by Lavinia Kent
“I am still not clear on what he knows.”
“He doesn’t know anything. Annie keeps saying I am with her. She says he doesn’t believe her, but he can’t prove anything.”
Violet wondered how long it would be before Masters arrived at Annie’s with a physician in tow. It was surprising it had not happened already.
How bad would it be if Isabella was forced to marry Foxworthy? Violet knew her sister would not die. Isabella might be flighty and far more calculating than she had ever guessed, but, like Violet, she was a survivor.
No, she would not think like that. Violet knew how many things were worse than death. “Tell me the whole story, Isabella. Why is Masters so intent on Foxworthy? He is rich, but there are other wealthy men.”
“I don’t know if it has to be Foxworthy,” Isabella answered. “I do know it has to be soon, very soon. I overheard Masters talking before we came to Town. He mentioned Foxworthy then. He owes Foxworthy money—it was clear what Foxworthy wanted in return.”
Violet straightened her back. She closed her eyes and imagined a steel rod ran straight up her spine. She had often sat thus when entertaining Dratton. She pictured each bone perfectly aligned, one upon the other. If she concentrated hard enough she could almost ignore the choices she felt coming.
She moved her feet evenly in front of her, lining up her toes, hips perfectly straight. “Is that why you were so intent on finding a husband? Did you hope that you could prevent Masters from choosing Foxworthy?”
“Yes, exactly. Anybody would be better than he.”
“I am not quite sure that is true,” Violet responded.
“You know it is. He’s not only ugly, he smells if you get too close.” Isabella jumped to her feet, unable to contain her restless energy.
“There are worse things than either smell or appearance.”
“I can’t imagine what.” The hysteria was back. Violet was reminded of how young her sister was.
For a moment Violet considered telling her of Milber. There were so many forms of cruelty. No, Isabella did not need to know just how bad things could be.
Isabella stopped pacing and turned to her. Violet could see the edge of panic that brushed across her sister’s face.
“It doesn’t matter, Isabella,” she said. “What matters is that we decide what to do now. You are sure that it is only money? That is the only hold Foxworthy has on our brother?”
“I don’t know. It could be something else.” Isabella’s hands flapped like a small child on the edge of a tantrum. “I only know that Masters does owe him money.”
“How can Masters be out of funds? I know he was well settled when I married Carrington. I made sure of it.”
Isabella started to pace again. “I don’t know. I know that Masters was involved in some speculation. He invested in some Dutch company that recently closed its doors. Maybe that has something to do with it.”
That might have quite a lot to do with it. Their brother had never seemed lucky with investments. “Still, the estate should bring in enough to cover his expenses. Does he gamble?”
“I don’t think so,” Isabella said. “He always talks of how foolish it is to risk money on dice and cards. He sees it as a real vice.”
That had not changed, then. “I still suspect there is something more. Why Foxworthy? That is what we must find out.”
“I don’t see how.” Isabella’s tone was shrill. “Masters will tell never tell us.”
Isabella was wrong about that. While their brother had never felt the need to share his counsel with her in the past, he was about to find out just how much she had changed. “Leave that to me. Why don’t you go and rest now—this anxiety cannot be good for you. Stay out of sight. I’ll try to delay knowledge of my arrival from spreading. That will hopefully delay Masters until I am ready. He won’t believe you have anyplace to go. The longer we can keep him from being sure you have fled, the safer you are.”
Isabella leaned over and kissed Violet on the cheek. “I knew you’d keep me safe. Even if Masters does find me you mustn’t let me go with him. Thank you. Thank you.” Isabella scampered out.
Violet continued to sit. She doubted very much that she could keep Masters from taking Isabella if he demanded she be returned to him. She really had only one choice.
She would confront her brother for Isabella as she never had for herself.
“What do you mean you don’t have a choice?” Violet kept her voice low, although she had a desire to scream. She stared across the carriage at the brother she had never understood.
“It means exactly what it sounds like. Isabella must marry Foxworthy.” Masters stared out the window at the dark street. He did not meet her gaze.
Violet drew in a deep breath and held it. Accosting her brother outside his club had seemed like such a brilliant idea when she’d thought of it. If she invited him to her home, that would put him too near Isabella, and if Violet met him at his home, that would give him too much power.
Drawing up beside him as he left his club had been a stroke of genius. A carriage was neutral territory.
Only she’d forgotten how large and overpowering he could be. He was several inches shorter than Peter, but that didn’t matter when crowded in a carriage.
She’d also forgotten how skilled he was at simply not answering questions. He didn’t avoid them; he just didn’t answer them.
“Besides,” he continued, still not looking at her, “Isabella has not indicated that she will not marry Foxworthy. Indeed, everything she has said has indicated her willingness.”
“And that is why she has fled?” She knew she sounded too sarcastic. She didn’t want to antagonize her brother, but it was hard to hold back her feelings.
