Adventures of a Scottish Heiress (22 page)

“What is going on here?” Harrell demanded.

Neither the viscount nor his mother spoke, so Ian said, “I believe his lordship’s mother may have attempted to murder your daughter.”

“Why?” Grossett asked his mother, the single word filled with pain. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I couldn’t let you betray your heritage for money,” she said simply as if her statement explained all.

“Betray?” Grossett asked. “Mother, have you gone mad? She was our only way out. I can’t pay your gambling debts any longer. We’re done up.”

“I can still get vouchers,” Lady Grossett snapped. “All the clubs accept
mine
. But doors will be shut if you marry her.”

“No one was pressing you to pay because they were milking me dry!” her son exploded. “You have ruined me with your gambling. There is nothing left, Mother,
nothing left at all
.”

“There is our pride!”

“Harrell has pride! He married a duchess!” The words shot out of the viscount as if he’d had this argument before.

“A duchess?” Lady Grossett snorted. “She sold herself to him for merchant money. Nor is she accepted
in the best circles, either. Not anymore. People gossip behind her back, and I will not let that happen to us!”

Harrell waved his hands in the air in exasperation. “Will someone tell me what the devil is happening here? And who are you,” he demanded of Lady Grossett, “to insult my wife?”

“I would do
anything
to save my son from the likes of you,” Lady Grossett returned with ringing tones. “I never approved of this match and have done everything I must to see it broken!”

Her son appeared ready to weep. “Mother, you are ruining us all.” He looked to Harrell. “You must ignore her. She’s not been well lately. For quite some time actually—”

“Don’t humble yourself to him,” his mother said disdainfully. “You are Grossett!”

Her son’s answer was a frustrated groan. He pleaded now, “Don’t send for the magistrate. I’ll have her taken away, far from London. She’ll not bother Lyssa ever during our marriage.”

“You’d still marry her?” his mother demanded even while Harrell frowned.

“I will not let you have my daughter.”

Harrell’s words were the ones Ian wanted to hear. But Grossett fought back. “Please, I care deeply for Lyssa.”

“You care for her money,” Harrell said, “and that would have been acceptable, my lord, since I covet your title. But even we
merchants
draw a line at murder.”

The lines of Grossett’s face hardened. “Oh, no, you will not take her from me!”

“Robert—!” his mother started, but he cut her off.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! I’m the head of this family.
I
make the decisions.” He ran a distracted hand through his thinning hair before grasping at a new argument. “Who else do you think will marry your daughter now, Harrell?” he said. “She’s been running around Scotland with some Irish bounty hunter completely unchaperoned. Look at her.”

Every eye in the room turned to Lyssa.

“She’s been had,” Grossett accused. “Had by the worst sort who could touch her.”

Ian stepped forward, doubled his fist and wiped the smirk off of Grossett’s face with one well-placed punch to the mouth.

The bastard dropped like a rock.

T
HERE
wasn’t a sound in the room, until Lady Grossett took one look at her son on the floor and began screaming.

The ever-present Parker did not miss a beat. He opened the door, shoved her ladyship out, and slammed the door firmly.

“Thank you, Parker,” Harrell said dryly.

“No problem, sir.”

Grossett groaned. “What about him?” Harrell asked.

“If Mr. Campion would help?” Parker suggested.

“I can,” Ian said. He picked the viscount up by his coat. Parker opened the door, surprising Lady Grossett in mid-scream. Ian unceremoniously dumped her son at her feet. The door was shut again.

“I suppose we should see her home,” Mrs. Harrell said.

“Must we?” her husband asked.

“Yes,” she answered regretfully. “We let them ride with us.”

“Parker—?”

“I’ll have our footman hail a hack, sir.” The secretary left the room.

Lyssa, Harrell, the duchess, and Ian were alone. Ian knew the time had come.

As if sensing he was getting ready to speak, Harrell said quickly, “A job well done again, Campion—thank you very much—you are dismissed—”

“I’d like your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Ian’s words seemed to suck the air out of the room. The duchess arched her brows in surprise; Lyssa tensed. Harrell pretended he hadn’t heard him. He turned to his wife. “Are you ready, Frances? Lyssa? We must go.”

“No, Papa,” Lyssa said, coming to where Ian stood by the door. “I’m not going. Not until you answer Mr. Campion, and I’ll warn you now, there is only one answer I want.”

Now her father could not pretend. He met Ian’s eye. “I’d rather see her in hell than married to the likes of you.”

Lyssa staggered as if he’d struck her. The duchess was as surprised. She took a step forward, but Harrell warned her back with an imperial wave. “I know what you are, Campion. You have nothing to give my daughter.”

“I don’t want anything, Father, save your blessing!”

“You’ll not have it,” was his even reply. “Now, enough of this nonsense, let us leave.”

“I’m not going with you,” Lyssa said clearly and firmly—and Ian could have kissed her.

Harrell frowned. “Did I not offer you enough money?” he suggested rhetorically. “Very well, I’ll double what I was paying you.”

