Genevieve hugged herself and pirouetted on the gleaming wood floor. “Mrs. Christian Amesbury.” She let out a giggle that belonged in the schoolroom, not on the lips of a grown woman, but she didn’t care. She was just too happy.
Surely Papa would have no objection for a match with such a fine, honorable gentleman. Not to mention, she’d been verbal about her affection for Christian Amesbury during their courtship, and Papa always smiled and patted her hand and told her he enjoyed seeing her so happy. As a youngest son, Christian wouldn’t have a title or a great deal of money, but he came from a respected and powerful family. Besides, Grandfather had provided her a substantial dowry that would easily supplement whatever Christian received every year.
Could there ever be a more wondrous time to be alive? Love made everything perfect.
“
What
?” Papa’s voice echoed through the foyer, jarring her from her daydreams.
Genevieve paused. Her father seldom raised his voice. Whatever could be amiss? The edges of the cloud of bliss surrounding her faded. She shook it off and gathered her happiness back around her like a protective cloak. Papa’s problem was clearly not the concern of women or nosy daughters. He would handle it as he always did.
Another voice answered in a smooth tenor, “That is my price for silence.”
Though the second voice’s accent identified him as a member of the upper class, something about the tone sent a shiver galloping down her backbone. The voice was too smooth, too practiced, like the glib tongue of an accomplished liar. And it sounded familiar.
Genevieve tried to grasp the tattered edges of her sweet bliss and burrow down inside it. Besides, if she were the obedient daughter Papa often teased her he requested at her birth, she’d stay out of the concerns of men, go upstairs, dress for dinner, and remain wrapped in the joy of love.
Papa spoke again, desperation dripping off every syllable. “I cannot give you that kind of money.”
Genevieve almost put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear this. Yet the hopelessness in her father’s voice caught at the heart. Her attention focused on the door of her father’s study at the far side of the foyer. She nervously fingered the locket around her neck. Why was this horrible man demanding money from Papa? He was responsible with their money and never excessive.
She pressed a hand to her brow. What kind of trouble had found her dear father, and how could she help him? She sighed, unable to help herself. Once again acting as the ‘little mother’ her sweet Mama often called her, Genevieve tiptoed across the parquet floor, moving carefully so as not to cause her silk gown to rustle.
At Papa’s partially open study door, she halted and glanced back, searching the great hall for servants or her mother. She appeared to be alone. Good. The fewer who knew about Papa’s trouble, the better. She peeped in through the crack, trying to remain out of sight. Papa stood staring at someone out of her line of vision. His ashen face and drawn mouth revealed his strain.
The other voice replied, “I don’t care how you get the blunt. Just get it. You have three days before I take this letter to the admiralty.”
A slow chill like the melting of ice ran through her veins. That voice sounded a great deal like Lord Wickburgh. The viscount appeared everywhere, always watching her with narrowed, hungry eyes. He made her feel exposed, vulnerable. She had almost dared hope her obvious preference for Christian had finally made her disinterest in Viscount Wickburgh clear.
Her father’s voice grew more agitated. “How can you be so heartless? I—”
“Have a care,
Captain
Marshall, or I might take exception to your words. Consider carefully: Refuse me, and you’ll never see your family again, not to mention the scandal that would follow them once your crime is revealed.”
Genevieve’s hands shook but not in fear—anger coursed through her. How dare he accuse her father of crime and scandal! Unable to keep silent when this villain threatened her beloved Papa, Genevieve thrust open the door and marched in.
A thin, dark haired man stood waving a walking stick at Papa. Lord Wickburgh, as she had feared. The tension between the two men contrasted with the comfortable furniture and airy curtains blowing in the breeze coming through the open window. Despite her revulsion for the man, she refused to allow him to speak in such a manner to her dear father.
Genevieve drew herself up and leveled an icy stare at the intruder. “Lord Wickburgh, I believe my father has made it clear that your business here is unwelcome.”
The stranger’s face relaxed into an icy smile. “Ah, Miss Marshall. Such a pleasure to see you again.” His gaze moved slowly down her body in a clear message. Genevieve’s skin crawled but she glared at him. He would not intimidate her. Christian’s love had made her bold.
