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‘And what would you have had me do?’
Patrick was working very hard not to make any of the more obvious suggestions, which might get him sacked. ‘You might, at least, have told her the truth.’
‘Just what part of it?’
‘That you have been pining for her like a moon calf, low these long years.’
‘I did tell her. Well, not the truth, as such. Not that truth, at any rate. I told her that she needn’t be afraid, which is true. And that I was a most unexceptional fellow. And that I have loved one woman my entire life.’ Tony frowned. ‘I did not tell her it was her, as such. You might think a woman would be glad to hear that? But trust me, Patrick, when she is hearing it from a stranger who is hiding in her bedroom, it will not be well received.’
‘But you are not a stranger to her.’
‘But she does not know that. I did not have time to explain the full story. An abbreviated version of the truth, one which omitted my identity, was definitely the order of the day. And despite what you may think of my romantic abilities, I’ve told the story before and found that omitting the identity of my beloved works in my favour. Nothing softens the heart of a woman quite so much as the story of my hopeless love for another. And how can I resist when they wish to comfort me in my misery?’
‘Sir,’ said Patrick, in a way that always seemed to mean ‘idiot’. ‘If you are with the object of the hopeless passion, and you wish the passion to cease being a hopeless one, then the unvarnished truth is usually the best course.’
No longer hopeless…
Tony shook his head. A single kiss was a long way from the fulfilment of his life’s romantic fantasies, and it would be foolish to set his heart upon it. ‘Nothing will come from this night’s meeting. Even if the whole truth is revealed. Think sensibly for a moment, Patrick. Much time has passed since I knew her. She barely knew me then. I doubt she even remembers me. She is a duchess, even if she is a dowager. And while I am her most humble servant, I am most decidedly not, nor ever will be, a duke. Or, for that matter, a marquis, an earl or even a baron. With me, she could live quite comfortably to a ripe old age.’ He dismissed his own dreams on that subject with a wave of his hand.
‘But should she attach herself to me, it would mean that many doors, which were once opened, would be closed to her. She would go from her Grace the Duchess to plain old Mrs Smythe. In the face of that, an offer of undying devotion is no equal. And the whole town knows her as the most beautiful woman in London. She will not want for suitors, and need not settle for the likes of me. She will aim higher, when she seeks another husband. Man is not meant to have all that he dreams possible. Not in this life, at any rate.’
Patrick applauded with mock-courtesy. ‘Most humble, sir. I had forgotten that you studied for the ministry. You have done a most effective job of talking yourself out of the attempt. In winning the hand of a lady, it would be better if you had studied the Romans. Carpe diem, sir.’
‘I carpe-d the situation to the best of my ability, thank you very much.’ Tony closed his eyes and remembered the kiss. ‘And perhaps there will be other opportunities. I must see her again, in any case, to settle the business with Barton and to make sure she is all right.’
He remembered the missing ornaments and the empty jewel box. ‘Stanton is wrong. I am sure of it. He told me she was Barton’s mistress. But if Barton is keeping her, he is doing it on the cheap. If she were mine, her jewel box would be full to overflowing.’
If she were mine…
‘But it is almost empty. And there is evidence that she is selling off the furnishings of the house to make ends meet. I had assumed that that old ninny Wellford would make provision for her after his death. Surely he did not think taking a young wife would somehow extend his own time on this mortal coil. He must have known she’d outlive him.’
He sat in his favourite armchair and stared into the fire. ‘She is putting up a brave front, Patrick, but things are not right, above stairs. The least I can do, as an old friend of the family, is see to it that she comes through this safely.’
Patrick snorted, and poured him his brandy. ‘What utter nonsense. Yes, that is the least you could do. And I do not see why you feel it necessary to pretend that you wish to do as little as possible. It astounds me that someone who has no trouble taking things which do not belong to him balks when there is a chance to take the thing he most wants.’
Tony took the proffered glass and gestured with it. ‘She is not some inanimate object, Patrick. I cannot just go and take her. She has a say in the matter.’
Patrick shook his head, giving his master up as hopeless, and, totally forgetting his station, poured a brandy for himself. ‘Not the woman, sir. Happiness. You are so accustomed to thinking in terms of what you might do for others that you forget to do what might be in your own best interests. By all means, empty your purse and risk your fool neck helping the woman, if it pleases you to do so.
