Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (25 page)

"Hello, Harry." She smiled on this distant cousin. "How very nice to find you here."

Damon came over and said a formal "You honour us, my lady." But his
eyes blazed at her as he bowed with considerably less grace than his
friend.

Looking down at his dark hair, she suspected that he was extremely
uncomfortable and guessed rightly from the way he moved that his ribs
were badly bruised. She realized, also, that, far from the shame she
would have hoped he would feel, he was infuriated by her presence.
There was little doubt, however, that the others present reacted
differently. She had selected her gown with care. It was of pale-pink
silk, tightly fitted about her bosom and descending in a slim sheath
over a gossamer petticoat. That the neck was a little lower than she
usually affected appeared to offend no one; the gentlemen's eyes, in
fact, positively glowed with admiration. Her golden curls were caught
into clusters at each ear. The only jewellery she wore was a gold
necklace her Papa had brought back from India: a heavy band wherefrom a
cunningly wrought translucent red gem dangled, catching the light in
such a way as to draw attention to her breasts. She had dressed for
men, and with one exception she had them eating from her hand.

The one exception straightened carefully, having touched her fingers
to his lips. "You need not have felt obliged to come all this way,
ma'am," he said with a chilly smile. "Ted brought me the word that
Whitthurst was too ill to come."

"My brother wished me to convey his apologies to the gentlemen." She
withdrew her hand with rather obvious haste and stepped back. That
dreadful magnetism was as strong as ever, but she was fully forewarned
this time. She knew what she risked by coming here, and the pistol in
her reticule was her bulwark against his depravity. Nor did she carry
it as an empty gesture. Stephen and Papa had taught her well; she was a
fine shot. God send she'd not need to prove it.

A chorus of approval had greeted her words and was followed by
impatient demands that they be made known to her. The first to be
presented was a stout, jolly individual of middle age, Mr. Harold
James. The second man, square and powerfully built, with craggy
features and a deep, sonorous voice, was Sir Philip Wilton. These two,
who had first escorted her into the room, were both so obviously struck
by her that they could scarce tear their eyes away. The bald man, a Mr.
Ben Blanchard, seemed equally impressed, while the young ex-harpsichord
recliner was bashfully silent. Damon introduced him as Lord Jeremy
Bolster. Sophia had heard Redmond speak of him and knew he'd been
gravely injured at Badajoz, and was still not fully recovered from the
shock. She smiled on him kindly. Ridgley, making his bow with a puzzled
look in his eyes, muttered that she might have done him the honour of
riding with him had she intended to come. She explained, she hoped
convincingly, that Stephen had become so upset about missing the
meeting that her only means of placating him had been to promise she
would come in his stead and convey to him what had transpired.

"In which case," smiled Damon, "let us not keep the lady waiting,
gentlemen. There's no cause to delay our meeting longer." He cast a
pointed look at his 'niece'—a look she missed since she was busily
mesmerizing Sir Philip.

"Right," Redmond agreed. "I've to be in Brighton tonight without
fail. If you will excuse us, little coz, we'll get at it and let you
know—"

"But I shall enjoy it," said Sophia, fluttering her fan at Mr. James.

The gentlemen eyed one another uneasily.

"That is quite impossible, ma'am," said Damon, his eyes glinting.

Sophia cast him a terrified look, shrank, and put her handkerchief to her lips.

"Come now, Cam," bristled Wilton indignantly. "Can't dismiss the dear soul!"

"Beastly manners lately, Damon," James protested. "Don't know what's come over you!"

Sophia, her eyes huge and frightened, whimpered, "I would not
intrude, but Stephen is… so very ill. We thought— you would not be too…
angry…"

It was the last straw. Damon's hawk glare lingered with baffled fury
on her injured innocence. She was swept into the library, and three of
the gentlemen practically acquired a concussion as they each jumped
disastrously to pull out the same chair for her.

When the laughter died down, Damon, torn between vexation and amusement, called the meeting to order.

Thirty minutes later they were all seated around the library table,
and Sophia was trying hard not to yawn as Sir Philip read the minutes
of the last meeting. She kept her eyes demurely downcast, well aware
that the eyes of every man in the room were turned upon her, their
obvious admiration rendering it doubtful that they had heard one word
of Sir Philip's efforts. But one pair of eyes held a frown, and knowing
this, she took care not to meet them. Undoubtedly, he was wondering why
she was here. Perhaps he was afraid she intended to unmask him for what
he was. It was apparent from a few teasing and faintly admiring remarks
that he had explained away his bruises by telling them of an encounter
with an irate tradesman who had mistaken him for a gardener. He must
have been convincing. Indeed, to have used Mr. Jenks as his alleged
antagonist had been a shrewd stroke because the Earl remembered their
previous disagreement and lent weight to the tale. Damon would not dare
admit he had actually fought Ariel, of course. They probably knew of
the big man's devotion and would have realized that only a matter of
gravest import could have made him turn against his master.

