* * *
Reed walked through Sterling’s that night. The cardrooms were occupied by only a handful of loyal patrons, but rumor had it that Savage had quite the hoard.
He stopped in the first-floor hall and faced the window, his frown reflecting back to him. All day long, he’d been tense and uneasy. He couldn’t shake it. He didn’t like Savage’s association with Mitchum.
“Your cat is a peculiar creature,” Finch said with a laugh, his large frame coming into view. He gestured with a thumb aimed over his shoulder toward the stairs. “I was just in the kitchen when she came up to me, meowing over and over again, tilting her head this way and that. It was like she was trying to have a conversation.”
“Perhaps she was welcoming you back,” Reed said absently.
Today had been Finch’s last day at the agency and tomorrow, Clementine—another of Reed’s men, though Ainsley did not know it—would start.
She wouldn’t approve if she knew that he’d handpicked her butler, but Reed would do anything to keep her safe. He’d even posted a man around the perimeter of the townhouse, ever since the day he’d first met Mitchum. Tonight was Teddy’s watch.
“Highly doubtful. That devil’s spawn didn’t even attempt an assault,” Finch said. “She just sprinted off, leaving through the kitchen window. And I see you glowering, but I’m certain she’ll turn up like a bad penny. Much like your friend Savage always manages to do.”
The mention of the marquess caused Reed’s shoulders to tighten, his nerves on edge. Their earlier conversation still clanged through his mind like a warning bell.
“Sterling’s will fare well once again,” Finch said, misunderstanding. “Savage will become bored with his new pet.”
“And in the meantime, Mitchum is being petted and praised and touted as a champion by London’s elite gentlemen?” Reed scrubbed a hand over the knots gathering at the base of his neck. “That kind of adoring attention can affect any man. Yet for one solely ruled by his ego, it can be dangerous. I worry that it will only make him crave more.”
“Then fear not,” Finch said, “for I just heard from Raven that Savage is stepping into the ring himself tonight.”
Ah. So that’s what he’d planned. “He’s trying to whet the ton’s appetite for a fight between us.”
Finch slanted him a look. “Agreeing to it seems the obvious solution. Simply demand that the match be held here, then your patrons will flock back to the nest by droves.”
Reed couldn’t fight, not when Ainsley was starting to let down her guard with him.
“I don’t like the timing of it all,” Reed said. “It’s too convenient. First Mitchum comes to pay a call on Miss Bourne, then makes a scene here, and now I’m supposed to believe that he is still in London because he has aspirations of being a boxer?”
“Granted, it does reek of suspicion. However, at least you know that Mitchum is better occupied now. From what I recall, Savage was a severe taskmaster upon himself. Rest assured, he’ll keep Mitchum far too busy to cause you trouble.”
An uneasy shiver chased down Reed’s spine. His gaze strayed out the window to the townhouse across the lamplit street, where Teddy was circling to the back of the house.
“But trouble is brewing nonetheless.”
* * *
The Bourne Matrimonial Agency had been flooded with potential new clients today. The dream that Ainsley and her sisters had embarked upon nearly two years ago was within reach.
She should have been thrilled by the turnout, eager, and focused. But instead, she’d been absentminded all day, easily distracted, sighing, and simply not quite herself.
Instead of focusing on the pertinent facts during an interview, she’d found herself asking the oddest questions. Do you whistle? Are you fond of dancing? How do you feel about parlor games? And the applicants were eager to share their answers.
Ainsley never fell into easy conversation with a client. She was straightforward and impersonal. All she wanted were the facts. Then after the application was complete, she typically stated with measured authority, “The agency will strive to find a match based on the information provided.”
Today, however, she found herself chatting and laughing. Then, to make matters worse, she actually concluded an interview by saying, “We’re going to help you find the love of your life.”
Insanity!
Ainsley had opened her mouth and somehow Briar had fallen out.
