When Marrying a Scoundrel (22 page)

Laughter rang out in the room, but it was tinged with bitterness. “That makes two of us. Though if Lord Gerard offers me money, I shan’t refuse.”

“What do you need money for anyway?” Sadie asked in a low voice, even though the door was shut. “And passage to New York? Are you running away with a lover?”

Her companion froze, then leaned forward to whisper, “It’s none of your concern, Mrs. Moon. Suffice it to say, it’s very important to me to leave London. To leave the one person keeping me in London. And, yes, there is someone who I will not leave behind.”

The look in her eyes spoke volumes. Sadie thought about the marks she’d seen on Lady Gosling’s upper torso, and some of the things she’d seen in the lady’s cup. It began to make a frightening kind of sense now, especially when she remembered the few times she’d laid eyes on the baron. He never struck her as a kind man.

“You know,” Sadie began, still holding the lady’s gaze, “Lord Garret would probably pay a great deal to make certain the world never finds out about me and his son.”

Dark brows shot up. “Mrs. Moon! How delightfully
wicked of you. But then, we’re back to the ‘extorting a peer’ again and that’s not a game with consequences I want to face.”

No. Sadie could see why not. “There is something else I might have to offer you.”

“Do tell. I’m your captive audience.”

So cool and unruffled, she was. She was like the female equivalent of Lord Archer, only with more bite to her. Sadie opened the ledger on her lap to a page she’d marked. It was from a reading done a month ago. She showed it to Lady Gosling.

Dark green eyes read quickly, then read again before rising to lock with Sadie’s. “Why didn’t you tell me this at the time?”

“Because I thought it might upset you.”

The lady laughed, somewhat harshly. “And now?”

“I wanted you to leave Jack alone, and after what you just said, I thought this news might be somewhat welcomed rather than frightening.”

“It is welcomed,” Lady Gosling replied. “Does that make you despise me?”

Sadie shrugged. “I’d despise you more for blackmail, but I think I understand your motives. No, I don’t despise you at all. In fact…”

A long hand shot into the air, palm out. “Do
not
say you feel sorry for me.”

Sadie smiled. “I don’t. I do feel
for
you, however. And I hope this news changes things for you somewhat.”

Her companion nodded. “It will if it proves true.”

Slightly affronted, Sadie showed what little arrogance
she had. “Have you
ever
known me to be wrong?”

Amused, and obviously put in her place, Lady Gosling smiled. “No. I have not.”

“And I’m not wrong now.”

“How long before it happens, do you reckon?”

“Based on what I remember in relation to your cup and other events that have happened, I’d say a month at most.”

Red lips settled into a grim, but satisfied line. “I can wait that long.”

“You’ll want to make sure affairs are aligned in your favor,” Sadie suggested, slightly mortified at her own thoughts.

“Yes,” Lady Gosling agreed. “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Moon. How can I ever repay you?”

“You know how.”

The lady nodded. “Viscount Gerard is safe from me. And so are you. In fact, if there’s anything I can ever do for you…”

Sadie shook her head. “That’s not necessary.” She stood. “I’ll take my leave now. Good day, Lady Gosling.”

A look passed between them, one of two women who knew exactly where they stood, who knew more about each other than either was comfortable with and yet had a strange respect for one another.

“My mother,” Lady Gosling said in a soft, raspy voice. Sadie paused in the door with a questioning glance. “My mother is the person I won’t leave behind.”

Ah, that explained much as well. Often Sadie had seen what appeared to be someone elderly in the lady’s
cup, but when she’d bring it up, Lady Gosling pretended not to understand, or dismissed it. “You’re not going to have to leave her,” she promised. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The other woman nodded, and quickly averted her gaze. “Good day, Mrs. Moon.”

Sadie left then, and she didn’t even begin to question her judgment until she was in her carriage and on her way home. She’d saved Jack. She’d saved herself, and it had been as easy as telling Lady Gosling that her husband would be dead before the month was out.

I
nvitations began arriving the next day.

