How to Marry a Rogue (36 page)

She gulped hard. “Why not have her around for tea, then? Perhaps she plays the violoncello. We could make up a trio.”

He exhaled slowly. Funny, she almost wanted to see his familiar, almost mocking smile when she was wrong about something.

“You have nothing to fear from Sarah. She only arrived a few minutes before you did, to look in on me. I was going to leave this place and come home, but…” His flush deepened. “I was ashamed to see you, if you must know.”

She took a step toward him and stopped. “We are family now, Jack. At least, I thought we were.”

He nodded. “Exactly. I do hope we continue to be so.” His gaze flitted to her middle, and she instinctively folded her hands across her abdomen.

“Why did you take it?”

“I thought you didn’t care about the money.”

“I don’t. In fact, you may have the lot of it.”

“I do not want it.” He sighed and shook his head. “I cannot tell you,” he said quietly. “I wish I could, but…as horrible as it sounds, it is not something I want you to know. I’ve been trying to win it back these last few days, but it seems my luck has run out.”

Her legs wobbled, and she gripped the back of a chair. He was at her side in the space of a heartbeat and wrapped his arm around her waist for support, but she pushed him away. A strong reek of his unwashed body reached her, and she turned her head away.

“I forgot I am not allowed to ask you about your private affairs.”

“I have no private affairs. I told you the other night…when was it? Wednesday?”

She sniffed, trying to sound aloof, but instead sounded as if she had a cold. “How sweet of you to remember the night you first told me you loved me. Forgive me. You never actually said the words. My memory is as unreliable as yours.”

Without responding, he returned to the sideboard and poured another glass of brandy. “Drink a little of this.”

“I do not want anything.” Tears filled her throat, straining her voice. He handed her the glass, and she took it despite her protestation. The liquid seared her throat. “It’s not about the money. You lied to me. The fighting, the…” She took another drink and sputtered. He tapped her on the back, but she ignored the gesture. “All I ever wanted, Jack, was….”

He took the glass from her and clasped her hands. “I have done nothing to break my vow to you, Georgiana. Believe me, there have been no other women since I escorted you to France.”

“But…but Danielle…”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I wanted you to be jealous.”

“Why?”

“Because you swore never to love me, and I couldn’t accept it.”

“If you accept it now, then tell me why you took the money.”

His shoulders sagged. “I cannot, but believe me, it wasn’t anything to do with us, or to harm you in any way. Quite the opposite, in fact. I swear it on my father’s grave.”

“Do not swear, Jack.” She shook her head. “Jonathan is very angry. He thinks you are no better than Edward was. Worse, perhaps. I’m inclined to believe him.”

He swore beneath his breath. “I am not the man your brother and you fear. I will explain everything soon, but not now. Please, do not ask me.”

“I won’t.” She turned on her heel and walked unsteadily toward the door. “Goodbye, Jack. You needn’t return the money. In fact, you may have it all, to throw away on whatever or whomever you like. I will not stop you.”

“Where are you going?” He followed her.

She opened the door and stepped into the corridor. “To Jonathan’s. I will be out of your way.”

He caught her elbow; too roughly. She raised her hand to strike him. He released her, but the look in his eyes told her he almost welcomed the blow.

“You can’t leave, Georgie.”

“I can, Jack. I can do anything I please. Remember? That was the sole foundation of our arrangement.”

He gripped the door, and she noticed the bruises on his knuckles.

“You have everything you ever wanted, Jack. All of my fortune, gambling as you like, boxing, and your women.” It took the last bit of her strength to stare directly into his eyes. “Congratulations. All it cost you was a few months playing the husband to a silly, infatuated girl.”

No trace remained of the humorous friend he’d always been. If pressed, she could not explain how he looked but wished she’d never have to see his expression again.

“You don’t know how very wrong you are.”

“But I do, Jack. I was wrong to try to make you into something you are not. Something by your own admission, you never can be.”

“What is that?”

“My husband.”

It was torture to stare into his eyes. She waited for him to look away, but he didn’t. A muscle quivered in his jaw, and she longed to bury her head in his shoulder while he assured her everything would be all right.

