Sweet Surrender (3 page)

"I can’t leave until we’ve conferred on a matter of the utmost importance."

"I’m busy, and I don’t wish to talk to you.  Go away!"

"No."

"Are you deaf?  Are you thick-headed?  What part of
go away
don’t you understand?"

She brushed off his snide comment and used her best schoolteacher voice, the one that soothed patients.  "Put on a shirt and follow me into a room where we can have a private discussion."

"No."

"Yes."

Apparently, she’d flummoxed him, and it dawned on her that it was probably a rare occasion when his commands were ignored.  He would be accustomed to barking orders and having them instantly obeyed.  In dealing with her, he would be exceedingly frustrated. 

She thought all men were fools.  She thought all men were ridiculous.

"Duncan!" he suddenly called, and he peered into the hallway, expecting someone to rush to his aid.

She peeked over her shoulder, seeing naught but empty space.

"There’s no one to rescue you, Mr. Scott.  You’ll have to speak with me."

The doxy was still perched on his lap, and he pushed her away.  For a moment, she looked as if she might protest his rough handling, but his irked glower prevented any pouting.  She slinked behind the chair with the others. 

They glared at Grace, visually warning her that they deemed Mr. Scott to be their own, and they didn’t intend to share.

You can have him!
she nearly told them, but didn’t.  She wasn’t about to bicker with a group of half-dressed trollops. 

"What’s it to be, Mr. Scott?" she asked.  "If you’d like, I can mention my quest here in front of your…
friends
, but I’d rather not.  When you hear my story, you’ll be glad that it’s between the two of us."

"You think so, do you?"

"Yes."

"You’re awfully certain that you know my preferences."

"Men are simple creatures.  It’s not that difficult to figure you out."

He laughed, and it sounded rusty, as if it had been ages since he’d found humor in anything.

"So I’m
simple,
am I?"

"You’re a man.  What more is there to say?"  She shrugged as if that explained every mystery in the universe.

He studied her, his astute gaze digging deep.  He was trying to rattle her, but he’d meet with scant success.  She could carry out an amputation without flagging, so he could hardly frighten her by scowling.

She stared back, studying him just as meticulously.

The signs of his fast-living were evident.  He had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he hadn’t shaved.  Stubble darkened his cheeks, making him appear dashing and dangerous.  She wanted to glance away, but they were engaged in a battle of wills, and she wasn’t about to show any weakness.

He was the type who would pounce and gobble her up.

Finally, as he realized that he couldn’t shake her, a corner of his beautiful mouth curled into a lethal smile. 

"Miss Bennett, is it?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You’re an interesting piece of work."  He gestured to his adoring gaggle.  "Ladies, would you step outside?"

There were groans and pleas that he reconsider, but a quick snap of his fingers had them scurrying to the hall. 

Grace let them pass, then closed the door.

Once they were alone, he didn’t stand as a proper gentleman would, but watched her with that insolent, bored look that never left his handsome face. 

As if he was a real king, he motioned for her to approach, and she walked over and halted directly in front of his throne. 

"Would you put on a shirt?" she said.

"No.  You have five minutes."  He nodded at the fireplace, where there was a clock on the mantel.  "Starting now."

"I really can’t talk to you when you’re in this condition."

"Four minutes and fifty seconds."

"I’m not used to dealing with a man when he’s in such a state of dishabille."

"Four minutes and forty-five seconds."

She sighed.  "You are an obstinate ass."

"Yes, I am.  Four minutes and forty seconds."

"Fine, I give up."

He grinned.  "I knew you would."

She threw up her hands in exasperation.  "I have traveled from Cornwall."

"I hope your journey was comfortable."

"Actually, it wasn’t."

"I don’t care to hear about it.  Why are you pestering me?"

There seemed no way to ease him into the news.  He was so haughtily curt and condescending.  Wasn’t it better to bite the bullet and get it over with?

"I brought your nephew."

"Percival is here?"

"No, your other nephew, Michael."

"I don’t have a nephew named Michael."

"Up until this moment, you haven’t been informed.  A decade ago, your brother Edward married my friend Georgina and—"

"You’re a liar."

The bald insult stopped her in her tracks.  "What?"

He straightened in his chair, his posture alert and forbidding, like a dog on the hunt that had scented the fox.  Suddenly, he didn’t appear quite so drunk or inept.

"You.  Are.  A.  Liar," he hissed.

"No, I’m not.  Your brother married Georgina.  I have the records that—"

Furiously, he cut her off.  "My brother did not marry some woman named Georgina a decade ago.  He married his dearest Susan a decade ago.  They have a son, Percival, who is his lawful heir.  Quit wasting my time."

"No, he married Georgina.  I have all the records to prove it, and Michael—"

He narrowed his gaze, his focus cruel and biting.  "What game are you playing, Miss Bennett?"

"I’m not playing any game.  Georgina passed away last year, and I am Michael’s guardian.  I wrote to your mother, seeking an introduction, but she didn’t respond.  We’ve lost our home and we’re desperate, so I’ve arrived unannounced."

"Why?"

"We need your help."

"Ah…" he mused.  "As in money?"

"Well, yes.  And a place to stay and perhaps some local employment if you could supply a recommendation for me."

He steepled his fingers under his chin, and an awkward interval ensued.  She could see his mind working as he devised the appropriate reply.

He took so long that she’d begun to suppose she was making some headway, when he said, "Go away."

"No."

"Go.  Away."

