by Cheryl Holt
Mason glared, but didn't jump to fill the opening Jordan had furnished. If the pair had sexual secrets, Mason wasn't about to divulge them, and he instantly rose in Jordan's esteem.
"I take full responsibility for my failure to act," Mason declared, "and I'll accept any punishment that is leveled."
"A very gallant speech, Mr. Mason, but what have you failed to do?"
"Did you know Lavinia's husband, Horatio Gray?" "No."
"When he died, he was incredibly wealthy. He left the women of this family very well-off."
"I'm aware of that fact. That's why I'm here."
"What you don't know is that he arranged three trust funds. One for Lavinia. One for Penelope." He paused, gathering his courage. "And one for Margaret Gray, whom Mr. Gray loved as his own daughter."
Jordan wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "He created a trust for Margaret Gray?"
"Yes."
"Then why has she been living like a pauper all these years?"
"Because Lavinia hid it from her. Margaret was never informed."
Jordan went very still. "I hope to hell you're lying."
"I'm not. Lavinia is a dreadful spendthrift. In a matter of months, she'd squandered her own money, then she began using Penelope's, and soon, it was gone, too."
"So... the money that remains, it's Margaret Gray's?"
"Every penny of it."
"Penelope has none, at all?"
"Not a single farthing."
"Penelope knows this to be true?"
"Most likely."
"And Lavinia?"
"Set the plot in motion and implemented it with cool precision."
There was a table between them, and he piled some legal documents on it, urging Jordan to read them, but Jordan couldn't. He thought of Margaret, shipped off in disgrace because of his reckless conduct.
Since their appalling encounter in the library, he'd been uneasy, feeling as if he'd missed an important detail or hadn't noted what was in plain sight.
She'd been such a tragic figure, so wronged, so mistreated and alone. He'd blithely renounced her, as if she'd meant nothing to him, as if he'd never cared. He'd let her go. For money! For Penelope Gray's money, but Penelope didn't have any!
Was there ever a more cruel twist of fate? Could there possibly be a more hideous ending? Were the gods conspiring against him?
"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Mason." "Anything."
"Mrs. Gray mentioned that Margaret has departed Gray's Manor." "Yes, she has."
"Do you know where she is?"
"I'm guessing she could be anywhere by now. I'm not positive how we'll ever locate her."
Jordan's heart nearly stopped. "Why couldn't we? Lavinia said she went to stay with an aunt."
"Lavinia told you that?" Mason chuckled, but without mirth. "You seem to be well acquainted with Mrs. Gray. Could you actually presume she'd have bothered with Margaret?"
"No."
Since his last conversation with Margaret, he'd been so disordered that he wasn't reasoning clearly. Of course, she wasn't all right! The worst sensation of alarm swept over him. Lavinia might have done anything to her.
"I noticed Margaret was gone," Mason was saying. "When I asked Lavinia about her, she advised me that she was weary of supporting Margaret and had tossed her out."
"Is there anyone who might have offered her shelter?"
"No. Margaret only had this place and no other."
Jordan winced as if Mason had delivered a blow. In his effort to forget how offensively he'd behaved, Jordan had soothed his guilty conscience by picturing Margaret tucked away with kindly, sympathetic kin.
How could he have been such an idiot? Why had he been so willing to believe Lavinia? When had he grown to be so gullible?
He was tormented by distressing images of Margaret. With no coins in her purse, and no contacts away from Gray's Manor, she'd be scared and forlorn— might even be cold and hungry—and he was revolted by the disaster he'd wrought.
He rose and scooped up the papers Mason had brought, stuffing them into the satchel and tucking it under his arm.
"Did you know I loved her?" he said, facing the awful, wonderful fact for the first time.
"Margaret? Really? I didn't think anyone ever had."
"I loved her, yet I stood there and let Lavinia send her away. I did nothing."
"Neither did I," Mason admitted. "Not once in all these years. I'm sick about it."
"We'll hammer out a solution to this mess, Mr. Mason, and I'll expect us both to atone. Even if it takes the rest of our lives."
