A lone candle flickered its greeting within the sconce hanging on the stained plaster walls of the corridor. Reveling in the silence, he pushed away from the door. Removing his leather gloves and top hat, Jonathan stripped away the damp cloak from his shoulders and tossed everything into the crate at his booted feet. He paused, noticing a set of muddy prints that were not his own.
A pulsing knot seized his stomach. Was someone stupid enough to try to rob him? Reaching beneath the back of his damp evening coat, he yanked his dagger from the scabbard attached to his waist. Tossing it into his right hand, he gripped it and pointed the blade out to the side.
He edged into the adjoining room, his muscles tightening. The burning coals in the hearth sent dim light and fuzzy shadows shifting across barren walls and the dilapidated brass bed in the corner. The broad back of a tall, blond-haired gentleman in an expensive greatcoat lingered before the fire. Black leather-gloved fingers tapped the rim of his top hat.
“Grayson.” Jonathan lowered his blade and blew out a breath, his body relaxing. “I wasn’t expecting you until morning.” He grinned, striding toward him. “How have you been, vecchio?”
Grayson swung toward him, the glow of the fire illuminating the edges of his greatcoat. He shoved his top hat beneath an arm, his disheveled dark blond hair falling onto his forehead. “I’ve been better. And I do beg your pardon, but I am not old.”
Reaching beneath the back of his gray wool coat, Jonathan slid the blade into his scabbard. Still grinning, he struck out a bare hand. “’Tis damn good to see you.”
“And you.” Grayson’s gloved hand grabbed his and gave it a solid shake before releasing it. He glanced around the small room. “If you insist on staying in this piss of a flat instead of taking residence with me, at the very least have the decency to bolt your door. This isn’t Venice.”
Jonathan shrugged. “A roof is a roof and I have my blade. I’m only staying long enough to settle unfinished business. Speaking of unfinished business…” He grinned, glorying in the moment he thought would never come. “So. How is she? Does she know I’m here to see her? Have you told her? What did she say? Was she at all receptive? Livid? Thrilled? What? Tell me.”
Grayson snorted. “You are prattling like an actress on gin.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth and hit his shoulder. “Cease being an ass. Out with it. When do I get to see her?”
“Uh…”
“Tomorrow?”
“No. Not tomorrow.”
“The day after?”
“Remington.”
Jonathan lowered his chin. “No. I am not waiting to see her. Do you understand me? I have waited long enough. Five bloody years, to be exact.”
Grayson cleared his throat, his brows coming together. “Believe me, Remington, I understand. But you see—”
“No. None of that.” Jonathan pointed at him rigidly. “Her father assured me that once my contract was over, I could return to London and vie for her. And I will. That is the only reason I’m even here. To vie for her. I have it all in writing. You know I do.”
“Yes, yes. I know. And you will vie for her as was promised. Understand, however, that when my uncle made those promises, he omitted how you were going to be vying for her.”
Jonathan dropped his hands to his sides, the frantic beat of his heart drumming against his chest. “What the devil did he omit?”
“Others.”
“Others?” he echoed.
“You won’t be the only one vying for Victoria’s hand. There will be two others set to vie alongside you. But only two.”
Jonathan drew in a sharp breath and angled his body toward Grayson. “The earl didn’t tell me that. He said—”
“I know. I know what has been scribed by him.” Grayson drummed his fingers against the top of his hat and sighed. “I can only apologize for my uncle.
He has never been a man to make things easy for anyone. And now, with his health being what it is, that is more true than ever. There are things he simply didn’t disclose during your correspondences. Things he should have disclosed, considering it involves his estate and testament.”
Jonathan leaned in closer, his brows coming together. “His testament? Is he…dying?”
Grayson turned and made his way back toward the hearth, half nodding. “Yes. Over a year ago, shortly before you and he started corresponding after he received the letter the marchesa wrote on your behalf, his physician informed him that the syphilis he’d contracted from a prostitute years ago had progressed beyond any known cure.”
