An Unexpected Gentleman (33 page)

In the mad rush to completion, she felt only the shameless joy of abandonment and the sweet thrill of knowing there was nothing Connor kept from her, nothing he held back. And in the warm glow of satisfaction that followed, she knew the rare pleasure of absolute contentment. For a little while at least, there would be no need to hope for something more. Connor’s arms were tight around her, and the hard pound of his heart sounded beneath her ear.

In that moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

A
delaide maintained a buoyant mood for exactly thirty-two hours. Which was how long it took for Wolfgang to seek her out in the library and say, “I need money.”

Adelaide didn’t bother to look up from the small writing desk where she’d laid out the plans for her garden. She’d known it would only be a matter of time before Wolfgang came to her with the demand for more funds.

“Dare I ask why?”

“What does it matter? We’re flush now, aren’t we?”

They were, she thought, and she meant to keep it that way. She dipped her nib in the inkwell. “What is it for?”

“It was just a game of cards. I hit a run of bad luck.”

“You were gambling?” Hardly an unusual pastime for a young gentleman, but in the past, Wolfgang had always preferred his wagers hold at least the taint of business. “This is a new vice. How much?”

“Four thousand.”

She felt the pen slip from her fingers. “You’re jesting.”

“I’m not.”

“How . . .” She rose from her seat and wondered that her legs didn’t fold beneath her. “How could you? . . . So much . . . In a single night?”

She’d heard of men losing entire fortunes in a single game, but those stories came from the gambling hells in cities like London. There was nothing like that in Banfries or any of the nearby villages.

Wolfgang’s bony shoulders rose and fell dismissively. “I’ve told you, I had a run of—”

“That is not a legitimate excuse!” Sucking in a gulp of air, she pushed past him and began a fast pace in front of the fireplace. “Oh, damn you.
Damn
you, Wolfgang. That is nearly a third of what I have.”

“It’s not,” Wolfgang scoffed. “Your husband’s flush.”

Disgusted, she stopped and jabbed her finger in the general vicinity of Connor’s study. “Well, if it’s his money you’re after, go and ask him for it yourself.”

Isobel’s voice chimed from the doorway. “Ask who for what?”

“Never you mind,” Wolfgang snapped. “This is between Adelaide and—”

“Your behavior affects us all,” Adelaide cut in. Ignoring his mutinous expression, she waved Isobel inside. “Our brother lost four thousand pounds playing cards last night.”

“What?” Isobel paled, her eyes widening a second before they narrowed on Wolfgang. “You
liar
. There’s not gambling such as that to be had in Banfries.”

“Apparently, there is,” Adelaide muttered.

“There can’t be,” Isobel insisted. “There’s no one in our village who could afford to play. No one . . .” She trailed off and stepped back from Wolfgang as if physically repulsed. “Wolfgang, you
didn’t
.”

It took Adelaide a moment to follow her sister’s line of thought. She almost wished she hadn’t.

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t possibly be true.

“Sir Robert?” She saw Wolfgang’s eyes dart away, and she knew it was true. “You lost the money to Sir Robert?! Oh, how could you? How could you possibly be so . . . so
stupid
?”

Wolfgang opened his mouth, but she silenced him with an angry swipe of her hand through the air.

“I don’t care!” If he’d owed the money to someone else, anyone else, she might have seen her way to helping him. But, by God, she’d not help him with this. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ll not hear one more ridiculous, selfish, infantile justification from you. He’ll not have the money from me. Do you understand? Sir Robert will not touch one penny of what’s mine.”

Wolfgang’s lips thinned into an angry white line. “You know what will happen if I don’t pay.”

“Prison again?” Isobel guessed, not sounding the least sympathetic. “Consequences are something to be considered before one acts like a selfish twit, not after. This is a mess of your own making. You may see your own way clear of it.”

Wolfgang didn’t take his gaze off Adelaide. “I won’t go alone.”

A shiver passed over her skin. “What does that mean?”

His lips thinned briefly. “A boy belongs with his father, don’t you think?”

Isobel’s gasp blended with her own. It was not unheard of for children to live in debtors’ prison with their parents. But she’d never met a man willing to subject his child to such a fate out of spite. She would never have guessed Wolfgang to be that sort of man.

“You cannot mean it,” Isobel whispered.

“I do.”

Adelaide shook her head. “What’s happened to you? What have you become?”

“A man,” Wolfgang bit off. “A grown man bloody tired of taking orders from his own bloody sisters.”

Isobel spun to face her. “Fetch your husband. He’ll not stand for this.”

Adelaide swallowed hard. She couldn’t go to Connor now. He was with his men in the study.

Wolfgang sneered. “Oh, by all means, bring the matter to the attention of Mr. Brice. No doubt he’ll be keen to keep me under his roof after learning of this.”

Isobel shook her head in denial. Adelaide remained utterly still, rooted to the spot by shock and heartache.

Sensing victory, Wolfgang sniffed and shot the cuffs of the coat she’d paid the tailor for only days before. “If I am forced out of this house for any reason, then I take George with me. Understood? Have the money ready before the end of the week.”

He walked past them, back straight and eyes fixed on the open door.

“Wolfgang Ward,” Isobel called out. She waited for him to turn around, then she lifted her chin and spoke the words Adelaide had long feared resided in her own heart. “You are
not
my brother.”

A hint of something that might have been pain crossed his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

“End of the week,” he repeated and left.

What followed was a long, painful silence broken only by the sharp retort of Wolfgang’s boots echoing down the hall. The sound faded, then disappeared.

“What will we do?” Isobel whispered at last.

