The Bride Who Got Lucky

by Janna MacGregor

  A lone tear escaped and dropped to her desk. As she’d feared, she was stuck in a marriage with a selfish man. Her own husband, the man she loved with her whole being, didn’t think her worthy enough to set aside his vows of making money to save a young woman’s life. He’d already become the hardened English lord who put his interests above all others.

  The bell rang once more.

  She took a deep breath. While he didn’t care, she did. There was a reason she chose to be at her bank—to help others in their time of need. Whether anyone helped her or not was a question she didn’t have the fortitude to examine now.

  “Am I interrupting?” Nick stood before her looking every inch the virile, magnificent man she remembered marrying weeks ago.

  The rich rumble of his voice caused her heart to squeeze. With just a couple of words, he’d cut her to the bone and made her vulnerable. She closed her eyes. God, she hated this feeling of powerlessness.

  “No, my lord.” She blinked, desperate to keep some control so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

  He nodded to John Small and removed his greatcoat. With eyes locked on hers, he prowled toward her, familiar yet dangerous. A fire smoldered in the blue-green depths and singed what little forbearance she’d gathered to shield herself against his allure. She was nothing more than prey at this point.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. The gesture made her perfidious heart topple in an endless somersault.

  He surveyed the room, and his gaze settled on John. “If you’d be so kind as to step outside and keep customers from interrupting us?”

  The footman bowed and took his leave.

  “Is he here the entire time?” Nick asked.

  No matter the reason for his appearance, she could not and would not turn in to some simpering fool. With a nod, she swallowed the sudden flutters that had erupted in her stomach. “My father wants someone with me at all times when I’m working.”

  “I didn’t think.…” With a grimace, he stole another glance around the room. “With my investigator, Mr. Macalester, conducting his business above yours, I didn’t think there would be a need for a full-time escort. I should thank your father and offer to reimburse him.”

  “No need. In my opinion, it’s too much,” she said.

  “Arial shared that John is your favorite footman, and he brings you home from your outings.”

  His outright smile turned him into the man she married, the one who teased and flirted until he got a reaction that pleased them both. This version was so different from the one who denied her request to help Miss Howell.

  “I must see if I can be fitted into the Langham livery. I want to be your favorite.” He tilted her chin with one hand so her eyes met his, and she prepared for his kiss. He took her by surprise when he trailed his lips against her cheek. “Show me how you conduct your business.”

  From nowhere, renegade tears started to well in her eyes. That was the depth of her despair. Of all the times for tears, this was not it. She took a deep breath in an attempt to control her unruly emotions. “I hoped you’d ask.”

  “I’ve upset my wife.” He reached into his pocket, then handed her an embroidered linen. “I can’t stand your tears. Each one is as sharp as a knife and takes a sliver of my heart when it falls.”

  “Don’t say such things,” she whispered. This time the square had the letter ‘N’ designed in gold thread with a beautiful scroll design. After she wiped the errant drops away, she attempted another smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  His expression collapsed into concern. “Emma”—he cleared his throat—“last night…”

  She opened the drawer to retrieve Mrs. Jones’ prized woodcarving. Last night had been a nightmare, and she didn’t want to revisit it, at least not yet. She was still attempting to understand what had happened between them. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Macalester?”

  “No, I’m here for you.” Nick took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head as if he were comforting Lady Margaret.

  His every move, touch, and word chipped away at her resolve. He made this rift between them appear simple, as if it was a debate over the most appropriate wine to serve with a leg of lamb. It’d take so little to convince herself that he truly cared for her the way she wanted. Was it too much to expect that she was a higher priority than his money and his own past?

  “Now, what do you have there?” he asked.

  Carefully, pulling back the linen wrap, Emma placed the piece of wood before him. “This is the collateral for the last loan I made yesterday.”

  “How much was the loan?” A hint of doubt underscored his words.

  “Two pounds.”

  His eyes darted to hers, then returned to the carving. “Are you concerned she’ll abscond with the money?”

  “Of all my clients, she’s the one who will pay the money back early. She works hard as a laundress, takes care of her appearance, and has already made arrangements for additional work to pay me back. Her son’s wife is carrying, and she needs a doctor’s care. Her family is her whole world.” She presented the carving for his inspection. “That world, my lord, is represented here. Her son carved this for her as a present. It’s the most valuable possession she owns.”

  She traced the woodcarving a final time. “There are other things besides money that motivate people. If one looks hard enough, the reasons are always visible.”

  An elevated eyebrow proved he held little regard for her theory. His response was further proof of his priorities. She’d chosen to ignore them in the past, but not now. She had nothing else to lose.

