn’t let her sister consort with this man.

  Fire blazed in those ordinarily cold gray eyes, a heat she recognized as desire.

  He reached for her but she backed away, wagging a finger at him. “I want to see Violet. I want to know she’s safe and unharmed first.”

  He stood there, shaking his head. At what? At her?

  “Where is she?” Georgie couldn’t seem to moderate the sharpness of her tone.

  So much for feminine wiles.

  At first, he did not answer. Then he said, “Upstairs, in her old bedchamber. She’s unharmed and unmolested. We won’t disturb her, I think.”

  Her heart stopped in her chest.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he ground out. He strode over to her, took her chin in a firm grip. “I am not the monster you think me.”

  She jerked her head away. “Only a monster would ruin an innocent girl to punish her sister.” The words had the flavor of melodrama, but that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

  Suddenly, his earlier words sank in. Dear God, she’d been wrong. Violet had not come here to Cloverleigh after all. Pearce was bluffing.

  When Violet had last lived at Cloverleigh, she slept in the nursery. That suite of rooms had been shut up, its furniture placed in storage in the attics. She couldn’t sleep there even if she’d wanted to. Not to mention how unlikely it was that Violet would demand her narrow old nursery bed.

  Still, Georgie must not act until she was absolutely sure. She made herself listen to what Pearce said.

  “My behavior was not exemplary, I admit. But what of you, my lily-white dove? You flirted and teased and led a man on until he believed…” He broke off, his eyes softening from bullet hardness to mercury. “Whatever you think, I have done all of this because I love you. I never stopped, you know.”

  That made her laugh, a harsh, hoarse sound. She thought of the letter, of his veiled threats in Brighton. “Love! You know nothing of love.”

  For several seconds, she thought he might strike her. He restrained himself. Then he said, “Oh, and you do?”

  Yes. She knew that love was not selfish or cruel. Love did not mean forcing the other person in any way, nor manipulating them.

  Something he saw in her expression made his own turn ugly. “You don’t seriously imagine yourself in love with that damned prig, do you? After what happened last time. Good God, he flaunted his stupid wife hunt under your very nose!”

  She would not discuss Beckenham. Any mention of him would be inflammatory.

  “If you loved me, Lord Pearce, you would not try to coerce me. You would let me and my sister go.”

  The sneer on his face faded. “You will have to resign yourself to a night here, I’m afraid, my darling. I will coerce you if there’s no other way. The matter is of some urgency, as I understand it. Montford is on his way here with a special license.”

  Sick horror turned her stomach. “I will never marry you.”

  “Then I’ll take you as my mistress,” said Pearce. “Don’t fool yourself. Beckenham won’t want my leavings.”

  “Are you sure you won’t be taking his?” she flung back at him.

  In an instant, she regretted her furious riposte. He seized her in a rough grip, dragged her against him and sank his mouth onto hers.

  Revolted at the contact, she fought like the tigress Beckenham called her, tooth and nail. The prospect of rape became very real as he used his superior strength to subdue her. She was twenty times a fool for coming here alone, yet again risking her reputation to save a sister who didn’t need to be saved.

  “Is it that you are jealous of your sister, Georgiana?” he murmured, planting kisses all over her face. “Don’t be. I never cared for her. I didn’t take her. She’s not here. You can search the house if you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you,” she said.

  “It’s just us. Me and you. You’ll see how good we can be together.”

  She sighed. Relaxing against him, she offered her mouth to his.

  As he took it hungrily, she reached out to the sideboard, feeling until her hand hit the base of a decanter. His tongue plunged into her mouth; his hand closed over her breast. She gripped the slender neck of the decanter just as the door burst open and Beckenham erupted into the room.

  The decanter dropped to the floor as Beckenham yanked Pearce away from her and planted a fist in Pearce’s face.

  Pearce crashed into two enormous globes, sending the celestial heavens spinning off their axis. He dashed a hand at his bleeding lip and glowered up at Beckenham from his position on the floor. “Déjà vu, eh, Beckenham?”

  Beckenham yanked at the bottom of his coat, making it snap back into order. But he wasn’t looking at Pearce. He gazed at Georgie, love and fear in his eyes. But not a trace of the disgust she deserved. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m well. In once piece. I came to get Violet, only she’s not here.”

  He frowned. “Violet’s in Bath. I saw her this morning.”

  “Oh, thank goodness! Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He glanced at Pearce. “I’ve been every kind of fool.”

  Pearce watched them through narrowed eyes, the sluggish trickle of blood from his lip almost black against the pallor of his chin. “Well, well,” he said softly, getting to his feet. “I see the two of you have kissed and made up. How very bloody nauseating of you.”<
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  * * *

  “I’ve come for that letter, Pearce.” Beckenham could scarcely drag his eyes from Georgie to bother with the blackguard, but it had to be done.

  He wanted to pull Georgie into his arms. She’d been through a frightening assault, but she looked magnificent. Another woman would have collapsed in hysterics or cowered in shame, but not she.

  Despite her dishevelment and the reason for it, Georgie Black stood tall and proud and fiery as an avenging goddess.

  “You won’t get it,” Pearce spat. “If you marry her, I’ll make you a laughingstock, Beckenham.”

  I’ll kill you first.

  Pearce seemed to read his expression, for he laughed, a harsh crack of a sound. “If anything happens to me, I’ve left instructions to publish the letter in every scandal sheet.”

  Beckenham gritted out, “It might save us both some time if I make one thing clear, Pearce. No matter what you do or when you do it, dragging Georgie Black’s name in the mud will not change two things: First, that I love her. Second, that she will be my wife.”

  Pearce got to his feet. “I don’t believe you.” He turned his head to look at Georgie, whose face was brilliant with emotion. “Don’t believe him, Georgiana. He’d say anything to have you, but you’d soon find out that his damnable pride will always get in the way. The high and mighty Lord Beckenham will not take a ruined woman to wife.”

  Damn the fellow, but he had a glib tongue. He almost had Beckenham questioning his own motives.

  “Hmm?” She flicked a gaze at Pearce. “Oh, are you still spouting nonsense, Pearce? I am not an insecure eighteen-year-old anymore, my lord. You can’t sway me by planting doubts in my head. I no longer have doubts about Beckenham’s love for me, you see.”

  Shame washed over Beckenham at the thought of his younger self. A man too full of puffed-up conceit to admit his regard in case Georgie took advantage of it somehow, used her power over him to make him her slave. Too full of pride to stop her when she left him.

  He couldn’t fail her. After that brutal interview with Lydgate, he’d almost talked himself out of playing the last trump card in his hand, but he would do it now. Not for himself or his own pride, but to spare Georgie the scandal of that letter becoming public.