Secrets of Surrender (8 page)

“If I were a magician I would conjure up all of that for you. However, you can have half measures at least, without magic. You can have security and safety. You can have your sister and your cousin again, and take a long step toward retrieving your reputation.”

He had not offered her false hope the night of the auction. It disappointed her that he did now. “What you describe will definitely take magic, sir. Do not paint pretty, sentimental landscapes in an attempt to discourage me from my plan. Your reassurances are patronizing and cruel.”

“I never paint pretty landscapes, Miss Longworth. I am a man who draws maps of roads where carts will roll, and plans of houses where people must live. What I describe can all be yours. You just need to marry a respectable, established man.” A half-smile formed. “A man like me, for example.”

CHAPTER
SIX

R
oselyn stared at him. He had thrown out the idea of marriage with incredible calm and absolutely no ceremony. It had almost been an aside, a mere sentence to prove that his argument had merit.

It took her a few dazed moments to realize that he was serious. He had just proposed.

“You have a reckless streak in you, Mr. Bradwell. Twice now you have spoken too quickly on my account. I would think that the last time cost you dearly enough.”

“I would never make this offer if I had not considered it very carefully.”

The shock sunk in, evoking an inner agitation. Sitting under his gaze put her at a disadvantage, so she stood. Since he had to as well, it did not help at all.

“You are just being kind.”

He barely shook his head. “I am not that good.”

“The world will mock you. I am winter’s scandal.”

“The world will rethink that scandal if we marry. It will take time to reclaim whatever place you had in society a year ago, but your cousin and her husband’s family will immediately receive you.”

They would receive him too. He had calculated that, while he weighed what he would risk and what he might gain.

Her confusion cleared. She pictured the accounting. She knew what had happened.

“Mr. Bradwell, I am well past the normal age for marriage. Have you never wondered why I am on the shelf?”

“I assumed that you never met a man who suited you. Or that you did not favor the wedded state and could afford to indulge your preferences.”

Which you no longer can.
He was wrong if he thought that. She could wait to hear from Timothy. She could go away.

“There were no offers when I was a girl. We lived here and our fortunes were bad. Later, after the investment in the bank, after my brothers grew wealthy, there were many offers. Addresses were paid by men of all stripes, but always,
always,
their interest in a settlement exceeded their interest in me. I preferred not to marry just to enhance a man’s purse.”

“I see. You had to be impoverished before you believed a man’s addresses were the result of affection and not avarice. That is understandable, I suppose. It would also explain why you gave yourself to Norbury, when you had declined more honorable offers before.”

Her face warmed. He regarded her with a gentle firmness that suggested he comprehended more than she wanted.

“Miss Longworth, you are not the sister of a rich banker now.”

“That is true. I am nobody now. There are so many reasons to discourage you from such a rash proposal that I must wonder why you spoke. Not out of pity, I hope.”

She needed to move, to relieve the nervous pattering in her heart. She began wrapping and storing the remains of their meal. She carried the plates to the washbasin on the other side of the kitchen.

He remained standing near the table and window, but he intruded on every inch of the room.

“Not out of pity,” he finally said. “I will admit some concern for you, but not pity.”

She set the plates in the basin. She was not handling this well. It would be better to clear the air and speak honestly. He deserved that much.

She turned to face him. She realized at once that was a mistake.

His attention acted like a tether, tugging her back across the chamber. Warmth and soft amusement showed in his eyes and vague smile. Those same qualities implied he expected a challenge and did not mind one.

“Lord Hayden put you up to this, didn’t he? Alexia asked him to approach you, no doubt, but he made the overture. How big is the settlement that he promised?”

“Lord Hayden has no knowledge of this. He offered nothing.”

His tone almost made her believe him. Almost. If he was being truthful, which she doubted, he was a fool. “So you propose to a woman scorned because you feel some concern and because you will be received by her cousin’s relatives? For a successful man of affairs, you make bad bargains when you carefully consider your actions.”

His expression firmed just enough to reflect displeasure at the criticism. “You are very sure that you have guessed my calculations. However, you neglect the most important one. I get something else besides the small benefits that you list.”

“I do not see what it might be.”

“You, Miss Longworth. I get you, as the mother of my children and as the wife in my bed.”

