How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption)

by Bronwyn Scott

  Genevra smiled softly. ‘In America, we believe a man can be anything he wants.’

  ‘And yet you left such a land of promise.’ The harder side of Ashe had returned.

  He motioned for her to take her seat. ‘I think the point of this conversation has escaped you. Allow me to spell it out. I am in danger because I stand in Henry’s way. You have refused his proposal and, by doing so, have effectively shut down his last avenue of legitimate recourse for gaining control of the estate. You are now in danger as well. If we’re both eliminated, Henry gains control of our shares. What he can’t accomplish through marriage, he can now accomplish only through death.’

  Genevra scoffed at the notion. ‘I am thankful I don’t have your imagination for the morbid. Do all Englishmen sit around and daydream up myriad ways of how their families could dispatch them? What a paranoid lot you must secretly be.’ She rose to go. She’d had enough of the ridiculous.

  Ashe stood too and reached for her arm across the desk. ‘We’re not finished, Genevra. Sit down.’

  ‘I want to get home before dark,’ she protested.

  With his free hand Ashe pulled an envelope from the desk drawer and tossed it on to the polished surface. ‘You might feel differently after you read this.’

  Genevra sat down, sceptically eyeing the letter. It was the one that had arrived from London yesterday. A cold knot started to form in her stomach. ‘Your office has the most interesting things in its drawers,’ she remarked, unfolding the letter.

  ‘Family trees, letters from London.’

  ‘We’re very thorough,’ Ashe said drily.

  ‘I can see that,’ Genevra replied with equal coolness, her eyes scanning the crisp white paper. The opening sentence boded ill—‘the woman in question...’ which no doubt was her. He’d had her investigated.

  She read the letter in quiet rage. ‘I have nothing to fear from this letter. My husband is dead and that has been settled for quite some time.’

  ‘Nothing except quite a lot of scandal should all the details be unearthed. His death was not quite as simple as stepping out in front of a dray and being run over by a twelve-hundred-pound draught horse.’

  No it wasn’t. He’d come home the night before in a drunken rage, blaming her for another failed business venture. He’d smashed stained glass and china. He’d come after her, too, until she’d feared for her safety. She’d spent the night at her father’s. But in the morning he’d come for her, hungover and dishevelled and begging for money again. That was when she’d threatened the divorce and two of her father’s men had to physically remove him from the house. She’d stood on the front steps, watching it all happen. They’d been rough, throwing him on to the street, and he’d cursed her and stumbled to his feet, only to step out backwards into a busy Monday-morning street full of delivery carts.

  His family blamed her of course. They said she might as well have pushed him herself. She’d provoked his distraught mentality. He hadn’t been in his right mind, they said. She’d wanted to scream he hadn’t been in his right mind for some time.

  ‘Now you know the truth.’ Her tone was icy as she laid the letter on the desk.

  ‘You wanted to know what I was doing here—now you know. Is the truth gratifying to you?’

  Ashe was unfazed by her quiet anger, which was most unsatisfying. He just sat there, looking at her with those green eyes. ‘You’re right, you have nothing to fear from that letter. There is nothing criminal there. But there is scandal. That scandal could be potentially embarrassing should it come out.’

  Genevra clenched her fists. ‘If you mean to blackmail me with this, you are a far worse rogue than I first believed.’

  Ashe shook his head. ‘No, I don’t mean to do anything with it. I want you to realise that if I can get this information, Henry can too. I don’t promise his motives will be as pure.’

  Genevra’s eyebrows raised. ‘Pure? Perhaps you’d like to outline your motives so that I might better understand your application of pure?’

  ‘Leave it alone, Genevra. It’s enough I didn’t mean any dishonour by it,’ Ashe cautioned.

  ‘No, I will not leave it alone. You had me investigated, behind my back. You will tell me why.’

  ‘I wanted to know if Bedevere was in any danger from you,’ Ashe said shortly.

  ‘I wanted to know if you had misled my father in any way, hoping for a piece of the Bedevere pie.’

