by Jaimey Grant
“And yet you claim him as friend,” the earl retorted.
“The very best,” Connor agreed benignly. “He is the best of men to have in a pinch, trust me. He does, however, hate to be forced and his dislike of manipulative females is legendary. You really don’t want to force his hand.”
“Perhaps not,” Greville conceded grudgingly. “But she can’t marry Steyne either. He would destroy her.”
“Why have you not helped her?” Lord Connor asked curiously, ignoring his inclination to avoid asking impertinent questions.
The earl flushed in embarrassment but answered the question anyway. “I have tried. I mentioned helping her escape the madhouse. But I lack the funds and power to help her in any lasting sort of way.”
“Very well,” Connor replied shortly, coming to a sudden decision. He rose to his feet, paced the room once, and returned to stand before his guest. He stared down at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know where Adam is. And his butler won’t know either. He has a habit of just disappearing without a trace. His solicitor will know but even I can’t get such information out if that clam. There is only one other person who may know his whereabouts.” He smiled and bowed. “I would be honored if you would accompany my wife and I to the theater tonight, Greville.”
“In Drury Lane? Why?”
“I will explain afterwards. First, say you will accompany us.”
Chapter Eighteen
Levi, Lord Greville, listened to Lord Connor speak to his wife as they were leaving that night.
“I would like you to stay with Aunt Amelia directly after the show.”
“Why?” the beautiful marchioness asked curiously.
The marquess smiled. “Greville and I must pay a visit to the green room and you know it is not a place for ladies.”
Lady Connor grinned. “Thinking of setting up a mistress, my love? How very…tonnish of you, to be sure.”
Greville looked from one to the other, caught a wink from the aunt directed his way and relaxed. Apparently, this type of conversation was a normal occurrence for this particular married couple.
The play was Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. The woman playing Juliet was breathtakingly beautiful with very long, very straight black hair that hung loosely down her back almost to her knees. Her eyes were dark and slightly tilted giving her a sleepy exotic look.
Greville wondered if she had a protector. He wished he had the means to take her up. The thought occurred to him that perhaps Northwicke was there to set up a mistress. Perhaps he had his eye on the dark exotic girl. But of what possible help would that be to their cause?
The play finally ended, not that anyone in their party particularly wished for it to end such was the talent of the woman Greville discovered was known as the Ebony Swan. But end it did and Greville soon found himself in the green room with the marquess, standing before the delectable Swan.
Greville glanced at Northwicke as he bowed to Miss Raven Emerson. Then he turned and bowed as well.
“Might we have a word with you in private, Miss Emerson?” the marquess asked then with a devastatingly cajoling smile.
She smiled faintly, looking a trifle annoyed, Greville thought, and rose to her feet and beckoned them to follow her, leaving a very disappointed court of admirers behind.
“We won’t take but a moment of your time,” Connor assured her as the door to her private dressing room closed behind them.
“Very well,” she replied, her offstage voice airy and light with a slight huskiness that caused an instant physical reaction in Greville. He wondered again if she already had a protector.
They seated themselves and Lord Connor explained that they were looking for Adam since they were in the way of having some information that that man would be vastly interested in.
Her dark brows rose in surprise. “Was I the last to see him?” she asked then, looking from one gentleman to the other in sudden consternation. “That was nearly two weeks ago.”
“As to that, I’m not sure,” the marquess replied carefully. “Other than I, in whom he didn’t confide his intentions to leave Town, you are the one he is closest to. I thought perhaps he might have mentioned his leaving.”
Greville watched the worried look deepen on her face before it changed to an expression of sadness. He wondered what earth-shattering secret they were about to be made privy to.
She smiled ruefully. But her rueful smile turned quickly into a frown. “Does this have anything to do with Lady Rothsmere?”
Connor nodded. “Have you noticed something, anything?”
“Only that she is in some sort of trouble that has escalated beyond her control. Adam asked me to keep an eye on her before he left. I have noticed the fear with which she looks at her betrothed. It is not natural even in an arranged alliance such as her ladyship’s obviously is.”
“Do you have any idea what the problem may be, what is causing her fear?” Greville asked.
Miss Emerson turned the full force of her seductive gaze on him. She stared at him wordlessly for a moment before replying. “I really couldn’t say. I would hate to accuse him of raping her but I have seen that particular type of fear before in several of my more unfortunate fellow actresses. She does not appear broken, however, my lords. She has an unusual amount of spirit, I think.”
“I will convey your information to Adam,” the marquess said grimly. “Where is he?”
“He is in Cornwall, gentlemen. And, incidentally, he has broken off his association with me so that is the extent of the help I am able to provide, I’m afraid. I highly doubt he will be confiding in me any longer.”
Greville had felt his heartbeats pick up a pace at her pronouncement and she again met his eyes. The dark depths held an invitation he would be a fool to ignore. Indeed, he decided impulsively, he would not ignore it.
The express was sent off. Now all they could do was wait and watch. If something happened between now and Adam’s return to London, they would have to act without him. Connor hoped that would not be necessary.
