Shuffling forward while leaning heavily on his cane, Morrow stopped to squint down at Eustace through his metal-rimmed spectacles. “Damme,” he berated the culprit, “if I don’t send you to the gallows any way I can, Dancy!” His gaze lifted as he glanced up at other men in the room. “I’m Squire Henry Morrow. I was magistrate here in Tunbridge Wells some years ago.”
About then the front door to Grafton’s office burst open. In its forefront stood Magistrate Powell Thurston followed by several enforcement men. The invading group halted in the doorway to the rear office. Squire Morrow still glared down at Dancy who was grumbling complaints. One of the Inn’s hostlers sharply warned Eustace to keep quiet.
“What’s going on here, Grafton?” Thurston inquired, walking farther into the office, his eyes focused on the lawyer pointing a long-barreled pistol at a man sprawled on the floor. “I was told some garbled story by one of the Inn’s hostlers. What crime has that fellow on the floor committed?”
Squire Morrow was the first to speak. “Ye wants to know what that blackguard did?” His expression convulsed with heated exasperation. “Look here, my good man, I’m Henry Morrow. I was former magistrate here. And that bloody scoundrel lying on the floor pushed into my house uninvited hours ago. Then he threatened me, tied me up, and emptied my strongbox into his pockets! Go ahead, search him. The blunt should still be there. He scampered off with everything in the strongbox and drove away!”
Thurston nodded to one of his men. “Search the man’s pockets.”
Eustace complained noisily, squirming away from the magistrate’s officer until a strong hand grabbed him by the neck and squeezed. That shut him up rather quickly.
“Right ye are, Magistrate Thurston,” the fellow said, holding up several thick wads of English script. He loosened a hold on Eustace’s neck, and Dancy flopped back against the floor, still sputtering that he was innocent of any wrongdoing.
“Besides that, sirrah, that scapegrace kidnapped—” Morrow hesitated, shook his head, and then decided to explain. “He abducted m-my granddaughter and her maid!” Morrow raised his cane at Eustace. “What have you done with them, Dancy? I don’t see them here.”
“None o’ yer damned business, old man,” Eustace snapped back at the Squire. His lips tightened into an evil sneer. “Ye cain’t throw me in gaol without reason! I brung the gel here to get what is due us!” Dancy’s angry retort swung back to the Squire. “And I’ll see ye in hell, old man, see if I don’t!”
Grafton jumped in. “Thurston! There are several eye-witnesses with knowledge that the culprit threatened his ward with a knife. He also tried to force me to hand the girl’s inheritance over to him!”
“Who bloodied him?” Thurston asked, ignoring both men’s accusations for the time being.
“Earl Leathem of Four Towers in Wrotham,” Grafton replied, quickly supplying the answer. “He is acquainted with both Squire Morrow and Miss Emily Dancy. When this scoundrel grabbed the girl and held a knife to her throat, that’s when the earl subdued him. I dare say Lord Leathem is rather handy with his fists.”
“Umm…well, then I shall oblige you, Squire Morrow, and you, as well, Grafton.” The magistrate turned calmly to his officers. “Gentlemen, it seems we have a dangerous criminal here.” He nodded briskly to his minions. “Get him up.” Thurston’s order was spoken quietly without anger or harsh words. “We’ll question him later. Take him with you and escort him to the gaol now. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say.” Tunbridge Wells’ stern-faced magistrate frowned down at Eustace. “If he gives you any trouble, men, you know what to do.”
With that, Thurston nodded to the other men in Grafton’s office, turned, and strode out through the building’s front entrance. The beefy officers half carried, half dragged a stumbling Eustace Dancy a short distance to Tunbridge Wells’ gaol and tossed him into a cell.
* * * *
Gavin had escorted Emily and Betsy to the upper floor of the Fallen Virgin Inn, pausing with them in front of the doors to their adjoining rooms.
“I’ll help you inside, Miss Emily,” Betsy offered.
