by Julia Quinn
“My gravest misfortune,” she countered, and started around him, but he did not stand aside to allow her to pass. Blocked by him, by the hedge to her right and the rose border to her left, Ellie was forced to halt. Her only other escape was retreat, and with Lawrence Blackthorne, retreat seemed a nauseating option.
“Detaining a woman when she is unaccompanied is thoroughly improper,” she pointed out. “Still, it’s quite in keeping with the despicable behavior I’ve come to expect from you.”
“We’re not really traversing that particular ground again, are we? It’s ages ago, and besides . . .” He paused, tilting his head to one side as he looked at her. “Propriety was never of much concern to us, was it, Ellie?”
The soft question made her catch her breath, and as she did, the scent of bay rum came to her along with the scents of the garden. Memories assaulted her at once, memories of happier days, when she’d been head over ears in love with him and willing—not only willing, but glad—to risk her virtue at any opportunity just to be alone with him. As she thought of those heady days, slipping away from Lady Wolford’s watchful eye to meet him in a secluded corner of the gardens at Wolford Grange or Blackthorne Hall or ducking with him into the cupboard under the stairs at Papa’s London house for a few stolen kisses, her heart twisted a little in her breast. What a besotted fool she’d been.
But no longer. She was now well aware of the ruthless determination and merciless regard for duty that lay beneath Lawrence’s charm, and reminding herself of those traits of his character obliterated any lingering pangs of her girlhood infatuation. Ellie narrowed her gaze on his face, and in her mind, she worked to disparage the very things about him she’d once adored. To her, his raven black hair and cerulean eyes were no longer the stunning combination they’d once been. The tiny scar above his left brow was not the least bit dashing, and his pirate smile was anything but charming. The strong line of his jaw was born of sheer stubbornness—hardly an admirable quality—and the lean planes of his face were more hawklike than handsome.
“What you mean,” she said at last, her voice as hard as she could make it, “is that propriety was never of much concern to you.”
“Fair enough,” he acknowledged, and leaned toward her, adopting a confidential air. “It won’t work, you know. Marrying Bluestone won’t save your father.”
“You were eavesdropping?” Even as she asked the question, she chided herself for being surprised. “Of course you were. I ought to know by now you are capable of any amount of reprehensible conduct.”
“Reprehensible?” He moved even closer, so close that she could see the indigo ring around each of his irises. “I don’t seem to remember you thinking me reprehensible at all until half a year ago.”
Despite her vow, his closeness was doing strange things to her insides, and she changed her opinion about the notion of retreat. She took several steps back, but then her leg hit the stone bench behind her, making her realize she had retreated too far, and since he’d followed her, she was now trapped in the rose arbor. Scowling, she lifted her chin. “Stand aside and let me pass.”
Instead of heeding her demand, he did the opposite, closing the last scrap of distance between them. “On the face of it, your plan seems sound, I admit,” he murmured, his smile widening because he knew—the snake—that she couldn’t slip around him without shredding her pretty frock on the thorns. “And I applaud your ingenuity. But Wilchelsey might actually be the sort of man to put his duty to his country above his duty to his family. And even if he isn’t that sort, he also isn’t the only man on that committee. Even if you succeed in marrying his son, do you really think Wilchelsey has both the inclination and the influence to persuade the others to ignore my evidence?”
Galling as it was that Lawrence knew her plans, there was nothing to do at this point but brazen it out. She forced her mouth into what she hoped was a complacent smile. “What I think is that the Duke of Wilchelsey has more influence than one of Peel’s insignificant little undersecretaries. And when your efforts come to naught, Peel will probably demote you back to being a barrister.”
If he was worried about any of that, he didn’t show it. “You might be right,” he said amiably. “But only if you succeed.”
“And since you don’t seem to think there’s any chance of that,” she countered, “there is no reason for you to detain me here any further.”
“No?” His thick, dark lashes lowered, then lifted, and a faint smile curved the corners of his mouth. “I can think of a reason.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she hated that even now, he could turn her upside down and inside out with nothing more than a suggestive glance and a few well-chosen words. “While I can think of none.”
His amusement vanished, and something else flickered across his face, something that might have been regret. It was gone before she could be sure, but his next words told her he didn’t regret a thing. “I’m curious, Ellie, I must admit. What is it about my investigation that you fear?” he asked, bending down closer. “I think you’re afraid I’m about to topple dear Papa off the pedestal you’ve placed him on.”
She opened her mouth to fire off a denial of that ridiculous assertion, but then closed it again. He was only trying to provoke her.
“Keeping mum, I see,” he murmured, his lips so close to her face that his breath was like a caress on her cheek. “Fair enough. But really, Ellie . . . Bluestone? I thought you had better taste. After all, you once considered marrying me.”
“A temporary madness, I assure you.”
“Was it?” His hand curved around her hip as he spoke, and she jerked at the contact, but there was no escape, and though she could feel the heat of his palm burning her hip through the layers of her clothing, she forced herself to be still. “Was it really temporary, Ellie?”
She grasped his forearm, desperate to stop his bold caress. “Yes,” she said and shoved his hand away. “Very temporary.”
