Invitation to Ruin (9 page)

“Don’t you have something of more importance to discuss with me?” Anthony desperately wanted to change the subject. “Or are my impending nuptials of more interest?”

His expression bland, Rufus slid a cool, unaffected gaze at him. “I do have more pressing business, but I shan’t forget to
further this conversation at a later time. I’m looking forward to meeting Miss Goodly.” Rufus stood and moved to the window, his shoulders immediately tensed. “It’s about the Royal Navy slave blockade.”

Anthony stiffened. “You know my ships are available to help if needed.”

Rufus swung around to face him. “It also involves your old friend, Baron Rothsay.”

A cold chill shot down Anthony’s back, and he pushed up out of his chair. “Let me guess, Rothsay is still carrying human cargo.”

“Nothing that we can prove—yet. That is why I’d be interested to hear what Captain Hawker thinks on his return. I have some information I would like him to verify—if he can.”

Anthony sat on the edge of his desk, his voice strained. “The last time we met, Rothsay laughed in my face. Telling me the Anti-Slave Trade Act would make his fortune and that he’d always wanted to be a pirate. I knew he had no intention of stopping. The problem is, even when the Royal Navy intercepts these pirates trading in human cargo, none of the ships can be traced directly back to him.”

“Are you sure they belong to him?”

Anthony sniggered. “I’m certain. My father and Rothsay and his father were the biggest in the business. Rothsay was taught well. He revels in the trade. The power over another human being thrills him. He’s cruel. I’ve told Captain Hawker to ignore his ships on the open ocean because if they tried to catch him, he’d simply throw the evidence overboard, killing all on board. No human cargo, no evidence, no ship confiscation.”

Rufus frowned. “So if we want to catch him we have to do so before they leave port.”

“Even then, Rothsay’s not stupid enough to have a ship traceable to his name.” He gave Rufus a solemn look. “I probably won’t be much help. Rothsay would like nothing better than to see me dead after I stopped his last slave shipment.
He’s never forgiven me for the money I cost him, or for the fact I have turned traitor and joined the Abolitionists.”

“We need your help again.” Rufus cleared his throat. “The Foreign Secretary, Lord Ashford, has received intelligence that Rothsay’s behind an increase in shipments.”

“I already told you he was.” Stopping Rothsay’s three slave ships last November had been such sweet victory. Anthony knew nothing could make up for the atrocities he and his father had committed, but he could look at himself in the mirror with less revulsion. “He’s trying to make as much money before the world forces men like him into retirement.”

Rufus held up his hand. “Yes, I know. But Ashford needed confirmation. He now has it.”

“From whom?”

Rufus grimaced. “I cannot say. Not because I do not trust you, but because I do not know. Ashford is a need-to-know man, and I didn’t need to know.”

“I am not sure if there’s any more I can do, Rufus. My ships relay any and all information they collect, but Rothsay’s clever.” He returned to his chair. “I’ve already told the navy which ports in Africa Rothsay works out of. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know immediately.”

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” Rufus spoke in almost a whisper. “Rothsay’s no longer only working out of Africa—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he wouldn’t bring slaves to England. It’s too dangerous.”

An ominous silence filled the study.

Rufus hung his head. “He’s not taking African slaves to America. It seems he’s opened up a new market.”

Anthony gasped. No. Rothsay wouldn’t. Bile tasting of whiskey rose in his throat. He swallowed it back down.

Rufus stood and moved to the window. “He is rumored to be operating out of British ports, selling women throughout Arabia, the Barbary Coast, and the Ottoman Empire.”

Anthony gagged. “White women?”

Rufus nodded. “God knows how long he’s been doing
this. The Royal Navy is not even looking at ships leaving English ports for destinations other than the Americas.”

“Christ, I should have killed him when I had the chance.” He rubbed his temples. “What can I do to help?”

“Information.” Rufus had the grace to look embarrassed. “Ashford thought, given your background, you might know how he would set up such an operation and who he’d likely trade with. Any help you can give us would be appreciated.”

“I have no idea. This is a new low for Rothsay. Even my father balked at selling white women.”

Rufus looked crestfallen.

