“I imagined that you would, my lord. There is but one condition Lady Rendel places on the sale. She doesn’t want any tenants or servants dismissed.”
“No, of course not,” Burke said absently.
“Lady Rendel will be pleased to have an offer coming to her so quickly. I had told her it might be at least a month before I could find a buyer. She wants to leave as soon as possible, as I told you.”
“I also have a condition, Mr. Lapwing.”
Mr. Lapwing raised a brow.
“Lady Rendel is not to know that I am the buyer. Under no circumstances are you to tell her.”
“How is it to be avoided when your steward will work with Mr. Jewells?”
“An excellent point,” said Burke, frowning. “I shall have to give that some thought. Nonetheless, you may proceed.”
Mr. Lapwing agreed to proceed, seeing no reason not to. Why the earl wanted this condition made no sense to him, but he couldn’t see that it would make any difference. He took his leave of the earl, feeling quite pleased with himself. He would buy his delicious little wife, Lottie, a lovely necklace with the commission he would earn. Yes, he thought, emeralds. He was whistling as he told his driver to go to Rendel Hall.
Burke drove to London to see his own solicitor. His man would handle the entire matter. Then what? he wondered. Arielle wouldn’t be in his power. On the contrary, she would have his money. What to do about that?
He was surprised at himself. Did he truly want her in his power, for God’s sake? Like some sort of master with a slave? He remembered their last meeting. His jaw tightened. Yes, he did, and he would have her.
He visited his sister, Corinne, and her husband, Lord Boyle, and the newly arrived Lannie. He told his relatives of his purchase, not wanting them to discover it by accident. He sounded so detached, he was almost putting them to sleep.
“How odd,” said Corinne, Lady Boyle, when he had finished. “A young girl leaving England? Very odd.”
“There’s probably a man involved,” said Lloyd Kinnard, Lord Boyle. “Bound to be.”
That gave Burke a start. As for Lannie, she did allow that, knowing Arielle as she did—which was knowing her not at all—it wasn’t a man. The girl obviously had bats in her bell tower.
“I do wonder,” said Corinne in a thoughtful voice, “why the girl would just want to up and leave.”
“I don’t know,” Burke said.
“I trust the property is worth the price you’re paying, Burke,” said Lord Boyle.
“I don’t know the price yet,” said Burke. “It should be quite reasonable, though.”
Burke turned down his sister’s offer of dinner, earning himself one of her looks that could fry an egg at a distance of ten feet, and took himself off to White’s. To his immense pleasure, Viscount Castlerose, Knight Winthrop, was there, an impressive pile of bank notes strewn in front of him, three cards remaining in his hand. He waved negligently toward Burke, pointing to the chair next to his, and tossed down a ten of hearts.
His opponent, Lord Lucy, something of a renowned fool, at least in Burke’s opinion, was grinding his teeth. Since he hadn’t counted, he had no choice but to continue grinding. He tossed a diamond. Knight calmly laid down two more hearts. “Sorry, old man,” he said and began to gather up the pile of notes.”
“Another hand, Winthrop?” said Lord Lucy.
“Sorry, but my friend here needs me, don’t you, Burke?”
“Indeed.”
Lord Lucy whined a bit more until another partner was found for him. It was Lord Davies, and he would most certainly relieve Lord Lucy of every bit of gold he’d ever possessed.
Burke watched Knight stuff the money into his pocket. “You are a shark, Knight.”
“The fellow’s a bloody fool. Can you believe he didn’t keep his hearts? A fistful of diamonds, that’s all he had. I was delighted, as you saw.”
Knight Winthrop waved to Henry, one of White’s noted waiters, and ordered a bottle of their best French brandy.
“How’s your side?”
“Fine. No pulling and not much tenderness anymore.”
“Excellent. With Napoleon off France’s shores for good, you should be safe from further holes in your hide. Now, what brings you to London, Burke? Gambling? Fleshpots? Drury Lane? Not business, I hope.”
