Secrets of Surrender Page 4

  Rose pictured Irene trying to survive, and that distressed her more. “Do you think there is any hope for her future now, Alexia?”

  “When Hayden and his brothers treat her as one of their own, she will be spared the worst. She also has that five thousand from your brother, although now I wish that you had not told Hayden to put it into a trust for her. You could use it better, I think.”

  “It is the spoils of a crime, Alexia. I could not touch it, but Irene will never know its source.”

  Alexia patted her hand like a mother reassuring a child. Rose suddenly felt exhausted and soiled and sad. Wiser than six months ago, but ignorance had been heaven in comparison.

  “I will sleep with Irene tonight, if you do not mind, Alexia. I will leave soon after dawn, but I will explain everything to her first so that she knows why she will not be coming home to me.” Not now and not ever. Saying good-bye to Irene would break her heart.

  Alexia wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “If you want to do it that way, we will.”

  She leaned into Alexia’s embrace and rested her head on her shoulder. “Hold me for a while, my dearest friend. I will be dead to both of you soon, and I cannot bear the thought of it.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Jordan timed his steps to an inaudible fanfare of horns while he carried a letter across the chamber. His thin, pointed nose angled higher than normal, making his old-fashioned tail of graying hair dangle down his back.

  “This was hand-delivered, sir. Just now. A messenger brought it. A liveried messenger.”

  When Kyle saw the letter he comprehended his manservant’s performance. The paper must have cost five pounds a ream. An insignia further proclaimed the high station of its sender.

  He recognized the crest. The Marquess of Easterbrook’s.

  Well, well.

  “Tell me, Jordan, can one just break the seal or am I supposed to perform some ritual first?”

  Jordan’s narrow face pinched into a frown. He prided himself on being an expert to whom the collier’s son could turn for advice on the subtleties of navigating along the edges of polite society.

  “Ritual? I do not think…ah, you are joking, sir. Heh, heh, no, there is no ritual that I know of.”

  “Well, if you learn that there is one, don’t tell anyone we skipped it.”

  Kyle broke the seal. Jordan’s neck stretched in his hopes of spying a few words.

  “I have been invited to call on the Marquess of Easterbrook,” Kyle said. “At least I think it is an invitation. It reads more like a summons.”

  “What does it say?”

  “That Easterbrook would be happy to receive me this afternoon.”

  “Of course that is an invitation.”

  “Good. That means that I can decline. I will write back and express my regrets that I am committed elsewhere.”

  “Oh, dear heavens, no, sir.” Jordan stifled a horrified sigh. “When a marquess is happy to receive you, when he invites you to call, you must go.”

  Kyle knew how it was done. He had been received by an earl often enough. He let Jordan fret while he eyed the letter.

  It was said that Easterbrook did not receive much at all, let alone men like Kyle Bradwell. He was, however, Lord Hayden Rothwell’s older brother, Christian Rothwell. No doubt Easterbrook had heard about that sad episode with Miss Longworth four nights ago. He probably wanted to make sure the rescuer would not try to dine on the story or take other advantage of this relative’s ruin.

  Kyle decided that he would answer the summons, but for his own reasons. In the course of their conversation he might learn how Miss Longworth was faring. He had thought about her these last days. He had indulged in a few of those dreams that he had promised himself, but a few concerns had also intruded on his mind.

  “If you like, I will set out the appropriate garments,” Jordan said.

  “Fine, but do not overdo it. He isn’t the King.”

  He set the “invitation” aside. The meeting with Easterbrook would no doubt be brief. It should not take the marquess long to threaten him.

  Kyle had never been inside a house on Grosvenor Square. That made his call on Easterbrook interesting in itself. He studied the structure and furnishings while the servant brought him up to the drawing room.

  That huge, towering chamber contained luxuries in the extreme. The decorating was a little out of style, but impressive in its restrained opulence. Every element, from the carpets to the ceiling moldings, from the sconces to the drapery tassels, was the best that money could buy.

