Rogues Gallery (9 page)

In a few short weeks he would finally commence his long-delayed dynasty. He moistened his lips, instantly aroused at the image of the delectable Miss Dunsmore pinned beneath his body while he spilled his seed into her. Only to start again, to ensure she would produce many sons to inherit what he had worked so diligently to provide for them.

He could only hope she proved more enthusiastic in his bed than she had in his company that afternoon. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold. And she was an innocent, after all, so how could he expect her to anticipate the marital pleasures awaiting them?

She had been so enticing, in her bed the previous night. How he wished he could have tossed propriety to the wind, tearing her nightrail from her shoulders, biting her pale skin. Just as he had with another young woman long ago, her fiery red hair spilling across his pillow as she reached for him.

Edmund gripped the edge of the desk, groaning as he sought to control the lust raging throughout his body. If only he did not have to wait. He was no longer a young man, and he could not afford to take any more chances.

It was why he had forbidden Marisa to ride in the mornings.

It was also the reason his late wife had had to tumble from her horse. If she had seen fit to provide him with children, he might have not been forced to instigate the accident. Mercifully she had died quickly. It would have spoiled his plans if she had lingered, for he had needed to endure the twelve months of mourning before he could seek out another bride.

In the next year he expected to be holding the future heir, with the spare well on its way in his future wife's womb. A very fertile womb, he hoped, for the comely miss had six strapping brothers, evidence of her family's ability to produce healthy children.

Edmund leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. He had seen to every detail, left no stone unturned. He had even convinced the
ton
he was the most stoic, not to mention blameless, man alive. It was no wonder he believed in his innocence, as well.

Hadn't he done everything possible for the worthiest of causes?

"Bernard, what am I to do?"

"About what, poppet?" Her brother's elegant fingers continued their light caress of the pianoforte keys, a cheerful tune filling the airy music room.

Marisa shifted on the striped satin bench next to her brother. "Do not provoke me so! You know I mean about this marriage."

"I cannot see that you can do anything," he answered with undeniable merriment.

"Honestly! Of all my brothers, you are the only one who has shown any sensibility where I am concerned. Yet I can see how hopelessly like the others you are."

Bernard's hands stilled. "Marisa, that's grossly unfair. You know how little I like it when you compare me to our siblings."

Marisa knew the effort Bernard expended to distinguish himself from their older brothers—and their overbearing father.

"Well, prove your difference by assisting me in avoiding this marriage. If you do, I may be inclined to forgive you for your transgression with the jewels."

Bernard turned to her, his finely-shaped lips pulled down into a frown. He brushed a stray hair from her temple. "I have told you this before, poppet. It has always been my fervent desire to see you happy."

He returned to playing the pianoforte, as if reluctant to face her. "But I can see you do not fully comprehend the plight of a younger son without an independent source of funds. Father threatened to cut off my pittance of an allowance if I tried to help you escape this wedding. And," he added for emphasis, "that was before I even attempted a word on your behalf."

Marisa sagged. "He knows you are my only ally."

"An ally without aid," he admitted. "Which is no doubt why he chose me to serve as chaperone until the wedding."

"If only you had informed me of the rubies when we had a chance to make use of them."

Bernard could not defend himself, so he wisely kept his counsel.

Marisa perused the oversized room, unable to accept that she would be forced to call this place her home one day. The gold silk damask wall coverings and festooned curtains were certainly the height of fashion, and the Aubusson carpet was bound to impress the most discerning guest.

But the whole of it, from the numerous gilt armchairs lining the walls to the cut-glass chandelier, felt oppressive rather than welcoming, and she could not entertain any thought but that of escape.

Especially knowing what accommodations awaited her aunt.

"What if we were to flee together? We could make a life on our own elsewhere," she suggested.

Bernard turned a mocking face her direction, yet his fingers continued their lively dance on the ivory keys. "Poppet, how should we earn our keep? I have no skills, leastwise, none that serve outside a drawing room. And you could only keep starvation at bay by pursuing a career that even I am loathe to profit from."