"I understand," Mason agreed.
"I must speak with Lavinia. Do you—"
Just then, the strangest sound wafted by. It was a keening wail, or maybe a shriek of agony, but whatever it was, it made the hairs rise on the back of his neck.
"What is that?" Jordan queried.
"I don't know," Mason replied.
Jordan walked into the hall, Mason trailing after him. On observing them, Anne shrugged, indicating that she'd heard it, too, and didn't know what it was. Jordan headed toward the stairs where a group of servants was whispering.
"What is it?" Jordan demanded.
"It's Lord Kettering and Miss Gray, milord," a maid explained.
"And Mrs. Gray, too," another added.
A footman cast them a warning glance, then said, "Perhaps you should see for yourself, Lord Romsey."
The wail turned into a scream, and Jordan took off at a dead run, bolting up the stairs, with Mason and Anne racing behind him. He followed the clamor to Penelope's bedchamber, the commotion becoming louder as he approached. He burst in and skidded to a halt.
A very naked Penelope was brawling on the floor with her mother. Lavinia had her fingers wrapped around Penelope's throat, and they were caterwauling like geese pecking in the barnyard.
Charles was lounging on the bed, naked, too, sipping on a brandy and watching the altercation. He tipped his glass at Jordan, appearing smug and thrilled to have two females fighting over him.
"For pity's sake," Jordan grumbled with disgust.
"Holy shit!" Mason exclaimed, as Anne glared at Charles and muttered, "You son of a bitch!"
Charles sheepishly grinned at her as if to say he hadn't been able to behave any better, but Anne spun and stomped out.
"Sorry, Jordan," Charles contended, once she was gone, "but I guess you won't be marrying Penelope."
"I guess not," Jordan concurred.
"We're desperately in love," Charles lied, continuing to chat as if there weren't a major fracas occurring directly in front of him. "We couldn't help ourselves."
"Oh, spare me."
"There will have to be a wedding, but unfortunately, it won't be yours."
Jordan peered over at his father, flashing such a powerful smile that Charles was actually flustered. He realized that something had transpired to change the stakes and that a new hand of cards had been dealt to everybody.
"Yes, we'll have a wedding," Jordan echoed, "and it will be yours. I intend to see it happen if it's the last thing I do. It will serve you right!"
He stepped into the fray to pull the combatants apart, and he struggled to subdue Lavinia, but it was like wrestling with a slippery eel. He managed to jerk her to her feet, as Mason clasped hold of Penelope and did the same.
Both women were scratched and bruised, Penelope's neck sporting purple marks where Lavinia had throttled her.
"Let me go!" Lavinia insisted. "Let me at her."
"No," Jordan responded. "Calm down and tell me what this is about."
"I wanted him for myself!" Lavinia screeched.
"My father?" Jordan shuddered with revulsion.
"She knew I did, and she took him anyway."
"You jealous hag!" Penelope taunted. "He wanted me because I'm young and pretty—not old and used up like you—and now, he's all mine, and you can't do anything about it!"
Assuming the battle over, Jordan had relaxed his grip, as had Mr. Mason,
but Penelope's hurled gibe was too much for Lavinia. She dove for Penelope, and before either he or Mason could intervene again, Penelope raised a fist, reared back, and punched Lavinia in the face. Blood squirted everywhere, flesh cracked against bone, and Lavinia dropped like a rock, an unconscious, ignored heap on the rug.
Penelope stood, flaunting her nudity, rubbing her
knuckles, as she glowered at all three men and announced, "Now then, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must dress for my wedding." She leveled her hateful gaze on Charles. "The vicar will be here any minute, so I'll see you downstairs. Don't even think about being late."
Chapter Twenty
Good-bye, Lavinia."
"Good-bye? What are you saying?" She was a mess from her skirmish with Penelope. An eye was blackened and puffy, her nose swollen. There were claw marks on her face, bruises on her body. She was extremely bedraggled, her hair ratted and clumped, her skin mottled from rage and weeping.
She clasped Robert's arm, and it was all he could do not to shudder in distaste. How had he ever presumed himself in love with her? Why had he fallen for her deadly charms?