He walked toward her. The coats no longer obscured the man they draped. He might have been free of them, with his dark hair and loose shirt blowing in the wind. His expression stunned her. Knowing. Confident. Devastating.

Each step created a stronger pull on that tether. She gripped the edge of the table behind her. As he neared she angled back in alarm until her back hit the washbasin’s rim.

She found her voice. She had less success locating her composure. “Most men would not think me fit to be the mother of their children.”

“Other men do not know your true character the way I do.”

“Most men would not want a wife whose virtue has so infamously been lost. They would demand that their brides be untouched.”

“This man demands only that his bride be touched by him alone from this day forward.”

He stood so close that she could not straighten without inviting that touch. His presence pressed on her in less physical ways. The depths of his blue eyes drew her in. Her thoughts scattered.

I get you, as the wife in my bed.
She had sensed the desire in him. She had anticipated an overture today. Just not this one.

“It is still a bad bargain,” she stammered. “You were warned that night that I am not warm in the ways that men want. It would be wrong for me to let you think he lied about that.”

“What an honest woman you are. I am not inclined to take another man’s judgment in such a thing. I think I will form my own opinion, especially since I already have cause to believe he erred badly.”

He cupped her neck in his hand. The contact made her jump. He caressed around her neck until that firm, gentle hold cradled her nape.

She could not speak. She could not object. He eased her forward, toward him.

His kiss bore little resemblance to the one in the field. This one was sweet enough and careful too, but it was designed to conquer objections. It enkindled a deep warmth that seduced her soul to sigh.
This is so pleasant and enlivening. Perhaps, just a little more, a little longer.

Innumerable tiny thrills slithered through her body, many of their prickling paths warming her far from the place he actually kissed.
Yes, just a little longer…

She melted into it, unaccustomed as she was to the mastery of this quiet assault. There was nothing hesitant in this long kiss, but she felt the care and the deliberate attempt to give her pleasure.
Yes, this part at least can be good. So good…

His mouth manipulated her astonishment. His gentle hold on her nape commanded her to accept him. He lured her lips to part.

The small invasion seemed inevitable when it came. She considered rebelling but surrendered instead. The sensations overwhelmed defenses that had lost their foundations long ago. Instead of shock, she reacted with wonderment at the way this kiss resonated with erotic intimacy.

You are lost and he knows it. He can take you now if he wants and he knows it. In falling you lost your best weapon and your best reason to resist, and he knows it.

She did not heed her mind’s warning. She did not want the sweetness to end. This pleasure took her to a place far away from the sad world she now knew.

The kisses stopped anyway. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her seriously, as if he weighed whatever her lack of resistance meant. Then his eyes closed and his head dipped until his brow rested on hers. His hand still cradled her neck, holding her to the contact. She almost heard the argument that his desire gave him.

“You are warm enough for me.” His fingertips caressed her lips while a small smile played on his own. “Although the claim that you lack training has some merit.”

His allusion to that night, to Norbury, surprised her. This man of all men could never forget her shame. “How can you speak so calmly of it? You know that I…you
know.
”

“I know what I have in you. I am not saying that scandal does not matter. I am not claiming that I do not care. It does not matter enough, however.”

Still, he
did
care and it
did
matter. Of course it did. He had been honorable toward her, but he was not a saint. No man was.

She did not believe that he had come here to offer marriage today. She still suspected that he had chosen a different way to have her in his bed. He had only diverted to this path because he thought she was going to give herself to someone else.

Those impressions flew through her heart, but they anchored there no better than any other right now. Her mind proved incapable of being sensible while he touched her and while that kiss still stirred her so powerfully.

“I expect no answer today. I only ask that you consider my offer of this other choice. I realize that you have much to weigh. I know that you never expected to marry a man like me when you were a girl, but much has changed since then.” His fingers lightly caressed her face in that careful, thoughtful touch he had used in the field. “Tell me that you will think about it.”

It was not really a request. Nor did she possess enough of a will to disagree.

He removed a paper from his frock coat. “This is where I live in London. When you decide, send for me. Or write if you prefer. If I do not hear from you in ten days, I will return.”

He set the paper beside the washbasin. His bootsteps sounded loud in the barren house as he strode to the door.

