The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance (22 page)

“I will be ruined, I tell you,” he blustered. “Forced to sell everything if that bloody bastard calls in those loans. This is your fault, Marissa. You should have been able to talk him out of it. He
was
your lover.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Do you want everyone in the house to know that?”

He gave her a sizzling glare but his voice subsided to a dull roar. “Father should have killed Barnett years ago, when he had the chance.”

Marissa dug her nails into her palms. “You almost did. You and Father. And for what? The only sin Anthony ever committed was to love me.”

“Is that what you call it?” he sneered. “I never understood how you could let him touch you, much less rut on you like a barnyard animal. You, the finest catch in London during your first season. What a fool you were, to have debased yourself with that country bumpkin.”

She itched to slap him, but refused to sink to his level. “I loved him, and he loved me, Edmund. Anthony was the only person who loved me after Mother died. God knows I never had a tender word from Father or you.”

“What did you expect after you behaved like a whore? If Father hadn’t acted decisively, no respectable man would have married you. As it was the damage was done, but at least it was too late for Paget to do anything about it.”

He cast her a black look, then flopped into a leather club chair, which creaked ominously under his weight.

“Not that it did us any good to marry you off to Paget,” he whined. “I still have to support you and your daughter. And now I stand to be ruined, all because you succumbed to your craven lusts.”

Marissa thanked God there were no pistols within reach, because she likely would have added murder to her list of sins. Edmund had flung these horrid accusations at her more times than she could count. They had always made her sick with shame and regret, beating her down until she almost believed them herself.

But not any more. She was done with shame — and with her brother if he didn’t own up to his own failings, and the mess he had made of the family finances.

“What do you intend to do?” she asked. “Anthony wants an answer by tonight.”

His jowls actually quivered with indignation. “Not a thing.
You
created this problem, Marissa. It’s up to you to save the family. If you can’t persuade Barnett to forgive the loan or give me sufficient time to pay it back, then you must give him what he wants. Family honour demands it.”

His callous words sent anger and shock surging through her body.

“Family honour! Are you mad? I shall be ruined.”

“You were ruined long ago, dear sister. It pains me that the world will now be made aware of that fact but, thanks to you, we have no other choice.”

The taste in her mouth was so foul, she could have spit. Her brother would rather abandon her to a sordid fate than take responsibility for his own foolish mistakes.

She forced herself to remain calm, though her heart banged against her ribs. “Edmund, there’s always a choice, good or bad. You chose all those years ago to destroy Anthony’s life when he was little more than a boy. Your present situation is of your own making. I am not the person who drove the estate into debt, and I am not the person who should beg for Anthony’s forgiveness. You should.”

He regarded her with contempt. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t soil my good name by going anywhere near the man. But since you’re already damaged goods, I suggest you do whatever you can to avert this disaster. For your family’s sake.”

He looked over at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. “You’d better get ready. Barnett’s carriage will be here soon enough.” Edmund heaved himself up from his chair and crossed to his desk. Without giving her a second glance, he began shuffling through some papers.

A cold disgust settled in her chest. Anthony was right. Edmund had earned his destruction and, if not for Antonia, Marissa wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help her brother.

“Edmund.”

He looked up, irritation wrinkling his balding pate. “What now?”

“I will do as you insist, but let us be clear about my daughter. You and your wife will care for her as if she were your own. Anthony has offered to settle a handsome allowance on her, but Antonia must have a home, is that understood? She cannot come with me.”

Edmund seemed genuinely shocked. “Of course not. I wouldn’t let the girl anywhere near that bastard. He’s already done enough damage to the family’s good name, as have you. Antonia will be much better off with us.”

The old shame threatened to creep back into her heart, but she beat it back. Antonia had always been loved and protected, much more than Marissa ever was.

She turned on her heel and marched from the room, slamming the door behind her with a satisfying bang. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes until she could fold her rage into a neat little bundle and put it aside for later. But, as the anger faded, the implications of what would happen next swept through her like a howling gale, sucking the air from her lungs.

A small, sharp voice brought her up short. “Mamma, are you ill?”

She spun around to see Antonia standing in the curve under the entrance hall staircase. Her daughter inspected her, eyes wary and bright with concern.

“Antonia, what are you doing there?” Marissa asked more sharply than she intended. “You weren’t eavesdropping again, were you?”

Those golden eyes widened, the picture of offended innocence. “No, Mamma, of course not,” Antonia protested. “I was just coming up from the kitchen. Cook made gingerbread today.”

Her beautiful girl held up a thick piece of fragrant cake. She looked so pious that Marissa gave a reluctant laugh.

“Very well, my love. I believe you. This time. But you know very well you shouldn’t be snooping about the entrance hall.”

Her daughter’s face split into an enchanting grin. She took a healthy bite of the gingerbread, ignoring the motherly reprimand.

Antonia’s slight figure went fuzzy as Marissa blinked away the tears blurring her vision. How in God’s name could she ever leave her own child behind? The pain of it just might kill her.

She silently scolded herself for the momentary weakness. What she did, she did for Antonia. To keep her safe, untainted by the mistakes of her family. It was Marissa’s choice, and the only one that made sense.

“Come along, darling,” she said, forcing a smile. “I must go out soon, but there’s still time for us to read a story together.”

Antonia slipped a warm hand into hers as they mounted the stairs. “What were you and Uncle Edmund talking about, Mamma?”

Marissa frowned, trying to look stern. “Nothing you need to know. You’re far too curious, Antonia. It’s not at all ladylike for you to pry into other people’s affairs, especially those of your elders.”

Antonia looked aggrieved. “But no one ever tells me anything.”

