Duel of Hearts (20 page)

I
t was extremely late when Leah arrived home, so late that she let herself in with the key and kicked off her slippers in the lower hall to avoid disturbing the servants. Somewhere in the house a clock struck three. Tiptoeing silently in the near-darkness, she had just groped for the newel post at the bottom of the stairs when the library door opened behind her, sending a slice of light across the foyer and casting a long shadow up the wall beside her. She jumped in fright and her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, 'tis you,” she managed, still trying to control the panic she'd felt. “You gave me a start.”

He bowed slightly as his eyes glittered strangely at her in the semidarkness. “Home so soon, my dear?” His speech was softly slurred and there was a slight list to his walk as he came to face her. “Had I been your lover, I'd have spent the whole night with you—and I'd not have sent you home to face an irate husband.”

“You are foxed, my lord,” she snapped. “And your accusations are offensive.” Her hand still on the bottom post, she started to climb the stairs.

“Not so quickly, Leah—I am not done with you.” He caught her from behind and pulled her off the bottom step. Grasping her chin with his hand, he forced her to turn and look at him. “For the innocent Cit I wed, you have certainly learned to be the fashionable lady, have you not?” he gibed into her face. “You have even managed to acquire a lover.”

“Unhand me, Tony,” she ordered coldly, still trying to still the painful beating of her heart.

“But you have forgotten the most important rule, my dear—it is not at all the thing to engage in these little liaisons before you have given your husband his heir.” His other hand closed on her shoulder, gripping it tightly.

“I do not have a lover—yet,” she informed him, striving to keep her voice level. “Though I shall certainly inform you when I do, so that we may be even on that score, my lord. After all, you were so kind as to arrange a public display of yours.”

His fingers still on her chin, he forced her head back to stare into her face. She put her hand on his wrist to break the hold. “Release me, my lord,” she tried again. “You are hurting me.”

“Release you?”

He gave a derisive half-laugh and pulled her against him despite her protest, while his mouth sought hers hungrily. She tasted the wine and felt the heat of his breath as she tried to push him away. For answer, his hands slid down her back, imprisoning her, forcing her body into the hard contours of his. With an effort, she willed herself to remain motionless even when his tongue traced the edges of her teeth. When at last he left her mouth, it was to trail hot kisses from her earlobe to her throat. An involuntary shiver sliced downward from where the hairs stood up on her neck.

“Leah … Leah . . .” he whispered hungrily, “do not deny me what you give him so freely.” His hand slipped under the fabric of her dress and kneaded the soft skin against the bones of her shoulder. “Let me love you, Leah.”

She wanted to yield, but not like this, not when he'd had too much to drink, not when he believed the worst of her. With an effort, she broke away from him, moving back so violently she almost tripped on the first step of the staircase.

“You mistake the matter, Tony—Marcus is not my lover,” she spat at him.

“Do you think me blind, Leah?” he rasped, grasping her wrist painfully and pulling her back to him. “I made you mine—I'll keep you mine.”

She'd never seen him like this and it frightened her. “If you do not release me this instant, Tony,” she threatened, “I shall scream and bring this house down about your ears.”

“You'll have to hurry then,” he whispered undeterred against her ear. While one arm held her against him, his other hand began unhooking her gown. His mouth sought hers again, and as the material slackened across her bodice, his hand left her back to find her breast.

“Please, Tony—not this way,” she gasped desperately, trying to resist his assault on her reeling sense. “Please.”

“Please what?” he murmured against the corners of her lips. “I shall try to be as good as Rotherfield this time.” Still nibbling, playing, sampling of her mouth, he slackened his hold enough to finish taking down the bodice of her gown and the thin camisole underneath. “You are beautiful, Leah,” he breathed.

She could not let him know how much she wanted him, how much she had missed his touch. His hunger was evident, his desire blazing in his eyes as they raked over her bared breasts. And every inch of her body wanted to slake that desire and feed her own, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “No, you will have to take me by force,” she lied.

“You have no reason—”

“I have every reason.”

“Why Rotherfield, Leah?” he rasped thickly, his eyes still glittering.

“Why Elaine Chandler?” she retorted. Wrenching free, she ran up the stairs, pausing only from the safety of the top to pull up her gown. This time, he did not follow her, but flung himself back toward the library, from whence she heard the crash of a bottle or glass against the fireplace.

