The Secret Rose (4 page)

He braced one hand against the casing at the side of the window and stood in statuesque rigidity, staring at the snow-covered trees and bushes. His broad shoulders strained the fabric of his finely tailored suit, making his size and the breadth of his shoulders appear even more massive. The deep claret of his jacket enhanced the golden bronze of his skin, giving it an even richer hue.

Hair a thunderous mahogany lay in thick waves. The length in back touched the top of his white collar, the front combed to one side instead of in the fashionable part down the center. One dark lock fell errantly against his forehead, giving him a fierce, roguish look.

Everything about the man gave him a foreboding mystery.

There’d been a tough texture to his palms when he’d taken her hand. The calluses she’d felt told her he earned a living doing something other than sitting behind a desk or playing cards at his clubs.

Stephen’s hands had been soft, the look in Stephen’s eyes gentle, until…

Abigail focused on the scene he watched outside the windows. Snow had started to fall in huge flakes, the kind that blanketed the ground quickly and made the earth seem clean and new. She thought of her father lying beneath the snow, and the breath caught in her throat. “I want you to leave, Mr. Cambridge. I would like to be alone.”

His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath, then he turned and pinned her with the concentration of a swordsman ready to lunge.

“You have something that belongs to my brother, Miss Langdon. I am here to get it.”

His words struck her with the force of a deadly blow.

He knew.

Abigail clenched her hands around the back cushions of the chair and took one labored gasp after another.

“Get out,” she rasped. “Get out of my house and leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m sorry I have upset you, and I regret coming here on the day of your father’s funeral, but I will not leave until I have what belongs to my brother.”

She shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

Abigail took one threatening step toward him. “Out! Get out!” She pointed a trembling finger toward the door.

He came toward her. Even his footsteps sounded harsh and angry. He clamped his hands around her shoulders and glared into her eyes. “You have no right to keep what legally belongs to Stephen’s family, Miss Langdon. Surely you realize we cannot let you have something so valuable?”

She shook her head, frantic to have him gone. Frantic to protect the only thing in the world she had left.
How could he have found out? Who could have told him?

“I don’t have anything that belongs to Stephen, or to you. Anything I have now belongs only to me.”

“That’s not true.” He dropped his hands and reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. A letter that bore her father’s seal.

“Here. You can read this for yourself.”

Abigail’s hands trembled violently as she reached for the letter. She unfolded the paper with the greatest trepidation, already knowing what her father had done. Before he’d died, her father had begged her to take her gift and give it back to Stephen’s family, but she could not. She would rather die than do a thing so unthinkable.

She glared at the words written in her father’s hand and railed silently at the renegade tear that rolled down her cheek.

She took a step away from him and sat in the nearest chair. “I will not give you anything.”

“And I cannot let you keep it. If it is a fight you want—”

He stopped, a hint of regret filtering through the look on his face.

The room was suddenly stifling, the air suddenly too heavy to breathe. How could her father have done such a thing? How could he have invited Stephen’s brother back into their lives? Didn’t he know what could happen if Cambridge found out what she had? Didn’t he know what would happen if Cambridge found out what she’d done?

She lifted her chin. Blood pounded in her head, roaring against her ears with alarming ferocity. “Please go,” she said.

A dangerous silence stretched between them. It sent tremors of dread pulsing through her. She felt his eyes boring into her back. Felt his dominance trapping her in his clutches. Realized the threat he was to her. Somehow she knew Ethan Cambridge was a master at being ruthless, where Stephen had only been adept at deceit. And this man would move heaven and earth to take her treasure away from her. This man would do whatever he must to see that justice was served.

“Did you love him so much you cannot bear to part with anything he gave you? Or is it your hatred for him that drives you to keep what is not yours?”

She stiffened. His words hit her like a wall of freezing water. She lowered her gaze, unable to face his penetrating eyes.

“Did you care that much for Stephen, or did you care only for the title he could give you? Are you that greedy to keep such a treasure to yourself, regardless of how much its loss will mean to his family? Especially to Stephen’s mother?”