A few drops of water smeared the address on the paper while she washed the dishes. Bending awkwardly, she pushed the paper aside with her dry elbow so the writing would not get ruined.

Mr. Bradwell had been gone a long while before she even moved. An hour had passed before she retrieved something of her normal composure. She guessed it would be days before she could think clearly about what had transpired today.

She had capitulated with shocking quickness—so shocking that she would not blame him if he rethought her character now. She had not expected to actually like that deep kiss, however. His artistry had been a revelation that put her at a disadvantage.

Her lack of virtue probably had too, she suspected. Evidently it was very easy to fall if one had already fallen. Didn’t the older women warn as much?

Warm enough for me.
He did not know that. The intimacies in marriage involved more than kisses in a kitchen.

She had not liked that part of being Norbury’s mistress. The kisses were somewhat fun, but the rest—she made a face at memories of embarrassment and discomfort and awkwardness. She knew that some women did not receive much pleasure, but no one had warned her how distasteful it was to remain unmoved while her lover lost all reserve.

Finished with her chore, she dried her hands on a towel. The low sun revealed the roughness of their skin. She had slathered her hands in creams when she was a girl, and still did when she could afford the lotions. She had washed and scrubbed enough in her life, however, that she no longer had a lady’s hands.

Much has changed since then.
Heavens, but that was the truth.

Her inclination was to reject this proposal. All the ways in which such a marriage could be horrible clamored for attention with their warnings.

He had probably been offered money, but soon that money would be spent or forgotten, and they would still be bound forever.

At best he had offered only out of an impulse to save her again. He thought she meant to go abroad with another scoundrel, so he felt obligated to sacrifice himself.

Still, the offer had been made. It
was
another choice. She would be a fool to decline it outright. She doubted that she could sort through the resentments and worries and prejudices that already were lining up to discourage her, however.

She wished Alexia were here. Alexia was so sensible and wise. Alexia could help her to think clearly about this unexpected development.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

T
he summons to Norbury’s house came four days after Kyle had visited Miss Longworth. Since Norbury’s note did not indicate the subject of this meeting, Kyle wondered if the viscount had somehow heard about the proposal.

He rode his horse from his chambers in Piccadilly to Mayfair. He had not seen Norbury since the night of the auction, and the events at that party were enough to cause a strain of their own today. He did not expect his presumption in now offering marriage to pass without a few scathing words.

Of course, Miss Longworth had not accepted. She had not even written. Perhaps she never would.

She had been less than amenable to this new denouement for her drama. He doubted that she would become more so while she debated her choices. Being tied to a man of low birth whom she hardly knew would probably pale compared to the adventures being dangled by that other man.

A series of protectors was the common fate of women who fell in such a public manner. Easterbrook’s sure confidence about that had been infuriating mostly because it was well founded. Having seen how Miss Longworth lived, having seen her bleak future and sad isolation, only the hardest soul would not comprehend the temptation.

Italy. Hell.

She thought his marriage proposal was impulsive and reckless. Instead it appeared that he had pondered it too long. Long enough for Miss Longworth to be found, pursued, cajoled, and tempted by another vulture.

So long that a liveried servant had delivered another letter from the marquess the morning after the visit to Jean Pierre’s laboratory. This time the expensive paper had borne no words, just a large, elegantly penned question mark.

Grooms populated the street in front of Norbury’s house. One was leading away a horse. It appeared this would not be a private confrontation about matters concerning Miss Longworth after all.

As soon as Kyle entered the library, he realized that the men gathered there did have a connection to her. They had all been defrauded by her brother Timothy.

The meeting served as a reminder that even while he had pondered that proposal too long, he had not resolved the biggest debate in his head. Her brother was a thief and a criminal, but she would probably be angered by this gathering of victims in Norbury’s house.

On the other hand, this meeting also pointed up that the day would come when Miss Longworth’s current scandal would pale compared to another waiting to embroil her. In her vulnerable situation, it would devastate what little pride and dignity she retained.

Norbury barely acknowledged Kyle’s arrival. The viscount continued a conversation with another man while Kyle found a chair and accepted coffee from a servant.

Norbury disengaged from his guest and addressed the room at large. “Gentlemen, we have a decision to make and I thought it best to bring you all together so we could settle it quickly.”