But he did not speak words of love or beg her forgiveness. She would have taken any confession or explanation, regardless of how preposterous, but he was silent. She turned before he could see her tears.

“Goodbye, Jack. Thank you for helping me in France. I will always treasure those memories. I like to believe not all of them were lies.”

With a little shrug, she slipped through the doorway. In her mind, he was already behind her. Running down the stairs, taking them two at a time, to catch her. Clasping her in his arms before she climbed into the waiting coach. Covering her face, her eyes, her mouth with burning kisses. And she melted into him, her lips answering his.

The stairs echoed only one pair of footsteps. The door closed behind her soft as a whisper. He had not followed.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“This is all rather untoward of the bank to discuss these matters with you, Miss Lockewood.” Mr. Chadwick leaned forward on his steepled fingers to shove his wire-rimmed spectacles up his nose. Georgiana arched an eyebrow and sat up straighter.

“It’s Mrs. Waverley now, Mr. Chadwick.”

He flushed. “Yes, of course.” He opened his hands, palms out. “I regret I am still unable to tell you…”

“The money belongs to me, regardless of what the bank says, Mr. Chadwick. My husband has specified to the bank I have joint control.” She clenched her hands in her lap. It wouldn’t do to anger the banker. She tried a different tack. Fluttering her eyelashes, she touched her cheek with her gloved fingertip, as if she were swiping a tear. “My poor husband has been struck with apoplexy, and the doctors have no idea when he’ll recover. He wanted me to take an accounting of the funds recently removed from the account. I do not know what will happen if I return without it.” She buried her face in her hands and gave a loud sob.

The screech of the chair on the parquet floor assured her of her convincing act. A spotless white handkerchief was poked into her hands.

“Please, Mrs. Waverley—do stop crying. I will see what I can do to assist. Your family’s business has always been a priority with our bank.”

She patted his hand. “Dear sir, I am indebted.” She allowed the tears to slip unchecked down her face, unsure of how many of them were in pretense or because she really did want to cry.

He cleared his throat and bowed. “It will take me some time, ma’am. I will send in some tea.” He scurried from the room and she couldn’t blame him. Not many men were comfortable around a weeping woman.

The second the door closed, she wiped her face and took a deep breath. She must remain calm and not allow emotion to get the better of her, especially now it seemed she would be on her own. Wincing at the unbearable thought, she rose from her chair and peered out the window at Threadneedle Street below. A sea of black hats floated amongst the carriages and horses. Jonathan might even be among them. Jack would surely be out of place among these men of industry. Her chest constricted, and she wished she could loosen her corset, but that was impossible, here in the venerable building. The modiste had altered her wardrobe to accommodate her budding figure, but it never seemed enough. Thoughts of the baby melded with the dull, throbbing ache of her loneliness for Jack.

No longer having to fake her depression, she returned to her chair as Mr. Chadwick entered the office, a sheath of papers in his hands. His forehead gleamed with perspiration, and a whiff of body odor settled around her as he walked past her. He placed the papers on the desk.

“I have the answer for you…for your husband, I mean.” He fidgeted with the edges of a page. “I hope this is not a delicate matter, but it appears the sum of five thousand pounds was written into an account held by one Maisie Smith.”

She blinked. “Who?”

“I do not have any more information, Mrs. Waverley. Perhaps—” He appeared to study her trembling hands, and she realized she’d probably blanched at the news. “Is there something amiss?”

“Uh, no. No, everything is fine.” She stood hastily, nearly knocking over her chair. “I had forgotten about my husband’s cousin, Maisie Smith.” She nearly choked on the lump of tears rising in her throat but regained control of her emotions, at least as far as displaying them. “Indeed, my husband has asked me to place a visit to her at once. Can you tell me where I might find her?”

“I will have to search for that information. I do not know if I have an address. These papers only reveal a name.”

She smiled so broadly her teeth hurt. “I am sure a clever man like you can find it if he wanted to.” Her eyelashes fluttered delicately against her cheek, and she watched the slow flush burn his face until he tugged at his collar. He cleared his throat.

“I am sure something may be done. I will have this information in a day or two, Mrs. Waverley.”

