by Anita Mills
“I do not care if he is furious. And you cannot possibly be worse than the man my father would have me marry.”
“And you are not afraid I will molest you?” There was a gleam of amusement in the black eyes that studied her. “You must surely be the first of your sex to trust me in many years.”
“No—I think you a gentleman.”
His smile widened as he offered her his arm. “Then, Miss Cole, you are probably the only woman in the room to hold that opinion.”
Still absorbed with ridding himself of Elaine Chandler, Tony did not note Leah and the earl. Literally pulling his sleeve from Elaine’s grasp, he shook free of her. “Enough of this—you are creating an unpleasant scene,” he hissed. “You should not have come.”
“Please, Tony—only say you’ll come to see me later.”
He ran his fingers distractedly through his hair and yet tried to appear uninvolved to the interested parties around them. “You’ll have to leave, Elaine—’tis unseemly to humiliate Leah like this.”
“A Cit!” She spat out the word like something too unpleasant to swallow.
“My betrothed,” he reminded her coldly. “I’ll get your shawl.”
“But you will come?”
“I . . .” He knew her renewed interest in him was a mercenary one, and he could have cursed himself for not bidding her good-bye earlier. But he had to get rid of her now any way he could, before Leah got wind of her. Reluctantly he nodded. “All right.”
“Tony!” Gil Renfield tapped him on the shoulder and hissed in his ear, “Whilst you have been making a cake of yourself with La Chandler, Miss Cole has left with Rotherfield.”
Beset by the knowledge that his aunt would cut up a dust over Elaine, Tony snapped, “Gil, I am in no mood for jests.”
“Ain’t jesting—saw it with m’own eyes, I swear it.”
“Lud!” he groaned. “And you did not stop her?”
“She ain’t my betrothed—and I ain’t putting myself before Rotherfield, anyway. I ain’t a fool,” Gil retorted.
Alarmed, Tony forgot Elaine and everything else. Leah was no match for someone like Marcus Halvert—she was not up to his weight at all. “When did they leave?” he demanded tersely.
“Can’t have been above five minutes. Wait—where are you going?” Gil called out.
“After her. Tell Aunt Hester that Leah has the headache and Rotherfield’s taking her home,” Tony flung over his shoulder.
Dumfounded by it all, Gil stared after him, scratching his head and mumbling doubtfully, “It ain’t going to fadge—the old girl ain’t stupid enough to believe anybody’d send a female home in Rotherfield’s company. Shocking bad ton, for one thing, and for another . . .” He stopped. It didn’t make any difference what he thought—Tony Barsett was already out the door in pursuit.
12
Lord Rotherfield had barely taken Leah home, escorted her to her door, and departed before Anthony Barsett arrived. Pushing past the astonished butler, who was already confused by her precipitate arrival home in the company of another man, Tony confronted her lividly.
“There you are, my girl! What the devil did you mean by leaving my aunt’s like that? I doubt even she can scotch the on-dit now!” His face flushed with anger, he tapped his foot on the marble tiles. “Well, I am waiting to hear what you have to say for yourself, Miss Cole,” he snapped.
“You’re waiting for an explanation!” Her own cheeks grew red as she faced him, and her gray eyes flashed fire at the challenge. “You’re waiting for an explanation?” The sarcasm dripped from her rising voice. “That’s rich, it is!”
“Well?”
Her bosom heaving at the effrontery of it all, she exhaled deeply to calm herself before answering. “You will not call me to book, my lord, when ’tis your scandalous behavior that has exceeded all bounds!”
“My behavior! ‘Twas not I who left with Rotherfield, Miss Cole, giving rise to all manner of unpleasant gossip!”
“How dare you, sir! How dare you? You left me to be the butt of cruel gossips whilst you dallied elsewhere—and during my betrothal party! And you think ‘tis I who owe you an explanation? Well, I do not—and what is more to the point, Lord Lyndon, you may consider you have whistled my father’s fortune down the wind! Our betrothal, sham that it was, is at an end!”
“You are yelling, Miss Cole!”
“You are shouting, sir!”
