A Scandalous Bargain

by Burke, Darcy

  “I’m sure you know how,” she said sardonically. “But allow me to provide you with the pertinent details. Your father had a mistress—my mother. She lived in Bath, and her name was Charlotte Linley. He visited us often and always spent a month at the end of summer with us.”

  The flash of understanding in his eyes told her he believed her. “He was never around.”

  “No, because he was with me and his beloved Lottie. You had no inkling?”

  Worth shook his head. “I mean, I knew he wasn’t faithful to my mother—later, when I was older and paying attention to that sort of thing. You say he loved your mother?”

  Beatrix could distinctly hear his voice saying, “I love you, my dearest Lottie.” “He told her so often enough, yes.”

  There was a long moment during which Worth stared at some spot behind Beatrix’s head. When he returned his gaze to hers, he frowned. “Why didn’t he tell me about you?”

  “You’d have to ask him that.”

  Worth cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re certain he’s your father?”

  Beatrix wanted to kick him. Instead, she grabbed his forearm and dragged him to the other side of the room, where there was a looking glass above the fireplace. “Take off your mask.” When he complied, she said, “Look at my eyes. Now look at your eyes. See anything similar?”

  His gaze met hers in the mirror, then moved to his own and slowly widened with recognition. “Holy hell.”

  Beatrix let go of his arm and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I can’t believe I was attracted to you.” His expression filled with horror. He pivoted toward her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I felt quite bad for you, actually. I wanted to tell you straightaway, but I haven’t even told our father I’m in London yet.”

  He stroked his hand along his jaw. “He saw you earlier tonight, when we were speaking. He didn’t seem to know you.”

  And now her pain and humiliation were exposed. “No, he didn’t. I don’t know if he didn’t recognize me or chose to ignore me. I haven’t seen him in a very long time.” She decided to tell him the rest, or part of it, anyway. “My mother died when I was eleven, and our father sent me to a boarding school. I was there for four years, during which time he never once wrote or visited.”

  “What an utter blackguard.” Worth shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitford.”

  “Beatrix, if you please.” She shrugged. “It seems as though you should call me that.”

  “I’ve always been Worth, but my sisters—my other sisters—called me Jamie. You can choose whichever one you prefer.”

  His other sisters. Did that mean? Warmth spread through Beatrix, and her chest constricted as her throat grew raw. “Jamie, I think,” she managed to say, hoping he couldn’t hear the croak in her voice.

  “I can’t believe he just abandoned you at that school. I’ll say it again. What an utter blackguard.” He looked at her in concern. And sympathy. She’d never imagined this reaction. “What did you plan to do?” he asked.

  “I’d hoped to impress him. Clearly, that hasn’t happened.” She put her hand on her waist. “I loved him very much when I was younger. I missed him and hoped there was a reason he didn’t visit. Perhaps he just missed my mother so much that he couldn’t bring himself to see me.”

  Jamie snorted. “My apologies. You must not remember him very well. He’s not the sort to harbor such tender feelings. The fact that you heard him telling your mother he loved her is astonishing to me. I think I recall him telling me that perhaps once.”

  Beatrix felt sick. She’d spent years planning for an impossible fantasy. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do.”

  His features hardened with determination. “You’re going to go and see him, and I’m coming with you. Tomorrow, unless you’d prefer to wait.”

  He wanted to accompany her? “You’d really come along?”

  “Of course. Whether he doesn’t recognize you or is ignoring you, this is a matter that requires support.”

  She dropped her hand to her side, blinking at him in disbelief. “I never expected this response. I’m…overcome.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you told me the truth. When I thought you were merely uninterested, it was a blow.” At her laugh, he smiled. “It’s far more palatable to my self-confidence to know you’re my sister.” He winked at her. “Shall I pick you up tomorrow, or would you like to meet at Father’s?”

  That he referred to Ramsgate as “Father,” as if he was their shared parent, which he was, filled her with an indescribable joy. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Three o’clock?” When she nodded, he continued. “You know where?”

  “I do.” Oh, how she knew. It would be impossible to go and not think of Tom right next door. In fact, she was desperate to tell him about this development. But would she have the chance?

  “Excellent.” He held out his hand. “May I?”

  She put her hand in his. “Yes.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then he turned and left, leaving her to stare after him in wonder.

  This had been an abysmal night. Or had it?

  She smoothed her hand down her dress and felt the bracelet in her pocket once more. Removing the item, she placed it beneath a chair, as if it had fallen off the woman’s wrist. Never mind that she probably hadn’t even come into this room. Ah well, it was the best Beatrix could do. She decided to categorize the evening as somewhere between mild disaster and slightly successful.

  She’d lost Tom, but had apparently gained a brother. Perhaps tomorrow, she’d gain a father too.

  Except Tom had never really been hers to lose. They’d shared some wonderful, exciting moments. She would remember them, and him, always. And in so doing, she would try never, ever to think of what might have been.

  * * *

  Thomas couldn’t shake the feeling that Beatrix had meant something permanent when she’d told him goodbye last night. Not once, but twice.

  Was it because he knew the truth about her and her “siblings”? Or was it something else?

