Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

  She was making a general spectacle of herself, and he was mortified.

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  "Lady Pamela, please." He tried to pry her loose, but she was fiercely attached and wouldn't release him.

  "My darling, my darling," she kept repeating, sounding almost deranged. "Where have you been? I've searched high and low. I was so desperate to locate you."

  She was kissing his cheek, his neck, his chest, and he was revolted. Had she no dignity? No sense? Two maids hovered down the corridor, witnessing the tawdry scene.

  "Stop it, Pamela," he commanded sharply. "You're embarrassing me."

  "I can come to Doncaster with you, can't I? You won't desert me; I know you won't. Fate brought us together! We can't be torn asunder by mere mortals!"

  She was babbling incoherently, and he was frightened. She didn't seem sane, and he wrenched free and held her at arm's length.

  "Pamela, listen to me."

  "What a fabulous countess I'll be. The people of Doncaster will adore me! They will! I'll show you!"

  "No, Pamela, you're talking crazy."

  "It's meant to be, Chris. We drank the potion. We can't change our destiny."

  "But I'm in love with someone else. I'm engaged to be married."

  His admission interrupted her keening diatribe. She began to tremble. "What did you say?"

  "I'm betrothed."

  "No." Vigorously, she shook her head. "No, you can't be. You can't be!" She dropped to her knees and grabbed his jacket, her fists clasping at the fabric. "You're lying!"

  She was screeching, imploring him to deny it, when

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  Stamford appeared from the library. Chris shot him a pleading look.

  "Pamela," he barked, "leave the boy alone."

  She heard him, but pretended not to have. "Chris, I'm begging you! Don't forsake me."

  "Pam!" Stamford shouted. "Get hold of yourself."

  In a few quick strides, he was down the hall, and he yanked her to her feet. She wrestled to escape, but he wouldn't ease his grip.

  "Don't touch me, you beast! You churl!"

  He drew her close, so that they were eye to eye, and he spoke softly but furiously. "As this is no longer your residence, I am not required to suffer such a distasteful display of histrionics in my foyer. Desist at once, before I take a belt to you!"

  "I won't, I tell you!" She was defiant and insolent to the end.

  "I am granting you an opportunity to dress before you depart. If you wish, I can evict you in your night-clothes." He paused, and there was no doubt as to his resolve. "There's the door. The choice is yours."

  Her glorious bosom heaving, her body quivering with wrath, she weighed her options, and recognized that he was serious.

  "I will never forgive you!"

  He laughed. "I don't care."

  She jerked away, gave Chris a final, frantic appeal for help, then fled up the stairs.

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  "Why is Lady Pamela so upset?"

  Christopher was angry, spoiling for a fight, and Marcus studied him, the massive library desk positioned between them. "I notified her that she has to leave my house, her funding is cut off, and she'll have to find another situation."

  "Why?" Chris repeated.

  "Because she's overstayed her welcome."

  'That's not an answer."

  "All right. How about this?" Marcus hated to be so blunt, but candor was necessary. "She was trying to manipulate me. Will that suffice as an explanation?"

  "I have no interest in what happens to her."

  "Still, you need to be wary."

  "Of her?"

  "Yes. She claims she's about to marry you, that she's talked to your mother and it's been arranged."

  "Is she really so dense that she'd presume Regina would agree?"

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  Marcus shrugged. "With women and their schemes, who can say?"

  "I'm engaged," he unexpectedly confessed, "but not to Pamela."

  'To whom, then?"

  "Kate's sister."

  Marcus suffered a surge of resentment, incensed that the lad had the nerve to forge on toward happiness, when Marcus had been too craven to reach out and seize what he wanted.

  How had he let Kate get away? He'd been so willing to toss her over, but if he'd thought through the details, he could have arrived at a better conclusion.

  "Have you informed your mother?"

  "Not yet, but soon."

  "It will be difficult."

  "I'm sure it will."

