by Lisa Bingham
After the woman had left the room, Slater waited a beat of silence before asking, “Tell me, Mr. Crawford … do you like my house?”
The question itself caused Crawford’s cheeks to flush in fury.
“I hope you will forgive me for the frightful liberties I took in copying your own design.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
But it was quite obvious that Slater had peeved the man immeasurably in the process of building his home. Crawford’s hand tightened over the head of his cane. The same cane that had savaged his daughter and scarred her for life. It took all the control Slater could muster not to lunge from the bed and throw the man against the wall.
“Your methods of decoration are very unusual,” the man grudgingly offered. “So much black.”
Slater affected a knowing smile. “Yes. It suits me, I think. I am often being accused of being a dark sort of character.” He took Georgette’s wrist and kissed the inside of her palm. “Isn’t that right, my love?”
She purred and rubbed his chest.
“So, tell me, Crawford … what is all this fuss about your daughter?”
Crawford’s jaw visibly ground together. “She disappeared. In your coach, despite what you might say.”
Slater made a tsking noise. “What a pity that you are so distraught you would think me capable of such connivery.” Releasing Georgette, he rose, wearing nothing but half-buttoned breeches, and padded toward Crawford. “You must be at your wit’s end to even consider I would waylay your daughter.”
He could see by the cunning glint in Crawford’s eyes that the man suspected he was being baited, but couldn’t prove such a thing conclusively. Continuing past him, Slater stepped behind the privacy screen, reached into the armoire, and removed a black dressing gown that had been hung in the far corner. Belting it about his waist, he returned.
“Would you care for some tea?”
“No. Thank you.”
“I cannot tempt you?”
“No.”
Slater settled into the chair by the fire. “Then we must focus our attention on your problem.” Watching the man with the single-mindedness of a hawk he added, “Finding your daughter.”
Crawford’s jowled chin quivered in anger and forced control.
“I’m most embarrassed if my runaway servants are to blame for her disappearance. For that, I shall have to help you.”
“I doubt there is much, sir, that you could do which has not already been done.”
“Possibly, possibly.” He steepled his fingers together. “But you see, I have friends. Friends in high places.”
There was a rhythmic padding sound of footsteps in the hall. A low growl. “Ahh,” Slater exclaimed in pleasure. “Sonja has awakened from her nap.” Uttering a chirping sound, he waited, eyeing Crawford as the huge tiger ambled into the room.
Oliver started, cringing ever so slightly toward the fireplace as the animal approached. After it veered toward Slater, Crawford turned to assess Slater more carefully.
“McKendrick, you say? The name sounds familiar.”
Slater shrugged, knowing full well that Crawford had tried to investigate his past and had determined nothing of any value. Sonja sprawled at his feet, her eyelids opening, closing, opening as she assessed the stranger. Her claws dug into the carpet, then retreating in a potent reminder that she may appear tamed, but she was ultimately a thing of the wild.
“You are employed by the French king,” Crawford finally murmured, obviously speaking his thoughts aloud. “I’ve heard of you through a friend who has attended the court of Louis the Sixteenth. I believe you furnished the king with the animals for the royal menagerie.”
“Louis has a great fondness for unusual things. I indulge that fondness.” Slater sighed. “But once again, we have forgotten the gist of our discussion.” He added pointedly, “What are we to do about your daughter? I understand that you have guests arriving in the next day or so.”
Crawford’s brows creased, as if he were suddenly beginning to fathom the intent of Slater’s games.
“Yes. To see my daughter.”
“She is of marriageable age?”
“Correct.”
“And you, being the doting father, are attempting to find a mate for her?”
“It is my duty.”
“Come now, isn’t she a bit on the shelf?”
“She is but twenty.”
“She should have been married years ago.”
Crawford’s cheeks held a tinge of red. “She has been betrothed on several occasions, but, alas, each of her grooms met with tragedy.”
“How unfortunate.”
“More than you will ever know,” Crawford muttered. “She has been rightfully distraught by such misfortunes.”
“As a father, you must be worried about her future.”
Crawford shrugged.
“So much so that you now search for the perfect spouse.”
Crawford’s gaze didn’t waver. “Perhaps I will have that tea.”
Slater didn’t take his eyes from his foe. “Georgette, would you be so kind?”
He saw her draw the robe she wore more firmly about her body and cross to the table. Circling the idle tiger and the tail that thumped impatiently against the floor, she poured a cup of the brew and gave it to their guest.
“Milk, lemon, sugar?”
“No. Thank you.” Crawford did not break Slater’s regard, but accepted the cup nonetheless. “I prefer it straightforward and undiluted. As I suspect you do, Mr. McKendrick.”
“Personally, I have never been overly fond of tea.”
Crawford studied him for some time. “You have returned from one of your exploits, I presume.”
“Africa.”
“Then you intend to stay in England for a time?”
“Until His Majesty needs me again. For now, he is entertained by the gifts I brought him.”
The mention of royal influence caused an obvious greed to tinge Crawford’s expression. “Are you happy here in Cornwall, Mr. McKendrick?”