“And how do you know all this? I believe she is staying at friends’. Do you know differently?” Masters finally turned to face her, and for the first time she remembered how he’d always made her feel like she still belonged in the schoolroom. He was always so proper, never a single hair out of place.
“How I know doesn’t matter,” she replied, fighting for calm. “Do you deny it?”
“How can I deny anything when I do not understand the question?” His voice was flat. For the briefest of moments she thought she saw emotion flicker behind his eyes, but then it was gone.
It was time to cut to the center of the matter. “You are forcing Isabella to wed just as you forced me.”
“When did I force you? It is true I arranged your first two matches, but the choice was always yours.” He turned back to the window and stared out as if bored with her.
“I remember the situation differently.”
“It is no use arguing with memory. We each have our own.” Masters’s voice was almost a whisper, and she almost had to strain to hear it.
“Then you will not relent.” She didn’t know why she had expected more.
“As I said. Your sister has not given me any indication that she is unwilling, just as you never said no. If she has a difficulty with the match she should inform me. I sign the marriage contracts tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Surely there is no such urgency.”
“That is not your affair.” He sounded so detached.
“What are you not telling me?” If only she could understand the situation.
“Nothing that would make a difference. If you should happen to see your sister, I suggest you tell her it is time to come home.” He faced her one last time. If she hadn’t known better she would have thought there was a certain sadness about him, but she did know better.
“I’ll let Isabella know your feelings—if I should happen to see her. And perhaps I’ll visit Foxworthy myself.”
“Do that.” He knocked on the roof of the carriage.
“I’ll get off here. And Violet, remember things have not turned out so badly for you. Perhaps you could have some faith that I am older and do know what is best.”
The carriage stopped and he swung out. He paused for a moment, staring out int
o the night. “He has promised to do well by her, Violet, to give her whatever she needs. Foxworthy will not be as bad a husband as you fear.” Then he strode off into the darkness, not looking back.
She squared her shoulders and sat without touching the back of the bench. She could sit like this for hours.
But she didn’t know if she had hours.
It took less than a minute for different possibilities to run through her mind.
She could flee with her sister, but what then? She knew how few possibilities there were for a woman without connections. Money could accomplish only so much. She did not wish that life for her sister.
Another husband? Not a bad idea, but impossible to acquire on such short notice.
Just refusing Masters? No, the law was on his side. To all practical purposes, Isabella belonged to Masters.
Should she face her brother again, try one more time to talk to him? Even the thought of it caused bitter acid to rise in her stomach. This encounter had demonstrated how hopeless that was. She had not moved him this time. Why did she think another try would change anything?
There was really only one choice.
This time she rapped the roof of the carriage and directed her driver home. It was time to dress, time to play another part.
The room reeked of stale cigar smoke and sweat. Violet stared at the short, heavyset man. Foxworthy. It had been easier than she’d thought. She sent a note and he replied. She suggested a time and he supplied the meeting place.
She’d hoped to be done with gambling hells. She didn’t even want to imagine meeting Ian or Struthers. With everything else, she still hadn’t decided what to say to them.
At least Foxworthy had provided for a private room.
“You look lost in your thoughts, my dear. Surely my words have not surprised you?” Foxworthy asked, his sentence ending in a hacking cough. He looked ill.
Maybe he would die before a wedding could take place, and if he didn’t, Isabella would not have long to—She mustn’t think like that. Violet knew how quickly damage could be done. She would not wish such a husband on anyone, no matter for how little time.
She turned toward him with a smile. “It’s not every day one finds out one’s brother is a traitor.” She shifted forward and watched how his eyes trailed over her body. She resisted the urge to shudder when he licked his lips.
“Not a traitor precisely.” He coughed again.
“But you said—”
“He made some unwise investments, wasn’t always careful where the money ended up. If some landed in French pockets at crucial moments…” He let the sentence hang.
“So Masters didn’t know that—” Violet couldn’t even say the words. She’d never had a false image of her brother, but neither had she imagined he could betray his country. If Foxworthy had proof, there would be no choice; nothing she could do would persuade Masters to change his mind. He’d have no more choice than she did. It would explain his coldness to her approach. Her belly felt full of lead shot.
“It doesn’t really matter what he knew or didn’t know.” Foxworthy pushed to his feet and came toward her. “I kept the records and they clearly show that several thousand pounds of your brother’s money ended up in French pockets during the wrong years.”
“Why would you keep such records? What could you possibly hope to gain?” Violet stepped back as he approached. The blasted man did have proof. What could be done now?
“I’ve never heard you were a shrinking violet.” He laughed at his own joke and stepped forward again, catching her arm in his grip. “I keep many such records. Most of the time they have no use. I never expected I’d use these beyond being sure I was the first in line when Masters paid his debts, but then I saw your sister. Such a pretty thing. Almost as pretty as you were.” His fingers tightened and his thumb stroked down her arm.
She wanted to pull away. It was hard to stand too close to him, but she had done many hard things. This was trivial. “Why her? You have money. You evidently have power.”
