“You’d have to show yourself to be a man of awful character—a thief or a murderer . . . or an adulterer, which is silly, since you’re not married.”
An ugly thought wormed its way into his consciousness. “I don’t need to be married to betray Jane’s trust. If she thought I was intimately involved with another woman—”
“Dominick Manton! Don’t even suggest such a dreadful thing!”
“But it would work, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose.” An anxious expression crossed her brow. “Do you mean you would take up with some soiled dove?”
“Of course not,” he said impatiently. “Unless Jane actually witnessed me entering a brothel, which would be impossible to arrange, she would never believe any rumors of such a dalliance. She knows my character too well for that.”
Nancy sniffed. “I doubt she would believe rumors of your dallying with a respectable woman, either.”
“If she witnessed it herself, she’d have to.” He slanted a glance at Nancy. “If Jane actually caught me pressing my attentions on some rich heiress, she might be persuaded to think me desperate enough to go after a woman with money.”
“But how could she see you with an heiress when you don’t even go out into society anymore?”
He stared hard at her. “It would have to be an heiress who was in on the plan. Who understood what I was trying to do and knew the importance of it.”
Nancy caught his stare and froze. “Me?” At his terse nod, she said, “Oh no, Dom, I could never . . . Jane would never forgive me!”
“She would if she thought I was forcing a kiss on you. If you were protesting. We could make it seem as if I’d cornered you and was trying to seduce you.”
“No!” Nancy stared off into the ballroom, her lower lip trembling. “No, it would destroy her.”
An ache rose in his chest. Ruthlessly he ignored it. “For a time, she would be . . . hurt. But she’d get over it. She’d rail against me, and you’d support her outrage with your own, and eventually she’d come to see herself as better off without me.”
“Good Lord, Dom. Is there no other way?”
“I can see none. We must use Jane’s fixed principles against her. It’s for her own good.”
“I doubt she would see it that way,” Nancy mumbled.
“But surely you do.”
She sighed. “Yes. Still, it shan’t be easy. I’ll need someone to help me. Jane will get suspicious if I tell her to meet me in the library, and then you’re there kissing me.”
“True. But whomever you find must not drag anyone else into it. We don’t want to inadvertently spawn rumors that would ruin you. Whomever you choose must keep the truth of it secret once the deed is done, or it will all be for naught. ”
She paced the terrace. “Samuel Barlow will do. He fancies me—or so he says, not that I believe a word of it.” She gave a dismissive wave belied by her coquettish smile. “He’s a shameless flirt.”
So was she, from all accounts. Dom searched her face. “Are you hoping he’ll marry you?”
“Good heavens, no!” Her laugh rang false. “Samuel is only eighteen; he certainly isn’t ready to set up house. Besides, can you imagine me married to a sailor I only got to see once every great while? I think not. I want a husband who will make me the toast of London, not the toast of some dirty wardroom.”
“Very sensible.”
And typically shallow, though not surprising. Nancy’s father had pots of money, all of which had been settled on her. She could easily catch a high-ranking husband. She needn’t marry a mere midshipman.
“Do you think Barlow would help us?” Dom asked.
“Of course. I can get him to do whatever I want.” She sobered. “If you’re sure about this, that is.”
Dom scanned the ballroom for Jane. She stood alone now, drumming her fingers on a table in a decidedly unladylike fashion. He could practically hear the rhythm, feel it beat in his blood the way she beat in his blood.
A soft, absent smile crossed her face, the one she always got when listening to a new piece of music, and the familiarity of it stabbed deep into his heart. Could he really do this? Make her hate him? Make her cut him out of her life forever?
“Dom?” Nancy prodded. “Is this really what you want?”
He numbed himself to the pain. “No.” It would never be what he wanted. “But it has to be done.”
♦ ♦ ♦
AN HOUR LATER, Jane Vernon was surprised when Samuel Barlow asked her to waltz. While his siblings Edwin and Yvette were grand friends of Jane’s, Samuel rarely paid her any attention, saving his flirtations for Nancy.
Jane didn’t mind that. She was used to being eclipsed by her older cousin, whose golden curls, fine bosom, and flawless skin captivated every fellow who entered her orbit.
Not that Jane remained entirely unnoticed. She’d had an admirer or two, despite her deplorable plethora of freckles and unmanageable red hair. But around Nancy, Jane had felt like a clay pot beside a Wedgwood vase.
Until Dom.
Jane’s pulse leapt at the thought of her handsome fiancé. He saw her as Wedgwood. He might be quiet and enigmatic, but his eyes lit up whenever he spotted her. A woman could always trust a man’s eyes. Although lately . . .
Lately, everything was a problem. After being disinherited, Dom had retreated into himself. He kept talking about how she was too good for him now, how she would lose everything if they married.
Curse Papa and his stupid will. And curse Uncle Horace for enforcing it. Her whole life was dictated by rules! She didn’t care if Dom had to work. She didn’t care if she had to work. She’d already learned a great deal about running a household from her aunt, and whenever Auntie was ill, Jane was the one who took over her duties. So surely she and Dom could manage, even in a garret, as long as they were together.