Unnerved, she managed to undress without waking Jeanne and, turning the key in her bedchamber lock, she retired to agonize over the way things stood between them. Her life was in shambles, a wreckage brought about by jealousy, greed, and distrust, and she had not the means to rebuild it. She'd been married to satisfy her father's ambition for her, when in fact it had not been necessary at all. And the worst of that was that she was not really even a Cit—her own mother came from the very class that she professed to despise. Her Milbourne grandparents could have made her a lady without Viscount Lyndon's title.

In an effort to draw herself out of her self-pity, she considered her newly discovered relations. They were kind, they were obviously
haut ton,
and appeared quite proud of her, making it even more incomprehensible that her father had hidden their existence from her.

She heard Tony's steps on the stairs, heard them come down the hallway to pause outside the door. She sucked in her breath and waited, afraid she had not the will to deny him again. The doorknob rattled as he tried it, and then there was silence for a moment. Finally she could hear him retreat to his own chamber at the other end of the hall. Then, after a time, his door opened and his footsteps sounded again, first on the stairs and then in the hallway below. The door slammed.

Lying back among her pillows, she was certain he'd gone to seek his mistress. Fighting back tears, she wondered if she'd played the game all wrong, if she should have yielded to his desire, for at least then she would have been the one to share his bed. No, she decided resolutely, she had too much pride to share her husband with anyone. It was time she went home.

As for Tony, he drove his curricle recklessly through the streets of London, oblivious of the Charlies who rounded up the more boisterous drunks. The fog had rolled in up the Thames, making the gaslights into hazy yellow dots that faded into the gray mists. An occasional dog, one of those half-wild denizens of the city, reluctantly fled from scavenged garbage before his wheels, only to slink back in his wake. Somewhere in the distance, the watch called five o'clock and the bargemen could already be heard shouting at each other in the fog. … Elaine Chandler's house was dark when he reached it. He reined in and stared for several minutes at the whitewashed brick structure, knowing full well of his welcome there. But he didn't want Elaine. Even before his precipitate marriage to Leah Cole, he'd known that if the fairest Cyprian in the world cast lures at him, he'd decline, and it was still so. There was some justice in his predicament, he supposed, for he'd raked about with hedonistic abandon, deserving every epithet Leah flung his way. His ardor cooled in the chill mists of morning, replaced by the quiet reflection of self-reproach, he clicked his reins and returned home at a much slower pace.

As difficult as it was to accept it, he concluded that she wanted Rotherfield—whether because he'd driven her into the earl's arms with his jealousy, or whether the attraction had always been there, the fact remained the same. His wife wanted Rotherfield, had chosen the notorious earl over him. And Rotherfield certainly wanted her. Given that pass, what was to be done? Maybe he ought to simply apologize for his jealous behavior and hope that somehow he could win her back.

The next morning, she was already gone when he came down. His head ached from the night's wine, his mouth was dry and tasted as though Napoleon's army had marched through it, and his mind was fogged from a lack of sleep. Seeing the footmen lugging heavy trunks down the service stairs, he was befuddled for a moment.

“What the devil … ? James, what is this?” he demanded in alarm. As his voice rose, the pain in his head hit like an ax blow from somewhere between his eyes to the base of his skull. Combing his hair distractedly with his hands, Tony tried to assimilate what was happening. “Where's Leah—where is Lady Lyndon?”

John Maxwell coughed apologetically behind him to attract his attention. “I believe she wrote to you, my lord.”

A sick knot formed in the pit of Tony's stomach as he followed his secretary into the library. Dropping into the chair by his desk, he leaned his aching head in his hand. “You might as well let me have it, Max.” He spoke tiredly.

“ 'Tis on the desk, sir.”

Tony found it and withdrew a folded sheet from the envelope. The color drained from his face as he began to read:

“That's it—she said nothing else?” Tony asked, too stunned to believe it. Leah had left him over Rotherfield. She was gone from his house.

“Nothing, my lord.”

“Well, she cannot do it!” Tony exploded. “The little fool—she will ruin herself!” Heaving himself up despite the ache in his head, he ordered loudly for any who would hear, “Put my curricle to! Blair, my coat!” He was going to face Rotherfield down if it was the last thing he ever did.

Alternating between despair that she'd left him and fury at Rotherfield for encouraging her, Tony took the ribbons himself and careened through the London streets like a madman. How could she possibly have fled to the other man? Whatever could have possessed her? And what if he found her? He could scarce grasp her by the hair and force her to return to him, after all. And he would not want her that way if he could. As he took a corner on two wheels, he considered going to Jeptha Cole and discarded that idea. The old man's health was too precarious —he'd not overset him if it could be helped. No, he had to find Leah and reason with her.

