Season for Scandal (3 page)

Fortunately, Jane only nodded her agreement. “I can’t think what to do about the money I owe. Piracy? Blackmail? Theft?” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Blackmail would be the easiest.”

His heart thudded. “No,” Edmund said, more harshly than he’d intended.

Jane lifted her eyebrows, but before she could question him, he turned the subject. “Why were you here tonight, and without a chaperone? Your cousin is not in attendance; nor is your mother.”

“Oh. That.” She sagged against the settee. Her dark dress blended with the deep color of the upholstery, her face a pale oval above. “No, I’ve been visiting Xavier and Louisa for a few weeks. And today I got some dreadful news.”

So did I
. “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Edmund over a still-pounding heart.

“You might know that Xavier meant to create a trust for me, to fall under my control when I turned twenty-one. He’s been laying money aside for years, but hadn’t completed the legalities. Well, my birthday has passed, but today he told me he didn’t think me dependable enough to be given control of money, even through trustees. So it’s to be a dowry instead.”

She gave a harsh little laugh. “Xavier, lecturing anyone on dependability. Can you credit it? But he won’t let anything tarnish his shining reputation, precious and newfound as it is.”

Edmund struggled to follow; her words seemed to jumble on their way from his ears to his brain. Lately he had suffered from insomnia, and the days felt far too long. Only obligation had brought him to the ball tonight; a promise to Lady Sheringbrook that he would attend. The mother of a card cheat. Her own son let her down, but Edmund would not. Not even today.

He pressed at his temples, willing himself to remain focused upon Jane’s problem. “No trust; only a dowry. I see. So you thought to come and win a bundle at cards.”

She shrugged. “I knew I could win. As long as I looked wealthy and played only with strangers, people would allow me to gamble with them. I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve done it—” Edmund’s head shot up. “No. Please tell me you are jesting.”

“Well, not
here
. I haven’t played here before. But yes, I’ve slipped out before and gambled. That’s how I raised the stake for tonight.”

She folded herself up against the scrolled arm of the settee. He hoped it was a trick of the light, or of his bleary eyes, that made Jane look afraid. Because Jane Tindall had never been afraid of anything, as long as Edmund had known her.

This was worrisome. “How much did you lose?”

She set her jaw.

“How much, Jane? As your
betrothed
, I have a right to know.”

To her credit, she looked him in the eye. “Ten thousand pounds. As much as my dowry.”

Edmund’s arms went numb. Ten thousand pounds, and he had promised to pay her debt.

When Xavier had laid aside Jane’s dowry, the sum had probably seemed significant to him, but hardly ruinous. He took in well over that in a single year—and spent much of it, too. Edmund’s barony was not so wealthy. Cornwall was a windswept land of tin miners and tenacious farmers, and Edmund shepherded his resources carefully to keep his London household and support those he’d left behind.

He had never worried before about running shy of money. But to raise ten thousand pounds, he would have to have his man of business scrape together every bit of ready cash, then sell shares in the funds. It would be a severe blow, and not only to himself. But not to pay a debt of honor was unthinkable.

Unless . . .

“I shall have to confess my sins to Xavier,” Jane was saying, “and he’ll lock me in a cage. If he sells tickets to view the mad girl, I might be able to pay you back in fifty years or so.”

Mad. Yes . . . Edmund was getting a mad idea. So mad that it seemed absolutely perfect. The answer to his needs, and hers, all at once.

No. He couldn’t. He had known Jane since she sported short frocks and skinned knees. She was far too small and brassy to be the shield he needed.

But whom else could he find so quickly? The matter of marriage had become urgent when that letter was put into his hand: he needed an heir,
soon
, to protect his succession and provide for the remnants of his family. Because he had no notion how much longer he would be able to do so himself.

And then there was Jane’s debt. Likely no one else would take her without a dowry. Yet she deserved better than to be cheated—literally—out of her chance to marry. If she even wanted to marry. If she could be persuaded.

Yes—now that he considered the possibility, Jane would be a good partner. She wasn’t exactly a beauty, but with wide eyes and mobile features, she was as interesting to look at as to talk to. And she was sensible, too, with the exception of this evening’s card-play.

