Cheryl Holt (37 page)

“I’m beginning to concur.” He was full of energy and vigor, the rage and tension that had swirled around him having faded. The resentful, acrimonious man she’d met in London had ceased to exist.

“You won’t believe what I did.”

“Should I sit down?”

“By the time I’ve finished, you might need to.”

A garden bench was nearby, and she walked to it and seated herself. “All right. I’m ready for anything.”

Bubbling over with merriment, he laughed. “1 ran off and got married.”

“Married! That’s . . . that’s wonderful.”

“Aren’t you going to ask who I selected as my bride?”

“From how you’re grinning, I’m almost scared to know.”

“Guess,” he urged.

“I haven’t any idea.”

He sobered and straightened. “It’s Rebecca.”

The news was such a surprise that it took several seconds for it to register. “You married Rebecca Burton? But when . . . how . . .”

“We eloped to Scotland. We just recently returned, or I would have come for you sooner.”

“You married Rebecca. Rebecca!” It was too farfetched to be true, yet apparently it was. “Is she . . . is she terribly angry with me?”

“No, not a bit. She wound up with
me
, instead of him. How could she be upset? You saved her from decades of agony.” He gestured toward the house. “She’s waiting inside. Will you speak to her?”

He held out his hand, and she clasped it and rose to her feet. “Yes, I will. I’d like that very, very much.”

The carriage rattled to a halt, but James scarcely noticed. Rebecca was on his lap, her luscious lips pressed to his own. At such a delectable moment, how could a mortal man focus on the outside world?

“It appears that we’ve arrived,” she murmured.

“I’d rather stay in here with you.” He pulled the curtain aside and peeked out at Alex Marshall’s mansion.
“Perhaps I shall. I have no desire to converse with my brother-in-law.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him,” she counseled. “He got us all that money from Lydia and, my darling farmer”—she batted her pretty lashes—“don’t forget that he wrenched New Haven away from Nicholas and gave it to you. He’s atoned for a few of his sins.”

“Not to Ellen.”

“But maybe you can fix that situation, hmm?”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

He couldn’t quite trust in his sudden reversal of fortune. He’d gone from being a criminal with no future to being a member of a wealthy, aristocratic family. His record had been wiped clean, and he was a prosperous landowner, with a stable income, a rich and devoted wife, and his first babe on the way. He constantly worried that he might awaken to discover that he’d been dreaming.

Ellen was the only burr under his saddle. With Rebecca’s help, he’d received many priceless boons, while Ellen had received nothing, at all. Yes, Stanton had supplied her with a large, drafty house and a pile of cash, but chattels could never replace the home and family she would have cherished in their stead.

She should have had people around her whom she could tend and mother. She needed a husband and children. What she
didn’t
need was to be shuffled off to the country like a crazed relative or tiresome mistress.

If Stanton assumed he could be shed of Ellen so easily, he was in for a shock.

Ellen was in love with Alex Marshall. No matter how vociferously she denied it. She was miserable without him. Stanton was miserable, too. It was so obvious that
they needed each other, and if James had his way, they would reconcile.

“I’d better go in,” he said. “Are you sure you won’t join me?”

“I’m not in the mood to see Alex. I’m anxious to proceed directly to our hotel—and our hotel room.”

She flashed him a smile that had his pulse pounding and his cock stirring. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“I’ll make it slow and painless.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, now go. The sooner you’re off, the sooner you can return.” She licked her bottom lip in invitation. “I’ll have a treat for you when you get back.”

“Sweet Jesu,” he groaned. “I’ll hurry.”

“Please do.”

He jumped out and headed to the front door, and shortly he was being escorted to Stanton’s library. As he walked behind the snooty butler, he gazed at the pretentious surroundings. How could Ellen ever fit in? Was it right to bring her and Stanton together? Was it for the best?

He was announced, and as he marched in, he decided to let Fate take its course. If this was their destiny, it would happen with very little intervention.

“Hello, Stanton,” he greeted, stomping over to the desk.

“Hello, Mr. Drake, but as I previously advised, you might as well call me Alex.”

“But such courtesy would give others the impression that I like you or that we’re close. Considering what my wife and sister think of you, I won’t have anyone presuming we’re friends.”

Stanton sighed. “Would you like a brandy?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m dying for one.” He stood and went to the sideboard, pouring himself a stiff dose and gulping it down.

“You look worse every time I see you,” James mentioned, and he wasn’t joking. Stanton had lost more weight, and he seemed confused and lonely, as Ellen was, herself. “You wouldn’t—by any chance—be pining away for my sister?”

“Why would I be sulking over her?”

“Because you miss her?”

“I was stabbed, Mr. Drake, and I’m still recuperating. And I’ve . . . I’ve had an influenza.” It was the same excuse Ellen had furnished for her waning health, and James wanted to laugh aloud.

What a pathetic pair! Both of them disconsolate and heartbroken! Why couldn’t they see the resolution? It was so clear.

“Must have been a bad bug,” James needled.

“It was.” Stanton refilled his glass and downed the contents again.

“You’re certainly drinking a lot these days. I wonder why?”

“Mr. Drake, if I thought my personal habits were any of your business—which I don’t—I’d respond to your observation.” He was plainly hankering for a third application, but he refused to imbibe with James watching, and reluctantly he moved back to the desk. “Why are you in town?”

“Rebecca and I are passing through. We’re on our way to New Haven.”

