Nicole Jordan (28 page)

“Then do not force my hand, boy! I mean what I say. Your betrothal will not stand.
It will not stand,
do you hear me!”

Ignoring the aging nobleman’s shout, Dare turned abruptly on his heel and stalked from the room, intent on calming his own seething rage before he rode to meet Julienne at their trysting site.

Until that afternoon, he had been fiercely determined to defy his grandfather’s wrath, regarding the possibility of disinheritance as inconsequential to his future happiness.

But this new threat against her was enough to give Dare pause. Certainly enough to make him question the wisdom of an elopement. He wanted Julienne as his wife, but not at the risk of endangering her. His grandfather was powerful enough to cause her a great deal of trouble, perhaps even to give real substance to any fabricated charges of treason.

Dare realized he had a momentous decision to make. He couldn’t stand by and allow Julienne to be hurt. And even if he could convince her to elope with him against his grandfather’s objections, there was still the problem of her invalid mother. The comptess refused to leave her home, and Julienne would never abandon her mother.

One thing Dare knew for certain. He would end their betrothal before he allowed her to suffer from the old bastard’s machinations. Despite his ardent feelings for Julienne—or because of them—he would give her up before allowing her to be hurt.

Now, seven years later, Dare recalled what a bloody fool he had been. His grandfather had been right on that account.

He felt his throat close on the bitter memory. Julienne had agreed to meet him at the cottage that afternoon if she could get away from her shop, but when she didn’t come, he rode into Whitstable to find her.

It was then he discovered her betrayal—her lover. Until then, he hadn’t believed a word of his grandfather’s accusations about her relationship with Ivers.

His chest aching with remembered pain, Dare stared down into his empty brandy snifter. The old man had gotten his way; he’d caused the dissolution of the betrothal. But Dare had left Kent immediately afterward and never again set foot under his grandfather’s roof until the marquess was dead and buried.

With a raw, mirthless laugh, Dare threw the crystal snifter at the hearth, watching it shatter in the fire. He hoped the sixth Lord Wolverton was happy in his grave. His bloodline had remained untainted by the jade’s French blood, even if he had lost his only grandson in the process.

Dare slept poorly, enduring dreams of being entangled in his grandfather’s malevolent spiderweb. The next morning, directly after breakfast, he summoned the marquess’s former secretary, Samuel Butner, to the library in the hope of uncovering evidence linking Ivers to Caliban.

“Is it a fair statement,” Dare began after a spate of congenial small talk, “that after living in this district for so many years, you are somewhat acquainted with the Earl of Ivers?”

“Yes, my lord,” the elderly secretary answered respectfully. “I would say I am acquainted with him as well as most.”

“I’m interested in anything you can tell me about Ivers. It seems he has run up a vast number of gaming debts recently, and there are rumors that his loyalties might have been bought by the French.” Dare regarded the secretary with a penetrating look. “Perhaps you’ll recall the summer I spent here almost seven years ago: Two sailors from Whitstable were hanged as spies for collaborating with French Bonapartists. Could Ivers possibly have been associated with them or anything resembling treason, do you think?”

Butner narrowed his craggy brows. “Lord Ivers was always a rum sort, but to my knowledge, he would not have stooped so low as to consort with the enemy. But…”

“Yes?” Dare prompted.

“He was regularly short of funds, even then. And I am aware that he found a way to line his pockets that summer. Lord Wolverton paid his gaming debts.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I wrote out the draft, my lord. It was a vast sum…six thousand pounds. I presume it bailed him out of the River Tick.”

“Why would my grandfather be so generous?”

“I’m not certain, my lord. But I believe it had something to do with your…young lady. The one who owned the millinery.”

Dare felt his heart rate quicken uneasily. “Go on.”

Butner frowned thoughtfully, as if trying to remember. “His lordship summoned Lord Ivers here one afternoon and was closeted with him for the better part of an hour. I always suspected that large payment was for services rendered. That your grandfather employed Lord Ivers for some purpose.”

“But you have no idea what that purpose might be?”

The elderly secretary hesitated a moment. “I have my suspicions. If I may speak freely?”

