Blake rose and stepped forward until he towered over Charles who was seated behind his desk. “I now happen to own the bank you borrowed from to purchase that crop. A little over one thousand pounds, correct?”
“Don’t look so smug.” Charles jerked to his feet. “I will have the full balance of the loan available on time.”
Blake held up a hand. “That’s not all of your debt. You owe a considerable sum to other banks for other investments. It appears that you’ve overextended yourself, Charles.”
“What I owe those banks are my private affairs.”
“Unfortunately for you,” Blake said, “I purchased those notes. According to my solicitors, you owe me fifteen thousand pounds, and you have thirty days to pay.”
“Bastard!”
Sweeping an outstretched hand across his desk, Charles sent papers flying and knocked the crystal decanter off the table. Amber-colored liquid spilled across the carpet and splashed onto the hem of Victoria’s gown.
Victoria remained seated. Her eyes widened like saucers in her pale face at her father’s display of temper.
Blake felt a thrill course through him at Charles’s distress. He had waited an eternity to bring his enemy to his knees. But this was just a lure into a much larger, deadlier trap, just a tease to reel Charles in. Blake would allow himself to enjoy the moment, but would not let it overwhelm him, not until Charles Ashton was completely destroyed.
“I’m willing to extend the terms of the loans under specific circumstances.” Blake waited, watching as Charles clamped down on his temper and looked at him with interest.
Blake turned his gaze upon Victoria. She lowered her head, inadvertently presenting him with a view of her full cleavage.
For a brief, heart-stopping moment, he felt a stab of pity, but the emotion was so foreign, so deeply buried, it was easily crushed.
“I want Victoria in exchange for leniency on the loans.”
Charles looked confused. “Are you asking for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”
Blake laughed. “Marriage? Good Lord, no. I was proposing a more loose arrangement.”
“Your mistress!” Charles hissed, outrage written across his pinched face.
“In return, I’ll extend the terms of your loans for one year without interest. That should give you sufficient time to get your affairs in order.”
“Victoria is a lady, not the type of woman that would be any man’s mistress. Her reputation would be ruined, and any chance of a respectable marriage destroyed.”
Blake turned to leave. “Then I withdraw the offer. I’ll instruct my solicitors to start collection proceedings for the full fifteen thousand pounds by the end of the month. Your position as a Junior Lord Commissioner of the Treasury will surely be terminated. I’ll see to it that your entire family is sent to the poorhouse.”
“Wait!” Charles choked.
Victoria stood, straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat. “There’s no need to negotiate as if I weren’t present. I will not, nor would I ever, become your mistress. I’d rather starve in the poorhouse.”
“Speaking from experience, Victoria,” Blake said dryly, “life with me would be much more desirable.”
“How long would you require her…services?” Charles asked.
Victoria turned to stare at her father, an incredulous expression on her face. “I told you, I refuse to—”
“How long?” Charles repeated.
“One year. The same amount of time we spent in the poorhouse.”
“I said no!” Victoria’s voice was shrill.
Charles ignored his daughter. “I’ll need time to decide.”
“You have until the end of the week.”
“Damn you to Hell, Ravenspear.”
Blake’s lips twitched. “I’ve already been there and back. It’s your turn, Ashton.”
Chapter 4
“Open the door, Victoria.”
Inside her bedroom, Victoria’s jaw clenched as she sat on the side of the bed.
Spencer stood watching her, his back to the window. Shock and sympathy were written on his face after listening to her story of what had occurred in the library moments ago.
The rapping started again, this time louder.
“Open the door now, Victoria.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
Spencer knelt and clutched her trembling hands. “You’d better let him in, Vicki. No sense rousing his foul temper further.”
She rose and unlocked the door.
Charles Ashton burst in and towered over her. Father and daughter eyed each other warily until Charles turned away, his spine rigid. “You have to go with him.” His voice was flat, emotionless.
Victoria blinked. “I refuse. I cannot believe you would ask it of me. To be his…his mistress.”
Charles spun around and took an abrupt step toward her. “Our predicament is entirely your fault. We would not be in this position if you had not refused numerous marriage offers from eligible men.”
“My fault?” Shock yielded quickly to fury. “You blame me for your bad business decisions?”
Charles’s expression turned thunderous; his cold eyes sniped at her.
Victoria’s breath stalled in her throat, and she feared she had gone too far. But instead of the explosion she expected, he swallowed hard and moved to sit in the sole chair in the room.
“There is no need to lose our tempers, Victoria,” Charles said, smoothing imaginary creases from his trousers. “There is a practical solution to our problem, but you must be less selfish.”
She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed and faced him. “He wants me to be his mistress, Father. Not his wife. My reputation would be in tatters after such a scandal and any future marriage prospects ruined. Even Jacob would not have me afterwards.” She swallowed against the fresh rise of tears. “How am I being selfish by refusing such an offer?”
“Have you ever been inside the poorhouse, girl?” Charles asked. “The conditions are filthy and squalid. You work twenty hours a day to earn three potatoes. You know how frail your mother is. Do you honestly believe she would survive such hardship? And what about Spencer?” He glanced at his son for the first time since entering the room. “If I had to wager, I believe your mother would outlive your brother in such an institution.”
