by Cheryl Holt
To her amazement, it was Marcus, slithering out and no more interested in detection than she. Why was he in the house? Why was he in a guest's bedroom? Whose was it? Was it even occupied?
She was too muddled to recall.
It was clear he'd been trysting, but with whom? Had he stooped to philandering with the servants? Which hussy would dare?
He was attired just in his trousers, no shoes or stockings, his shirt off and dangled over his shoulder. He dawdled in the threshold, gazing into the room with such a mixed expression of anguish and joy that she could barely stand to watch.
The bounder was thoroughly smitten! There could be no other explanation for his combined air of melancholy and elation. How could he be? How could such an outrageous, shocking event transpire, without her being aware?
In farewell, he kissed his fingertips and sent the gesture winging toward his paramour. For several agonizing
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seconds, he tarried, in abject misery, his shoulders bowed, his despair and woe rolling off him in waves. Then he walked to the servants' stairs and the short climb that took him up to the master's chambers.
Pamela lingered, not breathing, not moving a muscle, until she heard the faint sound of his tread on the floor above; then she stole over and peeked inside.
Sprawled across the mattress, her glorious auburn hair scattered over the pillows, was Melanie Lewis's chaperone. She was naked, sleeping, the quilt rising and falling with each respiration. She appeared young, fetching, innocent, but looks were deceiving, because there was no doubt she'd been debauched by Stamford.
The space was a mess, blankets and garments strewn about. They'd fornicated with a reckless abandon, with the sort of blissful connection that only the luckiest of lovers ever achieved.
This is what he's been doing? Pamela rippled with fury. All this time, she'd been waiting for him to buckle down, to get serious about Melanie, to rescue them from ruin, but instead, he'd been dabbling with the hired help. She was so incensed that she worried she might explode.
Unnoticed by the inhabitant, Pamela tiptoed away. At the stairs, she stumbled to the next floor, and groped her way to Regina's door.
She banged loudly, the noise making her head throb, but she continued until the shrew growled, indicating that she'd stirred; then Pamela strode in.
Regina was scrambling out of bed, her nightgown twisted, her mobcap askew, her feet hitting the rug as Pamela sidled up to her.
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"What is the meaning of this?" she snarled as she recognized her intruder.
"You've been demanding I deliver Stamford. Well, you must do your share to bring him to heel."
"For God's sake, it's the middle of the night. About what are you babbling?"
"Stamford has been sneaking into the mansion, so that he can fuck your pretty little governess."
Regina almost collapsed. "What did you say?"
"He's enamored of that trollop you refer to as a chaperone. They've likely been carrying on ever since you arrived."
"Are you sure you're not mistaken?"
"I saw them," Pamela lied. "No wonder your mousy daughter can't catch his eye. He's too busy tumbling your servants." Lest she commit assault, she whipped around and marched away. "I want her out of my house. Today! Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Regina hissed, "I understand."
"After she's gone, if you can't manage to have Melanie fully compromised in the next twenty-four hours, I'll arrange it for you."
"I can handle me and my own without any halfhearted assistance from you."
Pamela snorted in derision. Regina couldn't find the dining table if someone didn't show her the direction every morning. "In the interim, I suggest you throw on some clothes, and haul your fat ass down to the rear garden, before he slinks out to the mews and rides off."
"Don't order me about, Pamela. Lesser people than you have tried, and they've always been sorry."
"Shut up. I'm so sick of you. If you plan to corner
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him into an agreement, you'll not have many more chances. After your governess departs, there's no telling when we'll be able to lure him over here."
Regina turned and strutted back to bed.
"Go after him!" Pamela shrieked.
"I'll not embarrass myself by running around in the dark, hysterical and barely dressed—like some people I know."
"The woman is the key!" Pamela shouted. "He's absolutely besotted. See if you can do something right for a change. Use her to lay him low."
"I intend to," Regina claimed, "but at a decent hour. Now leave me be." She clambered onto the mattress and pulled the covers up to her chin.
Pamela stormed out and slammed the door behind.
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Marcus sat behind his desk, assessing the pile of pilfered loot Regina had displayed. There were common household items, as well as priceless heirlooms, including silver candlesticks, a gilded picture frame, many coins, and, most shockingly, a diamond cravat pin from his dresser.
Wary, determined not to believe a word spewed from her obnoxious mouth, he asked, "Are you claiming Miss Duncan is a thief?"
"Considering the objects in front of you"—Regina gestured to the cache—"there is no need to utter the accusation aloud."
"Where did you find them?"
"In her room. Tucked under the bed."
"With what intent?"
"Probably to sell for cash, although frequently, she hoards what she purloins. She gains an odd thrill from doing wrong, from being in possession of something she oughtn't to have."
"And you're telling me this because... ?"
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She was cold and calm as a snake before it strikes, and he took a breath, held it, refusing to give in to the urge to squirm. From the moment her note had been delivered to his club, calling for a meeting to discuss Kate, he'd been consumed with dread.
