CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  As if Winston weighed no more than a feather, Marston hurled him away. He slammed into the desk and fell to the floor. A jar of quills went flying, and a chair tipped over with a loud crash.

  Then, as if no vicious incident had transpired, Marston smiled at Hannah and said, “May I escort you out to your carriage? A footman told me you need to hurry.”

  “Yes, I should hurry,” Hannah said, “and I would be delighted if you could escort me out.”

  They strolled off together, without a backward glance, but Winston didn’t look away from them. He’d been attacked and cast aside as if he were a sack of rubbish, but no one was ever allowed to treat him as Marston had just treated him.

  Marston’s masculine posturing was Hannah’s fault, so Winston would have to get even for the insult that had been inflicted. Retaliation would be sweet, and he could guarantee she would be sorry forever.

  ****

  “If I asked you to never visit Parkhurst again,” Hunter said to Hannah, “would you oblige me?”

  “No. Parkhurst is my home and I’m its owner. I can’t abandon the place.”

  “If I begged you to stay away, would you consider it?”

  She chuckled. “No, but thank you for your assistance in there. I wouldn’t have ever thought I’d be thrilled to see you, but I was.”

  “It’s generally assumed that I’m a sluggard, but I can be useful on occasion.”

  “You definitely surprised me.”

  They were out in the driveway, next to the carriage that would carry her and Jackson into the village, so they could catch the mail coach to town. Their bags had been loaded, and Jackson was lurking off to the side, avidly listening to them.

  Hunter’s horse was saddled, Nate’s too, although his friend was nowhere to be found. Hunter hoped he wouldn’t have to delay until Nate was ready to depart. Once Hannah’s vehicle rolled away, he wanted to head out too. With her no longer in residence, the property held no appeal whatsoever.

  Winston Webster had been left behind in the library, in a crumpled heap, and Hunter was amazed by how grand it had felt to pummel the obnoxious idiot.

  Jackson spoke up. “How did he assist you, Hannah? What happened?”

  Hannah lied and said, “I was arguing with Winston, and Lord Marston interrupted us at just the right moment. It was nothing.”

  Hunter corrected her false story. “It wasn’t nothing. Mr. Webster was manhandling her, and I stopped him.”

  “Tell me you pounded him into the ground,” Jackson said.

  “No, but I threatened to kill him if he ever touched her again.”

  “Thank you,” Jackson said. “I appreciate it.”

  Jackson was still a boy, but he appeared suitably incensed, as if he might march back inside and deliver the thrashing Hunter had failed to supply. On observing his ire, Hunter decided he liked him very much.

  “If he ever bothers her in the future,” Hunter said to Jackson, “promise you’ll let me know.”

  “I will.”

  Hannah clucked her tongue like a mother hen. “First off, don’t talk about me as if I’m not here. Second of all, neither of you is my nanny. Don’t collude as if you’re my guards. I don’t require protection. Especially not from Winston. And you!” she said to Hunter. “I won’t have you bragging about physical violence in front of my brother. I’m trying to mold his character, and I won’t have you pretending it’s an acceptable way to prove a point.”

  “Who’s pretending?” Hunter huffed.

  He and Jackson shared a look, one that they both understood perfectly.

  Women!

  They visually agreed that Hannah needed their help, despite what she might suppose, and Hunter wondered what Hannah’s plans were for Jackson when he was older. She’d probably send him to university or push him into the clergy. They were the type of tepid, boring routes that females liked to encourage.

  But Hunter suspected Jackson had many dubious talents that would make him effective at other, less savory endeavors. Maybe, if she couldn’t devise a viable path, he, Hunter, would bring Jackson into his own household.

  Such a perceptive, cunning ruffian could furnish many valuable skills.

  “Must you ride in the mail coach?” he asked her. “If it’s a question of finances, I’m happy to rent a private carriage for you.”

  “I would never permit you to go to so much trouble on my behalf.”

