A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Archie's expression of wounded outrage was comical, "It hurts me greatly that you would believe such a thing of me."

  "For that I'm sorry," she said blithely.

  He ground the heel of his hand against his chest.

  "A knife to the heart would be far more preferable to the pain you're inflicting upon me now."

  Staring at him, Laurel was at a loss for words, so she did the only thing that came naturally.

  She held her sides and laughed aloud at the absurdity of the man who very nearly became her husband. And then she thanked her lucky stars.

  * * *

  Lord Simmons strode toward the parlor door, determined to oust the bastard. The nerve of the man barging into their home without permission. Why, it positively enraged him.

  The last person his daughter needed to pester her was a greedy wretch like Devens. Why couldn't the man have had the good grace to stay gone for good? No, instead the blackguard came prancing around his daughter the minute he returned to England. Well, this time, Lord Simmons was having none of it.

  As he neared the parlor door, a sound captured his attention and brought his steps to a halt. Oh, dear God, it was the sound of Laurel's laughter. Laughter! Bloody hell, he'd rather hear her in tears than laughing with the wastrel.

  A horrible thought struck him. What if his daughter was in danger of falling under Devens' spell yet again? While it seemed unlikely that his practical child could ever be deceived twice, he had no idea what Laurel would do if she believed herself in love. What if she had convinced herself that she'd never truly gotten over Devens? Would she take the scoundrel back into her life and her heart?

  Slamming a fist into his hand, Lord Simmons decided he just could not stand back and watch his daughter flounder. No, he was going to have to take a more forceful stance and push Laurel in the right direction.

  Straight into the arms of Royce Van Cleef.

  His gentle nudges toward Van Cleef would now become full-fledged bumps until Laurel came to her senses and realized that Van Cleef was the perfect man for her.

  But for now, he needed to attend to the matter at hand.

  Thrusting open the parlor door, Lord Simmons strode in, only to see Devens on his knee in front of Laurel. With a strangled exclamation, Lord Simmons reached down and, grabbing hold of the back of Devens' jacket, hoisted the blackguard to his feet. "You, sir, are unwelcome in my home," Lord Simmons pronounced in a steely voice.

  "But—"

  "I do not wish for an explanation," he said, cutting off the younger man. "Now hie yourself off or I will be forced to call upon my footmen to accomplish the task."

  "Father—"

  "I'm sorry, Laurel, but this man has insulted this family enough for one lifetime. I will not afford him another opportunity."

  Tugging down on the ends of his cravat, Archie cleared his throat. "Ah … perhaps it is time for me to take my leave."

  "Past time, I'd say," Lord Simmons added.

  "Laurel," Archie murmured, bowing toward her. "My lord."

  Crossing his arms, Lord Simmons scowled at the preening dandy. "Begone."

  Following Devens into the foyer, Lord Simmons waited until the bugger left, then returned to Laurel. As she opened her mouth to offer an explanation, he held up both of his hands to stave it off. "I consider myself a fair and decent man, Laurel, but in this matter I will not budge. That man grievously harmed you, and therefore he is never welcome in this house again. Understood?"

  The wide-eyed gaze she turned upon him made Lord Simmons feel a twinge of guilt. He never dictated to his daughter, so he well understood her surprise. However, in this matter, he would not, could not, yield. "Do you understand?" he repeated firmly.

  Her eyes sparkled as if she held a secret, making Lord Simmons suspicious, but an instant later, she dropped her gaze and murmured, "Yes, Father."

  Snorting at the demure response that was so unlike his daughter, Lord Simmons nevertheless accepted her answer with a firm nod. "Very well, then. If you ever have a problem with that wastrel again, you let me know and I'll make certain he understands his status with this family."

  "I believe you made that quite clear already, Father," Laurel said, amusement brightening her voice.

  "True," he groused, "but with a man like that, I can't be certain if he'll heed my warning." Smoothing his hands down the front of his vest, Lord Simmons reassured his daughter. "If there is a next time, however, I will make the point a bit … clearer," he finished.

