by Lorri Dudley
After replacing the stopper, her hand hovered over a glass.
Her nerves gave out. She would wait until Priscilla joined her.
Lottie picked up the candlestick and moved to the bookshelf. The light was dim, so she held the candle higher to read the embossed titles on the bindings of the books. The Pirate’s Treasure. A sappy title for one of Pricilla’s romantic novels. The pads of her fingers ran down the leather cover. From Priscilla’s retellings, Lottie knew it would feature a helpless heroine who needed repeated saving, but she pulled it out anyway. Her mother would never allow her to read such drivel.
Balancing the book in one hand and the candle in the other, she flipped open the cover with her thumb and skimmed the first page. The flow of words transported her mind from the night's events and opened a door into someone else’s world, someone else’s life.
She leaned against the side of the high wingback chair and flipped the page, starting chapter two. The back door to the office swung open. Lottie jumped and dropped the candle, snuffing out its light. She bent down and felt for it on the floor, to no avail.
A dark figure appeared, illuminated by the backlight of the doorway. She knew by the height and breadth of the shadow’s outline it was Mr. Winthrop. He didn’t look her way but reached back into the parlor from which he’d come and brought forth a lit candle from off the fireplace mantle.
She ought to say something, clear her throat and give away her position. Instead, she swallowed her voice and remained crouched behind the wingback chair. The light reflecting off brandy glasses winked at her.
What was she doing? Her reputation would be compromised if she were found alone in a dark room with a man.
She still didn’t move. What would Priscilla think when she entered? Her breathing quickened into silent, shallow pants.
The dark figure set the candle on the desk. He lifted one of the glasses she’d poured to his nose and said to no one in particular. “Middleton’s already prepared a toast to our deal. It’s as good as done.” He placed the glass back on the desk, and it clinked against the other glass. A smile donned his face. “With Middleton’s backing, our cargo route will be safe from privateers.” His voice grew with enthusiasm. “Winthrop Sugar and Shipping.” He raised a hand and rubbed his chin as if decided upon a name. “No. Katherine Winthrop Shipping.” He glanced at the ceiling and smiled.
He shifted to the other side of the desk within feet of where she crouched. Her breath caught. He pulled out a leather chair and sat. Her legs cried out in pain from their half-crouched position as he settled into the seat. He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his fist.
“By Jove,” he said in more of a sigh to himself. “I knew I should have stayed by Middleton’s side. He’ll converse with every soul in the place on his way here.”
He slung his other arm over the back of the chair, and his fingers dangled so close to her face that she could smell the salt on his skin, the oaky scent of his cologne, and…what was that other scent? Smoke?
He must have smelled it too because he sniffed and straightened in the chair.
Lottie turned to where the smoke was stronger and spied a reddish glow at the hem of her gown.
The candle.
Her gown!
Fire!
Chapter 3
Scandal!
~ Headline of the “Morning Post” gossip column
Lottie screamed and leapt from her hiding place.
Two steel bands grabbed her arms and threw her into the wingback chair. Smoke burned her lungs and eyes, and she gasped for air. She pulled her legs in to get as far away from the fire as possible while Winthrop beat out the flames with his gloved hands.
“It’s all right,” he said in a strained voice. “The fire’s out now.”
She stared at him, too stunned to move.
He coughed into his charred gloves. “Are you hurt?”
Gray eyes held hers. His concern stole her voice and froze her to the spot.
“Will you be all right if I take a look?”
Lottie shook herself out of her stupor enough for the barest of nods.
With gentle hands, he pulled her foot down and turned it left and right to examine the skin around her ankle.
She peeked over her knees to find her slippers blackened with ash and her gown ruined beyond repair.
“You look none the worse for wear, but that was close, I must say.”
“Winthrop, what in the devil is going on? I heard screaming.”
Lottie cringed as Anthony Middleton charged into the room with Priscilla close on his heels. He skidded to a stop when he saw Mr. Winthrop bending over her. And not just leaning near…folding down her skirts. “God’s thunder, man. Unhand her!” A pitcher of ale Anthony carried sloshed onto the floor as his face turned crimson.
