by Cheryl Holt
But he never talked about any of those topics, and it was a mark of the peculiar hold she exerted over him that he would yearn to unburden himself.
She’d insisted he wasn’t the sort of fellow she’d ever welcome into her life, and she was absolutely right that she shouldn’t. Still though, as he imagined never seeing her again, the notion was preposterous.
Yet what point would be served by socializing? What was he hoping to accomplish by bothering her?
“Goodbye,” he murmured.
“That sounded awfully final. Does that mean you’ve come to your senses and won’t stop by again?”
“I haven’t decided.”
He swooped in and stole a last kiss, then he strolled out. He left the key on her dresser so she could find it easily when she remembered to lock her door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I have a proposition for you.”
“It’s a little late for propositions.”
Gaylord Farrow stared at Michael Scott, feeling nervous in a manner he rarely was. Mr. Scott had a reputation as a bully and a fiend. He was the sort who took advantage, who preyed on the weak, so Gaylord couldn’t exhibit an ounce of anxiety.
They were in Scott’s London club where Gaylord had reveled and amused himself to the point of total ruin. Currently it was the most fashionable spot in the city to wager, and a person needed Mr. Scott’s invitation before he could join in.
Gaylord had once been a valued customer, but as soon as he got into a bit of difficulty, he’d been refused admittance. Michael Scott was fickle that way. He’d kick a man when he was down, and Gaylord blamed Scott for all his fiscal troubles.
Michael Scott could have reined in Gaylord’s excesses, but he hadn’t. He’d allowed Gaylord to keep on until he’d tumbled over the cliff of financial catastrophe.
The most galling fact was that Gaylord could no longer socialize at Scotts. Every gentleman of consequence gambled there, but Gaylord was excluded, and everyone would eventually learn of how he’d been shamed.
“Hear me out,” Gaylord pleaded. “I think you’ll be intrigued.”
“What is it?”
They were in Scott’s office, with Scott seated behind his desk and Gaylord in the chair across. The violent rogue, Ramsey Scott, stood off to the side.
“You were at Cliffside,” Gaylord said.
“I was,” Michael Scott agreed.
“You met my sister-in-law, Rebecca. She’s quite stunning.”
Scott shrugged. “I suppose.”
“She’d like to marry.”
“Would she?”
Ramsey Scott piped in with, “She’s too busy flirting. I spoke with her, and matrimony wasn’t what she was considering at all.”
Michael Scott didn’t look at Ramsey, but waved a hand, silencing him.
“She’s not a flirt,” Gaylord insisted. “She’s an upstanding young lady of good reputation.”
“Fine,” Michael Scott muttered, “she’s upstanding and good. What has that to do with me?”
“As I said, she’s eager to wed, but with her father’s passing, we haven’t had an opportunity to select a husband for her.”
“Her father died five years ago,” Michael Scott scoffed. “It must have been a lengthy mourning period.”
Gaylord ignored the snide remark. “Anyway, Pamela and I discussed the matter, and what with your interest in Cliffside—”
“My interest? I don’t have an interest. I own the bloody place. We’re just dickering over the date you have to be out, which I believe is July first.”
“So it is.” Gaylord nodded, all smiles, all accommodation.
Gaylord would try any ruse in order to keep Cliffside. He would lie, cheat, steal, and perhaps even murder Michael Scott if that’s what it took to retain the property.
He’d spent ages hunting for just the right situation, and the Wells family had suited his purposes perfectly. He’d been born to an acceptable family of his own, but his father had been a wastrel, so Gaylord had always understood that he had to find a rich bride. Prosperous, thriving Cliffside had been exactly what he’d sought.
Initially he’d wooed Magdalena, but she’d proved too smart and stubborn, so he’d seduced Pamela instead, then had ingratiated himself to her father. The old man perished soon after Gaylord’s wedding, so Gaylord had had the entire estate all to himself, but it had never been enough to support his dissolute habits.