Papa flicked a brief glance at Genevieve, his chocolate brown eyes which mirrored her own filled with agony. He quickly donned his propriety. “This is none of your concern, Jenny.”
“Of course it’s her concern.” Wickburgh began swinging his walking stick, narrowly missing a flower-filled vase atop a Chippendale side table. “You see my dear, your father was about to find the means by which to settle a debt with me.”
Genevieve narrowed her gaze. “I doubt very much my father owes you a gambling debt since he seldom gambles.”
“Oh, but he did, a wager of the worst kind—with fate.”
Papa said more forcefully, “Genevieve, leave us.”
Genevieve offered an apologetic smile to her father and cast an open glare at Wickburgh. “I assume you have vowels to prove this gambling debt?”
“I do, indeed—a letter that my brother dictated on his deathbed. It only just arrived.” He withdrew a folded paper and waved it in front of them. “I must warn you however; it is much more damming than a mere gambling debt. This letter is very revealing about the part your father played in a mutiny.”
Any other time, she would have been frightened of this stern man who watched her too closely, too hotly, but at the moment, her righteous anger overpowered her fear. Her face flushed in indignation at his horrible lies. “Impossible. Papa would never take part in a mutiny. He served king and country faithfully for many years.”
She folded her arms, wishing she were taller and better able to look Papa’s accuser in the eye to prove he didn’t frighten her. Really, it was difficult to be impressive when one was barely five feet tall. But she made up for it with what she hoped would be a fearsome glare.
With a measured smile, Wickburgh handed her the letter. “Read it for yourself. Quite a diverting tale.”
She snatched the document from his hands and read, the blood draining out of her face. The letter did, indeed, narrate a convincing and condemning story about her father and his crew mutinying when he’d served as second lieutenant. Surely this mutiny story was a lie.
She waved the letter in front of the viscount. “I don’t believe this. It can’t be true.”
Wickburgh gestured to her father. “Ask him.”
“That won’t be necessary. My father is a good man.”
Wickburgh merely watched her with that hungry, possessive stare of his. Genevieve rubbed sweaty palms down her skirts. She glanced at Papa who had sunk into a chair with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped as if utterly defeated. For the first time, doubt crept in. A knot twisted in her stomach.
“Papa?”
Her father lowered his hands, staring at the floor. “It’s true.”
Genevieve’s legs collapsed and she slumped into the nearest settee. This went beyond her imagination, so far outside of her safe and happy world that she couldn’t think of what to do.
Her dear papa—the man who carried her on his back and romped with her in the fields of wildflowers, who taught her to read Latin and speak French and learn mathematics even though it was unpopular for girls to be so educated, who doted on Mama with the care of a nurse—how could he have committed such a terrible crime? There had to be some mistake, some other explanation.
She tried to speak but her voice came out in a whisper. “No. It can’t be true.”
Papa glanced at Lord Wickburgh briefly. “The crew vowed to remain silent. All the others kept their vow.”
“You see?” Wickburgh said, unperturbed at the implication that his brother had failed to keep his vow of silence. “Guilty.”
Once again, she stared at her father, willing him to deny it.
He finally met her gaze. “I did it to save my crew. I felt I had no choice.”
Genevieve’s heart thudded. She stared, open mouthed. It was true, then? Mutiny? Papa lowered his gaze and bowed his head. She put her hand over her eyes. How could such a horrible thing have happened? There would be no mercy from the admiralty. They’d see him hanged or transported to someplace awful like Australia. Dear, dear Papa! Such a good and gentle man didn’t deserve such a fate. Clearly there was more to this story than either of them revealed.
“I’m home, dear.” Mama’s sweet voice drifted in from the foyer.
Mama! Genevieve bolted out of her seat. If this story reached the admiralty, Mama would suffer. As the relations of a mutineer, she and Mama would be outcasts. Their property would be seized by the crown and they’d be left destitute. Mama’s heart would never survive the strain. The trauma would kill her.
Genevieve’s hands shook. What to do? How could she protect her family?
“One moment, my love,” Papa called out. He cast a desperate look at Wickburgh. “We must resume this discussion at another time.”