“I hope, this trip, you’ll avail yourself of my hospitality. I have plenty of space.”

He appeared so eager for company, and so morose,
that James almost felt sorry to disappoint him. “Rebecca would rather sleep in the street than stay here.”

Stanton sighed again. “Mr. Drake, we’ll be crossing paths on a regular basis. We’re family, so contact can’t be avoided. If you insist on being antagonistic at every meeting, we’ll never accomplish anything. Must you be so hostile?”

“I enjoy harassing you, so I hate to stop, but I suppose you can call me James.”

“I will—James. How is New Haven? I trust it’s satisfactory?”

“It’s fabulous, and I can’t thank you enough. Nor can I thank you for retrieving Rebecca’s money.”

“Lydia is a dreadful miser. It was no small task, I assure you.”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I can’t imagine how Ellen tolerated her. Speaking of Ellen . . .”

“What about her?” Stanton ventured.

“She wanted me to deliver these papers regarding the annulment.” He opened his satchel and laid them on the desk. “She says she signed them, but there ought to be more than these.”

“My solicitor dropped off the last ones this morning. I was about to put them in the post.”

James was silent, letting the moment play out. Stanton was prickling with curiosity about Ellen, frantic for James to offer a few tidbits, but James was mum. Stanton could stew to a boil.

Just when he figured Stanton would reach over and squeeze some comments out of him, James prodded, “You can ask me about her.”

“Why? What would I need to know? I’ve completely provided for her, so she couldn’t want for anything.”

“That’s true. She’s definitely not
wanting.”

James was intentionally suggestive, and Stanton leapt at the innuendo.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you how it goes with a woman like Ellen.”

“How it
goes
? I haven’t the vaguest notion about what you’re babbling.”

“Ellen’s very beautiful, as I’m sure you’d agree, or you wouldn’t have been so quick to debauch her.”

“James!” Stanton snapped. “I won’t discuss the intimate details of my relationship with her.”

“Good. I’d have to kill you if you tried.”

He was quiet, letting Stanton grow more and more surly.

“So . . .” Stanton began, “what’s she up to that you’ve felt it necessary to boast?”

James grinned. “She’s pretty, and she’s rich, and she’s about to be divorced.”

“I am
not
divorcing her,” Stanton claimed, bristling. “We’re simply correcting a mistake.”

“Divorce. Annulment.” James waved away the words. “The results to Ellen’s reputation are the same. The men in her neighborhood can’t wait for the process to be finalized.”

“Her
male
neighbors? Why would her situation be of interest to them?”

“She’s viewed as a loose, scandalous divorcee. They’re practically drooling over her.”

“Over Ellen?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“But she’s married!” Stanton protested.

“Barely and not for long.”

“Still, it’s not fitting. I can’t believe anyone would dare.”

“It’s not just any
one
. She has a steady flow of suitors.”

“What?” Stanton nearly fell off his chair.

“She’s constantly entertaining, and I have to admit that—once you’re through with her—there are several who would be acceptable as her next husband.”

“They’re courting her?”

“Of course. With the fortune you’ve dumped on her, she’s quite a catch.”

“Is she encouraging their attention?” If Stanton’s jaw dropped any farther, it would slide off his face.

“Why shouldn’t she?”

“But. . . but. . . she’s married.”

“Merely a formality.”

“Not to me!”

In a temper, he jumped up, and he was anxious to punch something—or someone, with James the only person in proximity.

“Why are you so upset?” James goaded. “It’s not as if you have any feelings for her. Why would you care?”

“A man has his pride.”

“Yes, he does.”

“She could at least be discreet until our dealings are concluded.”

“Ellen has always yearned for a home and a family, and she deserves to have a husband who loves her—as you obviously don’t.” He paused for effect. “I can’t think of any reason for her to delay. Can you?”

Stanton was ready to explode, and he engaged in a desperate inner struggle, grappling with dozens of emotions
that were too strong to name. Then, with great effort, he reined himself in.

“You’re right,” he ultimately said. “There’s absolutely no reason for delay.”

“I’ll let you know when her next wedding is to be.” James turned and started toward the door. At the last second, he spun around. “Would you like me to wrangle you an invitation?”

“To her wedding?” Stanton was so aghast that James wondered if he might faint.

“Ellen wouldn’t mind. After all, you two were never close. By your presence, you could show the world that there is no lingering bitterness over your split.”

“No . . . no . . . I wouldn’t want to see it,” Stanton hastily insisted, “but thanks for offering.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll stop by next time we’re in town.”

“You do that,” Stanton answered.

James strolled out, whistling as he went, and as he climbed into the carriage, Rebecca was rippling with impatience.

“How did it go?” she queried.

“Very well,” he replied. “Very well indeed.”

  24  

Alex dismounted and stared at Ellen’s house. He’d bought it sight unseen, so he was happy to note that it was eminently suitable. It was a two-story affair, with white shutters and gray walls, shiny windows and pretty flower boxes. Ivy crawled up the sides, although it had browned with the change of the season.

A carriage sat out front, and his anger surged as he wondered to whom it belonged. No doubt, it was one of the audacious male neighbors described by James Drake.

The remarks about Ellen, about how men were vying for her favor, had him rattled, though he couldn’t deduce why. As her brother had indicated, he didn’t care about Ellen. If she chose to flaunt herself like a common trollop, it wasn’t any of his business. Still, an absurd inclination had spurred him to view the spectacle for himself.