Between the Devil and Desire (9 page)

Her delicate brow pleated, and he forced his hands behind his back, holding them tightly to prevent himself from reaching up to smooth away the worry.

“You said he came to your club. Was it for the women?” Her voice had caught at the end as though she'd had to push the word out from the soles of her feet.

“He had you, why would he seek comfort elsewhere?” The words of reassurance felt strange on his
tongue, but not as strange as the tightening in his gut with the thought of Lovingdon having her in his bed, at his dining table, in his library, at his side.

“Perhaps I was not enough,” she said softly.

Devil take her. All Jack knew for certain was that Lovingdon hadn't gambled. He kept records of who purchased chips and in what quantities. “It wasn't the women.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I'd have thought you'd be skilled at lying.”

Why should he care if she was unhappy? But for some incomprehensible reason, he did. “I never saw him with one of my girls. That's the truth of it. He didn't gamble and I never saw him drink.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He watched.” It sounded perverted, even to his ears.

“What did he watch?”

He didn't want to say it, didn't want to admit that Lovingdon had been watching him. Whenever he spied the man, Lovingdon had been studying Jack as though he was some sort of mystifying creature. Perhaps this was all some sort of experiment. Move a man up in the world and see if it caused him to become a better man. The irony, of course, was that since he was dead, Lovingdon would never know the results. “He just watched all the goings on. Some people are like that.”

“For what purpose?”

“Because they haven't the guts to do anything. They fear moral judgments. How the hell should I know? Go to your sister-in-law's and leave me in peace. But don't give one moment's thought to going to the coun
try. If I have to come after the boy, I'll make your life miserable.”

“I daresay, Mr. Dodger, that I'd hardly be able to tell the difference since you make it miserable now.”

With fury equal to his, she spun on her heel and marched to the door. Watching the lovely sway of that backside as she made her exit, he decided he'd have to say things to force her to leave more often.

O
livia conceded that going to see the Duchess of Avendale had been a mistake, because now Henry had a rabid curiosity about the Great Exhibition, after his cousin told him about all the wondrous things he'd seen. To make the situation worse, she returned home to discover she had a caller waiting in the parlor. While Helen took a very tired Henry up to the nursery for an afternoon nap, Olivia removed her black veiled hat, placed it on a table in the foyer, and replaced it with the widow's cap she'd left there before leaving. She felt as though she'd gotten caught doing something she wasn't supposed to and might be on the receiving end of a scolding.

Edmund Stanford, Viscount Briarwood, had chosen an inopportune moment to visit. Her husband's cousin had kindly handled the matter of the funeral and had overseen Lovingdon's final journey to the family crypt at the ancestral estate. He'd provided her with a strong shoulder to lean on. The notion that he would murder Henry and usurp the titles was ludicrous.

After patting a few final stray strands back into place, she strolled into the parlor.

“Lord Briarwood, how kind of you to call. I do hope you've not been waiting long.”

Briarwood bowed. She could see the family resemblance in the cut of his squared chin. He was only a few years younger than Lovingdon had been, but already his wheat-colored hair was fading to white. He'd not inherited the family's tendency toward tallness. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in width, a shape that gave him a rather intimidating mien.

“Only a moment or two, Duchess. Quite honestly, I was surprised to discover you were making the rounds.”

Olivia felt the warmth flush her cheeks at the chastisement in his voice. “I merely visited my sister-in-law. She's only recently widowed herself, and I thought she could offer me some advice on dealing with the wretched sorrow.”

“Of course, forgive me for my presumption. I can only imagine how difficult all of this has been for you—”

I suspect you truly have no idea.

“—and allow me to again offer my condolences on your loss. Your husband is now at rest in the family crypt.”

“I appreciate all you've done. I can think of no way to repay you your kindness.”

“Think nothing of it. I promised Lovingdon I'd keep an eye on you, don't you know?”

Olivia couldn't prevent a fissure of unease from traveling through her. It was a woman's lot in life to answer to her husband, and suddenly she had far too many men hovering around her, making demands, and voicing expectations.

A maid brought in the tea service. Once she left, Olivia and Briarwood took their chairs in a small sitting area with a narrow table between them. Briarwood was not as lean as her husband had been, and the chair groaned beneath his bulk.

“When did Lovingdon ask you to look after me?” Olivia asked quietly as she poured them tea.

“I can't remember exactly. You know how it is. Men ask each other for favors all the time, never really expecting they'll be collected. I came here as soon as I returned to London. I wanted to make certain everything was in order. The will was read last night, was it not?”