Conversations quieted. Eyes turned to the host.

“I have received a letter from Royds. It arrived yesterday and he writes from Dijon.”

“Does he have the rogue in hand?” the deep voice of Sir Robert Lillingston queried. “I don’t know why it is taking him so long.”

A low chorus of muttered agreements backed up the observation.

“Unfortunately, he does not. However—”

The mutters got louder.

“Gentlemen, allow me to continue. Mr. Royds writes that he has discovered why tracking his quarry proved so difficult. Longworth was not traveling alone as we told him. He had a companion the whole way. Nevertheless, Royds followed the trail to Dijon, where Longworth was in residence, using the last name Goddard. The companion, a man named Pennilot, caught fever and died there, and Longworth was forced to dally as a result of that illness.”

“So where is he now?” Lillingston demanded. “Not Dijon, from the sounds of things.”

“Not Dijon,” Norbury said. “Royds just missed him. He has good reason to believe that Longworth aimed south, with Italy as his destination.”

No one liked hearing that. The news of a near miss caused a good deal of complaining.

Kyle did not say a word. His attention locked on the last detail from the letter.

Italy. Roselyn spoke of traveling there with her friend. No, now that he parsed the conversation in his mind, she had never indicated that she would actually travel to the continent with that man. She could be planning to meet him there.

He cursed his own stupidity. She was not being deceptive or naive when she insisted her friend had no ulterior motives. She did not envision this new life as a kept woman at all. She intended to join that rogue brother of hers.

The implications of that, to her and to him and to his offer and her choices, distracted most of his mind. A small part continued to follow the discussion in the library.

“Mr. Royds has followed, but anticipates considerable cost if he must continue the search in Italy,” Norbury explained. “With all the little sovereign states on the peninsula, many bribes will be required. I must write to him at an address in Milan with authorization to incur the costs on expectation of repayment from us.”

“He could be poking through Italy for years,” Mr. Barston, a wealthy importer, insisted. “I’ve a mind to say we end this. Thanks to Lord Hayden Rothwell, we are not badly burned. I want to see the bastard himself pay as much as the rest of you, but it is sounding like this hunt may go on forever. I’ve no interest in perfect justice if it costs me hundreds.”

Norbury’s face turned red. “He made fools of you. Of all of us. Insinuated himself into our circles and lured us to use his bank. He played us like idiots, then ran with the plunder. Have some pride, for God’s sake.”

“It doesn’t sound as if Royds even knows where he is going,” Barston countered.

“He’ll find him. He’ll use the same methods he used to get to Dijon.”

“It took him months to locate Longworth there. It could be months before Royds or anyone else learns where Longworth lands now.”

That was not true, Kyle realized. Someone in England would know very soon where Timothy Longworth’s new lair would be. Roselyn waited for a letter before she embarked on her new life.

He gazed at the men around him. Some were gentlemen and some were merchants like Barston. One was a noted financier. All that bound them was the hunger for revenge.

Not because of big losses. They all had been repaid by Lord Hayden. That restitution was designed to salve the victims’ anger and abort their laying down information. They had learned how Longworth had forged names and documents to sell out the securities that his bank held for them, but a man made whole forgets much quickly.

With most of the victims, Lord Hayden’s plan had worked. Except these men here had not been satisfied. Restitution had not been enough for them in the end.

Slowly they had found each other. They joined together in the cause of finding Longworth and bringing him back. In the months since there had been scant news.

Norbury sniffed the air for more objections. “He will be found soon, I am confident. However, even if Royds goes to every town in Italy, it is money well spent. No doubt Longworth dines in high style and laughs at the fools he robbed while he does so. Some of you may be willing to live with that image, but no man of honor can do so.”

That insinuation ended all discussion. An informal vote was taken. They charged Norbury to write to Royds and promise the necessary payments.

Bodies rose and farewells flew. Kyle held back while the others departed. It was time to test the water in the shallow pond named Norbury and see just what the temperature might be.

His host pretended to ignore him for a few minutes while he shuffled papers. Eventually the tawny head rose and the pale eyes acknowledged him.

“You were silent today, Kyle. That was wise.”

“I had nothing to say.”