"Stop saying that.  Your childishness won’t resolve the problem."

"I don’t want you here."

"I realize that, but you’re being ridiculous."

"
I
am being ridiculous?  You, Miss Bennett, have waltzed in and interrupted my morning amusement.  You’ve hurled spurious accusations about my brother.  You’ve enraged and offended me, and I don’t have to listen to you."

"Yes, you do."

"Says who?  You?"

He unfolded himself from his throne, sliding to his feet and stepping in so he towered over her. 

He was very large, at least six feet in height, and he was very virile, very male.  She’d stood next to many undressed men in her life, but she’d never encountered one like him.  His nearness engendered the wildest swings of sensation.

"Let me show you out." 

He clasped hold of her arm and started for the door.  She tried to wrestle free, but escape was impossible.

"You don’t believe me," she glumly said.

"That would be putting it mildly."

"The truth won’t vanish merely because you can’t face it."

"A philosopher!  How marvelous."

They’d arrived at the door.  He yanked it open, and his harem was hovering, spying through the keyhole.  They jumped back, feigning innocence, as if they hadn’t been hanging on every word.

"Miss Bennett is leaving," he announced.  "One of you escort her out.  If she refuses to depart, call Duncan to assist you."

"Mr. Scott!" Grace protested.

"Goodbye, Miss Bennett."

"Mr. Scott!" she complained more vehemently.

"If I’m very lucky—which I haven’t been so far—you’ll be smart enough to grasp that you should never again darken my day with any of your frivolous gibberish."

He pushed her into the hall and slammed the door.  The key spun in the lock. 

She was angrier than she could ever remember being, and she wanted to march over and pound on the wood, to shout and insult and reprimand, but why bother?

She whirled away and left, wondering how she’d ever tell Michael what she’d learned.

CHAPTER TWO

"Let’s go."

"What?"

Grace steeled her expression, being determined to shield her fury and disappointment from Michael and Eleanor.

She couldn’t describe what she’d witnessed of Jackson Scott, and she would never upset Michael by disparaging the family he’d been so excited to meet.

What now? What now?  What now?

The question rang through her head.

They’d cut their ties in Cornwall, so she had no home to which they could return, and she’d spent every penny in her purse, bringing them to Milton Abbey.  She didn’t have enough coins to buy them supper, and gallingly, she wondered if they dared beg for a few scraps of food.

They could knock at the kitchen and tell the servants they were indigent and starving.  They’d likely be fed, but she refused to have Michael treated so shabbily.

"Let’s go," she said again.

"Why?" Michael asked.

"Your uncle isn’t here," she lied.  "I spoke to a servant upstairs.  Mr. Scott has left for London, and they’re not sure when he’ll be back."

"Can’t we stay and wait?"

"No one has the authority to let us, I’m afraid."

"What are we to do?" Eleanor stammered.

"We’ll walk to the village"—Grace forced a bright smile—"and I’ll think of something on the way."

Grace couldn’t hold Eleanor’s searching gaze.  Her sister knew they were in dire straits, but Grace had never explained just how dire.

Grace had pinned all her hopes on the Scott family, being utterly resolved that she could convince them to render assistance.  But she hadn’t expected to encounter a scapegrace like Jackson Scott, so she hadn’t devised a back-up plan. 

With Mr. Scott’s low morals revealed, there was no reason to tarry.  Grace would never allow Michael to meet Mr. Scott, so their circumstances were particularly grim.

"Perhaps we can prevail on Mr. Porter," Michael said.  "He seemed very kind."

"Perhaps we can," Grace agreed.

Mr. Porter had lived in the village all his life.  If there was any employment or charity to be had, he would be the person who could inform her.

She waved to the door, and Michael and Eleanor rose and moved toward it.  Grace followed, lagging behind so they couldn’t see her visible concern.

She’d always perceived herself to be extremely smart and pragmatic.  How had she descended to such a miserable point?  No money.  No home.  No job.  No prospects.  No…anything, and two children who needed care and support that she had no means to provide.

They trudged down the front steps and started down the driveway, and she was so distressed that she didn’t notice a man approaching on a horse.  He reined in, dismounted, and marched by as if they were invisible. 

Grace ignored him, too, their passing glances catching for the briefest instant as they proceeded in their opposite directions.  Then recognition dawned for both.  Frowning, they stopped and turned.

"Grace…Bennett?"

At the same moment, Grace murmured, "Mr. Dane?"

"Miss Bennett, it
is
you."  He scowled as if she was an unwanted pest that should be stamped under the heel of his boot.

"Hello," Grace said with an equal amount of cool disdain.

Duncan Dane had been Edward’s best friend.  On one unpleasant occasion, he had visited Georgina and Edward.  Grace had suffered through a distasteful supper with him as Edward’s special guest from London.

He’d been rude and condescending, constantly making snide remarks about Georgina and Edward’s marriage to her.  Mr. Dane had found fault with their small cottage, with their docile, rural existence, with their marital bliss.  He’d viewed it all as being very funny, as if Georgina was beneath Edward and not worthy of Edward’s attention.

Grace hadn’t understood Mr. Dane’s derision.  She and Georgina had assumed Edward to be a traveling merchant.  Apparently, Mr. Dane had known Edward’s true position in the world and had been greatly humored by how he was consorting with Georgina.

Why had Edward invited Mr. Dane to Cornwall?  Had Edward been playing a malicious joke on Georgina?  Had it been some sort of rich man’s lark?