Secrets of a Scandalous Bride Page 20

  The topics of the weather, the days at Windsor, and his absolute favorite subject—the upcoming conferral of the duchy—had been exhausted during the drive toward the verdant epicenter of London at five o’clock on a summer afternoon. Her intuition told her it was time to play out her hand.

  “My dear Elizabeth,” Pymm murmured, drawing the matched pair of dappled grays to a halt in a shady corner past the grand entrance to Hyde Park. “You’ve been the veriest minx. Not that I can say I’m surprised.” He sent his tiger, the boy riding the sloping step above the phaeton’s rear wheel, to hold the horses’ heads.

  Elizabeth gazed at the shafts of light filtering through the branches of the ancient trees above. In the distance, the carefully combed, elegantly presented peerage of England continued the tradition of preening before one another. On horseback, in carriages of every shape and color, on foot with parasols, they circled the park.

  And every blasted one of them sedately turned their heads when they passed in order to glance at General Pymm and her.

  “Now then,” he said, “we have a few last things to discuss, to plan before the—”

  “I beg your pardon, but I have something of importance to say.” She rushed her quiet words.

  Leland Pymm’s brows drew together, his irritation evident. “I won’t be put off again, Elizabeth. Now, you are to arrange for all of your affairs to be packed and transferred to my rooms at the Pulteney Hotel on Saturday. We will reside there until we leave for Vienna. You shall adore that city. The entertainments are without question opulent and vastly amusing. And when we return, the main portion of our residence will be ready for our occupancy.”

  She studied a small black ant as it marched along the edge of the carriage.

  “Now, then. Several dressmakers will wait on you at Helston House. It’s understood they will create with great haste a trousseau befitting a lady of your new station. I do hope you appreciate what I’ve arranged.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pretending gratitude she could not feel. She looked up to encounter that awful, smug expression he favored. “But I still have something to say.”

  “One can hope it will make up for your bizarre behavior at Windsor,” he replied. “I did not like you disappearing and I will not tolerate you disobeying me in future. And you could have shown a bit more of the old charm and sparkle toward Prinny—”

  “Please, Leland.” It was the first time she’d allowed the bitter taste of his given name past her lips.

  Happiness comically tinged with annoyance crossed his features. “What is it, then?”

  She prayed she would be able to say it without losing everything she hoped to gain. “I am begging you to hear me through,” she said quietly.

  He tilted back his head and laughed. “What do you want? It must be quite extravagant if you are playing the demure, meek damsel now.”

  “Leland…” God, she was risking all. She was risking her life on a wager that Pymm’s obsession bordered on such madness that he would agree to anything to have her.

  “Yes?” His tone was condescending.

  She closed her eyes and spoke quickly. “Before I marry you, you must arrange payment for the large number of horses you requisitioned from Manning’s.”

  He looked at her as if she was speaking some foreign tongue. Finally the light of understanding dawned and he laughed long and loud. “Good God, but you are fearless. As if I would take orders from anyone, when I only answer to the Prince Regent himself!” He shook his head.

  “I don’t think you understand,” she said, attempting a tone halfway between a determined plea and a polite demand. “You see, I will not marry you unless you do.”

  Fury boiled in his look and posture. “You ask me to believe that you would risk Newgate prison or worse, all for a bastard horse trader?”

  “That is for you to decide,” she said with quiet conviction.

  His expression hardened, his skin tightly drawn against his skull.

  She looked at him steadily and flung herself off the ledge with words that could be construed to mean two very different things. She had little doubt Pymm would understand. “Leland, my father died under your command.”

  It was always the smallest things that revealed the truth. In that moment, as her words hung in the air between them, Leland Pymm’s eyes shifted under her scrutiny. It took all of her self-control not to show her absolute revulsion.

  “I would have thought you well versed in the rules of war, Elizabeth. Good men are lost every day. Sacrifices must be made for victory.”

  Her throat constricted, and it took every effort to remain still. “Oh, I know the rules of war very well. You taught them to me. Better even than my father, I daresay. My offer still stands. I will marry you if you carry out the terms of Mr. Manning’s contract, or I will not marry you and you will have the choice to accuse me of treason or not.”

  His cold eyes filled with rage. “Your loyalty is entirely misplaced and your ability to judge character is deplorable. Manning is nothing more than a bastard son of a whore and brother to a whore, as well.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. While her soul screamed at her to defend Rowland, her mind knew that to achieve her goal, silence was best.

  “I see by your expression you know nothing about the man. I had him fully investigated the day after that ridiculous tea party at Helston House.”

  Her gaze never faltered.

  “The bastard you are lowering yourself to champion had a mother who was a common housemaid. After seducing the young heir, she turned to seamstress work and finally prostitution, which obviously came more naturally to her. His sister had the same deficiency in character. Yes, that is the sort of stock he is made of.” He spat out the words. “Manning was nothing more than a pickpocket and a mudlarker, a scavenger feeding off his betters, until he was lucky enough to secure a position in a disreputable stable. He can’t even shoot straight, according to reports this past spring, when he tried to take money from a countess and kill his noble brother. Is this a man who deserves any sort of charity?”

