The Problem with Seduction (38 page)

Faster now, she went to the foyer. Her heart thudded against her breast. Naught but premonition, for she had no reason to worry now that Con was freed. But she did.

A dark figure loomed in the foyer. Lord Bart. She touched her hand to her throat. “My lord? What’s wrong?”

He turned to her with a grave expression. “Constantine has been attacked.”

“Attacked?” She didn’t understand. “By whom?”

He grimaced.

Rand, once a prizefighter and now the protector of this house, came to attention. “May I be of service, my lord?” A glint in his eye reminded her that he could be counted on at any time to defend her.

Lord Bart shook his head. “The constabularies have been dispatched. But I fear not much will be done. There are… circumstances.” He grasped his hat between his hands, almost crushing the felt. His mind seemed elsewhere. Then he turned to Elizabeth. “He’s badly beaten. I—” He looked away but a moment, but it was enough to tell her Con’s injuries were very, very bad indeed. Her throat choked.
Why? Why had this happened?
Would her father have stooped so low as to call thugs into it?
Was arresting him not enough?
Or had Nicholas taken matters into his own hands? Frustrated by the slow pace of the law?

“I think he would want you to come,” Lord Bart finished, breaking into her thoughts. “I will escort you to Merritt House when you are ready.”

She looked around herself, feeling disoriented. What did she need to take with her? She could think of nothing she required more than to be at Con’s side this very instant. “I’ll go now,” she said. “If I require anything, I’ll send for it.”

Her insides were cold. Cramped. She struggled for answers, but asked no more questions.

Her carriage was brought around and she woodenly entered its dark confines. Lord Bart followed her into the blood red interior. He sat rear-facing. He offered her no sense of Con’s plight, even after the horses tugged the carriage wheels into motion. She didn’t think he was intentionally severe. He was simply different than Constantine.

They left each other to their own thoughts. She didn’t want to consider what he might be thinking. About her. About Constantine. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked out of the window. London rolled by. At three in the afternoon, people crowded every street, swarming the walks and making a racket that could be heard even over the clatter of the carriage wheels. It was her home, and she loved it. But it could also be a dangerous place.

“Do you have any notion why?” she asked at last. He hadn’t wanted to elaborate in front of her man, but maybe now that they were alone, he’d share his suspicions. Her stomach turned.
Please, don’t let it be her father’s work.

Lord Bart didn’t take his eyes from the window. “I’m not sure how much you’re aware of our youngest brother’s proclivities. But then, perhaps you do know. Constantine has been paying off his debts. They’re monstrous.”

She did know that. But why would the moneylenders have beaten him now? She’d paid all of his debts to the cent, with blunt to spare.

Unless he had new debts. She felt numb. “I wish he would have confided in me,” she murmured. Had he worried she’d find him pitiful? But she knew it wasn’t his habits that caused his debt. And they’d been so close with the canal…

Remorse wracked her. If she’d told him about the quarry, might he have paid his brother’s creditors before they took it out on his face? Was this partly her fault? Surely, she
was
culpable.

Lord Bart drummed his fingers on his thigh. He still didn’t look at her. “Your offer of bailment is no doubt noble in your eyes, but it’s no help to Constantine
or
Darius. They must both learn responsibility. They’re almost thirty, for God’s sake.”

“I see.” She frowned and hugged herself. He was right. Settling Con’s obligations kept him dependent on her. She knew that. It was why she hadn’t mentioned the quarry. She’d thought he’d leave her.

What a horrid, horrid thing to have done to the man she loved. She gripped her elbows until her nails dug into her skin. She
had
to come clean to Constantine. She’d never forgive herself for not trusting him, not when it was so markedly clear that he’d go to any lengths to aid a person he loved.

Lord Bart sighed, a deep exhale that gave evidence to his worry and his weariness. “It wasn’t Constantine who drew the toughs. In a stroke of injustice, he was mistaken for Dare. As if it isn’t enough that Constantine has sold his soul to you for Dare—” For the first time, Lord Bart grinned. Even tense as he was, the effect was devastating. “I didn’t mean to imply you’re the Devil, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Of course not,” she murmured, but he’d unmistakably let his tongue slip. He very much
did
think she was the Devil. She could understand why. She’d treated Con despicably, and now she’d dragged his entire family into her misfortune. Even if she’d done it to save her son, she was still to blame.

