She smiled as she perched on the edge of his desk. He could smell her perfume, a light and pretty scent that he’d gifted her. Then she leaned forward, so close that he had but to turn his head and claim one of the perfectly formed breasts displayed so prettily by the confection whisper-thin silk she wore.
“Why don’t you come back to bed, my love? It’s so early when we’ve had such late nights,” she whispered suggestively. “And it’s so terribly lonely there without you.”
“I cannot, Annabel,” he said regretfully.
“You know I have to leave soon,” she said, suddenly petulant and even childlike in her temper. Agitated, she got up and began to pace the room, working herself up into one of her tantrums. “I have to go back to my wretched husband and that monstrosity of a house in the countryside! But you don’t even care! You never cared. You’re just like all the others!”
“It’s not a house in the countryside, Annabel. It’s an elegant if somewhat gothic-inspired manor on the seashore. And I do care, but I have work to do,” he said, tallying numbers in his head even as he talked to her of something unrelated. Numbers didn’t lie. Numbers always gave him the truth. He didn’t love Annabel, but he desired her. In fact, he wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman. She was like a fire in his blood, one that gave him a fair bit of sympathy for the opium eaters and those bedeviled by the ruination of gin. But that wasn’t love and it never would be. Love wasn’t something that could grow and flourish in his very dark corner of the world, much less in the hardened black recesses of his miserable heart.
She grabbed the account book he’d been working on and flung it across the room. Her rage, erratic to the point that he sometimes wondered if she truly was mad, had flared again and would not be soothed. It was the way of things with her. Volatile, unpredictable, dangerous. But he was beginning to lose patience with it all. Even their passionate bed play and her loveliness could not counteract the difficulty inherent in being with her. He was a man who liked order, and she was a creature of chaos and temper.
“Do not do that again,” he warned.
“Why not?” she demanded, baring her teeth at him as if she might actually take a bite.
“Because I’m not your husband,” he snapped. “And I’ll toss your naked arse right into the street, scandal be damned!”
She shrieked at him, a wild sound that was half-crazed. Then she came at him, hands clenched into claws as her nails raked over his chest, leaving a burning trail of blood in her wake. Abruptly, he shoved her away from him and her screeches turned to sobs as she collapsed, sprawling to the carpet. She laid there and wept like a broken child, as if she were the victim rather than the attacker. Reaching into his desk drawer, he retrieved the red leather box that had been delivered the day before and he tossed it to her where she remained, crumpled by her own grief at his imagined slights. Perhaps the diamond and emerald parure would soothe her clearly overwrought sensibilities. “That was to be your parting gift. Take it and go. I’ll have Stavers send for the carriage.”
He didn’t look back, but walked out of his study and retreated to his chamber. Temper was a wasted emotion, but she’d managed to stoke his. Pressing his fingertips to the deep gouge on his chest, he drew it away covered with his blood. Men had died for less, but he’d never struck a woman before in his life. Even pushing her away, he hadn’t intended for her to fall, only to protect himself from further injury. He regretted that their parting would be so bitter.
Annabel was a beautiful broken doll, he thought, pretty enough sitting on the shelf at a distance. But when you got close enough, you could see the cracks in the porcelain. He’d enjoyed the unpredictability in the beginning. Living in a world where every person he encountered kowtowed to him, it had been a refreshing change. Now, that unpredictability was also the thing about her that tried his patience the most.
“And ’er ’usband is welcome to ’er,” he whispered, as he reached for a shirt and pulled it on, heedless of the blood. He needed a brawl, something to get out his anger and get his mind right again. Right and free of the vicious witch whose weeping still echoed through the halls. There was only one place to find such a thing in the middle of the day—Whitechapel. The very place that had spawned him.
Chapter Nine
Tea time with the dowager duchess was not something that Lilly was especially looking forward to. It wasn’t that she felt that her grace would be unfriendly or hostile toward her. In fact, she had the strangest idea that the woman was actually pleased with the rather unorthodox turn of events. Regardless, she was traversing uncharted territory. How precisely did one transition from hired help to future viscountess?
