Candice Hern (31 page)

"My dear girl, you may more than pay her back. I meant it when I said you were an heiress. You see, it seems your grandfather decided to acknowledge you after all and left you a sizable inheritance."

"My grandfather?" She shook her head, not fully comprehending. "But—"

"He left you with a sum to be used as a marriage settlement. But your uncle, may he rot in hell, claimed he was unable to locate you. He has been living off your inheritance for the last five years."

"I can't believe it! How did you discover all this?"

Robert told her of his initial suspicions, of Huntspill's investigation and the recovery of her grandfather's will. He also told of his confrontation with Lord Pentwick, omitting several of the less pleasant details.

"As you were now becoming known in Society," he continued, "it became more difficult for Pentwick to pretend ignorance of your whereabouts. I believe his intent initially was to cause you such public embarrassment that you would retreat once again into the country, away from the prying eyes of the ton. He had not counted on Grandmother, Louisa, myself, and others rallying to your defense, however." He bent down and kissed her gently.

"I suspect," he said, "that Pentwick decided to change tactics and have his own son marry you in order to get, or rather to keep, his hands on your money."

"So that's why Cousin Hugh was forever at my side."

"Indeed. And when you showed no interest, you made it necessary for him to take more drastic measures. My meeting with Pentwick this afternoon only made it more urgent to act quickly."

"Oh, but this is monstrous!" Emily cried. "He knew I would never consent to marry him and so he set out to... to ..."

Robert gathered her close. "Yes, I'm afraid his intentions were less than honorable, my love."

"Oh, Robert," Emily said as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, "thank goodness you came after me. I could not have borne it if... I don't know what I would have done if..." She chewed on her lower lip, attempting to hold back tears.

"Hush, love, everything is all right now." He bent down and brushed his lips against her cheek. "But I shall never forgive Faversham—or Pentwick—for tonight's sorry business."

"No," she said, "and I hope never to set eyes on either of them again. The hateful beasts!"

"And not only for tonight does Pentwick earn my wrath," Robert said, "but for all those years that you were left to struggle, forced to take employment, to be little better than a servant, when—"

"No, no, Robert," she interrupted, tilting her head to look up at him, "I shall never regret my years of service. If I had not been in service, I would never have met you."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I suppose I am obliged to thank Pentwick, then, for allowing you to brighten my life. I shall have to remember that whenever I feel the need to throttle him. Nevertheless, I cannot but hope that the man disappears after turning over to you the thirty thousand pounds."

Emily stiffened and pulled back. "What did you say?"

"I said that I hope he disappears—"

"Not that part! Something about"—she swallowed—"thirty ..."

"Thirty thousand pounds." He grinned. "Had I failed to mention the amount?"

"I am to have thirty ... thousand ... pounds?"

Robert nodded, and she fell back against him, shaking her head in disbelief. "But this is incredible!"

He laughed and said, "I did say you were an heiress, did I not?'

"Indeed you did." Emily was thoughtful for a moment, then bit back a smile. "And now suddenly it all makes sense to me. You wish to marry me for my money."

"The devil you say!"

"Admit it, my lord," she said, "you never had the least interest in me until you discovered I was an heiress."

"But—"

"There's no sense in denying it, my lord. I shall not be so easily manipulated, however. Now that I am a rich woman I believe I should wait to see what other gentlemen may come forward." She could no longer hold back a smile. "I imagine I could have my pick of the lot."

"I'm afraid not, my dear," Robert said. "You see, I have already told Sedgewick that I would kill him before I let him marry you."

"You didn't!"

"I did. And I will similarly challenge any other gentleman who attempts to take you away from me."

"You will?"

"I will. I'm not letting you go, Emily," he said, crushing her against him, "now that I've finally got you."

"That sounds perfectly wonderful to me, my lord."

Robert dropped the reins and took her in both his arms and kissed her soundly.

The horse, with no one guiding him, ambled toward the side of the road and came to a complete stop while he investigated a nearby berry bush. It was some time before his passengers decided to continue their journey.

