Page 30 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

J ohnathan stared at the fire in his bedchamber. That one word had taken all his willpower to say. He wanted to scream his objections, to beg her to reconsider, but he was a gentleman. When a lady had made her choice, it was not his place to interfere.

The fire popped in the grate at the same time something inside him snapped. Sometimes he hated being the gentleman his father had raised him to be. Snatching the nearest thing to him, he hurled it at the wall. The expensive vase shattered against the stonework of the hearth.

He sucked in a breath as tears pooled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

He abruptly stood and rang for his valet. What was the use of staying home to lick his wounds alone? As much as he hated people, he needed a distraction. Might as well dress for the Durhams’ ball. He’d not dance, but perhaps a game of cards and a stiff drink would help distract him.

Lost in thought, he allowed his man to choose whatever ensemble suited him best. When the man finished, he looked in the mirror.

Hair perfectly styled, cravat tied in a crisp mathematical, and his black jacket in place, he wondered what the night would bring.

Most likely Susannah’s ultimate happiness, and his lifelong torture.

He scowled at himself. Might as well get on with it then.

Even though the sun had long since set, the streets of London bustled with fancy carriages carrying wealthy passengers to various parties. Dogs barked, and somewhere in the distance, music played. Life carried on, much to Johnathan’s dismay.

Did the world have no respect for his pain?

He could have ridden in his own carriage, but the walk had served its purpose and cleared his mind.

Inside, people waited in line, each taking their turn to greet the host and hostess.

It was strange to think that just one year ago, Nate and Melior had been caught in the cloakroom of this very house.

So much had happened since that fateful evening.

So much could yet happen. Would Mr. Wallace choose to offer for Susannah this evening?

After making it through the line, Johnathan entered the crowded ballroom. He had been one of the last guests to arrive, so when the music began a few moments later, he was not surprised. Couples gathered in the center of the room and one person in particular drew his attention.

Susannah, bedecked in the softest of pink gowns, ribbons and pearls gracing every inch of her, stared back at her dance partner. He did not need to look to see who accompanied her. In fact, he refused to.

Why had he come? Did he enjoy having his heart ripped out and danced upon like the chalk outlines on the floor?

He took a glass off the tray of a passing waiter and let his gaze travel to the ceiling.

Paintings of cherubs and clouds filled the sections between the gold beams that lined it.

How had the painter spent so much time perfecting each image?

He slowly sipped the champagne he held. If he could lose himself in questions of art, perhaps he’d be able to make it through this evening.

When he lifted his glass to take another sip, someone bumped into him, spilling the contents of his drink all over his nicely pressed cravat.

“Lord Newhurst, do forgive me,” a feminine voice said, as he tried to look down at the damage.

He recognized the owner of the voice but did not glance up.

He’d been hounded by Miss Guthrie nearly day and night for weeks, and while he’d once thought her interest might be sincere, he no longer wished to connect himself with her.

Distance was what he needed. Space from Susannah and all who were connected to her.

Maybe he would go abroad. He’d always wanted to see Africa and the Americas.

“Here, let me help you.”

Miss Guthrie wiped at his cravat with her handkerchief.

Johnathan jerked back. “No, thank you. I will attend to it myself.” What was the woman thinking, allowing such intimacies, and in a ballroom no less?

He spun on his heel and exited, finding his way to the men’s retiring room. Glancing in a mirror, he assessed the damage. Thankfully it had been champagne and not ratafia. While the white cloth had taken on a dingy hue it would not be entirely ruined.

After several dabs with his own linen and a quarter hour's time for it to dry, he deemed the neckcloth recovered enough to hide away in the card room for the rest of the night. He’d not planned on dancing anyway.

In the card room, he took up an unoccupied table near the back, pouring himself a glass of brandy from the decanter that sat in the middle.

Conversation swirled around him and men at a nearby card table laughed.

Johnathan’s eyes drifted down and he pulled out his reading glasses to examine the grains of wood in the tabletop in front of him, letting time slip by in an achingly slow fashion.

Mr. Wallace would be a fool if he did not use tonight to offer for Susannah, especially with the way other gentlemen had begun to take note of her.

Who would not notice her? She was everything a man could hope for.

Everything he had ever hoped for: kind, talented, dedicated to her family, generous and thoughtful with her friends, talented at speaking—something he’d never be—but mostly he’d always just hoped for her .

He realized he’d always loved Susannah, and probably always would.

“She is a pretty thing,” someone said from the card table. “Have you managed to finagle a kiss out of her yet?”

“No, but she won’t be able to resist much longer. I’m not one to lavish compliments for nothing.”

Johnathan’s head came up. He recognized the second man’s voice. Glancing over his shoulder he saw three men, two with dark hair and one with blond. He removed his glasses and placed them back in his pocket so he could get a better look.

The blond spoke. “Never has been a lady you couldn’t charm, Wallace. You must be losing your touch.”

“No, just enjoying the challenge.”

Johnathan could only see Mr. Wallace’s profile as he turned to one of his friends, but his smile screamed rake of the worst kind. His gut churned. Susannah trusted this man, no doubt even loved him. How could he speak so vulgarly of her in front of other men?

“Besides, it can't be too much longer before Newhurst proposes to her cousin. Once he’s out of the way, there will be no more strings attached. Might as well get what I can while I can. Then I’ll take the money and a few kisses for the road.” Mr. Wallace took a sip from his drink.

“She seems a bit missish. What makes you think you can get anything at all?”

“Because,” he drew out, “she’s already agreed to meet me alone tonight.”

Johnathan’s jaw clenched and he moved to stand but the first man said something that froze him in his seat.

