by Cheryl Holt
He leaned in and whispered, “If you don’t come with me, I will accuse you of theft and have you arrested.”
Her blanched with consternation. “Theft of what?”
“You took money from my desk, Miss Ralston. Shall I have you searched?”
“I didn’t take any money,” she claimed.
“I keep track of exactly how much is in the drawer. Why am I positive it is the same amount we will find in your bag?” He gestured to the coach again. “Don’t force me to bring the law down on you. Just come home—as I’ve asked.”
She stared and stared, then her shoulders sagged with defeat. “All right.”
“Thank you. I hate to quarrel.”
“I stole your stupid money,” she confessed, “and I’m not sorry.”
“I don’t blame you. As I mentioned, you’re distraught. You’re not making good choices.”
“I’ve never previously stolen anything in my entire life.”
“I know that about you.”
“This is the level to which I’ve descended since we met. This is how low I’ve had to stoop. I hope you’re happy.”
She trudged to the coach, and Stanley followed. He offered her his hand as she climbed in, but she clasped the footman’s instead.
Stanley sighed, wondering how to calm her, how to salvage any benefit from the burgeoning calamity.
* * * *
“James! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
James whipped around to see Lucas hustling up.
They were on a sidewalk in London, and James had just exited Stanley’s bank, having suffered through the humiliation of having the draft refused.
The embarrassment was heaped on top of his recent visit to the orphanage where Stanley had supposedly found him when he was a toddler. It had burned down some ten years prior, with all records lost, and he’d only been able to locate a handful of people who recalled that an orphanage had ever been there.
Stanley must have known about the fire at the orphanage. Most likely, it wasn’t even the place where he’d stumbled on James. It was simply another dead end, another way for Stanley to demonstrate his cruel streak, to show James that he’d never learn about his past.
On many previous occasions in their long and strange relationship, Stanley had tricked and deceived James, so James shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was in the worst mood and extremely upset over many issues: fleeing Summerfield as he had without a goodbye to Rose, slinking off from a confrontation with Oscar, letting Veronica spread her lies unchallenged.
Rose had to have heard by now. What must she have thought?
The hectic moment of his departure seemed like a dream, and he was disturbed by how Stanley had manipulated him into sneaking away. In such a hurry too.
His rapid flight made him appear guilty, as if he was running from Veronica and her false story. Stanley had practically tossed James on his horse and sent him packing. James wasn’t sure what it was all about and—with Rose involved—he couldn’t decide how he should be behaving.
“What are you doing here, Lucas?”
“I told you I’d join you in the city.”
“I didn’t expect you for a few days.”
“It was too boring at Summerfield with you gone.”
“How were things when you left?”
“Veronica was squawking, and Oscar was fuming. That’s about it. Stanley was quite dynamic in defending you.”
“Were rumors circulating about me and Veronica?”
“The stupid girl spread them herself.”
“Has she been believed?”
“I didn’t poll the masses. I don’t know.”
“How is Miss Ralston weathering the storm?”
James could barely stand to speak of her. He’d relieved her of her chastity, then—not an hour later—had trotted away without a backward glance.
What was wrong with him?
He’d never been the most moral person, and the army had definitely roughened the edges, but he possessed an incredible fondness for her that hadn’t faded, and he doubted it ever would.
Yes, he’d said he didn’t wish to marry, that he didn’t have the means to support a wife, but what if he’d been mistaken in sticking to that view?
Fate had shoved her into his path. Would he abandon her to Stanley? Was he prepared—for the rest of his life—to recollect that he could have had her for his own, but he’d been too much of a coward? Was that the biography he intended to write for himself?
He was so confused! If he’d been poor before, without the funds to wed, he was in even worse shape now. There was no money to travel to India or for any other purpose.
The city was full of starving, crippled veterans, but James couldn’t imagine his own destiny would end so badly. He had many acquaintances and a distinguished service record, so he’d likely find a position without too much bother, but right that moment, he seemed adrift and endangered.
“You won’t believe what I learned,” Lucas said. “It’s about Miss Ralston. Guess what?”
“What?”
“She’s my cousin.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes. Remember that day you and I were talking, and I mentioned that I’d had a cousin whose parents died in a foreign country?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“It was her! She’d been at Summerfield all this time and didn’t breathe a word to me.”
“Did she say why not?”
“She doesn’t like me or my family.”
James shrugged. “I always thought she was smart as a whip.”
“And guess what else?”
“Just tell me, Lucas,” James snapped, in no mood for games.
“She asked me to take her away from Summerfield, to Sidwell Manor or one of our other houses.”
“Why?”
“She was extremely distressed and didn’t want to stay at Summerfield. I don’t suppose you’d have any details to share about that, would you?”
James sighed. “I behaved horridly toward her.”
“Well, I wasn’t much better. I told her that my father would never welcome her. My advice was that she remain at Summerfield with Stanley.”
“What was her answer?”
