The Marriage Bargain (12 page)

As she turned her head to look forward, she saw the strangest sight. It seemed to be happening so slowly, yet she knew that the curricle bearing down on her was travelling terribly fast—so fast that she couldn’t get out of the way in time.

She was going to die. Merciful heavens, she was going to die!

Suddenly she was flying. The ground came up to meet her and she hit it with a breathtaking thud. A heavy weight pressed down on her and she tried vainly to get a breath, but the wind was knocked out of her.

Strong hands yanked her up and thumped her back. In a moment, her lungs found the breath they’d been struggling for, and she closed her eyes in relief.

“That was bloody stupid!”

Her eyes flew open and she saw Beckett looking down at her, fuming. She fought against his grip but knew it was fruitless.

“Let me go, you great oaf!”

“Oaf? Oaf, you say? Well, if that’s the thanks I get for saving your life, I should have let the blasted curricle run you down.” Beckett grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer.

“Call me ‘touched-in-the-head,’ but I have a strange aversion to becoming a widower in the same week that I was married. And I do not like to be lied to by my wife, do you understand?”

He released her and stepped away, folding his arms across his chest. “To say I am curious to hear what possible explanation there could be for all this—starting with why you ran away this morning—is putting it mildly. Promise me you will never do anything so foolish as that again.”

Momentarily silenced by his words, Isobel nodded. A faint glimmer of hope shone in her heart. Would he stand by her, then?

“Good. Obeying your husband. Very good. Yet, I think you need more improvement in that regard.” He put his hand around her shoulder and steered her down the street. “I am taking you to Alfred’s townhouse.”

“Lord Weston? But—”

“They will be waiting for you at Covington Place, Isobel. I told them you’ve gone visiting Alfred’s Great Aunt Withypoll in Chilton, but I don’t think they quite believed me. So we will stay at Alfred’s until we sort out what to do. And I would like a quiet place in which to hear your answers to this murder charge.”

Isobel stopped and looked up at him.

His eyes were guarded. “Just because I didn’t wring your lovely little neck doesn’t mean you are forgiven.”

The ride to Alfred’s townhouse in Mayfair was terribly quiet. Isobel stared out the window of the hired coach and tried to collect her thoughts. So much had happened today, it was difficult to make sense of it all. So instead, she watched the city go by as the coach wheels rolled toward Lord Weston’s home in Upper Stanbury Street.

What would Beckett do to her? Would he wash his hands of her, and turn her over to her enemies?

Many men in his position would, she knew.

But surely, Beckett was not a cruel man. He was angry with her, and would probably be even more so before she was through explaining the truth of the matter. But would he have come looking for her if he didn’t care?

She looked at him as if he had spoken, but it was only her thoughts that made her do so.

He must have felt the weight of her stare, because he glanced at her with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her. Then he looked away.

His indifference felt like a slap, but Isobel was grateful. It made very clear how things stood.

Certainly Beckett cared about her, just as he cared about Monty and Caesar and the other animals he’d rescued. She was simply another stray, a wayward creature he’d found on the street.

Yet, Beckett was her husband. She was his property in the eyes of the law, and therefore her life was very much in his hands. Sir Harry’s threat echoed in her ears. Would Beckett believe her story after he realized she’d been lying to him about everything? If he didn’t, what would her fate be then?

Oh, this would not do. She had to get her head on straight before they reached Lord Weston’s. She wanted to be calm when she told Beckett her story. She needed to be calm, because the truth would bring the horror of that night back to torment her.

In far too short a time, the coach stopped in front of a fashionable townhouse. Isobel felt her stomach tighten in apprehension as Beckett got out of the cab and handed her down onto the cobblestone street.

He looked at her silently before mounting the steps to the great oak door. Before Beckett could knock, it opened, and a gray-haired butler ushered them in.

Beckett addressed the man. “Crandall, will you tell Lord Weston—”

“That you are here, yes, yes,” Lord Weston finished, bounding down the staircase. He took Isobel’s hand in his and kissed it. “Are you alright, my dear lady? We have been looking for you all day. Beckett, is she alright?”

“Yes, Alfred, she is in perfectly good health.” Beckett looked impatient.

