by Darcy Burke
Howard’s brevity could be hard to parse at times. Had Richard not spent days listening to his friend’s peculiar verbal cadence, he would have understood what Howard was asking of him now.
“You want me to make contacts for you in London and in Paris?” Richard asked.
“Yes, of course. It’s the same principle as extending my business between Maine and Charleston, only across an ocean. But I need you to help me find investors. You can talk to people. I can’t. You’re the only one I ever talk to.” Embarrassment crossed Howard’s rough-hewn features. “You’re the best business decision I ever made, Lord Northcote.”
“I’m not a business decision, Howard. I’m your friend.” He clapped one hand over Howard’s shoulder. He didn’t say, You are my friend. The only one I’ve ever had. But Richard thought it.
He deserved Lizzie with all her flaws. If she wanted to use him to punish the husband she didn’t want, it was none of his concern. He was nothing more than a willing partner abetting her abdication of responsibility. Without his title, Richard was nothing more than a vessel for depravity.
Chapter 3
Richard examined the rough white-washed cottage he would be staying in—alone—for the next three nights with considerable distaste. Not long before he had been forced out of England, Richard’s mistress had demanded a country home as payment for her services. Richard had sent his agent to procure one. Instead, the man presented him and his mistress for an exceedingly short time with a hovel. The roof leaked, the windows needed replacing, and the entire interior needed refurbishing.
That dilapidated country cottage was a palace compared to this hovel.
His lodgings were unfit for human habitation. Undoubtedly there were squirrels in the rafters. Ugh. He hoped the raccoons weren’t breeding. They made such an ungodly noise when they were—a fact he could have died happily without knowing.
“My aunt had it swept and aired out before you came. She anticipated you’d need your own place to sleep. The only other option was to house you with Spencer and the other boys, but then we couldn’t be alone.” Lizzie grinned and ran her fingernails up his chest. Richard supposed it was meant to make him anticipate stolen evenings in her arms, but instead, he shuddered.
If he had his choice, Richard’s cock would’ve wilted at the sight of Lizzie’s pert breasts. His body, however, was long accustomed to women angling to warm his bed for a night. Willpower required a will, and his had been pruned to the root after his fall from grace. Richard’s determination to secure his comfortable future after Edward’s unwelcome return had culminated in setting the blaze that killed his father. The fire had destroyed the family townhome and also charred Richard’s will to live to ash.
Hence, his acceptance of his brother’s banishment decree. It had been presented as a choice, but Richard knew better. Edward had told him to get out of the country and not come back.
Hence, falling in with Lizzie. Until Howard’s warning, Richard had drifted in a state of ignorant bliss. But with the possibility he could be named as a respondent in a divorce, Richard was determined to break with Lizzie. He only needed to find the right moment to tell her the news gently.
Tonight had not been the right time. They’d left New York at dawn, far earlier than Richard was accustomed to waking, and walked to the pier where Lizzie’s husband moored his yacht. He’d been grateful to discover his satchel loaded onto the general-transport clipper instead of Arthur’s nimble pleasure boat. He’d caught a glimpse of Lizzie’s husband. Arthur’s light hair glinted in the bright morning light. He stood a few inches taller than his wife, whose short, thin body bent away from Arthur’s like a reed in the wind.
From there, it had been a short journey to New Jersey. They rounded the shoulder of the island and entered the lower bay which fed into the Atlantic Ocean. Richard stared over the vast expanse of glittering water.
I will go home. Whatever it takes.
By evening, bored, Richard stepped out of his lodgings and headed for the beach. With his jacket slung over one shoulder he strode along carelessly. A sea breeze ruffled his dark wavy hair like a mermaid’s unseen fingers. Richard’s mouth curved up at the corners in a rusty grin. He did not smile often, not anymore.
Lizzie had been right about taking a break from the city.
Lizzie was perceptive, in her way. “Richard!”
Twined female forms emerged out of the twilight. Lizzie’s hair was unmistakable. She walked arm-in-arm with a taller woman that Richard first took to be her aunt. That seemed strange. Lizzie and her aunt had never gotten along. As they drew closer, he realized he had been mistaken. The second woman was someone he did not know, closer to Lizzie’s age.