What could the old bat have up her sleeve? She had to have learned of their liaison. But how? From whom? And what would she demand? Not marriage. She was too greedy, too set on Melanie's advancement, so Kate was in the bulls-eye.
Kate would be the method by which Regina achieved her goals, and no matter what choices he made, they would be bad ones. Catastrophe was about to unfold, and his beloved Kate would be devoured.
Was he ready to hurt her? Could he?
He went to the sideboard, poured himself a stout whiskey, and returned to his chair. Sipping on the potent brew, he was bolstered by the brief interruption. "You've admitted that your Miss Duncan is not honest. You've restored what she filched. Such a paltry issue could have been broached with the housekeeper, so I fail to see why it was necessary to drag me here."
"Let's be frank, shall we?"
She oozed bitterness and sarcasm, and he responded in kind. "By all means. Let's be frank."
"I know about your affair with her."
His initial instinct was to deny any connection, but Regina was so blunt and assured that he had no doubt as to her possessing accurate information. What purpose would be served by disavowal except to delay the inevitable?
"Who told you?"
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"Lady Pamela."
"Of course." He'd deal with her later. "I'm still not clear as to why you required an appointment with me. If you think it appropriate to comment on my private life, you have more gall than any woman I've ever met."
"It's obvious you harbor deep feelings for her."
He bristled with fury. What had Pamela said? Why would she presume to understand so much about his association with Kate?
"I harbor deep feelings? For Miss Duncan?" He scoffed, and with his repudiation of her, he'd likely damned himself to hell, but he forged on. "If that's what you suppose, then you don't know me, at all."
"I know enough." Bending down, she retrieved a pouch off the floor, pulled out a ledger, and rested it on the desk. "Let me come straight to the point. Kate is a thief."
"So you've alleged." He sh
rugged, though he was dying inside. How often had she taken his signet ring? He'd lost track.
"She has some terrible personal problems, that stem from her mother's abandonment of her when she was a girl. Are you aware of her history?"
Crudely, he maintained, "We didn't spend much time talking."
"Her mother ran off with a lover. As a result of the shame, her father committed suicide."
He hadn't heard this piece of the story, and the wall he'd planned to keep erect, to deflect any bombs Regina might hurl, started to fall. "She was orphaned?"
"I was her only living relative, and it was my Christian duty to care for her."
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If Regina were a Christian, he would become a godless heathen! "She's not your employee?"
"No."
"You raised her?"
"As a member of the family, with my own children as her companions, but she never recovered from the loss of her parents. She steals."
"Yes, yes. She steals. She steals. So what?"
Regina pushed the journal closer, but he wouldn't glance at it.
"She has a sister."
This wasn't news, and he accepted it blandly. "I thought she was alone in the world."
"Her sister is illegitimate."
Feigning boredom, he peered at the clock on the mantle. "You need to hurry, Regina. I've a game of dice commencing at four. I don't want to be late."
"Kate is her guardian and approves expenditures -from the trust."
"And ... ?"
"She's been embezzling." Regina patted the book. "Look at the numbers. Money that should have lasted for decades is almost gone."
"You'd have me believe that you magically found papers proving as much?"
"I won't defend how I stumbled upon them, but they're genuine."
He still hadn't peeked down and wouldn't, but he gave up any pretense of distance by using Kate's name. "You're contending that Kate's pocketed the entire amount?"
"I'm not contending she has. It's a fact. The scheme is simple. The girl sends her bills to Kate, and
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Kate fakes new ones, for a much higher figure, then pockets the difference."
He was arguing for form's sake. The previous afternoon, hadn't Christopher mentioned some abnormality with the trust?
Oh, Kate! he wailed inwardly. What have you done?
"Why would she?" he prodded. "She's scarcely flaunting a fortune. What could be her motive?"
"She's not right in the head. She has reasons we couldn't begin to comprehend."
"Fine, Regina. Kate's a crook, an embezzler. Why are you confiding in me?"
"With the sums involved, this is a serious felony. She could be hanged."
After a painful lull, he inquired, "Or?"
"'I could conceal it... so that no one would ever learn of her crime."
"How?"
"I would reimburse the funds, out of the Doncaster coffers. It would be a hardship, but I would make the sacrifice."
"In exchange for what?"
"For your marrying Melanie."
He chuckled. "You assume you can coerce me into it?"
I'm positive I can. With your darling Kate as my bait."
"You're certainly convinced that I'm smitten. It's quite a gamble on your part."
“It's no gamble." She picked up the ledger, tucked it into her satchel, and balanced it on her lap. "There's a man at Doncaster who loves Kate, who's always loved her. He's older than she, and initially, he was married
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to another. Now, he's a widower, with two toddlers. She's fond of him, and she adores his daughters. He'd like to propose once she's home."
The tidings sucked the air out of the room. His collar felt too tight, and he couldn't catch his breath. "Have you told Kate?"
