The Truth About Lord Stoneville (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

After Oliver left, Maria stood frozen in place. Had she really just refused to marry the man who’d ruined her? Was she out of her mind?

I’m not saying I can’t be faithful—just that I don’t know if I can promise it.

She lifted her chin. No, she was perfectly sane. Maybe these English ladies could accept such terms so they could live in an amazing house and be called lady of the manor, but not her. Half a marriage wasn’t enough.

She wouldn’t think about it one more minute. She wouldn’t let the idea of marriage to Oliver tempt her.

Determinedly, she set about washing the blood from herself, then tossed the soiled water out of the window, hoping the rain would dilute it. After she changed the sheets on her bed, she threw them into the fire, watching as they burned. Thank heavens she’d made her own bed here in the past and knew where the fresh sheets were kept.

Only after she’d hidden any evidence of her reckless act with Oliver did she feel safe to climb into bed. But it was no use. Once she was still and quiet, she could no longer pretend it hadn’t happened. She could still smell him on her shift, still see him looming over her, taking her, shattering her with the intensity of his need.

She began to cry. She lay in her Cinderella bed, surrounded by Halstead Hall’s enticing charms, and cried until she could cry no more, until she was sick with it.

Afterward, she stared into the dying fire, remembering how Oliver had done the same while telling her about his parents’ disastrous marriage. He’d sounded so desperate then. After everything he’d told her, why would he be willing to settle for a society marriage himself?

That’s how Gran found me, holding Mother, rocking back and forth, weeping. Gran had to pry her from my arms.

A shiver wracked her. The whole time he’d been telling her of it, she’d had the distinct impression that he was leaving things out.

She rode out after him, angry at him over . . . something that had happened.

What was the something that had happened? More had occurred that night than he had told her, she was sure of it. She could see how his parents’ deaths might send him fleeing into a life of emptiness for a while, but nineteen years?

It made no sense.
He
made no sense. She was tired of trying to figure him out. And worried by her increasing fascination with him. Had she made him into more than he was? At his heart, was he just a seducer and debaucher who could never be anything else?

She didn’t want to believe it. But given Nathan’s abandonment of her, she clearly had no talent for understanding men. So she wasn’t sure she should trust her instincts when it came to Oliver. Especially when he clouded them at every turn with his fierce and soul-destroying seductions.

Sometime near dawn she fell into a fitful sleep. When she awoke, the sun was high in the sky. She was tempted to lie there all day, alone in her misery, but she dared not. The others would notice. Whatever she did, she must keep last night’s activities secret from them.

Calling for Betty to dress her, she prayed that her newfound harlotry wasn’t emblazoned on her cheeks. She managed to answer Betty’s eager questions about the ball and what had happened and how his lordship had reacted to her gown, but after several perfunctory answers, Betty caught on that she was in no mood to talk and left her in a blessed silence.

By the time she looked presentable enough to face the rest of the family, it was early afternoon. As she came down the stairs, she heard Celia say on the floor below her, “What, pray tell, are you doing here, Mr. Pinter?”

Maria’s pulse leapt.

“As I told your footman, Lady Celia, I wish to see Miss Butterfield.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“She hired me to find her fiancé.”

“Keep quiet, you fool,” Celia hissed as Maria reached the landing. “My grandmother isn’t aware of that.”

“I don’t care.” His voice was hard, almost angry. “And I certainly want no part of whatever unsavory scheme you and your brother are involved in. I just want to speak to Miss Butterfield.”

“I’m here, Mr. Pinter,” Maria called out as she hurried down the steps. She glanced from Celia, who looked unusually flushed, to Mr. Pinter, who seemed stiffer than usual. “I was unaware that you knew each other.”

Celia tossed back her head. “A few months ago, Mr. Pinter showed up at a shooting match I was in the process of winning. He was most rude and ended it before I could gain my prize. I’ve never forgiven him for that.”

“You remember the incident quite differently than I, Lady Celia. You were
not
in the process of winning. The match had scarcely begun.” He stepped closer to the young woman, temper flaring in his generally controlled features. “And you know perfectly well why I ended it—you and Lord Jarret’s friends were holding it in a public park, where you might have injured someone. As a man charged with keeping the peace, I didn’t want to find some hapless creature lying dead in the bushes after your impromptu match.”

Celia stared him down. “There was no one there. We made sure of it.”

“So you said. But I don’t allow my actions to be governed by the claims of reckless society misses who have nothing better to do with their time than challenge a lot of idiots to shoot guns willy-nilly.”

“That’s what annoys you, isn’t it,” Celia hissed. “That I can shoot a pistol as well as any man. And I am not reckless, I’ll have you know!”

When Mr. Pinter looked as if he were about to retort, Maria cut in. “You have news for me, sir?”

Mr. Pinter tensed, then looked chagrined. “I beg your pardon, Miss Butterfield. Yes, I have news. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“You should wait until Oliver returns,” Celia broke in.

“He left?” Maria said. “Where has he gone?”

“To town. He won’t be back for some time.” She glanced furtively at Mr. Pinter. “He went to obtain a special license for your marriage. So I think that any discussion of Mr. Hyatt—”

“I’d thank you to stay out of this, Celia,” Maria interrupted. “I’m paying Mr. Pinter’s fee myself, so it’s my business alone.”

Celia looked at her aghast. In the past week, they’d become friends, and Maria had never spoken sharply to her. But the fact that Oliver was pursuing marriage without gaining her consent alarmed her.

“I see,” Celia said in a hurt tone. “Then I’ll leave the two of you to your discussion.” She stalked off toward the dining room.

