by Pamela Labud
Of course, that was on the surface. His own interests lay far beneath the law, beyond what decent people knew about, and he meant to keep it that way. No matter what. And the ripe young woman he meant to take to his bed would fulfill his other tendencies quite well.
“It’s my hope that we can dispense with your business quickly as I have a party to return to.”
Bainbridge scoffed. Just like the selfish, ego-centered aristocrats. Always more concerned for their own miserable lives. No matter, he’d likely be grateful to dispense with the girl at the earliest opportunity.
“Mine as well. The less time I spend in this overindulgent hovel, the better. I’ve come to see about my bride.”
The duke blinked. “Your bride? To whom are you referring?”
Cursing, Bainbridge reached into his jacket and gave the high-nosed imbecile his papers. “Miss Beatrice Hawkins. Here is the promissory letter from her only living male relation, a Sir Alfred Danbury. In it he has arranged a marriage between Miss Hawkins and myself. With his permission, I’m to escort her from the premises. As you see, he has reclaimed his right as her legal and binding guardian. I will remove her forthwith from your care and take her to my home in Scotland as is outlined before you. Now, if you would see to dispensing my bride, I will be away from here at the first opportunity.”
The other man stood quiet a moment, studying the documents Bainbridge had given him. When he looked up again, he wore a tight, angry expression.
“Has the lady agreed to this arrangement?” The duke asked the question as though he’d already known the answer.
“She has not, but it matters little. Her guardian…”
“…is a senseless fool if he thinks I’m going to surrender her care to the likes of you or anyone else he chooses. He has a history of mistreating the Hawkins women, from their mother to my wife, and even Beatrice herself. I’ll not allow him or you to take her from my home.”
The man’s audacity knew no bounds. “You will allow me, sir, or I shall see you in court.”
The duke shrugged. “See me wherever you will, I’ll not give you my sister-in-law. She has a family here that loves her and I won’t force her to marry against her will. And, seeing the likes of you, no woman would agree to that.”
Bainbridge leaned in close, his voice low and threatening. “How dare you speak to me so. You have no say in the matter and neither does she. You have until midnight to have her packed and ready to go. A minute past and I’ll have the law here, sir.”
The younger man stood still for a moment, his eyes narrow and his expression tight. “Do as you must. You have my answer.”
Furious, Bainbridge stormed out of the room. How dare the fool keep him from the woman. Had he no idea with whom it was he was crossing swords? No inkling of the power that Bainbridge wielded?
“Pickering!” Bainbridge yelled. “Get my carriage.”
A tall, gangly man, all arms and legs, with a small, almost child-size body, rushed to his side. “Right away, sir. Will the lady be joining us?”
Bainbridge’s first thought was to strike the man, but thankfully he wasn’t one to let his emotions rule his head. “Not yet. We’re going to White’s. I’ve heard we can get a fair meal there.”
“But what if the lady isn’t here when we return?” Pickering asked as the carriage rolled up the drive.
“I very much doubt she will be.” He waved his hand. “I’ve never trusted the aristocracy, anyway. I’ve another plan for securing my bride-to-be. It’s already been set in motion. I’ll have the wench in my bed by the end of the month, have no doubt about it.”
The one thing that Bainbridge excelled at was outmaneuvering the upper crust at every turn. While the Duke of Summerton was no fool, he was as pathetically weak as were all his counterparts. And no one alive knew how to exploit these clods better than Richard Bainbridge, to be sure.
—
Ash paced the room. He’d read the orders to relinquish Beatrice into Bainbridge’s care. It was sure disaster. He’d heard of the man before.
“Who was that man?” Amelia asked at the door.
Taking a deep breath, he considered lying to his aunt. The last thing he wanted to do was set her to worry about Bea’s situation more than she already did. Since his sister-in-law had begun living at Summerton, she’d been offered for many times and had refused them all. Not all of the gentlemen had been accepting of her rejection, and the dowager and he had been sternly supporting her decisions. But it was getting harder and harder to keep Beatrice out of the fray.
In the end, he knew he had to be honest with Amelia, like as not her spies amongst the staff would tell her of Bainbridge’s visit anyway. No sense in ruffling her feathers as well, he thought.
“His name is Bainbridge,” Ash told her, motioning her to the chair across from his desk. “And he is trouble, to be sure.”
“I don’t understand? Did he threaten you?”
Ash shook his head. “Not directly, but if I don’t comply with his demands, he’s assured me he will take actions against me.”
“How dare he?” She shook her head. “Must be quite a fool to face off a duke.”
“Believe me, a fool is the very last way I’d describe him.” Ash reached beside his chair and pulled the servant bell. “He’s come to take our Beatrice away.”
Shocked, his aunt started to speak but held her tongue when Bentley entered the room. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“I need you to fetch Lord Bladen as soon as you can find him. I believe he’s in the receiving parlor.”
The butler nodded and left.
“What do you mean, he’s taking our Beatrice? How dare he?”
“He dares because that dratted Alfred Danbury has revoked her guardianship. In return for a substantial payment, he’s arranged an engagement between Bainbridge and Beatrice.”