‘But when the moment comes to collect a reward for it, do not stand upon your honour and deny yourself what pleasure you can gain from the moment. Do not think twice about your inability to rival her late husband in rank or pocketbook. If, in the end, the woman cares only for those, you must admit you have been wrong about her, and the girl you loved no longer exists. No matter how beautiful she may be, if she is a fortune hunter, then she is not worth saving and you are best off to forget her.’
Chapter Four (#ulink_0e8f22dd-317e-5048-b4a3-f7c219a83746)
Constance sat in her morning room, paging through the small stack of receipts in front of her. It was ever so much more satisfying than the stack of overdue bills that had been there just a few days before. She was a long way from safe. But neither was she standing on the edge of financial disaster, staring down into total ruin.
She would need to visit the new duke, to remind him of his promised allowance, which would cover the incoming bills. And while there, she could retrieve the deed. With that in hand, she might secure a loan against the house, or arrange its sale. With money of her own in her pocket, she might protect herself against the vagaries of Freddy’s payments for many months to come. For the first time in ages, she felt the stirrings of hope for the future, and cautious optimism.
And her salvation had come from a strange source, indeed. She offered a silent prayer of thanks for the timely intervention of the thief, whoever he might be, and hoped that the loss of his little bag had not forced him to do other crimes. She would hate to think herself the cause of misfortune in others, or the further ruination of the man that had climbed out of her window.
But, somehow, she suspected it was not the case. Perhaps she was romanticising a criminal, and most foolish for it. She might be creating a Robin Hood out of a common scoundrel. But the situation had been so fortuitous, it almost seemed that he had meant to leave the money behind for her use.
It was a ludicrous notion. What reason would he have had to help her? But he had offered, had he not? And if he had not meant to leave it, he must have missed the bag by now. Surely he would have returned to take it from her? After she was sure he was gone, she had gathered the money back into the sack, and placed it under her pillow. And then she had lain awake in dread most of the night, convinced that at any moment, she would feel a breeze at the window and hear a light step on the carpet, approaching her bed in the darkness…
And at last she had forced herself to admit that it was not dread she was feeling at the reappearance of the strange man. The idea that he would return and she might open her eyes to find him bending over her bed and reaching to touch her, held no terror, just a rush of passionate emotion fuelled by the memory of a stolen kiss.
Which was utterly ridiculous. It had been a very nice kiss. And best to leave it at that. He was a thief, and she would be a fool to trust him with her heart or her reputation, despite what he had said to her the previous night.
And even if he were a gentleman, as he claimed, what could they possibly have in common other than a single moment of weakness? Could she have a conversation with him, in the light of day? Would he even wish to see her? He had said something about being in love. Did he care for her at all? Kisses meant very little to most men. He had probably forgotten it already.
But it had been a most extraordinary kiss.
Her mind had circled back again, to replay the kiss, as it seemed to do whenever she tried to talk herself out of the fantasy. She was fast creating a paragon out of nothing. A man both dashing and kind, but more than a bit of a rogue. When the candles were lit, he would be passably good-looking, and as innocuous in appearance and behaviour as he had claimed. But at night, he was a burglar, living off his wits. And a single kiss from her would make him forsake all others and risk capture by returning to her rooms.
She closed her eyes and smiled, imagining his arms about her again. He would confess that he was unable to resist the attraction, and assure her that, if she could find it in her heart to forgive his criminal misdeeds, he would love and cherish her ’til the end of her days.
‘Your Grace, there is a gentleman here to see you.’
Susan was standing in the door, hesitating to interrupt. And for a moment, Constance thought that her dream had come to life. She looked enquiringly to her maid.
‘Lord Barton.’
Damn.
‘Tell him I am not at home, Susan.’
‘He is most insistent, your Grace.’
‘As am I. I am not now, nor ever shall be, at home to Lord Barton.’
‘I thought you might say that.’ The voice came from the hall, just beyond Susan’s head. ‘So I took the liberty of letting myself in. I hope you don’t mind.’ Jack Barton’s tone made it clear that he didn’t care one way or the other whether she minded—he intended to do as he pleased in the matter.
Constance swept the papers she’d been holding under the desk blotter to hide them, and stood to face him.
‘I mind very much, Lord Barton.’
‘I believe I requested, when last we talked, that you call me Jack.’ He was smiling, as though he had totally forgotten her response to their last conversation.
‘And then you insulted me.’
