A Lady Most Lovely (39 page)

“I—” She wanted to relax into his hands, to revel in the sensations he was awakening. “I can’t say I remember much about that night—except for you.”

“I told him I was fortunate enough to lay claim in the right place, but the gold don’t mine itself.” He paused, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “That’s what it’s been like with you, Margaret. I knew that beneath your haughty exterior, you had to be harboring some measure of love for me, and I was determined to find it.” He bent down to kiss her neck. “Tell me it’s so. Tell me you love me.”

“I…”

He placed kisses on her cheek. “Say it,” he said with soft urgency.

“I…” She turned to face him. “I love you,” she said, exhaling as she spoke.

Tom’s face lit up with pleasure. He extended his arms toward her. “You are a brave woman, Maggie.”

At the sound of her name—
Maggie
—brimming with all of Tom’s tenderness and wry humor, Margaret rose and in one swift movement threw herself into his arms, knocking him onto the bed and landing on top of him. “I have done many brave things today.”

He lay beneath her, laughing, his chest rising and falling with each chuckle, and she felt the heat radiating from him, felt the heat of her own desires rising. He said with a hint of sly wickedness, “Is this our good-night kiss, then?”

“Yes,” she breathed. She lowered her lips to his—a tender, light kiss, filled with promise. He lifted his head to press his lips harder against hers, wanting more. She readily complied.

When she finally pulled away, she saw a question
written clearly in his eyes, and her own gaze returned the answer. In one swift movement he flipped her onto her back, holding himself poised over her so as not to crush her. His eyes locked on hers again for a breathless, heart-stopping moment, then slowly drifted down to her lips. “Oh, Maggie,” he said. “How I have longed… wished for…”

“Me, too,” she whispered with a smile. Never had her heart been so wide open—vulnerable, yes, and yet absolutely free. She pulled his head down to hers, returning his kisses with passion and all the love that was within her. Tonight they would be one. There would be no going back. And there would be no regrets.

*

Margaret was still asleep. Tom paused to look at her as she lay curled up on her side, her dark hair contrasting with the white pillow. She had been so warm, so passionate last night. Despite their fatigue from the day’s events, they had both wanted this further celebration of love and life.

Before they had drifted off to sleep she had murmured something about spending the following morning together, and he had not contradicted her. But the truth was he had another engagement this morning. One he hoped would help end his dealings with Spencer once and for all.

*

Dense morning fog surrounded Margaret as she rapped purposefully on the door of Richard’s town house. She had awoken alone this morning, and her surprise and
disappointment had turned quickly to worry when she’d discovered Tom had left without telling anyone where he was going. After all that had happened yesterday—and last night—she could no longer bear not knowing what was still separating her from her husband. She had given too much; her heart was too invested. If Tom was still unwilling to confide in her, she would have to find another way. And she would begin with Richard.

When the door opened, the bright light from the hallway pierced the gloom. The butler led her to a parlor and informed her that Mr. Spencer would be down shortly.

Margaret paced the floor as she waited. She was prepared to wait all day if need be. It was time to get some answers.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, cousin,” Richard said, breezing into the room. “I’m afraid you caught me just as I was preparing to go out.” The overcoat he was wearing and the gloves in his hands gave evidence of his statement. He made as if to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she stepped away before he could do so. “Come now,” he admonished. “Not even a friendly greeting for a kinsman?”

“I want to know what your business is with my husband,” Margaret said.

Richard cocked his head to one side. “Business?”

“Don’t equivocate, Richard. I know you’ve been talking to him about Moreton Hall. If you’ve been trying to convince him you have some kind of claim on my land—”

“
Your
land? My dear, you are married now. Moreton Hall is in the power of your husband.”

He said it with such smugness that Margaret was
tempted to laugh at his ignorance rather than set him straight on the matter. “Is that so?” she said.

He nodded. “And, as it happens, I have indeed convinced Poole of my right to that land. Soon I will be its rightful owner.”

