She hesitated thoughtfully. What did she want to know? She had so many questions that she hardly knew where to start, but if she was going to find another way to escape, then she supposed she ought to find out what had gone wrong the first time...
‘I’d like to know how you found me this morning.’
‘How did I know you hadn’t taken the train, you mean? Let’s just say that next time you choose an accomplice you ought to find one the same height. The stationmaster remembered a woman in a black veil, but he also recalled her being reasonably tall. Whereas you, Miss Harper, are quite...’ his gaze roamed leisurely over her body, down to her ankles and back up again ‘...distinctive.’
Distinctive. She dropped back on to the sofa with a thud. That was better than small, she supposed, though in essence it meant the same thing. Strange, unusual, odd-looking, the same words she’d been hearing her whole life. Except that no one else had ever looked at her in the way Captain Amberton just had, without criticism or disapproval, but with... She hardly knew what with, only that whatever it was made her feel too hot suddenly, with a quivering sensation deep in her chest. No, lower than that, in her stomach, something between a tingle and an ache. It was the same way he’d looked at her five years before, the way that had made her feel, albeit briefly, like a woman and not just an object of curiosity. Before she’d realised he’d only been laughing at her.
She shifted away from the fire, willing the feeling to subside. ‘What about Rosedale? How did you know I was going there?’
‘I didn’t, but Mr Rowlinson happened to mention your friendship with Ianthe Felstone. I guessed that you might have used one of her husband’s connections.’
‘It’s still only a minor supply route. How did you find out about it?’
‘I asked her husband. He thought it might be the likeliest possibility.’
‘Robert told you?’ She couldn’t hide her dismay.
‘Robert?’ His gaze darkened slightly. ‘Yes, I’m afraid Robert did, though in his defence, he was trying to help you. Apparently he didn’t think running away was in your best interests either. But then, I presume you already knew that or you would have included him in your plans, too?’
She lifted her chin, annoyed that he’d guessed correctly. ‘It wasn’t something I could explain to a man. I knew Ianthe would understand.’
‘But to encourage a wife to keep secrets from her husband? Tsk, tsk, Miss Harper. You know he was quite offended by the suggestion of his wife’s involvement at first, though once I explained the circumstances, he seemed to agree it was likely. It should be an entertaining evening in the Felstone household tonight.’
‘It’s not funny!’ She felt a stab of guilt. Robert would forgive Ianthe anything, she knew, but any rift between them would still be her fault. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked for help after all, but she’d needed to talk to someone.
‘I wouldn’t worry.’ He sounded nonchalant. ‘Every marriage needs a bit of drama now and again, or so I’ve heard.’
‘I forgot how much you enjoy arguing.’ She shot him an irate look and then shook her head despondently. ‘All that planning...’
‘I take it that running away wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision, then?’
‘No. I made up my mind as soon as I heard the terms of the will.’
‘Ah.’ His expression sobered. ‘So your father didn’t tell you about the arrangement before? I wondered about that.’
‘You mean you already knew?’ She sat bolt upright again in surprise. ‘Since when?’
He held out his empty glass. ‘I believe that you said one question. If you want me to answer another, then you’ll need to alleviate my thirst.’
‘All right.’
She took the glass and refilled it quickly, feeling his gaze on her back the whole time. The awareness unnerved her, making her hands tremble slightly as she poured. What on earth was the matter with her? More precisely, what was the matter with her body? It seemed to be acting independently of her mind. She didn’t want to be so aware of him and yet every part of her seemed to be on the alert. Another thing she resented him for!
‘Here you are.’
‘Thank you, Miss Harper.’
He raised the glass, though his eyes remained fixed on hers. They were an intense shade of amber, she noticed, the same colour as the liquid in his glass, as if each was reflecting the other. Quickly, she retreated back to the sofa.
‘To answer your question, then—’ he peered at her over the rim ‘—I knew that our fathers had come to an agreement about you marrying Arthur, though I never knew the exact details of the will. I certainly never imagined it would apply to me, too. I believe we discovered the truth about that on the same day. I took the news marginally better, of course, but it was still quite a shock, I assure you.’
‘So you knew a while ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘At the ball?’
‘That was the night I found out.’
‘And your brother?’ She sat very still, forcing the question past dry lips. ‘Did he know about it then, too?’
‘Yes.’ He paused briefly before continuing. ‘He was the one who told me.’
‘Oh.’ She closed her eyes, head spinning with all the implications of his words. If Arthur had known about the marriage agreement at the ball, then surely it explained his strange behaviour towards her. In which case, his despair must have had something to do with marrying her, too... As if the idea of it had been so truly appalling. As if she were as strange and unattractive as she’d always been told.
‘So he knew all along...’ She forced her eyelids open again, struck with a deep sense of despondency. ‘Why did you have to come after me? Why can’t you just let me go?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
Yes. Her stomach plummeted. Of course it was obvious. It was just as her father had said, the only reason any man would want to marry her...
‘Because of the money?’
