She shook her head. “I did not capture you at all.”
“Oh, but you did, my lady.” He moved toward her.
She moved back and thrust out her hands. “Don’t come near me.”
“I simply want to prove to you how very real I am. That I am, in fact, flesh and blood.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“Oh, but indeed it is.” He took another step and again she stepped back. “In spite of the proof of your own eyes, you question my very existence.” He clapped his hand over his heart. “You wound me deeply.”
She darted out of his reach to put the solid protection of the desk between them and grabbed the book he’d been looking at, substantial enough to serve her purposes. She hefted it in both hands. “Not as deeply as I shall if you come any closer.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter and strolled toward the cabinet where the brandy was kept.
“Given that you are flesh and blood . . . ”
He raised a brow. She could scarcely deny it at this point. Whoever he was, he was very real.
“What are you doing here?” she said in the most demanding manner she could muster. “What do you want?”
“A brandy, at the moment, I should think.” He opened the cabinet doors and poured a glass. “Would you care for some?”
“No,” she snapped. The last thing she needed was the too-pleasant and overly relaxed feeling brandy gave her. She suspected with Leopard—and for the first time she acknowledged how silly a name that was—she needed to be fully alert. “I don’t mean what do you want right now, I mean what do you want here!”
He glanced at her; his voice was mild. “You are screeching again.”
She gripped the book tighter and forced a calm note to her voice. “Forgive me. Now, then . . . Lord Beaumont, was it?”
“Yes, but you may call me Leopard.”
“I most certainly will not!” She absolutely refused to compound the bizarre dilemma facing her with too much familiarity. “How on earth did you get such an absurd name, anyway?”
“I was a spy,” he said in an offhand manner. “We all might well be speaking French today were it not for the information I supplied Wellington.”
“A spy?” She gasped and circled the desk, keeping the book in hand just in case. He did indeed look exactly like she’d always imagined a spy to look. Dark and handsome, with an amused twinkle in his eye. Far too amused. “I don’t believe you.”
He sipped his brandy. “I suspected you wouldn’t.”
“And I don’t believe that’s your name, either.”
“Believe as you will.” He shrugged. “The fact remains that it is indeed my name and you have used it in your stories.” He studied her over the rim of his glass. “In truth, you have used me.”
“I never intended—”
“Regardless of your intentions, you have portrayed me in a less-than-favorable light.”
“I said you were clever,” she said uneasily.
“You have also depicted me as a scoundrel. A despoiler of innocents.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “It is not a pretty picture.”
“I never imagined—”
“It is your imagining that has quite ruined my reputation.” He swallowed the last of his brandy and set down the glass.
“Your reputation?”
“Indeed. You see, by this point I should have seduced the country miss. However, in your Adventures I have failed to do so. It is not what people expect of me. My reputation is—”
“Ruined.” She swallowed hard. “But you said yourself I painted you as a despoiler of innocents.”
He waved off her objection. “And that was entirely too much. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Well, I suppose—”
“However, my dear, according to your stories”—he grinned wickedly—“you are no innocent. And I should have succeeded with you long ago. It’s what people expect of me.” He stepped closer. “And I have come to rectify the matter.”
“Rectify the matter?” Her voice rose. “Exactly how do you plan to rectify the matter?”
“It’s not what I shall do, but rather what we shall do.”
“We?” Good Lord, what was he saying?
“Since you have seen fit to tell the world of our relationship—”
“We have no relationship!”
“Not in reality, perhaps, but on paper. And, my dear young woman, people always believe what they read in the papers.”
He moved toward her. She stepped to the side. He countered her move, stalking her like a jungle beast. God help her, like a leopard.
“I simply want in truth what everyone believes we already have.”
She dove for the door, but he blocked her way, pulling her hard against him and holding her wrist behind her back with one hand. The book fell from her grasp.
“Unhand me at once,” she demanded, her voice much shakier than she would have liked.
“Never.” He grinned down at her. “You were far too difficult to capture.”
She struggled against him, panic rising within her. “Let me go!”
“I don’t think so. However, you should probably scream now.” Laughter flashed in his eyes.
“Should I?” Her gaze frantically searched the room for a weapon to use against him. Not that she could reach anything at the moment. “Why?”
“Aside from the fact that there are few things more exciting than a screaming woman?”
“Yes!”
“Because I am planning on living up to the reputation you provided me with.”
“Really?” Abruptly, and perhaps unwisely, her fear subsided, replaced by curiosity. This stranger might well be irritating, but was he indeed dangerous? Wouldn’t a truly dangerous man want to keep her from screaming, not encourage it? She stopped struggling and stared at him. “How?”
“I am going to spirit you away and have my way with you.”
“That sounds like something you’d read in a book.” She studied him suspiciously. This was getting odder by the moment.
“Yes, well, I’m usually more original than that,” he said under his breath. “Now, then, should you scream, I’m sure someone would come to your rescue.”
“Do I need rescuing then? You scarcely seem to be making much progress.” Oh certainly he had her trapped in his arms, but it was going to be damned difficult to get her out of the house this way. “You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?”