Easing her way down the stairs, she placed her foot carefully on each step lest she turn her ankle again. She was less dependent upon the walking stick but kept it with her as a precaution. Mary had insisted on another foul-smelling poultice and Lilly had submitted to it. Much as she hated to admit it, the concoction worked. Both the pain and swelling had eased tremendously. The last thing she needed was to take a tumble down the stairs or she’d be back in bed with another horribly offensive remedy slathered on her. Lilly shuddered at the thought of it.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Elsworth Somers appeared. He’d emerged from some hidden location, almost as if he’d been lying in wait for her. His expression was one she recognized. She’d seen it on countless people in her life. The sons of the family who had raised her until she’d been old enough to go away to school, the bullying headmaster and instructors at Millstead Abbey School—bullies always wore it. Cold, calculating, mean, threatening. Because they were alone at that moment, he did not need to hide it.
“Miss Burkhart,” he said, his tone snide and full of spite. “I see you’re up and about after your morning mishap. Either you are remarkably clumsy, my dear, or you have terrible luck. Which do you think it is?”
He’d stepped closer, placing himself directly in front of her and widening his stance so that she was essentially trapped there at the bottom of the stairs. She couldn’t go around him without touching him in a manner that would be more than just inappropriate. It wasn’t by accident, either. He knew precisely what he was about. He wanted her to feel trapped. And he wanted to feel that he had some power over her.
Refusing to be cowed by him, Lilly lifted her chin and met his gaze directly. “I really couldn’t hazard a guess, Mr. Somers. Now, if you’ll excuse me, her grace is waiting for me.”
“The old bird will wait a little longer,” he replied, his lips twisting into a cruel mockery of a smile. “I’d like an answer, Miss Burkhart. Nay, I demand one. You are very nearly family, after all, and we must look after one another! What, precisely, happened in the park this morning?”
Did he know? Was he simply trying to get her to admit that someone had shot at her? Or was he worried that she might have seen the shooter and been able to identify them? Was he the guilty party? “I had the misfortune to be standing under a tree when a rotten branch fell. It made a terrible racket, really, but it was only a minor mishap and nothing more,” she lied. “I was very lucky that Viscount Seaburn was with me. He is forever playing hero to my damsel in distress, it seems. I really must go, Mr. Somers. Please let me pass.”
“He is certainly playing the hero for you, Madam, to be sure,” Elsworth agreed, continuing on as if he hadn’t even heard her second request to move from her path. In fact, he leaned in closer, close enough in fact that he had but to whisper to be heard. She could smell his breath which was rather unpleasant. “And yet a less noble and heroic figure I’ve never known. A gambler and a cheat. A man who cavorts with whores as if he has no shame. Though, I daresay, that has worked to your benefit, hasn’t it, Miss Burkhart?”
“I do not have to tolerate your petty insults and crass insinuations, Mr. Somers. For the last time, let me pass!” she snapped.
He eased back from her, just a bit, a cold smile playing about his lips. “Did you know that his mother committed suicide
?”
“I was not aware,” she said simply. It made little matter to her one way or another except that she regretted any pain it might have caused him. She would hardly be one to throw stones on that score as her own mother had done the same. But it did prompt her to wonder if what Elsworth said was true and, if so, why had Val not disclosed it to her when she’d been offering confessions about her own family?
“Melancholy,” Elsworth said. “That was what her doctors said. Personally, I think it was simply vice. She really loved her laudanum, you see. Above all other things, including her husband and her precious son. Used it all the time. Then used a bit too much of it. Poor Val found her in her bed, cold and dead as a doornail.”