At that moment, Lottie’s mother burst through the hallway entrance, followed by a gaggle of dowagers. Her mother sucked in a loud gasp and paled two shades lighter than her cream-colored gown.
Winthrop pushed away from the reading chair and rose to face the crowd. Lottie hastened to stand also.
Anthony sniffed and glanced about the room. “Why does the room smell like smoke?”
“I dropped a candle,” Lottie burst out. “It slipped. It caught my gown on fire and Mister—ah—Mister…” She knew his name, but at that moment, the word escaped her.
“Winthrop,” he added.
“Yes, Mr. Winthrop put out the flames before I was harmed”—a shudder swept through her body at the realization of the true danger she’d averted—“or killed.” She turned to him. “You saved my life. I’m indebted with gratitude.”
He allowed her a wobbly smile before fixing wary eyes back to the ever-growing crowd.
Mama, instead of launching into an angry tirade, stood eerily still.
A warning bell in Lottie’s head sounded, and her stomach dropped under the crushing weight of her impending doom. She followed her mother’s gaze as it lanced Mr. Winthrop like a bayonet. Lottie sensed him tense beside her, but when she dared to flick her focus in his direction, he appeared cool and detached.
Lady Gibbons peered over Mama’s shoulder. “Miss Etheridge, what, may I ask, were you doing in a room alone with a man in the first place?”
Lottie felt Mr. Winthrop’s gaze boring into the side of her face, and her cheeks burned hotter than her skirt had only moments before. She glanced at the untouched glasses of brandy and then to Priscilla’s stricken face. Lottie swallowed down the bile rising in her throat and stared at the floorboards. “I…came here to read.”
“During a party?” Lady Gibbons’s head drew back.
“I needed a few moments of reprieve. Ask Pricilla.”
Priscilla nodded, but her guilty expression didn’t help Lottie’s case.
Anthony put the pitcher down and stepped toward Winthrop. “Why didn’t you leave when you discovered the room was already occupied?”
Winthrop opened his mouth, but Lottie interrupted.
“I was reading when Mr. Winthrop entered. He startled me, and I dropped the candle. I’m certain Mr. Winthrop would have excused himself if he hadn’t noticed my skirt on fire.” It wasn’t a lie. If he’d known she was in the room, certainly he would have left.
Anthony grabbed the brandy and tossed it back in one gulp before fingering the other.
A low, deadly growl sounded from Lady Etheridge. “We’re ruined.”
Lottie’s head whipped around to stare at her mother, and her heart missed a beat.
Hushed whispers flowed through the crowd gathered in the hall.
A stillness fell over the room. The silence blared like a siren in Lottie’s ears. Her arms stiffened, and fingers curled into the folds of her gown, clenching the material into hundreds of tiny wrinkles. No matter, her dress was already ruined.
Papa pushed his way through the crowd. “Honoria? What are you screaming about now?”
Lady Gibbons whispered into his ear.
>
Little by little, red seeped into Papa’s face, darkening to purple as he turned rage-filled eyes on Winthrop. “You cur. You’ve ruined my daughter.” His voice started out low and menacing, but rose in volume with each word. “By Jove, you shall marry her or meet me at dawn!”
All eyes shifted to Winthrop, awaiting his verbal consent.
“No.”
Winthrop’s single word set the room buzzing. Lottie reeled from the impact. She didn’t expect Mr. Winthrop to want to marry her. She had no intension of marrying a stranger, yet his firm rejection—without even a second’s hesitation—hurt deeply. Did she hold so little value?
Papa lunged at Winthrop, but Anthony grabbed his shoulders to restrain him.
This was outright insanity. How could her life and reputation be ruined in a moment? This was all a grave mistake. She stepped forward on wobbly legs toward her parents.
“Papa, it was an accident. Mr. Winthrop doesn’t want to marry me and”—she forced the words past her lips—“I don’t want to marry him. Nothing untoward happened, and there is no need to take this to such an extreme.”
