It’s a scandal in the making, if you ask me.
But only if word of it were to get out. And since I’m a reasonable man, there’s no need for word of it to leak out as long as we come to an understanding. An understanding between you and me, and no one else.
Meet me today at Hatchards. I’ll be there at three o’clock. A bookshop seems an appropriate place to run into a bluestocking like yourself. If you fail to show up by four, I’ll assume you don’t intend to meet me, in which case…well, let’s just say I’m fairly certain you will regret it.
Pemberton
Her hands trembled as she refolded the note and tucked it into her reticule. She was undone. They were undone if Pemberton talked. She blinked, trying to stave off the tears that threatened.
Pull yourself together, Charlotte.
She took a deep breath, and then another, willing herself to stay calm and think.
It was audacious of him to write her such a threatening note, and even more audacious of him to sign it. But he was probably confident she wouldn’t show it to anyone, and he was entirely right about that. His note didn’t say what he wanted in exchange for his silence, but it did practically confirm he’d been the one behind the false betrothal announcement.
There was only one way to find out. It was nearly half-past two now. She’d best go collect Sally if she wished to make it to Hatchards by three.
Charlotte wandered among the display tables and tall shelves of books that formed the interior of Hatchards. It was a few minutes after three, but she saw no sign of Lord Pemberton. She idly picked up volumes and flipped through the pages, ostensibly looking for a new book, but in actuality keeping her eyes peeled for the vile man.
She found him—or rather, he found her—in the back recesses of the shop. “You’re late,” she said.
“No, I was early,” he replied, smiling in a way that was eerily reptilian. “I saw you arrive and I’ve been observing you to make sure you weren’t accompanied by anyone who might try to interfere with our business.” He smiled again, a cold-eyed, menacing expression. She felt sick to her stomach.
“I only brought my maid, but I sent her on an errand to a shop a block down the street. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to conclude this before she comes in search of me.”
“The good news is this won’t take long because, as I said in my note, I’m a reasonable man. All I want is your help in eliminating Norwood from consideration for that appointment.”
She stared at his gloating face a moment with a growing sense of dread. “I don’t see what I can do to influence the prime minister’s decision.”
At her words, the sinister smile widened. “What I’m talking about is the whiff of scandal—which makes a man rather…undesirable for a position in Liverpool’s administration. I admit, I didn’t see it coming when the two of you pretended to be engaged to squelch the scandal of that betrothal announcement. I was so sure he’d deny there was a betrothal between the two of you. No offense, my dear, but marriage to a nobody like you was hardly in his plans. Yet, in spite of that, you somehow enticed him to honor a fake betrothal.”
“I didn’t have to entice him. He’s an honorable man. He refused to allow me to suffer any damage to my reputation by honoring it.”
“How very noble of him. In that case, my new plan may be doing both of you a favor.” His gaze narrowed as he scrutinized her face. “Unless feelings have developed between the two of you?”
“But that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? As you just said, he hardly planned to marry a nobody like me.” She gave him a tight smile. “Can we please get to this plan of yours?”
She didn’t want to talk about her feelings with him. If Pemberton possessed a scrap of honor, admitting what she felt for William might dissuade him from enacting whatever his new plan was. But clearly decency wasn’t part of his makeup, and any such admission would probably be twisted and used against her.
“Of course. Let’s get down to business, you and I. It’s very simple, really. Are you familiar with Tattles and Rattles About London?”
She nodded, recalling the moment she’d spotted that particular gossip rag in the print shop the day she and William had gone to Gunter’s.
“I thought you might be, since your name has appeared on its pages. I want you to supply them with some information. Damning information about your noble fiancé.”
She started to shake her head, but he grabbed her wrist, grasping it tightly. “Damning information,” he repeated, “to the effect you were coerced into this engagement, that he forced you to pretend it was real all because he was afraid to do otherwise would cause him to lose his chance at becoming chairman of the reforms committee.”
“The only reason we agreed to pretend we were engaged was because of your scheme to cause a scandal that would cost him the post,” she retorted. “All we have to do is reveal that you were the originator of the false betrothal announcement and your chance will be ruined as well.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong about that and I’ll tell you why.” He smiled even as he squeezed her wrist harder before suddenly releasing it. “If you name me as the perpetrator of that bit of mischief, I will make sure that the tale of your trip with Townshend to The Golden Pineapple becomes widely known. I promise you, the version I’ll have spread about town will be as lurid as possible. As I remember it, you and Townshend exited that inn looking considerably more tousled than when you entered. I seem to recall his arm around your shoulders, and that the two of you shared a lingering kiss before climbing into the hackney.”
“You’re despicable. Nothing like that happened. When we left, my maid was with us, and her sister. They can vouch for us.”
He laughed. “Do you really think that will help you in the court of public opinion, the word of a maid in your employ? People love to believe the worst of others. It makes them feel better about their own failings.”