This bald confirmation of her greatest fear hit Margaret like a blow to the chest. She took a deep breath. “Tom would never agree to give you Moreton Hall.”

Again, the self-satisfied look. “We have an arrangement. Let’s call it a bargain for both sides.”

“I don’t believe it,” Margaret said flatly.

“Why don’t you ask him? He’s your husband, after all.” He paused to reconsider that statement. “I’ll wager you
have
asked him. And he has refused to tell you. Now that I think about it, he was quite adamant that this whole transaction be kept secret from you until the deal was done. Now why do you suppose that is?”

“It could not possibly be kept secret from me,” Margaret said. “The land cannot be sold or transferred without my consent.”

He gave a disbelieving laugh. “
Your
consent?”

She lifted her head proudly. “Apparently he hasn’t told you that the land is in a joint trust. Any major decision requires two signatures—his and mine.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“You are the liar, Richard. Not me.”

It gave Margaret a particular satisfaction to see the anger that colored Richard’s face. But his expression cooled and he said, “I had a feeling he was dragging his feet on this. Now I know why.” He gave her a malevolent smile. “He’s been waiting until he got you fully in his camp.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I imagine Poole knows that a woman will do anything her man asks—
if
she is in love with him. He’s got to win you with
gentle
persuasion.”

Was Tom trying to manipulate her? Richard’s suggestion was galling and yet so many of the things Tom had done since their wedding could be seen as attempts to win her over. But couldn’t they also be seen as things a loving husband would do for a wife? Everything he had done could be interpreted two ways. Margaret knew better than to take anything Richard said at face value. And yet, she had heard from Tom’s own mouth that they were planning something.

Still, she protested. “It makes no sense. He loves Moreton Hall. He’s thrown himself into every aspect of running the place. Why would he turn around and sell it to you?”

“You are a fool if you think he cares about the land. He wanted
you;
I’ll grant you that. But he told me himself he has no desire to stay in Lincolnshire. He said he’d much rather live closer to his sister. I’m sure you know how important she is to him.”

Margaret did know. Her face must have revealed something, and Richard always knew when to press his advantage. “Go ahead—ask your husband where his real loyalties lie. Ask him just how much he’d be willing to do—how far he’d be willing to go—for his sister.”

Margaret had every intention of asking him. Today all of her fears had been realized. But she would not back down for anyone. She advanced on him. “You will never get that land, Richard,” she said forcefully. “I would die first. Or better yet, I’ll see you dead.”

“I would advise against making any threats, Margaret. One way or another you are going to lose that land, and it will either go to me or be seized by the Crown.”

“Now who is making threats?” Margaret accused. “And empty ones at that. You’re lying to me, simply to get your way.”

“On the contrary. I plan to get my way by telling the truth.” Abruptly he turned and walked into the front hall, pulling on his gloves as he went.

Margaret followed in his wake. “Wait! Where are you going?”

Picking up his hat from a side table, Richard trotted down the steps and up into a waiting carriage. It was a high gig, one that Margaret could not have mounted herself without help. She stood on the curb, frustrated, looking up at him. “You cannot leave!” she protested.

He picked up the reins. “I really must be going. Also, I apologize, but I seem to have sent away your cab. Don’t worry; my butler will fetch another for you.” With a quick slap of the reins he set the carriage in motion and was swiftly lost in the swirl of fog.

*

Spencer kept Tom waiting for nearly three-quarters of an hour. Tom knew this by the sounds of the church bell ringing the quarter hours while he sat in the little pub drinking his ale and waiting. Inspector Field was waiting, too, but he was nearly unrecognizable. If Tom hadn’t known Field was the grizzled old man sitting nearby, puffing a pipe and reading the paper, he’d never have guessed it. The man’s appearance was changed entirely.

Men from the Detective Branch of the police force
had taken up a post in the back of the pub, where they would not reveal themselves until they’d gotten the signal from Field. The trap had been carefully constructed.

