A Date with Dishonor

by Mary Brendan

  Suddenly conscious that his loins were throbbing uncomfortably and his butler was stoically awaiting a response, Alex folded the parchment he’d been sightlessly staring at and thrust it away over leather.

  ‘Did Whittiker state his business?’ Alex asked in a voice roughened by frustration.

  ‘He did not, my lord.’

  An inaudible irritated sigh pursed Alex’s lips. He could guess what had brought the fellow here. It was common knowledge that Whittiker was still brooding on the loss of his estate and would moan about it to anybody who cared to listen. But the deal was done and Alex wasn’t about to renegotiate any of it. He realised it was probably as well to give him an audience and spell that out one final time, then Whittiker need never again find the impertinence to bother him at home. A nod gave his butler permission to show his visitor in.

  ‘You’re aware I can be found at my club most days, I take it?’

  An acid greeting met James as he bowled into the viscount’s study while Robinson closed the door behind him.

  ‘I don’t think you’d want this matter aired in public, Blackthorne.’ Whittiker’s smug response came as he sat down, uninvited, in a hide wing chair. Deliberately he lounged back, eyeing the Viscount’s brandy decanter on the corner of the desk.

  Alex’s expression remained impassive, but he was immediately on his guard. Despite the fact that they loathed one another, Whittiker customarily treated him with an amount of reluctant deference. At present the weasel seemed overconfident, prompting Alex to search for a reason for it. A memory of the last time he’d seen James surfaced in his mind. It had been on the day he’d been with Elise and her friends in Hyde Park and had heard James’s raised voice. Alex remembered thinking he vaguely recognised the gaudy female with whom the fellow had appeared to be arguing.

  It had niggled at Alex that he hadn’t been able to place the woman, but with startling clarity he suddenly could bring to mind where and when they’d met. The curse was kept behind his teeth and the only change in his demeanour was a tightening in his jaw, causing a muscle to leap beneath a cheek. Despite the dusk that evening, and her luxuriously plumed hat, he had glimpsed the doxy’s face and red hair when she’d accosted him at Vauxhall. He recalled at the time thinking it was of little importance if she had spotted Elise emerging from that dark walkway just minutes earlier for their paths would never again cross. He had a feeling Whittiker was about to shatter that foolish assumption.

  ‘State your business, Whittiker, I’ve appointments to keep.’

  James bristled beneath Alex’s unconcealed contempt. He tapped together his fingertips, staring slyly over them from beneath his brows. ‘I think you owe me some more money for Grantham Place. Let me tell you why...’

  ‘Please do,’ Alex sardonically invited.

  ‘Its worth wasn’t reflected in the price you paid.’

  ‘Its worth was the highest bid. I believe that was what I paid. You had the choice to withdraw from the sale rather than sign the deeds over.’

  ‘I had no choice! I was desperate for funds and you knew it,’ Whittiker furiously hissed, sliding forwards on his seat. ‘I know where you get your hard-nosed ways. Like father, like son. The old viscount tried to lay his hands on what was rightfully mine before I even took my birthright.’

  Alex pushed back his chair and stood up with an air of tedium. ‘I think you need to have a talk with your attorney, before I have a talk with mine,’ he suggested dulcetly. ‘Ask the fellow to explain the rudiments of business to you.’ Alex strolled to his mantelpiece and negligently propped an elbow on marble. ‘I—and my father before me—have done nothing wrong in offering to purchase land that abuts Blackthorne Hall. Your father refused to sell to mine, as was his right. But you agreed to sell to me. Now, if there’s nothing else to discuss...’

  Whittiker sprang upright, his veneer of composure crumbling away. Just being in the presence of this powerful man could intimidate him, making him lose the nerve to immediately threaten to expose Elise Dewey as a disgraceful wanton. But he was determined not to leave empty-handed. ‘Oh...there’s something else to discuss,’ he uttered in a poisonous whisper.

  ‘And will you ever tell me what it is?’ Alex prompted drily.

