The Bachelor Trap (21 page)

Marion looked down at her shoes, wondering how the conversation had taken such a bizarre turn. She then looked at Lady Veronica's glass.

“Do you think I've had too much to drink?” asked Lady Veronica, divining Marion's thought. “Have I made a fool of myself?”

Marion shook her head. “I think your father has made a fool of himself. Of course you feel like a fish out of water. So do I. That's because we are new to this game. The more we practice, the more at home we'll feel.”

“I saw you! You looked as though you were enjoying yourself.”

“Look at me, Veronica,” Marion said. “Can you tell that my feet are giving me hell?”

A laugh was startled out of Lady Veronica. “No. I take your point.”

“Good.” Marion set her glass on a side table. “Let's forget about my feet. Let's mingle with your father's guests and show them our mettle.”

“Oh…I don't know. I'm not ready for that.”

“We'll be together.”

“You won't leave me?”

“I won't leave you,” promised Marion.

She finally got to rest her sore feet during supper. Though she hadn't seen much of Brand, she felt relaxed and happy. The evening had gone off better than she expected.
She
had come off better than she expected. She could thank Lady Veronica for that. After her brave words about showing off their mettle, she'd had no choice but to be a good example.

Veronica's shyness had gradually melted, and now she and Ettie Monteith had gone off, arm in arm, to track down Ash Denison so that they could discover the name of the shop where he'd found Marion's divine shoes.

“You're smirking.” Brand set a plate laden with savories on the table in front of her. “Either that or you've had too much champagne.”

“I'm smirking,” she said, “because, as I told you, my new shoes have made me the envy of every woman here.” Her fingers hovered over her plate before she finally selected an artichoke tart. She took one nibble and made a small sound of pleasure before swallowing. “And now Lady Veronica and Mrs. Monteith's elder daughter have gone in search of Ash to find out where he bought my shoes.”

She gave a cursory glance around the Long Gallery that served as the dining room on this occasion, but she could not make out Ash in that sea of faces.

Brand chuckled. “You won't find Ash here. Last I saw of him, he was being led by a very determined lady into the bowels of the conservatory.”

“But there are no lights in the conservatory. Why would they go there?”

He raised his brows. “Use your imagination.”

Enlightenment dawned. Ash had never shown the slightest interest in politics, yet he had accepted an invitation to Lord Hove's reception. Of course, there was a woman behind it! Everyone knew of Ash's reputation, and no one thought the less of him for it.

But this was a respectable do. There were no opera dancers or actresses here.

She leaned toward Brand and whispered, “Who is the lady?”

“I don't carry tales out of school.” He gave her a lazy smile.

That smile got her dander up. “If she is a maid or an employee—”

“Don't be foolish. Ash would never take advantage of a defenseless girl, or any respectable girl for that matter. Didn't you hear me? The lady was leading him.”

“She's married, then.”

His eyes glinted down at her. “My lips are sealed.”

She looked down at her plate and selected another tart. “Mrs. Milford is a widow, isn't she?”

“What?” He sounded startled.

“Mrs. Milford, you know, the lady who stood on my toes at Cousin Fanny's ball.”

“I know who Julia Milford is!” Sighing, he reached for her hand. “She's a widow, but there have been plenty of others who weren't. They're not important. In fact, women have never played an important part in my life. Until now.”

His thumb traced the lines of her palm, and she didn't know whether it was his warm touch or his words that made her breath catch.
Until now.

His eyes captured hers. “I'm starting with a clean slate.” He paused, then went on, “Can you say the same?”

She wanted to say yes, but she couldn't get the lie past her lips. “No,” she said before her courage deserted her. “I don't think my slate will ever be clean.”

“David?”

“Yes. David Kerr.”

“What happened, Marion? Can't you tell me?”

She forced a smile. “We're not really engaged, Brand, so you have no right to ask me that question. And don't think I'm angling for a proposal of marriage. This is the wrong time and place to talk about it.”

“And when will it be the right time?”

She couldn't hold his stare and looked away. “I don't know,” she whispered. “Maybe…” She shook her head. “I don't know.”

His face twisted and he dropped her hand. “Excuse me.” He got up. “I think I need something stronger than champagne.”

Before she understood his meaning, he pushed his chair out of the way and left her.

She watched him go with a hollow feeling inside her. Doing the right thing shouldn't make her feel so bad. Was it the right thing to do? She needed time to think.

She looked down at her plate and pushed it to the side. All her favorites were there, but she had lost her appetite.

“Marion?”

“Brand?” She looked up with a smile.

But it wasn't Brand who bowed over her hand. It was the man she hated and feared above all others, the man whom she'd last seen in Hatchard's book shop on Piccadilly when she'd given him her mother's emeralds, the only thing of value she had left to pay for his silence.