It would be better, of course, if Dom could continue his studies and become a barrister, but she would endure anything to be with him. Now if only she could get the stubborn man to believe it. He was such a worrier!
That was the only reason he’d tried to convince her to jilt him. The only one. She was sure of it.
Forcing any gnawing doubt from her mind, she focused on her dancing partner. “Is this the Dettingen Waltz?”
“How should I know?” Samuel frowned. “All these dances sound the same.”
Poor Samuel had no soul. Come to think of it, even Edwin’s soul had a big hole in it. Only Dom had a soul that was pure perfection.
“You’re surly tonight,” she said. “Are you taking after Edwin? Or are you and Nancy at odds again?”
“When have Nancy and I ever been at evens?” Samuel caught her eyeing him with curiosity and smoothed his features. “This has nothing to do with her. I’m merely upset by something that occurred in the hall a short while ago. And I can’t decide whether to tell you of it.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” She smiled brightly. “I daresay I’m the most discreet person of your acquaintance.”
“It’s not your discretion that worries me.” As they whirled through the dance, he lowered his voice. “Did you know that your fiancé is here?”
“What? Where?” She scanned the room for Dom but didn’t see him. And he would certainly stand out, tall as he was.
“He’s not in the ballroom,” Samuel said. “That’s the tricky part. I ran across him sneaking into the library.”
Why on earth would he be sneaking— Oh, right. He hadn’t been invited. Still, she could think of only one reason he would make the effort to enter where he wasn’t wanted.
Her heart sank. “I suppose he asked you to arrange a meeting with me.” She kept hoping that if she put Dom off long enough, the foolish fellow would give up trying to get her to end their engagement. But putting him off was killing her. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, and she ached for at l
east a glimpse of him.
“Actually, no,” Samuel said blandly. “He wasn’t happy to see me. Indeed, he asked me not to tell you he was here.”
How odd. Dom was never secretive. A cold finger of premonition stroked down her spine. What could he be up to? And why wouldn’t he wish her to know of it?
“Did he say why?” she asked.
“I gathered he was meeting someone, though he denied it.”
She glanced around the ballroom. Who was missing? It had to be a friend or relation of hers, someone he was trying to convince to talk to her, perhaps her uncle or aunt or—
Nancy! There was no sign of Nancy.
Her blood rose. Now he meant to enlist her cousin in his scheme to end their betrothal? That tore it. Enough of this nonsense. She would make it clear to the silly man that she loved him no matter what his prospects were.
Leaving the floor mid-dance, she headed for the library.
Samuel hastened after her. “Now see here, just forget I said anything.” Yet he made only a halfhearted attempt to stop her.
“The devil I will!” She skirted a group of gentlemen to reach the hall and caught sight of Dom’s brother George Manton, the new Viscount Rathmoor.
That scoundrel. This was all George’s fault. Given that he’d never spoken publicly of what had occurred, she suspected he was ashamed of his behavior. Unfortunately, a proud man like him would never admit his error.
Perhaps he needed a push. He needed to see just what a pass he’d brought his brother to. Then he might change his mind and return to giving Dom his allowance and paying for his education as a barrister. That would do more to solve their problems than anything.
It was worth a try, wasn’t it? And this might be her only chance to get the two men in the same room.
She halted in front of the viscount. His friends stopped talking to nudge each other as his lordship turned to see her standing there.
“Miss Vernon,” he said with a cool nod.
Samuel moved up next to her to hiss, “What are you doing?”
She ignored him to address Dom’s brother. “I should very much like a word with you in private, sir. Would you join me in the library?”
The other gentlemen murmured among themselves, and she heard chuckles, but she didn’t care. If she could just get Dom and his estranged brother together, she could make his lordship see sense and mend the rift.
George skimmed her with an interested glance, then flashed that toothsome smile that had most girls her age quivering in their dancing slippers. “I would be delighted,” he said, and offered her his arm.
She took his cordiality as a good sign, so when Samuel murmured, “Jane, I need to speak to you this moment,” she seized George’s arm and said, “Thank you, Mr. Barlow, but I will talk to you later.”
As soon as they were alone in the hall, George said, “I think I can guess what this is about, Miss Vernon.”
“Please, sir, I would prefer some privacy for our discussion.”
He cast her a sharp glance. “Would you, now?” Stopping at the library door, he said, “Well, then, here we are.”
George opened it and she sailed through, expecting to find Dom and Nancy in deep discussion. Instead, she spotted them at the other end of the room, silhouetted by the firelight and locked in an intimate embrace.
She stopped so quickly that the viscount bumped into her. No, it couldn’t be them. That was absurd! Surely Dom would never . . . Nancy would never—
One figure separated itself from the other to hiss, “Stop that, Dom! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Nancy. Oh, Lord.
Jane’s stomach began to churn. No. This couldn’t be happening! She must have misunderstood.
But she couldn’t misunderstand the grab Dom made for Nancy’s waist as he attempted to pull her back into his embrace. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Hearing Dom’s voice made it all real. Too real. Jane’s head swam. She was going to faint.
“You’re only interested in my money,” Nancy protested. “I know it’s Jane you really want.”
