A Perfect Secret (Rogue Hearts)

by Hatch, Donna

  “I do, indeed—a letter that my brother dictated on his deathbed. It only just arrived.” He withdrew a folded paper and waved it in front of them. “I must warn you however; it is much more damming than a mere gambling debt. This letter is very revealing about the part your father played in a mutiny.”

  Any other time, she would have been frightened of this stern man who watched her too closely, too hotly, but at the moment, her righteous anger overpowered her fear. Her face flushed in indignation at his horrible lies. “Impossible. Papa would never take part in a mutiny. He served king and country faithfully for many years.”

  She folded her arms, wishing she were taller and better able to look Papa’s accuser in the eye to prove he didn’t frighten her. Really, it was difficult to be impressive when one was barely five feet tall. But she made up for it with what she hoped would be a fearsome glare.

  With a measured smile, Wickburgh handed her the letter. “Read it for yourself. Quite a diverting tale.”

  She snatched the document from his hands and read, the blood draining out of her face. The letter did, indeed, narrate a convincing and condemning story about her father and his crew mutinying when he’d served as second lieutenant. Surely this mutiny story was a lie.

  She waved the letter in front of the viscount. “I don’t believe this. It can’t be true.”

  Wickburgh gestured to her father. “Ask him.”

  “That won’t be necessary. My father is a good man.”

  Wickburgh merely watched her with that hungry, possessive stare of his. Genevieve rubbed sweaty palms down her skirts. She glanced at Papa who had sunk into a chair with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped as if utterly defeated. For the first time, doubt crept in. A knot twisted in her stomach.

  “Papa?”

  Her father lowered his hands, staring at the floor. “It’s true.”

  Genevieve’s legs collapsed and she slumped into the nearest settee. This went beyond her imagination, so far outside of her safe and happy world that she couldn’t think of what to do.

  Her dear papa—the man who carried her on his back and romped with her in the fields of wildflowers, who taught her to read Latin and speak French and learn mathematics even though it was unpopular for girls to be so educated, who doted on Mama with the care of a nurse—how could he have committed such a terrible crime? There had to be some mistake, some other explanation.

  She tried to speak but her voice came out in a whisper. “No. It can’t be true.”

  Papa glanced at Lord Wickburgh briefly. “The crew vowed to remain silent. All the others kept their vow.”

  “You see?” Wickburgh said, unperturbed at the implication that his brother had failed to keep his vow of silence. “Guilty.”

  Once again, she stared at her father, willing him to deny it.

  He finally met her gaze. “I did it to save my crew. I felt I had no choice.”

  Genevieve’s heart thudded. She stared, open mouthed. It was true, then? Mutiny? Papa lowered his gaze and bowed his head. She put her hand over her eyes. How could such a horrible thing have happened? There would be no mercy from the admiralty. They’d see him hanged or transported to someplace awful like Australia. Dear, dear Papa! Such a good and gentle man didn’t deserve such a fate. Clearly there was more to this story than either of them revealed.

  “I’m home, dear.” Mama’s sweet voice drifted in from the foyer.

  Mama! Genevieve bolted out of her seat. If this story reached the admiralty, Mama would suffer. As the relations of a mutineer, she and Mama would be outcasts. Their property would be seized by the crown and they’d be left destitute. Mama’s heart would never survive the strain. The trauma would kill her.

  Genevieve’s hands shook. What to do? How could she protect her family?

  “One moment, my love,” Papa called out. He cast a desperate look at Wickburgh. “We must resume this discussion at another time.”

  Wickburgh’s mouth twisted into a combination smile and sneer as he looked over Genevieve like a prized mare. “This can be easily solved. You see, I don’t really want money. What I want is….” He leered at her… “your daughter.”

  Genevieve’s heart thudded. “What?”

  Wickburgh smiled. “No, no, not to worry. I’m not asking you to be my mistress; I’m making you an honorable offer of marriage.”

  Marriage? To that terrifying man?

  Papa sputtered. “No! I refuse to give you permission to marry my daughter.”

