If He's Sinful (7 page)

“That is what she said. She said,
‘Did you think a woman woke up one day and said I think I shall become a whore.’
”

Brant chuckled but quickly grew serious. “I had thought the places such as Mrs. Cratchitt’s were different, that the ones who catered most specifically to the gentry did not indulge in that sort of, er, recruitment. I was wrong. Perhaps even naïve.”

“God rot it, now I begin to fear that everything Penelope said was true. I have not been able to shake her words out of my head. After all, she was an innocent, though I had thought her but new at her work. We know she was kidnapped, and she was drugged. Yet how could she be the daughter of a marquis?” he finished in a distracted mutter.

Brant choked on the coffee he was drinking and needed a moment to still his coughing before he asked in a hoarse voice, “She said what?”

“If I recall correctly, at one point she said she was not one of Mrs. Cratchitt’s girls and I rather condescendingly asked her what she was then. She said,
‘What if I told you I was the daughter of a marquis, cruelly kidnapped off the street, and then sold to Mrs. Cratchitt? That I was given a vile potion, dressed in this scandalous attire, and tied to this bed, all against my will?’”

“And you did not believe her?”

“Would you have?”

“No. So, the only question left to answer now is—
is
she the daughter of a marquis?”

“What would a marquis’s family be doing living in such a house at such an address?”

“Perhaps the man was akin to your father and that is all they can afford. Or they are the man’s little family from a mistress he kept for years. Did you ever discover what her full name was?”

“Wherlocke, I believe. It was the name on a placard by the front door. A strange placard, as it said WHERLOCKE WARREN.”

“That is odd. A family joke perhaps. The name is of the gentry, but that is all I am certain of. It most certainly warrants investigation, but we must do it very carefully, and as discreetly as possible. It could be true. You and I do not know enough of each and every family in society to discard that possibility.” Brant studied the look that settled on Ashton’s face with amusement. “What is that odd expression indicative of?”

“I just realized I may have stood bare-arsed before the virginal daughter of a marquis.” He grimaced and then smiled when Brant laughed. “Let us just hope the man is either dead or not the sort to be easily offended.”

Brant immediately sobered. “Good point.” He sat up straighter when Ashton’s butler entered the breakfast room. “S’truth, we can begin our investigation now.”

“With my butler?”

“Butlers can be a veritable fount of information on the ton. Marston,” Brant said as the tall, slender butler began to remove some of the empty plates from the table, “do you know anything about a family called Wherlocke?”

“I do indeed, m’lord,” Marston replied in his deep, well-modulated voice. “A somewhat eccentric, reclusive family, but a very old one. They and the other branch of the family, the Vaughns, have collected up quite a few impressive titles through advantageous marriages and service to the crown.” Marston frowned slightly at the shocked looks on the faces of the young lords. “Is there a problem, m’lord?” he asked Ashton. “I would have thought you would know of the family for Lady Clarissa’s father married into it. If I recall correctly, the woman was a young, wealthy widow with only one child. I am surprised you have not met that child for she must be living with the Hutton-Moores.”

“I have met no one,” Ashton managed to spit out, a cold, hard knot of dread beginning to form in his stomach.

“How odd, m’lord. The butler at the Hutton-Moore town house was my cousin, although it had a different name when my cousin worked there. He died shortly after the marquis did. I trust in his word that there was a daughter. I do not know the Hutton-Moore butler well enough to confirm that if that is what you seek.”

“But you are certain the marquis’s child was a girl?”

“Most certain, m’lord. My cousin had no reason to lie to me about it. In truth, he always spoke quite fondly of the child.”

“What did you mean when you said the Wherlockes are eccentric?” asked Brant.

