Emerald Garden (35 page)

“As fate would have it, Ardsley’s losing streak coincided with my own lucrative one. So, I approached him with the idea that he entrust a few of his investments to me. He agreed. I chose carefully. Our profits soared. In fact, they reaped more than enough to compensate for his other losses, as you doubtless saw reflected in his ledger. So you see, everything Hendrick surmised aloud to you was true—I’m confirming it, based upon firsthand discussions with your father. Accordingly, I’m certain all the figures listed in Ardsley’s ledger were accurate, and you can thus safely dismiss the notion that one of his coinvestors is a murderer.”

“Then your suggestion that I cancel the meeting is not incited by concern for my well-being?” Brandi queried, trying to discern the motivation behind Desmond’s recounting.

“Oh, I’m concerned for your well-being, all right. You were shot, and I intend to find out by whom. But my worry on that score is unrelated to anything you discovered in your father’s ledger. My suggestion to cancel the meeting is based, quite simply, on the fact that it would be a waste of time—yours, mine, and Ellard’s.” Desmond glanced about curiously. “Where is the ledger, by the way?”

“Hmm?” Brandi’s mind was racing, nagged by the basis for Desmond’s certainty. “Oh, it’s safely hidden. Don’t worry. No one will ever learn of Papa’s difficulties but me.” She frowned. “Forgive me, Desmond, but I still don’t understand your unconditional belief that Papa’s ledger is an accurate reflection of his losses, nor do I share your conviction that this meeting is naught but an unnecessary nuisance.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m lying to you?”

“Of course not,” Brandi asserted impatiently. “What I’m suggesting is that all you’ve really done is to reiterate what I already know: that Papa—and you, for that matter—believed his investments were losing money. But what if his perception was incorrect? What if someone were misleading him—or even worse, swindling him? Were that the case, neither Mr. Hendrick nor Papa would have any way of knowing. “ ’Twould never occur to Papa to demand proof. Being as honorable a businessman as he was, he’d never suspect anything less of his colleagues.”

“Nor would he have had reason to,” Desmond returned stiffly. “I’m acquainted with all those men, Brandice. Every one of them is as scrupulous as they come.”

“With all due respect, I must discover that for myself.” Brandi’s jaw set stubbornly. “No, Desmond, the more I consider it, the more convinced I am that the only way to put these questions to rest is to hold that meeting. If the gentlemen with whom Papa invested are as principled as you suggest, then they’ll understand my concern and no harm will be done.”

“No harm will be done?” Desmond reiterated, angry lines forming about his mouth. “I beg to differ with you. You’ll have needlessly embarrassed twelve highly influential, prominent noblemen.”

“So that’s the true cause of your unease. You’re afraid that if I seek their help in unearthing Papa’s killer, I’ll be offending your peers? Forgive me, Desmond, but I can’t agree. Nor, frankly, would I cancel the meeting if I did. There’s far more at stake here than shame.”

“In that case, I’m afraid I’ll just have to forbid you from taking this course of action.”

Twin spots of red stained Brandi’s cheeks. “Forbid me? I’m not a child. And I won’t be ordered away from a course of action I deem necessary. The decision of whether or not to pursue this meeting is mine and mine alone.”

Desmond pressed his lips together, visibly striving to bring himself under control. “I apologize, Brandice,” he managed at last. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. My intention is not to dictate your actions, only to guide your way.” With a forced smile, he grasped her hand. “ ’Tis you, not those noblemen, who are my primary concern. I want to protect you from public ridicule—something which, whether you comprehend it or not, can ruin your reputation and, consequently, your future. I plan to ensure that future, little one, to take care of you and to make you happy.”

Coolly, Brandi eased her fingers from his. “Thank you, Desmond. I appreciate the fact that you have my best interests at heart.”

His brow furrowed. “You appreciate it, but it doesn’t please you?”

“It’s not that it doesn’t please me. It’s only that …”

“You’re angry with me, not only over my opinion of the meeting, but over the matter with the War Department,” he guessed. “Brandice, I know you must deem my actions inexcusable. And I suppose they were. But you and I both know that Quentin is happier when he’s in uniform. Since his return to the Cotswolds, he’s done nothing but immerse himself in an investigation that could prove dangerous. I truly believe he’d be better off defending England in the colonies rather than submerging himself in peril right here in England. And, yes, I admit that I’m bothered by your obvious feelings for him. I have plans for your future, plans that include the protection of my name and my title. So I utilized my connections to accelerate Quentin’s departure. Surely you can understand …”

“What are you saying?” Brandi gasped.

