The Most to Lose (2 page)

“And me?”

Her facial features softened. “You’re much more amiable. You always have been. I could always get along with you.”

“You mean you could always wrap me around your finger.”

She stomped her foot on the ground. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What advantages would
you
have if we married, Melisande?”

“I don’t like it when you use that tone of voice. You only talk like that when you’re upset with me.”

The pout of her full lips and the sad expression on her face were skillful acts she’d practiced to perfection.

“Very well.” He softened his voice. “What advantages would you gain from our marriage?”

“You know perfectly well. I’d avoid marrying a tyrant.”

“You never know. Maybe I’d be as much a tyrant as Hadleigh.”

“No.” She shook her head hard enough that several of her golden curls fell from their pins. “You’re much more agreeable than he is. Hadleigh is unyielding. He’s got such high standards for his wife. No woman could meet them. No one.”

“Not even you?”

Melisande laughed. “No, not even me.”

There was a look on her face, an odd expression that gave him cause for concern. “Why, Melisande?” He clutched her upper arms. He didn’t hold her tight enough to hurt her, just firm enough to let her know he was serious. “Why don’t you think you could meet his standards?”

He held her in front of him and looked her in the eyes. But she didn’t look at him. Instead, she clamped her lips tight and focused her gaze on the ground to her left.

“You can hardly expect me to marry you without telling me exactly why you would refuse the opportunity to be a duchess whose husband is rich as Croesus and choose instead the second son of an impoverished earl who is one step away from losing the very roof over his head.”

“But my dowry could save your father and your estate.”

“Why do I think you don’t care one fig about my father or the estate, but that you only want to be married? And soon.”

“Because I do. And I don’t want to marry Hadleigh. I want to marry you. Tonight. Now!”

“Why?”

“Because”—she pounded a dainty fist against her skirt—“because…because I must!”

“Why?”

She paced more rapidly, as if weighing what she was going to say. With a sharp turn, she spun around and faced him.

“Oh, very well. I see you are giving me no choice but to tell you all.” She lifted her chin and gave him a defiant look filled with superiority. “I need to marry because I am expecting a child.”

To say her words shocked him was an understatement. “You’re what?”

“It happens, you know,” she said with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. “And don’t suggest I use one of those potions some magic herb-healer has to rid one’s body of an unwanted babe. Women die more often than not.” She placed her fists on her hips and glared at him. “And I have no intention of giving up my life to avoid a little scandal.”

“So you would choose to marry someone you don’t love, and who doesn’t love you, rather than marry a man who has already asked for your hand and who in truth already loves you?” He couldn’t come up with a logical reason. “Why?”

“You’re jesting, am I correct?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Exactly what do you think Hadleigh’s reaction would be when he discovered the woman he married is having another man’s child? When he discovers his wife is presenting him with the next Hadleigh heir—except the child isn’t his?”

“Whose child is it?”

For the first time, Melisande had the good sense to look embarrassed. “That hardly matters now. Let’s just say that the brat’s father is not in a position to make me his bride.”

“He already has a wife.”

“Don’t make this difficult, Jonah. Of course he has a wife. Do you think I’d give myself to a man who could trap me into marriage?”

He shook his head again, more in disgust than as an answer to her question.

“Now, hurry.” She clamped the fingers of one of her hands around the sleeve of his jacket. “We don’t have much time. We have to leave as quickly as possible. Father intends to announce my betrothal to Hadleigh tonight.”

He shook his head as he pulled out of her grasp.

“Don’t be a fool, Jonah. Marriage to me will give you everything you need. Enough money to repair that dilapidated estate of yours. A beautiful bride. Plus, more money than you can ever spend. Surely that’s payment enough for any extra baggage I bring with me.”

He looked at her in disbelief, then remembered Hadleigh’s short temper when he’d last talked to him. “You wouldn’t know why Hadleigh thinks there might be something between you and me that he has to worry over, would you, Melisande?”

“Of course not,” she answered, but he knew she was lying.

“Melisande?”

“Oh, very well,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Perhaps I did hint that something more than friendship had developed between us.”

“You what!”

“Well, I had to take the first step in convincing Hadleigh I wasn’t worthy to be his duchess.”

“Did it ever occur to you that your plan could backfire?”

“Backfre?”

“Yes. Instead of Hadleigh thinking that you might have a character flaw, he’s convinced you’ve been taken advantage of. He’s more determined than ever to marry you so he can protect you. And,” he added with an anger he didn’t bother to hide, “he’s convinced that I am now his competition. He’s more than a little angry at me, I can tell you.”

The word that came from Melisande’s mouth wasn’t one he’d have thought she knew, let alone used. His opinion of her dropped another level.

“I think you should explain your…dilemma and let Hadleigh and your father decide what is the best way to handle your situation.”

Her gaze narrowed, and Jonah saw Melisande’s desperation. “Don’t you dare become Hadleigh’s champion or pretend to give me sage advice. You will get much more from this relationship than I.”

“Will I?” He tried to keep the disgust he felt from his voice but knew he failed.

“I’m desperate. Hadleigh is probably looking for me right now so Father can make his grand announcement. Once he finds me, it will be too late!”