His lips were moving, but she couldn't hear his words for the roaring in her ears. Blood was pumping hard and fast to every pulse point in her body. She clutched at the table as her head began to swim.

“My, my,” said that hateful voice, “I think you're surprised to see me.”

His insufferable confidence had a steadying effect, and she breathed deeply to get command of herself. When she looked up at him, she made no attempt to conceal her hatred. He had enough sense to take a step away from the table.

“All I want,” he said pleasantly, “is a word with you in private. Why don't we take a turn around the garden?”

A pleasant voice, a pleasant smile, a pleasing appearance—that was David. She wanted to spit on him.

She forced her knees to straighten as she got to her feet. He offered her his arm, but she shied away from it as though he had offered her a snake. Spine straight, she brushed by him without a word and made for the stairs.

Face like granite, Brand pushed past well-wishers in the inner hall, raising a few eyebrows in the process. This was the old Brand, grim-faced and unapproachable.

“Nerves, I shouldn't wonder,” remarked one elderly sage to his neighbor. “The suspense of waiting for a final decision is bound to take its toll.”

“I hope that's all it is,” came the reply, “because I've already cast my vote for him.”

Brand made straight for the library where he knew his host kept his best brandy. There were others of a like mind, the inner circle, who were smoking cheroots and making free with the selection of decanters on the sideboard.

He replied in a perfunctory way to their attempts to involve him in a conversation, and after pouring himself a generous measure of brandy, he excused himself and went through the French door to the terrace.

This is where Ash found him a few minutes later when he, too, came in search of something stronger than champagne. “Why the scowl?”

“Marion!” Brand said succinctly. He drained his glass. “Look, I'd better get back before she thinks I've deserted her.”

“Ah, a lovers' tiff. I thought this was supposed to be a sham engagement?”

Brand was wishing he hadn't mentioned Marion's name. One thing was certain: He wasn't going to explain himself. Ash liked nothing better than to mock his friends who had fallen by the wayside, meaning that some woman or other had addled their brains to such a degree that they were willing to take that long, long walk to the altar. And maybe Ash was right. Maybe his wits were addled. One minute he was up and the next he was down. The specter of her lost love was always there between them.

He'd had enough of this. He'd wooed her with more restraint than a bloody saint could have shown. He knew damn well that she wasn't holding him off because she thought him beneath her. And he knew that if he pushed her he could have her in his bed. But David Kerr? How could he fight shadows?

He glanced at Ash to find his friend watching him with a speculative gleam in his eyes.

“I'd best get back,” said Brand, and closed his lips firmly.

Ash grinned and put one hand on Brand's shoulder. “Too late. The lady has gone off with another gentleman. Don't scowl at me. It's quite innocent. They're walking in the garden. I passed them on my way here. He knew Marion in Keswick, I believe, though he has spent the last number of years farming in Canada.”

“His name?”

The steel in Brand's voice wiped the grin from Ash's face. “David Kerr. Look, I checked him out after I met him at your hotel. He's exactly who and what he appears to be.”

Whatever Brand was about to say was lost as his host clapped him on the shoulder. “The meeting is about to begin,” said Lord Hove. “Come along, Brand. We're assembling in the library.” He frowned at Brand's expression. “You did remember about the meeting?”

“Naturally,” Brand replied.

Brand looked helplessly at Ash.

“I'll find Lady Marion,” said Ash, correctly interpreting that look, “and make your apologies.” When Brand still looked undecided, he added, “Leave everything to me.”

Her shock was beginning to wear off, and all the color that had drained out of her cheeks when she recognized David was surging back in full force. And with the return of her color came the determination to be done with him once and for all. She could not go on wondering where and when he would turn up, or what he would do. She'd been living in a fool's world to believe that this time she might be free and clear. He would never let her go.

He would have that private word with her as he had asked, but this time, it would be his last.

The gardens were lit by lanterns, hanging from poles set out at intervals along the paths and around the man-made lake. She had deliberately taken the lead, as if that small act of defiance made her more in command of the situation. She led him as far from the house as she could manage, away from prying eyes, but most of all, away from Brand.

At the edge of the lake, there was a dock with a boat tied to it. Here she turned to face the man she thought she had once loved. She'd thought him handsome then, considerate, gentlemanly, the epitome of a young girl's romantic fancies. Now she saw him as the devil incarnate.

He was out of breath and she was out of patience.

“Say what you have to say and have done with it,” she said.

He shook his head. “Marion, Marion, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

She answered the question he hadn't asked. “You're out of luck this time,
old friend
.” She threw the words back at him as an insult. “The cupboard is bare.”

