by Cheryl Holt
She'd once loved him beyond imagining, but he'd forsaken her because she was poor. Would he have the gall—now that she was allegedly rich—to declare himself infatuated? Could he be that crass? That tactless?
Her heart broke all over again, and she forced a smile and indicated the door, wanting to be very clear that their appointment was over.
"I appreciate your coming," she said very calmly, "but you'll have to excuse me. You've given me so much to contemplate, and I must have some privacy while I consider my options."
"Certainly." He bowed, but didn't depart. Instead, he peered around the dilapidated space, his astute gaze missing no detail of how appalling it had been.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, and he approached till he was directly in front of her.
"For what?"
"I didn't know that Lavinia had sent you away. She claimed you'd gone into seclusion, lest there was a babe, and she said that—"
She held up a hand, halting his tirade. He might feel the urge to confess his sins, but she was hardly the person who had to listen.
"Please, Lord Romsey, it's all in the past."
"I was about to come after you. I wanted to be with you, but then—"
"Please!"
"I've been searching for you ever since, to be positive you were all right. I'm ... I'm ... so glad that you are."
He appeared so lost and forlorn, and he seemed to need something from her, something she couldn't give him.
"Leave it be," she quietly implored.
"Would you like me to stay on? I'd be happy to help you interview for a companion, or to pack your things. If you wished, I could escort you to London."
"It's kind of you to offer, but not necessary. I'm an adult woman, and I've learned that I'm fully capable of making my own way."
He scrutinized her, taking in her features as if memorizing them. "If you ever need anything from me— anything at all—promise me that you'll notify Mr. Thumberton."
"I won't ever need anything from you."
"You just never know," he mused. "I'll come straightaway."
She kept her expression blank, furnishing no hint of the spark of hope he'd ignited. Evidently, she was still smitten and foolishly ready to leap to folly and ruin, once again, when she truly didn't think she could survive another go-round with him.
Finally, his evaluation complete, he stepped away and went to the foyer. At the last second, he glanced over.
"Do you ever wonder what might have happened if we had—" He stopped. Waiting .. . waiting . .. "No, I never do," she lied.
He nodded, then left, and she sagged down onto a chair. She perched there till his horse's hooves clopped away; then she staggered to the window, watching till he was a tiny speck on the horizon. She returned to the sofa and picked up the papers he'd conveyed.
She clutched them to her chest, praying they were genuine, and knowing that—whatever else he might be—Romsey wasn't the sort of man to have perpetrated a hoax. Very likely, she was now incredibly wealthy.
She stood in the dingy, silent chamber—just her and her trust documents and the envelope of cash he'd delivered.
Eventually, the landlady came in to light a lamp and kindle the fire.
Without a word, Margaret headed for the stairs, climbed to her room, and shut the door.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jordan gazed up at the decrepit boardinghouse where Margaret had ended her flight from Gray's Manor. He tried to imagine what the passing months had been like for her, but he couldn't wrap his mind around the reality of her repugnant situation.
If he lived to be a hundred years old, he would never forgive himself. At least he'd found her! At least he'd had the temerity to keep searching.
What if he'd given up? What if he'd decided she couldn't be located? The notion—that a lack of persistence on his part would have sentenced her to squalor for the rest of her days—was too shocking to ponder.
He couldn't blame her for being cold and distant, but oh, how it hurt to learn that her prior affection had vanished. She'd once held him in such high esteem, but none of her strong emotions remained. How could he have expected them to endure? What had he ever done to sustain an attachment?
Their lengthy separation had galvanized his feelings, but obviously not hers. Finally, he had the courage to admit how much he loved her, how much he would love her forever, but she despised him.
He'd let her go—for money! It was a great and terrible shame, and in spite of how fervently he wished it were otherwise, he didn't deserve any kindness or even simple courtesy from her.
When he reflected on events, he could only assume that the entire sordid affair had been a celestial test, which he'd failed. She'd been plopped in front of him as a sign of what mattered, of what was important, but he'd been too obtuse to note what was right before his eyes.
