Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (37 page)

“With who? Miranda? I did not.”

“Don’t lie to me!” she bellowed. “I had to stand there in your bedchamber, watching her strut about, wearing your robe with nothing on underneath. I had to watch her simper and purr over how you’d finally seduced her. How was it? Did
you
enjoy it as much as she appeared to?”

“With each remark you make, you grow more absurd.”

“And how about Captain Harcourt? What is his opinion of your behavior? Or have you even confessed? The poor man probably presumed he was getting a virginal bride for his wedding.”

“You actually suppose that I seduced Miranda Wilson? You actually suppose that I would deceive my brother in such an atrocious way?”

“I
suppose
nothing. I saw the aftermath with my own two eyes. Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yes. About this, I do. I didn’t realize you were prone to flights of fancy.”

“You tumble the servants who work for you! You make a habit of ruining girls like me.”

“What? That’s enough! I don’t have to listen to—”

“Nigel told me all about it! You have a reputation as a cad, and everyone knew it but me. You even bragged to Lord Trent about our affair.”

“No, no, no! I didn’t! Where do you come by such bizarre information?”

“Miranda.”

“Miranda?”

“I haven’t even met Lord Trent, and you’ve done your best to destroy any relationship we might have had. Are you proud of yourself?”

The conversation was too vile, and she sagged with defeat.

“Go away,” she pleaded. “Just go away.”

She was next to the wall, and she spun away from him, her forehead pressed to the cool plaster. He dawdled behind her, silent, unmoving.

“We need to talk,” he murmured.

“We’ve said enough. Please leave.”

“I believe we’ve been tricked by people who are determined to keep us apart. I
never
abuse my servants, and I didn’t breathe a word about us to Lord Trent.”

“So you say.”

“As to Miranda, I couldn’t guess what insane acts were driving her, but I was devastated when you left, and I wrote you no letter. I swear it.”

“I saw it!” she raged. “I read it!”

“No, no,” he muttered, “there’s been some mistake. I don’t know how she faked my handwriting, but she did.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Whatever she did, it just doesn’t matter.”

He sighed and said, “Turn around.”

“No.”

“I love you, Helen. Turn around and look at me.”

At the stunning declaration, her pulse raced, and she was so aggravated by her body’s response. She wouldn’t be enticed! She wouldn’t let down her guard merely because he’d voiced a platitude that had to be false.

“Why must you beat this to death?” she demanded. “Why must you torment me with the past? It’s over, and we can’t change what happened.”

“What if we could? What if we could change it?” He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Does it disturb you to have me here?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Then you must still care for me. I need to know that there’s hope, that I can fix what is wrong.”

“You can’t. It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late. Not when I can have you in the end.”

What was he saying? He seemed interested in having her as his mistress again, but she couldn’t go back to his house, couldn’t resume their prior relationship. Didn’t he comprehend that nothing was the same?

Her life was greatly altered from how it had been the previous summer. She had a family now, people who cherished and supported her, so she could garner more for herself. She wanted a home of her own, wanted to marry a man who loved her, wanted to give him a dozen children. She would provide them with the sort of stable environment that had been denied her and Harriet simply because their mother had been young and foolish.

Westwood was very rich, yet he didn’t have anything to offer that she truly craved. He didn’t possess anything she valued.

“I can’t be your mistress,” she said. “Not ever again.”

“My mistress! Is that what you assume I’m suggesting?”

He chuckled and spun her so she was facing him.

“I don’t need a mistress.”

“Then what do you need?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“I have no idea.”

“I need a wife, Helen. Will you marry me?”

Her breath hitched in her lungs, and her knees buckled, but he caught her so she didn’t fall.

“What did you say?”

“Will you marry me?”

She started to shake, and she put a palm on his chest to ease him away.

“You will not tease me like this,” she scolded. “I will not allow it.” Desperate to be rescued, she glanced toward the door and called, “Fanny! Harr—”

But he cut off her cry of distress by dipping down and kissing her.

“Say
yes
,” he urged. “Say you’ll have me.”

