by Julie Beard
Harding scowled at him. "You think Lord Barrington is that much of a rotter?"
Jack skewered him with a jaded look. "I know he is. I've seen men like him before. Remember when the earl of Haverstoke killed his valet and was never brought to justice? Remember the mysterious death of the marchioness of Beaverly? The aristocracy get away with murder all the time, Harding. Not that he wants her dead now. He needs to get her money first. But what happens then? What is worse, if I can't find proof quickly, her engage-
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ment to Lord Barrington will be announced and her reputation will never be the same, even if she's lucky enough to end her engagement. She will always be tainted by her association with him."
"Surely her father knows that Barrington isn't quite the thing."
Jack shook his head. "Our dear Mr. Cranshaw is blinded by his desire for a title in the family. He's a simple man with an unusual ability to make money who knows little of the intricacies of the upper crust. He thinks a title ensures character."
"If only you could convince Miss Cranshaw to end the engagement on her own."
"It's the only way, Harding. But Miss Cranshaw holds the trump card in this game, and she keeps her hand very close to her chest. There is a reason she is not exercising better judgment. A reason that she has shared with only one person. Mrs. Halloway."
He pulled the letter that had arrived earlier that day out of the pocket of his robe.
Harding noticed it at once. "I am astonished you haven't opened that yet."
Jack regarded it in the flickering candlelight, turning it back and forth, studying the imperfections of the paper, the grace of the handwriting. "You realize, of course, that there is a good chance this letter will end up in a mud puddle like the last one."
"Indeed," Harding agreed, pausing to sip. "You will simply have to pay the postage when it's returned."
"Moreover, this just might hold a necessary clue in my search for evidence against Lord Barrington."
"It very likely does. Then there is only one thing to do, don't you think?"
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Jack's eyes met Harding's. Without another word, he broke the seal and read the letter.
My Dear Mrs. Halloway,
I write with exceedingly good news. I have finally found a knight in shining armor to rescue me, using the greatest weapon in the land—the law. He is a solicitor, a kindhearted man who cannot help but do good, even when it isn't in his own best interests. Isn't that the very definition of a gentleman, even a hero? He has agreed to look into the matter of the fire. You know which one I'm referring to. I think I should be fairly discreet, in case this missive falls into the wrong hands. But let me simply say that if . anyone can save me from Lord B. 's blackmail, it will be Mr. Fairchild. Mr. John Calhoun Fairchild is his name. This dear man, who has become a close friend in such a short time, is Lord Tutley's grandson. I think you know me well enough to believe me when I say the title he is due to inherit means nothing to me. It is his kind support and expertise which I cherish most. He has great faith in the law, and his devotion to such a noble ideal has given me hope. I can only hope that in some small way I can make his efforts on my behalf worthwhile. Perhaps with his help, this whole matter in Fielding can be made history. Perhaps then I can spare Desiree and myself as well. I want to reassure you, though, that I am still determined to marry his lordship if I cannot find a legal way to salvage the situation. I pray you will write soon. I long to hear from you.
Very Truly Yours,
LC.
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Without displaying any of the whirling emotions he felt, Jack pinched the folds of the letter and recreased them, then slid it back in his pocket. He steepled his fingers and shut his eyes. Damnation! he thought. She was still determined to marry that ass even after making love to Jack. It was infuriating. Did she have no sense of duty to herself at all?
Liza loved him. Jack knew it in his gut. She couldn't have made love the way she had if she didn't. Why wouldn't she admit it to herself? Why wouldn't she come to her senses? And why in hell did he care so bloody much? He hated this. He hated it!
"Well?" Harding was at the edge of his seat. "What did she say?"
He blinked. "She thinks I'm a prince among men."
"Well, she's bloody well right about that. Was that all?"
"No." Jack stroked his chin. His nails scratched over coarse whiskers. "I was right. She's being blackmailed by Barrington."
"Gads! That's despicable."
Jack shut his eyes a long moment. Harding's empathy stoked his fury. But Jack could not go off half-cocked. That would do her no good. "She also mentioned Fielding."
