Silent Revenge (11 page)

The breath caught in her throat. How she’d longed to have those words spoken. Not since the fever had cast her into her solitary, terrifying world of silence had she dared to dream that someone would give her such a beautiful promise.

He touched his finger to her chin, making sure she was watching him. “James, do you know the name of Miss Stanton’s solicitor?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Send someone for him immediately, then send someone to contact my solicitor.”

Melinda reached for her hand and held it tight. “Call if you need me.” She gave her a gentle hug. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

Jessica nodded and then stepped back.

His tall, immovable frame stood next to her, his nearness so consuming, he sent a scorching warmth through her. She pulled in a shallow breath and held it.

He pinned her with a determined glare that only intensified when the duke closed the door and left them alone.

She knew that from this day on her life would never be the same.

Simon walked to the fireplace and stared into the fames. He grasped the six-foot-plus span of the mantle, and he held his grip until his knuckles turned white. The muscles across his shoulders burned, and the tight cords following the back of his neck ached. He lowered his pounding head between his arms and took a deep breath.

He listened for the rustling of her navy muslin dress to tell him she’d moved from the spot where he’d left her, but there was no sound.

No doubt she was so frightened she couldn’t find the courage to move.

He didn’t blame her. He knew he must look a fright—his unruly and disheveled hair, the dark stubble on his face, the bloodshot look of his eyes. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes from the night before.

He was hardly dressed to call on close friends, let alone meet with an innocent young woman to ask her to become his wife.

Wife.

Bloody hell.

He squeezed his eyes tight and slowly dragged fresh air into his body. Her soft voice interrupted, paralyzing his half-filled lungs.

“Why, my lord?”

He turned to face her. What torture he read on her face. “Why, what? Why have I decided to marry you now?”

“Yes.” She took a step closer. “Nothing has changed.” She hesitated. “I am still deaf.”

“Like you said last night, you have what I need to save my birthright.”

“You could have had the money last night. You could have agreed to the marriage last night. What changed your mind?”

His gaze locked with hers. How could he tell her he hadn’t believed her last night? How could he tell her he hadn’t wanted her enough last night to pretend she was telling the truth—that he still didn’t want her?

He blinked away the guilt that threatened to consume him. How could he make her understand it was more than even the money? What he wanted was revenge.

He wanted her stepbrother. He wanted Tanhill to pay for the pain he’d caused. For the lives he’d taken.

He wanted Tanhill to pay for what he’d done to Sarai.

Simon rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes and pointed to the sofa. “Sit down.”

She sat on the cushion and clasped her hands in her lap. He moved to sit beside her.

“No. Please. Sit there.” She pointed to a chair across from her.

He stopped short. “I won’t bite. I promise.”

“I wasn’t afraid you would, Lord Northcote. It’s easier for me to see what you’re saying when you face me.”

A deep blush covered her cheeks, and Simon released a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“You didn’t know.”

He sat on the sofa facing her and kept his gaze locked with hers. “You understand why we have no choice but to marry, don’t you, Miss Stanton?”

“I know that you must marry me to save your inheritance, my lord, but I’m not sure marriage to you is my only choice. Perhaps if I left England and—”

Simon held up his hand and leaned forward. The sudden movement startled her. “You would never survive, Miss Stanton. You are deaf.” He rested his elbows on his knees and fisted his hands into hard balls. He wanted to shake her. “It’s hard enough for a young, single woman to survive on her own here in England where you have friends to help you and you are familiar with your surroundings. If you went to a strange country you would have no friends, and no one to protect you. You are too innocent and inexperienced.”

“I’m not that innocent or inexperienced, my lord. I am capable of taking care of myself. You forget that I have managed on my own perfectly well for ten years without anyone’s protection.”

Simon stared at her without flinching and gave her his fiercest glower. She didn’t back down. “You have avoided society and any involvement with people, Miss Stanton. That is how you have gotten along. And you did not have your stepbrother pounding at your door, determined to have you committed to an asylum to get your money.”

Her eyes widened as if he’d slapped her.

He regretted his forwardness, but now was not the time to soften the truth. “I’m sorry, Miss Stanton, but you cannot escape from your stepbrother. Even a place halfway around the world is not far enough to hide you from Baron Tanhill. He’s too desperate for your money.”

She lowered her head and breathed a heavy sigh. “I know. Ira said the same.”

“Ira who?”

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t been looking at him.

When she lifted her head to face him, Simon noticed that the spark in her eyes was no longer there. Neither was the look of independence and rebellion he’d seen on her face or the fight he’d sensed in her bearing. Resignation was the only expression he read on her face.

Resignation and submission.

“Perhaps it would be best if we laid out our requests and expectations here and now,” she said, clenching her fists tighter. Her face seemed even paler than before. “So there will be no misunderstandings later.”

Simon leaned back in his chair and regarded her with guarded openness. “Yes. Perhaps that would be best.”

She leveled her gaze on him and took a deep breath. “Please, my lord. You go first.”

Dear God, but it was hard to speak such blatant truths while looking someone directly in the eye. Especially truths he knew would hurt. Truths that would cause her pain.

“I do not mean to be cruel or hurt you intentionally,” Simon said bluntly, “but my reason for marrying you is to save my inheritance. I can offer you no emotional attachment.”