Anthony’s face had grown as pale as a powdered wig. He kept a firm grip on Papa’s shoulder.
She swallowed her embarrassment. Would Anthony believe her? Would he step in and save her from her plight? Or had her chance at capturing his affections been ruined along with her reputation?
Mama brushed past her and stood directly in front of Mr. Winthrop. “You despicable rogue. You aren’t fit to feed swine. You dare compromise my daughter and refuse to do the honorable thing? You’ve sullied her reputation beyond repair and will pay with your life.”
A crease between Mr. Winthrop’s brows deepened, and a small muscle twitched in his cheek. He no longer appeared cool or detached. “I have done nothing of the sort, Madame.”
Mama’s head snapped to Anthony, who downed the other glass. “You will second.”
Anthony coughed on the brandy. “In a duel?”
Mama didn’t answer, merely glared at him.
“But it’s illegal.”
Papa rounded on Winthrop. “You will do your God-fearing duty, Mr. Winthrop. If you have an ounce of honorable character in you, you will marry my daughter.”
Lottie had never seen her father act so forceful. Mama had always been the demanding one.
“Our daughter will never marry the likes of him,” Mama spat.
Papa thrust out his chest and glared at Mama. “Indeed he will and before the week is out.” His voice boomed, and for the first time in her life, Lottie witnessed her mother shrink back. The rest of the crowd did likewise to avoid Papa’s fury.
Lottie overheard her papa once say he’d wished he’d called out the odious man who ruined his sister. She’d asked about the aunt she’d never met, but Papa refused to speak of it. Would she share a similar fate as her forgotten aunt? Was this Papa’s way to atone for not taking action on his sister’s behalf?
The room grew eerily silent as they awaited Mr. Winthrop’s response. His eyes blazed brighter than the earlier fire. Lottie’s heart went out to him. It might be too late for her, but he should run—catch the next ship back to the Caribbean—because he’d eventually come to despise this life as much as she. At the same time, she wanted to drop to her knees and beg him to take her with him—away from all this—out from under the daily pressure to perform in a manner that pleased her mother and the ladies of the ton. Her breath came in quick pants, and she bit her bottom lip until it throbbed to the rapid tempo of her heartbeat.
He assessed her as if deciding what color jacket to wear to an evening of festivities.
Her mother snorted a harrumph, and Lottie flinched. Her eyes closed against the painful misery that would be her future. Because her mother caused such a fuss, rumors would fly. People would believe what they wanted to believe, which would be whatever cast her in an unfavorable light, because savory gossip was more enjoyable to spread than the truth. Her reputation would be tattered worse than the hem of her burnt gown, blackened and irreparable.
Priscilla would be banned from associating with her. If Lottie were lucky, her mother would send her to live with a distant relative. If she weren’t, then she’d face her shame for the rest of her life under her mother’s constant disapproving glare.
Her stomach churned, and her knees weakened. Lord help her, she was either going to cast up her accounts or faint dead on the spot.
Mr. Winthrop’s strong hand steadied her elbow.
The heat of his touch seared her arm, and their gazes locked. His blue eyes flashed under a set of thick dark brows. She could feel his anger simmering under his façade of cool detachment.
Papa widened his stance and peered up at Mr. Winthrop. “You have ruined my daughter. What you wretched foreigners may consider a bit of sport is a grave manner here in England. You have overstepped. If you do not atone for your lecherous actions, I shall ensure the Winthrop name becomes an abomination. You shall not receive another farthing in trade with the mother country. Do not underestimate my reach.”
“If your daughter survived the voyage, she could never endure the hardships of the island.” Winthrop crossed his arms. “You’d be condemning her to death.”
“Thanks to your appalling actions,” Mama said, “if she remains, she will be dead to us already.”
Lottie gasped. Mother didn’t mean that. Her coloring was high, and Mama sometimes said things she didn’t mean during an outburst. She’d regret her words later. She wouldn’t apologize, not in so many words, but she’d leave a cup of tea on Lottie’s nightstand and have her favorite dishes made the following day.