“I don’t envy Newhurst his soon to be mother-in-law. That woman is a harpy of the worst sort. What woman would pay…”

A burst of raucous laughter drowned out the end of his sentence, but the other men nodded in agreement. Johnathan leaned forward to hear them better.

“But she pays well,” Wallace said. “Both in money”—he paused and waggled his eyebrows— “and with the goods she’s offered up. Curls, curves, and innocence. How could I resist?”

Bawdy laughter filled the room and Johnathan had heard enough. His long legs ate up the distance between himself and the men. For whatever reason they had not noticed him, but he was grateful, for it gave him the element of surprise.

Mr. Wallace caught sight of his angry face and stood moments before Johnathan reached the table. Much shorter than himself, it made it easy to wrap a hand about his throat and push him up against a nearby wall.

Several men skittered out of the way, snatching their drinks and rescuing them from certain demise.

Johnathan lifted upward until Mr. Wallace’s feet barely touched the floor. It seemed he was not as opposed to violence as he’d previously thought, especially when a snake had been lying in wait for the woman he loved.

Mr. Wallace grabbed at the hand about his throat, but when Johnathan retracted his fist to punch him, he held up his hands in defense. The fear on his face was a heady reward.

Johnathan stopped. “How dare you,” he growled.

The men in the room seemed to collectively lean in waiting to hear why the otherwise silent Lord Newhurst had suddenly become a charging bull.

Lowering his voice in hopes of keeping at least a small amount of information private, he said, “You are nothing more than a sniveling snake. I’ll have you know that I never intend to offer for the woman you implied, so any payment you hope to receive will never happen.

As for the other young lady, if you so much as say her name or breathe in her direction again”—he leaned to within a few inches of his face— “I will ruin you.”

Mr. Wallace’s brown eyes widened, and he swallowed under Johnathan’s grasp.

“Might I suggest,” Johnathan continued in a conversational tone, “a trip to your family’s county seat. Your younger siblings are probably in desperate need of you this time of year, don’t you think?”

It was not a suggestion and Mr. Wallace wisely did not protest. Or perhaps he couldn’t, for when he tried to nod his assent, he found his chin trapped above the hand about his throat.

Slowly, Johnathan released him.

Taking a step back, he noted the silence. Gentlemen all over the room stared at him, some with admiration but most with astonishment. He had no doubt they had all considered him a pacifist, his show of force rendering them speechless. Well, let that be a revelation to all, including himself.

He would never allow anyone to mistreat Susannah ever again. Not Mr. Wallace and most definitely not her deceitful aunt.

Mr. Wallace rubbed at his neck, a wary look on his far too handsome face, but he did not move.

“Do not push me, Wallace. It is time for you to leave.”

With one sharp nod, he trudged out of the room, Johnathan close behind him.

He’d not risk Mr. Wallace defying his orders. He was not sure when or where Susannah had agreed to meet him, but he’d not let the man stay in the house to hurt her.

“I need to collect my sister,” Mr. Wallace muttered when he stopped at the ballroom doors. “You cannot expect me to leave her unprotected.”

Johnathan glanced into the open room, searching the crowd for Miss Wallace. Unfortunately the young woman danced in the middle of the ballroom with a gentleman he did not recognize. They would have to wait. No need causing a bigger scene than the one he’d already made in the card room.

“What time had you planned to meet Miss Wayland?” he asked.

No reply came.

He turned, but Mr. Wallace no longer stood next to him. A curse escaped his lips. He should have known he would use any excuse to his advantage. Taking a quick perusal of the hall he realized Wallace had either left or slipped into the crowd while he’d been searching for Miss Wallace.

“There you are,” Eddie said, coming up from behind. “I have been searching for you all evening. Where have you—”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Eddie. Tell me you’ve seen Susannah.”

Eddie’s dark eyebrows crept up at his use of Susannah’s Christian name. “Not since the last set. Why?”

“Is she in the ballroom?”

“I think she left for the retiring room.”

Johnathan shifted directions. Eddie caught up to him. “What is the matter?”

“Find Mr. Wallace and whatever you do, do not let him near Susannah. I’ll explain later.”

The cloakroom where Nate and Melior had been found last year was the first place he checked.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it empty.

Perhaps she really had only gone to the women’s retiring room.

He retraced his steps and followed the hall toward the room as far as he was comfortable, waiting where the door was visible.

He shifted from foot to foot, hoping a woman would come out, any woman, so he might ask if Susannah was within.

When Miss Martha Guthrie exited with a shorter woman, he cursed his bad luck.

Then he remembered her goose description of her mother and all the times she’d rolled her eyes at something Miss Guthrie had said.

Taking his chances, he lifted a hand to stop her.

“Miss Martha, might I have a word with you?” He glanced at the other woman wearily. No use having anyone else questioning Susannah’s reputation.

Miss Martha tipped her head to the side but complied. “Of course.”

They took a few steps away from the other woman, and dropping his voice he asked, “Was Miss Wayland in the retiring room?”

Her head jerked back. “That is not something I should be answering, Lord Newhurst. It is her private business if she is or is not.”

“Please, I have reason to believe she may be in some danger and I only need to know if she is safe in the ladies’ retiring room.”

She glanced back at the room and frowned. “Would this happen to be concerning Mr. Wallace?”

“It is.”

“The scoundrel,” she muttered. “I do not even know why my mother keeps him around, but he is not good company. Then again, my mother does a lot of questionable things.” Her attention returned to him.

“To answer your question, she is not, but I am happy to help you find her.” Then her eyes widened. “Have you tried the balcony?”

His eyes narrowed. “No, but I will if you believe that is where she is.”

“I only say so because I heard Mr. Wallace commenting about the view from that very spot a few nights ago.”

He reached out and grasped her hand, relief washing over him. “Thank you, thank you very much.” He turned and sped away as quickly as he could without drawing too much attention.