Candice Hern (26 page)

"I'm sorry, James." Robert forced a smile. "But this is something I must do. It won't help to wait. Pentwick must be stopped now. Today."

Robert had been so miserable after what had happened last night that he felt he owed this to Emily. He could never marry her, not so long as he was honor-bound to marry Augusta. But he loved her and he wanted to do this for her.

"Then let me come with you, my lord."

Robert's smile widened. "You think you can keep me in check, James? Make sure I don't do something stupid?"

Huntspill shrugged and smiled weakly.

"Ha!" Robert clapped him on the back. "Come along, then. You have my permission to stop me from actually killing the blackguard. But I take leave to draw his cork, if it comes to that."

* * *

The ballroom of Bradleigh House was a scene of mass confusion as the final preparations for tonight's ball took place. Carpenters and painters put the finishing touches on the special dais for the orchestra. The linen draper's workmen were busily tacking up deep swags of blue satin all along the walls. The florist's workers arranged boxed topiaries in a prescribed pattern throughout the huge room, creating separate areas for seating and private conversation. Cartloads of flowers had been delivered and were being arranged in enormous assortments between the topiaries, in front of the orchestra dais, and along the walls. Rented chairs and benches were being brought in and placed at Emily's direction. Maids and footmen, many hired especially for the occasion, were setting up the buffet tables.

Somehow Emily had been able to keep things running smoothly, as she stood in the center of the room giving directions to all and sundry. She had been downstairs since the early morning to receive the first deliveries. She had somehow become the director of this production, as everyone seemed to come to her for assistance. Mrs. Claypool was kept busy getting the rest of the house ready, and so Emily was happy to supervise the ballroom activities.

She was glad to be so thoroughly occupied. It kept her mind off the unsettling events of last evening. It kept her mind off Robert, his blistering kiss, and her own wanton response.

Emily still had no idea how she had let such a thing happen. She knew it had been wrong to stay in the library alone with him, dressed only in her nightclothes. But she had done it. She knew that she should never have given in to the irresistible temptation to smooth back that boyish lock of hair. But she had done so. She knew that she should never have allowed him to kiss her. But she had done that, too. She was certain she should never have kissed him back with such abandon. But, God help her, she could no more have stopped herself from responding to his kiss than she could have held back the tide.

It was only when she felt his hand on her breast that she realized the enormity of what they were doing. He had no business kissing her. He was betrothed to Miss Windhurst. All this hustle and bustle around her was in honor of their engagement. The man really had no business kissing her.

Of course, she couldn't blame the incident entirely on Robert. She could have pulled away when he had taken her in his arms, but he had looked so incredibly attractive in his dishevelment that she had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She had wanted him with a desire she had never before experienced. She had looked into those seductive brown eyes and was lost.

When she had fled to her bedchamber she had thrown herself face down on the bed and sobbed. She cried for the love that could never be, for the kisses she could never again enjoy, for the arms that could never again hold her. How was it that when, for the first time in her life, the future was actually looking bright—a perfectly wonderful man appeared ready to offer her marriage— that it could also seem the most bleak?

She had fallen in love with Robert. Emily finally admitted that to herself. She loved him, though she realized he could not possibly love her. He had merely given in to a momentary weakness brought on by too much wine. She loved him but she could never have him, and so she must simply resolve to go on with her life. She would accept Lord Sedgewick, if he offered for her, and would forget about Robert eventually. The pain would finally recede, and she would survive. Of course, that would be difficult, since Robert and Lord Sedgewick were such close friends and were likely to see much of each other. She would simply learn to cope. She was very good at coping.

Emily was giving directions to a footman with a gilt bench when she saw the dowager approach. The old woman looked wide-eyed with alarm as she took in all the activity.

"Good God, my girl, how will it possibly be ready in time?"

Emily smiled. "Don't worry, my lady. It is all really quite organized. Everything ordered has been delivered, and now it is just a matter of putting it all together. It will be ready with time to spare."

"Ah, Emily, my dear, you are indeed a treasure. I know how hard you've been working. I don't know what I would have done without you." As she spoke she reached up to adjust one of Emily's hairpins that had come loose, her hand brushing away a stray wisp of hair from Emily's cheek.

