Captive (10 page)

“I see,” Denbigh said, a chilling smile curving his lips. That was more like the Charlotte he knew. He held out his arm to her. “Shall we join the others to toast our nuptials?”

Her troubled gaze locked with his. “I … I can’t marry you, sir,” she said. “I … I don’t love you.”

“I’m truly sorry, Charlotte. There’s no help for it now. We have to marry. I know this is all my fault—and Braddock’s,” he added bitterly. “But I’m willing to pay the necessary price to preserve your good name.”

“You could let me go back to America.”

“No, Charlotte. I can’t. Your father made me responsible for your well-being. I’m doing the only thing I know to do under the circumstances.”

“You don’t love me, Lion,” she whispered. “You don’t even like me. Please don’t do this to us.”

She had never called him by his name before. It sounded like a caress coming from her lips. His chest hurt. He opened his mouth to say he would find some honorable way to release her, but at that moment the curtain was shoved abruptly aside.

“Join us, children,” Lady Jersey said. “We want to wish you joy.”

Denbigh waited to see what Charlotte would
do. Her chin came up, and her eyes blazed with sudden light. She laid her hand on his arm and, as they left the alcove, said to Lady Jersey, “Did Denbigh tell you we’ve decided on a very long engagement?”

“No, Lady Charlotte, he did not.”

“Oh, yes. Four years, to be exact.”

Denbigh gave her a stunned look. The conniving chit! She had no intention of marrying him. She intended to wait until she was twenty-one and had the use of her inheritance to escape him. He would be stuck dancing attendance on her, while she would be entitled to the freedom—God help him!—of an affianced lady.

Charlotte shot him a triumphant grin and whispered, “Who’s the captive now, my lord?”

When Lion awoke, having drunk one too many toasts to his impending nuptials at his club, he had no idea where he was. One by one, he eliminated the places he was not. Definitely not in his bedroom at Denbigh Castle, nor his bachelor apartments near Whitehall, nor Lady Frockman’s boudoir, nor even his grandfather’s London town house on Grosvenor Square, where he had established his sister and his ward.

The room was lavishly appointed, but he saw no frills that indicated it belonged to a woman. Nevertheless, he tensed when he heard a knock at the door, wondering if he was about to come face to face with some irate husband.

When he looked down at himself, he realized that was unlikely. He was still completely dressed
except for his cravat and the fancy silver-buckled shoes he had worn with the required stockings and knee breeches to Almack’s.

He hesitated, then said, “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal … Percival Porter. Lion winced at the brilliant puce waistcoat his friend wore buttoned around his substantial girth. Percy had an execrable sense of fashion, and he deplored exercise beyond lifting his fork at the supper table. He had not been anywhere near the top of his class at either Eton or Oxford. But he had no vices. And a man could not hope to have a more staunch or steadfast friend.

“Good morning, old man,” Percy said as he stepped into the room. “Or perhaps I should say good afternoon, since it is almost noon.”

Once upon a time, the sight of his friend would have been a source of relief. But ever since Alice’s death, Denbigh had forced Percy out of his life, even refusing to receive his friend because it was too difficult—too painful—to discuss what Alice had done. Her death had thus become a double tragedy. He had lost both the woman he loved and his best friend at the same time.

The year of mourning for Alice had ended. He noticed Percy no longer wore a black armband on his Devonshire brown sleeve. Time had dulled the edge of his own grief, as well. But not his anger. He would never forgive what Alice had done.

He saw the wariness in Percy’s eyes. His friend seemed no more certain how to proceed than Lion was himself.

“Good afternoon,” Lion said at last. It came out as more of a croak, his throat was so parched.

“I had my valet leave some claret by the bed,” Percy said, pointing to a crystal decanter. “If you would like a hair of the dog.”

“I would, thank you,” Denbigh said, pouring a small amount of claret for himself. It took some of the fuzziness from his mouth, if not his head. “How did I get here?” he asked.

“We met at White’s early this morning,” Percy said. “You were a bit foxed from celebrating your engagement to Lady Charlotte Edgerton.”

Lion had not wanted to celebrate at all, but he’d had no choice when an acquaintance who had been at Almack’s arrived at White’s and congratulated him on his engagement. One drink had led to another.

Lion met Percy’s gaze, and they stared at each other somberly. He should have been celebrating the birth of his first child by now, not marriage to another woman. He had no recollection of meeting Percy, but he was glad his friend had brought him here. He shuddered to think where he might have ended up otherwise.

“I saw the note Alice left at the inn, Lion,” Percy said in a quiet voice. “Her maid pulled it
from the fire. I am so very sorry things turned out the way they did. I wish …”

He did not finish the thought. It was not necessary. They had been friends for a long time before Lion realized he was in love with Alice. A bond existed between them from the days when they were boys growing up on neighboring estates in Sussex. Even before Lion knew Percy would become his brother-in-law, they had been as close as any two brothers.

Lion realized suddenly that nothing had changed between them. All the things Lion had not allowed Percy to say a year ago, did not need saying. Percy was still—had always been and always would be—his friend. His throat tightened with emotion. He tried to smile, but failed. “It has been a difficult year,” he admitted.

Percy cleared his throat. “I have missed your company, Lion. May I be among the first to congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage to Lady Charlotte?”

Lion put a trembling hand to his forehead. He was immensely glad to have a friend with whom to share the truth. “Bloody hell, Percy. I’ve made an awful mess of things.”

Percy crossed and settled himself in a wooden armchair beside the bed. “I’m all ears, Lion.”

Denbigh told him everything that had happened since he had gone to Denbigh Castle to chastise Lady
Charlotte—and ended up engaged to the brat. “Braddock must have been watching and waiting for his chance,” he said.

