The Truth About Lord Stoneville (24 page)

“Stay out of it, Minerva.” He swallowed a healthy measure of brandy. “She made her choice. It’s over.”

She snorted and marched off in a huff. He stood there drinking, trying to get to that pleasantly numb state where nothing mattered, where he didn’t think about Maria and last night, and the sweet way she’d given him her innocence . . .

He downed the rest of the brandy. She was gone, blast it! He should be elated that he’d escaped the fetters of wedlock.

“Damn it all to hell!” He slammed his empty glass on the table.

“Oh, that will certainly help the situation,” Gran said behind him.

Just what he needed—another female plaguing him. Ignoring her, he poured himself more brandy.

“She said you would behave like this,” Gran went on. “That you would not care about her leaving, that you would congratulate yourself on a narrow escape.”

He drank his brandy in silence.

“I told her you would not give her up easily. I guess I was wrong.”

A bitter laugh roiled up from inside him. “It won’t work this time, Gran.”

“What won’t work?”

He faced her, arching one brow. “Your attempts to manipulate me into doing what you want. I learn from my mistakes.” And now he was paying the price for that education—this pain of loss weighting his chest, crushing his heart. “Apparently, so does Maria. That’s why she ran off the first chance she got.”

“She ran off because she’s afraid that she cannot resist you, that she cannot be near you without giving in to you. You of all people ought to recognize when a woman does not trust herself around you.”

He fought the effect her words had on him. “Whatever the reason, she
left
me. I’m not going to run after her like some halfwit.”

“So you are just going to let her American fiancé have her?”

Playing on his jealousy—another of her tactics. Unfortunately, it was working.

He gritted his teeth. “If Hyatt is the one she wants, then I can’t—” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know about her fiancé?”

“Minerva told me.”

“Of course she did.” Draining the rest of the brandy, he set the glass on the desk. “No one in this whole blasted house can keep a secret.”

“Except you.”

“Don’t start with that again,” he growled.

“Why not? It is the reason you are letting her trot off after some fool American. Do you not care at all?”

“No,” he lied, though the thought of Maria with that ass Hyatt made his stomach churn. “She made her choice. The least I can do is honor it.”

“Does it not bother you that she has no money to travel?”

“I’m sure she had the good sense to sell the pearls I gave her.”

“Actually, no. She left them here.” Limping up to the desk, Gran set the velvet box next to the decanter. “She said she had no right to them.”

He stared at the box. Without money, how had she managed the trip? His siblings must have given her something, but it couldn’t have been much. She would have had to take a mail coach. The idea of Maria and Freddy traveling without protection, easy prey for sharpers and pickpockets and unscrupulous innkeepers, not to mention highwaymen, made his heart stop.

“I don’t care,” he said uneasily, though it was getting harder to convince himself.

“Then you probably do not care that she and Freddy went off with Mr. Pinter. He is taking her to meet her fiancé.”

“The hell he is!” When triumph glinted in her eyes, he cursed his quick tongue. “You’re lying.”

She lifted one silver eyebrow.

Striding out into the hall, he bellowed, “Minerva!”

In a second, he heard her slippered feet on the stairs. “What is it?” she asked as she approached.

“How did Maria leave here?”

She glanced nervously from him to Gran. “She went with Mr. Pinter. He offered to take her and Freddy wherever they needed to travel, though it sounded as if it might be a long trip. It was actually very kind of him—”

“Deuced bastard!”

“He is a gentleman,” Gran put in, “so I suppose she is safe enough with him.”

“A gentleman. Right.” The sort who would spend the trip painting Oliver in the blackest terms, relating his most damning exploits, poisoning her against him—

Why the devil did it matter? She’d left. She wasn’t coming back. He shouldn’t care what she thought of him now.

But he did.

Worse yet, Pinter enjoyed playing the gallant knight, and behind their noble words, gallant knights were as susceptible to a pretty face as anyone. If Pinter was investing money and time in transporting her God knows where—not to mention waiving his fee for her—he’d surely expect something from her in return.

She was vulnerable right now, confused and upset. Alone with Maria in a carriage for hours, perhaps days, with only that fool Freddy to stop him, Pinter could easily . . .

He would
throttle
the man if he laid one finger on her!

He stalked down the hall. “How long ago did they leave?”