  He waited a long time for the reception so generously offered. He spent his time studying the paintings filling the walls, seeing if he could name the artists.

  “That one has been attributed to both Ghirlandaio and Verrocchio. What do you think?”

  Kyle pivoted at the question. A dark-haired man stood ten feet behind him. The marquess, he assumed, and not only because of the resemblance to Lord Hayden. No servant would dare dress like that, with no waistcoat or cravat, and with long hair streaming down past his shoulders.

  “I would not know,” Kyle said.

  “You were examining the paintings as though you would.”

  Kyle shrugged. “It is before Raphael and not a Botticelli. I could get no closer than that.”

  “That is closer than most.” He gestured to a grouping of chairs and a divan. “Let us sit over here. They will be bringing up…something or other. Coffee, I suppose.”

  Kyle sat in a chair and Easterbrook on the divan. The marquess favored his guest with a thoughtful inspection. Kyle returned the examination. Time passed silently while they assessed each other.

  “You strike me as an interesting man, Mr. Bradwell.” A vague smile formed despite Easterbrook’s critical gaze. “You are not ill at ease in the least. No doubt your patronage by Cottington has bred familiarity with the likes of me. Perhaps it has also bred contempt.”

  Easterbrook had made it his business to learn a thing or two before sending that letter, it seemed. “I have no contempt for the likes of you. If I did, I would not be here. I am merely waiting to learn why you wanted to meet me.”

  “You examine me very boldly while you wait. What are you thinking?”

  “I am wondering how rich I have to be before I can stop strangling my neck with a cravat.”

  “Rich enough not to give a damn what the world thinks, I suppose.”

  They both knew that money actually had nothing to do with it. “And as you examine me, what do you think?”

  Easterbrook gave one more long, careful scan. “I think that I am seeing the future.”

  The servants arrived with several trays loaded with urns of coffee and tea, and decanters and cakes. It looked as if on receiving Easterbrook’s order to provide “something,” the kitchen servants had concluded it safest to provide almost everything.

  Another quarter hour passed while servants offered various drink. Finally the marquess waved them all out of the room.

  “I think that you were introduced to my brother several nights ago,” he said.

  They were finally getting down to it. “Actually, I had met Lord Hayden before. I did see him in Kent a few nights ago, however.”

  “He has come back up to town and brought Alexia with him. I am told that she is inconsolable in her grief over her cousin. I am very fond of my new sister. She is with child, and her distress is of concern to me.”

  “I am sorry to hear that she is distraught. Have you had any word on her cousin? Is she well?”

  “I have learned nothing of Miss Longworth’s health.” His host found the question interesting, though. Kyle could not imagine why.

  “My brother came to town to make sure that it is known that you delivered Miss Longworth to their home in Kent little more than an hour after removing her from Norbury’s house party.”

  Kyle doubted that would help much. The scandal was breaking fast and hard, drawing more attention to him than he liked. Jordan had been approa
ched on the street by some fellow from one of the scandal sheets, asking if Miss Longworth now resided in Mr. Bradwell’s home.

  Easterbrook rose to his feet. He strolled aimlessly, distracted by his contemplations.

  No, not aimlessly. He more or less circled Kyle’s chair.

  “Your reputation will be spared by Hayden’s efforts. You will probably be labeled so decent that you will never again be offered any fun in life,” Easterbrook observed. “My question is whether anything might be done to spare Miss Longworth as well, so Alexia is not so unhappy.”

  “Miss Longworth’s time with me was the least of it.”

  “Tell me about the rest. The servants bring me only bits and pieces, and my brother says only that she is lost.”

  Kyle described that night as he had seen it. Easterbrook paced his arcs while he listened. He asked some questions to clarify the details. He paced some more.

