The sun was playing in golden patterns across the carpet but Lottie could not feel its heat. She shivered. Farne sounded eminently reasonable, sympathetic even. But the room felt dark, shadowed with menace. Her instinct shouted to her to be very, very careful of what she said. And before her eyes was Arland’s face with its bloodstains and livid bruising. That was the reality of what the Duke of Farne would countenance when it came to Ethan and to his son.
“You are most generous to consider my feelings, Your Grace,” she said. “I thank you.”
Farne made a slight gesture with his glass. “I believe that we are all on the same side,” he said.
“Are we?” Lottie shrugged. “I have never pretended to an interest in politics.”
“Perhaps not,” Farne said, “but you do have an interest in money, don’t you, Miss Palliser?”
Lottie met his eyes directly. He was watching her with the cold clear gaze of the predator.
“Always,” she said.
Farne smiled. “So we understand one another.”
“I am not sure that I do understand you,” Lottie said. “What are you offering?”
Farne looked offended by such plain speaking. “My dear Miss Palliser—”
“And more importantly,” Lottie finished, “what do you ask in return?”
Farne walked across to the fireplace, where he rested one arm along the mantelpiece.
“It has always been my desire to be reconciled with my son,” he began.
“Has it?” Lottie said. “You astound me.”
Farne flashed her a glance. “From the very beginning I did what was best for Ethan.”
“Conceiving him out of wedlock,” Lottie said, “taking him away from his mother, bringing him up with those who despised him, sending him to a school where his birth would be scorned. Yes, I can see how you tried.”
The Duke gave her a thin smile. His gaze was sharp. “You are hot in his defense. I think you must care for him.”
Lottie caught her lip between her teeth. She had been too unguarded. She did not want the Duke of Farne, of all people, to know how much she cared for Ethan. But she did most heartily wish to know exactly what fate Farne planned for his son. She gave him a cool smile.
“At the moment Lord St. Severin offers me more than anyone else can,” she said, “so naturally he has my loyalty.”
“An eminently pragmatic approach,” Farne murmured. “Perhaps what I should have said is that ever since my son took up his mistaken allegiance, first to the Irish republican cause and then to that of the French, it has been my most ardent desire to welcome him back into the fold.”
“Yes,” Lottie said. “I can see that he is a great blot on the Farne escutcheon and a great embarrassment to you.”
“But if he could be…persuaded…to change his views…” Farne said. He let the sentence hang.
“Then the escutcheon could be polished to its former glory,” Lottie finished.
“He is blocking my progress to hold Cabinet office,” Farne said, suddenly vicious. Lottie could feel the anger and the ambition in him, as fierce and bitter as the swelling tide.
“There is only so far a man can rise when he has a renegade revolutionary as a son,” Farne said, “and, equally as deplorable, an illegitimate runaway grandson. Soon my chance of high office will be gone.”
“I can quite imagine,” Lottie said. She narrowed her gaze on him, toying with the stem of her glass. “And yet a mysterious accident—a convenient death for either Ethan or his son—would not suit you, either, would it, Your Grace? Questions would be asked. Your enemies would seize upon it and use it against you, and then you would never achieve the heights to which you aspire. I suspect that is the only reason that Lord St. Severin is still with us—that and his own skill in self-preservation, of course.”
“It pleases me,” Farne said, eyes gleaming, “that you understand so acutely the dilemma that faces me, Miss Palliser.”
“You could always let Ethan go,” Lottie said. “Send him back to France. Death and glory on the battlefield would remove your dilemma.”
“Alas, my son could not be relied upon to die appropriately,” Farne said bitterly. “Instead I make no doubt he would go to America. His views match those of a country with such high-minded ideals.” He shifted, leaning closer. “Tell me, Miss Palliser, do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of my grandson?
You can see how important it is to me to find him first, before those dolts of soldiers shoot him dead and give me another problem to deal with.”
Lottie felt chilled to the bone as she looked into the cold gray eyes of a man who calculated the worth of every member of his family in terms of what good, or harm, they could do to his political chances. It made her skin crawl to see Farne’s total disregard for humanity. Oh yes, he would like to find Arland Ryder before the British troops did. He would take the boy and use him as another lever to try and force Ethan to his will. The thought repelled her. She felt sick, the nausea rolling through her.
“I have absolutely no idea,” she said, “where Arland Ryder is now.”
“A pity,” Farne said. His piercing gaze did not waver. “But perhaps you may remember something useful in time. You understand, of course,” he added, “that the boy will be shot if he is discovered? As will anyone aiding and abetting him. Under law—”
Lottie dismissed his words with a flick of her fingers. “I fear that the ramifications of the law bore me almost as much as politics, Your Grace.” She moved to refill his glass. “I am, however, very interested in your other proposition.” She smiled at him. “Let me understand you clearly. You wish me to exert any influence I might have to persuade Lord St. Severin to a different course?”
Farne nodded his thanks as she placed the decanter gently on the side table.
“You are, without a doubt, my best hope to persuade Ethan that he is on the losing side and that a discreet change of allegiance would be in all our interests,” he said.
