by Cheryl Holt
“Thank you for being so sympathetic,” she said, “and I’ll go in the morning. I swear. I’ll get up early—so no one realizes what I intend—and I’ll stay in my room this evening too. I won’t join in the festivities.”
“You don’t have to hide yourself away from the other guests.”
“I probably should.”
He gazed at her, and unbidden, he was rocked by an old memory. Suddenly, it seemed as if he was staring at Amanda, his insane wife who’d caused him so much grief.
At the time of their doomed marriage, she’d been younger than Libby was by a few years, but she’d had dark brown hair, while Libby had blond, so he hadn’t noticed any similarities, hadn’t compared them. But he was definitely comparing them now. He felt as if he was gaping at a blond replica of his first wife.
He recalled seeing Libby in the garden with Penny and noting how much alike they’d been. He’d doubted ordinary missionaries could have produced such a magnificent creature. He’d wondered if she hadn’t been sired by a Pendleton relative. Then the crazed notion had surfaced that Libby might be Henrietta, but he’d shoved it away.
Yet what if his initial assessment had been correct? What if Libby was Henrietta?
If he could stumble on Henrietta—alive and fine—it would wash away decades of guilt. He blamed himself for what had happened to her. Whatever her fate had ultimately been, he was positive it had been horrid, and her mother wouldn’t have eased her through it.
He hadn’t wanted to be a father, so he’d abandoned Henrietta to her disturbed mother’s whims. If he could find her, maybe he’d finally be able to forgive himself.
He understood all those issues, and he possessed an inexplicable affection for Libby, so he had to tread cautiously. She had a peculiar, powerful effect on him, as well as on most men, but it wasn’t passionate emotion plaguing him. No, it was paternal and fatherly. He’d like to shield her from the slings and arrows the world would shoot at her.
“Before you go,” he said, “I have to address one other topic.”
“You mentioned there were two things, didn’t you? What is it? Might I hope it won’t be as awkward as what we just discussed?”
He chuckled miserably. “It’s worse.”
He was about to accuse her of nefarious scheming, of being in league with her cousin in order to tantalize him about Henrietta, but if there was a plot hatching, he was convinced her cousin would have initiated it. He couldn’t blame her for Mr. Falcon’s mischief.
“Please don’t keep me in suspense,” she said.
He exhaled a heavy breath. “A rumor is circulating, and Millicent demanded I question you about it. It’s why she was so angry a bit ago.”
“I can’t imagine how I might have irritated her. Since I arrived, she and I have hardly spoken. She’s not exactly the warmest person.”
“It’s not what you did to her specifically. She’s very protective of me, and she never likes to see me hurt or upset.”
“I haven’t hurt or upset you, have I? If I have, I might simply curl up in a ball and die of shame.”
“A housemaid eavesdropped on you and your cousin when you were talking in your bedchamber. Evidently, your cousin has persuaded you to approach me and claim you’re my lost daughter, Henrietta.” He forced a laugh. “I defended you to Millicent. I told her you would never play such a terrible trick on me. I told her that we’d become friends, and you would recognize how deeply such a flagrant lie would wound me. I told her you’d never behave so reprehensibly.”
“A housemaid overheard us?” was her only reply.
He noticed she didn’t deny the charge. “Tell me you weren’t considering such a regrettable ruse. I’m sure your cousin is responsible, and it would devastate me to learn that you’d agreed to be involved. You haven’t, have you?”
She peered into his eyes, and it was the strangest thing, but Time seemed to stand still. His heart seemed to quit beating. The wind in the trees stopped blowing, the birds stopped chirping.
Her mind was whirring, as she debated whether to share an important remark. It would change his life forever, would rock his world to its very foundation. But ultimately, she drew in on herself, as if tucking away whatever it had been.
“I have no idea why a housemaid would spread such a tale,” she said. “My cousin never suggested it, and I hold you in the very highest regard. I realize how badly such a lie would distress you. Believe me when I insist that I would never disseminate it.”
Millicent had urged him to threaten Libby, that he scare her into silence, but he wasn’t such a bully that he’d frighten her. He struggled to formulate a final comment, but he couldn’t determine what would be appropriate, and apparently, they’d chatted to the bitter end.
She rose from her chair, curtsied low and perfectly, then said, “Thank you for being kind—and goodbye.”
She swept out, regal as any queen, and he was left all alone, feeling like a fool and an ass.
Libby swept into her bedroom suite, praying it was empty. She’d never been more embarrassed in her life, and she couldn’t bear to speak with anyone.
Lord Roland, Charles Pendleton, the man who was actually her father, had kicked her out of his home. She’d disgraced herself with Lord Barrett, so he thought she was too disreputable to remain and socialize with his real daughter.
Then he’d killed her a bit more by mentioning Libby’s quarrel with Simon. A duplicitous housemaid had reported their conversation, and Lord Roland had felt compelled to state that he’d heard about the lie and was certain she’d never spread it.
She’d gazed at him, practically in a stupor, and she’d wanted to shout, Look at me! Can’t you tell I’m your daughter too? Will you send me away?
But she hadn’t uttered a word.