“Much to my regret.” He stepped back, much to her relief, but before she could duck around him and escape, he spoke again. “You must realize I can’t allow your plan to succeed.”
“There is nothing you can do to stop it.”
“You think not?” Lawrence opened his hand, and silver glinted on his palm. “I disagree.”
She stared at the coin in disbelief. “You picked my pocket?”
“I did.” He flipped the sixpence into the air with his thumb, but before she could even think to snatch the coin out of the air, he caught it again in his long, strong fingers. “And you didn’t even notice.”
She looked up into his face, and at the knowing gleam in his eyes and the pirate smile that curved his mouth, she felt a fury so strong it made her chest ache. “You cad,” she breathed. “You despicable, dishonorable cad.”
“I’m dishonorable?” Any amusement vanished, and a sudden spark of answering anger glinted like steel in his eyes. “No, Elinor, the dishonor here lies with a man who sold shoddy muskets to the British army.”
“That is not true!” she burst out, even though she already knew any argument with Lawrence on this issue was pointless. “My father didn’t know they were shoddy.”
“He not only knew it, he was responsible for it.”
“Only responsible in that he was deceived.”
“Deceived? It was his factory. The choice of manufacturing materials was his decision. He chose to use inferior metals for the locks so that he could make a greater profit.”
“Nonsense. His muskets were made to the East India Company’s design and specifications, using the exact same materials.”
He gave her a pitying look. “Dearest Ellie, is that what he told you?”
Anger flared in her, anger so hot it made her feel positively violent, but she worked to control it, curling her hands into fists at her sides. “Any guns my father provided would have been inspected by the British Ordnance—”
“Are you joking? By the end of the war, the Ordnance procedures f
or inspection and recordkeeping had completely broken down. It was chaos. Your father and his fellow manufacturing conglomerates in Birmingham made over a million muskets in the last few years of the war, Ellie, and many of those muskets were so poor in quality that they wore out within weeks of being placed with the regiments.”
“And where is your proof of this?”
“Just imagine,” he went on, blithely ignoring that question, “the poor soldier who found himself defenseless on a battlefield when the hammer of his musket broke, or the frizzen spring wore out, or the lock jammed, and his weapon could no longer fire. How many of those soldiers died, Ellie? Hundreds? Thousands?”
“This is ridiculous!” she burst out. “My father would never knowingly allow anyone to die.”
“The hell he wouldn’t. He was fully aware of the inferior quality of his materials, and he didn’t give a damn about that, or about who might die as a result. And at the close of the war, when the rumors about the shoddy quality of his weapons started coming out, he got rid of the metals, and he had the factory burned down so that he wouldn’t have to hand over his records to the army.”
She drew a deep, steadying breath. “You don’t know any of this, and you certainly can’t prove it. Other enemies of my father tried to ruin him with these very same rumors over a dozen years ago, and they failed, because like you, they had no evidence for their baseless accusations. Now let me pass, for I will not tolerate this slander of him a single moment longer. And I certainly won’t allow you to slander him to others through your precious committee and ruin his good name.”
“By marrying Bluestone?” He slipped the coin into the pocket at the waistband of his trousers. “That’s rather out the window now, isn’t it?”
Ellie watched him pat his pocket and she felt a sudden pang of fear, but she covered it with a sound of derision. “Do you think I need a coin to secure Lord Bluestone’s affections?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Not to take anything from your charms, but even your dimpled smile and big brown eyes might not be enough to overcome the dictates of fate.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Why should you have to?” he asked, his question halting her as she once again moved to step around him. “Wouldn’t it be better to have the coin on your side?” he added, smoothing his waistcoat over his pocket, “just in case?”
“Much better,” she agreed at once, and held out her hand. “So give it back.”
He smiled. “Perhaps we could make a bargain for its return?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but thoughts of Anne and Cordelia and their matrimonial successes flashed through her mind. For her, the stakes were high and time was short. Despite her bravado, she needed all the help she could get. “What sort of bargain?”
“I’ll give you back the sixpence if you give me your word you won’t marry Bluestone for . . . say . . . two months?”
She almost laughed at that, it was so absurd. “Why? So that you have more time to fabricate a case?”
“It’s not fabrication. It’s truth.”
“If that is so, then show me the evidence you have against him.”
“You know I can’t reveal that information, especially not to you, of all people.”
“Yes, so you said six months ago. I was expected to simply take your word that my father is a villain. My own father, the dearest man in the world to me.”
“‘Dearest man,’ ” he echoed softly, and the corner of his mouth twisted. “There was a time when I thought I was the one who held that place in your heart.”
Pain shimmered through her, and she couldn’t bear to listen to any more. She flattened her hands against his chest, shoving with all her strength, and to her relief, he gave ground. “I don’t make bargains with devils,” she said, and stepped around him. “Keep the sixpence. I shan’t need it.”
She walked away, and she could only hope she hadn’t just defied the supernatural.
Chapter 3
Ellie hurried along the lane as quickly as decorum, tight stays, and the path’s potholes would allow. As she walked, she tried to keep her mind on her future, but as she approached the turn that led to Blackthorne Hall, her steps slowed and she couldn’t stop her mind from tumbling back into the past.
