Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) (7 page)

She’d asked him once, but he’d claimed no connection to or knowledge of Lord Trent. But a rogue who would steal a woman’s home in a card game would certainly stoop to lying. She’d never met Lord Trent, but she’d heard he was blond and handsome, as was Mr. Sinclair. If she ultimately learned that Mr. Sinclair and Lord Trent were distant kin, she wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

“I have to try, Mother.” Hedley yanked her from her bitter reverie. “What other choice is there?”

“I suppose there’s none.”

“I can win it all back. I’m positive.” He came over and knelt by her chair, and he clasped her hands. His gaze was so earnest, his demeanor so pleading. “Say you’ll help me. Say you’ll support me in this.”

She’d never been able to deny him anything. That was the whole problem.

She sighed with resignation. “What would you have me do?”

“We’ll need one of the rooms, probably the side parlor overlooking the garden, set up for an extended use.”

“Extended use? What does that mean?”

“We might continue for several days so servants will have to provide a constant stream of food and cigars and brandy. It could take a bit of maneuvering for me to work him into a corner.”

She studied her son. With his brown hair and big blue eyes, he was very attractive, but with his slight build and thin frame, he appeared small and very young. She thought of John Sinclair, of his size and maturity and masculine attributes.

He was thirty, so he was only a decade older than Hedley, but in stature and deportment, he seemed a hundred years older. She didn’t expect Hedley could work him into a
corner
or anywhere else. Yet if Hedley didn’t wager with Mr. Sinclair again, they’d exhausted their options.

Mildred had always loathed Sarah. She was happy and pleasant—Hedley’s exact opposite—and adored by everyone at Bramble Bay. Mildred couldn’t imagine telling her of Hedley’s shameful conduct, couldn’t bear to envision the censure Sarah would level at them both.

Wasn’t it best to try every possible alternative? If Hedley gambled, where was the harm? There was nothing left to lose. He’d already bet every item of value, right down to the silverware in the drawers.

She peered out the window, across the sloping lawn to the shimmering ocean in the distance, speculating as to how many more times she’d be able to stare out at the familiar sight.

She could see her reflection in the glass. She was only forty-one, her hair still mostly brown, with a few strands of silver to show her age. Her blue eyes, so much like Hedley’s, could sparkle on the rare occasions when she was feeling cheery. But worry over his catastrophe had thinned her torso until she was positively emaciated.

Ire swept through her. She couldn’t have anymore children, and she yearned to be a decade younger. If she was, she’d rush next door to visit their neighbor, Sheldon Fishburn.

He was rich and established and planning to wed again, and Mildred could have snagged him if she hadn’t been so old. But he was desperate for an heir. Poor, deceased Patrick was the lone child Sheldon had ever sired, and with him being in his sixties, he had to get a boy brewing with a new wife before it was too late.

He was willing to have Sarah despite her advanced age of twenty-five. Yet Sarah—in her typical snobbish fashion—deemed herself too good for him.

Well, Mildred couldn’t wait to hear Sarah’s opinion in another day or so. As the world came crashing down, and she had nowhere to live and no kin to take her in, she wouldn’t think Sheldon quite so elderly or tedious.

“All right, darling,”she finally said. “Let me summon the housekeeper. We’ll prepare the parlor for your game. When would you like to start?”

“How about tonight after supper?”

“Fine. Everything will be arranged as you’ve requested.”

“Thank you, Mother! Thank you!” He pulled her to her feet, hugged her and danced her around the room. She wished his enthusiasm could be catching, that she could muster some optimism for the outcome, but she was drowning in the worst sense of foreboding.

“Hedley, honestly. Calm yourself.”

“I’ll save us, Mother. I will!”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll save us all.”

“I’ll send Mr. Sinclair packing—with his tail tucked between his legs. Just see if I don’t.”

“You will, Hedley. You will.”

She was too weary to be happy, too afraid for the future. She eased away from him, went to her bedchamber, and closed the door.

* * * *

“Hello, Mr. Hook.”

“Hello, Miss Patterson. Or should I say Mrs. Patterson?”

