Surrender To Ruin

by Carolyn Jewel

  “That can’t be. Why would he? You’ve been courting her for months.”

  “His objections arose today.”

  “Was it because of something Papa did?” His silence made her heart drop to her toes. “What did he do? Tell me. Tell me, Bracebridge. What lie has he told?”

  “He’s let it be said that I intentionally bankrupted him.”

  She let out a sharp laugh. “As if Papa needs any help with that. Of course I know about him.” She was done with her silence on the matter. Before the end of the day, she would be with one of her sisters, because under no circumstance would she return to the Cooperage. “What happened?”

  Emily listened with an ever more painful knot in her stomach as Bracebridge set out what had happened, including several details her father had omitted in the tale of woe he’d spun for her. A dozen reactions whirled through her, variations of dismay, anger, and sorrow. When he was done, she put a hand on his arm. “I am so sorry. For you both. Clara cares for you. I know she does. Can this not be repaired?”

  He squeezed the reins and looked directly at her with dead, black eyes. “Scotland. Yea or nay?”

  “You don’t want to marry me,” she said calmly. Was she truly refusing an offer of marriage from him? It seemed unreal she could do so. A dream. “You don’t.”

  “You must be free of your father, or you’ll end up married to someone worse than Davener.”

  “You’ve gone mad.”

  One corner of his mouth curled. “I am at liberty to assist you in your escape.”

  “You can’t be serious.” A year ago, less than a year ago, she would have told him yes without a moment’s hesitation. Those words lay between them, those hurtful words he’d given her, and even after a year of reliving and reinventing his meaning, she knew he’d told her the truth. He did not love her.

  He grasped her arm just above her elbow and drew her close. She was too shocked by the contact to pull away, and for several seconds she stared into his eyes and fell straight into the abyss of her attraction to him. She had always reacted to him like this. Always. She shivered.

  “I assume it’s true you don’t wish to marry Davener or someone like him.” He reached for the compartment beneath the seat and took out a blanket. He unfurled it and spread it over her lap. Since they both knew the answer to that, she didn’t bother with a reply. His eyes held hers, pulling her in.

  “Why? Tell me why, Bracebridge.”

  His gaze held hers, and his smile was truly terrifying. “Revenge.”

  She swallowed heard. “Against me?”

  “Your father. He’ll be enraged when he hears what we’ve done.”

  Her heart beat so fast, she wondered whether she might faint for the first time in her life. “God in Heaven,” she whispered. “Won’t he?”

  He grinned, but it was a smile that turned her cold. “He’ll never recover from his most beautiful and last unwed daughter marrying a man he despises. The very man whose life he intended to ruin.”

  The bloodlessness of his reasoning robbed her of words. She had no doubt of his sincerity. None at all.

  “Marry me, and your father and the likes of Walter Davener can hang in the wind.”

  “You aren’t in your right mind.”

  There was not an ounce of warmth in his eyes, the way he held himself, or his voice. “I am. Believe you me, I am.”

  She could not catch her breath, and for several seconds she was convinced she could not hear. But then the sound of the wind through the trees filled the silence. He adjusted his greatcoat and, without thinking, she brushed away a brown and lifeless leaf clinging to his sleeve.

  They said nothing while a wagon passed heading north. When they could speak in normal tones, Bracebridge sounded as if he were discussing the weather. “You and I understand each other as well as any two people can.”

  An ocean lay between the words he was saying and the meaning she wanted them to have. She tipped her chin to get a good look at his face. His eyes were so dark, she could scarcely tell the difference between his pupils and his irises. Her father had destroyed his hopes not once, but twice. First Anne and now Clara. It was not right or fair.

  “Come now,” he said in a voice intended to beguile.

  Her heart lurched horribly, as all her stupid, girlish hopes flooded back despite knowing better. She’d spent a year convincing herself she no longer loved him, and in the space of a breath, he’d returned her to that awful state of unrequited love.