Olivia's hand jerked and the cup rattled on the saucer as her gaze jumped to his. She could see her husband in his expressive green eyes. Lovingdon's eyes had been the same pale green, carried the same look of regret. When Lovingdon smiled, the joy never lit his eyes. It was almost as though he'd lived his life in mourning. She wished he'd confided in her, but like so many in the aristocracy, theirs was not a marriage of the hearts.

She waited until Lord Briarwood had taken the cup from her to speak. “Yes, yes, it was.”

“Who did he name as guardian?”

She lifted her own cup, took a quick sip. “Who would you have thought?”

He grinned as though they'd been sharing a secret and could now tell the world. “I'd have thought he'd name me. We never spoke about the specifics, but I seem the most logical, being family and all—and the next in line. I want you to know that I consider it an honor to watch over both the young duke and you.”

His presumption left her with a foul taste she couldn't explain. She was certain he had no ill will toward Henry, and yet she was bothered by his audacity—to assume so much. She was letting Dodger influence her. She'd have never been suspicious if he hadn't planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. “My lord, I truly appreciate your sentiments, more than you realize. Unfortunately, my husband named Jack Dodger as guardian.”

Briarwood looked as though she'd jabbed him with a fireplace poker. “
The
Jack Dodger?”

“Yes, quite.”

Clearly baffled by the turn of events, he stared at her as though she'd been responsible for them. “What would compel Dodger to give a care about a lord's son?”

“I'm afraid I can't even begin to guess, but Lovingdon secured his interest by leaving him all his non-entailed possessions.” Because Briarwood was next in line, she thought he had a right to know. If he'd not been seeing to her husband's remains, she was fairly certain he'd have been in attendance last night.

Shaking his head, he studied his teacup as though trying to memorize the pattern of the flowers that surrounded the delicate bone china. Then he lifted his gaze to hers. “Dodger must have blackmailed him.”

“Blackmailed him? Whatever are you talking about?”

“He must have threatened Lovingdon with exposing him for some misbehavior or some such.”

Olivia pondered the possibilities. She couldn't imagine Lovingdon misbehaving. Considering Dodger's outburst earlier, it was obvious he was as perplexed as anyone regarding the conditions of the will.

“We'll contest the will,” Briarwood suddenly announced emphatically, as though no other conclusion could be drawn and she'd agree with him. “It might create a scandal, but I can't see that we have any other choice. Having Dodger as guardian is taking a quick route to disaster. I daresay, your son will be tainted, his respectability questioned.”

“Mr. Beckwith said the will couldn't be challenged.”

“Of course he said that. Less work for him that way.”

“And less expense for you,” a deep voice rumbled.

Olivia screeched, jumped, and upset her teacup, pouring hot tea over her skirts. Fortunately, she had enough petticoats that she was saved from any serious injury. She set her saucer and cup aside, grabbed a linen napkin, and began blotting the tea and wiping it from her hands. The man had the infuriating habit of appearing where he wasn't expected. “I don't recall inviting you into the parlor, Mr. Dodger.”

He held out his hands in the irritating manner that she was coming to recognize preceded irritating words. “I don't require an invitation as it's now
my
parlor. Afternoon, milord.”

Briarwood had come to his feet, his eyes narrowed as though he trusted Dodger as little as Olivia did. “Dodger,” he finally said.

“You're acquainted?” Olivia asked, stopping her frantic patting.

Dodger grinned with a touch of malice. “I told you, Duchess, I'm familiar with the aristocracy.” He sat in a nearby chair, slouching back slightly, placing his ankle on his knee. She'd never seen a man sit in such an im
polite manner. “Have a seat, Briarwood. We can discuss all the reasons why we don't want to do as you suggest.”

To her surprise, her husband's cousin did sit. But his back was straight, his posture excellent. Breeding was so important. She could only begin to fathom the difficulties Henry would face if he was taught behavior by Dodger. His peers would laugh at him, insult him, and afford him no respect.

“Now, as I see it,” Dodger drawled, “we have three reasons not to take this matter to the courts: the expense, because you will have to hire a solicitor; the terrible scandal that will be created, because something of this nature is certain to incite gossip; and the fact that the matter can be easily rectified if you but marry the duchess.”

“M-marry her?” Briarwood stammered, clearly shocked by the notion.

“Yes, did she not mention that? I forfeit guardianship when she marries a man willing to take over the role. So, you see? You merely have to wed her—”

“I'm in mourning, Mr. Dodger,” she repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time, through clenched teeth. How was it that the man failed to grasp so simple a concept?