Wickburgh’s mouth twisted into a combination smile and sneer as he looked over Genevieve like a prized mare. “This can be easily solved. You see, I don’t really want money. What I want is….” He leered at her… “your daughter.”
Genevieve’s heart thudded. “What?”
Wickburgh smiled. “No, no, not to worry. I’m not asking you to be my mistress; I’m making you an honorable offer of marriage.”
Marriage? To that terrifying man?
Papa sputtered. “No! I refuse to give you permission to marry my daughter.”
“That is my price for silence. She marries me, and your secret is safe.”
Genevieve’s throat squeezed shut. She looked down at the letter in her hand. With a burst of energy, she bolted out of her chair and raced to the fireplace. But it was dark and cold. She could not simply burn the evidence.
Wickburgh laughed and snatched the letter from her hands. “No, none of that.”
Papa’s eyes flicked to the desk where he kept a gun. Surely he wasn’t considering shooting Wickburgh.
Papa’s voice dropped to a low, menacing growl. “You will never have my daughter.”
“I will, or I’ll report your crime and you’ll face execution. Most inconvenient for your wife and daughter, I imagine.”
Genevieve opened her mouth but couldn’t utter a word.
Papa put his arm around her. “She won’t agree to it; she has an understanding with another man.”
“Ah, yes, the Amesbury whelp. I’m confident she’ll break the engagement, won’t you my dear?” Wickburgh’s cold smile chilled her.
Finally finding her voice, she let out a strangled, “No.”
Lord Wickburgh’s voice cut through her like a blade. “Marry me, and your father’s secret will remain safe. He and your mother will be well. You will be married to a viscount which will give you a title. And I have you. We all win.”
How could she save her family? There had to be another way than marrying him. She raised her head. “I’ll give you my dowry—it’s thirty thousand pounds. I’m sure my intended will agree to give it to you as soon as it’s released to him.”
“He’d be mad to give up that much blunt. Besides, do you really want one more person to know of your father’s disgrace?”
She opened her mouth to vow Christian would understand, but her breath caught. Christian was everything good and true and honorable. He came from one of the most respected families in the realm. Would he’d be horrified? No, surely not. He’d understand. He loved her.
And yet, doubt whispered that he’d turn away if he learned of their family shame. She was already reaching above herself by wishing to marry the son of an earl, and a man of such impeccable character. If she came to him sullied by her father’s crimes, she’d be even less worthy of him. She’d never really been worthy of him. Loving him—and being loved by the man of her dreams in turn—had been like holding onto the tale of a comet, heavenly and too perfect to be real. Because of her father’s crime, she was now completely unworthy of Christian Amesbury. And if the truth ever surfaced, the Amesbury family would be smeared by association.
Wickburgh waved that maddening walking stick. “And as I’ve said; money is irrelevant. I must have you for my wife. There is no other solution.”
She shook her head slowly. “I could never love a man like you.”
Wickburgh waved away her words, that cold smile affixed to his mouth. “Love is for dreamers and romantics. I don’t require your heart.”
“Why, then? Pray, why do you wish to marry me?”
A sliver of confusion narrowed his eyes. “I’m not entirely sure why, but I find my thoughts consumed with you. I’ve become most uncomfortably…obsessed.”
Papa’s pallor turned gray. “No, Genevieve. I will find another way.”
Wickburgh stood over her. “You have but two choices; marry me immediately, or watch your father face justice, along with all the consequences. I understand your dear Mama has a rather delicate constitution. Would you be the cause of her death?”
Her future crumbled. Light and color splintered and collapsed, leaving a world of gray shadows. She’d be married to a ruthless monster. A blackmailer. And dear, dear Christian. He was a man of deep emotion, great passion. He’d be heartbroken if she married another man without explanation.
She had no choice. She was as trapped as a rabbit in a snare with a wolf closing in.
“No.” Papa stood, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched at his sides. “I am finished with this. I will go to the admiralty, confess, and face justice.”
Papa’s resolute courage inspired her to find her own courage. She could do this. She could save him and Mama.
Genevieve raised her head and met Wickburgh’s gaze. “Do you swear that this will be the last demand you make upon my father for your silence?”