To Marry a Marquess (28 page)

But Victoria could never tell them the entire truth. It was too dangerous for them. She decided to hire a Bow Street Runner to follow up on Wendover's claim of killing Nightham. In the meantime, she would apply to her own solicitor about discovering the truth concerning her marriage. It was obvious Lady Nightham's man had done nothing with the investigation.

"My dear," Phoebe said sadly. "You made us sick with worry."

Victoria's feet shifted uneasily and her eyes welled with tears. The pain she detected in her aunt's face was so acute that it shattered her heart. Aunt Phoebe, William, and Sarah meant everything to her. "I... I never meant to hurt anybody." Her hand flew to her mouth and she rushed from the room.

Drake frowned as he turned to Phoebe. "I will return tomorrow."

Phoebe sniffed back tears and gave him a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. I won't ask her where she's been. I'm just glad she's home. You must forgive me for giving you the impression that I thought Victoria left because of you. She is an impulsive child, always thinking she has to take care of things herself. I let her have her way since she came to me. I may have been wrong in her upbringing, but I love her as if she were one of my own."

She let out a small sob, then climbed the stairs, leaving only William and Drake to stare at each other.

William whipped his sword about, slicing it through the air. "Why are you looking at me that way, me pirate? I'm the one who has three crying princesses." He pointed his weapon toward the stairs. "This is unsufferable. Simply unsufferable."

"Insufferable, William." Drake's lips thinned as he listened to the three wailing women. "Downright insufferable."

Chapter
Eighteen

V
ictoria
leaned back on her chair and drew in a weary sigh as she stared at her reflection in the looking glass. Dark circles surrounded her eyes. Her hair was a messy nest of curls, and she desperately needed a bath. A copper tub full of warm water waited beside her bed.

The pain of the past few days overwhelmed her. Lord Wendover continued to plague her thoughts as well as the marquess who had visited her at Phoebe’s townhouse every day since she had returned. Knowing he would want some answers, she refused to see him. She had to have some kind of plan. Her every move was watched by her family, and it was impossible to get a letter to Bow Street without someone being suspicious. But sooner or later she had to do something.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in."

"My lady," Mrs. Dorling replied. "A caller to see you. Lord Wendover."

Victoria froze. Wendover was here? The nerve of the man. Fury soon replaced any fear she had of the earl. The impudence of him to show his face at her aunt's home after what he had done. She had been a victim long enough.

"Says you would be wanting to see him as soon as possible," Mrs. Dorling continued with a face of disapproval. "Something about some unfinished business. Should I send him away? I know the marquess isn't fond of him."

Victoria dug her fingers into her rosewood vanity. She would see him. But he would have to wait. "Tell him if he wishes, he will have to wait until I finish my bath."

Mrs. Dorling's face grew grim. "But your aunt has left for the day. Sarah and William have gone with her. You have no chaperone. It isn't proper."

"I have Winston, Mrs. Dorling." But Victoria knew that the old butler would not stand a chance against Wendover. Yet she knew the earl had been too secretive by far to chance anything at her home. She looked at her water and doubted that even a hot bath would ever wash the dirt from his black heart.

Drake gazed out the window at White's, then turned a stony glare toward Fox and James who sat beside him. "The woman is as stubborn as a child. She speaks to no one but Mrs. Dorling."

James peered over his wineglass. "Drake, you are too easy. I daresay, if you would only take a firm stand here, you could get on with your life."

Drake eyes flashed a subtle warning. "And you are an expert on women?"

James frowned and poured himself another glass of wine. "I am merely pointing out the fact—"

"That you are a useless man in matters such as these, little brother. So shut up."

James narrowed his eyes and downed another drink. Drake did the same, as well as Fox. After about an hour of constant spirits, the two younger gentlemen stumbled to a standing position.

"I s-say," Fox said, staggering against Drake's shoulder. "If I were you, and of course, if you were me, that is to say, if I..." He swayed slightly toward James. "The way of it is this. I would demand that Victoria come out of that room at once."

"Easier said than done," Drake replied grimly, as James and Fox swayed from side to side.

James fell against Drake's chair, slurring his speech. "Yes, Drake. If you showed her—" The next moment he fell face down onto the floor with a smack.

"Ouch!" Fox replied, casting his gaze downward. "Do believe your brother has taken a fall."

Drake cast a wincing glance in James's direction and jerked him upright. "Devil take it! I don't know how you two imbeciles go anywhere without me. Help me drag him into some fresh air."

As soon as Drake and Fox pulled James past the doors of the club, Drake shifted his gaze to where a young footman had jumped down from a hackney and was running toward him.

"My lord," the boy puffed. "I have an urgent message for you from Winston, Lady Phoebe's butler."

Drake threw his limp brother into Fox's arms and took the letter from the boy.

"What is it?" Fox demanded.