As he scraped the leavings from each dish into a bowl, Marston replied, “‘Gifted’ might be a better word. It is what has been claimed about them although I have no knowledge as to the veracity of such claims. My cousin was quite convinced of it, however. It is claimed that the Wherlockes and their kin, the Vaughns, have unusual skills, can see the future, commune with the spirits, and other talents of that ilk. It is why they are a somewhat reclusive family. Needless to say, such, er, gifts gave them a great deal of trouble in the past. You will find ones who know of the family, but not many who know them personally and even fewer who know them well. Of course, my cousin told me of this in confidence.” He glanced at each of the two younger men, who nodded their understanding. “Might I ask why you are interested in the family, m’lord?”

“I think I have met one, although I do not know which part of the family she springs from,” replied Ashton.

“If you wish, m’lord, I can make note of what I know and as much of the lineage as I can and give it to you this afternoon.”

“Yes, if you would be so kind, Marston, I would appreciate it.”

“Allow me to offer you the household’s felicitations upon your betrothal to Lady Hutton-Moore, m’lord.”

“Thank you and thank them for me,” Ashton answered and watched morosely as Marston left with the dirty dishes and a bowl full of scraps he would feed to his beloved cats. “I think I may be in some difficulty,” he said to Brant as soon as Marston closed the door behind him.

“Do not fret over that now. You need to get that ring to your fiancée and make your displeasure known to Clarissa.”

“The woman who may well have hidden her impoverished relative—stepsister, by damn—away like a dirty secret? I cannot help but fear what plans she may have for my poor aunts.”

“She cannot act against them without your approval and acquiescence.”

“But she can make them feel like dirt upon her pretty shoes.”

“Perhaps, my friend, it behooves you to take some time to gain a better knowledge of just what sort of woman your fiancée is. Women are so well trained in the various artifices of society that one cannot always be certain what they are really like. Her dowry may save your family from debtor’s prison, but at what cost?”

That was a question Ashton knew he would have to answer before he stood in front of an altar with Lady Clarissa. Perhaps it was time to survey some of the other heiresses.

By the time Ashton returned home late in the afternoon, his head ached. He was not particularly pleased to see all four of his friends waiting in his study, but he heartily welcomed the brandy Victor had brought along for them to share. It took several deep swallows of the smooth, mellow brew before he felt calm enough to indulge in the conversation his friends so obviously wished to have with him. Ashton decided to succinctly answer all their questions about Clarissa before they asked them.

“My fiancée was not pleased with the ring,” he said. “She had obviously been anticipating the Radmoor emerald. Both she and her brother expressed surprise that I was at all annoyed by the announcement, claiming they had thought that everything had been settled. Even graciously offered to retract the announcement.”

“An offer you politely refused, of course,” said Brant.

“Of course. Mercenary bastard that I am, I need that money. I am barely hanging on as it is.” He grimaced. “Unless some miracle befalls me, I will soon marry Lady Clarissa. I have no choice. Even less choice than I had thought for Lord Charles holds a rather large number of my father’s markers.”

“He threatened you?”

“Not precisely, but then such a thing is rarely done precisely, is it. The information was very delicately inserted into the discussion of the marriage contracts. However, the implication is very clear. Marry Clarissa or find myself facing a demand for immediate payment, something I could never honor, not without plunging my entire family into utter destitution. Part of Clarissa’s dowry is already earmarked for the payment of those markers so I will get even less than I had hoped for.” He shook his head when all four men started to speak. “No. No loans. The debts my father bequeathed me are almost more than I can bear. I will add no more.”

“It would not be a matter of adding, but exchanging,” said Brant, “but we will not argue that now. While we were waiting for you, Marston brought us the information on the Wherlockes as he promised.”

Ashton studied the four very serious faces of his friends. “You are about to give me bad news.”

“It can wait,” Brant began.

“No. Spit it out.”

“Well, even though Marston says he is not finished, the lineage he did give us is very impressive. The Wherlockes and the Vaughns are intertwined with many of the most important families in England. At the moment, what most concerns you, us, is one marquis of Salterwood, a Wherlocke, who married one Minerva Wherlocke, a very distant cousin. He bred one child on his wife, a girl, and died ten years almost to the day after his marriage. His widow then married the baron of Haverstile three years later and died within four years of her wedding, along with her husband, in a boating mishap. The baron adopted her child shortly after the marriage, making that child Penelope Wherlocke Hutton-Moore.”

