Splendid (25 page)

“Er—a certain sum.” Ned got up and looked out the window again.

“Just how certain is this sum?”

“Extremely certain,” he replied cryptically.

“Just how much are we talking about?!” Emma exploded.

“Ten thousand pounds.”

“What?” she shrieked, leaping off her bed. “Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?” She began to pace, waving her arms wildly in the air. “What were you thinking?”

“I don't know,” Ned moaned.

“Oh, I forgot, you're out of your mind. How can I expect you to
think?
”

“You're not exactly being supportive in my time of crisis.”

“Supportive? Supportive!” Emma shot him a withering glare. “Support is not what you need right now. At least not the emotional kind. I don't believe this.” She sank back down on the bed. “I just don't believe this. What on earth are we going to do?”

Ned breathed a sigh of relief at her use of the word “we.”

“What happened?”

“I was playing with a group of friends at White's. Anthony Woodside joined us.”

Emma shivered with distaste. She hadn't seen Viscount Benton since their strange encounter at the Lindworthy's ball, but she certainly had no desire to do so. Their strained conversation had left her extremely uneasy and slightly insulted. She hadn't told Alex about the incident; there hadn't seemed to be any need to upset him over it. But still, Emma could not shake the feeling that Woodside had evil plans—plans that involved her family. Now it seemed that her premonitions had come true.

“It seemed impolite not to ask him to join us,” Ned went on. “It was supposed to be a friendly game. Very casual. We'd all had a few drinks.”

“All except Woodside, I imagine.”

Ned groaned, slapping his hand at the wall in a nervous gesture. “You're probably right. The next thing I knew, the stakes were spiraling out of control, and I couldn't back down.”

“And you were suddenly ten thousand pounds poorer.”

“Oh God, Emma, what am I going to do?”

“I don't know,” she said frankly.

“The thing is, Emma, he was cheating. I saw him cheating.” Ned raked his hand through his hair, and it almost killed her to see his tortured expression.

“Why didn't you
say
something? How could you just sit there and let him fleece you out of all your money?”

“Oh, Emma,” Ned sighed, sinking into a chair and letting his head fall into his hands. “I may be a gentleman of honor, but I'm not stupid. Woodside
is one of the best shots in England. I'd have been insane to say something that would provoke him into calling me out.”

“Are you certain he'd call you out?”

Ned gave her a look that told her he was more than certain.

“And you'd have to accept? You couldn't just turn your back on him and walk away?”

“Emma, it's a matter of honor. I couldn't show my face anywhere if I were to accuse someone of cheating and then not face the consequences.”

“I find this gentlemen's honor business overrated, indeed. Call me practical, but I do think that one's life is preferable to one's honor. At least as pertains to card games.”

“I agree, but there is nothing I can do about it. The fact is I owe Woodside ten thousand pounds.”

“How long have you got to come up with the money?”

“Normally I'd have to get it to him right away, but because it's a large amount he told me I could have a fortnight.”

“As long as that?” Emma said sarcastically.

“I think he gave me the extra time because he likes to feel he has power over me.”

“You're probably right.”

Ned swallowed convulsively, his hands clutching the arm of the chair. “He said he would forget about the entire matter if I could arrange a tryst between him and Belle.”

Emma felt a white-hot flame of rage consume her. “I'm going to kill him! Of all the sickening notions,” she spat out, striding to her desk and throwing open the drawers. “Do you have a gun?” she asked wildly, rummaging through her belongings and tossing papers onto the floor. “All I've got is this letter opener.” Suddenly an awful thought
entered her head and she turned to Ned, her face ashen. “You didn't—you didn't agree?”

“For God's sake, Emma,” Ned blazed. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

“I'm sorry, Ned. I know you wouldn't—I'm just so upset.”

“I'm not about to trade my sister's innocence for a gambling debt,” he added defensively.

“I know.” Emma sighed, tapping her finger against her pathetic little dagger. “It's sharp.”