She was bewildered by his behavior, confused by his words. When she’d just hurled such hideous accusations, how could he forgive her? He couldn’t be serious.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I love you. I have always loved you.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is. I love you.” He kissed her again, lingering, seducing, wearing her down. “Tell me that you love me, too. Tell me that you will give me another chance.”

“I don’t know...I don’t know...”

“My mother left when I was a boy,” he said.

“I’d heard that she had.”

“Her departure warped my view of the world. It made me cold-hearted so I forgot how to trust or care. I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want to be the man who loves you.”

“You know that my father is Lord Trent,” she reminded him, certain it would snap him to his senses.

“Yes, I know.”

“But you lied to me about it. I could have gone to Phillip months ago. He would have helped me when I was in trouble.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was crazy about you, and I hated Trent, and I couldn’t decide what was best.”

“Yes, you
hate
him. You always have. How could you marry me? How could you even consider it?”

“I can’t worry about your father or what he did with my mother. I’m not even sure of what actually occurred between them, and I can’t keep holding on to my animosity. It’s been eating me alive; I have to let it go.”

He took her hand and clasped it in both of his own, then he dropped to one knee.

“I have many faults.”

She laughed miserably. “I won’t argue the point.”

“I’ve been horrid to you. I’ve bullied and cheated and tricked you.”

“Yes you have, but deep down inside, you’re such a good person. Why must you act so badly?”

“Because I didn’t know how to make you stay with me—unless I forced you to remain.”

“You are insane.”

“Yes, I am.
Insane
with wanting you by my side. Forever. Say that you’ll have me.”

“What about Miranda?”

“Tristan is sending her away. Today.”

“And as soon as she leaves, you would wed me?”

“I would wed you this very second, if only you’d agree.”

She couldn’t bear to see him prostrate before her, and she pulled him to his feet.

“Get up,” she said, “get up.”

“I swear to you, Helen, that I will always watch over you, that I will support you and keep you and your sister safe. You’ll never have to work again. You’ll never have to struggle or fret.”

Behind them, the door opened, and Phillip entered. He studied them, huddled together in an obvious emotional conversation, and his frown was lethal.

“Westwood,” he seethed, “you better tell me that you’re proposing marriage.”

“I am proposing. However, I can’t persuade her to give me the response I seek.”

Harriet and Fanny came in too, and Helen peered over at Harriet, at her new-found brother and sister.

“I don’t know what to do,” she told them.

“What do you
want
to do?” Fanny asked.

“I just want to be happy,” Helen said.

“Are you in love with him?” Harriet inquired.

Helen stared at Westwood, and she recollected the terrible times: when he’d been awful to her, when he’d been a boor and a tyrant. But she recollected other times, too: when he was kind, when he was thoughtful and concerned and loyal.

“Yes,” she affirmed, “I love him.”

“Then the answer is easy,” Harriet replied. “Tell him
yes
. Right now.”

Helen reflected on how alone she’d been, on how she’d sweated and toiled for so many years. But when she’d resided in his home, she’d been ecstatic merely to hear his tread on the stair.

She’d given up everything for him, and it dawned on her that, in a heartbeat, she would do it all again.

If she refused him, how would she carry on? If she said
no
, he would go away, and she would never see him again. It was the worst conclusion imaginable.

Despite Miranda’s treachery, despite Nigel’s scheming, he’d dared all and come to her. Couldn’t she
dare
a bit, too? How could she send him away?

“I want to be happy”—she smiled at him—“and
you
will make me happy.”

“I know I will.”

“Yes!” she emphatically declared. “Yes, James Harcourt, I say it here in front of my family. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

There was a stunned pause, as if they were all waiting for her to retract the words, or perhaps to grin and claim she’d been joking.

“Do you mean it?” he asked.

“Of course I mean it.”

“I won’t let you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“With me, it’s all or nothing. With me, it’s forever.”

“Yes, James. Forevermore.”

“Then I am the luckiest man alive.”

