by Cheryl Holt
“Because I have a better solution, and it will be much more to Mr. Scott’s liking.”
“Really?” Gaylord sneered.
“Yes. Let me tell you what I saw, then you can tell me how we should proceed.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Miss Wells, we meet again.”
Maggie glared at Michael Scott. “Every time I turn around, there you are. Are you following me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Not really.”
They were in the garden, with Maggie on her way to the stable when she’d stumbled upon Mr. Scott. He’d been out riding and had been trotting up the lane as she’d left the house.
To her consternation, he cut a dashing figure on a horse, looking manly and intriguing, like someone she might like to kiss in the moonlight. The fact that she’d drooled over him as he’d approached only underscored the wisdom of her decision to depart immediately.
She was to have stayed at Cliffside an entire week, but she’d arisen to the realization that she couldn’t bear to remain.
A list of dreary tasks had needed accomplishing. She’d have had to explore the upstairs rooms to find out what had been sold. She’d have had to sit down with Pamela to ask biting questions and force answers from her sister. She’d have had to corner Gaylord and press him for information about his gambling debts, about her missing allowance.
The conversations would have been highly unpleasant, and just from considering how horrid they would be, she’d been too nauseous to eat any breakfast.
Coupled with her worries about their financial situation, a housemaid had stopped Maggie to confide that Rebecca had been out in the garden the previous night with Ramsey Scott. No one could say how long the tryst had lasted, but several servants had observed her sneaking back in, and the news was aggravating.
Rebecca had loose tendencies and had nearly gotten herself into trouble with a few different fellows. She wasn’t a girl who should be single and desperately needed a husband, but she had no dowry. In the meantime, she aggressively flirted with various men, and it was terrifying to think of her trifling with such a disreputable character as Ramsey Scott.
On top of all that, she was consumed by an odd excitement over Michael Scott being on the premises. She had no idea why he’d visited her room the prior evening, why he’d kissed her on her balcony. She was even more confused over why she’d participated.
Their embrace had continued for a lengthy period, and while she’d tried to convince herself it had been inconsequential, it hadn’t been. She felt all jumbled on the inside, hot and cold and prickly all over as if her skin didn’t fit over her bones just right.
She didn’t want to fight with her family, didn’t want to see Michael Scott ever again, so she’d packed her bag and headed off. She planned to take the carriage into the village, then purchase a ticket on the mail coach to London. She’d been so intent on fleeing that she was creeping away like a thief in the night.
Yet she’d run into Mr. Scott anyway. Why was Fate so fickle? If she’d left five minutes earlier, she’d have escaped without having to gaze into those magnificent blue eyes of his.
“Tell me something.” His voice was low, seductive, and much too tempting.
“If I can.”
“Why is this place called Cliffside? I’ve been riding all morning, but I haven’t seen a cliff anywhere.”
She didn’t know what sort of query she’d been expecting, but the question made her laugh. “There used to be a cliff.”
“Where?”
“Out by the lake. Decades ago, a huge flood washed it away, so the river was dammed and the lake formed.”
“It’s lucky I bumped into you then. I hate mysteries, and if you hadn’t enlightened me, I’d likely have spent the rest of my life searching for it.”
She laughed again. “Stop being charming.”
“You think I’m charming?”
“Yes, and I also think you’re flirting with me.”
He grinned. “I might be.”
“Please don’t. I don’t like it.”
“What’s wrong with you? Every female likes a man to flirt. That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard a woman say.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. I’m sure your trollops have said things that are much stranger.”
His grin widened. “You could be right about that.”
“What’s it like, dabbling with trollops?”
She’d hoped to disconcert him with the indiscreet inquiry, but he wasn’t bothered a bit.
“It’s grand.”
“Grand?” she scoffed.
“Yes. They don’t have reputations to protect, so I never have to worry about breaking any fussy rules of decorum.”
“Only a libertine such as yourself would deem that a benefit.”
He stepped nearer, coming so close that the toes of his boots slid under the hem of her skirt. His brazen personality riveted her, freezing her in her tracks so she couldn’t move away.
“Tell me something else,” he said.
“What?”
“Are you in the habit of welcoming a man into your bedchamber and letting him kiss you senseless?”
Her cheeks flamed bright red. “You are a cad to mention it.”
“Should I take that as a no?”
“You should take it as a no. After my experience with a certain sector of the male population, I’ve sworn off all of you.”
“Not all of us,” he countered. “You seem to like me just fine.”
“Don’t be so pompously annoying.”
“Too late.” He studied her portmanteau. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“For London?”
“Yes.”
“But…you just arrived.”
“And now I’m going.”
“How are you getting to town? You’d better not be traveling alone.”
“I’m not,” she lied, for she didn’t choose to debate the issue with him.
“If you’re no longer at Cliffside, who will entertain me?”
“The neighbor ladies will line up in my place.”
