Willoughby 03 - A Rogue's Deadly Redemption (4 page)

Adam’s shoulders squared and his chest puffed out like a peacock. “She’s with child.”

“With child.”

“Lily, I wanted you to hear it from me. You must keep it quiet though, for if Aria discovers I’ve spilled, she’ll be furious.”

She nodded. She would keep the secret. “I’m happy for you.”

“Truly?”

“Of course.” She reached forward to grab his hand. “Adam,
of course
.”

“She doesn’t want to tell anyone just yet. She’s reveling a bit in her secret and wishes to be a little further along before she shares. But I didn’t know what…” Her older brother, so capable and strong, looked helpless. “I didn’t want my news to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t, even in the slightest. I will be completely surprised when Aria tells me.” Lily hugged him, careful to keep her expression serene and smiling. “I am so happy for you both.”

Adam sighed, as though a weight had been lifted. “Having family around will be good for her. She’ll be comforted by your presence and when the baby is born. You know what she’s been through. I want her to feel supported and safe.” He grinned. “We both know she would soundly thrash me for saying any of this.”

Lily smiled, but her joy had dimmed. She looked down at her hands and pressed her lips together.

How could she tell him
now
that she was leaving? How could she take away a minute of his joy? He would believe it was because of their news, no matter what she said. Their family had been through enough emotional upheaval.

There would be a better time.

She had two weeks before her ship left. Plenty of time to tell him the truth.

“Lily.”

She looked up at him. “We haven’t talked much about…You once told me that you’d found peace with what had happened, with your…”

“Miscarriage? Yes, I have.” Though her heart ached whenever she thought of it. “I had no other choice, Adam. And that has no bearing on how happy I am for you both.” She would say it a million times if needed, to ensure they felt only joy, to hide the tiny grain of envy she wanted to squash.

Adam nodded. He stood. “I’ll let you get settled.”

After he left, Lily sank back to the bed and let her hand drop to her stomach. The ache had settled there, a startling flash of pain that reminded her of what she’d gone through that night. Yes, she’d accepted the loss of their baby. She’d had two years to grieve. Time had allowed her to move on, but it had yet to help her forget.

Not the baby she’d almost had or the fact that Robert blamed her for losing it.

Two years. She sucked in a sharp breath and sat up. What was the date?

January 5
th
.

Oh my God, how had she forgotten? She’d been so consumed with preparing to leave Robert, she hadn’t thought…How had she selected this day of all days?

Robert would think she did it on purpose.

Lily stood and started toward the door. He had to know she would never do that. She would never choose the anniversary of that day to hurt him, the day her world had fallen apart. The day their marriage had fallen apart.

What he must think of her
.

Lily slowed to a stop. She knew what he thought of her. Very little. And he hadn’t seemed to care or notice what day it was when she’d left.

Did he even remember? Did he care?

Lily scrubbed her face. Exhaustion had taken over, leaving her with sacks of flour for limbs. She’d go through her books tomorrow. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and wait for this day to be over.

The next morning, Robert sat in his small dining room and finished his breakfast. He glanced at the paragraph detailing his alleged activities the night before and set the paper down.

The silence echoed through the house, louder in its own way than a handful of children running through the halls would have seemed.

The image sliced through him with deliberate glee. Had Lily remembered the anniversary?

Of course she had. Stupid of him to consider otherwise, as stupid as thinking she’d chosen that day to inflict more pain upon him.

No,
he
was the bastard of the first order. He was the one who did nothing but cause her pain. He’d fled that night after she’d told him she had lost the baby. He’d gone to his family’s home, looking for—what had he been hoping for?

He’d gotten far less.

Maybe Lily deserved to know all of it. Not to sway her into staying. Robert knew she had no reason to stay. But maybe he could see her one more time, explain, and help her understand why she didn’t deserve him.

Tell her, two years too late, that he cared. That he’d felt the loss to his very bones.

Then maybe she wouldn’t hate him.

Maybe someday, she might even forgive him.

It was too much to ask that she might love him again.

“Mr. Melrose.”

Robert looked up, pulled from his thoughts. “Yes?”

His housekeeper approached him, a note in hand. “A note from the Marquess, sir.”

Robert waved it away. “Place it on the stack with the others. I have no desire to see his writing so early.” Or any time, really.

Mrs. Tandy pressed her lips together, an expression so familiar he could draw her constant disapproval in his sleep. “I cannot do that, sir. His man is here, waiting.”

Robert dropped his napkin on his plate. “So send him away.”

“I tried that, sir, but he was quite insistent.”

Robert scraped his chair back. “Fine. I’ll see to it myself.” He stood and snatched the letter off the tray. He stalked to the front entry way, where a young footman stood tall and still.