  She concentrated on keeping her hands relaxed, and her teeth ground together. She stayed her course. “It is your choice, Leland. Pay the man and have me as your bride, or not.”

  The evil in his eyes pierced her. “I can promise you one thing, my dearest Elizabeth. If I find you’ve allowed him to touch you—to take that which is only my right to possess—I shall not only punish you as any husband would, but I shall also deal with him as the rules of honor allow any gentleman.”

  She knew if she moved an inch from her stiff position, she would break into a million pieces.

  “Well? Has he had you, Elizabeth?” he asked in an eerie, quiet voice that did not match the lunacy in his eyes. “Oh, fear not, I will marry you—I will have you—no matter your answer. And I will learn the truth on our wedding night. But”—and here he tucked a curl that had become loose back under her hat—“it will go easier for you if you tell me the truth of it now.”

  All those times Rowland had told her she was an abysmal liar revolved in her mind, nearly hamstringing her. “I am a lady, Leland, and I would not do anything to bring dishonor to myself.” She paused to take a breath. “So what is it to be? Am I to stand up before God, and all the noble families of England to marry you?” She didn’t wait for the answer. “If you still desire it, then bring the treasury’s gold guineas to Helston House and I shall have them transferred to Mr. Manning.”

  Oh, he blustered, his face became blotchy with rage, but even the most celebrated general in London could do little under the sharp-eyed gaze of the peerage parading nearby. And so he agreed—reluctantly. Very reluctantly. “I cannot and will not provide gold. He shall have to be satisfied with a bank draft.”

  “I’m not a fool, Leland. It will be gold or I shall not go through with it. You see, you hold all the cards except one. But it is your choice, ultimately.”

  He smiled slowly, his look cunning and greedy. “All right, my dear. I
t isn’t as if the guineas will be coming out of my pockets. But I shall only do it under two stipulations.”

  “Yes?”

  “First, the transfer shall occur at Carlton House, where I will arrange for us to be married immediately after the conferral of the duchy—not the morning after. And you shall write to Rowland Manning to clearly state your distaste for him. You shall insist that he is never to disgust you with his presence again. He is not to ever know you had a part in this bargain. Do you understand?” His voice broke into an awkward high pitch on the last word.

  He had no idea. He was a complete idiot. Did he really think she would want to torment Rowland Manning by professing her undying love for him while marrying Pymm? “Of course, Leland. For once we are in complete agreement.”

  “There. I knew you could be obedient if you made an effort. Now give me a kiss to show your gratitude, my sweet. Only three more days and then…well, you shall be under my protection forevermore.”

  Rowland had always suggested how absurdly gothic her turn at life was. She could not have agreed more. The general’s face was moist when she forced herself to kiss his cheek. And his scent…the sour-smelling sheep’s wool of his heavy uniform mixed with too much eau de cologne.

  “She did what?” Rowland shouted at Joshua Gordon, nearly shaking the new rafters.

  The footman’s face turned four shades of red. “She and General Pymm were leaving Helston House in a phaeton when I arrived there with the message from you. The footman told me they were for Hyde Park. To the corner where the general’s new great house is to be erected.”

  Rowland stared at Joshua, now his only footman as the other one had departed, having gone without pay for the last three quarters. “And why didn’t you follow them?”

  “I didn’t know that you would want me to.”

  Death. Words of chaos and death. His blasted footman had no idea how his burble of words had formed a pit of black fury in Rowland’s mind. Lord, what had Leland Pymm done or said to make her go about alone with the lecherous swine?

  “Sir? Sir!”

  Rowland looked down to find that he had gripped the edge of his plain, ancient desk with such force that the trim had come loose in his hand. A nail gouged his flesh, and blood streamed from the gash. The footman immediately took off his neck cloth to bind the wound as Rowland cursed a blue streak. Nothing was going as planned.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected it. When it involved Elizabeth Ashburton, nothing ever went as planned.

  The smallest smile teased his lips as he finally dismissed his footman. He realized it was the reason he felt the way he did about her. The woman actually seemed to relish disobeying men, and walking alone the tightrope of disaster.

  She was a woman to save. A woman to cherish.

  And he would do it whether she liked it or not. Tonight. After he spent the rest of the day contemplating what he had thought about for twenty-four hours of every bloody day—the dismantling of everything he had built the past decade. But then, was it not all built on pillars of sin? Dust to dust. Nothing was immune.

  It was just a damned shame the whole affair had to entail the unpleasant task of entering Helston House with stealth eight hours later. There was no other way to avoid the phalanx of soldiers who appeared to forever troll Portman Square. He didn’t want to give Pymm any more reason to suspect him later when he spirited Elizabeth away.

  And so Rowland Manning, former bastard mudlarker, and quite possibly headed back to the same, employed his considerable skills at climbing and entering. At least the warm, summer night provided the key—Elizabeth’s open window in the back of the townhouse, where a trellis provided the footing. He could only hope that she would not scream like a banshee if she awoke.

  In the moonlight, he silently mashed dozens of full-blown roses on his ascent, and had the thorns in his breeches and gloves to prove it. He brushed away a small mountain of something on the sill. Seed. Of course, for the dowager duchess’s bloody canary. And then he peered into the large chamber.

