For Love Alone

by Shirlee Busbee

  When she had arrived at Gatewood after Simon’s death, one of the first things she had done was to visit the family solicitor, Mister Thomas Brownell. He had been overjoyed to see her, his concern for the family obvious, and the news he gave her was disturbing indeed. Baron Scoville had no control or say in her affairs, but with her siblings it was an entirely different matter.

  Her father’s will clearly gave his brother-in-law a free hand and dangerous access to all of the family fortune. Fortunately, and it was the only good news she had received, a huge portion of the estate was entailed, which prevented Edward from selling their home out from under their feet, and the vast tracts of land that went with Gatewood. On the other hand, there was nothing to prevent him from bleeding the estate dry, as he was doing. The most Sophy could do was badger and cajole her uncle to do the right thing: renounce his rights and allow her to see to the care of her brother and sister and the stewardship of their remaining fortune.

  Gazing blankly at the opened book before her, Sophy snorted. He was certainly willing to allow her to care for Marcus and Phoebe. What he would not do was release control of the family fortune, or what remained of it.

  Rage surged through her when she thought of shifts she had been forced to undertake to keep Marcus and Phoebe in the manner which was their right. She had spent huge sums of her own money on Gatewood, trying to restore it to its previous grandeur. And, of course, since dear Uncle Edward was so wayward with paying the quarterly allowances which would have seen to all that, it was Sophy who frequently paid the day-to-day living expenses for her brother and sister.

  She glanced across at Phoebe’s bent golden head and thought of Marcus’s delight at being in London. She regretted none of it. She would do it all again in a flash, but she did resent her uncle’s blatant abuse of the trust her father had given him.

  She did not blame her father. There was no way he could have known he would die so unexpectedly, or that his wife would not live to see her children reach their majority. Sophy’s bottom lip drooped. Not that her mother would have been much of a brake on Edward’s spending habits, but as his sister, Jane certainly would have been able to exert more influence over him than a mere niece could.

  With a sigh, Sophy forced her thoughts in another direction. Dwelling on the perfidy of Baron Scoville’s actions only infuriated and depressed her. Determinedly burying her nose in the book before her, Sophy put all thoughts of her uncle from her mind, and she and Phoebe enjoyed their quiet evening together.

  Her sleep was not quite so tranquil—she dreamed again of Lord Harrington. Upon awakening she could not fully remember the details of the dream, only the memory of his green eyes, mocking and daring her. Cursing him roundly and herself as well—having lived with Simon, she knew an astonishing variety of oaths—Sophy faced the day wishing fervently that she could depart immediately for Gatewood and leave Lord Harrington and her uncle far behind.

  Grimly resolved to enjoy herself, Sophy promptly agreed the next day to an evening at Vauxhall in the company of Lord Coleman and Sir Alfred Caldwell, along with another couple, Mr. and Mrs. Randal Offington, neighbors from Cornwall who were visiting for a few weeks.

  The outing went well. The group enjoyed a fine meal in one of the supper boxes, watched the Cascade and fireworks, and listened to the fine voice of the well-known Mrs. Bland. The Offingtons, married only a year, were near to Sophy in age and were particular favorites of hers. She liked their easy company enormously.

  It had been decided to end the evening with a stroll along the tree-lined Grand Cross Walk, which traversed the gardens, and Sophy was relaxed and cheerful as she set out with her friends. Gaily lit lanterns marked the way, and Sophy was enjoying herself, occasionally stopping to talk or wave to a few people she had recently met in London. All in all the evening had been lovely, even if Lord Coleman and Sir Alfred persisted in paying court to her.

  The sight of a tall, commanding figure striding purposefully toward her was the first blight on the evening. It was bad enough, Sophy thought waspishly, that he boldly invaded her dreams—must he also show up in reality?

  Harrington was accompanied once again by Percival Forrest, and to Sophy’s dismay, they seemed perfectly happy to merge with her group once greetings and introductions were exchanged. She was not quite certain how he accomplished it, but in a matter of minutes, Lord Coleman and Sir Alfred had been displaced from her side, and it was Lord Harrington’s hand on her elbow politely guiding her down the graveled walkway.