"That's the address on the letter."
"It apparently has something to do with a scandal Miss Cranshaw is trying to keep quiet. She also mentioned tins Desiree again, in the same context, I gather."
The men sipped brandy by the light of the candles and listened to the clock ticking.
"I am sorry, Jack, that I was rude to her," Harding said after some reflection. "She really is lovely. How infuriating to think a nobleman would stoop to blackmailing
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such a fair creature. Doubtless he thinks he can get away with it because she's from the merchant class. What could you possibly do to convince Miss Cranshaw to end her engagement?"
"If she's being blackmailed, there may be nothing I can do that's greater than the consequences she so fears."
"You could always seduce her."
I've tried that was Jack's silent answer. It wasn't enough. A dull pain throbbed in his chest, settling between his ribs. He felt like a failure. He'd thought their lovemaking would have meant more to her.
He looked out the window. The moon was full tonight, a smoky orange. Perfect for a midnight assignation. He wanted to make love with her again. The need for her twisted his groin in knots. There was nothing he'd rather do than seduce Liza again and again. But she was too damned stubborn to let lovemaking shake her from her course.
He gave his old friend a dour smile. "Harding, I'm surprised to hear you, of all people, suggest that I seduce a woman."
"Well, it always worked in the past. Then again, she's a maiden. You'd have to marry her."
Marriage. Lord! The very word cut up his peace. But that was precisely what all Jack's actions were leading to—marriage. He'd said as much in the cottage. He could not destroy Liza's chances with Barrington without giving her every expectation of an offer from Jack himself. It was, after all, his fault that she was engaged to Barrington in the first place. Lud, could he really want to lock himself into the shackles of matrimony and risk being loathed by the woman he now cherished more than any other in the
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world? Wasn't that really what frightened him the most? The prospect of being hated by a wife he adored?
He felt suddenly ill. The familiar pounding started in his head and he leaned it against his chair. He wiped a hand over his face. "No, there has to be another way to dissuade her. My usual bag of tricks is failing me, old friend."
He slipped his hands in the pockets of his robe and idly fingered Liza's letter. Then an idea struck. "By Jove, I think I may have a plan. She said she still hoped to receive a letter from Mrs. Halloway. She apparently listens to everything Mrs. Halloway says."
Harding looked over the rim of his glass and caught Jack's eye. Mischief kindled between them. "I think I know what you have in mind, you devilish rogue!"
Jack gave him a self-satisfied smirk. "You flatter me unnecessarily with such epithets, my good man. Now fetch a quill and paper. By the by, I want you to go immediately on a secret mission to Fielding to see what you can find out about Mrs. Halloway and this mysterious Desiree. Meanwhile, if I can circumvent some pain and suffering on Liza's behalf, I have to do it, using every weapon a man has in his arsenal. This letter may be what she's been needing all along."
Harding downed his brandy in one final gulp and retrieved the necessary writing utensils.
He went t
o a desk near the window and trimmed the quill. "Mind you, sir, this is most deceitful."
"I am well aware of that," Jack observed without emotion.
"If she finds out you've deceived her, you'll be stricken from her company."
"Yes, but so will Lord Barrington be. I will mourn the
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loss of her affections, Harding, but will rejoice in her freedom from misery. Now let us begin."
"You dictate, sir, and I'll scribe the letter for you."
Jack rubbed his wrinkled brow. "Lord, this will never work. She will wonder at your handwriting."
"Fear not, dear sir, I have a solution. Now dictate, if you please."
Jack cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back.
"My dear Miss Cranshaw," he began, coughing to clear his throat. "Imagine my shock and sorrow when I received your letter. I did not read it immediately because I was on my deathbed. However, I have made a miraculous recovery and am now writing to you my best advice. You must break off your association with Lord Barrington immediately, no matter what the cost. I was wrong to advise you otherwise. He is a bloody bastard and deserves to die, damn him to hell. If he puts one finger upon your fair, beautiful skin, I will come to Middledale and plant a facer from which he'll never recover. I'll beat him into a pulp. I'll—"
Jack stopped when he realized that Harding had long ago ceased to pen his words and was presently looking at him as if he'd quite gone off his rocker.