Marissa ran a gentle hand over her daughter’s glossy curls. She would have to tell the child everything, and soon enough. But not tonight.

The words caught in her throat. “You should be happy that they don’t.”

Marissa stood quietly before him, garbed in a grey, modestly cut evening dress — a perfect example of an aristocratic widow, so untouchable she might as well have been on the moon. But touch her Anthony would, and soon. In fact, it would be a miracle if he didn’t pull her down on to the carpeted floor of his study and shred every article of expensive clothing from her body.

Even if it made him feel like the most callous brute in England.

“There’s no need to stand on ceremony,” he said. “Please have a seat.”

She frowned and remained where she was, likely because his suggestion came out sounding like a command.

He sighed. “Marissa, I would rather you not stand there like a disobedient child waiting for a scold.”

She made a small, scoffing noise but took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the sofa. Her trembling fingers betrayed her nervousness. He thought he should be deriving some satisfaction from that, but he wasn’t.

Ever since she left his offices that afternoon, he had been struggling with a growing sense of remorse. He didn’t like it. But her outburst had forced him to consider that Marissa probably
had
been a target of her father’s retribution, just as she claimed. He was a fool for not realizing that sooner, but the wounded boy of thirteen years ago had lacked the understanding that came with being a man.

Not that Anthony was ready to forgive her — at least not yet. The possibility still existed that she was trying to manipulate him with her tale of woe. Better to wait and hear what she had to say.

And he hoped to God she said yes. He had been in a painful state of arousal all afternoon, all because of one damn little kiss that hadn’t lasted much more than a minute.

“Something to drink? A sherry, perhaps,” he offered. Whatever she had to say, alcohol would make it easier for both of them.

She took her seat, perching on the edge of the sofa, ready to bolt. Clearly, it would take more than one drink to settle her nerves.

“I’ll have a brandy. And please make it a big one,” she said in a clipped voice.

He bit back a smile and poured out two glasses of the finest French brandy his ships could smuggle into England.

After handing her the glass, he settled into a chair opposite the sofa. As much as he wanted to crowd her, something held him back. That damned remorse, he supposed, or the strained look around her eyes and the slight quiver of her pink mouth. Marissa had always been pluck to the backbone, but tonight she seemed as fragile as a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

“Have you reached your decision?” His voice came out on a husky pitch.

“I have,” she said, her air both tragic and dignified. “I will agree to your terms if you will defer my brother’s debt to his satisfaction and provide appropriately for my daughter.”

His heart stopped, then started again, thumping out a painful tattoo. His intellect had told him she would agree — she had no real choice — but his bone-deep sense of her had expected more resistance.

“I’m gratified by your decision,” he said, struggling to keep the sound of relief from his voice. The last thing he wanted was for her to realize the power she still wielded over him.

He came to his feet and moved to sit next to her. She stiffened, but didn’t shy away.

“I’m curious, though,” he continued. “Why did you decide to agree?” He was more than curious. Suddenly, it seemed imperative he know the reasons why — as if his future depended upon it.

“Not for Edmund’s sake, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said with a scowl. “You were right about him — he’s not worthy of the sacrifice. I do this to provide for my daughter.”

Her azure eyes briefly met his. She looked pathetically valiant, like a tragic queen in a melodrama. Or Joan of Arc consigning herself to the flames.

Frustration had him clenching his teeth as it dawned on him that he had no desire to take a martyr to his bed. Not even if that martyr was Marissa. Her noble self-sacrifice would freeze him more thoroughly than a winter storm in the North Atlantic.

“Is that the only reason?” he growled.

Her startled gaze flew to his. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

She studied his face, probing for answers to unspoken questions. Then she blushed an enchanting shade of pink and dropped her gaze.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not the only reason.”

He waited impatiently. “Well?” he finally prompted.

She met his eyes, and he saw a hint of her old fire. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

“So, you’re offering yourself up as a means of atonement, is that it?”

Her mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “Something like that.”

He took a gulp of brandy, feeling gloomier by the minute. This was not how he had envisioned the scene playing out. He should be feeling triumphant after all those years spent developing his schemes, step by careful step. Vengeance against the Joslins — against her — had given his life purpose. And now, when he had prevailed and Marissa was finally under his thrall, what did he truly feel?

Not triumph. Not even simple satisfaction. What he felt was … hollow. As if he’d lost something important he could never get back.

Anthony captured her elegant chin between his fingers. “Did you mean what you said today?” he asked harshly. “That you were desperate to find me?” She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I want the truth, Marissa. No more lies or secrets. Not any more.”

Her pupils dilated as she drew in an unsteady breath. She seemed almost frightened.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, giving in to the compulsion to reassure her. “You can tell me.”

Her eyes grew soft and misty. “Yes. I would have given anything to find you. My heart was broken with the thought of never seeing you again. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said my father locked me in a room for a month. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape. And no one would help me.”

Her gaze filled with anguish, an anguish that became his. He brushed her cheek, wiping away a single fallen tear.

“Then what happened?”

“When I told Father I would never marry anyone but you, he lied to me. He said you had boarded a ship to America and were never coming back. He threatened that if I didn’t marry Richard, he would exile me to one of his smaller estates in the country — indefinitely.”

His heart ached with guilt and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. All these years he had failed her, never knowing the truth but choosing to believe the worst.

She sniffed and tried to look brave. Anthony extracted a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“Father was determined I not break my engagement to Richard. I know I was weak, but I simply didn’t have the strength to fight him any more,” she said with an unhappy shrug. She scrubbed her cheeks with her handkerchief, finishing with a prosaic wipe of her nose. “What happens now?” she asked, looking wary.