‘It’s honest. It hurts no one, misleads no one.’ She glared at him, willing him to see sense.
‘A princess would never run.’ Her father paced the room, expending energy in thought. ‘It’s tantamount to an admission of guilt, that we have something to hide.’
‘I am not a princess and we do have something to hide.’ Something that could land them afoul of the law with no one to protect them. The law only protected the powerful. She was nothing, really. Just a girl from Bermondsey Street whose only possessions were a crazy father and trunks full of costumes and paste jewels. It was an icy dash of cold water after last night. She’d had everything. In Sutton’s arms she’d been someone. She’d been cherished, worshipped, beautiful without artifice. There’d been no acting, no pretence.
‘We can win this!’ her father hissed. ‘We are not going to go to ground because someone thinks they can threaten us.’ He waved the note in the air. ‘This is very vague, when you think about it. What do they know? How do they know it? Can they support it? Who will believe them? Sutton Keynes, who is madly in love with you? Who is he going to believe? You or a jealous family who resents their daughter wasn’t chosen? I tell you, we are still safe.’
Elidh sat silent, letting her father’s surprisingly pragmatic assessment sweep over her, but it wasn’t the pragmatism that overwhelmed her. It was the realisation beneath it: Sutton loved her, or, if not loved her, was falling in love with her, enough to defend her. It was an inconvenient truth, perhaps, one she might be guilty of avoiding or ignoring because of the jeopardy it put her in—a jeopardy that had little to do with discovery and ruses unveiled, and everything to do with her heart. She didn’t want to hurt Sutton any more than she wanted to hurt herself. To acknowledge the depth of Sutton’s feelings also forced her to admit how deeply she cared for him, too. Sutton was not alone in his growing feelings. Every bone in her body wanted to run from the acknowledgement. To stay would only give those feelings a chance to grow, to become more dangerous and, ultimately, more destructive, but her father was right.
She’d jumped to the worst possible conclusion. While they couldn’t rule that out, entirely, they also couldn’t panic, but it didn’t change the need to leave soon enough as it was. At least they wouldn’t have to leave today. She could have one more night, perhaps two. ‘All right,’ she relented, ‘we can stay, on one condition. If this gets more dangerous, we leave immediately.’ It was easier to stay a while longer. It was what her heart wanted: to stay with Sutton as long as possible. She wanted her father to be right, that this was nothing more than a jealous girl who’d been snubbed and who’d found out something she thought would be scandalous to expose. Elidh had heard first-hand a room full of culprits. It could be any one of them.
Her father left the room, feeling the situation settled. Elidh let Rosie put up her hair and dress her in the lavender gown, a carefree confection fashioned from one of her own Juliet gowns. There was a youthfulness to it, an innocence and calmness that suited the image she needed to represent downstairs. She wished she felt as calm as she appeared. She wished she had her father’s bold confidence that this was nothing more than a young girl’s attempt at revenge. But one thing niggled about that. If a girl wanted to imply she’d done something dishonourable, she couldn’t possibly expose it publicly without the risk of losing Sutton entirely. To implicate Principessa Chiara would be to implicate Sutton.
A compromised gentleman could do no less than offer marriage to save the compromised girl’s honour. That could hardly be what the blackmailer wanted, which only served to lead her back to her original worries. This wasn’t about girlish spite. Someone knew who they were, or, more importantly, who they weren’t.
* * *
Bax arrived. Finally. As Sutton knew he would. He’d just rather have not had it be this morning. He was not having a good morning as it was. Aside from waking up with Chiara in his arms, the morning had gone downhill the moment he’d returned to the house. Lord Wharton had demanded a private breakfast meeting and proceeded to suggest that Sutton needed guidance in the absence of a father. To which he’d responded that Wharton was not the man to provide such guidance. Wharton had not taken kindly to his response. Now, there was his cousin to face.
Sutton watched Bax help himself to the decanters on the sideboard in the estate office even though it was barely past eleven. Good lord, the man was a reprobate.
