“I told you—she revealed everything to me.”
Reassured, Edwin went on. “My damned fool of a brother actually thought he could bully me, too. Said we had to let the elopement go on, or the family would be shamed. He even tried to weasel out of his own responsibility for the situation. He claimed he’d had no idea about Ruston’s intentions when inviting the man to Stoke Towers.”
“But you didn’t believe him.”
“Certainly not. The very fact that Samuel was arranging transportation for an elopement instead of coming to me to consult about the situation showed he was part of it.”
“So how did you put an end to it without involving Yvette?”
He clenched his hands at his sides. “I called his bluff. I told him I wasn’t letting her go anywhere with that arse. And if Samuel didn’t fix the problem, I’d tell Father my suspicions about his part in it. Since Father had already threatened to cut Samuel off entirely if the idiot took another wrong step, I gave Samuel a choice—regain Yvette’s garter and silence the footman, or lose everything.”
“And he agreed to set matters straight.”
“Oh, yes. He knew I was as good as my word. Once he’d done his part, I called Ruston in and informed him that my friends on the Navy Board would be appalled to learn that a naval officer was attempting to elope with a respectable female against her family’s wishes. I told him I could have him cashiered and make sure he never worked again.”
Jeremy blinked. “Remind me never to get on your bad side. You have connections I had no idea about.”
“I may have slightly exaggerated,” Blakeborough admitted with a smug smile. “But Ruston couldn’t know that. And in the process of defending himself, he blamed everything on Samuel. Said that Samuel had promised to encourage the match if Ruston promised to be generous to Samuel with Yvette’s money.”
“Did you believe Ruston?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“You truly think Samuel tried to sell her to his friend for a piece of the profits.” Jeremy gritted his teeth. “I hate this ass more and more by the day.”
“Which one?”
“Both, to be honest.”
Blakeborough nodded grimly. “I blame myself for Samuel’s behavior. I knew he was in debt to a number of fellows in the prizefighting set. I should have seen the signs, should have realized he was desperate.”
“How could you? Sometimes people can be very good at hiding what’s in their hearts.” He should know. “Besides, it was your father’s responsibility.”
“Of course.” As if realizing he’d already revealed more than he wished, he pasted a cool expression to his face. “If Father had been here, I’m sure he would have acted. And he did cut Samuel off eventually.”
“You could have told Yvette about Samuel’s perfidy then.”
A scowl knit Blakeborough’s brow. “You’ve heard how she talks about herself. If she’d known her own brother had sold her to his friend, all it would have done was make her feel even worse about her ability to attract men. At least after it was over, she was able to believe that the courtship part was real, even if the end result was bad.”
“Sadly, even that was denied her. She found out later that Ruston was a fortune hunter and put two and two together.”
The earl blinked. “She did? How?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you can’t protect her from everything. She hears gossip like anyone else.”
Blakeborough dropped into a chair. “She never said anything.”
“Of course not. She was embarrassed and humiliated. And she didn’t know that you knew. She wanted to preserve her pride.”
He nodded absently. “That was another reason I didn’t reveal my part in it. So that she could preserve her pride.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. Thanks to Blakeborough’s careful consideration of her feelings, she’d risked her reputation to find Samuel’s son. Perhaps he should tell the earl about that.
And have Blakeborough find out that Jeremy had been squiring her about town to brothels? That would hardly help the situation.
“You still haven’t answered my offer of marriage,” Jeremy said bluntly. He had to get over that hurdle first. Then he could persuade Yvette.
“Do you love her?” Blakeborough asked.
Thunderation, leave it to the earl to ask the one question he’d been dreading. He’d planned on lying, but faced with the man’s somber expression, he couldn’t. Because he knew it would get back to Yvette, and it would give her hope for things he couldn’t give her.
When Jeremy didn’t answer right away, Blakeborough added, “Look, I am the last person to say that marriage requires love. I’m not even sure I believe in the word—I rather suspect that it’s nothing more than a sly term for good old-fashioned lust. But I know my sister. And she expects to have some semblance of . . . whatever it is.”
“And I can give her that,” Jeremy said, relieved by Blakeborough’s practical approach. “Because I do feel a deep affection for her, I assure you. As long as that’s enough—”
A knock came at the study door, and Jeremy tensed.
“Excuse me a moment,” the earl murmured, then called out, “Come in.”
A footman entered. “My lord, there’s a woman here to see Mr. Keane.” The servant’s posture was rigid, and he wouldn’t look at Jeremy. “She claims that she’s his sister.”
Amanda was here? Oh, God, just what he didn’t need. Time had run out.
And why had the servant said that she’d claimed to be his sister?
Oh, right. Except for her blue eyes she looked nothing like Jeremy, who was the spitting image of their father. Amanda looked like their Irish mother, short and small, with a head of auburn hair and a dusting of freckles over her lightly tanned skin. No doubt the fellow thought Amanda was his mistress.
Of all the times for his sister to show up, why must it be now? The last thing he needed was Amanda reminding Yvette of all his shortcomings. Perhaps if he could whisk her away before Yvette awoke—
“Thank you,” Jeremy said to the footman, and headed for the door. “Is my mother with her?”