"Very well," Jack growled. "I've strayed off on a tangent. If you think you can do better, then have at it."
"Indeed I can, sir," Harding replied equably. He dipped the pen in the ink pot and began to scratch across the surface of the fine paper.
"My dearest, gentlest Miss Cranshaw," Harding began in a superior tone. "Words cannot express my deepest concern and affection for you. I—"
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"Yes, yes, that's good. Very good." Jack leaned over Harding's chair, breathing down his neck. "Go on."
"Forgive the penmanship, my dear Liza, but my abigail is writing this missive for me."
"Excellent!" Jack declared, slapping his hands together and pacing with a sense of excitement.
"I've been ill and am not up to the task," Harding continued, speaking to himself. "Do not fear for me, dear girl, for I am on the mend. But it was my illness that kept me from responding sooner. My abigail will be discreet, of course. I was most distressed to hear the intimate details of your predicament, and I can only say—"
"No, no, no!" Jack interrupted. "That's too formal. You must get to the point."
"She is a matron, sir," Harding argued, quill poised above the page, eyebrows raised as he gazed up at his employer. "Mrs. Halloway is doubtless a lady of sensibility. Trust me on this. I have read more correspondence than you."
Jack grunted in protest, then waved him on. "Very well, but tell her to break it off immediately and then get to the part in which Mrs. Halloway recommends a nice country solicitor. And do not forget to say something about following her own desires."
"Indeed, sir," Harding said with ennui, as if forging letters were an everyday affair. "Indeed. When I am through with this missive, Miss Cranshaw will be all but yours."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ill that be all, Miss Cranshaw?" asked Liza's abigail.
"Yes, Susan, thank you."
The red-haired, freckle-faced girl looked over her mistress's shoulder in the mirror, flicking the perimeters of Liza's hair lightly like a sculptor admiring her artwork.
Ringlets of hair spilled from the bandeau swathed at a cant around Liza's forehead. A diamond-and-pearl necklace glittered among the porcelain curves and valleys of her neck. Her faintly lined eyes glittered exotically like gleaming sapphires seen through a purple stained-glass window.
"You look lovely, miss," Susan said. She frowned and bit her lower lip, lifting and dropping her shoulders as if it were a mystery.
Liza looked at her reflection in the mirror as she dabbed lavender water behind her ears. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
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"No, miss." The lady's maid gazed at her almost adoringly. "It's just that I've never seen you so ... so alive. It's almost as if... you were in love."
Two pink circles formed on Liza's cheeks. She looked down at her cosmetics table nonchalantly. "Shouldn't all young women who are about to marry look a little besotted?"
"Yes, of course, miss." She shook her head and laughed at herself. "Forgive me. You simply are so beautiful tonight."
An image of Jack flashed in Liza's mind, with his sardonic half-smile, and those penetrating eyes of his that had seen the prettiest faces of London, and she wondered if he, too, would find her pretty.
"Thank you, Susan. You are too kind."
"Best to hurry, miss. The party will be starting soon. The servants are in an uproar."
Liza smiled sympathetically and put on her pearl drop earrings. "I feel for them. My father doesn't understand what work an impromptu party takes. Imagine throwing a dance with only a day's notice."
Liza had been surprised when her father announced the evening festivities. Then she'd thrilled inside, for she knew that Jack Fairchild would be a guest. She couldn't wait to see him again, to look in his eyes and see the intimacy that was hers alone. An image of his sleek, hard muscles undulating against her came to mind, and she bit her lip, stifling an automatic groan of desire. She had to keep her memories firmly in place, or she would surely swoon.
Suddenly the door flew open and her younger sister hurried in. "There you are! Liza, I was expecting you downstairs. I simply must talk to you."