Verena demanded to know what was going on. She cornered him in his study and refused to take no for an answer. Connor reluctantly told her, omitting to mention the possibility of rape. His wife was indignant enough as it was. She didn’t need a reminder of her own traumatic past.
“You have to do something,” she told him unnecessarily. “You can’t let them do this to her.”
The marchioness was pacing back and forth in front of him like a caged panther. She paused to glare at him. “Well?”
Connor stood before her and had to fight down a grin despite the seriousness of their topic of conversation. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one pale brow. “Well, what?”
Two small fists came up and planted themselves on her hips. “What do you plan to do?”
“I sent for Adam.”
Verena became very still. “You…what?” she asked in a deceptively mild tone of voice.
“I sent for Adam. He is the best one to help, you know.”
“No, I’m sure I don’t know. Bri hates him and well you know it. And he isn’t particularly fond of her either. Why would he so far extend himself to help her now?”
Connor shrugged. “Probably because he loves her,” he replied carelessly.
Verena released a snort of laughter. “You must be jesting! Or foxed. Are you foxed?”
He smiled. “No, Doll, I am not foxed. Just observant. And I seem to recall a comment you made to Adam in regard to his losing something of value before he’d even found it.”
She bristled. “Meaning I’m not? Observant, I mean. And I only said that to needle him. I didn’t really believe it.”
Her husband’s brows snapped together. “You are very prickly of late. Are you increasing again?” He almost laughed when she blushed. He did smile. “Another set of twins?” he asked hopefully.
“Good Lord, I hope not,” she exclaimed with a mock grimace. “The set we have are enough. A single child would be most welcome, though.”
> Connor grinned at her and took her in his arms. She snuggled into his chest and sighed. He kissed her dark curls and murmured, “Stay out of this situation with Bri, my love. Especially now.”
She stiffened but her voice was calm. “You can’t stop me from trying to help my friend, Con. You won’t stop me.”
The marquess drew away from her and stared down into glittering violet eyes. His expression was as stern as his voice. “You will obey me in this, Verena.”
She jerked away. “And if I don’t?” she challenged recklessly.
“You’ll be sorry.”
Her little chin went up a notch and her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you threatening me? Will you beat me, Con?”
Connor’s blue eyes grew hard. “I won’t beat you,” he replied evenly. “But I do believe you realize that it is in your best interest to stay as apart from this as possible.”
Verena noticed the tone of his voice changed and took on that implacable “lord of the manner” quality. She dropped her hands and looked away. “I will obey you,” she responded with the utmost reluctance.
“I do need your help,” her husband added gently. Her eyes flew up to meet his. “It will be nearly a week before Adam can get here. All we can do until then is wait and watch. And hope that nothing happens to set our plans in motion before Adam arrives.”
“What can I do, my lord?”
Connor threw her an exasperated look. “Don’t do that, Doll.”
“Do what, my lord?” she asked innocently.
“Don’t ‘my lord’ me. I hate it when you do that.”
“I apologize. What can I do, Lord Connor?”
Her very patient husband exhaled in annoyance but didn’t respond to her goading. He had discovered to his amusement and chagrin that his meek little Doll wasn’t so meek when she was increasing. “I need you to be there for her. I think she will need a friend. But you have to act as though all is well. I don’t want Steyne suspecting anything. He’s unpredictable enough as it is.”
Adam read the blasted letter again. It was unnecessary for him to hold it in front of his face as he did since he had already read it so many times he nearly had it memorized.
The message was clear. Bri was in trouble. She needed him. Again. And of course, he would run to her rescue. Again.
He had to return to London as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, in fact. Maybe even tonight. He would have to inform Miles of Carlotta’s arrival after all, then. She’d arrive in less than two weeks. He had hoped to leave it until the last possible moment just as Miles accused him of doing habitually.
Adam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He tossed the letter on the desk in front of him. He didn’t want to tell Miles. But he had to help Bri. Connor had neglected to disclose exactly what was wrong. But Adam knew his friend well enough to know that it was nothing trifling. The man was actually requesting Adam’s return to Town after all. It had to be serious.
Life or death, Adam thought as his eyes snapped open. He sat up and stared unseeingly ahead of him. Damn. It had to be life or death. Connor would never have asked him to return else. He would have handled the situation himself.
Adam drew a frustrated hand through his black hair. Then his hand knotted into a fist and slammed down on the desktop.
“Bloody hell!”
Adam walked to the door, threw it open, and strode into the hall bellowing for Miles. The steward appeared in the doorway of the library with a look of question on his pleasant countenance.
“Follow me and listen carefully,” Adam commanded curtly as he continued on his way to his bedchamber. Miles Prestwich dutifully fell into step beside him. “My wife is due to arrive in less than a fortnight. Prepare the Rose chamber for her and send for the doctor to attend her. She is dying. Tell no one who she is. If anyone asks, she is merely a relative of some sort. I’m sure you can fill in the details accordingly.”
He ignored his cousin’s openmouthed astonishment and shouted for Morris. The valet appeared in the bedroom, stood looking at his master for all of two seconds, and disappeared again. Adam turned and left the room with his cousin close beside him.