  Whittiker licked his lips. He didn’t relish what he was about to do because he knew there was a risk it might backfire. Lily was an inconsequential witness to the tryst. But James didn’t think Lily was being fanciful—he had seen the way this man looked at Elise and singled her out. He believed the seduction had taken place at Vauxhall. Whittiker was banking on the viscount not wanting the young lady’s reputation sullied and thus paying him an additional sum to seal his lips. James would enjoy seeing Blackthorne squirm and dance to his tune. If the young lady were compromised, her future was ruined beyond repair...unless the viscount did the decent thing and proposed. Inwardly James guffawed at the idea. Blackthorne’s sense of honour would never extend to taking a country miss to wife when aristocrats’ daughters were vying to receive him to add a vast dowry to his bank balance.

  ‘What is it you wanted to discuss, Whittiker?’ Alex demanded exceedingly quietly.

  James sensed a dangerous atmosphere fomenting and it occurred to him that the viscount had guessed what he was about to say. Perhaps Alex had recognised Lily in the park and had been expecting a visit from him. He stroked his chin, adopting an air of regret as he said, ‘It is a very sensitive matter that you won’t want aired in public.’

  Alex leaned back against the fireplace, his impatience intentionally apparent as he crossed his arms over a white linen shirt that displayed the muscular breadth of his shoulders.

  ‘Miss Elise Dewey will not like it to become common knowledge that a friend of mine spotted her alone with you in the bushes at Vauxhall.’

  ‘Are you threatening to make such an accusation?’ Alex’s expression and stance hadn’t altered an iota.

  ‘I will if I need to,’ Whittiker returned in a rush. ‘And I’ll name my witness. On the other hand, if you pay me...’ He shot back a step and blinked nervously as the viscount suddenly moved from the mantelpiece to pick up the decanter.

  Alex refilled his empty tumbler and sipped, remaining silent and inhospitable as he stoppered the bottle without offering his guest a drink.

  ‘You might deny it ever happened to protect her, but Miss Dewey seems an honest chit and I imagine will tell the truth under questioning.’ Whittiker wished that the viscount would look at him or answer him. The lengthening silence was more unnerving than a bawled denial or counter-threat.

  Suddenly Alex lifted his head and James could feel hard despising eyes boring into him.

  ‘I imagine you’ve prepared well for the consequences of trying to blackmail me. Have you?’ Alex asked quite mildly.

  ‘The consequences need only be a banker’s draft for three thousand pounds. And I’m willing to give you a week to consider.’ James edged towards the door, feeling it wise to retreat before the simmering rage he could sense heating the atmosphere became explosive. ‘It’s not as though you can’t afford it,’ he added sourly before slipping out into the corridor and hurrying towards the vestibule. He was smiling—but not as firmly as he’d expected to when he’d passed in the opposite direction a short while ago.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Isn’t that Alex Blackthorne’s phaeton?’

  ‘I believe it is,’ Dolly Pearson replied. ‘And look who is sitting beside him.’

  Raising her lorgnette, Edith Vickers studied the splendid carriage’s passengers more closely. ‘It’s not surprising he’s smitten. Celia Chase is a lovely lady, isn’t she?’

  Dolly disdainfully eyed the flimsy muslin garment clothing the young woman. ‘Pretty?’ she sniffed. ‘Maybe... Lady? I doubt it...’ Her muttering tailed off and she smiled brightly on noticing one of her nieces had turned away from the disp
lay of fabrics cramming a shop window.

  ‘We have noticed that the viscount is out and about today.’ Edith Vickers helpfully pointed out the sleek vehicle, oblivious to Dolly’s frown.

  ‘So he is,’ Elise breathed. She stared at the high-flyer drawn by two elegant greys. Even had she not overheard her aunt name the viscount’s companion she would have guessed that he was taking his mistress for a drive. The woman looked to be about her own age and devoted to him. Celia had a possessive hand on his sleeve while gazing up at him with an intimate smile.

  He, on the other hand, was watching her, Elise realised as she glanced at his face to see if he was mirroring his mistress’s ardour. She pivoted away, hating the fact that he’d caught her gawping at the two of them.