“I expect you would know about that,” she shot back. “But what makes you think I would agree to do this? Either way, I’m ruined. Why should I lie and say Lord Norwood made me do it?”
His expression hardened. “Look, I’m doing you a favor. One that offers benefits to both of us.” He stepped closer to her, and leaned in confidentially. His looming presence was making her skin crawl, and it took all of her willpower not to step away. “I have nothing against you. You’re merely a means to an end. As long as no one hears about that scandalous outing with Townshend, you’ll come across as a sympathetic pawn in Norwood’s quest for power. That ought to be enough to save you from complete ruination. You can always withdraw to the country until the gossip dies down.”
His words unloosed a flood of rage through her. The man was despicable! He was exactly why William needed to gain the position, to keep it from going to a man like Pemberton. She wanted to tell him precisely what she thought of him, that he was the lowest of the low, greedy in the worst way, nakedly ambitious, seeking to enrich himself while those less fortunate than he paid the price. But she controlled the impulse. Better to let him think she’d cooperate with his demand. It would buy her time if nothing else.
“Let’s suppose I do as you ask,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded steady and cool, even though the man’s threats had her quaking inside. Not from fear precisely, though there was that. Mostly she felt anger and disgust, and a great deal of regret that her actions had given Pemberton another means to threaten William. “What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep silent about my trip to The Golden Pineapple?”
“You have my word of honor,” he said.
“Your…word of honor?” she repeated. “I’m supposed to trust in your word of honor when you’re willing to besmirch a man’s character in such an unfair manner?”
“To that, I can only say life is rarely fair, Miss Hurst, which is why we must rig it in our favor. That’s all I’m trying to do, you see. Gain a bit of an advantage for myself. It’s why I had that ridiculous betrothal announcement published
in the first place. I know your brother slightly, and I knew he had a bluestocking sister who’d come to London for the Season. And I knew Maitland still harbored hopes for a match between his daughter and Norwood. I definitely didn’t want that to come to pass, or I’d never be able to pluck Maitland from Norwood’s pocket. With Maitland and Huntington backing him, I’d have no chance for that chairmanship. Nobody would. Except for Norwood, who harbors those oh-so-admirable idealistic notions to help the common man.”
“They are admirable and they’re not merely idealistic,” she said hotly.
He handed her a book and flicked a warning glance toward a pair of ladies who were perusing the shelves in their vicinity, and who were now regarding them with mild curiosity thanks to her impassioned response. “Here. You might enjoy reading this one.” Charlotte took the volume and pretended to flip through the pages until the women moved on to another section of the shop.
“Let’s not waste time arguing the point,” he continued. “In any case, I thought my original solution rather brilliant. It would kill any chance of an alliance forming between those families and, I hoped, would create enough of a scandal to make Norwood an unpalatable candidate. In addition to the announcement, I fed a bit of misinformation to my paramour to further stir the pot.” He laughed then. “I can tell from your puzzled expression you don’t know who my paramour is. It’s Lady Bohite. I hear there’s no love lost between the two of you.” He looked inordinately pleased with himself. “I partially succeeded in my goals, Maitland is withdrawing his support from Norwood, so even though your fiancé still has a number of supporters, this will deal him a blow in his quest for the post. Luckily, I also hired a man to keep tabs on you. I thought perhaps I could find a way to expose your engagement as a sham, but now you’ve handed me another means to knock Norwood out of the running. One even better than I hoped for.”
She had. Inadvertently, but she had.
And now she must come up with a way to fix it as best she could. But how? Trying to persuade this man to behave decently would be a waste of her time, so she’d let him think she was cooperating. It would give her time to come up with her own plan.
“You look stunned, Miss Hurst. I’ll take that as a compliment. Now do you and I have a deal or not?”
She drew in a long breath. “I suppose we have a deal, Lord Pemberton. I can’t see any other solution.” Not yet, but she intended to do everything she could to thwart this man’s vile machinations.
“You can’t know how happy that makes me,” he said. “I can’t wait to hear to see the next edition of Tattles and Rattles About London.”
“I’ll need a few days to…to prepare. Especially since I think your suggestion that I leave London for a while has merit.” She held her breath as she waited to see if she’d bought herself some time to come up with an alternate plan.
“Very well. You have until the end of the week. Don’t make me regret my magnanimity.”
“I understand. Now I should go. My maid will be wondering where I am.”
She hurried from the shop and collected Sally, who’d been walking up and down the street looking for Charlotte.
That evening, after dinner, she pleaded both a headache and a stomachache as an excuse to spend the rest of the evening in her room. (She wasn’t sure how long she’d wish to remain “ill,” so it had seemed best to suffer from more than one malady.) Apprised of her condition, William sent over a lovely bouquet and a sweet note. In it, he wished her a speedy recovery, and concluded it with
You must rest and get better since the Rochester ball is in a few days, and I’m longing to waltz with you again.
Ever yours,
William
The Rochester ball. She’d forgotten about it, her mind consumed with one thing—how to counter Pemberton’s blackmail. She sighed. She had the final fitting of her new ball gown in the morning.
