Elizabeth Powell (20 page)

“You made a promise to me, but you went back on your word. You left me little choice. Oh, you need not worry about keeping Wellbourne itself—I fear that now belongs to your husband. But if my case is successful, and I am certain it will be, you shall be obliged to pay me what this estate is worth, in addition to compensation commensurate with my injured feelings. I want only what is due me.”

Jane felt the blood drain from her face. “You cannot do this.”

He arched a mocking brow. “Can I not?” Then he paused. “Of course, if you are amenable, we might be able to settle this matter ourselves and never bring it to the attention of the law.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jane ventured, though she dreaded the answer.

“Well, to begin with, I want you to deed to me the stretch of pasture closest to my lands.”

She shook her head. “I cannot. That field has a stream running through it. The horses need the water at this time of year.”

“Then you can lease it back from me.”

“For an exorbitant amount of money, I will wager.”

He smirked. “Oh, not that exorbitant. And there is one more thing.”

“What?” she asked from between clenched teeth.

“I shall also require the sum of five hundred pounds a month in return for my silence. After all, sweeting, your reputation can scarcely afford another scandal. Why, if word were to reach the Duke of Rutland or any other arbiters of the hunt, Wellbourne would be ruined.”

Five hundred pounds a month? That translated to six thousand pounds a year—a small fortune!

“This is blackmail,” Jane said flatly. “I cannot possibly afford to pay you that much.”

“Of course you can,” he crooned. His smile widened. “You have a wealthy husband, Jane. Surely you can think of something.”

Cold, she felt so cold. A shiver crawled down her spine. “Why are you doing this, Augustus? I thought you were a decent man.”

“I
am
a decent man, my dear,” he replied, still smirking. “That is why I came to you first. Only a bounder of the first order would have brought suit without warning.”

“I see.” Jane snapped her arms around herself. “I—I will need some time to consider your offer.”

Wingate’s smirk faded; he pursed his lips, then consulted his pocket timepiece. “You have until nine o’clock this evening, Lady Langley—not enough time to petition your husband in London, so I beg you to discard any such foolish notions. Besides, if any of what I hear is to be believed, he would not help you anyway.”

Jane’s horrified gaze flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece. “Nine o’clock? But that is scarcely six hours!”

“Nine o’clock. After that I take no responsibility for what may happen.” Her neighbor stuffed his watch back
into his waistcoat, inclined his head in the briefest of nods, and sauntered from the room.

Jane’s legs gave way beneath her, and she sagged heavily onto the striped divan. How could she have ever considered marriage to that—that greedy, overfed lout? And to think that he had the gall to blackmail her, then claim he was doing her a favor!

Breach of promise. She had not even considered this as a consequence of her marriage to Sebastian. Wellbourne could not afford any more scandal—but could it afford the terms of Augustus’s extortion? And even if she did manage to pay him, nothing could stop him from demanding more money or more land. She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands into fists. What was she going to do? Her previous engagement to Augustus had been a sore point with Sebastian. What was she going to tell him?

“Jane?”

A constricted squeak escaped Jane’s throat, and she shot to her feet.

Sebastian ambled into the drawing room, wearing boots, breeches, a fine lawn shirt, and a wicked grin. His white teeth gleamed against his tanned skin.

“There you are! I was beginning to think you had forgotten about our afternoon ride.” His gaze searched her face, and his smile faded. “Was that Mrs. Wingate’s carriage I saw leaving just now? You are so pale. Did she upset you?”

Jane shook her head. “No. Not Mrs. Wingate. Her son, Augustus. My former fiancé.”

“What did he want?” Sebastian asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I—that is—he—” Try as she might, she could not
force the words out. Tears of anger and frustration welled within her.

The viscount crossed to the sideboard in several swift strides; he poured a glass of sherry, then pressed it into her hand. “Here. Drink this.”

Jane took a large sip. The sherry flooded her tongue with a heady liquid warmth

“Slowly,” Sebastian counseled. “Now, what happened?”

Would he believe her innocent of any fault? She had no way to know unless she told him. Jane took a deep breath.

“He said he intends to sue me for breach of promise.”

