Tempting a Proper Lady

by Debra Mullins

  Samuel fought to speak past the pain burning in his chest. “It’s not about the money. I don’t care if she’s rich now. None of you are hearing what I’m saying.”

  “We hear you,” Virgil said. “But you’re telling us that Lord Raventhorpe, an English lord with blood bluer than the sky, left you stranded on some deserted island just so he could marry Annabelle. Aside from the fact that that’s just crazy since he didn’t even know Annabelle at the time, you’ve got to agree that it’s a far-fetched story.”

  “As soon as I was able, I came back to Annabelle. And that’s the truth.”

  “The truth? I sure would have liked to hear the truth. To hear you admit your mistake like a man. Like I taught you.” Virgil’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, I sure would have liked that. But now…well, Annabelle’s already announced her engagement to Lord Raventhorpe.”

  “The banns were read this week,” Raventhorpe said, “and a notice was sent to the Times. You are too late, Breedlove.”

  Samuel whirled on the earl. “I’d like to remind you, Raventhorpe, that you tried to get rid of me once and it didn’t work.”

  The earl raised his brows. “Are you making these wild accusations as an excuse for abandoning your lady? Good God, Breedlove. You will say anything to save face.”

  “Get rid of you?” Annabelle broke her silence and looked at Raventhorpe. “What does he mean, Richard?”

  “He has made a muck of things,” the earl replied, laying a possessive hand on her shoulder. “Captain Breedlove underestimated the consequences of his abandonment of you and now he is trying to make me look the villain.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Annabelle. This man is not the saint he pretends to be.”

  “Saint? Goodness, no.” Raventhorpe chuckled, casting a glance at the others to encourage them to share in his amusement. “No man is a saint. But you have some gall coming here uninvited and abusing us with your unfounded accusations. You say I marooned you on a deserted island…?”

  “You know the truth.” Samuel’s hands fisted. “And now you figure to steal my bride.”

  “And yet you stand here before us. Clearly you escaped this mythical captivity.” Raventhorpe shook his head, his expression tinged with pity. “Poor man. You must have loved Annabelle very much for your mind to have become so unhinged.”

  “You know what you did.”

  “I know what you are claiming I did. Where is your proof?”

  “Good question,” Virgil said. “It’s your word against his. You got any proof or witnesses? Because Lord Raventhorpe has a boat full of people who back what he says.”

  Samuel remained silent. He could see the gleam of triumph in Raventhorpe’s eyes behind the mien of benevolence. It took every fiber of control not to reach out and choke the man with his bare hands.

  “So, you have no proof.” Raventhorpe cast a meaningful look at the Baileys.

  There was no way to win, not without evidence. Samuel turned his attention to his fiancée. “Annabelle, you are still my betrothed. Surely you believe me.” He held out a hand to her, then dropped it when she didn’t take it. “We had plans. Dreams.”

  “We did.” She fixed him with a deadened stare, spearing him with disappointment from that too-somber gaze. “But you disappeared with no word that you ever intended to come back. Not so much as a letter.” Annabelle glanced up and laid her hand over Raventhorpe’s on her shoulder, eyeing the earl with devotion. “Richard was there. He comforted me in my heartbreak and my humiliation. That is why I chose him for my husband.”

  “I see.” Samuel looked at Virgil.

  The older man nodded. “That’s how it is. I want my gal to be happy.”

  “I could make her happy.”

  “Oh, leave off, Breedlove!” Raventhorpe snapped. “You have lost. Accept it like a man.”

  Samuel glanced back at Annabelle.

  “You should leave now, Samuel,” she said.

  “Why him?” Samuel asked, the words jerking from him like a tightly leashed beast fighting to escape. “His title? Social prestige? I never knew you to be a social climber, Annabelle.”

  “Here now!” Virgil surged to his feet.

  “There’s no need to be hurtful,” Dolly hissed with a glare at Samuel. She patted her daughter’s hand.