She dismissed Sally for the remainder of the evening, telling the maid she’d ring if she needed her. “All I really need is to rest, and for that I don’t need you sitting at my bedside.”
Reluctantly persuaded that Charlotte would be fine without her, Sally helped her into one of the flannel nightgowns from Madame Rochelle’s and left, but not before building up the fire and reminding Charlotte to ring if she needed anything or took a turn for the worse.
“A good night’s sleep will probably put you right, but if you’re still feeling poorly in the morning, we’ll send for the doctor. The Rochester ball is in four days, and it would be a crying shame if you had to miss it.”
After Sally left, Charlotte paced the room, thinking. When this absurd engagement scheme had been hatched, she’d eagerly awaited the day when she could rid herself of the boorish earl, as she thought of him then. Of course, the man had proved to be anything but boorish.
No, he’d turned out to be charming and amusing. Kind and thoughtful. He could make her laugh with a wry observation and make her pulse race with a soul-stirring kiss that thrilled her, that reached inside her and filled some empty place that she hadn’t even known existed before he came into her life.
Was it any wonder she’d lost her heart to him? No matter how stubbornly she’d fought against it, she couldn’t deny the truth of that any longer.
If only…
But there was no if only. Pemberton would have no qualms about trying to destroy William’s chances for that chairmanship, but he wasn’t going to do it with her cooperation.
She was resigned to being ruined, but there might be a way to limit the damage to William. She would call off their engagement, and let the weight of the scandal fall mostly upon her. Pemberton’s claims that William had tried to coerce her would look ridiculous if she refused to back them up.
She knew what she had to do.
It was time to jilt William.
Chapter Nineteen
Once she decided that jilting William was the best—though far from perfect—option to save his chance for the commission chairmanship, it was then just a matter of deciding how to go about it.
Just a matter of…
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She was just deceiving the man she loved. Just preparing to rip her own heart to pieces. Just about to set into motion a plan that, in the best case, might work out as she hoped, or might destroy everything they’d worked for with this pretend betrothal.
Just, just, just…
The word echoed in her mind, mocking her.
But she didn’t dare tell William what she intended because she knew he’d never choose to save himself if he thought it would cause any harm to her. He would always choose to do the right thing as he saw it, even if she begged him not to.
So she wouldn’t tell him. She’d do the right thing as she saw it, and that was to save him, no matter what it cost her.
But before she jilted him, before she did what she felt in the very marrow of her bones was the best way to deal with Pemberton’s threat, she was going to throw caution to the wind, and do something for herself.
She was going to seduce William, or perhaps more accurately, allow herself to be seduced by him.
The details about how she’d pull this off were a little fuzzy in her mind, but they were attending an evening soirée at Lansdowne House tomorrow, and Lansdowne House was conveniently located (for her purposes anyway) on the south side of Berkeley Square, which would put them within a block of William’s town house.
All she needed was a believable pretext, a logical reason that would get them from Lansdowne to William’s residence. Perhaps she could plead some minor discomfort—a headache, a dizzy spell, a toothache…something that would allow her to request he take her to his residence for a little while to recover. As long as she could get them to the privacy of his town house, she was confident the rest would unfold as she wished.
One night. She just wanted one night with him, and after that she’d set him free.
* * *
A fat drop of rain fell onto Charlotte’s cheek, before making a wet trai
l down her face. Another raindrop plopped onto the top of her head, followed by a third that landed wetly on her brow.
“I think we may have misjudged the wisdom of walking,” she said, looking skyward to gauge the possibility of being caught in a rainstorm.
While driving to Lansdowne House, they’d gotten within four blocks of Berkeley Square when traffic had simply stopped moving, the streets too clogged with carriages for anyone to make progress. After half an hour, she and William decided to walk the rest of the way to the soirée at Lansdowne House, while his great-aunt Florence, playing chaperone again, elected to stay behind in the carriage.
“I can still see stars in the sky ahead of us,” William replied. “Perhaps we’re merely under an errant cloud. But walk faster, just in case.”
“Is it too much to ask for twenty-four hours of fine weather?” Charlotte grumbled. “The afternoon was simply lovely.” To protect her coiffure, she drew up the hood of her cloak so that it covered her head.
“In England?” he asked in an amused voice. “Need you really ask such a question?”
The drops continued to fall as they hurried along, Charlotte nearly trotting as she tried to keep up with his pace. “We should have heeded your aunt’s warning that her achy bones predicted rain before morning.”
“And we might have, if her aches had indicated its arrival was imminent,” he replied. “The moon was still shining when we exited the carriage. Nor are we the only ones to grow impatient with the snarled traffic.”
He referred to the other partygoers who’d also decided to make their way on foot, dressed in evening finery, hurrying to reach their destinations before the rain grew worse. The stars were no longer visible and the moon was only a pale smudge behind a thin layer of clouds.
Not the Kind of Earl You Marry Page 26