  With furtiveness borne of years of evading danger, he slid his considerable frame into the room when a gust of wind rustled the leaves of the trees in the garden.

  He crossed the room to stand over her, studying the woman who now tormented his every waking thought. Her lush fall of beautiful hair curled over her shoulder as she rested on her side, the bedclothes pushed aside in the warm night. Her hands were clasped beneath her face, like an innocent child’s. Yet there was nothing childlike about the slope of her form, revealed by the thin night rail.

  He hadn’t been able to save Mary. Hadn’t saved anyone of his family: his worthless half brother Howard, his mother lost to lung fever, and Mary…bloody hell. A numbness drifted through him as he thought of the night she had disappeared. She had sold herself to buy food for his damned belly and hers—despite her promises never to do such a thing. For years he had searched for her, never wanting to admit she had been vilely used and most likely tossed away like so many ruled by poverty. Well, he might have failed his sister, but he would save Elizabeth, if it was the very last thing he ever did.

  He stared down at her for what seemed like forever and a day, his past washing over him, his future ever darkening. A restlessness now gripped her in sleep and she turned to her back. He leaned over her and kissed her brow.

  She came awake within the blink of an eye and ready to do battle.

  “’Tis only I,” he whispered, grabbing her hand as she prepared to strike at him.

  She drew in a ragged breath and sat up, her eyes spearing him. “I thought you were…”

  “I know,” he said, his voice low. He reached for the extravagant beeswax candle on the heavy silver holder and scratched a flame.

  “Why are you…Is everything all right?”

  “You left without a word, Elizabeth.” He stared into her lovely face.

  She looked in her lap, where her fingers twisted. “I left because I knew you would not see reason.”

  “Reason? There’s no reasoning to it. You’re out of time. There are no solutions, so it’s off to France with you.” He couldn’t stop the rasping in his voice.

  “But I still do have a chance. I spoke to Leland today, and he—”

  “So, it’s Leland now, is it?” he growled.

  “Now you’re not going to be a fool about this, are you? You were always the one person I could count on to behave with a superior amount of rational thinking.”

  “Go on,” he ground out.

  “I’ve made some headway with him.”

  “Really,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Her eyes darted about the room, filling him with ill ease. “Yes, I have.”

  “What sort of headway?”

  “I’m to dine with him tomorrow in his suite of rooms at the Pulteney Hotel. There will be chaperones from Helston House. I’m going to search his rooms for the letters.”

  He shook his head. “It will never work.”

  “You told me it could. Have you forgotten already?”

  “That was before.”

  “Before when?”

  “Before I realized…” His voice faded.

  “What?”

  “For Christ sakes, Elizabeth, I will not allow you to put yourself at such risk.”

  “Well, you’ve no choice, for I’m determined to do it and I won’t go to France until I’ve exhausted every possible chance of staying here.”

  Hope flooded him. He had had the absurd notion that she would refuse to adhere to his brilliant plan. “So you agree you’ll go to France, then?”

  Her eyes were steady. Not a hint of falsehood showed. “You must give me until the day after the conferral at Carlton House. The wedding is planned for the next day and instead I would leave with you before dawn.”

  “I’ve an inclination to bundle you up right here, right now, and leave for France tonight,” he said, furious that his ability to hide his every emotion was deserting him in his hour of need.
>
  “But surely, I shall find the letters. Even if I cannot search for them tomorrow night, I’ll have one other chance. You see, I will make pains to endear myself to his servants at the Pulteney tomorrow. And then I shall return with my affairs the very next day. He’s asked me to have them transferred. I shall take pains to arrive after he’s left for Carlton House. And I’ll tell his servants I want to see our private chambers with my maid from Helston House. How can they refuse? It shall be a simple matter really.”

  He noted she was talking too quickly and adding far too many complicated details. She was unsure of herself, unsure of success. He highly doubted she had a prayer of a chance. “And then?”

  “After I find the letters, I shall go to Carlton House and call a halt to the wedding.”

  He shook his head. “It would be far too dangerous for you to announce anything. If you are lucky enough to find the letters, I will confront Pymm along with Helston, Ellesmere, and my brother.” He paused. “But it is far more likely you will not find the letters, Elizabeth.”

  “That won’t happen. I know I’ll—”

  He cut her off. “Do you promise to leave for France if you do not find your father’s letters?”

  She nodded.

  He reached to cup her heart-shaped face in his hand. “I would hear your answer out loud.”

  She paused, searching his face for what he did not know. “I promise not to let you down,” she whispered.

  He exhaled roughly. There was something odd in her voice—and he wondered not for the first time how far he would trust her to do as he bade. Not far at all.

  “And will you promise to wait for me in this room then—two nights hence?”

  “I said I would be here and I will.”

  She reached for his hand, so dark and brutish compared to her soft one. She pressed a kiss to his palm, scarred from years of labor. “You know, my father always promised me I would one day find a man better than he. A man strong enough to tame my unfortunate willful streak, he said.” She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “And I would always correct him.”