Burke studied his best friend for a moment in silence. He said finally with a twisted smile, “I wish I could have a woman right this moment. I am so damned randy I think I would plow her until dawn.”
Knight laughed. “At least you’re still young enough to make that wish a reality.”
“Damnation.” Burke sighed and ran his fingers through his thick hair.
“No, no, you want a woman, a woman you will have. Her name is Laura, she isn’t French, nor does she pretend to be. She is warm, loving, and will doubtless enjoy herself with you. Not as much as with me, of course, but enough, I imagine. I will escort you there myself. In the morning, my friend, you and I can meet for breakfast at my house. Perhaps then you will be more yourself.”
Burke laughed, his look incredulous. “You are offering me your mistress?” Knight shook his head. “Who is she?”
“My mistress’s friend.”
“I don’t know—It’s true that I’m randy, but that’s out of sheer frustration. You see, the girl I want, the girl I’ve wanted for nearly three years, won’t have a thing to do with me. She’s even willing to leave England to avoid me.”
Knight was surprised, to say the least. He gave Burke a pained look. “You know what I think of matrimony, old man. Good God, that you should think of succumbing. It is matrimony you’re considering?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t talk you out of it? Convince you to make this girl your mistress instead?”
“No.”
“Do you want to tell me the name of this paragon?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet, Knight.”
“All right. Spend the night with Laura. We will discuss it in the morning. And, Burke, you aren’t being disloyal. You aren’t yet married to the chit. After the parson has locked you away but good, you can remove the word ‘mistress’ from your mind and your dictionary forever, if you so wish. But tonight, forget this girl and let Laura, ah, ease you.”
Burke said yes. Knight accompanied him to a small, respectable-looking house on Curzon Street. As for Laura, she was everything Knight had promised. She was soft, warm, endowed with immense breasts, and very responsive. Burke didn’t believe she was feigning pleasure, but it didn’t really matter. He was hurting with need. And when at last he thrust into her, he arched wildly, his head thrown back, and he cried out, “Arielle.”
The shock of release was so great that he lay sprawled atop her, unable to move. He was mildly surprised to realize that he was breathing.
“Have you been living in a monastery, my lord?”
Burke had difficulty raising himself onto his elbows. “I imagine you would think so,” he said, smiling down at her. “I am sorry I was so carried away, but—”
She hugged him and kissed his bare shoulder.
“It’s all right.” She moved beneath him and he was instantly hard again, filling her, his powerful body quivering with renewed need.
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her, thoroughly. Everything he did this time was thorough in the extreme, much to Laura’s delight.
She watched him sleep. He was a beautiful man, a wonderfully normal man in his sexual demands, and he enjoyed a woman’s pleasure. Who was this Arielle? His wife? No, she didn’t think he was married. He didn’t act married. Who, then? When he awoke some thirty minutes later, again hard and ready for her, she gave herself to him without hesitation. “I shall cock up my toes, happy now,” Burke said on a deep sigh.
Laura giggled and ran her toes up his leg. She looked at him straightly and said without preamble, “I am currently without a protector. I should like to belong to you, my lord.”
Burke felt wonderfully sated,
his senses dulled and hazy. He hadn’t kept a mistress for a good four years. There simply hadn’t been the opportunity, what with the army picking up and leaving without a moment’s notice. But there was Arielle to consider; he fully intended to marry her as quickly as possible. He knew even as he thought it that he was indulging in a man’s inimitable reasoning: he should keep a mistress until his marriage. That would save him losing control with Arielle.
He felt Laura’s muscles tighten about him, but thankfully, he’d indulged sufficiently to remain cerebral for the moment rather than corporal. She was lovely, no doubt about that, and she satisfied him sexually, no doubt about that either. He cursed softly and pulled away from her body. He rolled onto his back and cradled his head on his arms.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Is it this Arielle?”
He froze, then remembered crying out her name. He cursed again, pungently.
“Forgive me, my lord—your wife, perhaps?”
