Gareth: Lord of Rakes (29 page)

“Quite.” Thaddeus nodded so vigorously his prosperous chins jiggled. “Miss Hemmings was
very
clear
, your lordship.”

“I don’t recall any such language in the document, gentlemen, and because Miss Hemmings is
very
dead
—may she rest in peace—her oral instructions matter not one whit.”

Glances ricocheted around the table, none of them happy.

“My lord.” Thaddeus cleared his throat. “My lord, you must understand the law is an arcane undertaking. The language in the document refers to an examination of the beneficiary, one undertaken to ensure qualification for all—”

“The only reference I saw was to written questions, Mr. Willard, which I’m sure Miss Worthington is prepared to answer.”

The nephew’s brows drew down in an expression Gareth had seen on Michael Brenner’s face when he was about to invoke Blessed Saint Ives, whoever that was. “Miss Hemmings devised a series of inquiries and provided us the desired answers in her own hand.”

Both Thaddeus and Abernathy glared daggers at their nephew, while Gareth gave the young man points for integrity, if not brains.

“Shall we have a look at the questions, then?” Gareth suggested. “After all, if we are to comply with the terms of the will, the questions must be answered, correct?”

“Yes, my lord,” the nephew agreed, his gaze darting from one uncle to the other.

Abernathy spoke up. “Then let’s get to it, boy. The young lady can answer the questions while we await the midwife. And as I recall, if the answers are in error, then we’ll have no need of the midwife, isn’t that so, Nephew?” Something in Abernathy’s too-pleasant smile communicated itself to the nephew.

“I defer to your superior understanding, Uncle,” the nephew murmured, pulling the file onto his lap and rifling through it. “Here,” he said, sliding a piece of paper across the table. Gareth flicked a glance at the paper then slid it back across the table, his eyes boring into the nephew’s.

“You must have inadvertently pulled out an earlier draft, young fellow, for that page includes some forty questions and was not written in Callista’s lovely hand. I had occasion to correspond with the lady. We were, in fact, intimate correspondents.”

If Gareth had had any doubt previously regarding the probity of the proceedings, it vanished with this lame ploy. Callista had had a proper upbringing, and her penmanship had been lovely, not that slashing, sloppy,
masculine
backhand.

The nephew seemed to grow smaller as he put the offending
draft
back in the file. After more nervous glances at Thaddeus and Abernathy, he rifled the file again.

“I suppose it’s possible, your lordship, that the boy made a mistake. The file is quite extensive, as you can see,” Abernathy commented, looking none too pleased.

“Perhaps this is the final draft?” The nephew slid another piece of paper across the table, one covered over about one-quarter of its surface with a tidy, feminine hand.

“Much better. And where are our answers?” Gareth asked. Because under no circumstances would he allow this trio of jackals to leave the room without confirming that Felicity had answered every question correctly.

“Here, my lord.”

Gareth glanced over the answers in comparison to the questions, and handed the questions back to the nephew.

“You may put these to Miss Worthington, and she will write down her answers.”

Felicity whipped off her gloves, slapped them onto the table, and picked up a black quill pen. While she scratched away, Gareth stood behind her chair and started making a list of his own. Upon reflection, he found he was on lunching-at-the-club terms with at least three sitting judges and four barristers, any one of whom could start exactly the sort of gossip that would see Willard and Willard’s door closed.

Saint Ives might approve.

A tap on the door was followed by an office boy sticking his head in the door. “Mrs. Burton be here, sir. Says she be a midwife.”

“Send her away,” Gareth snapped.

Abernathy shook his head, the office boy closed the door, and Thaddeus rose from his seat. “Lord Heathgate, you cannot think to prove that a young lady who has never known the blessings of matrimony is fit to assume responsibility for a bawdy house if she’s still, as it were, intact.”

Five judges and six barristers, one of whom, Gervaise Stoneleigh, was equal to any three of the others in influence. By Michaelmas at the latest, the firm should be rolled up.