A marriage of convenience between old friends. Why not? The boundaries would be clear: mutual regard, but no love. Certainly no love.

Even so, it was far more than he deserved.

Jane was talking again. Of course she was. “You’d better tell Sheringbrook to call upon Xavier instead. As my closest male relative, he owns me for now. There’s no reason you should pay my debt.”

Edmund turned his head, giving her his profile. It was a trick he’d developed years ago, when he realized his peripheral vision was uncommonly good. He could watch her reaction without her thinking he saw her at all.

“What if there
were
a reason?” He held himself motionless.

Jane also froze. “What do you mean, Kirkpatrick?”

He waited for more of a response, but that was all she said. No other reaction; not even a flurry of blinking. He’d forgotten what a good actress she was, able to control every nuance of gesture.

He let his posture relax. Leaned against the settee and laid an arm along its back, brushing the bare skin of Jane’s neck.

That
got a reaction. She scrambled forward, slipping from the upholstered seat and sliding onto the floor. Edmund had no choice but to rise, extending a hand to help her up.

As she stood, her breath came quick and shallow. “What do you mean, Kirkpatrick?” Her voice was low and a little shaky.

With her hand still clasped in his, he sank to one knee.

Her eyes flew open wide. “No. Not that. No, no. Please.”

She tugged at his arm, as though she could drag him to his feet. But changing his stance wouldn’t change her debt. It wouldn’t alter the letter he had received. His need for a wife. An heir.

“Jane. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She was tugging more frantically now, trying to free her hand. “Don’t say it, Kirkpatrick. Don’t. I know you don’t want it. You don’t have to do this to me.”

Startled, Edmund released her hand, and she stumbled backward a step.

You don’t have to do this to me
, she said. What did that mean?
You don’t have to do this
, he would understand. Even
You don’t have to do this
for
me.
But
to me
? That sounded as though he had wounded her, just by asking.

He rose to his feet. A familiar, gnawing pain had awoken below his breastbone. He dragged in a deep breath, then another, until the pain ebbed.

“Jane. Please consider it. It would solve your difficulty, and—and I would be very good to you.”

A small smile trembled. “You’re good to everyone, Kirkpatrick.”

“Well. Ah.” He didn’t know what to say to that.

“Why should you marry me? How would it benefit you?” She turned her fine-boned face away, dignified as a swan. The lamplight gilded her cheek, hid her features from him.

That was Jane in a single gesture, wasn’t it? Not regal, but able to make herself seem so. Able to hold secrets. Able—he hoped—to live with them, too. With attics full. A mind full.

Yes. Come to think of it, a woman who could play cards with such coolness was well suited to a lifelong gamble.

Edmund decided to give her as much of the truth as possible. “I planned to marry eventually. And I admire you, Jane.”

She turned slowly to face him. “You admire me. Is it because of my beauty or charm? My feminine accomplishments? What, pray tell me, do you admire about me?”

She was mocking him now. As far as he knew, she could not paint or sing or play. She was not fashionably tall or elegant.

Yet he had not lied. To say he loved her would be a lie. But there was a great deal to admire about her.

He cleaved close to the truth again. “You are determined. And ingenious.”

Jane’s pointed jaw fell open, then closed with a click of teeth. “Thank you, Kirkpatrick.”

The gnawing pain was back again; it made him catch his breath, hurry her along. “May I speak to your cousin tomorrow?”

He’d overstepped; he could see that at once. Her deep eyes went hard with suspicion. “Will you meet my terms?”

“How dreadful are they?”

“You will have to settle my dowry on Sheringbrook to pay my debt.”

Edmund nodded. “I realize that. I assume you plan never to play cards with him again?”

“What would be the point? I play to win. I will also require pin money in the amount of two hundred pounds per annum.”

“Why the rapaciousness?”

“You just said I was ingenious. I’m only trying to take care of myself.”

She blinked, and Edmund wondered if her hazel eyes hid tears she was ashamed of. She had hoped to gamble her way into independence tonight, and she had failed. He could not fault her for gambling on his own agreement now. And considering he could tell her nothing of his past in exchange for her hand, a few hundred pounds was a small price to pay.