“But I could find out. With my contacts, it shouldn’t take me long to uncover something. Rothsay has made many enemies; someone’s bound to talk.”

“Do it quickly. The sooner we stop him the better.” Rufus glanced at the clock sitting on his desk. “I best leave or you shall be late for your drive in the park. Perhaps I could join you? I’m interested in meeting your bride—”

“I don’t require nor wish for a chaperone.”

A faint smile touched Rufus’s golden-brown eyes. Eyes that had women drowning in their depths to the point they very rarely said no. “If Miss Goodly is as beautiful as Lady Sudbury, you may well need my services. As I recall, you were never very happy about sharing. You are very territorial about your possessions.” He casually picked up his gloves and walked to the door.

Anthony’s smile did not reach his eyes. “That won’t be necessary. I shall be the perfect gentleman.”

A knowing gaze slashed in his direction. “And then …”

“Once we are married, once she belongs to me, I shall carry on as I always have.”

Rufus hesitated at the door, the warmth fading from his eyes. “Let me guess. You will be more like a lord and master than a husband? Be careful, my friend. Sometimes slavery takes many forms.”

Rufus closed the door before Anthony recovered from the shock and hurt Rufus’s words created.

Marriage was nothing like slavery. Melissa would have all her heart desired … except her freedom.

   Anthony called on Melissa exactly at four. But it was Cassandra waiting for him in the entrance hall to Sudbury House.

“Your mother has informed me you are to escort Melissa and I to Lady Cavendish’s ball tonight.” She slid her hand up Anthony’s arm. “We should be able to find a moment alone. I know where Lord Cavendish keeps the key to his study.”

Anthony had no doubt. Cassandra had been sleeping with Lord Cavendish, on and off, since the day she’d married.

Before he could reply, Melissa made her way down the stairs. He saw her start at the sight of Cassandra’s hand on his person. He moved forward, brushing aside Cassandra’s hold on his arm and bowed low. “You look lovely, Miss Goodly.”

She deigned to nod her head, refusing to return his smile. She swept past them, frowning at Cassandra before descending the front steps toward his barouche.

Anthony turned to address Cassandra. “We have much to discuss, Cassandra.” He bowed and took his leave. “Until tonight …” He would explain to her that there could be nothing between them. No matter how much he desired her, he had given Melissa his word. He would not break it.

Melissa stood waiting beside his barouche, still refusing to look at him.

He bowed over her hand, allowing his lips to linger a moment longer than etiquette allowed, while taking in the heavily lashed hazel eyes and raven-black hair. His body hummed; she was stunningly beautiful.

“I hope you have remembered your promise to me, my lord?”

“Of course.”

He helped Melissa into the carriage.

At the feel of her, his body tightened. Damn, she truly was
a very desirable woman. He dropped her hand as a jolt of pure pleasure rocketed through him.

He was annoyed at his reaction to her. His blood wasn’t raging, but the heat was there, a constant simmer each time she was near.
Please do not let me desire my own wife
. It would be just his luck to want the one woman he could not have.

God, he needed a woman beneath him and soon. A woman he could ride until he was exhausted, until he was thoroughly sated. A woman who was not Melissa.

He took his seat on the other side of her. She sat stiffly beside him, looking straight ahead.

Their drive in the park was not off to a good start.

“Chin up, Melissa. We are supposed to be a couple in love. You look like you’re about to be led to the guillotine.”

She turned to him and gave a remnant of a smile. Her wide eyes appeared almost catlike. He had the sudden urge to stroke her. Would she purr? He shook his head; what was he thinking?

But she looked quite lovely in her pastel-blue day dress with a deep navy pelisse trimmed in fox fur. Her clothes were not the height of fashion, but any man would not even see the clothes once they gazed upon the beauty of her face.

He was surprised to inwardly acknowledge that he was proud to have her seated beside him. He reached over and took her small gloved hand in his. “Has Mother talked with you?”

Anthony felt her stiffen at his contact. Good; the less responsive she was the better.

“Yes, we had a pleasant chat this afternoon just before I got ready for our excursion in the park,” Melissa stammered.