The proud, determined woman sitting opposite him lifted the corners of her mouth in a gentle smile. “You do not need to fear that I will ever expect there to be any emotional attachment from our marriage. I understand our union to be a marriage of convenience and nothing more. You will have my inheritance as a dowry, and I will have your name as protection. You have not offended me, my lord.” She tipped her head to the side. “Is there anything more?”

“Yes. One other requirement.”

“You will always be faithful to only me and will never bring disgrace to the name I give you.”

Her gaze few to her hands in her lap, and a blush flooded her cheeks. “Of course, my lord,” she whispered.

Her head slowly lifted, and Simon could tell how hard it was to look him in the eyes. Her sigh quivered in the silence.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“No.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you have any demands?”

“Yes. I have three.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “And they are?”

He watched her take a deep breath. “I did not lie to you when I said the money means nothing to me,” she said softly. “And I promise I will never make any undue demands on you. But I want your promise in writing that you will never have me committed to an asylum.”

He sat forward. Fury erupted from deep within him. “Why the bloody hell do you think I would marry you if not to protect you from your stepbrother and keep you
out
of an asylum? Do you think I am equally as heartless?”

She did not blink an eye. “I would have your promise in writing before I agree to become your wife.”

Dear God, she did. He could see her determination. “Then you will have it.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I would also like there to be a small house somewhere nearby deeded in my name alone. Something simple. The size is not important.”

Simon rose to his feet in front of her. “You will not live anywhere other than under my roof, Miss Stanton. I will not allow it. Is that understood?” Simon couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. Not that she’d notice, of course.

The defiant lift to her shoulders said she understood but did not like what he’d said. “I only want to own it as a guarantee that I will always have a place to call my own. Something no one can take from me.”

Simon felt his anger abate. He could not imagine having the enormous wealth she had, yet feeling so vulnerable and insecure. “I know of three town houses in London that are currently available. They are all in good repair and located nearby. We will tour them in the next few days, and you can choose which house you would like put in your name. My solicitor will take care of all the details.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“And the third request?”

“I would like a monthly allowance.”

Simon could not stop the grin from covering his face. He knew the money would come in here somewhere. Even though she’d denied it meant anything to her, he’d known she’d been lying. There wasn’t a woman alive who did not crave wealth. “Of course. And how much of your fortune would you like a month?”

She released a deep breath. “Fifteen pounds.”

“What?” He hadn’t heard her right. He thought she’d asked for only fifteen pounds.

She chewed her lower lip nervously and then lifted her chin defiantly. “Fifteen pounds,” she repeated.

He stared at her and knew the confusion on his face was easy to read. The woman was worth more than the both of them would ever be able to spend, and she was bargaining with him for a paltry fifteen pounds a month.

“May I ask what you intend to do with such a vast amount of wealth?”

“I would feel better if I did not have to rely on your generosity. You made yourself quite clear last night, and I do not wish to inconvenience you or embarrass you with my presence or my needs. I’m used to my independence and taking care of myself. I wish to continue doing so.”

Simon nodded in compliance. “Don’t worry, Miss Stanton. You will get your allowance.”

“Thank you, my lord. I promise I will make no further demands on you.” She stopped and then lifted her wide-open gaze. “Except…”

“Except?” Simon looked at her indulgently.

“Would there be room in your employ for my servants? They are all extremely loyal and have been with me for years. Mrs. Graves is an excellent cook, and Mrs. Goodson…”

Simon closed his mouth, which hung open. “Yes. They can all come with you. Sanjay will be glad for their help.”

“Sanjay?”

“My servant. He has been keeping the house by himself since we arrived. He will welcome their assistance.”

“Thank you, my lord. I promise there will be nothing more.”

Simon turned at the knock on the door, and Miss Stanton’s gaze followed him. Collingsworth stood at the entry with Ira Cambden at his side. Ira walked into the room, and she leaped from the sofa and ran across the Turkish carpet into his outstretched arms.

“Oh, Ira,” she cried out, then buried her face against his chest.

“It’s all right, Miss Jessica,” he answered and held her for a long moment. The relieved look on his face was plain to see. He touched her cheek tenderly and then stood proudly at her side. “My lord,” he said, bowing formally. “I pray I can be of service.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “You are acquainted with Miss Stanton?”

“Yes, my lord. I have been solicitor for the Stanton family even more years than I have represented the Northcotes.”

“Yes, well…it seems that Miss Stanton is in need of a husband. For some reason beyond my realm of understanding, she has chosen me to fill that requirement.”

Ira’s eyes opened wide, his mouth dropping slightly, then lifting to an open grin. “Yes, my lord. That is correct. Miss Stanton is indeed in need of a husband.” Ira reached for her hand and patted it softly. “Does my lord understand the full impact of the situation?”

“Yes, Mr. Cambden. Better than you realize.”

“I’m afraid Baron Tanhill will not accept your marriage to Miss Jessica without some sort of repercussion.”

“I know,” Simon said, rubbing his hand across his face. He knew all too well. “Please. Bring your charge and sit down. We seem to have a great deal to discuss. James, join us. I fear it will take all of us to cover the details.”

Ira Cambden sat on the sofa with Jessica at his side. Not once did she remove her hands from the older man’s grasp.

Simon watched with a sense of something near envy because they were not his hands she wanted to hold. He sat opposite her and slid his chair so close their knees touched. He looked into eyes so blue he felt he could drown in them. Unfortunately, the hesitation he’d seen earlier was still there.

“How long do we have, Mr. Cambden?” he asked, making sure she knew what he was saying.