  “My operation is quite simple. I offer funds in exchange for collateral and only collect a simple interest rate.” She replaced the carving, then pulled open a drawer with a jewelry case inside. “Most women have a piece of jewelry they offer as security. Some bring items such as silver candlesticks. All of my profits go back to the operation. If I continue at this same rate of success, I plan to open an office in Portsmouth or Edinburgh, maybe even Bath. Women need these opportunities. Perhaps one day I’ll have enough monies to start a charity specifically dedicated to women like Lena and Mary and Miss How…”

  She let her voice fade to nothing. She couldn’t contain her sadness or the awkwardness that caused a sudden silence between them. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “I only planned to stay open a half day, and I’ve still got a lot of bookkeeping to do before I leave.” She stood and grasped several items to put away in the vault. “What may I help you with?”

  He clasped her hand tightly. “Howell.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Emma locked the bank vault in the back of the room and returned to Nick’s side. In order to have her undivided attention, he brought her to sit in one of the simple mahogany chairs that faced her escritoire. He pulled the other at an angle so he faced her.

  Her face had paled, and the forlorn look in her eyes warned him he had to be careful how he approached this conversation. She appeared to be as fragile as a dried flower pressed between the pages of a book. Guilt coursed through his veins with the knowledge he’d pushed her until she’d flattened into this dull, colorless person who sat before him completely defeated.

  “I think it’s best you understand why I can’t help Howell, and why I don’t want you to help him either.” Nick rubbed his thumb across her knuckles in a repeated pattern. His need to touch her was more for his benefit, even though her hands were like ice. Proof he was a completely selfish bastard.

  She shook her head slowly. “He was a downright loathsome menace who made your life hell. He took advantage of you after your father left.” She pulled her hands away and fidgeted with her fingers, the telltale sign she was upset. “What more is there?”

  He nodded in agreement. “When I promised myself I’d never lift a hand to help him or his friends, I’ve lived by that creed. To forget that promise destroys who I am.”

  She turned away and bit her lip at the same time. When
she returned her gaze to his, a glimmer of skepticism resided in her eyes. “This is what you wanted to discuss?”

  She leaned back in her chair and clutched her arms around her waist in a protective stance. With her slow deliberate act, she made it clear she was shielding herself from him.

  She wanted him gone.

  “I didn’t care for sleeping alone last night. Did you?” He wanted that simple truth to soften her so she’d talk to him. He’d come to make things right between them so they could go back home and return to the life they were building together.

  “Wasn’t your bed comfortable?” she asked in a tone suspiciously guileless.

  Her inner minx clearly was still itching for a go. A bubble of laughter bounced inside his chest, but he didn’t release it.

  “Emma, you expect me to give up my commitment so you can help Howell?” He coaxed her gently. “You want me to forego how I’ve lived my life and how I define myself? Do you want me to give up everything?”

  Her eyes brightened, and she leaned forward. “I expected you to help me. I promised to pay you the monies in full.” She assessed him with an honesty that unnerved him. “I gave you everything and thought you’d do this for me. Let us help that poor woman.”

  “‘Everything.’” He repeated the word in an effort to stall as his mind raced to find a response. “Your dowry was generous, but help me understand what you’re suggesting by ‘everything.’”

  She closed her eyes. The wall of defense she’d erected earlier shriveled before his eyes as she exhaled. A cold knot formed in his stomach.

  “When I married you, I gave you the most precious thing I had in my possession. It was everything I had.” Her lips trembled, and she pointed toward the middle of her chest. “I gave you … me,” she whispered.

  His heart constricted at the softly spoken words. His assuredness that he’d convince her he had good reason to deny Howell floundered. A surge of desperation to atone for the hurt she suffered made him reach for her. He’d not let her go until she understood how much he appreciated her precious gift. When he touched her, she drew back much like the day when he’d convinced her to marry him. She was the same wounded soul who had to be coaxed into trusting him. “Emma—”

  “Remember when I asked how you knew whether I was worthy of marrying you or not?” The strain in her voice galvanized him to watch her every nuanced move.

  He nodded. He had no idea what she was going to say next.

  “You see Lena, Miss Howell, and Miss March Lawson, one of my customers, are all women born into nobility.” She stared and waited for his acknowledgment.

  “And so are you,” he answered.

  “Exactly, but each one of them is far nobler than me,” she answered with a firm nod of her head, the movement of the curls causing her hair to glisten in the sunlight. “Lena futilely tried to survive while day by day she was destroyed by a monster. When Miss Howell stood in this very room, her bleak future didn’t rob her of her dignity, an undeniable strength not many have. And poor March struggles daily trying her best to keep her family clothed and fed, not to mention respectable.” She drew a breath and held his gaze. “I thought if I could convince my family or Jonathan to care about Lena, then I’d prove to myself that these women mattered in our world. That we all cared for their wellbeing. I stupidly thought such action would push my grief aside. But when everyone turned their back on me for Lena’s sake, I realized how hopeless it all was.”

  “You’re being overly critical of yourself.”

  “What I’m being is realistic. When I discovered I had a chance to save Miss Howell, I came to you.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “Of all the people in the world, I thought you cared.”

  “I care. I value what you do.”

  “Oh, my God!” She laughed through her tears.

  There was no amusement in her voice, and his mind raced as bells bonged in warning. He’d walked straight into a trap.