Lord Bart leaned slightly forward. His fingers ceased drumming and fisted. She suspected this flare up was a side of him that he hid from others, but was about to let loose on her. Simply because she was there with him, closer than he allowed anyone to be. “It’s just so
like
him. Nothing I ever say or do will convince him to think of himself first. Look at his actions and tell me if he’s responsible or irresponsible, because I
can’t
decide. Ruining himself for his selfish prick of a brother. Taking a beating to within an inch of his life for him. Getting himself arrested, because he’s decided to protect you just as strongly as he shields any of us. What kind of man does these things?”

She should tell Lord Bart about the quarry now. Admit her hesitation was nothing more than a lapse of trust. She wet her lips. The dryness in her mouth made it almost impossible to speak, and then there was her fear. The quarry affected all of the Alexanders. They would
all
be angry with her, and then what would happen to Con? She couldn’t tell them she’d hoarded the information without explaining why. They’d demand to know how she could have “forgotten” to tell them.

Her tongue usually worked like quicksilver. She could come up with a plausible excuse, surely…

Enough.
If she did nothing else honest for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t compound her mistake by slipping them a falsehood now. But that left her in a quandary. Would Lord Bart continue to represent his brother and try to save Oliver, if he knew he was defending a liar? Or would he wash his hands of her? Of them?

Her indecision lasted just a breath too long. Lord Bart sat back as the carriage slowed. “Don’t disappoint him. He’s always been able to see good in people the rest of us have given up on. If you take that from him, you’ll have destroyed one of Society’s greatest believers. All of his sacrifices will have been for nothing.”

She inhaled sharply. Another consequence of her deceit that she hadn’t foreseen: breaking Con’s heart.

The carriage stopped. Lord Bart helped her down and escorted her to the door. Merritt House suddenly seemed imposing.

Before they stepped inside, he paused. “Don’t let my brother die for nothing.”

She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Will he…?”

Lord Bart shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s in a very, very bad way.”

They entered the house. The walk from the front door to Con’s bedchamber seemed to take years. Her conscience warred the entire way. Did she tell him the truth and unburden herself, or let him die believing in her?

 By the time they reached his bedchamber, she was in shambles. She hadn’t had enough time to absorb the idea of living without him. She ran to his bedside and fell against the edge of the mattress. Her hand smoothed the white bandages across his forehead. His eyes were almost covered, but he could see enough to blink up at her. “Elizabeth?”

“Yes, yes, love, I’m here.” She clasped his hand but loosened her grip when he winced.

“Everything hurts.”

Her laugh was a forced attempt to cheer him, for surely drowning him in tears wouldn’t help. “You look like hell.”

“Really?” he drawled. “Because Bart told me I finally look like a man.”

This time, her laugh was real, even if it hitched. She looked over her shoulder at the imposing figure lurking in the doorway. “His bedside manner leaves something to be desired, I’ve found,” she said.

Lord Bart grunted and slipped from the room.

She looked back to the man she loved with all of her heart. She gently traced the purple bruises swelling his cheeks. His nose was red and puffy, and his words mumbled through his split lips. His nightdress fell open at his collar, falling far enough down his chest to reveal thick bandages around his ribs. Still, he didn’t look to have any life-threatening injuries. She felt some relief at that. Perhaps she should tell him now, before any more time passed—

“I can’t move,” he said. “Three broken ribs. The rest are bruised. My arms and legs are stiff as boards and I’ve got a good-sized wound in my left side. Not to mention what they did to my head—”

“Wound?”
She searched his left side but of course could see nothing through the sheets and gown covering him.

He grinned at her rakishly. “You didn’t think they did all of this without having me at a disadvantage? Got me with a knife.”

Her face went cold as her blood drained from it. “You were
stabbed
?”