“You're not going anywhere with that letter opener. You wouldn't be able to do much damage with it, anyway.”

She tossed the knife back onto her desk and sank down onto the edge of her bed. “I never told anyone about this, but I had a run-in with Woodside last week.”

“You did? What happened?”

“It was all very strange. He made all sorts of insults about my being American and lacking a title.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ned swore, clenching his fists.

“That wasn't it, though. He told me he was going to marry Belle.”

“What?”

“I swear to God.” Emma nodded for emphasis. “And I think he really believed it.”

“What did you say?”

“I laughed at him. I probably shouldn't have done so, but the thought of Belle with that bastard was ludicrous beyond words.”

“We're going to have to watch out for him, Emma. His obsession with Belle is bad enough, but now you've insulted him, and he'll be out for revenge.”

Emma shot him a disbelieving look. “What could he do? Besides collecting your ten thousand pounds, that is.”

Ned groaned. “Where on earth am I going to come up with it, Emma?”

“If we can cancel this debt, Woodside won't have anything with which to pressure Belle. We're going to have to come up with a plan.”

“I know.”

“What about your parents?”

Ned leaned his head against one of his hands, his expression anguished. “Oh, Emma. I don't want to ask them for the money. I feel so ashamed of myself as it is—I don't want them ashamed of me, too. Besides, Father's funds are all tied up. He recently made a big investment in a plantation in Ceylon. I don't think he could come up with that amount of cash so quickly.”

Emma chewed on her lower lip, uncertain as to what to say.

“I got myself into this mess. I ought to get myself out.”

“With a little help from your cousin.”

Ned smiled at Emma wearily. “With a little help from my cousin,” he repeated.

“It's probably for the best that Uncle Henry and Aunt Caroline can't help,” Emma said. “They would be sick about it.”

“I know, I know.” Ned sighed and stood up decisively, walking over to the window and gazing out over the busy street.

“It's just too bad that this didn't happen six months from now,” Emma said thoughtfully.

Ned turned around sharply, his eyes narrowing. “What happens six months from now?”

“My twenty-first birthday. My mother's family left me some money—I don't know if I ever mentioned it to you. It's been earning interest for quite some time, and I imagine there is enough to cover your debt. But it's in a trust, and I can't touch it
until my twenty-first birthday. Or unless I—” Emma's voice caught in her throat.

“Unless you what?”

“Marry,” she said softly.

“I don't suppose Ashbourne proposed this weekend,” Ned said, only half joking.

“No,” Emma said sadly.

“It's no matter, anyway. It'd take months to get the money over from America.”

“Actually, it's here in London. My mother was born in America, but my grandparents emigrated from England. My grandfather never quite trusted Colonial banks and kept the bulk of his funds over here. I guess my mother and father never saw any reason to move it over even though the States were independent.”

“Well, it's useless even to think about it. No banker would release the money to you early.”

“Unless I married,” Emma said softly, her heart beginning to beat a little more rapidly.

Ned looked at her quizzically. “What are you saying, Emma?”

“How difficult is it to get a special license?”

“Not very difficult, I imagine, if one knows the right people.”

“I would guess that Alex knows all the right people,” Emma commented, wetting her lips. “Wouldn't you?”

“You just told me that Ashbourne didn't propose to you this weekend.”

“That's true,” Emma agreed, clasping her hands together. “But that doesn't mean I can't propose to
him.
”

Ned's eyes registered disbelief. “I, er, suppose you could,” he said slowly. “I've never heard of that actually happening, but I don't suppose that means it cannot be done.”

“You think I'm a fool,” Emma said flatly.

“No, no, no, of course I don't,” he replied quickly. “Ashbourne is a fool if he refuses. Which he won't. I'm sure of it. It's just that he might be a little surprised.”

“A lot surprised.”

“A hell of a lot surprised,” Ned said, nodding his head.

