Leslie Lafoy (25 page)

“If only you’d known about your father’s book,” he said ruefully. “They’d already accepted it. They were probably setting the type as you were saying ‘I do.’”

“It’s what you didn’t know at the time that always makes the difference in looking back,” Sera observed. “I might have chosen prostitution over marriage had I known beforehand of not only Gerald’s association with Walker, but also of his excessive drinking and flagrant womanizing. Gerald becomes physically aggressive when intoxicated and I didn’t like being struck any more than I liked having women encamped on my doorstep with one of his babes in their arms.”

“God, Sera.”

She didn’t dare look at him. If she saw pity in his eyes, she wouldn’t be able to get the rest of it said. She drank the brandy in two heavy swallows. “There isn’t a great deal of formal social structure or expectation in Belize, but all of it was, nevertheless, sufficiently humiliating. It didn’t take me long to fully regret having tied my life to his. But even quickly was too late. Arthur and Mary, once they realized how we had all been fooled by him, tried to intervene as much as they possibly could. I can’t tell you the number of times they literally hid me from him.”

“Why didn’t Arthur buy you passage out of Belize?” Carden asked, angry that she had been allowed to remain in a situation where hiding her had even been necessary.

“He offered to. As I’ve said, your brother was a kind man.” She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “But where would I have gone and what would I have done for a living?”

“Anywhere you wanted to go, and you’re a very talented artist.”

Her smile was bittersweet. “I wasn’t as brave in those days as I am now. When Arthur and Mary didn’t return, I had no choice but to stand on my own two feet and make a way for myself and the girls. If I could go back and do it all again, knowing what I’ve learned about myself in the last year…” Her eyes shimmered with tears and she turned away, lifting her chin and saying, “Things would have turned out very differently, Carden. For all of us. I just learned too late, especially for Arthur and Mary.”

He rose squarely to his feet, took her face gently between his hands, and brought her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were dark and sad and his heart ached for her. “What happened to them isn’t your fault, Sera. Arthur knew what kind of man was leading him off into the jungle. He made the choice to follow, no one else. And I promise you, even if it takes the rest of my life, Gerald Treadwell will be found and held accountable for his actions.”

She instantly tensed and the sadness in her eyes was replaced by the unmistakable light of fear. “Please don’t go looking for him,” she pleaded, her voice quavering. “I don’t want him back in my life.”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter, angel,” Carden said gently but firmly. “He saw you in the park. He knows you’re here, knows you’ll discover the truth sooner or later. Whatever house of lies he’s constructed will collapse the moment you walk into the publisher’s offices. He knows that, too. He can’t afford to ignore you. If I don’t find him, he’ll find you.”

He could feel the coldness that came over her, the sudden lurch of her heart.

“And assert that he’s my husband and that he has every lawful right to control me and my father’s estate in my best interest.”

“No, Sera,” he said slowly and carefully. “He can be denied that right if it’s proven that he’s misappropriated and misused the money in the past. The fact that you haven’t received a single tuppence of the royalties is proof enough for that. And it will also be sufficient grounds for you to petition for and be granted a divorce.”

Divorce? Was it possible? The scandal of it be damned. Could she actually escape the net that had ensnared her so long ago? Was Carden telling her the truth? Or was he giving her hope where none truly existed? Oh, dear God, how she wanted to believe him.

“Trust me, Sera,” he whispered, smiling at her, tracing the curve of her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll see you through this.”

He would. She knew it to the center of her soul. Everything would be all right. Warmth flooded through her, and as the horrible tension was washed away, her knees weakened and the world around her began to slowly spin. “I feel … dizzy.”

His hands went to her shoulders, steadying her as he chuckled and teased, “I have that effect on some women.”

“I think it’s the brandy,” she countered, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead into his chest. “You warned me about drinking it too fast.”

