Only an Earl Will Do (20 page)

He strode to Elizabeth, fisting his hands at his side. The despair written on her face was clear, but he ignored it. Damn the woman. All the weeks he’d been back in town, the promises of no more lies, of them being friends, lovers, and she’d not thought to once be honest with him. He’d given her plenty of opportunities to tell him of their child had she wished to, but she had not. For a moment he wondered if she ever intended to tell him.

He swore, clasping her arm and pulling her toward the terrace doors, needing to be away from Riddledale, this house, the ton—everyone. Henry strove to control his temper, which he was just keeping leached. It wouldn’t bode well for either of them should he lose it. And, unfortunately, this was just such a situation as he was likely to.

He was a father…
The notion rumbled bout in his head like a drum.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Riddledale asked, laughing. “Come now, stay, perhaps I can offer some advice on your predicament.”

Henry ignored the cur and pulled Elizabeth out the door before turning about and facing Riddledale. “You may spread any tales ye wish, we don’t care. We have the letter, so it’s hearsay from this night on, but be aware that should ye push me with your relentlessness on having Lady Newland as your wife, I will be forced to push back, and it’ll not be to your liking. Do ye understand?”

Riddledale scoffed, pouring himself a brandy. “I don’t take well to being told what to do or how to act, but in return, Lord Muir, I will tell you this. I always get what I want. Always.”

Henry didn’t bother with a reply, but left, walking Elizabeth toward the mews and where the carriages were stationed. He spied his driver and motioned him to ready the carriage. Helping Elizabeth up into the squabs, he joined her, slamming the door shut.

She watched him, her eyes wide and, for the first time in the entire duration he’d known her, she was quiet. Good. Best she didn’t speak until he’d tempered his anger to a controlled level.

It was only a few minutes before they were on their way, the houses of Mayfair beacons of light and wealth along a darkened road. He saw none of it.

“Say something, Henry. Please.”

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head, beyond furious. “You lied.”

…

Elizabeth nodded. She had, and the guilt of such an untruth had eaten at her from the moment she’d decided Henry should never know of Samuel. “I did, but you must see why I did such a thing. It was not purposefully done.”

“No? And pray tell me how ye come to that conclusion? Because to me, it most certainly is purposeful.” Henry sat back against the leather seats, crossing his arms, his face a mask of hurt and fury.

“You must see that we tried. We wrote to you, begging your return. It was not my fault that Riddledale took the missive and made use of it for his own agenda.” She swallowed the panic clawing at her throat and strove to calm. Surely if Henry could see the truth behind all the mess she’d made of the situation, they could make something work. Have some kind of future happiness.

“My son has the name of another gentleman. Instead of the Scottish earl he should be, he’s taken the roll of a mere English viscount. How dare you.”

Tears smarted, and she bit her lip. “I didn’t have any choice. When we received the letter back from you, even though I know now it was a fake missive, my parents did what they thought best. I was dragged to Wiltshire and married before I could draw a calming breath.”

“And ye fooled another gentleman. Allowed the fellow to die always believing he’d fathered a son, an heir for his lands and estate, when he had not. How can ye live with such a falsehood?” Henry shook his head, distaste clouding his every word.

Elizabeth fought to right the wrong, a wrong she’d really had no say in. Had Riddledale not stolen from them, none of this would be occurring right now. The life she longed for, the life she wanted, started to pull further from her reach. She clasped the chair for support, needing something to keep her upright.

“Newland came across me in the garden at his estate, being sick on his perennials. He guessed the urgency for our visit and due to his riding accident, which left him unsuitable for most of his social equals, he asked me to marry him.” And she’d loved him in a small way from that moment on for saving her, even though he didn’t have to. He could’ve thrown her to the wolves and watched her be ripped apart.

“He knew?”

She flinched at the whipping accusation. “Yes, he knew, and he adored Samuel, cared for him like he was his own child, and I’ll never let anyone, not even you, mar that memory for me. He saved me, Henry, and had you been able to, had you known the truth, I know you would’ve done the same, but I didn’t have that option. I did what was necessary to secure my son’s future.”

“My son’s future, which will forever be a lie.”

