by Julia London
Percy glanced briefly at the woman, but then turned his attention to Rhodrick and said in Welsh, “I have come to help Miss Fairchild regain the inheritance you have stolen from her, and to inform you that my inheritance will soon be due to me.”
Rhodrick raised a brow, amused by Percy’s switch to a language the woman obviously did not understand. He almost laughed—the villain was intent on defrauding the villainess, he was certain of it. “What is this, Percy?” he responded in Welsh. “Hasn’t your partner in crime guessed that your intent is to fleece her as well as me?”
“You cannot bait me,” Percy said with an easy smile. “It is obviously your pleasure to make false accusations against me, but they are nothing to me. Miss Fairchild will soon be my partner in more than name. She is my fiancée.”
At the mention of her name, Miss Fairchild looked questioningly at Percy, her winged brows knit in a pretty frown.
“Aha,” Rhodrick said with a nod. “Of course. That explains it. Your inheritance reverts to you at the age of thirty, or at the time of your marriage, whichever comes first. And as you are not yet eight and twenty, you have found someone with whom to share the spoils, have you?”
Percy kept the smile pasted to his face.
Rhodrick looked again at the woman. “Pray tell, how did I come into possession of her inheritance?”
“She is the daughter of Yorath Vaughan, who was the brother of Randolph Vaughan, a man well known to you, I am quite certain.”
Randolph Vaughan was indeed known to Rhodrick, but not well. Once, a very long time ago, when Rhodrick had been married, his young wife, Eira, had a sister, Mary, who was married to Randolph Vaughan. After both women had died in childbirth, Rhodrick had lost touch with that Vaughan altogether.
He did not volunteer this to Percy, however, but remained silent, calmly waiting for him to speak, for a man who could not bear silence usually filled the silence with more information than he ought.
Percy did not disappoint him. “Yorath Vaughan died without male issue, and the whole of his estate was left to his brother, Randolph,” he continued in Welsh. “That was, in turn, left to you when Randolph Vaughan died without any living heir.”
That much was also true—the man’s estate had been bequeathed to Rhodrick, who was the best relation that could be established. “And?” he prompted Percy, impatient to arrive at the scheme the pair of swindlers had devised.
“Yorath Vaughan died without male issue. But he left behind a daughter, who stands before you now.”
Rhodrick glanced at the woman from beneath a swath of his hair that had fallen over his eye. She looked at him, then at Percy, and at Rhodrick again.
It was clear to him now—the two swindlers had concocted an arrangement by which Percy would marry and gain his inheritance. In the course of it, they had added a fictional tale with the hope it would gain them another, unclaimed inheritance. Rhodrick further supposed that such machinations meant Percy had lost his benefactress, whoever she might have been. He said, “How convenient for you to have found an heiress to wed.”
Percy smirked. “You have what is rightfully hers, just as you have what is rightfully mine. The law will force you to return them both once we are married.”
Rhodrick shifted his gaze to Miss Fairchild and wondered how a woman as youthful and pretty could have reached such a desperate point in her life to join Percy in this abominable act.
His gaze drifted to the amulet around her neck, and he recalled the warmth of her silken skin last night.
Ah yes, that indiscretion. He had nothing to say for himself, other than he’d been drinking whiskey heavily, and the small amulet had caught his eye. In his inebriation he’d thought she was her, of course, the amulet making him believe it. It was only further evidence to his mind that he was, perhaps, mad.
He felt his body heating in such close proximity to her now and turned away, so that his back was partially to her, and said in Welsh, “If I have what is rightfully hers, she will not need the law to obtain it. I will gladly give it to her. As for your inheritance,” he said, looking at Percy again, “you are entitled to receive it when you reach your thirtieth year or you marry. Not a moment sooner.”
Percy’s smile began to sag. “Then at least relieve Miss Fairchild’s suffering and return her inheritance.”
Rhodrick chuckled. “Before you so happily enter into this conspiracy, you might ask your…fiancée…what she was about when she was roaming the castle last evening.”