She bolted to her feet. “How dare you accuse me of taking anything from you or your family. Your family has taken more from me than anyone should have to give up. Stephen—”

If the repercussion to telling the truth had not been so devastating, she would have gained a sense of self-satisfaction in telling him. But he could never know what had happened. If he wanted to think she missed Stephen that much, let him.

She twisted away and clutched her hand to her forehead when the room swayed beneath her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for her. “Leave me be,” she intoned, swinging her arm out to keep him away. She would not let him touch her. She would not let him help her. There was no one left to help her.

She wiped her damp palms on her black bombazine skirt and leaned against the corner of the small writing desk.

“Excuse me, mistress,” Palmsworth interrupted from the doorway, “but Mr. Sydney Craddock is here.”

Abigail looked up as her father’s longtime solicitor entered the room.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Miss Langdon,” Sydney said, rushing into the room. “I meant to be here hours ago, but my carriage lost a wheel and I—” Sydney’s attention suddenly focused on Abigail’s guest, and his words died on his tongue. “Mr. Cambridge,” he exclaimed in surprise. “I had no idea. What a pleasure, sir.”

“Sydney,” Cambridge greeted with a curt nod.

“I did not expect you to be here, but of course you would, seeing as how your brother was once betrothed to Miss Langdon.”

“I have asked Mr. Cambridge to leave, but he has refused. Any connection our families had in the past was severed long ago.”

Abigail prided herself on the shocked look on Sydney’s face and watched as the solicitor stuttered to cover her rudeness.

“Surely you are glad to have someone of Mr. Cambridge’s vast knowledge and experience with you at such a time. I have come with your father’s will, and I am sure you will feel more comfortable with someone so astute to help you. There are some very delicate matters involved with the estate and the shipping interests. Far more than you can be expected to understand, especially at a time like this.”

Abigail bristled. “No,” she said, her voice an unladylike growl that contained more hysteria than composure. “I do not want—”

Ethan held up a hand that stopped her words, then turned his attention to Sydney. “Is it necessary for Miss Langdon to go over this now? Perhaps it would be best if she could wait until tomorrow to hear her father’s will. I think she has been through enough for one day.”

“Well, I—”

Cambridge stood at his chair, a gesture that indicated the subject was closed. “Why don’t you and I seek shelter for the night at the Journeyman’s Inn? We shall come again in the morning when Miss Langdon has had time to rest.”

“No,” Abigail argued. “I don’t need your help.” She gave Cambridge a look she prayed held more ferocity than fear.

“That may be so, Miss Langdon, but our business is far from concluded. Unless I failed to make myself clear, you know I have no intention of leaving here empty-handed. Sydney,” Cambridge said, moving toward the door, “I have some business I would like to discuss with you. Perhaps over dinner?”

The solicitor bobbed his head in eager anticipation. “We will return in the morning, Miss Langdon.” Sydney looked over his shoulder as they turned to leave. “And I am so pleased the earl’s brother is here to see you through this trying time. How fortunate for you.”

Abigail clutched her fists to the cushions on the sofa and gripped tightly until she heard the closing of the front door. Cambridge wanted what she could not give him.

Cold, gnarled fingers wrapped around her heart, squeezing the very life from inside her. She paced the room, desperation welling within her, then she raced across the foyer, toward the door.

“Palmsworth!”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Have the carriage brought round,” she ordered, “and get my cloak.”

“Ah, no, mistress. ’Tis the dead of winter outside and too late to go there.”

“It’s not too late.” She grabbed her cloak from Palmsworth’s hands and put it around her shoulders, then pushed one hand inside a fur muff. “Did you hear him? He knows.”

“Stay here where it’s warm, my lady. You can go in the morning. I’ll take you myself.”

“No! Bring the carriage.”

Abigail wrapped a thick woolen scarf around her neck and headed for the door.

“Wait, mistress. I’ll have Bundy ready the carriage, and Stella will fetch some blankets and warm some bricks to put inside and up above. You should stay warm, at least on the way over.”

Abigail nodded, then paced the floor, waiting for Bundy to come with the carriage. She would run away if Cambridge forced her to, but she would not let him have what was hers. It was all she had left.

