Jo Goodman (5 page)

"If he doesn't kill me first."

She closed her eyes briefly. She tried to imagine her life away from Weybourne Manor. Where would she go? What would she do? Chloe, at least, was already engaged, and Sylvia might still make a reasonably good marriage even without a dowry, but the twins would be her responsibility and they would have no inheritance. How was she supposed to keep food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads?

Mercedes could feel her stomach lurch and roil as her thoughts began to tumble out of control. It was not like her to get ahead of herself. She was the unfailingly practical one, the responsible Leyden, heiress to virtues like honor and honesty, loyalty and trust. And where had it gotten her? She would do well, she thought, to embrace a bit more in the way of larceny and deceit. This evening's escapade was a good start. On the heels of that thought Mercedes found she could still smile.

Watching her, seeing the glimmer of a sweet, satisfied curve on her lips, Colin said, "You find the idea of your uncle killing me amusing?"

For a moment she had difficulty following him. Then she recalled his previous comment. "Oh, no," she said quickly. "I wasn't thinking about that.... I was..."

"Yes?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." How could she explain that she was not quite like the person he was talking to tonight, that in other circumstances she wouldn't have left Weybourne Park after nightfall, at least not alone and never on foot. She wouldn't cross the threshold of an inn like the Passing Fancy and she'd never even entertained the notion of joining a man in his room.

Colin tested the water in the kettle. It was finally hot. He yanked a sheet off the bed and used one corner to keep from burning his palm on the iron handle. In one easy, sweeping motion he poured the scalding water in the wooden tub. That made the temperature warm enough. After setting the kettle on the floor he began to pull out his shirttails.

"You're going to bathe now?" she asked.

"I'm not waiting until the water gets cold again."

"But I'm still here."

"Are you planning on leaving any time soon?"

"Not without discussing—"

"That's what I thought." He finished pulling off his shirt and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers.

That's when Mercedes did a surprising thing. She didn't turn in her chair or avert her head. Mercedes didn't even blink. What she did was stare.

Colin pushed at his trousers. She still didn't look away. He lowered them a fraction. The flat of his muscled belly was fully exposed and she hadn't twitched. He swore softly and kicked the tub with his bare foot in frustration. Water sloshed on the floor and pain shot through his foot. "Very well," he said gracelessly. "I'll wait, but state your business then get out of here."

Taking little comfort in her victory, Mercedes said stiffly, "If you insist on showing up at Weybourne Park, then you must find some way for honor to be served without killing the earl."

Colin sat on the edge of the bed and nursed his stubbed toe. "Must I? I suppose you're going to tell me why."

She leaned forward in her chair, her expression earnest. "We'll lose everything. You can't appreciate what that means else you wouldn't insist on this manner of addressing a fault."

He understood better than she could know about losing everything. He didn't explain because it made no difference; it was something
she
would not understand. What he said was, "You call it a fault? Is that your word or the earl's?"

"His word," she admitted apologetically.

Colin stopped rubbing his toe. "The Earl of Weybourne made a wager. A wager he hadn't the means to honor at the outset. I wouldn't have accepted the terms if I had known, but it would have been less than proper form if I had made an overt inquiry about his finances. I was prepared to cover the wager if I lost. The earl was not."

Mercedes felt a tightness in her chest. It was every bit as bad as she thought it could be.

"Do you want a drink?" asked Colin. She looked as if she might need one. Indeed, she looked as if she might faint. The only positive thing that might come of it, as far as Colin was concerned, was that he would finally have his bath. "Never mind," he said before she could answer. He could see she was preparing to reject his offer anyway. "I'll pour you one and you'll finish it. A second, if I say so."

She nodded weakly. There was no point in arguing. She had learned living with the earl that one must choose one's battles and over the years she had become something of a good strategist.

The bottle of whisky on the nightstand had been thoughtful Molly's contribution. Colin poured two fingers of alcohol into his own unused tumbler and passed it to Mercedes. "All of it," he said.

Mercedes wrapped her slender fingers around the glass and raised it to her lips. Over the rim she caught Colin's intent stare. He looked as if he'd hold her nose and pour the stuff down her throat if she didn't drink it on her own. She tipped her head back and let it slide.

"Good girl." He took the tumbler from her and put it aside. "Let's see how you get on with that."

Her insides were on fire, that's how she was getting on. Gamely, she nodded. She hardly recognized her own voice when she was able to get a few words out. "Tell me about the wager."

Colin stuffed a pillow behind his back and leaned against the headboard. Thinking back, he raked his fingers through his hair. "You're familiar with Lloyd's?" he asked.

"The insurance house."

"That's right. They've been insuring ships and cargo for over a hundred years and they have a good system for communicating departures and arrivals. News always seems to reach them first if a ship's foundered somewhere on the coast, or if the cargo's been spoiled, or if there's been hands lost to storms or pirates. There's an opportunity for fortunes to vanish or be made depending on the fate of ships. Lloyd's policies are really shares sold to investors, and if their ship comes in they're rewarded handsomely. If it doesn't..." Colin shrugged. "Well, you can imagine."

Indeed, Mercedes was having no difficulty imagining. In her mind's eye she was seeing men who had risked everything going quietly into a back room of the coffee house and putting a pistol to their head. Her knuckles whitened around the empty tumbler.

"Recently Lloyd's has been the site of more reckless wagering. Men are not only betting on a ship coming in, but putting down extra money if she comes in on time. There's always more to be made if a ship carrying certain valuable goods is the first of its kind to make port. Tea, for instance, from Hong Kong. Or wool from Melbourne. If a clipper captain can be the first to reach Liverpool or London with cargoes like those, he can do well for himself, his crew, and his company."