  He could be hers. Bracebridge could be her husband, and she could love him as any wife ought to love her husband, and no one would take her aside and warn her not to wear her heart on her sleeve. No one would tell her she should not love the man she’d married.

  “You are absolutely certain you cannot repair this break with Clara?”

  “Even if I could, perhaps I should not.” He released a breath and stroked Frieda’s dome of a head. “I am not capable of loving anyone but Anne,” he said gently. “You know that. You’ll never expect me to fall in love with you, for you know it cannot happen.” He waited a long moment before continuing. “I wish I were different. I wish I were a better man than I am, but my heart is not mine to give.”

  “No,” she said, only no sound emerged from her throat. She tried again. “No.”

  “Marry me,” he said, without any sign of admiration or affection. “Marry me knowingly. No compliments from me I would not mean. Just truth. Marry me, and I shall have the coldest revenge possible, and you shall forevermore be safe from your father’s machinations.”

  His low, smooth voice melted her, drowned her, pulled her under forever. He offered her what she’d longed for in her most private moments. How could she possibly tell him no?

  “Well?” he asked. “What do you say?”

  She needed to think and could not. He moved and for a moment, only a moment, she thought, There, it’s over. No more of this nonsense. But he wasn’t done destroying her.

  “Marry me, Em.” He tapped the fourth finger of her left hand. “Even for the Divine Sinclair, countess isn’t too far a comedown.”

  He meant this, and she hadn’t the will to refuse him.

  He bared his teeth in a joyless smile. “Give me the satisfaction of knowing I’ve repaid your father in kind. Tit for tat. He took your sister from me. I’ll take everything that matters to him. The Cooperage and you.”

  Her heart flew away with her breath, her hopes, and her sense. He meant it. For all the wrong reasons, he meant it.

  “Say yes,” he said with an awful amusement, “and where you are concerned, your father’s pockets are permanently to let.” He shifted on the seat. “Which is it to be, Em? Rosefeld? Or Gretna Green?”

  Chapter Six

  She’d locked the door, which was no great surprise. He’d left Emily in their room at the coaching inn to see to his horses and rig, arrange the hiring of fresh cattle for tomorrow, and take Frieda for a much-needed walk. That last Emily had agreed to only after he’d pointed out that the dog needed exercise and relief. He’d had to swear on his soul he would not allow her to escape.

  His various tasks completed, he took a brisk walk with Frieda. He’d been sitting for too many hours not to feel a need for physical exertion. Frieda had no trouble keeping up, and he rather fancied she’d be equally able to accompany him on one of his longer training breathers. Like him, Frieda was big, ungainly, and hellishly strong. She was also enthusiastic and affectionate.

  Back at the coaching inn, he and the dog bounded up the stairs to the rooms he’d let. Two servants were there setting out the meal he’d ordered for them while Emily looked on. He kept Frieda on a short leash because she was equally intent upon making friends with the servants and snatching the roast they’d just set down.

  Emily stood by a small table, hands behind her, looking serene and painfully beautiful. She curtsied. Too late for regrets for either of them, though, oddly enough, he had few. Perhaps even none. “My lord.”

  Yes, of
course. They must maintain the fiction that they were already a married couple. “Good evening,” he said. “My dear.”

  His married friends were familiar, if not demonstrative, with their wives. He could do the same with Emily. When he approached her, there was an audible metallic thunk when she leaned against the table. He hadn’t intended to kiss her, but he did, a gentle press of his lips to her cheek. He breathed in the faint scent of lavender. At the same time he kissed her, he reached around and took the poker she had concealed. He returned it to the andiron. He could not help a smile at the idea of her gripping that poker, fully prepared to commit mayhem in defense of her person.

  Since he did not dare release Frieda while the servants were here, he next put the dog in the bedchamber and closed the door, much to Frieda’s vocal dismay. He dropped his valise by the door, and hung his coat and hat on the nearby pegs. “My apologies for the delay in returning to you.”

