Anne Barbour (24 page)

“Of course,” replied Jem in a colorless voice, “I quite understand. I shall see you and your aunt at dinner, then.” Inclining his head, he turned away and moved down the corridor, leaving Claudia to stare after him.

In his chambers, Jem slumped in a chair covered in worn brocade and gave himself up to thought. Good Lord, what had he done to Claudia Carstairs? He recalled the exultation that had swept over him just a few days ago—the pleasure that had grown in him ever since at the plans he was putting into motion. My God, how could he have foreseen that his return might result in the ruin of an innocent woman? He had already snatched away her home; now, she was liable to lose her reputation and, yes, her freedom as well.

His lips curved in a sour smile. After their conference this afternoon, he had thought of asking her to accompany him on a stroll about the manor grounds before dinner. He was surprised at his anticipation of an hour spent listening to her rich laughter and watching the play of sunlight on that glorious golden mane. He realized, with a jolt of dismay, that he was becoming entirely too fond of the bewitching widow’s company.

On the other hand, what was wrong with that? There was nothing wrong with a strictly platonic relationship, surely. Had he not as much right as the next man to enjoy good conversation and the companionship of a pretty woman? Well, no, pretty was not precisely the right word, was it? More like lovely. No—radiantly lovely, perhaps. The kind of loveliness that comes from an inner beauty, he rather thought. Which brought him back to her charming laughter.

He sighed. With Claudia’s pernicious brother-in-law at her throat, her laughter, charming or otherwise, would rarely be heard in the days to come. And with her newfound sense of propriety in effect, she would be available for precious little in the way of conversation, either. He’d be lucky if she so much as asked him to pass the peas at dinnertime.

Was it, he wondered suddenly, Thomas’s threat that had caused her to withdraw from his company? Had he been wrong in thinking she enjoyed their conversation as much as he? And not just the conversation, he thought abruptly, his thoughts flashing inadvertently to that moment in the gig when he had covered her soft, warm mouth with his own. She had responded. There was no doubt of that, and if they had been in a more secluded spot. God knows how the embrace would have ended.

He drew a deep, somewhat shaky breath. Damn! In talking to himself just now, he had been speaking with a fool. Platonic friendship indeed! If he were to be perfectly honest, he would be forced to admit that his interest in Mrs. Carstairs went far beyond simple companionship. Somehow, while he wasn’t looking, she had crept into the center of his being.

He stood, and began to pace the carpet. This was very bad. How had he not seen that he would be drawn so inevitably into her net? Not that she had exerted any wiles to capture him. No, it was the woman herself who had become so essential to him. She was warm and giving and open. And intelligent and witty. All the things that drew him to her shone in those topaz eyes that gazed at the world with such clear honesty.

The emotion that swept through him left him dazed and shaken. It was a feeling with which he was unfamiliar, and he found it profoundly unsettling. What frightened him the most was the need for her that surged within him. When he wasn’t with her, it seemed as though some critical part of him was missing. The thought that she might someday leave Ravencroft left him cold and empty.

He knew a moment of panic. This would not do, he told himself fiercely. He must maintain his self-sufficiency or he would be lost. Opening himself to another would make him vulnerable once again to the heartache and disillusionment he had vowed he would never experience again.

He ceased his pacing and stood still upon the carpet. Claudia Carstairs had the right of it. Distance must be kept, and a proper relationship maintained. He would seek a suitable bride at the earliest opportunity—an amenable young woman who would bring him that much-needed dowry. A woman whom he could like and respect without a singing of the blood or the lifting of the spirit whenever he saw her. Then, Claudia Carstairs would have no place in his life—or his heart.

He nodded abruptly, satisfied, he told himself, at his decision. He moved slowly to his wardrobe to begin preparations for dinner, wondering why he felt so unutterably weary.

In another area of the house, Claudia sat in her own chambers, staring before her. In her hands, she clutched the sheets of paper she had removed from their hiding place when she had entered the room. Here, she thought dully, lay the solution to Lord Glenraven’s problems. And to hers, as well—at least the ones involving her wretched brother-in-law.

