by Tarah Scott
She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “I was angry.”
He laughed. “There is no need to be coy. I meant what I said, I respect a woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.”
Anne exhaled a breath in an effort to control her temper. “But you insist that what I want is a string of lovers. What in heaven would I do with them?”
He pushed away from the wall. “Perhaps I can be of help in demonstrating the benefits of having at least one lover.”
She rolled her eyes. “That would completely undermine my plans.”
“What might those plans be?”
“I fail to see how that is any of your business,” she said.
He shrugged. “If I’m to help, I must know your plans.”
“Help?” Anne narrowed her eyes. “If you intend to help in the same fashion as that other gentleman, no thank you.”
“I would never be so uncouth,” he said.
A twinge of hope surfaced.
“Niall should never have asked you to trade your charms for the possibility of introducing you to a man who might be interested in becoming your protector.”
“What should he have done?” she asked cautiously.
The man took two steps closer and grasped her hand. The warmth of his fingers caught her off guard. Eyes locked with hers, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her fingers, then released her.
“A lady should always know what to expect from a gentleman.”
Anne agreed completely.
“A woman as beautiful as you should expect nothing less than a diamond bracelet after an intimate evening.”
She stiffened. He didn’t intend to make her his mistress. He intended to have her for one night, then send her home. With a diamond bracelet, her mind whispered. The situation had grown far more desperate than she could have imagined. Not only had she failed to capture the interest of a suitable prospect for a husband, she couldn’t even interest a man in making her his mistress.
It made no sense. Men had vied for her attention—many, for her hand in marriage—since she’d turned sixteen. Now that she needed to marry, she was avoided. Quite a few men had approached her at Lady Peddington’s first ball—or, at least the first half of the ball, now that she thought about it.
“Good heavens,” she said under her breath. Jeanine was right. Someone had spread rumors about her. She regarded the gentleman. “Where did ye hear these things about me?”
“Men talk—just as women do, I wager.”
“How dare they,” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“They’ve ruined my chances of finding the right man.”
“Perhaps I am the right man,” he said.
She surveyed him, his raven hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and long legs, then shook her head. “Nae, you are too handsome.”
He blinked. “I had no idea being ‘too handsome’ was a drawback.”
“It is for my purposes.”
“I promise you, my dear, it isn’t.”
She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “A man like you has no need of a mistress, much less a wife.”
His expression remained impassive. “Are those the only choices?”
She narrowed her eyes. “There you have it. I am correct. You are looking for a woman who will entertain you for an evening and then leave her with some silly trinket.”
“I assure you, I never give ‘silly trinkets’ to ladies.”
Nervous laughter emanated from somewhere in the shadows to Anne’s right, but she kept her attention on the man. “How expensive is the jewelry that you would give?”
He lifted a brow. “Are we negotiating?”
Anne suddenly felt certain the conversation was going all wrong for a courtesan searching for a protector. Still, she said, “Call it curiosity.”
Amusement appeared in his eyes. “Just the other day, I happened to see a particularly lovely gold bracelet and was saddened by the fact that I had no one to give it to. The bracelet would cost me two hundred pounds.”
That meant she might sell it for one hundred pounds, if she were lucky. Her stomach knotted tighter. A man and woman glided past them.
Anne shook her head. “Such a small gift would do me no good.”
His gaze sharpened. “What would do you some good?”
She waved him off. “I have no time to waste when you are offering me a bauble for my trouble.”
“Trouble?” he repeated, then laughed again, this time full, rich and with amusement.
To her horror, warmth rippled through her. He stepped closer. So close, she caught a whiff of the sandlewood soap he’d used to bathe. But unlike Niall, he made no move to touch her, and her desire to step back wasn’t out of revulsion, but a desire to hide the blush that warmed her cheeks. Good Lord, the man was charming.
“I promise ye, my lady, that you will not consider a night with me ‘trouble.’”
The spell broke. Anne narrowed her eyes. “I see, I am to consider myself fortunate to have a night with you, and grateful for the bonus of a gold bracelet.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said,” she retorted. “It’s the height of arrogance for a man to think that a woman should thank him for bedding her.”
His expression cooled. “I believe it is you who asked me to thank you with a gold bracelet.”
She drew a sharp breath. He was right. Still… “Aye, but you act as if some of that payment should come in the form of gratitude for being fortunate enough to be chosen for your one night of-of…” she was at a loss for words.
“Affaire d’amour?” he drawled.
She snorted. “One night can hardly be called an affair and has nothing whatsoever to do with love.”
“Is that what you want, my lady, love?”
“A woman always wants love. Well, love doesn’t put food on the table.” She read the surprise in his eyes and realized she’d lost control of the situation. “Take yourself off to some other woman who is willing to sell herself for a gold bracelet,” she said. “I have a business to attend to.”
