by Devon, Eva
“Ha!” said Marcus. “That only confirms that you are a fool. Wait down here,” he said.
“She is my daughter and I will not see her despoiled. You cannot be alone with her—”
“You will wait down here, sir,” Marcus growled, eager for a chance to rip the man’s head off. “I am the Earl of Roxley, and you will do what the devil I say, or I shall make your life very difficult indeed.”
Mr. Post stopped at that.
“Sit there,” Marcus said, pointing to a bench in the corner of his foyer, a particularly uncomfortable bench that had been taken out of a Protestant church some years ago.
With that, Marcus turned and headed up the stairs, wondering what the devil he was going to do.
He did not want to lose Pippa.
She had become the center of so much in his thoughts recently.
Not only was she someone who understood him, he liked having her about, very much indeed.
When he reached her chamber, he knocked upon the door soundly.
“Go away,” she said. “I do not wish to see anyone.”
“You shall see me,” he countered.
“I shall not,” she declared.
“I am your employer,” he insisted. “You shall let me in.”
“I shall not,” she all but roared. “You have just fired me. You have taken my father’s side.”
“I have not,” he returned, rather taken aback by her sudden ferocity. “Now, open this door, Pippa.”
He heard a great sigh on the other side of the door, and then the latch lifting. The door swung open.
When he caught sight of her, his chest tightened.
Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were full of water, and he gaped down at her, horrified.
He had never imagined that his bold Pippa Post would allow tears to fall, but they did.
“Pippa,” he began, “I am so very sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” she said fiercely, dashing an errant tear from her eye. “You’re just sorry to be losing your assistant.”
“I am sorry to be losing my assistant,” he affirmed. Anything else would be a lie. “But I care a good deal for you, and I shall be greatly unhappy without you on my trip. I shall be greatly unhappy in this house without you. Bloody hell, I shall be greatly unhappy anywhere without you.”
“I don’t believe you,” she scoffed.
“Well,” he said, “I have a solution.” And he could not believe it, but he rushed before he could change his mind. “Marry me.”
Her hands fell to her sides. “I beg your pardon?”
“Marry me,” he repeated. “And then your father can say nothing.”
“But. . . But he will never give his consent.”
“I’m an earl,” Roxley pointed out. “Why wouldn’t he give his consent?”
She stared at him, then groaned. “You don’t know my father. He won’t want me to be happy. He wants me to be a boring little chit of a girl, and no doubt has someone in mind for me. Someone who will give him money and ensure that his life is an easy one.”
“Well, I won’t stand for that,” Roxley growled, the very idea of her married to someone else so infuriating that he nearly felt as if he might do her father a mischief. “If we have to, we’ll run away to Italy together and get married there.”
“You wish to run away to Italy. With me?” she asked, astonished.
“If we must as a last resort,” he said simply. Now that he had a plan, he could not wait to implement it. “You shall be able to continue to be my assistant, and we shall be able to stay in each other’s company.”
She arched a fiery brow at him. “So I shall be your assistant for life.”
“Yes,” he said, softly, daring to reach out and take her hand. “You will be my assistant for life, and won’t that be a splendid thing? You can travel with me wherever I go, and no one will ever say a thing. You can do whatever you like, and no one will ever say a thing. You can be the wildest woman in the world and I will applaud you.”
The wildest woman in the world.
What a thought that was.
“That’s what you wish?” she asked, barely able to fathom what was transpiring.
“Yes, if you do,” he replied. “Marry me, and all shall be well.”
“Then I shall,” she said.
“Good. Now, let us go downstairs and tell your father that is exactly what’s going to be done.”
She gave a nod, smiling, triumphant in the face of her father for the first time in her life.
“Let’s,” she agreed.
Chapter 19
The ferocious yelling of her father did not die down immediately.
Roxley looked as if it was all he could do to refrain from shaking her father.
“You shall not be wed to this reprobate, Pippa,” her papa announced through gritted teeth. “You shall come home immediately, for I have already found a gentleman who wishes to marry you.”
She flinched. Such a thing could hardly be possible.
“No,” Roxley ground out. “She shall marry me.”
“No,” her father disagreed. “She shall not. Pippa belongs to me, and she shall do exactly as I say.”
The foyer seemed to spin. How had everything gone so terribly wrong? One moment she had been bold and free and now here her father was, all but imprisoning her.
“Pippa,” Roxley said, “do you wish to marry me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I wish to marry you.”
Roxley turned to her father. “Then that is all that has to be said.”
“No, it is not,” sneered her father. “She has not reached her majority, and she will be returning to London with me.”
Roxley ground his teeth together. She could see it as his jaw clenched.
She swallowed, determined to make her father see. “Papa, I do not wish—”
“You are mine to do with as I wish,” he cut in. “I know what is best for you and it is not this man. He will only indulge your worst traits and foolish dreams. You need someone with a strong, firm hand who will keep you in line, not this fellow who will make you the scandal of society. I will not allow such a thing to come to pass. He will ruin your life.”