Marisa's heart plummeted. For the first time she began to fear she would not be able to flee her dire future. The stables and Lord Westbrook's excellent horseflesh were off-limits now, and her only ally was unable to assist her.

Yet it was not solely her future at stake.

Bernard took Marisa's hands in his. "Believe me, poppet, 'tis for the best. Lord Westbrook seems a decent sort. He is an earl, and highly respected. Not to mention rich as Croesus." He replaced his fingers on the piano keys. "There really is no reason to be so set against this wedding."

"Have you ever seen the inside of Bedlam?"

The music halted with a dissonant crash. In the next moment a mournful tune wafted upwards, a lament for the souls trapped in the living hell known as Bethlehem Hospital for the Insane.

"The reason I agreed to this betrothal," Marisa said in a strangled voice, "was because Father threatened to send Aunt Althea there."

Bernard shot her a sideways glance. "Surely he was not serious about that. He merely meant to impress upon you his intention of seeing you wed."

"He was most serious, Bernard."

Marisa remembered all too well her father's elaborate fashion of dipping the pen in the inkwell as he drafted a letter to his solicitors, drawing out her agony while she waited for him to capitulate. The relentless scratching of the quill on the paper consigned her beloved aunt to a fate no one deserved, sane or not, while the silent battle of wills between father and daughter continued.

"He summoned the footman, asking him to fetch Aunt Althea so that I might inform her of some important news. Imagine my horror when she sat on the edge of the chair, cajoling me to deliver what she believed was glad tidings." Marisa could not hold back her dismay. "He would do this to his own sister, Bernard!"

"Honestly, poppet, I had no idea. But," he said, eyeing her with a great deal of interest, "you cannot be at all surprised that Father finally lost his patience. You have refused all of the suitors he produced."

"I do not see how they can be labeled suitors when it is clear we would not have suited at all."

Bernard's lips tilted upwards. "You must insist on love, I suppose."

Marisa bristled at the mockery in his voice. Yet she could not deny that a loving marriage was indeed what she sought, the extreme opposite of her parents' wedded agony. She had long dreamt of a husband that would woo her and love her, and cherish her through numerous happy years.

Was it too much to want a husband who could make her smile, and not just when she had escaped him through death?

She shivered at the haunting memory of her mother in her coffin. The happiness on her mother's face had been so unnatural, it had chilled the young Marisa even more than her mother's untimely death. She had vowed then she would not suffer the same marital fate.

It was perhaps a fruitless quest, for her own Father had sneered he could not wait for Marisa to find someone to love her, for he was bound to be many years in his grave before such an unlikely event ever occurred.

"Why are you so dismissive of love, Bernard?"

He stared into the distance before answering. "I find it to be inconvenient, in the grand scheme of things. Just look at all the turmoil it has caused for you."

"I can only hope you endure a similar fate one day."

"Perhaps I already have, poppet." He flashed an impudent grin. "In any event, there is nothing for you to fear. You have saved Aunt Althea from Father's hollow, albeit very successful, threat. All is well."

"It should be," Marisa agreed.

Still, her breath caught at the memory of her father's cruel method of bending her will, how his eyes glittered with triumph at her capitulation. It was why she could not shake the fear that once she was irrevocably wed, and Aunt Althea had served her purpose in his plots, her father would send his simple sister away anyway.

And Marisa would be powerless to prevent it, more so than she was now.

"Bernard, you are my last hope."

He turned at her softly uttered plea. She knew from the faint twist of his lips he recognized the words she had not uttered since childhood. Then, he had always been one to sympathize when Father had railed against her transgressions. Bernard had dried her tears when she could not understand why her own parent could not love her in spite of all her efforts.

Yet she had not relied on anyone in a very long time. It pained her to plead for help when she was accustomed to being the one giving aid.

Marisa stared at her brother, trying to divine his thoughts, but his expression gave her no hint as to what he might be thinking. She opened her mouth to press for escape once more, knowing Bernard had never failed her.

