Two Beaux and a Promise Collection (24 page)

He was the most fascinating man she had ever met – witty, intelligent, impeccably correct when necessary, yet carefree the rest of the time. Not only did he accept all her interests, but he honored the bounds she had set and even helped maintain them. Knowing they must soon part, he had not touched her again, though desire often heated his eyes.

He’d made sure that she enjoyed her visit, riding with her most mornings, escorting her to call on neighbors, and placating his grandfather. Richard had often been shocked by her outspoken ways, so Marcus’s diplomatic skills had been in frequent demand.

But he rarely used them on his own behalf. She had heard shouting from the library more than once. Richard Widmer would never condone Marcus’s plans – which confirmed her inability to fit into English society. Richard’s cautious welcome would fade if he knew she ran a business.

She rapped on Alice’s door, then hugged her friend when she answered. “You look wonderful!” 

“As do you. The visit went well, I take it.”  Alice appeared more vibrant than ever. Flirting with DuPré agreed with her.

“Very well. Uncle Richard is a nice man, despite being quite pompous at times. I shocked him more than once, but we reached a reasonable accommodation. I wish you had joined me.”

“I accomplished more by staying here. That silly chef has parted with dozens of recipes.”

“Silly?”

Alice laughed. “You would not believe the contretemps yesterday. Two of the maids discovered that he was bedding both of them – I am amazed they didn’t know long ago; it was obvious to everyone else.”

“He must have bedazzled them.”

“Probably. Henri is a powerful force.”

“What happened?” 

Alice’s eyes twinkled with laughter. “When Fanny slipped downstairs to steal a moment with Henri, she found him kissing Pamela in the pantry.”

“Henri should be more discreet. I suppose they turned on him.”

“On each other.”  Alice shook her head. “Each accused the other of stealing her beau. Words led to blows. They’d reached the hair-pulling stage when the milkmaid burst in, furious because Henri was carrying on with a kitchen maid at the Clarendon.
That’s
when they turned on him.”

“Four liaisons?”  Maggie choked. “How does he manage?”

“Four that I know of, though I suspect that last is merely a way to keep an eye on the Clarendon’s chef.”

“Words fail me.”

“They did not fail the maids – or Henri, for that matter; they probably heard his protests in the attics. When Fanny shoved the milkmaid into a rack of pastries, the real fight started. The milkmaid – I think her name is Sally – retaliated. Pamela grabbed a syllabub and hurled it at Henri.”

“Oh, no!”

She nodded. “I thought he’d been in a temper before, but you wouldn’t believe the pandemonium that unleashed – arm waving, foot stomping, spitting, scratching. Food flew in all directions. Most of the kitchen staff joined in. It took Simmons and the footmen an hour to break it up. They are probably still cleaning the kitchen.”

“You sound as if you were there.”

“I was.”  She laughed until she had to sit down. “I never thought I could do anything so childish, but when the food started flying, I had to join in. It was incredible fun.”

“Alice!”

“I know. Shocking behavior. And quite inappropriate. You would think I grew up in the wilds of North America.”  They laughed. “Matthew whisked me away before Simmons spotted me. He would never think me a suitable hotel manager if he knew I had peppered Sally with a dozen eggs and whacked Fanny with a loaf of bread.”

Maggie shook her head. “Be careful, Alice. DuPré will be looking for new conquests now that his current liaisons are over.”

“He only flirts with me because I keep turning him down – he likes a challenge,” said Alice dryly, wiping her eyes. “Besides, you underestimate his charm. Matthew claims the tension below stairs is thicker than old aspic, but each girl expects him to rebuff the others and remain with her.”

Maggie stared. “Incredible. But watch yourself. What happens when he discovers that you’ve no intention of puffing his talent to London society?  You know how wicked his temper can be.”

“We will be gone in another fortnight – or have plans changed?”

“I’m not sure.”  Maggie’s humor faded until her mood matched London’s sooty air. “Grandfather Adams left a fortune to Father. I don’t want it, but Marcus doesn’t know the more remote Adams cousins well enough to advise me. Nor does Richard.”

“What tale is this?”