Lilly had had enough of him and his cruelty. That anyone could speak of such a thing with what appeared to be enjoyment made her feel nothing but disgust for him. “I won’t stand here and be subjected to vicious gossip about my betrothed simply because the two of you have some long-standing rivalry between one another. What you speak of is indelicate, morbid and wrong. You should have some sympathy and some compassion, Mr. Somers. If you are incapable of such feelings, I’d prefer not to converse with you at all. But as for my part in it, this particular conversation is over and I want you to remove yourself from my path.”
Elsworth’s smile spread into a wide grin, a chilling expression, and he stepped back. As she attempted to move past him, he placed one booted foot in front of her, causing her to stumble.
Lilly fell into the wall, smacking her head against it rather firmly but, thankfully, didn’t injure herself. Glancing back over her shoulder at him, she caught his smug and triumphant expression.
“Do be careful, Miss Burkhart. It’d be a shame if something happened to you. Poor Cousin Valentine has had to stumble upon enough dead women in his life. I’d hate to see another added to his already blackened conscience,” he said, and then strolled away, whistling a tune under his breath.
Lilly shivered at the obvious threat. She’d thought him harmless. A bore and a snob, yes, but harmless. Clearly, she had been mistaken.
When he had gone, Lilly rose from where she’d been leaning against the wall and smoothed her hands nervously over her skirt. It wasn’t one of the new items. They required alteration but the dressmaker had vowed to have one ready for her on the morrow. In the meantime, she was still wearing the rather hideous gowns the dowager duchess had forced on her. She wished that she had the armor of something pretty to wear, something that made her feel her position less acutely. Betrothals could be broken after all. Until they were married and she was a viscountess in the eyes of the law, she was living off the same sort of expectations that Elsworth had been.
Shrugging off that thought, she entered the drawing room and found the dowager duchess waiting for her. A tea tray had been placed on the table before her and was laden with small sandwiches and cakes. Five minutes earlier, she would have happily devoured most of it. Now, she found her appetite had fled, stolen away by the encounter with Elsworth. Did the Dowager Duchess of Templeton know that her grandson was such a vile man? Had she heard any of the exchange outside?
“Are you quite well, Miss Burkhart?” the dowager duchess asked. It wasn’t necessarily concern in her voice. In fact, it sounded more like accusation. If nothing else, that made it abundantly clear that she did not know and had not heard. “You’re looking rather peaked.”
“I’m quite all right,” Lilly said. What could she say, after all? Your grandson, not the one I’m to marry, but the other one, uttered something potentially threatening in the hall and now I wonder if perhaps he’s the very person who tried to kill me just this morning. And by the way, your other grandson, the one I am supposed to marry, thinks his cousin is guilty of treason. If ever she wished to cast a pall on her relationship with the dowager duchess, that would be the way to do so. Such information would have to be relayed by Val. She had neither the heart nor the stomach for it.
“Are you certain? You have had a rather trying few days, I suppose. It would be only natural for it to have some effect upon you,” the woman replied. “Though I had taken you for someone possessed of a heartier constitution! I suppose appearances can be deceiving.”
Lilly wasn’t certain whether to be offended or not. Did she possess a hearty appearance? And if so, what in the world did that mean? Deciding to simply set that aside to be digested at a later date, Lilly said emphatically, “I am quite well, Madam. Thank you.”
The dowager duchess nodded stiffly. “Come and sit. Where is that Valentine? He was supposed to return. Irascible man. Let me tell you, Miss Burkhart, while you pour our tea, about this grandson of mine.”
Lilly took the hint and began pouring the tea as instructed, trying to still the trembling of her hands as she did so. In truth, she was grateful for a topic that might actually prove to be distracting from the strange and frightening encounter on the stairs. “What about him, your grace?”
The dowager duchess tapped her ever-present fan on the table for emphasis. “Do not let him run roughshod over you. And he will. It’s the way of men. All men. Even the tolerable ones.”
“I have no plans to do so, your grace,” Lilly said, passing the dowager duchess her cup of tea.