  He hated to have her taking the public conveyance. Though it was odd to admit, their dalliance the prior night had altered his feelings about her. He felt linked to her, as if he possessed a duty to watch over her.

  That stupid marriage proposal was causing it. He realized it was. In light of his enormous vanity, he should have been infuriated by her rejection, but it simply had him liking her more, which was absurd.

  He was annoyingly attached to her, and even though it was their farewell, he was being pelted by the strongest sense that he wasn’t done with her. And she wasn’t done with him.

  “I’m glad I came to Parkhurst,” he said.

  “To my great shock, I’m glad too. It was lovely to have you visit.”

  He scoffed. “I’m positive you don’t mean it, but it’s sweet of you to say so.”

  “Are you headed to town too?”

  “Yes. I’m busy with some business dealings, and I have to finish them.”

  He was referring to his mistress interviews. He had to wrap them up, get rid of Isabella, and jump into a new relationship. It was all tedious and risk-filled, and now that he’d met and trifled with Hannah, he was conflicted over whether he should pick another paramour. Why not concentrate on the marital search his father was demanding?

  Well, the answer to that was easy: He was in no hurry to wed, and with Neville’s disastrous foray into matchmaking with the Graves sisters, Hunter was in no mood to have him try again.

  “You have business dealings?” Hannah had an impish gleam in her eye. “I thought you were an indolent sloth, so I’m stunned to hear it.”

  “I’m very rich, Miss Graves. All the men in my family are rich. We don’t stay that way by loafing.”

  She smirked. “I will keep telling myself that’s true.”

  To his vast surprise, she reached out and clasped his hand to squeeze his fingers, then she pulled away, and a footman guided her into the vehicle. Jackson, the canny little blighter, had noted every second of the intimate, furtive exchange.

  He glowered at Hunter, warning him to be careful with her, then he climbed in too. The footman shut and latched the door, and the driver cracked the whip to get the horses moving.

  Hannah leaned out the window and called, “If you pass us on the lane, be sure to wave!”

  “I will,” he called back, rather too excitedly.

  Then the carriage lurched off, and it was very strange, but he was extremely bereft over their parting, as if he missed her already, but that was an insane sentiment.

  He yanked away and went into the manor to find Nate.

  ****

  “Miss Rebecca! There you are!”

  Nate smiled and rushed down the deserted hall so he could stand next to her. She blanched and stepped away. It was an exasperating indication that he hadn’t charmed her yet.

  Hunter was eager to leave, so Nate’s minutes at Parkhurst were slipping away. He hadn’t coaxed Amelia Webster into giving him a reason to tarry, and he’d grown so desperate that he’d pretended to trip and sprain his ankle on the stairs, but the blasted woman had been unconcerned and had insisted he’d be fine.

  He had to devise a ruse that would provide an excuse to return to Parkhurst, and it would have to be soon. Rebecca Graves was a wealthy plum that was ripe for the picking. He had to glom onto her before any of his poverty-stricken acquaintances learned about her.

  Each candidate who presented himself would entice Mrs. Webster more than Nate.

  At the moment though, with Hunter chomping at the bit to depart, he couldn’t think straight. He’d have to ponder
his options on the ride to London. If he had to kidnap Rebecca and forcibly elope with her to Scotland, he suspected that was what he might do. He was that anxious to have it resolve in his favor.

  “Hello, Mr. Carew,” Rebecca said. “Or is it goodbye? Aren’t you off to London this morning?”

  “Yes, but I simply must see you again. May I stop by in the future?”

  “You’d have to ask my mother,” she maddeningly replied.

  “I doubt she’d agree.”

  “Probably not.”

  “But what sort of girl are you, Miss Rebecca? Have you a sense of adventure? Or will you do exactly as your mother bids you?”

  “I’m usually very obedient.”

  “That’s because you were a child in the past. Aren’t you a young lady now? Shouldn’t you be able to choose your own friends? I mean, you mother is determined to select a husband for you, but in the first attempt, and with very little thought, she settled on Hunter Stone! He could never have loved you.”