  There was silence between them as they walked, although Sophy was dizzingly aware of him, the strength and size of him, and the seductive, almost caressing, warmth of his hand on her arm. She sought desperately for the light repartee that usually came so easily to her tongue, but her mind was blank. Utterly.

  Like a mechanical doll she walked with him, conscious only of the man beside her, the soft, night air, and the suddenly sinister forest crowding near. The rest of the group had disappeared, and Lord Harrington deftly turned her down the notorious Dark Walk.

  Outrage churning in her bosom, she stopped abruptly and glared at him. “I do not know quite what you think you are doing, but I demand that you return me to the others immediately!”

  Ives glanced down at her, seeing the angry flush on her cheeks and the molten gold of her eyes, and decided that temper became the lady. His lips curled briefly. And wouldn’t she just delight in separating his head from his shoulders if he dared to tell her so!

  “What are you smiling at?” Sophy demanded suspiciously, not at all pleased that her request seemed to amuse him.

  “Is one forbidden to smile in your company, Lady Marlowe?”

  “Of course not! You may smile all you wish,” Sophy replied grandly, “once you have returned me to my friends.”

  A gleam entered in his eyes. “And if I do not?”

  Sophy’s bosom swelled. “If you do not,” she said coolly, “I shall know you for a blackguard.” Her chin lifted. “And I do not acknowledge blackguards. Ever.”

  Ives laughed. “Dear Butterfly, is this how you keep such rogues as Coleman and Caldwell in line? By threatening to refuse to acknowledge them?”

  A blistering retort was on the tip of her tongue, when a fearful cry stilled it.

  “Oh, pray do not! I beg you. Oh, please let me go!”

  The voice was female, young, obviously terrified, and on the point of tears. Her infuriating companion forgotten, Sophy picked up her skirts and sprinted down the dark path in the direction of the voice.

  It had come from a secluded nook just a short distance from where she and Ives had been standing. As Sophy reached it, another cry came, even more frightened than the first. “Oh, sir, do not! Let me go!”

  Despite the shadows, Sophy took in the scene in an instant. Two people were seated on a rustic bench in the center of the nook. The girl, who had just cried out, was not more than fifteen. Her gown was ripped, baring one slim shoulder, and she was desperately struggling in the arms of a man—a man much larger than the small, slim figure which fought so vainly to be free.

  “You monster! Unhand her this moment!” Sophy snapped, her slender body braced for battle.

  Having come up behind her, Ives put his hands on her shoulders, and murmured. “Ah, I think I had better handle this, Lady Marlowe.”

  Sophy shot him a look. “Oh really? Is this not precisely what you planned with me?”

  Ives smiled down lazily at her. “I rather doubt it. If I were trying to seduce you, sweetheart, I would be getting far more cooperation than this clumsy fellow.”

  A bellow from the gentleman in the nook prevented Sophy from further speech. “Clumsy!” he roared, letting the terrified girl go and lurching to his feet. “By Satan’s balls! Who are you to speak so of me? And who, I might ask, are you to be meddling in another man’s affairs? I’ve a good mind to run you through.” He took an unsteady step forward, peering at Ives and Sophy. His gaze fastened on Sophy and he seemed to become even more enraged. �
�Damn it to hell! I might have known it would be you, Sophy, always ruining a fellow’s fun.”

  Seemingly oblivious to the drunken gentleman and the frightened girl, Ives cocked a brow at Sophy. “You know this, er, gentleman?”

  Sophy’s lip curled. Sending a scathing look at the gentleman in the nook, she said grimly, “Allow me, Lord Harrington, to introduce you to my dear uncle Edward, Baron Scoville. Since you both seem to have the same disgusting propensities, I am certain you will, no doubt, become fast friends!”

  Chapter Four

  Ives glanced thoughtfully at Edward, who stood there glaring balefully at them. The girl was sobbing quietly in the background, forgotten for the moment. Baron Scoville was elegantly attired, his intricately tied cravat gleamed whitely in the shadows and his dark blue coat fit him superbly. Despite the signs of dissipation and overindulgence beginning to blur his face and form, he was a handsome man. Ives could discern a slight resemblance to Sophy: the slender build, the golden hair and eyes. The similarity ended there.

