“He’s far too smart for that. He knows full well, given the success of the Adventures, I could have easily sold them to another paper. This was probably his way of keeping an eye on me.” She stared at Pennington. “When did—”
Pennington studied the papers. “It’s dated approximately three weeks ago.” He glanced up at her. “Does it matter?”
“Oh, indeed it does. It matters very much.” Three weeks ago coincided with the dowager’s house party and Thomas’s increased efforts to lure her into marriage. Obviously, efforts spurred by his discovery of her writing and a desire to head off scandal.
And nothing more.
And what of his words today? Were they part and parcel of the act he’d concocted with his friend? Another aspect of teaching her some absurd lesson?
“My lady?” Pennington’s voice jerked her back to the present. His concerned gaze met hers. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Do you know where Newcombe’s Hill is?”
Berkley nodded. “It’s just north of the city.”
“Would you be so kind as to accompany me there?”
“Why? The only reason anyone goes there is . . . ” Berkley cringed. “Oh.”
“I gather that’s where the final curtain on this farce of Helmsley’s will ring down.” Pennington studied her. “Am I right?”
“Indeed you are, my lord. I strongly suspect my presence is expected. After all, how can there be a final act without all the players? It should be extremely interesting.”
She favored the men with her brightest smile, disregarding the anger seething within her. And the pain.
“Besides, what farce is complete without a surprise ending?”
Chapter 21
. . . indeed have learned a great lesson in these past months, cousin. You would do well to heed my words.
Regardless of their station in life, no matter if they are respected or despised, men are vile, treacherous beasts and are not to be trusted. I believe it is a flaw in their nature.
If women were wise, we would cut it out of them at the point of a sword for the sake of all of us. In truth, for the sake of the world itself.
Certainly there would be some loss of life, but sacrifices must be made. . . .
The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London
“I think it went well.” Thomas grinned. “In spite of the fact that I kept waiting for her to scream for help to make my entrance.”
“I suspect she is not the type of woman who calls for assistance, judging by the way she hit me,” Rand muttered. “You never said she’d hit me.”
The two men sat in the grass on Newcombe’s Hill—more of a rise rather than a true hill, yet high enough to overlook the road from the city.
“I should have expected as much.” Thomas chuckled.
“You think she’ll come?”
“Of course she’ll come,” Thomas said confidently. “It’s all part of my plan.”
“Ah, yes, the plan.” Rand eyed him skeptically. “When you asked for my assistance this morning, you explained little beyond the point where I pretend to be this Leopard person—ridiculous name, by the way—you challenge me and . . . now what?”
“It’s quite simple. When we see her carriage round the bend, we’ll get into position.”
“The duel having already taken place, I gather.”
Thomas nodded. “She’ll arrive to see you grievously wounded, of course—”
“Of course,” he said wryly.
“—and being carried into the carriage.” Thomas nodded toward the waiting vehicle and the four men he’d hired to act as seconds and interested parties. It wouldn’t do to involve anyone of his acquaintance beyond Rand in this endeavor. No one else he knew could be counted on to keep his mouth shut.
“Whereupon I will give another outstanding performance as to how I shall have to leave England forever to avoid prison. She will realize there is a great price to pay for adventures and will further realize what happens when one bases fictions on real people.” He grinned in triumph.
Rand studied him curiously. “That’s it, then?”
“Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“There’s nothing more to it than that?”
“Well, yes. Actually, at that point she throws herself into my arms and admits that this is indeed all her fault. And further confesses about her stories and vows that she would do anything to change what has happened.” He leaned back on his elbows, gazed out over the countryside and blew a long satisfied breath.
“And?”
“And . . . nothing. Well, she will agree to marry me and we will then spend the rest of our lives together.”
Rand studied him, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t see a flaw there? Some, oh, insignificant detail you might have overlooked?”
“No. None at all.” In fact, all was truly right with Thomas’s world at the moment. He’d get a special license and they could be married within the week.
“You don’t know this woman very well, do you?”
“I know her quite well.”
“Really?” Rand raised a brow. “Then tell me how she will react when she discovers all this is some kind of ruse to teach her a lesson.”
“She’ll be so grateful that it’s all an act . . . ” What if she wasn’t? His confidence dimmed.
“Will she?”
“Of course.” He brushed aside the uneasy suspicion that she might not be grateful at all. “Why, we’ll probably laugh about it someday.”
“I do hope you’re right, for your sake. But it seems to me, any woman who could handle the kind of rogue this Leopard was supposed to be”—Rand rubbed his stomach and winced—“and handle him quite well, mind you, will not see any humor in this whatsoever. When do you plan on telling her the truth?”
“I don’t know.” In point of fact, now that he thought about it, he had no idea when he’d confess all.
Rand snorted and shook his head.
Thomas pulled his brows together in a frown. “What is so amusing?”