He had to have been bewitched. It was the sole explanation he could abide, for he refused to admit that he'd been a besotted fool.
He grabbed her hand and removed it from his person. "I can't do this with you anymore," he apprised her. "Do what?"
"I can't continue on in this web of lies and deceit. I have to forge a new path."
"But Robert, you can't abandon me now, not in my hour of need!" Pretty tears dripped down her cheeks, and she dropped to her knees in supplication. "Penelope has wed. The last of my money will go to Kettering. I'm all alone in the entire world!"
He was in no mood for her theatrics. "Why don't you talk to Kettering? Perhaps he'll let you reside with them; then he can crawl into Penelope's bed one night and yours the next."
"Oh, how could you be so horrid to me?" Crying and keening, she clutched at his coat. "I love you! I've always loved you! Don't forsake me!"
"Please, Lavinia, you're embarrassing yourself."
"You mean everything to me. If I must grovel to keep you, then I shall!"
Rolling his eyes, he drew away, then went to the door. "I stopped by to inform you that I'm getting married."
"What?" immediately, her clamor ceased, and she rose to her feet.
"As opposed to you and your tepid regard, I've met someone who truly cares for me."
"Who would want you?”
He ignored the jibe and happily pronounced, "Mrs. Smythe."
"Kettering's whore?"
"Yes, she's been a whore—as you have been, yourself. The main difference between the two of you is that she regrets her decision."
He marched out, and there was a loud thumping on the wall as she threw an object after him. He rushed to the stairs and raced down—toward home and Anne— glad and relieved that he'd never have to see Lavinia again.
Here is your one and only option." Lavinia glared at Jordan. He was seated behind her desk in her library, acting as if the place were his, and she yearned to reach over and slap him.
She was in a frantic condition, her thoughts careening through various stages of dread, each image pitching her further and further into a despairing void. She'd lost Kettering, then Robert, too, and she was most raided by Robert's departure. He'd been her rock, her foundation. Without his fawning adulation and annoying loyalty, how would she ever regroup?
"My only option?" she snarled. "After the day I've had, if you think to dictate to me, you're mad."
Jordan patted some documents that were piled on the desktop. "Mr. Mason has been here and left." "What of it?" "The jig is up, Vinnie."
"You're babbling in riddles; I can't understand you."
"This is Horatio's Last Will and Testament. Mr. Mason gave me a copy."
"I've never been particularly interested in legal folderol."
"Really? Mr. Mason claims that you're riveted by it, that you're an expert at detail and nuance."
Surely, Robert hadn't said anything incriminating! Yes, he was angry with her, but what could he possibly know? She'd been too shrewd in her calculations.
She flashed a nasty smile. "I'm completely in the dark about Horatio's will. When he died, I was in a state of shock. Robert handled everything."
"Even the transfer of funds between the accounts?"
"There were transfers? My goodness, I had no idea."
"So any signatures bearing your name would have been forged?"
"Forged? What are you implying?" She kept her expression blank, providing no hint of the terror churning inside.
"Where is Margaret?"
"I told you: She's in seclusion. We're waiting to see if there's a babe."
He rose slowly, hands braced on the desk, and he leaned toward her.
"Where is she?"
"She's staying with family."
At her response he was furious, and she nearly laughed. Did he suppose he could intimidate her? Did he think he could scare her? There wasn't a man in the world who could frighten her into doing anything, and Lavinia calmly watched him as he watched her, and finally, he eased down in his chair.
"Here's what will happen," he said. "I'll only say it once, so pay attention."
"I will not be harassed. Not by you, and most certainly, not when you are a guest in my home."
All bravado and umbrage, she stood to go, when he barked, "Sit down!"
"You will not—"
"Sit!" he shouted with such wrath that she plopped down.
He appeared crazed, as if he might swagger over and assault her, and after Penelope's attack, Lavinia was too wretched to endure another. She struggled to seem cowed.