‘Can I get you something?’ Bax held up an empty tumbler in offer.
‘No, I prefer to do my drinking after five,’ Sutton said pointedly. The ease with which he poured a full glass suggested the hour on the clock had long since ceased to matter to Bax when it came to drinking. A lot had ceased to matter to Bax. Sutton supposed drinking before noon was the least of it.
‘Suit yourself.’ Bax took the chair across from the desk. ‘Beautiful place you’ve got here. I’ve always admired Hartswood. Great location, especially now that the railroad can bring folks out for race day in Newmarket.’
‘Thank you. Now, why don’t you tell me why you’ve come? I imagine it must be important if it’s dragged you away from the entertainments of the Season.’
‘I thought you were smarter than that, Cuz. You know exactly why I am here. I can’t let you have that fortune. I will contest your marriage to the reaches of my abilities.’
Sutton snorted. ‘It will be difficult to go up against a legal will and a peer of the realm.’ Which was exactly what his uncle intended, no doubt. Sutton tested the waters. ‘I can’t imagine Imogen Bettancourt’s father allowing such a contest to stand. His title is legitimate...his daughter is legitimate. He’d call you out if you dragged his daughter and wife into scandal.’
Bax, the insufferable bastard that he was, made a show of considering the information. ‘I suppose there is merit to that. Wharton, the Viscount, the Marquis would all be formidable opponents with the law on their side as well. But you don’t favour their daughters.’ He narrowed his dark eyes. ‘While you’ve been out rusticating with all the pretty girls, we’ve had to entertain ourselves with the betting books. Word back in town is that you favour the Italian Principessa.’
Sutton schooled his features to give nothing away. He couldn’t afford to after last night. He’d taken Chiara’s virtue. In his mind, they’d unofficially committed themselves to one another. If that came out too early, though, it could be used against them, could spark the rebellion of upset fathers his mother had spoken of. If the peers aligned with Bax, it might create enough of a tangle to keep Sutton from the fortune, to see it revert to Bax on a technicality.
‘If I did, it changes nothing. She’s of noble birth and that is all I have to show.’
‘It would be a shame if you couldn’t show it in time, though.’ Bax allowed him a glimpse into his strategy. ‘I think Lord Wharton and the others, along with myself, might want to have proof of her royalty on the grounds that she is a foreigner. That might take time. Not very much time, surely. But perhaps more time than you have.’
Sutton knew how Bax’s threat would play out. They would simply question who the Principessa was, knowing full well she would satisfy their claims. It was ridiculous to think she wouldn’t. But to send for Italy for verification would be time consuming. Time he wouldn’t have before the four weeks ran out and the funds would revert to Bax. After that, it wouldn’t matter when the verification came. It would be too late. Not for him and Chiara. Nothing stopped them from being together. But too late to keep the money from Bax, the whole reason he’d started this bridal quest to begin with. He would have failed his uncle and, in some ways, society at large.
Bax finished his drink. ‘I’ll just leave you to think about your options. If you don’t mind, I’ll join the gathering. It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed a good house party. I’ll be sure to say hello to my dear aunt.’
Sutton wanted to shoot him. A bullet between the eyes wouldn’t be good enough for his cousin
. This was just the sort of dilemma Bax liked creating, the sort with impossible solutions: the girl or the money, but not both, not if Bax could help it. Yes, his heart wanted Chiara, but the cost was enormous. So many would suffer if he could not bring Bax to heel. How could he consciously choose a solution that would allow a monster to run loose when he’d been picked expressly to stop it? It was like Bax was blackmailing him with his own heart. Unless...
Unless he found a way to beat Bax’s timetable. What if verification could come from somewhere closer than sending to Italy? For the first time since he had left Chiara, a smile settled on Sutton’s mouth. He might have an ace up his sleeve after all. His friend, Conall Everard, the alpaca-wool genius who’d revolutionised wool production in Taunton, had married the former Marchesa di Cremona a little over a year ago. Cremona was in the Piedmont. Sutton went to his maps and spread one out excitedly. There it was! He found Cremona and traced his finger north, west, south until he found Fossano. Three days’ ride from Cremona—less if there was a train.