"Not yet." She was silent, letting the gravity of the information sink in. "He's a good man, with a steady job in our stables. He has a decent house behind the manor, and an excellent salary. He'll be kind to her." She paused, flogging him with her words. "I can erase the irregularities in the trust, and she can go back to the country. She'll have a husband who cherishes her, and babes to mother. What other opportunity does she have? What alternative would you select for her?"
Regina's questions poked at him like the blade of a sharp knife, but he wouldn't permit her to detect how disconcerted he was. "Why would you imagine I have any interest in what becomes of her?"
"Precisely." Regina stared him down, her low opinion of his character abundantly clear. "What can you offer her? Are you prepared to marry her yourself?"
"God, no." He could barely suppress a shudder. There was no more horrid punishment he could inflict on Kate than to saddle her with the burden of his being her husband. He was who he was, and she deserved so much better.
"Will you make her your mistress? When you tire of her—as we both realize you will—what then?"
How he wished she would shut up! Candidly, he stated, "I don't know."
"Would you rather throw her to the dogs in the judicial
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system? Will you be responsible for having her incarcerated, perhaps executed?"
"/ could pay off the trust fund discrepancies."
"Yes, you could, but I ask again: What then?"
What then? indeed. Would she stay in London? As his what? She was no doxy, to be used badly and discarded.
Downing his whiskey, he walked over, poured himself another, and drank that, too. His hands were shaking, his pulse pounding. Regina was much more shrewd than he'd surmised, and he hated that she'd cornered him by utilizing Kate.
He gazed out the window, at the roses in the garden. How had this happened? He had so few valid options, and his great affection for her had been reduced to such a glaring, unpalatable conclusion.
"This is checkmate, Stamford. The choice is yours. What shall it be?"
Wasn't it best to send Kate to Doncaster? To a man who loved her? She should have a normal life, where she would be free of his wicked influence. Though it killed him to ponder her wedding another, he would survive it. He couldn't hurt her any more than he already had.
"Have someone fetch her. I'll break it off."
"A wise decision."
Regina retrieved some documents and passed them over. "Sign these first."
"What are they?"
"The marital contracts." He stiffened, surprised by her temerity, and she chortled. "Do you take me for a fool? I'll have your agreement in writing or not at all."
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"With all due respect, madam, I can't abide the notion of marrying your daughter."
"So? How can it possibly matter? You make no bones about how one girl is the same as the next. Melanie is no better or worse than any other."
"A stunning endorsement of her stellar qualities."
"I'm a realist."
"Are you?"
"Absolutely. You should view this as a blessing. With the stroke of a pen, your assets will be secured, and your search for a bride will have ended."
Swiftly, he read the terms, and he was so detached, having limited concern as to how events would play out. His sole worry was that Kate's future be guaranteed.
He ascribed his name. "That should suffice."
"I'll apply for a Special License, with the ceremony held here in London, a week from today."
"I want it accomplished quickly and quietly, and don't bother me with any of the details. I also demand that you keep your daughter away from me. Considering the circumstances, I have no stomach for any of her juvenile pandering."
"As you wish."
She nodded, then went to the hall, calling for a servant to find Kate and order her to join them.
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"Have you purchased more of the potion?" Melanie queried.
"Yes."
Kate handed over the latest vial, which contained merely red wine, but Melanie didn't need to be apprised of the contents. Kate wasn't about to obtai
n more of the dangerous concoction. In light of her own
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experience, she declined to be liable for others imbibing the mysterious tonic.
She couldn't bear much more torment, couldn't endure many more conversations where Melanie waxed on about how it would be when Marcus was her spouse. The topic was too excruciating, and Kate could no longer discuss it civilly.
Didn't anyone—besides herself—see what a mistake this was? What if they managed to persuade him? Had they contemplated the union that would be created? What type of crazed people would intentionally impose that much gloom on themselves?
A knock sounded, and she answered it, recognizing that Melanie never would. Melanie had always treated Kate as her personal servant.
"What is it?" Kate inquired of the maid who tarried in the hall.
"Lord Stamford and Lady Regina request that you immediately attend them in the library."
Kate frowned. "Are you sure they didn't mean Lady Melanie?"
"No, miss. They were quite explicit in asking for you."
"For me?"
"Yes."
Her heart mumped with dread. Marcus and Regina were together? Commanding her presence? What could they want? It couldn't be anything good.
She glanced at Melanie.
"What have you done now?" Melanie snapped.
"Nothing."
"A likely story."
Kate smiled at the maid. "I'll be right down." She
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closed the door and leaned against it, needing a few seconds to collect herself.
"You might as well blurt it out," Melanie goaded. "I'll learn of it soon enough."
"There's naught to tell," she mumbled.
Her thoughts awhirl, she was terrified as to what the encounter portended. How could she go in blind? If she could guess their purpose, she'd be better prepared to defend herself, although if the subject was her scandalous behavior, there weren't many excuses she could provide.
"You're constantly causing trouble," Melanie scolded. "It's about time you received your just desserts. When I'm wed to Stamford and have my own house, you'll not be allowed such liberties. Mother should have reined you in years ago. I don't understand why she permits you to gad about."
