Silent Revenge (3 page)

He closed his eyes and let the air fill his chest. Maybe it hadn’t been wise to come back. To see the home that had been in the Northcote family since the reign of King Edward VI, knowing it would be lost to him forever.

“Let me help. I could—”

“Don’t, James.”

“But the money is yours. Your father was unbelievably drunk that night, making astronomical wagers. I thought it best if he lost the money to me. I was going to give it back when he sobered. But they found his body that next morning at the bottom of the cliff.”

Simon stared out into the darkness.

“Simon. The money is yours.”

“I’ll not take blood money. If he did kill himself, it was because he’d sobered enough to realize what he’d done.”

“Then let me help you. A loan. I’m as rich as Croesus. I would never even miss it.”

“No, James. I’m not desperate enough to accept charity, even from you.”

“It isn’t charity. Consider it a loan.”

“Enough!”

There was a slight pause, and then James turned and stood with firm determination. “There is another way.”

“No.” Simon held out his hand.

“Hear me out, and consider what I’m saying before you reject my suggestion.” He paused. “You could take a wife.”

“A wife.” Simon’s laugh was bitter. “I will never offer my name to another woman again. Even if I did, what woman would accept the offer of a man the
ton
thinks murdered his own father?”

“Surely—”

Simon set his jaw. “No.”

“But what of an heir?”

Simon lifted the corners of his lips into a sardonic smile. “An heir to what? By the end of the month I will no longer have anything to leave a son. And even if there were someone who wanted my name, what father would consider Simon Warland, the disgraced, bankrupt Earl of Nothing, a suitable husband for his daughter?”

“Not everyone would turn you down, Simon. There are many eligible—”

“No!” Simon turned away from his friend and clasped his hands behind his back. “I would rather watch my home be placed on the auction block than take a wife to save it.”

“That may well happen.”

“Let it! You will see me beg on the streets, James, before I will prostrate myself before a woman ever again.”

An uncomfortable silence breached the darkness before Simon finally turned back to his friend. “Forgive me, James. I suffered from a momentary bout of self-pity. I promise it will not happen again.”

The Duke of Collingsworth leaned back against the railing. “Have you been to Ravenscroft?”

“No. I intend to go tomorrow. It’s been three long years, so I’m not sure what I’ll find. Perhaps there’s something left that hasn’t been pawned or sold off to pay their debts.”

“Your father…” James cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Your father is buried in the family graveyard at Ravenscroft.”

Simon swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Did anyone come to bid him farewell? Any of his old friends?”

James paused. “A few. And a handful of servants staying there to close the house.”

“And you.”

“Yes, me.”

“Thank you.” Simon looked at his empty glass, wishing there were more. Thankful there was not. He’d spent enough days in a blind stupor both before and after his father’s death. He would need a clear head to get through the rest of the night. Tomorrow he could drink to forget.

“Come,” James said, turning toward the ballroom. “I’ll introduce you to my wife. We’ll have another drink, then take our leave to let the wagging tongues of society devour the rest of your shattered reputation.”

“Did you marry that pretty young innocent you were considering when…” Simon paused. “Before?”

“Yes,” James finished, smoothing the uncomfortable gap. “Melinda Everston. Now Melinda Wallace, Duchess of Collingsworth.”

“And are you happy, James?”

“Yes, Simon. I couldn’t be happier.”

Collingsworth clapped Simon on the shoulder and squeezed tight. “I wish you could meet someone half as wonderful as my Mel. You would see.”

“Then lead me to this love of your life, friend, while I still have the stomach to face the curious onlookers.”

“I must warn you. Melinda will probably have you tamed before I finish your introduction. Your entrance left even the strong trembling at the knees, but she will do her utmost to soften you and prove to all that you are harmless.”

“I was that intimidating?”

“The Duchess of Stratmore’s palm leaves trembled.” Simon smiled. “Good. I do not care in the least what society thinks of me. Fear is as good an emotion as any.”

Chapter 2

J
essica woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep. She couldn’t forget how Lady Drummond had looked standing at the top of the stairs of the Stratmore ballroom, ready to make her entrance. All eyes should have been fixed on her. Each and every one of society’s elite, frozen in statuesque stillness as they stared in open adoration at the magnificent gown Jessica had created.

But they weren’t.

Instead, their attention was still focused on the Earl of Northcote’s surprise appearance. Jessica, however, couldn’t forget the expression on the Earl of Northcote’s face. An expression that mirrored a tortured soul. Was she the only one who saw it?

The tall, imposing stranger loomed before them with anger blazing from eyes that had bored into her with unrelenting intensity. Lady Drummond in her beautiful gown was nothing more than an intruding illusion.

Damn him!

She threw the covers back and bounded from the bed. With a moan of frustration, she stomped to the washbasin in the corner of the room, then scrubbed her skin with rose-scented bathwater. When the cool water hit her warm flesh, she came alert with a startling revelation.

She would create Lady Drummond another fabulous design, equally as stunning. Only this time when she wore it,
he
would not be there to steal everyone’s admiration.

Without looking, Jessica grabbed a dress from the clothes chest and slipped it over her head. It didn’t matter which gown she wore, because there were only four day dresses from which to choose, besides the two better dresses she kept for the balls she chose to attend.

She wore only plain, simple gowns. She wanted to draw no attention to herself, nor did she want her clothes to reveal that she was the mysterious designer everyone clamored to have create a gown for them.

She pulled her long chestnut hair back into the same severe chignon she wore whether day or evening, then smoothed the starched lace collar to perfection. She took her first step toward the door but stopped when Martha, her childhood nurse and personal maid, walked into the room.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re up, mistress. Mr. Cambden is downstairs in the morning room to see you.”