  ‘Shall we move along and investigate other shops?’ Elise beckoned to Bea, indicating that they were ready to walk on.

  The sisters had barely set foot on Regent Street before bumping into their aunt and Mrs Vickers, who’d also been of a mind to get outdoors for a constitutional before the weather again turned to showers. The two older women had seemed eager to join them and Elise had welcomed their company. Bea had barely surfaced from her fit of the glums during the cab journey to the centre of town. As they’d all slowly promenaded among the crowds, stopping to peruse the shop displays, her sister’s spirits had seemed to improve.

  Elise took a surreptitious peek from beneath the brim of her bonnet, noticing that the phaeton was on its way again having escaped the knot of vehicles that had brought the traffic to a temporary standstill. An odd tension curdled her stomach as she watched the couple disappear into the distance and a lump formed in her throat. She gulped in a breath, inwardly scolding herself. Just because he’d once kissed and caressed her, making her, idiotically, feel overwhelmed didn’t mean he was special to her any more than she was to him. He was just a man who happened to be a practised philanderer and was friendly with the gentleman her sister wanted to marry. The sight of him with his mistress should not have affected her at all for it was none of her business what he did. She realised the sooner places were booked on the mail coach for her and her sister to travel home, the better it would be for everyone.

  ‘You two young ladies are very welcome to stay with me in Hammersmith, you know,’ Aunt Dolly said, as though she’d read her younger niece’s thoughts. ‘It is good of the Chapmans to put you up, but if you’d like a change for a little while...’

  Elise guessed Dolly was hinting she was aware how costly visitors could be if they outstayed their welcome.

  ‘We have decided it is time to go home,’ Elise informed her lightly.

  ‘Go home?’ Dolly and Edith parroted in unison, peering at the two young ladies. They both knew how well the Dewey sisters were doing socially. Since their arrival they had propelled the Chapman family from the fringes of society close to its core.

  ‘But you are having such a wonderful time and are very popular, too,’ Dolly burbled. She’d enjoyed basking in reflected glory while her brother’s girls had Viscount Blackthorne’s attention. Had that infernal brunette not been with him, making things awkward, she was certain his lordship would have stopped to speak to them moments ago.

  Elise gave a neutral smile. The time to return home had been reached not just because they risked becoming a burden on the Chapmans and were reluctant to decamp to their aunt’s frugal hospitality; their lack of appropriate attire had been noticed. Only yesterday when at an afternoon musicale in a neighbour’s house Elise had heard some young ladies commenting on their oft worn dresses when she’d been entering the withdrawing room. Bea had not been with her and Elise had been thankful for it. Had her sister heard the spiteful comment she might have burst into tears given her current mood. Elise had simply given a warning cough before coming fully into view of the room’s occupants, examining their reflections in the pier glass. Thankfully the gossip had quietened, but she’d noticed some very pink cheeks before the three young ladies hurriedly dispersed.

  ‘I have enough money left to buy some ribbon before we leave.’ Bea was gazing longingly at a reel of sea-green velvet.

  ‘It will probably cost less if you buy some in the market when we arrive home,’ Elise remarked, ever practical.

  ‘I shall never find such a wonderful colour as that out in the sticks,’ Bea moaned, but she turned away from the drapery’s entrance, prepared to walk on.

  ‘Oh...why not buy it then?’ Elise encouraged with a smile, drawing Beatrice back to the window by linking their arms. Her sister needed something to cheer her up and spending a few extra pennies on a final luxury might do the trick.

  ‘I like those gloves,’ Edith said, pointing at grey elbow-length satin reposing next to the shimmering spools of ribbon.

  The matrons proceeded inside, Elise and Beatrice following behind.

  ‘Please come outside and talk.’

  Elise spun around at that clipped order to find Alex quite close, his angular features severely set making him look startlingly cruel. Her face drained of colour; she had almost forgotten about him while trying to decide which buttons to purchase for a winter coat in need of repair. Her sister and their two older companions were still fingering lace and ribbon at a different counter and had not yet seen him.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot,’ Elise replied coolly. ‘I am with my sister and aunt.’ She tipped her head to where the ladies were congregated. Her aunt was the first to become aware of Viscount Blackthorne’s presence. Dolly gave him a beam, her chest expanding in pride as she glanced about to ensure his interest in her younger niece had been noted. She need not have worried on that score. Many gloved hands had been raised to shield whispered conversations.