He nodded, seeming rather pleased. “Unfortunately, I have a slight fever now. One can only hope infection won’t finish me off.” He chuckled as if this didn’t concern him in the least.

“This is no laughing matter!” she cried, no longer able to make light of the circumstances.

His expression turned to mock seriousness. “I should say
not.
But at least it will make for a dramatic wedding.”

How could he think of marrying her at a time like this? He needed to concentrate on getting well, or there would
be
no wedding.

“You’re not going to abandon me
now,
are you?” he asked in a playfully hurt voice. “I think I’m rather dashing.” He raised a hand to strike a dapper pose but only managed to lift it a few inches off of the coverlet before grimacing. Uncertainty passed through his eyes. Panic welled in her. He knew he was in a bad way, and was trying to keep up appearances. This jovial Constantine was all an act.

What if he died?

She couldn’t speak for the knot in her throat. If he were dying, then she would do as Lord Bart asked. Leave him no reason to doubt her in his last hours.

She
couldn’t
lose him. Not when he meant everything to her.

“I know you’d wanted to marry out of doors, in a private corner of the park,” he said, “but do you think you could accept a cozy wedding here?”

She found her voice. It wasn’t as strong as she wanted it to be, but it carried enough not to belie her tumultuous emotions. “At Merritt House?”

He slanted her a devastating grin. “In my room.”

She wanted to shake him until he looked as scared as she felt. Nevertheless, the fact that he wanted to marry her from his sickbed didn’t bode well for his personal outlook. He didn’t foresee himself being up and about in two days, on the date they’d planned for the clergyman and Lord and Lady Trestin to gather for a simple ceremony at St. James’s Park, witnessed by Con’s immediate family.

She gripped his hand. Dash it, she
tried,
but she couldn’t keep her lips from pressing into a thin, scared line.
He believed he was going to die.

She nodded her assent. He grinned back at her, as if she were the blushing, excited bride he wanted to see. “Very good. I’ll let Bart know. He’s making the arrangements.”

She was suddenly drawn into the welcome tedium of marriage preparation, rather than thoughts of her new husband dying before her eyes. “Did you get the license?”

The shadow passed over Con’s face again. He had thus far been almost eerily good at pretending he wasn’t suffering, but now he looked stunned, like he was reliving facing his attackers in the alley. “I didn’t, but Bart browbeat Darius into fetching it for me. Highly unethical and possibly even illegal, but at this point, I’d say that’s the least of my concerns.” He flashed her another rakish grin intended to steal her heart and distract her from the seriousness of his health.

She smiled back faintly.

She stayed with him awhile longer, until he began to doze. Then she escaped into a powder room where she let her tears fall. In a few days Con might be dead. How could she bear to lose him? How would she live knowing she’d deceived him in a way that made it possible for him to
die
?

When she was spent, she wiped her eyes and splashed cool water on her face. Then she returned to his room. She needed to see again that he was not at death’s door. The moment she entered his room, however, she perceived a change in the atmosphere. Had the room smelled like this before? A sickly, sweet stench of perspiration and clean linens and laudanum?

Con moaned. She went to the bed, her footfalls heavy with dread.
No.
She couldn’t have been gone that long!

She turned and raced from the room. “Lord Bart! Lady Montborne!” Someone, anyone who could help her. She was terrified to be alone. “Please,” she said, stopping a passing servant, “fetch your mistress.”

Lady Montborne appeared in a nearby doorway. “What is it?” But she was already hurrying to Con’s room. “I shouldn’t have left him,” Elizabeth heard her say.

She shouldn’t have, either. She should have called for someone else to sit with him while she’d collected herself in the powder room. It was too late to change it but not too late for her to feel responsible. If he died…

She followed Lady Montborne but stopped in the doorway. Lady Montborne was feeling Con’s face and neck. Tears were in her eyes, but she otherwise maintained her composure. “Elizabeth, find Lord Bart and have him fetch the doctor. Constantine’s fever has worsened.”

He moaned again and kicked his legs under the covers. “Cold,” he whispered. Elizabeth exhaled sharply. He could still speak! Surely that was a good sign.