“Are you going to scream or not?” He blew a frustrated breath.
“No. I rather think you should do that.” She summoned all her strength, wrenched free of his grasp and scooped up the book from the floor. Without hesitation, she gripped it in both hands and swung it as hard as she could against his midsection.
His loud oof echoed in the room. It wasn’t exactly a scream, but by God, he was right. It was exciting. He grasped his stomach and doubled over.
“Release her at once, you brute!” Thomas’s voice thundered from the doorway.
Marianne whirled around. Thomas strode toward them, a picture of gallant indignation. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight.
“I have released her.” Leopard gasped and straightened slowly, a grimace of pain on his face. He pressed his hands against his stomach and glared at her. “You hit me!”
“Of course I hit you.” She folded her arms over her chest. “What did you expect me to do?”
“I didn’t expect you to hit me,” he snapped. “Damned inconsiderate of you.”
Something about his words struck a familiar chord, but she discarded it for the moment. “You threatened to have your way with me.”
Thomas sucked in a sharp breath. “How dare you!”
“I’m wondering that myself,” Leopard muttered.
“You have impugned the honor of the woman I love.” Thomas drew himself up and stepped to Leopard. “I demand satisfaction.”
The woman I love?
“I thought you would,” Leopard said
.
He loved her?
The two men stood toe to toe, nose to nose.
“Pistols, then,” Leopard said. “At dawn.”
“This cannot wait until dawn.” Thomas’s voice rang in the room. “Dusk. Today.”
“Dusk it is.” Leopard nodded. “Newcombe’s Hill should serve our purposes.”
“A duel?” Marianne’s heart leapt. “Are you talking about a duel?”
“Indeed we are.” Thomas’s gaze never left Leopard.
“You cannot be serious.” She looked from one man to the other. “Duels are illegal.”
“Affairs of honor supersede the laws of man.” Thomas’s tone was lofty. “I shall see you at dusk.” He stepped away from Leopard and gestured toward the door. “Now get out.”
“Gladly.” Leopard turned to Marianne and bowed. “And I shall see you again.”
“Not while there is breath left in my body.” Thomas’s declaration sent a shiver of fear up her spine.
“That is precisely the idea.” Leopard nodded and strode from the room.
“Thomas.” At once she was in his arms. “You can’t do this. You’ll be killed.”
“Hardly, my dear.” He gazed down at her with a slight smile. “I have no doubt of my success.”
“But even if you win . . . ” Her voice caught.
“It could mean prison, or worse, I shall have to leave the country.”
A vice tightened around her chest. “I shall go with you.”
“I cannot allow that.” Sadness colored his voice. “Regardless of your desire for adventure, exile is not the life I would wish for you.”
“But I am to blame for this.” It was indeed her fault. If she hadn’t foolishly insisted on pursuing the future she wanted, she wouldn’t have written the Country Miss stories for funding. And would never have provoked a man as dangerous as Leopard, silly name or not. And Thomas’s very life would not now be at risk.
“Blame scarcely matters at the moment. What is done is done.” He tilted her head back and met her lips with his in a kiss gentle and sweet and . . . final.
“Thomas.” His name was little more than a cry or a prayer on her lips.
He released her and stepped away. “I must go now. There are a but a few hours until dusk and there are arrangements to be made.”
“Thomas, don’t. . . .” The words choked in her throat.
“I must.” He took her hands and brought them to his lips. His gaze never left hers. “Regardless of what the future holds, you will remain in my heart forever.” He nodded, turned and strode from the room, never looking back.
Tears stung her eyes. This was like any story of star-crossed love she’d ever read. But it was real and the consequences would be devastating. Whatever happened, Thomas’s life was ruined. She’d destroyed it with her foolish desire for adventure.
She sniffed back her tears. She had to stop him. She couldn’t allow such a sacrifice from the man she loved.
The man who loved her.
She sucked in a sharp breath. He’d said it aloud and possibly didn’t even realize he’d done so. He loved her, and it might well be too late. If she’d married him when she’d had the chance . . .
What was she going to do? How could she save him?
She paced the room and tried to think. She needed help. Her sisters would be of no use. Besides, this situation was fraught with potential scandal and it was best to keep them out of it altogether.
Pennington would help. He was, after all, Thomas’s friend. Surely he’d know what to do. How to stop this madness. She’d send him a note at once.
She stepped to the desk and pulled open the drawer, looking for paper. She brushed aside a set of legal documents. A name on the papers stared up at her.
Ephraim Cadwallender?
A knock sounded at the open door.
“My lady.” The butler stood in the doorway. “You have two more callers.”
“Tell them I can’t be bothered at the moment.” She picked up the documents. What kind of dealings could Thomas have with Mr. Cadwallender?
“Nonsense.” Pennington’s voice sounded in the foyer. “She will see us.” He brushed past the butler, followed closely by Berkley.
“My lord,” Marianne said with relief and dropped the documents on the desk. She stepped toward him. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. I need your help desperately.”
“Do you?” Pennington’s brow raised. “First we have a matter of some importance to discuss.”