He licked his lip again. “I do like the power. I considered a mistress but they are always wanting more. And, I haven’t seen one that interested me.” He stepped even closer. She could feel his body press against her, his heavy round belly and thighs. The buttons of his waistcoat caught in the soft fabric of her dress.
He coughed again.
Spine straight. Vertebra lined up. She turned toward him, her breasts even with his chin. If he drooled on her she was done. “Not a one that you liked?”
“I might be persuaded.” He reached around and squeezed her bottom, drawing her more tightly against him.
She could only be grateful that his belly kept them from more intimate contact. “What would it take to persuade you that you were no longer interested in Isabella?” She dropped her gaze to his lips, lowered her voice. “I also have money. I could give you—”
“Money is not what I seek.” He squeezed harder.
“Why should I give her up? I think perhaps I could have both of you.”
His fingers stung. She was going to have the imprint of his hand spread across her behind in the morning. She pulled back, spinning out of his grasp. She strode across the room and sat on the couch, only at the last remembering to bend forward and flash her breasts at him.
“Don’t mistake me.” Her voice was cold, but she smiled sweetly. “I couldn’t care less what people say about my brother. I don’t even care if you send the authorities after him. He is responsible for his own actions.” That was not quite true. He was her brother, despite everything. She did not wish him ill, not even now. She could not, however, let Foxworthy sense any weakness. “My only concern is my sister.”
He walked toward her and stopped a foot in front of her. She could feel his gaze as he considered her and weighed his options. Her eyes were level with the front of his trousers. His belly might have prevented her from feeling his arousal, but it was clearly there. “Why should I take you instead of her? She is young and innocent and you are not.”
“Why do you want a wife? I understand you have a son from your first marriage and so have no need of an heir. Are you in need of a woman to keep your house orderly, clean, and peaceful? If so I can recommend a reliable housekeeper at much less expense than keeping a young wife. I promise you that my sister’s dressmaker’s bills would make you shudder. I understand from Masters that you have promised to keep her well. And should you think of depriving her of her frivolities, you cannot even begin to imagine the tears and pouting that will result.
“As for innocence and youth, are they really what you want?” Violet picked up her glass and let her tongue trail around the rim. She took a small swallow and relished the flavor before letting it slide down her throat.
His eyes followed the motion as she had known they would. She dipped a finger in the strong liquor and then trailed it across her mouth. “I promise you that experience has much to recommend it,” she said.
She sucked the finger hard into her mouth.
Foxworthy swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a ball on a string. He stepped closer, his shins brushing the couch between her legs.
This was going much faster than she had planned. Tonight was only for talk. She needed longer to prepare herself for more.
She took a rapid swig of her drink, draining it to the bottom. She held out her glass. “Could you please fetch me another? I find myself quite thirsty.”
He hesitated and she licked her lips again. “Very thirsty.” She fastened her eyes on the fall of his trousers.
He turned and strode over to the decanter on the far table.
Violet rose quickly to her feet. Where could she stand that would prevent his maneuvering, while still continuing her play at seduction?
It was too warm for a fire or she would have positioned herself in front of it. A body silhouetted through fine silk was always alluring, and a woman could only be pressed so far back toward it. A sunny window could have served the same purpose—sh
e doubted Foxworthy was eager to show the family jewels to the street below.
The thick curtains provided no such safety.
He walked back toward her, drink in hand.
She stepped away from the couch and into the middle of the room. She had space to maneuver if not to outright flee.
“Will this satisfy your appetites, my dear?” He held the glass out to her. The liquid was a more golden shade than before.
She raised the glass to her nose. She hated whiskey.
“Perhaps a few of them.” She smiled and sipped, hiding the rough burn on her throat.
“Then let’s try and fulfill some of the others.” He stepped forward.
She stepped to the side.
“Now, my dear, I thought we were done with games,” he said, stepping toward her.
“And I thought we had just begun to play.” She stepped aside with a girlish giggle.
“As long as I know who will win.” He lunged.
She avoided him at the last moment. A table stood to the side and she slid behind it. “We have not finished the other matter yet. Will you speak to my brother and tell him you are no longer interested in Isabella? And will you also agree to destroy the papers that give you power over him?”
“If my own appetites are well satisfied I might.” He tried to reach her around the table, but it was too wide. He eyed it, clearly trying to decide which way to go.
“I never give in too easily. I like anticipation.” She leaned across the table toward him. “It makes the ending so much more enjoyable.” She leaned back and turned a colder eye upon him. “Besides, I need some assurances before we proceed. I believe you should talk to my brother first.”
“What about my assurances?” he asked.
“I am a woman of my word.”
He coughed and walked from the table. “I’ve never found women particularly trustworthy. I want to be sure what I am buying before I proceed.”
What did he expect her to do, strip naked and display herself like a cart of melons for sale? Maybe she should be glad he was not more attractive. It would certainly help keep this whole distasteful matter a more businesslike proceeding.