Sutton returned to his desk and drew out a piece of stationery. He would send it with all haste. It would be a two-day journey to reach Taunton and then two days back. The letter would have to travel from Taunton to London and then from London through Cambridge to Newmarket. And there was the issue of the newborn. He didn’t expect Sofia and Conall to come physically, but Sofia could verify through a letter. And if her presence was necessary, there would be time for that later.
One word from Sofia, Viscountess Taunton, formerly the Marchesa di Cremona, and Bax would be thwarted.
Chapter Eighteen
There was nothing Bax liked better than thwarting well-laid plans, except for perhaps ruining the righteous and beautiful. That was another kind of ‘well laid’ altogether. How delicious it would be to do both in one fell swoop. It was his first thought upon espying Chiara Balare, sitting alone in the garden, dressed in lavender and surrounded by flowers. The perfect picture of a perfect virgin, her blonde hair and lavender gown the ideal foils for the myriad colours of his aunt’s summer blooms. A painter could not have created a better setting. It was also the ideal opportunity to approach her. She was sitting alone, but not truly alone. Guests had moved out to the garden for luncheon and lawn bowls. She was in plain sight of the party, which was exactly what he was counting on. He wanted everyone to see them together. He wanted Sutton to come out and see them together. He would not surrender the fortune simply because his father wished it. He would threaten Sutton from every angle. Bax tugged at his waistcoat and strode over. Time to be charming.
‘I can see why my cousin is smitten with you.’ He stood to her side, intentionally startling her and forcing her to turn in order to look at him. He hadn’t wanted her to have time to think, time to see him coming. He wanted to control all aspects of the conversation from the outset. ‘Not just him. Louie Fenworth speaks highly of you. It seems you’ve captured every young heart at the party,’ he flattered shamelessly. How many women had he flattered into doing exactly what he wanted? It was easy. People were desperate to be loved, especially lonely ones.
But the Principessa wasn’t so easy. She turned, shading her eyes to look up at him, and rose, unwilling to be quite literally in a one-down position. ‘Cousin? You must be Baxter Keynes,’ she surmised shrewdly. He’d give her points for quickness.
‘You’ve heard of me, as well.’ He smiled charmingly, taking her hand and raising it to his lips for a kiss. ‘Enchanté, I am pleased to meet you at last.’ He did not release her hand. ‘I think we might have even more than that in common. Would you care to walk?’ When she hesitated, Bax laughed, low and conspiratorially. ‘Don’t believe everything my cousin has told you about me. Surely no one can be as bad as all that.’
‘It’s just that I thought to wait for Mr Keynes,’ she hedged politely but directly.
Bax leaned close. ‘You might be waiting all day, then. He was inundated with paperwork when last I saw him. Come and walk with me until he arrives.’ It would be the last time he’d ask nicely. He would have his moment alone with her. He hooked her arm through his and decided on the walk for her.
He turned her down a path featuring a sweet-smelling arbour at its end, artfully draped in lilac the colour of her gown. He’d love to take her right here, up against the lilac sprigs, her bodice shoved down, her skirts pushed up and him thrusting into her hard until her body arched and she cried out for him. She’d resist at first. Women like the Principessa, good, virtuous women, always did, always felt they must. But they were always glad to have relented in the end. ‘I want to get to know you better since you’ll be my cousin by marriage soon, it seems.’ Bax gave her a warm, brotherly look designed to thaw, designed to inspire trust.