Though in her own defense, it had been difficult to concentrate on anything since last night. Her mind careened to Reed when she least expected it. She caught herself smiling at odd moments throughout the day, too. Grinning like an escapee from Bedlam.
Proof was the reflection in the darkened window glass of her office. A blush tinged her cheeks and a dreamy brightness shone in her eyes. She’d never seen such an expression on her face before.
Was this what love was like?
If it was, she wanted no part of it.
Letting the curtain fall, she turned away and began to pace, gnawing on the corner of her thumbnail.
She didn’t want to be in love with Reed. Her mother had loved a man, past the point of reason. Past the point of seeing that she still had a life to live and children who needed her. Ainsley never wanted to lose all sense of what mattered.
Her efforts for the agency had been positively worthless today.
Well, it had to stop. No matter how exciting Reed was to kiss, how safe she felt in his arms, or how diverting it was to argue with him, she refused to fall in love. She was too sensible.
Lowering her hand to her side, she tucked these errant thoughts away. She wouldn’t even give them credence.
In love with her betrothed? Ha.
Head firmly on her shoulders, she left her office and headed toward the stairs. It was time to begin her nightly ritual of snuffing out the tapers, floor by floor. Though, with her uncle away at the Duchess of Holliford’s, she would leave the foyer lit as she always did.
Ainsley had begged off from this evening’s dinner, claiming a need to file applications and plan the wedding breakfast. The truth, however, was that she didn’t feel at all proper enough to sit at the duchess’s table. Not after last night. The duchess would take one look at her and see her for the wicked and wanton creature she’d become.
Even now, her face heated with a blush at the memory. And part of her—she was ashamed to admit—hoped he would return again this evening and find her alone. Crossing the foyer, she peered through the sidelight glass and gazed at the façade of Sterling’s, sighing like a starry-eyed debutante. Pathetic.
Noticing that the number of carriages stopping was considerably smaller than it had ever been, a pang of guilt churned in her stomach. This was her fault. And knowing that he cared about his business as much as she cared about hers, she had to make it right.
Distracted, she didn’t even see the cat on her doorstep until it meowed at her.
Ainsley reached for the doorlatch, then hesitated.
Reflexively, her thoughts went to Nigel, even though it made no sense. After all, she knew that he was escorted from London by one of Reed’s men. He certainly wasn’t waiting on her doorstep. But a shiver raced down her spine, nonetheless.
Ever since his unexpected visit, she’d made a habit of checking to ensure the doors were locked, several times a day. There was no such thing as being too careful.
It was dark tonight. There was no moonlight to fill in the shadowy places between her door and the lamplit pavement ahead. She squinted into the gloom, cupping her hands around the window. Then, seeing nothing amiss, she opened the door.
The scruffy creature scurried inside, wending around her skirts. She looked up with a blink of her one good eye and proceeded to meow over and over again, and each time with a seeming degree of urgency.
“Well, good evening to you,” Ainsley answered with a laugh, bending to pick her up. But the cat was having nothing to do with that and darted upstairs instead, slipping away in a white blur. “If you’
re here for a dish of cream, then you’ll have to join me in the kitchen. There’ll be no hiding in my bedchamber again.”
Shaking her head, Ainsley closed the door, then locked it before heading up the stairs.
Since she had already closed the office doors, it took only a quick look down the first corridor to see that the cat was nowhere in sight. She was just heading toward the library around the corner when she heard a faint creak from below. Knowing that Uncle had given Reed a key to the door, she wondered if the sound was her betrothed coming after his cat.
She looked down toward the foyer below, but didn’t see him. Or hear him, for that matter. Whatever had caused that sound stopped.
A peculiar chill swept down her spine as she studied the sconce light shining against the marble floor. There were no mysterious shadows, and every niche and furnishing was illuminated.
Chafing her hands over her arms, she told herself she was being foolish. Then she walked on toward the library.
