To Love A Lord of London (Wardington Park; Raptures of Royalty) (18 page)

T
he Next Day

C
atherine sat
in the receiving room while her mother retold a story to an event that she hadn’t even been present for to a group of the most powerful women in London. It was the story of Andrew’s proposal. His real proposal. Catherine would remember every word of it.

A
hand touched her
, and she looked over and smiled at Andrew. He’d come to take her for a walk but had been roped into tea and conversation about the wedding, which would happen in a fashionable few months.

Andrew leaned over toward her, bringing his green eyes close enough to see its many hues. He whispered, “Do you believe she’ll be telling this story until our wedding day?”

Catherine laughed and whispered back, “Much, much longer than that.”

He sighed dramatically, though he made sure no one else heard him.

Catherine covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing loudly. “Well, had you married me years ago—”

“
I
was a fool
.”

“Well, as a good future marchioness, I am simply forced to agree with everything you say.”

His eyes smiled, “Let’s leave.”

Catherine’s eyes went wide, “We can’t. This is my mother’s moment.”

“I wish to have our own moment.”

Heat caught Catherine’s cheeks. “All right.”

Excusing themselves, they left the room just in time to catch a new visitor that gave them both pause.

A
ndrew stiffened
, “Lord Cartridge.”

William smiled at them both. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Catherine whispered.

Andrew spoke again, “You could have sent that by card.”

The comment was rude.

“Andrew.” Catherine narrowed her eyes at him.

William chuckled, “No fear, old friend. I’m not here for Catherine.”

Catherine looked back at him, “You’re not?”

“No.”

“Then who are you here for?”

“Your sister.”

Catherine watched him cautiously. William was a good man. An earl, even. But, what was his game with Jane? “Why?”

A
pale brow
lifted as he said, “She and I have an arrangement of sorts.”

H
e was still studying her
, his eyes in slits, but not in anger. Confusion. Curiosity. “Your family’s money rivals most of the peerage. Yet, you steal. Why?”

She looked away.

He moved closer to her and leaned towards her ear, “You will tell me.”

“You said I only had to nod when you spoke the truth.”

“Well, I’m changing the rules, Miss. Croftman. Answer the question. Why do you steal?” …

I
f only it
were that easy. “Are you going to turn me over to the courts?”

“Then do so, and quickly. For telling you why will only bring about my death either way.”

Cartridge sighed, “You need to tell your brother.”

“No!” The plea was out quickly ... She turned to look up into his eyes again. “Please, you must not tell Joseph.” Her brother could never know for his own good. “Please, just turn me in. I’m guilty. You’ve caught me, but leave my family out of this.”

He looked astonished, and then his own gloved hands were on her, holding her arms. “Jane, this is beginning to worry me. If someone is threatening you, then you must—”

“Lord Cartridge, please.” She was desperate now. “Let us simply go to magistrate now.”

“Jane,” he whispered, “let me help you.”

She closed her eyes, thinking of all the times she’d wished someone would have stepped in to help her. But now was too late. She was in too deep. “You can’t.”

L
ondon
, 1825

W
illiam Lawson
, The Earl of Cartridge, for the first time in a long time, felt… good.

T
he music
from inside the Wardington Ball flowed through the open windows, spilling out into the night and the garden around him. He took the stone path, which led to the house, all the while his mind was a hundred feet in the other direction. He had helped someone.

No. He’d done more than that. He’d helped two people find love. And there was no greater gift than that. Love. It couldn’t be bought or sold. It lived forever. His chest ached at that.

“Is it done?”

He looked up to find the Duke of Wardington staring at him. He was an older gentleman, but that had never stopped women from swooning over him.

William nodded, “I did as you asked. Andrew caught me kissing Catherine. I saw him standing by the trees, though I’m sure he didn’t notice that I’d seen him. His jealousy is sure to make him confront her.”

T
he duke nodded and grinned
, “Good work.” He was setting up his own son. Andrew Dawnton, the Marquess of Clariant had been in love with Catherine for years. It had only been a matter of time anyway, but the duke had wanted the marriage when he saw fit. The old man was playing matchmaker, and so far, he was pretty good at it. Though, William wasn’t sure if it was being done out of love or plain boredom. He himself had only signed on because of the latter.