With a sigh, he mounted his horse and galloped away, headed back to London and the shambles of his life. He'd rented rooms in a seedy section of town. Mary and the twins resided there with him, as well as several other half siblings who'd shown up unannounced. In hopes of enticing another bride, he concealed the exact location from High Society, but his furtiveness hadn't helped. As his father's fortunes fell, Jordan's plight had worsened, too.
Girls who might once have been interested were openly hostile and bluntly rude. His difficulties were enough to make him consider leaving England altogether, just hopping on a ship and sailing away. Of course, booking passage would require funds—which he didn't have.
He raced round a curve in the road, lurching to the side to avoid a carriage rushing in the opposite direction. The curtain fluttered in the wind, and he was so distracted by gloomy thoughts that he was quite a distance away before he realized that he'd seen the lone occupant and that he knew her all too well.
Lavinia Gray! He was sure of it!
He reined in and stopped. What was she doing traveling toward Margaret's lodging? Her arrival couldn't be a coincidence.
She'd disappeared from Gray's Manor, slipping away after she'd sent him on his fruitless trip to Brighton. By the time he'd returned—without Margaret—she'd fled, having been aware that he'd be bent on revenge.
Since then, he'd been so busy hunting for Margaret that he hadn't chased after Lavinia. He kept telling himself that he'd deal with her later, after Margaret was safe, yet here she was, like a bad toothache, prancing along behind him.
Had she been following him? Why would she?
There was only one reason: She was hunting for Margaret, too, and he understood Lavinia well enough to know that whatever her motives, they couldn't be good ones.
"Damnation!" he cursed. He pulled his horse around and cantered after her.
■ f
“Hello, Margaret." Margaret whipped around. "Lavinia? What are you doing here?" "Looking for you. What would you suppose?" "Looking... for me?" "Yes."
Lavinia shut the door as she hastily assessed the pitiful room. The small space seemed even smaller with two adult women sequestered in it, and though her own fortunes had plummeted to nothing, she couldn't resist taunting, "You've certainly come down a few pegs since last I saw you."
"We can't all be as lucky as you, I guess."
"Are you making fun of me? Are you? Are you?"
There was a note of hysteria in her voice that she hadn't intended, but she was on edge, having been shoved beyond normal banter or behavior. Her clothes were worn and disheveled, her hair ratted and unwashed, and—as circumstances prevented regular bathing—she smelled.
In the endless period that she'd been hiding and scraping by, she'd had ample opportunity to ruminate over her downfall, and after a significant interval spent trying to leech off friends, she'd been stunned to discover that she didn't have any.
She was on her own, having forfeited all, and she blamed everyone for her adversities: Horatio, Robert, Penelope, Kettering, Romsey, and Margaret. Mostly, she blamed Margaret.
If Jordan accomplished what Lavinia suspected h
e had, then Margaret had wound up with everything, while Lavinia had wound up with nothing. How could the universe have conspired against her so completely?
"Are you feeling all right?" Margaret asked. "You seem a bit... distraught."
"Why wouldn't I be? I've lost my home, all my worldly possessions, and what remained of my money. My ungrateful daughter married the man I wanted for myself, my lover left me, the law is probably after me, and I've been living off the charity of strangers."
"You have?"
"Yes, and I must tell you, Margaret, that I haven't cared for any of it."
"I don't imagine you have, but why come to me? I must admit that I'm surprised."
"Lord Romsey just visited you," Lavinia accused. "Well... yes, he did. How did you know?" "I've been hot on his trail for months." "For months?" "Yes."
"Have you gone mad?"
Occasionally, Lavinia felt as if she had, but then, with what she'd endured, who wouldn't be agitated?
"What did he want?" she demanded.
Margaret had no knack for deceit, and Lavinia was positive that whatever her reply, it would be false. Lavinia was past the point when patience or cajoling would suffice. She walked to the bed and deposited the box she'd brought; then she opened it and retrieved one of the two pistols she'd been hauling around for this very confrontation.
