A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (38 page)

“Humph!” Lady Astwick grumbled, though she
allowed Cordie to maneuver her towards a nearby sitting room. “That
is what happens when one associates with men such as him.”

Cordie resisted urge to growl. It would only
make matters worse. “As Her Grace is my dearest friend, I’m certain
you don’t mean to impugn her name, especially in her own home.”

Who knew what the dowager had said to make
Kelfield so agitated? Cordie was certain she didn’t want to know,
or she too would be tempted to throw the old woman out on her
ear
as well.

“I had such high hopes for you, Cordelia,”
the old woman complained as she settled onto a white settee. “What
did Clayworth do to drive you away?”

“Many spouses live apart, Lady Astwick,” she
replied evenly, proud that her voice hadn’t cracked. Then she sat
on a chintz chair and faced the old dragon.

“Bah!” the dowager barked. “The man was
utterly devoted to you. He would never have left on his own. Now,
tell me what he did.” She pounded her cane on the floor as an
exclamation point.

Perhaps she should have let Kelfield toss
the old woman out in the first place.

“Cordelia Clayworth!”

Cordie sighed. “We discovered we didn’t
suit.” She forced the lie out, the one Brendan made her promise to
say. “No one is to blame.”

Instead of getting angry as she expected the
dowager to become, Lady Astwick blanched and looked suddenly frail.
“What is it, my dear? I can see that you’re in pain. Why are you
lying to me? I’ll help if I can.”

Cordie thought she’d been doing so well. If
she couldn’t convince Lady Astwick, how was she ever going to
convince anyone else? “I’m not lying,” she whispered. “Brendan is
focused on finding something right now, and that makes it
impossible for us to be together.”

“What is he looking for?”

Heavens, she was as persistent as a Bow
Street Runner. “Something that belonged to his mother. That’s all I
can say.”

“Dear God,
the letters
?” the old
woman asked, pain echoed in her voice.

Cordie’s eyes flashed to hers, and she
realized too late she’d given Brendan away. Defeated, tears finally
fell from her eyes. What was she to do now?  Lady Astwick knew
of the letters? All was certainly lost. How could she get word to
Brendan? There was still time for him to flee. She’d never see him
again, but he’d be safe. He’d be alive.

The widow heaved a sigh. “This is all my
fault.”

Cordie brushed away some tears and stared at
the old woman. “I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t know he knew about them.”

“How do
you
know about them?”

Lady Astwick continued as though Cordie
hadn’t said a word. “When Marina gave them to me, she said it was
for safekeeping. She didn’t say Brendan knew of their
existence.”

“Marina gave them to you?
You’re
blackmailing him?” It was hard to believe and didn’t make any sense
at all. The dowager seemed to adore Brendan.

“Blackmailing him?” the old woman paled even
more. “What are you talking about, Cordelia?”

“Someone sent Brendan a note at your soiree,
threatening to expose Lady Clayworth’s past if he didn’t pay a
large sum of money.”

“
You
are Lady Clayworth,” the dowager
reminded her.

Cordie choked on a half-laugh. “Only the
most recent one. My two predecessors had ugly pasts, not me.”

Lady Astwick frowned. “Why does he think
this has something to do with Jacqueline’s letters?”

“He’s been looking for them since before
Marina died.  She taunted him and said he’d never find them.
She said, ‘The lion holds your secrets.’ He thought that mean the
Avery crest, that we had the letters. It’s the only reason he
courted me in the first place.”

“That was hardly the only reason,” the old
woman grumbled. “I’ve never seen a man so besotted. Brendan Reese
would have chased after you, letters or no letters.”

Cordie wasn’t certain if that was true or
not. It didn’t even matter anymore. Regardless of what brought them
together, she had no doubts that Brendan loved her now. And here
was Lady Astwick, in possession of the letters. “Brendan isn’t a
traitor, my lady. Please return the letters to him.”

The old woman leaned forward in her seat.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Cordelia. I don’t have them any
more.”

Cordie’s heart dropped. “Who does? Please
tell me.”

“No one does.” Lady Astwick shook her head.
“I burned them. All of them, when I realized what they were.”

Cordie gaped at the marchioness.  “You
burned
them?” she echoed.