  “I’m positive he wouldn’t have.”

  “I, on the other hand, am totally smitten. It has to count for something.” He softened his expression, hoping he looked besotted and overcome. “Tell me I have a chance with you.”

  She frowned, seeming confused and worried. “I shouldn’t tell you that. I’m not supposed to let you be so forward.”

  He grinned. “I can’t help myself. You’re fond of me, aren’t you?”

  Her frown deepened. “I try to like everyone. Isn’t that best?”

  He breathed a fake sigh of relief, and he clutched a fist over his heart. “Your opinion will soothe me on my long journey today.”

  Footsteps sounded behind them, and he slid away from her as a footman appeared down the hall.

  “Viscount Marston is ready to leave,” the dolt said, “and he requests that you join him down in the driveway.”

  “Are our horses prepared?” Nate asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I guess I’ll be off.” He nodded to Rebecca. “It was thrilling to meet you, Miss Rebecca, and I expect I will see you again soon.”

  “It’s always nice to have company.”

  He winked at her, as if they shared a special secret, then he spun away and dashed down the stairs and outside, where Hunter was checking the straps on his saddle.

  “There you are,” Hunter said. “I’ve had servants hunting for you everywhere.”

  “I was saying goodbye to Miss Rebecca.”

  “Why would you have been?”

  Nate raised a brow. “She’s wild for me.”

  Hunter scoffed. “I’m certain that’s a complete misreading of the situation on your part.”

  “She told me so, and she pleaded with me to hurry back.”

  “Her mother wouldn’t be too keen on the idea.”

  “There’s no rule that forces me to apprise Mrs. Webster.”

  Hunter shook his head with irritation and climbed onto his horse. Nate quickly checked his own saddle, and he climbed up too. He’d assumed they would trot off without delay, but Hunter was content to dawdle for a minute.

  He glared at the house, his disgust evident. “This trip was such a waste of time.”

  “I beg to differ. In my view, it was extremely productive.”

  Hunter scowled at him. “In what way?”

  “You’re not interested in Rebecca, are you? You won’t honor the contract your father negotiated?”

  “Gad, no. I would never wed a child, particularly one who’s plain and insipid.”

  “So if I try to win her, you won’t be upset? I won’t be encroaching on your territory or anything, will I?”

  “No, I have no territory here, but you should stay away from her. She’s not mature enough to be a bride, and even if she was, you are not the rogue she should have as her husband.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Nate huffed.

  “I’ve known you for ages, Nate. You’re a scapegrace and a liar, and she needs a spouse who’s kind and considerate. She deserves someone better than you.”

  “She’s rich,” Nate pointed out like a dunce. “She has a whole dowry just sitting there, waiting to be grabbed by the smartest suitor.”

  “Yes, but you aren’t the one to grab it.”

  “Why would you imagine you’re entitled to an opinion? You’re not my father, my employer, or my captain, so you’re in no position to boss me.”

  “I’m bossing you anyway.”

  “You haven’t a clue what it’s like to be me,” Nate complained. “I won’t allow you to ruin this chance.”

  “My advice is this: If you’re so hot to marry, find a trollop—maybe a disreputable widow—who’d be happy with a man like you. You like to gamble, carouse, and engage in offensive behaviors. There are plenty of women who enjoy those same antics. You should latch onto one of them rather than a sacrificial lamb like Rebecca Graves.”

  “She could grow to like me.”

  “No, she couldn’t, and it’s clear your devious mind is working on how you could pull this off, so I’m warning you away. In fact, I’m ordering it.”

  “Ordering it! We’re not in the army anymore, so you have some bloody nerve to command me.”

  Hunter stared him down in that potent manner he had. He could be pompous and dictatorial, and his arrogant tendencies grated on Nate. On this occasion, when there was so much money in the balance, his words were especially galling.

  Hunter had always been wealthy, and Nate wasn’t, so he never understood how Nate struggled. Nate wouldn’t be lectured.