Drake read the letter and scowled. "Wendover has taken it upon himself to visit Lady Phoebe's home."

"Wendover?" Fox asked, wide-eyed.

"The devil himself. It's beyond me that the man had the gall to appear in London at all." Drake gestured for his carriage and glanced back at Fox. "Take James home. He's of no use to me in that state."

"Dash it all, Drake," Fox protested, seeming to have regained some sobriety. "You may need us."

But Drake had already hopped into his vehicle, shouting commands to his coachman, leaving Fox and James to catch a ride with an inebriated viscount departing at the same time.

"My lady," Winston whispered bluntly, his wary gaze glued to Victoria as she descended the stairs. "You do not have to meet with this man. I can and
will
show him out if you only say the word."

Victoria rested her hand on the old man's arm. "Thank you, Winston. But you must not worry. I know what I am about."

By the feel of Winston's stiff shoulders, Victoria knew there was no hope in coaxing her butler to leave. Her heart turned over when his jaw jutted forward in disapproval. He was as steadfast as a soldier in battle.

"Very well, my lady. But remember, if you need me, I will be but one step away."

"Thank you, Winston. I will remember."

She took a step toward the drawing room, and a surge of dread filled her as she opened the doors. But she would not cower to this man or any man ever again. She would tell him that Bow Street would be following his every move. Blackmail would do him no good. He would never lay a hand on William.

"Lady Victoria."

She glared at the earl from across the room. He stood relaxed, his hand resting on the marble mantel, one boot crossing the other at the ankle. His fair looks might strike most women as handsome, but to her, he was as ugly as Medusa.

"Lord Wendover, I must say I am surprised to see you in London. Forgive me for missing our last appointment. It was such a bother, you know."

She felt her spirits lift at the sight of his frown. If he thought to bully her, he had better think again. Evading her problem had evidently been the wrong thing to do. She would see this man hanged for murder.

Without a word he stalked across the room, his dark blue gaze piercing the distance between them. His mouth stretched into a thin-lipped smile as he took her hand and kissed it.

Shocked, Victoria shrank back.

He continued to hold her, then glanced over her shoulder at a narrow-eyed Winston standing guard beyond the door.

"How clever, my dear. But since we have business matters to discuss, I feel it ever so important to keep this conversation just between the two of us." In two quick strides the man strode toward the doors, jerking them closed with a thud.

Victoria felt a frisson of alarm, but dismissed it immediately. She was in her aunt's home, for heaven's sake.

The knock on the door was Winston, of course. "Are you well, my lady?" he asked from the other side.

Victoria moved to open the doors, but was stopped by Wendover’s hand on her wrist. "It would be in your best interest to hear me out, my dear. Alone. I meant what I said the other day."

A brief shiver of uncertainty shot through her. She opened the doors a crack and looked her butler in the eye. "I am fine, Winston. I will be but a minute."

Winston opened his mouth to speak, but Wendover closed the door in his face. "Very nicely put, my dear."

Victoria took an abrupt step toward the sofa and turned. "What do you want?"

"Want?” He closed the distance between them. "You mentioned our last appointment, did you not?"

Victoria commanded herself not to panic. But when he drew his face closer to hers, she backed up a step. "We have nothing to discuss. You are insufferable to suggest anything else."

His horrid chuckle sent her heart racing.

"A little spitfire? I like that." He turned toward the decanter of brandy resting on the sideboard, then stopped to let his gaze rake over her. "I never proclaimed to be anything but insufferable. In fact, sometimes I think I'm barely human."

Victoria swallowed the bile in her throat. She glanced at the door and knew that Winston was standing there, ready to defend her virtue if she so as much squeaked his name.

Wendover cradled the drink in his hands and stared at her.

Victoria suddenly had a bit of empathy for Captain Whitie when he had been cornered by the neighborhood cat.

"You see, my dear, I need you. As you have probably guessed by now, I need your money. And I cannot have one without the other." He took a seat on the wing chair, crossing one leg over the other as if this were a visit between friends. "I must admit, I discovered your little trust by mere chance. A letter came to my home addressed to you. Of course, I opened it, and to my surprise, discovered your little secret. I imagine Nightham found out by mere chance, too. Probably knew someone related to your generous benefactor. So, my dear Victoria, you will marry me, and in return, I will not hurt your precious William."

Her fists tightened. "You're mad."

"No, I will do whatever I have to do in order to have that money." He rose and drew nearer. "You will never be rid of me.

"I would never marry you. My family would never allow it."

"As if they would have allowed your marriage to Nightham?"

Victoria shuddered and took a few steps toward the closed doors. But before she knew it, he cornered her against the wall.

"It would be best not to scream, my dear."

Her heart thumped against her ribs when he pulled out a knife. She thought of Nightham and her stomach somersaulted.