The Wedding Clause

by Alexandra Ivy

  “You were being kidnapped,” he said.

  Surprisingly, a hint of color touched Molly’s countenance. “Not precisely.”

  His brows drew together. “I witnessed that man force you into the carriage.”

  “It was merely a misunderstanding.”

  Hart was not at all pleased. Molly’s flustered air revealed that she was not the hapless victim he had presumed. Indeed, there was a horrid certainty growing in the pit of his stomach that she might very well be involved in whatever treachery was going on.

  “A misunderstanding.” Despite the pain Hart forced himself to scoot upward on the pillows, effectively dislodging her lingering touch. He feared he needed whatever remained of his rattled senses. “My dear, a misunderstanding is appearing for an appointment on Tuesday when it was set for Thursday. Or bringing a lady roses when she prefers daises. It does not include attempting to murder lords of the realm.”

  She bit her bottom lip as her hands aimlessly toyed with a ribbon upon her muslin gown.

  “You should not agitate yourself, Hart. Perhaps you should have a cup of tea or . . .”

  “The only thing I desire is the truth,” he interrupted sternly.

  For a moment, she battled within herself before at last heaving a deep sigh. “I feared as much.”

  “Well?”

  She rose to her feet, moving toward a shuttered window as if she was carefully considering her words.

  “I suppose I shall have to begin at the beginning.”

  “That is, as a rule, the best place to begin,” he retorted in dry tones.

  “It is also the most difficult.”

  Studying her delicate profile, Hart noticed the pallor of her ivory skin and the tension in her slender form. Against his will a portion of his rising annoyance faded.

  He was a fool, of course. But what gentleman in love was not a fool?

  “It can be no worse than the insanity we have indulged in over the past few weeks,” he murmured.

  Turning her head she offered a shy, grateful smile at his teasing. “That is true enough. Still, I risk a great deal in revealing the truth.”

  A tingle inched down Hart’s spine. Was this it? Was he at last to discover the reasons for Molly’s obsession with his grandmother’s fortune?

  “It seems you shall have to trust me,” he said in low tones.

  “Yes.” Her chin unconsciously lifted as she sucked in a deep breath. “You know of my brother?”

  He gave an impatient shrug of his shoulders. “Of course.”

  “When my parents died a few years ago, Andrew was not at all prepared to take on his position. He was young and reckless and more concerned with the pleasures of London than field rotations.”

  “Much like any newly titled buck.”

  “Unlike most noblemen, however, Andrew was not blessed with endless wealth. Indeed, the estate was barely making a profit when my father died.”

  A glimmering of understanding began to tease at the edges of Hart’s mind. Folding his arms over his chest, he regarded her with a somber expression.

  “He fell in with the moneylenders,” he hazarded.

  Her eyes widened at his shrewd assumption. “Yes, but how did you know?”

  If she thought that he would be shocked by such a confession then she was wide of the mark, Hart acknowledged. He had been little more than a child himself when he had come into his title and if not for the stern, at times overbearing, guidance of his grandmother he might very well have tumbled into the same dire fate.

  “Because Andrew is far from alone in his foolishness,” he informed her. “It is said that the streets of Piccadilly are paved with aristocratic tears.”

  Stark pain rippled over her countenance as she wrapped her arms about her waist. “An apt description.”

  An echoing pain lanced though his susceptible heart. My God, she must have felt so helpless as she was forced to stand aside and watch her brother destroy their family.

  “He lost everything?” he demanded gently.

  “More than everything. Once he had depleted the sparse funds from the estate, he began borrowing heavily from the moneylenders. He did not come to his senses until they demanded repayment. By then it was far too late for any possibility of settling his debts.”

  Although her tone revealed very little, it did not take a great deal of imagination to realize just what this maiden had suffered over the past few years. The death of her parents, the ridiculous antics of her brother and the loss of the future owed to her.

  Bloody hell, it was a miracle she had managed to survive.

