Whitney, My Love (9 page)

Leaning back in his chair, Clayton Westmoreland scanned
the lists, his face impassive. "How bad?" he asked when he finished reading
the last page.

"Altogether, I'd say he's about �100,000 in debt."

The staggering sum made no apparent impression on the
duke, who handed the papers back to Matthew and abruptly switched the
subject. "What were you able to learn about the girl?"

Who, Matthew wondered as he extracted the file marked
"W. Stone," should know more about the girl than the man whose mistress she
was about to become? Although the duke had not actually said it, Matthew had
already guessed that Claymore intended to take the young woman under
discussion as his mistress, providing her with a comfortable establishment
and an income of her own. He interpreted the duke's interest in the girl's
family as curiosity over what kind of opposition, if any, he might expect
from them.

To Matthew's legal mind, Stone's appalling financial
situation already made the outcome of the matter a foregone conclusion:
Martin Stone would have to accept this chance to turn over the
responsibility for his daughter's support to Clayton Westmoreland. What
choice had he? He could hardly continue to clothe her and keep her amid the
Quality for much longer. If Stone's concern was for the girl's reputation,
his own was in far more jeopardy than hers. Once his creditors discovered
his dire circumstances, as they would at any time now, he would be facing
not only disgrace, but an unpleasant stay in debtor's prison.

Matthew flushed as he realized that he'd been silently
staring at the girl's open file, and he began at once. "While it was
difficult to learn, much of a personal nature, without awakening unwanted
suspicion, we did discover that Miss Stone was considered rather a difficult
child, of an... er . . . unpredictable disposition. She is apparently
well-read and uncommonly well-educated by a long string of tutors. She
speaks fluent French, of course, as well as being proficient in Greek-enough
so that she occasionally assists her uncle as translator during social
functions where Greek diplomats are present. She reads Italian, Latin, and
German; she may also speak them, but we aren't certain."

Matthew hesitated, feeling utterly absurd for telling
Lord Westmoreland what he must already know. "Go on," the duke said with a
faint smile at Matthew's obvious discomfiture.

Nodding uncomfortably, Matthew continued. "Many of the
individuals we contacted mentioned that there was considerable dissension
between the young lady and her father.

A few of them put the blame at his door, but most
sympathized with Martin Stone as an unfortunate man who had fathered a
rebellious, unbiddable child. At the age of fourteen, Miss Stone evidently
developed an ... er ... rather violent infatuation for a gentleman named
Paul Sevarin. Sevarin was ten years her senior and apparently he was no more
pleased with Miss Stone's girlish attachment to him than her father was.
Because of that, and because Stone apparently couldn't deal with her any
other way, her father eventually sent her to France with her aunt and uncle
when she was nearly sixteen. They then presented her to French Society at
the customary age of seventeen. Since that time, our sources indicate that
she had enjoyed an extraordinary popularity here. Of course, if her father's
financial circumstances and her lack of a dowry were known, that situation
would change drastically," Matthew conjectured aloud, then he glanced
apologetically at the duke, and returned to the facts at hand-

"Miss Stone has been on the verge of receiving numerous
offers of marriage, but has discouraged those suitors as soon as their
intentions became apparent to her. Those gentlemen who persisted to the
point of actually speaking to her uncle, Lord Edward Gilbert, were turned
down by him, apparently on behalf of Martin Stone. Her manners are reported
to be perfectly acceptable to society, although somewhat out of the
ordinary. Is there some mistake in this?" Matthew inquired when the duke
burst out laughing.

"No. No mistake," Clayton chuckled. "I'd say your
information is entirely accurate." In his memory, he could still see her
green eyes glowing with laughter as she scoffed at noble titles-his in
particular. "Is there anything else?" he asked finally.

"Only a few remarks, your grace. Her uncle, Lord Edward
Gilbert, as you already know, is attached to the British Consulate here and
enjoys an unblemished reputation. Miss Stone is reportedly on excellent
terms with him, and with his wife, Lady Anne Gilbert. At present, it is the
consensus of opinion that Nicolas DuVille is on the verge of offering for
her hand-an offer which Lord Gilbert will undoubtedly find most acceptable.
The DuVilles, as I'm sure you know, are one of France's leading families,
and Nicolas is their son and heir."