  “It sounds as if Miss Longworth embarked on an affair with a man she thought loved her, and he in turn deliberately destroyed her. Did he have a reason for doing so, I ask myself. I have to assume that he did.” Three more steps of contemplation. “This is about that damned brother of hers, I think.”

  Kyle let the conclusion lie there. He gave Easterbrook credit for understanding human motivations better than most people did.

  Easterbrook’s brooding ended abruptly. He sat on the divan again, closer to Kyle this time. Another long inspection ensued.

  “You bid a very high amount. Shrewd of you, but it was an expensive ploy.”

  For the first time since he had set foot in this house, Kyle was uncomfortable. He did not like the hawkish way the marquess looked at him now. His instincts said a bald threat would be preferable to whatever this man intended.

  “It must have taken a toll on your purse, paying all that at once.”

  “I managed.” Barely. He had signed more mortgage papers two days ago than he wanted to think about.

  Easterbrook relaxed back in the divan. “Miss Longworth is a very lovely woman. Don’t you think so?”

  “Very lovely.” Why did he feel that he had just given ground in a battle by agreeing?

  “I do not believe that Miss Longworth must be lost to my sister-in-law. I think that with very little effort we can blunt the worst so she can still have a future. There may always be whispers, but she is not irredeemable.”

  Who the hell did he mean by we? “It is said that you rarely leave this house, so maybe you forget how these things work. She will not survive this with even a shred of her reputation intact. Your brother knows it. Even Miss Longworth knows it.”

  “That is because my brother and Miss Longworth are accepting the play as Norbury staged it. However, in the hands of another director, all those scenes can affect the audience differently. One must merely change the denouement.” The marquess gestured lazily, as if doing so was a small matter to achieve.

  Kyle barely suppressed a laugh of derision. Easterbrook thought that he could alter history and fate.

  “Let me tell you another way to view this story, Bradwell. In my play, a virtuous woman is lured by a libertine to a private house party. There she discovers his intentions are not honorable. When she resists him, he extracts his revenge by publicly humiliating her in a manner certain to ensure her ruin and degradation. It is a plausible story, no?”

  Kyle shrugged. It was plausible, and even fairly accurate. However, it was not correct in the most important part. By the time she arrived at that house party, Miss Longworth had already relinquished her virtue. She had not resisted the seduction, no matter what its motives.

  “No one in the audience knows that for certain.” Easterbrook seemed to read his mind, which was damned irritating. “They only have the villain’s word for it. Now, in my version, Norbury is thwarted unexpectedly by a chivalrous knight. The least likely man at that dinner risks his fortune to save this poor innocent from a fate worse than death.”

  “Now you are getting melodramatic.”

  “The audience loves melodrama, and it loves romance even more than scandal. Which brings us to my new denouement. The knight does not take advantage of the lovely lady’s gratitude, as he could. Instead he protects her and delivers her safely to her family.” Again that lazy gesture. “Then, he marries her.”

  He marries her.

  Kyle peered into Easterbrook’s eyes. Hell, the man was serious.

  “You are mad.”

  “It is a perfect solution.”

  “Then you marry her.”

  “I was not the knight. Nor is she the wife for me. She is so lovely that I did briefly consider making her my mistress, but as the cousin of my brother’s wife, well…”

  Damnation, he was no better than Norbury. “You were right. There are times when I hold contempt for men such as you.”

  “I said it entered my mind. I did not say that I pursued her.” The marquess was not in the least insulted. “I can see why my admission might offend your sense of fair play, however. Poor Miss Longworth, made so vulnerable by her family’s ruin, her impoverishment, attracting these aristocratic vultures—”

  “Yes, it offends me, damn you.”

  His curse bit the air and hung there. He gritted his teeth and fought the unexpected surge of anger that had caused the outburst.

  “As it stands, her future will probably be in the beds of such vultures, but if she marries she will have a chance for a decent life,” Easterbrook said. “This morning I debated what it would cost me to get you to do it. Considering how offended you are, maybe not as much as I thought.”