“No need, Betsy. I feel a little shaky, but I’ll be fine. You suffered a horrid trauma yourself because of my uncle, so we both can use some time alone to calm down.” Emily forced a smile to her lips. “Take a catnap before supper, Betsy, and I will do so, too. We’ll both feel better afterward because of what we’ve been through.”
“Are you sure, Miss Emily? I’ll be glad to help you.”
“No, I’ll be all right.” Emily nodded. “Go. Lie down and rest.”
“Aye, I will then,” her maid replied and pushed open the door to her room and went inside.
Emily glanced up at the earl who stared down at her intently.
“Lord Leathem…?”
“May I step inside with you out of the hallway for a moment, Emily?”
Emily exhaled, weariness tugging hard at her after today’s harrowing events. But the earl had saved her from her uncle’s mauling, so it was only right she take time to speak with him.
“As you wish.” She preceded Gavin inside and turned to face him as the door’s latch snapped behind him. “My lord—”
“Allow me to say something first, Emily. It will only take a moment.”
Hearing her given name on his lips again sent warm quivers spiraling along her spine. She should be used to hearing it by now, but she wasn’t—not really. The warmth in his deep voice made her feel…safe. This handsome, English earl, wealthy and worldly, had been more than kind and generous to her. And when she needed him, he had saved her from her uncle’s abuse. Leathem turned out to be the perfect hero.
Nevertheless, it was imperative that she confess the truth to him. Not later, but now, because of what she learned about her parents’ and her own disgrace. She could no longer consider his marriage bargain.
Emily’s knees felt weak. She prayed they wouldn’t give way under her. She edged backward toward the bed and sat down on the mattress. Salty tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She braced her hands behind her. She had felt almost comfortable in the Inn, but her nerves now twitched across her skin. She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, and glanced up at the earl. He stood quietly before her. He had removed his top hat and dropped it with his gloves and riding crop on a chair.
She hadn’t yet removed her bonnet. Still discombobulated by what occurred in Grafton’s office, Emily now noticed the earl’s bruised and bleeding knuckles. She recalled him lunging at Eustace, punching him with bare fists to save her from being slashed. Oh, the earl fought for her so marvelously! She gasped in spite of herself at what emotions now overtook her. A large, painful knot squeezed Emily’s insides. Yes, the earl was almost forty, but she never thought of him as being old. Today he looked exceptionally virile and masculine.
She thought more about the earl as deeper feelings for him grew. They became more complex, even muddled. And she did think about him. Often. Things she learned about him gained a new appreciation for him. She was definitely attracted to him. How could she not be after talking with Willy and what her life with the earl might entail. She had all but made up her mind to wed him—crossing her fingers that their marriage would be a happy bargain for both of them, one that neither would regret.
Today, however, everything had changed.
Blindly, Emily reached out and grabbed one of the earl’s battered hands. She looked down blurry-eyed at his scraped and bloodied knuckles. “Gracious, m’lord, look at your poor hands,” she whispered as a teardrop squeezed from a corner of one eye and dribbled down a cheek. Tenderly cradling one of his hands in hers, feeling the warmth and masculine strength inherent in it, did strange things to Emily’s heartbeat. More than compassion laced through her. The earl still stared down at her when her eyes flew up to meet his. “I-I can’t ever thank you,” she murmured, her voice low when she hesitated. “I-I believe my uncle would have hurt me. He is quite capable of harming peo
ple without worrying about any remorse. I thought him despicable—nasty and uncouth—when I met him years ago. I never truly believed he was part of our family. I know he hates me. Perhaps, he knew how I felt about him, and that is the reason.” Emily sighed. “But I can only guess.” Then she slowly carried Gavin’s bloody and bruised knuckles to her mouth, brushing over them lightly with her lips.
“Emily, stop, you need not—” Gavin almost choked on his words when her soft, warm lips touched his bare skin. Stepping back, he bent quickly, their hands still linked, and gently pressed his lips on her forehead.
She blinked.