At seeing that Lavinia clutched a gun, Margaret blanched and stepped back.
"What are you thinking?" Margaret snapped. "Have you tipped off your rocker?"
"What did Romsey want?" Lavinia repeated.
"He came to check on me," Margaret fibbed. "After I departed Gray's Manor so abruptly, he was worried."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"As I recall, he was overly fond of you. Was there no lovers' tryst? No secrets shared?"
"No. Now put that thing away before you hurt yourself."
Margaret's gaze furtively shifted to the bed, where there was a large stack of what appeared to be legal documents. Lavinia gestured to them.
"I suppose those are kindling for the stove."
"They're essays my students wrote. I've started a new school."
"You always were the worst liar." She gestured again. "Place the papers in that satchel, then hand it to me."
Margaret hesitated, calculating the odds. Should she rush Lavinia and wrestle for the weapon? Should she race into the hall and scream for help?
"I won't do it," she ultimately protested. "I don't understand what you want, but I no longer have to—"
Lavinia straightened her arm and fired a shot into the mattress, which absorbed some of the loud bang, but not nearly enough. Feathers flew, and smoke filled the air as she grabbed the other gun.
"I can see that I have your attention," she jeered. "I have one more round, and it's primed and ready. If you don't do as I've commanded—at once!—I shall use it to kill you. Now give me those papers!"
Trembling with terror, Margaret hustled over and scooped up the documents, stuffing them willy-nilly into the satchel. She held it out. "Here! Take it."
"Have you a pen and ink?"
"Yes." Margaret hastened to a rickety table in the corner.
"Draft a letter that says you don't want the money, that you're transferring it all to me."
"Who would believe something so idiotic?"
"Just do it!" Lavinia shouted, sounding more deranged by the second.
Margaret sat down and picked up a quill. With shaky fingers, she dipped it in the ink, then paused. "To whom should I address it?"
"I don't know! I don't know. Just write the blasted letter!"
"I will. Calm down."
Margaret was moving slow as molasses, and Lavinia paced in frustration. She couldn't tolerate any delay, and as a better notion dawned, she smiled grimly.
"I've changed my mind," she explained. "Fine."
Margaret's pen was poised over the empty page, and Lavinia instructed, "Write this across the top: Last Will and Testament of Margaret Gray."
"I most certainly will not."
"You will, and you'll name me as your sole heir."
"You're being absurd."
"Trust me: I've never been more lucid."
"But you can't inherit from me unless I die."
"Precisely." Lavinia nodded. "This should have occurred to me ages ago."
Margaret stared, but composed no words, and Lavinia threatened, "Would you rather I kill you and forge the document myself?"
"I'm not about to be the author of my own demise."
"Then allow me to orchestrate your finale for you."
Margaret rose and sidled away from the table. "I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
Suddenly, Margaret whipped out, and too late, Lavinia realized that she was clasping the bottle of ink. She hurled it, and though Lavinia tried to duck, the black contents splattered her face and hair, dripping off her chin and down her chest.
She glanced down, horrified by the spreading stain. "You've ruined my dress! My only one!"
"I'm so sorry!" Margaret taunted.
Lavinia was momentarily blinded, the dark liquid dribbling into her eyes and stinging them, and as she swiped at the mess, Margaret lunged. Lavinia raised the pistol, her finger on the-trigger, and Margaret was so close that it wasn't necessary to aim.
The jarring blast rang out, just as someone burst in the door and pounced on her. More smoke clouded the air, choking her with its pungent smell, as she was tackled, powerful arms smacking her down to the floor with a painful thump.
She'd discharged both her weapons, and in the hazy confusion she couldn't see if Margaret was dead or not. Had Lavinia wasted her opportunity? Wouldn't it be just her luck to fire at point-blank range and miss?
