What You Deserve (Anything for Love, Book 3) (20 page)

“To pay off your mounting debts, of course.” She cast him her sweetest smile. “If only you would have told me that is the real reason for wanting me to move to Grangefields. As your stepmother, you must know I would have supported your decision.”

He detested her referring to herself as his stepmother. It suggested a level of superiority he refused to accept or acknowledge.

The faint sound of grinding teeth resonated from behind his pursed lips. He glanced back over his shoulder, looked to the left and then the right before giving her his full attention.

“I am not in debt. Do not dare think to compare me to the bunch of mindless degenerates sitting in that room.” He jerked his head in the direction of the door at the end of the corridor. “Whilst my father had many faults, his ability to deal with fiscal matters was not one of them. Only a fool would fritter away his inheritance.”

Isabella sighed. “Then it does not make any sense?”

“What does not make sense?”

“If you do not need to sell Highley Grange, why would you arrange for the servants to hide in the secret room only to come out at night to scare me out of my wits?” Her high-pitched tone revealed a trace of anger.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “These hauntings have obviously played havoc with your sensibilities. Why would the servants do such a thing? The mind is a fragile thing. But you do not have to go back there. I shall send Mr. Blackwood to collect your belongings so that you may move to Grangefields. I am rarely ever there, so you do not need to worry on that score.”

The gentleman’s urgency to see her leave her home conveyed nothing but desperation.

“But you despise gossip.” She kept her voice calm, chose not to mention that some would assume they were conducting a liaison. “What do you think people will say when they discover I have moved back to Grangefields?” Despite his pleas, she had no intention of doing so, of course. “I cannot say it is because my house is haunted. They would think me fit for Bedlam.”

He waved his hand in frustration. “It is simple. You will say that you refuse to live in a house used for immoral purposes and have decided to move to Grangefields until alternative arrangements can be made. After what went on in that house, there is not a person in the land who would argue with your logic.”

Henry appeared to have thought of everything. Hidden beneath his now cool façade she sensed a frisson of excitement. He was a gentleman who liked to get his way, and he obviously felt he was making progress.

“But that still does not explain why you instructed the servants to play vile tricks on me. I cannot even begin to describe some of the horrors I have witnessed.”

He inhaled deeply. “As I have already said—”

“Mrs. Birch confessed. She told me everything.”

Henry straightened and leaned back. “Perhaps she told you what you wanted to hear. Perhaps she thought to ease your fears by finding a more plausible explanation.”

“Lord Morford did not think so.” There, she had played her ace card in this game of wits and strategy. While her face conveyed no emotion, inside she was jumping for joy.

“Lord Morford? What has he got to do with anything?”

“Lord Morford was with me at Highley Grange. Together we witnessed the strange occurrences. Together we discovered the servants hiding in the secret room, questioned their motive for behaving so appallingly.”

Struggling to form a word, Henry stared at her blankly.

The seconds ticked.

During the awkward silence, her mind raced through their conversation. If Henry did not want to sell the house to pay a debt, what reason could he have for wanting her out? Unless hosting lewd parties was in the blood and he thought to carry on the tradition.

It was time to stop playing games.

Isabella squared her shoulders. “As you seem unable to provide me with an explanation, let me make my position clear.” Her sharp tone conveyed the true nature of her emotions. “I will tell everyone willing to listen, that you plotted to have me removed from the house so you could use it for sordid little parties. Those who know of your father’s reputation will believe it to be true. Lord Morford will tell everyone how you terrorised an innocent woman purely out of a need to satisfy your debauched cravings.”

The muscle in his cheek twitched. “That is simply not true.”

She smirked. “Gossips do not care for the truth. Indeed, being made aware of the desperate lengths you would go to in order to get your way, there will be some who will wonder if you killed your father.”

Her remark was equivalent to a sharp slap to the face or a hard punch to the gut. Rather than appear offended she saw anguish flash briefly in his dull green eyes.

“What sort of man do you take me for?”

“A man who will do anything to get his way,” she whispered.

He raked his hand through his hair, before giving a sigh of resignation. “If I am honest with you and tell you of my plans, do you swear you will tell no one?”

She owed Henry nothing. After everything he had done, she should tell him to go to the devil. But she was tired. If she had any hope of moving on with her life she needed to put all this nonsense behind her.

“Whatever you tell me in confidence will not be repeated. Unlike some, I do have morals.”

Henry nodded as though he deserved to feel the razor-sharp edge of her tongue. Cupping her elbow, he escorted her to the alcove further along the corridor where it was quieter. “Mrs. Forester is a dear friend. Of course, you know Mr. Forester is still of this world, although he is rarely seen in town.”

“Yes,” she said, despite assuming the woman was a widow.

“Mrs. Forester has a sister in Cambridge. Highley Grange would be the perfect place for us to … to meet on occasion.”

It took a moment for her to absorb his words. “You mean to tell me your intention was to see me removed from my home so you could meet your mistress there?”

Good Lord. It beggared belief. The man had the morals of a guttersnipe.

“It was also out of interest for your welfare,” he implored. “It is degrading to have to live in the place where one’s husband …” He gave an odd wave. “You will be happy at Grangefields. I promise you.”

Isabella clutched her throat for fear of throttling the man. “No, I won’t, because I am not moving to Grangefields.”

Henry appeared a little shocked. “But you said—”

“No. I have listened to you waffle on about your needs, yet not once have you apologised for the distress you have caused. Whilst your father may have been depraved in his appetites at least he was honest.” She could feel her anger breaching the dam she had built to hold her emotions at bay. “Your behaviour is despicable.”