Plotting the dissolution of a law firm was great good fun, but it would not see Felicity free of these scoundrels—and whoever guided them—in the immediate term. Gareth offered his lady an encouraging and pleasantly proper smile.

Felicity passed him a paper, which Gareth studied for a moment and did not pass to the nephew, who nearly quivered on the edge of his seat.

“What I think, gentlemen, is that I am loathe to offend Miss Worthington’s sensibilities further than necessary, but I must point out that the duties of madam are quite different from the duties of the women she employs. I believe you would agree I am something of an expert on houses of pleasure, would you not?”

He waited before going on until each man had given him some sign of agreement.

“I can cheerfully assure you, then, that a madam does not entertain clients, though that might be an aspect of her past. A madam is usually beyond the first blush of youth, possessed of a cool head for business, and adept at managing more emotionally volatile females and their gentlemen clients. Are we agreed on that?”

This agreement was more conditional. “Well, yes, typically,” or “I suppose in the usual case,” but a legal broadside was being fired, and the Willards knew it.

“I am glad we are agreed a madam’s job differs from that of her employees.” Gareth plucked the list of answers from under the nephew’s nose. “For I do understand enough about business to comprehend that
ambiguity
in any kind of legal document is a sorry thing. Am I right?”

It was still slow in coming, but the uncles quietly agreed to that as well.

“And if that wasn’t the case, then we can all agree that a document purporting to pass along ownership of a common nuisance is an illegal document at best, and thus void in its entirety.”

Felicity turned a vapid smile on Gareth, suggesting she followed his reasoning perfectly and wanted him to hurry the hell up.

“Let’s see how you did, hmm?” He laid the two pieces of paper down side by side. “On what day does the Pleasure House do the least business?—Sunday. On what day does the Pleasure House do the most business?—Saturday. Where do the footmen sleep on grounds?—Above the carriage house. Where is the stillroom located?—Between the larder and the laundry. Where is the ladies’ private sitting room located?—At the end of the hallway on the third floor. There, gentlemen, I believe you have a perfect score. If you would be good enough to make a copy for the lady, I would appreciate it.”

Abernathy wrinkled his nose; the nephew made a show of rummaging in a drawer for an inkwell.

“I tell you, my lord,” Thaddeus sputtered, “an examination of the woman is required.”

“I tell you,” Gareth said quietly, almost pleasantly, “it is not. Nowhere in that document is any reference made to anything but a written examination, which has been successfully completed. If you argue that something more intrusive is required, I will counter that your document must fail in its entirety due to a fatal ambiguity in draftsmanship. A will must be clear, and the requirement you insist on is nowhere in evidence. Nowhere. Furthermore, if you posit that the will intends that the business itself be transferred to Miss Worthington’s keeping, rather than its simple physical assets, then the intent of the will is illegal.”

He spoke very softly, softly enough that Brenner would have been backing up a step at each word. “If the will is invalid, then
the
Worthingtons
simply
inherit
the
entire
estate
outright
as
a
function
of
consanguinity
.”

An uneasy silence descended. Gareth glanced over at Felicity, who was pale, unsmiling, and likely ready to throw anything within reach at the buffoons trying to create medical evidence that this bequest had made a strumpet out of her.

Before either uncle could respond, the nephew slid two pieces of paper across the table to Gareth.

“Your copies, my lord.”

Gareth took a few moments to look them over, making sure one was a true copy before sliding it back to the nephew. “You neglected your signature as clerk,” he chided gently. The nephew complied, his ears turning an interesting shade of red.

While Felicity’s knuckles as she gripped her reticule were white.

“As the trustee representing Callista Hemmings’s estate,” Gareth said, “I must consider one of two options. I can take this matter to court, because the document contains material ambiguities and illegalities which I believe make it impossible to enforce. I am loathe to do this, because of the expense, the delay, and the undesirable publicity for all involved. I can, in the alternative, accept title to the deceased’s assets—her assets only—executed in favor of Miss Worthington
immediately
.”