Ever since she’d stumbled on that stupid box of letters, she’d been on pins and needles, yearning to share the shocking news she’d uncovered, but she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be believed. It was galling to realize how right she’d been.
Lord Roland was willing to allow her to depart in the morning, but she wouldn’t inflict herself on him another minute. Not when he was convinced she was a harlot who was too notorious to tarry under his roof. She would pack a satchel, have her carriage harnessed, and be off within the hour. Fish could bring the rest of her belongings whenever she deigned to haul herself away.
Fish and Simon could pursue their ridiculous affairs. Libby had tried to persuade them not to debase themselves, not to stir trouble, but why worry about them?
When Libby had needed their support the most, they’d scoffed and had refused to supply it, so they could dawdle at Roland until they choked. Fish could trifle with her precious earl, and Simon could flirt to exhaustion with Lady Penny. But Libby was heading for London. Immediately. Then she would vanish for several months.
By the time she resurfaced, the disloyal, tattling Lord Barrett would either be a happily married man, with Lady Penny as his bride, or he’d have gotten over Libby to the point that he barely remembered who she was.
She wouldn’t accept any other ending. She was Libby Carstairs, one of the most infamous women in the land, and she was finished with letting the people she loved treat her badly.
She slammed the door, determined that Fish and Simon not wander in to bother her. Nor could she have any housemaids hovering and offering their dubious assistance. It would be too difficult to discern which one had eavesdropped, then rushed to inform Millicent Pendleton of Libby’s secrets.
She stormed into her bedchamber, feeling as if she’d been pummeled with clubs.
She’d fornicated with Lord Barrett and was reeling from the experience, but the treacherous cad had blithely discussed the event with Lord Roland. He’d been so effusive with his descriptions that Lord Roland had decided it was necessary to chastise her for it.
She had to leave so Lor
d Barrett would be saved from the wicked impulses he suffered when she was nearby. She’d struggled—as valiantly as she was able—to deflect Lord Barrett’s advances, but it had been impossible to dissuade him.
Had Lord Barrett any responsibility for what had happened? Why shouldn’t he be asked to leave? Why must Libby slink out like a mongrel dog? If Lord Roland was so offended by what had occurred, why would he still want Lord Barrett as a son-in-law? Why would he still hope the marriage went forward?
Well, she knew why. Lucas Watson and Charles Pendleton were peers, were part of the same elevated social sphere. They were so far above her she was surprised they could see her from their lofty perches.
She’d always loathed their kind of snobbish, entitled prigs, and nothing about the past few days had changed that opinion.
“Hello, Libby,” Luke suddenly said from over in the corner.
She’d been so distracted by her furious musings that she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. She jumped a foot and pounded a fist on her chest, urging her thundering pulse to slow down.
He was seated in a chair as if it was perfectly appropriate for him to have snuck in. He was grinning, as if he’d played an amusing trick, and clearly, it hadn’t dawned on him that he might not be welcome.
“Lord Barrett! Why are you in my bedchamber?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you forever.”
“I have been in the library, being scolded by Lord Roland for my having had the audacity to fornicate with you.”
“What?”
“Evidently, I am a harlot who has seduced you against your will, and you are such a gullible boy that you couldn’t ward off the temptation I present. I must stop enticing you at once, lest you be completely corrupted by me.”
“What are you talking about? I never denigrated you to Charles.”
Her rage soared to a fevered pitch. “How dare you gossip with him about me! How dare you share details of our night together! I swear—if I was holding my pistol—I would shoot you right between the eyes.”
He scowled, looking bewildered by her ire. “Would you calm down?”
“No. I am very, very angry, and I suggest you slither out—this instant!—or I can’t predict how I’ll behave.”
“I didn’t gossip with him.”
“Then how did he know about it?”
He shrugged. “He was aware that you’d been at Barrett with me, and he figured we hadn’t been drinking tea and chatting about the weather.”
“So he accosted you and . . . what? You merrily admitted our tryst? Have you no spine? No discretion? What about my reputation? Were you concerned about it for a single minute?”
“He’s a friend of mine, and we’ve been acquainted for ages. I wasn’t about to lie to him.”
“Heaven forbid that you lie to Lord Roland. Heaven forbid that you protect me.”
“I didn’t need to protect you. He was very sympathetic in how he raised the subject.”
“If I’d been a fussy, aristocratic debutante, I bet you’d have denied it quite vehemently.”
“Charles and I are friends,” he repeated. “We always have been, and we merely had a very private discussion about how I’ve been acting. You’re making too much of this.”
“Since I was the center of that conversation, I beg to differ. I’m not making nearly enough. Get out of here.”
“No.”
“Get out!”
She was trying to keep from shouting. After how Lord Roland had castigated her, she couldn’t have another snooping servant hear that she had a man in her bedroom. The news would immediately be conveyed to Millicent Pendleton, and Libby would be even more disgraced.
“We have to confer about numerous issues,” he said.
“I have no idea why you’d think that.”
“You’re not serious. After last night, we have a thousand topics to address.”
“You are mad! Now go away!”