  “And so your noble brother fled and left you to fend for yourself?” he demanded in fierce tones. “He should be ashamed of himself.”

  “Oh no.” She took a step back toward the bed, her expression troubled at his stark condemnation of her brother. “He only pretended to flee to the continent. After crossing the channel he doubled back and has been hiding in this cottage every since.”

  Hart was not at all impressed. What was the difference if he hid in France or England? He was still shirking his duties, the worthless cad.

  “Why the pretense?”

  “His life was being threatened. Andrew thought it best to keep his pursuers busy chasing shadows throughout Europe while he lay low here.”

  Hart gave a low grunt. “He must realize he cannot hide forever?”

  “Actually he . . .” Her words trailed away.

  “What?”

  She licked her lips in a nervous gesture. “He has hopes of restoring his fortune.”

  Hart gave a startled glance about the barren cottage that had clearly seen more prosperous days.

  “Here?”

  “He only uses the cottage to conceal his whereabouts,” she said in low, obviously embarrassed tones. “He spends most of his time nearer the coast.”

  Hart was momentarily confused. Not only by her words but by her obvious distress. It was as if she were more mortified by her brother’s current state of poverty than by his reckless behavior that had caused his downfall.

  Odd considering she had always maintained a courageous dignity even when forced to work for his grandmother as a companion.

  Then at last his befuddled brain managed to put together the less than subtle insinuations. A hidden cottage. The lies to cover her brother’s whereabouts. Time along the coast.

  “He is a smuggler,” he said softly.

  She flinched, whether from distress at her brother’s profession or at the fear he might use this newfound evidence to harm her was impossible to say.

  “Yes.”

  Hart frowned at the extent of Lord Canfield’s foolishness. “He thinks to restore his fortune in such a manner?”

  “He hopes to at least gather enough to pay off the most pressing of his creditors.”

  “A rather risky scheme.”

  “Too risky.” Her head slowly lifted to reveal a vulnerability that instantly tugged at his heart. “You cannot imagine how many nights I lie awake certain that he has been shot in the dark, or hauled off to Newgate. It is unbearable.”

  The fierce concern for her brother was nearly tangible in the air and Hart stiffened as he regarded her brittle expression.

  So that was it.

  Molly was not obsessed with the money her brother had so recklessly tossed away, nor regaining her rightful role in society. As he had begun to suspect, she had no concern for herself at all.

  Instead she was haunted by fears for her brother and clearly determined to go to any length to protect him. Even if it meant crossing wills with the Heartless Viscount.

  Hart closed his eyes at the surge of conflicting emotions. Wonderment at her loyalty toward her brother. A sense of guilt at having judged her so wrong for so long. And an overriding fury toward the gentleman who had effectively ruined the future she so richly deserved.

  “That is why you were so determined to get your hands upon thirty thousand pounds,” he said in rasping tones. “To save your worthless b
rother.”

  “You are quite right, my lord,” a deep, decidedly male voice retorted from the doorway. “As usual Molly was attempting to rescue me.”

  Startled by the unexpected intrusion Hart wrenched open his eyes to discover a tall, golden-haired gentleman walking toward the bed. It did not take much intelligence to guess that this was Lord Canfield. The resemblance to Molly was striking enough to have given away the relationship to the most casual of observers. And Hart was anything but casual. His dark eyes narrowed with a smoldering anger as he encountered the pale blue gaze.

  “Ah, Lord Canfield, I presume,” he drawled in deliberately insulting tones. “So at last you decide to stop hiding behind your sister’s skirts.”

  With the atmosphere in the tiny chamber bristling with pure male aggression, Hart was not surprised when Molly stiffened as she flashed a wary glance toward her brother. He was, however, caught off guard by the intensity of his desire to leap from the bed and take a swing at the too handsome countenance.