The sound of muffled voices at the front door swept through the entryway and into the morning room where Abigail stood. A strange peacefulness came over her. A feeling of completion. She was glad they were here, glad to have this over with. The waiting was always worse. Now she would know what threat Stephen’s brother intended. And she would know how to fight him.

Their heavy footsteps clapped against the marble in the foyer, pounding as hollow as a bell tolling the message of doom. Let him threaten as he would. She would never give up what was hers. Never.

She looked at the snow-covered ground, her back rigid and straight, her chin held high. She was on the brink of exhaustion, last night no more restful than the night before or the one before that. But she had no choice but to be strong. She was alone now. The reality of her isolation never more daunting than at this moment.

There was a knock, and Palmsworth opened the door.

She turned and focused on the man who was her biggest threat.

He looked much the same as he had yesterday, his dark suit cut to perfection, his pristine white shirt freshly pressed and his silk cravat perfectly knotted. He’d combed his mahogany hair back from his face, its casual style accentuating high cheekbones and the stern line of his thick brows. He looked even more dangerous than before.

“Mr. Cambridge and Mr. Craddock to see you, Miss Langdon,” Palmsworth announced from the doorway.

“Thank you, Palmsworth. Please bring tea and the muffins Cook has prepared.”

“Yes, Miss Langdon.”

Abigail stepped to where three chairs sat in a semicircle around the fire. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, pointing to the two chairs facing each other on the right and left of the blazing hearth. She stood before the chair in the middle, furthest from the heat.

She ignored the smile that crossed Cambridge’s face, as if he realized she’d intentionally placed her guests opposite each other so neither he nor Sydney Craddock could face her.

“Please, let me express my profound sympathy, Miss Langdon,” Sydney gushed, wiping the sweat already forming on his brow from the blazing heat in the fireplace. “I told Mr. Cambridge on the way how pleased I was that he was here to look out for your interests.”

“And I,” she said, pouring the tea Palmsworth had set on the table in front of her, “thought I’d made myself clear yesterday before you left. I am perfectly capable of looking out for my own interests and do not need Mr. Cambridge’s assistance.”

Willing her hands not to tremble, she poured Mr. Craddock’s tea and handed it to him. She kept an amiable smile on her face. When she finished, she poured a second cup.

Ethan Cambridge accepted the tea with a slight nod. “Consider your objection duly noted and appreciated, Miss Langdon.”

She sat in the chair between them and placed her hands in her lap. She didn’t trust herself to hold a cup of tea. “Perhaps we should begin, Mr. Craddock. I’m sure you can understand my need to have things settled.”

“Of course. Of course.” He fumbled with the papers in the leather folder on his lap.

Abigail took the cup the solicitor tried to balance on one knee and placed it on the table before it could fall to the floor. She didn’t turn to look at Mr. Cambridge. She knew he was studying her, taking in her every move.

“Very well,” Sydney said, lifting out a small stack of legal documents. “This is your father’s will. I discussed its contents with him shortly after your blessed mother passed away. He was quite distraught, but wanted to make sure everything was in order so you would be protected.”

Abigail felt the air grow cold around her. Didn’t her father realize that nothing could protect her? The man sitting next to her would never let what she’d done go unpunished.

Ethan Cambridge propped his right ankle atop his left knee and relaxed in the chair with his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Did Baron Langdon mention from what—or from whom—he was protecting his daughter?”

“No, Mr. Cambridge,” Sydney stuttered. “I’m sure he only meant to protect her from anyone wishing to take advantage.”

“Go on, Mr. Craddock,” Abigail said.

“Let’s see,” Sydney continued, obviously flustered. “First of all, your father made a generous yearly provision for a number of your staff: Mrs. Finey, the cook; the gardener, Jeremy; Bundy and Grover and Percy in the stables; and Mattie, your mother’s nursemaid, as well as your own, I believe.” He turned the first page. “There is also a large yearly bonus awarded his longtime friend, Captain James Parker, with the stipulation that he be given a permanent post aboard your father’s new clipper ship, the
Abigail Rose
.”