The open archway glowed warmly from the light of a small fire in the hearth and the lamp she’d left burning. She planned to while away the hours this evening by reading Shakespeare’s sonnets in search of an answer to the questions that had been stirring in her mind and in her heart.
Although, if she was to the point of turning to poetry for guidance, then she suspected her heart was already lost.
A peculiar noise halted her musings. She couldn’t quite place it, but it sounded like wood clacking together, like chair legs bumping underneath a dining table. It made no sense. Since Mrs. Darden had gone to bed an hour ago, it had to be the cat getting into mischief.
Or it was Reed coming inside. Perhaps, she thought with a grin, in his haste to see her, he’d knocked into the umbrella stand in the foyer.
In case that was it, she called out, “We are up here, Mr. Sterling. Your cat is putting me on a merry chase again.”
Walking around the chiffonier that bisected the room into two parts—the library and the sitting nook—she checked beneath both chairs. Though knowing how much the cat enjoyed a spot on a window seat, she stepped over to the corner and pulled the drapes back. But the creature was not there.
Since she had not heard Reed call out in answer, Ainsley comprehended with disappointment that her first assumption was likely correct. She was alone and the cat had caused something to tumble off a table or shelf. However, once she found the cat, she could return the bundle to Reed. And that thought cheered her.
Tuning her ear to any noise, she listened for the cat. The air was still aside from the crackling flames behind her. And something about the responding silence caused her stomach to twist nervously.
She hesitated before taking another step toward the corridor. Perhaps she had imagined the sounds?
No. She knew the difference between a creaking house and footsteps. Only the old Ainsley had second-guessed herself.
Nigel’s constant manipulations and truth twisting had made her doubt herself. For a time, it had been so dreadful that she’d hardly been able to decide what dress to wear on any given day, worried that the color would bring a chiding comment about her complexion, or that the shape of the gown would make her look dowdy, as he’d often said when they were alone. Yet in front of her family, he’d told them that it was Ainsley who’d worried that she looked dowdy, making it seem as though she’d been seeking a compliment.
Thinking about Nigel sent a fresh chill slithering down her limbs.
Reed will come soon for his cat, she thought, chafing her arms. Then, steeling herself, she walked back into the corridor.
She stopped with sudden dread, greeted by a tunnel of darkness. Every sconce light had been dowsed.
The corridor yawned before her. She was standing in the only light, her shadow a ghostly figure beside her.
“Reed?” she called out, a tremor in her voice.
More than anything, she needed to hear his voice telling her not to worry.
“Not quite, Ains.”
Chapter 22
“She could not speak another word.—Her voice was lost; and she sat down, waiting in great terror . . .”
Jane Austen, Emma
Nigel emerged from the blackness, the flickering light catching eerily over his twisted grin.
Ainsley drew a breath, refusing to panic. She was a different person now, stronger than she’d ever been before. “I—I believe I made myself perfectly clear during your last visit. I am betrothed to another man. There is nothing to discuss.”
“You made a fool of me,” Nigel said, his voice sure and calm.
He’d subjected her to months of verbal and physical abuse, and yet she was trying to make a fool of him? Of course he would see it that way. Doubtless, he couldn’t even fathom that she might deserve respect and compassion instead of cruelty.
Fortunately, she knew that all men were not like this. While her uncle had always been an example of kindness, it was Reed who’d proven that, even with a tough exterior, a man could be surprisingly gentle and caring. A man could be precisely who and what he claimed to be.
Feeling more self-assured than during their previous encounter, she stiffened her spine. “That was not my intention. Now, if you would leave . . .”
“A man doesn’t easily forget that,” he said. “Nor have the villagers. Those common people have nothing better to do than give me sideways glances, and whisper snide comments under their breath. And my parents haven’t forgotten either. They don’t allow a single day to go by without reminding me of the mistake I made by letting you get away.”
“But you married someone else. Surely, they—”
“You left me no choice.”