How often had she walked this lane with Lawrence? she wondered. Two dozen? Three? More?
At least that many. After meeting Cordelia at Madame Rochambeaux’s, she had begun coming here for summer holidays, vastly preferring Wolford Grange to the remote grandeur of Daventry Close. Able to stay with Lady Wolford, a distant cousin, she’d spent countless summer days here, exploring the woods, eating hard pears and fat blackberries, and punting on the stream with Cordelia, Beatrice, and Anne.
That’s how they’d met Lawrence—a capsized boat, four wet and muddy schoolgirls, and a boy standing on shore having a good laugh at their expense. His amused reaction to their predicament had earned him a few choice words from Ellie, but he’d made up for his lapse of good manners by a gallant rescue of their fishing poles, picnic basket, and punt, and they’d become friends.
For nearly fifteen years, she and Lawrence had spent the summer just that way—fighting and making up and falling in love. But no fight, no matter how heated, had ever been able to part them, not until that fateful day six months ago, when they’d had a quarrel that no gallant rescue, no apologies, and no compromise could resolve. One fateful hour, she thought bitterly, and fifteen halcyon summers might never have happened.
Ellie stopped walking and turned to stare up the tree-lined road that led to Blackthorne Hall. How could Lawrence have done this? she wondered, still baffled, still not quite able to come to terms with what had happened to a love she’d thought would last forever.
Not only had he chosen to believe vicious rumors rather than her father’s sworn denial, he had used those rumors for his own advancement, somehow convincing the Home Secretary to give him a position in the Home Office to investigate the supposed scandal. Even worse, he had expected her to accept his word of her father’s supposed crimes as truth without offering her any proof, saying she could not be trusted with the information. He’d expected her to side with him against her own father, to turn on the man who had shown her nothing but the deepest love and affection, based on nothing but his word.
The rutted road blurred before her eyes, and she looked away, blinking hard to keep back tears. There was no point in crying over the past. The man she’d loved had chosen ambition and called it honor. He had sided against a man who had regarded him almost as a son, and with that choice, he’d turned his back on her love and all the dreams she’d built for their future.
A bark sounded nearby, forcing Ellie out of the past, and she turned her head to find a mass of gray and white fur barreling down the lane, headed straight for her.
“No, Baxter!” she cried in dismay, but her words came too late to stop Lawrence’s rambunctious bobtail sheepdog. The animal sprang into the air and caught her at the shoulders.
She stumbled backward, and though she tried to right herself, her foot hit a rut, her ankle rolled, and she went down, hitting the hard-packed dirt with Baxter on top of her.
She tried to push the dog off, but he was too glad to see her to pay any heed. His hundred-pound body wriggled with happiness as he stood on top of her, licking her face and barking out enthusiastic greetings. He was so happy that despite her fall, she couldn’t help but laugh, and it took a minute or two before she could catch her breath and manage a command that was sufficiently impressive.
“Baxter, no,” she said, shoving at him again. “Sit.”
The dog obeyed at once, planting his behind squarely on her stomach. “Woof,” he said in reply, looking quite pleased with himself as his dark eyes peered down at her between the tufts of fur that covered his face.
“Are you all right?” another voice called, and Ellie turned her head to see Lawrence about fifty feet away, coming toward them on horseback.
Baxter
jumped off Ellie at once, and she gave a sigh of relief as he bounded away to greet his master. “Well enough,” she answered, sitting up as they approached. “But it’s clear your dog needs training. He’s grown quite wild since last I saw him.”
“On the contrary.” Lawrence reined the horse to a stop near her feet and glanced at Baxter, who promptly sat down, looking the picture of canine restraint. “He’s very well behaved.”
“Oh yes, very,” she agreed, giving him a wry look as she began to brush the dusty paw marks from her dress.
“He is,” Lawrence insisted. “Most of the time. And in your case,” he added as he swung one long leg over the horse’s back and dismounted, “you can’t blame him, really. It’s been a long time since you’ve paid a visit to Blackthorne Hall.”
“I wasn’t paying a visit,” she pointed out as he dropped the reins and came to her side. “I was merely passing by on my way home.”
“I know, but . . .” Lawrence paused beside her, doffing his hat. “He’s missed you, Ellie.”
Her heart twisted a little at those words, but she looked away before his perceptive eyes could see what she felt, and she was grateful when he spoke again.
“I’m sorry he knocked you down. Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
He gave a nod and held out his hand to help her up. She tried to stand, but the moment she put weight on her right foot, sharp pain shot through her ankle, and she cried out, sinking back down to the ground.
At once, Lawrence tossed aside his hat, knelt beside her, and without so much as a by-your-leave, he jerked the hem of her skirt upward.
“What are you doing?” She gasped and tried to tug her skirt back down, a vain effort. “You have no right to take such liberties!”
She was ignored, which was not surprising. This was Lawrence, after all. Instead of answering, he eased a hand beneath her heel and lifted her foot, and his earlier words echoed through her mind.