Regency 02 - Betrayal (15 page)

Until Samson entered to inform my lord that
there was a gentleman below desirous to speak with him on a matter
most private.

Connor raised one eyebrow imperiously. It was
too early for social calls. He rose to his feet and took the card
from the tray held by the butler. The corner was carefully turned
down to show that the visitor had called in person. Lord Connor
stared at the name with a frown between his brows. He didn’t know
the Earl of Greville.

“A private matter, you say?”

“Yes, my lord. And most important.”

“I suppose I should see him then,” Connor
said in resignation. “Where have you put the earl?”

“In the library, my lord.”

Evidently, the earl had passed muster with
Samson, who was known to throw pretentious mushrooms out on their
ears if they had the temerity to request an interview with the new
Marquess of Beverley. Connor filed this surprising development in
the back of his mind as he turned to his wife.

“I’ll be back soon, my love. This should not
take long.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and left the room.

He entered the bookroom unseen. The man
standing by the window was a stranger to him—and definitely a
gentleman. His maroon jacket stretched across very broad shoulders
without a crease. It had the look and feel of Weston’s tailoring.
Buckskin breeches encased legs of solid muscle and tucked into
shining boots made by Hoby. The man was taller than himself,
although perhaps not as tall as Adam’s six-feet-two-inches. He
appeared younger and was a good bit broader in chest and
shoulder—and Connor suspected Greville owed none of it to
padding.

Connor had to suppress a shiver of unease as
he hoped the earl’s business was friendly. The man was a veritable
Goliath.

As if sensing his presence, Greville turned.
Connor took in boyishly handsome features twisted into a worried
frown, curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a white waistcoat.
The earl bowed and stretched out his hand in greeting.

“Lord Connor, I presume?” His voice was a
deep baritone, matching to perfection his impressive physique.

“I am.” Connor took the proffered hand. “And
you are Lord Greville. Welcome. Have we met?” He gestured for his
guest to be seated and offered a brandy, sensing that the younger
man’s business was just as important as Samson had believed.

Greville accepted and waited in agitated
silence as his host poured the drinks. He presently had a glass in
hand and he downed the contents in one swallow. Connor raised his
eyebrows at this and silently refilled the earl’s glass. Greville
smiled apologetically.

Connor sat down opposite his guest and smiled
encouragingly. “Perhaps if you explain your problem, you may find
some relief.”

The earl consumed his second brandy slower
and apologized for his obvious agitation. “I have come on behalf of
my cousin. She confided in me once that the marchioness, your wife,
is her particular friend. I thought perhaps you would be willing to
help.”

“And who is your cousin, my lord?”

“Greville, please,” insisted the younger man.
Connor inclined his head. “My cousin is Lady Rothsmere.”

“Bri is the cousin for whom you are seeking
help? It is true that she and my wife are or were, rather,
particular friends. But they have not seen or spoken to each other
since Bri’s return to Society. My wife has been banned from
visiting her or speaking with her for reasons unknown to either my
wife or I. May I inquire as to why you feel the countess needs our
help?”

“Certainly, my lord. My distress is caused by
her engagement to Viscount Steyne. The man is a snake and a cheat
and a scoundrel of the worst kind. An alliance with him is not to
be borne!” he ended emphatically.

“Calm yourself, Greville.” Con studied him
for a moment and wondered where this hotheaded youth had been when
Bri really needed him. He seemed to be the only relative with any
sort of friendly feelings toward the countess, yet Bri had never
mentioned him.

“A lot of betrothals and marriages are
sometimes less than one had at first hoped for,” he finally
replied, thinking of the early stages of his own marriage, “and as
much as I dislike Steyne and feel Bri is better off with someone
else, there’s really nothing we can do. She entered the betrothal
of her own volition, Greville. To get involved would be
dishonorable.”

“The devil it would!” the young lord
exploded. He rose from his chair and clenched his hand so tight
that the fragile crystal glass in his hand shattered. He was so
incensed, he failed to notice the blood or the tiny shards of glass
imbedded in his palm. “If you believe she is willing, then you are
just as blind as the rest of Society and twice as heartless
considering you claim friendship with her!”