Dear God. No. “Syphilis? Are they certain of it?”
Grayson nodded. “Yes. Quite certain of it. He has actually had it and known of it for years. Only it is finally beginning to ravage the last of him. According to all eight physicians involved in his diagnosis and care, he has about eight to ten months left.”
Jonathan swallowed. He couldn’t even imagine what Victoria was living through. She and her father had been inseparable.
Grayson swiveled toward him. “According to the solicitor, I have to be formal in my delivery of what was set forth. So tolerate it.” He cleared his throat.
“On behalf of my uncle, the sixth Earl of Linford, who regrets that he cannot personally deliver this message, I am here to announce that you, Viscount Remington, are being summoned to vie for Lady Victoria Jane Emerson’s hand, so that she may be wed before his passing. Do you accept being one of three, knowing that you may or may not become her husband depending on her choice in men?”
Jonathan’s lips parted. “I’ll be expected to compete for her hand? Alongside a bunch of roosters?”
“Yes. Two roosters.”
“Jesus Christ. I… If I have to vie for Victoria against two others, what chance have I? None. I already planned on crawling on my knees for the rest of my life in an effort to prove my worth to her, but with two others involved, how am I to—”
Grayson reached out and adjusted the lapels on Jonathan’s evening coat. “You can do this. I know you can.”
Jonathan stepped back and swiped his face. “How am I… The moment I disclose why I disappeared, she will run straight into the arms of whoever is standing next to me. I know she will.”
“You are overcomplicating this. Victoria doesn’t need to know. The less you tell her, the better off you will both be. And if, after you and she are married, the truth happens to fall out of your hat, so be it. Face it then. Not now. Get her to marry you first. After you two are married, what will it matter?”
Jonathan glared at him. “She would hate me. You may not see the value in a wife loving her husband, but I will not do that to her. I’ve already tormented her enough.”
Grayson shrugged. “Do whatever you think is best. Simply know that she will look for reasons to run and if you give them to her, she will.” Grayson paused, his brows coming together. Cocking his head, he reached out and fluffed the ends of Jonathan’s green lace cravat. “What the hell is this? Lace? Forgive me, but we cannot have you prancing about London in such foppery. One look at your cravat and she most certainly will run.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth and shoved Grayson’s hands away. “If she intends to judge me based upon my cravat, which happens to be high fashion in Venice, mind you, then I cannot readily expect her to accept anything about me, can I?” He hissed out an exasperated breath. “Why is the earl doing this to me? He knows I have yet to redeem myself. How am I to do it with two other noses in my face?”
Grayson stepped back toward the hearth. “Did you really think he was going to up and hand Victoria over without allowing her to decide her own fate? This is about her happiness, Remington. Not yours.”
Jonathan half nodded, respecting that sentiment. Sad though it was, with two others vying for her, it was going to take more than him crawling on his hands and knees. It was going to take pixies. Which did not exist.
Aside from whatever misgivings Victoria already had toward him due to his abandonment, he knew the moment he shared the
sins lining his soul, she would do more than run. She would hate him for the rest of his life. And in truth, he preferred she remember him for what he once was. Not what he’d become.
Jonathan sighed. “What chance have I against two others? None. I would only be tormenting her and myself. Perhaps it is best I return to Venice and leave this be.”
Grayson rolled his eyes. “My God, shall I fetch the whip for you so you can finish lashing yourself with it? You are being given an opportunity to compete for her. Take it!” Grayson yanked out the top hat from beneath his arm and whirled it once between his gloved fingers before setting it atop his head. He angled it. “I’ve known you for eleven years, Remington. That is a good amount of time to get to know a man, wouldn’t you say?”
Jonathan glared at him, sensing a parade of manipulation ahead. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Grayson’s brows rose as he glanced toward the ceiling, seemingly searching the heavens for the patience to speak to a simpleton. “Remember Eton? Hot coppers, I do. It was the worst of all my social experiences. Indeed, everyone there assumed that because I had my nose in a book I deserved to have that same nose pummeled. Do you remember?”