  “I wasn’t the least bit worried.” She made a face at him when he glanced at the fireplace.

  “Always a pleasure to travel with a fearless woman.”

  She smiled fondly at him, and even he, who considered himself, if not entirely immune to her, at least highly resistant, had a moment’s shock at the impact of that smile. But she, too, was playing a role—and playing it beautifully.

  The younger of the two servants caught sight of her smile and stopped in his tracks. He gaped at Emily until his colleague gave him an elbow in the ribs. The servant was young, yes, practically a boy, but he ought to know better than to stare like that at any woman.

  Emily turned her attention to the desk. She’d placed her hat there and spread out the ribbons to dry; it had begun to rain during the last hour and half of their northward drive.

  The younger servant continued to gaze at her. “An angel,” he said slowly. “The most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.”

  Emily kept her back to the room, to all appearances unaware of any of them. A deliberate withdrawal. While Emily was absorbed in ensuring the ribbons of her hat would be dry by morning, Bracebridge escorted the servants to the door. He handed each a coin before he shut the door after them.

  The moment he shot the bolt, Emily turned around. Well. So. Yes, a woman of her beauty attracted notice, but it had been plain even to him that the youth had made her uncomfortable. For the first time, he wondered whether she found such attentions unwelcome. What a peculiar position to find himself in. All this time, he’d assumed she would be insulted if she were not admired. “He ought to have been better behaved,” he said.

  She shrugged, her expression smooth and untroubled. There’d been a time when he’d never doubted what she was thinking. Now he had no idea, and that unsettled him.

  He released Frieda from the bedroom, inordinately relieved by the distraction of her frantic greeting of them both.

  While he was busy rubbing the dog’s belly, he said, “There should be something for her, Em. Would you mind?”

  She found the plate of raw meat he’d ordered and set it on the floor. “There, darling dog.”

  Bracebridge was struck by how well and truly his life had changed. Emily Sinclair was now his responsibility. No matter how little they had in common, their lives were permanently entwined. “Give me a moment to wash up.”

  She sat sideways on a chair, by turns watching Frieda and him. He flicked raindrops from his sleeve and withdrew his pistols from his pockets. He never traveled without them. He did wish he’d delayed leaving on this trip long enough to bring Keller, his valet, with him, but that would have meant a return to Rosefeld. An elopement would have been infinitely more difficult.

  At the smaller table, he pushed her hat aside to make room for the weapons. Three letters slid from underneath the hat and onto the floor.

  “Oh,” she said too quickly. “I’ll get them.”

  Since they’d landed near his feet, he stooped to retrieve them. For several seconds, he stared at the direction written on the topmost letter. He glanced at the other two as well, but those were unexceptional since they were directed, respectively, to her sister Mary and to the Duke of Cynssyr.

  The silence filled with the soft shush, shush, shush of him tapping a corner of that first letter on the others. “I believe,” he said at last, “that I am within my rights to ask. Why are you writing to Mr. Harry Glynn so soon after agreeing to marry me?”

  She was unperturbed, so it seemed—a face of angelic innocence. Was she pretending to be unconcerned now the way she’d pretended not to notice the young servant’s reaction? Rather than answer him, she crossed to the desk and lifted her hat to reveal several more letters. She picked them up. “Aldreth, Thrale, Lucy, Anne, Clara. I wrote anyone who might be of assistance if I found myself stranded here. Including Mr. Glynn.”

  The edge of his mouth twitched down. “Why would you be stranded?”

  She neatly stacked the letters and held out her hand for the ones he held. He tossed them onto the table. They slid across the surface. One of them came to rest against the butt of one of his pistols. “Em.” He had no idea what to make of this and, therefore, no idea whether he should be amused or offended or something else entirely. “Why would you be stranded?”

  “Misfortune.” She returned his three to the stack and squared all of them. Though she had her back to him, she turned her head toward him. The line of her cheek was devastating in its perfection.

  He folded his arms over his chest. “What sort of misfortune?”

