Cheryl Holt (38 page)

“What it is?”

“You must swear you’ll keep it until the moment is right.”

“I swear.”

“Charles intends to ask Jerald for my hand.” She beamed with anticipation. “After supper tonight.”

It was hardly a mystery! The pair had become inseparable, to the point where other boys had quit calling, certain they’d lost their chance.

“I’m glad for you,” she asserted, but she couldn’t prevent the flame of bitter jealousy that surged at the awareness that she’d never share the same fabulous news about James.

“So, I’ve been wondering . . . about our talk.” Caroline shifted nervously, the bright sunlight haloing her in a rim of white. She looked so young and pretty, so eager for her future to arrive, and Abigail could only hope Charles would
cherish the innocent, gentle girl so that she would never experience anything remotely approaching the type of dreadful despair that now filled Abigail’s own veins.

“What will Charles expect of me?” Caroline persisted. “You promised to advise me.”

Abigail had stalled Caroline’s questions several times now, but quite frankly, she couldn’t discuss such a personal topic when she was so distressed. Any descriptions would only serve to remind her of James. There was no method of explaining the sexual act without his image rising to the fore, and she couldn’t deliberately conjure him up. It was like jabbing herself over and over with the tip of a sharp knife.

Just the whisper of his name in the back of her mind caused her heart to constrict. He was permanently implanted in her consciousness, and her memories were so vivid that she could smell him, taste him, perceive the sensation of his rough body hair scratching across her smooth, naked skin. The images were still so intense that she squirmed against the cushions.

She could not converse about any of it just now! She absolutely could not!

“I can’t this afternoon,” she finally said. “I will, though. Soon.”

“When?”

“Give me a few days?”

Caroline nodded as one of the serving women stopped by to proclaim the brisk news that Jerald was in his library and demanding Abigail’s immediate attendance. Both sisters rose, and Caroline said, “I haven’t seen Jerald in ages. I’ll accompany you.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, milady,” the maid replied to Caroline’s decision, “but the earl requests that Lady Abigail come alone. And straightaway.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, out of sight of the maid’s assessing gaze, and Abigail flashed her a wan smile as she withdrew. She walked downstairs and encountered Jerald behind his desk, scowling, no papers in front of him, his
hands resting, palms down, on the polished wood.

“Close the door,” he commanded sternly, and she complied, then moved to one of the chairs directly across from him.

The manner in which he was glaring at her produced a swell of discomfiture. She didn’t know him very well. He’d been grown, and his own household established, by the time his widowed father had remarried to her mother. By their age difference alone, they had little in common. With completely diverse interests, acquaintances, and lifestyles, the only factor that truly bound them was that they’d had the same father, but that paternal tie had never blossomed into anything more. They were brother and sister, but not close.

To have him assessing her so meticulously was extremely unnerving. They didn’t have the sort of relationship that lent itself to intimacies, and considering her current mood, she wasn’t in any condition to delve into serious subjects.

“I’ve had a situation brought to my attention,” he said curtly. “ ’Tis shocking and delicate, but I do not apologize for raising it with you.”

He stood and rounded the desk. Though he was not an inordinately tall person, their positions caused him to tower over her. His excessive physical bulk, and his angry countenance, made him appear thoroughly menacing.

Apprehensively, she questioned, “What is it?”

“Have you been pursuing an illicit liaison with a man by the name of James Stevens?”

Her eyes widened in perplexed astonishment, her pulse beat furiously, her ears rang. They’d been detected! Her worst fears had been realized! And her first and only consideration was that she needed to protect James from undue censure. Every part of this predicament had been at her doing and none of his own. She’d not pin the blame on him at this late date.

She opened her mouth, but no comment emerged, so Jerald pronounced in her stead, “If you are thinking of lying, don’t. Margaret observed the two of you, and she’s
been positively
sick
with disgust ever since.”

Margaret? Where? How? The only place she and James had been together was at the rental house. Why was Margaret even in that neighborhood?

“When?” she appealed stupidly, incapable of formulating a more cogent remark.