Gavin eased his wounded hand out of Emily’s grasp. Staring into her eyes, he whispered, “Emily, it’s not your pity I want, dear girl.” He rubbed a blunt fingertip across her salty cheek, dislodging a tear and bringing the damp tip to his lips. A powerful jolt of tenderness rolled through Leathem. How young, how compassionate, and yet vulnerable, she is. She was half his age, but it didn’t matter to him. Perhaps, hopefully not to her either. When Eustace grabbed Emily and held a knife to her throat, pluckiness was a damned brave thing for a girl her age to do. He was so proud of her. She behaved with outstanding courage, and scarcely winced when the sharp blade pricked her skin.
He didn’t want her blaming herself for his bruised hands. An electric charge of male possessiveness, combined with lightning anger, had leapt through him like an enraged lion when Eustace held her so roughly, pressing the blade against her throat. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the bastard to pound him to a bloody pulp after he terrorized his ward.
A gasp escaped Emily’s lips.
Gavin asked, “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but her gaze remained glued to his hands.
“Emily, you look as pale as a ghost. I’ll summon a physician…”
“Oh, no, don’t, your lordship. I-I’ll be fine. A brief rest will do it for me.”
“You must be quite overset. And why wouldn’t you be? Anyone would be in a tizzy after what your uncle put you through. Why won’t you let me summon a physician? Perhaps, he can give you something to chase away your nervousness.”
“No doctor, please. I beg you!”
Gavin drew in an exasperated breath. “I should not listen to you…but…all right. Again, I shall do as you wish.”
The late afternoon sun breached the window in Emily’s bedchamber, painting odd shadows on the room’s walls. Gavin said seriously, “There is one thing I can promise you, and is that you will no longer need fear of your uncle. I’ll see to it that he is jailed, hung, or transported to one of England’s penal colonies. You will never see him again.”
The atmosphere in Emily’s room pulsed with unexplored emotions. Both occupants were aware of new things happening between them, but neither knew exactly what. Unspoken thoughts, aided by highly charged emotions, hovered on the air. Emily was reminded again of the promise she made to the earl a few nights earlier. It was only fair she tell him now what she discovered about her unsavory birthright.
“Trust me, Emily,” Gavin was saying. “I want you to think again about our bargain.” His words hovered between them as Gavin reached for his hat, gloves and crop, and turned to leave. He was halfway to the door when Emily called him back.
“Lord Leathem, wait!” She took one small step toward him. “I-I must to tell you something that is rather urgent. Something I forgot to tell you.”
Emily wiped a few more tears from her damp cheeks with shaking fingers. Untying the ribbons on her bonnet, she finally removed it as she stared down at the ruined feathers.
How can I tell the earl that I’m a bastard? That my parents were never married?
Gavin returned to stand before her.
Emily laid the bonnet aside.
Leathem still had his top hat tucked beneath one arm of his badly torn riding coat; his gaze focused on Emily’s worried countenance. “What is it, my dear? What else has that scoundrel done to you that I haven’t been made aware of?”
“Please, my lord, do sit down,” Emily said. She gestured to the only cushioned chair in her room. “I must…well, I wish…to tell you something important…something you need to know right now.”
“You seem jumpy. Maybe it should wait—”
“No, it can’t wait.” Emily pressed her lips together firmly. “I must tell you now!” Emily spoke without considering the bluntness of her words. “I’m a bastard, my lord…”
“Wh-at!” Gavin’s eyebrows all but met his hairline when he heard what she said. The silence between them lengthened until he began to chuckle, from deep in his chest. “Good grief, girl, you don’t know what you’re saying. I understand how overset you must be…”
Quickly, Emily stopped him, raising a hand. “Please, listen to me, m’lord. Then you’ll understand.”
“But—”
“My parents were never wed.”
Another momentary silence stretched between them. Emily ducked her head in shame, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
Gavin laughed more like a relative when the unexpected confession tumbled from her lips and she hung her head. He waited for her to go on, unsure how to respond.
Emily blinked several times then inhaled, unable to meet his eyes. Words clogged her throat. She coughed nervously, and forced herself to continue. “My parents never spoke marriage vows in a church. Their nuptials were never registered—”
“Hold on just a moment!” Gavin spoke quickly, squelching the words from Emily’s lips. He quickly squatted down in front of her, dropping whatever he held in his hands, and took hers into his. When she would not meet his gaze, he prompted, “Who told you that nonsense?”