“The ceremony itself could be handled very discreetly with a special license. Just as Lord Claybourne arranged his marriage while his new bride was mourning the loss of her father. Then off to the country you go. In two years, you return to London with tales of your insatiable love, and all is forgiven. Ladies excuse all manner of indiscretion when love is at its core.”

“I'm not going off to the country—”

“I thought that's what you wanted.”

“I want to be rid of
you
.”

“Marriage achieves that end.”

“I have no desire to marry Lord Briarwood.” She jerked her gaze to Briarwood. “My apologies, my lord. I'm certain you were not considering marriage, but I am only newly widowed.” And if she ever married again, she hoped duty wouldn't be involved. On the other hand, Dodger was correct. Marriage would effectively get him out of her life. She cleared her throat. “I hope I didn't offend you if you were consider—”

“No, I-I'd not entertained the notion. That's not to say I wouldn't, only that I hadn't considered it up until this moment.” He shifted his gaze to Dodger. “I believe you've effectively distracted us with this marriage nonsense. How did you manage to convince my cousin to name you guardian?”

“I can take no credit for convincing him of anything. As to the reason he named me guardian, I haven't a clue. However, I have an inspector from Scotland Yard making inquiries. Do you know of any threats that might have been made?”

Briarwood seemed more shocked by that news than by the notion of marrying her. “Threats? What sort of threats?”

“Threats to kill the lad.”

“Why would anyone kill him?”

“To acquire his titles.”

“As I'm first in line for the titles, I suppose that puts me first in line as your suspect. Has it failed your notice that I already have a title?”

“Viscount. Hardly the highest of ranks. And it is but one, while young Henry has three.”

“Mine is a higher rank than you possess. And one is sufficient for me.”

“I'd have thought you a man of more ambition.”

Briarwood leaped to his feet, none too agilely. “I resent the implication, sir, that I would greedily clamor for more and use illicit means to take that which does not rightfully belong to me. I shall be on my way.” He bowed slightly toward Olivia. “Good day, Your Grace. If you have need of me, please do not hesitate to send word.”

She rose to her feet. “My lord, I apologize for Mr. Dodger—”

“Don't be daft, Olivia,” Dodger rudely interrupted. “You can't apologize for something that's not your doing. Besides, my behavior requires no apology.”

“We're certain to disagree on that matter. And I may apologize if I wish,” but Lord Briarwood was already heading for the door.

Jack Dodger twisted around in his chair and called out, “By the by, Briarwood—”

Lord Briarwood stopped and looked back, his eyes fairly fuming.

“—you are correct,” Dodger continued. “If any misfortune befalls young Henry, you will be the first one Scotland Yard interrogates.”

“Then I have no worries. The lad is safe from me. I'm not certain I can assure you that you're safe from me. I've never liked you.”

Dodger had the audacity to smile. “Then do be sure to bring money with you tonight. You'll find your credit at Dodger's has been canceled.”

Briarwood's face grew a blotchy red and his eyes fairly bugged out of his head. “Devil take you.”

Dodger laughed in a velvety soft manner that seemed to hint he was as amused with himself as with Briarwood. “He did that long ago, so he's no longer a threat to me. And I suspect you aren't either.”

Briarwood swore harshly and stormed from the room.

Olivia was shaking with outrage. “You provoked him on purpose.”

Jack Dodger was still sprawled in the chair. With his thumb, he rubbed the underside of his jaw. “Why would he want to be guardian? That is the reason he came to see you, is it not? To find out who had been given the great honor of overseeing your son's journey into manhood?”

She swallowed back her need to lash out at him. “He thought it would be he.”

“He thought, or he hoped?”

“What difference does it make?”

“What would he have gained?”

“Not everyone is like you, Mr. Dodger. They do things because they are the right things to do, not because something personal is to be gained.”

He slowly unfolded his body and in his movements, she saw power leashed. He prowled toward her, his face set in an unreadable mask. She desperately wanted to decipher his thoughts, his intentions. She didn't want to retreat, but suddenly weak legs gave her no choice. She sank into the chair, pressing back as she had last night in the coach. He placed his hands on both arms of the chair and leaned in, effectively trapping her.

It was an odd time to realize he had the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen on a man. Thick and spiky without an ounce of delicateness to them, but still so incredibly alluring. She wondered if they tickled a woman's face when he kissed her.

“Are you aware he is in considerable debt? Not only to me. If he were guardian, he'd not only be responsible for the welfare of your son but his estates as well. A very desperate man might think nothing of using those estates for his own gain.”

“A man such as yourself?” she threw at him, her breathing labored, as though she'd just finished playing a game of tag with Henry.