Lady Astwick frowned at her as though she
was the simplest of fools. “I didn’t see any reason to hold on to
them. If they fell in the wrong hands Brendan would have been
carted off to Newgate. Marina made the fatal flaw of entrusting
them to me.” There wasn’t a note of regret in her voice. “She
thought that since Walter, my middle son, had died fighting the
French that she couldn’t have found a more formidable ally. She was
wrong.”

“I don’t understand,” Cordie managed.
Brendan himself was convinced Astwick would turn on him when the
truth was revealed.

Lady Astwick shrugged slightly. “I was duped
by Jacqueline. She always called me a lioness, protecting my cubs
from danger. Brendan, I suppose, is one of my cubs. A more noble
man you’ll not find. He shouldn’t be punished for his mother’s
sins. I was the one who eased Jacqueline’s entry in society. If
anyone was to blame for her meeting the right people, it was me.”
She shook her head in disgust. “No. I would never let harm come to
Brendan, not if I could help it.”

“You burned them?” Cordie repeated, her
emotions a jumble, her mind racing. “Are you certain you had them
all?”

“I am. Marina was enraged when I refused to
return them.”

“Then why is someone trying to blackmail
Brendan? And what evidence do they have?”

Lady Astwick blinked at her. “That is a very
good question, Cordelia. I, for one, plan to find out. Have you
sulked enough in Hampshire? Are you ready to return to your husband
and face whatever this is together?”

The idea of seeing Brendan again sent her
spirit soaring. Besides, he had to know that whoever was after him
didn’t have his mother’s letters as a weapon. What else had the
previous Lady Clayworth done? “Yes. I plan to return to London
today.”

“Excellent.” The marchioness clapped her
hands together. “You can ride with me.”

Clayworth

I have grown tired of waiting, and so I have
come for you. There is a hack waiting for you out front. If you do
not have the funds I’ve requested, all of London will know of Lady
Clayworth’s exploits on the morrow.

Brendan stared at the letter in his hand,
his heart pounding viciously in his ears. This was the moment he’d
been waiting weeks for. And he had to act with precision. Pocketing
the letter, he strode to the front parlor and glanced out the
window. Sure enough, a hack did wait in front of his steps.

“Higgins!” Brendan bellowed as he returned
to his study. Then he opened the safe behind a portrait of his
mother and began retrieving stacks of pound notes.

A moment later his butler stood on the
threshold and cleared his throat. “My lord?”

“Please bring me my black traveling
valise.”

Higgins took in the scene before him, the
money on the desk and Brendan’s disheveled state. “Do you think
this is wise, sir? Going out with that amount of money on your
person?”

Of course it wasn’t, but Brendan didn’t
really have a choice. He wasn’t even certain how much his
blackmailer actually wanted from him. “The bag will be empty, just
for show. I’ll need my greatcoat as well.” Brendan wasn’t a fool.
Whoever his blackmailer was could cosh him over the head and
abscond with valise, never relinquishing the letters and blackmail
Brendan all over again. Thankfully, his overcoat had more than
enough space in its interior pockets to stash the stacks of pounds
inside.

Higgins still looked dubious, but he rushed
to do Brendan’s bidding anyway.

After filling his coat with the money,
retrieving a pistol from his desk drawer, and snatching up his
empty valise, Brendan exited his home, dashing down his front steps
to the awaiting hack. He looked at the driver, who made no attempt
to conceal his identity, a usual looking fellow garbed in grey and
a shabby hat. “Where are we headed?” he asked the man.

The driver gestured southward. “The bloke
said to take ya to the Whitehall stairs fer ya ta catch the
ferry.”

The ferry? That didn’t sound appealing at
all. Who knew where he’d end up? “You don’t by chance know who this
bloke is, do you?”

The driver shook his head. “Nah, ‘e said ya
needed a ride is all.”

Well, it was worth a shot to ask the
question. Brendan took a deep breath and stepped inside the
conveyance. What other choice did he have?

***           

“Whitehall stairs to the ferry?” Marc
hissed, relaying the information to Caroline Staveley as his coach
followed Clayworth’s hack.

“The ferry?” she echoed.

