Chapter Seven
Roger Snead saw his niece in the foyer of Sheridan Hall. He didn’t smile, but there was a moment where his expression shifted from annoyance to satisfaction. She was right where he wanted her, within reach and easy to control. Or she would be as soon as Neville had his way with her. Once ruined, she’d be grateful to marry the idiot rather than have a bastard out of wedlock.
But his smile faded quickly when the gentleman who was with her stepped into view. Though certainly rumpled from their travels, it was clear the man’s clothes were of excellent quality and tailoring and his boots were by Hoby, no less. But his presence raised some very pertinent questions and Roger intended to get them answered immediately.
As he neared the foyer, he saw the man place his hand at the small of Margaret’s back. It was an intimate gesture, one that implied a certain type of relationship between them. And that was not to be borne. Striding forward, he demanded, “Take your hands off her immediately! You’ve no right to touch my niece so impertinently!”
And then the gentleman faced him fully. Recognition was instantaneous. How could it not be? The man before him had the ability to ruin him entirely. If anyone found out that he’d been out of the country prior to the war, then his entire world would crumble around him.
“Your niece?” he demanded. “Then your name is Roger Snead… isn’t it?”
There was no doubting the threat in those words nor was there any escaping the menace in Lord Thurston-Hunter’s narrowed gaze.
“Yes, and as her uncle, I demand that you unhand her immediately and behave with propriety!”
“Your niece happens to be my wife,” Thurston-Hunter replied with the satisfied smirk of a man who clearly believed he had the upper hand. “I won’t insult her by talking about what rights I do and do not have, nor will I permit you to do so. Suffice it to say, this is not something in which you have any say, sir.”
“Margaret? What is the meaning of this?” Roger asked. Everything was crumbling around him, he thought. She couldn’t be married. She certainly couldn’t be married to him of all people. It would ruin everything. The fortune that was due them was slipping away. His only option was to bluff his way through it.
“Uncle Roger, may I introduce you to my husband, Lord Leander Thurston-Hunter, Viscount Amberley… Leo, this is my uncle, Roger Snead. I believe you are acquainted with his son, Neville.” Margaret managed the introduction smoothly, her tone never faltering. Despite that, her smugness was as obvious as it was infuriating.
“This cannot be. You don’t even know this man!” Roger snapped. He had to find some way of driving a wedge between them. If they were allowed to be alone together, it was quite possible that Thurston-Hunter would tell her the truth of their prior acquaintance. “You’ve never been in society! He’s certainly never visited here! What sort of ruse are you playing at?”
“There is no ruse, Mr. Snead. Also, we’ve met previously,” the man she’d called Leo stated, his tone as sharp as a whip and filled with an unspoken threat. “As to the manner in which our marriage came about, it was arranged by Margaret’s stepfather. He wished to see her settled in a manner that would provide him some peace of mind at his time of passing. And so we carried out his wishes. We were wed by special license at St. Paul’s Cathedral two days past.”
“Two days?” Roger echoed. His chest ached. For a moment, he feared he might be suffering an apoplexy. Thurston-Hunter knew one of his more damning secrets and now his marriage to Margaret would make him privy to others.
“Yes, Uncle,” Margaret said, twisting the knife. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to refresh ourselves after our travels. As it seems my old room is in some degree of… disarray… we will take the chamber that connects to Sir William’s. My mother’s old rooms.”
“Surely you do not intend to share a chamber,” Roger protested. “Why, you hardly know this man!”
“And yet in the eyes of the law and the church, I am her husband. Whither though goest and all that,” the upstart replied.
Roger’s lips firmed and he stared at them in utter disgust. He might not be able to keep Thurston-Hunter from revealing his secrets to Margaret, but that didn’t mean he had to let them leave Sheridan Hall to reveal those secrets to anyone else. “Well, if you wish to behave shamelessly, I certainly will not interfere. It isn’t even my house, after all! Not yet, at any rate. And it’s not as if my niece and I have ever held one another in any great affection. Have we, Margaret?”
Margaret’s reply was uttered with cool disdain. “Affection is a thing that must be nurtured, Uncle… and that has certainly never been something to which you have put a great deal of effort.”
Roger sneered at her. “We cannot all be as saintly as your departed stepfather. He’s laid out in the drawing room, by the way, stinking up the place already.”
Leo’s fist was drawn back, prepared to strike the man down. Were it not for Margaret throwing herself between Snead and himself, he would have beaten the man to a pulp.
“Please,” she whispered. “Do not let him provoke you to this. It solves nothing and will only stir gossip. Half the servants in this house are loyal to him and they will bandy the tale of your brutality all over the county. It’s what he wants.”
He knew that she was right. There was little doubt of it. He had reason enough to hate Roger Snead—a man he’d first encountered under his assumed name of William Ashby, but such a display would hardly serve to aid him in establishing a connection with his new bride. But he had questions. What had been his game to enlist under the name of his half-brother? What the man’s ultimate goal was remained a mystery to him, but Leo knew that he was far more dangerous than Meg had ever realized and they’d have to be incredibly cautious while under that roof. “Lead the way then. I find myself unable to tolerate his presence a moment longer.”
