She averted her face to hide the warm flush rising to her cheeks. “Was it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl. Lucy.”
“That’s lovely,” she said, their conversation falling into some strange sort of stiltedness. “And . . . she is healthy?”
Again he nodded, and glanced to the door.
A torrent of anxiety filled her, knowing that he would leave now. And she should want him to go. After all, it had only been about money for him. From the very beginning to the bitter end.
She stared down at the horrid necklace, choking it in her grip.
“And here I’d thought you’d be happy to have those,” he said, his tone provoking. “Especially considering your sudden change of heart. Such a changeable thing, it is.”
The stiltedness was abruptly replaced with a fresh surge of fury and hurt. How dare he pretend that his actions had nothing to do with hers!
She shook the necklace at him. “He called me a cow when he sent these. There was a card to Lady Stanton and in it he . . . referred to me as a cow.”
“And yet you’re marrying him.”
“At least he wants to. I’d rather have that than a man who proclaims to my father that he has no desire whatsoever to marry me. Just think, you might have had a fortune within your grasp had you lied to him the way you’d done to me.”
She threw the necklace at him.
And it would have been glorious . . . if it hadn’t slammed down directly on the floor in front of her. Damnable dress, she could hardly move in it.
“For your information, I was attempting to stop my father from blackmailing yours, and from orchestrating a grand coup to tell the ton that he was about to be vulgarly rich through association. I didn’t want you or your family to be used in that manner.”
“Ha! That is a fine thing for you to say. Tell me, how did you spend the money my father paid you? Because I thought it was supposed to earn your passage to a life free from your father’s influence. But that must have been another lie you told me.”
“For your information, I was planning to shove that money back into your father’s hand, until I was clubbed over the head near the garden. By the time I came to, I was hours away from Avemore Abbey and being driven by those henchmen to my father, who—at some point while I was unconscious—picked my pockets clean. So ha back to you.” He raked a hand through his hair, seething. “I lost everything that day, while you gained yourself a husband, who’ll grant all your little heiress wishes by making you a duchess one day.”
Her heart stopped beating. Her fury evaporated on a single, winged breath. “So, you . . . didn’t leave me by choice?”
“I tried to tell you but you were too stubborn to listen. I wanted to explain everything and beg you to forgive me, but now”—he shook his head—“it’s too late. You are planning a grand future that I can never give you.”
At once, hot tears streamed down her face in great soggy runnels. A shuddering sob broke free. And the stupid part was, she wasn’t sure if she was desolate or overjoyed.
Asher came back to her on a sigh and closed the distance between them to mere inches. Withdrawing a handkerchief from the inside of his coat, he proceeded to dry her cheeks in tender passes. “Shh . . . don’t cry, Winn. Your tears are cutting through your face powder and your freckles are showing.”
“They aren’t my freckles,” she said with a sniff, drawing in his familiar scent.
A corner of his mouth curled. “Of course they’re yours. They’re on your face. Who else would they—”
He broke off and his eyes met hers.
“I gave them to you, remember?”
“I do,” he said, using the pads of his thumbs now instead of the handkerchief. He cupped her face, tilting it up, and his gaze drifted to her mouth . . .
But then he withdrew abruptly and paced back to the opposite side of the room. Briefly, she touched her lips, her fingers trembling. She lowered her hand before he turned to face her, the table between them once again.
“Oh, and by the by, your friends never took the money in the first place. It was Shettlemane all along.”
Of course she’d known her friends weren’t guilty, but had no desire to gloat over him. Not when she knew how much the discovery must have wounded him.
“It’s understandable that you wanted to believe it was someone other than your father.”
He shrugged. “Regardless, with ample years of proof, I should have known better. He even managed to manipulate the trustees into giving over the deed to Ashbrook Cottage. And now he’s put it up for sale.”
“No!” She gasped, and moved forward without thinking. “Oh, Asher, I’m so sorry.”
