by Julie Beard
"I will be sure to invite him next time, Auntie."
At long last, the song ended. When the last note died, Liza rose lithely and made her way to the terrace. Thank-
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fully, it was empty. She found Jack at the far end, leaning his hands against the hip-high stone fencing, with one leg jutting out behind him as he leaned over and regarded the herb garden below. He cut a stunning figure in his snug black trousers and well-cut coat. As she approached, she inhaled pungent marjoram and the thick smell of roses that grew up trellises in pots around the terrace. She wanted to hide behind a sprig of roses and kiss him passionately, but they had to plot and plan and use their heads, which were nearly too sodden with feelings to be of any use at all.
"Jack," she said, stopping by his side.
He turned with a start and a delighted smile. "Liza. I missed you. I can hardly bear to be apart from you for even one song."
His sincere frown touched her, and she felt a wave of sad longing. "I cannot possibly explain the array of emotions I have been feeling since ... since ..." She turned crimson, then pierced him with a resigned smile. "Oh, Jack, I have never been so deliriously happy and wretchedly miserable in my life."
"Why?" He stepped closer and surreptitiously gripped her hand, squeezing firmly. "I don't want you hurt or worried."
"I know. And I don't want to hurt you. So I will speak frankly, for I want you to know this was not my doing."
She heard laughter at the door and saw Celia breezing by with the baronet's son. Liza motioned Jack to follow. "Let's step behind here where we won't be seen. No telling when his lordship will return."
She tugged his hand until they were safely shielded by a tall and wide trellis of roses. She wanted to tell him the bad news, but she could say nothing until she'd held him
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one more time. His warm arms wrapped around her and she offered up her lips, so hungry for his she could die.
"Kiss me, oh, my dear Jack, kiss me."
He obliged, and she did swoon. Her knees buckled and he caught her weight. She stood again and ran her fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. He kissed her, and kissed her again, each time consuming her lips with tantalizing precision. Finally, she pushed him away. She had to tell him. It was the only decent thing to do.
"Jack, I've betrayed you."
He went still. "How?"
"The engagement party has been scheduled for this weekend. I... I agreed to the change." She cast her eyes down, then looked up guiltily through a lush row of dark lashes. "I'm sorry. I thought we would have more time."
"We must have more time. Why did you let them do this?"
The air between them snapped. She searched his eyes for the intimacy she so craved. "Please do not be angry. I couldn't help it. Mama threw down a gauntlet. Either end the settlement negotiations or declare my intentions. I could not tell her the truth."
Jack felt as if a giant blade had been thrust in his heart. He could hardly breathe. "I see."
"I want to call it off, Jack, you know that. But I can't without ruining my family."
"For God's sake, Liza," he urged her sotto voce, "tell your mother the truth. Tell her what you won't tell me— the reason Lord Barrington is blackmailing you. End this madness now!"
"No! Then Mama would be obliged to save me, even if it meant ruining the family forever."
"Damn!" He raked a hand through his hair. He forced
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himself to take a deep breath. "Do you know what this means? After this weekend, you will all but become Barrington's personal property. He will never let you picnic with me. You will never have a chance to visit Davis or help me investigate the fire."
"But we have the rest of the week to search for clues."
He shook his head despairingly. "It's not enough time."
"I spoke with Celia, and she says she saw Annabelle Davis getting out of the viscount's carriage just days before the fire was set."
Jack looked up sharply. "Davis's daughter? What the devil do you suppose she had in mind being in his carriage?"
"Perhaps he was hand-delivering another threat."
"If so, Annabelle didn't tell her father. I'll look into it." Jack groaned. "Oh, Liza, this isn't going to work. We will never resolve the riddle of the fire in a few days. And we need proof of a crime to cower that bastard viscount. Even if I could find the evidence we needed to end the engagement, after it has been announced your name will be so blackened with scandal you would never recover. Celia would never find a proper match. Barrington is worried that he's about to lose you. That's why he's pressing you to commit. He knows something is wrong. If you can hold out longer, Liza, we can use his fear to our advantage. You've got to find a way to put off the engagement."