“If I was a wagering fellow…”

“Which you are.”

           
“Which I am,” he agreed with a smile for his new compatriot. “I’d
say Clayworth’s blackmailer is awaiting him at Vauxhall Gardens.
That’s what I’d do in any event. The place is teeming with people,
plenty of places to hide along the walkways and go
undiscovered.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Marc grinned. He couldn’t help himself.
Caroline was simply delightful as a partner in, if not crime, the
prevention thereof. “Lady Staveley, are you telling me you’ve never
engaged in an assignation in the pleasure gardens?”

She sat up a little straighter and met his
gaze like a regal queen. “I am a proper lady, Lord Haversham.”

A proper lady who ran around Town and did
whatever she wanted, never answering to her husband. A proper lady
who was married to a royal bore. “Why, even proper ladies should
experience at least
one
little assignation, my dear.”

“Indeed? And how
little
are we
talking about?” she returned, a playful glint suddenly lit her
eyes.

So much for a proper lady. Marc coughed in
his fist. “No one has ever called me such a thing, I assure
you.”

“Of course not,” she replied. Then Caroline
glanced out the coach window, watching Mayfair as it blurred past
them. “How will we follow him in the ferry without detection?”

“I don’t think that will be possible,
dear.”

Her eyes flashed back across the coach to
him. “It
has
to be possible, Marcus. We can’t let him face
whoever this is without us watching out for him.”

Of course they couldn’t. They hadn’t spent
weeks watching Clayworth’s residence to let him go this last bit
alone. At the same time, things had become much too dangerous to
let Caroline continue on this journey with him. Still, she was
certain not to like Marc’s opinion on the matter or the plan he
would have to put into effect, so he simply smiled what he hoped
was his most reassuring smile. “Do you trust me, Caroline?”

She seemed to consider his question before
finally nodding. “Against my better judgment, I suppose I do.”

Most women usually did. “Then don’t worry
your pretty head about it. I’ll think of something.”

Just then the carriage slowed to a stop.
Marc peered out the window and saw Clayworth descending the
Whitehall steps to the Thames landing. “Stay here,” he whispered.
“Let me see what he’s doing. I’ll be right back.”

Marc hopped from his coach, shut the door,
and quietly slid a metal pin into the lock. Then he rushed to the
driver’s box and ordered his man to return Lady Staveley to Lord
Clayworth’s residence to await him before bolting toward the steps
Clayworth had already descended.

As the coach lurched forward, Caroline
pounded on the door, cursing him loudly. He smiled to himself as he
reached the river’s edge, the murky water reflecting the moonlight
above. Lady Staveley wouldn’t be the first woman to curse him after
discovering she’d been duped, but this time it was for the lady’s
benefit. If he didn’t watch himself, he’d end up heroic in some
fashion, and that would be a travesty, indeed.

Before Marc, Clayworth was just about to
step onto a ferry when he heard Caroline’s commotion above them.
The earl turned his head toward the sound and caught sight of Marc
behind him. Fury lit Clayworth’s his face. “You!” he growled,
before hurling himself in Marc’s direction.

Belatedly, as he fended off his one-time
rival, Marc realized Clayworth must have mistaken him for the
blackmailer in that instant. Perhaps he should have put more
thought into his plan, but he hadn’t had a lot of choice in the
matter or the timing. “Damn it, Clayworth!”  Marc ducked as
the earl swung a black valise at his head. “I’m trying to help you.
Will you listen to reason, you dolt?”

***           

Cordie rushed up the steps to Clayworth
House, the dowager Marchioness of Astwick quick on her heels. It
felt so good to be home after the ride from Hampshire. She could
barely wait to throw her arms around Brendan and tell him his
worries were unfounded, at least in as far as his mother’s letters
were concerned. Whatever else, they’d face together.

Higgins stood in the threshold. His old eyes
bulged slightly at the sight of her. “M-my lady!”

Lady Astwick directed Cordie into the home,
the two of them brushing past the elderly servant in their haste.
“Tell his lordship that his wife has returned, Higgins,” the
dowager ordered in her most commanding tone. “And tell him she
awaits him in the green parlor.”

The butler cleared his throat. “B-but,
madam…”