  “Buy one of your own kind. A man more appropriate to her station. There’s no doubt a fifth son of some baron for sale.”

  “That would not fit my story. If you marry her, that auction becomes a romantic beginning, not a sordid conclusion.”

  Easterbrook kept gazing over in that damned, arrogant way. Kyle wanted to punch him in his smug face. Instead he got up and walked away, heading to the door.

  Easterbrook’s voice followed him. “Marrying her will raise you up. You’ve the money and education. You have learned how to dress and talk, but on your own you will never get in the doors. On the other hand, I and my entire family will receive you if your wife is Roselyn Longworth. And if we do, others will.”

  Seething now, Kyle strode on. “I don’t care if I get in the damned doors.”

  “I believe that, having met you now. But your children…”

  Kyle halted a few feet from one of the doors in question. Easterbrook was a clever devil. Dangerously perceptive. He knew that it was one thing for a man to play the hand fate had dealt him and another to deny his children better cards.

  A son or daughter born into this life that he had built would be painfully aware of what his background denied them. The hell of it was that one’s blood mattered. There were more important doors than those to drawing rooms that would not open to his children.

  A mother born to a gentry family would not fix that completely, but it would make a big difference. Especially if that mother was related by marriage to a marquess and received by him, and included in Lady Alexia’s circle.

  “You may not care about the social connections for yourself, but I think you would not mind the business ones. My brother Hayden manages the family’s affairs, and is famously successful in his schemes. As a relative of sorts, you will be included.” Easterbrook spoke to his back, but in a tone that assumed that they had opened negotiations.

  He turned around. “There have not been any schemes of late.” He knew why, but he wondered if the marquess did.

  “He has been distracted by his new wife. Trust me, you will grow richer than you ever dreamed. You have been successful with those syndicates, I have heard, but no one can surpass my brother in such matters.”

  Kyle suspected the marquess could, if he ever put his mind to it. As for Lord Hayden, he currently felt the pinch, but he was certain to recover.

  “A lovely wife of gentry stock, the chance of w
ealth untold—now, what was the rest of the bribe that I worked out? Ah, yes. Five thousand to replenish the coffers.”

  “Ten.”

  Easterbrook smiled slowly. “I expected you to want twenty.”

  “If you were prepared to pay twenty you would have offered more to start.”

  Easterbrook appeared pleased with himself. “Can I assume that we have reached an agreement? I am sure that Alexia would be delighted to speak with Miss Longworth about it.”

  “You do not have my mark on the bill of sale yet.” Kyle aimed for the door again. “And if I decide to do this, I will speak to Miss Longworth myself.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Roselyn folded the sheet of paper and sealed it. She picked up the letter that she had received the day before and copied the address it contained.

  Her eyes rested on her brother’s signature at the page’s bottom. His pen had faltered at the end.

  Poor Tim. She gently touched the spots on the letter where her tears had smeared the ink. He was so alone now. His words had been so sad. There were those who would say he deserved no better, and some who would insist he should receive far worse, but he was her brother. He might be weak and wrong, but she still loved him.

  His letter had made her weep at her losses like nothing else had. Even saying good-bye to Irene had not left her so empty, and so aware of how their family was gone now, destroyed by its own mistakes. Tim’s news about the death of his traveling companion had just been the most recent, horrible spin of a merciless downward spiral.

  She stood and tied on her bonnet, lifted her basket, and tucked her letter inside it. Tim would never manage on his own. He would be lost now. Sad and lost and alone in a strange country. He wrote that he wanted to come home, but of course he could not.

  Her thoughts dwelled on him while she walked to the village. She would have to tell Alexia about the contents of Tim’s letter. Alexia would need to know.

  She stepped into the grocery near the edge of the village. Two women left the shop as soon as she entered. The grocer, Mr. Preston, was not pleased by the way her presence had interfered with his trade.