Jonathan bit back a smile, recalling all the times he’d put up a pair of fists for Grayson, who only ever covered his head and never fought back. “We destroyed many a hall together. Many.”
“No. You did. I was always half-crippled before you ever got to me. My point is, even then, you were forever setting aside yourself for others. ’Tis a noble quality, to be sure, but a quality that will force you to cradle everyone’s happiness but your own. I wish to God you would cease blaming yourself for the situation you fell into. It is done. You are free and if it weren’t for your marchesa digging up whatever grace she had left within her, you would not even be here. After enduring hell and counting down the days and hours toward reclaiming Victoria, you intend to walk away? Because of competition? The Jonathan I once knew would have put up two fists and started swinging.”
“I am not particularly fight-worthy,” he groused. “I would be but a pauper amongst princes.”
Grayson sighed. “What are you worth, anyway? Hmm? Out with it. You never told me.”
Jonathan seethed out a breath, not wanting to think about it. He was worth less than a fourth of what he’d once had. “If I were to convert everything from Venetian lire? Approximately three hundred pounds a year. More than enough to ensure Victoria an excellent living in Venice.”
“Three hundred pounds a year?” Grayson let out a long whistle. He shook his head and kept right on shaking it. “Bleed me, you will have no choice but to live in Venice…but—” Grayson pointed at him, a slow grin overtaking his lips “—if Victoria marries you, all of your financial woes will be at an end and you can live wherever the hell you want. As her husband, you would inherit my uncle’s entire estate upon his death. Almost a hundred thousand pounds.”
Jonathan choked. “Hell. That is a disturbing amount of money. No man should be worth that much.”
Grayson eyed him. “I know you don’t want the money, Remington, but consider it another dividend worth fighting for, attached to everything else you ever wanted.”
“I could care less about the money. I have more than enough to live with. I just…” Jonathan shifted toward him and lowered his voice. “Be honest in this. Do you think Victoria would even give me a chance against two others?”
Grayson snorted. “The moment my cousin discovers you are one of the three, she may throw a fit and smack you around a couple times, but trust me when I say she’ll still be waiting at St. Paul’s. Do you have any idea what my life was like when you ceased responding to her letters? Do you? Allow me to compose a delightful sonnet which I shall appropriately dub, ‘Grayson, how I despise thee.’”
Grayson cleared his throat and lifted his voice into an unbecoming female octave. “‘Grayson, do you see Remington whenever you go to Venice? You do, don’t you? I know you do. Why else would you travel there so often? And why do you refuse to tell me what has become of him? You had best tell me something, Grayson. Tell me or I will slice all of your extremities off with a carving knife, starting with the one you love most.’”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “You exaggerate. She would never threaten a soul.”
“The woman has gone savage since you’ve last seen her. I genuinely fear for whatever poor bastard ends up with her.” He let out a laugh. “You being that poor bastard. Now, are you going to vie for her or not? I have to give Mr. Parker an answer by tomorrow afternoon.”
Jonathan eyed him. “Mr. Parker?”
“The solicitor for my uncle’s estate.”
Jonathan blew out a long breath. What a mess. Her father was dying and Victoria was expected to partake in some matrimonial charade that would end up affecting her for the rest of her life? As for redeeming himself? It was one thing to become her husband and prove his worth to her then, but quite another to set himself against the wall alongside two others and let her weigh who was best. For best, he most certainly was not.
“Here.” Grayson reached into the inner pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a round, gilt frame bearing a miniature portrait. He held it up, stepping toward him. “It was painted last year.”
Jonathan’s jaw tightened as those achingly familiar dreamy green eyes met his. Thick, curling, long blond hair softly framed Victoria’s beautiful oval face. Her full pink lips were set into a playful yet demure smile. One he remembered all too well.
