Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (34 page)

He sighed. “I can see that nothing has changed.”

“What do you mean?”

She glanced up, mesmerized by his blue, blue eyes. She’d never been able to resist being drawn in by them.

“I
mean
,” he stated, “that you’re as contrary as ever.”

“I am not.”

“Why must you do everything the hard way? I simply want to get you out of here. You’re the only person in the world who would refuse to go.”

“You never came for me!” The angry accusation of hurt and betrayal bubbled up from deep inside. “On Bramwell’s ship, when I was sick and alone and scared, you never came!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And when we docked in London, you didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I’m an ass. I admit it.”

“A woman was waiting for you on the pier! You kissed her while I was watching. You have a sweetheart, and you lied to me about it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then my cousin gave me to Bentley Struthers for the reward, and Bentley pummeled me and had Mr. Radley bring me to this horrid spot. They’re going to hang me, and no one even cares.”

“
I
care.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I plan to mend my behavior. Starting now.”

He knelt down and took her hands in his. He looked magnificent, contrite and splendid at the same time.

“Harriet, I am so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

Suddenly, the prison yard was very quiet. It was like a dramatic scene you’d see in a theater. The bystanders were on tenterhooks, eagerly anticipating her answer.

“I loved you,” she petulantly complained. “I loved you, and you let this happen to me.”

At the declaration, he grinned. “You
loved
me, Harriet?”

“Yes.”

“You say so as if it was in the past. How about now and in the future? Could you learn to love me again?”

“You’d have to be nicer to me than you have been.”

The oaf laughed and laughed. “Oh, my dearest, Harriet, I love you, too.” He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

“You’re probably not serious.”

“I am, and I swear to you that no one will ever harm you again. From this moment on, with all these people as witnesses”—he gestured to the hovering crowd—“I vow that you will always be safe. I will protect you with my life. Will you marry me?”

“Marry you!”

“Yes.”

“But who was that woman with you at the dock? Aren’t you already married?”

“Engaged, but only temporarily.”

“It doesn’t sound
temporary.”

He stood and tugged her to her feet, but she was so hungry that the abrupt movement made her dizzy. She swayed and nearly collapsed, and he swept her into his arms.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Don’t argue.”

“But...but...”

He drew her close and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth.

“Don’t argue!”

They walked out, and the prisoners behind them began to clap and cheer.

“Where are we?” Harriet asked, pulling at the curtain to gaze out the carriage window. “Is this your home?”

“No,” Tristan replied, “but it will be a good spot for you—for the time being.”

“What are you saying?”

“I live with my brother, but for now, I can’t take you there.”

“Why?”

“I have some...ah...
arrangements
to make first.”

Specifically: a betrothal to end and a fiancée to send back to the country. The next few days would be extremely unpleasant. Miranda would put up a fight, but Tristan was determined to win it.

He’d be relinquishing her dowry, but he didn’t care. He and James wouldn’t starve. It would simply take them longer to get their finances in order. Tristan would have to purchase a new ship and start working, and he was even thinking that perhaps Harriet could travel with him.

It was intriguing to imagine coming into his cabin every night and finding her asleep in his bunk. “So,” she mused, looking very glum, “you’re already getting rid of me? Why am I positive I’ll never see you again?”

“You’ll see me all right. In fact, from this point on, I’m going to be such a pest that I can guarantee you’ll grow sick of me.”

“A likely story.”

“Do you know who your father is?”

She studied him, and he could sense that she was dithering over what tale to tell. The silly woman was more furtive than a palm reader at a fair.

“No secrets, Harriet,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“I was always told,” she hedged, “that he was a gentleman farmer.”

“But?”

“I might have once heard a different version.”

“That he’s Lord Trent?”

She debated, then admitted, “Yes.”

“It’s true, and you have a half-brother named Phillip Sinclair.”

“I do?”

“Yes. This is his house, and I need you to stay here for a week or two.”

“But I don’t even know him!”

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll be delighted to have you as a guest.”

“No. This is wrong. It would be rude of me to impose.”

“It’s not wrong. It’s absolutely right. You’ll remain here while I straighten out my personal affairs.”

“What
affairs
?”

He cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing with chagrin.

“I have to break off my engagement.”

“Your fiancée—what’s her name?”

“Miranda.”

Harriet scoffed. “A fussy name for a fussy girl.”

“Yes, it is.”

“After you jilt her, what will happen to me?”

“Then you and I are marrying the very next day.”

She glared, then grabbed his shirt and shook him. “If you don’t follow through, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

“I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

The door to Sinclair’s house opened. Tristan had sent word that he’d be arriving with Harriet, and through a crack in the curtain, he could see Sinclair come out, along with Lady Henley. Helen Stewart was with them, too.

“Look out the window again,” he advised her.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Just look, you blasted woman! Stop being so cantankerous.”

Tristan tugged at the curtain as Harriet leaned across him to peek outside.

“Helen is here?” She turned toward him, appearing stunned and amazed. “You found my sister for me?”

