September Awakening (The Silver Foxes of Westminster Book 4)

by Merry Farmer

  Heat rushed through Lavinia and she backed away, bristling with self-consciousness. The horrible man couldn’t actually smell what she and Armand had been up to, could he? The way he stared at her, as though he could see through her clothes, made her feel dirty and cheap. He bit his lip, giving her the feeling he knew exactly how she felt and that he liked it.

  “Don’t look at my wife like that,” Armand growled, stepping fully in front of her to block her from Shayles’s sight. “If you want to cause trouble, cause it with me.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to cause trouble for everyone,” Lord Shayles said. “Although one could argue that you’ve brought the trouble on yourself.” He tapped the envelope against his lips, then bit the corner.

  A shiver passed down Lavinia’s spine. She couldn’t stand to look at the man, so she peeked at his cohorts instead. Dr. Miller looked as though he were at the theater, enjoying every second of the show. Lord Gatwick was a different story. He stared at Lord Shayles with a look of intense disgust, so much so that Lavinia was momentarily stunned. As soon as Lord Gatwick realized she was watching him, his expression went carefully blank once more, and he returned to studying the artwork instead of paying any attention to what was taking place in the hall.

  Lavinia was so confused by the brief exchange that it took her a moment to catch up to what her husband and Lord Shayles were saying.

  “Why here?” Armand was asking. “Why not pester Alex with your demands? He’s the architect of that letter. It’s on Winterberry Park stationery.”

  Lord Shayles shrugged, glancing around. “Broadclyft Hall is a much more comfortable house. And besides, I believe there is some question as to whether it should belong to you or your cousin.” He turned toward Lord Gatwick.

  Lavinia’s mouth opened in an “O” of surprise and understanding. “Lord Gatwick is your cousin?”

  Armand narrowed his eyes. “Yes. We don’t speak, for obvious reasons.”

  Lord Gatwick met the comment with a look of utter indifference and returned to staring at the paintings

  “Whether you speak or not,” Lord Shayles said, “just think, this could all be his. It’s a pity the courts chose the least beneficial path for everyone involved.”

  “Mark has his own estate and the title from his mother’s brother,” Armand said. “The decision was made years ago. Why are you here now?”

  “I met Lord Tavistock at an inn the other day,” Lord Shayles said. “He told me you’d fled Croydon’s party with a new wife in tow. I just had to see for myself.”

  Armand shook his head. “More likely that you decided to engage in blackmail with that letter, but you’re too much of a coward to face Alex, Malcolm, and the others.”

  Lord Shayles’s mask of smug indifference vanished, revealing ugly fury. Lavinia clutched a hand to her stomach. Armand had hit the mark. Lord Shayles was too afraid to face the combined might of Armand’s friends. “We should send word to Winterberry Park immediately, informing them of our guests,” she whispered to Armand.

  “You’re right,” Armand said with a firm nod. He turned back to Lord Shayles. “Winterberry Park is less than a day’s journey from here. I’m sure my friends could be here by morning.”

  Lord Shayles’s expression flickered in alarm for a split-second before smoothing out to an obsequious grin. “By all means,” he said, feigning ease. “A house party sounds like a wonderful idea. The more the merrier.” He paused, turning the envelope in his spindly hands. “That way we can all sit down together and discuss whether I should send the contents of this letter to The Times, The Observer, or The Telegraph. Perhaps all three and more.”

  “What would be the point?” Armand asked, though judging by the sudden roughness in his voice and the tension in his stance, Lavinia was certain he knew the point exactly.

  “I’m sure all of England will want to know how their government is being manipulated even before Parliament returns,” Lord Shayles said with a shrug. “Imagine the scandal when it is revealed that several of the Liberal Party’s top ministers and peers have hatched a plan to maneuver the nation into accepting their reckless policies and ruining private businesses to boot.”

  “This is about your despicable club,” Armand said, taking a half-step forward and glaring at Lord Shayles. “You don’t care about Parliament. You know we intend to shut down the Black Strap Club for good, and you need its sickening money.”