The world moved again, not around as before, but upward in a smooth, easy arc. Carden … She smiled and twined her arms around his neck, burrowed her cheek into his shoulder and let him carry her up the stairs. What she’d ever done to deserve such a wonderfully caring man, she didn’t know, but she was glad that the path of her life had met his. She tried to tell him so, but the words tangled on the tip of her tongue and were lost. As they drifted away, a soft cloud of warmth stole over her senses and she surrendered with a contented sigh to the whisper of a kiss and the promise of sweet, dreamy sleep.

“Someday, angel, I hope you’ll let me carry you all the way to the bed at the end of the hall.”

Yes, she hoped so, too.

C
HAPTER
14

Her head didn’t really hurt. She was just very much aware of the dull knot in the center of her forehead. And that her entire body had felt a hundred pounds heavier than normal since the moment she’d awakened that morning. Carden had laughed at breakfast and told her that she shouldn’t plan to make a habit of drinking brandy. She wasn’t quite so sure. There was one most decidedly positive aftereffect: it took considerable concentration to move her limbs with anything approximating grace. Talking took even more focus. And as a consequence, she was too busy thinking to be the least bit nervous as they walked into the offices of Somers and Priest.

The publisher’s secretary looked up from his work as they came to a halt in front of his desk.

“We would like to see Mr. Somers, please,” Carden said, his hand slipping reassuringly to the small of her back.

A thin, dark brow slowly rose above the rim of the man’s glasses. “Do you have an appointment, sir?” he asked haughtily.

Sera knew it wasn’t to go well even before Carden very coolly replied, “We do not.”

The man sneered—sneered!—and went back to his work, saying dismissively, “I’m afraid that Mr. Somers has a full day on schedule.”

Three long seconds passed before Carden calmly countered, “I’m sure he’ll be willing to take a few moments of his time for us. Please tell him that Lord Lansdown and Miss Seraphina Baines Miller wish to see him.”

The man’s head came up so abruptly that Sera held her breath, certain that it was going to snap off his neck and tumble to the floor. His eyes widening, he sputtered, “B-B-Baines Miller?”

Having already had one experience with such a reaction to her name, Sera was able to smile and say serenely, “I am the daughter of Geoffrey Baines Miller.”

“She’s also,” Carden contributed, amusement evident in his voice, “the artist whose work illustrates the text you have published under her father’s name.”

The secretary came out of his chair as though he’d been shot. His hands flew about and he fairly vibrated in place as he gushed, “Please, please have a seat, Miss Baines Miller, Lord Lansdown. I’ll inform Mr. Somers that you are here.” And then he just stood there, gaping at her.

“Today would be nice,” Carden quipped.

The man jumped and whirled while in the air. Unfortunately, his feet didn’t come down quite squarely under him and he stumbled into the glass-windowed door some ten feet behind his desk.

As she and Carden watched him knock—quite unnecessarily—and fumble with the knob, Sera quietly observed, “That’s the very first time I’ve heard you introduce yourself as a peer.”

“I thought it would be useful in opening the door for us.” He chuckled as the secretary all but fell into his employer’s office. “I was woefully mistaken.”

“I simply can’t get over how awed people are at the mention of my father’s name. It’s such an unexpected thing.”

“Sera,” he countered, his voice sober, his words quick and firm, “your father’s work appeals to horticulturists. Your work, on the other hand, appeals to everyone. It is you of whom people are in awe, not your father. It is you who are responsible for the book’s excellent sales. Bear that in mind as you speak with Mr. Somers. He’ll most certainly be aware of it.”

A man came out of the office, his coattails sailing behind him. He cast Sera a quick look and then hurried away. The secretary came out next, instantly stepped to the side and flattened himself against the oak filing cabinet.

Not a half second after that a portly gentleman with a wreath of pure white hair stepped through the doorway and bore down on her, his smile broad and his hands extended. “Miss Baines Miller!”

With her portfolio in her left hand, she was able to offer only her right.

“It is a rare, rare honor! Please come into my office,” he said, both hands wrapped around hers and drawing her forward even as he issued the invitation. His gaze darted past her for a split second. “Lord Lansdown.”

“Somers,” Carden replied coolly, following in their wake.

