A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (35 page)

“Besides,” she told him, “I don’t think it
would be at all wise to ignore an invitation from Lady
Astwick.”

“Hannah will understand.”

“The dowager will not.”

He sighed and she knew he’d given in.

***

They just had to get through this miserable
soiree, and then they could return to Derbyshire. It’s just one
night, Brendan kept saying to himself. He scoffed when he saw the
line of carriages in front of Astwick’s large Mayfair home. This
was not a soiree, it was something on a much grander scale than
that. It wasn’t even the damn season.

He grumbled under his breath, but stopped
when Cordie squeezed his hand. “We’ll just stay long enough to see
and be seen,” he said.

Cordie laughed. “For heaven’s sake, Brendan.
I won’t break. Who knows when we’ll return? Enjoy the evening.”

Their coach stopped in front of the mansion.
The footman opened the door and lowered the steps before Brendan
climbed out into the night air. He held out his hand and helped his
wife to the ground, then led her up the stone steps. 

They managed to navigate the swarm of people
until they reached the ballroom, where their names were intoned,
“The Earl and Countess of Clayworth.”

It seemed as though all in attendance took
the same collective intake of air as Brendan led his wife over the
threshold. In no time, the dowager Marchioness of Astwick was upon
them. “My darling Cordelia Clayworth!” the old woman gushed. “You
are positively glowing.” Then she linked her arm with Cordie’s and
said to Brendan, “You may go visit with my son.”

He’d been dismissed, and it was never wise
to argue with the woman. Brendan bowed. “Wonderful to see you
again, my lady.”

Her eyes actually twinkled. “It’s wonderful
to see you, my boy. Happiness looks good on you, Brendan.”

“Thank you, madam.”

“Now go on, so that I can talk to your
beautiful bride.”

Without another word, the dowager directed
Cordie away from him and Brendan found himself alone in a sea of
familiar strangers. Then a hamhock of a hand smacked him on the
back and he turned to see Chet’s light green eyes regarding him.
“Come along and help me test my newest collection of whiskey.”

Brendan grinned at his friend.
“Collection?”

***           

“I am so glad you came to your senses,
Cordelia,” the dowager marchioness said to her as they strolled the
ballroom.

“Came to my senses?” Cordie echoed, noticing
that not one person looked at her with condemnation. They’d managed
to somehow avoid censure.

“A man like Brendan Reese only comes along
once in a lifetime.”

Cordie couldn’t help the sigh that escaped
her. “Of that I am well aware. I can’t thank you enough, Lady
Astwick, for smoothing things over with society. You are a
blessing.”

The old woman laughed. “You are the only one
who thinks so, my dear.” Then she stopped in her tracks. “That son
of mine,” she grumbled. “Does he truly intend to escape my
soiree?”

Cordie’s eyes flashed towards the door to
find Lord Astwick and Brendan’s disappearing forms. “I’m
certain—”

“I’m certain that he’s mistaken,” the
dowager growled. “Don’t disappear on me, Cordelia.”

The marchioness dropped Cordie’s arm and
started after her wayward son, and Cordie bit back a smile. The man
was nothing like his mother at all. She had no idea how the two
were related. Of course, she was nothing like her mother either,
whom Cordie was glad to note that she did not see in
attendance.

“There you are,” came a deep voice from
behind her, one Cordie knew well. “I worried I might never see you
again.”

She looked over her shoulder into the light
blue eyes of the Marquess of Haversham.  He was still
dangerously handsome, though he seemed different somehow, in a way
she couldn’t quite pinpoint. More stoic, perhaps. “Lord Haversham.”
She smiled at him. “I cannot believe that Lady Astwick invited
you.”

He winked at her. “I’ve never let that stop
me before.”

“I am so glad to see you, my lord.” She owed
him so much.

“What happened to Marc?” he asked
huskily.

“There are so many answers to
that
, I
don’t even know where to begin.” She laughed.

“Will you dance with me?” His eyes focused
on her with such intensity, she had to look away towards the
couples on the dance floor.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,
Lord Haversham.”

He stepped closer to her and lowered his
voice. “And since when are you appropriate, angel?”