Her reflections were disrupted as Damon called for approval of the
minutes and proceeded to the business at hand. His report on the
progress made thus far was impressive. His statement of spiralling
costs was very obviously less well received, although Sophia was
secretly awed by this small revelation of the details and expense
involved in such an undertaking.

Some corner of her mind registered that Horatio was honking
somewhere, as her cousin Redmond, with an impatient glance at the
clock, said, "Cam—are you asking us to lay out more blunt? If you are,
old fellow, I'll have to turn you down. Sorry, but…" He shrugged wryly.

The rest of the investors hastened to offer comments of much the
same nature, each having some pressing reason for withholding further
funding. Only Bolster said nothing, his hazel eyes, turning shyly from
time to time to Sophia, reflecting neither dismay nor approval of the
as-yet-unspoken request.

A very thin, melancholy-looking individual entered the room at this
point. Clad in a black jacket and black pantaloons, he had a clerical
air and gazed at the Marquis with intense anxiety as he requested a
private word.

"By all means, Gilly," frowned Damon. "When we have finished."

Mr. Gillam's expression became so agonized at this that Damon leaned
forward and asked intently, "What's wrong, man? Does this concern the
Spa?" A convulsive bob of the head constituted his answer. "Then speak
out, if you please. Lady Drayton and these gentlemen have a right to
hear it." He added a curt "Mr. Gillam handles my business affairs,
ma'am."

Gillam bowed politely, but his response was barely audible. "There's a…new fence, my lord."

"Scarcely momentous news," Damon observed dryly.

"All around the property!" finished the wretched Gillam.

"Jolly good idea," Redmond approved. "Steal you blind else, Cam!"

Damon, his narrowed eyes fixed on Gillam, said, "Go on."

"It's posted, sir," Gillam croaked. "The signs read: 'Keep Out!
Property of Merrick Corporation.' Your workmen cannot… get to work,
sir!"

All the investors were on their feet, and everyone seemed to be
shouting at once. Sophia felt a little stunned. She hadn't counted on
the cost of a long fence. And who on earth was the Merrick Corporation?

Of them all, the Marquis appeared least disturbed. At length, he
drew a small knife from his pocket and gently struck the goblet beside
him, the bell-like sound bringing the heated faces of his friends
around to him.

"Gentlemen, may we have quiet, please?"

They resumed their seats with much grumbling, Wilton saying testily
that it was all very well for Damon to be so blasted calm. With his
fortune, he wouldn't be hard hit should it prove to be anything more
serious than a confounded practical joke. James put in a heated
observation that it was undoubtedly the work of revolutionaries; and
Harry Redmond, afire with indignation, proposed that they all at once
sally forth and tear the blasted fences down, this course of action
winning much approval and the eager endorsement of most present.

"It would be good sport, I grant you," smiled Damon, "but you surely
must realize, gentlemen, that it is a mistake of some kind. I own the
property on which the buildings stand, and there are no liens against
any of my holdings, I do assure you. Sir John Black owns the parcel
north of mine, and—" He saw anguish in Gillam's gaunt face, paused, and
lifted one quizzical eyebrow.

"Sir John sold out a month ago, my lord. To the Merrick Corporation!"

A mutter of unease arose. Damon's expression was unchanged. Only his
fingers tightened a little about the knife he held, and something deep
within his eyes became very still. Sophia, peeping nervously round the
table, saw the other gentlemen sit straighter, their anxious glances
flashing from the Marquis to his man.

"That's odd," said Damon softly. "John said nothing of it. I would
have thought he'd at least have come to say goodbye. What happened,
Gilly?"

"I went to see his steward, my lord. He seemed most upset but would only say that Sir John had 'no choice'."

"By God!" cried Mr. James, mopping at his brow. "I don't like the smell of this! Who holds the land to your west, Damon?"

"As of last August," said Damon thoughtfully, "an old— er—acquaintance of yours, James. Prendergast."

Sophia felt a tingle go up her spine and listened intently.