“This way.” Maria gestured toward the library, feeling a twinge of guilt. She’d grown quite fond of the Sharpe siblings in only a week, but they had a tendency to push people around, and she wouldn’t be bullied. This affected her life, not just their battle with their grandmother.

As she and Mr. Pinter headed for the library, he asked in a low voice, “Why is Stoneville getting a special license?”

“It’s part of our sham engagement,” she lied.

“That’s going rather far for a sham,” he said as they entered the library. “If I were you, Miss Butterfield—”

“But you’re not, are you?” Closing the door, she faced him. “I hired you to find Nathan, not give me advice.”

His jaw went taut, but he acknowledged the reproof with a dip of his head.

Guilt stabbed her. He was doing this without any payment for now; he deserved better from her. “Forgive me, Mr. Pinter. It’s been a difficult day.” She squared her shoulders. “Have you found Nathan?”

“Yes.”

She caught her breath. Now she could inherit Papa’s money. Now she was free of both Oliver and Nathan, if that’s what she wanted. She ought to feel relief, yet all she felt was a sense of impending doom.

“He’s not dead, is he?” she asked, her first fear coming to the fore.

“No.” He suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Miss Butterfield, but it appears that your fiancé has been operating independently of your father’s company.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s in Southampton, where he’s been ever since leaving London. I’m sorry it took so long for me to find him, but he was careful to cover his tracks.”

“That can’t be. He doesn’t have a deceitful bone in his body. It must be a mistake. You must have found some other fellow.”

“An American named Nate Hyatt, selling clipper ships? That
is
what you said he was in England to do, wasn’t it?”

A chill coursed through her. “Yes,” she breathed.

“And the trail leads directly to him, I’m afraid.” Compassion shone in Mr. Pinter’s gray gaze. “In Southampton, he has put himself forward as the owner of an American company called Massachusetts Clippers. He’s been approaching Southampton shipping companies with an offer to sell them several ships. The process has been a long one, but he’s found a prospective buyer, a Mr. Kinsley. It has taken the man time to have Mr. Hyatt’s credentials verified.”

“Verified! How could he do that if Nathan invented a new company?”

“Someone in Baltimore supported his tale.”

Her heart sank. “That’s where his family is from. I suppose he’s trading on their name for help in his scheme.” That explained why he’d pawned the satchel; it bore her company’s name on it.

Pain slashed through her at that small additional betrayal. “His parents are dead, but his father’s family was in the shipping business and had numerous connections. He must have coaxed one of them into lying for him.”

“I haven’t discovered who, but I’ll keep investigating if you wish.”

“There’s no point.” Now that she knew where he was, she meant to get her own answers from him.

All this time she’d been worrying about him, and he’d been going behind her back with some devious scheme. How could he?

The irony didn’t escape her, that after years of reading with fascination about swindlers and cheats caught by the authorities, she should be the victim of one. Crime lost a great deal of its appeal when it happened to
you.

“There’s something else,” Mr. Pinter said.

His grim tone made her heart lurch. She wasn’t sure she could take anything else. “Yes?”

“Rumor in Southampton has it that the owner of the company he’s been dealing with has a marriageable daughter in whom he has shown some interest. The gossips there predict that an offer of marriage will soon be forth-coming.”

With her blood deafening her ears, she wandered over to stare at the mullioned window that fractured the light into bits, much as she felt fractured by Mr. Pinter’s news.

It wasn’t that she loved Nathan. If she ever had, that emotion hadn’t survived his months of silence. It certainly hadn’t survived her night with Oliver.

But her pride was sorely wounded, as was her confidence in her ability to read a man’s character. All this time she’d thought Nathan honorable, yet he was a deceitful devil. Oliver had been right, curse him.

“I would have approached Hyatt with the news of your father’s death,” Mr. Pinter went on behind her, “except you hadn’t given me permission to do so, and I thought you might wish to perform that office yourself.”

“Indeed I do.” With righteous anger swelling in her chest, she whirled to face him. “How far is Southampton from here?”

“It’s on the southern coast. With a fine rig and good weather, the journey can easily be made in twelve hours, maybe less.”

Since she had no funds to travel, it might as well be twelve years. She released a despairing sigh.

“If you’ll permit me, Miss Butterfield,” Mr. Pinter continued, “I shall be happy to take you there. My carriage is waiting, already prepared for a long trip.”

She gaped at him.

He smiled faintly. “I suspected you might want to pursue the matter further.”

“Yes, but . . . well, it may be some time before I can repay you for any of this, and travel by coach can be so expensive . . .”

“Think nothing of it. I investigated your background as well, and I’m satisfied that you can be trusted to repay me in your own time.”

She wanted to kiss him. “Then we must leave at once. I’ll fetch Freddy and pack my trunks.”

“Very well. I’ll see to the rig and make sure everything is ready for the two of you.”

She turned for the door, then halted and came back to shake his hand vigorously. “Thank you, Mr. Pinter. Your help is greatly appreciated.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a kindly smile. “I dislike watching scoundrels like Mr. Hyatt abuse the trust of young ladies. He deserves to be unmasked for the fraud that he is, and I’m more than happy to help you do it.”

Casting him another grateful glance, she rushed off. She hadn’t gone far up the stairs when Minerva appeared at her side. “Celia said you have news.”

“Mr. Pinter has found my fiancé. We’re off to the coast shortly to meet him.” She was too embarrassed to admit how deceived she’d been in Nathan’s character. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell Minerva exactly where they were going; she didn’t want it getting back to Oliver.

“What about my brother?”

Maria schooled her features to nonchalance as she continued up to her room. “What about him?”