  Lord Shayles laughed with condescension that made Lavinia’s skin crawl. “My club will always have a place as long as there are men to patronize it. And there will always be men who patronize it. My finances are safe and sound.” The corner of his mouth twitched as if to contradict his words.

  A low, swooping feeling twisted Lavinia’s stomach. She didn’t know what Lord Shayles was talking about exactly, but it wasn’t hard to draw conclusions. The Black Strap Club had a horrible reputation, but few people in her acquaintance were willing to speak about why. Even Lady Stanhope refused to tell Lavinia what it was all about, even though Lavinia had the impression her sophisticated friend knew much more than she was saying. Lord Shayles’s financial troubles, on the other hand, had been mentioned more than a few times. Lavinia instantly concluded he’d come to Broadclyft Hall hoping to sell the letter to Armand.

  “If you take that letter to the press, my friends will stop at nothing to ruin you,” Armand said, appearing unaffected by Lord Shayles’s statement. Lavinia wasn’t sure he’d reached the same conclusion about the financial value of the letter either, but she stayed silent.

  Lord Shayles laughed. “They’ve tried before without success. Why should I be intimidated now?”

  Armand didn’t have an answer. Lavinia hated watching the way he seethed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, impotent with rage. She wracked her brain to think of some way to help him, even though she felt miles out of her depth. The only possibly useful thing that came to her mind was the old adage to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  She cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Lord Shayles, will you and your friends be staying at Broadclyft Hall?” she asked, pulling on every lesson her mother had ever given her about being a polite hostess.

  Lord Shayles turned a surprised, snake-like smile on her. “What a delightful invitation.” He glanced at Armand. “Pearson, it seems you’ve married a gem of a woman.”

  “Leave my wife out of your machinations,” Armand threatened him.

  “Now, now, man,” Lord Shayles said with a scolding shake of his head. “I’m only trying to compliment your choice of bride.” The way he spoke made it clear he knew Armand hadn’t chosen to marry her at all.

  Armand countered by turning to Mr. Bondar, who, along with a few of the footmen, had appeared around the edges of the room and stood only a few yards away, watching the scene with a dark scowl. “Bondar, have one of the footmen take my fastest horse to Winterberry Park immediately to inform Alexander Croydon of our guests.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Mr. Bondar said, glaring at Lord Shayles as though he’d been instructed to arm the troops and prepare for war. He turned toward Maxwell and nodded. The young man nodded and rushed off.

  “A house party it is, then,” Lord Shayles said, tucking the incriminating letter into a pocket inside his jacket. “We’ll have such fun. There’s no telling what sort of mischief might happen at a house party. Why, I may even find myself married off to the first unfortunate girl to find herself tangled in the gorse.”

  “You already have a wife,” Armand growled, eyes narrowed.

  “Well then,” Lord Shayles wiped his hand across his mouth, “if I find a girl in distress, we could just pretend to marry.” He stared at Lavinia with wicked intent.

  “Bondar,” Armand snapped, his glare never leaving Lord Shayles.

  “Yes, my lord.” Mr. Bondar stepped forward.

  “I want this man watched at all times,” Armand ordered.

  “Yes, my lord.” Mr. Bondar seemed only too glad to obey. He n
odded to Les, who stepped forward, seemingly out of nowhere.

  Lavinia peeked around. In fact, all of Broadclyft Hall’s servants were just barely visible, peeking around corners or hiding in shadows. The maids looked terrified, and the footmen seemed ready to strangle Lord Shayles in his sleep. In an odd way, it set Lavinia at ease. She and Armand wouldn’t have to face the current invasion alone.

  “Mr. Bondar,” she said, cursing the slight tremble in her voice. “Would you be so kind as to inform Mrs. Ainsworth of our guests and to see that they are given suitable accommodation?”

  Armand glanced sideways at her in question, but he didn’t contradict her command.

  “Yes, my lady,” Mr. Bondar said with only the slightest bit of hesitation.

  “Gentlemen,” Lavinia continued to address their foes. “Would you care to come through to the sitting room for tea?”

