If He's Sinful (18 page)

It took hours to sort out the problem of Mrs. Pettibone. The ghost did not leave, however. Penelope decided there had to be something the woman still needed, something concerning her daughters, and resigned herself to having Mrs. Pettibone’s spirit around the house for a while. The Wherlocke Warren was, as her family liked to say, a clean house, void of unhappy spirits and what her aunt Olympia called unsettling energies. There had been the occasional spectral visitor, however, and she had accepted that. She would endure this one, too.

Her brothers, Darius, and Septimus disappeared during the turmoil of an interview by the watch and the carting out of poor Mrs. Pettibone’s body, leaving her alone with the seven youngest boys. Their energy soon wearied her, and deciding it was a rare fine day and too good to waste, she rounded them all up for a walk to the park. The one she chose was across from Ashton’s house but she told herself that was no more than a coincidence. It was a lie and she knew it, but she held to it. She thought that if she repeated it to herself often enough, she might believe it and would be able to act appropriately surprised if Ashton found them.

Ashton stepped into the parlor of Hutton-Moore House and could tell by the look upon Clarissa’s face that he was in for a show of her temper. After spending hours reveling in Penelope’s warmth, he did not care. Clarissa had tricked him into this betrothal and her brother had blackmailed him into holding to it. Neither of them deserved his respect. He was also determined to escape their clutches as soon as possible. For the first time, he was even contemplating selling some of his lands to do so.

“I believe you had said you would be here yesterday, Ashton,” Clarissa said as she sat down and waved one delicate hand to indicate that he should take the seat beside her.

Leaving the door to the parlor wide open, Ashton sat down in the seat across from her. There was no chaperone in the room, not even a maid. It smelled of a trap. Since they were already betrothed, he did not know why she felt compelled to play the entrapment game. If she was planning a seduction, it certainly was not because she had an uncontrollable passion for him. The only reason he could think of was that she wished to add one more link to the chain around his neck to be certain that he joined her at the altar. If fate was kind, he would break that chain and leave her standing there alone.

“There was a distraction I could not ignore,” he replied and feared for a moment that he was about to get a lap full of hot tea.

“A distraction so great you could not even send round a note to say that you were not coming?”

“Once the hour set for our meeting had passed, I assumed you would know that I was not coming. In all honesty, I do not believe I ever promised to come to share tea with you. Since I had not agreed, or promised, to be here, I fear it never occurred to me to tell you that I was
not
coming.”

Ashton sipped his tea and watched her struggle to keep her temper under control. Clarissa craved his title, the heritage of his family, and the chance to become a duchess. She did not want a man or a true husband, however. She wanted a lapdog. She and her brother might be able to force him to marry her, but he would be damned if he would bow to her every whim. His father’s fecklessness meant he had to allow himself to be bought, but he would not be enslaved.

“Might I ask what this distraction was?” Clarissa asked, her attempt to put a light, sweet note in her voice ruined by the thrum of anger behind every word.

“The sight of a young woman fleeing your house with her baggage. Pitiful small amount of baggage it was, as well. Naturally, being a gentleman, I stepped forward to give her aid. Imagine my surprise when I discovered she was your sister.”

“Stepsister,” Clarissa mumbled, her cheeks losing some of their rosy glow.

Ashton continued as if he had not heard her. “A sister who had been living here all along. How is it that I have never met her?”

“She is a very shy girl and somewhat odd,” Clarissa hastily replied, quickly glancing to her left as she spoke. “She has never cared for society and will not attend even the smallest dinner gathering. Now that I am to be wed and become your viscountess, she fears all the turmoil that will come as we entertain your many acquaintances as will be expected.”

“Ah, well then, you must fetch her back and ease her mind.” Ashton smiled at her and idly wondered if he looked as much like the indulgent but firm uncle he sounded like.

“What do you mean? How could I do that?”

“By telling her that we will be spending most of our time in the country. My lands have been sadly neglected, I fear, and it will take a lot of time to set them to rights. I shall want my wife beside me while that is being seen to. What with the houses, lands, and tenants that need seeing to, there will be little time left for frivolity and certainly no time for running to and from London.” Ashton knew some would call him a cad and a liar for what he was doing, but he had to admit that he was enjoying it.

“But, surely, we will need to be here for the season. Your sisters need to find husbands,” Clarissa said in a tone that implied she had just trumped him.

“Mother will take care of that chore. You do not need to worry about it. You will have more than enough to keep you busy, especially when the children begin to arrive.”

“I do, of course, understand my duty to beget your heir, but—”

“And the spare. Do not forget the spare. I come from a large family, however, and that is what I desire to have for myself.”

Clarissa narrowed her eyes and set her tea down with a snap. “I know what game you play. You nearly had me believing that nonsense, but I am on to you now. You seek to make me cry off, to run horrified from the very idea of marrying you.”

“You imagine things, my dear. I but speak the truth.” In a way, he did, but with a slight twist he knew would aggravate Clarissa.

She leapt to her feet and paced the room for a moment before whirling around to glare at him. “I have no intention of living in the country and being your brood mare.”

Now the play would turn hard and mean, he thought, but said, “I am not sure you have much choice in the matter.” Ashton picked a small lemon cake from the tray on the table and began to eat it as if he had not a care in the world.

“My money is not going to be wasted on cows and sheep and tenant cottages.”

“
Your
money? Once we are wed, my dear, it is
my
money.”

“Then I shall have my brother make sure you do not get full control of it.”