He drew her into a tight hug and kissed her as her siblings looked on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Don’t move a muscle or you’re a dead man.”

“What do you want?”

Bentley Struthers was frozen in place, a knife pressed to his throat. He thought he recognized his attacker’s voice, and he was anxious to peek over his shoulder to discover who had accosted him, but it was very late, the night pitch black, so he couldn’t see anything.

He’d just stepped from his carriage and was about to enter his home. His driver had continued on to the stable, and the butler hadn’t yet opened the door.

If he was murdered on his own stoop, there would be no witnesses.

“Don’t kill me!” he begged. “Please.”

“Perhaps I
want
to kill you. Perhaps I would enjoy it.”

“What is it you seek? Is it cash? My purse is full. Take it! Take it! If it’s not enough, there’s more inside.”

“Thank you. You’re most generous.”

The assailant reached down, clasped Bentley’s purse, and easily snapped the chain that had secured it to his waist.

Assuming the robbery ended, Bentley relaxed, but the dastardly criminal simply tightened his grip.

“You have your money,” Bentley complained, “now leave me be.”

“You don’t think you’ll get off this cheaply, do you?” The swine gestured to the house. “Let’s have a look in your safe.”

Bentley was dragged into the foyer, and a sleepy footman watched the desperate event, but if the boy was shocked at espying his master in the clutches of a madman, he gave no sign.

“You saw nothing,” Bentley’s assailant warned the boy. “Go to bed, and don’t come back downstairs.”

The footman scurried off, and when Bentley bellowed in vain for him to return and assist, the tip of the knife dug into Bentley’s throat. He could feel blood trickling down his neck.

“It appears,” the felon murmured, “that your servants aren’t all that loyal. Can you imagine them not liking you?”

They went to Bentley’s library, heading directly toward it as if the thief was familiar with Bentley’s residence. Bentley was shoved in first, and he staggered, then whipped around to find Captain Harcourt observing him with a cold grin.

“What are you doing, Harcourt?”

“What does it look like? I’m robbing you. And if you sufficiently annoy me, I’ll murder you, too.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bentley insisted, but from the dangerous gleam in Harcourt’s eye, he wasn’t so sure.

Harcourt was an experienced seaman and marksman. If provoked, what might such a rough fellow do?

“Open the safe,” Harcourt ordered.

“I won’t!” Bentley refused.

“Really?”

In a flash, Harcourt grasped Bentley’s hand and pressed it to the top of the desk, palm flat, the sharp blade of the knife slashing across Bentley’s index finger.

“You can open it now,” Harcourt casually stated, “or I can cut off your fingers—one by one—until you decide to do as I’ve asked.”

“Cut off my fingers? Are you insane?”

“Yes. So wouldn’t it be easier to simply comply without all the fuss?”

Bentley couldn’t move, couldn’t reply. Frantically, he calculated the angles. Would Harcourt proceed as he’d threatened? Was he that crazed? That brave?

Bentley scoffed. “You won’t hurt me.”

Harcourt started to slice with the blade, and quickly, it was through flesh and touching bone. Bentley shrieked with pain; his knees buckled.

“All right! All right!”

He stumbled to the wall, lifted the painting that concealed the safe, then spun the knob.

“Would you hurry?” Harcourt admonished. “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Bentley was shaking with terror, blood dripping and making his hand slippery, so it took several tries to get the combination to work. Finally, the door was tugged wide to reveal jewelry, stock certificates, deeds, and gold coins.

“What is it you want?” he inquired.

“I’ll take a thousand pounds,” Harcourt said.

“I don’t have that much here.”

“Then I’ll take all the gold and the jewelry.”

“But...but...it’s my mother’s. She’ll be very upset.”

“I don’t care. You’re a menace to society, and she raised you to be the despicable cur that you are. She’ll get no sympathy from me.”

Harcourt held out a bag, and once again, Bentley considered the odds. Could he push Harcourt aside and escape? Could he scream for help before Harcourt stabbed him to death? After having watched the footman race for the stairs, what were the chances that a servant would come to his aid?