The one exception straightened carefully, having touched her fingers to his lips. "You need not have felt obliged to come all this way, ma'am," he said with a chilly smile. "Ted brought me the word that Whitthurst was too ill to come."
"My brother wished me to convey his apologies to the gentlemen." She withdrew her hand with rather obvious haste and stepped back. That dreadful magnetism was as strong as ever, but she was fully forewarned this time. She knew what she risked by coming here, and the pistol in her reticule was her bulwark against his depravity. Nor did she carry it as an empty gesture. Stephen and Papa had taught her well; she was a fine shot. God send she'd not need to prove it.
A chorus of approval had greeted her words and was followed by impatient demands that they be made known to her. The first to be presented was a stout, jolly individual of middle age, Mr. Harold James. The second man, square and powerfully built, with craggy features and a deep, sonorous voice, was Sir Philip Wilton. These two, who had first escorted her into the room, were both so obviously struck by her that they could scarce tear their eyes away. The bald man, a Mr. Ben Blanchard, seemed equally impressed, while the young ex-harpsichord recliner was bashfully silent. Damon introduced him as Lord Jeremy Bolster. Sophia had heard Redmond speak of him and knew he'd been gravely injured at Badajoz, and was still not fully recovered from the shock. She smiled on him kindly. Ridgley, making his bow with a puzzled look in his eyes, muttered that she might have done him the honour of riding with him had she intended to come. She explained, she hoped convincingly, that Stephen had become so upset about missing the meeting that her only means of placating him had been to promise she would come in his stead and convey to him what had transpired.
"In which case," smiled Damon, "let us not keep the lady waiting, gentlemen. There's no cause to delay our meeting longer." He cast a pointed look at his 'niece'—a look she missed since she was busily mesmerizing Sir Philip.
"Right," Redmond agreed. "I've to be in Brighton tonight without fail. If you will excuse us, little coz, we'll get at it and let you know—"
"But I shall enjoy it," said Sophia, fluttering her fan at Mr. James.
The gentlemen eyed one another uneasily.
"That is quite impossible, ma'am," said Damon, his eyes glinting.
Sophia cast him a terrified look, shrank, and put her handkerchief to her lips.
"Come now, Cam," bristled Wilton indignantly. "Can't dismiss the dear soul!"
"Beastly manners lately, Damon," James protested. "Don't know what's come over you!"
Sophia, her eyes huge and frightened, whimpered, "I would not intrude, but Stephen is… so very ill. We thought— you would not be too… angry…"
It was the last straw. Damon's hawk glare lingered with baffled fury on her injured innocence. She was swept into the library, and three of the gentlemen practically acquired a concussion as they each jumped disastrously to pull out the same chair for her.
When the laughter died down, Damon, torn between vexation and amusement, called the meeting to order.
Chapter 16
Thirty minutes later they were all seated around the library table, and Sophia was trying hard not to yawn as Sir Philip read the minutes of the last meeting. She kept her eyes demurely downcast, well aware that the eyes of every man in the room were turned upon her, their obvious admiration rendering it doubtful that they had heard one word of Sir Philip's efforts. But one pair of eyes held a frown, and knowing this, she took care not to meet them. Undoubtedly, he was wondering why she was here. Perhaps he was afraid she intended to unmask him for what he was. It was apparent from a few teasing and faintly admiring remarks that he had explained away his bruises by telling them of an encounter with an irate tradesman who had mistaken him for a gardener. He must have been convincing. Indeed, to have used Mr. Jenks as his alleged antagonist had been a shrewd stroke because the Earl remembered their previous disagreement and lent weight to the tale. Damon would not dare admit he had actually fought Ariel, of course. They probably knew of the big man's devotion and would have realized that only a matter of gravest import could have made him turn against his master.
Her reflections were disrupted as Damon called for approval of the minutes and proceeded to the business at hand. His report on the progress made thus far was impressive. His statement of spiralling costs was very obviously less well received, although Sophia was secretly awed by this small revelation of the details and expense involved in such an undertaking.