“You still have not explained how you came to leave with the Earl of Rotherfield!”
“Did you not hear me? I owe you nothing! Nothing on earth could induce me to ally myself with such a . . . a libertine!” she fumed. “You and your fancy ton can go to the very devil, for all I care!” She turned to run up the stairs, but he caught her and pulled her into her father’s library. Unceremoniously he pushed her into a chair and stood over her. “I am still waiting, Miss Cole.”
“Get out of my house!”
“Listen to me, you little fool!” Lowering his voice, he managed to speak evenly. “I do not know what you think you saw, but I was attempting to persuade an unwanted guest to leave my aunt’s house. No one invited Mrs. Chandler.”
“Really? And just why was she not invited? ’Twould seem that everyone else was, sir. But could it be that she is perhaps your bit of fluff?”
“That liaison is past, Miss Cole.”
“You must think me incredibly stupid, Lord Lyndon.” She sneered. “Well, I am not so green that I do not know an insult when I have been given one. If, as you said, she was uninvited, you could have had the servants escort her out.”
“ ’Tis you who are incredibly stupid, Miss Cole!” he shot back. “You left with Rotherfield! Being seen with a man of his reputation puts you beyond my or my aunt’s help, you goose!”
“His reputation! Sir, were I not so angry, I would laugh in your face, I assure you. His reputation cannot possibly be worse than your own, I’ll warrant! You are a rakehell, a gamester, and a … a gazetted fortune-hunter, Anthony Barsett! How dare you impugn anyone else’s character when yours is just as black? Indeed, I found Lord Rotherfield to be all that is gentlemanly,” she finished defiantly.
“Aha! I think you are jealous!” he crowed in triumph.
“Jealous! she shrieked. “Listen to me, you idiot, and listen carefully—I do not care if you have a hundred mistresses, do you understand me? But you will not have Papa’s money to support them!” She looked up to where he leaned, one hand on each arm of her chair. “Now, you will pardon me, but I intend to retire.”
“I think not—not just yet, Miss Cole.” He bent closer, and to her horror, she feared he was about to kiss her. His face blurred, and she closed her own in preparation for the worst. But his lips never met hers.
“My dears! What in heaven’s name is this unseemly commotion?”
Tony jerked his head back at the sound of Jeptha Cole’s voice, and straightened guiltily. In the doorway, the old man was still tying his dressing gown over his nightshirt. Ignoring their red faces, he addressed his daughter.
“Did you not pass an agreeable evening at the duchess’s, my dear?” he asked with a perfectly straight face.
She remembered with a pang of remorse how he’d beamed so proudly at her when they’d left, and she could not bring herself to tell him how it had been. “Yes, Papa—’twas a splendid party,” she lied.
“And Leah outshone ’em all, didn’t she, my lord?”
“That she did, sir,” Tony admitted.
“Then what brought this quarrel on?” the old man demanded, looking from his lordship to his daughter.
“Lord Lyndon did not approve my standing up with so many men,” she invented, her eyes daring Tony to dispute it. “ ’Twas but jealousy, I suppose,” she added sweetly as she met his thunderous look.
“Everybody talking about my Leah, eh?”
“I think it can be truthfully said that there was not a person present whose tongue did not wag with her nam
e, sir,” Tony answered, his double meaning obvious only to her.
“Well, it was to be expected, you know.” Cole nodded smugly. “ ’Tis quite a girl you’ll be getting, if I was to brag about it.”
“She is that. I can scarce wait for the wedding.”
The old man cocked his head to look knowingly at his prospective son-in-law. “So that’s the way of it, is it?” he asked, grinning. “I might’ve knowed she’d win you also. Well, well, we’ll have to tend to the matter then, won’t we? I’d set m’mind on a big wedding, mind you, but I’ll not cavil at a Special License, I suppose.”
“Papa!” Leah choked in horror.
“What’s this, miss? You never put much stock in fripperies, anyways, did you? Always said you did not,” her father maintained stoutly.
“No, but—”
“Then I leave it to Lyndon—when would you have her?” Turning to Anthony Barsett, he waited for the answer despite Leah’s indignant gasp.