“Who told you I was married.”

“A little bird.”

Caroline frowned.

She didn’t want the servants chatting about her private business to strangers. When she’d run away from her husband Archibald and slinked to Bramble Bay, Sarah had been very clear with the staff as to the need for secrecy.

Archibald had already come looking for her twice, and he’d stopped in the tavern in the village to mention he would pay a reward for her return.

The ass!

The servants liked Sarah, and Caroline thought they liked her, too. She hoped they’d help to conceal her at Bramble Bay, but the reward was a potent inducement. It unnerved her that people would openly discuss her with an outsider like Mr. Hook.

If they would talk to him, they would eventually talk to Archie.

“Should I call you Miss or Mrs. Patterson?”Mr. Hook asked. “Which is it?”

Caroline wouldn’t admit she was married, because he’d follow up with questions as to why she was hiding.

“How about if you call me Caroline?”

“Caroline it is.”

They were out on the verandah behind the house. The sun had set, the last twilight having flickered out. She’d been up in her room, avoiding Mr. Sinclair and Mildred and Hedley, when she’d noticed Mr. Hook. He’d been by himself, leaned against the balustrade, drinking a brandy and staring out at the ocean as if he wished he was sailing on it.

He scared her—but in a good and feminine manner. He was dark and dashing and unlike any man she’d ever met. With his black hair and eyes, his black attire and boots, he exuded danger and menace, and he intrigued her in ways he shouldn’t.

Archie had always insisted she was mad, and she had to wonder if he wasn’t correct. She’d been battered and shamed and abused by him, and she’d kill herself before she’d go back. She was broke and alone and Sarah her only friend.

Yet she was curious as to what Mr. Hook would look like without his clothes.

After being wed to Archie, after learning how disgusting a male body could be, after being taught her wifely duty and failing at it so miserably, why would a salacious thought ever cross her mind?

But Mr. Hook generated that type of rumination. A woman—even one who was as troubled and lost as she was—could start having all sorts of riotous imaginings.

Mr. Hook was the kind of fellow she’d once dreamed about having as a husband. She’d been a wistful romantic who’d read novels and yearned to have a prince carry her away.

By the time Mildred had arranged the match with Archie, Caroline had set her sights quite a bit lower. She’d had no dowry or prospects, and Bernard had passed away, so he hadn’t been around to urge caution or select someone more suitable.

As a lure to entice a spouse, there had just been her blond hair, blue eyes, curvaceous figure, and merry personality. Dull, bumbling Archibald Patterson had been eager to have her.

He was Mildred’s cousin, and Caroline had been so grateful to Mildred for finding him. But she’d been acquainted with Mildred forever, and she should have remembered to be wary.

Archie was nice enough when he was sober, but he was a heavy drinker, and alcohol changed him into a maniac. Although the bruises had faded, she still had aching bones that were a memento of what could happen if a girl wasn’t careful.

So why would she flirt with Mr. Hook? When danger oozed from his every pore, what was she hoping to achieve? Perhaps she was attracted to violence and cruelty. Perhaps she didn’t believe she deserved any better.

“Are you married, Mr. Hook?”she asked.

“Gad, no. What woman would have me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her interested gaze meandered down his torso. “Any number of females might assume you were worth it.”

Had those words come out of her own mouth? What was wrong with her?

She’d been sending a message, and he definitely received it. He paused and studied her, his eyes taking their own meander down her body.

“It must get boring out here in the country,”he said.

“It does.”

“It must be difficult to entertain yourself.”

“I used to think so, but lately, my luck has been improving.”

She leaned nearer, liking how tall he was, how broad across the shoulders and arms. He leaned in too, so close that his trousers brushed her skirt, the toes of his boots slipping under the hem.

“You want something from me,”he murmured. “What is it?”

“What makes you suppose I want something?”

“I’ve danced around this ballroom a few times before.”

“Have you? Then why are you asking? Don’t you know?”

He eased away and chuckled. “Yes, I know, but I’m sure if I gave it to you, you’d die from shock.”

“You have quite a high impression of yourself.”

“It’s all deserved.”