  It would have been much more appropriate for Armand to invite them to some more manly pursuit, but tea was the ultimate balm to any awkward situation, or so she’d been taught.

  “How gracious of you, Lady Helm,” Lord Shayles said in a way that made Lavinia’s skin crawl. It wasn’t lost on her how she referred to Armand as “Dr. Pearson” but was willing to address her as “Lady Helm”.

  “Is that Grandpapa’s Gainsborough?” Lord Gatwick asked as Lord Shayles, Dr. Miller, and Armand started to move toward the sitting room. His tone was so banal and his expression so utterly without tension that Lavinia wondered if he had heard any of the previous exchange.

  She glanced up at the painting Lord Gatwick had been studying. “To be honest, Lord Gatwick, I have not been mistress of the house long enough to educate myself about its artwork.”

  Lord Gatwick tore his eyes away from the painting and stared at her. “It is, I’m sure it is,” he said with absolute certainty. Something flashed deep behind his eyes, as if someone else’s soul were trapped inside his body. “Quite valuable.”

  Lavinia blinked, an odd shiver swirling down her spine. “Oh?”

  Lord Gatwick looked as though he would continue talking about art, but before he could, Dr. Miller said in a loud voice, “Honestly, Pearson, I’m surprised you’re home. I’d’ve thought you’d be halfway to India by now.”

  Lavinia snapped to stare at Dr. Miller. Dr. Miller wore a smug grin and looked from Armand to her. When he met her eyes, his smile widened.

  “Miller,” Armand said in a warning voice.

  “What have I done?” Dr. Miller shrugged in a clumsy imitation of Lord Shayles. “Doesn’t your new bride know that you are about to set out for India to take up a position as a physician there?”

  Armand was leaving? Lavinia’s gut suddenly felt hollow. He hadn’t mentioned a thing about leaving to her. Worse still, when she glanced to him in question, he looked guilty.

  “Are you leaving for India?” she asked, feeling suddenly unsteady. What had been the point of marrying her at all, manipulation or not, if he was planning to leave the country?

  Armand cleared his throat, glaring at Dr. Miller. “Sir, why are you even here?” he asked.

  “He’s my employee,” Lord Shayles answered, though he was already at the doorway to the sitting room. “My club needs a physician. There have been too many…mishaps of late.”

  A chill settled in Lavinia’s stomach at the statement.

  “The opportunities in London are endless,” Dr. Miller said. “And Lord Shayles has offered me a unique set of benefits for providing services exclusively to his, um, other employees.” A greedy flush painted the man’s face.

  Lavinia started to Armand’s side as fast as she could, but halfway across the hall, she stopped. Armand bristled with anger. His face was red and his shoulders bunched. There was nothing soft or safe about him in that moment at all. After everything they’d shared that morning, he was suddenly a complete stranger to her again, frustrated and menacing. Panic welled up in her gut. She was out of her depth once again.

  “Please do come through to the sitting room,” she said to Lord Gatwick. Insane as it was, he suddenly seemed like the least threatening man in the hall.

  Lord Gatwick had returned to perusing the paintings, but he nodded to her, then started toward the sitting room.

  “You know,” Dr. Miller murmured as she passed by his side. “Once your husband is gone, if you need a little company now and then, I still love a red-head.” He was close enough to brush her arm with his fingers.

  Lavinia cleared her throat and jumped ahead, making a bee-line to Mr. Bondar. “Please make sure our guests’ rooms are nowhere near the private, family rooms,” she said in a strangled voice.

  “Of course, my lady. Have no fear.”

  Lavinia smiled, but fear was all she had. Fear that her guests were up to far more evil than what they laid claim to. Fear that her husband had lied to her about his intentions. Fear that her mother had landed her in a horrible situation that she wouldn’t be able to get out of.

  The last thing she wanted to do was to entertain a pack of villains in a house that was unfamiliar in spite of being her own, but she drew in a deep breath, stood as tall as she could, and prepared to do the impossible. Only, before she could step into the sitting room, Armand closed his hand around her arm and pulled her to the side.