Jack had no idea who half the people were, but apparently they knew him. Or rather, they knew his grandfather and had now decided that Jack was worth inviting over for dinner or a party.

He refused them all, except for the one from the Duchess of Ryeton, who invited him to dinner to celebrate Trystan’s homecoming. He could hardly refuse that one, even if he wanted to.

He hadn’t seen Sadie since that fateful night at Saint’s Row, though not for lack of trying. Twice he’d been by her house only to be told she wasn’t at home. And once, he’d gone by her shop only to find it suspiciously empty. She was avoiding him, doing her best to shut him out of her life and force him into what she thought was best for him.

As if she had any idea what was best for him.

He wasn’t about to let her go so easily, not after all these years, not when they’d been given a second chance. He didn’t give a rat’s arse what was expected of him.
He’d wasted too much time on stupidity and he was done with it. He wanted Sadie in his life, in his bed, and in his frigging house.

He wanted to know what the hell happened with Lady Gosling, who had sent round a note begging off their scheduled Thursday meeting. Seems that she’d suffered from a “change of heart” whatever the hell that meant. He was certain Sadie had played a part in it.

And he wanted to know what had driven Sadie to his grandfather, what secret the two of them shared. She wouldn’t have needed much incentive to notify the old man of his return, but why had she gone to him in the first place?

More importantly, why had the old man given her the quid? He’d never made any secret of his feelings for Sadie. He thought her totally unsuitable to be Jack’s countess and accused her of being after his fortune—hence Jack being cut off. He’d tried to pay her to go away and she refused it. What changed her mind?

It was curiosity that finally drove him to his grandfather’s home in Berkeley Square late Friday afternoon.

He had been a young man of perhaps seventeen the last time he visited the large Palladian mansion with his family’s crest above the door. He hated every moment of that Season in London because it kept him away from Sadie. He’d been certain she’d find another boy while he was gone. He wrote to her every day and bribed one of the footmen to post the letters for him.

It was raining as he stepped out of the carriage. Not a gentle summer rain, but a heavy deluge that splashed
up from the gravel drive as he ran beneath the shelter of his umbrella toward the steps, soaking his boots and the hem of his great coat. He’d owe his coachman a hot toddy when they returned to the hotel.

He was met at the door by Alistair, the butler who had taken over the post from his father when Jack had been but seven years old. It was startling to see him with gray at his temples and lines on his face.

“Master Jack!” he cried, face splitting into a grin. “I mean, Lord Gerard. It’s lovely to see you, sir.”

The older man took the hand Jack offered, and was pulled into a quick embrace. “It’s good to see you, Alistair. You may call me whatever you wish, don’t you concern yourself.”

“Thank you, my lord. Bless you, what a fine gentleman you’ve become! Allow me to take your coat and hat.”

After being divested of his outerwear, Jack inquired as to the whereabouts of his grandfather.

“He’s in his study, my lord,” Alistair replied. “Shall I announce you?”

“That won’t be necessary. I remember the way.” He clapped the butler on the shoulder and crossed the threshold into the great hall. As he walked, his bootheels tapped on the marble tile, placed so that pale gray tiles surrounded a series of black ones arranged to make a multi-limbed star in the center of the floor. He paused on that star to glance up, up, up at the rotunda high above—a glass dome that on sunny days lit the hall with a splendid glow. Today he saw nothing but gray and wet through the thick glass.

Lowering his gaze, he looked around him at the high windows, the plaster work and statues that had graced this hall since long before his birth. As a child, before his parents’ deaths, he’d played in this hall, pretending those statues were his friends, gazing out those windows to the world beyond. He’d been taught that the world within these walls was the most important of all, and at the time he’d believed it. The thought of someday making this house his home once again was a pleasant one. Especially if Sadie shared it with him.