Emily closed her eyes for an instant and caught her breath as she was reminded of Robert's hand in her hair last night.

"Poor dear," the dowager said. "You must be exhausted. I insist that you take time for a rest before dinner. You must look your best tonight, you know. This could be your lucky night." She winked and grinned, causing Emily to laugh out loud.

"I'm sure to be finished here in plenty of time," Emily said. "I confess, however, that I cannot vouch for any progress in the kitchen. I haven't had time to check on that work."

The dowager shuddered. "You can be sure that I shall go nowhere near Anatole until sometime late tomorrow at the earliest. He is a veritable dragon on such occasions. And from what I hear, Mrs. Dawson is no shrinking violet, either. No, no. I shall not go near the kitchen, and neither should you. Leave it to Mrs. Claypool. She will see to it that everything is as it should be."

A young maid came up a bobbed a curtsy. "Excuse me, miss, but a gentleman what says he's with the orchestra wants to inspect the bandstand."

* * *

"I'm terribly sorry, but his lordship is not at home." The haughty butler at Lord Pentwick's Curzon Street town house glared at Robert and Huntspill.

"Then we'll wait," Robert said as he pushed his way past the startled man.

"I beg your pardon, sir!" The butler's face had grown pink with outrage.

"I said," Robert pronounced in a loud voice, "that we will wait. I assure you, Lord Pentwick will receive me. Where is his study? I shall await him there."

"Look here, sir," the butler said, attempting to restrain Robert, "you cannot—"

"What's going on, Metcalf?" Lord Pentwick roared as he descended the stairs. "Good lord," he said as he stopped midway down. "Bradleigh?"

'Tell your butler to unhand me, Pentwick. I would have a word with you."

The earl sneered. "I don't believe we have anything to say to one another, Bradleigh. Show him out, Metcalf." He turned to go back up the stairs.

"Then I shall have no choice," Robert said in a loud, clear voice, hoping all the world would hear, "but to notify Bow Street of your theft of your niece's fortune."

Lord Pentwick's back stiffened, and he slowly turned to face Robert. They locked eyes for a moment, taking each other's measure, before Lord Pentwick again descended the stairs. "Come to my study, Bradleigh. I would hear what lies you are spreading."

Robert followed him, with Huntspill close behind. They entered the study, where the earl took a seat behind his desk, and Robert and Huntspill took chairs facing him. Robert introduced Huntspill, then proceeded to tell Lord Pentwick what they had discovered, but not how they had discovered it.

"You can't prove a thing," Pentwick said when Robert had finished speaking. His lips curled into a sneer as he continued. "My father's will was made years before he died and left everything to me. He didn't care this much,"—he snapped his fingers—"for his so-called granddaughter."

Robert nodded to Huntspill, who opened his satchel and retrieved a document, which he handed to Robert. "I don't suppose you've ever seen this before?" He held the old earl's will close enough for Pentwick to see, but without relinquishing it.

The blood drained from Pentwick's face. "My God." He dropped his head into his hands. "My God."

Robert remained silent while Pentwick absorbed the inescapable reality of the situation. He surely must understand that his position was untenable.

Pentwick at last removed trembling hands from his face and slowly rose from the chair. He walked to the fireplace where he braced himself with both arms against the mantel and hung his head down.

"Mr. Huntspill,'' Robert said, "acting on behalf of Miss Townsend, will see to it that the proper funds are transferred to Miss Townsend at once. With this will as evidence, he can go directly to your banker and put a hold on the funds. Unless you prefer to avoid the embarrassment and make out a draft yourself?"

Pentwick made a small choking sound and shook his bowed head vigorously. "No! No! No! You can't do this!" He raised his head and turned slightly so that only one arm was braced against the mantel. His back to Robert, he began breathing heavily, his chest heaving. "It's mine," he said, speaking more to himself than to Robert. "I can't let that slut's daughter get her hands on my fortune. It's mine! It belongs to me." He swallowed convulsively, then began to speak in a muttered voice, as though no one else was in the room. "I was so careful. I made so sure that she would never marry."