Too late, Desmond recognized his faux pas. “Didn’t Quentin tell you?” he asked in a wooden tone.

She shook her head, staring at him for a long suspended moment of disbelief.

Then reality struck.

“You blackguard.” Brandi backed away, shocked and trembling with rage. “You arranged for Quentin to be sent away? The missive, the visit to Whitehall—you devised all that?”

Desmond blanched. “I thought … that is, I assumed Quentin had mentioned …”

“Well he didn’t. Knowing Quentin, he was probably protecting you.”

“Protecting me? From what?”

“From my hatred,” Brandi shot back. “No.” She held out her hands, palms raised, warding off Desmond’s advance. “Damn you, Desmond, I should have been blunt with you from the start. I’ve tried every subtle tactic I know to enlighten you. But I should recognize by now that subtlety is no more my forte than honesty is yours. You refuse to face the truth. Well, now you’re going to hear it—loud and clear, whether or not you choose to.

“I’m in love with Quentin. I always have been; I always will be. And whether he is at home or abroad, beside me or away, my feelings will never alter.”

“Brandice ….”

“Listen to me,” she commanded. “I don’t love you, Desmond. There has never been anything between us other than friendship, except in your imagination. I have never even remotely entertained the prospect of wedding you. And not solely because of my feelings for Quentin, although that would be reason enough. But because you and I are as different as night and day. Just the fact that you can justify the unprincipled steps you took with the War Department is a perfect example of that. So is your relentless inclination to order me about. I don’t understand you—not your archaic values nor your lack of ethics. And you understand me even less, or you’d realize that a title means nothing to me, and that what I truly crave—mutual admiration and respect—are things you are incapable of offering. I will not bow to your will, nor succumb to being molded into someone I’m not just to suit you: a man who’s more concerned with proprieties than he is with feelings.”

Splotches of color suffused Desmond’s face. “As opposed to my brother, who is the essence of sensitivity and virtue. Well, if you think I’ll stand by and allow you and Quentin …”

“Oh, I know you’ll allow it. Because if you attempt to come between Quentin and me, I’ll disappear from the Cotswolds in a heartbeat, hide somewhere you’ll never find me. And I won’t return until I’m one and twenty, at which point I’ll be the official commander of my own fate.” Her eyes blazed with anger. “Let it go, Desmond. I’ll never become your duchess. Not if you drag me kicking and screaming down the aisle. What I will do is make a scene that will mark you the laughingstock of the
ton,
perpetuate rumors that will render you unable to show your face at Almack’s, Carlton House, or any other playground where the fashionable world convenes. Don’t push me. I’m warning you. Just graciously let me go, and maybe we can someday recapture a bit of our friendship.”

Desmond’s mouth opened, then closed, as he hovered between outrage and incredulity.

“I’ll assume your silence means you accept my terms. A wise decision.” Brandi gathered up her skirts. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to. Bentley will see you out. Should he choose to, that is.”

Chapter 16

C
RACK!

The gunshot rang out, slicing the air like a knife, striking the elm’s trunk dead center.

Without so much as a glance at the results of her impeccable marksmanship, Brandi reloaded, firing a second shot in the wake of the first, piercing the bark a scant inch from her previous target.

“That poor tree will be no more than a leafless, smoldering twig by nightfall,” Quentin commented from twenty feet behind her. “What heinous act has it committed to incite such wrath?”

Shoulders taut, Brandi didn’t even turn. “I’m pretending it’s Desmond’s head.”

“Ah. Would this have any connection to why you bolted from the cottage directly after you and Desmond had your chat?”

Brandi stared down at the beloved pistol Quentin had given her, tracing the engraving on its handle. “Have they gone?”

“He and Hendrick left about an hour after you dashed off. Needless to say, Desmond looked about as cheerful as the trunk of that elm tree. I believe he consumed a half bottle of Madeira before staggering off. to his carriage, supported by Hendrick’s arm.”