“Can he do that?”
He hated seeing his aunt so upset. “Yes, he can. It’s already filed with the courts. As soon as he secures her acceptance, they’ll be announcing it in the banns.”
Amelia stood up. Though a petite woman, her stature far outmeasured any man’s Ash had ever known. “You can’t let this happen. We don’t even know what sort of man this fellow is.”
Ash let out a breath. “On the contrary, I do know what sort he is. Wealthy, powerful, and cruel first come to mind. Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of handing her over.”
“What will you do?”
“Get her married as soon as possible, is what. The courts rarely go against an established marriage. The sooner, the better. I’m afraid her very life may depend upon it.”
—
There can be many things in life that one regrets. Missed opportunities, harsh words spoken that can never be unsaid. Entanglements that one couldn’t avoid—or rather should have but didn’t. The foolishness of youth and the desperation of loneliness. A bitter drink to swallow, but when one must claim them all, it was weight beyond measure.
Taking a deep breath, Michael prepared to face his past. He found his former lover in the upstairs parlor. The sitting room meant for Summerton’s visitors had been designed for comfort. Large, overstuffed chaise lounges, a bracing fire in the fireplace, high windows with thick burgundy velvet drapes.
Dimly lit, with the afternoon shades drawn, he saw the figure of his former mistress seated in the farthest corner of the room. A dark beauty, he suddenly got the sense she belonged in the shadows. She sat as still as stone, her spine straight, shoulders back, and arms crossed in front of her. Wearing a black mourning gown, with matching hat and gloves, his former lover was the perfect picture of the grieving widow.
For years, she’d pretended concern for her husband, doting on him endlessly in public. But her attentions didn’t come without a cost.
He had the scars to prove it.
Ten years older than he, she carried her age well. Her hair pulled in a severe chignon, and wearing the scent of an expensive French perfume, she was the height of fashion. A
tall, austere woman, her beauty was legendary and her temperament one of cool guile and cunning. Had she been a man, Constance would have commanded armies. As a woman, she commanded any man who dared venture too close to her.
He easily remembered her green eyes and her small, slightly upturned nose. But it was her lush, inviting mouth and narrow chin that made a man beg for her attentions. Men flocked to her like bees to honey, and she opened herself to each one as if they’d been her first, true love.
She was considered to be one of the most intriguing women of the ton, and Michael had been fascinated by her from the very first.
Of course, at the time, he’d barely been out of the schoolroom, nearly sixteen when they’d had their first tryst. She’d been a kind and generous lover, teaching him all that he needed to know when it came to bedroom affairs. Later, after his many failed attempts at courtship, Constance had found him on a night when he’d been vulnerable and too deep in his cups to resist her charms.
Young fool that he was, he’d have stayed with her if he hadn’t been ordered home by his father. Upon arrival, he’d learned that his father had already arranged his marriage to a wealthy baron’s daughter.
Though he’d tried his best, marriage hadn’t agreed with him, and fidelity less so for his wife. They hadn’t been married long when his wife had gotten caught in a terrible scandal. She’d written him a letter, in which she’d blamed him for her unhappiness. Immediately after, she took her own life. Though no one directly blamed him, Michael felt responsible.
Distraught at his failure as both a son and a husband, he’d thought his life was over. The very day he’d returned home from burying his wife, Constance had been waiting for him. It hadn’t taken much convincing before he climbed into her carriage and threw himself into oblivion for the three months that followed. He only left because the war had taken a turn and he’d deserted her to join in the fray.
“Hello, Michael.” Constance smiled. Her expression of displeasure changed upon seeing him. He’d seen that look before on his former lover. Though he’d once found her irresistible, these days she reminded him of a spider hiding in the shadows, ready to spring at any moment. “I’ve missed you so much.” She beamed at him.
Never more in his life had Michael felt like a fly, caught in her dangerous, sticky web.
Married to a man nearly twenty years her senior who’d had no interest in her save for that of her family’s connection, she was now left a widow. A dangerous, wealthy, and influential widow, in fact.
Michael thought it odd that she chose to visit him, certain she’d had plenty of other suitors among the ton, most of whom were far better off financially than he. But she’d made her intentions known and he was going to have to settle things between them, the sooner the better.
The truth was, his fascination with her had never been one of love. He knew that now. It had been one of convenience, one of two people needing comfort in the arms of each other. He readily admitted that spending a weekend with her, or even a week or more on occasion, had always been pleasant. Fun, even. But more and more he found himself counting the hours until their time together ended. Their final tryst, three months earlier, had ended badly.
He should have made it clear that he wouldn’t visit her anymore. Michael knew the final cut was the deepest. He couldn’t bear the thought of wounding her even more.
“My sweet,” he said, taking her hand and placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “How are you? I’m so sorry to hear of old George’s passing.”
“I’m well enough, thank you. It wasn’t really a surprise. He’d been ailing for quite some time.”
Dabbing her eyes, Constance clearly was looking for sympathy, but he saw no tears in their depths. As she leaned forward, her breasts pushed up and were nearly springing out of the gown’s bodice. Worse than that, he could see her hardened nipples through the sheer fabric. The gauzy material clung to her like a second skin. He imagined that the tiny hooks holding the gown together at her back were near to bursting.