  "I'll help you," he amazed himself by offering. He never interfered in others' problems, never grew involved or went out on a limb, but if matters proceeded as they were destined, Chris would soon be his brother-in-law, and he wanted them to be friends.

  "I'm not certain I want any help from you," Chris shocked him by replying.

  "Why not?"

  "What have you done to Kate?"

  "To Kate?" He hemmed and hawed, stalling, so that he could devise the appropriate response.

  "If you pretend you don't know who she is, I swear to God, I'll come round this desk and beat you to a bloody pulp."

  Gad! After the two horrid appointments he'd recently

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  endured, that's all he needed! The two of them brawling on the rug, like a pair of miscreants! Considering Chris's youth, physical fitness, and overt outrage, Marcus wasn't positive he could win!

  "I know her," he quietly confessed.

  "So what did you do to her?" Chris asked again.

  He took the coward's route. "Nothing."

  "Where is she?"

  "I've no idea."

  "Her room is empty."

  "Is it?" he cautiously broached.

  "Melanie insists that you and Kate were having an affair."

  Regina had apprised Melanie? He blushed bright red, reflecting on what a hideous beginning it would be for their union. "Well..."

  "As the head of my family, and Kate's only male relative, J demand to know your plans toward her."

  "I have none."

  "Why am I not surprised?" he chided. "Guess what else my sister told me?"

  "What?"

  "All of a sudden, you've decided to marry her. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "Out of the blue."

  "Yes, I have."

  "How has my mother coerced you into it?"

  "Why would you assume she had?"

  "I'm not stupid. There's no way you'd have consented of your own accord."

  Chris dropped a leather satchel on the desk between them. It landed with a heavy thud, and Marcus stared, surmising that the contents would be vile.

  "What's this?"

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  "It's my mother's business portfolio. She hides her private papers in it, the things she doesn't want anyone to see." He opened the flap and pulled out many documents, scattering them for Marcus's perusal. "I finally had the chance to snoop in it, and look what I found." He held up a letter. "This is from Kate, to a solicitor. A Mr. Thumberton."

  "I'm acquainted with Thumberton." He was a renowned attorney, who worked for many of the best families.

  "You recall my mentioning Kate's sister—my fiancée—and the irregularities with her trust fund."

  "Yes. We were to discuss it, but we hadn't gotten around to it."

  "Thumberton is the trustee."

  "Kate wrote to him?"

  "Yes. Regina was to have had the letter delivered. Why is it still in her pouch?"

  Marcus's pulse pounded a tad faster. "I haven't a clue."

  "Someone has been embezzling from the trust. I have the feeling you suspect it was Kate."

  "Your mother said it was!"

  "And you believed her?"

  "No! But she had a ledger book as proof. It was there, in plain sight."

  Chris retrieved a journal from the stack. "Was this the record she produced?"

  "No. It was a different size, a different shape."

 
; Chris scanned the pages. "This is in Kate's handwriting, and there's no evidence of theft."

  'Then what was your mother waving around?"

  "You tell me."

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  Marcus was confused. The sole answer was that Regina had faked a copy of the expenses, that Regina was the perpetrator, but the prospect was so outlandish that he couldn't accept it.

  She was a dowager countess, a rich woman with her fingers in the pies of several fortunes. By comparison, the amount in the trust was a pittance. Why steal it? Why blame it on Kate?

  "You think it was your mother?"

  "Don't you?"

  "Why would she?"

  "Because she's cruel. Because she's deranged. She's always hated Kate, and with Kate so vulnerable, it was easy to deflect suspicion."

  "I agree that she hates Kate, but why?"

  "Are you aware of Kate's background?"

  "Much of it," which was a gross understatement. He scarcely knew anything about Kate. While most females of his acquaintance yearned to wax on about themselves and would never shut up, Kate had been particularly reticent.

  "Then, you realize that her father was Earl of Doncaster."

  "She never told me!"

