Well, that certainly explained the fact they could pass as twins. Unfortunately, it did not explain why he would seek her out.
“I see. Is there something you desire?”
His slow smile was far more threatening than any frown could ever be. “You.”
Her? A tingle inched down her spine. She was fairly certain he did not mean that as a compliment.
Not when he was regarding her as if she were some loathsome insect that he longed to squash.
“I must return to Lady Falker,” she muttered.
Without warning, his hand shot out to grasp her upper arm. “Surely there is no hurry?”
Molly wetted her suddenly dry lips. His grip was not painful, but it was firm enough to warn her that he had no intention of letting her slip away.
“She will be concerned if she notes that I am not in the ballroom,” she warned in stiff tones. “I would not wish her to create a scene in searching for me.”
“No, we most certainly do not desire an ugly scene,” he drawled in return.
“Then please release me.”
His grip merely tightened. “Actually Lady Falker will not be at all concerned with your absence.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I possessed the foresight to ensure that she is properly distracted by Mrs. Milton,” he revealed. “The woman is as tenacious as a leech and just as difficult to dislodge. It should be some time before Lady Falker even notices you are absent.”
Her spine stiffened at his audacity. “I . . . how dare you?”
“Quite easily.” With a firm tug, Thorpe had her stumbling toward the nearby steps leading to the gardens. “Shall we take a stroll?”
Managing to regain her balance as she was ruthlessly steered forward, Molly flashed her captor a jaundiced glare.
“Do I have a choice?”
“None whatsoever.”
Her teeth clenched in annoyance. “I see that beastly manners and utter arrogance is a family trait.”
Surprisingly, her words elicited nothing more than a low chuckle from her companion.
“Delightful, is it not?”
“Delightful was not quite the word I would use.”
“I am sure it is not.”
Realizing that the annoying man was quite as impervious to insult as his cousin, Molly set her chin to a stubborn angle.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“It is nothing overly nefarious,” he drawled. “I merely wish to have a word in private with you.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Did Hart send you?”
He appeared genuinely startled by her question. “Gads, no. I do not doubt he will have my head upon a platter when he discovers I have even approached you. Here we are.” At last reaching the sunken rose garden complete with a Italian marble fountain, Thorpe came to a halt and glanced about his surroundings. “Lovely. I will give Lady Sinclair credit. For all her lack of blue blood she does possess an exquisite taste in gardens.”
Confused, and not at all in the humor to mind her manners, Molly jerked her arm free of his lingering grasp.
“Since as a rule it is those without proper blue blood who actually put their hands in the dirt to create such a garden, I would think her lack of aristocracy was quite an asset.”
The raven brows rose in a manner disturbingly familiar. “Good heavens, Miss Conwell, do not tell me that the daughter of a Baron, one who moreover is about to wed a very large fortune, actually believes in the nonsense of all being created as equal?”
It was precisely what she believed, but knowing that she was merely being goaded, Molly turned to the gentleman squarely.
“Are you truly curious of my political beliefs?”
“Perhaps under different circumstances. Now, however, my only interest is in Hart.”
“I do not know where he is, if that is what you desire. Indeed I have not seen him for the past week.”
Thorpe folded his arms over his chest, peering down the long length of his nose. “I am not concerned with his whereabouts. I am concerned with his future.”
Ah. So now they were to come to the crux of the matter. Molly silently girded herself for the undoubted battle.
“You believe that Lord Woodhart is incapable of seeing to his own future?”
“Not when he is allowing himself to be befuddled by a beautiful woman.”
Beautiful woman? Molly blinked in shock. Was the man daft or simply blind?
“I assure you, I most certainly have not befuddled your cousin, sir,” she retorted in wary tones. “I could not even if I desired too.”
“Do not be so modest, my dear. Not only do you possess an undoubted allure, but there is an innocence about you that is bound to tug the heart of a susceptible gentleman.”
“Susceptible gentleman?” A short laugh was wrenched from her throat. “Surely you do not refer to the Heartless Viscount?”
A hard, humorless smile curled his lips. “He is not nearly so heartless as he would have others believe. Victoria’s treachery merely made him create the illusion he could no longer be hurt by others.”
The righteous anger and dislike for being threatened by a complete stranger abruptly faltered as she regarded Thorpe with a gathering frown.
“Do you speak of the maiden he left standing at the altar?”
There was a moment’s pause as Thorpe regarded her pale features with a searching intensity.
“That is the story put out by Victoria and her family. One that Hart never bothered to correct.” The lean features hardened with a chilled anger. “The truth of the matter is that Hart caught his beloved fiancée in a disgustingly compromising position mere hours before the wedding. After assuring Victoria he would have himself hanged before going through the marriage, he disappeared from London for weeks to battle his disillusionment.”
Molly bit her bottom lip until she drew blood. Damn and blast this man. From the beginning, she had sought to convince herself that Hart was no more than a ruthless libertine who was without conscience or morals. Even when she had witnessed glimmers of his tender charm and staunchly guarded vulnerability she had battled to remain blind.