He loved the excitement of town where he cavorted and gamboled as was expected of a gentleman. He dressed well and dined well and drove around in the sleekest, fastest carriages. He would not lose any of it!
“You’re such a successful fellow,” he said to Michael Scott, “and Rebecca was fascinated by you.”
“Was she?” Michael Scott appeared bored and one second away from tossing Gaylord out on his ear.
“Oh yes, after you left, all she could talk about was you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“With her being so smitten, Pamela and I thought it only fitting that I approach you.”
“About what?”
“We were wondering if you’d entertain a betrothal.”
Michael Scott looked astonished. “Between Rebecca and myself?”
“Yes. You have to admit she’s fetching, and she’s accomplished at all the feminine arts. She could bring flair and style into your life.”
“I don’t need any flair, and I don’t need a wife.”
“Come now,” Gaylord cajoled, “every man needs a wife. You’re reported to be thirty already. Surely it’s time for you to settle down.”
“And if I marry Rebecca, you’d get…what? Are you hoping I’ll relent about Cliffside and sign it back to you?”
“If we were brothers, it would certainly smooth over our contentious issues.”
“We have no issues,” Scott said, “except that you’ve wagered away every pound, scrap, and furrow of ground you ever possessed, and you wagered them away to me.” He studied Gaylord, his dislike palpable and infuriating. “Besides, I’m not in the market for a bride. I just became engaged.”
“I hadn’t heard.” Gaylord was incredibly deflated by the news. “Anyone I know?”
“My fiancée will be making the announcements.”
Gaylord squirmed in his seat, struggling to come to grips with this latest development. There had always been rumors that Scott accepted all sorts of boons to allay debts that were owed. Obviously Gaylord had been beaten to the punch, and he gnashed his teeth. Who had barged in and stolen Gaylord’s thunder? Who had offered a girl before Gaylord could offer one himself?
“Perhaps we could work out a different arrangement,” Gaylord slyly stated.
“Meaning what?”
“Rebecca is so pretty, and she’s still a maiden. She’s just ripe for the plucking.”
Ramsey Scott shifted in the corner, but Michael Scott raised a hand again, preventing any comment.
“You’d like me to pluck her for you?” Michael Scott inquired.
“A man might take a bride,” Gaylord said, “but it doesn’t dampen his interest in other…things.”
“You’re offering me Rebecca’s virginity?”
“Yes.”
“In exchange for what?”
“For six more months of residence at Cliffside.”
Six months was an eternity where Gaylord could figure out a better conclusion. He could try his luck at other clubs. Maybe his losing streak would end, and he’d win so much money he’d be able to buy back Cliffside and send Michael Scott packing.
“Let me get this straight,” Michael Scott said. “I’d get one unpleasant night with your virginal, annoying sister-in-law, and you’d get six months longer at Cliffside?”
“Yes.”
“No. I hate fussing with virgins, and I won’t have you loitering on my property. I’ve been more than fair in permitting you to vacate on July first.”
“All right, all right,” Gaylord hastily concurred. “You can have her as your mi
stress for six months. That’s an even trade, isn’t it? Six months for six months?”
“During that period, I could do whatever I wished to her?”
“Yes,” Gaylord said.
“And after the six months are over, then what?”
“Then…what?” Gaylord gaped as if he didn’t understand the question.
“What would become of her? She’d be ruined.”
What happens to her is not my problem!
Gaylord was sick of supporting the idiotic girl. Years earlier, he’d blazed through her dowry, and she never stopped nagging about it. Despite her disagreeable nature, he’d allowed her to stay at Cliffside, and he’d been much too patient. She needed to lower her standards, find the best possible husband available without a dowry, and get out of Gaylord’s house.
“If you’re not keen on Rebecca—” Gaylord started.
“I’m not.”
“Let me make another suggestion.”
“You might have reached the limit of what I’ll listen to.”
“Hear me out,” Gaylord pleaded again, sounding ever more desperate. “My wife mentioned that you seemed smitten by her other sister, Magdalena.”
