Jo Goodman (6 page)

Her uncle appeared in the dimly lit hallway before she could put away her cloak. "I'd like to heat water for tea," she said, opening the closet beneath the stairs. Mercedes placed her damp garment inside. When she stepped back to shut the door the Earl of Weybourne was directly behind her. Her entire body went rigid as she bumped into him. Before she could pull away he had caught her plait in his hand and was wrapping it around his fist.

"Tea can wait," he said lowly.

His mouth was near her ear but Mercedes could smell his breath. He'd been drinking since she left. Knowing how futile it was to fight, Mercedes willed herself to remain quiet.

"Let's go into the library, shall we?"

It was anything but an invitation. Mercedes nodded once and felt the tug on her scalp for her effort.

Wallace Leyden, the Right Honorable Earl of Weybourne, drew his niece into the library by the scruff of her neck. When he let her go to close the large oak pocket doors behind him, she stepped quickly out of his reach. Her movement did not go unnoticed. He was smiling narrowly when he turned away from the doors.

Lord Leyden was not a particularly tall man, but Mercedes had to look up to him. In her eyes he had remained remarkably unchanged over the last score of years. His brown hair had begun to gray at the temples soon after his forty-eighth birthday and the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had deepened, but that was all she had ever noticed. Years of drinking had not appreciably thickened his waistline or reddened his nose. Even when he'd been without a drink for days, his hands never shook. His tolerance for liquor was something of a legend among the peerage, and snippets of this dubious accolade had become known to Mercedes over time.

The earl was a popular escort among the widows and neglected wives of his set. With his trim, athletic figure and rather elegant, austere features, he was considered handsome by many women and at various times kept a mistress in London. The extent of his debt was known to his family and his creditors but not widely suspected among his peers. Few friends were ever invited to Weybourne Park, and when a party did arrive, it was left to Mercedes to make certain that appearances were kept.

In some ways the manor bore a resemblance to the earl. It had not changed overmuch on the outside. The grounds were maintained. The lawn and gardens were regularly trimmed. The face of the stone house was kept in good repair. It was only when one looked more deeply that the signs of trouble were apparent: the water stains on the ceilings on the third floor and in the servants' quarters; the thin carpets in the north wing bedrooms; the dwindling artwork in the gallery; the clogged chimneys; and the sagging floor in the upstairs parlor.

And so it was with the earl. Decay and deterioration were there upon closer inspection. The wit for which he was known could politely be called acerbic. At home, when it was turned on his family, it was cruel. Drinking or not, his moods were unpredictable, and when accompanied by violence, they were frightening. He had the judgment of a spoiled and willful child. He was impatient and demanding, ignorant or merely heedless of consequences.

When she was younger Mercedes didn't understand why he had so many friends. He was always being called away from the country estate to visit this person or that. She had once asked her Aunt Georgia that very question, but her aunt knew better than to answer it. In time Mercedes was able to draw her own conclusions as she learned that his lordship saved his cruelty and vicious temper for his family at Weybourne Park. They were an outlet for him. The longer he was away the more they could expect to pay some terrible price upon his return. And when her aunt died giving birth to the twins, Mercedes discovered how often Georgia Leyden had shielded her children and niece from the earl's blackest side.

Wallace Leyden's hooded glance was leveled on his niece. His hands rested behind his back, clasped. "Well?" he asked. "You don't look the worse for your encounter. He didn't throw you out, I take it."

Mercedes inched toward the fireplace. The flames were meager but they radiated warmth. There was also a poker nearby. Mercedes never walked into a room with her uncle without assessing what could be used as a weapon, though the one she most often had to fear was his hand. "No, he didn't throw me out. He was quite accommodating, actually. Given the circumstances, I don't know that I would have been as gracious." It was pushing the truth a bit, Mercedes realized, but something his lordship deserved to hear. "You lied to me."

The flecks of gold in Weybourne's brown eyes splintered. A muscle worked in his cheek but he managed to say with credible calm, "How so?"

A strand of damp hair lay against Mercedes's temple. She pushed it back impatiently. "You told me you were drinking that night, that Mr. Thorne took advantage of you in your cups. You said he provoked your response."

"There's no falsehood there."

"Liar!" In her mind she screamed the word. In reality it was given little more sound than a harsh whisper.

He crossed the space that separated them in three strides and raised his right hand. "You dare," he said with soft menace.

Mercedes was suddenly transported back to the Passing Fancy. She could picture herself sitting in the chair while Colin Thorne prepared for his bath. She had stared him down then. Hadn't turned away. Hadn't blinked. He was the one who thought better of his actions.

The same tactic did not work with his lordship. In fact, it seemed to inflame him. Mercedes took the blow on her cheek. The sound of it hurt her ears and the sting sent her rocking back on her heels. She wavered a moment, tried to steady herself by grasping the edge of the cherry desk, then went down on her knees, catching her hip on the sharp corner.

His hand was raised for a second blow but he was satisfied when she cried out. He lowered it slowly and let it rest at his side, his fist still clenched. "What else did he say?" he asked evenly.

Tears touched the corners of her eyes and lined the lower lids. By lifting her head she kept them from falling. "That you accused him of cheating to win the wager."

"He
did
cheat."

"What proof do you have?"

"Where's the proof that he didn't?"

