Lady Rosabella's Ruse (26 page)

The hot lump that had been floating somewhere in her chest and her stomach finally lodged high in her throat. The pain of it brought moisture to her eyes.

‘Oh, my poor dear,’ Lady Smythe said. ‘Are you sure?’

Her husband looked grim. ‘What the hell did Stanford do?’

Unable to speak, Rosa shook her head. It was hard enough to breathe without letting the tears spill over.

‘You can stay here,’ Lady Smythe said with a darting glance at her husband.

If anything, her husband looked grimmer.

Rosa breathed hard through her nose and rose to her feet. ‘I couldn’t. He is your friend. I will go to an hotel.’ She would have gone to Bess, because she didn’t have any money until the stone was sold, and what little she had she would need to live on, but Bess had left London. Her biggest fear was that Grandfather would try to lay claim to the stone once he heard of it. ‘I just hoped you could recommend a lawyer. One who would not want payment in advance.’

‘You must stay,’ Lord Smythe said. ‘Stanford would never forgive me for letting you wander the streets on your own.’

She couldn’t help her scornful laugh.

‘He wouldn’t.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, I owe him a debt and this is one very good way to repay him. You will stay here.’

‘Yes,’ his wife said. ‘We insist.’

‘You won’t tell him I am here.’ She pressed a protective hand to her stomach. ‘You must promise me.’

‘Not without your permission. On my honour,’ Smythe said.

‘On mine, too,’ his wife added.

‘Then I am glad to accept your help for a few days. I promise I will pay you back.’

‘Nonsense,’ Lord Smythe said. ‘Not when I am in your debt for offering me a way of discharging my obligations.’

It all seemed rather confusing, but in the face of their insistence, Rosa accepted with a sense of relief.

The interior of White’s hummed with male conversation and laughter to the accompaniment of rattling dice. Garth ordered a brandy, took a freshly ironed copy of
The Times
from the stand and cloistered himself behind it in an unoccupied corner.

The anger had faded, leaving him confused. Anger he could deal with, but this sense of being wrong left him off balance.

The more he thought about his conversation with Rosabella, the more uncertain he became. All this talk of love made for a very heavy weight on his chest. Why the hell did she put so much store by it? He’d managed perfectly well without it all his life.

How dared she suggest he would harm his own child? Anger refused to flare and obliterate the hurt. She was wrong about him, though. He did care for some people, in his own way. Mark. Kit. Her. These were people he would protect with his life if need be. Just because he didn’t get along with his mother didn’t make him evil.

He sniffed at the brandy the waiter delivered. The fumes made his stomach roll and he put the glass down on the table.

In a perfect world, he supposed he would have told her of his intention not to have children. She certainly shouldn’t have learned it from his mother. But the world wasn’t perfect. It didn’t come close to perfect, or he wouldn’t be in this position.

Hell, he wouldn’t be here at all.

He should not have lost his temper. On the other hand, she could have listened. Who knows, he might even have told her why he was opposed to fatherhood.

Hell. He might be a father. A daughter. He could live with a daughter. A thrill ran through him.

‘Stanford.’

Garth pretended not to hear the familiar jocular tones. After all, it was not good
ton
to beat a man to within an inch of his life in a gentleman’s club. And right now he was in the mood to hit someone.

The idiot flicked a finger against the newspaper. ‘I say, old chap, didn’t you hear me?’

Garth lowered his shield. ‘I heard you, Fitz. I’m just not in the mood for conversation. I’d advise you to leave unless you want my fist in your face.’

The other man grinned. ‘Under the weather, old boy? I had a pleasant chat with your mother yesterday.’

Teeth gritted, Garth put aside the paper and pushed slowly to his feet, forcing the other man to look up at him. He smiled. ‘Did you now? What the hell were you doing discussing my business with my mother?’

‘Where’s your sense of humour, old boy? I met her at a rout.’

‘So you thought you’d regale her with my doings, like some gossipy old tart.’

He looked puzzled, then laughed. ‘Good God, don’t tell me you took the wench home? I saw your face when you ran out of the chop house and followed to see what you were up to. I recognised her in the light of the lantern. I had no trouble guessing your intentions. I simply mentioned to your mother I thought you had a new occupant for the Blackheath town house. She was surprised to hear you were in town. I imagined her putting a flea in your ear, not catching you
in flagrante delicto
. Too funny.’

‘Not in the least funny, you idiot.’ Garth’s cheeks ached from smiling. ‘But if you say one more word about meeting Mrs Travenor, anywhere, be prepared to defend yourself.’ He took a step forwards.

Fitz backed up. He giggled drunkenly. ‘Good Lord, man. Look at yourself. You are completely smitten. You want to be careful or you’ll find yourself leg-shackled. You do know she’s the daughter of an opera singer? Hapton told me.’

Garth grabbed him by the lapels. ‘One more word and I will take you outside and thrash you.’

Something in Garth’s eyes must have registered, because Fitz put up a hand. ‘On my honour, not another word.’ Once released, he reeled away, chortling his fool head off.

Garth would have to talk to him when he was sober. Make sure he remembered the warning.

Smitten? Him? The sot was drunk.

He glared at the curious faces turned in his direction. By thunder, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to soothe Rosabella’s ruffled feelings, seduce her into his bed and make her see reason. What the hell was he thinking?

Never before had he walked away and left a woman in possession of the field of battle. They always capitulated. He should have kissed her senseless, not argued with her. Women never listened to reason.

The necklace he’d bought at the jeweller’s would help.

In less than fifteen minutes he was striding up the front steps to his town house in the gathering dusk. An odd presentiment caused a prickle at the back of his neck as he entered the front door. Unease rippled through his gut. The house felt empty.

