by Cheryl Holt
He helped her to her feet, and she wandered away, her mind racing with questions that couldn’t be answered, with dread that couldn’t be erased.
“She swallowed the bait.”
“And . . . ?”
“We wait to see if she’s hooked,” Adrian declared.
Archie bit down on the oaths he yearned to hurl. He hated loitering behind the scenes while Adrian forged the ending. With so much riding in the balance, Archie was a nervous wreck.
“When will you know her decision?”
“She’s to apprise me in the morning.”
“So . . . you could be wed in two or three days.”
“Yes.”
Archie grinned, almost able to see the infusion of funds swelling his bank account. “After the ceremony, what treat shall we purchase first? Shall we take a trip? Shall we both have new wardrobes sewn? Perhaps we should pick out that gig we’ve been wanting.”
“Whatever you wish, Archie.” Adrian was showing a deference he rarely displayed. “I’m content with whatever you select for us.”
Archie smirked. It was about time that Adrian learned his place. Archie was a man of destiny, of wealth and power, and he had a brilliant future that he was more than happy to share with Adrian. Together they would enjoy a life of affluence and debauchery the likes of which High Society had never witnessed.
Still, an irksome worry nagged at Archie. “What if Westmoreland finds out about the letter you burned? Or about the babe? What if he comes here?”
“What if he does?” Adrian shrugged, unconcerned about the brawny, dangerous villain. “Once I’ve consummated the marriage, there’s not a man in the kingdom who can gainsay me.”
“I suppose you’re correct.”
“I am! I can do whatever I want to her, and in the eyes of God and the law, the child will be mine. How could Westmoreland claim otherwise? He’ll have no business poking around.”
Considering Westmoreland’s violent propensities, Archie judged Adrian as having a tad too much bravado, but he didn’t mention his qualms. Adrian always knew best, and his schemes worked to Archie’s advantage, so Archie wouldn’t second-guess.
Yet, deep down, he was afraid of Westmoreland—and with valid reason. The criminal had wreaked havoc. “But what if—”
“The man’s a convicted felon, Archie. He spent years in the penal colonies. Stop imbuing him with more importance than is warranted.”
Adrian stood as if to exit, and though there was a possessive whine in his voice, Archie challenged, “Where are you off to now?”
“I must have some privacy while I ponder the fate of Miss Reilly.”
“Why would you waste your energy on her?”
“She’s an annoying busybody, and I don’t care for her close relationship with Helen.”
“She has a smart attitude.”
“Which I abhor in a female.”
“As do I,” Archie concurred. “A woman ought to be wary of wagging such a sharp tongue.”
“Yes, she should, and Miss Reilly must be taught to use that mouth of hers for something besides sassing.”
“I agree.”
“Then she needs to leave and never return.” Adrian started out. “I simply have to determine when and how she’s to go.”
“Is it true what I heard?”
“Is what true?”
Patricia rushed into Helen’s bedchamber and skidded to a halt. “Are you planning to marry Mr. Bennett?”
Helen’s hair was arranged in a concoction of braids and curls, with flowers woven through the strands, and she was wearing a blue gown that was much too fancy for eleven o’clock on a Friday morning.
Helen dithered, then admitted, “Yes, very shortly as a matter of fact.”
Patricia was aghast. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t let you talk me out of it.”
“Oh, Helen, don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
“Patricia, please . . .”
“This is a terrible mistake. You can’t go through with it. I won’t permit it.”
“It’s not up to you.”
Patricia was frantic and overstepping her bounds, but she couldn’t be silent.
“Mr. Bennett is a sodomite,” she bluntly explained. “Do you comprehend what that means?”
“Yes.”
“He won’t be a real husband to you.”
“No, he won’t. He doesn’t love me, Pat. He loves my brother.”
“In a sick fashion, though! Don’t you see how they are?”
“My brother has always been difficult and demanding, but I’ve never witnessed any discourtesy from Mr. Bennett.”
“He’ll hurt and degrade you; he’ll . . . he’ll . . .”
“Mr. Bennett is my friend.”
Helen’s comment had an air of finality, but Patricia couldn’t give up. “Have you advised Captain Westmoreland?”
“About the wedding or the babe?”
“Either one.”
“Why would I?”
“Don’t you think he deserves to know?”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Then I’ll notify him for you. Postpone the ceremony. I’ll ride to London immediately, and I’ll bring him back with me.”
“To do what?”
“To . . . to . . .”
Helen’s expression was filled with pity and exasperation. “Pat, I never told you this, but when I first learned I was pregnant, I wrote to Captain Westmoreland.”
“You did?”
“He couldn’t be bothered to answer, and I can’t keep waiting for him to rescue me. I have to rescue myself.”
The Captain hadn’t answered?
Patricia was stunned. He had many faults, but he never ignored a plea from someone in distress. Something bad must have transpired. She wondered if he was dead or perhaps he’d left England and she hadn’t been informed. She had a vision of Helen’s letter, trailing after him, from seaport to seaport, a tiny appeal for assistance floating across a world of large oceans.