Pushing past Marcus Havert's astonished butler, Tony found the earl still at his breakfast. “Where is she?” he demanded harshly, removing his driving gloves.

Rotherfield finished transferring marmalade onto a piece of toast before looking up. His black eyes betrayed none of the excitement he felt when they met Tony's. “I am afraid you have the advantage of me, Lyndon,” he murmured. “Er … would you care to join me?”

“No!”

“I collect I am being privileged to see the legendary Barsett temper, my lord,” the earl observed, unperturbed by the intrusion or by Tony's outburst.

“I did not think you would stoop so low as to ruin a female's reputation!”

“By being seen with her?” One of Rotherfield's black brows rose skeptically. “It has been seven years, Lyndon. Full half die
ton
cannot recollect the scandal, and the other half will never accept her anyway.”

“Where is she?” Tony repeated. “Dammit, where is she?”

The earl bit off a piece of the toast and masticated it thoroughly before shaking his head. “Leah? Dear me— has she left you? It does not surprise me, I suppose,” he decided coolly. “And I should not tell you if I knew, Lyndon. Suffice it to say that she is not here.”

Tony's right hand came up, striking Rotherfield so hard with the driving glove that it left a red mark across the high cheekbone. For a moment the black eyes flashed malevolently and then they were veiled.

“Name you weapon, Marcus.”

A slow smile of triumph spread across the darkly handsome face. “A widow is always preferable to a divorcee,” he murmured with deceptive softness. “Pistols.”

J
eptha Cole's welcoming smile turned to a scowl within minutes of his daughter's arrival. Had she not thrown herself in his arms and burst into tears, he would have been inclined to send her back to Lyndon House without listening to her side of the matter. But she's seldom ever cried, not even when actually injured, so he held his peace and enveloped her in his arms, patting her awkwardly and mumbling soothing platitudes about everyone's having a turnup with a spouse from time to time.

Taking her into his library, he poured her two fingers of brandy and told her to calm herself. “Papa, I have made such a mull of my life,” she wailed, gulping the contents of her glass and choking on it. “Aargh!”

“Well, you ain't supposed to drink it like water, Leah! Sniff it—savor it, you know! Havey-cavey business—the thing about Rotherfield. I ain't from the
ton,
my dear, and even I know he ain't at all the thing! Man's a deuced devil, they say, and he ain't received!”

“But Tony was seeing Mrs. Chandler!” she tried to explain.

“That don't signify!” Then, seeing that she was about to begin crying anew, he tried a different tack. “Daresay it's my fault, after all—I rushed you into the marriage before you was to know what you was about. But damme, I like young Lyndon—and I was afeared of what Rotherfield meant to do. I didn't want any brats coming in the side door 'cause you didn't know how to go on.”

“Papa!”

“Well, I didn't think you was a peagoose, but it's been known to happen, and then Lyndon allowed as how the earl was too particular in his attentions—well, I couldn't take the chance. Afraid Lyndon'd get away—arid I wanted you to be a viscountess, you know. Knew Rotherfield was rich as Croesus himself—stood to reason he had something else in mind.” He raised his gaze to his dead wife's portrait. “Promised her.” Looking back at Leah, he nodded. “You understand, don't you?”

“No, Papa, I have never understood it.”

“Got to sit—m'leg's painin' me,” he explained, taking a seat close to the window. “Don't eat what you'd want me to since you been gone. Sit down.”

Instead of taking the chair he'd indicated, she slid to the floor to lean her head against his leg as she had done when she was a small child. “Why did you never tell me about her?” she wondered as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

“ 'Cause I miss her too much to speak of her—talk to her instead.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at her. “You are the image of her, you know—cherish you for it.”

“But what was she like?” she persisted.

“Well, she was a proud and willful girl, much like you really. Now, this may surprise you—don't know if I ought to tell you of it—but she was Quality. Met her by accident.” His eyes took on the faraway look of one remembering across time. “Back, then, her papa was heavily in debt and needed the blunt badly to come about, so's he was wantin' to sell Marianna to a wealthy gentleman some twenty years older'n she was.” He shifted in his chair, seeking greater comfort, and continued, “The end of it was that she ran away from 'em. Met her in the posting house then. Oh, but she was a pretty thing—only seventeen and frightened by the bucks that was ogling her. Not that she was a dieaway miss, mind you, but some of 'em was coming too strong.”

“You met Mama in a posting house?”