"That's what you are?" she asked. "A clipper captain?"

"Master of the
Remington Mystic."

Some men would have said it as a boast, or at least with a trace of pride. Mercedes detected nothing like that in Colin Thorne's tone. He said it merely as a statement of fact. She held out her tumbler. "I think I'd like more, please."

Colin considered her request. There was a bit of color in her cheeks that hadn't been there during any part of their brief acquaintance. Her eyes—gray, he could see now, with the smallest ring of cobalt blue—were clear and steady. Mercedes Leyden appeared to be holding her own. "All right," he said, leaning forward with the bottle. He gave her half as much as he had before. "Don't knock it back like a sailor this time. Sip it."

She did as she was told. The sensation was quite pleasant. "Was it a wager like that that my uncle made?" she asked. "Was he betting that you'd come in on time?"

Colin set the bottle down. He drew his knees up and rested one arm across the caps. "No. That sort of wager wouldn't have had the return the earl was looking for. He challenged the
Mystic
to come in
ahead
of schedule."

"Break a record, you mean?" Ignoring Colin's earlier admonishment, Mercedes finished her drink in one gulp. "My God," she said lowly. "What was he thinking?"

"Probably that he couldn't lose," Colin said practically.

"And what prompted you to take him up on it? Was it the same for you? Did you think you couldn't lose?"

"On the contrary. I didn't think my chances of winning were very great. Your uncle only had to record his wager and wait. I had to make it happen."

Again Mercedes could detect no boast in the statement. He said it simply, accepting his role as part of the risk. "How much was the wager?"

"A quarter of a million pounds."

She blanched. It was more than everything. "The run?"

"Liverpool to Boston to London."

"And the record?"

"Twenty-six days, thirteen hours."

It was becoming easier to understand why her uncle thought he had made a winning wager. She might have been tempted herself. Mercedes leaned forward and set her tumbler on the floor. When she straightened she was a little light-headed. At the moment it seemed like a very good thing.

"Twenty-six days, four hours," Colin said, answering the question she had yet to ask. "The
Remington Mystic
logged in nine hours under the record."

Mercedes stared at him. "Nine hours," she said hollowly. "My family is going to lose Weybourne Park because of nine hours."

Colin pushed off the bed and stood. "You talk as though it hasn't happened yet. Your family's already lost Weybourne Park and not because my crew had an outstanding run, but because his lordship didn't think for a moment that it was even possible."

Mercedes pressed her spine rigidly against the back of the overstuffed chair as Colin towered over her.

"Lloyd's documented the run," he told her. "It's a matter of record now. By the time I walked into their offices, people already knew your uncle had lost his wager. I found him at his club that same evening. I, too, thought he'd be drunk but apparently his friends feared what he might do and they managed to cut his drinks with water." Colin suddenly realized he was leaning over Mercedes, and that she had pushed herself as much into the corner of the chair as was possible. She was looking up at him, her eyes watchful and wary as though expecting a blow and preparing herself to take it on the chin. Disgusted, Colin straightened and removed his hands from the arms of the chair.

"I'm not going to hit you," he said tightly. When he noticed her position didn't change a whit he took a step backward and finally moved to the window. She had to turn in her chair to see him. It made her seem less like a cornered fawn. "In front of half a dozen witnesses the earl called into question the legitimacy of the
Mystic
's run. He went so far as to suggest that the
Mystic
had a twin ship in the Remington line and that I had never taken the clipper the entire way back to Boston."

Mercedes's eyes widened a fraction. Her uncle had to have had some understanding of his situation to act so recklessly. Impugning a man's honor was no peccadillo, but a breech with serious consequences.

"I showed him the dated newspaper I picked up the day I arrived in Boston harbor. He claimed it was all arranged and all of it a fraud." Colin now saw on his guest's face an understanding of where this was leading. She nodded once, slowly, bidding him to continue. "Your uncle said a number of other things. I would have been well within my rights to call him out for any one of them."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because there was no point. I was already aware that he couldn't pay the debt without borrowing against the value of Weybourne Park. If he wasn't willing to do that then the estate would be mine by default. It's all quite legal, I assure you."

Mercedes didn't doubt it. She had come to understand that Colin Thorne took calculated risks, not blind ones. What she could not comprehend was that he had a quarter of a million pounds to wager. How was it possible for a clipper captain to amass a fortune? "So when you didn't take the bait?" she prompted.

"He called me out. To his way of thinking he had no other choice. If he kills me tomorrow he won't have to make good on his wager. If I kill him..." Colin shrugged. "Then he has no more worries, does he?"

The Earl of Weybourne worried very little. That was left to Mercedes. She was the one who took on the burden of managing Weybourne Park. It had been her home first.

Unfolding her legs, Mercedes moved to the edge of the cushion. She sat there a moment, perched like a skittish bird, her head darting first one direction then the other. She picked up her stockings, rolled them on, then slipped into her damp shoes. When she stood she felt water squishing out from between the stitching. She wriggled her toes uncomfortably.

In spite of the warmth supplied by the fire, her cloak was still damp. She swung it around her shoulders and drew the hood up over her head. Mercedes glanced once at Colin. He was merely watching her with the same detached curiosity she had noticed earlier. She rested her palm on the door handle, searching for something to say. In the end she left as quietly as she had come. There were no words.

* * *

There was a light on in the library when she arrived home. It meant her uncle was waiting up for her. No one met her at the door to take her cloak or inquire if she wanted tea. The manor had been understaffed for years and the servants Mercedes was able to retain were taking a well-deserved rest in their own quarters.