The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (24 page)

"He won't see you if you give him your real
name."

"I have never been thwarted by
resistance."

"But, Harry, you can't draw your sword and
go barreling in there. Castle Garwick is not a ship and you have no
fellow cutthroats to back you."

"Neither my men nor me were cutthroats."

"That is beside the point. You saw for
yourself all those brutes he obviously keeps for protection. As
large as you are, I daresay, they are larger."

Harry lowered his brows and took another sip
from his mug of strong tea. "You have not changed my mind, you
know."

"Promise me you won't do anything drastic
until we talk it over."

"And what do you
term
drastic
?"

"Forcing yourself into Lord Tremaine's
chambers when he has refused to see you."

Harry looked into his cup, his eyes
inscrutable. "He'll see me."

She moved to get up. "Let's go."

With a firm hand on her arm, he held her
back. "Forgive me if I don't take you this once, Louisa."

She sat back down and patted his arm. "I
understand. It's a matter that truly doesn't concern me."

He stood.

"If you're not back in ninety minutes, I
shall have the castle stormed," she warned.

He drank the remaining tea, kissed the top
of her head and left.

For the first time since their journey had
begun, Louisa picked up her pen and began to compose one of Mr.
Lewis's essays.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy for Harry to get in
to see Lord Tremaine. He merely presented his card – his real card
– to the butler and said he needed to see Lord Tremaine on a matter
of a personal nature.

Less than half an hour later he was face to
face with the man he blamed for his parents' deaths.

Wearing a silken robe though the afternoon
sun squinted in the room's small arch-shaped windows, Tremaine sat
on a silk brocade sofa in the library. He looked much as Louisa had
described him except that Harry had difficulty calling a man
distinguished who lounged on sofas in silk robes. Harry could see
that he was tall, even if he had not risen when Harry entered the
chamber.

Tremaine looked up at Harry, a bland
expression on his aging face. "I see that you have found me."

Harry refused to sit where Tremaine
indicated. Planting his booted feet in front of Tremaine, he said,
"You thought to get away with your cheating schemes?"

"But it wasn't I who cheated."

"It was you who bankrolled your pawn, Godwin
Phillips, may he burn in hell."

Tremaine laughed. "It does me good to see so
much hatred in you. Now you know how I felt toward your father when
he stole Isobel from me."

"My father never did a hateful thing in his
life. All he did was love my mother – as she loved him."

"She loved me once," Tremaine said.

Harry shook his head. "Never, George. She
told me so."

Tremaine smashed the crystal goblet he was
holding into the stone floor. "You lie."

"Had she loved you, she would have married
you."

"She loved me until Robert--"

"She never loved you." The words gave Harry
a perverse satisfaction.

Tremaine thrust his head into profile.
"Believe what you like." Then he turned back to face Harry,
devilment in his gray eyes. "While you're simmering in hatred for
Godwin Phillips."

"I hate Phillips more for what he did to his
young wife than for what he did to my father." He fisted his hands
and walked closer to Tremaine. "It is you I hate for what happened
to my father."

Tremaine laughed. "I have no fight with you.
After all, you have much of Isobel in you."

"Then if you have no fight with me, allow me
to buy the Grosvenor Square House back."

Tremaine thought for a moment. "How much are
you willing to pay for it?"

"Twenty-five thousand pounds is more than a
fair price."

Tremaine laughed. "Double that, and it's
yours."

"The house and everything that was in
it?"

"For fifty thousand pounds, yes."

"Good," Harry said. "You will have the money
within the month." Then he did something that was repugnant to him.
He bent forward and offered the vile man his hand.

They shook hands. A gentleman's
agreement.

Then Harry said, "I'll just fetch my
mother's portrait now," as he began to move from the room.

Tremaine rose. He was as tall as Harry.
"You'll do no such thing."

Harry turned. "But we shook
on it.
The house and all that was in
it
."

"I. ..I," Tremaine
stammered, "I meant all that
is
in it."

"You know the portrait rightfully belongs to
me."

"My young man, I have never done things in
my life because they were right."

That was the last straw. Harry's fist flew
into Tremaine's jaw.

Then Harry, with fists at the ready, was
poised for the man. Instead, Tremaine's hands flew to his jaw, and
he saw blood on his hand and screamed like a woman.

Footmen, who obviously were hired as
sentries, scurried into the room with swords drawn.

Harry held up his arms. "I am unarmed, and I
shall leave peacefully."

Tremaine made sure his footmen saw Harry all
the way to the drawbridge.

* * *

Louisa was still sitting in the parlor
writing by the light of a candle when Harry returned. When she saw
him, her face alighted and she put down her pen. "Oh, Harry, thank
goodness you're back! I was getting worried."

He cocked his head and peered at her with
those glowering eyes of his. "No Harry Dearest?"

She could feel the blush
climb up her cheeks like smoke rising in a chimney. He
had
heard her the day of
his recovery.

"Why you. . .you utterly wretched, wicked,
vile aristocrat!"

"Calm yourself, Louisa."

"Don't you dare call me Louisa!"

He placed both hands upon her shoulders and
butted his forehead to hers. "I told you I refuse to call you by
that man's name."

She brushed aside some of her anger. "You
didn't get the painting, did you?"

He shook his head and lowered himself onto
the padded bench nearest the fire. "He did agree to sell me back
Wycliff House -- for twice what it's worth."

"But not the portrait?"

"Not the portrait," he said.

"Then we will just have
to
reclaim
it."

"I – not we – Louisa. The man's quite
deranged. I don't want you anywhere near that castle."

"You should know me well enough by now to
know that you cannot dictate to me."

"If you want your money, you will do as I
say."

"That's not fair. We found your man. You
cannot renege on my money."