“Five hours,” Minerva said.

“And where were they headed?”

“I don’t kn—”

“Southampton,” Gran put in as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. When he looked at her, she added, “One of the grooms wheedled it out of Mr. Pinter’s coachman.”

He could be there by morning, if he posted through the night. Traveling at night in winter wasn’t ideal, but the moon was out, and depending on the quality of Pinter’s coach and cattle, Oliver might reach there within a few hours of their arrival. Even with money tight, he never skimped on his horses.

Once he reached Southampton he’d have to figure out how to find them, and the town wasn’t exactly small. He’d have to wrench her away from Pinter, too, which might be no small feat.

“Minerva,” he said, “go tell the coachman to prepare for a trip to Southampton. I mean to leave within the hour.”

“Good.” She hurried off.

As he headed for the stairs to pack some necessities, Gran grabbed his arm. “You are going to bring her back, aren’t you?”

He stared down into his grandmother’s anxious features. “Only if she wants to come back. I can’t be sure that she does.” He was done with trying to force her into marriage.

Gran scowled. “Then why are you making the journey?”

“To keep that pompous bastard Pinter from taking advantage of her. With no money and only Freddy for protection, she’s too vulnerable. He’s only a man, and what man can resist Maria?”

“That’s the only reason you’re going after her?”

“Yes.”

But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. He was going after her because the thought of her in Hyatt’s arms ate at him like a cancer. Because he couldn’t bear the idea of letting her leave without a word between them.

Most of all, he was going after her because he could see the years stretching out before him, lonely and bereft of her company. And that prospect was just too damned hard to face.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Exhausted from her sleepless night after the ball, Maria had fallen into a doze as soon as the carriage left Halstead Hall. But although Mr. Pinter had made sure they were as comfortable as possible in his cold, rickety coach, being beaten half to death by ruts in the road wasn’t conducive to good sleep. So once they returned to the coach after their late stop for dinner at an inn, she and Mr. Pinter began discussing the situation regarding Nathan.

Freddy had decided opinions about it. “I have my sword. I’ll call him out. If I put a blade through him, there won’t be a problem with your inheritance.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—you’re not going to duel with Nathan,” she said. Though Freddy was fairly adept with a sword, she’d never forgive herself if he got himself killed.

“You should have told his lordship you were leaving,” Freddy said. “You should have let
him
come along and fight Nathan.”

She ignored Mr. Pinter’s none-too-subtle interest in the conversation. She’d explained at dinner the arrangement between her and Oliver, naturally leaving out the part about Oliver bedding her, then proposing marriage. “This has nothing to do with Lord Stoneville,” she said firmly.

“He’s your fiancé, isn’t he?” Freddy persisted.

“That was a sham for his grandmother’s benefit, and you know it. Do be quiet about it, will you?”

“I don’t think it was all a sham,” he said, surprising her.

“Of course it was.”

“Not according to what Lady Celia and the lads told me last night on the way to the ball. They said those pearls he gave you were worth a fortune.”

Mr. Pinter sat up straighter on the seat.

She cast Freddy an irritated glance. “Don’t be ridiculous. As his lordship said, he would have sold them by now if they were worth so much.”

“Lady Celia said he couldn’t bear to part with them. He sold the jewels that his father bought. But Mrs. Plumtree gave those pearls to his mother upon her debut, and that made them special.”

Maria’s breath dried in her throat. “Celia must have been mistaken,” she whispered. “You must have misunderstood.”

But in her heart, she knew he hadn’t. And it increased her growing guilt over having left Halstead Hall so abruptly. She’d been a coward. Oliver deserved to have his proposal properly refused to his face.

Still, she
had
refused him last night. He’d simply chosen to ignore her refusal. Was it cowardice to flee when one lacked the strength to hold fast to one’s convictions?

Unfortunately, Freddy’s revelation prompted Mr. Pinter to ask her yet again about the special license. When she made it clear she didn’t want to discuss Oliver further, the conversation dwindled into nothing.

Mr. Pinter probably considered her a fool for trying to protect a man of Oliver’s lofty station. She didn’t care. Every time she thought of Oliver suffering all those years over the manner of his parents’ deaths, it broke her heart.