She looked out the carriage window, hating that his words were cold, cutting and the truth. “Samuel will be known as Lord Newland one day, yes. I will not allow you to try to change that. My family supports my actions, and should you try, Henry, I will fight you on it.”

“How so, madam?” His lip turned in disdain. “I hardly know ye.”

The carriage rocked to a halt, and Elizabeth was surprised to see he’d brought her back to her family’s London home. “You cannot prove anything, Henry, and that you’re threatening me when I’m as innocent as you in this muddled past is beyond forgiving. I did not tell Riddledale to steal our letter. I did not tell him to write on your behalf and shout lies and insults in my face. What did you expect me to do? Have a child out of wedlock? I could not, I would not do that to my family.”

“Ye should have.”

“And that, Lord Muir, is where we will forever differ. If I had my time again, I would do no different. Lord Newland was a loving and caring husband, and I’m forever grateful for him. I’m sorry your son now bears another man’s name, but it is what it is, and you should make peace with it, for it’ll not ever change, no matter how much you wish it to.”

Henry opened the door, gesturing at the space. “Get out. This conversation is over.”

Elizabeth started, but did as he bid, climbing down without assistance and not looking for any even if he had offered it. “I think all that needs to be said between us has been said. I wish you well, Lord Muir.”

“And what about my son? Do ye dare keep him from me?”

“You may visit Samuel whenever you wish, I’ll not stop you, but heed my warning, Henry, do not overstep your bounds. I will not have it.”

He slammed the door in her face, glaring at her. “We will see about that, Lady Newland.” The rap on the carriage ceiling was loud in the quiet street, and Elizabeth turned away, her eyes smarting and making the steps nothing but a blur.

She made it up to her room in a haze, unsure how she got there, but thankful when her maid undressed her and helped her into bed. Elizabeth pulled the blanket over her head. Her life was over, no future in Scotland with Henry beckoned, as there was no chance he’d ever forgive her for her dishonesty.

Elizabeth allowed the heaving sobs to burst free, and she muffled them as much as she could against her pillows. He hated her, and the loathing on his face when she’d stood outside his carriage left her with little hope of reconciliation.

This time they were done. It was over, and nothing she could say or do could change that awful truth.

Chapter Eighteen

A month passed, the time endless and seemingly longer than the years Henry spent abroad. Elizabeth had stayed in town for some days after Lord Riddledale’s ball in the hopes that Henry would seek her out, beg to have her back, to say sorry for what they’d both said, ask for forgiveness and a chance to start again.

But she’d been wrong, had fooled herself into a false hope that eventuated to nothing. Henry’s silence spoke louder than any words could, and so Elizabeth had made the decision to return to Dunsleigh before the season ended. Her family, still in half mourning, wished to accompany her, and so the London home was closed up, and they left.

Women’s voices sounded from her mother’s sitting room upstairs, and not in the mood for company, Elizabeth walked into the family’s private drawing room at the rear of the house—a sunny, well-lit space during the morning—and sat before the terrace doors, watching as the gardeners weeded the flower beds outside.

“A letter has arrived for you, my lady.”

The footman handed Elizabeth the missive and she thanked him. She scrutinized the note’s messy writing for a moment before breaking the seal.

Courtship is a fool’s errand.

And love makes fools of us all.

Do not dally forever more.

Or all you fools will fall.

Elizabeth scrunched up the note, hating the fact her hands shook with the action. Lord Riddledale had more hair than wit and she should’ve known the man had not the smarts to give over. At least he could not harm her or Samuel any longer. The letter had been duly burned and, should he pronounce her indiscretion, it was her word against his, and no one would dare slander the Worthinghams without proof. Riddledale had lost.

Determined to shake off her melancholy and enjoy the beautiful day, Elizabeth stood and headed to the stables. Her flighty Argo poked his nose over the stall door in welcome and she refused her groom’s offer to saddle her mount, instead opting to do it herself.

Once saddled, she led him out to the mounting block, took her seat, and cantered from the manicured grounds, jumping the outlying fences before urging Argo into a blistering speed toward the grassy fields beyond. The wind made her eyes water, hairpins dislodged, and soon her light locks cascaded about her shoulders. Still, she pushed Argo, blaming her tears on the impressive speed her mount could accomplish and not the loss of a certain Scottish earl.