  “That is my price for silence. She marries me, and your secret is safe.”

  Genevieve’s throat squeezed shut. She looked down at the letter in her hand. With a burst of energy, she bolted out of her chair and raced to the fireplace. But it was dark and cold. She could not simply burn the evidence.

  Wickburgh laughed and snatched the letter from her hands. “No, none of that.”

  Papa’s eyes flicked to the desk where he kept a gun. Surely he wasn’t considering shooting Wickburgh.

  Papa’s voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. “You will never have my daughter.”

  “I will, or I’ll report your crime and you’ll face execution. Most inconvenient for your wife and daughter, I imagine.”

  Genevieve opened her mouth but couldn’t utter a word.

  Papa put his arm around her. “She won’t agree to it; she has an understanding with another man.”

  “Ah, yes, the Amesbury whelp. I’m confident she’ll break the engagement, won’t you my dear?” Wickburgh’s cold smile chilled her.

  Finally finding her voice, she let out a strangled, “No.”

  Lord Wickburgh’s voice cut through her like a blade. “Marry me, and your father’s secret will remain safe. He and your mother will be well. You will be married to a viscount which will give you a title. And I have you. We all win.”

  How could she save her family? There had to be another way than marrying him. She raised her head. “I’ll give you my dowry—it’s thirty thousand pounds. I’m sure my intended will agree to give it to you as soon as it’s released to him.”

  “He’d be mad to give up that much blunt. Besides, do you really want one more person to know of your father’s disgrace?”

  She opened her mouth to vow Christian would understand, but her breath caught. Christian was everything good and true and honorable. He came from one of the most respected families in the realm. Would he’d be horrified? No, surely not. He’d understand. He loved her.

  And yet, doubt whispered that he’d turn away if he learned of their family shame. She was already reaching above herself by wishing to marry the son of an earl, and a man of such impeccable character. If she came to him sullied by her father’s crimes, she’d be even less worthy of him. She’d never really been worthy of him. Loving him—and being loved by the man of her dreams in turn—had been like holding onto the tale of a comet, heavenly and too perfect to be real. Because of her father’s crime, she was now completely unworthy of Christian Amesbury. And if the truth ever surfaced, the Amesbury family would be smeared by association.

  Wickburgh waved that maddening walking stick. “And as I’ve said; money is irrelevant. I must have you for my wife. There is no other solution.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I could never love a man like you.”

  Wickburgh waved away her words, that cold smile affixed to his mouth. “Love is for dreamers and romantics. I don’t require your heart.”

  “Why, then? Pray, why do you wish to marry me?”

  A sliver of confusion narrowed his eyes. “I’m not entirely sure why, but I find my thoughts consumed with you. I’ve become most uncomfortably…obsessed.”

  Papa’s pallor turned gray. “No, Genevieve. I will find another way.”

  Wickburgh stood over her. “You have but two choices; marry me immediately, or watch your father face justice, along with all the consequences. I understand your dear Mama has a rather delicate constitution. Would you be the cause of her death?”

  H
er future crumbled. Light and color splintered and collapsed, leaving a world of gray shadows. She’d be married to a ruthless monster. A blackmailer. And dear, dear Christian. He was a man of deep emotion, great passion. He’d be heartbroken if she married another man without explanation.

  She had no choice. She was as trapped as a rabbit in a snare with a wolf closing in.

  “No.” Papa stood, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched at his sides. “I am finished with this. I will go to the admiralty, confess, and face justice.”

  Papa’s resolute courage inspired her to find her own courage. She could do this. She could save him and Mama.

  Genevieve raised her head and met Wickburgh’s gaze. “Do you swear that this will be the last demand you make upon my father for your silence?”

  Papa strode to her swiftly. “No, Jenny. You cannot place yourself in his hands. ”

  As the full consequences of his past sins boiled up inside her, she whirled to him and demanded, “What will happen to Mama if you face trial?”

  Papa blanched and took a step backward. “Why do you think I kept silent all these years? Do you think I want my crime to put her into an early grave?”

  “Then keep her safe.”