“Hell.”

Chapter Five

“You should have heard her, Artemis,” Penelope said as she kneaded the bread while her brother removed peas from their pods. “She was absolutely furious that Radmoor had given her—how did she put it?—some pathetic, tawdry little ring of sapphires and diamonds and not the Radmoor emerald.” She looked across the kitchen table at her brother. “She truly cares nothing for the man.”

“You suspected that all along,” said Artemis, then opened a pod and rolled the peas inside into his mouth.

“I did, but feared it was my own jealousy making me think such things. After all, Radmoor is very handsome and a viscount, with a strong chance of gaining more titles. Even though his father leapt from scandal to scandal and bed to bed and apparently left little more than debt behind, Lord Ashton is still accepted in society. Except for the previous viscount, the Radmoors have a long and illustrious heritage. Marrying into that family would be quite a coup for the daughter of a baron who gained his title because he procured women for the prince.”

“Really? You can get a title for that?”

“Oh, aye. Do not forget that some very high titles have been given to people simply because some king or prince begot them on the wrong side of the blanket. Compensation for the cuckolded husband, I suppose.” She set the bread dough in a bowl and draped a cloth over it before moving to the sink to wash her hands. “So much anger,” she murmured.

“At the Hutton-Moores’?” Penelope nodded and Artemis grinned. “So that is why you arrived here far earlier than you usually do.”

“It is. Clarissa and Charles were so consumed by their anger, they did not notice me slip away.” She frowned as she dried her hands. “I think they may have threatened Radmoor.”

“With what?”

“There was something said about his father’s debts. I think Charles may have gained hold of some of them, a lot of them, and now holds the markers over him like a sword of Damocles. Think, instead of a lot of men owed smaller sums, many of them willing to take payments or wait, Radmoor now faces one man who could bring him to his knees by simply demanding immediate payment of many debts.”

“Clever,” murmured Artemis and shrugged at his sister’s scowl. “I did not say it was right, just clever. Evilly so.”

She shook her head at his weak attempt to slither out of a scolding for his remark. “I also think they put the notice of the betrothal in the papers before there was any actual proposal made. Clarissa said something about the ring being an insult, one delivered because they had rushed the man.” She gathered up a small basket of apples that had wintered over very well in storage, sat down at the table, and began to peel them. “It is the why of such machinations that I cannot understand.”

“They want those titles in the family. Titles that actually carry a little power and respect.”

“Perhaps. Charles would benefit through Clarissa. I fear Radmoor is quite firmly trapped. He is badly in need of money. He certainly does not have what would be needed if Charles called in those debts. It is sad when fathers decimate fortunes, leaving their families to suffer. From the way Radmoor’s father behaved, I have to think that his parents did not have a happy marriage and the man then bequeathed his son the need to endure the same.”

Artemis frowned as he snatched a slice of apple. “It would seem to me that some of the aristocrats do not want to give up anything. Not their fancy clothes, not their fancy carriages and fine horses, not the balls and the opera.”

Penelope nodded. “That is some of it. They would rather plunge themselves into a miserable marriage that will last a lifetime just to be able to keep buying embroidered waistcoats from whatever tailor is
au courant
. I must say that, if Radmoor thinks Clarissa will give up even one small luxury while he repairs his fortunes and his lands, he has failed to see her clearly. Sadly, Clarissa is the sort of woman who will constantly remind him that
she
was the one who pulled him out of debt. Nay, I change my mind. The truly sad thing is that I think he would do his utmost to be a good and true husband, but Clarissa has no interest in that. She will turn what could be a good marriage into the same miserable, faithless union too many in society endure. The same sort of marriage his parents had.” Penelope sighed and stared at the bowl full of apple slices in front of her. “I think that is what troubles me most of all. She will not make him happy.”