Slater could nearly hear the jaws of his trap snapping shut. “I confess I find myself a trifle bored.”
“Would you consider becoming my guest this week? I believe your adventures would prove a scintillating subject at dinner.”
“I would be delighted. Such an event might prove amusing.”
“Providing my daughter were to return.”
“Indeed.”
Crawford thrust the cup and saucer, untouched, back into Georgette’s hands. “Very well, Mr. McKendrick. Contact your friends, your friends in high places. If you can locate my daughter …” the words were said slowly, as if he still did not believe the story of the stolen coach “… then you may consider yourself—”
“A candidate?”
“A guest.”
“Ahh, then you would not wish to have a favorite of Louis the Sixteenth as a son-in-law?”
Crawford’s suspicion was open now, but it was tempered by a shred of interest.
“If you had been a favorite of George the Third, such a fact might have proved impressive. As things stand, I shall make a few pointed inquiries with some of my guests. If the extent of your influence proves to be as comprehensive as you claim, you may be considered.” He took two steps toward the door, turned, and lifted his walking stick, tapping Slater in the chest with the tip. “But, Mr. McKendrick … first, you must find my daughter.”
The tiger growled in warning and Crawford nearly dropped his cane.
“I shall do my best,” Slater replied, his lips twitching.
Crawford managed to summon a stiff, “See that you do.” With that, he stepped from the room, slamming the door behind him. “Four days,” he called as he stamped down the hall. “I will give you no more, no less. See that you do not fail me. When my daughter has been found, see to it that she is returned, virtue and reputation intact, or even your ‘friends’ will not be ab
le to help you.”
Chapter 15
“You lied to me!”
Aloise scarcely waited for the panel to open before storming at Slater, nails drawn. “You fairly gave me to him on a silver platter.”
She tried to claw at his face, but he took her wrists and snapped them around his waist, drawing her flush against his hips so that she couldn’t move so much as a muscle.
“How dare you?” she cried, an anguish she had never known nearly choking off the words. She had momentarily trusted him. She’d thought he was sincere in his willingness to help her. To offer her a marriage of convenience. But she’d judged him incorrectly and he’d betrayed her.
“I promised you would be safe, and you are.”
His placating tone had little effect in tempering her fury. “For how long? Tell me, when do you intend to surrender me? Today? Next week?”
“Aloise, listen to me.”
“No! I won’t hear any more of your lies!”
“I won’t let your father gain control of you again.”
“You just promised to return me to him!”
He regarded her seriously, before saying, “You will have to go back. Eventually.”
“Damn you!” Tears rose, unbidden, unwanted, but there nevertheless. A thick desperation tightened her throat. All too well, she remembered how her father had treated her for her last attempts at freedom. His retribution had been swift and cruel. This time, she’d managed to escape him for over a week. He would punish her tenfold for that.
She had to get away!
As if sensing her panic, Slater held her in her place. “Aloise, you can’t escape a final confrontation with your father. Once and for all, you need to break the ties that bind you to him. Now or later. Wouldn’t you rather have it over soon?”
“No.”
“Aloise—”
“No! You lied to me before. You’re lying to me now!”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, Aloise.”
His hands moved from her wrists to splay across her back, urging her to credit his words. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. To believe in a man’s words was to open the gates of heartache. Hadn’t she learned that lesson already?
“Let me go.”
“I want to help you.”
“No!” She shook her head in derision. “You’ve done nothing but manipulate me since the moment we met. You have no regard for my feelings, no sense of respect for my dreams.”
His features became grave. “That might have been the case at one time. But not anymore. I swear to you.”
“You tricked me into coming to this house.”
“Because I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know if I could trust you not to go to your father.”
“So what have you discovered to make you believe in me now?”
He cradled her face, holding her still. “That you are kind and beautiful and strong. That you have a great capacity for love—one that has never been indulged.”
His words shocked her into silence, but only for a moment. She would not allow him to see how they had affected her.
“I suppose you wish to indulge me.”
He bent to graze the corner of her eye with his lips. A fleeting, heart-tugging kiss. “I would like to try.”
She grasped his wrists with the intent of pushing him away, but found that the moment she touched him, felt the warmth of his skin, the strength of his bones, she was powerless to do such a thing. A need blossomed inside her. The same need he had instilled in her so many times. She’d tried every method she possessed to banish such a traitorous response. But now, still trembling and bitterly afraid of being sent back to her father, she discovered that she longed to feel this man’s strength and reassurance. She wanted him to prove to her that he truly cared. Even if he only pretended.
“You haven’t answered my question, Aloise.”
Her eyes flickered, and she met the burning brand of his gaze.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Are you trying to tell me you love me?”
He shifted. “No.”
She huffed in indignation and he reminded her, “You asked me to tell the truth. This is to be a marriage mutually beneficial to both.” His voice grew softer, more tender. “I’m sure that deeper feelings will develop one day. But those things take time.”
“My father will not let such a marriage happen.”