"Margaret will be found and informed of her fortune," he declared. "The trust will be vested m her. I've already written to my London solicitor, Mr. Thumberton, to have the arrangements made, with himself installed as the new trustee."
"Why would I care?"
"Penelope and Charles can wallow in the poverty they deserve."
"What do you mean? Your father is an earl."
"Yes, he is—an earl who is flat broke and being chased across the country by creditors. The sole chattel he still owns is his carriage—which he will keep so long as he's not caught, so your daughter can join him in it as they flee from one village to the next."
She wanted to groan in disbelief. While she was humored to hear of Penelope's predicament, she was reeling at her own bad luck. If she couldn't reside at any of Kettering's properties, what would she do?
Gad! She should have been nicer to Jordan! Was there any chance he might take her in? How could she convince him?
"As to you ..." His voice trailed off.
The phrase sounded ominous, and she shifted uncomfortably, swamped by the knowledge that she'd made every stupid choice. She cursed Horatio for dying, Kettering for his penury, Robert for leaving, Penelope for marrying above her station, and Margaret for being richer than all of them combined.
"What about me?" she sneered.
"I am determined to find Margaret and bestow what is lawfully hers, so you have one minute to tell me where she is."
A paltry minute? Why ... the bastard was using the same tactic she'd utilized in coercing him to settle on Penelope! Well, the joke was on him! She was made of sterner stuff, so his ploy wouldn't succeed.
"She was staying with my aunt, but they had an argument, and Margaret left without a word as to her destination. I don't know where she is."
"If you apprise me of her whereabouts, I shall intervene with your banker and ask him to give you six months to vacate the premises before he forecloses."
"My banker? Why speak with my banker?"
"Mr. Mason tattled, Vinnie, so don't pretend with me. I'm fully cognizant of your dire straits."
"I'm perfectly fine," she blustered.
"If you refuse to cooperate," he continued, "I shall advise him to immediately proceed with the eviction, and you'll be tossed out in
a matter of days, with only the clothes on your back."
"You wouldn't!"
"I would. You should also be aware that serious criminal charges can be leveled—or not. If you assist me, I will work to see that the scandal is private and the penalty small. But if you decline ..."
His voice trailed off again, but his warning was clear. She could be prosecuted! Oh, the repercussions were too terrifying to contemplate!
"I can't help you!" she insisted.
"Have you ever toured a British prison, Vinnie? Can you imagine yourself incarcerated in one? Your sixty seconds start now."
His gaze shifted to the clock, and she could hear it ticking, each click seeming to nip away at her life. Her mind screamed at her to make up a credible lie that might buy her a few weeks or months, but then what?
This was all Margaret's fault, and Lavinia would get even if it was the last thing she ever did!
The minute ended, and Jordan steepled his fingers over his chest. "Well?"
Lavinia gnawed on her lip, feeling like a rat in a trap. "She went to Brighton."
"Are you certain that should be your answer?"
"Yes."
Years earlier, she'd visited the town, and she remembered the names of the major thoroughfares. She grabbed a quill and jotted down a fabricated address.
"She's there."
"You realize that I'll investigate, don't you?" "She's there! I swear it." "We'll see."
"You'll find her," Lavinia asserted with such confidence that she almost believed it herself.
"Will I? I doubt it, and when I learn that she's not in Brighton, I will return to Gray's Manor, and I will personally throw you out and lock the doors behind you."
Lavinia trembled with a rage that she dare not vent; then, regal as any queen, she swept out.
Margaret! she seethed. Would she never be shed of her bothersome niece?
Eventually, Jordan would locate Margaret, and when he did, Margaret would receive what remained of Lavinia's money. But Margaret wouldn't have it for long. Lavinia would follow him and recover it, so Margaret had better hope that Jordan's search was a lengthy one, because once he found her, there was no telling what might happen.
“Anne Wait!”
Charles frowned as Anne walked by, headed
toward the foyer. When he caught up with her, she was standing next to her packed bags. He hadn't seen her since his coup in Penelope's bedchamber, and with the wedding having just concluded, they ought to be sipping champagne and celebrating his stroke of fortune, but she'd been markedly absent.