She did neither. ‘But not yet. Which is why I must insist we return to the party. It isn’t appropriate for us to be off on our own.’ She turned to start back, but Bax stopped her with a firm grip on her upper arm. Oh, it would be delicious blackmailing her. Money would be easy for her to give. Perhaps he would exact payment in another fashion, something less simple for her to give, this virtuous paragon his cousin believed he’d found. He wondered what the chances were of having her first. If he could put a child in her belly before his cousin did, so that she would wonder for ever whose seed had got there first, that would be a lifetime’s worth of leverage if he failed to stop the marriage. Or if he needed to force the marriage in order to manoeuvre Sutton into forfeiting the fortune. If she were pregnant, Sutton wouldn’t abandon her even if she didn’t have a title. His cousin was noble like that.
He drew her back to him, his face close to hers. ‘All of London is talking about you. All the betting books feature your name as my cousin’s most likely match. Yet, no one recalls you before the party. It’s as if you’ve appeared out of thin air, created for the very purpose of marrying my cousin.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘Is that true, Chiara Balare? Are you a figment of my cousin’s imagination?’
She wrenched her arm away, her face wreathed in indignation. ‘What exactly are you implying, sir?’ He released her arm. She wouldn’t leave now, not with information at stake.
‘Only that I find it interesting there is no social record of you in London. Here you are, a princess and lovely, yet the society pages at the height of the Season seem to have overlooked your presence.’ Bax shrugged, watching her face for any betrayal.
‘That’s easily explained. We’d only just arrived in London. There’d been no time to establish ourselves.’
‘Where did you stay?’
‘I don’t recall. My father’s secretary made the arrangements. I just show up.’ Either she was telling the truth, or she was thinking on her feet.
‘Your father is not listed in any of the hotel registries.’ He knew, his men had checked.
‘We use an alias when we travel. It’s more discreet,’ she replied quickly.
‘I beg your pardon.’ Bax made a small bow of apology, but wasn’t sorry, not in the least. She had possibly made a small slip there. ‘It appears I am seeing ghosts where there are none. It’s only that I would not like to see my cousin duped.’
Her eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘Wouldn’t you? You’d have the most to gain if he was. I believe the fortune reverts to you if your cousin fails to marry appropriately within the allotted time.’
‘Me and all my wickedness. I don’t even have to raise a finger to claim it.’ He stepped forward, crowding her between himself and the lilac arbour as she answered with a step back. He reached for her then, his hand cupping her face. ‘Care to join me? Wouldn’t it be ironic, after all this posturing, if you could just marry me and get your hands on the fortune whether you were a principessa or not? You could simply be yourself, whoever that is, miss.’ He was sure she was lying now. The ticket seller at the station had said the Prince announced himself very clearly when he’d purchased the tickets and the name Prince Lorenzo Balare di Fossano was the name he
’d very legibly signed in the traveller’s manifest. There’d been no mistake he and his daughter were on that train. That didn’t sound like a man who sought discretion or used an alias.
She pushed at his chest, trying to move him away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Claiming payment, my dear,’ he murmured, standing his ground easily against her efforts. She was no match for his strength. He’d wrestled larger women than her into compliance.
‘For what? I have nothing to hide.’ She was struggling hard now.
‘For keeping your secrets. It’s not so onerous of a price, is it? A few stolen kisses from a competent lover. In time, perhaps a little more. Kisses are satisfying for only so long. You might decide you like it.’ He pinned her arms in a hard grip. It was best she knew who the boss was from the start. ‘I’d settle down and accept the offer, my dear, before I feel less generous. I won’t warn you again. Don’t try me on this. I will not hesitate to tell my cousin of my suspicions, or anyone else who will listen.’
‘What suspicions would those be? What proof do you have? Sutton will laugh at you.’
‘That you’re a fraud, my dear, a lovely face gussied up in silks and satins. I don’t need proof, just logic enough. I think the lords here whose daughters are being slighted in favour of you would grasp at those straws if it kept their hopes alive.’ He kissed her hard then, a bruising, punishing kiss meant to dominate and master, to remind a woman she was powerless. Finally, at last, a flicker of fear in her eyes. Was it fear of him or fear of what he could expose? But she wasn’t entirely defeated. Not yet, although she would be, given time.
Tempted By His Secret Cinderella (Allied At The Altar Book 3) Page 16