Spencer remained silent and scurried farther to the back of the room.
Charles’s hard stare pinned Victoria to her seat. “You won’t have to worry about your reputation then. Our entire family would be destroyed.” Leaning forward, he glared at her intently. “Your only choice is to agree to his demands now with some pride, or to wait a few months, completely devalued. Only then you would not be a coveted mistress, but nothing more than a street prostitute begging for whatever handout he would throw your way.”
Victoria closed her eyes and shuddered inwardly at the thought. The truth of her father’s words, however vulgar, cut deep. If she refused Blake’s offer, they would surely end up in debtors’ prison. Her family’s good name would be destroyed. Her father would lose his position with Prinny.
She thought of her mother’s ill health and chronic headaches. She considered Spencer and, if she was honest, admitted that her brother did not have the strength or disposition to last in such conditions.
As for herself, how long could she endure debtors’ prison?
Victoria was a realist and knew what happened to young, unmarried women in London’s infamous institutions. They ended up abused, pregnant and in poverty. Most were forced into prostitution.
Her father’s words rang true. She would be at Blake’s mercy if such a fate befell her.
So what did it matter if her reputation was shredded? Her concerns over becoming a mistress and creating a scandal paled in comparison to such a dire outcome.
Victoria took a deep breath before looking her father in the eye. “Is there not another way?”
“Yes and no.” Charles put up a hand at the sight of optimism in her eyes. “I will attempt to bor
row money from another source, but it will most likely not cover the full amount of the loans, only a portion of the interest, and will take me months to obtain such a sum. In the meantime, you must go with him.”
She exhaled as short-lived hope petered out and died like an extinguished flame. Gathering her courage, she asked, “What did occur between you and the late Lord Ravenspear to make Blake hate us so?”
Charles sat very still, his eyes narrow. “Talking about the past will not change your circumstances.”
“If I have to sacrifice myself, then I deserve the truth.”
Charles jerked to his feet. “You know the most of it. Malcolm Mallorey”—he paused and gave a bitter laugh—“Lord Ravenspear, he was an earl after all, although it seemed ludicrous to address him by his title when we were equal partners. Our business was import and export of an amazing variety of goods—English tea, fine china, furniture, clothing, even animals. We were successful at first, but as tensions grew with France and war became imminent, trade slowed to a trickle.
“Malcolm had lavish spending habits, and soon he was in debt. Out of desperation, he arranged to export guns and ammunition to France for enormous profit despite the Crown’s embargo against its longtime enemy. Malcolm kept his treasonous arrangements secret from me. When I discovered the truth, I had no choice but to sever business ties and liquidate all assets. Malcolm accused me of taking more than my share of the profits.”
Charles hesitated, then continued in a harsh voice. “Such accusations were entirely unfounded, of course. Eventually, Malcolm’s debtors came calling. After covering up for his traitorous actions, I refused to loan him money, and we had a terrible row. Months later, I heard that Malcolm had lost his entire estate and his family was headed to the workhouse. Malcolm killed himself to avoid such a fate. Unfortunately, his wife and children did not escape so easily. Last I heard, his wife and daughter died of consumption in the institution. I had thought Blake had died as well.”
Biting her lip, Victoria looked away. “I had heard about Lord Ravenspear’s suicide, but I had no idea Blake’s mother and sister had died so tragically.”
“By the time we had learned of their fate, it was too late,” Charles said.
He stood and opened the door to leave. “The past does not change the present. Mother will help you pack your things. I’ll send a note to Blake advising him you accept his proposal.”
“I have a plan, but we have to move quickly.” Victoria jumped out of a hackney cab and walked briskly down Threadneedle Street.
Spencer rushed to keep up. “I still can’t comprehend how Father expects you to go with Blake. A mistress! You were right about him. I stupidly thought him my friend.”
They continued past a dressmaker’s, a silversmith and a bakery before coming upon the Bank of England. To the immediate east of the bank was their destination: the London Stock Exchange. The massive building was built of stone and white brick, and occupied a large triangular area in the city. Built in 1802, the impressive structure was only ten years old. Prior to its existence, dealers in stocks and shares of trading companies used to meet at Jonathan’s coffee house in Change Alley.
They headed for the main entrance of the Exchange, known as Capel Court, in Bartholomew Lane. A doorman in a crisp red uniform, complete with a black top hat and gloves, opened the heavy oak doors.
Victoria swept inside. The smell of cigar smoke and expensive whiskey immediately assailed her nostrils. As she walked across the bare lobby, the heels of her shoes tapped on the marble floor and echoed off the stone walls.
A servant rushed to greet them. “Miss Ashton,” he acknowledged with a genuine smile.
The man turned toward Spencer and his smile vanished. “Mr. Ashton.” He nodded.
Victoria guessed Spencer’s reputation for reckless drinking and gambling preceded him.
The servant returned his attention to Victoria. “I presume you wish to see Mr. MacDonald?”
Victoria nodded, and with a wave of his hand, the man indicated where they should sit and then rushed off.
