A Season of Seduction (31 page)

Yet Becky had wondered. What could have been in that letter? Who had sent it? Was that why Jack was so angry now?

It could be a mistress, she realized. A jealous woman, furious that he was marrying tomorrow and trying to rouse Becky’s ire by delivering a note during dinner with her family. But she hadn’t thought Jack had kept a mistress in London. Then again, they’d never really discussed it. She’d never asked him. Perhaps she should have.

Without taking the time to fetch a coat, she hurried downstairs and out the servants’ entrance, moving at a near run. As soon as she opened the door, the cold pierced through her dusty pink silk evening dress, but she ignored it. Staying off the crunching gravel of the path, she kept on the dirt, and tiptoeing in her silk slippers, she inched along the side of the house, ducking beneath the trellis that led to her bedroom window.

“The bastard!” Jack growled from the front landing.

Careful not to tear her silk on the barren branches of the creeping rose, Becky tucked her body between the arbor and the edge of the house. She leaned against the siding and listened to Lord Stratford hush Jack.

“Shh. What does he say?”

“He wants more money.”

“Devious cur.” Stratford’s voice dripped with derision.

“Here. Read it.” Paper crackled as Jack thrust the letter at Lord Stratford.

Becky closed her eyes and listened to Jack’s friend read, his voice growing louder and more incredulous as he progressed.

“Dear Jack, etcetera. Felicitations on your upcoming marriage, etcetera, etcetera. I have recently learned that Lady R. possesses a far greater fortune than I was led to believe. It was unkind of you not to be forthcoming with me, Jack. Dare I believe you wished to hoard all the lady’s money for yourself?

“In light of these revelations, I have, just now, determined that the previously requested amount of fifteen thousand pounds is too low. I now require twenty-five thousand pounds.”

Becky’s mouth went dry. She clenched her fists at her sides.

No.

Stratford continued. “Of course you will understand my urgency in delivering you this message, as I wanted you to be aware of the changes in the terms of our agreement prior to your nuptials. Yours, etcetera, T.W.”

No, no, no.

“What a damned idiot,” Stratford said in a low voice. Jack was silent, and the earl sighed. “Just pay him. Give him the money as soon as you have access to it, and be done with it.”

“Twenty-five thousand pounds?” Jack’s voice was harsh. “It is the better part of her fortune.”

Her fists still clenched at her sides, Becky turned away. She could hardly see the ground for the blur in her eyes.

“I take it you’ve informed her of none of this business.”

“None,” Jack confirmed.

“You must tell her. Surely she’ll discover it eventually, whether it’s fifteen thousand pounds or twenty-five. She’s not an idiot.”

Jack made a low noise of frustration.

Stratford sighed. “Not exactly how you’d planned it to play out when you informed her family of your meeting that night at Sheffield’s, eh?”

Becky stifled a gasp. She could hardly hear what they said next over the screaming roar of denial in her ears.

Jack
had planned for them to be caught that night? That entire night had been staged?

Pushing off from the side of the house, Becky fisted her hands in her skirts. She was shaking so hard her teeth threatened to rattle, but she clamped her jaw tight.

“Twenty-five thousand pounds.” Gravel crunched as Jack paced restlessly.

Stratford sighed. “Well, whether you tell her now or later, it won’t make a difference.”

Oh, yes it will, Becky thought bitterly.

“But for God’s sake, wait till after you are legally wed,” Stratford added. He laughed humorlessly. “The last thing you need is to have her change her mind about marrying you now.”

Again, Jack was silent.

“Listen to me,” Stratford said. “Wortingham is a fool. He’s a stupid fool, completely lacking in common sense. He wants you to marry—he wants his damned money, and yet he placed everything in jeopardy tonight by sending you that note while you were dining with her and her family. Mark my words, she’ll be asking you about that later.”

No, she wouldn’t. She didn’t need to. She already possessed all the information she required.

Jack grunted.

“You can outwit him.”

“How?” Jack said furiously. “Short of murdering the scheming bastard, there is nothing I can do.” The paper made a crumpling noise as he crushed it in his fist. “Murdering him wouldn’t even work.”

Becky couldn’t listen to any more of this. Only one thing was clear: Just like William, Jack had seduced her for one thing only. For her money. It was her damnable fortune he loved. Not her.

She’d been fooled once again. She’d given her trust to a man. She’d given him her love and her body, and all he wanted her for was her forty thousand pounds.

A deep shudder rolled through her. It was cold out here and she wasn’t wearing a coat. Already her fingers were numb.

She strode toward the door, taking painful but resolute steps through the chill.

No
. This wouldn’t happen. Not again. She wasn’t allowing it.

Jack pushed a frustrated hand over his scalp. His hair was so cold, it chilled his fingers through his gloves.

Stratford couldn’t understand why Jack couldn’t tell her. It was bad enough that he’d pursued her with the intention of using her money to pay off a man who was trying to extort money from him. What made it so much worse was that he pursued her for the same reasons her first husband had. The husband who had cheated, lied, tried to kill the duke and Becky herself.

If Becky discovered Jack’s treachery, she would never trust him again. She would leave him.