  “I’m sorry about all of this,” he said, still rigid with anger.

  “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say, but the words came out anyhow.

  She prayed Armand would deny it, but he simply let out an irritated breath and lowered his shoulders. “I do have an offer to take up a position as a physician in India,” he confessed.

  “Then why did you go ahead and marry me?” she asked. “Did you intend to take me with you, away from my friends, family and everything I know, without any notice or preparation?”

  “No, I wouldn’t make you leave England like that unless you wanted to go,” he said.

  Lavinia’s eyes widened. “So you intended to abandon me so soon after our marriage? Did you go through with Mama’s plots because you needed a glorified housekeeper for your estate?”

  “No, I never intended to marry you at all,” he answered in a rush.

  A moment later, he blinked and their eyes met. That was the heart of it, then. After everything that had passed between them in the last few days, he still didn’t want her. The passion they’d shared that morning had been nothing more than carnal enjoyment. Lady Stanhope had always hinted that a man and a woman didn’t have to be deeply in love to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh together. And Armand was old enough and sophisticated enough to know that. He’d probably had a dozen lovers before her and expected no more from her than he had from them. He wanted to be a doctor, not a husband, and it seemed he’d already laid plans to be just that.

  “I see,” she managed to say at last. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could share your plans with me earlier.” She turned away, spotting Mrs. Ainsworth across the hall and heading toward her.

  “Lavinia,” he called after her, careful not to raise his voice loud enough to draw attention from the sitting room. “Please come back. That’s not what I meant at all. We need to talk this through.”

  Lavinia stopped, squeezing her eyes shut and blowing out a breath through her nose. She felt like a disobedient child throwing a tantrum, but regardless of how unjust those feelings might be, she’d been hurt. She turned back to Armand. “Yes, we do need to talk. But whether what you said is what you meant or not, we have dangerous guests to entertain. That should be our focus right now.”

  Armand rubbed a hand over his face, looking defeated. “You’re right, of course. But we need to find time for us.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “But not right now.”

  He nodded reluctantly, then looked toward the sitting room for a moment, before meeting her eyes again. “Be careful while these vipers are in the house,” he said, his voice lowered. “I don’t trust them.”

  “Neither do I,” she admitted. The trouble was, s
he wasn’t entirely sure she could trust her husband either.

  Chapter 13

  Shayles was a trial. He was a conniving, evil-hearted man who spent the rest of the day drinking Armand’s finest spirits and making veiled threats and ribald jokes. But it was Miller whose neck Armand wanted to wring. Not only had the man blurted out his plans to take up the position in India to Lavinia before Armand had a chance to discuss it with her himself, the bastard watched Lavinia all through the afternoon and during supper as though he were a hawk sighting prey.

  “You should relocate to London once your husband sails away for the Indian sub-continent, Lady Helm,” he said with a drunken slur as Les and Carl served pudding at the end of supper. “That way you’d be closer to friends who could protect you.” His words would have seemed kind if he hadn’t delivered them with a lascivious grin while staring at Lavinia’s breasts.

  “Leave my wife out of whatever political games you’re playing,” Armand growled, regretting that the table was so blasted long and Lavinia was all the way at the other end. He wanted her by his side at all times so that he could shield her.

  “Politics?” Miller jerked straight, swaying as he turned toward Armand. “Can’t stand the stuff. Women, on the other hand.” He laughed until he was cut short by a hiccup. “You should know all about women, Pearson, what with your women’s medicine.” He laughed harder, ending with a burp.

  Armand scowled at him, well aware of how many doctors considered the new field of gynecology to be fluff medicine, unimportant, and slightly inappropriate. Which was the entire reason he’d been able to pursue it after being forced to give up what society thought of as serious medicine. “Women’s health is as important as men’s,” he said, meeting Lavinia’s eyes across the table. “Just as their rights are as important as ours.”

  It was as if someone had struck a match and lit a lamp. That was what his friends were fighting so hard for in Parliament. Women had every bit as much of a right to self-determination as they had to adequate healthcare in a way that focused on their unique physiology. And he was in a position to advance both notions.