Robert leaped from his chair, bounded across the room, and grabbed Pentwick by the collar with both hands, forcing his head up to look him in the eye. His voice was a barely controlled snarl. "What do you mean, that you made sure she would never marry?"

When Pentwick only stared back, failing to respond, Robert shook him forcefully by the collar. "Explain, yourself, Pentwick!"

"It was nothing. I meant nothing," he said in a raspy voice while trying to shake himself from Robert's grip. "I only hoped that she would never marry, that's all."

Robert tightened his hold on Pentwick's collar with his left hand, held him back a bit, and landed a fierce blow to the jaw with his right. Pentwick crumpled to the floor with a groan. Moving with the quick grace of a panther, Robert dropped to the floor, grabbed Pentwick's right arm and flipped him onto his stomach. Straddling him, Robert twisted the arm behind Pentwick's back, immobilizing him, while he forced the man's face into the carpet with a hand to the back of his head.

"I will have the truth, Pentwick," Robert demanded through bared teeth. "Now!"

Pentwick began to whimper. "All right, all right, I'll tell you." His voice was breathless and muffled against the carpet. "Just get off me, for God's sake."

Robert eased the pressure on the twisted arm and released his hand from Pentwick's head. Pentwick twisted his head to the side with a grimace. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth down his chin. His breath came in gasps. "I engaged . .. agents ... to keep an eye on the girl."

"Why?" Robert raised the twisted arm ever so slightly, causing Pentwick's cheek to press more firmly into the floor. Pentwick's face contorted in pain.

"They were to make certain," Pentwick gasped, "that no man . .. became involved enough ... to offer her marriage." He stopped as a cough choked his voice. Robert eased up on the arm once more.

"But the chit made it easy," Pentwick continued finally, wheezing and puffing as he tried to speak. "Kept to her proper role ... governess ... companion ... Never put herself forward ... Came close only the one time ... That reverend fellow ... in Wiltshire .. . Easily bought off.. . Four more years .. . Damn her! ... That's all I needed."

He stopped to catch his breath, and one bloodshot gray eye rolled up to look at his captor. Robert glared down at him, his eyes black with fury, and twisted the arm tighter. Pentwick's gray eye snapped shut. When his breathing had at last calmed, his tongue licked at the blood on his lip, and he finally continued to speak.

"I was desperate, can't you understand?" he said in a pathetic, plaintive voice.

Robert snorted in disgust and released his hold on the man. He crawled over Pentwick but remained crouched at his side.

Pentwick attempted to rise, but groaned as his arms, apparently numb, collapsed beneath him. He rolled over slightly onto one shoulder and looked up at Lord Bradleigh.

"I couldn't let that little nobody get her hands on all that money," he continued. "It should have been mine, don't you see? It should have been mine! Father had no right—" He stopped as his voice cracked on what sounded like a sob. He took a deep breath and continued. "If only she hadn't taken employment with your grandmother. If only she hadn't come to London. I knew it was dangerous for her to come here. Too good-looking to be ignored. And now that Sedgewick fellow looks to be interested." After easing himself up onto one elbow, the feeling returned to his arms, and he began to speak with more confidence. "By God," he said, "I was furious when I heard she was to come to Town. I had paid my Bath agent good money to prevent anything like this from happening. But with both you and the dowager countess close by, he couldn't—"

Suddenly his elbow was knocked down, the armed grabbed and forcefully twisted behind his back once again.

"Who was the agent in Bath?" Bradleigh demanded as he twisted the arm higher and higher until Pentwick cried out in pain. "Who was it?"

"It was Whittaker," Pentwick gasped. "Percy Whittaker."

Bradleigh released his arm, shoved his shoulders and face to the floor, stood up, and calmly stepped over him.

"Mr. Huntspill will be in touch with your banker and your solicitor." Bradleigh brushed at his coat and pantaloons. "We will see ourselves out. James?"

Huntspill, who had quietly observed the entire scene without uttering a word, rose from his chair and preceded Bradleigh out the study door, clucking and shaking his head.