“Please,” Somers said, motioning to a pair of upholstered chairs opposite his desk. He waited until she had set down her portfolio and was seated before taking his own and continuing. “What may I do for you, Miss Baines Miller? Name it and it shall be done.”

Sera smiled, feeling more in control of the situation than she had any in her life. “Let me begin at the beginning. A fortnight ago I arrived in London as the escort of Lord Lansdown’s three orphaned nieces. It was at a dinner party in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Stanbridge last evening that I discovered that you are the publisher of my father’s botanical work.”

His chin lowered and he swallowed before saying ever so distinctly, “Discovered?”

She nodded. “I wasn’t aware until yesterday evening that my father’s work had been accepted for publication. In the Stanbridges’ copy, I noted that it has undergone at least ten printings since its original date of publication.”

He swallowed again. Harder this time. “How is that you were unaware of the book or its success?”

“I’ve come here today to ask that very question,” she replied calmly, very glad for having had brandy the night before. “How is it that I have not been informed of this matter?”

“And if I may insert myself at this point to ask a far more pertinent question,” Carden said. “How is that Miss Baines Miller has never received so much as a single shilling in royalties?”

Somers threw him a most unpleasant look and then turned a paternal smile on her. “Perhaps your father has decided for some reason to withhold from you the information of his success?”

It was a reasonable suggestion—had her father been any sort of a secretive man. And then, of course, there were the other facts. “My father and my mother died just over two years ago,” she explained. “In the same month in which you published his work. I’ve been told—by those who know how publishing is done—that your acceptance of that work most certainly came some months prior to putting type and ink to paper. And I can assure you, Mr. Somers, that my father knew nothing of it at the time of his passing.”

He blinked several times and drew a long, slow breath before saying, “This is a most awkward situation.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Carden contributed dryly, settling deeper into his chair and crossing his legs.

Somers shot him another dark look. A shadow of it lingered in his eyes when he met her gaze, smiled thinly, and said, “I find myself having to ask a question with the most unpleasant implications.”

“Oh?” Carden drawled, clearly irritated.

“Ask whatever you’d like, Mr. Somers,” Sera hastily offered, anxious to forestall open acrimony. “I’ll gladly provide you answers to the best of my ability if it will help you do the same for me.”

“Very well, miss,” Somers agreed, sitting back in his chair. “How am I to know you are indeed the daughter of Geoffrey Baines Miller and the artist of the work included in his volume? How do I know that you are not some impostor attempting to defraud the author?”

Carden bolted forward in his seat. Sera reached over and laid a hand on his arm to stay him while replying, “I assume that you still have the original manuscript and paintings in your possession?”

“Of course. They’re kept in the vault.”

“Have you happened to have studied the paintings yourself?”

“I have.”

“Then you’re aware of the notations on the backs of each?”

He nodded slowly and she saw that he understood where she had been leading him. “I am.”

“If you’d like to retrieve the manuscript from the safety of the vault, I’ll allow you to test my recall of those notes. Many of them are more personal than scientific in content.”

“Retrieving the manuscript itself won’t be necessary,” he declared, pushing himself up and moving quickly toward the rear wall of his office.

Sera watched him over her shoulder and grinned when she saw his destination. As he took the picture off the wall and started back to his desk with it, she met Carden’s gaze and winked. He cocked his brow and settled back into his chair, obviously not altogether confident but apparently willing to let her have a go at it.

“This one is my favorite,” Somers said, setting the edge of the frame on his desk so that she could see the picture. Standing behind it, he added, “I chose to keep it in my office so I could see it every day. Do you recall what you wrote on the back of this one, miss?”

“I noted that my father believed it to be an undiscovered species and that he wanted to name it in honor of me. I also noted that while I appreciated his attempt to have my name recorded in the scientific annals for all time, I preferred that he choose a plant that didn’t smell like dreadfully dead fish.”

He didn’t even bother to look at the back of the picture. He simply smiled and set it on the floor beside his desk, saying, “I am satisfied, Miss Baines Miller. No impostor could have known that.”

Carden looked over at her. “Does it really smell like dead fish?”