“Careful, Greville,” Connor warned softly as
he too, rose from his seat. He took the earl’s hand and examined it
for serious cuts as he continued in the same soothing tone, “If
you’re not careful, I’ll have to call you out. And I’d hate to put
a bullet in you since I find I quite like you despite your
temper.”

Satisfied that he had removed the last piece
of glass, Con wrapped his handkerchief around Greville’s hand after
applying a salve that he kept handy for just such small
emergencies. Then he rang for Samson to clean up the glass.

The butler arrived and directed the little
maid set to the task. Then he bowed and withdrew.

Connor gently pushed the earl back into his
seat before resuming his own. “Now, explain your insult, please.”
Adam would have been surprised to hear the note of command again in
such a relatively short period of time.

Greville recognized the note of authority and
reacted automatically to it as most men did despite their size or
station in life. “Bri was given a choice, Lord Connor. She could
either marry Steyne or live out the rest of her days in a madhouse.
She saw the viscount as the lesser of two evils.” He looked down at
his bandaged hand without really seeing it. “It took a great deal
of prodding to get her to tell me this. I have had to rescue her
from a madhouse once already.”

Connor digested this bit of news with a grim
expression and a sinking feeling of unease that Greville told the
truth. He also believed the man didn’t exaggerate. He felt Adam
should be informed but he had to know a few things first.

“Why Steyne? I doubt a prospective husband
was simply chosen out of the clear blue sky.”

“Indeed,” the earl replied calmly. The only
sign that he was still agitated was the compulsive movements of his
left hand while he tugged and fiddled with the bandage on his
right. “From what I can gather from Bri and overheard
conversations, I have deduced that Steyne is holding something, a
secret of some sort, over all our heads, like a veritable sword of
Damocles. It’s serious enough that my uncle is willing to part with
most of Bri’s fortune to keep the cad silent. Would that I knew
what the secret was and somehow prevent Bri’s sacrifice!”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Only that she has some strange bruises on
her neck and arms that she tries to hide. She told me she fell, but
I think Steyne or perhaps Uncle is beating her. I can’t get her to
admit it, though. She insists that she fell.”

Connor’s grim look increased if such a thing
were possible. Adam would definitely have to be told. “Adam
Prestwich could and would help,” he replied without any qualms
about volunteering his absent friend.

“I bloody well don’t need that bastard’s
help,” Greville said darkly.

“That
bastard
,” Connor returned with
deadly quiet, “is my closest friend. And I don’t take friendship
lightly.”

“He could have helped her escape—I know he
has the money to do so—but he returned her instead, effectively
signing her death warrant,” the earl retorted angrily.

Connor leaned toward him. “Listen well to
what I am about to tell you, puppy, for I’ll not repeat myself.
Prestwich tracked Lady Brianna Kai Derring, Countess of Rothsmere,
for more than three years. His search intensified over the past
year after he inadvertently discovered her working for my wife. His
search finally ended here in London. She was awaiting execution in
Newgate Prison for petty theft. Yes, you should stare, my young
friend. She didn’t tell you that, did she?

“Bri was half-starved and looked like any
poverty stricken woman from the streets; I doubt she has managed to
retain her virginity, she has certainly lost her innocence. Adam
bought her freedom and took her to his own home to nurse her back
to health after she contracted a fever. He has saved that girl
twice. He had to return her since she is underage. The law is on
your uncle’s side and Adam has not the power to fight two dukes and
an earl in court.”

“She stayed alone with him in his home?”
Greville said in tones of disbelief and rising excitement. “Then he
had compromised her. Honor demands he marry her!” he concluded
triumphantly.

“You would have him marry her? When just a
few moments ago you seemed to think him of a level with
Steyne?”

“Anyone is better than the viscount,”
Greville replied. “Will Prestwich marry her, do you think? Will he
have to be forced?” The young lord seemed to relish the prospect of
“forcing” Adam’s compliance.