All she had to do was to give Emanuel’s incriminating list to Mr. Scudder. He in turn would show it to Cornelius Welker, who would then inform Thomas that Jem’s claim to Ravencroft was airtight. Thomas, realizing that he now had no hope of beating Jem in court, would no doubt cease in his effort to have her declared mentally unstable.

In the end, Jem would have his home, and he would know that she had duped him. Would he understand that it had only been her desperate need for a bargaining chip that had led her to withhold the papers from him?

These thoughts, Claudia found, were doing nothing to relieve the self-revulsion that was beginning to fill her. She could at least have given him Emanuel’s list as soon as he had signed her contract of employment. Why had she felt it so important that he continue to think well of her? Why had he become so important to her? He was a man, after all, and therefore of a species for which she had little use. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind that without the bargain she had been able to negotiate with the master of Ravencroft, she and Aunt Gussie would have found themselves tossed out on their respective derrieres without a character.

Despite herself, a tendril of doubt twisted its way into her self-congratulatory mood. She was finding it hard to maintain the certainty that Lord Glenraven was the sort of person who thought only of his own needs. He had been everything that was kind and honorable in his dealings with her. He had promised her a handsome settlement, even before she had come forward with her proposal to him, and he was providing her with a handsome salary.

He seemed truly fond of her, didn’t he? Could a man who had kissed her in such a manner that she still blushed to think of it treat her with anything but consideration? Hmph, a sly voice muttered in the back of her mind, Emanuel’s kisses were hot and demanding, but that didn’t stop him from trying to bully you.

She shrugged. The deed was done. She had kept the knowledge of the list from Jem, and must now pay the consequences. Or, perhaps not precisely now. She would wait to see how Thomas’s campaign went, and if things began to look really black, then would be time enough to reveal her dishonesty to him.

She dressed dispiritedly for dinner, her thoughts turning to her immediate problem. How could Thomas treat a relative in such a manner? She had not seen him or Rose since Mr. Scudder’s revelations, and dreaded the moment when she must do so. This would probably not come until the morrow, at least— for surely the Reddingers would keep to themselves tonight— so she might as well try to enjoy dinner with Jem and Aunt Augusta. It would probably be the last meal they would partake of together, since by tomorrow night, she and Aunt Gussie would be ensconced in Hill Cottage.

Completely gowned, her hair arranged to her satisfaction, she drew a simple strand of pearls from her jewelry box. Her mouth curved in a grim smile as she gazed at the necklace. In what was supposed to have been a symbol of sisterly closeness, the pearls had been a gift from her mother and father on her sixteenth birthday, an identical set having been given to Rose on her own sixteenth birthday. Clasping them about her neck, Claudia laughed shortly. Tossing a zephyr scarf about her shoulders, she made her way hurriedly from the room. As she entered the emerald saloon, she was shocked to behold the last persons in the world she expected to see. “Rose!” she exclaimed. “Thomas!”

Chapter Seventeen

Thomas approached his sister-in-law, eyeing her warily. “Evening, Claudia,” he said, with an effort at heartiness. Rose echoed his words in an agitated whisper.

Claudia struggled with the effort it took not to fly at him with fingers curled into talons.

“What are you two doing here?” she rasped, her eyes narrowed to slits pouring golden fire. “How can you possibly have the nerve to show your faces after what you have done?”

For a moment, Thomas’s features assumed an expression of feigned innocence, but after a moment, he shrugged his shoulders heavily.

“I suppose you’re referring to the litigation I’ve instituted,” he said at last.

“Liti—is that what you call it?” Claudia fairly shrieked. “Litigation? To make a byword of my name? To make a laughingstock of your wife’s sister? I knew you were a greedy bastard, but I would not have thought even you would go this far!”

“Claudia!” squealed Rose. “Language! Try to remember you are a lady!”

Claudia swung on her sister. “Oh no. Rose. Not a lady. I am a poor, demented nitwit, who would allow herself to be gulled by the first handsome fellow to come down the pike with sweet words in his mouth and larceny in his heart.”

“A mixed compliment, if ever was,” a voice drawled lazily from the doorway. “I believe I’ll pretend I heard just the first part.” Claudia did not turn, but remained glaring at Thomas and Rose. Jem sauntered into the room to stand beside her. Thomas took a swaggering step forward, but halted as Jem’s contemptuous gaze swept over him.