“I don’t . . .” Adelaide shook her head helplessly. She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. They were supposed to be safe now. George was to have a nanny, and toys, and treats, and—

“I won’t let him take George. I won’t. I
won’t
.” The sharp note of panic in Isobel’s voice yanked Adelaide from her stupor.

“No, we won’t,” she agreed, careful to keep her voice calm and even. “We’ll think of something. Right now . . . Right now, I need you to speak with the staff. See if they’ve heard rumors about where Wolfgang was last night and who else was—”

“What good will that do? We know—”

“We know only what he told us. Maybe there were witnesses to the game. Maybe there are whispers of cheating. I’d not put it past Sir Robert. Every bit of information helps.”

“You’re right.” Isobel nodded her head vigorously as if trying to convince the both of them. “Of course you’re right. I’ll see what’s to be learned.”

Isobel spun about and dashed out the door, leaving Adelaide alone in the library with her fear. Shoving it aside, she slipped off her shoes and began to pace again with brisk, purposeful strides.

She walked for what felt like hours, until the heels of her feet grew tender and her legs began to throb. It was easy to ignore the physical discomfort. The turmoil in her heart and mind all but drowned it out.

She had to make a decision. She had to make the
right
decision. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. But no matter how she turned the puzzle, no matter from which angle she looked at the problem, she couldn’t come up with a solution.

If she paid the price and kept silent, George would be safe. But only until Wolfgang made his next demand. She didn’t doubt for a moment that there would be a next demand, and a next, and a next. Eventually, her funds would be gone and she would have to turn to Connor for more. He would toss Wolfgang out, and Wolfgang would take George with him.

If she refused to pay the price and told Connor, Wolfgang would be forced to leave, and he would take George with him.

If she refused to pay the price and kept silent . . . That wasn’t even possible. Wolfgang would leave with George, Connor would want to know why, and—

“Is there a reason you’re wearing a hole in my new carpet?”

She swallowed a yelp of surprise at Connor’s voice and whirled around to find him standing in the doorway with a ledger in hand and a curious expression on his face.

“I . . .” Her mind went blank. She couldn’t think of an excuse for why she was pacing, and wasn’t sure if providing one would be the right move or a terrible mistake. At a complete loss, she stood still and mute and simply stared at him.

Connor strode inside, tossing the ledger down on a chair without looking. “What is it?”

She continued to stare at him as he crossed the room and came to a stop before her. Her eyes traveled over his familiar features. This was the man who’d brought George gingerbread cookies. This was the man who’d let George sit on his lap and kissed George’s imaginary ouch when he’d thought no one was looking. Surely George meant enough to him . . . Surely
she
meant enough . . .

“I have a dilemma,” she blurted out.

“I see,” Connor said carefully. “And what is the nature of this dilemma?”

“It’s . . .” It was unthinkable, impossible. That was its nature. She shook her head, unable to remember a time she had been so afraid. To her shock and horror, she burst into tears.

Connor reared back at the sight. “Here now, don’t do that.”

If she’d not been so miserable, she might have laughed. He looked and sounded as dismayed as when he’d faced a wailing George.

“I’m sorry.” She swiped her hands across her cheeks. She never cried. Even when her family’s circumstances had been at their lowest, she’d kept a level head. “I’ll stop,” she assured him, but the promise came out a choked sob. “I need . . . a moment . . . that’s all. I need . . .”

Connor made a low sound in the back of his throat, and suddenly she was in his arms, her cheek resting against his shoulder. He rubbed her back, kissed the top of her head, and murmured something unintelligible into her hair.

She cried harder. She didn’t mean to; she simply couldn’t seem to find a way to stem the flood of misery, and the more she tried, the worse her sobs became. Connor mumbled something else, something that involved the word “tell,” or possibly “hell,” and lifted her into his arms.

Vaguely, she was aware of him moving, of him taking a seat and settling her in his lap. He held her there, stroking her hair, whispering comforting nonsense until the misery receded.

Connor fished a handkerchief from his pocket and gently mopped her cheeks. “Better?”

She sniffled and took the handkerchief from him. “No, of course not.”

Crying never solved anything. She’d succeeded in making herself stuffy and exhausted, nothing more.

“It will be, once you talk to me.” He pressed her cheek back to his shoulder and brushed his chin across her head. “Tell me what’s wrong, love. I’ll fix it for you.”

“I don’t know that you can.” Or that she should risk asking it of him.

“Why not? I . . .” He trailed off and went eerily still. “You’re not . . . You’re not unwell, are you?”

“No, not at all.”

His arms tightened around her briefly, and his breath escaped in a long exhale. “What is it, then?”

She shook her head in an effort to clear it. Where to begin?

“Is it a friend, sweetheart? Has someone passed?”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that. No one is sick or dying—”

“Then I can fix it.”

Despite everything, a watery laugh sprung from in her throat.

“You find that amusing?” Connor asked.

“I find your arrogance
astounding
.” And oddly comforting. It was easier to believe in someone when he believed in himself. She lifted her head to look at him. “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

He hadn’t hesitated, and she took strength from that. “I want you to promise George will stay here with us.”

He pulled back, visibly startled. “Is that all? Why would you think—?”

“
Promise
me.” She knew it wasn’t fair. She knew she wasn’t being rational. But everything in her told her that if Connor would only say the words, then they would be true. “Promise me Georgie will stay. Say it. You have to—”

“Shh.” He kissed her brow, her cheeks. “I promise George will stay. All right?” He waited for her unsteady nod. “Good. Now tell me what this is about.”