###

A CHANGE OF HEART

by Candice Hern

A Regency Romance

Book 2 of the Regency Rakes Trilogy

Chapter 1

London, June 1813

Jack Raeburn, Marquess of Pemerton, raised his quizzing glass and studied the young girl dancing with Lord Grayston. He leaned negligently against a pillar, half hidden by an extravagant floral arrangement, as he eyed the girl up and down. Miss Pettibone was very fair with masses of blond ringlets and huge blue eyes that gazed up in awe at her noble partner. She was a pretty little thing, Jack decided, as she shyly smiled up at Grayston. He was enjoying a clear view of her full, white bosom rising up and down with the exertion of the country dance when he suddenly felt a presence at his side.

Dropping his quizzing glass, he looked over and then down at the tiny woman who stood next to him. How long had she been there, he wondered? She was also looking intently at Miss Pettibone. But then she turned to look up at Jack, wrinkled her nose behind the screen of her open fan, and shook her head. Jack glared down at her and quirked a brow.

"Too young," she whispered, still shaking her head.

Jack choked on a hastily suppressed snort of laughter as he watched her eyes move back toward the dance floor. Who was this woman? She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her. She was not young, but not precisely old either. Though small, she was nicely rounded in all the right places, he was quick to note. She had ordinary brown hair, a too wide mouth, and a slightly crooked nose; but the eyes that had looked up at him had been enormous pools of hazel. Other than the eyes, her face was quite unremarkable. That was probably why he could not place her. She was not the sort of woman who normally piqued Jack's interest

He dragged his eyes from his unknown companion and once again raised his quizzing glass as he surveyed the ballroom. This time his gaze fell upon a lovely young redhead standing along the opposite wall, flirting with a circle of admirers. She brought her fan to her lips as she giggled at some remark, then snapped it shut and slapped it down on the wrist of her nearest gallant, batting her eyes coquettishly. Her hair was absolutely glorious, with one long fiery curl hanging over a creamy white shoulder.

By God, no one was going to tell him that there was anything wrong with this young beauty. Nevertheless, tearing himself away after one last admiring gaze, he reluctantly turned his glass upon the woman at his side and raised his brows in question. She hunched a shoulder and raised her fan to partially cover her face. Jack's greater height gave him a clear view behind the fan, and he watched as her mouth twisted in distaste. She leaned toward him in a conspiratorial manner without taking her eyes off the girl.

"Too silly," she whispered.

Jack grinned down at this impertinent unknown who nevertheless intrigued him. What was her game? Well, whatever it was, he was just bored enough to play along and find out.

This time he raised his glass to study Lady Amanda Palmer, Egerton's eldest daughter, as she was partnered by Lord Ainsley. She was a glowing beauty with glossy dark brown curls and amber-colored eyes. Her face was lit up with a spectacular smile, and her cheeks were slightly flushed from the dance. Jack's glass followed the line of her graceful neck down over the rounded shoulders to the full swell of bosom revealed by her rather daring neckline. He knew this to be at least her third Season, and her manners were open though modest. Surely there could be no objection to this young lady, he thought as he looked down at his tiny confederate.

She sighed and looked up with a resigned shake of her head.

"Of course, it is up to you, my lord," she said in a husky whisper, "but Lady Amanda has an unfortunate tendency toward plumpness. Only look at her mother." She cocked her head in the direction of the corner of the room reserved for dowagers and chaperones.

Jack's glass followed her gaze toward the sea of plumed turbans in the corner. It was hard to miss Lady Egerton whose bulk took up almost an entire settee. One of the spindly-legged chairs used by the other matrons would have surely collapsed under the woman's tremendous girth.

Jack bit back a smile.

He dropped his quizzing glass, which, attached to its black ribbon, fell against his white brocade waistcoat, and heaved a dramatic sigh.