“She thinks I’m an ass.”
“She’s correct. You are.”
“I feel awful about the whole thing. I let her down.”
“So did I.”
James gnawed on his cheek, pondering, wondering what was best.
If he went to the estate and rode off with her, what precisely was his plan? He had no idea, but he muttered, “I’m going back to Summerfield.”
“To do what?”
“To do what I should have done all along. To keep Rose for myself. She and I should elope to Gretna Green.”
“Elope! Isn’t that a bit drastic?”
“Probably, but I’m making decisions on the fly. I’m worrying about Rose for a change rather than myself. I want her to be happy.”
“She let’s you call her Rose, does she?”
“Yes.”
“That must mean you’ve seduced her—as I suspected.”
“Yes, and I can’t leave her there. This entire business with Stanley is fishy. He pushed me away in the middle of the night. It was all so strange, and I was gutless in not standing up for myself.”
“What about India? Is that still in the cards or what?”
“The bank draft was fake. There’s no money.”
“Stanley gave you a fake bank draft?”
“Yes.”
“The prick.”
“My feeling exactly.”
James started off, and Lucas hurried to catch up.
“Are you heading back right now?” Lucas asked.
“Yes. Everything about this smells to high heaven.”
“What about Vicar Oswald and Veronica?”
“Bugger Oscar and Veronica. I’m not afraid of them, and I can’t let Stanley have Rose.”
“You’ll actually marry her yourself?”
“If I can. If she’ll have me.”
Lucas snorted with amusement. “I’d better come with you. If you’re about to propose, it’s a sight I have to see. And just so you know…”
“What?”
“She doesn’t allow me to call her Rose. With me, it’s Miss Ralston all the way.”
“As I said earlier, she’s very smart, and clearly, she’s possessed of a fine amount of common sense too.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
James tiptoed up the secret stairwell to Rose’s bedchamber.
He and Lucas had ridden hard all day, and it was very late, the house abed, which he considered a blessing.
He wasn’t about to strut into the front parlor with the servants watching and Rose glaring. He had a ton of explaining to do, and he planned to do it quietly and in private. He wasn’t the most eloquent man and wasn’t sure he could obtain her forgiveness.
If she gave him a tongue-lashing and sent him on his way, he didn’t want any witnesses. But if he was successful, and she was glad he’d returned, he wanted no witnesses for that moment, either. He simply wanted to pack her things and slip out the back with her. They’d be gone before anyone knew he’d arrived.
Yet as he reached the landing outside her hidden door, he stumbled to a halt, his mind not able to process what was occurring.
Stanley was there, his eye pressed to the wall, clearly looking into Rose’s suite through a peephole.
The perverted ass!
How long had he spied on her? What had he seen? Had he observed her dalliances with James? The notion didn’t bear contemplating.
A wave of rage swept over James, the likes of which he’d never previously experienced.
“What the bloody hell…?” he seethed.
Stanley was confused by James’s voice. He frowned and began to turn, but before he could, James grabbed him by his coat and tossed him toward the stairs. He stumbled down them, cursing as he descended, but James wasn’t sorry for the rough treatment.
Stanley was much shorter than James, so James had to lean down to stare through the peephole. Rose was pacing in her bedchamber. Attired in just her robe, the belt was loose, the front flopping open to give him glimpses of her cleavage and private parts.
She must have heard his scuffle with Stanley, because she froze, obviously wondering what had happened.
James was sick with disgust.
He lurched away and raced down to grab Stanley again. He lifted the smaller man by his coat, seams popping, as they exited into the hall on the lower floor, then James marched them down to Stanley’s own bedchamber. James dragged Stanley inside, flung him away, then slammed the door behind them.
Stanley pulled himself up, deviously scrambling to formulate the lies and evasions that would cool James’s temper, that would paint a better picture of Stanley so he wouldn’t look like such a lecher.
“James”—his smile was fake, cajoling—“I wasn’t expecting you. When did you get home?”
“You have one minute to explain yourself.”
Stanley scowled as if he couldn’t remember where they’d just been, then he laughed as if it had been a harmless prank. “Oh, you mean up in the stairwell?”
“Rose and I are leaving, Stanley, and I swear to God, this is the very last time you and I will ever speak. So tell me what you wish me to know, for I am never—never!—coming back.”
“James, James, calm yourself. Let’s have a brandy, hmm?”
“One minute, Stanley, starting now.”
Apparently, Stanley thought he could bluff James as he constantly had in the past. He went over to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. He held out the glass to James like a peace offering, and James batted it away, liquor splashing everywhere.
“Spying on her, Stanley,” James fumed, “when she’s alone and undressed?”
“It’s not what you think,” Stanley claimed.
“It’s exactly what I think!” James bellowed. “You ghastly wretch! Is this the sort of person you are? Spying on an innocent woman who is a guest in your home? All these years, I’ve wondered what drove you, and I guess I have my answer.”