With that, Margaret took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. He could feel the weight of Roger Snead’s furious glare as they climbed up the winding stone steps to the third floor. From there, they made their way down a long corridor to a set of matching mahogany doors that were spaced only a few feet apart.
“That was my stepfather’s chamber,” she said, indicating the door on the right. Opening the door on the left, she led him into another bedchamber that connected to it. “This was mother’s room before she passed. It’s been cleaned recently. When William was very, very sick, I would sleep in here sometimes in case I was needed.”
Leo shook his head. “I know this isn’t ideal and that sharing a chamber is the last thing you wish to do right now. But the truth is, Meg, I’m afraid there are things about your uncle that you do not know and that, at least for the time being, I cannot tell you. Suffice to say, he’s—well, it just isn’t safe.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “Showing up here with you, challenging his authority and mucking up his plans—he’s angry, Leo, and when he’s angry, he’s terribly spiteful. Petty, vindictive, cruel. I don’t wish to be alone here. He’ll use Neville as his henchman, of course. He always does.”
Leo closed the distance between them and took her into his arms. It wasn’t the sort of passionate embrace they’d shared on their wedding night, or even the kiss they’d shared in the carriage. This was about comforting her, about making her feel safe and protected. And she would be, whatever he had to do to ensure it. Neville was spiteful and cruel, devious even, but he wasn’t driven the same way that Roger was. Roger was highly motivated in their current situation, something Neville had no real acquaintance with. Regardless, he would make certain that no harm came to her there.
“I won’t let them hurt you… I promise you that, Meg. I swear it.”
She settled against him, her head pressed to his chest and the softness of her was a heady sensation as he held her. “Why did Mrs. Dove-Lyon choose you?”
“She didn’t,” he admitted. “Sir William did. And I can’t tell you why because I’m not certain I understand his reasons yet myself�
�� suffice it to say, I’m fairly certain it has to do with your uncle.”
“You knew him? Before all this?”
Leo considered his answer carefully. “We met when I was doing my grand tour. Your uncle, Roger, had entered the army under an assumed name. He was calling himself William Ashby. He and a group of men who were with him beat me to a pulp, stole the artifacts I’d just purchased… and one of them shot me in the leg. They left me for dead in an alley in Rome.”
Meg gasped in shock. “Is that why you were asking those questions about Sir William being in the army?” she asked, remembering some of the many questions he’d asked about her stepfather.
“Yes… I thought—blast it all, I told Mrs. Dove-Lyon that I’d keep this secret but I simply can’t. My injury, the reason I have this blasted cane and will limp for all of my days, is because of Roger Snead. And until this morning, I’d thought he was Sir William Ashby!”
“Why? What possible reason could he have had for entering the military under an assumed name? It makes no sense,” Meg insisted.
Leo shook his head, considering what to tell her. So much was conjecture. He’d never had any proof. “I don’t know… but the men who were with him, the ones who did this to me, they were speaking French, Meg. And this was only months before the war. I can’t say why he was with them or what he had done, but I do know that it was highly suspect even then. We need proof.”
“My stepfather had to know. He wouldn’t have arranged all this between us, otherwise! But we’ll have very limited access to this house! Once the will has been read, I daresay we won’t have any access at all,” Meg continued. “If we mean to find out, we’ll have to do it quickly.”
“I don’t think that will be an issue. There will have to be an amount of time allotted to catalogue and transport your stepfather’s collection and his personal effects… I understand that Snead will inherit the home, but there may be allowances made that he should not take immediate possession.”
“Allowances or not, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least that he would toss us out on our ears.” The statement was accompanied by a crossing of her arms and a bitter glare at the closed door and whomever might be lurking on the other side of it.
“I won’t let him do that to you,” Leo vowed. “I know what this means to you and I will be certain that, whatever it takes, you are given an opportunity to carry out Sir William’s wishes to the best of your abilities.”
And then she turned to him, her expression full of suspicion and wariness. “Why? Why would you do that for me? And since you’ve already lied to me, why should I trust you even a little?”
That was the crux of it. He had lied to her, though he’d thought it was to protect her. It begged the question of what Sir William Ashby had known or suspected of his half-brother that he’d requested such secrecy to start with. “There’s no great plot or scheme afoot, Meg. Not on this front, at any rate,” he said. “I need funds. I’ve not tried to hide it or lie to you about it. I wouldn’t. I was led to believe your stepfather made the offer via Mrs. Dove-Lyon because he wished to make amends for my injury… and given the state of my finances, I couldn’t afford to refuse on a point of pride. My father invested poorly and my stepmother spent lavishly. Between the two of them, the family coffers have little to offer but dust. My half-sisters are dependent upon me and I won’t have them suffer because I let my own pride get in the way. I’m not a catch, not in the least, but I have a title and an honorable name and both are yours to share.”
“And all this… these trappings of affection when surely such a thing cannot exist between us?”
“Can it not?” Leo challenged. “It’s taken me very little time to determine that you are a woman of strength and fortitude. You are intelligent and kind. You have an innate grace about you that appeals to me far more than I’m comfortable with, honestly. And you’re so bloody beautiful that I can do nothing but think of kissing you again. But wanting you does not preclude also liking you. And any offer of comfort does not come with a price.”