“It was only a matter of . . . time . . .” He frowned, his gaze drifting lower over her form.
With a start, she realized the pillow was slipping. She groped for it futilely. Then it fell down to the floor. Embarrassed beyond belief, she kept it hidden beneath her skirts, standing stock-still.
“What was that?”
She was sure her cheeks would catch fire. Drat! “I thought you were Mr. Woodbine, and I was going to claim that I’m with child so he would call off the wedding.”
Those dark eyes scalded her, his jaw clenched. Bending down, he stripped away the pillow from beneath her hem, and held it in his fist. “By pretending a pillow is my child? To escape a wedding that you shouldn’t be having in the first place?”
“Well, the way you say it, the plan sounds rather foolish.”
“Why, Winn?” He took her by the shoulders, forcing her back one step, then two, then three. “You said you wanted to marry him more than anyone else.”
“I was angry at the time.”
“So you were going to marry him just to hurt me? To put me in utter agony?”
“No,” she said, hiking her chin with self-righteous indignation. “I was heartbroken. You’re as much to blame as I.”
His teeth clenched. “Then why not marry him and complete my torment?”
“Because I love you, damn it all!”
Asher crushed his mouth to hers, hungry and fierce. All the tension, anger and heartache gathered like a storm cloud, crackling with lightning. Then it transformed into a sudden torrent of heat and feral desperation.
She twined her arms around his neck. He lifted her against him, hands splayed over her bottom, gripping. Yes! An exultant sigh left her, rejoicing in their reunion.
“I never wanted your dowry,” he growled, walking with her toward the parlor door, sealing them inside with a hard click of the latch. “I only wanted you.”
She whimpered into his mouth, her body aching for his touch, legs snaking around his waist. These days had been the most desolate of her life. “I thought you’d left me.”
“And I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never. Not till the end of my days. Not even then,” she promised, kissing and molding herself against him, needing more. Her hands groped over him, sliding beneath his coat, clutching at his shoulders.
He pressed her against the door with his hips, the hard length of his erection between them. She hitched reflexively, and he felt so good, so right that an unbidden mewl of longing escaped her. He reached under her skirt and . . .
Then they heard someone rap impatiently on the door knocker downstairs.
Breathless, they broke the kiss, saying in unison, “Woodbine.”
Forehead pressed to hers, Asher’s hand lingered at the edge of her stocking, his thumb rousing tingles and pulses beneath her skin. She held on to him tighter. Perhaps, if they were quiet, they could . . .
He shook his head as if they shared the same thought. Then, after a reluctant exhale, he gently lowered her.
“I need to speak with your father,” he said, taking special care to smooth her clothes in place and leaving her jelly-kneed with every skillful pass of his hands.
She beamed with a breathless smile, leaning against the door for support.
“But I can’t marry you.”
&nb
sp; Her smile fell. “Whot?”
He grinned and leaned in to kiss her, while situating his own clothes. “Not today. I can’t go to your father without any prospects at all.”
“Whatever are we going to do, then?”
“I don’t know, but I will figure out something soon. I promise,” he said sincerely. “And when I return—and I will do so with as much haste as I can manage—be prepared to leave with me that very minute. Have your bags packed and waiting.”
“Are you going to abduct me?”
“If I have to.” He winked at her and walked over to retrieve her pillow, then put it in her hands. “In the meantime, keep our child safe.”
She hugged it to her bosom. “You’d asked me to come with you. Would you really have taken me aboard the ship without even marrying me first?”
“I even had a plan to disguise you as a friar. I think I would have liked you in a robe with nothing underneath.” He brushed his wicked grin across her lips.
“Scoundrel.”
Then he sobered and gathered her in his arms, crushing the pillow. “Though, to tell you the truth, I’m glad my father commandeered the ship.”
Asher nodded. “He did. And he would absolutely hate to know that his act of subterfuge hasn’t left me in unmitigated despair. Quite the contrary. I have all that my heart could ever desire, because now I’m here with you.”