  “I’m serious about this,” Hunter said. “Swear to me that you’ll leave her alone.”

  His expression was steely and unrelenting, and Nate fumed and fidgeted. Finally, he grumbled, “All right, all right, I swear I’ll leave her alone.”

  “Thank you. Now let’s get going. I’m sick of this wretched place, and I hope to never see it again.”

  Hunter yanked on the reins and cantered off, but Nate didn’t follow immediately. He peered at the house with incredible yearning. He could vividly picture himself ensconced at Parkhurst. He’d be king of the castle, strolling through the parlors in his supper jacket, sipping a brandy in his library. He ached for the prospect to come true with a hunger that was almost painful.

  He gazed at Hunter’s retreating back and murmured, “I didn’t mean it, Hunter. I’m sorry, but Rebecca Graves—and Parkhurst—have to be mine.”

  He kicked his horse into a gallop and raced after his friend.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Are you engaged? Shall we celebrate?”

  “No, I am not engaged.” Hunter glared at his father and said, “Thanks for nothing.”

  “What does that mean?” Neville asked.

  “In your correspondence with Mrs. Webster, she failed to mention a pertinent fact, namely that there are two daughters who call themselves Miss Graves.”

  “And…?”

  “I met Miss Hannah Graves here in London, and I liked her very much. When you urged me to wed Miss Graves of Parkhurst, I assumed it was her, but when I arrived in the country, I encountered a slight problem.”

  “That being…?”

  “Mrs. Webster’s daughter is Miss Rebecca Graves. She’s plain, shy, and barely out of the schoolroom, so she is completely inappropriate to be my bride. It would have been nice if you’d have researched the matter before you dumped me into the middle of such a morass.”

  “Well, obviously, Mrs. Webster concealed necessary information. What is your plan now?”

  “I have no plan. The debacle you engineered made me remember that I’m not interested in matrimony. I should have known not to trust you.”

  They were at Neville’s town house, seated on a sofa, with supper about to be served. A few of his father’s most devoted friends were present for the meal, and people were chatting and drinking wine. They were a group of aging wastrels, accompanied by their current mistresses who—in their day—had cut a disgusting swath through L
ondon’s social circles.

  They’d been rich, entitled dandies who’d been legendary in their penchant for vice and corrupt reveling. Neville was entering his fifties, so he was slowing down, but given the right circumstances, he could still behave in shocking ways.

  Isabella was sitting with them. With Hunter’s return to town, he’d stumbled back into their relationship as if he hadn’t been away and trying to get married. He’d restarted his mistress search too, an issue that was causing rancor to flare between them.

  He was ready to be shed of her, and even if he couldn’t find an intriguing replacement, he’d part with her when her contract was up. He was bored and eager for several aspects of his life to change. She would be the first to go.

  She’d been delighted to hear that the match with Miss Graves had fallen through, and she’d even scheduled a party to celebrate the ruined engagement. Hunter was conflicted over whether it was the sort of event that ought to be celebrated. The enthusiasm with which she’d jumped into the arrangements told him plenty about her true character, but he was almost finished with her, so he wasn’t about to waste any energy quarreling.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided not to proceed,” she said. “You’re the consummate bachelor. Any girl who attached herself to you would wind up miserable forever.”

  Neville liked loose women—they were the only kind he could abide—but he’d never been partial to Isabella.

  “Hunter has to wed,” Neville said to her, his tone curt, “and he has to choose someone quickly. You don’t get to have an opinion about it, and I won’t have you reinforcing his idiotic inclination to remain single.”

  “I wasn’t reinforcing it,” she claimed. “I was merely stating my impression that he would be an awful husband. Why push him into a situation where he’d be unhappy?”

  Hunter snorted at that. “Yes, Neville, why would you wish me to be unhappy? After all, you’ve had such great endings with your own trips into nuptial bliss. I can understand why you’d hope to convince me it’s grand.”

  “We’re not discussing my marital foibles,” his father said. “We’re discussing you and your need to pick a bride.”