“Excellent. They mean well, you know? They think we’re all weak and requiring protection and coddling. Are you in need of protection and coddling, Miss Burkhart?” It sounded suspiciously like a challenge.
“I shouldn’t think so,” Lilly said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Well, it was a small lie, she reasoned. She might very well need protection, after all, but she hardly needed coddling. She’d tell the viscount about the encounter. Or perhaps not. If she did, no doubt he and Elsworth would come to blows. What a muddle it all was!
“Even if you do, you must be very cautious,” the older woman warned. “They will assume that protecting you means that they own you, that they get to make the decisions. They. Do. Not.” Great emphasis had been placed on the last three words.
“Indeed, I should think not,” Lilly replied. “And I daresay that Viscount Seaburn has a slightly more radical viewpoint on women’s rights after having witnessed your own rather remarkable feats in running all of the family’s estates.”
The dowager duchess preened. “Indeed, he does. But he is not immune to masculine posturing, regardless of what he says, particularly if his feelings are involved. Men like to say we are ruled by our emotions, but I have always found women to be the more logical sex. It’s the men who are ruled by anger and temper, after all. They are easily offended, easily riled to action and are often impulsive. No. It’s best, my dear, to start as you mean to go on. Take the reins where you can, and where you can’t, offer firm guidance that sounds like it’s his idea.”
“Rather like you did with his proposal?” Lillian asked. It wasn’t difficult to see that the dowager duchess had been moving them all about like marionettes while she was the master puppeteer.
The dowager duchess surveyed her critically for a moment, then her lips spread into a rare smile. “Just so, my dear. I realize it’s unorthodox and many people will question my choice for Valentine, but I know him better than he knows himself. The last thing he needs is a wife who will bore him. It would lead him down a path of disaster. I beg of you, my girl, do not make me regret it, please. I detest nothing so much as being wrong,” the dowager duchess said.
*
Val entered the drawing room and found his grandmother and his betrothed having tea together. Needless to say, it was cause for no small amount of concern. His grandmother could not be trusted and Lillian was simply an unknown quantity. Her thoughts and motives were a mystery to him except for the few she had shared with him. Regardless of that, both women drew trouble to them like bees to honey.
“Oh, well, look what the cat has dragged in, dear,” his grandmother said to Lilly in a commiserating tone as he walked in. Her gaze, as it traveled over him, was speculative and disapproving. “Where have you been, Valentine? Doing some
thing thoroughly disreputable, no doubt.”
Since he had been doing just that, albeit for very good reasons, he elected not to answer rather than to lie. “A cup of tea sounds delightful.”
“Well, you can’t have one,” the dowager duchess said. “The maid only brought service for two. We weren’t expecting anyone else. If you’d wanted to have tea with us, you might have sent around a note to that effect. But you didn’t because you’re rude, insensitive and spoiled. Horribly spoiled. I blame myself for that, you know?”
Val was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning as he crossed the room and pressed a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek. “I am all of those things, Grandmama. And those are the very reasons that you love me. Now, don’t be cross.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I suppose it’s true. Heaven help me. It’s certainly why I fell so horribly in love with your grandfather. Though I did manage to correct that and fall promptly out of love with him the very moment I realized just what a foolish man he was. Go on and ring for the servants to bring another cup. You might as well sit. We need to discuss this havey-cavey wedding business that you’ve begun. I think we should have the banns read on Sunday. That will give us three weeks to put something together for a wedding and a wedding breakfast after. Who shall we invite? And none of your disreputable friends, Valentine. Only quality people of good morals are to attend.”
He laughed at that. “If you want quality and good morals, Grandmama, you’ve effectively eliminated the entirety of the ton. I can’t think of a soul amongst them, in town at any rate, in possession of both.”
“I do not wish to have a large wedding,” Lillian spoke up. It was beginning to seem that it wasn’t her future husband who would run roughshod over her, but his grandmother. “I’d rather not do all of that, if possible.”
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