“I have no idea why she’d think so,” Mr. Scott claimed. “I barely know Magdalena Wells.”
“I guess the two of you socialized when you visited Cliffside.”
“The mansion was packed to the rafters with guests, so I socialized with many people. What of it?”
“You won’t consider a liaison with Rebecca, so I’m happy to extend the offer to Maggie.”
Pamela had urged him to propose Magdalena from the outset, but Maggie wasn’t as much of a pest as Rebecca. She never bothered Gaylord, and she supported herself, although it would be more difficult now that he’d gotten his hands on her dowry trust. She was as broke as everyone else in the family.
Why shouldn’t she chip in to help? Why shouldn’t she suffer as the rest of them were suffering?
“We’re dickering over her chastity?” Michael Scott said.
“No, the six months for the six months.”
Mr. Scott snorted with amusement. “Magdalena might have something to say about that. I can’t imagine her consenting.”
“It’s not up to her.”
“It’s not? You assume you can command her?”
“I won’t have to. She’s absurdly devoted to her sisters. When she learns what’s at stake, she’ll be eager to assist them.”
“Even if it includes spreading her legs for me for six months?”
“Even that.”
Michael Scott glanced over at Ramsey Scott, seeking the other man’s opinion, but Ramsey glared and gave no indication of what he thought his partner should choose.
“If I might comment on Magdalena?” Gaylord asked.
“No, you may not.”
Gaylord continued anyway. “She’s the prettiest of the Wells sisters, and she’s the smartest too. She can carry on a conversation. You’d never be bored with her.”
Michael Scott scoffed. “Just what I’m looking for in a bedmate. Conversation!”
Still though, it was clear Scott was intrigued, his cunning mind sifting through the benefits and detriments. The excruciating seconds ticked by. Scott drummed his fingers on the desk and finally said, “I’ll do it for a month. If she pleases me, and if she’s not annoying as hell, I’ll keep her for the whole six months.”
Gaylord was so relieved, he nearly slid to the floor in an exhausted heap. An entire month! And it might grow to half a year! Any dastardly accident could happen to Michael Scott during such a lengthy period.
“She’ll please you! I swear it.”
“We’ll see, I suppose. Will you tell her or will I?”
“My wife and I will tell her. She may take a bit of convincing.”
“It’s Wednesday afternoon. I’ll expect to begin on Saturday.”
“Saturday will be fine.”
“If she refuses, you’ll leave Cliffside at once with no delay.”
“Wait a minute!” Gaylord huffed. “I can’t be responsible for—”
“Those are my terms, Farrow. She agrees and we begin on Saturday, or you vacate sooner than planned.”
Gaylord wanted to hurl invectives, wanted to curse and ask where such a lowborn person as Michael Scott mustered the gall to dictate terms to Gaylord. But he’d gained what he’d come to achieve.
He stood and held out his hand as if they might shake and pretend they were cordial, but Scott simply glowered at the extended hand, and Gaylord dropped it to his side.
“I’ll just be going,” he mumbled.
Mr. Scott waved to Ramsey. “Follow him out. I won’t have him lingering.”
Ramsey Scott pushed away from the wall, and the tall, violent oaf blustered over as if he might drag Gaylord out. Gaylord hurried off before Ramsey Scott could touch him.
As he started down the hall, Michael Scott called, “Saturday morning, Farrow. She’ll be mine by eleven o’clock on the dot. I won’t give her a second more.”
Gaylord shuddered with dread, worried about Magdalena’s reaction, but a wisp of excitement slithered by too. Maggie was shrewd and practical. She’d recognize the importance of her task, would grasp how her sisters needed her in their most dire hour.
She would finally have the chance to prove her loyalty. She’d save them all—or Gaylord would extract a retribution he was certain she’d never wish to pay.
* * * *
“Let me kill him.”
Michael pondered the request, then said, “No.”
“Please?” Ramsey begged. “I’ll make it slow and painful, and I’ll enjoy it so much.”