  “I will not let you sacrifice yourself.”

  She clutched at his hands. “Do not, I pray you, risk death or transportation. Mama needs you here, alive and well.”

  He shook his head. “I forbid you to do this.”

  Fury that his past had forced her into such a terrible quandary rose up and nearly strangled her. “I forbid you to do anything that will kill Mama,” she shot back.

  He staggered back under the force of her words.

  She turned to Wickburgh who watched the exchange in cold amusement. “Again I ask you; do you swear that this will be the last demand you make upon my father for your silence?”

  “Yes. I give you my word as a gentleman.”

  Finding strength in her decision, she stood. “Not acceptable. I will hold this letter in my hand while the ceremony takes place, and then I will burn it myself.”

  Wickburgh sputtered. “How dare you imply that my word isn’t good enough!”

  “You’re a blackmailer. I have no reason to trust your word.”

  His face darkened and his eyes narrowed into snake-like slits. He drew near enough to touch her and hissed in her ear, “I always keep my promise. You will soon learn that.” A smile grotesquely twisted his mouth. “I look forward to breaking that annoyingly willful spirit.”

  Cold fear bolted down her spine and chilled her blood. But she refused to reveal her fear. Instead, she stuck out her chin.

  Louder, he said, “Very well, you will hold the letter, and the moment the wedding is finalized, you may keep it or burn it or whatever you wish. I will say nothing of this to anyone. And you will be mine.”

  “Then we have an agreement.” Her heart shriveled.

  “Do not do this, daughter, I pray you,” Papa said.

  She stood resolute and spoke with a calm she didn’t feel. “You have taken care of me all my life. It’s time I take care of you and Mama.”

  His expression crumpled. Tears filled his eyes and he looked away, but his hand gripped hers. “You’ve always taken care of us, of the servants, the tenants ….” he smiled briefly, “every fallen sparrow. But this … I fear you will rue this day.”

  She feared the same, but this was her moment to take care of them in the best possible way. “If you and Mama are safe, it will be worth it.”

  The door opened all the way and Mama stepped in, removing her bonnet and gloves, her color better than Genevieve had seen in weeks. “I had the loveliest chat with—oh, forgive me, I didn’t realize you had company.” She smiled at Wickburgh and dropped into a curtsy. Several strands of Mama’s auburn hair the same shade as Genevieve’s had escaped her chignon. Ringlets framed her face, making her look years younger. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

  Wickburgh bowed. “Madam.”

  Genevieve squared her shoulders. She would do this. For Mama. “You aren’t interrupting, Mama. May I present Lord Wickburgh, my intended.”

  Mama’s smile faded and she blinked. “Pardon me?”

  Wickburgh donned a smooth smile and crossed the room to bow over Mama’s hand. Genevieve’s flesh turned cold at the sight of that creature touching her sweet mother. “I know this seems rather sudden, Mrs. Marshall, but your daughter has graciously agreed to be my bride, with Captain Marshall’s consent, of course.”

  Mama shot a bewildered look at Genevieve, no doubt wondering what had happened to the understanding with Christian.

  Steeling herself, Genevieve smiled and looked up adoringly at Wickburgh, praying it appeared genuine to Mama. “Lord Wickburgh has made me an offer I cannot refuse, Mama. I have agreed to wed him.”

  Mama opened her mouth and blinked. “I see.” She shot another inquiring look at Papa.

  He also had a carefully arranged expression as he nodded. “We are just finalizing the agreement. I’ll have my solicitor send the marriage settlement papers to you.”

  Wickburgh gestured to the door. “Come. We shall marry at once.”

  The blood rushed out of Genevieve’s face and she broke out into a cold sweat. “Now? But we need to have the banns read—”

  “I have a special license.” Wickburgh pulled a paper from his pocket and showed it to her.

  Papa took it from Wickburgh and read it. His jaw hardened and he nodded. “It’s genuine.” He met her gaze with tortured eyes. “Jenny … are you sure about this?”

  She kissed his cheek, although she couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “Yes, Papa.”

  He cleared his throat and pressed a kiss to her brow.