How else was she to treat him as the enemy? How else could she ease her own conscience at taking money that truly did not belong to her?
Now Thorpe was forcing her to consider her fiancé as a man wounded by his past and wary of being hurt once again. A man, moreover, undeserving of paying for the sins of Andrew.
Abruptly spinning away from the probing gaze that silently watched the emotions flicker over her countenance, Molly pressed her hands to her heaving stomach.
“I . . . did not know,” she muttered.
“He was frankly devastated by the realization his trust had been so ruthlessly violated.” Thorpe pressed his dagger deeper. “It took him months to recover from the blow and even now he keeps himself isolated in a manner I find worrisome.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Oh, it is not to gain your sympathy, if that is what you fear,” he mocked. “Hart assures me that you have none. I only wish to reveal my deep concern for my cousin. I refuse to stand aside and allow him to be hurt and disappointed once again.”
Molly squeezed shut her eyes at his condemning tone. Why shouldn’t he be condemning, she chastised herself? To his mind she was no better than a common thief.
And at this moment, she wasn’t certain he was not right.
“I suppose you intend to threaten me now?” she challenged in husky tones.
“On the contrary, Miss Conwell,” he retorted. “I intend to make you a very happy woman.”
Decidedly alarmed by the unexpected words, Molly turned to eye the towering gentleman with a suspicious gaze.
“What do you mean?”
His eyes glittered as cold as a winter night. “I am willing to offer you a bank draft for thirty thousand pounds if you will swear to leave London and never trouble Hart again.”
Her mouth went dry as she took an
instinctive step backward. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“I assure you that it is a small price to pay to ensure that Hart is not once again butchered by a ruthless jade.”
Molly flinched as if she had been physically struck. In truth, she would have preferred a solid slap. It would not have been nearly so painful as the vicious words that cut deep into her heart.
A ruthless jade.
Was that what she had become?
In her madness to save her brother had she become what she most detested?
Muffling a low groan, Molly abruptly hiked up her skirts and fled from the taunting gentleman. She could not think clearly. Not with him glaring at her as if she were some appalling rodent.
She needed time alone to gather her rattled senses. Perhaps then she wouldn’t be wishing she could leap off the nearest cliff.
Chapter Ten
Hart had not intended to attend the elegant ball. What was the purpose? All his devious plots and schemes had come to naught. Unless, of course, he counted their stunning achievement in making him more confused and uncertain than ever.
It did not seem to matter how hard he tried he could not force Molly into the mold of a heartless vixen.
Oh, there was no doubt she was determined to get her hands upon his grandmother’s inheritance. She was as tenacious as a leech when it came to bleeding him of his fortune.
But even while his common sense demanded that he accept she was without conscience or morals, his heart refused to accept the obvious.
There were simply too many contradictions. Her unwitting displays of kindness, her utter innocence, her refusal to accept lavish gifts. They all revealed a maiden who was incapable of deliberately deceiving another.
Or the fact that he was flirting with madness once again.
Besieged with a restless need to be near Molly regardless of her unsettlingly influence upon his emotions, Hart had at last given into the inevitable. Attiring himself in a pristine black coat and white pantaloons, he had directed his driver to the Mayfair townhouse.
Once he arrived, however, he was disgruntled to discover that Molly was not among the chattering crowd. Odd considering that Lady Falker’s maid had assured Carter just that morning that the ladies would be attending.
With a growing unease, he searched through the various rooms and at last weaved his way to the French doors and onto the terrace. He entered the gardens just in time to witness Molly’s flurry of silken flight.
Caught off guard, he could only watch as she disappeared into the shadows at the back of the townhouse. Then slowly, his gaze narrowed as he turned his attention to the tall, elegantly familiar form of Lord Thorpe.
Obviously, Molly was upset. And he could easily guess the cause of her hasty flight.
With long strides, he made his way down the stairs and moved to stand directly behind his cousin.
“What the devil were you doing with Molly?” he growled, unaware that he was revealing far too much concern for a woman he had branded a fortune hunter.
Stiffening at the abrupt intrusion, Thorpe took a moment before he turned to confront his bristling relative.
“Good Lord, Hart,” he drawled with his usual nonchalance. “Has no one taught you that it is extremely rude to lurk about and startle a gentleman out of his wits?”
“You did not answer my question.” Hart took a smooth step closer. “Why were you out here with Molly?”
Thorpe shrugged. “I merely wished to have a word in private with her.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity, I suppose.” Thorpe folded his arms across his chest, his lips twisting into a humorless smile. “She has managed to lead you about like a trained monkey. I desired to discover the source of her bewitchment.”
Having known Thorpe a lifetime, Hart easily recognized the ploy. His cousin was attempting to distract him.
“And all you did was speak with her?” he pressed grimly.
A raven brow arched. “Did you think I lured her out here for a spot of seduction?”
Thankfully such a thought had never occurred to him. A fortunate thing for his bothersome relative. It might very well have earned a sharp poke to the nose.
“I think that she fled from you as if she were terrified,” he accused. “I cannot help but wonder why.”