“No. If Farrow died, we’d be the first ones under suspicion.”
“So? They’d never be able to pin anything on me.”
“He’s not worth the risk.”
“What risk? I can ride up behind him on the road, knock him senseless, and drown him in a creek. He’s a renowned drunkard. People will figure he fell in and was too inebriated to climb out.”
Michael chuckled, but shook his head. “I want Cliffside.”
“He’s already signed it over to you.”
“I’m regretting that I gave him time to vacate. It’s put me in a position of having to constantly deal with him.”
“Why scheme with him over Miss Wells then?”
“He’ll never persuade her.” At least Michael didn’t think Farrow would. With a woman, who could predict how she’d behave? “She loathes him, so he’ll never convince her. By Saturday, we’ll be through with Farrow. I won’t have to wait to evict.”
“What about the other sister? What about Rebecca?”
“What about her?”
“Will you abandon her to Farrow?”
“You talk as if I’m her savior.”
For some reason, Ramsey had become fixated on Rebecca Wells, and Michael didn’t understand it. Ramsey could have his pick of any loose doxy in the city. Why bother with Rebecca?
She was pretty, but flighty and foolish. At twenty-two, she was past the marrying age, past the interval when a man could have trained her to her marital duties with any confidence that she’d conduct herself appropriately.
“You can’t assume she’s safe with Farrow,” Ramsey complained.
“I don’t assume it.”
“I’m getting her out of there,” Ramsey ridiculously boasted.
“To do what with her?”
“I don’t have any idea, but whatever I choose, it will be better than what she’s facing with that prick.”
“Leave her alone,” Michael scolded. “After the deal collapses on Saturday, after we move in and they move out, I don’t want any further contact with them.”
“Maybe I won’t listen to you for once.”
Ramsey’s announcement was so out of character that Michael was taken aback by it, and he scowled. “Don’t argue with me. Just stay out of trouble.”
“How can it matter if I have a fling wi
th Rebecca? You don’t care about Cliffside. You plan to sell it after they’re gone.”
“I might keep it.”
“You, keep Cliffside? Why would you?”
“Now that I’m engaged, I need somewhere fancy to stash my wife.”
He and Lord Stone had just agreed to terms. Michael would gain a sugar cane plantation and three ships—and an unwanted daughter—and Lord Stone would retain everything else.
Michael thought he should feel some emotion, happiness, pride, contentment. But he had no feelings about Felicia one way or the other. He supposed he’d have to make a trip over to her house to be properly introduced, to propose in person, but the entire notion was exhausting.
Ramsey looked dubious. “You’ll live at Cliffside—in wedded bliss with Lady Felicia?”
“If she likes the place. If not, I’ll buy her another.”
Michael had a home in the country—ludicrously named Orphan’s Nest—but he rarely visited it. He didn’t like the deserted country lanes or the quiet country evenings that went on forever. He was too used to action and adventure.
Nevertheless, it was a fine residence, comfortable and stylishly furnished. There was nothing grand about it though, and Felicia would expect lavish surroundings. Plus, if Michael intended to wedge himself into her social circle—which was the whole point of the marriage—he had to own the right kind of property.
“What if you’re wrong about Miss Wells?” Ramsey asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What if she’s so worried about her sisters that she consents?”
Michael suffered a rush of excitement thinking how thrilling it would be to have Maggie all to himself for a month. Or perhaps even six months!
Yet as quickly as he recognized his heightened interest, he shoved it away. Apparently he was as besotted as Ramsey, and while Ramsey might pine and mope for Rebecca Wells, Michael never grew attached to anyone. It wasn’t in his nature.
Bonds were always severed, so his past had been a depressing story of separation and disaster. People moved away. People died. Ramsey was the only one who’d stayed. Over all the years of Michael’s life, it had been Ramsey and no one else.
“Magdalena Wells won’t give Farrow the time of day,” Michael said, “and she would never lower herself to consort with me. Not if the fate of the world depended on it.”