"Well, madam," he said in a bored tone, "I seem to be foiled at every turn. Perhaps you have a candidate of your own to recommend?" Most likely the woman had a daughter or niece or some other charge under her wing, with hopes of securing an advantageous match. Well, thought Jack, so long as the chit came with a plump dowry, he was willing to entertain any and all suggestions.

"Not at the moment," the woman replied, smiling brightly up at him. "But I would be happy to help you in your search, Lord Pemerton."

Jack pulled away from the pillar, straightened up, and peered down at the woman, furrowing his brow in puzzlement. Still, he could not place her, though she obviously knew him. Of course, there was nothing particularly distinctive about her that would have kept her in his memory; although he thought he might have remembered that intriguingly husky voice, surprising in such a small woman.

"I beg your pardon, madam," he said, "but you seem to have the advantage of me. You apparently know who I am and yet I don't—"

"Oh, but we have met, my lord," she interrupted.

"Indeed? I must apologize, then, for I am afraid I don't recall—"

"No need to apologize, my lord," she interrupted again, this time with a wave of dismissal. "I do not expect you would remember since you were thoroughly foxed at the time."

"Oh, good Lord," Jack mumbled as he raked a hand through his hair and dropped his eyes to the ground. What transgression had he committed in this lady's presence? Before he could ponder the countless possibilities, his attention was firmly snatched back to the present by the sound of a rich, throaty chuckle. He looked over to find the lady's head thrown back as she abandoned herself to laughter. The sound was so delightful, almost like a rusty gate, that he could not help but smile.

"Lady Mary Haviland," she said at last, offering her hand.

"Your servant, Lady Mary," said Jack as he took her hand and bowed ever it. "Haviland? That would make you Assheton's—"

"The late earl was my father," she said, somewhat abruptly. "You and I were introduced at Lord and Lady Bradleigh's wedding last year," she continued in a brighter tone.

"Ah," Jack said, nodding his head, "that explains why I don't remember you, Lady Mary. I don't remember much of anything about that day. I'm afraid I was too busy drowning my sorrow at losing a longtime companion in dissipation to the dreaded state of matrimony."

"And yet you are now contemplating that same dreaded state for yourself."

Jack reached once again for his quizzing glass, narrowing his eyes as he glared through it at Lady Mary. "How is it that you know so much of my business, madam?" he asked in a chilling tone. What was this tiny vixen up to? Since she was no matron after all, then she must be looking to feather her own nest. Ha! On a cold day in hell, if she was lucky. She was not at all his type.

"Oh, do put that thing down, my lord," Lady Mary said, playfully swatting away the quizzing glass with her fan. "No need to get haughty with me. The fact is, all the world knows that you are looking for a bride."

"Do they, indeed?"

"Well, of course," she continued. "It is only to be expected after—" She stopped abruptly, brought her hand to her mouth, and gave him a stricken look. "Oh, dear. Please forgive my wayward tongue, my lord," she said in a tight voice, her eyes bright with ... what? Tears?

Damnation! He was sick to death of Society's endless intrusive sympathy. It had been just a year since the tragic boating accident had claimed not only his father, but his two older brothers and his only nephew as well. That dreadful day had elevated Jack, a younger son with no expectations beyond the small estate his father had granted him upon his majority, into the unwanted position of Marquess of Pemerton and head of the family. The care-for-nothing rakehell had been thrust headlong into a mountain of unimaginable responsibilities. Having no opportunity to face his own grief, he certainly had had no time or inclination to deal with the egregious, meddlesome condolences of the
ton
.

"How awful it must have been for you," Lady Mary was saying in a low, raspy voice. "Well," she said, suddenly brightening, "let us not dwell on that painful subject. Nothing can change what has happened, after all, and so you must get on with your life. Is that not so?"

"Yes," Jack said absently as he looked at Lady Mary in astonishment. He had been attempting to live by those very sentiments for the last year, but no one seemed to understand. He was constantly made to dwell on the multiple tragedy by his grieving mother, his sisters-in-law, his nieces, and most of his acquaintances. It had been such a freak accident that everyone seemed to want to discuss it—constantly, and at length.