Percy’s lids fluttered faintly, and he looked at Miss Fairchild.
“Ask her,” Rhodrick said again, glancing at her sidelong.
Percy cleared his throat and said in English, “His lordship remarked that you were wandering about the castle last night.”
Miss Fairchild colored slightly. “Yes. I was lost.” She glanced nervously at Rhodrick, then asked Percy, “I beg your pardon, what did he say?” When neither man responded, her color deepened. “I was thirsty,” she said, perhaps a little too adamantly. “I was seeking the butler to ask for water to be brought to my room.”
“A pity that your fiancé was not available to tend to your needs,” Rhodrick muttered as he moved to sit at his desk.
“I beg your pardon?” she exclaimed, her eyes widening with shock.
Ho there, this was an interesting turn. “Your fiancé,” Rhodrick responded before Percy could answer. “You don’t mind, do you, that Percy has given me your happy news?”
But mind Miss Fairchild did, and Rhodrick was glad he was not on the receiving end of the heated glare she bestowed on Percy. He almost laughed, imagining the two of them devising some diabolical plot, and all the while, Percy was scheming behind her back to keep whatever money they could manage to bilk. Clearly, that was precisely what he intended, for in marrying her, any money they gained was, by law, his.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but he is not my fiancé,” Miss Fairchild said quickly.
She was careless, he thought. Speaking without thinking. He shrugged. “I should think that if you did not begin your journey as an engaged couple, or preferably, a married couple, you most certainly should end it that way—unless, of course, he has no care for your reputation.”
Miss Fairchild turned quite red—he had the distinct impression that she would have kicked him in the shins if she were standing close enough to him. Instead, she pressed her lips tightly together and looked at the floor for a moment. “Mr. Percy has offered, sir, but I have not yet given him my response,” she said quietly. “The blame for my conduct is entirely mine.”
“I did not mean to suggest otherwise.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but whatever she might have said was lost when Percy suddenly demanded in Welsh, “Leave her be! Our particular situation is none of your affair! Just return our inheritances as quickly as possible so that we might leave Llanmair and never return!”
“I wish I could take you at your word,” Rhodrick drawled in Welsh. “But it sounds to me an empty promise. Frankly, I should have seen you hanged when I had the opportunity.”
Percy paled. “Just give us our due and we shall leave,” he said tightly.
“Our due? Tsk-tsk, Owen. You count on her money and you’ve not yet even had her in your bed.”
Percy’s face now flooded with the heat of his fury, but Rhodrick merely shifted his gaze to Miss Fairchild again and said in English, “I have what was left of the Vaughan estate in its entirety, Miss Fairchild. The whole of your uncle’s and father’s estates combined comes to approximately four thousand pounds. If you can prove to me that you are who you claim to be, it is yours to take.”
She gasped and looked at Percy, the surprise evident on her face.
“Before you allow the excitement of that sum to make you ill with delight, understand this—I must have proof that you are who you say you are. By that I mean someone other than this…man,” he managed to say in spite of what he was thinking, “must vouch for you.”
“I have a letter,
” she said instantly, and opened the little beaded bag that hung around her wrist. She unfolded the yellowing vellum and strode across the room to deposit it on his desk.
Rhodrick took it, glanced at the date. It had been written some twenty years ago. He quickly scanned the letter—it was written to Mrs. Randolph Vaughan from Mrs. Yorath Vaughan, who wrote at length about her darling daughter, Greer, making several references to her recent visit with her aunt and uncle, Randolph and Mary.
When he had finished reading it, he pushed the letter across the desk to her and turned his head. “Quite poignant, but hardly the proof I require.”
Miss Fairchild seemed confused; she picked up the letter and frowned at it. “But…but this was written by my mother.”
“You could have come by this letter in any number of ways. You might have written it with your own hand for all I know. I will need something more definitive than that—a letter addressed to me should suffice.”