Could he truly believe the words he spoke? Of course he did! For he was so certain that his way of life was the only way of life.
“Papa, can’t you understand?” she begged, hating the pleading note in her own voice. “You wish me to be something other than I am.”
“Drivel,” her father condemned, his gaze cold and unrelenting. “Dramatic drivel from a young lady with the sentimentality of a little girl. Now, come back with me to London at once. I shall not allow you to be the gossip of our family and to ruin us all.”
And to her sorrow, she knew there was nothing that she could do. Legally, she was her father’s property. Roxley could do nothing either, even if he was an earl.
Her father smoothed a hand over his hair. “Thank God the Earl of Westmore told me of your whereabouts.”
A low growl of anger slipped from Roxley’s lips.
Her father had the good sense to look momentarily afraid.
Pippa was going to murder the Earl of Westmore.
The poor man just didn’t know it yet.
She forced herself to coolly ask, “Do you two know each other?”
“We play cards at the club quite often. Though we’ve never had such intimate discussion before,” her father allowed. Then his lips pressed into a hard line. “He said that he had met you and found you most intriguing. He says that he wishes to pay court to you when you come back to London. He was concerned for your fate at Roxley’s hands.”
Her father raked a disdainful glance up and down the earl he was disparaging before adding, “Westmore is a very respectable member of our community. Everyone in London thinks so. This man”—he jabbed his finger at Roxley—“on the other hand, is a wild man, and everyone knows his disreputable views. He has the temerity to think that England is misplaced in its guidance of the
locals in Africa. Can a man be more foolish?”
She swallowed, then said, her voice hoarse, “Papa, you are a horrendous man, and I cannot countenance the fact that we are related.”
“I feel the same, my girl, but we are,” he said. “Now come.”
She whirled around and looked at Roxley.
The pain upon Roxley’s face could not be missed and yet he also appeared resigned. “Pippa, go to London with your father.”
“But—”
“You must,” he said, and then his gaze changed, filling with strength and bolstering her with hope. “Do not worry. This is not the end.”
She looked into Roxley’s eyes, and she saw it there, that he had a plan. And a man like Roxley with a plan was better than a dozen fellows without one.
She nodded. “I trust you,” she said.
Her father shook his head. “You shall never see Roxley again. We are leaving.”
She did as her father instructed, but as she breached the threshold, she took one last look back at Roxley. He stood with his hands clenched, his jaw tense, his eyes wild with anger, and at that moment, she knew she loved him.
She loved him more than she could ever say, and she prayed that he would come to London with his plan. And together they would escape a lifetime of the limiting, little people like her father.
Chapter 20
Pippa stood in her family’s elegant parlor, looking over the small but excellent park in West London. She wondered how the devil her life had taken on the tones of a three-volume novel. Helena would have been thrilled at the idea of such a plot development.
Pippa was not.
In fact, she had managed to exchange several letters over the last weeks with Helena, Lucy, and Eloise, but those had all stopped now, because her father was keeping her correspondence.
With a heavy heart, she looked away from the greenery in front of the window and back to the man who seemed to be causing more trouble than any man ought.
The Earl of Westmore stood by the fire, leaning against the mantle as if this was his house, not her father’s.
Though she doubted the Earl of Westmore would usually be caught dead in such a small house on such a barely fashionable street.
No, no. His house, of course, was in a much more remarkable area over towards St. James’ Park.
After all, he was an earl, a man of great fortune, and a man of fashion.
She measured her words. “Sir, I do not understand what you are about.”
“Don’t you?” he drawled, his blond hair glinting in the morning sun like liquid gold.
“No, I do not play games, and it seems that is all that you do.”
“Games are very amusing,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, which stretched the perfect cut of his immaculately tailored green coat. “And I love playing with our mutual friend.”
“You mean my employer?” she corrected, not wishing to give him any extra power over her.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, your employer, Miss Post, if we shall call it that. Though I do think that there is something more between you. Roxley clearly admires you and that is not something easily earned. You must be excellent as his assistant.”
She frowned, loathing his presence but unable to avoid it. “You seem to be insinuating, sir, that there is something else. Is that what you are saying? That I am excellent in that role?”
“Oh no,” the earl replied honestly, assessing her as if she were a piece of furniture. “I do not think so. Roxley cannot be easily persuaded by a pretty face. You must be a very capable individual as well.”
“I am,” she stated because it was true.
He leaned forward. “Good, be my assistant then.”
She nearly choked and sputtered, “Your assistant? That is not the idea that you seem to have given my father.”
“Is it not?”
Though the very words made her ill, she managed, “He seems to think that you wish to consider marrying me.”
“Oh, I do wish it, Miss Post. I do.” He cocked his head to the side and said with cold calculation, “A young lady of your intelligence would be invaluable. I could see you moving about the salons of London, telling everyone about the excellence, the prominence, the origination, the history of the artifacts that we discovered in Egypt together.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, hardly able to believe the words spilling out of his slick lips.