That thought made him all the more determined to uncover the nature of this bizarre alliance she’d made with his grandfather, and to uncover why it was so important to the old man that Jack step up and take his rightful place
now
. It hadn’t been important in the past or he would have heard. He might not have been in contact with the old man or his world, but Trystan stayed in regular contact not only with his brothers, but with his mother as well. The dowager duchess of Ryeton kept her son up to date on the comings and goings of society. If Earl Garret had come to London seeking out his prodigal grandson, Jack would have known.

He left the great hall and its memories through a door on the right. A matching one on the left led to the north wing, where his mother used to have her parlor and drawing rooms. The south wing was where the study and library were, as well as the dining room. And of course, upstairs on the first floor were rooms that could be opened up to form a much larger room where balls and musicales had been presented. How long had it been since this house
had hosted a ball? Not since his mother’s death.

The wall was lined with paintings—portraits of his ancestors. None of them were earls, however. Those portraits were confined to the library where they might be best displayed in all their pomp and ceremony. A proud, stuffy lot most of them had been. Jack always preferred these portraits, especially the one of the eighth…no, the ninth Lady Garrett. She had a right naughty look in her green eyes, and pretty red hair the color of a new penny. She looked like a woman with a rebellious streak, and Jack rather fancied he inherited his from her.

The earl’s study was located in the front of the house, where the old man might sit at his desk and watch traffic go by, or observe those who came to call and decide accordingly whether or not to be at home to receive them. No doubt he’d watched Jack run through the rain, and no doubt he was wondering now what was taking that useless grandson of his so bloody long to come to him.

Swallowing a sigh of resolution, Jack raised his fist and knocked twice on the heavy door.

“Come in.”

He winced at the haughty tone of his grandfather’s command. That spiteful part of his nature made him wait almost a full count of ten before turning the knob and walking in.

Padrig Farrington stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out the window at the street beyond. It was an imposing posture, one that had often intimidated Jack in his childhood.

He linked his own hands behind his back as he came to stand beside his grandfather, mimicking his exact stance, only standing a few inches taller. “You’ve been standing here like this ever since you saw me get out of my carriage, haven’t you?” He couldn’t keep the mockery from his voice.

The old man’s head turned just enough so he could shoot Jack a black look. “You took so long I grew tired of sitting.”

Jack shrugged. “I couldn’t brush by Alastair without a proper hello.”

His grandfather sniffed. “That’s more than you’ve given me.”

He kept his gaze locked on the street outside. “It’s more than you deserve.”

“Such bitterness. It warms me to see how much you still care.”

“I don’t care. Not about you.”

There was just the slightest pause as the old man went still. Then he turned to almost fully face Jack. “Angry as I was, I never stopped caring about you, my boy.”

What was that emotion that seized Jack by the throat? Was it love or rage? “You’ve always had an odd way of showing you care, Grandfather.”

“Did you think I honestly wanted to cut you off? I thought you’d last a month at best and then come to your senses. How could I have known how stubborn you were?”

“I inherited my stubbornness from you.”

His grandfather smiled a little at that. “Indeed you did. I’ve missed you, Jack my boy.”

“I wish I could say the same.” It was a lie. He had missed the old man on occasion.

A sigh punctuated the space between them. “Bitter till the end.”

“You can force me to admit to being your heir, but you can’t force me to like it. You cannot force me to like
you
.”

“I only acted in your best interest. That’s all I’ve ever done.”

Jack’s temper wore thin, rubbed raw by too many emotions. “What did you do to Sadie?”

His grandfather drew back, obviously affronted. “What are you insinuating?”

“She took your money. Why?”

“I assume because she wanted it. Beyond that you’ll have to ask her.” He turned away. “Now I believe we should make a public appearance together. The sooner the better. I want society to accept you as Viscount Gerard as soon as possible.”

“What’s the hurry? It’s been more than a decade.”

“The sooner they see you as Lord Gerard, the sooner they’ll stop seeing you as Jack Friday. Preposterous name, by the way.”

Jack merely shrugged. “And the sooner there will be a huge class difference between me and Sadie, right?”

“There always has been a huge class difference between the two of you. You’re the only one who refused to see it.”