“No.” Then he sighed and said, “She will be—it’s just a matter of time and, well, ruthlessness, if you will.”
Laura didn’t understand that, nor did he completely. He knew only that he would do whatever was necessary to have Arielle.
He felt Laura’s soft hand stroking down his side. He felt her fingers slide over his belly to find him and caress him. He should have been dead as summer ashes, but he wasn’t. “All right,” he said and turned toward her yet again. “Until I marry.”
Laura was pleased. She was also sore, but she discounted that as unimportant.
RENDEL HALL
“No, Dorcas, I won’t speak to anyone until I have signed the deed over to whoever it is who has bought Rendel Hall. You know as well as I do that something could change at the last minute.”
Dorcas nodded agreement. She watched her young mistress rise from her chair, her embroidery dropping unheeded to the floor. She saw her walk to the front windows and stand staring out over the front lawn. She’d been present when Arielle had spoken to Mr. Jewells two days before, telling him of her decision and instructing him to aid Mr. Lapwing. He’d looked at her oddly. He’d also sweated profusely.
“What is the matter, Mr. Jewells?” Arielle had asked.
“Oh, nothing, my lady. Surely you wish to consider, do you not, perhaps—”
“No, I don’t. Please don’t worry that you will find yourself without your steward’s position. That is one of my conditions. The buyer must agree to it.”
She didn’t care much for Mr. Jewells, a man she regarded as one of Paisley’s minions, a tubby man with large spectacles and an oily manner. But he was efficient, as he constantly assured her of that fact. He’d said little more and quickly left her.
She found herself even more surprised when Paisley’s solicitor, Mr. Jeffrey Chaucer, arrived. If Mr. Jewells had seemed distracted, Mr. Chaucer seemed fairly frantic.
But now she had a buyer, for everything. She hadn’t yet informed Mr. Jewells of this fact, or Mr. Chaucer. She supposed she didn’t want more arguments from either man. Coming up the drive was a small carriage. She pressed closer to the window. It was Mr. Lapwing.
He looked distraught, no, more than that, she thought, studying him as he followed on Philfer’s heels into her drawing room. He looked as if the world had fallen on his head. She’d heard about his new, very young wife and wondered if that lady were the cause.
“Sir?” she said.
Mr. Lapwing looked at Dorcas briefly, saying, “I should like a word with you, Lady Rendel, privately.”
“Certainly,” she said.
He didn’t speak again until they were alone.
“What is wrong, sir?”
Lapwing drew a deep breath. “Jewells and Chaucer, they’ve robbed the estate blind. They’ve fled England.”
Arielle merely stared at him. “But how?”
“You gave Chaucer power of attorney. He mortgaged Rendel Hall and all the tenant property to the hilt. Jewells has taken all the tenant money since your husband’s death. There is nothing left. Nothing. My God, this is ridiculous. Didn’t you make inquiries? Didn’t you—”
“No. I believed what Mr. Chaucer and Mr. Jewells told me. But the money I’ve spent since my husband’s death—”
“Jewells simply borrowed it through Chaucer. They would have continued doing that until the bank foreclosed.”
Arielle sat down. “I haven’t a sou then, is that what you’re telling me?”
He looked extremely unhappy as he nodded. “I’m sorry, my dear. I shall keep the creditors at bay as long as I can, but news of this fraud will circulate soon enough. Then—” He swallowed at the dazed look on her face. “I am sorry.”
“Of course you are. I don’t suppose that my buyer is still willing. Not that it matters a whit to me.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t yet spoken to him.”
“Who is he? Since it is now academic, I might as well know.”
“Burke Drummond. The Earl of Ravensworth.”
Arielle sucked in her breath, turning as pale as a human being could be.
“My lady!” Lapwing reached out his hand toward her, but Arielle automatically pulled back.
“Have I absolutely nothing left, sir?”
He shook his head. “Time, is all. I am hopeful that you will have another month, but I cannot be certain even of that.”