Time ticked by, and eventually Argo’s steps slowed. She led him under a copse of trees and dismounted, seeking out a fallen limb to sit on. Elizabeth looked up at the branches of the grand oak, the leaves swaying in the pleasant breeze. Memories of Henry haunted her every thought. Of their racing these very lands, of picnics and endless summer days before coming-out balls and necessary trips to America were a concern.

How life had been so much simpler then.

She shut her eyes as her body heated recalling their last day together here at Dunsleigh where their beautiful son was conceived. How together they’d transformed from youths to adults before the slow flowing waters that Henry had taught her to swim in.

What a mess she’d made of things. And worse, she didn’t really know if a future together was possible, or if Henry had walked away from her for good. Her heart stopped beating at the thought. It couldn’t be over. She’d not allow it to be. She would have to speak to him again. Perhaps he’d returned to Scotland, and she would write him a letter, detailing everything that had happened and her reasoning behind her actions.

Maybe it would work.

A crack of a branch sounded from behind, and she looked over her shoulder, but it was too late to react. A filthy cloth came up hard against her mouth and covered her nose. The assailant pulled her up against his body, and Elizabeth kicked at him as best she could. The man was large, a bandana covering half his face. His strength was immovable, and he took what punches she could deliver, but nothing budged his tight hold.

Her eyes grew heavy and it was a fight to keep them open. Her knees gave out just as blackness swamped her senses, but not before her last conscious thought was that Lord Riddledale had made his final move.

…

Elizabeth woke with the notion she was not alone in the equipage. The carriage rocked, gravel crunching loud under the fast-paced wheels. Still her senses screamed for caution. Without moving a muscle, she peeked at her surroundings, spying a pair of spotless, high-gloss boots. It wasn’t hard to guess to whom they belonged. His lordship had always been a pompous ass even in kidnapping it would seem.

“Ah, I see you are awake. Welcome, Lady Newland. I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”

Elizabeth struggled to sit up and gasped as Lord Riddledale bent down and pulled her to sit across from him. His hands slid down her arms and checked the knot holding her wrists together behind her back. Elizabeth struggled to breathe with the vile-smelling bandana across her mouth.

She tried to tell the fiend he was a curse upon society. His lordship’s reaction to her feeble attempt was a hefty laugh. The man’s fragile mind had finally snapped, she was sure of it. His fingers slid over her cheek, then down to outline her top lip before he wrenched the bandana from her mouth, his nails cutting into her cheek.

Elizabeth took a breath of fresh air and fought down nausea rising in her throat. “My brother will ensure you hang for this. How dare you kidnap me?”

His calculating smile chilled her to her core. “He will not kill the Marquis of Riddledale, his new brother-in-law.”

Elizabeth sat as far back against the squabs as she could and watched with distaste as Lord Riddledale’s eyes lingered, his mouth almost salivating over her form. She looked away and tried to block out the thought that he may hurt her, take liberties that were not freely given.

“You should have accepted my proposal when I first asked. Had you done so, none of this would’ve been necessary, my lady.”

“Again, my lord, you fail to understand the English language. I said no.” She tried to calm herself, but it was a battle she was losing. “Perhaps you should listen more attentively the next time you ask a question.”

He chuckled as if the whole situation was amusing.
A lark to be settled by marriage.
Damn him.

“All women play coy and hard to please. You are no different.”

Elizabeth looked out the windows and tried to gauge where they were, in what direction they traveled. The carriage was not new or fashionable, the upholstery was torn and dirty, much like herself, she mused. The rattling door was held shut by a frayed piece of rope. And here sat Lord Riddledale in his best attire, fresh and well-kept just like a Mayfair dandy.

“I thought such a vehicle would be less conspicuous. I can’t have mine being seen; all of them sport the family emblem on the doors, you see.” He smiled, and she glared. “We’re not being followed, and we’ll make our destination by morning.”