Cordie turned to face him. She owed him at
least that. “I suppose since I became the Countess of
Clayworth.”

Haversham winced at her words. “Indeed? So
has his priggish demeanor rubbed off, then?”

She wanted to swat him across the chest, but
that wouldn’t be at all proper, not with half the eyes of the
ton
on her. “That’s not a terribly complimentary thing to
say about my husband.”

“He can hang,” Haversham growled, causing
her to gasp. “I think I made a mistake letting you go, Cordie. Ever
since you left—”

“Don’t.” She frowned at him, meeting his icy
eyes. How dare he say such a thing? “Don’t say another word. And
don’t come to visit me as Lord Ericht or as yourself. I won’t see
you.”

He rubbed his brow. “So you’re happy,
then?”

“Ecstatically.”

Haversham nodded. “When you’re
not
ecstatically happy anymore, send me a note. I’ll be waiting.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she whispered.
“You’ll be very disappointed, my lord.”

He smiled sadly. “I already am, angel.”

At that moment, Lord Brookfield approached
them and Cordie sucked in an anxious breath.  Russell’s words
about the viscount echoed in her ears.
Opium eater
. The
thought made her cringe. She slid her arm through Haversham’s and
smiled up at him. “You don’t owe me a thing, but please don’t
leave.”

His eyes shot to the penniless viscount and
his features hardened. “Brookfield,” he said dangerously.

The viscount jumped at the sound of his
name. “Ah, Haversham, I didn’t see you there.”

“Don’t know how you could possibly miss me.
I do hope you haven’t come to bother Lady Clayworth.”

Brookfield’s dark eyes raked across Cordie,
and icy chills raced down her spine. “I just wanted to offer my
felicitations.”

“Then offer them to her husband. He’s the
fortunate one.” Haversham steered Cordie away from the viscount,
onto the dance floor, joining the already waltzing couples.

“I shouldn’t be dancing with you,” she said,
looking at his neckcloth for fear of what she’d find in his
eyes.

“I just saved you from Brookfield. I’d say a
dance is the least you can offer me in return.”

He was right, of course. “He makes me
uncomfortable,” she admitted. “Thank you for taking me away from
him.”

Haversham scoffed. “It wasn’t Brookfield I’d
hoped to take you from, angel.”

Finally she raised her eyes to meet his. “I
am sorry, but I do love my husband. That won’t ever change.”

He sighed and looked above her head.
“Clayworth’s face is an interesting shade of purple.” Cordie tried
to glance over her shoulder, but Haversham led her in a turn
towards the other side of the room. “He’ll have you back soon
enough. This is
my
dance.”

***           

Without a doubt, Brendan was going to kill
Marcus Gray. The question was did he dare do so with so many
witnesses looking on? And would any of them care?

How dare the man whisk Cordie out onto the
dance floor? And why the devil did she go with him? He kept his
eyes trained on his wife’s form, but every moment she was in that
cur’s clutches, Brendan’s anger mounted even higher.

He started to move towards the pair, but
Chet’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Don’t make a scene. It’s
what he wants.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Brendan
growled.

“Perfectly understandable,” Chet agreed,
“but not with an audience. It’ll reflect badly on your wife.”

Brendan ground his teeth together, knowing
his friend was right, and biding his time until he could knock the
smug look off Haversham’s face. A footman approached Brendan and
handed him a note. “This is for you, my lord.”

Brendan snatched the note and tore it
open.

Clayworth,

Scandal is so unfortunate, especially for
a man such as yourself. I knew one day this opportunity would
present itself. How fortunate that you and your new countess have
returned to London. Unless you’d like the world to find out about
Lady Clayworth’s unfortunate past, you will pay me
ten thousand
pounds
to keep my mouth closed.

No signature. No direction. Brendan’s heart
stopped.

Cordie cringed when she spotted Brendan’s
ashen face just a few feet away. This dance had been an awful idea.
Blast Haversham for forcing it on her. As soon as the waltz came to
an end, before the marquess even had a chance to bow, Brendan had
snatched her elbow in his grasp and began escorting her towards the
exit.

“Brendan,” she tried to explain.

But his jaw was tight and he looked like a
man possessed. “Not here,” he growled.

