Cheryl Holt (19 page)

Her anger under control, she left the library, but she refused to head for the crowded section of the mansion. The throngs were present to gush over Rebecca and Alex, and Lydia burned with fury.

Though her own betrothal had been printed in the papers and her wedding was approaching much quicker than Rebecca’s, she had yet to stumble on a well-wisher. Whenever the event was mentioned, she was greeted with gaping jaws, incredulity, and the occasional snicker.

Well, she would show them all. She would have Nicholas for her husband, would be a respected, married lady,
and
she would keep all of her fortune. She would have the last laugh.

She went to the door that led on to the verandah, and as she stepped into the cool night air she was surprised to spot Nicholas and Alex down in the garden.

They were arguing, and she was dying to discover why. There was a bench in the shadows, pushed against the balustrade. She sneaked to it and sat down so that the two men were huddled directly below her.

“You’ve read some of the documents Lydia’s had drawn up,” Nicholas whined. “When am I to receive some funds?”

“I have no idea,” Alex said.

“But I must have cash this week!”

“For Suzette DuBois?”

“Yes! She’s chosen the house I’ve promised to buy her. I have to make a down payment, and I have to arrange her trust account. I can’t dawdle.”

Alex gave a derisive snort. “What you’re doing is so wrong, Nick. Have you any concept of how wrong it is?”

“Why would you say so? I’m about to be the happiest man alive. My every dream is about to come true, and all I have to do is marry Lydia.”

“Yes, but your first act with your wife’s money will be to set up your mistress! Isn’t that a bit tawdry? Even by your low standards?”

“No, Mr. High-and-Mighty.” Nicholas sounded smug. “You can’t suppose that I seduced Lydia because I was swept away by . . . by passion!” He chuckled cruelly. “It was vile, but I forced myself through it, and I won’t apologize. The homely bat was practically begging to have a man between her legs, and I obliged her. Now I want my reward, and you must ascertain when I’m to collect it!”

Alex muttered something else, and Nicholas responded, but Lydia had heard enough. She crept away, entered the mansion, and climbed the rear stairs to her bedchamber. She stared out the window, her mouth a grim, determined line.

Suzette DuBois . . . Suzette DuBois
. . . The exotic name pulsed in the silence, matching the tempo of her heartbeat.

Stupidly, she’d presumed that Nicholas had ravaged her because he had gambling debts, or had overspent his quarterly income. She’d never contemplated the possibility of his having a more sinister motive.

He coveted her fortune, all right, so that he could fritter it away on his paramour!

She’d never been so livid! A loud ringing deafened her ears, and her vision grew a hazy red color. In such a provoked state, there was no telling what revenge she might seek.

Nicholas assumed he understood Lydia, but he didn’t
really. No one did. No one had a clue as to how she would lash out when spurned. She’d had decades to practice on her father, decades to learn how to wheedle and manipulate, how to retaliate and wound.

She rippled with malevolence. She didn’t know who Suzette DuBois was, but she was about to find out.

“James! What on earth are you doing here?”

James whipped around, and he was face-to-face with his sister.

The large residence was packed to the rafters. What were the odds that they’d have crossed paths?

“I came to watch the grand announcement—as has half of London.” He managed a smile.

She studied him, then frowned. “You’re lying. What mischief are you instigating?”

“Why would you automatically suspect I’m up to no good?”

Her gaze anxious, she rested a hand on his arm. “Let it go, James. Whatever your scheme, don’t pursue it. Please.”

“After what Stanton and his chums did to our family, don’t you think he deserves some misery in return?”

“It wasn’t him,” she staunchly declared. “He was merely
there
, like so many others. He had naught to do with what happened to us.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve met him,” she said. “He’s not anything like I imagined he’d be.”

“Have you become an expert on identifying villainous traits in a man? If so, how many have you perceived in me?”

“James!” she admonished, and he was instantly chastised.

He hadn’t intended to be short with her, but it galled him that she was lodged in Stanton’s house, that she was eating his food and enjoying his company. He hated Stanton and was keen to have her share his dislike, but when she had to maneuver in Stanton’s world it was probably asking too much.