“He will not be able to stop it.”
“As soon as he discovers that you are my husband, he will punish me for rebelling against his wishes.” The fear she felt was very real. Very powerful. “He will kill me, I know.”
“Not if I’m with you. We’ll tell him together. Then he won’t be able to hurt you. Ever again.”
“But you want to send me back!”
“I only want you to meet with your father so that he’ll know you are legally married.”
The idea was tempting, incredibly tempting. But this man underestimated her father’s strength of will.
“He will annul the match.”
“Not if it has been consummated.”
Consummated. The word alone sent a burst of warmth to her loins. Aloise was not a total innocent. She knew a man’s needs and she knew that it was a woman’s duty to submit to those needs.
“Trust me, Aloise. Trust me to help you, take care of you. Trust me to make things right once and for all. Your father wanted a son. Instead, he was given a rare gift. A beautiful and charming daughter.”
Her chest ached at the words. Her throat grew tight with the tears she refused to shed.
“Now he seeks a grandson. An heir.” Slater’s voice became husky, rich. “Best him at his own game, Aloise. Thwart him in all things. Reject the handpicked lot of suitors and marry me, a rogue, a rake, and a thoroughly unsuitable match. Then beat him again …” his palm lowered, cupping the flatness of her abdomen, bunching the fabric of her nightclothes. “Bear me a daughter. I vow that I will cherish her as you should have been cherished. She will become her father’s jewel. More valuable to him than—”
“Rubies?” she inserted bitterly, suddenly understanding. “Is that what you seek? The Bengal Rubies?”
His eyes wavered slightly, dropped.
“You told me there would be no more lies.”
A heavy silence cloaked them before he finally spoke. “I cannot deny that the rubies hold a certain appeal.”
“Because of the curse?”
“Because of their history.”
She gasped in realization. “You must have recognized the piece you said I’d stolen. You never really thought I was a thief, did you? It was all part of your plan.”
“Yes.”
He offered no other explanation, no apology.
“I don’t know where my father obtained the jewels. I have always wondered if he stole them.”
Slater’s countenance grew enigmatic. “There is always that possibility.”
“I doubt my father will give them up if the marriage is not to his choosing.”
“He will have no choice if word of a broken promise is spread through London.”
“There might be rightful heirs who would claim the jewels. If so, would you give them back?”
He chose his words carefully. “If, as you say, your father took them wrongfully, they should be returned to their proper owners.”
“Then, what of me? What will you do with me once you’ve lost my dowry and gained your child?”
“We apparently have a misunderstanding of sorts. I’m not bartering for your breeding services, Aloise.”
She felt a flush of embarrassment at his blunt words. “I hadn’t thought—”
“Hadn’t you? When I spoke of a daughter, I spoke only of our first. There will be many more after that.”
“More?” she breathed.
Winding his arms around her waist, he took her weight, drawing her up to him so that they were eye t
o eye. “The marriage I suggest is not a temporary proposition. If you accept, you accept to spend the rest of your days with me—and your nights. You agree to bear my children, tolerate my moods, and make my home a happy place.”
“Oh.” It was the only response she could summon. The air locked in her body, so much so, she feared she would swoon in surprise, but his next words instantly revived her.
“In return, I’m afraid I cannot offer you an easy life, so you must think carefully. You will be required to travel, visit far-off lands, endure primitive facilities and unusual cultures.”
Adventure. He was offering her the adventure of a lifetime, and he felt it necessary to apologize.
“I accept.”
“I know you will need time to adjust, so we’ll stay here for a month or two—”
“I accept.”
“But I fear I have been assigned to an expedition to Brazil—”
“I accept.”
“—come Christmas. His Majesty is very eager … to …”
His words trailed away and he finally met her sparkling gaze.
“I… accept,” she stated slowly and distinctly.
A boyish look of disbelief tugged at his lips, his brows. “Really?”
“Really.”
He uttered a short bark of laughter, then scooped her close. “You accept!”
“I accept.”
Whirling her in a circle, he buried his head in her shoulder. “You accept.”
Weaving her fingers in his hair, Aloise savored the moment, the heady exhilaration. Perhaps she was fooling herself. Perhaps this man had merely strung her another set of pretty tales. But for now, she banished the doubts, banished the fears, banished all thought of her father’s wrath. For now, she reveled in what this man had made her feel. Beautiful. Whole.
Cherished.
She could only pray that such emotions could withstand her father’s wrath.
They were married in a small rock church on the land bordering Ashenleigh. The ceremony took place at dawn, just as the sun was beginning to paint the sky with brush strokes of gold.
Aloise wore one of Georgette LeBeau’s creations, a heavy gown of rose and ivory satin studded with pearls and lace. A half-dozen petticoats rested over her cane panniers, causing her skirts to rustle and drift about her ankles like the foam of a wind-tossed wave. As a finishing touch, one of Georgette’s assistants arranged her hair in a riot of ringlets, then inserted a score of diamond-tipped hairpins into the silken tresses.