This, too, seemed unusual. Lizzie had many acquaintances but few friends. This girl appeared every bit as buttoned-up as the matrons of Lizzie’s parents’ set. Behind the pair trailed a black-clad figure. A chaperone of some sort. “Richard!” Lizzie called out, releasing one hand from the intimate hold she had on the newcomer. She waved at him as though they had not seen one another in years. Puzzled, Richard waved back. He walked over the gritty sand toward them. Oyster shells crunched beneath his bare feet.
“Hello, Lizzie.”
“Richard, may I present Miriam Walsh, my friend from boarding school.”
Lizzie was up to something. He could tell from the way she spoke a little breathlessly, animated by more than just the refreshingly cool sea breeze. From the way her tongue swept fleetingly over her lower lip, leaving it shiny with moisture.
Richard sketched a bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Walsh.”
“Likewise,” the lady replied. Even on the beach where the wind whipped away words the instant they were spoken, he could hear the sultriness in her voice. It sent a frisson down his spine.
Miriam Walsh looked up at him with enormous, heavily lashed gray eyes. Her cheeks curved in a perfect oval with a small pointed chin framing pretty lips of pale pink. The whole effect was topped by a wind-whipped coil of black curls escaping their casual coiffure.
Miss Walsh is a moon goddess, Richard thought nonsensically. He shook his head to clear it.
“Miriam is here with her family for the summer. On holiday. What a lovely surprise to see you here, dear, dear Miri.” Lizzie clutched her friend’s arm.
“Lizzie, no one calls me that nickname anymore,” Miss Walsh replied with an easy laugh.
“Well, I do.” Lizzie grasped her friend’s arm a little tighter, as though Miss Walsh were a shorebird that might take wing.
“What brings you to the Pines?” asked Miriam. Lizzie’s aunt’s retreat was known as the Pines, a sprawling estate reserved for warm-weather pleasures.
“Liz—”
Lizzie interrupted him with a laugh. “The same thing that brings everyone else, I’m sure. To escape the summer heat.”
Richard frowned at his lover. She gave him one hard, quick glare that clearly said keep your mouth shut. What was she up to, anyway?
“Yes, I had a break in my business in the city and decided to reward myself with a short holiday,” Richard supplied. He could play Lizzie’s game a little longer.
“How long are you staying?” asked Miriam.
Richard glanced at Lizzie. “A few days,” he replied vaguely. Lizzie flashed him a quick, brilliant grin. A queasy sensation settled into his gut.
“And who is this charming young lady?” He bowed to the woman standing a few feet away. She reminded him of an umbrella. Her black dress fell in pleats from her waist. Her bonnet could have been the knobbed handle. Her form held no discernible curves, and her visage was as sharp-featured as a crone’s though her skin remained unlined. She scowled at him.
“This is Mrs. Kent, my nurse,” Miss Walsh explained.
Richard looked at her askance. “You seem rather aged for needing a nursemaid.”
The girl laughed. “I was ahead of Lizzie in school. My health is not as strong as one could hope, so Mrs. Kent attends me everywhere I
go.”
To be sure, Miss Walsh was fine-boned and reed-slim, yet Richard sensed in her a vitality that belied illness. He smiled easily, a trick he had learned for getting along in his adopted country. “You look strong to me.”
It had been the right thing to say. Miss Walsh’s fine eyes lit up like a thousand stars.
“Miss Walsh suffers from asthma. Any attack could be fatal,” Mrs. Kent declared dourly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kent, for your candidness about my private affairs,” Miss Walsh replied firmly.
Richard approved of this reticence. It struck him as very English to be so circumspect. He decided to like Miss Walsh. It was the first time he could recall ever feeling that way about an American. In two years of exile he had found much to admire, respect, and appreciate about them, but he had not yet met one for whom he felt the slightest bit of kinship.
This included Lizzie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past several minutes.