“I’m simply recalling the last time we spoke, before I left London. If I remember correctly, your plan then was to find husbands for these sisters and get them off your hands so you could concentrate on finding the type of paragon you wished for a wife.” He chuckled. “It appears you failed miserably.”
“Marianne is the woman I want for a wife,” he said staunchly, knowing he had never spoken truer words.
“Rather ironic, isn’t it?”
Thomas cast him a wry grin.
Three riders turned the bend and headed toward them.
Rand squinted in the deepening dusk. “Is that her?”
“Couldn’t be.” Thomas shook his head. “She’ll take the carriage. Marianne isn’t an accomplished rider and she’d never come out from the city on horseback. Besides, she’ll be alone and there are three of them.”
The riders grew closer. Rand got to his feet. “Could you be wrong?” He nodded at the approaching trio. “One of them is definitely a woman. Or a man riding sidesaddle.”
Thomas stared for a moment.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered and scrambled to his feet. It was indeed Marianne, accompanied by Pennington and Berkley. He should have known she’d get them involved. “She’s not supposed to be on horseback. It’s too late to get into position.”
“Then what do we do?”
“I don’t know!”
The horses halted a few yards away.
“Thomas!” Marianne slid off her mount and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. “Thank God we’re not too late.”
Perhaps he could salvage this after all.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He gently set her aside. “I cannot allow you to witness this.”
Pennington and Berkley dismounted and strode toward them. There was a peculiar gleam in Pennington’s eye, and Berkley’s lips twitched as if he were trying to hold back a grin. Surely these old
friends of his didn’t find this amusing? No, of course not. He must be mistaken. Again. “You shouldn’t have brought her here.”
“Actually, she brought us,” Pennington said mildly. Far too mildly.
“Regardless.” Thomas’s voice was firm. “She should leave.”
“Absolutely not, my lord.” Marianne lifted her chin in a courageous manner. “I cannot allow you—”
“Well”—relief rushed through him—“perhaps we can settle this matter without bloodshed.”
“—to defend my honor—”
“I am willing to apologize,” Rand said quickly.
“—without my presence.” She beamed at him.
“Without your presence?” Thomas stared. She wanted him to duel?
“Gentlemen.” She turned to her companions. “Where should we stand?” She glanced around. “I do want to make sure I see everything, although I suppose it would be best to stay out of the way.”
Pennington nodded. “One can never be too certain of the course of flying bullets.”
“Wouldn’t want the wrong person shot,” Berkley added.
“No, indeed.” She placed her hand on Thomas’s arm and smiled up at him. “This is so very exciting. Imagine, a duel. A real adventure.”
“Marianne,” Thomas said slowly. “Perhaps, if Leopard is willing to apologize—”
“I am.” Rand nodded vigorously. “I was a cad. A bounder. A beast. And I am truly sorry. I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”
“Nonetheless”—she glared at Rand—“Lord Helmsley feels you have impugned my honor and you shall have to pay.” She moved back a few paces. Pennington and Berkley joined her. “Now, then, Thomas, shoot him.”
“What?” Thomas stared in disbelief. She did want him to duel.
“I said, shoot him.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Go ahead. We’re waiting.”
Rand leaned toward Thomas and spoke in a low voice. “She wants you to shoot me.”
“So I hear,” Thomas said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Perhaps we could both miss,” Rand said.
Thomas scoffed, “And you thought my plan was stupid?”
“Well, at least my idea will get us out of this,” Rand snapped. “Now, then, where are the pistols?”
Thomas clenched his teeth. “I didn’t think we needed them.”
“Oh, you are good at plans.” Rand rolled his gaze toward the sky.
“Did you forget pistols?” Marianne planted her hands on her hips. “I daresay, my lord, I am disappointed in you. How could you overlook such a thing?”
“The excitement, I suppose.” Thomas’s voice was weak.
Pennington waved his hand and called to them. “I believe I have pistols.”
“Do you really?” Marianne said brightly. “How wonderfully prepared of you.”
“Thank you.” Pennington smiled in a modest manner.
“I didn’t know you carried pistols.” Berkley frowned.
“Actually, I only have one.” Pennington shrugged. “One never knows when one might be accosted by a highwayman or other brigand.”
“That’s it, then. One will never do. Besides, I couldn’t possibly duel with weapons I am not familiar with,” Rand said loftily.
“Nor could I.” Thomas nodded with relief.
“What about fisticuffs?” Berkley suggested. “They could beat each other for a while.”
“No.” Marianne heaved a sigh. “It’s just not the same.” She moved toward Thomas. “I gather this means you’re not going to save my honor and shoot him?”
Thomas feigned regret. “I’m afraid not.”
“And you”—she turned to Rand—“are not going to shoot him so that you may have your way with me?”
“As delightful as the prospect is, on both counts”—he cast Thomas a scathing glare—“I’d say no.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully and paused for a long moment. Her brow furrowed in thought. “Lord Pennington?”
“Yes, my lady?” Pennington stepped forward.
