by Jade Lee
But it came as no surprise that he had the last word. He was a man who chose his timing well. “I am your friend, Scher.”
There were many things she could say to that. Some part of her agreed. He had tried to defend her, though it clearly hadn’t helped. But were his motives truly so pure? Or did he simply think that she would turn to him if a family disaster made Kit cry off? Meanwhile, Kit stiffened and was about to turn and say something scathing, no doubt. But Scheherazade stopped him with a quiet squeeze to his arm. “Pay no attention, love,” she said loud enough for all to hear. “Your family’s squabbles mean nothing to us.”
She said the words and knew from the silence behind her that they were effective. No one would speak until they were out of the house, assuming they moved quickly enough. But in her heart, she knew there was more to Brandon’s story than a dissolute lord who was peeved about losing a mistress. Something darker had taken hold of his soul. Something that tortured him and intrigued her.
But he was not her future. She had no business being interested in a man who was not her fiancé. So she turned her attention to Kit as she rushed them both out of his grandmother’s home. Unfortunately, the moment the door shut behind them, she knew she had erred. Kit’s face told her as much as he turned to her, his expression angry. “Damn! I have not brought a carriage.”
She blinked, startled by the vehemence in his tone for something so small. “Um. Did you need a carriage?”
“Do you not recall?” he snapped, though not really at her. He was snarling more at the street. “I rode my horse here, and you met me a block away such that we could arrive together.”
Yes, of course she remembered. It had been her idea. “It’s no matter, Kit. I can find my way back—”
“You don’t understand,” he said as he ran his hand through his hair. “I wish to talk to you, Scheherazade. Privately. But I haven’t got a carriage, and it wouldn’t be proper anyway.”
She nodded, her heart sinking with his every clipped word. As she feared, he had changed his mind. He could not withstand his family’s pressure, and now, judging from his expression, he would blame the disaster on her. She turned away, blinking back the tears even as she struggled for some way to salvage the situation.
“There is no reason to fret about your family, Kit. We both knew that they would resist. And I thought you quite dashing in your final words.”
“What?” He blinked, obviously turned from his thoughts by her compliment. “Dashing? How?”
“About posting the banns.”
“Oh.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Scher, we need to speak. But it isn’t proper without a chaperone.”
She didn’t know whether to be touched that he thought about her respectability or saddened that he clearly planned to cry off their wedding. Either way, she could tell he would insist on speaking his mind.
“Shall we walk then?” she said softly. “So long as we keep our voices down, we can talk with complete respectability.”
“Walk? It’s a long way back to the playhouse.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I like the exercise.”
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. Then he set off down the street, his steps too rapid for her to easily keep pace.
“Kit!” she gasped. “It will be easier to talk if I am not breathless!”
He immediately shortened his steps, mumbling an apology. But then, as they settled into a more sedate pace, he didn’t speak at all but continued to stare angrily down at the cobblestones.
Well, at least she could be consoled by the fact that he was obviously distraught by the idea of crying off their marriage. Still, the pain of it cut deep. So deep, in fact, that she was becoming angry.
“Kit—”
“You called him Brandon,” he blurted. “You shouldn’t know my cousin at all, and yet you called him Brandon.”
Her step hitched, though she tried to cover. She obviously failed because he turned to her, his expression more hurt now than anything else.
“I told you, Scher, that I would not be a cuckold.”
Her eyebrows shot high. “Do you trust me so little? I swore I would not betray you.”
“You called him Brandon,” he repeated. “You are on familiar terms with him!”
“And from that you assume that he is in my bed?”
“Is he?”
“No!”
“But you know him. Well.”
She sighed. There was no avoiding it. The information would come out eventually. She had just hoped that Kit would discover the truth later. “I know him. He has been trying to make me his mistress for nearly a month now.”
“A month!”
“He has not succeeded,” she said harshly. “Men have been trying to seduce me since I turned ten. You know that!”
“But I did not know it was my cousin!”
She slowed her steps even further, forcing him to either stop walking or move ahead of her. He stopped, but when he turned back to her, she could see such fury in him that she was stunned.
“My God, Kit,” she whispered. “What is it? Why does Brandon—” She quickly corrected herself. “Why does Lord Blackstone infuriate you so?”
“He doesn’t. He—”
“Kit!” she snapped. “Our marriage is much too important to be thrown aside because you will not speak honestly to me.”
Her fiancé sighed, and again he ran his hand through his hair. She could tell he was struggling, his male pride unwilling to talk. So she tried to make it easier on him.
As they were gaining attention from other strollers, she grabbed his arm and resumed their slow stroll. “Let me explain something first, then. I have always longed to be respectable. From the moment I first realized how vulnerable an actress was, I wanted to be a married woman. I wanted to be able to protect my family. No men hanging on my dress, no need to fight off drunkards or reprobates. No fear for my next meal—”
“That’s not entirely true—”
“And no daily display to the worst sort of men.” She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She was not used to confessing such a close-held secret. “I want to be married. I want a home and children who will not suffer as I have.” She tugged him slightly so he would look her in the eye. “I can have that with you, and I would not jeopardize that for anything. Not for your cousin, not for a million jewels, not for anything, Kit.”