“I don’t want money,” Ian said quietly.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Harrell answered. “You think you’ve caught the prize. Well, you haven’t…and let me advise you to leave now.”

“No.” Ian didn’t want to make Harrell angry and, yet, he could not live without Lyssa. “I didn’t even take the payment your man wanted to give me earlier. It’s not about the money, Mr. Harrell. I love her.”

There was a moment of silence and then Harrell started laughing as if a great jest had been told.

“Dunmore…” his wife pleaded.

He shook his head. “I could either laugh or applaud. They say the Irish are the best actors. I never believed it until now.” He looked at his daughter. “I understand, Lyssa. He’s played you well, but enough. Get your money from Parker, Campion, and leave my daughter alone.” There was a father’s steel behind his voice.

“Father, it isn’t him. It’s me, too,” Lyssa pressed. “He saved my life.”

“I understand, and you feel grateful,” her father agreed. “But marriage is not the way to show
your appreciation. He’s using you, Lyssa. He wants your money.”

“He hasn’t taken any money!” she countered with exasperation.

“Of course not. He wants your inheritance, or are you willing to give that up, too?”

Here was the threat of disinheritance.

Lyssa took a moment, but then said calmly, “I do want my inheritance. And I want your blessing. But I
will
marry this man with or without your permission.”

“This man is a scoundrel,” her father countered. “A bounder. A bloody Irishman!”

“This man could be the father of the babe I might already be carrying.”

Lyssa had struck a deadly blow. Harrell went pale, but then, his features hardened and Ian pulled Lyssa close to his protection. Mrs. Harrell moved forward to stand between the two parties, her expression uncertain and afraid.

“So you did it,” Harrell said quietly to Ian. “The thought crossed my mind that you might. After all, you are an ambitious man.”

“I’m also an honorable one,” Ian said and, ignoring Harrell’s snort of disbelief, said, “Claiming your daughter was not my intention.”

“It wasn’t?” Harrell mocked. “You truly expect me to believe you?”

Lyssa made an impatient sound. “Oh, Father, don’t pretend to be so noble. You were willing to sell me for a title.”

“I was using your dowry to buy you security!” Harrell lashed out. “I wanted you safe and with all the trappings of respect I could give you and your children. And what do you do? You bed a bloody nobody. He has nothing, Lyssa. There are those who would even spit on his name.”

“He’s the man I love,” she returned, angry tears in her eyes, and Ian had had enough.

He took her hand. “Come, let’s leave.” He didn’t even want the payment promised because he knew anything he received, Harrell would twist for his own purposes.

And bless her, Lyssa was willing to come with him. Her love was true. Ian opened the door and they would have left save for Harrell’s saying, “Wait!”

He stopped. He did not want to part with her father as enemies.

Pirate Harrell said, “I need to talk to you alone, Campion. Lyssa, you and Frances go out to the coach.”

“I’m staying here,” Lyssa said.

“No,” her father answered. “Campion and I need to speak honestly with each other. If when I’m done, he is still determined to take you from me, then I’ll let you go with my blessing.”

“You would?” Lyssa questioned.

“I would.”

She hesitated in indecision. Ian said, “Go. It will be fine.”

The worried line appeared on her brow, and he smiled. “Wouldn’t we rather have his blessing?”

“Yes,” she agreed fervently.

“Then, let me hear what he has to say. Perhaps I can convince him I have your best interests at heart.”

She turned back to her father. “I love you, Papa, and I love him.” Her statement was simple and powerful. She opened the door and left. The duchess followed silently behind after one worried glance at her husband.

Harrell waited until the door was shut behind them. He moved to the window and watched until the women had arrived to stand by the coach. He closed the curtain.

“You have a nephew?”

The question surprised Ian. Before he could answer, Harrell said, “Liam is his name. Smart lad. Young, able, a bit wild.”

“He can be all those things,” Ian returned tightly.

Harrell hummed an agreement. “He was also in with a bad crowd when we first met, was he not?”

“You’d not harm a child.”

“I will do what I must to protect my family,” Harrell replied plainly. “Parker had a good conversation with Liam. He learned quite a bit. Oh, don’t worry, your nephew is safe in the cottage in Chelsea where you stashed them. You see, Campion, I do admire you. You protect your family
and I have no doubt you would do everything you could for Lyssa.”

“I love her.”

“I’m certain you do.”

“But?” Ian prompted.

“I’ve already said the but. You are a wanted man.”

Ian went very still.

“Liam thinks it is very exciting,” Harrell confided.

“Liam doesn’t know what he is talking about,” Ian contradicted.

“He does on this matter.” Harrell sat on the edge of the table in front of the window. “I had Parker check the matter through. We could even collect the bounty for you.”

“It doesn’t make any difference what you do,” Ian said, choosing his words carefully. “Lyssa is mine.”

“Yes,” Harrell agreed, his expression losing its false pleasantness. “I’m not pleased you took her but it isn’t a matter that can’t be overcome.”

“By what means? Another Grossett?”

“By many other means.” Harrell stood. “Here’s what I’m offering. You leave Lyssa and I will pay you handsomely—”

“I don’t want the money.”