One thing he’d learned over the years was to trust his instincts. It was how he’d discovered the truth of what he was.

‘Where is Lady Rosabella?’ he asked the butler, handing over his hat.

‘I haven’t seen her since Lady Stanford’s departure.’

Damn. She was either still sitting on the floor crying or…

Or she’d done what they all did eventually.

He tore up the stairs and burst through the bedroom door. The dressing-room door lay open, the items from the theatrical chest scattered around it. Of Rosabella there was no sign.

Where the hell could she have gone?

Back to the theatrical troupe? He picked up the discarded breeches she’d worn on stage. Surely she would have taken them with her? He let them fall. Her grandfather? After all she’d done to avoid the old gentleman it hardly seemed likely. Perhaps she’d simply gone for a walk to clear her head. In that case the butler would know, because she would have taken her maid or a footman. Although she might have slipped out alone. She’d done enough of that in Sussex. The thought of her walking the streets of London alone chilled him to the bone. She wouldn’t take such a risk.

Doubt tightened his gut, his heart dipped. Rosabella would dare anything.

Think. Where could she go?

Of all the choices, the opera company seemed most likely. She had friends there. He strode into the bedroom, dropping the velvet pouch on the bed, and rang for his valet. He grabbed his riding boots and started pulling them on.

His valet walked in and rushed over to help. ‘Leave it,’ Garth growled. ‘Have a message sent to the stables. I want my phaeton outside the front door in a half-hour. And have Cook put up some bread and cheese. I’ll eat it in the study while I write some letters requiring delivery. Also pack me an overnight valise.’

He stamped his foot into the second boot and stood up. ‘Clear?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ The valet shot off to do his bidding.

Garth ran downstairs and set to work on a letter to Mark, asking for yet another favour, dammit.

A scratch at the door announced the arrival of his supper. He continued writing. ‘Put the tray on the table. I’ll help myself.’

Metal clicked on wood. The servant didn’t leave.

A reprimand ready on his tongue, Garth raised his head. ‘You.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I might have guessed.’

Mark sat down and crossed one leg over the other, his face sombre. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t.’

‘This document is valid, you say?’ Garth rubbed the back of his neck. Rolled his shoulders. Tried to get his mind around this new development.

‘As far as I can tell. I will get a lawyer to have a look. If it is, she is independently wealthy and is quite adamant that she no longer needs to marry you and will pay back every penny you spent on her behalf.’

‘I need to talk to her.’

Mark shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. She is also adamant about not seeing you.’

The words were a knife between his ribs. ‘She could be carrying my child.’

‘You damned fool. Don’t you know better than to seduce an earl’s granddaughter?’

‘Devil take you, Mark. She lied. About everything. Hell.’ He got up and paced the floor. ‘Not one scrap of truth has she told me. First she was a widow. Then I discover she’s an innocent. Then she’s searching for a portrait. Like an idiot, I help her. Next she runs off to be an opera singer like her mother, but her mother, it turns out, was married to a nobleman.’ He swung around and glared at his friend quietly nursing a brandy. ‘Everything was a complete fabrication from beginning to end. And still I’ve offered marriage.’

‘Noble of you.’

‘I had no intention of ever getting married.’

‘Did you tell her that?’

‘More or less. I wasn’t going to lie to her. She wouldn’t believe it if I did.’

‘What did you do to make her run off?’

The note of accusation in Mark’s voice brought his simmering temper to a boil. ‘What did you do to make Penelope run off the moment you stepped out of the house?’

Mark glared at him, then his shoulders slumped. He stared morosely into the fire. ‘She didn’t want me to go north without her. We argued and then I left. I didn’t have a choice. My income depends on me doing my job. There is trouble brewing in the north. We have to find out what is going on before it gets out of hand. I can’t take her with me. It’s far too dangerous. Penelope knows she was wrong and that is the end to it.’

The glow he’d seen in his friend when he first married had not returned. Apparently love was as fleeting as it was elusive. The idea of it made him feel cold. ‘Seems as if we are both caught between a wall and cartwheel.’

‘I know. Who knows why they do what they do?’ He shook his head.

‘And yet here you are, offering me advice.’

Mark looked up at him. ‘I’m trying to help. Yesterday your marriage was all set, today she’s at my house refusing to see you. It isn’t about money. Something must have happened.’

Bitterness rose up in his throat. ‘Mother happened.’

Mark straightened. ‘Your mother?’

‘She arrived while I was out. Fitz saw me and Rosabella together and blabbed on about it, I gather. Mother dropped some pretty strong hints that she didn’t think Rosabella was good enough for our family. She is such a damnable hypocrite. I threw her out.’

‘So you defended Rosabella?’

‘Oh, you know how it is between me and Mother.’

Mark gave a little grimace, which said he understood very well.

‘We were still sparring at the front door and Rosabella must have overheard me say that while I didn’t particularly want a child, I’d tolerate one if it came along. By the time I returned from seeing Mother off, Rosabella was up in the boughs and not listening to reason. I said some pretty harsh things, if I recall, and thought it better to leave before I said more. By the time I cooled off and returned, she was gone. I suppose finding that damned letter and the stone was all the excuse she needed to slough me off. Rosabella has pretty strange notions about family members loving each other.’

Mark nodded. ‘I see.’

His temper flared ‘What in hell’s name do you see? I ruined the girl. Now we have to be married.’

‘You muffed it. In my experience, women are a bit odd about marriage and such. They don’t care about logic. They want to be courted. Wooed.’

‘I wooed her exceedingly well, right into my bed.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I thought she was a widow.’

‘You seduced her. It is not the same. Not in their eyes. Women today expect a man to be romantic.’