“Aye. She was runnin' to her granny's—now, there was an old Tartar for ye. I offered to take her there, and I guess she thought I looked less a menace than the rest of 'em. Anyways, the old woman wouldn't have her—was goin' to send her back to Milbourne, you know. Well, the end of the matter was we went to Gretna—got married over the anvil.”

“You
eloped
?” somehow she could not imagine her father as a dashing romantic figure.

“I know what you are a-thinkin', missy!” he retorted. “Jeptha Cole didn't always look like this, I can tell you! She thought me quite handsome, she did—and I was.”

“And what did Lord Milbourne do?” she asked, returning to his story.

“Disowned her! Said I wasn't fit to put on his boots- cast her out. Anyways, we came to London and set up housekeepin' out beyond Smithfield Market—not too fashionable for a girl like Marianna, but she never complained of it. Learned to do for herself and me too. We was poor as beggars, Leah. My parents were nobodies— my father was naught but a chandler in Liverpool ere he died. Aye, missy, I was a come-down for your mother— nothin' like she had a right to expect.”

His eyes traveled to the portrait above them. “I miss her—Lud knows I miss her, Leah.”

“Papa …” Her hand sought his and held it.

“Oh, it's all right.” He patted her head affectionately and looked down through misted eyes. “I'll see her again, you know. But I wanted to make it up to her for takin' me, don't you see? When we was just married, I came here and worked for a founderer for fifteen shillings a day—and hard work that was. But as hard as things was on me, they were harder on her. She wasn't made for bearing—narrower in the backside than you—and we lost three babes before you. You was the only one to come into this world breathin'.”

“Oh, Papa.”

“Ain't done yet.” It was as if the years of pent-up memories would not be stilled now. “.What broke her heart was Milbourne. 'Twasn't enough that he disowned her. He wouldn't let any of 'em—her mother or sisters even—come near her. Said if she wanted to be a Cit, she could live like one. She never had the things she was used to after we was wed. I wanted to give ‘em back to her, but I couldn't.

“Then there was a fellow named Asa Pierson—foreigner, you know—wanted to go into shipping here. Well, he had the money, and he liked me—we went into it not knowing what we was doin' even, but I learned the business. Bought anything and sold it at a profit—weevily meal, rum, sugar, salvage rice.”

“And you prospered.”

“And we prospered—damme if we didn't. Worked six and one-half days a week to do it, but we did. Best thing I ever did for your mother was when I was able to build her this house before she died.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, Papa—the best thing you ever did for her was marry her. Everyone should have as romantic a tale to tell.”

“But it didn't end right.” He sighed and was silent for a time. “At least she knew she had you, puss—knew you breathed. Begged me to care for you even. As if I wouldn't—you were all I had left of her.”

Tears streamed down Leah's face, tears for the mother she'd never known. Her hand tightened on her father's and she leaned closer to his leg.

“But that wasn't the end of it. You always get the chance to misuse them that misuses you if you wait long enough. The year after Marianna died, Milbourne turned to me for money, said he wanted to rear his motherless grandbaby, give you everything if I was to frank the business. Told him where he could go, I did—told him I'd make you a lady myself. But I guess you ain't happy, so's—”

“But there was no need! Papa, I am not ashamed to be your daughter—and Mama was not ashamed to be your wife! What is there to a title, anyway?”

“I gave him the money.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I had my revenge for her—he crawled to me for the money and I gave it. He had to seek out the son-in-law he despised. And in return for it, I made him promise not to see you.”

“I have seen him, Papa,” she cut in quietly. “And my grandmother also. I saw them last night.”

He sat very still.

“Lady Milbourne is very ill—she wished to see me. She said I reminded her of Mama.”

“Daresay she could have made you a finer lady than I,” he answered heavily.

“No. She said you had done better with me than she did with three daughters, Papa.”

“She did?” He brightened visibly. “Well, daresay Marianna had to get her breeding somewhere—must've been her.” Patting her head again, he shook his head. “My mistake was doing like Milbourne, I suppose— making you take a fellow you didn't want.”

“I am sorry to have ruined your plans.”

“Fiddle. Ain't a day gone by since you was born that I ain't been proud of you. Only thing I ain't got is a grandson.”

“Viscount Lyndon, sir!” Crome announced self- importantly from the doorway.

“Tony! Here?” Leah looked at her father in consternation, as though she ought to flee.

“There, there.” Jeptha Cole patted his daughter's hand. “Don't have to go home with him if you don't want.”

“Sir … Leah.”

