Cheryl Holt (25 page)

Then, she was racing up the stairs to her room and shouting, “Lydia! Lydia! Where are you? I need you!”

Rubbing his cheek, he stood frozen in place. He felt ill, his stomach queasy, his knees weak, and facetiously he muttered, “I’d say that went rather well.”

It had been a hell of a day, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock. In a handful of minutes he’d lost one fiancée and obtained another. They both loathed him. He’d spent his adult life avoiding matrimony, and when he’d finally resolved to proceed, he wasn’t sure his bride would show up for the ceremony.

He couldn’t blame her. What sane female would have him? If she walked out, he wouldn’t chase after her, wouldn’t attempt to find or dissuade her.

Sighing, he tiptoed out. He was too embarrassed to meet up with any of his servants, and if he bumped into Ellen or Rebecca, he’d die of shame. He slinked to his bedchamber, lurking along like the cur he was.

He locked himself in, fetched a bottle of his strongest liquor, and started drinking. In a few hours, he’d be married or he wouldn’t be, and he’d need fortification either way.

  16  

“Why are you here?”

“I had to see you.”

“I repeat: Why are you here?”

Rebecca stared at James. He was seated behind his desk, but he hadn’t invited her to sit, too. He was irked by her arrival, and she dawdled, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

In the stark shadows of his office, tucked into the corner of a large, cold warehouse, he didn’t resemble the prosperous gentleman she’d met out in society. He was attired as a workingman, tan shirt, brown breeches, no jacket or cravat. With a knife strapped to his belt and a pistol within reach, he looked like a brigand. The scar on his cheek was more pronounced, his broad physique more menacing.

She knew she should explain herself, but she couldn’t. What woman would freely admit to being tossed aside? To being the second choice? After hearing Alex’s appalling confession, she’d tarried in her fancy bedroom, in his stuffy, pretentious mansion, and she’d been suffocating
with hurt and fury. She’d had to escape, so with only the clothes on her back, she’d sneaked out to find James.

The address he’d provided had led her to a tavern, and at another period in her life she might have been too timid to set foot inside. But with shame and disgrace motivating her, any wild conduct was likely. She’d gone in to inquire about him, and after a lengthy wait his blond footman had appeared. Without a word, he’d escorted her through several winding lanes to James’s place of business, but she seemed to have made a terrible blunder.

She’d believed James when he’d claimed to be smitten. Had she miscalculated?

He was glaring at her, and her heart sank. If he wouldn’t let her stay, where would she go?

She couldn’t return to Lydia, wouldn’t resume her position in the family as Alex married Ellen. She refused to carry on as though nothing had happened, which is what would be expected of her once the scandal had settled.

She had no other options, so she mustered her courage and forged ahead. “You asked me to run off with you.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Were you serious?”

“At the time.”

“But no longer?”

Cool with disdain, he studied her. “You were very clear in your sentiments, Miss Burton. I’m neither a fool nor a dreamer. I’ve moved on, so you should scurry off to your precious fiancé.”

“But I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”

“You are too late.”

“Please?”

“No.”

She saw no evidence of the sweet lover who’d been
so enamored of her. Had any of his dear flatteries been true? Or was it all part of some horrid game he’d been playing? If so, why would he?

Perhaps he was a libertine who reveled in the chase. Perhaps he regularly seduced women and she’d merely been one of many. The prospect that she’d further humiliated herself by seeking him out was the ultimate infamy.

To her mortification, tears welled. She couldn’t stop them. The day had been so awful, the calamity so abrupt. She felt as if the earth were spinning too fast, that if she didn’t latch on to something or someone, she might be flung off into the sky.

“If you think,” he started angrily, “that you can shed a few tears to gain my sympathy, you’re mistaken. Whatever your paltry troubles, they are no concern of mine.”

“I thought you cared about me. I thought you meant all those things you said.”

“I meant them,” he maintained, “but you weren’t interested.”

“I am. . . I was . . . it’s . . . it’s—”

“You’re naught but a silly girl,” he interrupted. “You have the body of an adult, but on the inside, you’re a spoiled child.”

“I am not!”

“You have no idea what you want. Right this minute, you want me, but the instant I agree, you’ll dart off like a frightened foal.”

“I won’t leave,” she declared.

“A likely story.”

He stood and went to the door, and he opened it and called out. “Willie, come here, would you? I need you to drive Miss Burton home, and don’t bring her back ever again. Even if she pays you. Even if she begs.”

At being thrown out she was stunned. She hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t welcome her. As disaster had pummeled her earlier, he’d seemed like a shining beacon, a safe harbor, and she’d raced to him immediately, positive that he’d help her, that he’d make everything better.

She scrutinized him, searching for a hint of the fondness he’d once had for her, but she couldn’t detect a trace. Where was that romantic, dashing fellow? Why had he vanished?

She peered at the footman. “Willie, is it?”

“Yes, miss.”

“I must speak with Mr. Duncan alone. Would you excuse us?”

“Certainly.” He shrugged and added, “By the way, Mr.
Duncan
, you received a letter—from your sister.”

“I’ll have to read it later,” James responded.