James yanked the door open, ready to storm out, when Stanley murmured, “Don’t go.”
But James ignored him. He was too incensed for conversation. His mind whirred with images of how he’d respected Stanley, feared Stanley, loathed Stanley, been grateful to Stanley. The odd cord binding them had been severed, and James was floating free, untethered to Stanley or to Summerfield.
“James!” Stanley beseeched.
James whipped around, desperately eager to beat Stanley to a pulp, but Stanley appeared elderly, contrite, and diminished in a way he never had before.
“What?” James barked.
Stanley gestured to his room. “Talk to me. Humor an old man.”
“Screw you.”
“I’m embarrassed, James. I’m ashamed. Please talk to me.”
James knew he should have kept on, but Stanley had never previously admitted to having emotional flaws. Not ever, so James was exasperated to find himself insisting again, “You have one minute. That’s it. Then I’m done with you.”
Calling himself an idiot and a fool, he swept into the bedchamber. He poured himself the drink Stanley had initially offered, then seated himself in a chair. Stanley closed the door and eased himself into the chair opposite. He stared at the floor, unable to begin.
“How long has it been going on?” James demanded.
“Since she first arrived.”
“For pity’s sake, Stanley. You’re reprehensible.”
Stanley’s gaze was furious. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be me, to have my physical…problem.”
“Don’t try to justify your behavior. You can’t.”
“All right, I won’t.”
“When did you drill your peephole? Has it always been there? Or was it created just for her?”
“I’ve had it there for years.” He studied his hands. “I like to watch women, especially now.”
“You are never to tell her,” James warned. “Do you hear me?”
“I won’t, and don’t you tell her, either. I really like her. She’s a fine girl.”
“Shut up, Stanley.” James downed his drink and stood. “Will that be all? I’m sick to death of you. I have to get out of here.”
“But…I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay with me at Summerfield. I couldn’t bear for you to go away.”
“Are you mad? You presume I would stay after this…infamy? You’re worried about losing Rose’s good opinion. Well, what about mine? Oh, that’s right. It never mattered to you.”
“It always mattered!” Stanley hotly asserted.
“You couldn’t prove it by me.”
James had the fake bank draft in his coat pocket. He pulled it out and tossed it at Stanley. It drifted to the floor.
“I’m returning your bank draft,” James spat. “You remember it, don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember it.”
“Have you any idea how stupid I felt when I was informed that it wouldn’t be honored? Have you even the slightest clue of how I detest you?”
“Don’t say that.” Stanley was rubbing his forehead, seeming bewildered and befuddled, his age showing more and more with each passing second.
“And thank you for the directions to the orphanage. Of course I’m sure you knew that it burned down a decade ago.”
“Yes, I knew. I wish I’d torched the place myself.”
“Why didn’t you? Why not hurt a few street urchins? Who cares? You’re rich and powerful. You can act however you please.”
“I deserved that I suppose,” Stanley quietly said.
“Yes, you did,” James scoffed.
“Sit down.” Stanley sounded as if he was begging. “Sit—and I’ll tell you all of it.”
“All of what?”
“Your past. Your history.”<
br />
“After all this, you think I’d believe you?”
“It’ll be the truth. I swear.”
James laughed miserably. “That will make it true? Because you swear? You’re the biggest liar who ever lived.”
“I’m your grandfather,” Stanley suddenly announced.
At the words being so casually hurled, James was glad his chair was behind him. His knees buckled and he slid into it.
“You’re my grandfather? You admit it now, after all these years?”
“Yes.”
“Not my father. My grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“You let the rumors percolate, let people gossip and titter over me like dogs at a bone. You couldn’t have confided in me? You couldn’t have given me peace of mind? Would that have been so hard?”
“I thought it was for the best.” Stanley rubbed his forehead again, his bewilderment increasing.
James threw up his hands. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“I had a son. Charles. You’re aware of that.”
“He was killed in an accident.”
“No, not in an accident. He was…ah…killed in a duel. In London.”
“A duel over what?”
“Over his mistress. Her husband shot him dead. My son, Charles. My one and only son. Shot dead over a woman.”
“The woman…was my mother?”
“Yes. Her husband killed her too, after the duel, then killed himself. It was a revolting scandal, but we managed to cover it up without too much difficulty.” There was a charged silence, then Stanley choked out, “She wasn’t fit to shine Charles’s shoes, and he was murdered because of her.”
“That’s why you always hated me? Because of my mother?”
“Yes. I told Charles and told Charles he had to give her up. I arranged a marriage for him—to a good girl, a proper girl—but he wouldn’t even consider it. He claimed there could never be anyone for him but your mother.”
“Yet she was married.”
“Yes, and he was a blind fool. His name was never spoken in this house again.”
James was reeling, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t voice any of them. He was an educated, traveled man who’d spent a decade in the army, and he’d learned that the world wasn’t black and white.