She simply stared at him. “I do not understand you. At all.”
“I rarely understand myself,” he admitted. “So at least we’re playing on even ground.”
“If we have time, we should search Sir William’s chambers now. Hopefully, Roger hasn’t claimed them already.”
Chapter Eight
Meg moved through the chamber like an automaton. Every item in that room only served as a reminder of the man she was about to bury, a man who had been her father, and in the past few years, her mother as well. Everything in that chamber was familiar to her, and yet, without his presence within those walls, the space felt foreign to her somehow. For the first time, she noticed that the curtains had become shabby and worn, the bedclothes had begun to fade—the blue velvet little better than a muddy gray in spots. Everywhere she looked, it was all signs of age and neglect. When he’d been there, needing her care and attention, such things had been much more easily overlooked.
Behind her, she could hear Leo rifling through drawers and the stacks of paper that had accumulated in the room over the past several months. It was all letters and receipts and things that pertained to her stepfather’s collection. She wasn’t entirely certain she trusted her new husband. There was little reason for him to mean her harm, she hoped, but just because his fate was tied to hers at the moment didn’t make him a true ally. Once they’d dealt with her uncle, it remained to be seen just how they’d deal with one another.
Moving away from the table that was piled high with books, she crossed the room to another table in the far corner, this one laden with small bits of ancient crockery and other small bits of plunder. As she neared it, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. They were close. Very close. And the door to their own chamber was too far away. He placed his hand firmly over her mouth, indicating that she should be quiet before she could even utter a single word.
Fuming internally at the implication she was too stupid to know when to be discreet about their snooping, she glowered at him. Regardless of her temper, she remained silent as the door to the bedchamber beyond opened. She immediately recognized her uncle’s heavy footfalls.
“Look around, dammit!” Roger shouted.
“What for?” Neville sneered indolently.
“Something to show how he arranged this match for Margaret!”
“Why do we need to prove he arranged it?”
Roger cursed softly. “We do not need to prove he arranged it, you dolt! We need to destroy any evidence that he was behind it. We can’t challenge the match and have it annulled if it looks as if he sanctioned it! If you want to marry the girl and claim her forty thousand pounds, you’ll need to get off your arse and start using your head for something other than a place to put your hat!”
Meg felt her heart pounding in her chest. It was just as Leo had said. They would try to have the marriage declared invalid. It would ruin her. It would ruin them both. More to the point, it would place her firmly in Roger’s hand as it would render her his ward. She’d be married off to Neville and likely disposed of before the year was out.
As they moved closer to the dressing room door, Leo inched them back toward the heavy armoire that stood against the back wall. Opening the doors carefully, he gestured for her to climb inside. Reluctantly, Meg did so. Then he followed, the doors closing behind him. The interior of the large cupboard was pitch black.
And despite the danger of discovery, she found herself acutely aware of his nearness. Perhaps it was because she couldn’t see anything at all. She could only feel the heat and weight of his presence and smell the faint scent of his shaving soap and something else that was just him. In that moment, in that small, dark space, she was reminded of the kiss they’d shared, of the way he’d held her, of what it had felt like to wake up in his arms. And all of it was far more appealing to her than it should be, especially given the secrets he’d been keeping.
Another ugly thought reared its head. Was she simpl
y trying to distract herself from her grief by flinging herself headlong into an infatuation with her new and secretive husband? Normally, she was pragmatic and levelheaded. But what woman could be given her current predicament? Her entire life had been turned upside down, not just once, but over and over again. First, it had been her stepfather’s illness, then his crazy scheme to see her married off and safely out of Roger Snead’s grasp. Then she’d met the stranger she was to marry and, instantly, he’d made her feel—well, all sorts of things. None of them were especially ladylike and all of them were terribly confusing.
Her thoughts were brought crashing back to the here and now when a pair of heavy booted feet stopped directly in front of the armoire. She drew in her breath, holding it as every muscle in her body tensed and she waited for them to be discovered. What could Roger do, after all? It would be embarrassing. It would certainly complicate all the things that had to be done while they attempted to settle Sir William’s estate. And it would tip their hand. Roger would know they were looking for something and it would put him even more on the defensive than he already was.
The latch on the door shifted under his hand but Neville called out from the other room. The solicitor had arrived.
The latch fell once more and the door remained closed as they listened to the sound of Roger’s retreating footsteps. After a moment, the door to the corridor slammed closed again and the room outside their hiding spot went utterly quiet.
“That was closer than I like,” Leo murmured, his voice low and muffled in the small, dark space.
“What exactly was he looking for in here?”
“Correspondence, I suppose. If there is anything in this room that connects Sir William to Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, we need to find it before they do. If word gets out that he used the Black Widow of Whitehall to facilitate our nuptials, the scandal could ruin us… but it could also give him much needed ammunition to challenge Sir William’s fitness of mind prior to his death. It could jeopardize everything,” he said, opening the door softly and letting in a bit of light.
Fall of the Lyon: The Lyon's Den Page 7