“Tomorrow we are going sea bathing in the morning. My aunt is holding an oyster bake in the afternoon for luncheon. Will you join us, Lord Northcote?”
Again, Richard stared hard at his lover. “I am not Lord Northcote. Not here. I am only Richard or Mr. Northcote if you must be formal.”
“Don’t be silly. Miriam, Lord Northcote is related to royalty. Can you imagine?” Lizzie giggled.
Richard sighed. What the devil was she plotting?
Most likely, Lizzie was trying to in some roundabout way get him to propose. Lizzie had a habit of ignoring boring practical matters, such as preexisting vows that legally bound her to another man. Richard had no intention of becoming the man she ignored, much less cuckolded.
“Of course, I shall be delighted to join you,” Richard finally replied, since she wanted it, and Richard disliked fighting with her. Lizzie winked. Richard shook his head ever so slightly. What was she after? He returned his attention to Miss Walsh, who had glanced out over the sea, clearly embarrassed at the revelation of her condition. Unnecessarily so. Richard tried to forget about the fact, for Miss Walsh’s sake. It hardly mattered, not to him.
“Wonderful. We will meet you at the beach at eleven.”
Richard shrugged. He would do as he was told, up to a point.
The two friends had separated and were standing a few feet apart. Catching Lizzie’s elbow Richard pulled her aside.
“What are you up to?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Lizzie asked innocently.
“Don’t play coy. Whatever you’re plotting, leave me out of it.” He jerked his head. “Her, too.”
Lizzie tossed her head. “You’ve a suspicious mind tonight, Richard. I’ll find you later. We’ll talk then.”
Richard let her go. His eyes followed Miss Walsh as she and her companions made their way slowly up the dusky shoreline until they became mere specks upon the horizon.
Chapter 4
The knock came when he was halfway finished with the bottle of wine which he had brought to accompany his lonely, rather tasteless supper. The dry chicken made Richard long for the fine cuisine he had taken for granted as an earl’s son and, for fifteen years, his heir. The wine had a sourness to it that spoke of long journeys and poor temperature control.
His shirt hung loosely over his body when he opened the door. Lizzie placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back into the room. Richard always found himself surprised by Lizzie’s small stature, given her outsized personality. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder, yet he yielded when she gave him a final shove, so he sprawled backward onto the counterpane.
“If anyone catches us, our plans are ruined,” Lizzie scolded.
“Our plans? Were you planning to appraise me of what those plans are?”
Lizzie huffed a sigh. “You must have figured it out by now. Isn’t it obvious? Miriam likes you. She is wealthy, overprotected, and sickly. She might die at any moment, and then all of her lovely money goes into a trust for her cousins. Trust me, her cousins are the worst sort of people. Completely undeserving.”
“That is Miss Walsh and her family’s affair.” He was taken aback by the pure avarice animating Lizzie. Discussions about money were rare amongst English gentlemen. Americans were frank about the topic, but Lizzie had tilted into outright vulgarity.
“Don’t you think we should have her money?” she whispered against his skin.
Richard pushed her away. A shocked silence stretched between them. “No, Lizzie, I don’t.”
“Think of the freedom it would buy us, Richard. I would no longer be under my husband’s thumb. If we were independently wealthy, I could pay Arthur to break our marriage. You could return to England with your head held high. Your nasty title-thieving brother wouldn’t be able to say a thing against you as a self-made man returning from America.”
“A self-made man doesn’t make his fortune by marrying an invalid under false pretenses and waiting for her to die,” Richard replied flatly. He had pride, plenty of it, more than was healthy.
“You have your warehouse money, too,” Lizzie pointed out.
As though that amounted to anything.
Lizzie advanced upon him. Richard felt helpless as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. He froze, stoic, as she licked one nipple. When she pressed his hand to her breast, he felt the small cushion with total detachment. Lizzie was a succubus, an enchantress out of a fairy tale. Richard did not love her, did not even like her.
As numb as dead wood, he stood there while she undressed him.