Stratford still hadn’t asked why Tom had demanded the money. Stratford had probably guessed. He probably didn’t want to know.

The earl turned piercing blue eyes on him. “I’d not advise murder. There must be a better way. He’s proven he’s not the smartest fellow in the world.” He gestured at the note Jack held crumpled in his fist. “The choice of this time to deliver that letter proves it. Tell him youonly have access to a thousand pounds at once. Tellhimthe money is unavailable; that it’s engaged in investments.” Stratford shrugged. “There must be something you can do.”

Jack stared at his friend, trying to tamp down his rage, his panic. He’d buried himself in this disaster, and he didn’t know how to dig himself out.

He couldn’t lose her.

Stratford sighed. “You shouldn’t be thinking of this now.”

“No,” he pushed out. “I shouldn’t.”

“You should be thinking of your pretty wife-to-be, warm and awaiting you inside.” Stratford gestured at the house, and then he stepped closer to Jack, an inquisitive look on his face. “You have grown to care for this woman, correct?”

Jack closed his eyes. Hell, yes, he cared for her.

“And she cares for you as well. She glows when she looks at you.”

He groaned, long and low. “It’s a damn poor thing, what I’ve done.”

Stratford clapped him on the shoulder. “A woman in love will forgive anything, Fulton. Just remember that. Now let’s go inside and try to enjoy the remainder of the evening. Tomorrow, suffer through your wedding, and then you may have leave to think of how you’re going to tell your wife about the money.”

Jack opened his eyes. He gazed off down the driveway, at the gate that led to Curzon Street. A thick soup of fog diffused the light from the gas streetlamps, leaving only a meager glow to straggle across the street, and Jack couldn’t see much farther than the iron gate and the occasional shadow of a horse or carriage rumbling down the street beyond.

Tom lurked somewhere out there. Jack could feel him.

“I’m not going to do it.”

“Not going to tell her about the money?”

“No.” He was finished with threats, with Tom, with being selfish and trying to save his own hide. None of that mattered. His deception had come to an end. He wouldn’t betray the woman he loved. He was going to end it with Tom, and then he was going to tell her everything.

“To hell with the money. Tom Wortingham can go to the devil. Whether it be five pounds or fifty thousand, he’ll not be getting a single penny from me.”

Becky dragged her body upstairs and went through the motions of the happy bride-to-be for the remainder of the night. She should be an actress, she played the part so well. She cuddled up with Jack. She gazed at him with stars in her eyes. She played a rousing round of piquet with him.

Just after midnight, Jack, Lord Stratford, Cecelia, and Tristan and Sophie went home. As soon as everyone left, Kate, who’d come and gone from the party several times to tend to her infant, slipped her hand into Becky’s.

“What’s wrong, Becky?” Her voice was low enough so Garrett, who was talking to one of the servants, couldn’t hear.

Becky turned to her sister-in-law in surprise. “Nothing, Kate. Why do you ask?”

“It’s something in your eyes. You look sad.”

“Nonsense.” Becky laughed lightly. “I’m not sad at all. I’ve never been happier, in fact.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. It’s just nerves about tomorrow.”

Kate frowned. She looked tired, and older, even though she was only four years older than Becky. “Have I been a poor friend to you, Becky?”

Becky gasped. “No! Of course not.”

“I feel that I haven’t been spending the time with you that I should.” She squeezed her hand. “I miss you.”

“You’ve been busy with the children. I understand.” Becky took a breath. “And I’ve felt…”
Not smothered…
“I think I’ve been hiding too much behind you and Garrett. After all these years, I feel I must finally emerge from under the wing of your protection. I still love you, Kate. You’re still my dearest friend and sister.”

Even though she was lying to her. Out of necessity. Someday Kate would understand. Becky could not involve her in this, not with a days-old infant. Plus, Becky needed her to stay calm and manage Garrett, because he was going to be furious.

Kate’s dark eyes glistened. “Then you still know that I am here for you, as a friend and as a sister. You can tell me anything.”

Becky nodded soberly. “I know.”

She left Kate before the deep surge of sadness could well over her. Josie met her in her bedchamber, and Becky allowed her to help her out of her dinner dress, but she shooed the maid out before she took down her hair.

After Josie went away, Becky turned to gather a few garments that would sustain her for the duration of her journey. She collected them in a small satchel, gathered all the money she had on hand, and then she opened the small lacquered cabinet that held her pistol.

After William’s death, she’d spent a few months morbidly fascinated by guns. She’d read all she could about weapons and had convinced Garrett to teach her how to shoot. At the height of this interest, she’d ordered this gun custom made for her from London. By the time it had arrived, she’d realized her chances of needing to protect herself had diminished greatly when William died, and her interest in guns and shooting had waned to be replaced by other pursuits.

In silence she opened the box and removed the gun from its velvet case. With slow, precise movements, she cleaned the weapon. When she’d finished, she tested its weight in her hand, staring at the gifts Jack had given her. The gifts he’d used to manipulate her into loving him.

She would leave them behind. All of them. She didn’t need them. But she would take her pistol. From now on, she would protect herself at all costs.

She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the house to grow quiet.