“Bloody hell, you know Adam Prestwich not at
all,” Connor remarked mildly. “If he is forced to marry Bri, the
hell she would have known with Steyne would be as heaven compared
to life with Adam.”

“And yet you claim him as friend,” the earl
retorted.

“The very best,” Connor agreed benignly. “He
is the best of men to have in a pinch, trust me. He does, however,
hate to be forced and his dislike of manipulative females is
legendary. You really don’t want to force his hand.”

“Perhaps not,” Greville conceded grudgingly.
“But she can’t marry Steyne either. He would destroy her.”

“Why have you not helped her?” Lord Connor
asked curiously, ignoring his inclination to avoid asking
impertinent questions.

The earl flushed in embarrassment but
answered the question anyway. “I have tried. I mentioned helping
her escape the madhouse. But I lack the funds and power to help her
in any lasting sort of way.”

“Very well,” Connor replied shortly, coming
to a sudden decision. He rose to his feet, paced the room once, and
returned to stand before his guest. He stared down at him
thoughtfully. “I don’t know where Adam is. And his butler won’t
know either. He has a habit of just disappearing without a trace.
His solicitor will know but even I can’t get such information out
if that clam. There is only one other person who may know his
whereabouts.” He smiled and bowed. “I would be honored if you would
accompany my wife and I to the theater tonight, Greville.”

“In Drury Lane? Why?”

“I will explain afterwards. First, say you
will accompany us.”

Levi, Lord Greville, listened to Lord Connor
speak to his wife as they were leaving that night.

“I would like you to stay with Aunt Amelia
directly after the show.”

“Why?” the beautiful marchioness asked
curiously.

The marquess smiled. “Greville and I must pay
a visit to the green room and you know it is not a place for
ladies.”

Lady Connor grinned. “Thinking of setting up
a mistress, my love? How very…
tonnish
of you, to be
sure.”

Greville looked from one to the other, caught
a wink from the aunt directed his way and relaxed. Apparently, this
type of conversation was a normal occurrence for this particular
married couple.

The play was Shakespeare’s
Romeo and
Juliet
. The woman playing Juliet was breathtakingly beautiful
with very long, very straight black hair that hung loosely down her
back almost to her knees. Her eyes were dark and slightly tilted
giving her a sleepy exotic look.

Greville wondered if she had a protector. He
wished he had the means to take her up. The thought occurred to him
that perhaps Northwicke
was
there to set up a mistress.
Perhaps he had his eye on the dark exotic girl. But of what
possible help would that be to their cause?

The play finally ended, not that anyone in
their party particularly wished for it to end such was the talent
of the woman Greville discovered was known as the Ebony Swan. But
end it did and Greville soon found himself in the green room with
the marquess, standing before the delectable Swan.

Greville glanced at Northwicke as he bowed to
Miss Raven Emerson. Then he turned and bowed as well.

“Might we have a word with you in private,
Miss Emerson?” the marquess asked then with a devastatingly
cajoling smile.

She smiled faintly, looking a trifle annoyed,
Greville thought, and rose to her feet and beckoned them to follow
her, leaving a very disappointed court of admirers behind.

“We won’t take but a moment of your time,”
Connor assured her as the door to her private dressing room closed
behind them.

“Very well,” she replied, her offstage voice
airy and light with a slight huskiness that caused an instant
physical reaction in Greville. He wondered again if she already had
a protector.

They seated themselves and Lord Connor
explained that they were looking for Adam since they were in the
way of having some information that that man would be vastly
interested in.

Her dark brows rose in surprise. “Was I the
last to see him?” she asked then, looking from one gentleman to the
other in sudden consternation. “That was nearly two weeks ago.”

“As to that, I’m not sure,” the marquess
replied carefully. “Other than I, in whom he didn’t confide his
intentions to leave Town, you are the one he is closest to. I
thought perhaps he might have mentioned his leaving.”