by Julie Beard
"Not you, surely." When she didn't respond, he asked earnestly, "What can I do to help you?"
She squeezed his hand. "What you've been doing all
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along. Be my friend. Understand. Accept my weaknesses. And keep my secrets."
Jack nodded, but his mind was already scheming. He finally had something to go on. He had enough, at least, to bluff his way through some sort of confrontation with Barrington. He would work out the details tonight, for tomorrow the engagement would be announced.
Thank God he'd taken the time to get to know Liza and gain her trust. At last, he was beginning to feel confident that this marriage would not take place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
he next day Liza gardened in the late afternoon just hours before her engagement party, feeling very like Nero must have, fiddling as Rome burned. She couldn't seem to get her hands deep enough in the earth. The sun blazed down on her back, on her simple gown, and the hotter she became, the more she tried to dig down into the cool blackness of Mother Earth. It was the only thing that seemed real anymore. Other than Jack. He had sent her a note earlier in the day. "Meet me in the garden before supper. I have a plan." What could he possibly have in mind?
She'd felt enormous relief yesterday after telling Jack about Desiree. Of course, she had not told him everything. Not even Jack Fairchild could handle the entire truth. But at least he now knew the nature of her problem. She should have enlightened him long before now. It hadn't been fair of her to ask him to help solve a problem he couldn't even begin to understand.
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Ill-advisedly, Liza dawdled in the garden, hoping Jack would come early. No one would suspect she was waiting for an assignation if she worked in the flower beds. No one would imagine that she would dare to meet someone in such humble attire. Her hands, covered not in kid gloves but in dirt, and her gown, not the finest silk or kerseymere but a mud-stained muslin, would be her disguise. Soon her mother would frantically search for her in the house, but for now she had her reprieve. No one would accuse her of waiting for a man she desperately loved.
No one, that is, except for the viscount.
"Liza," he said sharply.
At the unexpected sound of his voice, she gave a start and sank back on her heels, shading her eyes so she could better see him in the sun. "Lord Barrington, what are you doing here?"
His eyes were the color of a dead, gray animal, and his pale lips were grimly set. He stood rigid in the shadow of the full sun.
"Liza, what are you doing in the garden at this hour?"
"Pruning the flowers," she answered simply, reaching for another soft plant. He hated her gardening as much as her charity work. Everything demeaned her, it seemed, in his eyes. At least they were at the far end of the garden, near the pavilion that led to the deer park. This way the household servants wouldn't hear him berating her.
"In three hours our important guests will be arriving for our formal engagement dinner. Why are you sullying your hands now like a slattern?"
Her frowned deepened. He'd never called her such a disrespectful name before.
"You should be readying yourself in your chamber.
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You will be the wife of a viscount, damn you. Haven't you yet learned to appreciate the significance of that, you merchant's brat?"
Her hair stood on end and her spine stiffened. "I don't feel like readying myself." She cast him a hard blue gaze and returned to her work. "I will be prepared when the guests arrive. Trust me, your lordship. Though I know that is so hard for you to do."
"And you just gave me one more reason to distrust you, didn't you?"
The comment was so triumphant that she looked up, this time in earnest. "What is it? What have you really come to talk about?"
He came around so that she could see him without squinting into the sun. He held out a piece of paper. She recognized it immediately. She tried not to gasp.
"Read it," he snarled when she hesitated.
She took the paper and read the words she had read earlier that day. Meet me in the garden before dinner. I have a plan. How could she have been so careless with Jack's note? How had Barrington gotten ahold of it? She'd locked it in the escritoire. She folded the note and offered it back to him with forced ennui.
"Is that from one of your doxies, Lord Barrington, asking for an assignation? Why show it to me?"
He grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stand, then slapped her hard on the cheek.
Her head flung back and she winced, but she refused to cry out. The impression of his palm stung on her cheek, but she would not rub it. "I hate you. Have I told you that?"
"You didn't have to," he snarled, tightening his grip on her arm. "And it doesn't matter. After tonight the world
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will know beyond question that we are engaged and you will have no recourse. So don't think I will be put off by some indiscreet assignation on your part. And don't think I will give any man a chance to cuckold me. My heir will bear my name and my features, do you understand? You have no choice in this matter."
"Did I ever?" she spat back, wrenching her arm free.
"Of course. You simply knew the consequences of refusing my offer."
She rubbed her arm where he'd twisted her flesh. "How did you get that note?"
"My man of affairs picked the lock on the drawer of the desk. The drawer you slammed on my fingers. I was still curious about what it was you didn't want me to see."
"That is not the note I was writing when you imposed yourself on my privacy."
"No, the note is from Jack Fairchild. I recognize his handwriting. Don't forget he's working for me now."
"I could still refuse you. Even after tonight. Do you realize that?"
"And face ruin in every sense of the word? You won't do it, Liza. You don't have the spine. You're just a little merchant's girl. You have no address. You're of the least possible consequence. In any event, after tonight it won't matter what you do or think."
He wasn't looking at her; he was gazing through her. As if she didn't really exist and were merely a receptacle for his schemes and machinations.
"Come with me." He started toward the pavilion, yanking her along beside him.