* * *
Kennedy Douglas, Viscount Buchanan, entered his study and the erotic fantasy of the ravishing beauty at Lady Peddington’s ball lying on his sheets beneath him vanished at sight of his stepmother seated on the divan near the window. She sat straight—the proper wife—her honey-brown hair swept off her shoulders in a carefully coiffured mound atop her head. Her ivory evening dress, befitting a thirty-year-old woman, hugged her trim, perfect curves. Too bad her husband had one foot in the grave.
“What fresh hell has brought you here at this time of night, Jacqueline?”
“I realize it is after one in the morning,” she said, “but I have been waiting since nine.”
He had indulged a little too much in the free-flowing champagne at the ball, but the presence of his father’s wife in his study at one forty-five in the morning dictated that he have something stronger than champagne to drink. He crossed to the sideboard where sat half a dozen decanters filled with various liquors, and poured himself a liberal dose of scotch. He put the top back on the decanter, picked up the glass, and turned.
He leaned against the sideboard. “Short of forcibly throwing you out, I suppose I can’t stop you from telling me what the earl wants. Unless, that is, I simply retire to my bedchambers.” Kennedy sipped his scotch and watched her over the edge of the glass. “Would you be bold enough to follow me, if I did?”
“I am here on an errand for your father, nothing more,” she replied.
“Of course. You won’t risk him questioning your faithlessness with his death so close at hand.”
“Really, Kennedy. Must you always be so cruel?”
He gave her a cold smile. “With you, my sweet, I am afraid so. I know I’ll regret asking, but what is so important that you waited nearly five hours to tell me? I know it isn’t that my father is dead, for you would have hazarded the ga
tes of hell to find me, if that were the case.” He took another drink of whisky. The pleasant burn comforted. “Not to mention, you’re not smiling.”
“It really is unkind of you to continue to imply that I will be happy when your father dies.”
“As I said, with you, there is no other way. What do you want?”
She reached into her reticule, withdrew a piece of paper, and looked up at him. “This is from your father.”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “You could’ve left that on my desk. Better yet, you could have sent it by messenger. Why are you here?”
“Since you refuse to see your father, he sent me with this message, and instructed me to wait for a reply.”
Kennedy finished the scotch and turned to refill the glass. “As I have no desire to see my father, what could induce me to read his letter?”
She sighed, then the rustling of a paper followed, and she said, “Kennedy, I imagine you will not deign to touch a paper that I have touched. No matter. If you force Jaqueline to read this, it will be all the worse for you. I am dying. But you know that.”
Kennedy poured a double dose of liquor.
“I have commanded you to marry,” Jacqueline went on, “but you go about your business as if you have no responsibility to me, the title, or our position in society. I believe that you have not married—will not marry—just to spite me. But I cannot allow your vendetta to bring an end to our line. I know threats of cutting you off from my money are meaningless. You would rather live in squalor than do a single thing I ask. Therefore, you leave me no choice.”
Kennedy slowed in sliding the decanter top back on the decanter.
“You will marry within the week” –-Kennedy released the decanter top as she finished the sentence— “or I will marry your sister to Lord Granbury ten days from now on her sixteenth birthday.”
Kennedy whirled. “What the bloody hell?”
Jacqueline said, “There is more. ‘You might think to make off with your sister and hide her somewhere, which is why I have already sent her away. No one save myself knows where she is. If I die tomorrow, no one will know where to look for her.’”
Kennedy stared. “This is insanity.”
Jacqueline didn’t shift her eyes from the letter, but continued, “I will not settle for a betrothal. You must marry and produce an heir within a year. Do so, and I will allow you to choose your sister’s husband when the time comes. Defy me, and I will not only marry her and Granbury, but they shall not return home until she has produced an heir for him.”
Kennedy dashed his glass against the hearth and took two steps toward Jacqueline. “This reeks of your handiwork.”
She shook her head. “You underestimate your father, and overestimate my influence.”
“I know you both too well to mistake either of you,” he snarled.
“What possible reason could I have for wanting to see you married?” She dropped her gaze. “I had always hoped…” She raised her head, eyes shimmering with moisture.
“By God,” he exploded, “you missed your calling. You should have been an actress. Pray, do not pretend you have any tender feelings for me. Those illusions were shattered the day you rose from my bed and announced your engagement to my father.” He snorted in derision. “I suppose I should thank him for marrying you. Though had he any idea that he was saving me from making the greatest mistake of my life, I’m sure he wouldn’t have done it.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Rage rammed through him. He crossed the room, seized her wrist and yanked her to her feet. “Where is Rose?”
She shrank back and shook her head. “I don’t know. As the letter states, only he knows. He wouldn’t chance my telling you.” More tears slid down her cheeks. “He knows that you and I are close.”
Kennedy released her and staggered back two paces. “Of course, he knows. That’s why he married you.”
She shook her head. “Nae, he does not know that we were—” she broke off
“Lovers?” he sneered.
“We were much more than that.” She took a step toward him.