“One must certainly give you credit for effrontery,” continued Jem softly, “but I fail to see why Mrs. Carstairs should be expected to put up with your presence.”

“Now see here, Glenraven.” Thomas blustered. “No need to take that attitude. I am simply looking out for Claudia’s best interest. Any man would do the same.”

After a long, amazed silence, Claudia said, “I cannot believe you just said that. Are you trying to tell me that your efforts to make me appear a candidate for Bedlam are for my benefit?”

“Cut line, Reddinger,” growled Jem. “You’re a grasping muckworm, and your tactics to gain control of Ravencroft for yourself, are pitifully obvious—as well as being doomed to failure.”

Thomas assumed an expression of outraged virtue.

“You wrong me, sirrah. Look at it from my point of view. You claim that Ravencroft was stolen from you, which may very well be true. But nothing is proven, and from what my attorney has been able to uncover, your case is more than somewhat lacking. My sister-in-law in her innocence has agreed to simply turn over the place to you. Well, you know what women are—gems beyond price, in their place, but quite incapable of dealing with anything beyond their little domestic affairs.”

Claudia bristled, and Jem laid a hand on her arm to still the words that seemed to boil visibly on her lips.

Thomas’s features arranged themselves into an assumption of pious concern. “I’m not saying I would not have acted as you did,” he said. “One can understand that you would do anything to get your old home back. However, I could not in all conscience stand by and allow my wife’s sister to be so duped.” He pursed his lips judiciously. “You might consider my action as plain good business sense, nothing personal at all.”

At this, Jem was forced to laugh. “You are an original, Reddinger. I’m not sure whether you have an infinite capacity for self-delusion, or you are simply totally lacking in scruples. In either case, you are persona most definitely non grata here. I may be forced to house you, but I’ll be damned if I feel compelled to look at you.” Briefly, he outlined Claudia’s plan for the Reddinger’s removal to the fastness of the east wing.

“Sister!” wailed Rose weakly. “I cannot credit this of you. That you would treat your nearest and dearest in such a way! Think of poor little George wrenched from his bed of pain and thrust into heaven only knows what wretched accommodations. I simply cannot—”

“Rose, be quiet,” replied Claudia, her eyes glittering dangerously. “You may be my nearest, but you are far from being my dearest. As for little George and his bed of pain, he will be as comfortable in the room assigned him as he is at present. More so, perhaps, since his new bedchamber will overlook the exercise paddock. He will be able to watch the horses while he is still unable to run about.”

Rose subsided in a series of unintelligible squeaks and mutterings, while Thomas stood silently, rigid with indignation.

At that moment, Miss Melksham bustled into the room, but stopped short on observing the Reddingers.

“My goodness!” she exclaimed, “What are you two doing here?”

“Why does everyone keep asking us that?” replied Thomas in some irritation. “We are guests here, and we must eat, after all.”

“Perhaps,” said Miss Melksham balefully, as though unwilling to accept this premise, “but I had given instructions that you would take dinner in your new quarters. I sent word to you of this a good two hours ago. The maid said she had spoken
to
you personally.”

Thomas flushed, and Rose twittered anew. “I could only assume,” said Thomas, drawing what remained of his dignity to him like a battered shield, “that the silly chit was mistaken in your message. How could I dream that we would be treated so shabbily?”

“How could you dream that you would be treated any other way?” murmured Jem, and turning his back on Thomas, he led Miss Melksham to a comfortable chair.

Swelling with umbrage, and turning quite purple with rage, Thomas stepped farther into the room. Gone was his semblance of propitiating cordiality. “Have it your way. Glenraven,” he snarled. “We’ll soon see how far your high and mighty ways will get you in a court of law. You may be master of Ravencroft now, but when I am through with you, all that will remain will be your precious title, for you will have neither pillar nor post on which to lay your head—my lord.” He uttered this last with sneering contempt, and waited for Jem’s response. When the young man did not so much as lift his head from his conversation with Miss Melksham, Thomas turned on his heel, and grasping Rose’s arm, strode from the room.