“You are the only man in London who doesn’t then. But this isn’t about only you. There are your sisters and their children to think about.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Yes! And let me assure you, Mr. Campion, you are very blackmailable.” His features set, Harrell continued, “We both know your sisters and their children would starve without you, or even worse. Instead, I’m offering you passage to wherever you
and your family
want to go, and more money than your poor Irish brain could ever have thought possible.”

“And if I don’t take your offer?” Ian asked.

“I’ll destroy you. I’ll turn you in to the authorities. You might even be hanged. It depends on how irritated we are with the Irish right now and whether the gin crowd needs a show. At best, you’ll be transported. Six months in the belly of a merchantman bound for Australia, being treated little better than a slave. Your family can go with you. After all, they harbored you.”

There it was, the true threat.

“So what will it be, Campion? How far are you willing to go with this little ‘love’ charade?”

Anger settled cold and hard within Ian. Here it was, one more bloody injustice, and he had no choice. “She’ll hate you for this.”

“I can live with that,” Harrell answered. “I can’t live with her married to you.”

“Because I’m Irish?”

“Because you don’t have enough and never will.”

Ian shook his head. “You had nothing at one time.”

“You’re not me,” was the short response.

And that was it. Ian knew he had no choice. He could not see Maeve or the boys braving the brutal trip to Australia for his sake. The adults might make the trip, but not the littlest ones. And his sisters could not part with their children. They would not leave them behind.

He came to a hard decision. “You’re wrong, you know,” he told Harrell. “I’m more like you than is comfortable. Where do I get the money?”

Lyssa watched her father walk out of the inn followed by Parker, and knew Ian had left.

Her father climbed into the coach, taking the seat across from her and her stepmother. He knocked on the roof, a signal for the driver to go.

The duchess took her hand in silent commiseration.

“He couldn’t be gone,” Lyssa said calmly, “not without you doing something terrible.”

“I didn’t do anything ‘terrible,’ ” her father answered without looking at her. “We both decided his leaving was what was best for you.”

“He wouldn’t leave me,” she repeated.

“He did,” her father said.

Her heart wanted to deny the truth of his words, while her mind knew he did not lie. Her father was too calm, too satisfied. Parker was quiet, his expression unusually somber.

Lyssa’s first urge was to scream, to rant and to rave—but then she sensed they braced themselves for just that possibility.

Instead, she took pride and courage in hand. “What if I’m carrying his baby?”

“Then we shall see what could be done,” her father said.

“Dunmore,” the duchess said. “Give her something.”

Her father didn’t pretend to not understand. He pinned Lyssa with his sharp green eyes so much like her own. “He loved you,” he said.

And to Lyssa’s surprise, that was enough.

She also sensed her father was not completely pleased by his own actions. Perhaps because she did not react the way he may have anticipated. She was stronger now. More certain of herself. More of a woman.

If she did carry Ian’s child, she’d not let anyone take him from her. She would have to find a way to protect the child. After all, the world all seemed to come down to money—and what value was there to being worth one’s weight in gold if one couldn’t throw that weight around when necessary?

They were almost home when she said, “I saw Mama’s portrait. The one her father had done and had sent out to prospective suitors.”

A muscle tightened in her father’s jaw and there was a sadness in his eyes. “She was very beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Lyssa noticed he didn’t tack on a caveat such as “She was beautiful when she was
young
.” To her father and to herself, her mother would always be
beautiful. But the freshness of youth and good health had been a wonderful thing to see upon her mother’s face.

“As lovely as my stepmother,” Lyssa agreed, the words coming from her heart, and she knew she’d surprised the duchess. Pleasantly surprised her. “But with the illness, I’d forgotten so much about Mama.”

“Yes,” her father echoed and turned his face to look out the window at the passing scenery.

She listened to the wheels turn against the cobblestones. “I won’t forget him, Father.”

“I know,” was the answer. “I know.

Lyssa’s homecoming was not comfortable. What she’d once taken for granted now seemed ostentatious. She knew she would grow accustomed to it again…she didn’t want to, but it would happen.

Her first night in a feather bed, she could not sleep. She tossed and turned, her body aching for Ian.

Finally she wrapped herself in her raggedy plaid and laid on the carpeted floor. Sleep didn’t come until she pretended she was in Ian’s arms.

For the next two days, the duchess did her best to try and distract her. Lyssa felt guilty for not having realized before how generous and kind her stepmother was.

She saw her father at midday and then for supper. They were both quiet, having little to say to each other.

After supper on the evening of the second day, he sought her out in the sunroom, where she had wandered to be alone for a moment. Night had fallen and the room was dark save for the glow of her single candle.

“Lyssa?”

She turned toward him in the chair she was sitting in. “Yes, Papa.”

“I have a gift for you.”

She unwrapped the package and found a book of poems by Lord Byron.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I know you need something to occupy your mind. After all, your other books were destroyed in that fire and Lord Byron was one of your favorites.”

She nodded without enthusiasm and opened the book. The words leapt out to her from the page and she read aloud,