  ‘It is important. I wouldn’t have entered this confounded shop else.’ Alex knew he’d sounded overbearing and raised his eyes heavenwards in mute apology. But he was exasperated at the way the whole day was turning out.

  Following Whittiker’s unexpected visit he had been in a black mood, but had set off to keep his promise to Celia. Yesterday she’d pleaded with him to drive her to an afternoon tea with friends. He rarely met her during daytime, but had agreed to the chore because the carriage he’d provided for her use had snapped an axle. He’d quickly dropped her off and had returned to Regent Street as soon as he could to locate Elise. It had been his intention to call on the Chapmans that day to speak to her privately. He knew that Whittiker was malicious enough to spread gossip whether he agreed to pay him off or not. Plans needed to quickly be put in place to avert a disaster because Alex wasn’t prepared to bow to blackmail.

  ‘Are you alone?’ Elise’s thoughts had spontaneously leapt to Celia Chase in case she was somewhere close by, watching them.

  A grunt of mirthless laughter was his response. Alex dragged her nearest hand to his arm and held it there. Furiously Elise allowed herself to be escorted towards the exit. She had no intention of drawing more eyes to them by engaging in an unseemly tussle. She went quietly, until late afternoon sun touched her face, then immediately jerked her hand from beneath his fingers.

  ‘How dare you act so high and mighty!’ she hissed.

  ‘When you hear what I have to say I’ll warrant you’ll be glad I did,’ he returned through his teeth. ‘The sooner this is dealt with the better.’ Taking her elbow, he propelled her towards his empty phaeton parked some distance away.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Elise declared, thinking he might force her into it.

  ‘I’m not expecting you to,’ Alex replied with the weary patience one might reserve for an annoying child. ‘The crowd is thinner close to the road. If you simply make it appear we’re having a pleasant chat while I say what I must, that should suffice.’

  ‘There is no need for you to explain a solitary thing. My aunt and Mrs Vickers hinted at your companion’s identity when you passed by.’ She turned from him. ‘So there is no need
to feel under any obligation to elaborate.’

  Alex neatly caught her wrist, tugging her back towards him. ‘Why would I feel obliged to mention my mistress or anything else which is none of your concern?’

  Beneath his dulcet sarcasm Elise felt her face suffuse with heat. She had acted like a jealous rival for his affections rather than a casual acquaintance.

  Discreetly Alex brought her closer, his fingers moving soothingly before reluctantly dropping away. ‘Our meeting at Vauxhall didn’t go unobserved as we’d hoped.’ It was a bald statement, devoid of any attempt to soften the blow.

  Elise stared at him, frowning, and it was a moment or two before the full significance of what he’d said sunk in. Her complexion turned chalky and she steadied herself against the bottle-green coachwork of his carriage. ‘Somebody saw us together in that dark walkway?’ she whispered.

  ‘A friend of James Whittiker’s witnessed us departing the scene.’ An acerbic smile tilted a corner of his mouth. ‘Whittiker was good enough to come and tell me that earlier today.’

  Elise’s face lowered and a hand spanned her brow as she strove to bring order to her spinning thoughts. ‘He has known all this time? Why did he not warn you sooner?’ Elise raised wide eyes to his.

  ‘Whittiker’s motives aren’t philanthropic, Elise,’ Alex explained gently. ‘Quite the reverse. He has only just found out about it and came to see me to crow.’

  Her wide tawny eyes searched his face, but there was nothing to reassure her that the situation wasn’t as dreadful as she feared it to be. ‘You believe he would relish a scandal? But why would he be so mean?’ Elise had allowed her voice to rise and swept a look about to ensure she hadn’t drawn attention. Thankfully the noise and bustle of Regent Street had buffered her hysteria. Most people were happily going about their own business.