In either case, he would ruin this firm and enjoy doing so. His smile likely said as much.

“Might I have a moment to confer with my uncles?” the nephew inquired.

“You may. I will await your response here with Miss Worthington.”

The Willards trooped off to some other location, but not far enough to completely obscure their exchange. Muffled shouts of “…he’s a marquess, for pity’s sake!” and “…damned idiot scheme…” reached their ears, along with “…he’s got the damned means!” and “…buy and sell you old windbags…”

Young Mr. Willard returned alone some few minutes later, carrying more documents.

“These,” he said, sitting down and addressing both Gareth and Felicity, “are written as quit claims, which is the simplest way to transfer a title. If you will sign as trustee and beneficiary, respectively, Miss Worthington will own the property. The only condition of title is that you can’t sell the property until Miss Hemmings has been dead for one year.”

Felicity looked at Gareth, who nodded that she was to sign the documents. When they were finished, young Willard saw them out, the uncles no doubt being occupied packing for an extended stay in the Antipodes.

When he’d handed her up into his coach, Gareth settled himself beside her. “Talk to me, Felicity.”

He reached over to lower the shade and saw a petite blond alighting from a plain town coach. From the back, she looked suspiciously like Edith Hamilton. When the woman turned to see if her lady’s maid was at her side, Gareth’s suspicions were confirmed.

“What are you staring at?” Felicity asked.

“Merely the passing scene.” Interestingly, the passing scene had made her way directly to the offices of Willard and Willard. “How are you, Lissy?”

“Shaken. Those two horrid old men were determined to humiliate me. What on earth were they up to?”

Shaken was better than screeching hysterically for half the City to hear, which she ought by rights to be doing.

“The point, Felicity, is that they failed. I suspect their goal was to blackmail you, or more likely, to blackmail
me
, which would have been possible even if you’d been found to be chaste, had I in any way intimated that I accepted and supported the purpose and specific requirements of an illegal will. As it is, you own a building, some furniture, a decent carriage, and a set of four matched grays. The highest sticklers might call that a scandalous inheritance, but the address is well above reproach and nobody with any sense would turn down a coach and four.”

The longer he thought about it, the more Gareth became convinced the entire exercise had been aimed at him—though not by Callista, and certainly not by a bumbling trio of solicitors. Somebody had perverted Callista’s will in an effort to prove beyond doubt that Gareth would ruin a decent woman for his own gain. The question was: Who had put them up to such venery?

Felicity looked at him aghast. “And if you hadn’t been there and hadn’t beaten them at their own game, then I would have had no choice but to comply with their requirement for an examination, and with the resulting blackmail,” she concluded bitterly. “I feel violated, Gareth.”

“You’ve had a near miss,” Gareth corrected gently. “It doesn’t help to dwell on such things.” He had taken off their gloves again so they could link fingers.

“Then what am I supposed to dwell on?” Felicity asked with some asperity. “Perhaps you’d rather I fix my feeble female brain on the fact that in fifteen minutes you leave my life forever?”

She was winding up, working herself into a snit, a tantrum, a female apoplexy of grand dimensions. Given the penury she’d coped with since her father’s death, the folly in her life over the last four months, and the outright insult of the past hour, she was entitled.

“Felicity…”

“Don’t you ‘Felicity’ me, Gareth Joyce Alexander. You enjoyed that little imbroglio with those vermin. You consider I had a narrow escape, because nobody actually thrust their dirty fingers into my body, but I… but I—”

“Hush, Felicity. Come here to me.” He wrapped an arm around her, but he was too slow. She’d thrown herself against him, sobbing, before he could get his handkerchief free.

“Oh, Gareth, what they wanted to do to me…” she wailed. “Why would they be so vile?”

He let her cry and rant and ruin his linen and cry some more. When she’d subsided, he held her, stroking her hair as they approached the turn to her street.

“You are
not
taking me home,” she informed him shakily.