Elizabeth swallowed, not wanting to know where the lout was taking her but knowing he would tell her in any case. Threats such as these seemed a trait of his nature, something he craved as much as having her for a wife.

“Would you like to know our destination, my dear?”

Her eyes narrowed at the endearment, but she refused to be drawn into his game. Dreadful prig.

He laughed, sat forward, and tweaked her nose. “Never mind, I shall tell you. You’ll be happy to know the town in which you’ll become my wife in the truest sense, and I’m not just speaking of our vows, is Gretna Green. You may now announce your excitement.”

Elizabeth tested her restraints, having never hated a man as much as she hated the one across from her. “How dare you.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been daring for years; you just didn’t know it.”

She met his gaze and hoped he read the hate in her eyes. “You’ll pay for this treachery.”

“And so will you should you not do as I say. I know all the scandals your pretty head almost crashed down upon the Duke of Penworth’s lofty head. I know everything, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “You have no proof of them, and the letter you did steal has since been burned. My brother has kept the correspondence you sent on behalf of Lord Muir, which he’s passed along to Bow Street for investigation. It will not be long before you’ll be outed as a thief, scorned by your betters. Ruined.”

He smirked, and she wanted to scratch the smug smile off his face.

“Did I fail to tell you, my lord, that when we were looking for my father’s letter, we came across notification of your debt? A lot of it, mind. My brother has since bought up all your IOUs, and now you owe his grace a hefty sum. If my brother has need to call in those debts, well, it shall not end well for you, I believe.” Elizabeth raised her brows. “Are you sure you wish to continue with this ploy, your lordship?”

“I have no debt to your brother,” Riddledale said, his voice no longer so sure, his face turning paler than usual.

“I do not lie. My brother did buy up most of what you owe, and now your fortune could be lost. So unless you wish to be poor, I would turn us about now.”

His alarmed face cleared when his hand settled on her knee, his fingers clenching her skin. Elizabeth fought not to vomit. “He’ll not ruin his brother-in-law, and that’s exactly who I’ll be in a matter of hours.”

He leaned away, folding his hands in his lap, seemingly a man without a care. “I’ve always watched you, Elizabeth, and you were lucky the day you laid like a whore, spread your legs like a Covent Garden hussy for Lord Muir, that I didn’t have my flintlock with me. If I had my time again your esteemed Henry would be long dead.”

She shut her eyes, hating the thought of a vile creature such as Lord Riddledale intruding during an act that was brought on by affection and, above all, love.

“After Muir left it was easy to have incoming and outgoing mail diverted to me to ensure no letters from America made the salver nor any of your missives made his. I’m so glad we’re neighbors,” he said. “It makes one’s life so much easier, don’t you think?”

“You bastard. A family friend who deceived us all. You ruined my life.” Tears welled, and she pushed them away, not wanting him to see how he could affect her so. She would never give him such power if she could help it.

“You ruined your own life. My intention was only ever to marry you. I love you.”

Elizabeth kicked his shins, happily landing a good blow before his hand was about her neck, the accompanying squeeze ensuring she stopped her assault.

“You thought to marry your bastard Scot and have his baby, no heed to your duty as a duke’s daughter or what’s expected of you.” He squeezed tighter, and she fought for breath. “It would be a slight upon England for a Worthingham to marry such highland scum.” He paused, snarling. “Well, you will not marry him, Elizabeth. I would not allow it then, and I shall never allow it now. You will be the future Marchioness of Riddledale, or you’ll be nothing at all should you refuse to do as you’re told. With your distress at losing your dearest Henry, it is all probable that a woman of your mental insecurities could befall an accident. All of London has watched you fawn over the gentleman since his return, and I’ve whispered into enough ears to ensure an accident would not be a surprise. Such a sad ending for a woman so unlucky in love.” He laughed, his eyes gleaming in triumph. “How the ton will enjoy such a sad tale of woe for years.”

“The hell I will,” Elizabeth said, loathing lacing her tone. “And you will not have to push me from the cliff, for if it’s a future with you or death, I pick death. I would rather die than let you win.”

Riddledale raised his brows. “Well, we will see, shall we not?” he said, tying the bandana across her mouth once more and watching her with a silence that left her ice cold.