“And if I succeed?” Lottie pressed.
“A house,” Farne said. He looked around. “Much bigger than this.”
“Naturally. And?”
“Servants. A carriage, a certain sum of money settled on you in perpetuity…” Farne shrugged. “My man of business will take care of it.”
“Of course,” Lottie said. “Of course he will.”
This, then, she thought, was the level to which the Duke of Farne would sink to manipulate his son. He would buy the support of Ethan’s mistress; worse, he would seek to capture Ethan’s son and use him as a pawn in his maneuvering. He was vile, utterly without loyalty or family honor. He was also wasting his time.
She looked at him. “I do not believe that you know your son at all, Your Grace,” she said. “Ethan will never abandon his principles. He has fought for them all his adult life. Nothing I could say could make him change his mind whether I wished to help you or not.”
There was a silence. Farne was watching her with those bright predator’s eyes. After a moment he nodded slowly.
“Then,” he said, “I believe there is only one further course open to me.” He looked straight at her. “I offer you one hundred thousand pounds for any information you can give me about my son. Plus the house and the carriage and—” he sounded impatient “—whatever else you desire.”
Lottie’s mind reeled. Money had always been her only currency and one hundred thousand pounds was a huge sum. She need not worry about her future ever again. Those doubts and fears that had plagued her in the night, of where she would go after Ethan had left, of what she would become… They would all be gone. She would have no need to worry ever again. She would be rich. Her future would be assured.
All she had to do in return was to betray Ethan to his death, and Arland with him. Because that was what Farne was asking. The Duke would not be so indelicate as to say the words outright but he wanted information, her testimony that Ethan was committing treason. He wanted what Theo had asked for that day in London when she had agreed
to betray Ethan for the sake of her future security. And Farne was offering her one hundred thousand pounds to sweeten the deal. One hundred thousand pounds to secure her future…
There was a knock at the front door. Farne looked acutely annoyed. “I do not wish to be interrupted until our business is agreed,” he snapped.
“I can quite see why,” Lottie said. Then, as Margery tapped anxiously on the door: “Who is it, Margery? Pray tell them that I am not at home.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am—” Margery gave a little terrified bob “—but I cannot. It is the Duke of Palliser, ma’am, and he demands an interview. Immediately, he said!” She gave an uncanny imitation of the Duke’s authoritative tone.
“Palliser!” Farne snapped. “What does he want here?”
“I have no notion,” Lottie said. “Since my cousin has been cutting me dead these three years past, the only way in which I find out the answer to that question is to admit him.” She nodded to Farne. “If you will excuse me?”
“I will wait,” Farne said. “I have invested too much time and effort in our conversation, Miss Palliser, to leave without your commitment to my plans.”
“If you wish,” Lottie said, shrugging. She turned to Margery. “Pray show his grace in here, Margery.”
The Duke of Palliser was a big, fair fleshy man in his forties. He carried his weight well with all the innate confidence and self-importance of his rank. He strode into the room, saw the Duke of Farne and stopped dead.
“Your Grace!” he spluttered.
“Your Grace,” Farne responded, bored.
“Cousin James,” Lottie said, “what a most unexpected pleasure.”
Palliser looked discomfited. “What is Farne doing here?” he demanded. Farne stiffened.
“His Grace has been making me an offer,” Lottie said. “Not of the amorous kind, you understand, of the pecuniary sort. So—” she fixed her cousin with a steely eye “—since I doubt that you have called on me to exchange family news, why do you not make your counteroffer, James, so that I may save us all time?” She walked across to the side table and poured wine into a fresh glass. “Let me guess,” she mused, as she passed it to him. “My presence a mere twenty miles from your ducal family home is causing such social embarrassment to you that you have come to make me a proposition. You are prepared to welcome me back into the family fold, to restore me to respectability and give me in addition—” she shot Farne a look “—oh, a house—bigger than this one, of course—servants, a carriage, a sum of money…” She sighed. “Gentlemen, you do me so much honor.” She looked from one to the other. “Which of you shall I choose?”
There was a knock. “Lord St. Severin,” Margery said, from the doorway.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“YOUR GRACES…” Ethan strolled forward and sketched an elegant bow to the Dukes. “Your carriages have stopped the traffic in the street outside.” He could feel his father watching him, his gaze cold and antagonistic. The hairs rose on the back of Ethan’s neck even to be in the same room as Farne.
He had not seen his father within two years, not since he had been captured and his father had railed at him and demanded that he change sides and declare his allegiance to the British cause. His refusal then had driven the alienation between them to deeper and more painful levels than ever before. There was no way back for them.
But it was Lottie who drew Ethan’s gaze. She looked cool and serene, the perfect hostess serving wine to her guests. But he could feel the tension in her, as tight and coiled as a trap.
He knew at once what must have happened.
His loving father had offered Lottie a huge bribe to betray him, or betray Arland, or both of them.