“I’m sorry to bark at you,” he told her. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone care enough to scold me.”

“I do care about you, so will you listen? Go away, and don’t come back. You’re only courting disaster.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“But why? What are you hoping to accomplish?”

“I simply want to look at Stanton,” he asserted, which was partially true. “I won’t cause any trouble, if that’s what has you worried.”

As a younger, more naïve man, he’d briefly socialized with Stanton, and he was curious to discern if Stanton was still the pompous prig James remembered him to be. But mostly, James wanted to see Rebecca, and he wanted
her
to see him.

After his failed seduction, she hadn’t contacted him, and he’d been positive she would. He’d misplayed that hand, had bet all the wrong cards. He never should have allowed her to scurry home to Stanton, and why he had was a mystery. His blunder had to be corrected, and it would be much more destructive and satisfying to abscond with her after she was engaged, rather than before.

Ellen was badgering him. “Swear to me that you’ll let it go and move on.”

“As I’m the one who suffered most horridly, I can’t
blithely
move on
—as others obviously can—and it’s contemptible of you to expect it of me.”

At the stinging rebuke, tears filled her eyes, and he wanted to kick himself. It was the second occasion he’d spoken to her in ten years, and all he could do was belittle and berate. He recollected Stanton as being a despicable creature, but who was the real ass?

“Oh, Ellen . . .” He patted her shoulder, not concerned over who might observe their conversation. There were so many people squeezing past that no one so much as glanced in their direction.

“Could I come and live with you?” she suddenly pleaded, and, as if he’d denied her request, she hastily added, “For a bit. I wouldn’t stay forever.”

“Of course you could.” He wondered what the hell he’d do with her. While his apartment was suitable, it was in a section of town where she couldn’t safely set foot out the door, and if she bumped into any of his associates, or caught an inkling of how he earned his income, she’d be mortified.

“I need to leave here”—a deluge of weeping threatened to overwhelm her—“but I don’t have any money, and I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Has something bad happened? Has someone hurt you?”

His heart constricted with dismay. He paid others to keep tabs on her, and their reports—along with her infrequent letters—made it seem as if she was tended and sheltered. Had it been a facade? Had he failed her again?

“No,” she contended, “no one’s done anything. I’m just so unhappy.”

“Then come with me now. We’ll flee this very minute. You needn’t even pack a bag.”

“I don’t know. . . .” Confused and distraught, she rubbed her temples. “I can’t decide what’s best.”

“Let’s be off, and we’ll figure it out later.”

Her attention was diverted by activity down the corridor. She appeared fearful, and she stepped away from him.

“I couldn’t go without my things. I have the last of Mother’s possessions at Miss Burton’s house in the country. If I left without a notice, I couldn’t ever retrieve them.”

“Ellen, don’t remain over a few trinkets.”

“They’re not
trinkets!
They’re the final pieces I have of Mother!”

“But they’re still chattels.”

Necessity had taught him to shed his attachment to objects, but she bristled at the suggestion.

“I’ll give them some warning,” she said, “as I ought; then I’ll prepare myself. I’ll send you a note when I’m ready.”

“Promise that you will.”

“I promise.”

Before he could stop her, she whipped away, and the crowd swallowed her up. He rose on tiptoe, trying to locate her, but she’d vanished. He had no idea where she might have gone, or how to look for her. It wasn’t as if he could dash to the upper floors and search.

He whirled around, anxious to ascertain what had prompted her speedy exit, when he espied Alex Marshall meandering through the guests.

Why would Ellen rush off at sighting Stanton? Had Stanton offended her? Or had he perpetrated more ominous behavior?

James’s blood ran cold. If Stanton had harmed Ellen,
he would die a slow, painful death, and James would be the eager fellow to bring it about.

But first, Stanton would lose his fiancée—and all of London would know of his disgrace.

James walked to the stage that had been erected near the orchestra. It was almost midnight, almost time for the announcement of Rebecca’s betrothal. When she climbed up with Stanton, James planned to be front and center.

Rebecca dawdled in the dark hall, working up the courage to enter Alex’s bedchamber, but she couldn’t seem to find it.