"
Josiah…Prendergast
?" gasped Mr. James, whitening. "God help us!"

Ridgley, his own face strained now, leaned forward and said harshly,
"Cam, he'd give his soul to—" He stopped before the flash of Damon's
warning glance.

Frightened, Wilton jumped to his feet, his impassioned appeal for
the Marquis to tell them exactly where they stood being echoed by
several angry voices.

Damon looked thoughtfully at Gillam. "Who controls this Merrick Corporation?"

Gillam wet dry lips. "It is a subsidiary corporation, my lord. Named for a minor stockholder. And…and owned by…"

"Oh, dear," murmured Damon. "Prendergast Associates,
sans doute
."

"From your manner, sir," said Mr. Blanchard, one eyelid twitching
with nervousness, "one gathers this—Mr. Prendergast—will not deal
fairly with us."

"You forget, my friends," Damon pointed out, "our access road and
our lakefront acreage are both owned by our fellow stockholder, Lord
Whitthurst."

Through the chorus of relieved exclamations, Sophia kept her eyes
down, her heart pounding madly. She heard poor Mr. James gasp, "Thank
God! I've poured twelve thousand into this spa—I cannot afford that
kind of loss!"

"Thanks to Whitthurst," said Damon, "we shall none of us have to take a—"

"Seems curst odd to me," interrupted Sir Philip. "We
do
hold a legal deed to the Viscount's holdings, I trust?"

"Of course," answered the Marquis. "D'ye take me for a flat? Gilly
delivered the papers to my solicitor months ago. Though I had
Whitthurst's hand on it, which is enough for—" Again, he was given
pause by Gillam's twisted and pained expression. The lightness in his
manner vanished. "Now what?"

"The transfer was not… legal, my lord," gulped the unfortunate Gillam. "Sir Horace says it was not properly signed."

"Not… properly," echoed Sir Philip, and exploded. "Dash it all, the poor lad lost his right arm! Cannot expect him to write—"

"The deed was sent to him in Belgium,
before
Waterloo," said Damon bleakly. "What in the devil was Horace about all this time?"

"He said, my lord," Gillam replied, "that there was a clause to Lord
Whitthurst's ownership of which he was previously unaware. He returned
the deed to Lord Whitthurst with a letter of instruction and sent a
note to you here."

"A note I never received," Damon growled. He stood and, amid a
deathly stillness, turned to Sophia. "Can you help us, ma'am? You must
certainly be aware that your brother owns that property and deeded it
to our venture?"

They were all waiting anxiously, and she had no need to pretend
nervousness as she faltered. "I am at a loss to understand any of it,
gentlemen."

Damon's mouth tightened, and one hand gripped at the edge of the
table. His eyes were fixed upon her, and she met that unblinking stare,
trying unsuccessfully to find one particle of pleasure in the shocked
disbelief she read there.

"Your brother," he said softly, "
does
own the acreage— does he not?"

"No, my lord." Her voice sounded thin and far away. "He does not."

Never afterwards would she be able to forget his stunned look, the
bruises dark against his suddenly white face. Never would she forget
the resultant chaos, the furious accusations of carelessness that were
hurled at him. Yet when at last he raised one hand for quiet, such was
the power of the man that, despite their total dismay, it was granted
him. "Are you saying, my lady," he asked quietly, "that your
brother—broke his sworn word to me?"

"No! He just did not know…
I
did not know…" Good God! Now
what a mess she had stumbled into! She folded her wet hands and stared
down at them. How could she have been so foolish as to assume that only
Damon would suffer the consequences of her actions? Why had it not
occurred to her that others might be hurt? At all costs, Stephen's
reputation must not be tarnished! "The property," she half whispered,
"was left to us—jointly." She heard gasps and a smothered groan and
went on hurriedly. "I suspect Whitthurst simply… forgot. It is
necessary that I sign anything to do with the acreage, as well as
Singlebirch, which is also jointly owned. When I came home, he was…near
death." She gripped her hands tighter. "Our finances are… are not—very
good. I had to raise cash somehow, and I dared not worry him with such
matters. I found the deed together with a pile of other papers—perhaps
there was a letter from Lord Damon's solicitor, I could not say. I only
saw the deed. Stephen had already signed it for a transfer of
ownership, but the details had not been filled in. I thought he had
probably been trying to… to raise funds, too. So…" She flashed a scared
look round the circle of intent faces. "I know," she said chokingly,
"that it was very wrong… of me. But—"