Some corner of her mind registered that Horatio was honking somewhere, as her cousin Redmond, with an impatient glance at the clock, said, "Cam—are you asking us to lay out more blunt? If you are, old fellow, I'll have to turn you down. Sorry, but…" He shrugged wryly.
The rest of the investors hastened to offer comments of much the same nature, each having some pressing reason for withholding further funding. Only Bolster said nothing, his hazel eyes, turning shyly from time to time to Sophia, reflecting neither dismay nor approval of the as-yet-unspoken request.
A very thin, melancholy-looking individual entered the room at this point. Clad in a black jacket and black pantaloons, he had a clerical air and gazed at the Marquis with intense anxiety as he requested a private word.
"By all means, Gilly," frowned Damon. "When we have finished."
Mr. Gillam's expression became so agonized at this that Damon leaned forward and asked intently, "What's wrong, man? Does this concern the Spa?" A convulsive bob of the head constituted his answer. "Then speak out, if you please. Lady Drayton and these gentlemen have a right to hear it." He added a curt "Mr. Gillam handles my business affairs, ma'am."
Gillam bowed politely, but his response was barely audible. "There's a…new fence, my lord."
"Scarcely momentous news," Damon observed dryly.
"All around the property!" finished the wretched Gillam.
"Jolly good idea," Redmond approved. "Steal you blind else, Cam!"
Damon, his narrowed eyes fixed on Gillam, said, "Go on."
"It's posted, sir," Gillam croaked. "The signs read: 'Keep Out! Property of Merrick Corporation.' Your workmen cannot… get to work, sir!"
All the investors were on their feet, and everyone seemed to be shouting at once. Sophia felt a little stunned. She hadn't counted on the cost of a long fence. And who on earth was the Merrick Corporation?
Of them all, the Marquis appeared least disturbed. At length, he drew a small knife from his pocket and gently struck the goblet beside him, the bell-like sound bringing the heated faces of his friends around to him.
"Gentlemen, may we have quiet, please?"
They resumed their seats with much grumbling, Wilton saying testily that it was all very well for Damon to be so blasted calm. With his fortune, he wouldn't be hard hit should it prove to be anything more serious than a confounded practical joke. James put in a heated observation that it was undoubtedly the work of revolutionaries; and Harry Redmond, afire with indignation, proposed that they all at once sally forth and tear the blasted fences down, this course of action winning much approval and the eager endorsement of most present.
"It would be good sport, I grant you," smiled Damon, "but you surely must realize, gentlemen, that it is a mistake of some kind. I own the property on which the buildings stand, and there are no liens against any of my holdings, I do assure you. Sir John Black owns the parcel north of mine, and—" He saw anguish in Gillam's gaunt face, paused, and lifted one quizzical eyebrow.
"Sir John sold out a month ago, my lord. To the Merrick Corporation!"
A mutter of unease arose. Damon's expression was unchanged. Only his fingers tightened a little about the knife he held, and something deep within his eyes became very still. Sophia, peeping nervously round the table, saw the other gentlemen sit straighter, their anxious glances flashing from the Marquis to his man.
"That's odd," said Damon softly. "John said nothing of it. I would have thought he'd at least have come to say goodbye. What happened, Gilly?"
&n
bsp; "I went to see his steward, my lord. He seemed most upset but would only say that Sir John had 'no choice'."
"By God!" cried Mr. James, mopping at his brow. "I don't like the smell of this! Who holds the land to your west, Damon?"
"As of last August," said Damon thoughtfully, "an old— er—acquaintance of yours, James. Prendergast."
Sophia felt a tingle go up her spine and listened intently.
"Josiah…Prendergast?" gasped Mr. James, whitening. "God help us!"
Ridgley, his own face strained now, leaned forward and said harshly, "Cam, he'd give his soul to—" He stopped before the flash of Damon's warning glance.
Frightened, Wilton jumped to his feet, his impassioned appeal for the Marquis to tell them exactly where they stood being echoed by several angry voices.
Damon looked thoughtfully at Gillam. "Who controls this Merrick Corporation?"
Gillam wet dry lips. "It is a subsidiary corporation, my lord. Named for a minor stockholder. And…and owned by…"
"Oh, dear," murmured Damon. "Prendergast Associates, sans doute."