He turned away, his steps faltering, and reached his desk in time to brace himself, his back to her. “Leave, Jacqueline.”
“Please, Kennedy, we cannot leave things like this between us.”
“There is no us,” he said.
Her skirts rustled and he realized she was walking toward him. He whirled to find her three steps away. He had to get away from her. Kennedy strode to the door. Hand on the knob, he looked back at her. “I suggest you not return home to your husband for at least an hour.”
Half an hour later, Kennedy banged on the door of his father’s townhome. The door opened in two seconds. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he realized the footman had been waiting for him. He pushed past the man and raced up the stairs to his father’s bedchamber. The door stood open. Aye, his father expected him. He continued inside and found his father propped up in bed. A fission of alarm shot through him at sight of his father’s yellow pallor. He looked far worse than when Kennedy had last seen him a year ago. Cruel fate. Only an hour ago, he would have rejoiced in seeing his father’s decline. Now, until Rose was safely home, his father’s illness frightened him more than anything ever had in his life.
The earl laid aside the book he’d been reading and met Kennedy’s gaze.
“Where is she?” Kennedy demanded.
“Once you are married—to a proper lady, mind you, no peasant from the country—and once you produce an heir, I will bring her home,” he replied in a strong voice that belied his appearance.
Kennedy’s hands worked into fists at his sides. “I will kill you for this.”
“Then you will never find your sister.”
“She is not a child. She can find her way home.” But she was a child. Only fifteen.
His father’s gaze remained locked with his. “Do you really think I would make it that easy?”
Rage threatened to overwhelm him. His thoughts jumbled. His sister, only fifteen years old, being held prisoner somewhere. Would her jailers safeguard her?
Kennedy swayed. “How do I know she is safe?”
“She will always be safe under my care,” his father replied.
“Your threat to marry her to Granbury proves otherwise,” he snarled. “You know full well he beat his first wife to death.”
“You are intelligent enough to know that gossip rarely resembles true events,” the earl replied.
“I’m intelligent enough to know that most gossip has some grain of truth to it. If one hair on her head is harmed, I will kill you.”
“You’re threatening a dying man, Kennedy. I have made peace with my imminent death.”
“You could live another year, to three or four. I can end you before that. I can end you tonight.”
“Then you would never see your sister again.”
“What happens if you die before I can produce an heir?” His heart thundered.
“I suggest you pray that doesn’t happen.”
Kennedy stared. His father was a bastard, but this went beyond anything Kennedy could have imagined the old man capable of. “You cannot keep her prisoner forever. She will escape. She will return home. Your threat is unreasonable.” The last, he said more for himself than his father.
“Your sister isn’t in Scotland. Escape is nigh to impossible. Even if she did manage by some miracle to escape, she would have to journey home. She has no friends, no money, no escort.” The last words were said with an emphasis that told Kennedy his father knew the exact picture that had arisen in Kennedy’s mind at the thought of his young sister trying to return home on her own. And she would try just that.
“You would sacrifice your daughter?” he whispered. “Risk her losing everything, possibly even her life, just to force me to marry?”
“You see my actions as those of a man bent on hurting you. I see my actions as those of a desperate man trying to preserve his legacy.”
; “Legacy?” Kennedy sneered. “I should have known. This has nothing to do with me. You don’t give a damn if I marry or even carry on the title. This is about you wanting to be remembered.” Kennedy released a harsh breath. “If you wanted to extract revenge because I had Jacqueline before you did, I would have more respect for you. But this—” He shook his head. “You are right. These are the actions of a desperate man. You’re a liar, Father. You do fear death.” His father’s eyes narrowed, but Kennedy gave him no chance to reply. “I will marry within a week. But only on one condition.”
His father waited.
“Once you confirm my wife is with child, you will bring Rose home.”
His father shook his head. “Your wife could lose the child, and the child might not be a male. I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t touch her again just to spite me.”
Kennedy stared. “I would agree to the terms, if I were you. Keep in mind, I have considerable resources at my disposal. You know, of course, the moment I leave this house, I will begin my own search for Rose. If fortune favors me—and she often does—and I find my sister before you die, I will divorce my wife and immediately set about siring a string of bastards, none of whom can claim your title.” Kennedy gave him a cold smile. “Then I will seduce your wife and sire a child on her that cannot possibly inherit your title.”
His father’s eyes widened. “You’re not capable of such dastardly actions.”
Kennedy gave him a cold smile. “I am capable of far worse. After all, I am your son.”
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Also by Tarah Scott
The Marriage Maker Series
Worth of a Lady
No one guessed that an innocent would bring the Devil of Delny to his knees…
Spinster Chastity Hamilton is the Duke of Roxburgh’s heir. Her father insists she marry. She insists that the man who wins her hand must first find matches for her three younger sisters. Sir Stirling James takes up the challenge, and the sisters are shocked when he announces the engagement of their youngest sister to the Devil of Delny.