A guarded expression descended upon the handsome male features. “Who can say? Females as a point of honor are odd, unpredictable creatures.”
True enough, but Hart was quite certain that Molly’s distress was more than simple female fickleness.
“Did you threaten her?” he demanded.
Thorpe regarded him steadily. “Would it trouble you if I did?”
“I do not want you involved.”
“And that is all that bothers you?”
“Of course.”
“It could not be that you are concerned that I might have upset Miss Conwell?” his cousin charged.
Well certainly he was damned well concerned, Hart grumpily acknowledged. To think of Molly being hurt or frightened was enough to make his blood run hot. Still, it did not seem entirely wise to confess such a dangerous reaction. Not when poor Thorpe was already consumed with worry for his sanity.
“This is between Molly and myself,” he instead insisted, his tone revealing his refusal to argue the point. “I do not want you interfering.”
Thorpe gave a slow shake of his head. “Hart, you are playing a dangerous game.”
Hart clenched his hands at his side. No one knew better than him the dangers of this particular game. Or the consequences of losing it.
“It is my game to play,” he retorted. “And without the assistance of a busybody relative.”
Confident he had made his point, Hart turned on his heel and set a path to follow Molly. He was quite certain he was the last person she desired to see at the moment, but he could not allow her to believe that he had requested Thorpe bully and intimidate her.
Why that bothered him so deeply was a question he did not wish to ponder at the moment.
Moving through the shadows, he traced his way along the back of the house, pausing at the various doors until he at last discovered one that led to a secluded library. Peering within he could just make out the slender form of Molly leaning against a bookcase with her back to him. In the heavy silence, he could hear the muffled sound of sobbing.
A sharp, unfamiliar pain ripped through his heart as he hesitantly entered the room.
“Molly?”
In the dusky shadows, he could sense her freeze in shock at his unexpected appearance. He was also conscious of her furtive effort to wipe away the evidence of her distress.
So, she was a maiden who did not use tears as a weapon. Yet another revelation.
“Please . . . go away,” she muttered in husky tones.
“I cannot do that.” Closing the door behind him, Hart slid the lock into place before moving forward. “You are upset.”
“Do not be absurd.” She squared her shoulders although she was careful not to turn about. “I merely desired a few moments alone.”
“Molly, I know you were in the gardens with Thorpe. What did he say to you?”
“Does it matter?”
It should not. He had struggled for weeks to find her weaknesses and to use them to his advantage. Now she seemed to be utterly vulnerable and all he could think about was finding some means to ease her pain.
“You are my fiancée,” he lamely uttered.
“Fah.” Reluctantly she turned to face him, her countenance still damp from tears. “We both know that you consider our engagement no more than a charade.”
Did he? He was not nearly so certain as he should be.
“And we both know that a heartless fortune hunter would not be reduced to tears by a few unkind words,” he retorted gently. “I begin to wonder if we are both frauds, my sweet.”
Surprisingly, his words produced a deep scowl as she folded her arms about her waist. “Blast you, do not do that.”<
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Hart lifted his brows in puzzlement. “Do what?”
“Be kind to me.”
Thorpe was right, he silently conceded. Females were odd, unpredictable creatures. With a healthy dose of contrariness thrown in for the bargain.
“You would rather I be unkind?” he demanded.
“Yes.” She gave a restless shrug. “You are supposed to be the enemy.”
Hart stilled at the peculiar words. “Why am I the enemy, Molly?”
She bit her lip, almost as if she had given away more than she intended. “You have treated me abominably.”
Well, he could hardly deny her accusation. He had treated her abominably. Perhaps more abominably than she truly deserved.
He shoved impatient fingers through his hair, not at all comfortable revealing his most private feelings.
“I will admit that I have never trusted you or your motives in befriending my grandmother. I did not want her hurt.” He paused before giving a grim laugh. “Or perhaps it was myself that I feared might be hurt.”
Her wary expression softened at his grudging confession. “You believe all women are untrustworthy because Miss Darlington betrayed you?”
Hart jerked in surprise at her soft question. Good God, how the devil had she learned that he was betrayed? No one knew the truth of Victoria. Well, no one but his interfering, aggravating cousin.
His features thinned with annoyance as he folded his arms over his chest.
“Ah, I suppose I must thank Thorpe for revealing my sordid past. I will make sure to share my appreciation when next we meet.”
Her hand impulsively reached out as if to touch him before being drawn sharply back. “Do not be angry with him. He is merely concerned for you. Families are meant to care for one another.”
“Caring for and interfering are two different matters. What did he tell you?”
“Only that you were betrayed and that you have not yet fully recovered.”
Hart shuddered in horror. How could his cousin reveal his secrets? Especially to Molly. He knew just how embarrassing Hart found Victoria’s defection.
“So, I am not only a cuckolded fool, but doddy in the bargain. Lovely,” he muttered in harsh tones.
Astonishingly, her brows snapped together as if she were angered by his response. “That is absurd.”
The Wedding Clause Page 12