He lowered his brows and spoke in a low
voice. "No, I can't, and I wouldn't."

"If I can think of a clever plan to reclaim
the painting, then will you allow me to accompany you?"

"I'll think on it."

"I shall, too," she said happily.

* * *

Much to Edward's consternation, he rode all
the way from Woking to the Cock and Stock Inn with Miss Sinclair –
dressed as a lad – sitting beside him. To make matters worse, she
would not stop talking about the Bentham chap. Edward would almost
welcome mention of Miss Grimm right now.

He wasn't quite sure what
he was going to do once they were inside the inn. It was dark, and
they could go no farther, so he could put off his decision no
longer. He could not very well procure a private room for such an
ill-dressed
younger
brother
. He could see no other way than to
get a room together. Then, blast it all, he would have to give Miss
Sinclair the bed while he slept on the bloody floor.

Before they alighted from the box, he drew
Miss Sinclair's attention. "I want you to know that I have no
desire whatsoever to rob you of your virtue, but I believe we must
share a room tonight. I promise I will not touch you in any way, I
will turn my back when you dress and undress, and I will sleep on
the floor."

She sighed. "I am very glad you said that
for you know I could not possibly stay at such a place alone in a
room. That's one of the reasons I wanted to join you on this
journey. I was frightened to stay any longer on Grosvenor Square
without Louisa, and you seemed to be the only person in London I
could trust."

The lady's trust could be a very heavy
burden, indeed. "There was your cook," he offered, his voice
hoarse. It nearly put him to the blush to remember the fat old
woman following them everywhere in Harry's gig because she was too
large to fit in his phaeton.

She thought on this for a moment. "All in
all, I trust women. It's the men who frighten me. Miss Grimm
says--"

Edward held up his hands. "Pray, no more of
Miss Grimm. Let us go procure a room."

They got down and began to walk to the
inn.

"No, no," Edward exclaimed. "You had better
stay here while I bespeak the room. I shouldn't want the innkeeper
to see your face. I'll come back for you in a moment."

After he bespoke a room, they ate quickly in
the private parlor. Edward was afraid Miss Sinclair's gender would
be given away either by her voice or her dainty face, the fear of
which caused him to lose his appetite.

He waited until no one was near the stairs
then led her up in stealthy fashion.

As soon as he shut their chamber door behind
him, she started fiddling with the bedding. "What, pray tell, are
you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing, silly?
I'm going to make you a pallet."

At least he wouldn't have to sleep on the
wood floors. He sat on a wobbly chair and began to take off his
boots. He really was beastly tired. Nothing quite as tiring as
traveling. One wouldn't think the body would ache so much from just
sitting all day. He looked up from his boots and saw that Miss
Sinclair had given him two blankets and kept but one for herself.
"Look here," he protested, "I can't have you doing that. One
blanket is all I need. I'll stay close to the fire."

"I insist," she said in the same tone his
mum had used a thousand times. "After all, I have the mattress and
you don't.

Now I shall blow out the candle and put on
my night things. You are to turn around and close your eyes."

She watched as he stood and turned around
and shut his eyes just before the light was snuffed. He stood there
silently listening to the muffled sounds she made lifting one foot
and the other in the process of getting disrobed. But instead of
picturing her dressed in her boys' togs, he thought of the pretty
little thing in a lace shift like Ruby would wear. Then he was mad
at himself for thinking of Miss Sinclair at the same time he
thought of his mistress.

But he still could not dispel the vision of
Miss Sinclair, all creamy skin, lifting up her arms to him –
wearing Ruby's white lace.

Then he listened as she climbed beneath the
sheets. He pulled off his jacket, dropped his pants and fell
exhausted onto the pallet Miss Sinclair had made for him beside the
fire.

Just as he was drifting into deep slumber,
the lady called him.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Ruby didn't count. "No." Blast the girl. He
was bone tired. He closed his eyes tightly, but he was not as
sleepy as he had been. He found himself thinking about her
question, then he became consumed with curiosity. "Miss Sinclair?"
he whispered some minutes later.

"Yes?"

"Have you?"

"Been in love?"

"Yes," he said impatiently.

"No, I don't suppose so."

Her answer comforted him like warm milk at
bed time. But he still could not go back to sleep. Another question
kept tugging at him. Finally he whispered her name again.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Has any man ever offered for you?"

"That's why I came to London," she said.

His heart thudded. Had she come to London to
fulfill an obligation to the man?

"I heard Papa discussing settlements for me
with Squire Wheeler."

Now his heart raced. "And...what were your
feelings toward Squire Wheeler?"

"Why, the man was the age of my father and
had grown children my age. And he was completely bald."

Edward's hand raked through his hair to
assure himself he was not going bald. "What did the demmed squire
think?" Edward asked with outrage. "Trying to take the virtue of a
young maiden. There ought to be laws against such." Now he was
beginning to sound like Miss Grimm.

"I agree with you, Mr. Coke."

As Edward went off to sleep, his fists were
clenched. He rather wanted to give that bald-headed squire a
facer.

When Harry had gone to bed, Louisa had been
sitting beside the candle writing one of her essays, and when he
awoke, she was still writing, though she wore a different
dress.

Her attention perked when she saw him
stirring. "I have thought of a plan, my lord."

He reached for the tea she had set on the
bedside table. "Allow me my tea first, if you please." He pulled
the sheets up to cover his nakedness, took a welcome gulp, then
asked that she turn around while he slipped on his pantaloons.
Louisa's sense of propriety, thank God, did not extend to a
revulsion over bare-chested men.

With his pants on and his eyes suitably
open, he turned to her. "Have you been thinking of your plan all
night?"

She put down her pen. "Of
course not. I will have you know I slept rather well –
and
have nearly completed
Mr. Lewis's newest essay."