  The lack of adequate light made it hard to see him fully, but Ives had seen and heard enough to know precisely the sort of man standing before him. Lord Scoville was obviously just the type of depraved bounder that most people of good breeding avoided like the plague. And he was the Butterfly’s uncle?

  Ives rubbed his jaw and looked down at Sophy. “Your uncle, you say?” And at Sophy’s curt nod, he added casually, “Pity.”

  Unaccountably his comment made her want to laugh, that and the offended expression on her uncle’s face. Stifling her amusement and ignoring both men, Sophy stepped around her uncle and sank down on the bench beside the girl. “Do not cry,” she said softly. “He cannot hurt you now. Come along with me, and I shall see that you are driven safely home.”

  “Now see here, Sophy,” Edward said, blustering, “this is none of your affair.”

  “That is not exactly true,” Ives said calmly. “Rescuing innocents from the grip of scoundrels is everyone’s affair.”

  Sophy gaped at him, her eyes round with astonishment. Lord Harrington was taking her side in this ugly situation?

  “By Jove!” Edward protested. “No one dares to call me a scoundrel!”

  “Perhaps not to your face,” Ives replied coolly. “But if I read this unpleasant little scene right, only a scoundrel would have attempted to force his attentions on a female this young. And only a double-damned scoundrel would have persisted with a female of any age when she had clearly made her wishes to the contrary known.”

  Edward’s face grew purple with rage and his entire body shook with fury. “By Satan’s balls! No one speaks to me in that fashion. Name your seconds!”

  Ives shook his head. “Not tonight. Tomorrow morning when you have had time to consider the situation and you are not so obviously foxed, if you feel the same, I shall be happy to oblige you. Until then, I suggest you take yourself off and allow your niece and me to escort the young lady to her home.”

  Sophy could hardly believe it when, a second later, Edward, glaring furiously at Ives, spun on his heel and staggered off down the path, muttering and swearing under his breath. He collided with a small group of people coming in the opposite direction and cursed them roundly before disappearing into the darkness.

  As the group approached, Sophy thankfully recognized the Offingtons and Forrest and her other companions. Stopping in the center of the path, Caldwell asked, “Wasn’t that Scoville?”

  Sophy made a face. “Yes, it was.”

  It was Sara Offington who first noticed the young girl clinging pathetically to Sophy. “Oh, and who is this charming child? A friend of yours?” she asked politely, pretending not to have had a very good idea of what had occurred. Sara’s tact and good sense was one of the reasons Sophy liked her so much.

  Looking down into the tear-drenched, pansy brown eyes of the girl before her, Sophy asked, “What is your name, dear?”

  “A-a-nne Richmond,” she stammered.

  “Not old ‘Lucky’ Richmond’s heiress?” gasped Lord Coleman.

  Shyly Anne nodded. “He was my father.”

  Silence descended. “Lucky” Richmond had been a legendary gamester a decade or so ago, a gentleman notorious for the vast sums he had lost gambling. The sobriquet “Lucky” had been given in jest of his phenomenally bad luck. He had swiftly gone through his own respectable fortune and, shortly thereafter, to no one’s very great surprise, had married the daughter of a wealthy merchant and retired to his country estate.

  Within ten months, Richmond’s wife had presented him with a child, dying not six months afterward. Left with a fortune and a baby daughter to raise, Richmond had promptly put his infant child in the care of a competent staff of servants and returned to his profligate ways.

  He happily spent his days and nights gambling and wagering unbelievable amounts on any type of contest that took his fancy. To everyone’s astonishment, including his own, he seemed unable to lose no matter how ridiculous the wager. He became “Lucky” Richmond in the truest sense of the word. When Richmond had died little more than a year ago, his sole heir had been the young girl sitting beside Sophy.

  In the dim light of the few lanterns, Sophy could see that Anne was an attractive child. Neatly formed, she had enormous speaking eyes that spoke volumes, a tip-tilted little nose, and masses of dusky ringlets. Sophy suspected, however, that Edward’s interest had been in Anne’s fortune as much as her physical beauty.