She sighed, glad he was here as well, but also hated that his dreams had been dashed. Lifting her hand, she smoothed the silken dark tendrils away from his forehead. “I know you had your heart set on finally being free of all his manipulations.”
“And I shall still manage it, somehow. You’ve rekindled hope within me. Who knows? Perhaps the Hollander twins will have discovered another treasure map by the time I make my way to their townhouse.”
“You seem so certain,” she said, gazing up at him with her heart.
“Because you make everything possible. You and your—No carriage? Then fine, we’ll walk. No money? We’ll sing for our supper—taught me that no obstacle is insurmountable. At least, as long as I have you.” He lowered his head for another lingering kiss, then stepped apart from her. “But before I leave, I must ask you a question.”
She grinned, imagining she knew what he was about to say. “Go on, then. I’m waiting.”
“Winn,” he said with grave sincerity as he tilted up her chin, “would you like me to kill Mr. Woodbine on my way out, or just maim him for being so horrible to you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just leave, and don’t come back until you have the right question on your lips.”
Chapter 32
Still utterly destitute, Asher now walked to the Hollanders’ townhouse with a quick step, optimistic that some grand plan would start to unfold.
In order to marry Winn, he needed enough to return every farthing Lord Waldenfield had paid him. Enough to pay off his father’s debt to Seabrooke, and never face his henchmen again. Additional money for the special license, a place to live . . . to start their lives . . .
Not only that, he needed to ask Waldenfield for permission and to withdraw Winn’s dowry. He didn’t want her ever to question how much he loved her. Having her was all that mattered to him.
Unfortunately, by the time he arrived at the Hollanders’ townhouse, he hadn’t come up with a single idea worth a shake of salt. He hoped they’d be struck by one of their farfetched, but surprisingly brilliant, ideas. In the back of his mind, however, he felt guilty for the way that his father had taken away their dreams as well, and knew they’d likely be drowning their sorrows for weeks to come.
Climbing the stairs to their study, he was surprised to hear them laughing heartily. And when he entered the drawing room, he was shocked to see who was standing with them.
“You,” Asher said to the man with the gray mustachios. Not only had he sold this man his knife in the village square across from the Grinning Boar, but now he recalled seeing him at Mr. Windle’s jewelry shop the day they’d tried to sell Winn’s pearls.
The man bowed with a flourish and in his gravelly bark of a voice said, “Sir Roderick Devine at your service.”
“The privateer?” Asher asked, looking to One and Two, who were grinning like cats who’d eaten the heads and tails of all the goldfish in a bowl. And it seemed like they weren’t going to tell him a thing, so he turned his attention back to Devine. “The Hollanders bought your hunting lodge.”
“True enough,” Devine said with a sly, amused twitch of his mustachios.
“Yet I was under the impression that—and forgive me for saying this—you’d died years ago.”
“Privateering was a precarious walk along the plank. One minute, you’re looting for the crown, but then the war ends and suddenly it’s treason.” He lifted his hands in a helpless shrug. “So I arranged to make it appear as though I’d perished at sea, rather than face the hangman’s noose.”
“As anyone would,” Asher said, digesting this in slow bites.
Then he saw Bates nudge Avery with his elbow, both of them fairly bursting with laughter. The former coughed into his fist, poorly disguising his words, “Ask him about the treasure map.”
Asher glanced back to Devine. “Is it real?”
“Indeed. The map is the genuine article.” That sly grin returned. “The treasure, however, was unearthed years ago.”
The twins guffawed, slapping each other on the back.
“And to think,” One said, “we’d have sailed all that way for nothing but sea air and sand.”
“Holt, your father has done us all a favor,” Two added, wheezing.
Devine handed a waiting glass to Asher and poured a liberal amount of rum into it. “Just what a man like Shettlemane deserves, I should think.”