  "Her father was the earl before mine. When she was a girl, her mother ran off with another man, and her father committed suicide. We came to Doncaster, and Regina claimed that she'd been named Kate's guardian, but now that I've read these documents, I've learned it wasn't so. What other deceit has she practiced?"

  Marcus was stunned. Kate was the daughter of an earl? His funny, sexy, lonely Kate? Why had she kept it a secret?

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  The air seemed to leave his body. He grew weak, his knees giving out, and he fell into his chair. He'd sensed, deep down, that Regina was lying!

  "Does Kate have an old beau at Doncaster? A widower with two small children who'd like to marry her?"

  "Who would spread such twaddle?"

  "Your mother."

  Chris scoffed. "No one's ever loved Kate."

  Except me, Marcus thought bleakly, the terrible, marvelous notion sweeping over him. He was deluged by it, and he wondered how he'd ever be able to make this right. "Regina convinced me that Kate took the money, but she offered to replace it—if I married Melanie."

  "So you buckled under to protect Kate?"

  "Yes."

  Chris chuckled miserably. "If I were you, I wouldn't be too excited about the assets in Melanie's dowry."

  "Why not?"

  "They're supposed to be Kate's. Regina falsified those, too." He patted the portfolio, indicating that the papers were inside, should Marcus wish to study them. "All these years, Kate could have been wed. This very minute, she could be the lady of a grand estate, instead of Regina's abused handmaiden."

  "You still haven't explained why Regina detests her."

  "I don't know. I've never known."

  Marcus was awhirl as he tried to absorb the information, and he stood, not grasping what his next act should be, but recognizing that he had to do something. He couldn't loiter in his library, twiddling his thumbs.

  "We have to find Kate." Suddenly, he was overcome by the strongest feeling of dread, and it was imperative that they locate her. Though the perception was

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  silly—Kate was likely safe and on the road to the country—he couldn't put it aside.

  "Would your mother convey her to Doncaster, as she promised?"

  "I wouldn't bet on it. She couldn't risk anyone asking Kate about the missing funds."

  "Where would Regina have taken her?"

  "I couldn't begin to guess."

  Marcus's heart sank, as he wrestled with gruesome images of Kate and what Regina might have done to her. The prospects were alarming and endless. How could they commence a search?

  Just then, the butler knocked and peeked in.

  "Excuse the interruption, milord; there's a young lady here, inquiring after Lord Doncaster. She's awfully upset. I couldn't send her away."

  "Who is it?"

  "A Miss Selena Bella, sir. She apologizes for disturbing you, but she says it's urgent."

  Chris was already racing out to the foyer, and Marcus followed, sliding to a halt on the polished marble floor as he came face-to-face with Kate's sister. She was taller, darker, and more willowy, but there could be no doubt of the relation. They were both great beauties, but while Kate was more unpretentious, more down-to-earth, this girl exuded a regalness and nobility that belied her age.

  As she saw them, she dropped into a respectful, graceful curtsy.

  "I beg your pardon, my lords," she started, but Chris raised her up, declining to have her bowing to them.

  "Marcus, this is Kate's sister, Selena"—Christopher beamed as if she'd hung the moon—"and my fiancée."

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  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Selena." Around the two of them Marcus felt ancient and weary. They were such a perfect couple, so youthful, so attractive, and so visibly smitten.

  "Lord Stamford." With the imperiousness of a queen, she extended her hand. "Kate has told me so many marvelous stories about you."

  There wasn't a chance in hell that Kate had uttered a kind word about him. "You, my dear, are an impossible liar."

  She looked up at Chris, trying to maintain the courteous banter, but the hood on her cloak fell back, and it was obvious that she'd been crying.

  Christopher was horrified. "What is it?"

  "It's Kate," she said. "Your mother beat her, then dumped her on my stoop."

  Marcus nearly collapsed. 'Is she hurt?"

  "Very badly."

  "Oh my God," Chris murmured. "I was afraid something like this might happen."