“You were right about William.”  She explained why George had disinherited his heir. “Last week, he denounced me as an impostor to Richard’s face, then refused an invitation to the Earl of Candleigh’s picnic because I would attend. And yesterday a groom discovered that the girth on my saddle had unaccountably frayed. I am convinced William is responsible.”

“What about Robert?”

“He is capable of trying, though he has not returned home in months as far as anyone knows. He and his father haven’t spoken since George’s will was read. But he must be growing desperate – rumor claims he is beholden to several moneylenders. I agree with Grandfather’s decision to disinherit them, but it will take time to decide who should receive the legacy.”

“Take care to keep your plans secret, Maggie. Honor will fly out the window once people learn you are giving away money.”

“I will say nothing. In the meantime, let’s see what the kitchen can produce when the chef is beset by jealous women.”

* * * *

Maggie returned to the hotel late the following afternoon, seething with frustration.

George’s solicitor was away, visiting a client. She could hardly discuss her business with a clerk, so she had to wait until he returned – not a situation she was accustomed to. Her own lawyer would run down women and children if it meant serving her faster.

How arrogant
, chided her conscience.

She grinned, finally able to relax – which was good. She must hurry if she meant to bathe before dinner. As would Alice, who had stopped in the lobby to speak with Simmons. They had lost track of time while trying on bonnets.

She had entered her suite and was headed for the bell pull when a shadow moved in the corner. Her stomach clenched. “What are you doing here?”

Robert turned to face her. “You’ve had time to come to your senses. I can postpone the wedding no longer.”  His eyes belied his otherwise pleasant expression.

“There is no wedding.”

“Arguing is useless.”  He fingered the Greek maiden atop the writing desk. “Either we wed or I kill you.”

“Killing me would serve no purpose,” she said, more calmly than she felt. Her pistol was in her bedchamber, but if she could keep him talking until Alice arrived, they could deal with him.

“I would prefer marriage,” he agreed. “I need your inheritance to pay off my debts. But killing you would reinstate my prospects. Father would collect your estate as next of kin.”

“No, he wouldn’t. I have a will.”  The moment the words left her mouth, she cursed. She should have sworn that she’d already disposed of everything. Even if he knew Mr. Knowles was out of town, she could have claimed Frankel as her solicitor. Now it was too late.

“Bitch!”  Fury flared in his eyes. “But that decides the matter. Marriage will negate any wills and make me independent of Father.” 

“I will not wed you.”

He ignored her interruption. “I know a vicar who won’t care if the bride is unwilling. Actually, he would sign the license whether you were present or not.”

His sudden smile sent chills down her spine. She sidled toward the hallway, seeking another way to distract him. “No court would uphold such a marriage.”

“But who would question it?  A gentleman’s word always outweighs a female’s.”  His voice firmed. “You have no friends here. Several gossips saw us dining together, so marriage would surprise no one. Charles will do anything for a bit of the ready – his tithes hardly keep food on the table, let alone the opium he loves. I can forge your signature and use your companion as one witness,” he added as his fingers closed around the base of the Greek maiden. “If I split the money with Father, he will sign as the other witness and swear you proposed the match yourself to rectify Grandfather’s injustice.”

He’d decided to kill her and forge the license, she realized in shock. He must not know that she’d spent ten days with the Widmers, any of whom would contest his claims. As would her American agent.

But her protest died unuttered. Alice was no good as a witness unless she were also dead. He had clearly abandoned reason and would dare anything to claim the fortune as his own. Mentioning Marcus would endanger his life as well. She could not do it.

Robert lifted the statue and sprang.

The latch on the door jammed. Tipping the table into his path, she raced toward her bedchamber. Only her pistol could save her now.

He shoved the table aside and bounded after her, then ignored the vase she bounced off his shoulder.

As she jerked open the chest holding her pistol, the lamp crashed down on her head.

* * * *

Marcus concentrated on a treatise on steam engines, pushing all other thoughts aside. At least he tried to. Maggie kept intruding.

Since returning from Wyndmer, he had avoided her, stifling his desire to see her, to touch her, to make love to her.