He pushed her through the throng of people
and out the doors to his carriage, which was still out in front of
the Astwick’s home. He hauled open the door and though he was
furious, he took great care in helping her gently into the
conveyance.

Cordie settled to the far side of the coach
and within seconds Brendan was beside her, pounding on the roof
with his fist. The coach set off with a lurch and Cordie swallowed
uncomfortably. Of course her husband was angry, but surely he could
listen to reason.  “Brendan, I am sorry. I didn’t really have
a choice.”

“I don’t give a damn about Haversham.”

Cordie gasped. He’d never used such language
in front of her before.

“I-I mean I do care about it and I’ll deal
with him later, but right now we have bigger problems.”

She touched his leg and tried to see his
face in the darkness of the coach. “What’s wrong?”

He took a staggering breath and scrubbed a
hand across his face. “Someone knows about mother’s letters,
Cordie.”

She was certain her heart had stopped. That
didn’t make any sense. Why would someone wait until now to use the
letters against Brendan? “How—”

“While you were with Haversham, I received a
blackmail note. Though there were no instructions as to where to
pay the funds, the writer did ask for a sum.”

“Bow Street,” she whispered, only to hear
him snort.

“I can’t go to the authorities, love. I
can’t really explain about the letters to them, now can I?”

Of course not. She felt so inept, so
incapable of helping him. “What do we do?”

His arm settled around her shoulders and
Cordie sighed. Whatever was to be done, they’d do together. She
took strength from that. “I have been thinking about this
possibility for some time,” he told her, sounding very distant to
her ears.

“You have a plan?”

He held her tighter. “I’ll take Rose and
Thomas back to Derbyshire and as soon as she marries Lester, I’ll
send Thomas along with them for the time being. The vicar owes
me.”

On their honeymoon? Cordie tipped her head
up to see him better. “Wouldn’t it be better for him to stay with
us?”

He shook his head. “There’s no us, Cordie.
You have to leave me.”

Her heart lurched. She must have misheard
him. “Leave you?” she gasped.

“Avery was right about that. Distancing
yourself from me is the only way to keep you safe.”

“No!” She shook her head. “I won’t leave
you. I promised you I never would. Brendan—”

He touched a finger to her lips. “Ah, my
love, it’s not just you anymore. You have to protect our child.
Promise me you will.”

Her hand instinctively fluttered to her
belly.  “I can’t leave you. Ask me anything else.”

Brendan pressed a kiss to her head. “You
know it’s best. I won’t see you thrown in Newgate because of
me.”

“You’ve done nothing,” she protested.

“I don’t believe the home office will see it
that way. Now you need to listen to me, we don’t have much
time.”

“You want me to leave
tonight
?” This
couldn’t be. They had to have more time than that.

“Shh. Now I’ve put your dowry in a trust. My
solicitor is Leland Birch with Amherst and Birch. I have his
direction at home. Write him and he’ll see that you are provided
for. I’ve done the same thing for Rose, and Astwick will see that
my orders are followed through.”

“Does he know?” she couldn’t help but
ask.

“No. He lost a brother on the battlefields.
I’m sure he will not be happy to assist me, but he’s already given
his word as a gentleman. Above all else, Astwick is honorable.”

“Brendan, you’re scaring me. Why don’t you
just pay whatever the blackmailer asks and we’ll pretend none of
this ever happened?”

He sighed and seemed to breathe her in. “It
doesn’t work that way, Cordie. Blackmailers are never satisfied.
They always want more until there’s nothing left—”

“Then give it to them,” she hissed. “What
does money or anything else mean without you?”

Brendan moved so he could see her better and
Cordie cringed at the determined set of his jaw. “They would take
everything and in the end still turn me over. Now, I need you to
follow my directions to the letter. I am going to find those
letters if it kills me, but I need to know that you are safe, that
the baby is safe. Can you do that for me?”

She somehow managed to nod.

“Good girl.” He kissed her gently. “Now if
things go well, I’ll write you and I’ll come for you, and we can
forget any of this ever happened. But if not, the world needs to
believe that you’ve left me. Put as much distance between us as
possible. I won’t write you and you can’t write me.”