  Genevra paled. ‘You thought I was a fortune hunter.’ She covered her mouth with a hand in abject horror. He’d implied as much in the conservatory that first evening. But hearing the words spoken so blatantly was different. It was the worst thing he could ever accuse her of being.

  ‘I did not mean to distress you,’ Ashe said. He might as well have said, ‘I told you so, I told you to let it be.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Ashe,’ Genevra said quietly, mastering her temper. ‘You just accused me of being the very thing I abhorred in my husband.’

  *

  Well, that had gone poorly. Ashe raked his hands through his hair. No doubt Genevra was upstairs right now, packing her things and preparing a retreat back to Seaton Hall and all its dropcloths and new-paint smell. He couldn’t blame her.

  For a man skilled in seduction, he’d certainly bumbled this. Ashe folded the letter up and put it back in his drawer.

  He’d only meant to show her the danger of secrets. If Henry knew this, he could easily use it to blackmail her into marriage. This would be a scandal she’d want repressed. It could hurt business with her shipping line and it would certainly hurt her socially if she decided to enter London society at some point.

  Henry would not hesitate to use it as leverage.

  But Genevra hadn’t believed him about Henry. She didn’t think him dangerous.

  That was the problem. No one ever did until it was too late.

  Gravel crunched on the front drive and Ashe looked out the long windows.

  Genevra’s carriage was ready. She hurried down the front steps and the carriage pulled away. She was gone. For now. His body protested her leaving. There wouldn’t be a chance now of coaxing a night of passion from her. Last night had been extraordinary, far more than a physical seduction. He’d thought of little else all day. Even while he’d listened to tenants and shopkeepers, part of his mind had been on her.

  The women of the village admired her. Their approval had been evident in the way they’d gathered around her, showing her their babies and taking her into their circle. Ashe didn’t think Genevra had been without a baby in her arms or a toddler on her hip all afternoon. Whenever he’d looked over at her, she’d had a child with her.

  Babies raised a whole other issue. Ashe was convinced his father meant for them to marry. Had he known Genevra believed she couldn’t have children?

  Marrying Genevra meant the end of the Bedevere line. Assuming she was right, of course. There was no question of Alex siring an heir. Any heirs would have to come from him. It would be something of an irony to sacrifice himself in marriage to save Bedevere only

  to have no one to save it for. But perhaps the present was more important than the future.

  Marrying Genevra was fast becoming the only solution available, not only for Bedevere’s well-being but for her own well-being, even if she wasn’t willing to see it. He hoped it wasn’t a lesson she had to learn the hard way. Marriage to him would put her out of Henry’s way. She would no longer be an obstacle to the estate, all the authority would now lie solely with him. If Henry wanted Bedevere, he’d have to go through him to get it, and him alone. That meant he had to protect Alex, his aunts and perhaps most of all Genevra, whether she wanted his protection or not.

  Chapter Fifteen

  His week was up. Genevra had refused him and Henry thought Marcus Trent was taking the bad news rather well. Henry shifted in the deep leather armchair across from Trent’s desk, trying not to prematurely breathe a sigh of relief. It was just he and Marcus today. The others were blessedly a
bsent.

  Marcus leaned forwards, elbows on the cherrywood desk. ‘Then it’s time to not play nice, Henry. Everything is in place for our venture. We’re merely waiting for permission from the estate to start the mining process. Either we get that permission through marriage, or through some other means.’

  ‘Some other means’, Henry very well knew, meant fatal accidents. Trent’s cartel had been involved with other ventures that had got off to difficult beginnings until certain ‘coincidences’ had marginalised or eliminated those who had been difficult. Here was a chance to impress Trent with his forward thinking.

  ‘My cousin has offended a few men in Audley. He won money from them at billiards. One of those men was more than glad to arrange a carriage accident when Ashe was in town this week.’

  Trent’s reaction wasn’t quite what Henry had expected.

  Trent raised bushy black eyebrows. ‘And by doing so, you may have tipped your hand prematurely, Mr Bennington. In fact, it may have been downright foolish of you at this stage of the game.’