  Once again, she spread out the ribbons of her hat, adjusting them to avoid them coming in contact with his guns. “You might not have returned.”

  The idea of his leaving her here was so ludicrous, he laughed out loud. “Did you think I would prefer to sleep in the stables? I promise you, I have little fondness for a bed of straw.”

  She continued to smooth out the ribbons. It was something of a shock to realize she was quite serious. However inconceivable it was to him that he would abandon her, she believed he might.

  “But, no,” he said slowly, “you cannot have thought I would prefer to sleep in the stables. You wrote eight letters and expected you might be obliged to post them.” He drew a sharp breath. He knew her too well and not at all. “I took Frieda with me. Did you believe I would abandon her, too?”

  “Certainly not.” She clasped her hands behind her back. There was nothing in her expression or the way she held herself to suggest she was anything but calm and possibly amused. He’d seen her like this dozens of times, surrounded by admirers whose adoration she appeared to accept as her right. Did she? “It’s plain you are fond of her. I’d never have let you take her otherwise.”

  “You believed I would abscond with your dog?”

  “I was uncertain which was the worse result.” She licked her lips, the first sign he’d seen so far that she was discomforted. “Stranding me with Frieda or stranding me without her.”

  He still did not know whether he was offended or chagrined that she would believe him capable of such a thing. Perhaps both. They had been at loggerheads often enough that she might be justified. Might be.

  “You feared I would abscond with your dog and leave you to whatever fate might befall a young woman alone? Strike that. You thought I had more concern for your dog than you?” By God, she did. He had no idea what to make of that. Yes, he was offended. But he could not blame her, not entirely. And if he were to be honest with himself, there was blame here for him.

  She released her hands, and he was distracted by the ring on her fourth finger. A quick-witted deception on her part, for it was merely the ring she always wore, turned around as if it were a wedding band. “You’re being willfully obtuse.”

  He took a mental breath. He would never speak so roughly to any of her sisters, nor any other young lady of his acquaintance, as he was prone to doing to Emily. “Enlighten me. Please.” Still, he did not sound kind or patient. “I mean that sincerely.”

  She glanced away, then faced him and replied so forthrightly he deci
ded he must have imagined he had wounded her feelings. “You like Frieda better than me.”

  “You can’t be serious.” But no, no, this was not how he ought to behave with her. Not now. Not under these circumstances. Those words, if said to him in such an incredulous, scornful manner, would have offended him. He cocked his head in a tight nod of acknowledgment. “Forgive me. Please continue.”

  She made fists of her hands. “Your abandonment of me was only one of several possible misfortunes I considered.”

  “My God, you are serious.” Very well. He was offended, for she appeared to have no understanding of the insult she’d dealt him.

  “You were gone over an hour.”

  “I had a great many things to see to and your dog to exercise.” The Emily he knew was frivolous and reckless and vain, and that was not the woman he faced now. “I would not leave any woman like that. It’s unimaginable.”

  She shot back, “And I am not an idiot.”

  “I did not imply that you are.”

  “You did. Of course you did.”

  “How? In what way?”

  “Oh, that is insulting. I am aware of your low regard for me. You made that perfectly clear. Or do you believe I hadn’t the wit to understand you?”

  She meant that day in Emmer’s Field, when they had been so near to unrecoverable disaster. Her intensity was something to behold. She was nothing like Anne or Clara. Where they were cool serenity, Emily was fire. “You were perfectly clear, my lord, and I did understand you.”

  “I am corrected then, and I apologize yet again. But why those letters?”

  Her eyes were chips of icy blue stone. “How much better is your revenge if you leave me here, doubly ruined?”

  He bristled. He could not help it. He was justified in the reaction. “You wrote those letters in the belief that I planned to abandon you?”

  “Against the possibility that you would.” She tapped the letters while she scowled at him. “When so many things can and do go wrong, preparation for contingencies and alternatives prevents an even worse outcome.”