“It’s already too late,” he said, hoping she’d realize that was his answer.

“No! I need your name. I need you to marry me!”

He tried to hold her off, but she grasped him with both hands, showing remarkable strength. Her fingers dug through the material of his jacket and into his arms.

He pried her fingers away and stepped out of her reach. She stumbled backward and tripped over the hem of her gown. She wobbled, overcompensated, and fell to her knees in front of him.

Jonah couldn’t leave her on the ground. He reached out to help her to her feet but froze when a loud, angry voice hollered from the top step of the terrace.

“Leave her alone! What are you doing, Armstrong?”

Jonah pulled back.

“It’s Hadleigh!” Melisande cried in a hoarse whisper. “No. Oh, no!”

Before he could stop her, Melisande scrambled to her feet and raced toward the wrought iron gate in the garden wall that opened to the street. There wasn’t a great distance to travel, but after the argument they’d just had, he knew she was in no condition to think or act rationally. He turned to follow her, knowing he needed to stop her before she did something rash.

“Don’t you go near her!” Hadleigh ordered from behind him.

Jonah heard Hadleigh’s heavy footsteps race down the flagstone path toward him. Before he could react, Hadleigh’s hand grabbed the back of his jacket and jerked him backward.

He turned as Hadleigh’s fist met his jaw.

Jonah landed on the ground and stayed there for a second or more until his head stopped spinning.

“You’ll answer for this,” Jonah’s longtime friend vowed as he raced after Melisande.

Jonah couldn’t let Hadleigh believe what he knew he must. There was too much at stake. Hadleigh’s friendship meant more to him than he could say.

He struggled to his feet, then raced after them. Before he reached the gate that opened to the outside world, he heard it—the sound of horses’ hooves as they clattered at a fast pace down the cobbled London street, the warning bellow that came from the carriage driver, the terrifying screams of horses being brought too sharply to a halt, Melisande’s cry of alarm cut short, and finally, an agonizing cry of despair being wrenched from deep within Hadleigh.

Jonah staggered to the gate and stared at the sight of Hadleigh kneeling in the center of the cobblestone street, cradling Melisande’s broken, lifeless body in his arms.

He clenched his fingers around a wrought iron bar and stared at the horrifying scene. An all-consuming darkness enveloped him that he knew would never lift.

The Duke of Hadleigh stood with Melisande’s family as they lowered her body into the dark, cold ground. Buried with her were all his hopes and dreams. His future. Stolen from him by the least likely person imaginable. By a man he’d always considered his closest friend.

Jonah Armstrong was now his mortal enemy, a man he hated more than any man on the face of the earth. A vile, despicable creature he wouldn’t rest until he destroyed.

Hadleigh watched Melisande’s father pick up a handful of dirt and drop it onto the beautifully carved box Hadleigh had specially made for the woman he loved.

Melisande’s weeping mother was next, followed by Melisande’s three brothers. Each dropped handfuls of dirt into the grave.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

He turned and walked away, not able to watch the mound of dirt cover his beautiful Melisande’s resting place.

His vision blurred as he made his way to his waiting carriage. He would be glad to be away from here.

He lifted his foot onto the first step, then stopped when someone spoke from behind him.

“I’m sorry, Hadleigh.”

It was Jonah, the man who’d killed his Melisande.

Hadleigh knew he should turn so Jonah could see the full extent of his hatred, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he could refrain from snuffing the life from Jonah’s body right then and there.

“If I could undo what happened that night, I would,” Jonah added.

“But you can’t. There’s nothing you can do to make up for what happened.”

“No,” his enemy answered. “There isn’t.”

Hadleigh pulled himself into the carriage but held out his hand to stop his driver from closing the door.

He glared into his enemy’s eyes. “Someday, when
you
have the most to lose…
I’ll
take it all.”

Chapter 1

London, England

April 2, 1855

L
ady Cecelia Randolph, the Duke of Hadleigh’s only sister, reached for another glass of tepid punch and carried it to where her friend Lady Amanda Radburn stood. Thankfully, she’d found a spot near an open window where a slight breeze found its way inside the overly warm Plimpton ballroom.

“I think tonight’s affair has the potential to be more boring than the Quinland ball last week,” Amanda said, checking to make sure no one was close enough to hear her.

“It can’t,” Celie said behind the rim of her glass. “Nothing could be
that
boring.” She took a small sip. “I tried to get out of coming tonight, but Hadleigh wouldn’t allow it.”

“Your brother
made
you come?” Amanda smiled. “He hardly ever makes you do anything.”

“He did tonight. I even feigned being ill.”

“I don’t believe it,” Amanda said with a giggle.

“It’s true. He said this was one of those affairs to which we
had
to make an appearance.”

“Do you know why?”

“He made up some excuse that this was one of the most well-attended balls of the Season and we needed to be present.”

“But? I can tell you think there’s another reason.”

Celie released a heavy sigh. “I think what he really means is that this will be heavily attended by the male members of society. He
hinted
on the way over that it’s time I concentrated on finding someone to marry.”

“Not
that
again.”

Celie’s grip tightened on the glass in her hand. “He’s becoming more insistent every day.”