The footman’s expression faltered as he realized he’d stepped wrong. “Er . . . no. Miss Keane has come from town with a man who claims . . . who is another relation of yours. A Mr. Bonnaud?”
Oh, damn. Bonnaud was here, too. And that could mean only one thing—he’d learned something about Samuel’s by-blow. Otherwise, he would have waited until he saw Jeremy in London again to speak to him about it.
All the more reason to get to his relations before they got to Yvette. “Blakeborough, if you don’t mind . . .”
“No, of course not. I confess I’m rather eager to meet this ladder-climbing sister of yours.”
God help him. Jeremy hurried into the hall. At least he could count on Bonnaud to be discreet in front of the earl. He wasn’t so sure about Amanda.
“Jeremy!” she cried as he entered the foyer.
“It’s good to have you here,” he said as he bent to receive her kiss.
Despite the complications she presented, he was genuinely glad to see his little sister. It had been far too long. Which was why he pretended not to notice that she wore a typically unfashionable gray wool dress.
“Why didn’t Mother come with you?” he asked. When it dawned on him that their trip might not have gone well, his stomach flipped over. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”
“She has a cold and is exhausted from the trip, which is why we left her with Lady Zoe. Not that you care.” Amanda sniffed as she removed her antiquated bonnet and handed it to the footman. “We haven’t heard a word from you in months.”
He relaxed. If Mother had been seriously unwell, Amanda wouldn’t be chiding him. She’d be braining him with the nearest fire poker.
“Yes, I’ve been such a bad boy,” he teased
her. “Traveling about and seeing the world and behaving as if I were a grown man. Fancy that.” He turned to Bonnaud. “Good to see you, too, sir.”
They shook hands, Bonnaud gazing at him with a meaningful look. But before Jeremy could figure out how to get the man alone, Blakeborough cleared his throat.
“Ah, yes,” Jeremy said. “Lord Blakeborough, may I present my sister, Miss Amanda Keane. Amanda, this is my friend, the Earl of Blakeborough.”
“Friend?” Amanda looked the earl over skeptically. “I thought he commissioned a portrait from you. That’s what Mr. Bonnaud said.”
Blakeborough blinked at her forthright words. “I . . . er . . . did indeed commission a portrait from your brother, but we’ve become friends in the meantime, haven’t we, Keane?”
“I hope so.” Because that would make the man more likely to accept Jeremy’s suit. Which he still hadn’t done.
“In fact,” Blakeborough added, “Keane and I are starting a gentlemen’s club together.”
“I thought you were returning to America any day now, Keane,” Bonnaud said warily.
“He is,” Amanda put in.
Assaulted from all sides, Jeremy stifled a groan.
The earl smoothly said, “I believe that my friend’s plans aren’t entirely settled. Eh, Keane?”
“Not entirely, no,” Jeremy said noncommittally.
“Well, regardless, I need to speak to you alone.” Bonnaud turned to the earl. “Is there a place where Keane and I can be private, my lord?”
“You may use my study,” Blakeborough said, though his eyes burned with curiosity. He smiled at Amanda. “Miss Keane, I’m sure you’re famished after your journey. I was just going in to breakfast myself, so if you’d care to join me . . .”
“I’d be honored, sir.” With a thin smile, Amanda took the arm he offered.
As she left, she cast a glance back at Jeremy. He knew that glance. It said, You’re in big trouble, mister. And handing me off to a handsome earl is not going to get you out of it.
One crisis at a time.
He gestured down the hall. “Shall we, Bonnaud?”
“Certainly.”
If Yvette slept as late as she usually did, perhaps he could settle everything before she even arose. Otherwise, between his irate sister, Samuel’s missing son, and an offer of marriage that still hadn’t been made properly, this had the potential to turn into quite the Shakespearean drama.
Twenty-Two
Yvette awakened slowly, deliciously. She’d been having the most extraordinary dream. Jeremy had been lying naked between her legs, doing exquisitely shameless things to her that made her feel like a woman. His woman. Even now, thinking about it, her legs fell open—
She froze. She was sore. As if . . . as if . . .
Heavenly day! She sat bolt upright as she remembered it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a fantasy or a hope that she one day might experience the melting joys of marital bliss. She’d experienced them. Or at least some of them.
More memories surfaced, and she remembered why she’d fallen into Jeremy’s arms with no restraint.
Flying from her bed, she hastened to the window to see if his equipage still sat out front. Not that its absence would tell her much—she wouldn’t know whether that meant he’d left or if his curricle was safely stowed in the carriage house.
But looking out, she found a different carriage entirely in the drive. It wasn’t Jeremy’s or Warren’s or anyone’s that she recognized. It had a crest, but try as she might, she couldn’t make it out from here.
She rang for her maid, then began her ablutions. Within moments, the girl rushed inside as if she’d merely been awaiting the call. “Oh, milady, thank heaven you’re awake! You’ll never guess what’s going on.”
Her heart faltered. He was leaving after all. But in a different carriage? That made no sense.
“Mr. Keane’s sister has arrived. Did you know he had a sister?”