She tried to dig in her heels, but only ended up skittering along awkwardly behind him. She turned to see if
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anyone was looking from the distance, then glanced at his doughy profile. "What are you doing?"
"What I should have done long ago." He took the pavilion stairs two at a time, and she stumbled trying to keep up.
A roof overhead protected the tiled pavilion and table and chairs from rain, and walls on two sides hid the view to the house. Shaded from the sun, it was cooler here. A breeze seeped through her simple gown and chilled her nipples.
"What do you want from me?" she asked when he stopped in the middle of the tile floor and let go of her arm.
"I want what's mine," he coldly replied. He took off his coat and threw it over the back of a chair, then began to unfasten his shirt. 'Take off your clothes."
She didn't answer for a moment, certain she'd misheard. Then she laughed in disbelief. "What?"
"You heard correctly, Liza. Don't continue with your prim pretense. Take off your bloody clothes or I'll have to do it for you."
He pulled off his shirt, exposing his white, hairless chest. Liza couldn't have been more stunned if he'd taken a gun and shot someone before her eyes.
"My lord!" she cried, taking a step back. "What in God's name are you doing?"
He smirked. "I should think that much was obvious. I'm securing my right to your dowry. Once I ruin the goods, no one else will want them. You're mine, Liza, to do with as I please. And you'll do well to learn that now. Once I have my heir, I don't care a fig who you tup."
"Bloody hell! You have this all planned out," she said incredulously.
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His mirthless smile widened. "Of course. I told you I leave nothing to
chance." He calmly draped his shirt and coat over a chair.
"I understand my duty, sir. And I will do as I must to protect my family. I will be your wife in every legal sense, even though the very thought sickens me. But I will not submit to you one moment before absolutely necessary. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly."
When she whirled past him, he snatched her arm. Then he yanked the collar of her gown below her breasts, exposing them to the shocking air. She gasped in outrage while her traitorous nipples hardened in the breeze.
"Ah, I see my attention has aroused you."
She swung an arm to smack him, but he grabbed it as well. He looked down and his gaze slathered lasciviously over her pear-shaped, lily-white globes.
"Lovely, my dear. Quite. Luscious, in fact." He yanked her close by the waist and grabbed a breast roughly with his free hand, palming it mechanically. "Feel good, dearest?"
Reeling with disgust, remembering Jack's stories about the viscount's doxies, she jerked free and backed away in earnest. He followed her step for step.
"Where are you going, dearest? I've just started."
"I hate you, Barrington," she hissed as she pulled her gown back up over her breasts. She felt dirty and humiliated. Her cheeks flamed with heat. "God, I hate you. If you—"
She stopped when her back hit the wall and he slammed into her, smashing his chest against her breasts, breathing in her face.
"You need a lesson or two in the art of lovemaking,
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my dear," he murmured. "You're supposed to run to not from your beloved."
He stepped back to unfasten his trousers. 'This won't take long. I simply want to destroy your maidenhead and deposit my seed."
She shook her head in furious denial. "What a degenerate you are, sirrah."
He smirked. "Yes, I am." He reached down and grabbed her between the legs through her gown. Liza gasped and slapped him hard on the cheek. The sound cracked in the silent pavilion. The force of the blow twisted his head to the side and it stayed there a moment. He pressed a hand to his cheek, and she cringed, waiting for a return blow, but he surprised her by smiling with a look she'd never seen before—carnal hunger.
"Well, well, you might have some sport in you after all, my dear. What a pleasant surprise! I should have brought my whips."
The wind carried the cloying scent of his clove-scented sweet waters to her nose and she nearly gagged. She could not let his skin touch hers again. She lunged sideways, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a rough embrace. He kissed her cruelly, forcing her lips apart and then forcing in his slithery tongue. He raped her mouth with it, and in desperation she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, yanking his head away.
"Ow! Let go, you slut!"
He grabbed her wrists, but she refused to release her hold despite the painful pressure on her wrists. Unable to free himself, he looked at her with livid hatred. "You little bitch, let go!"
"My father will kill you for this," she spat at him.
"He'll thank me for it. It's the only way he'll get his
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noble grandson. And it's the only way I'll get the money I need to pay my debts in the gaming hells. Don't you realize how expendable a woman is in the grand scheme of life?"
He leaned his head down and bit her forearm. Liza screamed in pain and let go of his hair. That's when the blow came. He backhanded her hard, knocking her to the ground. She scraped her cheek on a loose tile and sagged to the ground. God, it couldn't end this way. She had to get away.
When he saw her inching back on the ground like a wounded fox, he bent and grabbed a wrist, yanking her up.
"Come along, my dear. I'm ready now. How did you know that I like to play rough?"
He pinned her to the wall with an arm across her chest while he fumbled to unfasten his trousers with the other. Liza shut her eyes and pictured Jack Fairchild in her mind's eye. He had given her confidence. He had made her at ease with her own sensibilities. He wouldn't accept defeat. There had to be a way out of this. Then it came to her. If she acted like a doxy, he would let down his guard.
"Wait!" she nearly shouted, grabbing his wrists to still his motions. "Don't do it that way, my lord. Let us make this pleasurable."
