The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae (6 page)

“If she doesn't give you the goblet, and you can't give it to the bankers on the first of July, what will happen?”

He hesitated, then, voice lower, replied, “The way the deal was done, the account, as it were, can only be settled with the goblet—no amount of money can stand in its place. If I don't hand over the goblet on the first of July, I, and the clan, lose the castle and all clan lands—glen, loch, and forests—and all the clan businesses, too. The clan will be dispossessed and destitute. The collateral on which the deal was based was all clan assets.”

“Good Lord—
all
?”

“All.” His expression grew harsh. “It didn't seem any great risk at the time—I had the goblet to complete the deal.” He refocused on her. “Now I don't—which is why I need your help.”

Her head was spinning; there was so much to take in. “Assuming I believe all this”—which she did; it was too fantastical a tale to concoct, and the man before her was anything but fancifully inclined—“how, exactly, do you see me helping you?”

“I never intended, and still do not intend, to bow to my mother's dictate. I initially searched for every possible alternative other than acceding to her demand. However, there is no way to save the clan other than by handing over the goblet . . . so I looked for a way to make it appear that she was getting what she wanted, without that actually being the case.”

“You set out to trick her. Good. How?”

He searched her eyes. His lips fleetingly eased, but then his expression closed again. “The only way I could think of was to capture one of Celia's daughters and make a deal with her—essentially throwing myself and the clan on her mercy.” He held her gaze. “I was prepared to argue with whatever weapons I had, and in order to set the stage to make such a bargain with one of you, to tip the scales my way as much as possible, I arranged to have one of you kidnapped and brought to me in Scotland—and it had to be a real kidnapping because how else was I to get one of you appropriately alone, away from your family and in my keeping long enough to persuade you to my cause? I could hardly present myself in Dover Street, beg an audience, and make my case. Your family would never have allowed any of you to come north with me alone. And it had to be alone. While Mirabelle might be unhinged over Celia, she is otherwise sane. If she sees any Cynsters or even a maid from your parents' household around, she'll know there's no real ‘ruination,' so the kidnapping itself had to be real.” He paused, studied her eyes. “I first hired Fletcher and Cobbins—you know about them?”

She nodded. “They kidnapped Heather.”

“And took her to Gretna Green. And yes, I chose that location because it fitted with your parents' story, and also because it might have been useful in inducing whichever Cynster sister was brought there to . . . accept the deal I intended offering her. But Heather escaped, so I sent Scrope after Eliza, but she escaped, too.” Their gazes locked, he hesitated, then said, “I had thought that if I, personally, wasn't involved in the actual kidnapping, then whichever of you was snared, you'd be more inclined to at least hear me out, and perhaps be more amenable to accepting my offer.”

Given her reaction to him treating her as he had, even for so short a time, she had to agree with his reasoning. “One question. Why did you pull back when Breckenridge rescued Heather? Why did you do even more, and risk your life to help Eliza and Jeremy get away from Scrope?”

He hesitated. When she faintly arched her brows and simply waited, he exhaled, then said, “At the time each of your sisters was kidnapped, she was known
not
to have developed a partiality for any gentleman. I have my sources, and that was confirmed. My plan couldn't have proceeded if that hadn't been the case, if she'd already been attached to another. Once an attachment formed . . . my only concern was to see the pair safely away.” He met her gaze. “Given you pursued me tonight, I assume that, in your case, you haven't fixed your interest on any gentleman as yet.”

She had, but he didn't need to know that.

He was studying her face closely. “From what I've gathered about your sisters' recent betrothals, betrothals consequent on being drawn into my plans, they haven't been harmed by my actions—by being kidnapped by my hirelings.”

She stopped herself from nodding. Considered, then allowed, “I don't believe they would hold their adventures and subsequent betrothals against you, if that's what you're asking.”

Relief was a fleeting shadow in his eyes, then those changeable eyes refocused on her face. “Which brings us to the here and now.”

“Indeed.” She held his gaze. “So what was the offer you intended to lay before the Cynster sister you snared?”

Her, as matters had fallen out.

His eyes locked with hers. She returned his gaze steadily and waited.

“Clan means everything to me—it's my life, and I would give my life for it, and every one of my people would do the same. There is, however, one thing that stands above clan, a line I will not cross even in this instance. The family motto encapsulates it: ‘Honor above all.' ” He paused for a heartbeat, then said, “I planned to ask for your help, to ask you to travel to the highlands, to my castle, with me, and once there to play out a charade to convince my mother that you're ruined, a charade sufficiently convincing for her to be satisfied and hand over the goblet. I can't tell what such a charade might entail, but as I mentioned, she apparently believes that you simply being kidnapped and taken north will be sufficient to do the deed.”

“For most young ladies, that would be enough. However, in my case, my family will conceal my disappearance until they discover what's happened to me . . . and then they'll devise some other tale so that I won't be ruined and socially ostracized regardless.”

“You and I know that, but thankfully, my mother doesn't. She has little real notion of English society, and no concept of the ways in which a family such as yours operates.”

She studied his face. “So what's your part of this bargain? What do I get in return for such assistance?”

He met her gaze. “To balance the scales, and to ensure that you aren't, in fact, ruined in even the slightest degree, should you agree to help me in this, I will make you my countess, give you the protection of my name in marriage, and agree to abide by whatever—any and all—arrangements you wish to stipulate as to our future lives.”

He'd spoken slowly, clearly, his tone measured and even; Angelica knew she'd heard every word correctly.

He'd offered her himself.