"He said there was a newspaper. One dated the day he put in at Boston Harbor."

Weybourne dismissed that as evidence. "Carried to him at sea by another ship. What he says he did couldn't have been done."

Mercedes placed one hand on the desk and pulled herself up. Because her uncle did not back away, she skirted the corner to put distance and an obstacle between them. "Why do you say that? He broke the record by nine hours. He only needed to break it by one minute. Why shouldn't he have been able to do it?"

The Earl of Weybourne's tight jaw clamped shut. He stared hard at his niece and remained silent.

"Oh, dear God," she said on a thread of sound. "You made some arrangement, didn't you? With whom? A crew member? Someone on the dock? What did you do?"

Lord Leyden was stoic in the face of the accusations. All he said was, "He couldn't have accomplished what he did."

"You've shamed us all."

For a moment it looked as though he might hit her again.

"Captain Thorne cheated," he said quietly, reining in his anger, "and I'll find some way to prove it."

"If he doesn't kill you first."

"That's why I require your services."

"I can't talk him out of meeting you."

The earl leaned forward on the desk and faced her squarely. "How hard did you try, Mercedes?"

"I tried." Even to her own ears her effort sounded feeble.

"That's what I thought." He straightened and pulled on the sleeves of his tailored jacket, smoothing the material as he pretended to consider what to do next. With practiced deliberation he opened his jacket and removed his pocket watch. Glancing at it, he then held it in his palm for Mercedes to see. "It appears there is still time."

Mercedes felt herself pale. "Oh, I couldn't, my lord," she said quickly. "I couldn't go back there."

Wallace Leyden shrugged. He returned the watch to its pocket and left the desk for the sideboard. The decanter of brandy was still open. He poured himself a drink. When he turned in Mercedes's direction again he raised the glass in a mocking salute. "That's your decision, Mercedes. But I feel I must remind you of the consequences. Do you really think he'll let any of you stay here? He probably has plans for the manor that don't include the brats or their governess. He'll marry Chloe and Sylvia off. It will be the easiest way to deal with them and cause the least scandal, but you and the twins will find yourselves on the streets." His tone became intimate, silky. "Have you thought of what you might do on the streets?"

Over the rim of his glass he let his eyes graze Mercedes from head to toe. Her thick, dark hair and clear gray eyes, easily reminded him of her mother. Mercedes took her looks from Elizabeth Allen, not the Leyden side of the family. She had the same stature, the same delicate turn of her wrists and ankles. What she did not have was Elizabeth's stubborn willfulness. He had seen that disappear in the early years and had never missed it. She could be bent to his will in a way her mother never could. Lord Leyden knew how to make it happen. "You really are a striking young woman, Mercedes," he said in a low voice. "I've regretted a number of times in recent years that your father was my brother. I could easily entertain thoughts of setting you up as my mistress. A few friends have suggested to me that I'm too fastidious. They would not be so restrained if you lived under their roof."

Mercedes flinched but it only showed in her eyes.

"I make mention of it," he went on, "because it seems to me that Captain Thorne, with a bit of effort on your part, could be made to desire you."

"No," she said quietly. "You're wrong. I'm sure you're wrong. He didn't show the slightest interest."

The earl ignored that. He cocked his head toward the library doors. "I think I hear the twins."

Mercedes's head snapped up. "What?" There was a thread of panic in her voice. "No, you couldn't have. I'm sure—"

He held up his hand. "I'm sure I did. Perhaps I should pay a visit to their rooms. Who do you think it is this time? Britton? Brendan? Perhaps both of them. You know I don't like them moving about at night. They could get hurt. It's a simple thing to fall on the back stairs."

"Oh, please." She came around the desk and approached him. "Leave them be. This doesn't have anything to do with them."

His dark brows came together. "I'm afraid it does. You've seen that it does." Ignoring her approach he started for the door.

"Wait!"

The doors opened silently and the Earl of Weybourne passed through them.

Mercedes followed, grabbing his sleeve at the foot of the stairs. "No," she said, despair edging her voice. "Give me another chance. I'll go back."

One of his brows cocked and he looked pointedly at the small hand on his jacket. "Really?"

Her hand slipped away. Mercedes rubbed her damp palm against the skirt of her gown. "I'll do it this time. I swear it."

"You still have the knife?"

She nodded. It was sheathed neatly between her corset and camisole.

"Good. Use it this time."

Chapter 2

Colin hauled himself out of the tub when he heard the commotion belowstairs. The banging on the inn's front door rattled the shutters. Colin had no doubt the intrusion was somehow related to his business at Weybourne Park. Most likely the earl himself this time, he thought as he dried himself off. "Come here to tell me I've spoiled his virgin niece and now I have to marry her," he said under his breath. "Does he think that will stop me from killing him?" Colin caught his dark, ironic smile reflected in the window pane. To his way of thinking it was all the more reason to do the deed. The Earl of Weybourne would make a poor sort of in-law.

Tossing his thin towel over the back of the chair, Colin stepped into his trousers. He was pulling on his shirt when the outside noises finally reached the other side of his door. The knock that came this time was not tentative. Swearing softly, Colin started to cross the room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his knife embedded in the headboard, a reminder of his earlier encounter. If this visitor was the earl, he was likely to be served well by it again. He drew it out and carried it half concealed in his palm.