“The man has been the bane of my existence for the past year. Everywhere I go, he is there. He stole that opera singer I fancied from beneath my nose before I could claim her as my mistress. He bought up all the space on the merchant ships headed for America at harvest time, leaving me with no way to ship the wheat from my farms. I had to take a disastrous price for it here in England.

“I cannot prove he is responsible, but someone meddled with my best team of chestnuts before a race on which I had bet a great deal of money. I very nearly lost.

“Braddock seems determined to make my life as miserable as he can. I wish he would confront me and demand satisfaction. That would be better than never knowing where he will strike next.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?” Percy asked.

“I’ve left my card more than once. He refuses to see me,” Lion replied. “Trapping me in a compromising situation with Lady Charlotte is the latest effort in what I can only guess is a plan of convoluted revenge for the death of his brother. I feel a fool getting caught kissing behind a curtain, Percy. I can tell you that.”

“You are honor bound to go through with the
wedding,” Percy advised, “no matter how you were manipulated into it.”

“Oh, no, Percy, I am most certainly
not
going to marry the chit!”

“What of the girl’s reputation?”

“All I have to do is find some other clunch to take her off my hands,” Lion said. “Have you any suggestions?”

“I know my share of chinches,” Percy said with an amused grin. “I doubt whether any of them is in search of a wife.”

“She’s an heiress, Percy. And not bad to look at. She has a few small faults that will need attending to by whoever marries her. But the right man will be able to manage her. I will have to look around at the next few balls and routs and fêtes and see who is available. Surely there is someone who will want her.”

“Have you no feelings at all for the girl?” Percy asked.

Denbigh opened his mouth to say “absolutely not” and snapped it shut again. The problem was he felt a dozen things when he thought of Charlotte Edgerton—all of them contradictory.

“I’m not in love with her,” he said at last. He would never trust another woman enough to put his heart in her hands. “But I cannot deny there are things about her I admire.” He smiled wryly. “But the list of her admirable qualities is outweighed by
one at least twice as long of traits that make me want to wring her lovely neck.”

“Ah, then she is beautiful?”

“Not in the conventional sense,” Lion replied, bringing Charlotte’s face to mind. “Her complexion is not as fair as it might be, because she refuses to wear a bonnet to protect herself from the sun. I know freckles are considered a flaw, Percy, but I rather like them on her.

“She smiles more than the usual miss, but her teeth are straight and white. Her eyes are a striking green color, and believe me you will notice them, because they are never downcast. Her chin is continually outthrust, as though she is out to fight the world.

“And our world disappoints her a great deal, Percy. The chit has picked up quite a few revolutionary ideas in America. My servants jump to do her bidding because they like her, not because she expects them to wait on her. You see, Charlotte believes every man should be treated equally, no matter what his station.”

“I say!” Percy exclaimed. “What a radical point of view! The girl sounds a veritable bluestocking.”

“I’ve caught her many times with her nose in a book,” Lion said. “But that’s not all. We now have schools for the servants’ children on my lands, Percy. And she has repaired the crofters’ roofs. After
all, as Charlotte pointed out to me, they suffer as much from the rain and cold as we do.”

“Good heavens,” Percy breathed.

Lion’s smile broadened. “She has even got Olivia riding again.”

“I thought her injury prevented it.”

Lion shook his head. “Apparently it was only fear that kept her from trying to ride again. I tell you, in many ways Charlotte is a wonder. Then there are the times when she does something so outrageous I cannot believe my eyes and ears.”

“Like what?” Percy asked curiously.

“Like suggesting that Braddock dance with Olivia when I refused to allow him to dance with Charlotte.”

“What? Olivia dancing, too?”

“The waltz, no less, with the Duke of Braddock.”

“I can hardly believe it. How wonderful for her!”

“Were you not listening? I said it was Braddock who took my sister in his arms. The duke has some rig in mind, you can bet on it. I’m worried that he will find a way to hurt Olivia.”

“Do you have any reason to believe he will see your sister again?” Percy asked.

“I warned him not to try.”

“Perhaps he has honorable intentions toward Olivia,” Percy suggested.

Denbigh shook his head. “You’ve seen Olivia, Percy. Do you really think one of the richest men in the kingdom—who, by the way, hates me for killing his brother—would seek out my sister for any but a nefarious purpose?”

“Olivia is a very fine girl,” Percy said.

“You’ve made my point for me,” Lion said. “Olivia is my sister, and I love her, but no one would ever call her beautiful, or even pretty. She is shy and retiring and will not speak at all if you do not prompt her. Despite the progress she has made, there are too many men who could never accept a crippled wife. And if we are being perfectly honest, she is fast reaching an age when she will be too old to bear children.”

“I say, Lion. Surely she has a few good years left.”

But they both knew Olivia was well past the age when she could be expected to make a favorable match.

“Mark my words, Percy. If the Duke of Braddock seeks her out, he can only have mischief in mind. I intend to nip any such attempts in the bud.”

“What does Olivia think about all this?”

“Unlike that rebellious hellcat I call my ward, my sister will do as she is told.”

At that very moment, Olivia was contemplating the very decision her brother believed he had already
made for her. Should she, or should she not go driving in Hyde Park that afternoon with the Duke of Braddock?

Olivia examined the profusion of roses and orchids and daffodils that had been delivered to Charlotte that morning by the young bucks she had devastated with her charms at Almack’s. Olivia was happy for her friend. Unquestionably, Charlotte had taken.

Olivia had received a single bouquet of violets … from the Duke of Braddock. He had enclosed a note that said, “Because they remind me of you.”

She had puzzled over that for most of the morning, because she could not imagine what he had meant. He had also invited her to drive with him and named a time when he would pick her up. She had only to send him a note that she was willing.