“Yes,” she said, with a sinking in her stomach. A sister who meant to carry him back to America. Curse it all!
Rushing to her bureau, she jerked out her corset and petticoat. “We have to hurry,” she told her maid, who was already rushing over to help her into her undergarments. “He can’t leave before I talk to him.”
“Yes, milady.”
It took far too long to get her laced up, and the whole time it was being done, she was barking orders. “I need my best silk stockings. And the simplest coiffeur you can manage. And for a gown . . .” She paused to think.
“The white day dress with the pink flowers?” her maid supplied helpfully.
“No, definitely not the white. His sister is supposed to be quite the energetic sort, so something more sporting. My red redingote dress with the purple sash.”
Today of all days, she mustn’t look insipid. She had to convince Jeremy to stay in England, at least long enough for her to . . . to . . .
To what?
As her maid helped her into her clothes, Yvette tried to think. She hadn’t accepted his offer last night, and honestly, she wasn’t sure he’d even meant it. He might turn out to be like plenty of other men who bedded a woman and ran. If so, then keeping him here was pointless.
And if he renewed his attentions? Offered her marriage again?
Her heart pounded at the very thought. It would mean he hadn’t just been spouting nonsense last night.
Still, she didn’t want to marry him if he was only offering out of a sense of duty. He’d done that before and it had ended badly. But neither could she bear the idea of his leaving her here to live without him.
As a hollow feeling of panic rose in her chest, she blinked back tears. He couldn’t leave. He mustn’t!
You’re in love with him, you fool.
“God strike me blind!” Yvette swore.
“Excuse me, milady?” her maid squeaked.
Heavens, she shouldn’t have said it aloud. What was wrong with her? “Forgive me. I was just trying out one of the new oaths for my dictionary.”
Her maid said nothing, and Yvette ignored her scandalized silence. Meanwhile, ten other street oaths played a refrain through Yvette’s head.
She was in love with him. How on earth had she done that?
By watching him struggle with his guilt over the deaths of his wife and son. By glimpsing the man beneath the mask, and realizing he was a man she could care for deeply. A man she could love.
That was why she couldn’t stand the idea of his leaving. Because deep down, she hoped that if he stayed, she could persuade him to be in love with her, too.
She winced. Of course that never worked. One fell in love or one did not. One was never persuaded into it by another person.
“Milady?” her maid asked, dragging her from her thoughts.
She glanced around to see the servant offering her a choice of shoes. “The ones with the purple embroidery. And I’ve changed my mind about my hair. Just tie a ribbon about it and leave it at that.”
“Milady, you’re a grown woman!” her maid said, scandalized yet again. “Do you want to shock his family?”
“Oh, all right, but make it quick.” At the moment, his family was lucky she wasn’t going down in her night rail and wrapper.
When her maid was finally done, Yvette forced herself to descend the stairs with some decorum. But her composure faltered when she reached the foyer to find no one was there.
Hearing sounds from the breakfast room, she went there first. As she entered, she spotted Edwin at his usual spot at the table. He wore a forced smile as he spoke to the diminutive woman seated next to him, who looked like a sprite from the forest. Or from Ireland, given her red hair.
It had to be Miss Keane. Despite the woman’s entirely different coloring and size, she had Jeremy’s gorgeous blue eyes. And there was something in her smile that reminded Yvette of
him, even though Miss Keane’s fashion choices were utterly different.
Edwin rose. “Ah, there’s my sister now.”
As Yvette walked forward to greet them Edwin seemed to watch her with more intensity than usual, as if assessing her mood or something. It alarmed her exceedingly. Could he tell what she’d spent half her night doing? Did it show in her face? What if he knew? Oh, Lord!
Beside him, Miss Keane smiled affably. “So you’re the woman my brother has been painting.”
And swiving.
She swallowed hard. She had to get hold of herself, before she gave everything away. Edwin was now wearing his polite endurance-of-strangers face, and clearly he wouldn’t be wearing that if he suspected anything. He’d be wearing an I’m-going-to-kill-Keane face.
Yvette held out her hand to Jeremy’s sister. “Yes, I’m the subject of your brother’s latest portrait. We’re delighted to have you here. Mr. Keane has told us so much about you and your family.”
The woman’s smile faltered as she took Yvette’s hand and released it. “Has he? I do hope it wasn’t all bad.”
“No, not bad at all.” Yvette flashed the woman a reassuring look, though he really hadn’t said much about his sister. She sifted through their conversations to find something complimentary. “He told me you’re very capable of taking care of yourself.”
“That sounds like something he’d say. It’s his way of rationalizing the fact that he refuses to come home to Montague and help me with the mills.”
Because his wife and child died at Montague.
Yvette bit back the words, though the sudden realization settled hard in her chest. Time to change the subject. “So when was the last time you saw him?”
“The week he set sail for England, earlier this year. He met me and Mama for the day in Philadelphia, as he often does.” Miss Keane sighed. “That’s when he told us he was making this trip. He said he’d be gone a few months . . . but . . .” She forced a game smile that barely masked the worry in her eyes. “A few months turned into eight. As he likes to say, he blows with the wind.”
The Art of Sinning Page 23