“By all means.”

“His lordship was exceedingly pleased that you decided to stay here at Wolverton Hall that summer. I believe he thought he could groom you to assume his place…once you had sown your wild oats, that is.”

Dare pressed his mouth together to keep from showing his cynicism. “Instead I proved a grave disappointment to my grandfather,” he said evenly. “I was never serious enough for his taste. Never had aspirations of settling down and becoming an apple farmer.”

“No, my lord. But it wounded him deeply when you became betrothed to the…French lass. He was a proud man, you know—”

“He was a manipulating old bastard.”

“Just so. But he did not wish to see you wed her.”

“Because a Frog would taint his impeccable bloodlines,” Dare said sardonically.

“Yes. And because…he suspected her of treason. He intimated to me that she was involved with the spies who were hanged.”

Dare found himself grinding his teeth. “That was a falsehood he concocted to force me to end my betrothal. Miss Laurent had nothing whatever to do with treason or spying.”

“I suspected as much. I admit, it never set well with me that your grandfather would intervene in your affairs so flagrantly. But he was adamant. You were his hope and pride. He did not wish to see you go to…Begging your pardon, my lord. My tongue does run away from me at times.” Looking uncomfortable, Butner flushed.

“No, please…I value your honesty. What were you about to say? Go where?”

“To the devil, the way your father did.”

With effort Dare kept his lip from curling. “So Grandfather employed the same high-handedness with me that he’d tried on my father.”

“Lord Wolverton hoped to compel you to call off your betrothal.”

“By threatening to disown me, I know. For years I thought he had done so.”

“He never changed his will. He had no reason to, once your betrothal ended. At the time, however, he was utterly determined. He said that whatever it took, he would gladly pay. He wanted to ‘free you from the clutches of a scheming fortune hunter.’ Those were his words, if I recall correctly.”

Steeling himself against his growing disquietude, Dare managed a calm reply. “I gather he intended to use Ivers to frame Miss Laurent for treason.”

“Possibly. After you left here, vowing never to return, Ivers called to collect. And he came two years later to request a loan. His pockets apparently were empty again.”

“Did my grandfather comply?”

“No, he refused adamantly. I overheard their argument. Ivers said he would go to you if Lord Wolverton wouldn’t pay, that you would want to know the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“Again, I’m not certain, my lord. It had something to do with Miss Laurent, because I heard her name spoken.”

“But you’re certain Ivers threatened to blackmail my grandfather?”

“It seemed that way. His lordship was so enraged, he had the footmen throw the earl out of the house. Ivers never called again, to my knowledge. I am not surprised that he has fallen under suspicion now, though. I always thought he would come to a bad end.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butner. You have been a great deal of help.”

Once the elderly secretary had gone, Dare sat unmoving, trying to grapple with the fear hovering in the back of his mind. Had his grandfather actually hired Ivers to spoil his betrothal? And had Ivers held the threat of being hanged for treason over Julienne’s head?

Dare felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Had he somehow mistaken the situation regarding her relationship with Ivers that day? If he could set his jealousy aside for a rational moment, he would have to admit that even before the secretary’s revelation just now, he’d begun to question their alliance. In Newmarket Julienne had seemed to regard Ivers with an enmity bordering on loathing.

Was that because Ivers had abandoned her all those years ago? They had been lovers then, hadn’t they? Dare had seen it with his own eyes, heard the admission from Julienne’s own lips.

His gut churning with unease, Dare rose to call for his carriage. He needed to speak to someone who had greater knowledge of Julienne and what might have happened that long-ago summer.

Famous for its oysters, the small seaport of Whitstable boasted several excellent inns, two dozen shops, and a minor shipyard. The town hadn’t changed much in the years since his last visit, nor apparently had the hat shop where his life had been turned upside down.

Stepping from the carriage, Dare stood outside the door of the millinery, hesitating. He had hopes of finding the sales clerk who had been in Julienne’s employ, but his skin felt suddenly cold and clammy with apprehension at what he might discover. He had to force himself to open the shop door and enter.

Memories rushed in on him all at once, reflections of the last time he’d been here….