“That’s not true. You and I get along very well, don’t you think?” Dom lowered his head to Nancy. “Let me show you just how well—”
The crack of a hand against his cheek sounded, and Nancy shoved free. As Jane’s vision narrowed and the room began to spin, Nancy headed for the door, but halted when she saw Jane there. “Oh. Um . . . this . . . it isn’t how it looks.”
“Isn’t it?” drawled George. “Because it looks to me like my brother is throwing his fiancée over for a wealthier heiress.”
Shocked speechless, Jane glanced at Dom. If she could just see his eyes, she would know what he felt.
But he avoided her gaze to glare at George. “This has naught to do with you, brother. And I swear, if you attempt to harm Miss Sadler’s reputation by breathing a word of this—”
“I’ve no intention of talking about this to anyone.” George bowed to Nancy. “The lovely Miss Sadler’s secret is safe with me.”
Nancy’s secret? Nancy’s reputation? That was all Dom and his brother cared about? Dom wasn’t even attempting to protest his innocence. He just stood there wooden, still avoiding her gaze, a sure sign of his guilt.
Jane swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “What the devil is this, Dom? We’re engaged!”
His stance was ramrod rigid. “I suppose that loose-lipped Barlow told you about seeing me arrive.” His voice held a remote chill that struck her to the heart. It reminded her of how Papa used to talk to Mama.
Too late she remembered Samuel trying to stop her, worrying over telling her about Dom’s presence.
Heat rose up her neck to her cheeks. “So you really did come here to court Nancy?” Jane fought the urge to throw up. “You are not the man I thought you were.”
Oh, God, she couldn’t even summon up a clever set-down! She was about to be sick right here in front of them all. That would be the worst humiliation imaginable.
Mustn’t cast up my accounts, mustn’t cast up my accounts. The chant ran in her head as she whirled to push past George and out into the hall.
“Wait, Jane!” her cousin called after her, but Jane just shook her head and kept running.
As she fled, she heard Dom say, in a clipped voice, “Let her go.”
It was the final insult in a line of them. Her stomach roiled, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Praying no one saw her before she made it to the retiring room, she lurched down the hall to the stairs.
Dom. Oh, Lord, Dom! He wasn’t hers. He’d never really been hers, had he? Clearly she’d read too much into their animated talks. Had she invented the Dom she’d fallen in love with? She must have, building her image upon their heavily chaperoned conversations and a handful of dances.
All this time she thought he’d been trying to get her to break off their engagement out of some noble concern for her, when really it had been so he could court a rich heiress whose money wasn’t restricted by a stupid will. Not to mention someone prettier than her.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stumbled into the retiring room. She’d believed in him. Even when Uncle Horace had warned that he wouldn’t give his blessing to the union, she’d ignored him, putting her faith in Dom’s goodness, his virtue, his loyalty. And for what? To be made a fool of.
Never again would she trust some two-faced man who spouted a string of lies and told her he loved her madly. Never again would she claim that fortune and consequence didn’t matter in the wake of true love.
Because clearly true love was the greatest lie of all.
1
Winborough Estate in Yorkshire
May 1829
FOUR DAYS AFTER his arrival at Winborough’s Whitsuntide house party, Dom rummaged through the drawers of the desk in his half brother’s study. Where in
blazes did Tristan keep his sealing wax? So far, Dom had found a penknife, some string, seventeen quills, a lint-clad lemon drop, a stack of foolscap, and a lacy garter, but no sign of wax.
He didn’t even want to think about why the garter was in there. The thought of Tristan and Dom’s new sister-in-law, Zoe, doing . . . whatever upon the desk made him feel like a Peeping Tom.
Just as Dom slammed the top drawer shut, he spotted the sealing wax, set neatly beside an inkpot atop the desk. Right there before his eyes, blast it all. Clearly he was losing his mind.
Dom dropped into the chair. It was all Jane’s fault. Set to inherit the Rathmoor title now that George was dead, he ought to be concentrating on his return to Rathmoor Park today and his attempts to get it out of arrears. Instead, Jane consumed his thoughts.
It was ludicrous. They were nothing to each other now. Certainly, he was nothing to her. After more than twelve years unmarried, she’d finally gone and got herself engaged to Edwin Barlow, the newly minted Earl of Blakeborough.
She would soon be out of Dom’s reach for good, and he couldn’t change that. He didn’t want to change it. That time of his life was gone forever, as well it should be. He was quite a bit older and wiser, not to mention rougher, and she was still an heiress. They had nothing in common. They were different people.
And perhaps if he said it enough, he would finally believe it. He had to believe it. He had to excise her from his mind somehow.
“Zoe wants to know if you intend to join us for services at their church in town.”
He jerked his head up so quickly that he nearly knocked over the Argand lamp. “Blast it, Lisette, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
With a toss of her black curls, his half sister approached the desk. “Don’t blame me if your mind is in the clouds. I’ve been standing here waiting for you to notice me for a good five minutes while you muttered and cursed and scowled.”
“Sorry. I’m a bit . . . distracted, is all.”
She sniffed. “Is that what you call it? And here I thought you were merely rude.”
If the Viscount Falls Page 2