As she voiced what was to have been a teasing remark, the oddest spurt of emotion sweep through her. She frowned, curious to determine what it was, and when she recognized it as jealousy she was aghast.
“Why are you scowling?” he asked.
“I’m trying to figure out why you’re pestering me—and why I allow it.”
“You’re crazy about me. Most women are.”
“I am crazy about you?”
“Yes, you can’t help yourself. It’s a fairly common problem that females encounter when they meet me.”
“Your vanity knows no bounds.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Scott.”
She attempted to push around him, to continue on, but he wouldn’t permit her to go.
“Let me carry your bag.”
“I can manage.”
“I said, let me carry it.”
He slipped it from her hand and into his own. “Didn’t I tell you that I always get my way?”
“You certainly did.”
“Where to, Miss Wells?”
“The stables. My carriage is ready.”
It was only taking her into the village, but she was happy to have him assume it would convey her to London. She wasn’t about to confess that she’d ride on the mail coach, that she’d purchase her own ticket.
She never accepted any aid from Gaylord and Pamela, and she prided herself on her fiscal autonomy. But she had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Scott—for all his criminal habits—wouldn’t approve of her using public transportation. Buried under his base traits, she was noticing some gallant tendencies.
“I’ll walk you to it,” he told her.
“I suppose it’s pointless to inform you that I don’t need your assistance.”
“Yes, it’s pointless. Stop b
eing so independent. You’re a woman. It won’t kill you to lean on a man once in a while.”
“It might.”
They headed off, side by side, Mr. Scott near enough that their arms and legs occasionally brushed together.
The carriage was parked and waiting for her, a footman up in the box. Mr. Scott tossed in her bag, then he helped her climb in and he shut the door after her. She peered out the window, disturbed to find herself regretting her hasty decision to flee.
“I’ll miss you after you’re gone,” he said.
“You will not.”
“I will. I’ll be so dejected, I’ll be like a wilting flower, deprived of sunshine.”
“You will not,” she repeated.
He shrugged. “Well, I might not waste away, but I’ll probably be bored to tears. Who will I kiss in the moonlight if the mood strikes me?”
“Who indeed, Mr. Scott?”
He stunned her by reaching out and squeezing her fingers in goodbye, and for some strange reason, it was a poignant farewell. She felt as if she’d always known him, as if they were lovers parting forever and she would be bereft without him.
The sentiment was out of character for the person she deemed herself to be, but then it had been a long time since a handsome man had paid her the slightest attention. She hadn’t thought she minded her lonely existence, but apparently she was as desperate as every other spinster in the world.
“You live down the street from me in London,” he said. “I might visit you someday.”
She suffered the most annoying spurt of delight, but she quickly tamped it down. “Please don’t.”
“Why shouldn’t I? I ride by that stupid mission constantly.”
“There’s nothing to see, so you needn’t stop.”
“I like you better now, and don’t forget that I’m obscenely rich. Maybe I’ll hand over that donation after all.”
“You’re toying me, hoping to entice me with the promise of money.”
“I might be, or I might be lying. With me, who can predict what I’ll do? I like to keep people guessing. I could be persuaded into tossing you a few pounds—but you’d have to be very, very nice to me in order to get it.”
“I doubt I could be that nice.”
“You just never know.”
She leaned out, not wanting the footman to overhear. Mr. Scott leaned in too, and they whispered, their heads pressed close.
“Last night was a mistake,” she insisted.
“A mistake! I’ve never kissed a woman who thought so afterward.”
“And I don’t like you, remember?”
“Yes, but I’m gradually changing your mind.”
“You can’t possibly.”
“We’ll see about that, Miss Wells. We’ll definitely see.”
Looking cocky and magnificent, he drew away and motioned to the driver. The man clicked the reins, and the horse trotted off so swiftly that she was forced back against the seat.
She was grinning, happy as she hadn’t been in ages, and dying to move into the window again, to wave and call out her goodbyes. But common sense prevailed, and she remained right where she was.
* * * *
“Felicia, would you come in here please?”
Lady Felicia Gilroy stared into her father’s library. She’d been walking by in the hall when he’d asked her to enter, and the request was an enormous surprise.
In all her eighteen years of living, she couldn’t previously recollect being invited in. Her father, the great and glorious Lord Stone, was an enigmatic figure, rarely home, rarely spoken to. He was little more than a stranger to her, and she viewed him as a sort of distant relative who showed up on occasion for important events.
When he was in residence, he scarcely noticed his children, but then he’d had three daughters—Felicia being the third and youngest—and no sons, and everyone knew daughters were an expensive waste of effort.
He’d already had to provide two dowries for her older sisters, so Felicia often felt like an unwanted burden, like a guest who had overstayed her welcome.
Her mother had frequently counseled that Felicia’s father had lost the energy to arrange a grand match, and there was no money to pay for one. She’d have to take what she could get.