“Breach of promise?” Sebastian repeated, his brows drawn in an angry line. “He would not dare.”

“He would,” Jane said miserably. “He offered for me because he wanted Wellbourne, and now that he’s been thwarted, he wants compensation.”

“Like hell he does.”

She nodded. “But he has offered to keep this out of the courts. For a price.”

“Has he? What does he want?”

“The pasture that borders hard by his lands and five hundred pounds a month.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“I know.”

“And if we do not pay him?”

He had said “we,” not “you.” A ray of hope pierced her.

“He said that Wellbourne could not survive another scandal—that a word to the Duke of Rutland or any of the local masters of the hunt would ruin us.” She finished her sherry in one last eye-stinging gulp, then set down the glass.

Sebastian took her hands, his skin warm and roughened against hers. “Jane, you are not yet of age. Promises made by a minor are not binding in the eyes of the law. His breach of promise suit has no foundation.”

Jane digested this. “That scoundrel.”

“Exactly. You had no way of knowing not to take his threat seriously. He was counting on your youth and inexperience, and he was counting on you being here alone.” He frowned. “Where the devil is your mother, anyway?”

“I am not certain, but I suspect she has gone to Bath for the summer, My father left her a small set of rooms there in addition to the dower cottage here at Wellbourne. After what happened in London, I suppose she had no desire to face her friends here.”

“And rumor has it that I am still in Town, having abandoned you,” Sebastian said with a growl. He muttered something else under his breath, too softly for her to hear.

“He said you would not help me. I almost believed him,” she admitted.

The viscount reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “I am glad you trusted me enough to confide in me.”

The tender gesture made Jane’s heart lurch sideways. “I had to start somewhere.”

He kissed her gently, tenderly, one arm slipping around her waist and drawing her closer to him until she could rest her head upon his chest. She sighed and leaned against him, taking comfort in the strong, steady beat of his heart. There, nestled in the circle of his arms, the triangle of bare skin at his throat warm against her cheek, she felt secure. She felt—loved. If only that were true. A tear slipped from beneath her lashes.

Sebastian pressed another kiss to the crown of her
head and eased his arms away. “I want you to stay here until I get back,” he said roughly.

She lifted her head. “Where are you going?”

Her tears distracted him; he brushed them away with his thumb. “What’s all this?”

“Nothing,” she replied hastily, attempting to blot them with her cuff.

He smiled. “And neither of us with a handkerchief— again. Will we never learn?”

She would not be put off. “Where are you going, Sebastian?”

“A bath first, I think, and then a change of clothes. After all, I cannot very well pay a call on Mr. Wingate looking like a stable boy.”

“I am going with you,” she declared.

He smiled again, but this time there was no mirth in it. “Not this time, my dear. There are no doubt going to be some very coarse, very ugly words exchanged, and I want you to have no part of it.”

The steel in his voice made her shiver. “What do you intend to do?”

“Do not fret—I am not by nature a violent man. I merely intend to make Mr. Wingate see the folly of his actions.”

“And if he does not?”

“Well, then, I shall have to challenge him to a duel.”

He said it seriously—no teasing, no devil-may-care raillery.

Jane’s vision began to blur at the edges. “Sebastian—no! He may not look it, but he is a crack shot. I have seen him shoot. He will kill you!”

The viscount bent down and kissed her again.

“I doubt it will come to that. Now, go find yourself a handkerchief, and let me deal with Mr. Wingate.”

*    *    *

The reedy, gray-haired butler showed Sebastian down a long hall and into Augustus Wingate’s study, then vanished with a speed the viscount would not have expected of the elderly servant. Obviously, he did not wish to be present for what was about to happen.

Sebastian cast a jaundiced eye about the room. No doubt Wingate had intended this room to reflect his sporting prowess; several sets of antlers were mounted on the wall, and a moth-eaten bearskin rug sprawled over the floor. Several skulls, lumps of bleached bone that might have once been foxes or badgers, adorned the shelves of a bookcase by the window. A side chair, the seat covered with what must be a ragged deer hide, crouched in one corner. The windows appeared as though they had not been cleaned in years, and the whole room smelled very strongly of dog. The viscount was appalled.