“Well, if he won’t help you, I will. Let me,” Patricia implored. “We’ll go away from here, where no one knows who you are or what you’ve done. We’ll start over. We’ll build a new life.”
“But Mansfield Abbey is my home.”
“I’m a hard worker,” Patricia insisted. “I’ll find a job, and I’ll work for both of us so that you can—”
Helen sighed with resignation. “It’s not possible for me to leave.”
“But . . . why?”
“I’m not like you. I’m not some free, unattached person who can flit off whenever she likes. I’m connected to this place and these people, but I can’t remain without a husband. The scandal would destroy me.”
“The hell with these people!” Patricia crudely replied. “I don’t care two figs for their opinion. I care about you and what will happen to you.”
Helen smiled sadly. “You’re sweet to worry, but you needn’t. It will turn out for the best. Mr. Bennett said that—”
“He must want something. What is it?”
“He doesn’t want anything. He’s merely being kind.”
“You’re wrong, Helen. He hasn’t a kind bone in his body.” She glanced around at the ornate furniture. “It has to be the estate. He and your brother must be plotting to wrest it away from you.”
“They won’t be able to,” Helen naïvely claimed. “We discussed it. My solicitor is drawing up papers.”
“Are they’re signed yet?”
“No, but they will be.”
“He’ll toss you out. You’ll be abandoned and destitute—if he doesn’t simply kill you and be done with it.”
“Kill me! Honestly, Patricia, you’re beginning to sound deranged.”
“He’s a monster!” she shouted. “Can’t you see? Can’t you tell?”
“Desist with this nonsense,” Helen calmly urged. “I’m very distressed as it is, and your tirade is only making me more anxious.”
“Goo
d!” She grabbed Helen by the arms and shook her. “Don’t do this!”
“I have to, Pat. Try to appreciate my dire position.”
Carriage wheels crunched on the gravel in the drive, and Patricia’s heart pounded as she vainly hoped it was the Captain, even though she knew he’d have arrived on horseback.
“It’s the vicar,” Helen explained, “come for the wedding. Will you go down to the parlor with me, Pat? Will you stand by my side?”
“I can’t, Helen.” She’d never felt more terrible. If Helen could see it through to the bitter end, why couldn’t Patricia? What sort of fair-weather friend was she? “I can’t watch. Don’t ask it of me.”
“I won’t, then.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“I’d better go, so you can . . . can . . .”
Too overcome for words, she hurried out.
She had to travel to London, had to locate the Captain, and, her thoughts in turmoil, she fled to her room. She raced in and had shut the door when a voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Reilly.”
Pat whirled around. “What are you doing in here, Bennett?”
“I’m checking out my new property.”
“Get out.”
“I’m not ready to depart. Not yet anyway.”
“Get out!” she repeated.
“You’re much too bossy for a female. I don’t like it. You should be taught a lesson.”
“Hah! As if you could teach me anything.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
Instinctively, she reached for the knife she usually carried in a pocket she’d sewn into her skirt, but with her leisurely existence she’d grown lax, and it wasn’t there. She was unarmed but unconcerned. She’d whipped bigger asses than his.
He stepped toward her, trying to intimidate with his maleness, with his greater size.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, and she really wasn’t.
“You should be.”
He lunged, and she leapt away, but her skirt tangled around her legs, making it difficult to fight as she’d done so competently when wearing trousers. She swung at him, but the fabric became more snarled around her ankles.
He raised a fist and coldcocked her alongside the head. Her last clear memory was of how hard she smacked into the floor when she hit it.
21
Luke tarried in the corner of the ballroom in his father’s mistress’s house. He scrutinized the waltzing couples, and he wondered what it would be like to join them. Since his entire life had been occupied with survival, he’d never tried to dance, and it looked amusing. Perhaps he’d have dancing be his next project, like learning to wear fancy cravats or use the correct silver at the supper table.
He could picture himself walking over to Helen, bowing politely, and . . .
Abruptly he pushed the vision out of his mind. Why keep ruminating over her? His fixation was driving him batty.
He’d been right to leave her—he had!—and he wouldn’t rue or regret! Still, he couldn’t get over the niggling suspicion that she needed him, that she was in trouble or in danger, which was silly. He’d left her hale and hearty, with the income from a prosperous farm. What woman had ever had a more profitable alteration of circumstance?
Yet he fretted. What if she was pregnant? That last, horrid day, he’d said all the wrong things and made all the wrong moves. If she was increasing, she’d never contact him, and suddenly he was fuming over the possibility. What if she was with child but kept it a secret? As swiftly as the absurd thought arose, he shoved it away.
Helen wouldn’t hide her condition. Even though she was furious with him, she’d write, which was why he constantly checked the post, certain he’d hear from her, but he hadn’t. Obviously, she was getting on just fine without him. He had to accept the fact and stop obsessing over her.