He studied her face, his eyes searching for reassurance. He must have found it because eventually he nodded and turned back to the street. “Brandon is five years older than I, but our situations are similar. Younger sons of respectable pedigree.”
She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. His eyes were trained on another couple, smiling politely to them until they passed beyond hearing.
“He is so much more than I,” Kit murmured.
“What?”
“Smarter. More handsome. Better horseman too. And now with a title and money, women flock to him.”
“You fear that I shall dash right into his arms. Really, Kit, do you value yourself so little? Or do you think I am so inconstant?”
He shrugged. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”
He did know. He was afraid, pure and simple, and that was something she understood very well. “Kit . . .” she began, but he interrupted her.
“There is something that I have done very well, Scheherazade. Something I have always done better than Brandon.”
“Yes?”
“Love.”
She frowned, not understanding. “But you said that women flock to him. And even I have heard of his exploits—”
“But that is not love, Scher.” He put his hand atop of hers on his arm, and he gripped her tight for all that they were simply strolling side by side. “Something happened to him in India. I don’t know what, but I know that he came home changed.”
“That is to be expected—”
“No. Truly changed. Do you not feel it? The darkness in him?”<
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“Yes,” she whispered. She felt it, and she wondered.
“I . . . I do not think there is any love left in him. I think whatever happened in India killed it.”
She gasped, horrified despite her determination to remain unaffected by Brandon. “Surely it is not as bad as all that!”
Kit shrugged, more at ease now that they were speaking of his cousin’s failings. “I am not sure, of course, and there is always hope. But I have seen him in a rage . . . It was frightening.” Kit turned to her. “Don’t be fooled by his charm. He is empty inside.”
She smiled and touched his cheek. “Again you question my loyalty. Why are you so anxious about me?”
“Because you do not love me. Not yet, at least. And until you do, I shall never be easy.”
Her breath caught and her steps faltered. She had not thought him so perceptive. “Kit . . .” she began, not knowing how she would finish.
“You will love me,” he said firmly. “Of that I am sure. But you must give me time.”
“Then marry me quickly,” she returned. “After that, we shall have all the time in the world.”
He flashed her a grin. “I shall post the banns immediately. Unless you were serious about Gretna Green.”
“Very serious,” she answered truthfully.
He thought about it, but in the end shook his head. “I want to marry you openly, respectably. Nothing hurry-scurry about it.” Then he flashed her a grin. “Plus, I promised Grandmama.”
She smiled, her heart tightening sweetly in her chest. Heaven help them if his grandmother turned against them as well. “I shall be the happiest of brides.”
He grinned, tucking her arm tight to his side. “And I the most fortunate of grooms.”
They walked farther, in quiet accord for many minutes. Scher was just beginning to relax, enjoying the simple pleasures of sun and air, until he tightened his grip.
“Just how wealthy are you, Scher?” he asked.
She sighed. Again, she had hoped to delay this discussion, but she was the one who’d thrown down that particular gauntlet. She could hardly blame him for bringing it up now.
“Wealthy enough if the playhouse does well. We shall never lack for food or clothing.”
He didn’t answer. She could tell he was thinking, but she wasn’t sure about what. In the end, she took a stab.
“Did you perhaps want to see the documents? Would you like to know the particulars?”
“I think I should, don’t you?”
No. No, she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want anyone to know because once he knew the information, others would too. And then everything would change. Money always changed things. But he was to be her husband, he would be in charge of all her accounts. It was only right that he see it all beforehand.
“Of course, Kit,” she forced herself to say. “But I must beg for your discretion.”
“Naturally,” he said with a lightness in his tone that she had not heard this day. “It shall be a great secret between us!”
She nodded, but her heart told her otherwise. Kit was not a man who could keep secrets.
Chapter 5
“Is it true, Brandon?” Aunt Adelia’s voice was strident enough to make him wince. “Does she truly have a fortune?”
Brandon waited long enough to think of the brandy decanter, but he was not going to allow Aunt Adelia to push him back to that particular devil. So he set his empty glass down. “Well, as to the exact amount, I haven’t been able—”
“You said she had a fortune. You said she had more than you.”
Brandon released a loud and heartfelt sigh. “Financial matters are hard to determine.”
To his right, Michael leaned forward, his eyes accusing. “You also said you would handle this.”
“Obviously,” snapped Aunt Adelia, “his powers of seduction are vastly overrated.”
“Mind your tongue, Adelia,” Grandmama retorted, her blood obviously still running high. “You were disgraceful at dinner. And what’s this about setting someone to seduce Kit’s fiancée?”
Brandon turned, arching a brow at his elder brother. His task was supposed to be a quiet one between gentlemen. No one else was to know. But somehow Aunt Adelia and now the entire family knew of his disgraceful behavior. Sadly, only he, apparently, thought of his actions as deplorable. Meanwhile, Michael released a heavy sigh.