Eyes downcast, Emily just shook her head.
“Out with it, Emily. Tell me. I wish to know,” Gavin prodded sternly, squeezing her fingers. “Tell me who told you that falsehood.”
Emily raised her chin up finally, her tear-washed, crystalline orbs avoiding his penetrating gaze. “E-Eustace. Who else?” She exhaled out with a whoosh of breath. “He knows all about my family. My relatives. That’s why he went to Lesser Bodem to see Squire Morrow and—”
Gavin interrupted her. “When did he tell you this bit of erroneous misinformation, Emily?”
“While we were on our way to Mr. Grafton’s office.” Her face squished into a painful grimace. She looked ready to weep more. “H-He said I was b-born on the wrong side of the b-blanket. And I was a-a…”
Gavin quickly interrupted her, hard pressed to suppress a smile. He heard cant language, of course, but he rarely heard it in any conversations with females.
“I see.” His lips twitched. “And you believed him?”
“Well…yes, why wouldn’t I?” She sniffled, looking up at him. “I was shocked, but I couldn’t argue. He knew my history better than I did.” She swallowed some of her earlier embarrassment.
Gavin’s bruised fingers clasped Emily’s hands tightly. “Even knowing the bast—err…hasn’t your uncle always lied to you? Knowing he’d fabricate slanderous lies as a means to deny you your inheritance? Nevertheless—you believed him?”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t have, I suppose, but…”
“There are lies aplenty and more half-truths in this world, my dear, beginning with those you heard from Eustace Dancy,” Leathem declared. “So I may as well confess something, too.” He smiled at her. “I never told you why I was in Tunbridge Wells.”
He saw questions lurking in Emily’s eyes, but she blinked and shook them away
“I’ll tell you why I came here. For the same reasons you did. To discover what I could about your family. Do you remember that I said I may be able to locate your relatives?”
Emily straightened her shoulders, her next response more incisive. “I told you most everything when you hired me, m’lord.” She paused. “I didn’t lie, but I said only what I believed was necessary for you to know at the time.”
“And I took you at your word.
But even then, your story puzzled me. I suspected there was more, a whole lot more, and I wanted to know everything. I still don’t know all of it, do I? That’s why I’m going back to Lesser Bodem to talk with Squire Morrow tomorrow.” Gavin squeezed Emily’s fingers again before saying, “Perhaps, we should make the trip together. We both have questions. Am I correct?” When Gavin smiled, Emily dipped her chin, nodding. “And, I believe there are some answers due from Percy Grafton before we are done. About your grandmother.”
“My lord, didn’t you hear what I said—”
“First, stop ‘my lording’ me again. My name is Gavin. Use it when we are alone. And I shall call you Emily, so get used to it.”
The curt words squelched Emily’s protest.
He still wants to consider our marriage bargain. Oh my!
Emily was speechless.
Gavin rose and tugged Emily up to him, face to face. Letting go of her hands, he cupped her cheek gently with a bruised hand. “Dry your tears, Emily,” he whispered, leaning close, his dark eyes peering into hers. “Things shall go the way they should if only you will trust me.” Gavin knew he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Mortal danger now attacked him after those two long decades without a spouse. Magic sparked between them, flames that could ignite quickly if only he’d let them. A single word could topple him head first—not into lust—that he felt already—but into love with Lilianne’s young governess.
Emily entertained hope after listening to Leathem’s explanation. Eustace could have lied to her. Possibly, she wasn’t a bastard after all. And just maybe, her parents were married. She never asked either one about their courtship…or when and where they were wed. Her mother never talked about it, and Emily believed it was none of her business. But she hoped in her heart that what Eustace told her was not true, that his words were a pack of lies he had made up to intimidate her.
“We shall solve this mystery to your satisfaction and mine tomorrow, Emily. But I must leave you now. Rest until we meet in the morning.”
The Marriage Bargain Page 21