  ‘But you just said it was time to stop being nice,’ Henry sputtered in argument before Trent silenced him with a look. One did not argue with Marcus Trent.

  ‘Violence isn’t the only way to coerce,’ Trent said with a pointed look. ‘While you’ve been failing to secure our heiress, I’ve been researching. Mrs Ralston was of little interest to me before your uncle’s death, but circumstances have demanded I pay attention to her.’ He touched his temple with his index finger.

  ‘Lesson one, Mr Bennington, is to always know one’s opponent. What are their weaknesses, what are their strengths? Mrs Ralston’s weakness is her past, as is most people’s. Have you ever asked yourself why a rich American would come to Staffordshire and bury herself in the country when she has enough money to go anywhere and do anything?’

  No, he’d never wondered. Genevra had simply presented herself as a widow looking to make a new start away from America. Up until this week, he’d assumed a new start would include a new husband. But apparently she had no proclivity to marry again. That had been a surprise. Didn’t all women want to marry? Even rich ones? He felt foolish now. Even when she’d refused him, Henry hadn’t thought about the reasons why.

  Henry’s silence was answer enough. ‘I can see the thought didn’t cross your mind. Thankfully, for all of us, it did cross mine.’ Trent gave him a patronising smile. ‘My sources in London tell me her first marriage was nasty and her husband’s death nastier. She stood on the front steps and watched two footman all but shove the poor blighter into the path of an oncoming delivery dray. He was killed instantly.’ Trent shook his head as if in disapproval. ‘I’m certain it wasn’t exactly like that. But still, if such aspersions were to get around, it would be damaging for her.’ He slid a brown paper envelope to Henry. ‘It’s all in there. I think Mrs Ralston might find marriage more palatable, especially if it ensured permanent protection from such rumours.’ Trent cocked his head. ‘She’s not indifferent to you, is she, Bennington? I thought you’d said the two of you were good friends.’

  ‘No, she’s not indifferent,’ Henry lied. His pride could not bear to admit otherwise.

  ‘Good. She might be amenable to such an overture coming from a friend. But I wouldn’t wait too long, Mr Bennington. I hear your cousin was seen with her in town.’ Trent leaned back in his chair, studying his nails.

  ‘This is your chance, Mr Bennington, for revenge. Steal his woman, steal his estate. It’s what you’ve been waiting for all your life and I am serving the opportunity up to you on a very nice platter.’

  Henry nodded his thanks and rose to leave. Trent was indeed providing him an invaluable service. He was well aware that Trent’s plans, Trent’s consortium, Trent’s money had greased the way this far in the plan to mine the wealth of Bedevere. He was also aware Trent wasn’t a man who gave such favours for free.

  Trent would receive a fair share from the mining venture, but Henry couldn’t help but wonder if Trent was after something more. Henry pushed such deep thoughts aside. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Trent was entitled to play whatever games he liked as long as Henry got what he wanted and that started with an afternoon call to Genevra.

  *

  Bad news was supposed to travel in threes, but the post proved it could travel in twos just as effectively. Genevra’s hand shook as she set down the two letters.

  Neither was good. Henry had sent a note asking permission to call that afternoon.

  In light of the note’s tenor and his recent behaviour, she was beginning to rethink the reasons for Henry’s sudden desperation. Lately, Henry had been far too keen on pressing a friendship into something more even after she’d tried to scotch those efforts as politely as she could. Henry was a changed man since the earl’s death and she worried what he might intend by requesting this meeting.

  The second note was from Ashe and it had arrived only hours after her return on stiff cream-coloured paper bearing the Audley seal. The wording was formal; Mr Ashton Bedevere wished to call tomorrow afternoon on Mrs Genevra Ralston at her convenience to discuss a proposal of mutual benefit to them both.

  If the note had come from a different man, or under different circumstances, she would not be worried. It would be perfectly understandable that he’d want to speak of business and the estate, maybe even to discuss the use of a loan. After a week of assessing the situation, the usual man would be ready to embrace the realities of their partnership. But she did not fool herself into thinking Ashe was the ‘usual man’ and that meant she had no idea what he wanted with this request to call. They’d parted in anger over an issue that had been part business in its origins, but had quickly become personal in its outcomes.