She had to learn the answer, and she fought with all her might, trying to stand and finish the job. Wanting justice, wanting vengeance against the entire world, she was in an uncontrollable frenzy. She seemed to have the strength of ten men, but whoever held her was even stronger, and she couldn't wiggle free.
"Desist!" a male voice ordered.
"No! I'm going to kill her!" Lavinia insisted. "I'm going to kill everyone! Everyone, I tell you!"
"You are out of your bloody mind!"
She lashed out wildly, the heel of her hand clouting the man's nose, and he growled with rage.
"I was taught never to strike a female," he said, "but in your case, I think I'll make an exception."
He punched her so hard that she was stunned, and she slumped to the floor in a rubbery heap. She'd ended up in the exact same humiliating position the morning Penelope had assaulted her in front of Lord Kettering.
Was this to be how the rest of her despicable life was to play out? Was she to spend it scrapping and brawling and being knocked unconscious?
A renewed torrent of fury surged through her, and she roared and bucked with her hips, but the man simply punched her again, and she whimpered and gave up.
Her arms were yanked behind her back, a cord securing her wrists. A gag was stuffed in her mouth.
The man left her side, saying, "Margaret! Margaret! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Shaken, but fine."
"Were you hit?" he frantically inquired, as Lavinia recognized that it was Romsey, that he'd returned unexpectedly to foil her scheme.
"No," Margaret said. "You pushed her away. The ball went into the plaster."
"Oh, my God! I thought you were dead. Sit down! Sit down—before you fall down!"
Another voice sounded, a belligerent woman in the hall. "What is happening in here? Sir!" she barked at Romsey. "Male guests are not permitted in the rooms!"
"Get out!" Romsey snarled.
"Aah!" the woman shrieked. "There's a hole in my wall! Who will pay to have it repaired?"
"I will," Margaret grumbled. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry? You have visitors who are scuffling and shooting guns and you tell me not to worry?"
"The excitement
is over," Margaret declared. "They were just leaving."
"I'm afraid you'll have to go with them," the woman carped. "I can't have such outrageous behavior in my establishment."
"I'm delighted to oblige you," Margaret calmly said. "I was about to come down and notify you that I'm off to London."
"To London? Well.. ." The news temporarily silenced the annoying woman; then she complained, "What should I do about losing your rent money? Am I to pull another tenant out of my hat? You can't tot off without notice and without—"
The smoke was beginning to dissipate, and Lavinia could see Romsey walk over, physically pick up the woman, and set her out in the corridor.
"Go downstairs and wait for me," he commanded.
"I most certainly will not! I—"
"Go!" he hissed with such vehemence that she skittered off.
He slammed the door, then proceeded to where Margaret was huddled in a chair. Ninny that she was, she started to weep.
"Oh, my darling," Romsey soothed, "it's over now. Don't cry. I can't bear it when you're sad."
He reached out to hug her, but to his amazement, Margaret eased him away.
"Please," Margaret wailed. "I can't take any more."
"I know it's been dreadful for you."
"Just get her out of here. Lock her away somewhere so I can be sure she won't ever come back."
Romsey was stricken by her rejection, and he dawdled, then reached out again. Margaret glanced away, overtly declining the solace he was desperate to offer.
"Please," she murmured again.
He stared at her, the moment growing awkward; then he sighed and mumbled, "As you wish."
He spun and grabbed Lavinia, hauling her to her feet with a sturdy yank. At his rough handling she yowled with anguish, but her mouth was muffled, so neither of them could hear how passionately she cursed.
"I had decided," he seethed as he dragged her into the hall, "to ignore your contemptible presence on the face of the earth, but after this stunt, I'll see you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."
Bastard! she hurled with her eyes.
He had no trouble deciphering her message, and he replied, "I hope you hang."
Gripping her by the waist, he lugged her down the stairs, through the foyer, and outside to his horse. As if she were a sack of flour, he tossed her across the saddle on her stomach, so that her head flopped down, her legs dangling in the other direction.