“As you wish,
sir
. Let me know if you need anything. I can’t wait to be of service.”

They shared an odd glance, then Willie walked away, and Rebecca shut the door. James watched her but had no comment. She stepped toward him, boldly nearing until they were touching. Sparks flew, the air charged with energy.

He noticed the agitation, and he wasn’t unaffected. The color of his eyes deepened, his gaze growing rapt and piercing.

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” she said. “Just don’t send me away.”

“You haven’t a clue as to what you’d have to do to change my mind.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is.”

She wrapped her arms around him, relishing how solid he was, how real. The rest of her world had been
shattered into tiny pieces, but he was tangible and constant.

“What about your bloody Alex Marshall?”

“Don’t worry about him.”

“And why shouldn’t I? If you stay, I’ll have to incessantly peek over my shoulder in case he learns that I’ve got you. I’m not too keen on having him hunt me down.”

“He won’t look for me.”

He smirked. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Yes, it’s just like that.”

She rose up on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth, and he joined in, but with none of the fervor he’d previously exhibited.

He evaluated her, taking stock, judging. Finally, he advised, “You can’t scamper home tomorrow.”

“I won’t.”

“If you try, I’ll prevent you.”

“You won’t have to.”

“I’ll keep you against your will.”

“Fine.”

“If you say
yes
to me, it’s forever. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

She felt as if she were perched on a cliff that was so high she couldn’t see the bottom. She was ready to jump, her heart pounding with equal parts excitement and dread. The notion of falling free, of shucking off all that she was, suddenly seemed exactly right.

She’d always followed the rules, had done what she was told. Where had it landed her? She was out on her own, for the first time ever, with no funds, no clothes, no place to which she could return. If she cast her lot with
him, she could become someone new, someone different.

When he was finished, what would she be?
Who
would she be?

“Come with me,” he ordered.

“Where?”

“To my apartment upstairs.”

“Why?”

“I’m about to guarantee that you can’t ever leave.”

She slipped her hand into his and led him into the hall.

Foolish girl!
James mused, as he rippled with triumph. She was stupid to trust him. He could do anything to her—could murder her and dump her corpse in the Thames—and never be suspected or caught.

A terrible event must have transpired, though he declined to ponder what it might have been. She presumed it was over with Stanton, but James didn’t believe it. The oaf was too vain to let her go, so James would proceed according to plan.

When his tryst with her was ended, Stanton wouldn’t want her—no man would—but James refused to feel sorry for her. She had a perfect and wonderful life, and she was tossing it all away. For him! How ludicrous! How hysterical!

Was she daft? Was she mad? Or was she simply naïve beyond imagining? It had never occurred to her that James might have ulterior motives, that his intentions might be less than honorable, but she was about to find out how despicable a man could be.

They reached his quarters, and he locked them in, not because he was worried someone might enter behind them
but because he was determined to have her realize she was confined, that she couldn’t go unless he permitted it.

He escorted her through the parlor and straight to his bedchamber, and he closed and locked that door, too. It was dark inside, with no window to allow in any sunshine, and he lit a candle, wanting to see her, wanting to see everything.

She was struggling to appear brave. Her pulse raced, a vein fluttering in her throat like a trapped bird. In his office she’d promised much, but now that the moment was upon them, would she deliver?

“Why did you bring me in here?” she managed in a voice that was slightly breathless.

“As I already informed you, it’s all or nothing with me.”

“But I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ll show you.”

“Are we to act as a . . . as a man and wife would?”

“Yes.”

“Why must we?”

“It’s the only way I can keep you.” He guided her to the bed. “You contend that Lord Stanton won’t search for you, but what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if he does? Or what if it’s your family?”

As if this was a more viable prospect, she frowned. “My sister would raise a huge ruckus.”

“If you’re ruined beyond redemption, they won’t want you, so you’ll belong to me. They won’t have any claim on you.”

“Will you marry me after we . . . we . . .”

James stared at her and lied with ease. “We’ll go to Scotland tomorrow. In my fastest carriage.”

She studied him, probing for equivocation, for treachery, and though his expression was blank, he was positive she recognized his deceit but would continue on anyway.

“Swear to me,” she implored, “that you’ll be as kind as you’re able. That you’ll never beat me or—”

“For pity’s sake, Rebecca! What sort of monster have you deemed me to be?”

“There’s the rub, isn’t it, James? I know so very little about you.”

“Nor I about you.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” she inquired.

“I’ve wished for it from the very first.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“I did. How about you? Are you certain? From this moment on, there’s no going back.”

“No going back,” she echoed.

He untied her cloak, and it dropped to the floor and pooled at her feet; then he clasped her hand, inched off her gloves, and pitched them away.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

“Why?”

“I want to fix your hair.”

“My hair?”

“I like it hanging down, remember?”

He spun her and nestled himself to her, and he was deluged by a surge of expectation. He tugged at her combs, throwing them on the floor, and the lengthy mass swished down in a silky, luxurious wave. He riffled his fingers through it; then he leaned in and nuzzled her nape.

“I have to unbutton your dress, so I can remove it.”