  Samuel kept his gaze on the woman he had once thought would be the mother of his children. “Once upon a time you wouldn’t have doubted me for an instant. None of you would have. But now…” He shook his head. “How in God’s name can you let your head be turned by wealth and status? What’s happened to you?”

  “Don’t try and make this about me,” Annabelle said, lifting her chin. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but her eyes burned with fury. “You were the one who left me, who never sent word of the state of our engagement. You were the one who made a fool of me. Don’t come back here with some wild story and expect everything to be as it was.”

  Raventhorpe took a step toward him. “I think you’ve upset my betrothed quite enough, Breedlove.”

  “I regret that.” Samuel meant those words, though he did not back down. “None of you are the people I thought I knew.”

  “I’m asking you again to leave now,” Virgil said. “Annabelle has made her decision, and I’ve already asked the servants to summon your carriage.”

  “Yes, Breedlove, run along,” Raventhorpe said. “If you go quietly perhaps we will not have the footmen throw your miserable carcass into the gutter.”

  Annabelle stood. “Our engagement is over, Samuel. I am marrying Richard, and that’s the end of it. I can’t say it more plainly than that.”

  Samuel looked from one familiar face to the other. All the Baileys—these people he had once embraced as family—looked at him with disapproval and disappointment. They did not believe his tale. They sided with Raventhorpe, the man who had tried to kill him.

  The warmth of hope faded from his heart to be replaced by ice. “Very well. But this is not over.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

  Behind him, Annabelle softly began to weep.

  Captain Breedlove strode past Cilla like a thunderstorm, his mouth tight, his eyes hot with emotion. He glanced at her just before he passed through the door. Anger, frustration, hurt glittered from those dark depths. Then he was gone.

  Her heart turned over. He had barged into the house with no invitation, ruined the engagement party with his dramatic claim to Annabelle, then attempted to usurp Lord Raventhorpe’s position as her fiancé with a wild story that rivaled Mr. Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe. Yet despite all that, she couldn’t help but feel a certain sympathy for him.

  He had braved all for his lady, only to lose.

  She slipped from the room, hurrying down the hall on an impulse that, by the time she had reached the foyer, once again had her questioning her own judgment. The matter was closed. What did she hope to accomplish by speaking to him?

  The footman was just closing the door behind him when she got there. She yanked the door open herself and hurried outside to where his coach sat in front of the house. He had just raised his foot to climb inside. “Captain!”

  Samuel stopped, a shadowy figure in the dimness of the lamplit drive as he turned to face her. “Mrs. Burke? Did they send you to find me?”

  His voice sounded rough, and the hint of hope that came through with the last question made her heart soften all the more.

  “No,” she said, studying his face as she searched for the right words. “Captain, I just wanted to say…Well, I am sorry.”

  He stiffened. “I have no need of your pity, Mrs. Burke. Better your efforts should be turned toward preventing this disastrous marriage.”

  “It is not pity, Captain. And it is a good match for Annabelle. I just felt badly—”

  He leaned closer. “Raventhorpe tried to kill me, Mrs. Burke, and I’m not the first, just the one who survived. Annabelle is marrying a murderer.”

  Before she could respond, he climbed into the
coach and slammed the door, then rapped on the roof. The coach pulled away with a jerk, leaving Cilla standing in the drive with her thoughts awhirl.

  Slowly she turned back toward the house.

  Annabelle is marrying a murderer.

  The words staggered her. Had Captain Breedlove only said that to muddy the waters, to throw doubt that the earl was the best match for Annabelle? Her late husband had certainly been able to tell a convincing tale of woe if it furthered his own ends. Was Samuel Breedlove the same type of man? Had he said that only to gain her sympathy?

  What if he told the truth?

  She needed this wedding to happen. She was counting on the sterling reputation she would get from the affair to be the driving force behind her fledgling business; otherwise she was just one more ruined debutante trying desperately to survive. She doubted that unforgiving society would give her a second chance. But if Lord Raventhorpe truly was a villain, would she be able to stand by and watch Annabelle marry him, knowing the girl might be putting herself in danger? How could she in good conscience put her own dreams ahead of Annabelle’s safety?