  Satisfaction filled him as he bid his daughter farewell and left her to her thoughts. Indeed, there were times when a man just had to get aggressive in order to get the job done.

  * * *

  Seething, Margaret stormed through the door of her townhouse, humiliated to the core. How dare he refuse her!

  "Mm, you're home, angel," her mother sang out from the front salon. "Where did you get off to?"

  "I went to see Lord Van Cleef, if you must know," she replied sourly, walking into the room.

  "By yourself?" Her mother's eyes widened.

  "Yes, by myself." Margaret said snidely as she flopped down into a chair. "I thought I was the woman he'd chosen to marry. In fact, I was positive of it."

  Lady St. John's eyes grew wider still.

  "Stop popping your eyes out at me like that, Mother. It's most unattractive."

  Blinking, Lady St. John adjusted her expression. "Sorry, dear, you simply caught me by surprise."

  "That's what Royce said as well." Margaret wasn't about to go into detail over her horrid set-down.

  While her mother's eyes flared once again at the use of Royce's Christian name, she didn't remark upon it. Instead, she murmured, "And I take it you were incorrect in your assumption that you were his intended bride."

  "Isn't that obvious, Mother?" Margaret asked in a huff. "Do you think I'd be this upset if everything went perfectly and I was now engaged to Royce?"

  Shaking her head, Lady St. John reached out to pat her daughter's knee. "There, there."

  "Don't try to placate me, Mother," Margaret ground out, feeling a sweep of white-hot fury. "I'm certainly not about to allow Royce Van Cleef to utterly humiliate me and walk away unscathed. Oh, no. I'll find a way to make him sorry for his carelessness with my emotions." Clenching her hands, she vowed, "And once I discover who he did choose for his bride, I'll make her wish she'd never caught any man's attention."

  "Oh, dear me," murmured Lady St. John, her hand fluttering against her chest.

  But Margaret paid her mother no mind, for she was far too busy planning her revenge.

  * * *

  "I appreciate you coming along with me, Laurel," Lord Simmons said, cupping his daughter's elbow as he escorted her into the stable area at Tattersalls. "You always have a fine eye for prime horseflesh."

  Laughing brightly, Laurel swatted lightly at her father. "Don't patronize me, Father. We both know I'm more likely to choose a horse for its fine color than for any other reason. You just wanted company and I was all there was available."

  "Even if that were true, what type of gentleman would I be if I admitted to it?" Winking at her, Lord Simmons released her hand. "Now if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll step into the back room and see how much the owner would like for the stallion."

  Laurel glanced into the stall, admiring the handsome black horse. Nodding in approval, she agreed with her father's choice. "His coat gleams so nicely and you'd look quite dashing atop him."

  Leaning closer to his daughter, he whispered. "I'll refrain from mentioning how dashing I'd look upon the stallion to the owner, because I'm certain that would drive the price up."

  "Get along with you," Laurel said with a laugh.

  Laurel watched her father disappear around the corner, them returned her attention to the stallion. As if her father truly needed her opinion on a horse, Laurel thought with an inward scoff. Ever since Archie's visit yesterday, her father had been hovering close to her. It was as if he were afraid that if he let
her out of his sight, she'd once again fall prey to Archie's charm.

  Oddly enough, she'd found Archie's charm tarnished and had easily seen beyond the phrases meant to delight her. Instead of finding him dashing, she'd found him, well, humorous. How could she have found anything attractive in a man who, after not seeing her for years, threw himself down on his knees before her and pledged his admiration? Utterly ridiculous.

  Still, her father's concern touched her deeply, and though she'd tried to reassure him that his worries were groundless, he'd continued to stay close by her side. Knowing time would ease his mind, she had indulged him, even to the point of accompanying him here.

  "I suppose if I assumed that smile was for me, I'd be incorrect, wouldn't I?" Royce's voice intruded on her thoughts.

  "Quite right," Laurel agreed, once she'd gotten over her surprise. "You have an uncanny knack, my lord, for turning up in at the wrong places."