She had made it clear that she wanted only friendship, and he could understand her reasoning. Nothing would keep her in England. Thus he’d invented excuses that allowed him to hover over her without admitting that he cared – she was family and needed help to negotiate society’s treacherous waters; she was a friend, who shared his interests and never ridiculed his aspirations; if he didn’t watch her, she would fall prey to an unscrupulous wastrel like Robert…

He had needed the excuses to hide his growing infatuation. They kept him from thinking about her inevitable departure. As did focusing on other topics – like steam engines and gas production and the mistakes he’d made in the past.

At least one mistake was well and truly past. When he had returned to the Grand Regent, his possessions had remained exactly where he’d left them. Betsy had not slipped in to wreak havoc in his absence. She must have finally forgiven him.

“Fire!”

Someone beat on the door, jerking his mind from his work.

“Fire!”

Footsteps pounded along the hallway, accompanied by screams.

“My God!”  He stared at the door. Smoke was seeping underneath. The air reverberated with terrified voices, clanging bells, and the distinctive popping of flames devouring green wood.

“Maggie!” he choked, fear baring the truth he had been ignoring for days. She was like no one else – warm, independent, caring, intelligent. He could not imagine life without her.

“Later,” he muttered, grabbing his coat.

Another fist pounded on his door. He jerked it open to see Betsy running toward the servants’ stairs. She blew him a kiss as she opened the disguised door.

Smoke filled the hallway. Clamping a handkerchief over his mouth, he raced for the nearest staircase. It was free of flames, but Maggie’s rooms were in the other wing. Had she escaped?

By the time he descended two floors, he could barely see. The acrid odor of burning paint stung his nose and left him lightheaded. Flames flickered hellishly behind billowing smoke.

Feeling his way past the grand staircase, he pounded on her door.

“Maggie!”

It was locked, but faint moans came from inside.

The fire was thirty feet away, lapping at the next suite. Fighting off dizziness, he threw himself at Maggie’s door. And again. The third time it burst open, dumping him on the floor.

Blinking the sweat from his eyes, he choked. In here, the flames were only ten feet away, dancing in her bedchamber. He stared stupidly for a long minute before realizing they had eaten through the dining room ceiling. The fire must have started in the kitchen, two floors below.

“Maggie!”

“Help.” 

Her voice was so weak he was amazed it had penetrated the closed door, but at least it came from Alice’s room. Maggie was dragging Alice toward the sitting room. Blood streaked both their faces.

“What happened?” he demanded, heaving the unconscious Alice over his shoulder. The flames were crossing the threshold between Maggie’s bedroom and the sitting room. They seemed to be spreading at lightning speed, while his feet felt mired in mud. A year might have passed since he’d broken down the door, though it could only have been minutes.

“Robert is trying to kill us.”  When she stumbled, he grabbed her waist with his free hand.

“Can you walk?” 

She nodded, then darted away. “My writing case!”

“There’s no time to collect belongings!”

“I can’t leave her recipes.”  She was already back and pushing the broken door aside. The flames in the hall were closer. Others raced up the grand staircase.

“Hug the wall,” he gasped. “The east stairs are still free.”

Her lips moved, but the fire’s noise drowned her response.

Again time seemed suspended, though they were stumbling eastward at a near run. The smoke was thicker than ever, suffocating him despite the handkerchief. Alice weighed more with every step. Maggie tried to help him, but by the time they reached the stairs, he was so dizzy, he could hardly stand.

Smoke rolled up in a solid wave. They could never remain conscious long enough to reach the bottom. Remembering Betsy’s dash along the hallway, he gestured toward the last niche in the wall. “Servants’ stairs.”

Thank God she was not prone to hysteria. She found the disguised handle and pulled. The air inside was nearly clear.

She coughed. “Can you manage Alice alone?”

The spiral was too narrow for two abreast, so he nodded. But Maggie must have known how weak he was. When he nearly fell from the last step, she caught him. Together, they shifted Alice to his other shoulder, then cracked open the door.

On this floor, the entire west wing was ablaze, and flames had spread to the lobby. But the door to the nearest parlor was ajar. Stumbling across the hall, he collapsed against the window frame.