by Cheryl Holt
“I stumbled on them long before I ever met you. You’re not entitled to assert any ownership.”
“Who did you take them from?”
“A gem merchant was smuggling them into the country from a mine in Africa. He was trying to cheat his business associates, but mostly, I took them from my partner.”
“Really? Since I am now your partner, that news makes me wary.”
“You shouldn’t be. You’re much too savvy to ever be tricked. He was incredibly honest and ethical, so he never saw it coming.”
“Who was the dunce you deceived?”
“A fellow named John Dunn. He didn’t realize it was a con until it was much too late.”
“John Dunn,” she mused. “If he ever waltzes in at one of our parties, I’ll be sure to run him off so he doesn’t catch a glimpse of you.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Do you suppose he’s still angry?”
“He’ll be angry until he draws his last breath.”
She pushed off the bed and went over to the window to stare across Denby Park. He observed her cautiously, nervously, horrified over what insane idea she might propose next. He was constantly astounded by how her mind worked.
When they’d fled Gibraltar, he’d blithely accompanied her to England so they could reside at Denby Manor. It was exactly the type of brazen scheme he relished, but it was to have been for a short interval. They’d planned to skip in, pilfer what they could, then vanish again. Yet she was content to linger, which was deranged, but he couldn’t talk her out of it.
After his successful hoax in Gibraltar, his own confidence was soaring. He felt like a god, as if no one could touch him, as if no one could prevent him from committing any act. He’d assumed—with her by his side—he’d fly even higher.
But she was willing to implement strategies that were downright scary, their current occupying of her brother’s mansion being the most outrageous she could have devised.
“Won’t your brother have discovered we’re here by now?” he inquired. “I’d hate to walk into the breakfast parlor some morning only to have him stomp in and ask why I’m there too. I’d rather disappear so I never have to explain myself to him.”
“Don’t worry about James,” she insisted. “He’s on his way to India. It will be years before he can be contacted. We’ll be long gone by then.”
They’d opened the manor with no difficulty at all. Brinley had drafted a few fake letters that she’d claimed were from James. On people’s perusing them, they hadn’t been questioned.
She was such a terrific actress she’d persuaded everyone that Captain Hastings had sent her to Denby to get the ball rolling, that he was leaving the army and would arrive soon to be in charge. That story hadn’t been questioned either.
In the meantime, they were buying furniture, paintings, jewels, and clothes, and even an expensive carriage. They were borrowing like fiends, with merchants delighted to extend credit to the new earl.
They’d been hosting huge parties too, inviting wealthy guests from London so Brinley could steal the women’s jewelry, while Holden cheated the men at cards.
He couldn’t guess what would happen to Captain Hastings when it collapsed—would he be liable for their debts?—but Holden didn’t intend to stay to learn the answer.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she murmured, suddenly seeming much younger than she was, as if the girl she might have been was poking through on the edges.
“I’ve seen better, especially my villa in Gibraltar. I loved that place.”
“Don’t be churlish.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’re just upset because I found your diamonds. I didn’t take any of them.”
“How long will we tarry at Denby?”
“Not long.”
“You’re getting too reckless. It’s making you careless.”
“I’m never careless,” she boasted.
“What if your brother didn’t sail to India? What if someone writes to him, and he comes to stop us?”
“If he heard I was at Denby, he wouldn’t believe it, and there’s no information he could receive about me that could convince him to scurry to England.”
“You should hope not. If he shows up to wring your neck, I won’t hang around to save you.”
“You fret too much.”
“And you don’t fret nearly enough,” he said.
“Are you wishing we hadn’t joined forces, Conte Corpetto?”
“Not yet, but we should be preparing to disappear. The important part of running a swindle is to end it while you’re still on top.”
“We have some distance to go before we’ve taken all we can.”
“You should never be too greedy. It will be your ruin.”
“I’m not too greedy,” she claimed. “I’m just greedy enough.”
“Your lack of concern will be your undoing someday.”
“Maybe, but it hasn’t been so far. I like being an earl’s rich, pretty sister, and I’m not ready to quit being her.”
She sauntered out, and he watched her depart. Gradually, the silence settled, but the sense of drama didn’t. Wherever she went, she left such an impression of chaos and calamity. Would he dawdle and be swept into it?
No. Their association had to be severed.
He enjoyed having his head attached to his shoulders, and he wasn’t about to lose it for her. She had a peculiar fascination with Denby that he didn’t share. It was clear she was putting down roots, so she’d be caught sooner or later. Probably sooner.
When that transpired, he would be miles down the road—and a completely different person. The trick was to sneak away without her noticing. She had a temper, and she didn’t like to be thwarted, so she might respond to a desertion in any perilous fashion. He had no doubt she could murder a man without blinking. If she didn’t want him to leave her, who could predict how she might lash out?
Yes, it was time to bury poor Conte Corpetto. He’d been a good friend who’d helped Holden accrue a small fortune, but his usefulness was at an end. As was Holden’s affiliation with Brinley Hastings.