He stopped and stared at her suspiciously. "You don't know how to pleasure a man."
"I've read about these things," she said, smiling coyly. "Let me try. I'm sorry for Ming so prudish. Perhaps I will enjoy lovemaking, if you give me a chance."
She gently pushed his hands aside and began to tug at his trousers, unbuttoning his drawers. Trying not to grim-
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ace, she knelt down and began to pull down on his garments.
"There are many ways to pleasure a man, my lord, besides fornication."
When his erection bobbed before her, she stifled a gag and continued to pull his trousers down to his ankles. Having accomplished her task, she rose and forced herself to stroke his cheek.
"My lord?" she murmured seductively.
"Yes?" He was literally panting now. It didn't take much.
"I have one thing to say before I proceed."
"Yes?"
"Farewell." With that, she shoved him hard. He toppled over like a toy soldier, but not before his hands flew out in the air, tangling in her hair.
Liza cried out in pain as he pulled her, staggering back to catch his balance. But he couldn't. Not with his ankles bound in his own trousers. He fell backward, and her hair slipped out of his hand. She steadied herself, then began to run.
"Bloody hell!" he cursed as he writhed on the ground, trying to rise.
She did not stay to hear the worst of his epithets. She ran as if her life depended on it. She flew as fast as her feet would take her, hiking up her gown so her legs would be free to make great strides. She zigzagged through paths she knew he would never remember or find his way through until she reached the pond, stopping only a few times to catch her breath.
He never called for her, and she realized with triumphant satisfaction that he couldn't. Not without giving away his attempted crime. Doubtless, he would return to
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the house and pretend nothing ever happened.
She kept going until she reached her haven. Her little abandoned cottage. She was sure Jack would come after her. Jack, dear Jack. He had warned her that this might happen. He had told her of the danger Barrington posed. She hadn't listened. She'd been too intent on sacrificing herself for her family. But that would change. This afternoon had changed everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ack strode up the hill to the Cranshaw residence well before the allotted time for dinner. Without horse or carriage, he would draw no notice, and the walk was close enough for comfort. The oak trees at the top of the hill rustled in a pleasant breeze. He stopped at the end of the drive, studying the ostentatious house with a sense of irony. He had come to Middledale to settle into the life of a modest country squire, but he'd immediately involved himself with the daughter of a rich merchant. In spite of his own desperate circumstances, he didn't want a farthing from Liza Cranshaw. She had given him something much greater.
He did not pause long for reflection, for he had much to do in the next few hours. First, he had to tell Liza the details of his plan. After a sleepless night, he'd come to the conclusion that he had to engage the viscount in a private conversation. It would be a verbal card game in which neither knew what sort of hand the other possessed.
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The only way to stop Barrington from ruining the Cranshaws' reputation was to convince him that Jack had enough evidence of arson to ruin his standing in Society. And without divulging that supposed evidence, which was negligible, Jack needed to find out what, if anything, Barrington possessed that could connect the elusive Desiree to the Cranshaws.
Perhaps Barrington was merely bluffing. If he had nothing more than a rumor in his cavalry, the battle would be over. Liza could end the engagement. The party would be canceled.
Barrington would not dare to sue her for breach of promise. But until Harding returned from Fielding with some new revelation about the Desiree scandal, Jack would have to assume the worst. The viscount just might have some document or memento that would blow the family apart.
Jack entered the estate through a side entrance into the garden. Avoiding notice, he worked his way toward the maze. He was quite sure he would find Liza waiting for him there because of the privacy it afforded. But when he reached the topiary garden at the center of the maze, he was astonished to find Celia.
"Mr. Fairchild!" she said, rushing forward. "I'm so glad you came."
"How did you ... how did you know I'd come here?"
"Aunt Patty said she thought you might try to meet Liza here before the party. Oh, Mr. Fairchild, I'm so worried about her."
"What is it, Miss Celia? What has happened?"
"Liza has disappeared. I was hoping she had gone to town to meet you."
"No, I haven't seen her. What makes you think she's run away?"
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"She's been gone for hours. The party will start soon. One of the gardeners said he heard someone cry out from the pavilion hours ago, a woman's voice. I saw Liza earlier in the garden. Oh, Mr. Fairchild, I'm so afraid that horrible viscount has done something to her."
Jack's entire body went rigid with fury. "That bastard!"
"She might have run off to her little cottage. Do you know where it is?"
"Yes. I'll go at once. Tell no one where I'm going, Miss Celia."
"Upon my word, you have my utmost secrecy. Please hurry, Mr. Fairchild. Bring her back safely, won't you?"
"I swear upon the graves of my parents that I'll bring her back safely or I'll see Barrington dead."
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By the time he reached the cottage, the sun was low in the sky. A breeze began to blow, but it was not enough to cool Jack's burning temples. He was out of breath and perspiring, as much from fury as from his arduous run. When at last he saw the quaint and decrepit stone cottage, he stopped and bent over his knees to catch his wind. He walked the last few paces, the vision of Liza growing stronger with every step. He couldn't wait to take her in his arms. What had that bloody bastard done to her?