All traces of emotion were wiped from his face, replaced with his mask of indifference. “If you refuse to concede to my wishes, know that I can make your life at Highley Grange uncomfortable.”

“No, you can’t.” She would rather live in a tiny one-roomed cottage than be beholden to such a loathsome gentleman. “And just to clarify, I will not be living at Highley Grange, either.”

He gave an arrogant smirk. Hope flashed in his eyes. “And where will you go?”

“I’m afraid I refuse to discuss my private affairs with you or with anyone,” she said hitting him with his own words.

The door to the card room creaked open. Matthew Chandler exited. He paused outside, leant back against the wall and sucked in a ragged breath. With a vigorous shake of the head, he straightened. Locking gazes with her, he inclined his head as he made his way back to the ballroom.

“There goes another pathetic fool,” Henry said with a sneer.

His comment irritated her. “I do ask one thing. During the hauntings, items of value have gone missing from the house. I want them returned to me. Else I shall be forced to follow your unprincipled example and break a confidence. I may write to Mr. Forester to convey my concerns for my stepson, who has been lured to sin.”

Fear flickered in his eyes. “I do not know anything about any missing items.”

“I do not care about the silver pin pot, the crystal vase or the candlestick, to name but a few items. They belonged to your father, now to you. But I would like my ruby brooch. Perhaps your man, Mr. Blackwood, may be able to enlighten you as to its whereabouts.”

“I have already told you. I made no instruction to remove valuable items.”

“But you did instruct the servants to frighten me?”

He dragged his hand through his hair. “Yes. Yes. But I shall speak to Mr. Blackwood about your missing brooch. Perhaps it was part of the charade.”

Had she been a spiteful, vindictive woman, she would have informed every guest at the Holbrooks’ townhouse of Lord Fernall’s illicit affair with Mrs. Forester. Indeed, she would have found more than one biblical quote to support her need to repay him for all pain inflicted.

“Part of the charade?” she repeated, scrunching her nose in disgust. “Was your father’s death also part of the charade? And what of Andrew, the previous Lord Morford? I know he spoke to you regarding Samuel’s accident.”

“Then you must also know that I have witnesses who can place me in Bath on the night my father died. You, on the other hand, were present in the house.”

“Do you truly believe I killed your father?”

He paused. “No. I believe you were too indifferent to care.”

“That is probably the only honest words to fall from your lips. But I am done arguing with you. I shall return to Highley Grange and remove my personal belongings. When you discover what has happened to my brooch, you may return it to me at the house in Brook Street.” Even if she had to take some form of paid work to pay the rent, she would not be beholden to Henry. “In fact, you may tell me where I can find Mr. Blackwood so I can ask him myself.”

Henry shrugged. “He has lodgings on Gerrard Street above the drapers but he has been rather elusive of late.”

“Elusive?”

“He disappears for a few hours most days, moves about from place to place. It is the reason he works so late into the evening.”

She suspected the reason Mr. Blackwood was still in Henry’s employ stemmed from his ability to organise a haunting. “I expect his talents far outweigh his lazy approach to his duties.”

Henry ignored her comment. “Consider what I said about residing at Grangefields. A few weeks in town might make you change your mind.”

She inclined her head, moved past him. “Oh, before I leave, let me wish you and Mrs. Forester much joy during your frequent stays at the Grange. I pray the house truly is haunted and that your nights there will not be as pleasurable as you hope or imagine.”

Without another word she turned and strode down the corridor tow
ards the ballroom. In leaving Highley Grange, she would be removing one of the shackles that bound her to Henry. It felt quite liberating. The gentleman could not be trusted, although she had never thought him guilty of murder.

Mr. Blackwood, on the hand, certainly had the opportunity.

He had worked for Samuel for three years or more, though she had only met him on a handful of occasions. Judging by the faint hint of suspicion in Henry’s eyes, Mr. Blackwood might be guilty of more than deception.

Theft might have been his motive for murder.

Chapter 17

Tristan waited for Isabella out on the terrace. Three times he had circled the ballroom searching for her. Pushing and jostling with other guests had led to more than a few cross words. He rubbed the back of his neck in a bid to ease the mounting tension. Five more minutes and then he would rip the house apart.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, he glanced up to see Matthew Chandler approaching. “How did you fare?” Tristan asked, although judging by the solemn look on his friend’s face the answer was not very well.

“Oh, you know,” Chandler said with a shrug, “I lost more than I intended.”

Chandler was a man who accepted life’s challenges with good grace, although Tristan believed his friend’s indifference was merely a mask. “Should I race around to your house and hide the pistols?”

“It would take more than a gambling debt to finish me.” Chandler brushed his hand through his hair. “But I am not thinking clearly at the present moment. I sense something is amiss.”

“Amiss? Are you referring to the card game?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. We shall see if the outcome is as I suspect.” With a quick glance back over his shoulder, he added, “Should I discover there is foul play afoot then those gentlemen will take it in turns to stare down the barrel of my pistol.”

Tristan knew Chandler well enough to know he would not do anything rash. “I shall call on you tomorrow. When you have had a chance to reflect on the night’s events, you can explain your suspicions to me then.”

“Presuming I have not fled the country,” Chandler said in jest.

“Tell me it is not so dire a situation as that.”

“No. But I shall have to increase membership to my private gatherings.”

Tristan breathed a sigh. “With your scandalous reputation, I do not think that will pose too much of a problem.”

They were disturbed by a footman carrying a silver tray.