  “I said the same thing to Jonathan, Lena’s brother, when he told me to leave him alone. I told him I cared about him and Lena. Then I railed at him for not doing anything about her murder.” She dried her tears. “I’m as pitiful as he is because I haven’t done anything either.”

  He stiffened. “Wait, when did you see Sykeston? Didn’t I tell you to leave this all alone?”

  He became the latest casualty of her steely glare.

  “Jonathan asked me to visit the morning that Howell came to see me. You have nothing to worry about. It’s over. Jonathan can’t muster enough interest to care either.” She blinked and lifted one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. A chilly reserve replaced her frosty stare. “I asked Sykeston to take action on Lena’s behalf, and he refused.”

  Bewildered, he had no idea how to respond. But she needed comfort, and he’d be damned if he’d let her suffer anymore. Sykeston’s refusal, along with his own denial to help Howell’s sister, had driven her to a level of despair far greater than her grief in Portsmouth. He reached for her, and she scooted her chair out of his reach.

  “You may not believe this, but I remember every word you’ve spoken to me. I remember every smile and wink you’ve sent my way. In Langham Park, when I was banished to Falmont, you said something profound. You teased me, saying you knew I was intelligent even though I read.”

  He smiled at the memory. She’d been so contrary and utterly charming. He’d fallen in love with her that day. The realization tore down the carefully constructed barriers erected around his heart. He had loved her for years, always from afar, until Portsmouth. He had no idea how it happened, but he was the most fortunate man in all of England.

  A pure and breathtaking lightness filled him. His heart skipped a beat before it started to pound, causing the blood to rush to his head. She had no idea how he felt about her and the impact she’d had on his life. He’d not let her leave the bank without knowing exactly what she meant to him. He reached for her hands, and this time, he didn’t let her pull away.

  By the slump of her shoulders, she had grown even more despondent. “I wish I had never picked up a book in my life. They made me believe and hope I could make a difference … but when Lena was murdered…”

  She looked through the window and then to him as if seeking reassurance. He squeezed her hand in answer.

  “I couldn’t understand why no one cared. I couldn’t accept it, and so I fought for her. But when every door I opened was slammed in my face, I finally discovered the truth. Lena, Miss Howell, March, and all these women—women just like me—women of the same ilk—they mean nothing in our world. If they mean nothing, then I mean nothing.”

  “Don’t say that. You mean everything to me.”

  She studied him, and the intensity of her stare cut right through, as if she looked at someone behind him. “If you valued me, it stands to reason that you’d have helped me. At first, I thought your refusal to help was about money, but this goes deeper.”

  “I care for you.” He leaned and pressed a kiss to her lips. Gentle, but sure, he wanted her to know exactly how much she meant to him. “I love you,” he whispered.

  Her green eyes narrowed with doubt.

  “Emma, I think I’ve loved you since you gave me that kiss in Langham Park in exchange for Bentham’s Essays.” Whether she loved him in return wasn’t a question he wanted to examine in their current circumstances. He’d use every power of persuasion to make her understand how special she was and then take her home. Then he planned to give her every pleasure he could think of so she knew how much he loved her.

  “I’m not certain the love we share will ever repair what’s wrong here. I can’t see it any differently at this point.” She gently pulled her hands away. “The most important things in my life, I need you to respect. It’s the same for you. I should respect the beliefs you have.” She bit her lip and winced. “The resolutions you’ve made in life are in direct conflict with mine. You choose money and the rancor you hold for Howell over my need and desire to aid Miss Howell. By helpin
g her, I defeat Aulton for Lena.” With an elegance born from her years as the Duke of Langham’s daughter, she stood.

  He joined her in standing. “Emma—”

  “I can’t make you see how important it all is to me, and you’ve made me doubt if I’m even worth it.” With a step back, she rounded the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work.”

  “I’m not leaving until we come to an understanding.”

  In response, she turned toward the door and gathered her pelisse.

  Everything—his heart, his breath, and his life—came to a quiet stop. She was leaving him.

  “I don’t want to live with the doubt. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone. Will you please lock up when you’re finished?” She walked out without sparing a glance at John Small. He fell the accustomed one-step behind her to make their way through the London streets.

  Numb, Nick sat there and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Finally, he’d confessed his love to his wife, the woman who’d captured his heart and all his hopes for a happy life.

  If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d just told him that she loved him in return. Pure elation should be racing through his veins at the thought that Emma felt for him the same as he did for her.

  But her parting words haunted him. She didn’t believe their love could fix this breach between them. How had something so wonderful and pure spoiled so quickly? The words and emotions were uncanny in their similarity to his father’s words that fateful day.

  He clenched his fists. Wasn’t this the same type of pain he’d protected himself against time after time?

  He’d left himself wide open, and she’d taken the opportunity and crushed him.

  When would he ever learn?

  * * *

  The clock on the mantle and the study’s well-built fire consumed Nick’s attention. For the last three hours and three minutes, he’d allowed nothing to interfere with his concentration as he stared at both—except for Emma.