Still frowning, Miss Fairchild carefully folded the letter and tucked it safely into her reticule. She lifted her gaze to him, her blue eyes filled with loathing. “I should very much like to have my mother write a letter directly to you, my lord, but as she has been dead these fourteen years, I can hardly ask it of her.”
Her fear of him seemed to have taken a most decided turn into white-hot fury. “No, I don’t suppose you can,” he said coolly, “but surely there is someone on this earth who knows who you are.”
“Lord Middleton,” Percy muttered behind her.
Middleton? How intriguing. Rhodrick knew Middleton was a powerful marquis, heir to a very important duchy. Surely she wouldn’t be so foolish as to claim that connection. What a careless wench she was. “Are you some relation to Lord Middleton?”
“He has recently married my cousin, Lady Ava Fairchild. Ava is the daughter of Lady Bingley, my late aunt.”
“Then by all means,” he said, feeling somewhat amused by her overreach, “you may entice Lord Middleton to vouch for your identity or you may bring me the evidence of your identity from the parish rolls. Either way, I shall give you the four thousand pounds that were left to me from the combined Vaughan estates.”
“But…but that could take weeks,” she started to say, only to be silenced by Percy’s hand to her arm.
“We shall give you the proof you need, my lord.”
“But—” Miss Fairchild started again, but Percy’s grip tightened on her arm and he gave her a pointed look that silenced her.
“May we have a few moments to confer?” he asked politely.
Rhodrick had grown weary of Percy’s game and this meeting and abruptly stood. “Have as many moments as you’d like,” he said curtly, and walked to the door, opened it, and turned back to Percy. “But have them somewhere other than my home.”
Percy’s eyes narrowed. “We will be gone as soon as possible, do not doubt it, my lord. But first, I should like a word alone with Miss Fairchild.”
“As you wish,” Rhodrick said, holding the door open for them.
Percy fairly pushed Miss Fairchild out of the room ahead of him. As they passed, Miss Fairchild looked at Rhodrick and he could see the memory of his kiss in her eyes. But she quickly looked away—revolted, no doubt—and walked through the doorway. He shut the door behind them and started back to his desk, but spotted something white on the carpet. He walked over to it.
It was a handkerchief. It must have fallen out of her reticule when she retrieved her silly letter. He picked it up. It looked to be fine Irish linen and lace, expertly embroidered with green vines that wound their way around the letter V, with a smaller A and B on either side of the V.
Rhodrick stared at the handkerchief for a long moment, then slowly lifted it to his nose and breathed in the scent. It smelled of lilacs and…and woman. Sweet, soft, woman.
It was a scent he’d not had the pleasure of knowing for many years. He breathed in again, then tucked the lacy handkerchief into his pocket and continued on to his desk and his work.
Five
O wen marched Greer to a small waiting room near the main entrance. Once inside, he shut the door and leaned against it, trying to contain his racing pulse. His efforts, however, were in vain, and he glared at Greer. “What in God’s name were you doing roaming about last night?” he demanded.
“I beg your pardon?” she shot back, appearing damnably guilty.
“Did you try and see him without me?” he asked her bluntly.
She made a sound of effrontery. “I did no such thing!” she exclaimed hotly. “I told you, I was lost.” Her gaze hardened, and she folded her arms. “And what exactly are you implying, sir?”
Owen checked himself. “Nothing at all,” he said quickly. “But I don’t understand—”
“There is nothing to understand,” she said sharply. “And may I ask why you told him we were engaged?”
“Is it not obvious? I was trying to protect your reputation.”
That seemed to take her aback.
“You must not forget that I know him, Greer. The man has no respect for anyone, particularly not for women. Surely, after all that I’ve told you and what you’ve seen, you believe that much is true.”
The slight shudder that went through her body confirmed that she did, and Owen quickly closed the distance between them, put his hands on her shoulders. “Dearest, if you want to see the four thousand pounds that rightfully belong to you, you must at least appear to be engaged to me. He will never hand that sort of money to a mere female.”