She chose a chair opposite a pair of swinging doors that led directly into the heart of the Exchange. As they waited, Victoria marveled that the large lobby, devoid of luxury or decoration, was where clients consulted with their brokers each day, where millions of pounds exchanged hands.
The doors suddenly swung open, and she caught a glimpse of the ongoing activity on the trading floor. The hall was packed with men carrying on business. They ran around the trading floor in a frenzy, all fluttering trousers and jackets, yelling and gesturing wildly at one another to be heard above the crowd, the noise level deafening.
Always thrilled to be this close to the action, Victoria’s pulse quickened at the mere glimpse of the hall.
A group of well-dressed men left the floor, exiting through the swinging doors. They chattered about the day’s business deals.
Victoria lowered her head demurely so as not to draw attention to herself.
The London Exchange was a male domain. It was widely assumed that women did not have the intelligence to comprehend economic matters, let alone invest with the intent to earn money. So Victoria had cleverly devised a way to operate in their world.
Once again the doors swung open. Victoria’s head snapped up and the blood rushed through her veins. Numerous jobbers, who bought and sold shares for the stockbrokers, scurried about carrying sheets of paper to place the day’s trades.
Watching the flurry of activity, she felt excited, fully alive.
Fifteen minutes later, a short, portly man with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning hair arrived. “Miss Ashton! What a pleasant surprise. Has your ill uncle sent you to place another trade on his behalf?”
Victoria stood and smiled tentatively at the oldest stockbroker at the Exchange. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Mr. MacDonald. Unfortunately, Uncle Sheldon seems to have taken a turn for the worse.”
Victoria blinked as if holding back tears. “He asked us to find out the balance on all his accounts.” She choked and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief before continuing, “Just in case, you understand.”
Mr. MacDonald clasped her hand and helped her retake her seat. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Ashton. I’ll…I’ll be right back,” he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable with her tears, and disappeared through the lobby doors.
Spencer grinned. “Shame on you for upsetting the old man.”
“It’s the only way I can continue to place my trades. Need I remind you women aren’t allowed to trade, and you are not sufficiently established to gain membership. So imaginary Uncle Sheldon from France must suffer a few health setbacks, but he shall survive them all, I assure you.”
Mr. MacDonald returned and handed Victoria a folded sheet of paper. “All your uncle’s assets are listed. After you speak with him, I’ll buy or sell whatever stocks he desires.”
She waited for the broker to leave before unfolding the paper.
“Only five hundred pounds,” Spencer said. “Father owes Mallorey fifteen thousand pounds, and that doesn’t even include what I owe him.”
“Blake never mentioned your debt to Father.” Victoria’s fingers tensed in her lap. “I wonder why. As for ‘Uncle Sheldon’s’ money, I had hoped the sum was sufficient to make one month’s payment so that Father could borrow from the source he mentioned.”
She looked at Spencer. “What am I to do? The thought of going to Blake Mallorey terrifies me.”
Spencer sat upright. “Give me the money.”
“What?”
“I want to help you, Vicki. Give me the money. I’ll go to White’s tonight and gamble. There’s a chance I can double, maybe triple it. We may be able to buy you more time.”
Victoria shook her head. “It has taken me years of investing to earn five hundred pounds. You have had bad luck at the tables lately.”
“What do you have to lose?”
Yes, what did she have to lose?
Only her reputation, her futu
re and her freedom if she was forced to go to that dark-haired devil.
A thought occurred to her, and she jumped to her feet. “No, Spencer. If anyone is going to gamble tonight, it’s going to be me. It’s time I paid Lord Ravenspear a visit.”
Chapter 5
That afternoon, Victoria set off for Blake’s town house. She had heard from Jane Middleton that the location was St. James Street, a most prestigious address. It was a mild April afternoon, and she instructed a hackney cab driver to drop her off a mile away and ignored the stares a lady walking alone received.
As she stood on the porch, her courage wavered. Her hand felt heavy as she lifted the door knocker.
A butler with a strained face and tight-lipped smile opened the door and stared at her.
Her face grew hot. “Miss Victoria Ashton to see Lord Ravenspear.”
He nodded and opened the door wide for her to enter. “I shall inform his lordship.”
Blake came to the top of the stairs, and when he saw who it was, rushed down to meet her. “Welcome to my home, Victoria.”
Blake removed her cloak and handed it to the servant. He took her arm and led her into a formal receiving room, then closed the door. “You should not be visiting me alone. Although I would be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased.”
“You worry about my reputation while you force me to become your mistress?” she asked, incredulous.
“You agree, then? I received your father’s note today advising my terms are acceptable. I responded that I wanted to hear it directly from you.”
“Why? So you can humiliate me as well as my father?”
“It was never my intention to humiliate you.”
“My father, then?”
His eyes darkened. “Yes. I told you before, let there be no lies between us.”
“By destroying my reputation, you think to bring scandal upon my father?”
“I won’t deny it.”
“Have you no conscience, no forgiveness in your heart?”
His eyes never left hers for an instant. “I lost my conscience years ago. As for forgiveness, Charles Ashton deserves none.” His voice sounded empty, emotionless.
Lady of Scandal Page 3