She laughed and stepped in again. Sparks flew, the air electric with sensation, and she felt wild and free.

“It’s very dark down by the beach,”she boldly said. “Would you like to take a stroll?”

“Little lady”—he pulled her to him so she was cradled to his chest—“I’d love to
stroll
with you until you were too sore to walk back to the house on your own.”

She wasn’t certain what he meant by his remark. She understood it was sexual, but had no idea how a woman could become too sore to walk from carnal activity.

“Let’s go”—brazenly, she nodded to the sloping lawn—“if you think you’re
man
enough.”

“I’m man enough. Don’t you worry about that.” But to her enormous disappointment, he set her away. “I can’t tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“With what? It seems to me you’re loitering on the verandah and drinking a brandy. You don’t look busy.”

“John and Hedley are playing cards again.”

It was the last comment she’d expected, and she scowled. “They’re playing cards?”

“Yes, and I have to watch John’s back and keep track of the gold and the chips.”

“They’ll be wagering?”

“Yes.”

“For large stakes?”

“Yes.”

Questions raced through Caroline’s head. Why would Hedley gamble with Mr. Sinclair? He behaved outrageously in London, but why bring his sordid habits to Bramble Bay? Why would Mildred allow it?

Mildred had never been able to stand up to Hedley, but this conduct had to be beyond the pale.

“Why are they gambling?”she asked.

“The reason all men do: to win.”

“To win what?”

“Hedley believes he can recover Bramble Bay.”

“Recover Bramble Bay from what?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I thought Mildred was telling everyone today. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Hedley gambled away the estate.”

She gasped. “He what?”

“He played with John several months ago and bet too heavily. So he kept arranging new games, but he couldn’t regain any ground.”

“What are you saying?”Caroline frantically inquired. “How much has he lost?”

He gestured around. “Everything.”

“What do you mean by
everything
? The house? The land? The furniture? The animals and plows and barns?”

“Yes.”

“The clothes on our backs?”

His grim expression turned kind. “Yes, but John won’t take your clothes. He’ll let you have your personal things. Especially you ladies. He’s not cruel that way.”

She couldn’t wrap her mind around the calamity he was revealing. It was common fact that Hedley was spoiled and reckless, but apparently, she’d had no idea. If Bramble Bay was lost, where would she go? Where would Sarah go? What would become of those who depended on the place for their incomes and survival?

Tears welled into her eyes. She wasn’t a Teasdale, but Bramble Bay had always been her home. The beautiful spot had been forfeited over a stupid card game? How could Mr. Hook be so cavalier?

“Stop them!”she demanded.

“I can’t.”

“Make Mr. Sinclair give it back. Make him.”

“It’s out of my hands, Caroline.”

“You’re his friend. You could dissuade him if you wanted to.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to. I’m determined that Hedley and Mildred get exactly what they deserve.”

“Get what they
deserve
? What are you talking about?”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

“Whose story is it?” He was stoically silent, and she said, “It’s Mr. Sinclair’s?”

He didn’t reply, which told her all she needed to know.

She whipped away and ran into the house, shouting for Sarah.

* * * *

“You didn’t come down to supper. I was hoping you would.”

Sarah smiled at Sheldon who’d been invited to dine as he frequently was. They were chatting in the main parlor. Since she was a baby, he’d been a constant fixture in her life. He was their neighbor, Patrick’s father, and her father’s friend.

He was sixty, boring, steady and dull, but rich and settled, his estate as fine as Bramble Bay.

He was bald as a ball, short and stout, his body plump from ease and affluence. His round face was covered with a bushy mustache and shaggy muttonchops. As a young man, he’d quickly outlived three wives who’d died from various causes, so he’d declared himself unlucky and gave up wedded bliss.

But age and inheritance issues were spurring him to try again. At Mildred’s urging, he’d been pressing the topic with Sarah, but she couldn’t make herself consent. Particularly not after Caroline had described marital duty.

Sarah simply couldn’t envision removing her clothes, watching as Sheldon removed his, then letting him touch her all over. It sounded tawdry, as if she’d be letting her own father do those things to her.