‘I meant the offer as a compliment, your Grace. I do not make it lightly, nor do I make such generous offers to all the women of my acquaintance.’
‘You suggested that I become your mistress,’ she reminded him, coldly.
‘Because I wish to surround myself with beauty, and can afford to do so. You are quite the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I mean to have you.’
‘I am not some item, to be added to your collection,’ she replied. ‘You are mistaken, if you think you can purchase a woman as easily as a painting.’
He was unaffected by her answer. ‘I have not been so in the past. For the most part, it is only a matter of finding the correct price. Once you do, you can purchase anything.’
‘Let me make myself clear: you cannot buy me, Lord Barton. No amount of money would induce me to submit to you. Now, get out of my house.’ She pointed towards the door.
‘No.’
This presented a problem. She could not put him out herself, and such male servants as she had were either too young or too old to do the job for her. To a gentleman, her demand that he leave should have been enough. But if she was forced to rely on Barton’s honour as a gentleman, she was left with nothing at all to defend herself. ‘Very well, then,’ she said, resigned. ‘State your business and then be gone.’
He smiled and took a seat in the chair near her desk, as though he were a welcome guest. ‘I expected you would see it my way, once you had thought about it. I came about the ball I am hosting, tomorrow evening.’
‘I sent regrets.’
‘Yes, you did. You are the picture of courtesy, if a trifle stubborn. I must break you of that, if we are to manage well together.’
‘Do not think you need to manage me, Lord Barton,’ she snapped back at him. ‘I thought I made it clear, when I refused your contemptible offer, that we would not be doing anything further together. I do not wish to dance with you. I doubt I can eat in your presence, since the thought of you sickens me. And thus, I sent regrets for your ball.’
Her word seemed to have no effect on his continued good humour. He was still smiling as he said, ‘That is not acceptable.’
‘It is most acceptable to me,’ she insisted. ‘And that is all that matters. I doubt that you have any tender feelings that I might have offended. I do not believe you capable of them.’
‘Let me speak plainly,’ he said.
‘I have been unable to stop you.’
‘You will be in attendance at the ball, because I wish it to be so.’
‘And why would I care what you wish?’
Without another word, he reached into his pocket, and withdrew an object, wrapped in a linen handkerchief. His eyes widened and his mouth made an ‘Oh’, like a conjuror performing a trick. Then he dipped his fingers into the bundle and withdrew a ruby-and-diamond necklace. He dangled it in front of her.
And without thinking, she reached for it, and cursed her hand for acting faster than her wits.
‘I knew you would not be bribed with pretty words or baubles like a sensible woman, since I’ve tried that and failed. But then I thought, perhaps I was using the wrong bait.’
She watched the necklace, glittering in his hand, and tried to conceal her desire for it.
‘You were most foolish to sell the whole thing. You needn’t have made a complete copy you know. Just pried out the stones and let the jeweller fit paste ones into the old setting.’
She had learned that herself, after selling the rubies. The cost of even the cheapest copy ate almost all of the additional profit from selling the gold setting.
She said nothing.
He turned the necklace to let the jewels sparkle in the sunlight. ‘And you made the copy, once you realised that the necklace was not technically yours, did you not? It is part of your husband’s entail. It belongs to the new duke, and not to you. It was very wrong of you to sell it. What do you suppose the new duke would say, if he knew you were selling a necklace that has been in his family for generations?’
The new duke would likely go many months before noticing its absence. When he did, she’d hoped to stall him with the copy until she could afford to buy back the real necklace. But she kept her foolish mouth shut over the secret since Barton had enough power over her without her full confession.
‘I trust you have seen the error of your ways, and do not wish to continue stealing from your nephew.’
She thought to argue that it was not really stealing, if one was only trying to get money that one was owed, and continued to hold silent.
He nodded as though she had spoken. ‘Fortunately for you, I am an understanding man. I will give you back your necklace. Once you have done something for me.’
She closed her eyes. Now she must decide. Lie with Barton, or let him go to Freddy with the necklace. The choice was easy. Let him tell Freddy the truth. Perhaps it would move the duke to loosen his purse strings.
When she opened her eyes again, Barton was watching her with amusement. ‘You are not asking what it is I wish.’
‘I know what it is that you want. The answer is still no.’
