Never Trust a Scoundrel (3 page)

Until it had almost cost her her reputation and her self-respect.

If she dwelled on that, she'd make herself sick. She had learned long ago to get on with the repairs of her family, to make things right. The newest plan had come to her in the middle of Mr. Throckmorten's boasts about his prowess in seducing women, and Grace had seized on it with a foolhardiness that couldn't be helped. She needed that violin. Sadly, it was not for the childhood memories, but for its monetary worth. She'd
been told it was so rare that collectors would pay thousands of pounds for it. Would that be enough to offer as the initial payment toward one of the family's properties? And then she'd own it, and her mother would have no control.

But to get the violin back, she'd had to make a bet with a gambler, something she'd sworn she would never do. The sick, hollow feeling came back, almost eating her up inside. Was she truly more like her mother than she'd ever thought?

But no, she was only doing this to fix her mother's mistake, to give Edward the home that had been taken away from him. She had no access to her own dowry money; it was locked up too tightly in the bank so that even her mother couldn't get at it. And if she married some man out of desperation, there was no guarantee he'd even allow her to have any part of the dowry.

Grace was confident in her ability to win. There was no risk at all. Though Mr. Throckmorten could try all he wanted, she would never allow herself to be seduced when so much was at stake. She had learned her lesson.

G
race sat still, afraid to think about what she'd done. A key rattled in the front door, and with a gasp, she came to her feet. But this time it was the familiar, beloved face of her brother, his brown hair mussed, his chin shadowed with a day's growth of whiskers, his expression shocked and concerned.

“Grace, when did you arrive?” he demanded with confusion.

Before she could answer, his gaze took in her nightclothes, his eyes widened, and he glanced back outside.

“But I saw Throckmorten leaving here. I thought I must have accidentally left the door unlocked. I'm still so used to having the butler—” He broke off with a wince, then his stormy gray eyes settled on her once again. “Did you speak with him?”

“I did,” she said gravely. “When he arrived, he didn't know I was here.”

“I don't owe him anything—”

“No, but Mother does. Or did.”

He only looked bewildered. It was obvious he'd
had a bit too much to drink, but he wasn't drunk, and for that she was grateful.

“Come up to the drawing room, Edward. I have so much to tell you.”

When they were seated across from each other on two sofas, Edward listened to her story while wearing a weary expression. She hated seeing the hurt in his eyes when she had to tell him that their mother had lost his only inheritance. He looked confused and crushed, not the same young man brimming with vitality that she remembered. She kept waiting with dread for him to say he'd win it all back, but he didn't.

And she found that almost worse.

When the time came for her to explain how their mother's bet related to her, the words stuck in her throat. It was too embarrassing, and Edward didn't need to know. For then he'd ask what Mr. Throckmorten had said about a marriage between them, and she'd be forced to lie somehow. And she didn't want to lie to her brother. It was bad enough keeping things from him. But how could she tell him that his sister, still reeling from her foolish conduct with Baxter Wells, had just challenged another man to try to seduce her?

Edward would forbid it. He would try to protect her, might challenge Mr. Throckmorten to a duel, for heaven's sake.

But he did deserve to know that she had some kind of plan. She trusted her brother; she just didn't trust his judgment anymore, she thought sadly.

“He has the violin, Edward,” she said, wringing her hands and looking away.

“The violin that was to be yours? Mother gave that away, too?” he added in disgust.

“Yes, but I think I can persuade him to give it back. And if we sell it, surely we can afford to rent a place to live, maybe even one of our own homes.”

“But how can you get it back?”

She didn't know what lie to tell him. “He did agree to allow us to live here for a while. He was not so cruel as to put us onto the streets.”

“How nice of him,” he said sarcastically, “when he has so many family homes to choose from.”

She sighed, grasping at ideas. “I…challenged him for ownership of the violin.”

Edward frowned as his gaze searched her face. She went on quickly.

“He doesn't believe that I could convince him to give it back of his own accord, but I can.”

“How? He will want too much from you, Grace.”

Now he was hitting too close to the truth, and she couldn't quite meet his eyes. “I don't know, Edward. I had thought first of revenge, of course, but in the end, it is not his fault that our mother is…what she is.” Her mind was working frantically—only a different sort of man would give back the violin. She stiffened. Would Edward believe that she could change Mr. Throckmorten? She had no better idea. Before she could change her mind, she said, “I decided to try to turn him
from a gambler into the kind of man who, for honor, would give us back at least the violin.”