He smiled slowly, a look he no doubt believed to be irresistible. “I can offer you just as exciting a life as Roxley. More so, point of fact. I will show you drama and intrigue, camels, sand, men that have known the desert their entire lives and the glamour of the ton. Come with me, and together we will be the first to descend into tombs of ancient kings.”
“You mean the first people from England,” she pointed out.
“Trifles,” he said, flicking his fingers as if her words were but dust. “That’s really all that matters, is it not, two people of our sort? That we are the first? You will be able to regale ballrooms with your triumphs.”
“I don’t particularly care for ballrooms,” she said, shuddering at the idea.
He sighed. “So it seems. However, your father does like the idea of you marrying me. So I think that it’s quite possible that it shall happen.”
“I don’t understand,” she groaned. “I am from a family of no particular import. Why are you so interested in marrying me? I have no great dowry.”
He stared at her with those icy blue eyes of his.
And then it struck her, and she stared at him with new shock. “You merely wish to upset Roxley.”
Westmore’s jaw tightened. “Dear girl, the man could never have such an important pull upon me.”
“I disagree,” she said, narrowing her gaze. “That is exactly why you are here. That is exactly why you went immediately to my father. You wish to upset him that much. Whatever happened between the two of you?”
“That is none of your affair,” he snapped, looking away, “but at one time we were the best of friends. And then. . .”
“And then?” she prompted, sensing that he wished to tell her, that he would tell everyone the way in which he fancied he had been hurt over the years by his esteemed friend.
Westmore drew in a deep breath then lamented, “Roxley fancied himself to be superior to me in every way, in everything. He had to prove it, time and time again, that he was a more excellent scholar, a more excellent soldier. There was nothing that I could do that he could not best.”
She gaped at him. Was he really so small? “And this upset you, did it?”
“Of course it did,” he bit out, his eyes flashing. “His superiority, his arrogance, his attitude towards life. We used to do everything together in accord. And then one day it was as if I could do nothing right.”
She tried to feel sympathy for him but failed. “Well, I suppose you are human after all, Westmore, but you do seem rather like a child.”
“A child,” Westmore snarled. “You should see the feats that I am capable of.”
“Oh, I can only imagine the feats that you are capable of,” she said, stunned by his quick turn to anger. “But Roxley is not bothered by such things. Jealousy does not even come to his mind. All he cares about are the artifacts.”
That gave him pause and his anger faded, replaced by a knowing smile. “Oh, you’re right. You’re absolutely correct, Miss Post. All he cares about are the artifacts. He will not think twice about you.”
“Then why do you wish to marry me?” she asked.
He scowled. “He will never truly give you his heart.”
“No,” she admitted, though it pained her. “I know that, but we both admire the same things. And that is all that matters. I will not marry you, sir. Certainly not to get the better of my friend.”
“Your friend, is it?” Westmore mocked. “I think he is more to you, the way you defend him.”
“He’s a good man,” she replied.
“Is he?” Westmore challenged.
“I don’t think he’s good or bad. I think he cares not for morality. He simply cares about preserving history.”
“As you should do,” she pointed out.
“As I?” He crossed to the mantle and leaned against it as though he hadn’t a worry in the world. “Why should I care? I care for beautiful things. That is all. And they will be preserved here well enough.”
“By people who do not truly appreciate them,” she said, exasperated by the fruitless discussion. “Who see them only as pretty trinkets.”
He blinked. “That’s what they are, Miss Post. Pretty trinkets.”
“You, sir, are indeed a fool. Just as Roxley said.”
Westmore tensed. “Yes, I do think you shall marry me. And it shall be a great joy proving you wrong. Just as I shall prove Roxley wrong.” Something a bit wild danced in Westmore’s gaze. “I am the man in power. I am the popular one. I am the one who controls all the artifacts coming into London.”
For a moment, she wondered if he was mad. “You know that you can’t make me marry you. It is against the laws of England.”
“Hah!” he replied, laughing at her. “The laws of England are broken every day. Do you think an earl like me can’t do it?”
Her heart began to pound with fear. Fear that he would force her. “You would make me marry you, to upset him?”
He stared at her and she realized the answer was yes.
Why the devil did he think that Roxley would care so much if suddenly she was married to Westmore?
Was there something that she couldn’t understand?
Apparently the rivalry between the two men was so powerful that Westmore wanted anything that he thought Roxley wanted. But she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“Sir, you may go,” she said tightly.
“Oh, I will go,” he said with a slight bow, “but you shall soon see me before a vicar. And you shall be mine.” A cold smile tilted his lips. “I think you shall prove as good an assistant to me as you did to Roxley, or else you will discover how miserable a wife’s life can be.”
With that, he gave her a deeper bow and headed out of the room.
Pippa let out a growl of frustration.