He had to flit off when she wasn’t paying attention, and it had to occur as fast as he could manage it. He had to start making plans.
* * * *
Peyton Prescott, Earl of Benton, entered Benton Manor. The butler greeted him and mentioned that the mail had arrived and was on his desk in the library. He marched to the room to riffle through it.
He’d been up early and had gone riding long before breakfast, so he was starving. Jo would be in the dining room waiting for him. Or she might not be. Their son was keeping her up at night.
She hadn’t been born into the aristocracy, so she didn’t countenance the noblewoman’s brand of parenting. She was nursing the child herself, and she refused to hand him over to a nanny, so she was often exhausted from tending him herself.
Any other female would have been haggard and depleted by her routine, but motherhood agreed with her, and she was beautiful as ever.
He peeked at the stack of correspondence, being overwhelmed—as always—by how much business he was expected to conduct. From age sixteen, he’d been a tough, active sailor who’d traveled the Seven Seas, who’d fought pirates and bandits, but his accident the prior year had forced him to retire and become a gentleman farmer.
It was infuriating and embarrassing. Then again, if he hadn’t gotten hurt and resigned from the navy, he wouldn’t have had this lovely chance to wallow at home with Jo, his son, and his three nieces who lived with him.
He was now a dedicated family man, a situation he’d never suspected he’d enjoy, but that he enjoyed very, very much.
Tucked in with the bills and official documents, he stumbled on a personal letter. As he realized the identity of the sender, he blanched with surprise and plopped down in his chair behind the desk.
It was from Evan’s sister, Amelia, and as he broke the seal, he was tr
embling. Had something terrible happened to Evan? He couldn’t think of any other reason she’d have contacted him.
He’d constantly hoped he would hear from Amelia again, just as he’d hoped he’d eventually hear from Evan. Evan was the only true friend Peyton had ever had, but he and Jo hadn’t treated Evan very well, and they’d parted on bad terms.
When he read what Amelia had penned, he was so astonished he nearly slid to the floor in a stunned heap. He perused her words over and over, letting them sink in, then he leapt up and raced to the dining room.
Jo was there, eating breakfast, and she was fresh and gorgeous as ever.
“Good morning, my dear husband.” She smiled up at him from her seat at the table. “I’m glad you’re here safe and sound.”
She was always a tad alarmed when he trotted off on a horse. His accident had occurred when his mount had fallen off a bridge—with Peyton on its back. Jo occasionally suggested he not ride anymore, but a man couldn’t give it up. It was impossible.
“How are you feeling?” he inquired.
“I’m always wonderful. You know that.”
He poured himself a cup of tea, then kissed her and sat down next to her.
“You won’t believe what I just discovered,” he said.
She studied him, then frowned. “From your expression, it must be horrid.”
“No, no, it’s actually perfect.”
She laid a palm on his wrist. “What is it?”
“Amelia wrote to me.”
Jo gasped. “Is she all right? Is Evan?”
“Yes, yes, they’re fine. They want to visit us.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Jo was as shocked as he’d been. “What brought this about?”
“Evan was wounded in a pirate raid, and he had to muster out of the navy too.”
“Oh, no.”
“And…he’s getting married!”
Jo gasped again. “You’re joking!”
“They’re eager for me to meet his fiancée.” Peyton was so bewildered he couldn’t think straight. “What should I do?”
“What should you do? You daft man! As you are clueless, you’ll let me handle it. I am Countess in this family. I shall reply to Amelia and invite them.”
Peyton and Evan had quarreled so viciously, and Evan had been so angry. Peyton had been grieving their separation ever since. Jo kept insisting they’d reconcile someday, but as the months had slowly passed, Peyton had stopped counting on it.
“I’m so excited about this,” he said. “When should they come? I don’t want any delay.”
“How about in two weeks? Winnie and John will be here, with Bobby and Jane.” Winnie and John were new friends, Bobby a nephew and Jane another niece. “We’ll have a houseful, and we can make a party of it.”
“What if it’s awkward?” he asked. “Maybe we should host them alone.”
Jo looked at him as if he were a dunce. “It won’t be awkward, Peyton. I promise.”
She stood and started out, and he asked, “Where are you going?”
“To write to Amelia. Then I need to begin planning for their arrival.” They both sighed with contentment, and Jo murmured, “I told you he wouldn’t be furious forever. I told you he’d forgive you.”
“I hate it when you’re always right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Peyton wasn’t home when Evan arrived. They’d pulled in much earlier than expected, and he’d been off dealing with a tenant’s emergency. Evan couldn’t determine if he was glad to have had a reprieve before they came face to face again or if he wished he’d gotten the bloody encounter over immediately.
He’d already spoken to Jo who was the most gracious person in the world. Their conversation had been easy, their apologies genuine and effortlessly voiced.
He’d once tried to rescue her from scandal and disgrace by marrying her, but she’d always been destined to be Peyton’s wife. Not Evan’s.