Edward sat back, looking at her through bleary, puffy eyes. “I don't understand. How can you make him give up gambling? If you were capable of that miracle, our mother would be here with us.”

There was a tense silence, as they both wondered where their mother had fled to, how she would survive. But knowing their mother, Grace thought, she'd taken something of value with her. And for now, it was a relief not to have to deal with her.

“You need to stay away from him, Grace.” Edward leaned forward on the sofa, staring at her with sincerity. “He is not a safe man to be around.”

“I don't plan on being alone with him,” she said quickly.

But how could she know what Mr. Throckmorten had planned for her? she thought with a too-pleasant shiver.

“Grace,” he said with exasperation, “don't you know who he is?”

“Well…his name was familiar, but I had no time to search my brain for the reason why.”

“His father, Baldwin Throckmorten, was a famous composer before his death.”

“Oh yes, that is why I know him! I own sheet music to his father's symphonies.” She tried to imagine young Mr. Throckmorten growing up in a household surrounded by music, but she
couldn't even picture him as a child. He surely had made any household miserable with cunning pranks and ruthless demands.

“His mother is Lady Flora, daughter of the late duke of Madingley.”

“He's related to a duke?” she asked in surprise. This might even help her plans. Surely he would care what his family thought of him.

“Just listen. Lady Flora also loved to compose music, but was never successful.”

Grace frowned. “But I own music by her as well.”

“You're getting ahead of my story,” Edward said in a low voice. “When they first married, her husband was very poor, and her father supported them. That was a scandal in and of itself, that she married so far beneath her. She tried for many years to have her work published, but was unsuccessful. Baldwin Throckmorten became more and more famous. And then he fell off the balcony at Madingley Court and died.”

With a gasp, Grace said, “How old was their son?”

“Young, but I do not know the exact age.”

She didn't want to feel sympathy for him. He was a gambler and an overconfident seducer of women.

“Worse was yet to come. Servants heard Lady Flora say that it was all her fault that her husband was dead.”

“Oh, surely she was just grief-stricken.”

“But then not six months later, she emerged
from mourning with an incredible symphony, and she never again composed another. Though there was no proof, everyone believed that she'd killed her husband. She lives reclusively in the country and never comes to London. Throckmorten has become just as scandalous as his parents. The duke's other children are no better, but that gossip can be saved for a different time.”

“Surely Mr. Throckmorten's scandals cannot top his parents' rumor of murder.”

“Of course not. But he gambles with anyone, even over foolish things like how many callers the newest Original receives in a day, or how many times Queen Victoria makes a public appearance in a week.”

Or if he can seduce a desperate woman into his bed,
she thought, gritting her teeth.

“He dabbles in business too much for a gentleman. He is notorious for his ability to…persuade even the most reluctant of women to become his mistress.”

Her face was hot with a blush, and her resolve to resist the man strengthened.

“He shows no interest in marrying,” Edward continued, “so the young ladies stay away from him.”

“He sounds like a foolish man,” Grace said. But he also sounded like a man who would do anything to win, which would play right into her plan. Could that be his weakness?

Edward shrugged. “I've been told he's beyond wealthy.” There was a tired envy in his voice.

“Was his father that successful?”

“I think not. Throckmorten is a genius with his own finances.”

“And he'll ruin it all with his wild ways.” Grace turned away, and spoke without thinking. “Does he not understand that once the gambling fever takes hold, it might never let him go?”

Then she realized what she'd said and looked back at Edward.

His eyes watched her with sadness, the wariness gone. “It doesn't have him like it has me, Grace.”

“Don't say that! I was thinking of Mother.”

“I can't even be angry with her. I might have done the same.”

“You're wrong! You don't have to be like her. You can stop the gambling now.”

“It's in my blood, don't you know that?” he said, his voice sounding as weary as if he'd given up. “But not you, Grace, thank God.”

She felt sick. If he knew how recklessly she was gambling with her own reputation, he would be so disappointed in her. “I have my own flaws, Edward, as you well know.”

He sighed and put his arm around her. “Wells played you for a fool, Grace. I had thought he was my closest friend—I had even encouraged you to attach yourself to him.”