  She couldn’t.

  Either Captain Breedlove was lying or Lord Raventhorpe was. Somehow she needed to find out which one. The American’s words would haunt her until she did.

  Chapter 3

  John had turned the coach back toward the inn where they were staying, leaving Nevarton Chase behind them. Alone in the vehicle, Samuel found no peace in what should have been a comforting darkness. Emotions roiled through him like a stew pot on full boil. Pain. Betrayal. Regret. Disbelief. When a man’s dreams got ripped away, it hurt.

  Annabelle had ended their engagement. His heart should have broken at the news, but the defection of Virgil and Dolly had struck harder and deeper than losing their daughter.

  How could they possibly think so little of him? How could they believe Raventhorpe’s lies? Annabelle had changed from the sweet farm girl he had once known into just another haughty society heiress. And Virgil and Dolly had judged him before he’d even begun to tell his side of the story. Perhaps before he’d even walked through the door.

  He acknowledged that he had shocked them. Perhaps their reactions had simply been a response to his sudden reappearance in their lives, especially since Raventhorpe had apparently blackened his name while he’d been gone. Maybe he needed to give them more time.

  But would more time really make any difference? He could try again in a day or so, but he couldn’t ignore the growing evidence that the bond he thought he had with Annabelle wasn’t as strong as he’d believed. Certainly not as strong as should exist between a husband and wife. He’d been gone nearly two years, most of that time spent alone on an island. An experience like that changed a man. He’d had way too much time to think, to judge his own worth. To ponder who he was and what he wanted. To face both his strengths and his flaws and learn from them.

  He wasn’t the same man who had proposed to Annabelle, and apparently she wasn’t the same woman. Not if she could so easily believe the worst of him on another man’s say-so. He could allow for the fact that she was young, only twenty, and perhaps given to impulsive decisions. But what excuse could he create for Virgil and Dolly? Yes, he understood that Raventhorpe had lied to all of them. The deceitful snake had even fooled Samuel at one time, not normally an easy task. But how could the Baileys believe the worst without giving Samuel the benefit of the doubt, especially after all the years they’d known each other?

  And what about their claim that he had returned now simply because they had become wealthy? If they only knew how little their money meant to him.

  The confrontation in the study had been like shouting into the wind, the Baileys’ trust and affection slipping further away with each word exchanged. None of his accusers had paused to consider his feelings, only charged ahead with their allegations, Raventhorpe leading the way.

  The only person in that house who had even given a single thought to his reaction about what had happened tonight had been Dolly’s assistant, Mrs. Burke.

  She’d run after him. Offered him sincere compassion at a moment when everything he had ever valued in his life had just fallen apart. When she’d darted out of the house and called for him, his heart had leaped at the thought that they’d changed their minds, that they had sent her to stop him from leaving.

  That they had decided to believe him.

  He’d known his hope had reflected in his voice. But he’d realized the truth the instant the words had left his lips. He would never forget that regretful, sympathetic look in her big brown eyes as she’d stood in the drive and smashed his hopes with her simple “I am sorry.”

  His temper had flared, and he’d snapped at her. Shocked her even. He wasn’t proud of his loss of control. Nineteen months without any human contact had weakened his skill with people, and tonight’s disaster had pushed him too far. She hadn’t deserved his brusque words. But his anger at himself, at revealing how pitifully eager he was for acceptance back into the family, had made him lash out at her.

  Not his proudest moment.

  But he needed to look forward now, not dwell on the past. He could accept the broken engagement. In fact, he suspected his heart had never truly been involved. Marrying Annabelle had simply seemed the next logical step in his relationship with the Baileys, and he could let that go with more regret than pain. It might even be possible that he was not the marrying type. Some men weren’t. His father hadn’t been.