Anthony took his eye off the street traffic for a second. “I hope my mother said nothing to upset you. You must come to me if she does. Once we are married you will be in charge of my households, not my mother.”

Melissa flushed. “Your mother was most kind. I shall look
forward to her help when we marry. I am not used to such a large number of households to manage.”

He squeezed her hand. “I am sure you’re up for the task.”

At the gates of the park they slowed to await their place in the line of carriages. The park was very busy on such a pleasant summer afternoon, and their arrival caused quite a stir, as he expected.

Melissa hadn’t spoken since they’d left the house. Something was troubling her; she’d never been short of words before. “Is there something on your mind, Melissa? If you wish to know something, all you need do is ask. I am not, contrary to belief, an ogre.”

The word “ogre” made her wince slightly. “Thank you, Anthony. It’s just that I should very much like to know …” she said quietly.

“Know what?”

She glanced up, assessing him. “Well … I should like to know how you see our marriage working.”

“Working?”

She sobered more, if that were possible. “Yes. For instance, where would we live?”

That should not have caught him by surprise, but he did not think the answer that sprang to mind would be the one she wanted to hear. She would stay anywhere he wasn’t.

He cleared his throat. “I have three estates: Glenforay, in Alyth, near Dundee in Scotland; Wickham Manor in Selby near Bath; and Bressington House in Cambridge. Plus Craven House in Mayfair, as you know. I travel between them on business and to oversee the estates. You must decide where you would feel most comfortable.”

A soft frown creased her brow. “The houses must take a lot of organization.”

He smiled charmingly at her. “I’m sure Mother is looking forward to handing over the reins.”

She nodded and squared her shoulders, unconsciously he thought, before meeting his gaze again. “I believe our marriage
should be built on respect and honesty. We both know it does not involve love—”

“Of course,” Anthony interjected, hating himself. He could not even give her that. He was starting the marriage with a lie by not informing her of his plans for a white marriage—a marriage of no intimacy between husband and wife.

Coloring slightly, she gave him a tremulous smile. “Trust, as with respect, is earned,” she continued, deflating him a little, “but I hardly think one earns respect and trust until one has had appropriate time to get to know one another. We won’t have that luxury. “

He shrugged his shoulders, not quite sure where this conversation was going.

She drew a deep breath. “What will we be to each other? How will we live our lives together? What do you want this marriage to become?”

Christ, his hands tightened on the reins. Melissa was still having doubts. Perhaps a tad more seduction was required.

“I would like us to become friends,” he blurted out.

Nodding thoughtfully, she leaned back in the curricle.

He felt the need to clarify. “Is that not to your liking? As you said, we do not have a love match. I have always valued friendship over love; it tends to be less fleeting.”

“I quite understand that, my lord,” she said hastily. “But I want to be a good wife to you. I want to know in advance what you will expect of me, and I think you should know what I will expect of you.” Her face had flushed a lovely shade of pink.

Expect of him! What the hell did that mean? He was not expecting his wife to lay down any rules. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, for instance, I would expect you to keep your affairs discreet and not make me the ridicule of the
ton
. I also hope you will allow me to continue with my charitable work, perhaps support and become involved in my charities financially on occasion. My philanthropic work is very important
to me,” she added nervously. “I realize I am lucky to be given your good name and title, but as we are both aware, you shall carry on your life as if nothing has changed. I would like something in return, for agreeing to become your wife.”

The horses jerked under his tight reins, the animals feeling the tension instantly invading his hands and arms. He tried to relax. Involved in her charities, in her life? That just wasn’t plausible. He did not want his life to change in any way. Already he could feel the pull of physical attraction. If he had to be around her constantly, how was he to resist her? His wife, a woman he could have at anytime, anywhere, anyway he pleased. No—he could not become involved in her life—she was too much of a temptation.

“I shall try very hard to be discreet. I despise being fodder for gossips, and I would not stand in the way of your charity work. However, it is highly likely I will be too busy with my estates and other business to be involved in most aspects of your life.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “That seems a fair response.” She fiddled with the edge of her glove. “But you wouldn’t deny me my freedom, would you? You wouldn’t lock me away and keep me from doing the things I love to do?”