He smiled at her and then dabbed at his lips with a prettily embroidered napkin. “Did you not read the betrothal agreement? The only thing that restricts my use of the money is that I may not touch a groat of it until we are married. After that, ’tis mine. You should have spoken out before the papers were drawn up and signed. Too anxious to be a duchess, I suppose.” He could tell by the look on her face that she had not read a word of the agreement, had trusted in her brother to be sure all her interests were protected.

“The agreement can be changed and you will sign the new one.”

Ashton sighed, acted as if he were actually thinking the matter over, and then shook his head. “No. I think not.”

“You need me and that money more than I need you, you cocksure bastard,” she hissed. “You cannot afford to break our betrothal because your precious family is but one step from debtor’s prison. I am the one that will give you the money to save them. Best you remember that, sirrah. I care not what their fate is, but you do.”

He studied her. Her eyes were narrowed and held a hard glitter. Her mouth was thinned in anger and her cheeks were flushed with it. He thought it odd that she could still look beautiful if one did not listen too closely to her words or look too deeply into her eyes. Ashton had to blame himself for missing so much about her character, for letting himself walk into the trap the Hutton-Moores had set for him. He had guessed that she had no warmth in her, but it was worse than that. Whatever man did marry her would find himself saddled with the worst of viragoes for a wife. Ashton was determined that that poor sod would not be him.

Ashton stood up and walked over to her. “My dear Clarissa, why ever do you think you are the one in control of this game? Your brother is. He will do nothing to risk this marriage he has worked so hard for. You may stomp your little feet all you like and curse him to the moon and back, but you will not get your way in this.”

“Nonsense, my brother—”

“Wants to climb up society’s rickety ladder and become someone of power and importance. He wants to dabble in politics. He is unable to do any of that without a notable family connection. Once we are married, that will be me. Trust me in this, the only conditions in that betrothal agreement are ones that give him some power over me and prevent me from simply turning my back on him once we are wed. You and your petty wants were never considered.”

He caught her hand when she swung at him, having learned from how she treated Penelope and her page that she had a tendency to strike when angry. “I am trapped, no doubt about it, but it was not you who closed this trap around me. Sad to say, you were but the bait. Fool that I was, I never checked to see that the meat baiting that trap was rancid before I walked into it.” He tossed her hand aside and started to walk out of the room. “I will meet up with you at the Hendersons’ ball if I have the time.”

It did not surprise him to hear something crash against the door a heartbeat after he had closed it. He had accomplished what he had set out to do, he thought, as he told his carriage driver to take him home, and climbed into the carriage. He had set brother and sister against each other. It might be only a temporary fissure in their relationship, but it was a start. Ashton just hoped it was enough to keep them tangled up with each other for a while so that there was less chance of Charles noticing that someone was asking a lot of questions about him.

He was actually humming a song when he walked into his house. As he handed Marston his coat, hat, and gloves, he asked about his family and discovered they were all out. His friends, however, were all awaiting him in his study. And drinking his brandy, no doubt, he thought with a faint smile as he went to join them.

“You are looking surprisingly cheerful,” said Brant as Ashton entered the room and went to pour himself a brandy.

“I am hoping you are here to make me even more so.” Ashton sat down on the plush settee next to a lounging Cornell. “I assume you have some news for me and are not here just to gaze upon my great beauty.” He grinned when his friends all laughed and peppered him with insults.

“Well, some of our news will surely make you smile but I am not sure all of it will,” said Cornell. “Lady Penelope’s solicitor, Mr. Horace Earnshaw, has definitely been corrupted.”

“Or blackmailed,” said Vincent. “We are not sure which.”

“Mayhap both,” muttered Whitney. “Corrupt the fool and then blackmail him.”

“How? Or what?” asked Ashton.

“Not sure which came first,” said Cornell. “Have been following the fool for two days and nights. He is not wise enough to hide his vices or he has suffered such vices for so long he has grown careless. He gambles and is not very good at it. Owes a lot. Not sure that is the real trouble, though. He goes to the Dobbin House every other night.”

Ashton nearly choked on his brandy. The Dobbin House was a notorious brothel. It was rumored to sell children, especially pretty little boys, but had never been closed. The few times it was sacked by the authorities or some outraged morality group, there was no proof found that it was any more than an inn with maids that secretly earned a few extra coins on their backs. Not worth the time and trouble of prosecution. That did not stop people from believing the worst of it. If word spread that Earnshaw frequented such a place, he would soon find himself without clients and destitute. He could even find himself facing a hanging, as Ashton thought sodomy was still a hanging offense.

“From what little I have discovered about Penelope’s father, he was a rake but not witless. It seems strange that he would have a solicitor with such vices, ones that leave him open to corruption and blackmail.”

“May be that these things were not such a problem when the marquis first hired him and then the man simply paid no more attention to Earnshaw.”

“Or he is the son of the man the marquis dealt with. If the man is already being blackmailed, then I am not sure what we can do to make him tell us what we need to know.”

Brant frowned. “At least we can be sure that the man will not hesitate to abuse his client’s trust to save his own skin. The only way to know if he will answer our questions is to confront him.”

Ashton nodded. “Have any of you found a reason to believe it is worth it? Because of my father, I fear my mother did not have a great deal to do with society for many years. She knew a few things and what she did know seemed to imply that the marquis was a faithless swine but not given to financially profligate ways. His wife was also not without her own small fortune. The title and entailed lands went to his nephew but there should have been other properties and money.”

“Exactly what we heard,” said Whitney. “The man could not seem to stop himself from tossing up a skirt and many of the old men at the clubs had wild tales to tell of his lechery. But to a man, they said he was careful with his coin, almost tight-fisted. What was not entailed should have gone to his wife and, one would assume, to his daughter. For all we know, there may have even been something set aside for his sons. They were openly recognized as his from what I gather.”