"From your manner, sir," said Mr. Blanchard, one eyelid twitching with nervousness, "one gathers this—Mr. Prendergast—will not deal fairly with us."
"You forget, my friends," Damon pointed out, "our access road and our lakefront acreage are both owned by our fellow stockholder, Lord Whitthurst."
Through the chorus of relieved exclamations, Sophia kept her eyes down, her heart pounding madly. She heard poor Mr. James gasp, "Thank God! I've poured twelve thousand into this spa—I cannot afford that kind of loss!"
"Thanks to Whitthurst," said Damon, "we shall none of us have to take a—"
"Seems curst odd to me," interrupted Sir Philip. "We do hold a legal deed to the Viscount's holdings, I trust?"
"Of course," answered the Marquis. "D'ye take me for a flat? Gilly delivered the papers to my solicitor months ago. Though I had Whitthurst's hand on it, which is enough for—" Again, he was given pause by Gillam's twisted and pained expression. The lightness in his manner vanished. "Now what?"
"The transfer was not… legal, my lord," gulped the unfortunate Gillam. "Sir Horace says it was not properly signed."
"Not… properly," echoed Sir Philip, and exploded. "Dash it all, the poor lad lost his right arm! Cannot expect him to write—"
"The deed was sent to him in Belgium, before Waterloo," said Damon bleakly. "What in the devil was Horace about all this time?"
"He said, my lord," Gillam replied, "that there was a clause to Lord Whitthurst's ownership of which he was previously unaware. He returned the deed to Lord Whitthurst with a letter of instruction and sent a note to you here."
"A note I never received," Damon growled. He stood and, amid a deathly stillness, turned to Sophia. "Can you help us, ma'am? You must certainly be aware that your brother owns that property and deeded it to our venture?"
They were all waiting anxiously, and she had no need to pretend nervousness as she faltered. "I am at a loss to understand any of it, gentlemen."
Damon's mouth tightened, and one hand gripped at the edge of the table. His eyes were fixed upon her, and she met that unblinking stare, trying unsuccessfully to find one particle of pleasure in the shocked disbelief she read there.
"Your brother," he said softly, "does own the acreage— does he not?"
"No, my lord." Her voice sounded thin and far away. "He does not."
Never afterwards would she be able to forget his stunned look, the bruises dark against his suddenly white face. Never would she forget the resultant chaos, the furious accusations of carelessness that were hurled at him. Yet when at last he raised one hand for quiet, such was the power of the man that, despite their total dismay, it was granted him. "Are you saying, my lady," he asked quietly, "that your brother—broke his sworn word to me?"
"No! He just did not know… I did not know…" Good God! Now what a mess she had stumbled into! She folded her wet hands and stared down at them. How could she have been so foolish as to assume that only Damon would suffer the consequences of her actions? Why had it not occurred to her that others might be hurt? At all costs, Stephen's reputation must not be tarnished! "The property," she half whispered, "was left to us—jointly." She heard gasps and a smothered groan and went on hurriedly. "I suspect Whitthurst simply… forgot. It is necessary that I sign anything to do with the acreage, as well as Singlebirch, which is also jointly owned. When I came home, he was…near death." She gripped her hands tighter. "Our finances are… are not—very good. I had to raise cash somehow, and I dared not worry him with such matters. I found the deed together with a pile of other papers—perhaps there was a letter from Lord Damon's solicitor, I could not say. I only saw the deed. Stephen had already signed it for a transfer of ownership, but the details had not been filled in. I thought he had probably been trying to… to raise funds, too. So…" She flashed a scared look round the circle of intent faces. "I know," she said chokingly, "that it was very wrong… of me. But—"
"Good God!" Wilton groaned, "you sold to Prendergast!"
"We're finished!" gasped Blanchard. "He'll squeeze us to the last sou!"
"No, by gad!" cried Ridgley loyally. "Damon's land ain't encumbered!"
"What the devil is that to say to anything?" Wilton roared, thumping his large fist upon the table, his face thunderous. "What good is an hotel built on the shores of a lake whose guests cannot reach the God—" He noted the Marquis's frigid glare, glanced to Sophia, spluttered, and fumed, "—the dashed lake?"