  Thinking about the unlikelihood of such an innocent being left alone in the company of a man with a reputation like Edward’s, Sophy frowned. Something was amiss here, and she intended to find out what it was. But not right now. Right now she needed to get Anne safely home.

  She was on the point of rising when Henry Dewhurst, his cousin Lord Grimshaw at his side, and Etienne Marquette following closely behind, wandered up. It must have been obvious that something had happened. His kind face full of concern, Dewhurst said, “Oh, I say, Lady Marlowe, is something amiss? May we be of service to you?”

  Sophy shook her golden head and murmured, “Thank you, no. Nothing of any import transpired. Just another one of my uncle’s little escapades.”

  “I thought I saw Scoville just a moment ago,” said Lord Grimshaw. “He did not look a bit pleased.” He gave an ugly bark of laughter. “But then he seldom looks pleased after crossing swords with you.”

  Etienne Marquette, his glossy black curls gleaming in the faint light, laughed. “It is common knowledge that la belle Marlowe is by far the better the swordsman. You should take pity on him, madame.”

  Sophy stiffened. “I will take pity on him,” she said in a hard little voice, “when he displays some pity for someone other than himself.”

  “Ah, madame,” Etienne sighed dramatically, “during all the years that I have known you, I have always thought that you were far too harsh on your poor oncle. He means no harm by his—what is it you English say—his pranks.”

  Grimshaw gave another bark of laughter. “Pranks! Indeed, yes! You are far too stuffy in your manner, gel,” he said with rude familiarity. “It is no wonder that you and Simon were such a poor match. He was full of ginger and beans, while you . . .”

  Watching intently from the sidelines, Ives decided that he did not like Lord Grimshaw very much. His manner toward Lady Marlowe bordered on the insulting, and his hard gray eyes and saturnine features were a definite hint that he was not a particularly pleasant fellow. Knowing that Grimshaw’s name was on the list of suspects and that he had been the instigator of the wager that led to his father’s death, Ives was aware of an instant antipathy rising within him. As for Etienne Marquette, Ives could not envision the willowy fop in front of him being the clever man the Fox was purported to be. But then appearances were deceiving.

  Ives shot Percival a look, and, correctly interpreting it, Percival stepped forward and said smoothly, “I do not believe that any of you have met Viscount Harrington or Lady Marlowe’s good friends, the Offingtons. Allow me to intr
oduce you.”

  Introductions were exchanged, and Ives continued to study the three newcomers. Henry Dewhurst was a slim, dandified gentleman, his affection and intimacy with Lady Marlowe obvious.

  Marquette appeared to share Dewhurst’s bent toward dandyism, his cravat so high and starched that he could hardly turn his head, and his lilac coat so tight Ives wondered in passing how he could move at all. Marquette was an attractive man, though, with liquid dark eyes and a light, pleasant manner.

  Lord Grimshaw was a different matter entirely. The expression on Lady Marlowe’s face as she looked at Grimshaw suddenly caught his attention and Ives’s gaze narrowed. It was apparent that Grimshaw was also well-known to her and not a particular favorite.

  He glanced consideringly at Coleman. His name was on the list, too, and again Lady Marlowe seemed to know him well. Ives’s mouth tightened. From what he had learned recently, none of the men suspected of being Le Renard were the type of gentlemen he would have associated with someone like Lady Marlowe.

  It had not taken his men very long to discover the reputations of the men on the list or to report that they were a trio of generally unsavory, nasty fellows. The lady, Ives thought sourly, seemed to have exceedingly poor taste in her companions. More of interest to him, however, was the fact that she appeared to be quite familiar with all three of the men suspected of being the Fox. Could it be mere coincidence?

  Aware of Anne’s increasing agitation and the curiosity of the others, Sophy stood up, and said forthrightly, “We have lingered here long enough. If you will excuse us?”

  Not waiting for a reply, she glanced down kindly at Anne, and murmured, “I think that your father’s luck must have been with you tonight when Lord Harrington and I came upon you. Now, if you like, I shall see that you reach home safely.”