"How?" she cried. "Even my mother is growing suspicious. You're asking me to perform a miracle."
"Am I?" he asked pointedly. "Or am I merely asking you to show a little courage?"
She tipped up her chin, skewering him with a furious gaze. "You have no idea what you are talking about. How
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can you know the measure of my courage until you know my predicament?"
"How can I know if you won't tell me? I can't help you if you won't confide in me!"
Liza went cold inside. Holding back from him was unnatural. If only she could tell him the truth! The irony was that she might have been able to if they hadn't made love. But they had, and now she was thoroughly in love with Jack Fairchild. She wanted to accept his offer of marriage, perfunctory though it was. That could never happen, though, if she revealed her family's dark history. For Jack was very much a member of the aristocracy, even though he liked to pretend otherwise. He was the future Lord Tutley. And a lord would never marry a girl like her if he knew the truth about her past.
"I can't, Jack," she said coldly. "You're simply going to have to accept my judgment in this matter."
Clenching his jaw, he jammed his hands in his pockets, then pulled out a letter from one of them. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here is a missive from Mrs. Halloway."
"Mrs. Halloway?" Liza's eyes widened. "Oh, what a relief!"
He handed over the letter and watched morosely as she ripped open the seal. Clearly this forgery had been a waste of time. He doubted anything in this world short of the Second Coming of Christ might induce Liza to alter her plans. She scanned the missive by the light of a torch.
Jack studied her reaction closely.
She underwent a rainbow of emotions as she read. At first she frowned, doubtless at the unfamiliar handwriting, then she blinked with acceptance, but frowned again and grew pale.
"Ahem. I say, you look a bit dismayed. Bad news?"
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She looked up, bewildered, then down again, rereading it quickly. She folded the letter back up, then licked her lower Up.
"No, there is nothing wrong." Her voice was thin and unconvincing. There was a bruised look in her eyes. "I feel as if there is a conspiracy. It seems Mrs. Halloway has had a change of heart. She has been so moved by my letters that she has entirely reversed her former stance. I cannot... I cannot account for such a change. It shocks me, truly. I do not know whether I can accept it."
Jack nodded and raised his brows thoughtfully. "I see. Well, Mrs. Halloway must be a wise woman. Perhaps she has her reasons. She knows that plans for marriage sometimes crumble in the eleventh hour."
"Yes, but she's advising me to court disaster, and she knows it. Why would she want me to risk social ruin?" Liza began to pace, making a fist with her free hand. "How could she reverse herself now when it was, in part, her approval of my plans that encouraged me to stay the course ... the very course that has now left me so desperate?"
"Perhaps," he offered, "she knows what other sorts of ruin await a woman who marries without love."
"No!" She whirled on him. "No, she is not at all sentimental. She is a practical woman." Liza tilted her head, skewering him with a suspicious glare. "How did you know
that marriage was the subject which she had addressed?"
Jack cleared his throat and held out open hands in an innocent gesture. "I can only conjecture. You seemed so eager to open it, even at a moment like this, I simply assumed you expected it to address the subject of your engagement."
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She did not avert or relax her discerning glare. Jack's chest tightened. He tugged at his cravat, which had too much starch for comfort. He should never have written that letter. He was too close to her now to craft neutral prose. She was no longer bound by polite restraint and was more than ready to challenge.
"Don't look at me that way, Liza, I am simply the messenger."
"I see that I am alone in my determination to protect my family," she said wearily.
"No." He reached out and took one of her hands, giving it a supportive squeeze. "I do not want to see the Cranshaws' good name besmirched. I am only begging you for more time. If you care for me at all, if our time in the cottage meant anything to you, find a way." . She gave him a pained smile. "I will try, Jack." She rushed into his arms, and he held her close, his heart cracking open and aching. She seemed like his lost half, and the only time he felt whole was when he held her. He never wanted to let her go.