Isobel felt another wave of fear sweep through her stomach. She didn’t think she could bear the ugly scene that was surely only minutes away. But she would have to, just as she had borne everything else.

“But we have need of a place to stay,” Beckett continued. “May we presume on your hospitality—”

“Well, of course you shall stay here. Now what’s this about Hartley wanting to stash Isobel out of Lord Palmerston’s clutches? It sounds positively fugitive. Has your man gone daft?”

Beckett glanced at Isobel and hesitated before answering. “May we use your library, Alfred? I hate to be a boor, but I need to speak with my wife. Alone.”

Isobel tried to calm her beating heart. It felt as if a bird were trapped inside, beating its wings furiously to escape.

Alfred guided them down the hall to the huge book-lined library. “I shall have Crandall bring some tea.”

“Thank you, old man. My wife is in need of some, I expect.” Beckett opened a cupboard and brought out a decanter and crystal glass. “But I think I shall have something stronger.”

Alfred nodded, smiling. He turned to Isobel. “The tea will be along directly.”

“Thank you, Lord Weston,” Isobel said quietly.

He bowed and left them alone.

It would be over soon. Her husband would finally know the truth. That alone would be a relief.

Beckett lifted the glass of brandy to his lips and downed a mouthful.

“Shall we begin?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in question. “And I warn you, my good humor is back at my townhouse. I believe I left it in the front hall when Hartley opened the door for Palmerston. Let us start with Hampton Park.”

Isobel met his eyes and took a deep breath. “It is my home. In Hertfordshire.”

“Go on.”

“You’re wondering about my parents, I suppose? They died in a carriage accident a little over a year ago.

I was left in the care of Mr. Edward Langley, my guardian. He was a very kind man.” Isobel felt the lump forming in her throat. She stared at her hands.

“He was murdered?”

“Yes.”

“But not by you?”

She looked up at him, stung by the question, but not surprised. In her mind’s eye she could see the fondness that had always swept over Edward Langley’s face at the sight of her, and her heart knotted painfully in her breast. She forced herself to go on. “I was there. I saw it happen. I saw—”

A knock sounded at the door and Isobel turned her head away as Crandall brought in the tray.

“Tea, m’lord.”

Isobel wiped at her watering eyes and glanced up at the butler who quietly set the tea service down on the table before her. Crandall gracefully gave her a handkerchief, and exited the room on silent feet.

“Continue, my dear.”

She looked up to see Beckett scrutinizing her with a guarded expression.

“I—I’d heard an argument. So I came downstairs to see what was happening. I hid behind the door, but when I heard him… stab Mr. Langley, I screamed, and he came after me.”

“Who came after you?”

Her voice shook with loathing. “Sir Harry Lennox.”

“Lennox? Who in blazes is that? And what reason would he have to kill your guardian?”

“Because he—he wants Hampton Park. Sir Harry had wanted to strike a bargain with Mr. Langley to buy my hand in marriage. But Langley would have none of it. That’s why he killed him.”

“And you didn’t wish to marry this man?”

Isobel looked at Beckett as if he had lost all sense. Once again, his actions had removed hope that someone might understand. But what had she really expected? This man did not know her. He knew nothing except that he’d found her collapsed in the street.

Isobel shut her eyes tight. It was no use.

“I take that to mean you wanted little to do with this Lennox.” A twinge of sarcasm darkened his voice.

Her eyes flew open and she stared at Beckett, incredulous. Didn’t he know how difficult this was for her?

Perhaps he did, and this was her punishment for her lies.

“He was a friend of my father’s,” she continued. “Though if my father tolerated him, he could not have known his true nature. Sir Harry Lennox is a blackguard… and a murderer. He wanted to be master of Hampton Park. But to get it, he needed to claim me first.”

“So you ran. And that’s how you came to be on the street the night that I found you.”

Isobel nodded, inhaling deeply to steady herself. “Sir Harry saw me in the shadows. He came after me.

He caught me easily, and he tried to—it was indecent. I managed to break free of him. Then I ran and ran until I couldn’t anymore. The next thing I remember is waking in your bed.”

“Ah.” Beckett nodded, one eyebrow cocked. “And this Palmerston fellow. What sort of evidence could he have against you, eh?”