“It can’t possibly be more urgent. . . .” The look on their faces pulled her up short. “What on earth is the matter?”
Pennington and Berkley traded glances. Berkley drew a deep breath. “It has come to our attention . . . that is, we have learned . . . what I mean to say . . . ”
“Blast it all, man,” Pennington snapped. “Spit it out.”
“Are you the country miss?” Berkley blurted.
Shock stole her breath. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Pennington said.
“Why would you think such a thing?” she said weakly.
“We saw Helmsley coming out of Cadwallender’s shop,” Pennington said.
“That scarcely means—”
“It was not difficult at that point to put the pieces of this puzzle together.” Pennington studied her intently. “You are, aren’t you?”
“And Helmsley, then, is Lord W?” Berkley said.
“Yes.” She blew a long breath. “Although the adventures are not absolutely true.”
“What did I tell you?” Pennington nudged his friend. “I told you not to believe everything you read.”
“Regardless.” Berkley squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Your wife?” She stared in disbelief. “I thought you had given up the idea of pursuing a woman you did not know.”
“How could I, with that villainous Leopard on the scene? And now that the truth has been revealed, you cannot deny that I know you.” He took her hand. “And I care for you as Marianne and as the country miss.”
“That’s very nice and I am truly flattered, but”—she gently withdrew her hand—“marriage between us is not—”
“She’s in love with Helmsley,” Pennington said flatly.
Marianne’s gaze met his. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious, my dear, once you know who the players really are in those adventures of yours.” He shrugged. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes . . . yes, I am.” She wrung her hands together helplessly. “And everything has become a terrible mess because of those foolish stories. Thomas could well be killed.”
“Killed?” Pennington’s tone sobered.
“What do you mean?” Berkley asked.
She brushed her hair away from her face. “He’s going to duel Leopard.”
Pennington raised a brow. “So Leopard is real?”
“I knew it,” Berkley huffed.
“No, he’s not real. Or rather, apparently, he is. But I didn’t know that.” She turned on her heel and paced back and forth. “I thought I had made him up. You know, to add interest to the stories. I never dreamed he actually existed.”
“It certainly piqued my interest,” Berkley murmured.
She paused and stared at the men. “But surely you know him?”
“Don’t know anyone named Leopard.” Berkley shrugged.
“Rather silly name, I always thought,” Pennington added.
“I’m sorry you don’t approve,” she said sharply. “I was looking for something that no one would actually use, to avoid precisely this problem.”
“Still, doesn’t he have a real name?” Pennington asked.
“Of course. It’s Beaumont.”
“Beaumont? Viscount Beaumont?” Pennington frowned. “Tall, dark hair, arrogant—”
“Aren’t you all,” she muttered.
“Of course we know him. Hasn’t been in town much lately.” Be
rkley shook his head. “Never heard him called Leopard, though.”
“Never?” How was that possible? If indeed they knew him, surely they knew his absurd name?
“Helmsley has known him for years,” Pennington said pointedly.
She stilled and studied him. “You must be mistaken. That makes no sense whatever. I can’t believe . . . ” Of course, Leopard, or rather Beaumont, knew exactly where to find— “The brandy!”
She smacked her hand against her forehead. “He knew where the brandy is kept. He’s obviously been here before. I should have noticed it at once.”
Outrage rushed through her. “Thomas acted like they’d never met.”
“Perhaps, my dear,” Pennington said mildly. “Act is the key word.”
“Isn’t it, though?” She wanted to scream in frustration. “How could I have been so easily taken in? How could I have believed all that nonsense? Have my way with you—hah!”
The men traded uneasy glances.
“They certainly make a convincing pair: a badger in leopard’s clothing and a . . . a . . . ”
“Rat?” Berkley suggested.
“That’s it exactly. A rat. A nasty, vile rat. But why?” She paced once again, trying to sort it all out in her mind. “Why would they—why would Thomas—do such a thing?”
She swiveled toward them. “You saw him coming out of Cadwallender’s, you say?”
“That’s what brought us here,” Berkley said.
“Of course.” She groaned. “Then he knows I’ve been writing the Adventures. I’d wager he wanted to teach me some sort of lesson.” She narrowed her eyes. “He’s very fond of lessons.”
“And, no doubt, wanted to stop you as well.” Pennington studied her cautiously. “I can’t say I blame him. The longer the stories are published, the more likely it is that someone will discover the true identity of the author. And her Lord W. The scandal would be—”
“Enormous.” She huffed an impatient sigh. “I know that. And I admit, I have made a mess of things.” Still . . . She stepped to the desk and snatched up the legal papers and handed them to Pennington. “What are these?”
Pennington scanned the documents. “They appear to be some sort of business arrangement. It looks as though Helmsley has made an investment in Cadwallender’s enterprise.” Pennington let out a long whistle. “A very sizable investment. Given these”—his gaze met hers—“one has to wonder, why didn’t he stop Cadwallender from printing your work? Obviously, he has the financial leverage.”
The Marriage Lesson Page 25