He wondered what this poor child would do now. He disliked her half brother, Evan Goddis, excessively. He couldn’t see her living with that bounder, but then again, where else could she go?
“Do you know the whereabouts of your half sister, Baroness Sherard?”
“No.” She didn’t meet his eyes for a long time. Then she raised her head. “I have been living in a fool’s paradise, I believe the expression is. I never really trusted either Mr. Jewells or Mr. Chaucer, but I couldn’t be bothered with it. It is truly all my fault for being a fool.”
That was true, he thought, but he didn’t want her paying such a heavy price. “I have given this some thought, Arielle. Why do you not marry again?”
She shrank back, turning paler, if that were possible. She said nothing, merely shook her head back and forth.
“I know it isn’t a full year yet since Lord Rendel died, but your need is pressing, truly. You are a lovely young lady, my dear. Surely there are many gentlemen—”
“No! No, pray don’t mention that again, Mr. Lapwing. You will speak to Lord Ravensworth? You can tell him that he will certainly pay very little for the estate now.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Good,” said Arielle. With the news that she was now a pauper, perhaps Burke would leave her alone once and for all. “Please excuse me now, sir, but I have a lot of thinking to do.”
When Mr. Lapwing told Burke of the situation, the earl smiled, rubbed his hands together, and said under his breath, “Now I’ve got her.”
He began making plans even before Mr. Lapwing was out the door.
Six
Arielle couldn’t believe her eyes. She reread Nesta’s letter. She wanted to shout with relief. She wanted to dance. Instead, she reread the letter again.
Nesta and her husband, Baron Sherard, were in Boston, Massachusetts, in America. Arielle’s letter of seven months earlier, telling them of Paisley’s death had finally caught up to them, or they to it, as the case was. They were inviting her to come to America and stay with them.
She offered a prayer of thanks heavenward. She was finally safe. She couldn’t wait to tell Dorcas. With the letter clutched in her hand, Arielle dashed out of the drawing room only to come to an abrupt halt in the entrance hall. There was Philfer in close conversation with Evan. She saw money change hands. She’d always believed Philfer an obsequious fraud, and now she saw that it was true.
It didn’t bother her in the slightest. The nasty old man would shortly be cast out. Then he would earn what was due him. She called out gaily, “Evan. Welcome. Do come in. I would speak to you of my news.”
Philfe
r jerked about, turned a remarkable shade of gray, but Evan, all aplomb, merely smiled and walked toward her.
“Well, good morning, my dear sister. What is your marvelous news?”
“You will be the first to know, Evan. I am leaving as soon as possible for Boston.” At his blank look, she added, “It’s a large city in America.”
“I know,” he said. “Who’s in Boston?”
“Nesta. She’s inviting me to stay with her for as long as I wish.”
“But what about Rendel Hall and all your responsibilities?”
“You mean Paisley Cochrane’s home? I am as certain as I can be that it will continue on a proper course.”
He said nothing, and Arielle was too happy to care. She wasn’t about to tell him of her miserable situation, one rendered inconsequential now. Let him find out in his own time, perhaps when the creditors came and kicked Philfer out. She pictured it in her mind. The old man would huff and hem and haw, and it wouldn’t matter. As for the rest of the servants, they would have no difficulty finding new positions. Geordie, now, he was different. She hoped he would agree to come with her to America.
“Well,” Evan said finally, “I suppose this is what you wish. Good luck, Arielle. I shall be in charge of things while you are gone, all right?”
She wanted to laugh in his face. His greed was so ill-disguised. “Yes, certainly, Evan. You will see to everything whilst I am away, I’m sure.”
“Oh, you can trust me implicitly, Arielle.”
It occurred to her then that it might not be possible to transfer power to him without his finding out about Jewells and Chaucer. And she didn’t want that to happen until she was gone. “Well, perhaps I shouldn’t. No, I don’t believe I shall.” No explanation for him. She smiled brightly. “Is there anything in particular you wanted Evan?”
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