Promise of Pleasure (22 page)

“I had the chef prepare all your favorites,” she mentioned.

“Be sure to thank him for me.”

“I will.”

He laid the fork next to his plate and sipped at his wine, the meal ignored.

She’d known him for years, and they were actually close friends, with common hobbies and acquaintances. Conversation between them was never difficult, but for some reason, she couldn’t think of a single comment.

A silence grew, then became awkward.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked.

“Nothing. Why?”

“I rarely see you anymore.”

“We played cards yesterday.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Isn’t it?”

He was being deliberately obtuse. He’d never been the type to discuss their relationship, and he was making it clear that he wasn’t about to start.

“You brought me with you,” she reminded him, “so that I could entertain you, but you haven’t let me.”

She smiled, but it fell flat. To her own ears, her remark sounded resentful and desperate, like a shrewish housewife who feels her husband’s affection waning but has no idea how to reclaim it. He wouldn’t tolerate jealousy or possessiveness, and she had to smooth over any misconception she might have generated.

The best way to divert him was with sexual activity, so she slithered out of her robe, her elbows on the table. The position gave him a perfect view of her breasts, but he looked at them with the same amount of interest he’d shown the roast beef.

Undeterred, she tried to slip onto his lap. But before she could, he moved away, and she plopped onto the empty seat he’d vacated.

She was seething, wanting to demand,
What the hell is wrong with you?

But she didn’t dare. He was entitled to brood, and if he kept his thoughts to himself, it wasn’t her business to inquire why.

He ambled over to the window and he gazed out at the park. It was evening, dusk settling in. Something in the distance had caught his eye, and he stared at it for a long while.

Eventually, he turned to her, and her heart lurched in her chest. From his cool, detached expression, she was positive he was about to split with her.

The bastard!
After all she’d done for him! After all she’d endured!

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

“It’s all right.”

“You went to a lot of trouble.”

“It was no bother.”

The room was so quiet that she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he murmured.

“About what?”

“I’d like you to go back to London.”

“But we’re scheduled to be here two more weeks.”

“I can resolve everything on my own. You don’t need to stay with me.”

“Honestly!” She chuckled, anxious to make light of his pronouncement. “As if I’d leave you in this dreary place all by yourself! You’d die of boredom without me.”

“It’s a definite possibility.” He managed a hint of a smile.

“I’m happy to stay.”

“That’s decent of you, but I’d rather you went home.”

The word
home
rang like a death knell, and she panicked, though she struggled not to let him see. He wouldn’t put up with any hysterics, so she wouldn’t give him any, but his curt edict had deeper implications than a mere request that she depart.

“Tell me what’s really happening,” she said. “Are you still marrying Felicity?”

“Of course.”

“Then ... why?”

“We both know what I’m going to do, and I don’t need you to watch me do it.”

“Has Felicity asked that you send me away? Has Victoria?”

The notion that he might have decided to grant the horrid girl a favor, that he might have decided to humor her horrid mother, was too galling to consider.

“No.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I told you: I don’t need you here.”

“It’s not a matter of
needing.
I’m here because you wanted me to be. Have you changed your mind about that?”

“I guess I have.”

“Have I upset you in some fashion?”

“No.”

“I must have. Please inform me of what I’ve done so I can apologize and fix it.”

“You’ve done nothing. I’m just ... torn by my choice, and I’m miserable company. You’ll be happier in Town.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m always happier when I’m with you.”

He cocked a brow, knowing she was lying, knowing she remained because she was paid to remain, but he was gracious enough not to mention it.

“I’ll make arrangements for you to go tomorrow,” he said.

“But tomorrow’s Saturday.” She flashed a credible pout. “I’d planned to attend the village social. You’re aware that I was raised in London. I’ve never been to such a quaint, rural event. You can’t send me away before I’ve had my fun.”

“I’m not sending you away,” he insisted. “I’m asking you to go.”

“May I stay for the dancing?”

“I suppose, but I want you to head home the next morning.”

“When will you return to London?”

“As soon as I’m wed. I expect to arrive the day after the ceremony.”

“And we’ll pick up where we left off?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

He assessed her in a way that had her completely unsure of his intentions, and he came over, clasped her arm, and escorted her to the door.

She glanced at the uneaten food, at the cheery fire and expensive French wine. All wasted.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to tarry?”

She snuggled herself to him, but he was as responsive as a block of wood.

“I’m in a foul mood. Why don’t you play cards with Paxton? Perhaps I’ll join you later.”

“I hope you will, darling. It’s so dreadfully dull without you.”

She forced another smile and sauntered away. On the outside, she oozed smug confidence, but on the inside, she was teeming with fear and fury.

He’d either grown weary of her, or a fetching housemaid was keeping him occupied and he’d persuaded himself that he didn’t need Lauretta anymore.

Obviously, Victoria hadn’t heeded Lauretta’s warning about an amour, hadn’t sought out the perpetrator and gotten rid of her.

Lauretta would have to handle the problem herself.