  Not because this man was responsible for the pain still throbbing in his head. Or even for his illegal activities that might have outraged some noblemen. But quite simply because he had dared to fail Molly so abominably. A notion that might have terrified him a fortnight ago, but now seemed perfectly reasonable.

  As the uncomfortable silence stretched, Molly at last cleared her throat in a nervous manner.

  “Andrew. You should not be here,” she murmured.

  Lord Canfield gave a lift of his golden brows as he turned toward his sister. “Actually, Molly, it is you who should not be here. I did request that you allow me to tend to our guest.”

  The faintest of flushes touched her cheeks at the gentle reprimand. “I just wished to assure myself he was not seriously harmed.”

  “Commendable, but now I really must insist that you leave this chamber. It is not at all fitting for a maiden to be alone with a gentleman.”

  “But I . . .”

  “Molly,” Andrew interrupted in stern tones.

  “Perhaps, my sweet, it would be for the best,” Hart determinedly headed off the sibling squabble. Despite an undeniable part of him that regretted even a moment without Molly near, a larger part of him desired a few moments alone with Lord Canfield. How else could he vent his utter disapproval of his brotherly care? “I have a few things that I would like to discuss with my host.” He lifted a slender hand as she shot him a startled frown. “Do not fear, we are both relatively civilized gentlemen. We should be able to hold a conversation without too much bloodshed.”

  Much to his delight, she moved toward the bed and laid a soft hand against his forehead. “You must promise not to overexcite yourself. It cannot be good for you.”

  Ignoring the dangerous glare coming from the direction of the young Baron, Hart reached up to grasp her fingers and gently carried them to his lips.

  “I promise,” he husked softly.

  Just for a moment their gazes met, and Hart felt his heart slam against his chest. Bloody hell. Never before had he believed in spiritual unions. Or the poetic joining of two hearts. But the force shimmering between the two of them was undeniable.

  As if unnerved by the violent surge of emotions, Molly awkwardly stepped from the bed before turning to hurry from the room. Hart watched her retreat with an unwitting frown, barely resisting the urge to call her back.

  Soon, he assured himself. Soon he and Miss Molly Conwell were going to finish their long overdue conversation. There would be no more games or charades. No more hiding. No more denials.

  Just a stark confession of what had grown between them.

  And then he intended to capture his elusive angel once and for all.

  The sound of approaching footsteps abruptly jolted Hart from his brooding. Glancing upward, he realized that Lord Canfield had moved close to the bed to regard him with a cold, piercing scrutiny.

  “Remarkable,” the younger man announced, a shrewd intelligence glinting in the blue eyes that spoke of experiences beyond his years. “I believe that is the first occasion that Molly has ever done what was requested of her.”

  Sensing that the gentleman was more than a tad suspicious of Molly’s presence in the chamber, Hart shifted into a more upright position. Lord Canfield, or at least his minion, had managed to knock him senseless once. He would not be caught off guard again.

  “Molly does what is requested of her only when it pleases her,” he muttered. “Regardless of who is doing the requesting, as I am sure you are aware.”

  Andrew gave a small dip of his head. “True enough, although never with such tender concern.”

  Hart battled the most absurd urge to blush before he was sternly gathering his composure about himself. He was not about to be discomforted as if he were a school lad enduring his first infatuation. Certainly not by the gentleman who had blithely thrown Molly into danger.

  “I believe that I have you to thank for this delightful kidnapping?” He determinedly took the offensive.

  If he were caught off guard by the abrupt charge the younger man hid it well. Indeed, his reaction was no more than a faint smile.

  “An entirely unintentional kidnapping, I assure you. My groom is rather protective of me and has a tendency to strike at the slightest provocation.”

  Hart grimaced. “So I have noticed.”

  “It would not have occurred had you not attacked the carriage as if you were Wellington at Waterloo.”

  “I thought Molly was in danger,” Hart growled, unwittingly revealing more than he intended.