Robert waved the note in front of his face. “I have the note. You may leave now.”

“I’m afraid I cannot, sir. I was given strict instructions. But I would be happy to wait out in the carriage until the appropriate time.”

Robert frowned. “Time for what? He wishes a response? He’ll get a response when I feel like giving him one.”

The footman shifted his weight. “It is not a simple response I am to wait upon, sir.”

“Then what?”

When the footman didn’t reply, Robert muttered, “For God’s sake, what now?” He tore the envelope open, dropped it and opened up the short letter. The words were sparse, but each one added to the anger that had begun to boil inside. “You are to
escort me to him at precisely one-thirty this afternoon
?” Robert’s words were slow, building in volume and clipped off at the ends. “What the hell am I, a child? Are you to sit and attend to my nappies as well?”

He didn’t expect either housekeeper or footman to respond, but instead he tossed the letter on the ground. “He can go to hell. I will not come to heel now or any other day, and you can bloody well report that to him. Get out of my house.”

The footman stared with wide eyes. “As you wish. I shall wait in the carriage until this afternoon.”

“No, you will not.” Robert’s fists clenched at his sides. “You will return to
your master
, and tell him
precisely
where he can place his request.”

The footman bowed and as he exited the house, Robert took the petty pleasure in slamming the door behind him.

Who the hell did Marcus think he was? Ordering him about like he had any say in Robert’s life? As if he was any part of his life, period?

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Edwin intruded as he walked into the foyer, “but I don’t envision the young lad leaving. You’ve left him quivering in the carriage but he’ll stay until he’s fulfilled his lordship’s request.”

“Why can’t I have a servant who obeys?” Robert snorted. “He’ll have a long wait, for I have no intention of being escorted anywhere.”

“You have a meeting at one this afternoon, in any case, my lord.”

So he did.

Robert enjoyed the irony that he was elevating his position within the organization while his brother sat upon his heels and awaited his fancy.

Should Robert’s activities get about, it would envelope the respectable, circumspect Marquess in a black void of scandal.

Of course, Robert preferred his own neck out of the hangman’s noose and wouldn’t be inclined to give up what life he did have just to destroy his brothers—neither the ‘heir’ Marcus nor the spare, Cary. But the thought of it held some merit.

Robert peered out the window past the lace covering. Thick fingers of fog curled above the ground, making it difficult to make out his brother’s tell-tale coach. The shiny black, the silver embellishments, the excellent horseflesh leading it.

There it stood. Waiting.

Robert could imagine his neighbors peering out their windows at the carriage. Not that he knew them or gave a whit about what they thought, yet somehow the notion that they might perceive him under his brother’s thumb needled. The longer he stood there, watching the gray mist further envelope the world outside, the more he felt like he was doing exactly as his brother expected. Staring out the window, focused on what his brother wanted.

Marcus expected him to show. And he’d expect Robert to show late.

A cold grin curved Robert’s lips. He wasn’t going to wait. No, indeed.

He had a meeting to attend, and he was going to use his brother’s carriage to get there.

***

Edwin opened the door to the carriage, and Robert jumped up to the highboard, startling the footman who sat atop with the driver. “Sir! What are you doing?”

“Getting in. We’re going to my brother’s.”

The boy’s eyes grew round. “But he wished you to arrive at one-thirty this afternoon.”

“He’ll have to live with disappointment.” Marcus was well acquainted with the emotion. He’d directed plenty at Robert over the years, on the few occasions he’d paid him any attention at all.

“But…I can’t.” The boy looked terrified.

“You will. Or I’ll get out and you can return without me. Those are the options. And after we dispense with this, you’ll be taking me to run an errand. Edwin, get inside.”

Edwin hauled himself into the carriage and sat across from him.

“It will be slow going, sir,” the boy said from the driver’s perch. “The fog has grown right thick, it has.”

In a few minutes the carriage began to crawl forward. Robert stared out the window. He couldn’t see an inch past the carriage and wondered how the driver was able to see at all. Not the brightest time to be out in the weather, but his brother had insisted.

Why had he?

“I assume you reached out to your contact yesterday,” he said to Edwin, who had remained silent as was normal on their excursions.

“You read the paper, didn’t you?” Edwin gave him an affronted look. “I met with him yesterday to give details of Lady Melrose’s departure, as we knew they’d discover it anyway, and your supposed activities in various gambling hells last night. They appeared in the column this morning.” He tsked. “I still find it appalling that they write such ‘news’ without verification of the story.”

“You are their verification. They pay you to do their work and provide information. I gather they don’t much care if it isn’t true.” Robert shrugged. “It works in our favor.” When you provided the information, you controlled what was said.