  He’d watched her leave the ballroom with her half brother and desperately wanted to know what had happened. As much as he hoped she might come to his garden later, he doubted she would. And not just because he’d told her not to, that he would help coordinate her visits to keep her safe.

  Despite his insistence that she not come to his garden alone late at night anymore, he didn’t necessarily expect her to heed him. Beatrix was an independent and rather self-reliant woman.

  Perhaps he should visit her instead. There had to be a way for him to steal into her new residence in Cavendish Square.

  “My lord?”

  Thomas had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed Baines standing in the doorway of his study. He sat straighter in his chair where he lounged near the hearth. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Dearborn from Bow Street is here.”

  Surprise—and not the pleasant kind—swirled in Thomas’s gut. He stood. “Is he in the sitting room?”

  Baines nodded. “Just so.”

  “I’ll attend him at once. This must be a perfunctory visit to notify me their investigation has concluded.” Thomas couldn’t think of any other reason for him to come. Actually, he could, but he preferred not to. The sooner he could put Thea’s death behind him, the sooner he could find some sense of normality.

  Thomas entered the sitting room off the entry hall to see Dearborn studying the portrait of him and Thea in the corner. The constable, a young fellow probably five or so years Thomas’s junior, with wavy brown hair that spilled over his forehead and bright blue eyes, turned from the painting.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Dearborn,” Thomas said. “How can I help you?” Thomas didn’t sit, nor did he invite the constable to do so.

  Dearborn inclined his head. He looked a bit nervous, his gaze uncertain, before he st
raightened his spine and squared his shoulders, which seemed to give him a jolt of confidence—at least visually. “Good afternoon, my lord. Thank you for seeing me. I hope you are faring well after your recent tragedy.”

  “As well as can be expected.” Better than expected, actually. Was that because he was finally free of Thea’s rage, or was it because he’d found Beatrix?

  “That’s good to hear. I regret I am not visiting under more agreeable circumstances, however I must beg more of your time to discuss new evidence that has come into my possession.”

  Evidence? What the hell could he have? “I see, and what is that?”

  Dearborn reached into the front of his coat and withdrew a piece of folded parchment. “This is a letter from Lady Rockbourne to her mother written a few months ago. In it, she says she is frightened of your temper. Do you have any idea what she meant by that?”

  Damn. He’d always been so careful around her. In fact, he could only think of maybe three times he’d been truly angry—when he’d first learned of her infidelity, when she’d fallen asleep holding Regan and the baby had fallen to the floor when she was just a few days old, and the night Thea had died.

  Thomas chose his words carefully. “I rarely knew what my wife meant.” That was the truth. Thea had been dishonest and difficult.

  Dearborn unfolded the paper and held it out to Thomas. “She wrote that your father was abusive, that he beat you and your mother. She worried you would do the same to her or to your daughter.”

  Rage spilled through Thomas. He ground his teeth together as his blood pumped hot and furious with the slamming of his heart. Why had he trusted her with his darkest, most agonizing secrets? He’d never revealed his father’s cruelty to anyone else or his fear that he might someday behave in a similar manner.

  Taking the letter, he scanned the words written in Thea’s hand. “This is ridiculous.”

  “What’s ridiculous? That your father beat you and your mother, or that you would do the same thing?”

  “I’ve never hurt anyone, especially not my daughter.” The words cut from his mouth with a sharpness he hadn’t intended.

  Dearborn studied him with concern and perhaps a bit of sympathy. “So your father did beat you?”

  Thomas gave the offensive letter back to the constable. “I don’t understand how that signifies if I’ve never exhibited that behavior myself.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt your daughter. Does that mean you might have hurt Thea?”

  Thomas looked at him coldly, uncaring if that didn’t help his cause. “No, it does not.”

  “Not even because she was unfaithful? You told Sheffield you confronted her that night.”

  “Verbally, not physically.” Thomas clenched his jaw and realized he’d curled his hands into fists as his shoulders bunched up with tension. He forced his muscles to relax, but it was deuced difficult.

  Dearborn nodded. “You also indicated that Lady Rockbourne’s mother might say that you were also unfaithful. She has indeed said so. You still insist that isn’t true?”

  “Yes.”

  Exhaling, Dearborn tucked the letter back into his coat, his gaze darting to the side. When he looked back to Thomas, there was a determination set into the youthful planes of his face. “You seem upset. Is there anything you’d care to tell me that might help with our investigation?”

  Bloody hell. Thomas took a deep breath, trying desperately to push his anger away. “Of course I’m upset. My wife died.” And while he hadn’t directly caused it to happen, he was relieved. What did that make him? “In truth, I don’t understand why there is an investigation at all. I told Sheffield what happened. The countess and I argued. She was intoxicated and grew angry. She fell from the balcony.”

  “Her mother insists you pushed her, and Lady Rockbourne’s maid agrees. She says you were often furious with your wife.” Dearborn pressed his lips together. “In fact, she said Lady Rockbourne was bruised a few weeks ago, and it was a result of you pushing her.”

  Thomas’s breath tangled in his lungs. “That’s a barefaced lie.”

  “You understand it’s my duty to investigate Lady Rockbourne’s death?”