For once, his body betrayed him. Relief flooded through Richard’s frame as he failed to respond to her touch. Lizzie’s eyes narrowed as he brushed her away and closed his trousers.
She chose that moment to say, “I’m pregnant.” Richard’s heart stilled at Lizzie’s word.
“With child,” he repeated as his blood turned to ice.
“Yes,” she replied. “So, you see, we are in dire need of money. Arthur will cut me off the instant he finds out. He knows it isn’t his. My parents aren’t about to help. I cannot secure a divorce without funds.”
Richard lay flat on his back and pondered the life he had led to brought him to these circumstances. He was in no position to provide Lizzie with the life she believed she was due. The only thing of value Richard owned was his name, and even that was a fraud waiting to be discovered.
But the worst part, the part that made him rage with cold fury at his past self, was that he’d now impregnated another man’s legal wife. The series of unfortunate events and pure bad luck that plagued him had acquired the stink of self-destruction. There was no hope of passing the child off as her husband’s legitimate issue. He wondered which the most moral choice was—abandoning his child to a lifetime of poverty and stigma or going along with Lizzie’s coldly calculated plan to deprive a sickly friend out of her fortune.
“Does Arthur know?” Richard clapped his hands over his eyes. He could not afford morality. The choice was between his child and the lovely woman he had met for a few minutes on a beach. The decision had been made the day Lizzie had flung herself into his arms for a kiss, and Richard hadn’t bothered to resist.
“No. If I told him, he might use it as an excuse to keep me as his wife. I want the annulment as badly as he does,” Lizzie replied softly.
“What do you have in mind, Lizzie?” Richard asked. Lizzie propped herself onto one arm and smiled at him, tracing the whorls of hair on his chest with one finger. “It’s simple, really. I will arrange for you to meet with Miriam a few more times. You focus on charming her and her nurse, Mrs. Kent. Sweep her off her feet, the way you did me. Miriam, not Mrs. Kent, of course. Then propose marriage and wait for her next asthma attack. When it comes, pretend to be helpless. Miriam passes tragically but not unexpectedly. You play the bereaved widower for a few months. Then, we marry.”
“That’s murder,” he said flatly, rolling away.
“No, it’s letting nature take its course. Like when you
set the fire and your father died, surely you don’t blame yourself for that?” Lizzie asked with false sympathy.
“You know damned well I do.” Richard cursed himself for telling Lizzie about the reason for his banishment from England. There was an amoral logic to it. He would never go along with Lizzie’s plan, but she’d clearly latched onto this as her ideal solution and would push as far and as hard as she could to make it happen.
Lizzie’s words ricocheted around his mind as Richard tried to process what she wanted and how he could get out of this. He had not swept her off her feet. Hell, he’d hardly glanced in her direction when they first met. Hot fury sliced through him. Lizzie was a liar. Was she so desperate for romance that a simple good day, my name is Richard passed for romance, or had Lizzie been plotting this all along?
“What about Arthur? He wants you back.” God only knew why. Richard would have given anything to get Lizzie out of his life before this trip. It had been sheer laziness and fear of her prodigious temper that he let her stay in it for so long. A spark of an idea burst into Richard’s brain like the flare of a match.
“I will find out his price.” Lizzie sat up beside him in the bed, unashamedly naked. Richard found himself examining her body for any sign of pregnancy.
“Lizzie.”
“Yes, darling?”
There was another way out of this mess, one far more palatable than leaving his child to Lizzie’s not-so-tender mercies. He could beat Lizzie at her own game. Courting Miriam Walsh could prove entertaining if she was half as intelligent as she was pretty. He’d give her every warning, every opportunity to run. In the meantime, Richard could try and convince Lizzie to return to her husband. Her friend would be safe from her machinations. Their child would be claimed by her husband and grow up well provided for. He would retain some semblance of his pride.
If Miss Walsh didn’t heed his warnings, well, there was no reason he had to go along with the second part of Lizzie’s plan. Richard could pursue her without intending to let her die. Everyone said he looked after his own interests at the expense of everyone else, although Richard knew it more that he looked after no one’s interests at all, not even his own.