“It should not take me above a week to get my affairs in order, sir—I’d thought to take her to the Continent, Paris perhaps.” With a spark of mischief in his blue eyes, he looked at Leah. “Or would you prefer Italy, my dear?”
“I’d as lief not go anywhere with you, my lord.” She gritted out the words tersely.
“But of course you will have a wedding trip! ’Tis her nerves, my lord—you must not mind her,” Jeptha Cole reassured Tony. “Pick your place and I will provide the passage myself—a wedding gift to the both of you.”
“But, Papa . . . your health . . . I’d not leave . . .”
“Nonsense!”
“But I have no trousseau!” she exclaimed desperately.
“I believe I can remedy that, my dear,” Tony said smoothly. “I am not without influence with Madame Cecile, and I believe I can contrive to obtain what you require. Indeed, I shall take you up at ten o’clock this morning, that we may have you fitted early.”
“But I do not need clothes!”
“Set your mind one way or t’other, missy!” her papa snapped. “Which is it? I ain’t educated, but to my way o’thinking, clothes and trousseau is one and the same!”
“Papa, I need time! I cannot—”
“Time for what?” he demanded. “So’s you can become even more missish in the matter? No, I ain’t got the time!” Even as he spoke, he clutched the back of a chair and waited for the pain in his chest to stop. “Forgive me, my lord . . . got to sit . . .”
Responding with alacrity, Tony eased him into a seat. Her anger forgotten, Leah went white with fear and guilt. “Papa—”
“No, no, ’tis past.” Slowly the older man relaxed to mop the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his dressing gown. “Now, as you was saying, puss?”
“ ’Tis nothing to the point, Papa.” Sighing, she knew when she was beaten. “I will be available at ten, Lord Lyndon.” Gathering her dignity about her, she held her chin high. “But I find myself overwearied just now. If you will pardon me, I shall leave the both of you to discuss my future. Good night, Papa. Good night, my lord.”
Tony stared after her, sensing her desolation, and he wished he’d had the time to pay proper court to her. But her brief, however innocent, encounter with Rotherfield had given him pause. If she had attracted the earl’s interest, he risked gaining a dangerous enemy. No, it was better to marry Leah Cole first and win her later, he was certain, for Marcus Halvert might be less inclined to pursue a married lady, since he’d been burned at that before.
“Oh, about our discussion, my lord . . .” Jeptha Cole’s words cut into Tony’s thoughts. “I still don’t see the difference, but if you was still wanting the loan rather than the settlement . . .”
Reluctantly Tony turned back to him. “I’d have you settle a respectable sum on her, of course, sir—say, twenty thousand? But I’d as lief earn mine.”
“Got your pride, ain’t you? Don’t want to be bought, I suppose.” Seeing Tony’s shoulders stiffen, he nodded. “Don’t see the difference myself—’twill all be yours when I am gone anyway, but I mean to settle however you wish it.”
“I will see you are repaid, sir.”
“ ’Course you will—got a good head for the business. Just wish you’d let me give you the money.”
“As you said, I have my pride.”
“Hot to have her, ain’t you?” Cole changed the subject abruptly.
“Yes.”
“Aye, I know the way of that.” His eyes lifted to his dead wife’s portrait. “ ’Twas the same with me. When I saw Marianna standing in the posting house with that portmanteau, I knew I had to have her. And whether you credit it or not, I’d sampled my share of the other kind also. Yes, well . . .” His voice trailed off, and his eyes misted for a moment before he collected himself. “Forgive the maundering of an old man, Lyndon. I know you’ll do right by my girl.”
“I mean to.”
“Got to give her her head sometimes, though—like my Marianna. Now, she was one to have her own way until I gave it to her. Then I’ll be damned if she wasn’t downright reasonable.”
“Yes . . . well, sir, would you like help up the stairs ere I go? If I am to be back at ten, I’d best seek my own bed.”
“No, no. Be off with you then.” Cole reached a hand to Lyndon’s, clasping it warmly. “Don’t worry—you’ll tame each other, my lord. Forgive me if I do not see you out.”