“Ira is here?” Jessica frowned. “Oh dear. I hope he hasn’t come for the design I promised to create for his wife’s birthday. It isn’t done yet. I haven’t found the right shade of satin edging. Madame Lamont promised to send over more samples. Did Ira say he’d come for the design?”

“He didn’t say, miss.”

Jessica checked her appearance one last time, then turned toward the door. “Would you have Mrs. Goodson ready a tray of hot tea and some of Mrs. Graves’s biscuits?”

“Right away, miss.”

Jessica raced from the room, skipping down the stairs as if she were still an eighteen-year-old. It was always like this when Ira came to visit. He’d been her father’s longtime friend and solicitor, and since her father’s death ten years ago, he was as near to any family as she had left. Aside from Melinda and James, Ira was one of the few people she’d allowed to get close enough to her to become a friend—to know her secret.

“Good morning, Ira.” Jessica swept into the morning room with a bright smile on her face.

Ira turned from the window to face her. Behind him, a heavy drizzle fell from an ominous-looking sky, coloring the room in a dreary gray. Jessica fought the urge to rush over to him and wrap her arms around his portly body as she often did. Something about his expression stopped her.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, her smile wavering. “I don’t have Esther’s design done yet. Is that why you’ve come?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t come for Esther’s design.”

Deep worry lines etched the dear man’s forehead, and the fear she saw in his eyes caused her heart to stir in her breast. For the first time, Jessica noticed the death grip with which he was clutching a brown leather folder to his chest.

With a sigh, he placed the folder on the table and opened his arms. Jessica stepped into his warm embrace. “Something is wrong, isn’t it, Ira?” she said when she’d stepped away from him.

Ira kept hold of her hand and wrapped his soft, cushiony fingers around hers. He brought her hand to his chest and cradled it there. “Yes, something is wrong. Perhaps you should sit down, Jessica.”

A feeling of wariness stole its way through her body, and she sat in the chair while she waited for him to give a reason for the troubled look on his face.

“What is it, Ira? Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.”

The friend who’d been like a father to her since she was fifteen looked down on her and shook his head. Another apprehensive shudder stole through her.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, Jessica,” Ira said, dabbing at the perspiration on his forehead, “but…” He paused. “Oh, Jessica. I have just learned that your stepbrother, Baron Tanhill, isn’t dead.”

Jessica’s breath caught and she clutched the arms of the chair to steady herself. She couldn’t breathe. This could not be happening. “What?”

“Lord Tanhill isn’t dead. He is on his way back to England.”

Jessica felt the blood rush from her head. “No. That can’t be.”

“It is, Jessica. He’s alive. A friend of mine just returned from India and saw him there. I made sure it was true before I came to you.”

Jessica shook her head. “He’s dead. We were told he was. He drowned when his ship went down ten years ago.”

“That is what he wanted everyone to believe, but it wasn’t true.”

Jessica rose to her feet and stood on trembling legs. Her skin turned cold and clammy while her jagged breathing came out harsh and labored. “I don’t believe it. Why would he want everyone to think he had died? What purpose would it serve?”

“Lord Tanhill owed some very dangerous people an incredible amount of money. His death created a convenient escape from his debts.”

“Then why would he risk coming back now?”

The look on Ira’s face became even darker. “He’s coming back for your inheritance.”

Jessica laughed. “My inheritance? I have no inheritance.”

“Please, Jessica, sit down.” Ira led her to the sofa, then picked up the folder from the table and sat down in a chair in front of her. She leaned forward so she would not miss one word he spoke.

“I didn’t think anyone knew besides myself,” he said, hugging the folder. “I was certain I could take the secret with me to my grave. But it’s too late. Somehow he found out.”

“What did he find out, Ira?”

He sighed and took out an official-looking document. “This is your father’s will. It states that your town house and everything in it is to go to your stepmother, the late Baroness Tanhill, and consequently to her son, Lord Tanhill, as her surviving heir.”

Jessica clamped her fist into the folds of her dress. She could not lose her home. It was her security. Her haven. Her refuge from all the curious stares and prying eyes.

Loud waves roared against her ears until she feared her head would burst. “I cannot lose my home,” she said, fighting to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

“There’s more, Jessica,” Ira said, taking her hands in his.

Even though she was seated, the room felt unsteady around her.

Ira dropped her hands and leaned back in his chair. “After your fever, your father refused to face what had happened. He still saw you as perfect. He never thought you would not marry. To ensure your future, he married Lady Tanhill. With her title to introduce you into society and the money he’d provided in your dowry, he was positive you were assured of a credible husband.”

Jessica’s heart skipped a beat. Just thinking of the woman her father had allowed into their home after her mother had died turned her stomach. “I wish she had never married my father, Ira. She didn’t love him.”

Ira shook his head. “She was destitute. She married your father for his money.”

“So what does this have to do with her son? What are you worried Colin will do when he comes back?”

The expression on Ira’s face remained grave. “According to your father’s will, on your twenty-fifth birthday, Lord Tanhill will gain possession of your house and everything in it. And your husband will receive your entire wealth.”

Jessica stared at Ira in stunned disbelief. “My husband! But I do not have a husband!”

“Your father thought that you would. He expected to live long enough to make sure you married someone who would always take care of you.”

Jessica slumped back against the sofa. What would she do? If her stepbrother got the house, where would she go? Venturing out into the world was unthinkable. It took every ounce of courage she had just to accept the invitations to the balls. And she only went on those occasions if Mel would be there and if she knew someone would be there wearing one of her gowns.