He smiled and scratched his chin. “I'm not asking you for money. I thought you might introduce me to your future husband, you know, persuade him to find me a lucrative position in one of his many enterprises.”

Her hands fisted at her sides. She knew perfectly well that working for a living was the last thing on David's mind. He'd introduced Brand's name smoothly, obliquely, but she got his point. She was used to his roundabout way of coming at things. He would never admit to blackmail.

“I have no influence with Mr. Hamilton,” she said.

His brow knit in perplexity, as though she'd spoken in a foreign tongue, then he smiled again, as a grown-up might smile at a rebellious child. “You underestimate yourself, Marion. I've kept my eyes and ears open all night. What I'm hearing is that marriage to an earl's daughter—to you, in fact—has considerably increased Mr. Hamilton's chances of winning the nomination.”

He paused to adjust the cuff of one sleeve, then went on easily, “He has a rosy future ahead of him, and with you by his side, he should go far. It wouldn't surprise me if he were to become prime minister one day. Anyway, that's what I hear.”

When she remained silent, his easy manner vanished, and his voice became razor sharp. “What do you think would happen to that rosy future if it became known that the lady he is engaged to marry has no claim to that title, and neither do her sisters because their parents never married?”

“They married!”

He gave a theatrical sigh. “If they did marry, prove it.”

She stared doggedly up at him, saying nothing.

“You can't, can you? And if they did marry, they committed bigamy. Your father and mother set up house together when his first wife was still alive. You were seven years old when Lady Penrith died, Marion. The real Lady Penrith. That makes you—”

He looked around to make sure they were alone, then turned back with a sheepish grin. “I won't say the word. It would be ungentlemanly of me, but you know what I mean. Cheer up. Think of your good fortune. Once you are married to Hamilton, you'll have more money than you ever dreamed of. Think what you can do for your sisters. Isn't my silence worth something?”

Her breathing was hard and fast. “I already paid for your silence, not once, but twice. My mother's emeralds should have been enough for you.”

“Marion, I got a pittance for them.”

Her mind darted this way and that, but she knew there was no escape. Her father had paid this man for his silence, and when the money ran out, he'd come back for more. She had taken over where her father had left off. There was nothing left to give him, and even if there was, it would never be enough. There was only one way to be free of him.

Her hopes of a future with Brand didn't shatter so much as dissolve in a flood of unshed tears. She told herself that her hopes had been more like dreams anyway. At the back of her mind, there would always have been the dread that one day her parents' secret would be exposed, if not by David Kerr, then by someone else.

If there was one thing she had learned tonight, it was that Brand belonged in Parliament. That's where the laws of the land were made or changed. He was passionately committed to fighting the injustices that divided rich from poor, privileged from underprivileged. He didn't think in terms of a rosy future for himself. He wanted to serve to the best of his abilities.

Marriage to her would be a liability. Wasn't that the word Lady Veronica had used?

She felt a hand cup her shoulder and looked up. A smug smile had settled on David's lips.

“That's better,” he said. “Now you're beginning to see reason. Trust me, Marion. You'll have Hamilton wrapped around your little finger in no time. The man is smitten with you. Everyone says so.”

Each word pierced her heart like a splinter of glass. Each word made her realize just how much she was giving up. It wasn't wishful thinking on her part. Everything that was feminine in her nature knew that Brand cared for her as much as she cared for him. But all that meant to David was a weakness he could exploit for his own ends.

She had spent the last three years taking care of her family, doing everything in her power to keep them safe. And just when she thought she had succeeded, the past had caught up to her again.

It was too much to bear.

Her hand fisted and before she knew what she was doing, she swung at him with all her might. Her blow struck him across the mouth and he reeled back with a howl of pain. He went too far, right to the edge of the dock. His flailing arms did not help him regain his balance, and in the next instant, he tumbled into the lake.

Marion nursed her sore hand, but the pain was forgotten when David's head appeared above the surface of the water.

“You're broken one of my teeth,” he spluttered. “There was no call for violence.”

His words brought her temper to the boil. “You can say that to me after the way you attacked me in London?”

He stopped spluttering. “What are you saying? I didn't attack you.”

“Don't lie to me, David! Who else would set footpads on me in Vauxhall Gardens? Who else would push me down the stairs at the King's Theater? I might have broken my neck.”

He was trying to hoist himself onto the dock, but the weight of the water in his clothes made his efforts useless. “That's absurd. If you broke your neck, you wouldn't be any good to me. Give me your hand and help me out of here before I drown.”

“I'm more likely to give you my boot!” She inched away from him before he could grab her ankle. “You made sure there was somebody there to break my fall.”

He blinked up at her. “What on earth are you talking about?”

His innocent look was almost convincing—almost, but not quite She crouched down so that she could see him better. “Let's not forget the notes you left.”