  But he could not accept the people he considered surrogate parents thinking the worst of him; all he had left now was his honor, and now that was being challenged. Nor could he accept Annabelle marrying Raventhorpe. The man was a killer, and despite their history he still cared enough that he could not let Annabelle put herself in danger.

  The answer was clear then. He had to stop this wedding, whatever the cost.

  Cilla came back inside the house just as Annabelle and Dolly came out of the study.

  “Cilla, where did you go?” Dolly asked as the two ladies quickly traversed the hallway. “You ran out so quickly!”

  “She went after Samuel.” Annabelle frowned at her. “Why did you do that, Mrs. Burke? Can’t you see how he has torn this family apart?”

  “I was making certain he left the house,” Cilla improvised.

  “Good. I never want to see that man again.” Annabelle’s words rang with the bitter peal of a woman scorned.

  “Now, Annabelle—”

  “Mama, don’t tell me you’re still fond of him, even after what he’s done?”

  “He seemed genuinely sorry, darling.”

  Annabelle stared at her mother in horror. “He promised to marry me, then just disappeared when he changed his mind. If Pa hadn’t asked Richard what happened, I might still be sitting there waiting like a fool.” Her voice broke. “I’m very tired. I think I will go to bed.”

  “Don’t you want to wait and say good night to Lord Raventhorpe?”

  “Frankly I don’t want to see another man for the rest of the night.” Annabelle glared at a passing footman, who tried to sidle down the hallway unnoticed.

  “All right, dear. Your father will say your good-byes for you. Perhaps I should bring you one of my toddies when I come up?”

  “That sounds wonderful. Make sure you put extra whiskey in it. I’m going to need it to deal with the gossip that’s sure to come of all this.” Gathering her skirts, Annabelle began to climb the stairs, her stomping footfalls evidence of her ill humor.

  Dolly watched her go, and when her daughter was out of earshot, she turned back to Cilla. “She’s right, you know.”

  “About the gossip? I fear there is no way to avoid it after that very public display.”

  “Not about that. About me being fond of Samuel.” Dolly’s expression softened. “I practically raised the boy. I just can’t fathom his behavior. He used to have such lovely manners.”

  Cilla frowned. “So you believe his wild story?”

  “Of
course not. But I also can’t believe he simply left Annabelle waiting at the altar. There’s probably some explanation that falls in the middle.” She sighed. “I wonder if Virgil was too hard on him.”

  “From all accounts, your husband has every right to be angry with the man who abandoned your daughter.”

  “It’s not just that.” Dolly glanced around before lowering her voice. “Samuel spent quite a bit of time at our house as a young man. I believe Virgil saw him as the son I was unable to give him, and once Lord Raventhorpe told us what happened, my husband felt betrayed. Even though none of us wanted to believe the tale at first.”

  “But you seem to believe it now.”

  Dolly shrugged. “What else could we think? The boy never contacted any of us. We could only draw our own conclusions based on the facts we knew. Virgil was adamant that Samuel had callously broken our girl’s heart. There was no persuading him otherwise.”

  Cilla frowned, thinking back to the pain she had seen in the captain’s eyes when he’d stormed from the study—not at all the expression one expected from a cad. “Tell me, is Captain Breedlove the type of man to tell tales if it suits his needs?”

  Dolly pursed her lips as she considered the question. “He never was before.”

  “And when was the last time you saw him before tonight?”

  “Nearly two years ago when he came to say good-bye to Annabelle. He had taken the captain’s position on Lord Raventhorpe’s ship when the previous captain left his post rather abruptly. It was a wonderful opportunity for him.”

  “So he planned to marry Annabelle after he came back from this voyage.”

  “Oh, yes. Lord Raventhorpe had offered a generous salary since he needed a captain so desperately. Annabelle and Samuel would have been able to marry as soon as he returned.” Dolly frowned, her expression troubled. “The earl told us that he and Samuel had quarreled and that Samuel had left his post mid-voyage. Just disembarked somewhere in the Caribbean, leaving the ship with no captain! If Virgil hadn’t asked what had happened to him, we would never have known what to think.”