Matthew closed the file. "That's all we were able to
team in the time you allotted us, your grace."

Leaving the solicitor to his own thoughts, Clayton got
up and walked over to the wide sweep of windows overlooking the rolling
green hills. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned a shoulder against
the window frame and gazed at the magnificent view, while he considered for
the last time the plan which, if put into words now, would become a reality.

Time after time, whenever he was in France and bad seen
Whitney, he had been drawn to her, laughing silently at some of the setdowns
she gave her too persistent suitors. Twice they had been introduced; the
first time she was too young for him to consider, and the second time she
had been surrounded by a group of beaux all vying for her attention. She had
nicked a distracted glance in his direction without really looking at him or
listening to his name.

After that, he had avoided further contact with her,
sensing that Whitney would require considerable time and courtship to lure
into his arms. Of time, Clayton had little. When it came to courtship, he
could not recall ever having had to actively court a woman in his adult
life, at least not a reluctant woman. They were all too ready and eager to
court him.

And then, four weeks ago, he had stood in the Armands'
garden, drinking in her presence and fighting down the insane impulse to
bend his head and slowly, endlessly, kiss the irreverent laughter from her
soft, inviting lips, to carry her into the darkness and make love to her
right there.

She was a natural temptress, alluring and provocative,
with the smile of an angel, the slender, voluptuous body of a goddess, and
an unspoiled charm that made him grin whenever he thought of her. And she
had a sense of humor, an irreverent contempt for the absurd, that matched
his own.

Clayton gave up trying to understand his reasons for the
step he was about to take. He wanted her, that was reason enough. She was
warm and witty and elusive as a damned

butterfly. She would never bore him as other women had;
he knew it with the wisdom born of years of experience with the fair sex.

His mind made up, he turned and strode briskly to the
desk. "I will need some documents prepared, and there will have to be a
transfer of a considerable amount of money when Stone accepts my offer."

"If Stone accepts it," Matthew corrected automatically.

The Westmoreland brow quirked in sardonic amusement.
"He'll accept it."

Despite his nervousness today, Matthew was a respected
legal advisor who had schooled himself never to show any emotion when
dealing with delicate matters of a client. Nevertheless, when his grace
began to dictate the terms under which a staggering sum of money was being
offered to Martin Stone, Matthew raised his head and gaped in astonishment
at the duke.

Clayton stood at the windows, absently watching the
coach bearing Matthew Bennett back to Paris make its winding way down the
hillside. Already he was impatient to have everything completed. He wanted
Whitney, and he wanted her immediately, but he'd be damned if he'd court her
in France, standing in line, playing the fop and bowing like an ass. That he
would not do for any woman, even Miss Stone. Besides, he'd been away from
England too long already. In order to manage his business affairs, he needed
to be closer to London.

Since the Stone estate was only seven hours from the
city, he could manage his business and his courtship very nicely from
somewhere near her home. That being the case, he decided to have Whitney's
father summon her back to England as soon as his signature was on the
documents and the money had changed hands.

Not for one moment did Clayton think Martin Stone would
refuse his offer, nor did he have the slightest doubt of his own ability to
lure Whitney into his arms.

What did concern him was the reported dissension between
Whitney and her father-there was a small chance that if she learned of the
arrangements to soon, she might rebel against it merely to defy Martin
Stone. Clayton's instincts warned him that if Whitney were ever forced into
the position of opposing him, she could become a very determined young
adversary. And he didn't want to do battle with her, he wanted to make love
to her.

Then too, there was the added complication of his
identity and the personal notoriety that went with it. He rather fancied the
idea of a charming country courtship, but how could he manage that with
everyone bowing and scraping and cautiously keeping their distance. And the
moment the newspapers discovered he was living in a remote country shire,
the conjecture over what he was doing there would create a furor, and the
villagers would watch every move he made with fanatical curiosity,
particularly when he began to pay attention to Whitney.