‘Because of the money.’ He repeated the words softly. ‘My father agreed to this bizarre arrangement because the estate needed money. It still does.’
‘So you’re just as mercenary as he was?’ She didn’t bother to hide her contempt, but he only shrugged.
‘I prefer to think of myself as pragmatic. As I’m sure you’ve heard, my career as a soldier recently came to an abrupt and unfortunately irreversible end. I returned home without any means to support myself and to find my inheritance close to ruin. Your fortune presented itself at a most opportune juncture.’
‘So that’s all I am, then, an opportunity?’
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘I’ll do you the courtesy of not sugar-coating the truth, Miss Harper. My father threw me out of this house, if you recall, without so much as a penny. He told me to make my own way in the world and I was glad, even eager, to do so. Unfortunately, as it transpired, my way was the wrong way. I made a mess of everything and now there’s no way for me to put it right. There’s no way for me to reconcile with my family either, but I still feel the need to make amends to my father, to save the estate if I can.’
‘I don’t care about your estate.’
‘But your father did. He was just as mercenary as mine, only in his case he was appropriating the land and title. He might have intended for you to marry Arthur, but I’m the one that you’ve got.’
‘That was a mistake. He would never have wanted me to marry you. He detested you.’
‘Then I’m curious to know why he didn’t alter his will?’
‘I’m sure he would have if he’d known.’
His face paled visibly. ‘He didn’t know about Arthur?’
‘No. He was sick when it happened so I never told him. If I had...’
‘If you had, then neither of us would be in this situation.’ A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘But it still
doesn’t change anything. We’re both of us bound by the terms of the will. You can either marry me or be destitute. I admit that the bargain works in my favour, but for the sake of my conscience, as well as my bank balance, I’d prefer that you choose the former.’
‘If you had a conscience, then you’d let me go.’ She wasn’t going to sugar-coat the truth either. ‘How many times do I have to say that I don’t want to marry you? You’re a drunk!’
‘Oh, come now, Miss Harper, is that really the best you can do? You called me a libertine earlier. I quite liked that. Besides...’ he lifted the glass to his lips again ‘...the alcohol’s largely medicinal. It dulls the pain.’
‘In your leg?’
‘In my past.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘You might not like me sober.’
‘I don’t like you now.’
‘Then you’ll be pleased to hear that once I’ve fulfilled my side of the bargain, I wholly intend to drink myself into oblivion.’
She frowned, taken aback by the note of conviction in his voice. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that, like you, I’ve no particular fondness for my company either. Only alcohol makes it bearable. Once I’ve fulfilled my father’s wishes, I fully intend to spend as little time sober as possible.’
‘But that’s abominable!’
‘Is it? I rather thought you might be heartened by the idea. In all likelihood you’ll be rid of me in a few years.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me want to marry you?’
‘I thought that it might. Then you’d have everything without the inconvenience of a husband you dislike.’
‘Detest, not dislike!’
‘I believe we’ve established that, and believe me, Miss Harper, of all the women in the world, you were the last I ever wanted to marry.’
She flinched. No matter how much she despised him, the insult still hurt as much as it had at the ball. She stood up, trying to hold on to some scrap of dignity.
‘There’s no need to tell me that. You made your opinion perfectly obvious five years ago.’
‘Did I? I remember being quite taken with you at the time.’
‘What?’ Her legs trembled as if he’d just knocked her feet out from under her.
‘I found you quite intriguing, if I recall correctly.’
‘You made fun of me!’
‘In your opinion, although I assure you, I wasn’t.’
She stared into his eyes uncertainly. He looked sincere, for once, as if he truly meant what he was saying, but surely he didn’t. He couldn’t...
‘So when you said I might have suitors, you meant it?’
‘Of course. I never did understand why you were so sensitive.’
‘I thought... That is, my father...’
She let the words trail away. If he was telling the truth, then it cast her own behaviour at the ball into a very different light. If she’d simply overreacted, then everything that had followed had been her fault.
‘But that means...’
‘That my being denounced as a reprobate and banished by my father was based on a misunderstanding?’ Amber eyes flickered with golden sparks in the firelight. ‘Yes. Ironically I was actually behaving myself that night, though I find it hard to see the funny side.’
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. What could she say? If his banishment had been her fault, then how could she ever apologise enough?
‘I never intended for any of that to happen.’
‘And yet it did.’ His gaze narrowed perceptibly. ‘Ungentlemanly as it sounds, as much as I was intrigued by you to begin with, I had a very different opinion by the end of the evening. I believe I came as close to hating you as I ever have anyone. You see, my brother tried to tell me something important that night and I didn’t listen. I didn’t go to his aid when he confronted my father either. I danced with you instead. If I hadn’t, then I might have been able to help him. I might have prevented him from drowning himself.’
She felt a roiling sensation in her stomach as if she were about to be sick. No one else had ever uttered the suspicion out loud, that Arthur Amberton’s death had been anything other than an accident. Clearly his brother thought otherwise.
‘So you think it was my fault, what happened?’