His eyes searched hers, then his jaw firmed. “I tried for your older sisters first because I know you're only twenty-one and presumably still have starry-eyed notions of love and a white knight who'll sweep you off your feet. Against that, as you haven't yet formed any attachment to another, I'm hoping that, coming from a family such as yours, you'll recognize the advantages of what I can, and will, offer you as my wife.”

His gaze locked on her face, he shut his lips and waited.

She sat and stared back at him, reacting not at all, held back by unprecedented inner chaos. Her dominant bold and confident self wanted to beam with delight and seize his offer with both hands, but a less familiar, cautious self had reared her head, screaming at her to wait, to
think
.

For once, she listened to that rarely heard voice of reason.

She searched his eyes; she could only hope her own expression gave away as little as his did. He held her gaze levelly, steadily, fearlessly, even though she knew he was fully aware that his entire life hung on this moment, on how she elected to respond. She was the last Cynster sister available for his plan.

That plan . . . was outrageous, but could—and if it was in her hands, would—work. It didn't take much thought to confirm that.

He was a wealthy earl and had already told her enough to answer all the usual pertinent questions. In ton terms, he was a highly eligible suitor for her; she didn't need to know more on that score.

She could feel her heart thudding, but it wasn't excitement that had her in its grip.

He
was
her hero. Nothing he'd said had altered that conviction, only underscored it. And he'd just offered to marry her and allow her to dictate how they lived their future lives . . . on the surface, that appeared an offer she should leap on, grasp, and later, after, use to demand . . . what?

That he love her?

He'd offered her his name, his title, his purse, his houses, along with his body and a certain regard, but that was all.

She knew men like him, knew love wasn't something any lady could demand from them. More, love wasn't an emotion men like him fell victim to readily; he would instinctively guard against it, resist it if it struck, and shield himself from it as far as he was able.

Yet he
was
her hero. She might not love him yet, but if she believed in her instincts, in The Lady's guidance, at all, then if she spent much time with him, she would.

She couldn't be so foolish as to close her eyes to the fact that he was proposing to marry her in cold blood—just as his father had married his mother. Did he see the parallels? What he was offering was in essence a dynastic marriage, which given the situation, for him was a necessity, but for her was a choice.

His offer left her facing a decision more fraught than any other Cynster female of her generation, or the previous one, had faced.

If she accepted his bargain, she would fall in love with him, but would he fall in love with her?

If she accepted his bargain, fell in love with him, then discovered that he couldn't love her . . . what then?

What of the life of love and shared happiness she'd always imagined would be hers?

She could refuse the bargain. Refuse to help him. Couldn't she? Eyes still on his, she quietly asked, “What if I refuse?”

His face didn't alter, but his eyes grew bleak. His voice, however, held to the same measured and even tone as he replied, “If you can't see your way to assisting me, I'll return you to your home within the half hour. Your family will have concealed your absence thus far, and you arriving home with whatever tale you wish to tell will ensure that you take no lasting harm from my . . . interference with your evening.”

He was speaking the truth, as she suspected he had throughout. But if he returned her to her home, she would never see him again. And if she ever whispered anything about him to her family, the males, at least, would ferret out the truth and try to force a marriage, which would be infinitely worse.

She wanted him as her hero, wanted him to love her, needed him to grow to love her, and the only way forward was, apparently, to take the risk—to lay her heart on the scales, to risk it, risk all, and trust that everything she'd ever believed of love would come true.

Blind, unconditional trust . . . in love.

She'd wanted a challenge—here it was.

Was she brave enough, courageous enough, to accept it? To take him on, fight for his love, and win?

She'd been staring into his mesmerizing eyes. She blinked, then locked her gaze with his again. “I have . . . a few questions.”

He arched a brow, inviting her to ask.

“Should I refuse, and you send me home, what will you do after that?”

He held her gaze; several moments ticked by before he replied, “I don't know. I haven't thought beyond this moment.”

Because he understood, as she did, that this was his last, final, and ultimate throw of the dice.

Raising the glass she still held, she drained it, then set the empty glass on the small table by her chair. “First, I want a promise from you that, before we reach your castle, you will tell me anything pertinent that you've not yet revealed, as well as anything and everything I wish to know about your mother, the castle, and your clan.” Looking up, she met his gaze. “I don't wish to find myself in a situation where you've withheld information because you thought I didn't need to hear it, or that you didn't need to sully my ears with it, or any similar excuse.”

His lips tightened, but he inclined his head. “Granted. All of it.”

“And I wish to rephrase the bargain—are you willing to consider my terms?”

His gaze grew intent, sharper and more incisive. “As you're perfectly aware, you have me over the proverbial barrel. Whatever you ask, if it's in my power to give, I will give it.”

She tipped up her chin. “In that case, my terms are these. I will agree to help you save your clan. Specifically, I will travel to your castle with you and enact a charade sufficient to have your mother return the goblet so that you can complete your late father's deal with the bankers and save your clan and its holdings.” Watching his eyes, she saw confusion creep into the gray-green; he thought she'd agreed to everything. Drawing breath, she continued, “However, as to the matter of marrying you, I reserve the right not to make that decision until after you have the goblet in your hands.”

His black brows drew down. He regarded her with what she could only interpret as suspicion, with a healthy dose of disapproval behind it. Eventually he said, “If you travel north in my company—even if you remain here for the rest of the night—your family will demand a marriage between us as the only acceptable outcome.”

“Yes, they may—or at least, the men will. But we've already touched on how the social strictures can be circumvented if families like mine put their minds to it.” Holding his gaze, she felt increasingly confident that in this she was taking the right tack. “Those are my terms—take them or leave them. I'll help you get back the goblet and save your clan, but the question of a marriage between us will remain unresolved until later, your offer to remain on the table until I decide whether to accept or not.”