Had Marcus read the news with his morning tea? The gossipers would have had a field day had they seen Lily leaving with her trunks and belongings, and the items Robert ensured Edwin placed in the paper would only compound the gossip.

A half hour later, they arrived at Wayfair House. Surrounded by a black and gold iron gate, the grand, white house stood in the center of impeccable manicured gardens like a queen granting an audience with the world. Just the sight of it tightened Robert’s cravat around his neck and he reached up to loosen it.

The carriage came to a halt, and he turned to Edwin. “I’ll be back shortly. Wait here.”

“Where else would I be?” Edwin’s dry tone brought a slight curve to Robert’s lips, then he opened the door and hopped out.

“Sir, let me—” the footman started, but Robert ignored him. With solid strides, he made his way through the gate and up to the front door. Without waiting for a by your leave, he pushed the door open and moved into the foyer. This was the house of his childhood, but amidst the cold statues, cold marble floor and white on white décor, there were no fond memories.

Ghosts lurked in every crevice. Invisible spurs waited around corners to bring him to his knees. The veil of invisibility that he’d felt as a child became his shadow. He loosened his cravat again.

“Mr. Melrose, I did not hear the door,” boomed a firm voice.

Robert turned and immediately drew his shoulders back. “Hasgood.”

Hasgood had been with their family for Robert’s entire life, and even at his age, he maintained a ramrod posture. The man stood a handful of inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and a reed thin frame. Silver hair flanked a long, lean face that held no warmth, his mouth a thin slash of disapproval. Robert was on the receiving end of that expression so often from so many, it almost felt like affection.

Robert turned away, throwing over his shoulder, “I am looking for my brother.”

“He is in a meeting. But may I show you to the parlor? You may await him there.”

“He summoned me, and I am here now.”

If Hasgood had offered the parlor, his brother was meeting in the library. Robert lengthened his stride, hearing Hasgood’s steps echo his own. But he refused to stop. In minutes, he stood at the library doors.

“Mr. Melrose, as I said, he is in a meeting. Perhaps you would wish for some breakfast instead.”

“No need. I won’t be here long.” Robert grasped the cold doorknobs and shoved open the double doors with a hefty push. They slammed against the walls and Robert strode into the room, taking stock of the five or six men seated in chairs, couches.

“I don’t believe that is the best course of action,” one man said, his nasally voice adamant. “The man in America stated that the bank there has tried…” His words faded as all eyes turned up toward Robert.

Robert turned his gaze toward his brother, Marcus.

It gave Robert a slight jolt to see the face so familiar to his own. Though they were twelve years apart in age, their features were stamped with the same angular jaw, the same dark brown hair that curled and created an afternoon shadow across their jaws. Not that Marcus would ever let such an imperfection remain. Robert, however, reveled in doing just that.

He brought a hand to run across his stubble to be certain his brother took note.

But his brother’s face remained impassive, without a flicker of awareness as he stood, barely an inch taller than Robert. Not even anger crossed his face. “Robert, our appointment is for later this afternoon. As you can see, I’m in a meeting, so if you would wait—”

“I have a full day,” Robert lied. “You summoned me, so you’ll have to make do at my convenience, not yours. What is it you want?”

It had been seven months since they’d last spoken, and this conversation already bore a striking resemblance to the former. That very fact had encouraged him to ignore the requests. Why beat one’s head against the rock that mimicked his brother’s own head?

Marcus’s gaze flickered to the men seated, and Robert could see the wheels churning in his head. What was the appropriate way to handle this? How did one deal with the unruly brother?

Robert approached the first man. “Robert Melrose. That’s plain old Mister Melrose, the third brother. You’ve likely never heard of me.”

“On the contrary,” the man replied, managing to hold his nose slightly in the air to signify his lack of approval.

Robert grinned. “Truly? Have I
finally
elevated to the level of black sheep instead of simply the nonexistent, useless brother? Excellent.”

“Robert.” His brother snapped the word out like an order.

Robert ignored him and made haste toward the one empty chair, the one his brother had vacated. He plopped down. “And what are we discussing so studiously today?” He noticed the papers scattered on the table and just as one of the men tried to gather them together, Robert snatched a page.

“Now, wait here—” The man argued even as Robert glanced over the words written on the page. The word ‘forgery’ jumped out and his breath caught in his throat.

Robert’s heart leapt forward like an out-of-control horse, and he studied the slanted scribble.
Report of the Committee… on Preventing Bank Forgeries
. What the hell was this?

Why had his brother demanded his presence?

The paper was crushed and Robert tightened his grip so even as the page was yanked from him, a corner of it remained in his fist.