  Genevra looked at the hands of the clock. It was barely eleven. She had two hours. All she could do now was wait and perhaps change her dress, a small but useful distraction.

  *

  Genevra had dressed carefully in a dark-blue receiving gown trimmed in white lace. Her maid had arranged her hair in a sophisticated twist, creating the image Genevra was looking for: a respectable woman, confident in her own abilities. She had just put on her tiny pearl earrings when Henry was announced. She smoothed her skirts and drew a deep breath. So it began.

  Henry waited for her in the drawing room, looking polished and well groomed in buff breeches and a coat of blue superfine. His gold hair was brushed to a fine sheen and he’d brought her flowers, a rare treat in the last weeks of winter.

  Genevra took the flowers, wary of what they might be a prelude to. ‘They’re lovely, Henry. I’ll have them arranged in a vase and set them in here. They’ll look beautiful in this room. Wherever did you find daffodils so early?’

  ‘A friend of mine has a hothouse,’ he supplied with a glib smile. ‘The house is coming along splendidly, Genni. Are there other rooms that are done as well?’

  ‘My bedroom and the kitchen. But the downstairs is scheduled to be completed within the month.’ Genevra sat and smoothed her skirts. The conversation felt stunted.

  Henry must have agreed. He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me. Might we sit?’ He looked eagerly towards the chairs, his nerves apparent in his stiff manners. He was playing the anxious suitor once more to perfection. The realisation hit her again as it had her last evening at Bedevere—Henry was quite a role player. What other roles had he played over the course of their association?

  The friend? The loyal nephew rushing to the side of his ailing uncle?

  Genevra marvelled that she hadn’t seen it before. Henry was a consummate actor. She’d seen his many faces, but she hadn’t yet really seen him. The realisation stung with the tang of betrayal. If it was true, he’d willingly duped her and duped the aunts. The only one not taken in had been Ashe. Genevra knew a moment’s alarm. If Ashe hadn’t been taken in, did that mean Ashe was right in his less savoury conclusions about Henry as well?

  ‘Genni, this is more difficult than I thought,’ Henry began and her sense of
alarm ratcheted up a notch. ‘I know that you refused my initial offer of marriage, but I have hopes you’ll reconsider in light of new information that might change your circumstances.’ He said the last gently with the tones of the friend, but his eyes held a hard glint that belied the tenor of his voice. She was learning to read him, to see the little chinks in his façades she should have seen before, but for which she had no cause to suspect.

  ‘What new information, Henry?’ She fought the urge to clench her hands in her lap. This revelation worried her greatly, but she dare not show it. Ashe’s warning came back to her: if Ashe could discover her secret, what was there to stop Henry from doing the same?

  Henry lowered his eyes, seeming to debate with himself over the words to use.

  He began slowly as if he still grappled for words. ‘It has come to my attention that your husband’s death is surrounded with unsavoury details.’

  It was Genevra’s turn to assume a role. She looked down at her hands. ‘His life was unsavoury, it is no surprise his death was, too.’ Henry would have to make his accusations more blatant than that if he wanted to scare her. How brave would Henry be?

  ‘The unsavoury details are about you, however.’ Henry pushed in a spurt of boldness. ‘I am sure you would not want to fall victim to such rumours even if they were unfounded. Through marriage to a respected family, you would be protected from such nasty repercussions. No one would dare to gainsay the Bedeveres.’

  So Henry knew. It was quite enterprising of him really, and highly out of character for the man she’d thought she’d come to know over the winter.

  Genevra gave him a sharp stare. ‘Are you trying to blackmail me into marriage, Henry?’

  ‘Genni! How can you think such a thing?’ His shock appeared genuine, or perhaps it was embarrassment over having been called out on his improper game.

  ‘Well?’ Genevra pressed. ‘Let’s call it what it is. You were politely refused and now you think to regain your position through less palatable means.’