Winthrop’s lips moved as if he were about to growl, but instead, he unleashed his fiery gaze upon Lottie. “You heard the risks. Is this what you want?”
Was he asking her opinion? Did she actually have a say in the matter? Papa’s gaze dared her to say no. Mama’s gaze dared her to say yes.
Her entire body began to shake under the intense pressure not to explode, especially in front of the gathered guests licking their lips at the gossip they’d spread on the morrow. Her life was over. She would become a disgraced old maid tethered to her mother’s side, for she’d never be able to marry.
Run! Her mind screamed. Get away, as far from here as you can.
“Yes,” a faraway voice whispered. Heaven above, did that word come from her lips?
His mouth curled with a cynical twist. “Very well, then. We shall both be sacrificed on the marriage altar.”
Chapter 4
The outcome of recent events should not affect our dealings.
~ From Nathaniel Winthrop, written to Captain Anthony Middleton
After three days of scrounging to get a special license and a clergyman, Nathan seethed in the back room of the small church in his finest suit. “What do you mean, you won’t do the deal?”
The vicar’s head rose. “Gentlemen, perhaps this could be discussed at a later date. Guests await in the sanctuary, prepared to see man and wife joined in holy matrimony.”
“No.” Nathan blocked Middleton’s exit. “I need to hear his reasoning.” Men’s lives were on the line, but he couldn’t let Middleton know how desperate he was without losing what small advantage he still held. “The deal is a sound business venture. Profitable on both sides. You know it, and I know it.”
Anthony crossed his arms. “It is a good venture, but I refuse to do dealings with a libertine.”
“You don’t believe that. You’ve heard the retelling. It was an innocent mishap, for which Miss Etheridge and I are paying the penalties.” When Middleton’s countenance didn’t soften, Nathan’s fingers balled into fists. “You’ve done dealings with Littleton and Gillett, both notorious rogues with reputations blacker than…than”—he glanced around—“than the priest’s garb.”
Vicar Benson’s eyebrows lifted.
“That is not the reason.” Nathan stepped forward. “And no one is leaving this room until I get a straight answer.”
“Then explain the two draughts of brandy. I saw the way you danced with her, your secret conversation behind the potted plant. You’re a cur. You planned to get her in her cups and seduce her.”
“I swear, before the presence of piety, those glasses had been poured before I arrived. I was under the impression you were prepared to drink to our deal. I don’t partake of spirits. Coffee, tea, and”—Nathan glanced at the vicar—“the occasional watered ale or small beer, but that’s because seawater would kill a chap.”
“Priscilla.” Middleton spit as he said his sister’s name. “She and I will have a discussion later.”
Nathan’s breath caught. “Then you concede my encounter with Miss Etheridge was an unfortunate accident?”
Middleton hesitated and licked his lips as if to savor the deal being back on the table. “No.”
Nathan’s nose twitched.
Middleton crossed his arms. “You don’t know the extent of what you’ve done to her.” Middleton leaned in, and his eyes flared. “Lottie was a lady of stature. She’s good-natured, with an unmatchable sense of duty, and tolerant beyond comprehension. Only God understands how she’s been able to withstand Lady Etheridge’s verbal slayings.”
Nathan’s fingers uncurled, and he grew still. “Lottie, is it?”
Middleton’s eyes jumped between the vicar and Nathan. “My sister and Miss Etheridge were the closest of friends. She was practically family.”
Nathan locked eyes on Middleton. “You left out beautiful.” He would pull the truth out of the man by any means possible. “Lottie is very becoming, with those big eyes, her mass of vibrant hair, her slender figure.”
Middleton’s face reddened, and he lunged at Nathan. “You’ll not speak of her in that manner.”
Nathan stilled him with a hand. “You believe yourself in love with her?”
Middleton paled as if the comment sucked the wind out of him, but he either would not, or could not, answer.