Across the way, he noticed Robert—it no longer seemed appropriate to refer to him as Mr. Smith—slipping in from the verandah. He was dressed in his sailor’s clothes again, having completely forsaken his business suits and polished shoes. Luke watched him cut through the crowd, as tongues wagged over his unsuitable attire.
Of late, Robert was so transformed that Luke scarcely recognized him. He wasn’t the toughest man Luke had ever met but probably the most stubborn. In a fight, Luke would now be more than happy to have Robert guarding his back.
Luke was glad for the changes, but frequently he missed the old Mr. Smith, the courteous and studious fellow who was so fussy in his habits and so adept with letters and numbers. What benefit was there to having an accountant who couldn’t be bothered to add or subtract?
“There you are,” Robert greeted as he approached. “I’ve searched through every accursed party in London.”
The Prince Regent had requested that the Duke have Luke introduced and feted, and there had been so many celebrations. His social schedule was so full that not even the competent Mr. Smith could track it all.
“What did you need?”
Robert held out an envelope, and Luke peeked inside, amazed to see a substantial quantity of cash.
“What’s this?”
“A thousand pounds, plus some interest. The extra is meant to cover my room and board.”
The amount was the approximate equivalent of what Luke had forked over to buy Robert from the slavers. It had cost a pretty penny to win the bidding, and to square the debt it had taken every ounce of gold Luke had had stowed on his ship, plus several rings, six pistols, Pat’s sword, and the diamond in his ear.
Robert had insisted that he’d reimburse Luke someday, and Luke had humored him by agreeing that he should, but he’d never actually expected it to happen. He was extremely suspicious as to the money’s origin, and with how Robert had recently been acting, there was no telling where he’d acquired such a large sum.
“I think it’s a fair defrayal,” Robert protested, as if Luke had disputed his calculations.
“Where’d you get it? You weren’t gambling, were you?” Gaming would be the final straw for Luke, and he’d have to intervene in Robert’s odd plunge into abnormality. If Robert had stooped to wagering, he’d gone too far round the bend.
“No. My brothers sent it.”
“Your brothers?”
“I filed a lawsuit against them. For damages regarding my misadventure in the Mediterranean.”
“You did?”
“I had your solicitors draft legal papers for me, demanding a settlement.”
“You rascal! You never told me.”
“You don’t have to know everything,” Robert claimed.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Then I went to visit them, and I threatened bodily harm if they didn’t compensate me.”
Luke was so proud! “I wish I’d been there to witness it.”
“I guess I scared the hell out of them. They couldn’t predict what I’d do next, so they allotted me some funds from the family coffers—to shut me up.”
“I hope you’re keeping it.”
“Damn straight! They gave me several thousand more than what I passed on to you, so I have a nest egg.” He grinned like the village idiot. “So . . . you’re repaid, I’m free, and I’m leaving. Thank you for all you’ve done. I’ve enjoyed working for you.” As if he planned to stomp out that very second, he spun away.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Luke reached out and yanked him around. “You skipped the middle section of this story. What are you doing?”
“I quit.”
“You can’t quit.”
“Of course I can.”
“But . . . but how will I carry on without you?”
His dismay couldn’t be concealed. He’d grown so accustomed to Robert’s company, considered him a true friend, and trusted him implicitly. Luke needed Robert in more ways than he could count and couldn’t imagine his absence.
“You’ll have to hire somebody else, Captain.”
“I
don’t want anybody else.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I miss Patricia, and I have to be with her. I feel terrible about how it ended between us, and now, with this windfall, I can make it right—if she’ll let me.”
This was about Patricia? “So go see her, romp a bit, then get your ass back here.”
“You don’t understand. She wants me to build a life with her.”
“She’s a woman. She should be happy to do whatever you tell her.”
Robert stared, then muttered, “You can be such a prick.”
Luke was stunned. It was the only impolite remark Robert had ever uttered in his presence. “I’m a prick, am I? When did you arrive at this conclusion?”
“If you must know, I’ve always thought so.” He took a step away. “And on that final note, I’ll be off.”
“Wait just a damned minute! I won’t allow you to insult me, then saunter out.”
“What will you do? Pummel me?”
“Maybe.”
“If we start brawling, you’ll rip your fancy coat, and all your pompous acquaintances will be shocked.”
“More insults! What’s come over you?”
Robert sighed with exasperation. “Look: I merely want to be with Patricia. Is that too much to ask?”
“Yes,” Luke selfishly answered.
Robert pointed around him, derisively indicating the ostentatious affair. “I don’t belong here. I assumed I did, but I’ve changed too much. I can’t abide these people, with their affluence and their sloth and their pretensions. I just want to go home.”
“You don’t have a home,” Luke viciously reminded him.
“Yes, I do. It’s wherever Patricia is. I had to travel to London to realize that.”
Luke had hunted for home forever, and Robert made it seem so simple to find. What if he, Luke, chucked it all and left, too? What if he let Helen be the choice? It was such a thrilling notion—to flee London for her—but there was nothing for him at Mansfield. Nothing at all. What would Helen do with him if she had him? She’d likely murder him before the first week was out.