She would not lose Jordan Winthrop. She would not give up her place in his life. Not for anyone. And she felt very sorry for the foolish female who imagined she could shove Lauretta aside.

“ARE you positive you want to proceed, Sunderland? I don’t think you should.”

“I don’t pay you to
think,
Mr. Thumberton,” Edward Winthrop, Lord Sunderland, said to his lawyer. “I pay you to act.”

“I realize that, but what if you sign this, then drop dead tomorrow?”

“What if I do?”

“When you’re looking down from Heaven, or up from Hell, as the case may be, I doubt you’ll be glad, but you won’t be able to change it.”

After Edward’s trek to Barnes Manor, he had redrafted his will. He’d cut off every penny, had tied up every piece of property. If he
dropped dead,
as Thumberton so darkly put it, Jordan would own a few mansions and some land that was entailed to the title, but he’d have none of the family jewelry, no furniture, no animals, no carriages, no farm equipment.

Most important, he’d have none of Edward’s money. Not a single farthing would be available to keep the assets in good repair, to make them thrive. Jordan would inherit an empty shell.

He hated to leave the boy in such terrible shape, but he would not give in to Jordan’s whims and misbehavior.

Edward refused to support his wicked habits, his disgusting friends, or that harlot, Lauretta Bainbridge. The Winthrop men had held the Sunderland title for twelve generations, and Edward would destroy it before he’d let Jordan fritter it away.

Over the years, Edward had tried to talk sense to Jordan, but there was no making him see reason. He’d tried bribes and gifts and threats, but Jordan simply wouldn’t listen, and Edward was tired of their bickering.

Jordan’s decision to wed that social-climbing ninny Felicity Barnes was the last straw.

Despite how Jordan wished it were otherwise, Edward was his father, and Edward would select Jordan’s bride— especially when the girl Jordan had chosen for himself was so inappropriate.

Edward would not be insulted or ignored. Nor would he have his heritage mocked.

Jordan would do what was proper, or he would rue it till his dying breath. If he found no benefit in the Sunderland legacy, then he could forever flounder in poverty with his lowborn companions.

So ... the new will would go into effect, Thumberton would post a letter notifying Jordan, and that would be that.

Afterward, he’d most likely never see Jordan again. The notion was depressing and maddening, but Edward was finished worrying about Jordan or his fate.

“Look, Sunderland”—Thumberton interrupted Edward’s furious reverie—“why don’t you reflect for a bit? Just to be certain.”

“I don’t need to reflect. My mind is made up.”

“Then there’s no hurry, is there? You can sign it today, or you can sign it next week. The words on the page will be the same.”

Edward threw up his hands. “Why do I keep doing business with you?”

“Because I give you excellent advice. Take it for once, will you?”

“No.”

“Sunderland ... Edward,” Thumberton said more gently,

“I’ve known you a long time.”

“Yes, you have.”

“So please listen to me: I’ve written many, many wills in my life. I’ve counseled many, many fathers. I’ve seen them do selfish, stupid things. Because they’re angry. Because they’re fed up. Because they’re lonely or feeling neglected or—”

“Are you claiming I’m being ... stupid and selfish?”

“Yes. And these irate fathers I’ve assisted? The ones who’ve disinherited their children? Who’ve severed all ties? They’ve always regretted it in the end.”

Edward stared at Thumberton, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He wanted to rage at the man, wanted to walk out and never come back, but the truth was that he was sick at the idea of breaking it off with Jordan.

If he gave up on Jordan, what would he—Edward—have left? A few drafty mansions? A few aging friends who never remembered to invite him for supper?

He sighed. “What would you have me do?”

“Go to Barnes Manor. Try again.”

“You know it’s a waste of effort.”

“I don’t know that. And neither do you. He’s your only remaining boy. Isn’t it worth another shot?”

“No,” Edward petulantly retorted, but Thumberton wouldn’t relent.

“Talk to him. Don’t shout. Don’t threaten. Just talk. You might be surprised.”

Edward fumed. He didn’t want Thumberton to be correct, didn’t want to admit that he was proceeding out of rage and injured pride.

Jordan was stubborn, but Edward was, too. As Jordan had said: Like father, like son.

“All right,” he grumbled. “I will go to Barnes Manor and try one last time. But if he still insists on marrying that awful girl, I will be back here on Monday, and I will sign the new will. You will not dissuade me, and Jordan be damned.”

CASSANDRA took a deep breath and opened the door to Mr. Adair’s bedroom suite.

Everyone else was at the village dance. It was the most popular event of the year, so even the servants had gone.

She and Adair had the house to themselves.

Victoria had made a big show of trotting off with Redvers, and she’d demanded that Cassandra accompany the family, but Cassandra had refused.

The entire group had been decidedly grim, with Redvers, Bainbridge, and Felicity all fuming over various issues. How they would get through the evening without a major brawl erupting was a mystery.

Even Mary had been in an odd humor. She’d looked pale and drawn, almost as if she was ill.