“You used to. I remember the fine speeches about the why and the why not, about the poor men hung every week for much less because they have no rich friend to buy their lives from the victims. You preached moral resolve like a vicar or a damned philosopher, except you are neither and your opinions do not signify.” His lids lowered and brittle lights blazed in his eyes. “You think to imitate the high-grounded ideas taught you by those books and tutors, but you forget it is impertinent for such as you to dare lecture your betters.”

“I lecture no one.”

“The hell you don’t. Your performance at my dinner party spoke loudly enough.” Norbury’s expression pulsed petulantly. “Lord Hayden has gone out of his way to let it be known you did not enjoy the prize you bought that night. You did it only to—”

“What do you care why I did it? You made tenfold what you would have otherwise, and you are free of her. As you said, the opinions of such as me do not signify to such as you.”

Norbury averted his gaze. He appeared to achieve some calm. Kyle took his leave. He had reached the door when Norbury spoke again.

“I tire of your presumptions, Kyle. Your simple ideas are better suited to the ignorant miners of your village.” His voice rose to a snarl. “Do not cross me again.”

“I lived here for almost ten years. It is very modest, but the street is safer than it looks.”

Lady Phaedra swept up to the door of the house in question. Her billowing black dress and cape flapped in the wind, revealing the unexpected Apollo gold lining of the latter. Her rippling red hair hung like a curtain of fire along one side of her face while she bent to poke her key in the lock.

Rose waited, valise in hand. Lady Phaedra’s last sentence reassured her a little. This street, not far from Aldgate, did not appear especially safe. Lord Elliot’s coachman must have agreed, because he sat at attention with whip at the ready.

The houses were old and the lane narrow. A beggar woman sat not fifteen feet away from Phaedra’s door. Another woman at the open window across the way called with suspicious familiarity to passing men.

Lady Phaedra noticed and laughed. “Elliot warned that you would be shocked. He said that we should let a better place and present it as mine and you would be none the wiser. Alexia, however, said that you are too proud to accept such charity, and I am not good at living a lie.”

“I am glad that you did not do that. If you lived here for almost ten years, I think I will be very happy for several days.”

Phaedra threw open the door. “You will need to air it. It has been closed for over a month.”

The house was as unusual as the woman who owned it. The sitting room also served as a library. Tall bookcases filled one wall, and odd paintings and engravings the others. An old divan stood in front of the windows, covered in an array of colorful shawls that did not entirely hide its worn upholstery.

“I will send a servant to stay here with you, so you will be more comfortable,” Lady Phaedra said.

“Please do not. You have already been too generous, and very gracious to display no surprise when I showed up at your door. You do not even know me.”

“I know all about you, though, and I know that Alexia loves you dearly. I also know what it means to be the object of whispers and scorn. It matters only if you allow it to, Roselyn. There are many people who do not abide by society’s dictates and who will accept you without prejudice.”

Rose understood the lesson that Lady Phaedra tried to give. She knew that there were circles that held to different rules. Phaedra Blair had not conformed and according to Alexia had led an interesting, colorful life prior to agreeing to marry Lord Elliot. From the looks of things, her benefactress was one lady who would never completely fit into polite society, because she chose not to.

However, Rose also knew that she was no Phaedra Blair. She had not been raised in radical, artistic circles and would feel silly trying to join them. Lady Phaedra tried to show that there was yet one more choice for her future, but it was not one that Rose considered practicable.

“It is easy to find hackney cabs on the next street,” Phaedra explained while she gave a tour of the kitchen and dining room. “The shops are there as well.”

Up above, Rose left her valise in one of the two small bedrooms. It looked out over a tiny garden in the back that needed some tending.

“I will leave you to rest,” Lady Phaedra said when they went back downstairs. “You have been in the carriage too long and that always takes a toll. I will come tomorrow to see how you fare.”

Rose watched the black drapery billow out to the street and into the carriage. The coach would take Phaedra back to that nice house in Mayfair that she now shared with Lord Elliot. It was not far from the one on Hill Street where Alexia lived.

She pictured Alexia walking through that house. It was not hard to conjure up images of her cousin in every chamber. They had both lived there a mere year ago. It had been the Longworths’ home then, where they had all gathered as a family.

Much has changed since then.

Everything had changed since then.

Rose heard the carriage stop outside the next morning. She jumped up to look out the front window.