The playful innocence that still lingered in those eyes and that face silently called out to him. God, how he wished he could go back to that night. That night when she had kissed him and held him and made him believe that his mother’s ring actually bore real magic.
Jonathan reached out and gently slipped the miniature from Grayson’s fingers, compelled to hold it. He grazed his forefinger across her womanly face, the rough paint shattering the illusion of soft skin.
Grayson tapped the outer frame. “She needs you, Remington. And with her father’s death imminent, more so than ever. She will have no one but the husband she takes. Do you really want to lose the best thing you ever had because of your stupid pride and fear of getting rejected?”
Jonathan swallowed at the thought. Although he had been unable to let Victoria go, he knew he had destroyed the man she once knew and loved. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was anymore. His tastes, his needs, his wants had all been erased and replaced with the tastes, needs and wants of Bernadetta di Sangro, Marchesa Casacalenda and her savage of a husband. Such was the life of a Cavalier Servente. And though his contract had reached an end, his resentment toward the life he’d been forced into had not. Jonathan fingered the portrait. He had lost five years of his life. Five years that should have all been spent with Victoria.
Grayson nudged his arm. “Keep it.”
“Thank you. I will.” Jonathan tucked the miniature into the inner pocket of his own coat. “Allow me to see her before the others do. I need time to reconnect with her.”
Grayson leaned back. “Oh, no, no. I am afraid I cannot play favorites. Not in this. There are legalities as to how things are to be conducted, or everything, including the inheritance, will be void. Do you really want to play games with that large a fortune? Do you?”
“No, of course not. I simply…” He sighed.
Grayson leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Though I am not permitted to disclose what is planned, if you need me to disclose the details as a means of providing you a measure of assurance, I can do that. But that is about all I am able to offer in this. The rest will be up to you.”
Jonathan shifted his jaw and nodded. “I appreciate your assistance in this.”
“And?”
“I wish to take it.”
“Good. This remains between you, me and the walls. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Grayson angled toward him. “Here it is. All three suitors will remain nameless to each other
and to Victoria until the night of introductions. It allows everyone a fair chance to compete. Over the course of one evening, each man will be escorted into a private room with Victoria and expected to answer a designated set of questions. After all questions have been answered, Victoria must decide between you and the others. That is all.”
Jonathan stepped back and raked his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. “What sort of questions will I be asked?”
“Hell if I know. But it doesn’t matter. All you have to do is enter the room and the competition is over.”
Jonathan threw back his head and laughed. “You have far too much faith in me.”
“And that is what makes me a good friend.” Grayson drew his brows together and glanced about. “You are not staying in this heathenish abode. You are coming home with me. Tonight. I also intend to drag you over to my tailor. I cannot stand looking at you. You look like Casanova in the flesh. And that is no compliment, I assure you.”
Jonathan gestured grandly toward the length of his dove-gray attire, the embroidered celadon waistcoat and his green lace cravat. “I happened to pay a sizable amount to look this damn good.”
Grayson snorted. “I don’t care what you paid. It’s hideous. If I were you, I would get your money back.”
Jonathan snickered. “I am not buying new clothes merely because you cannot appreciate Venetian fashion.”
“Forget I even care. Now, are you doing this or not? I’m exhausted and need some goddamn brandy. I’ve been doing this all week. You aren’t the only man on the list.”
Though doubts still plagued him, he simply had to hope to whatever God there was that enough remained between him and Victoria to ignite what had once been. “I will vie.”
Grayson smacked his hands together and grinned. “Splendid. I will inform Mr. Parker of it at once.” He gestured toward the side of Jonathan’s waist. “Now hand over that blade.”
“Whatever for?”
“Have faith. I don’t plan on gutting you. I will leave that for Victoria.” Grayson wagged his upturned fingers, waiting.
Faith. Now there was a word he’d long since lost sight of. Jonathan reached back and yanked it loose from its scabbard. He presented the small blade.
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