"My poor girl," he whispered into her hair. "You can get through this."
She pulled away and smiled wistfully. "I do believe, sir, you have more faith in me than I do. By the by, Aunt Patty was asking after Mr. Harding. I think we might have unintentionally started something scandalous when we left them alone all afternoon." She smiled at her own joke. "I must go back. Wait a few moments so it does not appear as if we were together."
He smiled wryly. "As I recall, we've done this before, on a balcony eight years ago. I think we should be experts by now."
She nodded and slipped out of his arms, disappearing
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around the trellis. The sudden emptiness of his arms left him feeling bereft. He listened distractedly to the sounds of her departure—the swish of her silk gown brushing against her striding legs, her shoes clicking on the tile, then growing faint, the pulsing sound of crickets, and then relative silence. When it seemed enough time had passed, he rounded the trellis, only to slam hard into reality.
"Lord Barrington," Jack said, dread choking off the air in his lungs. Lord, what had the man heard? Had he been lurking in earshot? If not, why hadn't Jack heard the viscount's boots on the tile as he exited the ballroom and approached the trellis?
"There you are," Lord Barrington said. His words were slightly slurred. Jack noticed the red flush of alcohol in his cheeks. "I've been looking for you, Fairchild."
"What is it?"
"Something I shan't discuss here in public." He met Jack halfway and they took their stands a foot apart, eye level, like male dogs with raised fur. "I need to talk to you privately."
Jack squinted in the darkness. "About what?"
"I'll tell you when we're alone. Let us say in two hours at your chambers?"
Jack nodded. "Very well."
Barrington drilled him with his cold gray eyes, then turned tail, leaving Jack with the distinct impression that the viscount suspected his intended was now fair game.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ack's carriage pulled up in front of 2 Hanley Street an hour and a half later. To his relief, Giles was in his usual place on the sofa, reading a law book by candlelight.
"Up with you, man," Jack ordered crisply, kicking the door shut behind him and going straight to rifle through the papers on Giles's desk. "For once I'm glad to find you loitering."
"Loitering?" Giles said with mock indignation. "I'll have you know, sir, I'm devouring one of your law books."
"Where are the papers you collected regarding Lord Barrington? Put them away."
"What, sir?" Giles sat up promptly and snapped his book shut. "Has something happened?"
"I'm glad you never made it home tonight, and even happier to find no barmaid in your arms."
"A barmaid, sir?" Giles frowned, sitting up. "You'd
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have me go from Miss Celia to a barmaid?"
"Still your tongue, you impertinent wretch. Lord Bar-rington will be arriving soon. Light more candles, put away your papers, and try to look presentable, will you?" Jack glanced his way. "Oh, you do look presentable. Downright dandyish, in fact. I keep forgetting you're a new man. I can only hope you'll make a good second if Lord Barrington calls me out."
"Oh, fiddle, sir, that will never happen. He's not honorable enough to withstand the scandal."
"Make sure he sees you and then make yourself scarce, but not too scarce. I want him to know I'm not alone. If there's trouble, I may need you."
"What's up, sir? He doesn't know you are looking into his affairs, does he?"
"I pray not, though that may be his motive. I trust you've been discreet."
Giles nodded readily. "I may be lazy, sir, but I am trustworthy. Why do you suppose Mr. Pedigrew kept me on?"
"I thought it was your uncanny ability to be related to everyone in Middledale." Jack gave him a quick, digging grin.
"Well, Pedigrew is my cousin once removed. Did I tell you that?"
"Good God, no, though I suppose I'm not surprised."
"But that is not why he hired me. I do have some skills, you know. I'm glad I'm here for you tonight." He glanced critically around the room. "Mr. Harding left this place a mess, if I do say so myself."
Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Disarray followed Giles like a shadow, and Harding had been showing exceptional patience with the young man. However, if Giles
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was now able to see chaos in his midst, it meant there was hope for him yet.
"Do your best. Greet Lord Barrington and send him back to my office."
A half hour later, Giles appeared in Jack's chamber. He was pale and his eyes hammered an unspoken warning. "Mr. Fairchild, Lord Barrington is here to see you."
A crash sounded behind the clerk, and Giles winced.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Barrington cursed. "Sorry, old boy, I hope that vase wasn't expensive. Oh, hell, I'll pay for it."
Giles stepped aside and the viscount loomed in the doorway, weaving back and forth. His upper lip was covered in perspiration, and his breathing was slow and labored. He was foxed! Jack suppressed a smile. He could usually get the upper hand with a drunkard.
"I'm here," the viscount announced, weaving slightly.
"So I see, sir." Jack stood as if nothing were wrong.
Barrington pulled out a jade snuffbox, dropped it, and bent to retrieve it, then put all his concentration on taking a pinch. Sniffing, he glanced around. "The place looks better than when old Pedigrew was around. I'm glad you're here instead, Fairchild. Pedigrew was too bloody honest for his own good."
"And you think I am not?" Jack poured two glasses of port.
"I have my reasons to think you can be compromised." He went to a chair and dropped himself into it. The chair jutted backward, scraping the floorboards.
The intense dislike Jack felt for the viscount turned in that moment to hatred. How dare he accuse Jack of compromise?
"You speak as if you've heard something that would
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impugn my honor, my lord." Jack handed him a glass and sipped from his own.
"Indeed." He laughed loudly. "Indeed, I have."
"What have you heard?"
"That you're in dun territory and face ruination if you don't pay a three-thousand-pound debt immediately."
Jack clenched his teeth. This had to be common knowledge by now at the clubs in London. It shouldn't madden him that this scoundrel knew about it.
"That angers you?" the drunk man was sober enough to observe. "You see, Fairchild, you can try to take what's mine, but in the end I will find out all I need to protect my interests. I've"—he paused to belch—"I've been asking friends about you. I learned, much to my surprise, that it is just a matter of time before your creditors hunt you down. AH th
ey need to do is find you. You weren't running away from London, perchance?"
Jack's jaw tightened. "No. I fully intend to repay my debt. I simply need a chance to earn the money. Does Cranshaw know this?"
"No. Not yet. I will keep this intelligence to myself to use as I please. Crushing debt always makes a man vulnerable to compromise."
The viscount leveled bloodshot eyes at him. He then tossed his port down his throat and shut his eyes against the collective effect of a night of hard drinking. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the veins in his cheeks thickened with blood. It occurred to Jack that here was one first-rate carouser.
"You'll never be able to pay such a debt as an ordinary solicitor," Barrington continued, blinking his unfocused eyes. "Not even if Cranshaw gives you a share of the Henslow deal. Fortunately, you're working for me. And I
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can help you get that kind of money as quickly as you need it... for a price, of course."
Jack sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "What is it you want from me?"
The viscount kicked his heels up onto a small, oval table. "I want you to remember your place and to give Miss Cranshaw a wide berth. If I so much as smell a whiff of you near her, I will crush you. I will bring you down so far and so fast you will never again be able to rise from the gutter. You'll be in debtor's prison so fast that the sponging house will be a blurred memory."
Jack calmly went to the viscount's side and filled his glass nearly to the brim. "Is that all?"
"No. I want you to handle a difficult matter. It will require utter secrecy. I want you to find out who my intended is meeting in secret."
Jack didn't so much as blink. Any flicker of the eyes, any blush of color, any twitch of the mouth would imply guilt. Was this a joke? Did Barrington already know Liza was having an affair with him?
"You have reason to believe Miss Cranshaw is meeting someone furtively?"
"I know she is," he replied coldly, stroking his chin. "It has been going on for some time. I simply need to know who it is. Do you know who, Fairchild?"