Since Whitney had such a low opinion of the nobility-and
dukes in particular-Clayton began to wonder if it might be wise to keep not
only the arrangement with her father, but his identity as well, a secret
from her until he had won her over.

Seven days later, Matthew returned to the duke's country
house in France and was shown out onto a wide veranda where Westmoreland was
seated at an ornamental iron table, working on some papers, his back to the
panoramic view. "Will you join me in a brandy, Matthew?" he said without
looking up.

"Yes, thank you, your grace," murmured Matthew, pleased
and amazed by the duke's use of his given name and the friendly offer of a
brandy. The Duke of Claymore glanced over his shoulder at the manservant
hovering near the stone balustrade, and the drinks were produced without a
word being spoken. A few minutes later, his grace shoved his papers aside
and regarded Matthew, who had taken the chair across from him at the table.

Like the servant, Matthew found himself responding to an
unspoken command, retrieving the documents from his case and handing them
over. "As you requested, I included the provision that you will assume
financial responsibility for Miss Stone's expenses. Did you wish to
stipulate any maximum figure?"

"No, I'll assume complete responsibility for her,"
Clayton murmured absently, his gaze moving down the pages. After several
minutes, he laid the documents aside and grinned at Matthew. "Well," he
said, "what do you think?"

"What does Miss Stone think?" Matthew countered,
grinning back at the duke.

"What Miss Stone thinks won't be known for a little time
yet. She knows nothing of this. For that matter, she knows nothing of me."

Matthew concealed his shock by taking a fortifying
swallow of the excellent brandy. "In that case, I wish you luck with the
father and the young lady."

The duke waved the offer of luck aside as if he didn't
need it, and leaned back in his chair. "I'll be leaving for England within
the week to discuss this matter with Martin Stone. Assuming he agrees, I'll
need a place to stay nearby. Notify your father in the London office to
locate a comfortable one for me, will you? A modest place," he emphasized to
Matthew's further astonishment. "If possible, no more than a half-hour's
ride from the Stone estate. I don't want to spend any more time than
necessary settling matters with Miss Stone, and I haven't any intention of
wasting it traveling between her father's place and mine."

"A modest place, no more than a half-hour's ride from
Stone's," repeated Matthew dazedly.

The man's obvious bewilderment brought a glint of
amusement to Clayton's eyes. "Correct. And negotiate the lease in the name
Westland, not Westmoreland. Once my staff and I are installed, we will keep
to ourselves as much as possible, and I will pass myself off as a new
neighbor, Clayton Westland."

"Surely not to Miss Stone?" Matthew said.

"Especially to Miss Stone," Clayton chuckled.

Chapter Eight

ONE MONTH LATER, WlLSON, THE GILBERTS' DIGNIFIED BUTLER,
padded down the hall to Lord Gilbert's study and handed him the mail. On the
top of the stack was a letter from England. Five minutes later, the door to
Lord Gilbert's study was flung open and he bellowed at the butler, "Have
Lady Gilbert join me here at once! Don't dawdle, man. Hurry, I said," he
called after the harassed servant who was already sprinting down the hall,
his black coattails flapping behind him.

"What is it, Edward?" Anne said, flying into her
husband's study in answer to his urgent summons.

"This!" said Edward, thrusting the letter from Martin
Stone at her. Anne looked from her husband's white face to the signature on
the single sheet of paper in her hand. "He's sent for Whitney?" she guessed
in a tortured voice.

"He says he will reimburse me for all her expenses
during the last four years, as soon as he receives an accounting from me,"
Edward said furiously. "And he's sent a blasted fortune along with this
letter, for her to spend 'on clothing and trinkets' before she returns. Who
the devil does he think he is? He hasn't sent a penny to cover her expenses
in all this time. That bastard! He'll get no accounting from me, and I will
see that she returns in style. He can shove his money precisely-"