She wore only a thin, summery nightgown, and she shivered. The temperature was chilly, her bare feet freezing, yet she continued to loiter, minute after agonizing minute. She had to proceed or depart, and she couldn’t slither away without learning the truth.

She took a deep breath, then spun the knob. The deed was commenced and she’d forge on to the dastardly conclusion—despite how humiliating or dreadful it ended up being.

Alex was across the way, his back to her. He was attired in a blue robe, and she was positive he had nothing on underneath. She gulped with trepidation, questioning whether this had been such a wise strategy, after all. She had an inkling of what men and women did when they were alone, James having furnished a few hints.

Would Alex, given the privacy of the moment, be inclined to the same sort of naughty conduct? Had he any attraction to her? Was there any basis for the wedding to progress, besides the fact that they were cousins and their fathers had both wanted it?

In for a penny, in for a pound
. The phrase darted past, and she heralded her arrival by shutting the door with a loud click.

“Is that you, El—” He twirled around and, on seeing her, cut off whatever his comment would have been.

“Hello, Alex.”

“Rebecca?”

They stared, an awkward silence ensuing. Several emotions swept over him—astonishment, worry, shock—and she was tickled by his perplexity. He was always in control and unflappable, and she liked having confounded him.

“What are you doing here?” he eventually asked.

“We need to talk.”

She forced herself to march over to him, and she gazed into his handsome face. Her pulse should have been fluttering with excitement, but it wasn’t.

She tried not to compare, but she couldn’t help thinking of James and how different it was when she was with him. Though she couldn’t imagine why, he’d been downstairs during the party. She’d fought not to glance at him, but his hot focus had landed on her like a brand.

Bizarre as it sounded, he made her feel as if she was cheating on him by marrying Alex. She was besieged by baffling cravings and furious over his demands that she balk.

“Are you all right?” Alex queried. “Is it Lydia?”

“I’m fine! Lydia is fine! Forget about Lydia!”

What would it take to pry a reaction out of him? How could she gain the personal response she was desperate to receive?

Bravely, she let her attention travel down his body. The lapels of his robe were open, and she could see his chest,
the matting of hair in the middle, and the spectacle—once again—conjured visions of James, as she pondered what his chest was like, if it would be coated with hair, too.

She chased the shameless reflection away.

With her scrutiny, Alex realized that he was scarcely dressed, and he tugged at fabric, concealing himself from her view. “You shouldn’t have visited,” he claimed. “Let’s get you to your room—before you’re discovered.”

“I don’t wish to go.”

“But you must.”

She strode forward so that her torso connected with his. She waited for the sizzle to erupt, as occurred when she was with James, but nothing out of the ordinary transpired, and Alex gawked at her as if she were deranged.

She was making a fool of herself, but she couldn’t desist. She placed her hand on his chest, but she had no idea what to do with it, so it lay there like a stone. He saved her from herself by reaching out and drawing it away. At the rebuff, her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, but she refused to halt or retreat.

“I want you to make passionate love to me,” she stated.

“You what?” he sputtered.

Nervously, she licked her lips, terrified that he might consent. “There’s no one to know, and we’re to be married soon, anyway. Show me what happens.”

“Rebecca, what’s come over you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re acting so oddly. From one instant to the next I can’t predict what outrageous remark will pop out of your mouth.”

“Why won’t you agree?” she challenged. “Is the notion of bedding me distasteful?”

He studied her, his exasperation obvious. “When a man and woman join together in bed, they can create a babe.”

“I know that! I’m not stupid.”

“I’m not saying you are, but the wedding is six months away, so a pregnancy would be difficult to explain.”

“Then let’s move up the date. Let’s marry immediately.”

At the suggestion she was surprised he didn’t faint. His knees buckled, and he appeared horrified.

“You’ve always dreamed of a big wedding,” he pointed out. “Since you were a little girl, you’ve wanted to walk down the aisle at the Cathedral, in a fabulous gown from Paris, with the organ blaring, and the choir singing. If we have it in a few days, you can’t have any of those things.”