“Whatever Sir Harry gave him. He’s a very persuasive man.” Isobel searched Beckett’s eyes, but they gave away nothing. He just stared at her with his arms folded across his chest, seemingly waiting for her to continue. Isobel wiped her moist palms on her skirt and forced herself to keep going. “Sir Harry found me at the Whitcomb ball. He took me out into the garden—”

Beckett set the glass down on the desk and took a step toward her. “To the garden? You went with him?”

“Not willingly! Have you heard nothing I’ve said? When he had me alone, he threatened me. He told me he would have no trouble convincing you that we were lovers—so that you would abandon me.”

“And how do I know you aren’t lovers?” Beckett asked half-jokingly. But there was an edge to his voice.

“With him? With Sir Harry Lennox? How dare you say such a thing!”

“You’ll have to forgive me. I have not had much practice in accusing a wife of being unfaithful. Is there a trick to it I don’t know?”

Before she knew what she was about, she struck him. All the anguish and desperation of the past weeks erupted from her heart and found its target in the man before her. Isobel beat her fists against his chest and flailed in his arms as Beckett struggled to hold her.

“Isobel!”

She thrashed and pounded against him. “Get your hands off me!”

“Isobel, stop it!” Beckett shouted, quickly winning the battle and holding her immobile.

“Let me go, sir,” she said, panting helplessly against the power of his embrace.

“I will not.”

“Why? Surely you don’t want to keep a murderess as a wife?”

Beckett held her in front of him. “I don’t believe you are a murderess, Isobel.”

She stared up into his eyes, unwilling to hope. “You don’t?”

“No.” Beckett’s grip relaxed and he touched his hand gently to the side of Isobel’s face. “I am your husband. And I will protect you.”

At those words Isobel’s heart swelled painfully. She closed her eyes against the burning tears. A strong hand curled gently around her neck and Beckett pulled her head against his chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

“You needn’t thank me. Isn’t it my duty, Isobel? I swore to honor and protect you all the days of your life. And all the days of mine, for that matter.” He pulled away and looked down at her. She saw the wariness in his eyes. “Yet you should have told me before.”

“I was afraid.”

“Yes, I can imagine you were.” Beckett turned away from her. “This changes things, Isobel. I will have to take you away from London, certainly—someplace where you’ll be safe from both Lennox and Lord Palmerston’s arrest warrant. Until we can get these charges dropped and find some evidence against Lennox…”

“What if we can’t?”

Beckett turned to face her. “Then I suppose we shall have to live abroad.”

Isobel studied him for a moment, still mystified by her husband’s decision to stand by her. “Why are you doing this? Most men in your position would think twice about giving up so much… especially to protect a woman who was a wife in name, alone.”

Beckett returned nonchalantly to his glass and downed the rest of the brandy.

“I am not most men.”

“You’ll go to Barbados, then?” Alfred asked. Beckett nodded, his mouth full. He, Alfred and Isobel sat at the long dining room table, break-fasting on braised ham, poached eggs, toast with blueberry compote, and fresh strawberries with cream. There was nothing like an adventure to stir up a man’s appetite.

“Barbados?” Isobel set down her teacup and looked at Beckett, her soft brown eyes wide with shock.

“Well, that’s not a very civilized place, is it?”

“How civilized is it here in London with Sir Harry Lennox running around? I don’t think it’s safe to stay in England at all, not with Lord Palmerston looking for you.” Beckett swallowed a bit of coffee. “I was planning to go to Barbados next month at any rate to visit the Ravenwood sugar plantation there. We could leave as soon as possible. Lord Palmerston thinks you’ve gone to Chilton. I’ll have it put ‘round that I’ve gone off to Ireland, or someplace that will take them awhile to get to. Before they can get back to London, we’ll be aboard a ship bound for the islands.”

“A capital idea, Beckett. I’ll go along with you,” Alfred said. “Make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

“Oh, no you won’t, Alfred. I need you to stay here and find proof of Isobel’s innocence. And Sir Harry’s guilt.”

Alfred brightened at that. “Even better! I adore a good mystery. You know, if I didn’t have to be a lord of the realm, I always thought I should make a dandy Bow Street runner.”