Asher took the glass and scrutinized the stranger. “How is it that you knew my name in the village, and that you seem to know my father?”
Devine’s winged brows rose and he looked to Asher. “I’ll only say that I am acquainted with someone who knew your father long ago. Now, let us forget treasure maps for the moment and drink a toast, for I’ve been informed by these fine fellows that you have settled your heart on taking a wife.”
Asher held up a hand. “Don’t startle the Fates. I’m still unsure of how to accomplish this feat. But I must, and before her father decides to marry her to someone else.”
“What can we do to help?” Avery asked, staggering up to tap his glass to Asher’s and gulp down a hearty swallow. He was half drunk and it wasn’t even noon.
“Do you know of anyone who might need a shop clerk? A cobbler looking for an apprentice?”
* * *
Directly following Asher’s departure, Winnifred went to her father’s study, prepared to call off the wedding. With her hand on the latch, she took in a deep breath to garner her courage. But when she heard Mr. Woodbine’s voice beyond the door, she paused, listening.
“I think an additional five thousand pounds per annum should justify all the inconvenience I’ve suffered,” he said.
“Or better yet,” her father began, his tone dropping so low with warning that it raised gooseflesh on the back of her neck, “let us discuss a certain necklace and the note that came with it.”
Realizing that she’d left the pearls in the parlor, she rushed back to retrieve them. When she returned to her father’s study to hand them over, however, she opened the door to find him gripping the front of Mr. Woodbine’s cravat and glaring down into his wide, terrified eyes.
“Settlement for breach of contract? How dare you! My daughter was always too good for the likes of you. You money-grubbing worm. If I had that necklace in my hand, I’d cram it down—”
“Thank you, Father,” she said, stepping into the room, so happy she could burst. Whalebone beware!
He abruptly released her betrothed and cleared his throat. And when she laid the necklace in her father’s hand, the ashen Mr. Woodbine fled the room without a backward glance, nearly bowling Mother over in the cor
ridor.
“Julian,” Mother tsked, but with a smile playing on her lips. “Did you threaten Mr. Woodbine?”
He straightened his coat. “I did, indeed.”
“What a relief!” Mother said, shocking Winnifred to her heels. “I am glad we’re finally rid of him. I cannot count the times I’d wanted to tweak that man’s nose whenever he wrinkled it with distaste. I hope the duke and his brothers live forever and that overbearing stuffed shirt never inherits.”
Father nodded in stern agreement, and looked to his dumbfounded daughter. “I only wanted what was best for you, but I refused to acknowledge what a complete arse that man is. If I’m to be honest, I was ready to beat the pulp out of him the day these arrived.” He held up the pearls, then dropped them with an unceremonious clatter onto his desk. “Thankfully, you had more sense than I. Though that isn’t to say I’m condoning you running away and worrying your mother sick, young lady.”
“Quite true,” Mother agreed, but reached out and squeezed her hand. “Even so, I have made my share of mistakes. Instead of trying to prepare you for heartache, I should have taught you to honor the demands of your heart. A marriage should have love and affection to see it through hardships.”
Realizing her mouth was agape, Winnifred closed it with a snap. Who were these people and what had they done with her parents?
“Now, what’s this I hear from the servants about Lord Holt paying a call this morning?” Mother asked, and Father’s brows lowered.
Winnifred blushed under their combined scrutiny. “Well, you see . . . Lord Holt and I have something of an understanding between us. I have every confidence that he will soon request an audience with you to ask for my hand in marriage.”
She relayed a few more details—though none that would compel her father to beat the pulp out of Asher—and explained that they’d both professed their love to each other.
Mother smiled and embraced her.
Father’s brows remained low. “I’m not convinced that Holt is worthy. He’s a bit too arrogant if you ask me. Stood on my very doorstep last night and tried to tell me that he knew my daughter better than I did.”
Lord Holt Takes a Bride Page 27