The overfed hunter himself lounged in a similarly overfilled leather chair by the fire, an old pointer at his feet. The dog raised its graying muzzle and thumped its tail on the carpet a few times as Sebastian entered.

The two men eyed each other.

This
was Augustus Wingate? Sebastian could never imagine his tiny wife married to such a mountain of a man. Egad, she would run the risk of being crushed into a damp spot on the sofa if she sat too near him. What in the bloody blue blazes had she been thinking?

Wingate huffed a great sigh and heaved his bulky body from the chair. “Good afternoon, Langley,” he intoned. “I confess I am surprised to see you.”

The viscount spared the man a brief nod. “Yes, I am certain you are.”

Wingate slanted him a sly look. “Thought you were
still in London. How long have you been in Leicestershire?”

“Long enough,” Sebastian replied tightly. “I shall be brief, sir. I know about your visit to my wife, and I am here to state unequivocally that you will receive not so much as a farthing from her.”

“Oho,” wheezed Wingate with amusement, sitting down again. His chair creaked a protest. “Told you about that, did she? ‘Pon rep, the chit’s got bottom.”

“So you do not deny threatening her?”

Anyone of Sebastian’s acquaintance would have recognized that dangerous tone and known to be on their guard. This oaf, however, appeared to possess no such discernment.

“On the contrary, Langley. I did not threaten anyone. I merely pointed out to the girl that she had violated our contract and that I am owed fair compensation as a result. A business arrangement, that’s all.”

“If you call blackmail a business arrangement, sirrah, then I should not hesitate to call the law on you,” the viscount replied in glacial tones.

Malice glittered in Wingate’s nearly colorless eyes. “Go ahead. The magistrate’s m’ brother-in-law. Don’t think he would take too kindly to some misguided London buck coming up here and interfering with his duties.”

“Indeed?” Sebastian nudged the head of the bear rug with the toe of his boot; the creature’s fangs gleamed a dull yellow in the firelight. “Then that is why Jane took your threat to heart, even though legally you haven’t a leg to stand on. I did point that out to her.”

Wingate chuckled. “Ah, well. Can’t blame a fellow for trying to get what’s his.”

“Actually—yes, I can.”

Wingate squinted up at him. “I say, Langley why don’t
we discuss this business man to man. The girl
did
agree to marry me, then reneged. That must count for something.”

Sebastian forced back another surge of anger. Let the lout hoist himself on his own petard. “What did you have in mind?”

“You won’t be needing her land. Your father’s got estates to spare. A provincial stud farm like Wellbourne cannot possibly hold any interest for a gentleman like you.”

“Why does everyone assume it would not?” the viscount murmured.

“Well, it doesn’t, does it?”

“As it happens—yes, it does. Jane is very attached to Wellbourne, and I would not dream of making her part with it. Oh… and if you try to intimidate her again, you will have to go through me first. I have every intention of staying in Leicestershire to help my wife manage Wellbourne Grange.”

Wingate’s eyes narrowed until they became mere glints of light in the folds of his face. “You’re a gambler, Langley. I have heard all the gossip about you from London. You’re always punting on the River Tick. In need of the ready, are you? Good—then I’ll give you a fair price for Wellbourne. All of it. Lands, buildings, and horseflesh.”

“Do you think that the way you’ve treated my dear wife gives me any incentive to sell?” Sebastian asked, one eyebrow arched.

A dull flush stained Wingate’s cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’re
fond
of the chit!” he blustered.

“Quite fond. And very protective when her oafish bully of a neighbor tries to blackmail her.”

Wingate squinted at him, and a crafty look slid over
his features. “I say, Langley—I’m rather surprised at you.”

“In what way?”

“Defending damaged goods with such forcefulness. But she has a way of getting under one’s skin, does she not? Jane may not be much to look at, but she’s a passionate little thing. Full of enthusiasm for—physical activity.”

“Careful what you say, sir,” Sebastian warned with a growl. “I will not hear any slander against my wife.”

Wingate chortled. “It’s not slander if it’s true. I’m sure you’ve seen for yourself what a skilled—rider—she is.”