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"You may go now, Susan." Liza regarded her sister's reflection in the mirror. Celia sat down a few feet behind her on the edge of the bed, leaning contemplatively against one of the end posts.
"You look beautiful tonight, darling," Liza said, smiling at Celia. She wore a simple yellow gown and her blond hair was curled and pinned up in a charming nest of tumbling coils. A strand of pearls capped the coif, and her cheeks shone pink in the candlelight.
"I may be fair, but you are positively glowing," Celia replied, a frown gathering on her delicate forehead. "Don't tell me you've finally fallen in love with Lord Barrington."
Liza smirked. "Really, Celia, did you take too much sun today?"
Celia's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, good heavens! It's Mr. Fairchild, isn't it?"
"Upon my word, everyone has me falling in love tonight."
"That's it!" Celia crowed triumphantly. "You went on a picnic with him. And he was with you the night I courted disaster. And the kiss! How could I have forgotten that kiss by the shooting range?"
"Celia, I know you're a romantic at heart, but do not make too much of one indiscreet kiss. Now, what is it you want, dearest?"
Liza pivoted on her seat and gave her sister her full attention, hoping it would distract her from the truth.
Celia's excitement vanished and her shoulders stooped a little. She distractedly flicked at a piece of lint on her silk gown. "I... I came to say that I am willing to marry the earl of Bedwald."
"What? Don't be absurd!"
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"No, I am. I am willing to marry him if it means you can stop this nonsense about marrying Lord Barrington."
"Oh, Celia, my dear sister!" Liza jumped up and went to the bed, sitting and taking her hands. "I would never make such a trade with you. I won't hear of it."
"I can't let you marry Barrington. I won't be responsible for your unhappiness."
Liza smiled and tucked a tendril of hair behind her delicate ear. "We Cranshaw girls certainly carry more than our fair share of responsibility, don't we? No, Celia, marrying the earl is out of the question. And if it's any consolation, I'm trying to find a way out of this mess. I have someone else's help now, so you needn't carry this burden on your lovely shoulders. Understand?"
Celia looked up with relief. "Very well, Liza. This person who is helping you ... is it Mr. Fairch
ild?"
"Yes, it is."
"May I help him help you? If there is some way, I should very much like to try."
Liza blinked with an idea. "Perhaps you can. Do you remember anything at all about the fire that destroyed the chandler shop in town?"
"The Davises' shop?"
"Yes. I'm convinced it was deliberately set. Do you remember anything about that tragedy that seems unusual in retrospect?"
Celia thought a moment. 'Two months before the fire Lord Barrington first came to Cranshaw Park, I remember that."
"Yes, that's true. But was there anything specifically about Annabelle or Mrs. Davis that comes to mind?"
Celia looked up with a slow-dawning realization. "Upon my word, I do remember something. I remember
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seeing a young lady getting out of Lord Barrington's carriage in Silver Wood just south of the village. I thought at the time it was Annabelle. But then, that made no sense and I dismissed the notion from my mind. Why would a chandler's daughter be in a viscount's carriage? But now I'm thinking it was Annabelle. Is that possible?"
"Perhaps she was carrying a message from the viscount to her father. I have reason to believe that Lord Barrington made threats to Jacob Davis before the fire."
Celia squeezed her hand. "Oh, Liza, you don't think his lordship was involved?"
Liza didn't want to distress Celia any further, so she pinned her shoulders back and put on a brave smile. "I certainly hope not. Now, not a word of this to anyone, do you hear?"
"I'm so glad to know Mr. Fairchild is looking after you. He's a gentleman of the first stare, isn't he? And a good man, too."
Remembered passion infused Liza's face with heat. "Yes."
Celia needled her with a girlish smile. "And I'm right, aren't I? You are in love with him."
Liza shook her head, but she couldn't deny it with words. "Oh, Celia, I never thought to feel this way."
"Feel what way, my dear?" said their mother from the doorway.
Liza froze and clutched her sister's hand. "Not a word to anyone!" she whispered; then she called out, "What is it, Mama? Do you need to borrow some earrings?"