“All I have to do is publicly reveal Sadie as my wife and you lose.” Foolish to tip his hand, but he was angry and not thinking straight. He only wanted to needle his grandfather the way the old earl needled him.

“Does Miss O’Rourke even want to be your wife?” his grandfather asked, absently lifting a crystal paperweight from his desk and polishing it with his sleeve. “Last time I spoke to her, she wanted nothing to do with you.”

“That’s changed.”

“Really? Has she told you she wants to be your wife?”

Jack fell silent. Bastard.

“I didn’t think so,” his grandfather responded, with a surprising lack of pleasure. “She’s not one of us, son. As I said, you’re the only one who refuses to accept that.”

“And you could never accept that I loved her regardless.”

“Then you left her.” The paperweight was returned to the desk and the older man shot him a bored glance. “Not your shining moment.”

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“No. That would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?” A faint smile played with the corners of the old man’s mouth. “Although I must say, I’m impressed with the fortune you’ve amassed, even if it was in trade. Well done.”

“I didn’t do it for your approval.” Maybe once, in the beginning, but sometime over the years his reasons had changed. Jack knew that now. He’d done all he’d done for himself, and partially in the hope that it would somehow
make losing Sadie worth it. It never had. “And I didn’t marry Sadie to spite you.” No matter what she or the old man might think.

“There’s not one shred of paper that says that gel’s your wife, and until you can present proof, I refuse to acknowledge the daughter of a horse breeder as my granddaughter-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter if you acknowledge her.”

There was pity in his grandfather’s gaze. And a healthy dose of triumph. “But it does matter if society accepts her, and they won’t. You have to know that.”

He couldn’t stand it any longer. “I’m leaving. What you want or think plays no importance in
my life
.” He wasn’t aware that he’d raised his voice until his father’s secretary, Mr. Brown, hurried into the room, a concerned expression on his middle-aged face.

“Are you all right, my lord?” the man asked, rushing to his employer’s side.

“I’m fine, Brown,” the earl replied with a kind smile. “You worry too much.”

Jack scowled, but before he could demand to know what was going on, Brown fixed him with the same stern face Jack remembered from his youth.

“I’m afraid I need to insist this meeting end now, Lord Gerard. His lordship has had a very busy morning and I won’t have him tiring himself by arguing with you.”

As chastising went, it was very effective. “What’s wrong with him?” Jack asked warily.

“Do not discuss me as though I’m not here!” His
grandfather pushed his hovering secretary away. “And there is nothing wrong with me. Go about your business, boy, we’re done here. I will see you at Ryeton’s fete later this week. We will make our first appearance together.”

He could hardly argue, because he planned to be there regardless. He’d already told the duchess he’d attend, and it was for Tryst, so there was no backing out now, despite how much he might wish it.

He opened his mouth to respond, but when he glanced up his grandfather was already leaving the room. He caught a glimpse of his coat, then he was gone.

Grinding his teeth, Jack slapped his palm against his thigh. His plan to show his grandfather that he wouldn’t be manipulated had been a colossal failure. He felt as though he was a boy cast out once more, and he was no closer to knowing the truth than he had been before leaving the hotel.

But there was one person who could tell him the truth. He just had to get it out of her.

One look out the window that morning and Sadie was tempted to go back to bed. Instead, she opened the curtains, sent for toast and chocolate for breakfast, and sat down at her desk to make a list for the day. She was going to go to the shop. The curtains had arrived, as had table linens, and she wanted to see how they looked now that the walls were finished.

The thought of the walls made her think briefly of
Mason. There would be no mural now, not by him at any rate. Sadly, she regretted that almost as much as she regretted how things had ended with them.

After breakfast, she grabbed her umbrella and took the carriage to Bond Street and set about hanging curtains, which had been freshly pressed and smelled ever so slightly of vanilla and oranges. The work should have kept her mind from wandering to thoughts of Jack, but not even sleep could do that. She’d dreamed about him most of the night. Dreamed that they’d made a life together rather than apart.