In spite of her anger, in spite of her hurt, in spite of everything he'd said to her, Leah's heart lurched and her senses reeled at the sight of him. Pulling up by the arm of her father's chair, she turned away from her husband to keep him from seeing the hope in her face. She had left him, after all, and she had her pride.

“What are you doing here?” she asked shakily.

“Like you, I have come for a visit.” The blue eyes that met hers were alive with mischief and more. “I wanted to be here when you shared your interesting condition with you father, my dear,” he told her with a reasonably straight face.

“My what?”

“Or perhaps you did not wish to tell him because it is early days yet,” he suggested helpfully.

“Tony, what are—?”

“Then
that
explains it!” Her father's face took on such an expression of pure joy that Leah could only stare. “I

knew
it was a queer start, my lord! Marianna was like that—could always tell by the way she was blue-deviled at first. Well, if that don't beat the Dutch!”

“Tony!”

“My own blood Quality! Now, if you was to name a girl Marianna, I'd do right by her, you understand,” Cole told Tony. “ 'Course, if it's a boy, I daresay you'd want a family name—and there ain't one as I'd have on this side of the blanket.”

Leah stared across the room at Tony, not knowing whether to laugh or scream with vexation. “You will have to pardon us, Papa, but I am wishful of speaking with my husband.”

“When do you expect it? I mean, it ain't but a while since you was wed—wouldn't want talk, you know.”

“There will be no gossip about that, Papa,” she reassured him. “Tony—”

“Take him to the garden.” her father suggested. “ 'Tis private—and a pretty place t' settle a dust-up. ‘Course there's a breeze,” he added doubtfully. “Don't know if you ought—”

“The garden will be fine. Tony, would you care to take a turn about Papa's garden?” she asked sweetly.

She waited only until she was sure they were alone before she rounded on him. “Of all the mean-spirited, the idiotish, the . . .” She groped helplessly for something to convey her opinion of what he'd done and, finding none, sputtered, “I left you, Tony! You cannot go about raising false hopes when you know very well—”

“No, I don't know. It is possible, you know, and I am prepared to attend to the matter with relish—abandon even,” he offered with a grin.

“How could you? You know he will be disappointed beyond bearing!”

“Actually, I thought that would overset him less than hearing you'd left me for Rotherfield.”

“I did not leave you for Marcus!” she hissed, furious at being outfaced. ‘ Ί left you over that Chandler woman! And because you are overbearing and … because we do not deal well together!”

“I thought we dealt extremely well together—of course,

I should like to deal with you more often,” he added wickedly.

“Tony, 'tis hopeless.”

“Tell that to your father.”

“And ‘tis monstrous unfair to use that against me!” she burst out.

“I have to use what I have. You see, Leah, I do not want to lose you. I may have been all those things you have flung at me, and I am not proud of them, but since I have met you, I am a
reformed
rake, gamester, and whatever else ‘tis that you call me.”

“A libertine.”

“A reformed libertine then.”

“A dissolute libertine.”

“A reformed dissolute libertine.” He stepped closer and attempted to draw her into his arms. “And I am prepared to let you continue reforming me—within reason, of course. I am even prepared to become a Whig for you.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“I am to give my maiden speech in Lords.”

“When?”

“As soon as I finish writing it,” he announced smugly.

“Now I know that's a hum, Tony Barsett,” she retorted, backing away. “You do not have a speech—and you never will.”

“Max started writing it last week, but I find I need to work on it myself. Max, idealist that he is, expects me to attempt redressing all the ills of the world at once, you know.”

“A Banbury tale,” she scoffed, realizing she'd backed herself into a stone wall.

“Well, he has given me opinions on everything from Catholic emancipation to chimney sweeps, my love. I shall hold forth at length on workhouses, poorhouses, child labor, street urchins—”

“Stop it!”

“Perhaps you would wish to help me edit it,” he suggested, leaning into her.

“Tony, I need time. This is not fair—”

“What isn't?”

“Everything!” she exploded. “You cannot follow me here—I left you! You cannot tell my father I am increasing when I am not! You cannot be at daggers drawn with me over Rotherfield when I like him! You cannot—”

Reluctantly he backed off, disappointing her. “All right. Do you wish me to go in there and tell your father it was all a hum? Do you wish me to sit at home without you? If Marcus is naught but a friend to you, I can accept that, I suppose.” “I don't know what I want! Please Tony—” “All right. Perhaps ‘tis best to think everything out,” he sighed. “If you wish, I will tell him now.” He turned to leave.