“So . . .” he spit hatefully, “you admit it.”

Before she knew what he was about, he slapped her with such force that he nearly drove her off the chair. Only her firm grip on the arm kept her upright. She bit back a sob. “Jerald . . . please . . .”

“You little whore!” he hissed. “Do you have any idea what kind of vile creature he is?”

“No . . . no . . .” She shook her head stridently, powerless to stay silent when James was being attacked. “He’s a good man. A fine man—”

Jerald slapped her again, harder, and she crumpled to her knees, feeling as though all her bones had melted. Never in her life had she envisioned such treatment, and she was stunned beyond measure.

“Don’t defend him to me!” Jerald growled. “Not ever!”

She could hear his harsh breathing as he attempted to rein in his temper, so she hovered on the floor before him, tears streaming down her face, a protective hand pressed to her stinging cheek, while she braced for whatever blow—physical or verbal—might fall next.

Eventually, he stalked to the window, putting distance between them, then he whirled around. “All these years, I’ve tolerated your remaining single. I’ve trusted you with Caroline’s upbringing, and look what you’ve accomplished! What form of guidance have you been providing, I wonder? Under your sordid tutelage, will she turn whore, as well?”

“I love Caroline,” she protested, but her ardent statement emanated as a whisper. “I would never hurt her.”

“You abhorrent hussy, you’ve already
hurt
her more than you could ever know.” He scoffed. “As of this moment, your responsibilities for Caroline have ended.”

“No, Jerald, anything but that.” She finally mustered the
courage to look at him, and she flinched when she witnessed the repugnant way her regarded her. “I’m begging you.”

“Dear
sister,” he asserted scathingly, “your days of requesting boons from me are over.” He went behind his desk again and settled himself, nodding impatiently to her chair. “Get up! Straighten yourself!”

She utilized the chair for balance, but her legs had turned to mush, and she couldn’t stand. When she took overly long in rising, his intolerance soared anew, and she feared that he might advance around the desk to assault her a second time. With immense effort, she slid her hips onto the seat, then held on as tightly as she was able.

“What have you decided?” she managed.

“You are going to get exactly what you deserve, and nothing less,” he replied. “James Stevens—scoundrel, blackmailer, confidence artist, great
lover
of women—will be here shortly to propose marriage.”

“James is coming here?” She moaned, shamed and embarrassed that he would observe her like this, with her brother so enraged and her defenses so low. Oh, how could her tremendous affection for him have delivered them to this horrid juncture?

“I expect him at any minute. By tomorrow afternoon, you will be his bride. You will never return to any of my homes, you will never speak to anyone in our family again—”

“Jerald, don’t do this. You’re angry now—”

“Be silent!” he bellowed. “You are about to behold what you have truly wrought. James Stevens is a man with no honor, no loyalties, who will do anything . . . say anything. . . .
fuck”
—she winced at his use of the despicable word—“anything, and he will do it all to you over the years, while you agonize and watch and lament about the bed you have made for yourself. I can conceive of no better, or more appropriate, punishment for this impossible disgrace you have inflicted upon us.”

“No one knows—”

“You would be surprised by who
knows”
He laughed meanly, clearly disturbed by the prospect. “I can’t believe it’s not all over Town by now. I assume that it will be shortly, and when people determine what kind of a
harlot
I have for a sister, I will be scraping the bottom of the barrel to find a husband for Caroline. Are you happy, Abigail, with what you’ve brought about?”

She started to cry in earnest, for she truly hadn’t meant any harm. Particularly not to Caroline, but what Jerald said was true. Once word got out about her liaison with James, Jerald would have difficulty locating a suitable partner for Caroline. He’d probably have to increase her dowry to a staggering height, an act Abigail doubted he would assent to, so Caroline either wouldn’t marry or she’d end up in such an appalling union that the result would be beyond consideration.

Entirely because of her impetuous, rash behavior! That she could change the past and erase it all!

“James will not marry me,” she murmured, needing to prepare her brother for the eventuality.

“We’ll just see about that!” he declared smugly.