He didn’t budge, but gaped at her as if she were a toddler throwing a tantrum. She was a tiny woman, and he was a very large man. She couldn’t physically toss him out, and he wasn’t about to heed her verbal entreaties. So to Hades with him!
She whipped away and marched into her dressing room. She opened a traveling trunk and retrieved her pistol. It was still loaded from when she’d been riding the prior afternoon, which seemed to have been a lifetime ago. It was wet from the rain, so she doubted—if she pulled the trigger—it would even fire, but she was more than ready to find out.
She stomped back to the bedroom, the barrel pointed at the middle of his cold black heart. If he felt threatened in the slightest, he didn’t exhibit any sign. He simply frowned as if she was deranged.
“What are you planning?” he said. “Will you shoot me merely because I’ve refused to leave?”
“Yes. I’m not joking. I have had it—with you, with your precious Lord Roland. If I have to murder you to be rid of you, then I am happy to take that drastic step.”
“You just might be the most astonishing female in the world. How should I view such bizarre conduct?”
He laughed, and her rage burned even hotter. “Yes, that’s what I’ve always heard about myself. I’m astonishing, but my bad temper is never mentioned. At the moment, I’ve had all the turmoil and insults I can abide, so get going! Don’t make me tell you again!”
She bellowed her sentences, beyond caring if there was a housemaid spying in the hall. Before she could react though, he leapt up, and in a sly, smooth move, he yanked the gun away and pitched it onto the floor behind her. It slid across the polished boards and crashed into the wall, causing it to fire toward the dressing room.
A huge puff of smoke filled the air, and her ears rang from the loud bang. They were frozen in their spots, wondering if the commotion had been noticed, if people might rush up to knock on the door and ask what had happened. But no one came and no one knocked.
He broke their stunned silence. “Do you feel better? You could have killed me with that thing.”
“I wish I had!”
“I can’t believe it was loaded.” He looked irked, but impressed too. “You would have shot me. You really would have!”
“You’d have deserved it,” she spat.
He swooped in and drew her into his arms, and he tried to kiss her, but she wiggled away. She couldn’t let him. Despite how furious she was, despite how he’d upset her, she was putty in his hands. No matter what he did, her obsession would never completely wane.
If he kissed her, if he was kind and sweet, she would never muster the fortitude to separate herself, and she’d sworn to Lord Roland that she would.
Her assignation at Barrett had sealed her fascination. She was madly in love and yearned to be by his side forever, but as Lord Roland had gallingly clarified, she could never grab the spot she was hoping to occupy.
She was too lowly to have Lucas Watson for her very own. She’d started out at the right level, but circumstances—and her insane mother—had plucked her out of it, so she was too common and too shameful to attach herself.
“Would you tell me what’s wrong?” he said.
“You still don’t know? I thought I was quite clear.”
“Yes, you were, but could we deal with it in a rational manner? I don’t understand why we have to shout and quarrel.”
“You wouldn’t,” she seethed, and the anger finally drained out of her.
She felt as if she’d deflated, as if her bones had turned to rubber. She’d never been a fighter, but he simply drove her to extremes she’d never previously experienced.
She staggered over to a chair and eased down, worried—if she didn’t sit down—she might fall down. Of course he was too pompous to leave her alone so she could lick her wounds in private. He picked up a second chair and dragged it over, and he sat
too, but much too near so their feet and legs were tangled together.
He clasped her hand and linked their fingers, and she let him do it. Even now, even when she was too livid for words, she couldn’t erect any walls and keep them in place.
From the minute she’d fled Barrett, she’d wanted to tarry in a quiet room and talk to him. Here they were, by themselves, and she supposed it would be the last occasion she talked to him about anything.
“I’m sorry I discussed you with Charles,” he said. “When he raised the issue of our night at Barrett, I was taken off guard and too flummoxed to deny it.”
“Fine. I will accept your explanation of what occurred.”
“I never meant to embarrass you.”
“Fine,” she said again.
“Charles thought you should depart Roland. He figured—when you and I were in such close proximity—we’re just courting trouble.”
“I specifically noticed that he didn’t ask you to depart. It’s obvious he deems me to be at fault for this mess.” Sarcastically, she added, “I’m such a temptress!”
“He doesn’t view either of us as being at fault, and he was hardly judgmental. He was young once, and he had his own torrid affair.”
“He certainly did,” she caustically stated.
She pondered her crazed mother and wished she had an acquaintance who’d been cordial with her parents back when they’d met. How had stoic, polite Lord Roland ever been lured to such folly? In any scandal involving amour, the woman was always blamed, so her mother must have been fantastically beautiful and exotic to have coaxed him to such blatant ruin.
“Charles is not exactly in a position to condemn us,” he said.
“He seemed plenty condemning to me.”
“I hate to hear it, but would you stop fuming over it?” He sighed with exasperation. “You’re making this much more difficult than it has to be.”
“How am I making it difficult? I’ve been accused of being loose and immoral, and I’ve been ordered to vacate the premises. I’ve agreed that I would, and since I’m prepared to behave precisely as has been requested, please clarify how I’m being difficult.”