“Very well,” he agreed. “You shall have your exorbitant pin money.”

“I want a maid of my own, and . . . six new gowns?” She bit her lip as though she thought she’d been too extravagant, and Edmund’s heart squeezed. She was only eight years younger than he, yet devastatingly hopeful.

“All new gowns,” he said. “And you shall choose them yourself.”

For the first time since he had knelt before her, she managed a smile. “A horse of my own?”

“A mare. And you shall choose her, too.”

“Jewels?” Her smile grew, and relief bled through him, sweetly cool as ice on a fever. If she would be content with these trappings of the tonnish life, he had indeed chosen well.

“Rubies, if you like. You seem to have a taste for them.” He indicated the priceless necklace, discarded on the seat of the settee. “Enough, now, Jane. If you’ve an answer, give it to me.”

Jane pondered for a few seconds, and her face pinched. “I can’t think of anything else, Kirkpatrick. Not even a courtesan could ask for more.”

“We are betrothed, then?” He held his breath.

As small as Jane was, she suddenly seemed tall and strong. He must have imagined the regret in her face a moment before, for her smile was brilliant, and her eyes looked almost wild.

“Yes,” she said. “I agree to your terms.”

Thank God.

And God help him.

Chapter 3

Concerning the Uses of Gloves

If a man were asked to list his ambitions for his female relatives, Edmund knew that “devious proposal” and “hasty wedding” would rarely be at the top.

Therefore, when Edmund called at Xavier House the following afternoon to discuss the betrothal, he expected his old friend to make some protest. Though Xavier was a distant cousin of Jane’s, the earl regarded her almost as a younger sister.

But Edmund had been away from Cornwall long enough to forget one key aspect of family relationships: exasperation. When he faced Xavier in the silk-papered study and asked for Jane’s hand, the earl stared at him for a long moment.

“You want to marry Jane.”

“Yes,” Edmund confirmed.

Xavier sat back in his chair, his dark brows knit. “It’s not even my birthday. Or Christmas.”

“No, not for several more weeks. Do you require a calendar?”

Xavier grinned. “No, though smelling salts may be in order. I cannot believe you wish to marry Jane, but the chance to shake free from her schemes is most appealing. If you want the responsibility of her, she’s all yours.”

Simply as that, Edmund’s sordid lamplit proposal was approved. Over the next few days, the marriage settlements were drawn up, and with a shake of hands and a flurry of signatures, the matter was arranged: Jane Tindall was to be converted into the Baroness Kirkpatrick in two weeks’ time.

The next fortnight passed for Edmund in a soupy haze of plans and preparations. Refitting his house in Berkeley Square to welcome a bride. Accompanying Jane as she chose a modiste and a maid and a mare: the three essentials for any young matron of the
ton
.

Edmund welcomed the flurry of elegant industry because it kept him distracted. Almost distracted enough to catch a few hours of sleep at night; almost enough to forget the reason for the wedding.

Almost. But not quite. Every time he ventured into the heart of the city, he expected to come face-to-face with a nightmare two decades in the making. A nightmare cloaked in a lying smile and a lilting brogue.
Edmund, me boyo; to think of finding you here. All but a murderer.

That letter he’d received the night of Sheringbrook’s ball—the night of his own betrothal, as it turned out—had been hand-delivered. After twenty years in Australia, Turner was back in London, and he demanded a reckoning.

What form that would take, Edmund had no notion. But it would come, and soon. That certainty spurred him on through exhaustion, through the gnaw of pain in his abdomen. The days before the wedding were falling away, and soon he would take Jane to wife. And then . . . the getting of an heir. That part, at least, held the promise of pleasure; of a brief oblivion in his bride’s arms.

If only he would feel safe once it was all done. If only Jane would be happy with the life he could give her, however long it lasted.

Edmund had no idea, truly, if any of these things would ever come to pass, or if he would ever be free.

The morning of the wedding, Edmund knotted his cravat with extra care and, with the help of his manservant, eased his shoulders into a new black coat.