When Spencer finally arrived, he paused at the door. He took a long look around, scrutinizing everything about the place and the few patrons in it. Behind him, dense fog obscured everything outside. His gaze rested on Field for several moments. Field looked up, gave him a disinterested look as one does to a stranger, then nodded politely before returning to his reading. This act must have convinced Spencer that there was nothing out of the ordinary. After one more darting glance, he removed his hat and gloves and strode over to the table where Tom was sitting.

“You’re late,” Tom said as Spencer sat down. “It’s not enough that you are coercing me into giving up my land; you must now make me
wait
for the privilege?”

“I was detained,” Spencer answered. His tone made it clear that he did not offer it up as an apology. “And you will kindly keep your voice down.” He glanced over at Field again, as though trying to gauge whether he was listening.

But Field was just at that moment calling out to the barmaid for more gin and water, which gave the impression that he was oblivious to Tom and Spencer. He was also making it plain that he was hard of hearing, for he spoke unnaturally loud to the barmaid and asked her to repeat herself twice, saying, “What’s that? Speak louder!” A masterful performance, thought Tom. Field ought to have been on the stage.

“All right,” said Tom, “let’s get down to business. Did you bring the document?”

Spencer nodded and tapped his breast pocket.

“Well, let’s see it, then,” Tom demanded. “I want proof that the information you are holding against me is as damaging as you say it is.”

Spencer pulled a folded paper out of his greatcoat. Tom took the paper and began to read. Just as Spencer had told him, it was a sworn statement from Freddie, dated the day after their duel seven years ago. It clearly stated Tom and Lizzie’s names, and that an altercation with Tom had been the cause of Freddie’s life-threatening injury.

“Altercation!” Tom read aloud, nearly spitting out the word. He slammed the paper on the table. “It was no ‘altercation.’ It was a duel.”

Spencer leaned back and crossed his arms. “You took hold of a man as he was coming out of a tavern in the wee hours of the morning, hauled him to a field, and put a gun in his hand. If you want to call that a duel, that’s your privilege. I call it an elaborate kind of murder.”

“I didn’t kill him!”

“No, but you thought you did. And that was your intent. Don’t deny it.” He took the paper and folded it carefully, placing it back into his coat. “If you call it a duel, it changes nothing. Either way, you will lose your freedom—if not your life.”

“No magistrate is going to bring me up on charges for that. Hightower recovered from that duel, and he died last year while I wasn’t even in the country.”

Spencer gave a wave of impatience. “So you have insisted. Dozens of times, in fact. It’s been getting rather tedious. However, I have to admit that something about Hightower’s death still bothered me, and it wasn’t until this morning that I finally figured out what it was.”

Something in Spencer’s manner made Tom wary. He had a foreboding that this couldn’t be good. “Out with it, then.”

“Hightower died in the presence of the other person named in this document. Someone who had a vested interest in keeping him quiet. That sounds very suspicious to me. I believe the authorities will think so, too.”

He was actually implying that Lizzie had committed murder. Anger surged through Tom like his blood was on fire. But he could not afford to lose control, no matter how much Spencer goaded him. Inspector Field had told him exactly what he needed to hear in order for the police to have an extortion case against Spencer. “You told me you would not take this paper to the authorities,” Tom ground out, fighting to keep his anger clamped down. “You said I could buy your silence with Moreton Hall.”

Spencer shook his head. “Actually, as I understand it, the purpose of this meeting was to discuss your sale of Moreton Hall and surrounding property to me. I know you have been eager to get it off your hands, but I’m afraid some information has come to light that may compel me to reject your offer of sale.”

This change of tack utterly bewildered Tom. “My offer of sale! What are you talking about? It wasn’t my idea.”

“I’ll admit your offer was tempting,” Spencer said, as though Tom hadn’t spoken. “However, just this morning I was informed that you are not actually at liberty to sell Moreton Hall. You can’t sell it to me, or to anyone else for that matter, without your dear wife’s written consent.”

This was not at all how Tom had planned this meeting. Everything was going wrong, and he was beginning to suspect why. “Who gave you that information?”

“Why, Margaret, of course,” Spencer answered, confirming Tom’s fears.