The thought turned Ethan’s blood to ice. Would Lottie take the money? He wanted to believe she would not, could not, do such a thing, but he was desperately unsure of her. The terror cascaded through him, the fear for Arland and the damage that Lottie could do. True, she did not know where Arland was now, but if she were to breathe a word about last night’s events, the authorities would surely arrest him and then Arland would be trapped, alone and abandoned again, whilst the British did their best to torture his son’s whereabouts out of him. And what if Lottie were to mention his activities on the night that Chard had died? Her testimony would be enough to see him swing on the end of the hangman’s noose for a murder he had not committed. That would please his father.
Yet if Lottie chose to sell him out, how could he prevent it? He had offered her nothing—how could he, as an enemy of the state, a prisoner. He could not hold her loyalty if others gave more. He had always understood her. Lottie was for sale. Men had used her all of her life and so she took; she took what was offered to give herself the security she craved. He ached for it to be different, for her to be different, but he knew it was not.
Three nights ago, when she had helped Arland, he had trusted her for the first time and she had not let him down. But this was not the same. This time his father would be offering her so much; a huge sum of money, he guessed, security, riches beyond her dreams, to put her back where she wanted to be, as a woman of consequence. The temptation to accept the bribe, the financial imperative to ensure her safe future, was surely too strong for her to resist. Her brother had offered to help her but the Duke of Farne was a hundred, a thousand times richer and more influential than Theo Palliser. Ethan could not see how Lottie could refuse.
He strolled forward with every indication of nonchalance, not showing by the slightest flicker of expression, the fear that was in his heart.
“I came as soon as I heard, my dear,” he murmured. “May I be of assistance?”
“I am so glad to see you, my love,” Lottie said. She smiled at him but he could not read anything in her face. “Your father and my cousin,” she said, “are both most generous, for both of them are offering me a very great deal to see matters from their point of view.”
The Dukes both shifted uneasily.
“I see,” Ethan said. So it was true.
“Two high bidders in one room,” he said. “You are to be congratulated.”
“So I think,” Lottie said lightly. She looked at him. Her gaze was opaque.
James Palliser cleared his throat. “Cousin Charlotte,” he began. “I really do beg you to accept my offer and sever your scandalous connection to this man.”
Lottie looked highly entertained. “Cousin James,” she said, “I fear I am too steeped in my dissipation to give it up now.”
“You should think about it a little,” Ethan said abruptly. The role of devil’s advocate came easily to him and he understood why. He would far rather that Lottie accepted her cousin’s protection because that would be no true betrayal. If she sold herself to Farne instead he would want to kill them both, his father for his craven-hearted treachery and Lottie for being the most conniving, duplicitous creature ever to have crossed his path.
He cleared his throat, forced the words out. “It is what you want,” he said. “Remember? You wish to be reconciled with your family.”
Their eyes met. Lottie’s gaze was pensive. “Is that what you want me to do, my lord?” She asked. “You want me to leave you?”
“This is nothing to do with me.” Ethan tasted bitterness in his mouth and found that he was within an inch of begging her to stay with him, begging her to put principle and loyalty to him above money.
“You told me that it was your dearest wish to regain what you had lost,” he said. “This is a way that you can do it with honor.”
“Oh, honor…” Lottie smiled. “In truth you know that I have little truck with that.”
She turned away and Ethan watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked across the room. Odd that he could still want her with such an aching need when he also knew with a sick dread that she was going to abandon him one way or another. When he had told her about Arland and she had comforted him, then he had believed that matters might be different between them. He had allowed himself to think of
a future where Lottie came with him, in poverty perhaps, in adversity certainly, hunted, running away, with nothing but each other. He was no green youth. He should have known better. Such dreams were in shreds with two rich men here offering her more money than she would know what to do with.
“You told me that I could never regain what I had lost,” Lottie said. She had come to him and placed one hand on his sleeve. Her eyes were clear. “You were right, Ethan. I know I cannot.”
“It is the best offer that you will get,” James Palliser said stiffly.
“Taken back under the ducal wing to spare your blushes?” Lottie turned toward him with a rustle of silk. “A year ago, two years, you did not step forward to help me.”
“That was different,” Palliser said. He had the grace to look a little shamefaced. “A matter between husband and wife… I could not intervene—”
“You did not wish to be sullied by the scandal until I was practically sitting on your doorstep,” Lottie said sweetly, “and even now you only come to see me because I have become too embarrassing to ignore.”
“Take the offer,” Ethan said, between his teeth.
But she shook her head. “I do not wish to be condescended to by my stiff-necked relatives for the rest of my life. How intolerable that would be! To be reminded every day with little slights and pinpricks that I am a fallen woman saved only by their generosity…” She sighed. “To be left to molder in some country village, denied all entertainment and pleasure?” She shook her head. “You know it would not serve, Ethan, darling. I would have run off with the curate within a week and be a fallen woman all over again.” She turned to James. “Thank you, cousin, but I must decline.”
The Duke puffed himself up. “You won’t hear from me again,” he said.
“Oh, good,” Lottie said.
The air shivered with violence as the door banged behind James Palliser. Farne, who had stood quietly whilst his fellow duke was given his marching orders, smiled sinuously and moved forward. “So…” he said suggestively.
Ethan clenched his fists.
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