  "Where is she?" Marcus demanded, even as he counted the numerous ways Regina would pay.

  "Some men arrested her. They claimed they had a warrant, that she'd stolen money from my trust. But she hasn't!" Selena loyally decreed. "She would never commit such a hideous deed!"

  "They took her to ... to jail?" Marcus was aghast.

  "Yes." She began to cry again, huge tears rolling down her pretty cheeks. "They dragged her out of my house. I couldn't stop them."

  "Which jail, Selena?" he pressed. "Tell me which

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  "A place called Newgate. Have you heard of it?"

  Marcus shuddered, then glared at Chris. "Your mother had better hope she's all right."

  He spun and hurried outside, Christopher and Selena hot on his heels.

  ******************

  Pamela assessed Elliot's crowded parlor, wondering how he could afford to host such a large gathering.

  After being evicted by Stamford, she'd been frantic as to where she should go and Elliot had seemed the logical choice, at least until she could resolve things with Christopher and his mother. Without hesitation, Elliot had welcomed her. |

  As of yet, no one was aware of Stamford's perfidy, nor had anyone learned that she'd sought refuge with Elliot. She strolled through the brimming salons, smiling and chatting, and playing the part of Elliot's hostess, a role she'd often assumed in the past.

  However, when she was so distressed, it was diffi cult to exude courtesy. She felt ill, overheated, and am tad reckless. How she loathed being female, having no power, no assets, no authority over her own life! What she wouldn't give to be independently wealthy, to rub Marcus's nose in it! The bastard!

  Up ahead, she espied Regina and Melanie, and she rose on tiptoe, straining to see Christopher, but he wasn't with them, and her spirits plummeted.

  Where could he be?

  She sneaked up behind Regina, determined not to let the older woman slink away.

  "Where's Christopher?" she challenged.

  Regina turned and scrutinized her. "Lady Pamela," she gushed in a voice that was much too loud, "is it

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  true you've had a spot of trouble with Stamford? Has he ki
cked you out of your own house?"

  Everyone within twenty feet heard the sly comment, and many of them gasped with glee. Several crept off, eager to disseminate the news. Gossip would spread like paint spilled across the floor.

  She quivered with rage. "We need to talk. Come with me."

  "At the moment, I'm busy. If you'll excuse me ..."

  Regina attempted to move away, and Pamela blocked her escape. "If you don't attend me this very second, I shall let slip a despicable falsehood about Melanie that is so atrocious she'll never be able to show her face in public again."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Wouldn't I? She's been residing with me for weeks. No matter what I say, it will be believed."

  "Lead the way," Regina ultimately snapped, her antipathy blatant and impossible to conceal. Pamela proceeded to Elliot's library and shut the door.

  "Where is Christopher?" she repeated, desperate to speak with him, to apprise him of what Stamford had done.

  "I have no idea," Regina contended. "He's been out since early afternoon. I left a message for him to join us here. Will that be all?"

  "No, that won't be all! We must make plans."

  "About what?"

  "About announcing my engagement to him."

  "Your engagement to him?"

  "Yes. When will we?" She had to have her finances settled, to be assured that Chris was hers.

  Regina laughed. "I'd thought you were acting

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  strangely, but if you imagine you're about to marry my son, you're absolutely deranged. Are you sickly? Should I summon your friend, Mr. Featherstone, and have him call for a physician? Perhaps a draught would soothe your nerves."

  Pamela stepped closer, menace rolling off her in waves. "We had an understanding."

  "You and I? About Christopher?" Regina refused to be cowed, refused to yield any quarter.

  "You said if I delivered Stamford to you, I could have Chris. It was all arranged! We agreed!"

  "How—precisely—did you deliver Stamford?"

  "I told you about the girl, about his affair."

  "So?"

  "You can't renege! I want Chris, and I intend to have him for my husband."

  Regina chortled, her derision and scorn palpable. "You're mad, Pamela. Totally insane!"