‘At the ball, yes. To Arthur, not entirely. There’s plenty of blame to go around, but you weren’t quite the innocent bystander either.’ He raised his glass in the air as if he were making a toast. ‘But I do believe that you owe me a debt, Miss Harper. The very least you can do to repay it is marry me.’
Chapter Five
Lance raked his hands through his hair and staggered to his feet, keeling slightly as the floor pitched like the deck of a ship beneath his feet. How much had he drunk? He grimaced at the sight of another empty bottle on the sideboard. Too much, then. He was well aware that Mrs Gargrave watered it down, but the back of his throat still felt as though it had been scraped raw with sandpaper.
Had he slept? He felt marginally less exhausted than he had when he’d sat down, though refreshed was too much to hope for. He hadn’t slept well in six months and there was no reason to expect he’d start doing so now. He must simply have dozed at some point.
Something had happened the previous night though, something to do with Miss Harper... His drink-addled brain seemed to be trying to tell him something, as if whatever it was, was important. Had she been there in the room or had he dreamt it? He stared intently at the sofa as if it might give him the answer, fragments of conversation coming back to him, fuzzy and yet vivid enough that they must have been real. They’d talked about her escape, about the will, about the money, about—he moaned out loud—Arthur.
Now he remembered. She’d dashed out of the room on the verge of tears after he’d practically accused her of causing Arthur’s death, looking even more distraught than when he’d locked her in the tower, and he hadn’t been so drunk that he hadn’t felt a sting of remorse. The accusation had been cruel as well as unjust, but it was easier to lash out than face his own part in it. Easier, too, to keep on drinking afterwards than go and apologise.
He reached into his breast pocket and drew out the letter, the last one he’d ever received from his brother, the one that should have brought him home from Canada on the next available ship, but that he’d never answered and kept locked in a trunk instead, as if doing so would make its unwanted contents go away. He’d kept it with him ever since he’d received word of his father’s and Arthur’s deaths, over his heart like some kind of bandage, partly as a reminder of the amends he owed to his family, partly as a form of self-punishment, to remind him of how worthless a specimen of manhood he was by comparison.
He’d proven that again last night. He’d spent years blaming Violet Harper for his banishment, yet when he’d finally said the words aloud, they’d sounded utterly ludicrous. Of course she wasn’t to blame. She hadn’t intended to cause the rift with his father. That had been coming for a long time. She’d simply been the catalyst. He’d always been the cause.
As for what he’d said about Arthur, he had to apologise and the sooner the better. As much as he wanted her money, he should never have implied anything so vile, especially when the blame sat so squarely on his own shoulders. He forced himself to look down at the letter, at his brother’s faded and increasingly illegible handwriting begging him to come home, to help him stand up to their father, to save him. And why hadn’t he? Because he’d been too busy with a woman, that was why, with his own major’s pretty and bored young wife. He’d stooped as low as he could go, and he’d paid for it. But so had Arthur.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Martin entered the room, wearing his usual taciturn expression.
‘Good morning.’ He tucked the letter away again. ‘What time is it?’
‘Eight o’clock, sir. The maids are waiting to come in and clean up.’
‘Probably.’ Martin stood to attention and Lance sighed inwardly. Touching though his former batman’s devotion was, there were times when he wished he’d simply go back to the army and leave him alone. He might have saved the man’s life once, but he’d only done what anyone else would have under similar circumstances. He didn’t deserve such loyalty.
‘Miss Harper’s in the breakfast room, sir.’
‘Already?’
Lance lifted both eyebrows in surprise. It only seemed like a few minutes since she’d left him, though at least that meant she wasn’t crying on her bed in despair. That made him feel slightly better.
‘In that case, I’d better join her.’
Martin cleared his throat. ‘All due respect, sir, but you might want to shave and clean up a bit first. You don’t want to scare her.’
‘Is that so?’ He rubbed a hand along his jaw, finding enough stubble there to qualify as a beard. Hadn’t he shaved for his wedding yesterday? He couldn’t remember, but apparently not. No doubt he looked as bad as he felt, but he still had to apologise first.
‘Then I’ll just say good morning. Meet me upstairs in ten minutes, will you? Bring a razor.’
He made his way unsteadily to the breakfast room. Martin was right, she was already there, sitting neatly at the table, her pale face and white hair contrasting starkly with her black day gown. Black. He groaned inwardly. He’d been so angry yesterday that he’d forgotten she was in mourning for her father. As if she needed another reason to hate him.
‘Miss Harper.’ He propped one shoulder against the doorjamb for support.
‘Captain Amberton.’ She glanced up briefly, her shoulders tensing at the sound of his voice, though her outward expression remained calm.
He stood there in silence for a few moments, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall sounding deafeningly loud as he wondered what to say next. She wasn’t crying this morning. Quite the opposite, she looked tranquil and self-contained, as if nothing he’d said the previous night had bothered her at all. He had to admire her fortitude, even if the dark rings around her eyes gave her away.
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