“I only asked Brandon to look into her background, Grandmama,” Michael said. A lie, of course, but one Michael would stick to now until the day he died. “Kit told me weeks ago about a woman he intended to marry. I merely did my duty to see that he was protected.”
Adelia responded with a huff and muttered, “Kit is my son. I should know what is happening. Especially if he intends to wed a whore.”
Everyone ignored her, most especially Brandon, who pushed aside his congealed beef with a grimace. He knew better than anyone that defending Scheherazade’s virtue would be useless to this set.
“What we need are details,” Michael stated. “Exact details as to how much the chit is worth—”
“And how to best use her to your advantage?” Brandon drawled. “Perhaps we could mug her and grab all her coins. Or better yet, find a footman who would have her. A man whom we could control such that he takes all her money for us to spend.”
“Yes, yes,” Michael snapped as he drained his own glass of wine. “We are all well aware of your democratic attitudes. But the fact is, she is an actress.”
“And therefore not fit for my son!” Aunt Adelia added with a sniff.
“Are you so very sure?” Brandon said, his voice low enough to be a hiss. “She is smart, demure, and rich. Kit could do much worse.”
“And he could do much better!” his aunt retorted.
“Please, please,” interrupted Lily. Her voice was soft, but like Brandon’s, her words carried clearly to all. “This does not help us at all.” She turned to Grandmama. “Is there any amount of wealth that would make her acceptable?”
“No!” snapped Adelia, but Grandmama frowned, clearly thinking.
“Money can be a great equalizer,” the elderly woman mused, her gaze on Aunt Adelia. “I believe this is a question for the earl. Michael? Do our coffers require an infusion?”
Brandon’s brother flushed a mottled red. “No,” he said firmly.
“That settles it!” snapped Aunt Adelia.
“However,” Michael continued. “Ready blunt never goes amiss. I could think of a dozen or more projects that would benefit greatly.”
Brandon idly toyed with his knife. “Does anyone care that it is not our money? It is hers.”
“It is her husband’s,” Grandmama said.
Brandon pinned her with a dark stare. “Then it would be Kit’s money, not Michael’s.”
His grandmother lifted her nose with a sniff. “Kit has always been a good boy to me.”
“And me!” Adelia said clearly. “Though if anyone’s projects were to get the money, it would be Kit’s oldest brother. The earldom doesn’t need more, whereas the baronetcy could expand significantly.”
“And yet,” inserted Lily, as smooth as any countess could be, “you have said no amount of money would make her acceptable.”
“And,” put in Michael, easily backing up his wife, “if Kit were amenable to direction, we would not be in this situation at all. He would already be married to someone else of your selection.”
“And if Brandon had done as he promised,” snapped Aunt Adelia, “then this entire dreadful evening would never have occurred.”
Brandon didn’t respond. How could he? She was correct, damn her. He thought it a simple thing to seduce an actress. It would do a service to his family, keep his cousin from a terrible mistake, and occupy his thoughts for a while. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “the lady is not what one expects.”
There was a host of feminine retorts, most in the form of snorts and huffs of disgust. Fortunately, Lily was of a more refined sort.
“I’m sure Brandon has done his very best,” she said softly. “But perhaps we are going about this the wrong way. Perhaps we should find someone else for Kit.”
Aunt Adelia slammed her hand down the table. “As if I haven’t been trying! I have dragged Kit to every social event I could imagine. Every eligible girl has been thrust under his nose. He’s always very polite, of course, but as soon as possible, he runs off to that whore!”
“Adelia!” Grandmother snapped.
“Well, it’s true!” the woman returned mulishly.
“If it were true,” Brandon said, a hard edge to every word, “then I would have already accomplished my task.”
It was several moments before anyone spoke. They were staring at him—and the knife he held gripped in his fist—with varying levels of alarm. Finally, Lily chose to break the awkward silence.
“As I said before, Brandon is doing all he can. But perhaps I should have a quiet tea with a few ladies perfect for Kit.”
“I already have—” Adelia began, but Lily rolled coldly right over the shrew.
“We do not run in the same circles, Adelia. Do not presume to think you know the same women I do.”
Grandmama leaned forward, her eyes alight. “Excellent notion, Lily! I shall prepare a guest list of my friends’ relations immediately!”
Lily nodded her head, but her eyes held a glittering anger that Brandon could only applaud. “Why, thank you. I shall be, of course, grateful to see any names you suggest. Perhaps for a ball later. As for my tea, I will make it small. And exclusive.”
In other words, Grandmama could keep her interfering nose out of things. “Bravo, Lily,” he said softly. She acknowledged she heard him with a very aristocratic arch to her brow, but before she could respond, Aunt Adelia chose to spread her venom. Again.
“Be so good as to hold your opinions to yourself, Brandon. We still hold you entirely at fault for this disaster.”
He turned slowly, a darkness seeping through his body. Pain came with it, but in a cold way, freezing him outside of his own body. And in that moment, his family ceased to matter to him. It was an odd position to be in. He had been raised on the glory of brotherhood in Mother England, but all that had abruptly disappeared.