Emma groaned. “Oh, God. I'm blushing just thinking about it.”

Ned drummed his fingers against the wall as he considered the scheme. “But are you sure this would work, Emma? How on earth could you propose to him, have him accept, get married, and get your money—all in a fortnight?”

Her face fell. “I couldn't, I suppose. But I should think the bank would release my money once they knew I was engaged to the Duke of Ashbourne. Alex is a powerful man, you know.”

“I know.”

“I'm sure an announcement in the
Times
would do the trick. It's almost as good as being married. A gentleman would never throw over a lady once their engagement was in the paper. And the bankers would never dream that anyone would jilt a duke.”

“But what if they refuse to release the money early? Bankers can be quite rigid about rules and all that.”

“Then I'll have to have a hasty wedding. I don't think Alex would mind.” She bunched up bits of her quilt in her hand, her eyes focused on her fingers a she spoke to her cousin. “I hope I have the courage,” she said softly.

Ned immediately moved to her side and put his arm around her shoulder. “Emma,” he said quietly, giving her a slight squeeze. “You don't have to do
this for me. I can solve this problem somehow. I'll go to a moneylender if I have to. I'll be miserable for a few months, a year maybe. But marriage lasts a lifetime. I can't ask you to sacrifice your happiness like that.”

“But maybe,” Emma whispered, “just maybe I wouldn't be sacrificing my happiness.” She looked intently up at her cousin, her violet eyes bright with emotion. “Do you understand? Maybe it's the only chance I've got for happiness.”

“But Emma, are you sure you can do it? If Alex hasn't asked you to marry him, what makes you think he's going to accept your offer?”

“I don't know,” Emma sighed. “I guess I'll just have to make him accept me, won't I?”

 

Meanwhile back at Westonbirt, Alex lay soaking in a hot, steaming bath. He felt as if he'd ridden to hell and back during the past few days, and every muscle ached from overuse. He was thoroughly irritated with the godforsaken storm that had flooded half his estate, knocked down six trees, and monopolized his attention all day Saturday. Regretfully, the only time he'd been able to see Emma was at breakfast and dinner, and she had spent most of that time picking at her food and avoiding making eye contact.

She was nervous, that was all. He could understand that.

But what he couldn't understand was why he was nervous, too. Oh, he supposed he did a better job at covering it up than Emma did, but he was nearly ten years older than she was and had certainly had far more experience with the opposite sex. It stood to reason that he would be a little bit more self-contained. But even though he managed to act fairly normally, he couldn't deny the heady
sense of anticipation he felt whenever she entered the room. Nor could he ignore how utterly disappointed he felt when he got up that morning and discovered that she had already left.

Alex groaned and sank back a little deeper into the tub. He was going to have to figure out exactly what it was he felt for Emma. And then once he did that, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted to do about it.

Marriage?

The notion was beginning to seem more and more appealing. He'd always planned to put off marriage until his late thirties. Then he could do what everyone expected him to do and marry some girl without a personality and promptly ignore her. Well, not so promptly. There was that matter of getting an heir. But once he got that taken care of, he could forget about her existence. He didn't need a wife getting in his way.

But the fact of the matter was—he
wanted
Emma in his way. He went out of his way to get her in his way. The idea of Emma as his wife dispelled all of his earlier notions of marriage. He felt warm inside at the thought of waking up next to her in the morning, of not having to sneak around just to get a moment alone with her. It didn't seem to make very much sense to wait around for a wife he could successfully ignore when he could have one he didn't want to ignore.

And, of course, there was that matter of getting an heir. The process didn't seem tedious anymore if it involved Emma. And for the first time, he found himself looking into the future and trying to picture those heirs his mother kept reminding him about. A little boy with carroty hair. No, a little girl with carroty hair—that was what he wanted. A tiny little girl with carroty hair and big violet eyes
who would hurl herself into his arms and scream, “Papa!” when he walked into the room.