“She was never lost.”

Harriet hugged him tightly and kissed him over and over.

“Thank you, Tristan. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

A footman opened the carriage door, and she tumbled out and into Helen’s waiting arms.

Phillip gazed at Fanny over the rim of his brandy glass.

He had to bundle her up and escort her home to her husband. Michael was very much in love with his wife, very devoted and possessive of her time, and he would be concerned over her lengthy absence. He didn’t like to share.

Normally, Fanny would have left hours earlier, but with the excitement of finally locating the Stewart twins, it had been impossible for her to tear herself away. Prior to her marrying Michael, Fanny’s life had been very difficult, and she’d needed to bond with her new sisters as much as they’d needed to bond with her.

“I’m aggravated with Westwood and his brother,” he said.

“I am, too. They haven’t behaved very well.”

“You know I take this type of nonsense very personally.”

“I know you do.”

They both chuckled.

They’d been in much the same spot over Fanny’s relationship with Michael. Michael had blatantly ruined Fanny with no intention of marrying her, and when the arrogant oaf had refused to propose, he and Phillip had actually fought a duel.

“We should have a pair of weddings,” he decided, “with Westwood and Harcourt as the grooms.”

“I agree.”

“Tristan already spoke to me. He’s eager to wed Harriet, but he has to end his betrothal first.”

“Oh, that’s a nasty quandary. Will he have any trouble?”

“He didn’t seem to think so.”

“What about Westwood? Will he come up to snuff with Helen?”

Phillip shrugged. “Westwood may be a bit of a problem.”

“Why is that?”

“He hates Charles, so I doubt he’d willingly shackle himself to one of the man’s illegitimate daughters.”

“I heard a rumor recently—about Charles seducing Westwood’s mother.”

“It’s probably true.”

“It probably is.”

They sighed, having no illusions about Charles or his dastardly habits.

“So,” Fanny asked, “how will you convince Westwood to propose? I don’t want you fighting any more duels, and I’m positive your wife would concur.”

“No duels. I promise. Anne would murder me if I even considered such a thing. But I have an idea.”

“What is that?”

“Westwood has been wrangling for a high-stakes card game with Charles.”

“Gambling with Charles? Doesn’t Westwood know that Charles cheats?”

“Westwood supposedly cheats too, so they’re a balanced duo of scoundrels.”

“Why would Westwood bother with Charles?”

“It’s revenge—for his father and all they lost after his mother fled.”

“He’ll never be satisfied,” Fanny wisely said, “despite how much he wins. A pile of coins can hardly compensate for that sort of loss.”

“My opinion exactly, so I suggest we give Westwood something worth having instead.”

“What would that be?”

“Helen.”

“Helen?”

“Yes. Tristan claims Westwood was madly in love with her last summer.”

“Is he still?”

“His feelings are irrelevant,” Phillip said with a firm resolve. “He ruined her, and he’s going to wed her—whether he likes it or not.”

“How will you persuade him?”

“I have a plan, and it involves Charles.”

“Will he help us?”

“If I ask him? Of course he will.” Phillip was always able to coerce Charles in a way that no one else could. “Besides, if Westwood is about to marry into the family, he needs to smooth over his differences with Charles. He can’t have his father-in-law as his mortal enemy.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let me tell you all about it. Then let’s get you home before Michael wrings my neck.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? Let’s find out.”

James stared at Charles Sinclair, the man who’d absconded with James’s mother, whose perfidy had crushed James’s father. James had hated him for a good share of three decades.

With a fortune sitting in the middle of the table, James knew he held the winning hand. Trent would have to cheat to beat him—which was certainly possible. Throughout the long night, James had carefully watched Trent, and if he
was
cheating, he was very adept at it. But then, so was James.

He laid down his cards, and so did Trent. James smirked and gathered up the stacks of coins.

“You’re not having much luck, Trent.”

Trent shrugged, appearing bored and confident and not the least bit concerned about parting with so much of his wealth.

“It’s only money.”

“Yes, it is. What do you say?” James goaded, planning to raise the ante to an outrageous level. “Shall we play again?”

“If you wish.”

They were in a private room at the Stevens brothers’ club. Several others had originally joined in, but they’d participated so they would have a reason to witness the spectacle. As the stakes went higher and higher, they had dropped out.

The only two left were James and Trent.

James was on a roll, having won eight of the last nine games, and Trent hardly seemed to notice. He lost one hand, then another, and ultimately, he sighed with resignation.

“What is it?” James inquired. “Is the pot getting too steep for you? Perhaps you’d like to quit. I’m happy to walk away with what you’ve lost so far.”

“You won’t give me an opportunity to win it back? That’s not very sporting.”

“I’ll continue as long as you can afford to keep going—and even after you can’t.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me wager with an I.O.U.”

“I might—depending on what you’re willing to risk.”

James’s pulse pounded with excitement.

They were finally at the spot where he wanted Trent to be. If Trent was considering promissory notes, then he was about to put his property at risk, was about to gamble much more than he should.