Well, only once, but she was willing to forgive him that offense if he assisted her now. Surely he could not continue to refuse her pleas, not when the stakes were so high.

"I am sorry, poppet." Bernard returned his attention to the pianoforte. "But I fear I am as helpless as you are."

Marisa inhaled sharply, his refusal a stab to her heart. Worse, Bernard appeared as if they had been discussing an unexpected change in the weather, not the horrifying future awaiting their aunt.

It was several moments before she could speak without anger quivering in her voice. "I had hoped you of all people would prove the least bit sympathetic."

She stalked to the door, her heart throbbing with the ache of Bernard's betrayal. Until her betrothal, she had never doubted Bernard's love for her. Now she could not comprehend the cause of his sudden about-face.

Even worse, she began to wonder if her father's taunts about her being unlovable might be true. She was assured of Aunt Althea's love now, but could she still count on her affections if Marisa's rescue attempts failed?

She glanced at her brother, intent on his musical composition and entirely oblivious to her heartache. "Bernard, why did I never notice how much like Father you are?"

***

B
ernard entered Lord Westbrook's opulent library. He stifled the swift pang of jealousy when he saw his future brother-in-law grinning up at the ceiling. Edmund had everything a man could want—title, lands, wealth. Soon he would have a bride, and the picture of contentment would be complete. The man did not have a single care in the world.

Bernard cleared his throat to announce his presence. Edmund sat forward, a flicker of guilt passing across his features. The sly dog! He had been daydreaming about his wedding night.

The thought of his sister in this man's bed was not an entirely comfortable one, but Bernard dismissed it. She would grace some man's bed in the future anyway. Why not this one's?

Edmund stood to greet him, his face creased with happiness. "Bernard—you will permit the familiarity? Good. As we are to be family so soon. Come and be seated."

Bernard ambled toward the desk, taking the wingback chair indicated by Edmund's outstretched hand. He accepted a glass of brandy and took a cautious sip as he wondered why Edmund had requested the appointment.

Was he aware of Marisa's distaste for the marriage perhaps?

Surely not, for she was doing an admirable job of playing the empty-headed miss, a role so unlike her, Bernard could barely contain his humor at her efforts.

"I hope I did not arrive at an inopportune moment, my lord."

Edmund colored faintly. "I confess to finding your sister such a delight. I scarce can keep my mind on anything else these days."

Bernard knew precisely what Edmund's thoughts were concerning Marisa. The man's desire for an heir was no secret, even though he was not so ill-bred as to express it aloud. Bernard took another sip of the excellent brandy. "She is a jewel, my sister."

"Ah, jewels. How appropriate you should mention that."

"My lord." Bernard sat forward, his face heating with discomfort. "You know I regret the theft of the rubies, particularly after you entrusted their safety to me. I cannot apologize enough. I assure you I will do all I can to assist in their return."

Edmund waved his hand. "Think no more of it. The constable shall see to it that the rogue is apprehended, and all shall be well. It merely required a change of plans."

He opened a desk drawer and searched for a few moments before his eyes lit up. "Ah, here they are." He extracted a rather large jeweler's case from the desk and opened it, his face beaming. He spun the case around.

Bernard nearly choked at the necklace on display. The diamonds were enormous, yet still within the bounds of good taste. The clarity of the gems was akin to gazing through the purest ice in the dead of winter. His heart thudded as he tried to calculate the wealth contained in the case.

He raised his eyes toward his future brother-in-law. "Most admirable," he managed to drawl, as if he encountered such treasures on a daily basis.

Lord Westbrook turned the case around. "Although they are not the Westbrook rubies, I plan to present them to Miss Dunsmore prior to the betrothal ball. Do you think she will be pleased?"

His sister would be more than pleased, if she could pawn the jewels to finance her escape. For a moment Bernard considered telling her so she could begin to plot. The information would go a long way to restoring himself in Marisa's eyes, particularly since he had not informed her of having the Westbrook gems in his possession.