“Could I see that pistol of yours?” Her gaze met Thomas’s and a heavy weight settled in his stomach.
“Of course.” Pennington started toward his horse.
“Wait.” Thomas thrust out his hand to stop the man, his gaze never leaving hers. “Why?”
“Because, Thomas Effington, Marquess of Helmsley and future Duke of Roxborough”—her eyes narrowed and fury flared in her gaze—“I want to shoot you myself.”
Rand moved away to join Pennington and Berkley. Wise of him, no doubt.
Thomas’s heart dropped to his toes. She knew. And she was not amused. “Marianne, I—”
“You what?” She stepped closer and poked her finger at his chest. “You lied to me. You made me think you were in mortal danger. Do you have any idea how distraught I was at the thought that I had destroyed your life?”
“It does sound bad when she puts it that way,” Berkley murmured.
It did indeed. Thomas really hadn’t considered that aspect. And, in fact, hadn’t considered at all what would happen if his plan went awry. “Marianne, if you will—”
“It wasn’t bad enough that you wanted to marry us all off without a second thought, offering us to the first man who came along.” Realization dawned in her eyes and her gaze jerked to Rand. “That was you in the library that night, wasn’t it? The one he said could have his pick of any of us?”
Rand looked like he preferred to be anywhere but here. “Yes, but, to my credit, I did not accept his offer.”
“Oh, that is to your credit!” she snapped, then turned back to Thomas and poked him again. “Then you had the audacity to attempt to peddle me to the dullest men in all of England.”
“It just gets better and better,” Pennington said under his breath.
“And all that nonsense about trying to be like a dashing hero from a book.” She poked again. “It was an act, wasn’t it? Every bit of it. Just to salvage your sense of honor and trap me into marriage.”
“Hold on just a minute.” At once he was as angry as she. He grabbed her hand. “First, you can stop poking me. I’ve told you before, I don’t like it and it hurts.”
“Good!”
“And secondly”—he glared down at her—“I am not the one who courted scandal by putting our entire relationship in the papers for public consumption!”
“You paid Mr. Cadwallender to stop printing my work!”
“I did not,” he said indignantly. “I have a legitimate business interest with Cadwallender that has nothing to do with you. Besides, he wouldn’t take money to cease publishing those blasted stories of yours. Stories about us!”
“Oh, come, now,” she scoffed. “What I wrote bore only the vaguest resemblance to what went on between us. They were not absolutely true, after all.”
“True enough that anyone with half a brain could figure out exactly who the country miss was, and Lord W!” He called to Berkley, “Isn’t that right?”
“Well, it did take a while,” Berkley muttered.
“And that’s another thing.” He jerked her closer. “Why is it you called me by a mere initial? A W, no less—bottom of the barrel, if you ask me—and you give the villain in your piece a dashing, romantic name?”
“I thought it was rather silly,” Rand murmured.
“Lord W.” He blew a disdainful breath. “What does the W stand for, anyway?”
“At the moment, witless, I should think,” Pennington said.
“Definitely not wise,” Rand added.
“Well, it certainly isn’t wonderful.” She wrenched out of his grasp and stepped back.
Frustration surged through him. “All I wanted was to marry you!”
“All you wanted was to redeem yourself!”
“There are better ways to do it. I’ve barely survived.” He clenched his jaw. “I have been scraped and scratched and bruised and battered and bit for you!”
“Stung,” she said scathingly. “Not bit, stung. And a
child would have handled it better!”
“And why did I put myself through all that?”
“I don’t know? Why?” Her voice rose.
“Because I want you to be my wife!” he yelled.
“Why?” She shot the word at him.
What did she want him to say? “Because we’re bloody perfect together!”
“Why?” she demanded again.
“I don’t know.” There was a helpless note in his voice. “Fate?”
“Is he really as dim as he seems?” Rand said to Pennington.
Pennington shrugged. “It would appear so.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Intensity gleamed in her eyes, but he couldn’t find the right answer there. He didn’t know what she wanted. “It’s not enough.” She shook her head, resignation replacing the anger in her voice. “It’s not nearly enough.” She turned and started toward the horses. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to accompany me back to town.”
“Of course.” Berkley stepped to her side.
Pennington studied Thomas for a moment with sympathy and disbelief, then shook his head and joined them.
Thomas watched the trio ride off. Rand heaved a sigh beside him. “That didn’t go well.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” What was he going to do? He couldn’t let her ride out of his life. He couldn’t live his life without her.
“It seems to me, old man, if there was ever a time that called for a good plan, this is it.”
“I seem to be out of plans at the moment.” Thomas uttered a disparaging laugh. “Good or otherwise.”
Never had he felt the kind of despair that now held him in its grip. She detested him, and for good reason. He’d made any number of mistakes with her and now he would have to pay for them. And pay dearly.
And Lord Witless seemed entirely appropriate.
Chapter 22
. . . and have at last come to a decision as to my future. It is time to take my fate in my own hands. To that end, I have decided to leave England.
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