  “I do, just as I understand it’s your duty to let a family grieve a loss and not listen to nonsense.”

  Dearborn nodded. “Yes, of course. I do apologize for bothering you during this difficult time. I regret that I must ask to speak with the remaining members of your household that we were not able to talk to on our last visit. That would be a footman called Osbert and your daughter’s nurse, Miss Addy.”

  Thomas had known they hadn’t spoken to the nurse because she’d been occupied with Regan; however, he hadn’t realized Osbert also hadn’t been available. “Miss Addy is currently busy with her charge. You may return Monday afternoon to speak with her and Osbert.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “I am eager for this matter to be put to rest, Mr. Dearborn.”

  “As is Bow Street. Again, I do apologize for troubling you during this time.” He bowed, then took his leave.

  Thomas glowered at the portrait of him and Thea. He’d bared himself to her in the early days of their marriage, when he thought he might fall in love with her. When he’d hoped for such emotion.

  On leaden feet, he went to the window and watched Dearborn walk to the end of Grosvenor Square and disappear. The fury Thomas worked so hard to suppress rose within him. Whipping around, he strode to the corner and ripped the portrait from the wall.

  “Even in death, you torment me.” He broke the frame against the hearth. The gilded wood broke in several places. Taking a jagged piece of the frame, he speared it through the center of the painting, right between the two of them. He used the fragment like a knife, tearing the canvas across her face and rending her in two.

  Growling low in his throat, he tossed the wreckage onto the hearth, but not into the fireplace itself. Chest heaving, he stared at the mess he’d made and silently cursed himself. He should have preserved that for Regan.

  Why? So she could remember the mother who’d found her a nuisance? Besides, there were other portraits, including a miniature that hung in Regan’s bedchamber.

  What was his mother-in-law trying to accomplish? Did she want Thomas imprisoned—or hanged—so that she could take Regan for herself? It wasn’t as if her efforts would return Thea to her. Perhaps having her daughter’s daughter would soothe her loss. Thomas could understand that.

  Even so, he had no idea if any of this was for Regan’s benefit or to ameliorate his mother-in-law’s grief. Or perhaps it was simply to punish Thomas. The latter had been Thea’s goal. She’d even brought up the idea of divorce. He laughed hollowly at the disaster his life had become—the very thing he’d fought so hard to avoid.

  “My lord?”

  Thomas turned from the hearth to see Baines, silently lurking yet again. Only this time, the butler’s features were lined with concern, his mouth drawn into a deep frown.

  Waving at the debris of the portrait, Thomas said, “Have this cleaned up.”

  Then he strode from the sitting room intent on finding the nearest bottle of brandy.

  Chapter 9

  The ball at Rafe’s had lasted well into the early morning hours. Beatrix and Selina had arrived home just as the first rays of dawn were spilling over the city. Still, Beatrix had struggled to find rest as her mind had bounced back and forth from Tom to her half brother and father and back again. Thinking of her half brother and father filled her with anticipation and hope, while thoughts of Tom aroused a lingering sadness that enclosed her chest when she acknowledged their flirtation had come to an end.

  And flirtation was the best way to describe it, for their connection went beyond friendship but of course not as far as lovers. Could it have reached that point, however?

  You’ll never know.

  She groaned in frustration as she stood from the settee in the garden room, a lovely chamber at the back of their
new Cavendish Square residence that opened onto the back garden. The Marchioness of Ripley, who owned the house, had beautifully refurbished the room after moving in, adding the wide doors that made the outside an extension of the interior space.

  “Goodness, Beatrix, are you all right?” Selina swept into the room with a look of concern.

  “At last!” Beatrix smiled to distract Selina from pursuing Beatrix’s problems. “You slept quite late.” It was past two in the afternoon.

  Selina blushed. “I’m afraid so. That was the very best night of sleep I’ve had in…well, maybe forever.”

  Beatrix felt true gladness. “I’m so pleased. You deserve nothing but those from now on.” Selina had spent far too many sleepless nights planning how to save them from financial ruin and to keep them from harm.

  “Thank you. I admit I do hope it lasts.” Selina glanced down at Beatrix’s walking costume. “Are you going somewhere?”

  Beatrix had begun to hope she would be able to steal from the house without Selina seeing her. “Er, yes.”

  Selina cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “Were you keeping it a secret?”

  “No. I just wasn’t sure if you would come down before I left. I have an appointment in Grosvenor Square.”

  Knowing that Beatrix’s father lived there, Selina stared at her. “Do you? What’s happened? Did you speak to the duke last night?”

  “Not him, no. I told Worth who I was.” At Selina’s gasp, she added, “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He was going to talk to Rafe about courting me.” She gave Selina a horror-filled look.

  Selina grimaced. “I can see why that would prod you to action. And now you have an appointment with the duke. At least, I assume it’s with the duke since he lives in Grosvenor Square. What did Worth say?”

  Beatrix went to the table and perched on another of the two chairs set around the circle. “He was actually quite supportive. He is arranging the meeting and asked me to meet him at our father’s house at three.”

  “So soon!” Selina shot to her feet. “I’ll change.”