“I hope he suffers the worst headache known to mankind.”

Quentin chuckled. “You’re supposed to keep me posted on your whereabouts,” he reminded her, making his way to where she stood. “You’ve been out here for hours. Had Herbert not reported in every quarter hour or so, assuring me that you were indeed safe and continuing to splinter that poor tree, I would have worried myself sick.”

Brandi pivoted to face him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. All I wanted was to get as far from Desmond as possible.”

Gently, Quentin lifted her chin with his forefinger. “What happened?”

“Desmond did.”

Quentin’s lips twitched. “Could you be more specific? Did he order you not to arrange the meeting? Is that what this is all about?”

“That
was but the tip of the iceberg.”

“Sunbeam,” Quentin framed her face between his palms, “I must be honest with you. Ellard wanted to cancel the meeting. I advised him to defer it.” His thumbs forestalled her argument, lightly covering her lips. “Let me finish. ’Tis not that I want you to abandon your idea. To the contrary, I think your grounds for suspicion are well-justified. I scanned Ardsley’s ledger yesterday afternoon while you were asleep. I agree the profits and losses make no sense, not only because your father was an exceptional businessman, but because my brother is not. But Hendrick and I came up with an alternative—one that is more subtle and less dramatic than a twelve-man confrontation, but—hopefully—equally as effective.” With straightforward candor, Quentin explained Hendrick’s plan. “Should Ellard turn up nothing,” Quentin concluded, “we can still hold the meeting, as a last resort. Would that be agreeable?”

“And if I said no?”

“Then I’d ask if you were refusing because you truly believe the idea to be unsound or because you’re testing the depth of my respect for your independence.”

Brandi lowered her gaze.

“And,” Quentin added huskily, brushing his lips across the top of her bowed head, “if the latter were true, I’d suggest that you and I are beyond that point in our relationship—if, in fact, we ever encountered it.”

“You’re right.” Her lashes lifted. “You didn’t deserve that. Of course I agree. Mr. Hendrick’s plan sounds like a much better starting point.” A spark of remembered anger lit her eyes. “Not to mention the fact that we won’t run the risk of publicly embarrassing Papa’s coinvestors.”

Quentin’s lips tightened. “Desmond’s concern, I presume?”

“Of course.” Brandi searched Quentin’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me Desmond was responsible for convincing the War Department to expedite your orders to sail for the colonies?”

“He told you about that?” Quentin asked in amazement.

“Not exactly. He assumed
you
had told me about it. So he plunged into a long-winded explanation defending the magnanimity of his actions in the hopes that I would forgive him for something that, in fact, I knew nothing about.”

“No wonder you’re so furious at him.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because you didn’t want to turn me against him?”

Quentin’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “In this case, you credit me with a benevolent spirit far beyond my capabilities. Frankly, I feel nothing more flattering than pity for my brother, and even that pales in comparison to my contempt. Further, I harbor no qualms about conveying my distaste for Desmond to you, nor about your sharing it. No, Sunbeam, the reason I didn’t tell you about Desmond’s War Department machinations is that there simply wasn’t time. I didn’t discover his sordid blackmail scheme until I’d been in London for several days. I rectified the situation through Bathurst, then rode home to find you’d been shot. As soon as you felt stronger, I assure you I intended to regale you with the entire story.”

“I’m glad,” Brandi said simply. She drew a slow inward breath. “Quentin, I want to hear every unscrupulous detail. But first, I think you should know something.”

“Hmm?”

“I told Desmond about us, about our feelings for each other.”

“I’m sure he was thrilled. Especially in light of the fact that I also lambasted him with the truth—just before he left for London, in fact.”

“You did?” Brandi’s eyes lit up. “What did you tell him?”

“That I was in love with you.” Quentin threaded his fingers through her hair. “That if he tried to stand in my way, I’d make him sorry he was born.”

“Precisely what I said,” Brandi concurred happily.

An indulgent grin. “Did you threaten him with bodily harm? Is that why you’re practicing on that elm?”

“No. I threatened to make a public scene that would ruin him in the eyes of the
ton,
then run away from the Cotswolds until my twenty-first birthday, at which point I would return and oversee myself.”