“Nor would I ask him to.”

“You, Abigail,” he retorted caustically, “have absolutely
no
say in the matter.”

They lingered in a strained quiet, broken only by the ticking of the clock. Finally, the butler announced that the Earl of Spencer and James Stevens had arrived. Abigail was so mortified to encounter the pair—one her cherished friend, one her precious love—under such appalling circumstances that she couldn’t look up as they were ushered in, though she felt James’s concentrated attention passing over her.

With a nod from Jerald, the butler shut the door, and the strange quartet was sequestered. Edward and James approached the desk together. Jerald rose to challenge them.

“I will be brief,” he started. “I have ascertained from an undeniable source that James Stevens has been having unrestricted carnal relations with my sister Abigail over a period
of weeks. His irresponsible actions have ruined her marital chances and very likely left her with child. He has completely compromised her, jeopardized my family’s reputation, and destroyed the nuptial expectations of my other sister Caroline. What say you in response?”

“I just learned of the situation myself, Jerald,” Edward said, struggling to inject reason. “Let’s sit down, shall we, and review the circumstances calmly?”

“We will not
sit
. I do not intend to have that individual”—he rudely gestured toward James, but didn’t glance in his direction—“under my roof any longer than it takes him to propose. The two of you will then depart, while I arrange the special license. The archbishop is awaiting instructions from me. A private ceremony will be held here, in my home, tomorrow morning at eleven. I want Abigail gone by noon.”

Edward sighed and glared at James. “Well?” he demanded.

“I’ve already given you my answer,” James rejoined, plainly bored.

As Edward was the only one who knew what James’s answer was, a long, dangerous interlude ensued. Jerald broke it by slamming his fist against his desk.

“Ask her, damn you!” he ordered, his voice breaking.

All three men turned to her. Jerald’s cheeks were so crimson, he appeared ready to suffer an apoplexy. Edward was sad, sympathetic, and apologetic. James seemed totally unfazed, as though the proceedings had no effect on him personally.

She examined him, searching for the tiniest flicker of consideration, the barest hint of fondness. If she’d observed the smallest indication of esteem, she might have thrown herself at his feet and pleaded with him to save her from the fate she would sustain at Jerald’s hands. Yet he contemplated her with nothing but apathy and disinterest. They might have been strangers who had just met on the street.

Her heart, already bruised, shattered into a thousand minuscule pieces.

“I don’t believe Lady Abigail wishes to marry me,” James said. “She never has.”

“It is not up to her!” Jerald insisted.

Ignoring Jerald, James inquired, “How do you reply, milady?” His tone was disrespectful and mocking. “Are you prepared to
lower
yourself to wed one such as me?”

The trio held its collective breath. One little word—
yes
—and she would become James’s wife. Once upon a time, she’d have done anything for such an opportunity, but as he stared her down with such insult and contempt, she couldn’t agree.

Not only did he fail to love her, he apparently didn’t even
like
her. How could she compel him to marry when he harbored such profound loathing? If she acquiesced, she’d spend her entire life struggling with the knowledge that he’d never wanted her, pining away while he lusted after one woman and another.

What kind of existence would that be?

“No.” She shook her head as she gazed up into his beloved face. “ ’Twould be a terrible mistake.”

For the shortest instant, she imagined that a wave of regret and hopelessness nearly swept him away. He sagged slightly as though he’d just received a terrible blow, but as quickly as she perceived it, the impression vanished. Her desperate mind had merely been playing cruel tricks.

“There you have it,” James said brightly. “Milady, you recall our agreement, don’t you?”

“What agreement?” Jerald huffed indignantly.

“When we commenced our affair”—James shifted his focus to Jerald—“I informed her that I would do nothing to salvage her reputation if we were exposed. She understood the terms and conditions of my involvement. From the beginning, I’d resolved to dally, but no more than that.” He shrugged as if he’d just explained all the intricate puzzles of the world.

“You advised her up front”—Jerald nearly choked on his outrage—“that you simply meant to dally? What kind of man are you?”