“You didn't know, Edward,” she whispered. “And it was my fault that I—” She broke off, unable to even say the words.

“You were an innocent, Grace. He took advan
tage of you, said he was going to marry you. Even I believed him. Why wouldn't you, a girl in love, believe him, too?” He ground his fist into his open palm. “He's steered clear of me in London. Knows I'd pop him in the face for how he treated you.”

She hugged herself, and then leaned her head against his arm. Poor Edward, so close to her, yet she'd been too humiliated to tell him everything that had happened between her and Baxter Wells, including the several days where she'd snuck away to lie in his arms.

“Promise me that you won't discuss this with Mr. Throckmorten, Edward,” she insisted. “I think he'll respond to me better than you. I'll get that violin back.”

“I hate using you this way, Grace.”

“I promise I'll be careful.”

At last, he nodded. “For what it's worth, I won tonight.”

“Oh, Edward,” she whispered forlornly. She wanted to beg him not to bet any of it, but she could not show him her distrust.

“We'll be able to pay the bills for a few weeks, maybe even buy you a new gown. If you're going to redeem Throckmorten, you'll need to see him wearing your best.”

“Redeem?” she echoed.

“Isn't that what you're doing?”

Redeeming a gambler,
she thought morosely. She'd spent her life trying to do that, first with her mother, then her brother, and now Daniel Throckmorten. And it never worked, not down deep
inside. But if she couldn't redeem Mr. Throckmorten's soul, maybe she could redeem him in Society's eyes?

With this plan, she could convince Edward she'd won the violin legitimately.

And she could thwart Mr. Throckmorten's attempted seduction.

When Edward left the room, he did not kiss her cheek, or put his hand on her shoulder, as he once would have done. Tears pricked her eyes, but she willed them to dry. She wasn't finished fighting—not just for her own freedom, but for her brother's recovery. For what sort of life would he have without the social standing of land?

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She was tired and distraught. She told herself that for now, they had a place to live and food to eat. She had confidence in her ability to resist Mr. Throckmorten. And by resisting, she could win the violin. To save Edward, she'd try anything.

 

Grace woke up at dawn, because she always kept country hours. With Edward usually in London, and her mother sleeping late, Grace had been the one to consult with the steward every day, to do the household accounts. She'd begun to read books on agriculture that the bailiff had suggested to her, so she'd understand what he was discussing. She'd always considered it time well spent, for she wanted to make a useful wife someday.

Not a mistress.

When she thought of a mistress, she pictured a selfish creature, given to pleasures of the flesh rather than the hard work that came with preparing for marriage. She couldn't imagine why a woman would rather devote herself to a man for money only. Of course, now she knew how easily a woman could be tricked into losing her virginity. And there was always the fear that on her wedding night, her new husband would realize she had not come to him pure.

Her confrontation with Daniel Throckmorten had made her rethink some of her ideas, had even confirmed things she knew about herself. She was far too easily attracted to a man with handsome looks and a dangerous air. She wasn't worried that she'd succumb to any pressure on his part, not anymore, but she was disappointed that once again, she was proving to herself that men seemed to be her weakness. For her mother and brother, it was the risk of games of chance. For her, it was the age-old game between men and women.

And the new game she'd begun with Mr. Throckmorten.

How did he plan to proceed? she wondered as she ironed a gown to wear. Would he show up at unexpected times, imposing on her with his presence? Would he “court” her, visiting every day, having conversations as if they were getting to know each other for marriage instead of a more illicit purpose?

Grace washed and dressed, vowing to have Edward help her carry buckets of hot water to her
room that night so that she could have a proper bath. While she was in the ground-floor library, writing a letter to send for her maid, she heard noises from the back of the house. Thinking it was Edward, she went to the kitchen, only to find a young boy eating pieces of dried apple, looking at her with big, wary eyes. After some questioning, Grace learned that Edward still retained a horse and the services of this young groom, Will, to take care of the stables and apprentice as Edward's valet. It was surely cheaper than his last perfectly trained manservant.

She sent the boy on a new errand, parting with another of her coins. He was to find Daniel Throckmorten and follow him for the day. She had to know what kind of man he was, his favorite haunts, and his friends in Society. Her plans for him needed witnesses, and she already had one in mind.