Though her choice in wardrobe had never bothered him before, he found himself becoming more uncomfortable by the minute.
“Still, I’m sorry for your loss,” he said when he found his voice again.
She waved her hand. “Let’s have honesty between us. You know I hated the man. He was a boorish mule, and exiting this mortal coil was the best gift he’s ever given me.”
Another man might have thought ill of her, speaking her mind like that, but Michael understood too well what it was like to be trapped in a marriage with someone you didn’t love. The terrible day-to-day living side by side, two souls forced into the small space of an unwanted marriage. All for the sake of powerful alliances, of providing an heir, of increasing one’s wealth.
Yes, he’d done as his father had insisted. He’d taken Lenore as his bride and imprisoned her in his life, in his home. He’d married her but hadn’t loved her. And, when she’d strayed, cuckolded him with her lover, he’d played the wounded one.
But he knew who’d been truly to blame. It hadn’t been his intention to make such a mess of it. In fact, he was yet again being a good son, a good soldier. After Michael had caught her in bed with the cur, he threatened to cast her out. It didn’t matter. Once the gossip had started, there was no stopping the scandal. Lenore had been exposed.
But it may as well have been him that ended her life that night, for fate had placed his hand at her back as surely as if he’d driven her carriage from that bridge and into the icy waters below.
One thing was certain: he’d had his share of regrets, and he wasn’t about to add to their number.
“I’m not the one for you, Connie. I never have been. At best, I was an interesting diversion, and you well know it.”
“You poor boy,” she said in the tone that would always end with them wrapped in each other’s arms and the thin sheets of his bed.
“No”—he held up his hand—“I won’t do this again.”
Her expression changed. No longer the demure, desirable siren, she became something else. Someone dark. Someone unforgiving. Her eyes darkened, their green turning opaque with fury.
“You’d turn me away?” she gasped. “What a stubborn, willful boy you’ve always been. Even when your young wife visited the beds of half the town, you were still faithful to your vows.”
“I beg you, don’t speak of these things. That was in the past. Let’s leave it there.”
She leaned closer, so much so that he felt her hot, moist breath on his face. “I did hear that you are still in need of an heir. With your father gone and you childless, your family’s title will revert to the crown. Is that what you really want?”
Michael shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I had one unsuccessful union. I’m not in the market for another one.”
She pulled back from him, narrowing her eyes and setting her jaw. “So, that’s it then? You’ll dismiss me? I’m not good enough for your lordship? That’s rich, Michael. Even for you.”
“It’s not my intention to hurt you, Connie.” Despite the fact that that was exactly what he was doing. “Please, let’s just part as friends.”
“Friends? You cast me off so cruelly and you think that we could still be friends?” She laughed, a dry, brittle sound. “What a fool you are.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said at last.
Once Constance let it be known that he’d cast her aside, half of the gentry would hate and despise him, she would certainly see to that.
There might be some who would rally behind him. At least until they’d learned that he’d included the innocent Beatrice Hawkins in his lies. Surely he’d be cast out of proper society once and for all.
As it was, Michael desired neither friends nor enemies. Or, for that matter, a wife.
“You’re making a mistake, Michael. A terrible, unforgivable mistake.”
“Despite what you think, while I don’t regret our time together, I know that we would fast tire of each other.
”
Before Michael could answer, an urgent knocking sounded at the parlor’s door.
“Come in,” he said, his gaze at his former lover never wavering. He knew that she was about to let loose a torrent of fury, and while he felt bad about her situation, he could not let it affect his own survival.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Bentley said, “but His Grace requests your presence in the library immediately. An emergency, is how he termed it.”
If his friend was speaking in such terms, it meant that disaster was near upon them. Without another thought to his own entanglement, Michael bowed to Constance. “My apologies for my abrupt departure, but I must go.”
Without waiting for her to speak, Michael followed the servant out of the room, though he felt her stare burning a hole right through him. Pushing back the veil of guilt that hung over him, he hoped that she might find her own happiness one day and see that he had saved her from a future of heartache.
Chapter 3
Michael arrived at the duke’s study to find his friend bent over his desk, practically buried beneath a stack of papers.
“Ash?” he asked, rushing into the room. “What’s this about?”
“Good. You’re here. A situation has arisen with Caroline and Beatrice’s cousin, Alfred Danbury. The cur has gone beyond decency and has practically sold Beatrice to the highest bidder.”
“Who?”
He watched Ash let out a long, slow breath. “Sir Richard Bainbridge, very savvy businessman who has a habit of manipulating the aristocracy. Barely six months ago, he managed to acquire a knighthood thanks to his aid during the war effort. Quite the coup, as I hear it.”
Michael nodded. “I’ve heard of him. He has a history of buying influence and an enormous wealth with which to do so.” He sent Ash a sidelong glance. “More wealth than you?”
Ash laughed. “Not by a long throw, but I put my money to better use than manipulating power. Let’s just say he has enough.”
“Then we have a problem.”