  "Now that, my lovely Laurel, depends upon one's viewpoint." Strolling forward, Royce rested his arms on the door to the stallion's stall. "From where I'm standing, I'd say my timing is perfect."

  Laurel fought to keep from smiling. While Archie's flowery praise left her cold, Royce charmed her with only a few words … and that was saying a lot considering she knew exactly what he was up to.

  Which made him all the more dangerous to her peace of mind.

  "Whatever the case may be, I believe I shall go find my fath—"

  "Laurel, wait," Royce urged, holding out a hand. "Please."

  It was the please that reached her. Growing still, she looked at him. "Why?" she asked softly, not wanting to argue yet again. "We've already said everything that needs to be said."

  "No, I don't believe that's true." He speared her with his gaze. "Why don't we discuss the wager?"

  Gasping, Laurel was stunned by his question. "The wager?" she squeaked.

  He nodded firmly. "After I spoke with Harriet, I realized that she knew about the wager … and if she knew, then chances were good that you did as well."

  Laurel dropped all pretenses. "Now you know why I'm so determined to avoid you."

  "Because of the wager?"

  "Of course."

  Studying her for a long moment, he asked, "Why does that bother you so?"

  "I can't believe you even need to ask me that!"

  "While I can hazard a guess, I'd prefer if you'd enlighten me."

  Folding her arms across her chest, Laurel leaned back against the stall door. "I hardly wish to be involved with a man I can't trust."

  "You can trust me!" he protested immediately.

  "You've been dishonest with me from the very beginning, Royce, so why would I ever be so foolish as to trust you?"

  Royce rubbed his hands across his face. "That blasted wager," he muttered, before dropping his arms to the side. "Must it always be this way between us?"

  Though she wished she could answer differently, Laurel said softly, "Yes."

  He leaned closer. "What if we started over? What if we begin anew right here, right now?"

  Her heart leapt at the thought, but she squelched the spark of hope. "I don't see how that is possible. There can be no going back."

  "Then let's not go back; let's go forward." Leaning into her, Royce shifted closer. "The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you. Just give me a chance to prove that we are meant to be together."

  "I can't trust you," she whispered with a shake of her head. "You're far too much like Archie."

  His head jerked back as if she'd slapped him. "How many times must I say it—I'm nothing like Devens."

  "And yet you are, in many ways. Like him, you aren't above lying to accomplish your goals."

  Closing his eyes, Royce took a deep breath before meeting her gaze once more. "I promise you that if you let us start again, there will be nothing but complete honesty between us."

  "But there is the very problem," she pointed out. "How do I know if you're telling me the truth if I can't trust you?"

  "Right away you won't, but hopefully, after time, you'll learn that I'm being honest with you." Lifting one hand, he caressed her cheek with his fingertips. "What do you say, Laurel? Will you give us another chance?"

  How could she forget all that had gone before? Just a few days ago, he'd tried yet again to trick her into marriage. It tormented her to realize that despite all the reasons not to agree to his plea, her heart cried for her to accept, to give them time to begin again without lies or trickery between them.

  Torn, she shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered, wishing she could say yes. "I just don't know."

  "Then you think about it," Royce urged, "and when you're considering my proposal, I want you to remember a few things."

  Questioning him with her eyes, she waited for him to continue.

  "Remember how I make you feel."

  His hot breath rushed over her parted lips. Closing her eyes, Laurel awaited the touch of his mouth upon hers. Instead, she felt his lips skim across her brow, a tender touch speaking of emotions far deeper than passion.

  "Remember that you make me feel more than I've ever felt before."

  The words whispered across her temple as he moved along her brow, pausing to press a kiss upon each closed eyelid.

  "Remember that whenever I'm with you I forget all about wagers or games."

  Nipping gently at the curve of her cheek, Royce continued his seduction of her senses. Breathlessly, Laurel ached to feel his lips on hers, to taste the sweetness of his kiss, to experience once again the elation of desire.

  "But most of all, Laurel, I need you to remember that when I'm with you, I want to be a better man."