“What notes?”

“‘Silence is golden.' ‘Let sleeping dogs lie.' Does that refresh your memory?”

“No. It does not! But if what you say is true, I'd say that someone is trying to scare you. Now will you give me your hand?”

“I don't care if you drown!”

When she straightened, he scowled. “Where are you going?”

“To tell Mr. Hamilton that I won't marry him.”

“I don't believe you! No woman in her right mind would let Hamilton get away. Marion, come back here! I'll make you regret this! I swear I'll make you regret this!”

She could hear him cursing and swearing as she walked slowly back to the house. In spite of her brave words, Brand was the last person she wanted to see. Nor was she in the mood to make polite conversation with total strangers. All she wanted was a quiet place where she could nurse her wounds in private.

It was over. The truth would come out, and she need not fear David Kerr ever again.

The thought made her shudder.

As she neared the house, her steps slowed. She wasn't ready to face anyone yet. After glancing around, she veered off the path and made for a stone bench that was sheltered by the low-hanging branches of a laburnum tree. Here she sat, hugging herself to stop from shivering. After a while, it registered that supper must be over, because people were coming out of the house to view the gardens. She shrank back, hoping that no one would see her.

There was a lump in her throat she couldn't swallow. Her mind refused to think. Even her feelings were frozen.

A shadow blocked her light and she looked up to see Ash Denison.

“Where the devil have you been?” he began angrily, then his voice faded away. He peered down at her. “What's happened, Marion? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

Her lethargy would pass, she knew it would pass, but at that moment, all she wanted was to be left alone.

“I want to go home,” she said. “I mean back to the hotel. Can you arrange it, Ash?”

His eyes gentled, as did his voice. “Let me get Brand. He's in a meeting right now, but I know he'll want to see for himself that you're all right.”

“No,” she said. “Let him be. It's only a headache. I'll feel better after a good night's sleep.”

He gave her a searching look, then nodded. “You can go home in my carriage. I'll tell Brand about your headache.”

“Thank you.”

She felt a little disoriented on the walk to the drive where Ash's carriage was waiting, and missed the look Ash's coachman gave his master, but Ash was aware of it. Hawkins had expected to see another lady, not his best friend's betrothed.

Ash returned his coachman's freezing stare. As though he would stoop to trifling with a respectable lady, let alone his best friend's betrothed! His reputation as a rake was vastly exaggerated. He had some scruples.

A word in Hawkins's ear soon brought the coachman round, and he was all smiles when Ash handed Marion into the coach and shut the door.

“I'll tell Brand that you've gone home to nurse a headache,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He didn't want to leave her. She seemed…withdrawn, beaten. What in hell's name had David Kerr said and done to put that look on her face?

In the same gentle voice, he said, “I'll come with you, just to make sure you get home safe and sound.”

She gave a teary smile. “Thank you, Ash, but it isn't necessary. I'd feel obliged to make conversation with you.” She touched a hand to her brow. “You do understand?”

Since he could not persuade her, he squeezed the hand that rested on the window frame. “I understand.” To Hawkins he said, “I'll find my own way home. Make sure Lady Marion's maid is there to see to her mistress.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As soon as the carriage moved off, Ash retraced his steps to where he'd found Marion. When he'd first caught sight of her, she'd been coming from the direction of the lake. No one had been with her.

Then where was David Kerr?

He set off briskly, not really expecting to find Kerr, but as he neared the lake, he saw a group of gentlemen, all heaving and grunting, hauling another man out of a boat.

David Kerr.

Ash started forward and immediately took command. “My dear Mr. Kerr,” he said, “I've warned Lord Hove to rope off this walk after dark. It's a dangerous spot. You might have drowned.”

“The water is only four feet deep,” one voice scoffed from behind Ash.

David Kerr blinked rapidly. “Lord Denison? Please tell these gentlemen that I have every right to be here. They seem to think I'm an interloper.”

Ash cast a steely eye over the company. “Mr. Kerr is my friend,” he said. “Need I say more?”

There were a few grumbles but the gentlemen backed off and one by one drifted away.

Ash went down on one knee. “My dear fellow, you're shivering.” He spoke pleasantly, but his temper was anything but pleasant. He was sure David Kerr had put that hunted look on Marion's face, and he wanted to grab him by the throat and squeeze the truth out of him.

“Let's get you into dry clothes,” he said, “then we'll talk.”

The half-drowned man seemed to remember his dignity. He hauled himself up. “What I have to say,” he said solemnly, “is for Mr. Hamilton's ears only.”

“I'm glad to hear it because Mr. Hamilton, I know, has a few things he'd like to say to you, too. But first, let's get you into dry clothes.”