He leaned back in his chair after Lord Lyndon left and contemplated Marianna. “Well, my dear, the die is cast, ain’t it? What d’ye think of our fine Corinthian?” His eyes intent on the well-memorized face, he nodded slowly. “Aye, I knew you’d like him. But ’twill be as Petruchio and Katharina, I fear, before ‘tis done.” Then a self-satisfied smile broadened his face. “I’ll warrant you thought I’d forgotten taking you to that play, didn’t you? Well, I ain’t—I ain’t forgot a day.”
13
Elaine Chandler opened the door of her house herself, and her welcoming smile froze on her face as her visitor stepped into the foyer. It was obvious from the sheer confection she wore that she’d expected someone else.
“You!” she choked with loathing.
“My dear Elaine . . .” The expression on his face was pained, but a faint smile played about his lips. “What have I ever done to warrant such a greeting from you? Was I not generous to a fault?”
He walked around her still-stiff body and into the small formal saloon off the front hall. Taking out his quizzing glass, he inspected some of her more recent acquisitions—a Sèvres vase, an ormolu clock, and a handsome marble figurine. Glaring, she followed him.
“Carrington,” he hazarded knowingly as his fingers touched a particularly exquisite jeweled box on the mantel. “For ’tis doubtful that Lyndon would waste his money on such trinkets. But then who knows,” he added softly. “ ’Tis certain he will come into a great sum of money soon, is it not?”
“What is it that you want here, Marcus?”
“Nothing here, my dear.” He turned around and raked her with those cold black eyes. “Alas, your charms faded for me years ago.”
“Then get out!”
“Ah, yes—the company. I collect you are expecting Lyndon, are you not?” His mouth twisted and the irony in his voice was unmistakable. “Can you not spare a few moments for an old friend?”
“For God’s sake, Marcus—leave!”
“Surely you do not think he would mistake me for one of your lovers, do you? If he does not take exception to these . . . er . . . tokens from others, my dear, he must be quite tolerant—more tolerant than I had imagined him to be, actually.”
“Get out.”
“But then perhaps he does not pay all your bills,” he continued, ignoring her request.
“If you do not leave on the instant, he will think you my lover!” she spat at him. “And since you no longer pay them, ’tis none of your affair.”
“In due time, Elaine—in due time. I come as you
r friend, you know,” he murmured with deceptive softness. “If you seek to hold Lyndon, I stand ready to assist you in the endeavor.”
“You?” Her eyebrow lifted scornfully and her lip curved in a sneer. “You’d not give aid to a dying man unless it suited you.”
“Elaine . . . Elaine . . . such rancor.” He shook his head, feigning injury. “And after so many years.”
“I can think of no reason why you would wish to help me,” she told him flatly.
He moved to study the clock on the mantelpiece before answering. “I do not wish him to marry Leah Cole,” he announced with his back to her. “And that, my dear, makes us natural allies, does it not?”
“Tony needs her money—’tis all over London that he is done up.”
“I am willing to pay to remove him from my path.”
“You wish to mount Tony’s little Cit?” she demanded incredulously, coming up behind him. “From all I have heard of it, Cole has too much money and influence to allow such a thing.”
He paused in his examination of the ormolu clock. “ ’Tis an expensive piece, my dear—quite fine,” he decided. “Actually, my interest in the matter need not concern you.”
“Are you like the rest of them?” she asked curiously. “Somehow I cannot see you dangling after a Cit for any reason.”
He set the timepiece down abruptly and turned around. “I do not believe I owe you an explanation, Elaine,” he told her coldly. “My reasons are and shall remain mine own. But she is a beauty, you must admit—and so fresh and unspoiled, unlike some of the more experienced of my acquaintance.”
The barb struck home, sending a new tremor of misgiving through her, for she’d been stunned when she’d seen Lyndon’s Cit. For the first time in her career, she’d actually worried about her position, coming home to examine her own face in her mirror, wondering if she should perhaps accept Carrington’s suit, after all.
“You must want her very much,” she said bitterly.