“But he said—”
“I know what he said,” he interrupted her. “But it’s as I have told you—the prince is not an honorable man. He will say whatever he thinks you want to hear with no intention of honoring his word.”
She gaped at him; myriad thoughts clouded her blue eyes. But then she firmly shook her head. “Perhaps that is true, Mr. Percy, but I do not say what one would like to hear, and I do honor my word. I cannot lie and say that we are engaged when it is not true.”
Dear God, the chit made this difficult. “Greer. Darling,” he said, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I cannot begin to imagine how very trying this ordeal has been for you. I have only said what I must to protect you.”
She looked at him skeptically; Owen put a hand to her cheek and smiled again. Her lids fluttered a moment, and then she returned his smile with a tentative one of her own.
“I confess,” he said, “that perhaps I spoke out of a sincere hope that you will agree to marry me.”
Her smile deepened, and she tried to look away, but he moved closer, held her face with his hand, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Will you tell me that you haven’t thought of it, if only a little?”
“I have,” she said softly.
He could feel her resolve weakening. “Imagine a manor house,” he whispered, and kissed the bridge of her nose. “And children,” he added as he kissed her smooth cheek. “A strapping lad to carry on my name,” he said, moving to kiss the other cheek, “and a girl with her mother’s beauty.”
He kissed her on the lips then, carefully, tenderly, and without any demands. Greer did not resist him, just lifted her head and allowed him to kiss her. She was not, however, very good at it—something he would be delighted to remedy.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her. “Forgive me,” he uttered earnestly, “but I cannot resist you.”
She smiled a little and stepped back, and put her hand to her cheek.
“In the future,” he said gently, “I suggest you allow me to deal with the prince while you imagine our life together in a country manor.”
She nodded uncertainly, then frowned. “But…but I can’t possibly afford to hire a room for the weeks it will take to send a letter to Ava and receive her response,” she said, and glanced up at him. “We must find the parish rolls.”
“Searching the parish rolls could take weeks as well.” With the pad of his thumb, he caressed her bottom lip. “Don’t fret. I will speak with him. Rest easy and know
that I do this for you.”
“Mr. Percy, you really mustn’t—”
“I would do anything for you,” he said, interrupting her again, and slipped his arm around her waist and drew her in to kiss her. Only this time, he kissed her much more ardently.
It seemed to work. She seemed to forget all about the bloody prince for a moment.
Greer did not, however, forget the prince for very long—how could she, holed up in some dreadful receiving room, waiting for Percy to return from his private discussion with him? She paced restlessly, crossing frequently to the window and staring out at the castle’s gardens and the bright blue sky.
When Percy did at last return, she could tell by his grim expression that things had not gone well. “He’s unmoved,” he said simply as he led her to a settee and sat beside her.
She tried very hard not to look as panicked as she felt. “What are we to do?”
Percy shrugged. “He has given us leave to stay another night. In the morning, I shall inform the prince that I see no alternative than to include the authorities in our discussion. At that point, I think we should proceed to Rhayader and speak with a solicitor.”
Dear God. She should never have come here, should never have let Percy talk her into this. “But…but I have no money to retain a solicitor,” she anxiously reminded him. After Percy’s insistence that they stay at public inns and eat more than once a day, she had a little less than four pounds to her name. She was effectively stranded here without help.
“And what of the coach?” she continued. “The driver will expect to be paid to wait—”
“Oh,” Percy said casually, “I took the liberty of dismissing him.”
Greer’s heart sank to her toes. How would she ever leave this place now? “You…you dismissed him?”
“We’ll hire another one in Rhayader,” he said, smiling.
But Greer didn’t return his smile. She was troubled by a dark sense of foreboding. She said nothing to Percy of it, however, but allowed him to talk about contacting the appropriate authorities in Rhayader, as well as taking rooms there. He suggested perhaps they find a little house, forgetting, she thought, that they were not even engaged, much less married.