“I’m not?” He had enjoyed that exchange with the solicitors. He’d enjoyed championing her causes, and taking a stand on moral high ground for a change. He would not enjoy parting from her, not at all.

“No, you most assuredly are not going to deposit me at my doorstep and toddle along your way.”

Bless her, she sounded so very certain, not that he’d ever toddled anywhere. “And why aren’t I?” he asked gently. “We have concluded our business, Felicity, in every sphere. Further association with me would only do you harm, and I fear, increase the heartache awaiting when we part. I would spare you that.”

“There is no sparing me, you wretched man. All you can offer me is comfort against the separation to come. And I will have it,” she said, a martial light in her eye.

“What comfort would you have of me, love? I cannot part from you and yet be with you, though I would if I could,” he said, stroking his fingers down her cheek.

He wanted to close his eyes, the better to feel the pleasure of touching her one last time, and he wanted to stare at her, to memorize her every feature yet again.

“Take me home with you, Gareth, just for tonight. I want to make love with you.”

He shook his head, but she kept on speaking, slowly but with a fierceness that reached out to his heart and sliced at it with relentless precision.

“Just once, I want to make love with you, face-to-face, so I can kiss you as I open my arms and my heart to you. I want you for a lover, not as some bedroom toy or sexual pedagogue. Just once, Gareth. May I
please
have what I want?” She was weeping again, the tears coursing down her cheeks, tears not of fear or rage, but of grief and longing.

Yesterday, making love to her had loomed as part of some complicated moral choice between protecting her innocence or protecting her future. No matter what choice Gareth had made, Felicity would have lost something necessary to her. Today, the executed deed in her reticule and her own determination swept that question—with its moral implications and losses—right off the table.

He ought not. He ought to kiss her forehead, hand her down, and be on his way. And yet… He could give her pleasure; he could be her lover—for one night. Felicity Worthington was stubborn enough and decent enough to go for the rest of her life without ever permitting herself the pleasure she begged him for now.

He shifted away, so they weren’t touching. “Felicity, you have to be very, very sure. This thing you ask, it will bind us in a way that can only hurt. I cannot encourage it. There are steps we haven’t taken yet, true, but if we take those steps, you can’t ever take them again with anybody else, and you can’t untake them. You must be positive you want to take them with me.”

He made the effort to dissuade her, even as he felt his own unruly heart soaring at what she offered.

Say
no. My lady, don’t do this to yourself.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

She looked certain, too. Certain she wanted this time with him, regardless that it was all they could have of each other.

“Then, my dearest Felicity, I promise you, you shall have what you want.”

He signaled the driver to take them back to his home, and drew Felicity against his side. By the time they reached their destination, he was already regretting their decision, because he, too, would be taking steps he’d never taken with anybody else, steps that couldn’t be untaken.

Steps that for one as lonely and weary as he, would be fraught with feeling and meaning. Steps that would bind him to her, as he was bound to no other. Fortunately for his regrets, he had given her his word, and a true gentleman would never break his word once given to a lady.

***

Felicity had been surprised when Gareth had sent her upstairs without him, but soaking in the scented bath he’d ordered for her, she’d enjoyed the chance to gather her scattered wits. When Gareth arrived, he came bearing strawberries, cheese, and champagne.

“This is pleasant,” Felicity said, sipping her wine in a cozy corner of the couch.

“You’ve never had champagne before?”

“Of economic necessity, ours became an abstaining house.” And her various wine tastings under his roof hadn’t included champagne.

“You can have all you please, now,” he reminded her as he sat to wrestle off his boots.

Felicity used his change of position to trail a hand down his spine, feeling the bumps of his backbone under her fingers. He paused and looked around his shoulder to shoot her a bemused smile, but didn’t sit back until both boots had thumped to the floor.

“Andrew’s running off,” he told her, accepting a sip of her drink. “He’s taken it into his head to see the capitals on the Continent, complete his education as a gentleman, and ‘that sort of thing.’”