By the time they reached Southampton, it was two a.m. Much as she wanted to march right over to Nathan’s lodgings, Mr. Pinter advised against it, saying she needed rest before confronting her fiancé. He did have a point; she’d never been so tired in all her life.

Fortunately, one of the coaching inns still had empty rooms, so Mr. Pinter was able to take one for her and one for him and Freddy. Before she parted with them, she drew Mr. Pinter aside and instructed him to leave Freddy sleeping in the morning and to awaken her early. She wasn’t about to let Freddy and his sword go with them to see Nathan.

Then Maria went to her room, where she fell onto the bed and into a dreamless sleep without even bothering to take off her clothes.

When a knock at the stout oak door awakened her, it seemed like only moments had passed. But the dull gray of impending dawn and the bitter chill of the room now that the fire had died down proved that not to be the case.

“Miss Butterfield?” said Mr. Pinter through the door. “You said that you wished to be roused by seven. I’ve brought the maid to assist you.”

“Thank you!” she called as she dragged herself from the bed and crossed to the door in stocking feet. She opened it to let a sour-faced girl into the room, and stuck her head around the edge of the door to tell Mr. Pinter, “I’ll be downstairs shortly.”

No doubt used to attending travelers in a hurry, the inn maid briskly helped Maria change from her traveling clothes into her mourning attire. It made Maria long for her lovely new gowns, not to mention Betty and her chatty sweetness.

Stop that! At least you’re no longer living a lie. You’re back to being yourself.

But was she herself, when her heart yearned to be elsewhere? At Halstead Hall, she’d be awakening in that glorious fairy-tale bed now, waiting for Betty to bring her a pot of chocolate and some toast to nibble until she went down to breakfast with the family. They’d chat about the estate as Betty helped her dress before the roaring fire. She’d be looking forward to seeing Oliver—

Ohh, it was no use. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. But she
had
to keep her mind focused on what she would say to the traitorous Nathan when she saw him.

She left the room, then hastened her steps as she heard a ruckus downstairs. Oh, mercy—Freddy was awake.

“I’m going with you,” he was saying to Mr. Pinter. “I see you trying to sneak out without me.”

“Nonsense,” Maria said as she reached them. “Mr. Pinter and I still need to discuss a few matters about Nathan. Since we haven’t had breakfast, I was about to awaken you so you could get some kidney pies for us from that shop we saw on the edge of town as we came in.”

Freddy’s face lit up at the promise of pies. Then his eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t we eating breakfast here?”

Thankful that no one was around to hear her, she said, “The breakfast at this inn is very costly, isn’t it, Mr. Pinter?”

“Yes, very costly,” he said dryly.

“I figured that we should save money where we can.” She fished a few coins from the meager store in her reticule and gave her cousin her most winsome smile. “So if you’d be a dear and fetch us some kidney pies, it would be perfect.”

He looked wary, but kidney pies were his favorite. “Oh, all right,” he grumbled. “But I’ll be back directly. Don’t go anywhere without me.”

“Of course not.”

As soon as he was out of sight, she urged Mr. Pinter out the door and toward the lodging house that thankfully lay in the opposite direction. Since Freddy had no idea where it was, her ploy should keep him and his sword safely away.

When they arrived at the neat little cruckwork cottage, Mr. Pinter asked to see Mr. Hyatt. The owner went to fetch him, leaving them in a country parlor with cupboards displaying pretty crockery.

As they waited, Maria moved so that she stood out of sight of the door, over by the window and away from Mr. Pinter. She wanted to catch Nathan unawares.

When he entered, however, he caught
her
unawares. Nathan looked like an entirely different person as he strode toward Mr. Pinter. He’d grown his side-whiskers down almost to his chin, and his hair fell in loose curls instead of the straight blond mop it usually was. Had he begun curling his hair?

And his clothes! He’d always been dismissive of fashion, having grown up resenting his father’s emphasis on it. Yet here he stood, dressed in fine attire that would outshine even that of the Sharpe brothers.

Seeing him looking so well, behaving as if nothing were amiss, brought an anger roaring up inside her that threatened to incinerate everything around her.

And he
still
had not noticed her standing there, the oblivious wretch!

“May I help you, sir?” Nathan asked Mr. Pinter in the cool tone of a man of business.

That was the last straw. Before Mr. Pinter could answer, she said, “Good morning, Nathan.”