"Or more to the point," frowned Redmond, "whose guests cannot reach the hotel!"
Sophia felt crushed by guilt, but before she could say anything, Redmond burst out, "How could you be so birdwitted, coz? You must have heard of the spa since you come here! Didn't it occur to you that your lands were in the locality?"
"Oh, Harry," she said with a small and very real sob, "I do not understand all those legal property descriptions."
"'Course she don't," snapped Wilton, who was clearly growing more panicked by the minute. "Place the blame where it really lies. Of all the cork-brained starts as to go ahead with construction when you'd no clear title to the lands surrounding us! A fine great mull you've made of it, Damon!"
Mr. James gasped, "My God!" and, losing all his colour, sat down. "I'm ruined! This spa was my last hope. I sank every penny I could raise!"
"Then," said Damon kindly, "you shall be reimbursed, Harold. At once. See to it, please, Gilly."
"I trust," Wilton snarled, "that offer holds good for all of us?"
Gillam turned frantic eyes to his employer, opened his mouth to speak, encountered a steady stare, and closed his mouth hurriedly.
"Hold up a bit," said Redmond. "That ain't fair, Philip. We all agreed to go ahead and try to beat the weather. We all thought—"
"Do not seek to place the blame on my shoulders," Wilton retaliated, his face scarlet." He shook a fist at the Marquis. "The responsibility was—"
"But of course," Damon smiled. "The fault was mine. I should have been more cautious. And none of you shall pay for my—error. You shall have my notes within the week."
Damon came back into the music room and closed the door. Sophia, standing beside the fire, turned to face him, her pulses racing again. Except for Horatio, who had galloped behind the drapes when she entered the room, they were quite alone. Ridgley had accompanied Redmond and Bolster to the stables. Wilton, James, and Blanchard had left very soon after the meeting had broken up, Sir Philip's angry eyes and stiff bow conveying his resentment at having been placed in such an unhappy situation even while his polite words ensured that Damon not forget his pledge to cover their losses. Redmond had said he would not withdraw his backing, pending negotiations with Prendergast, and Bolster's blond head had nodded a vigorous agreement. Ridgley had made it very clear throughout that he placed complete trust in his kinsman.
The Marquis had been affability itself, apparently confident that his attorney would sooner or later bring mat
ters to a satisfactory conclusion. Now, however, watching as he locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket, Sophia felt a surge of fear. She had a fair idea of what she had cost him today, and every instinct had told her to leave with the gentlemen when he would not dare to wreak his fury upon her. But she could not bring herself to strike at even so unprincipled a man and then run away like a coward. She must face him. She must play this game out by her own rules even if he was without honour.
"How valiant of you," said the Marquis in a cold dispassionate voice, "to wait." He wandered to the terrace door, turned the key, and pocketed it, also. "And how very fool-hardy."
His smile was silken and terrible, and despite the pistol, Sophia felt her palms grow wet. "I stayed because there is something I have to say to you."
"At the very least… And I shall be most interested to hear it. But first, if I may ask…" He sauntered a little closer and paused at the far end of the harpsichord, one slim hand resting nonchalantly on the top. "You were, in fact, fully aware of the location of your property, were you not, ma'am?"
She looked him straight in the eye. "Most assuredly, my lord."
"My compliments, niece. You are a most accomplished liar. So, from the first moment you came here, this fiendish little plot was slithering about in your mind?"
She felt faint and sick and could not answer, striving for a haughty stare to convey her dislike of his choice of words.
"Tell me, my lady," he purred, "do you feel elated? Is revenge truly sweet?"
"Unutterably," she lied. "And yet, alas, it is not nearly enough to repay you."
"Console yourself. You have done better than you may think. And how you must have enjoyed it. Feigning affection for my family while all the time you were gloating over your shabby scheming!"
Sophia's cheeks were burning. How white and enraged he looked. How fierce the glare in his eyes! Surely, he would not dare attack her knowing his father admired and respected her? Gathering strength from that thought, she managed to say without a tremor, "I will tell you this, sir, since I was not able to finish what I started to say at your meeting. I have not sold the property."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet Page 19