“Any questions?”
Miles swallowed uncomfortably. “Should she die before your return…” he trailed off in question.
Adam stopped and stared at him. In truth, although he knew she was dying, Adam hadn’t actually considered her death. He did now, albeit dispassionately. “Bury her,” he replied laconically.
“B-bury her?” Miles said faintly. “Just like that? Your wife? Adam, your wife?”
Adam sighed. “I haven’t the time for explanations, Miles. She is my wife, yes. Unfortunately. It was a mistake to marry her and that’s all I will say about it. Her name is Carlotta. Carly. Call her what you like. I doubt she’ll care.” He resumed walking towards the front of the mansion.
West appeared as if from nowhere. “Send for my racing curricle and the blacks. Have them out front immediately.” West bowed and shuffled off.
Adam turned around. Miles was watching him with the same look of astonished horror that was on his face when Carlotta was first mentioned. He sighed and took his cousin by the arm. In moments they were back in the study. He pushed Miles into a chair and poured him a brandy.
“Drink this and tell me what’s going through that fertile imagination of yours,” Adam said curtly.
Miles looked up at him with wide eyes. “When did you get married?”
Adam frowned. “It must be nearly three years ago. Why does that matter?”
The steward shrugged and looked into his glass. “Makes it all seem a little less fantastic just knowing that one simple detail.”
“Indeed? Wait until you meet Carly,” Prestwich responded dryly.
Chapter Nineteen
“How dare you deny visitors to me!” Bri raged at her Uncle, the Duke of Corning, late one evening. “Lady Connor Northwicke is my dearest friend. I will not have her denied admittance.”
The duke raised one haughty brow and gave her a look of contempt. “I will deny whomever I choose, Brianna. The marchioness has a shady past to say the least, according to her father and I’ll not have you associating with her.”
“I will see whomever I choose, your grace. I am mistress here whether you like it or not. If you feel the need to ride roughshod over someone, go to your own home and order your own servants around.”
Bri knew she hit a sore spot with the duke. He was so short of the ready that he had no townhouse of his own. He had no servants to order around. He was dependent upon her.
But he also had control of her money. And for the time being, her life.
The old man rose slowly to his feet and towered over her. His voice was filled with deadly menace. “Beware, Brianna Derring. I will not tolerate impertinence. Remember what I told you.”
She heard a strange whirring in her head and fought the blackness that welled up. She couldn’t faint now. She wouldn’t let him know how he frightened her.
She straightened. “I will see the marchioness.” She turned to leave. “Denbigh is her father-in-law, you know,” she threw casually over her shoulder. “I have heard he is very protective of her.”
She closed the library door very softly behind her and was rewarded with the sound of breaking glass on the other side. A slow smile of genuine satisfaction spread over her face.
Verena was disappointed and not a little worried when she was turned away from Bri’s door earlier that afternoon. But she wouldn’t let herself feel discouraged. She was determined to see her friend.
Lady Connor returned the next day at the time deemed proper to pay calls. She was admitted this time and actually asked to step into a small private room to await the countess instead of being simply shown into the drawing room with the rest of the visitors. She declined the offer of tea and the footman withdrew after bowing deferentially.
Verena sat down and looked around curiously. The room was very small considering the size of the house.
It was lovely, though. The furnishings were delicate and very feminine. Verena was charmed by the shades of pale yellow, blue, and green that dominated the room. It had the peaceful quality of a field of daffodils bathed in the afternoon sun.
The door opened to admit the Countess of Rothsmere. The two young women stood and stared at each other for what seemed an interminable amount of time. Then a tear escaped Bri’s green eyes to trail miserably down her pale cheek and she found herself being hugged tightly.
“Tell me what has happened,” Verena commanded softly as she led her to a settee and pulled her down onto it.
Bri wiped the tears away with a tiny scrap of lace and gave her friend a watery smile. She held up the now wet scrap and said, “Useless. I don’t know why we ladies carry these minuscule little scraps of lace around and insist on calling them handkerchiefs.” She thought longingly of the larger one that now resided under her pillow.
Verena smiled sadly. She reached for her hand and held it tightly. “Do you need help?” she murmured gently.
It was the wrong thing to say. She realized it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. The countess sat straighter and her chin lifted. Her tears dried instantly. It was as if she hadn’t even been crying. Then she smiled with false brightness.
“Help? Whatever are you talking about, Doll? I am engaged to a handsome gentleman”—did she stumble over the word?—“who adores me and I have my loving family.”—She definitely gritted her teeth over that one—“What more could I want or need?”
Verena shrugged and glanced down at their linked hands. She knew something was wrong. The countess was squeezing her hand painfully tight and didn’t even seem to realize it.
Bri disengaged her hand and rose to her feet. “Shall I ring for tea?” She crossed to the bell pull without waiting for an answer and jerked it rather violently.
Verena said nothing about having declined the footman’s offer of tea and allowed Bri to order a tray. She hoped the normality of taking tea together would allow them to regain some of their lost time together. Perhaps Bri will then trust her enough to ask for help.