As he whirled to face her, the blood drained from his features. “Maria! What are you—” He halted as he took in her clothes. “What’s happened?”

“Father is dead,” she snapped, barely able to remain civil.

“My God!” He looked sincerely stricken. “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard.”

“Yes, I know that perfectly well.” The words poured out of her. “I sent you several letters, all of which you failed to answer. Meanwhile, the trustees couldn’t settle the estate without you, because of Papa’s cursed will.”

She marched forward, her fury growing with each step. “I had to use my dwindling resources to travel to England in search of you. Now I can’t even afford to pay Mr. Pinter his fee for finding you. And here you are, using the knowledge that
my father
taught you, to start a business that would ruin his company!”

“I can explain,” he said in a hoarse voice as he stepped toward her.

But there was no stopping her now. “And all this time, I thought you might be dead somewhere!” Tears welled in her eyes that she ruthlessly fought back. “Freddy and I scoured London, sure that you had met with some dreadful mishap.”

“Oh, my darling, I’m—”

“Don’t you dare call me that!” she cried. “It was all lies, wasn’t it? The marriage proposal, your kisses.”

“Maria,” he said, glancing at Mr. Pinter, “it is not appropriate for you to mention—”

“Appropriate!” she practically howled. “What about lying to your business partner and stealing from him? Are those ‘appropriate’?”

He drew himself up, clearly offended. “I didn’t steal from your father. I would never do that.”

“Really? So you somehow acquired a fleet of clipper ships that you’re offering for sale, even though half of them don’t belong to you?”

He flinched. With another glance at Mr. Pinter, he lowered his voice. “Could we please have this conversation privately?”

“Absolutely not.” She’d learned a thing or two from her reading about crime. Schemers always used their victims’ soft hearts against them. She needed Mr. Pinter’s stony good sense to deflect any urge she had to believe Nathan’s lies. “I want Mr. Pinter to witness this. I don’t trust you.”

“It isn’t what you think!” He fixed her with an earnest gaze. “I did it for us.”

“For
us
?” She was incredulous that he could even claim such a thing.

“Has it never struck you that four years is a long time for a betrothal?”

“Of course, but Papa said—”

“I know.” His lip curled in disdain. “He said he had to be sure I could run the company before he entrusted you to me.”

“He was only testing you. He always believed in you. Why else would he leave half his company to you in his will?”

“Did he? He said he was going to. But I could never be sure he’d do as he promised.” Taking her by surprise, he seized her hands. “He has dangled you before me as a prize for four years, and every time I brought up the possibility of us marrying, he said I wasn’t ready.”

She gaped at him. “That can’t be true!”

“Trust me, it is.” He squeezed her hands. “I began to fear he only wanted to get as much work out of me as he could, before selling his half to some other chap.”

She snatched her hands from his. “Why would he do that? He had no son to inherit. He needed a strong man like you to run the company after he was gone.”

“Yet he refused to let us marry. I couldn’t wait. I wanted a wife.”

“So you went off to find one in England?”

“No!” He rubbed his side-whiskers nervously. “He told me if I could make the deal in London work, he’d let us marry. But negotiations in London fell through. They kept saying your father was an old man—that they couldn’t trust New Bedford Ships to provide the ships when I owned only half the company. If something happened to your father, they would be left in limbo.”

As she stared at him uncertainly, he softened his voice. “I explained about our betrothal, but they hesitated to trust such an informal arrangement. They feared you might decide not to marry me and instead sell your half to some other partner. Where would that leave them?”

“You knew I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yes, but
they
didn’t know it. So I thought if I settled a deal for the ships on my own as an independent company, I could return to America in a position of strength. I could threaten to take my half of the business—and my new deal—if your father didn’t approve the marriage.”

It all sounded very convincing . . . except for one thing. “What about me? While you were off arranging your future—”

“
Our
future,” he corrected her.

“—I was left not knowing what had happened to you, not knowing if you had changed your mind about the betrothal or if you’d died somewhere.”

“I had no choice,” he said in the patient tone he’d always taken with her when he discussed business. Why had she never noticed how condescending he was? “If I’d written you, your father would have heard of it. You know he would never have allowed us to correspond privately. I couldn’t risk tipping my hand.”