“That will be too late.” She clutched her hands together. “I must pay this visit today. It is imperative.”

The sigh emitting from his lips was barely noticeable. He nodded. “Very well. If you will excuse me a moment, I will see what the clerk can find out.” He bowed before exiting the office.

Georgiana collapsed into her chair, covering her face with her hands. Every hope of a happy life with Jack had crumbled like burned toast. She didn’t know what was more upsetting—that he’d gone ahead with the freedom she’d promised or that she was surprised he had. Hadn’t he warned her of this very thing? He had lived a sordid bachelor life for so long she was a fool to think he could give it up for a childhood friend he enjoyed teasing occasionally. Not to mention, a baby on the way to further tie him down.

Mr. Chadwick’s return interrupted her thoughts. She fought to remain silent while Mr. Chadwick took his time walking around his desk before handing her a slip of paper.

“Not a very nice neighborhood, I’m afraid. Still, it is generous of your husband to care for a relative.”

Georgiana scanned the paper quickly. “This is exactly what I need. Thank you very much.”

“I’m glad to be of service to you and your family.”

She folded the paper and stuck it in her reticule, then paused at the door. “Please, Mr. Chadwick, keep our meeting confidential. I would not want my poor brother to have the wrong impression.”

“Is Mr. Lockewood unwell, too?” The bulbous nose crinkled.

She feigned another attack of nerves. “Ah, yes. Yes, he is. It is so very sad.”

“Very sad, indeed.” He opened the door for her. “Please give my warmest regards to your husband and your brother.” She held up her finger to her lips and arched her eyebrow. He nodded hastily as sweat broke out on his balding pate. “Naturally, you will not, since this meeting never occurred.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink, and she held out her hand.

“Thank you, dear Mr. Chadwick.”

He bowed over her hand.

A few minutes later, Georgiana sank back into the cushioned seat of her waiting carriage.

“Home, ma’am?” Roberts asked.

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “No. I have another stop. In Cheapside.” Roberts took the address from her as easily as if she’d asked him to drive her to Grosvenor Square. She stared out the window with blurred vision as the gray buildings and crowded streets flew by. If only she could order Roberts to keep driving and never stop until he reached the sea.

Where she would throw herself into it.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Men loitered in the alleys and huddled in the narrow doorways of Harkham Street. A few women walked slowly down the street in pairs or singly, and Georgiana met the gaze of one as her carriage drove by. The smeared cosmetics, the blowsy hair—underlined by her absent corset and stained gown—answered any questions she might have had.

She leaned back into the confines of her carriage, shivering beneath the rug. What business could Jack have had in this neighborhood? Maisie Smith, that’s what.

Almost nauseated with nerves and her growing condition, Georgiana jumped when the carriage halted before a weathered building, its windows streaked with soot and grime. Roberts opened the door for her, not even bothering to hide his suspicious glance.

“Shall I accompany you inside, ma’am?”

She squared her shoulders with more bravado than she felt. “That will not be necessary.” A few men looked at her with leering interest, and she touched Roberts’ arm. “Stay close.”

He tugged his forelock and remained beside the carriage, his arms folded across his barrel chest. Were her nerves not so on edge, she might have laughed at his fierce demeanor.

She walked up to the door and straightened her bonnet, then rapped smartly on the wood. The plaintive wails of a baby inside made her pause, and just as she changed her mind and prepared to turn back, the door opened a crack. A girl about her age peeked through the opening, her wide brown eyes offset by a smattering of freckles on her nose and a mop of red curls poking from beneath her dingy cap.

Her face brightened as she took in the sight of Georgiana on her doorstep. “Come in, my lady.” The girl bobbed a nervous curtsy, patting the loose strands of hair hanging over her forehead. “Please excuse the clutter. It’s not very tidy, I’m afraid. We don’t have many visitors.”

Georgiana wanted to be cruel, but the feeling died at the girl’s earnest smile. She stepped into the tiny foyer, and they stared at each other. “You must be Maisie Smith.” She didn’t know why she’d said such a preposterous thing, but the girl bobbed another curtsy. “Surely, you must know who I am.”