  Sweetly, he brushed his lips against hers. Lifting her lashes, Laurel met his heated gaze and felt her heart tighten. Slowly, Royce lowered his head toward her and she lifted onto her toes to greet him.

  The sound of approaching voices broke the spell that had been cast around them, snapping Laurel from the fantasy Royce had so expertly woven. Looking up at him, she wondered if his entreaties had come from his heart or from his clever mind. Perhaps all the sweet phrases were simply another way for him to win his game. He'd told her that he didn't think of wagers or games when he was with her, but that didn't answer her troublesome question. Could she believe him?

  * * *

  Waving to Laurel as she and her father rode off, Royce watched until they'd disappeared behind a line of carriages. Tucking his hands into his pocket, he felt the smoothness of Lord Simmons' missive tucked within. Royce had been stunned at the note, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune. He'd simply rescheduled his day so that he could stroll into Tattersalls a few minutes after Laurel had arrived with her father.

  Fragments of his conversation with Laurel teased his mind, making his stomach roll. Laurel had accused him of withholding the truth to suit his needs, of behaving like Devens. Nonsense, Royce thought with a shrug.

  And yet, Lord Simmons' note seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. It was then that the truth struck Royce. Even as he'd been promising her that he would move forward honestly, he'd neglected to tell her that her own father had arranged their meeting. Instead, he'd allowed her to believe that he'd happened into Tattersalls by chance.

  But was that a lie? Would withholding the information be considered a lie or simply the most expedient way to convince Laurel of his intent? After all, nothing could have been served by telling Laurel about her father's minor deception. Indeed, she would have undoubtedly grown upset at her father if she'd discovered his interference, and upsetting Laurel would have accomplished nothing.

  Trying to comfort himself with that thought did little to ease his conscience. Regardless of how he tried to justify his actions, Royce knew that his omission was, in essence, a lie. Laurel had just accused him of lying to her just as Devens had. The realization that he had indeed done just that didn't sit well with him.

  God knew, he didn't ever want to remind Laurel of Devens.
r />   Drawing a deep breath, Royce vowed that, starting tomorrow, he would be completely honest with Laurel.

  Yes, tomorrow would end all the half-truths to Laurel. Tomorrow.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  "You failed me, Harris."

  Elizabeth glared at the young man before her.

  "I attempted to enter Lady Laurel's room, but your son chased me away."

  Tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair, Elizabeth turned the events at Hammington's over in her mind. "I hadn't anticipated my son's actions," she murmured, more to herself than to the man she'd hired to disgrace the Simmons girl. "Because of your poor planning, my son ended up a laughingstock."

  Harris nodded glumly. "At least some of the attention was directed toward Lord Morris as well," he pointed out.

  "Don't be an idiot," Elizabeth snapped. "The reason people were laughing at my son was precisely because he was found with Steven."

  "On the bed," Harris added.

  Frowning at the dull-wined man, Elizabeth realized it was little wonder her plan went askew. Walking to her desk, she retrieved the pouch she'd placed there earlier. "Here is your payment. And remember," she said, lowering her voice, "if I ever hear a word of our arrangement I will hire someone to track you down and teach you the value of holding your tongue."

  Gulping, Harris nodded wildly, eagerly grabbing the money. "I won't breathe a word of it," he promised as he headed out the door. "Not one."

  "See that you don't." As the door shut behind him, Elizabeth resumed her seat in front of the fire and mulled over her problem.

  Next time she wouldn't be so foolish as to hire such a dim-witted buffoon. And there would be a next time.

  If both Royce and Lord Morris had felt free to call upon the Simmons girl at such a late hour, then she was correct to question the chit's moral fiber. She couldn't allow a strumpet to become the next Countess of Tewksbury.

  Elizabeth straightened in her chair. No, she'd worked far too hard to rebuild the title to ever allow the Simmons girl to damage their name. Lord knew, before she'd married Royce's father, the Tewksbury legacy had consisted of empty coffers, spendthrift ways despite the lack of funds, and the Earl's reputation for womanizing.