He’d thought it odd to find the millinery empty and unlocked, with no sign of Julienne or the girl she employed as a clerk. Hearing voices coming from the floor overhead, he’d climbed the stairs to the large room above the shop that was used for storage and sewing and occasionally as sleeping quarters.

Julienne sat on the cot, her disheveled hair spilling from its pins, while the Earl of Ivers stood beside the bed, hovering over her. When she spied Dare, she clutched a hand to her heart.

She looked dismayed to see him—although no more dismayed than he felt, seeing her with his rival in such an intimate setting.

Ivers’s expression remained cool, however, as he rested a hand possessively on her shoulder. “Clune…I am glad you have come. Julienne has something she wishes to tell you.”

Unwillingly Dare shifted his attention to the earl. His first impulse was to strangle the man with his bare hands for daring to touch Julienne—

“Tell him, my dear,” Ivers urged.

“Tell me what?” Dare demanded, his anger welling to dangerous heights.

“She intends to end your betrothal,” Ivers said when Julienne remained silent. He squeezed her shoulder. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

For a moment she shut her eyes. Then with a slow, shuddering breath, she stiffened her shoulders and raised her gaze to Dare’s. “Yes. I no longer wish to marry you, Dare.”

A sharp hollowness clawed at the pit of his stomach, while his mouth suddenly felt filled with sawdust. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“I…You never told me your grandfather would disown you if you wed me.”

Dare stood frozen, staring at her as he tried to comprehend the import of her words. Did she care so much about the Wolverton fortune after all?

Watching his face, Julienne reached a trembling hand out to him. “Dare…I cannot marry you.”

As if to comfort her, Ivers patted her shoulder. “I regret that you had to discover the truth this way, Clune, but it is better that you finally know. Julienne has always been mine. I enjoyed her favors long before you did.”

His breath seizing in his lungs, Dare found he couldn’t move. Every muscle in his body was paralyzed by shock and disbelief.

“Julienne?” The raw word finally scraped from his throat. “It isn’t true.”

Fleetingly she glanced up at Ivers, then lowered her gaze to stare at the floor. “I am sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

Ivers smiled in triumph, while turmoil rocked Dare. He staggered backward, recoiling as if struck by a blow. He’d expected her to denounce Ivers’s sickening claim, not to uphold it.

His rival’s exultant voice pierced the tumult of his thoughts. “It has been difficult for me, keeping quiet all this time while you courted her, Clune. But Julienne insisted that I stay out of her way. Fortunately she decided that if you are to lose your inheritance, she prefers me to you.”

Reeling, Dare focused on Ivers, seeing the revolting smirk on his dark face…the blood coming from his split lower lip.

With a wry smile, Ivers reached up to gingerly touch his wound. “She does enjoy rough play, as I’m sure you know.”

His gut heaving, Dare abruptly backed away and stumbled from the room, too stricken even to think of calling Ivers out. He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest….

Feeling his head spin now, Dare pressed a hand to his temple. Had he been too swift to condemn Julienne? She hadn’t refuted Ivers’s claim, certainly. What words had she used precisely?
I am sorry
. He had taken that for an admission of guilt….

Dear God, could he have been so wrong? Had she been a victim all along? Or was it his memory now that was at fault? It had happened so long ago. And his own devastation might have led his recollections of that cataclysmic event to change over the years—

“My Lord Wolverton?” A grim female voice interrupted his churning thoughts. “May I be of assistance?”

Dare looked up to find a dark-haired woman perhaps in her mid-twenties standing in a corner near the counter, adding a plume to a bonnet. Her rather plump face seemed vaguely familiar.

“Do you know me?” he asked, frowning.

Her expression remained grave. “Yes, my lord. You were once my mistress’s suitor. I could never forget you.”

For an instant Dare saw a flash of something like antipathy flash in her blue eyes. Puzzled, he advanced farther into the shop. “You were Miss Laurent’s sales clerk seven years ago.”

“Yes…Rachel Grimble. I am now the proprietor.”

Her antipathy was clearer now. Her tone held none of the deference a shopkeeper usually showed a nobleman of his consequence. Rather it held contempt.