She’d understood, as Evan had not, that she belonged with Peyton. She’d left Evan abruptly, cruelly, in the middle of their wedding, and Evan had wanted to hate her for it. For a time, he’d convinced himself that he did, but the rage had rapidly faded.
He’d simply ended up exhausted over how everything had been destroyed. His and Amelia’s relationship with Peyton had been ruined. Their affection for Jo had been shattered.
Yet they’d staggered on to perfect conclusions. Peyton and Jo were happily wed, with an heir in the cradle, and Evan and Victoria would be wed shortly. Only Amelia was floundering with no good resolution.
He was out on the rear verandah, the women and children inside, chatting, catching up, and dressing for supper. It was late afternoon, the autumn sun sinking in the west, and he was enjoying the solitude, the golden colors of the park, and the lavender of the sky.
“Evan!” Peyton called softly from behind him.
Evan sighed, letting the sound of his old friend’s voice wash over the wounds they’d inflicted on each other. He spun slowly, prolonging the moment.
“Hello, Peyton, you pompous ass. How are you?”
Peyton was over in the doorway, studying Evan, assessing the sling on his arm, the sewn sleeve that concealed the spot where his hand used to be. There was a quick flash of pity, but it was swiftly masked, and Evan knew he’d never witness it again.
Any sailor was aware of the dangers posed by the sea. Peyton had had fourteen years of rollicking adventure, service, and fun, and Evan had had fifteen. They would always count themselves fortunate in their choices and chances.
Finally, Peyton walked over to where Evan was leaned on the balustrade. It had been over a year since Peyton had injured himself, and he was still limping.
“We’re like a pair of elderly codgers,” Evan said as he approached. “Clearly, our bodies have failed us.”
“Every morning before I open my eyes, I pause to tell myself it was all a bad dream, that I’m really in my bunk on our ship. But then I look around, and I have to accept that my condition is real and I’m not the man I once was.”
“I feel exactly the same.”
“They took your hand.”
“Yes. It was infected, and I was out of my mind with fever and too delirious to insist they couldn’t have it.”
“My accident forced me to become a gentleman farmer. What will you be now?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“How about this? You could move to Benton and be my estate agent. What would you think of that? We could be together again.”
It was a lovely suggestion—and an ideal one too. They’d always worked side by side. They’d always been partners, chums, best friends. They complimented each other’s strengths and countered each other’s weaknesses. Why wouldn’t he pick that life again?
He wondered what Victoria’s opinion would be if he asked her to live in the country at Benton. Could she picture herself with a husband who was employed and earning a salary? She was such a kind person. He suspected she’d agree to try whatever he requested she try.
“I’ll definitely consider it,” he said, “if you’re actually sincere.”
“I’m sincere, you oaf. Would I offer you a job if I didn’t want you around and underfoot?”
“I missed you,” Evan abruptly announced, “and I’m so sorry.”
“I missed you too, and why would you be sorry?”
“Last fall, you were hurt and grieving, and I was so horrid to you.”
Peyton grinned. “Yes, but I got even. I stole your bride away when you were standing at the altar. I’m not sorry for that.”
Peyton stepped in and wrapped Evan in the tightest hug ever, as behind them, someone came outside. He glanced over to see it was Jo, and she was carrying the baby.
As she handed him to Peyton, she said to Evan, “Peyton has some news to share with you.”
Peyton scowled at her. “You didn’t tell him?”
�
��I thought you should,” she said, and she went back into the manor.
“This is my son.” Peyton tugged on the blanket to reveal the boy’s pleasing face.
No doubt he’d grow to be a dashing scoundrel who would charm every girl he met. He gazed steadily at Evan—as if they were old friends too.
“He looks just like Jo,” Evan teased, “and not like you in the slightest. He’s lucky.”
“Yes, he is. I am lucky too.”
“What did you name him?” Evan asked. “Jo was very mysterious about it.”
“I named him after you.”
Evan wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly. “What?”
“I named him Evan.”
With profound awe, Evan stared at his namesake, then he peered up at Peyton. “All these months, I believed you hated me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How could I hate you? You’re the other half of me—and you always have been.”
Peyton slid the child into Evan’s waiting arm. Evan sank into a chair and burst into tears he couldn’t tamp down.
* * * *
Amelia was in a rear parlor, concealed by the drapes and peeking out the window at Evan and Peyton who were talking on the verandah. Evan was holding the baby, and he’d collapsed onto a chair. The moment was so emotional that he was crying, and it was a shocking sight.
In all the years she’d known her brother, she’d never seen him cry, not even on the morning when the naval officer had visited to inform them that their father had died at sea. It was such a benefit to have Peyton standing at Evan’s side again, and Evan would need him now more than ever.
Jo blustered in, and Amelia lurched from her hiding spot, not eager to be observed as she spied on the lord of the manor.
“How’s it going out there?” Jo inquired. “They haven’t killed each other, have they?”
“No. They’re getting along smashingly.”
“Just like old times?”
“Yes. It seems as if not a day has passed since they quarreled.”
“I’m so relieved about this,” Jo said. “When you wrote to us, I nearly fainted.”