  Wickburgh made an impatient sound. “Come, come. The vicar is due to arrive at my house at precisely three o’clock, which is …” he took out his pocket watch and looked at it, “in less than an hour.”

  Heaven help her. She turned to Wickburgh and tried to look patient and reasonable when she really wanted to plot his demise. She folded together shaking hands. “I need time to pack my things.”

  He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Take only what you need for overnight. The rest can be sent later.”

  Overnight. She’d be spending the night with this man. As his wife. She swallowed hard to keep her stomach in place. But there was nothing to do but go through with it.

  Mama made a strangled noise. “This is very sudden, Jenny. Perhaps you ought to take more time to consider.” She drew Genevieve off to the side and lowered her voice. “Have you and Mr. Amesbury quarreled?”

  “No, Mama. I’ve simply decided that Mr. Amesbury is a nice boy, but I need a man, a strong man, with title and connections. And Lord Wickburgh and I are well suited. It’s all been decided. Why don’t you go lie down and rest? I’ll ring for your maid and order some tea brought up to you. Then I’ll change and prepare myself and we’ll all go to the wedding.” She put her arm around Mama and herded her out of the room.

  Outside the door, Mama turned to her and put an arm on her. “What is really going on? How could you have changed your mind so quickly? And marry today?”

  “No reason to wait when one knows one is making the right decision. And I’ve never wanted a grand wedding, so much work and such a fuss. It’s all arranged. All we need to do is arrive at the right place and at the right time. Oh, dear, I must hurry and pack.” Genevieve ushered her mother to her room, called for her mother’s maid and some tea, and escaped to her own room before her mother asked her more questions she couldn’t truthfully answer, not the least of which was why Genevieve was babbling.

  Inside her room, Genevieve drew a breath. After ringing for her lady’s maid to help her pack, she paused, holding a pen poised over paper. As the enormity of the situation rushed over her, she set down her head and wept hot tears of anger, sorrow, regret. Her future stretched out before her, a bleak, hopeless landscape without joy or love or Christian. She’d never again feel his
gentle hand on her cheek, his soft lips pressed against hers. She’d never again watch in speechless amazement as he painted a breathtaking work of art, or hear the passion with which he played the pianoforte. She’d never again hear the sound of his voice or see the tenderness in his beautiful crystal blue eyes.

  But she had to do this. She must.

  Pulling herself together, she took up pen and paper and wrote the cruelest letter of her life. To Christian. A letter designed to break his heart.

  CHAPTER 3

  Christian lowered his fencing blade and offered a hand to his opponent. “Good match.”

  His opponent grinned ruefully and shook his hand. “To you, as well. One of these days I’m going to best you.”

  “I look forward to a rematch.”

  Honestly, he’d rather fence against someone who provided true sport but Jared was off sailing the seven seas and Cole had taken his new bride to France for an extended honeymoon now that he’d stopped playing whatever game it was that he’d been playing with her. Christian would have to wait to prove to himself—and them—that he’d become an accomplished fencer, perhaps even surpassing their skills. Perhaps it was silly that he was still trying to prove himself. All of his brothers had left home to seek their own adventures and Christian had been left to take care of his parents, unable to prove anything to them. However, he’d vowed years ago to watch over home and hearth while his brothers had gone away to war and glory, a vow he’d worked hard to honor.

  Of course, now that he had Genevieve in his life, besting his brothers didn’t seem as important as it had. Neither did seeking adventure in parts unknown. Marrying her would launch him on the grandest and most meaningful adventure ever. Just the idea that someone loved him so much, flaws and all, was enough to make him want to thank God for his mercy. Perhaps he’d finally atoned for his role in Jason’s death, and for the way the family had broken.

  As Christian donned his waistcoat and frockcoat, he glanced at the clock. He still had time to bathe and change before paying a call upon Captain Marshall to ask for Genevieve’s hand in marriage. Surely if Captain Marshall found Christian unsuitable, he would have discouraged Christian during one of the many times he’d called upon Genevieve over the last few weeks since their courtship began.