He laughed. ‘You think I demand unconditional surrender, for a single strand of rubies? While it is a lovely necklace, I suspect you hold your honour to be worth more. A price above rubies, perhaps?’ He laughed. ‘Listen carefully to my offer, and then give me your answer.
‘First, what will happen to you, if you deny me: I will let the necklace fall from my pocket somewhere public. Everyone knows it is yours. Someone will ask me how I came by it. I will explain how you left it in my rooms. The world will draw its own conclusions, and you will be ruined.
‘Or you can attend the ball tomorrow. You will stand beside me as hostess, and dance with me as I wish. At the end of the evening, I will return the jewels to you, and you may go home.’
‘And if I stand up with you, the world will draw much the same conclusions that they did, if I do not obey you,’ she said.
‘They might wonder, but they will not be sure.’
She weighed the possibilities. The ruby necklace was clear proof of her perfidy. If she could retrieve it without much cost to her honour, it would be worth the attempt. Of course, there was a chance that he would deny her.
He saw the suspicion in her eyes. ‘You needn’t fear. I swear that you shall have the thing back before the clock strikes twelve. And I do not expect physical intimacy. Not yet, at any rate. But if you think you can toy with me, or trick me in some way, the price for the necklace may be much higher the next time I offer it.’
What was she to do? It was not really such a great sacrifice to go to a ball. Although she hated Barton, it would do her reputation no real harm. ‘Very well. I will attend.’
He laughed, again. It was a cold sound, short and brittle like cracking ice. ‘Excellent. I shall have the pleasure of your company, and you shall have your necklace.’
He leaned closer, the laughter gone from his voice. ‘And you will have learned a valuable lesson. When things go my way, I am happy and reward those around me. Rewards are so much better than punishment, are they not? I find that training a woman is not much different than training a hound. It all begins with the smallest act of obedience. Once a man has achieved that, he is well on the road to becoming a master.’ There was a half-smile of satisfaction on his face, as though his eventual victory was a foregone conclusion.
‘You will find, Lord Barton, that I am not some lapdog to be easily brought to heel. You have won in this. But that is all. Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare for your ball tomorrow. I wish to look my best, so that you may remember me well, for it will be the last time that you see me. If you please.’ She gestured to the door.
He rose, indolently, and proceeded out of the room, leaving the air around her bitterly cold.
Constance waited in the drawing room of the London townhouse of the current Duke of Wellford. She had no right to feel the wave of possessiveness that she was feeling towards the house and its contents.
It did not belong to her, after all. It had been her husband’s home long before she married him, but never truly hers. She had seen to the care and cleaning of it, of course. She had entertained guests in this very room. She had chosen the furnishings, and the food. She had hired and fired the servants.
And now, after twelve years in residence, and only a year away, she was a visitor. The butler who had greeted her was not familiar. When crossing the entrance hall, she caught sight of a footman she had hired herself. He had almost smiled when he’d seen her. Almost. And then there had been a flash of pity, before he went back to his duties, and treated her with the excessive formality due a ranking guest, and not a member of the family.
And to add to the discomfort, Freddy left her to wait. She had informed him that morning that she’d planned to visit, but when she arrived he was not in attendance, having decided to go riding in Hyde Park with his friends.
Robert had often railed against the folly of keeping horses in town. To keep the beasts fed, groomed and stabled was disproportionately expensive, when compared to the amount of time he had to ride while residing in the city. Apparently, the new duke had no such concerns.
Constance drummed her fingers against the small gilt table beside the settee, then folded her hands in her lap, willing them to be still. It was best to marshal her patience before Freddy arrived, if she wished to greet him pleasantly and keep him in good humour. She would make no ground in securing money or deed if she angered him by censuring his behaviour.
Especially if she must admit to him that she’d pawned the family jewels to pay the butcher’s bill. He would see such behaviour as a weakness in her own character, and not his own for denying her funds and leaving her in need. She had learned from past discussions that, although Freddy was nearly useless at his best, if she angered him or questioned his judgement he could be even worse.
She had refused a servant’s offer of refreshment for the third time before Freddy deigned to grace her with his presence, still in his riding coat. The smell of horses followed him into the room, and she noticed, with distaste, that there was mud from the stable still on his boot. He was tracking it on the Aubusson.
Not her Aubusson, she reminded herself. And not her problem. Someone would clean it. It did not matter.
‘Aunt Constance, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ There was a moment’s awkwardness as he greeted her, and remembered that he was her better, and not a guest in her house.