He stared at the man and shook his head, “In one year, I’ve helped you marry off two of your sons. Are there plans for the third?”

Wardington lifted a brow. “Not so fast. This night isn’t done. Andrew and Miss Croftman are not engaged yet.”

William began to speak, but the duke silenced him with a look. Someone was coming.

J
oseph Croftman
. The man was larger than life, standing taller than both Wardington and William, who were already tall men. Croftman had panic in his eyes as he rushed out the back door of the house. No doubt, he was looking for one of his sisters. As the sole male of his household, it was his duty to protect them.

He turned to the men, “Have you seen Catherine?”

Wardington replied, “I believe her to be at the pond.”

Joseph nodded his thanks and ran in the direction that William had just left. Joseph would find his sister with Andrew. They’d probably be kissing. Andrew would take liberties, and Joseph would…

William’s head came up to stare at Wardington, his blood running cold. “Andrew is going to have to propose.”

The duke grinned, “Yes.”

“Joseph is going to force him. That or kill him.”

“Yes.” The joy continued to rise in his face.

William looked floored. “You do realize we are talking about your own son, yes?”

Wardington lifted a brow, “He’ll thank me later.”

William shook his head. This had to be the boredom that came with getting old. “I hope never to be on the receiving end of your gifts.”

The duke laughed, “Oh?” His grin took on something that the young earl didn’t like.

W
illiam shook
his head and raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve no intentions of ever falling in love.” Again.

Wardington chuckled, “Oh, all right. You go back to the party. Enjoy yourself.” He paused for a moment and then said, “You did well this night. You’re a hero. Be proud.”

He was. William started for the house.

The duke called to his back. “Oh, and if you’ve no intentions of finding yourself in holy mat, do take the east hall. The west is… preoccupied.”

William narrowed his eyes but proceeded into the house. He ignored the duke’s advice and took the west hall. It was empty, just like he’d suspected. He headed down the long hall, which would take him closer to the other guests, but then something fell.

H
e heard
it come from the room to his right. Something had fallen behind the door. He paused. Perhaps, it was two people stuck in a private moment, which would be none of his business… unless of course, one of those parties didn’t wish to be in the moment. What if one of those parties had been forced into the room against her will? Would he be saving another soul tonight?

He knocked once. “Are you all right in there?”

There was no voice. No reply. But he knew someone was there, for he heard the shuffling of feet.

He spoke again, this time louder, “Hello?”

“Y-yes. I’m quite… fine.” It was a female voice. A soft one full of nervousness.

Not good. He turned the knob. “My lady,” he began. “You’ve no fear of—”

Then he paused, and his eyes went wide at the sight.

He recognized the girl before him. Little Miss Jane Croftman. Her brother nicknamed her ‘Elf’, which fit her perfectly. Not only was she short, but there was something about her that always seemed quite fictional. It was probably her hair, which always seemed to have perfect curls in that rich, deep bronze color of hers. Or it was her eyes: large topaz gems over a tiny pert nose, set on a heart-shaped face. It truly did make her very… worthy of fantasy. Not the forbidden type of fantasy, he rushed to think, clearing his mind of kisses in hot summer grass fields, his mouth on Jane’s. Where had that thought come from?

H
is eyes moved
to her hands, which were terribly hard to make out in the darkness of the room. She hadn’t lit a lamp or even the fire behind her. But, with the full moon flooding in, he saw that she was slipping a silver candleholder into a dark bag that hung from her shoulder. The bag was large, well worn, and he was sure no woman would wear such a thing to a party. Or in public for that matter. And the candleholder. Why would she have brought one to the party?

Then his eyes went wide. She hadn’t brought it. She was taking it.

He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a great pain in the back of his head. He couldn’t speak then, the pain too great, pulling him down to the floor. He couldn’t control his movements, but he could see, and what he saw reflected in Jane’s eyes—just before darkness overtook his—was fear.

And yes, she should be very afraid, William thought. For once he was awake, once he was able to move, he would come to her and she would answer for this great wrong.