While she was trying to be brave and accommodating, the situation was galling. Her father was an earl, and she was an earl’s daughter. Her sisters had been given rich spouses from esteemed families, and she’d grown up imagining the dashing swain Lord Stone would ultimately catch for her. Yet now that the time was at hand, she was being advised to lower her expectations. It was so unfair!
Still though, she was amazed by his summons and suffered a trill of excitement. If he’d deigned to talk to her, he must have a significant topic to discuss. Marriage, perhaps?
“Sit, sit,” he grumpily said. He was seated behind his desk, and he gestured to the chair across.
She eased down, struggling to look calm and composed. “What did you need, Father?”
“I have some…news to share.”
“What is it?”
She could smell alcohol on his breath and clothes. The sour odor wafted toward her, and she could barely keep from gagging and covering her nose. His skin was pale and blotchy, and there were bags under his eyes. He appeared to have aged considerably too. Was he ill? Was he dying? Was that what he was about to impart?
“I’ve accepted an offer of marriage for you.” He might have been sucking on sour pickles.
“How nice. Who is it? Is it anyone I know?”
The prior afternoon, she’d met Lord Barrington’s son in the park, and she’d always had the worst crush on him. Had he finally realized how much she liked him? Had he spoken to her father? After all her mother’s negative counsel, could Felicia be that lucky?
“Yes, you know him,” her father said. “It’s Michael Scott. I introduced you to him a few weeks ago at Lord Gladstone’s ball.”
“Michael…Scott.”
“Yes.”
She formed a picture of him in her mind. He was tall, dark, and handsome, but a bit rough around the edges. He’d constantly searched the crowd as if expecting an attack. If she’d been informed that he’d been armed, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
That man, that stranger, was to be her husband?
“I remember him,” she tentatively stated, “but I don’t believe his title, status, or family was ever made clear.”
“Well…ah…he doesn’t have a family.”
“He was raised by wolves? He’s an orphan? What?”
Lord Stone chuckled as if she’d told a humorous joke. “I’m guessing he’s an orphan. I’m not sure as to his history—no one is—and he doesn’t have a title.”
“No title?”
“No.”
“How does he earn his living? He’s in trade?”
“You could say that. He’s…he’s…”
Lord Stone’s voice trailed off, and apparently he couldn’t describe Mr. Scott’s true situation. Felicia was panicked and offended and furious.
“He’s what?” she pressed.
Her father sagged in his chair as if he might slide to the floor in an exhausted heap. Ultimately he groused, “Look, I’ll be blunt, all right?”
“Yes, please be blunt.”
“He’s a gambler.”
“A gambler!”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It certainly does to me.”
“I owe him a bit of money.”
“How much money?”
“A lot of money.”
Felicia glared, wanting to scold and chastise, but she had no idea how. She’d never had a contentious discussion with him. She’d hardly ever had a plain, ordinary discussion with him. What was she supposed to say?
“So…you owe him some money,” she carefully said. “What has that to do with me?”
“He’ll cancel some of my debt if I
let him marry you.”
“You’re using me to pay off a debt?”
“A rather large debt. I didn’t give you away cheaply.”
“What was I worth?” She was very snide; she couldn’t help it.
“Quite an enormous amount, actually.”
“Be more specific.”
“I only have to part with my plantation in Jamaica and a few ships.”
“As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to everything we own in the world.”
“You gambled away everything?”
“Yes.” He was unable to hold her irate gaze, so evidently he was capable of some shame.
“What if I don’t wish to wed him?”
“That is not an option, Felicia.”
“Why isn’t it?” she fumed.
“Because if you refuse, we’ll be allowed to keep Stone Manor, but that’s all. We’ll be walking around in empty rooms.”
“He’d take our furniture?”
“Yes, and every stitch of clothing in your closets, all the animals and equipment on our farms, all our stocks and bonds and investments. He’ll take everything that isn’t entailed by the title.”
Felicia was aghast. What type of father would ruin his family like this? And over a silly game of cards! She’d always viewed him as being very stoic and responsible, so it was a shock to learn that he was simply a negligent spendthrift.
“All the years I was growing up,” she said, “you were never home. I assumed you were busy with important issues. Imagine how stunned I am to discover that you’ve been wallowing with sordid companions in gambling halls.”
“Don’t use that tone with me,” he snapped. “I have enough problems without listening to you nag.”
She rose to her feet. “I want to talk to Mother about Mr. Scott. I want to hear her opinion about this.”
“I’ve already spoken to her. We’ve agreed this is for the best.”
“The best for whom?”
“For you and for us. You’re an obedient daughter, and I expect you to be in this situation too.”
“If I’d known all this compliance and submission would lead me to such a horrid spot, I might have misbehaved occasionally.”
He ignored the jibe and waved her away. “Go meet with your Mother. You can pick dates and plan your schedule.”
“The wedding is to happen right away?”