  On cue Andrew narrowed his gaze in a thoughtful manner. “It was my understanding that you have done everything possible to rid London of my sister’s presence. Why would you be concerned if she were about to be conveniently disposed of?”

  “I would not hesitate to rescue anyone, including my enemies, from the hands of ruffians,” he defensively retorted. “As would any gentleman.”

  “So you do consider Molly an enemy?”

  Hart frowned in irritation. “I think I am the one who should be asking the questions, Lord Canfield. You are in a rather precarious situation considering you have kidnapped a peer of the realm. Some might judge it a hanging offense.”

  Once again his jab flew wide as Andrew gave a small shrug. “I fear that you will not overly rattle me with such dire threats. My sins are so numerous that I have long since lost count of the reasons I should face the gallows.”

  “Sins such as abandoning your sister to survive without the assistance of money or family?” Hart demanded, not at all pleased by the nobleman’s blithe manner.

  Andrew winced as his eyes darkened with what seemed to be genuine pain. “The greatest of my sins, I confess. And one that I intend to correct.”

  Pleased that the gentleman possessed at least some regret for his atrocious behavior, Hart nevertheless was not about to be easily fobbed off.

  “How?”

  For a moment, he thought Andrew might refuse to answer his question, then with an audible sigh the younger gentleman turned to pace toward the window. Although the shadows of impending nightfall cloaked his expression, Hart could sense the tension that gripped the slender form.

  “By doing what I should have done long ago,” he at last confessed. “Confronting my troubles as a man rather than a spoiled lad. There will be no more hiding, no more running.”

  “No more smuggling?”

  Andrew jerkily turned to regard him in startled surprise. “How . . .?” It took only a moment for realization that Molly had revealed his secret to hit. “Ah, of course. No. No more smuggling.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I have a few acres attached to the estate that are not part of the entail and a handful of valuables that can be sold at auction,” he revealed. “It is not nearly enough to cover my debts, but it should give me at least enough time to approach the banks and old friends of my father who might be willing to negotiate a loan to help me get the fields planted this season.”

  Ha
rt had not expected such a logical scheme. Not from this gentleman.

  “Why did you not do this when you first realized your folly?”

  “Because I have always sought the easy path.” Pacing back toward the bed, Andrew ran distracted fingers through the golden curls that so forcibly reminded Hart of his absent angel. “It was easier to pretend there was no solution than to accept the difficult choices that must be made. Unlike Molly I have never been ready to confront life as it is, rather than how I wished it to be.”

  “Molly had no choice.”

  “You need not remind me of how greatly I failed my sister,” he retorted in bitter tones. “Or my tenants. Or the one woman I will ever love. It is all deeply etched upon my heart.”

  Although Hart sensed that Andrew was quite sincere in his regret as well as his determination to make matters right, he was not yet prepared to entirely forgive him for failing Molly.

  Perhaps because of his own lingering guilt, he reluctantly acknowledged.

  Neither of them could boast of their chivalrous, noble behavior.

  “Very poetic,” he muttered.

  A wry smile eased Andrew’s rigid expression. “Yes, well, I do have a point.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Molly will no longer find it necessary to fret over my safety. Indeed, she shall be able to return to Oakgrove as she has so long desired.”

  If Andrew thought his words would offer comfort to Hart, he was sadly mistaken. The mere thought of Molly being buried in the country, hours away from London, and more importantly hours away from him, was enough to make him bristle in protest.

  “So that she can become a penniless spinster?” he snapped.

  Andrew met Hart’s glittering glare with a lift of his brows. “What does it matter to you so long as she is away from London and no longer seeking your grandmother’s fortune?”

  “She deserves better.”

  “Ah, well. Who can say what the future holds?” The gentleman returned to his elegant, casually indifferent manner. “Molly is a beautiful, intelligent maiden. Once returned to her rightful place there should be no difficulty in finding her a husband. The local Squire has recently lost his wife, and then there is the new Vicar. Both have always quite admired my sister.”