He took a step closer, and she took a step back, her harried pulse climbing.
The low light revealed a swollen discoloration near his left eye. On closer examination, she also noticed his cravat was wrinkled, the cuffs on his gray coat smudged with dirt. And his waistcoat was missing one button.
It gave her a shock to see him on the far side of his usual, impeccable standards. He looked as if he’d recently been in a fight.
“It’s because of what you did that I had to marry in haste,” he continued. “And my father, the youngest son who’d inherited nothing, couldn’t forgive me for marrying a poor vicar’s daughter. Not when I had the daughter of a baron in the palm of my hand—quite literally, if you’ll recall.”
Ainsley’s stomach turned at the crude remark. “As a daughter, I would not inherit anything either. Besides, my father has already acknowledged his illegitimate son.”
“You still don’t understand,” he said with a condescending smirk. “My aim was always much higher. You and your sisters are the only surviving relatives of a viscount, and since you’re the eldest, it will be our son who will inherit. Our son who will live in the finest house, and my blood will be in his veins. I’ll be the sire of generations of viscounts to come.”
“You and I are never going to have a son.”
“Do you know,” he continued conversationally, deaf to her resistance, “my wife’s death was actually a gift to me. Another chance, as it were. Because I knew that you were here in London, still unmarried. Still waiting for me.”
Ainsley shivered. The gleam in his gaze caused her to step back, her confidence faltering. He always had a way of twisting facts to concoct these wild fabrications and then convince himself of their validity.
“I’m marrying another man. The banns have been read,” she said emphatically, desperate for him to see reason, once and for all.
“Ains, I can see straight through your excuses. I always could. Remember that day in the parlor, when you were all soft and squirming beneath me? You’d played coy, but I knew you’d been waiting a long time to have me all to yourself.” He tsked. “And when your uncle interrupted us, you only pretended offense.”
“That isn’t true.”
He took a step inside the room. His movements were slow enough that it shouldn’t have been threatening, and yet the subtle
ty seemed almost snakelike. As if he were waiting for the right moment to uncoil and strike.
An icy finger of panic skated down her spine. Her gaze darted past his shoulder to the darkened corridor and she wondered if Mrs. Darden would hear her call out.
“It’s no use to scream,” he said, eerily reading her thoughts. “I locked the door to the garret, where Ginny sleeps, and I propped a chair underneath the handle to Mrs. Darden’s door. Mr. Hatman’s too old and frail, and barely makes it down the stairs as it is. So you see, even if they heard you, they wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
“We have a b-butler now,” she stammered, grasping at straws, hoping to stall him as she skirted around the chiffonier, putting the low bookshelf between them.
“Who arrives tomorrow,” Nigel said with a self-satisfied shrug. “I’ve been in London a bit longer than I let on. Long enough to know the mornings when Ginny goes to market. When Mrs. Darden leaves the kitchen door on the latch to run a batch of scones next door. When your uncle dines with the Duchess of Holliford, and how late he’ll stay there tonight. We won’t be interrupted this time. And don’t worry, I have a carriage in back waiting to drive us to Gretna Green so my son will be legitimate.”
Ainsley swallowed down a sour rise of bile, trying to regain a sense of calm. “Nigel, you’re not speaking rationally. Think about what you’re saying.”
He smiled, eyes alarmingly bright. “Remember that sportsman I hired to teach me boxing? Well, he introduced me to Lord Savage. And you know what he said? He said that I could be a prizefighter.”
She didn’t answer, believing that this was one of the many times he didn’t require a response. All he really wanted was to hear the sound of his own voice. So she focused on trying to figure out a way past him.
If she could make it to the window, then she could scream out across the street. Someone outside of Sterling’s would hear her. And Reed would come.
And yet, if she went deeper into the room, then it would be easier for Nigel to trap her here.
“Aren’t you listening? You know I hate to be ignored.”
The Rogue to Ruin EPB Page 23