Page 13 of Two Secrets to Surrender (Blackwood Legacy #2)

Chapter Twelve

W alking through the village five days later, Conrad nodded brusquely as villagers greeted him by name. It didn’t take long for a man to be recognized here, and if he’d been smart, he would have left. He would have returned to London and worked out another stratagem for ruining Abel Pearce. Instead, he’d done the opposite. He’d hung around the village, hoping to run into Gigi. He’d briefly considered calling upon her at her brother’s house but discarded the idea because of the two most likely outcomes: she would refuse to see him, and Ethan Harrington would call him out.

Tired of staying at an inn, Conrad had leased a property in Chuddums called Honeystone Hall and sent for his London staff. When he wasn’t working or staking out Gigi, he found himself brooding: he wasn’t used to feeling like a bastard. While a few prior lovers had accused him of being one, he normally did not agree with their assessment. He prided himself on being clear about what he had to offer in a relationship and what he expected in return. He did this to protect both parties; after Vicky had shredded his heart, he had no wish to repeat the experience. If somewhere along the line his lover became dissatisfied with the terms, that was her problem. It wasn’t his fault that she’d changed her mind. His usual response had been to terminate the arrangement.

To his knowledge, he had never treated a woman unfairly…except Gigi. The one woman who’d held up her end of the bargain. Who was the bravest, cleverest, and most spirited female he’d ever met.

The shimmering hurt in her eyes gnawed at his gut, reminding him of the hearty kidney pie he’d ordered for lunch. Actually, he hadn’t ordered the dish: the cook at the local tavern, a fearsome matron by the name of Mrs. Thornton, had plunked it in front of him, declaring, “ Eat it or starve, it’s up to you. ”

He’d appreciated her honesty.

Truth be told, he wished he could be as blunt with Gigi. Wished he could go up to her and apologize for acting like an ass. Wished he could thank her…and ask for a second chance. Yet he hadn’t acted on his instincts because, for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what he wanted from a woman. That is, he knew he wanted Gigi—Christ, he frigged himself several times a day, thinking about her—but he didn’t know how to fit her into his plans.

There was only one way to have a well-bred virgin. But marriage meant commitment, and he was already committed to vengeance. He didn’t want any distractions. Moreover, Gigi stood squarely in his path: she was determined to save the spa while he was equally determined to see it fail.

There is no way to make it work. Cut your losses and leave. Stop acting like a namby-pamby.

But he couldn’t.

He could still taste her. Smell her. He could feel the way she’d trembled during her climax, rubbing her pussy so desperately against his cock that he’d gone off like a cannon. Moreover, how could he leave knowing that she was angry at him and rightly so?

Seeing Wally up ahead—thank God the fellow favored garish colors that made him easy to spot—Conrad hastily ducked into the nearest shop. Wally had cornered him several times in the last few days, bending his ear about the legend of Bloody Thom. Although Conrad didn’t believe in ghosts, a bad luck curse would explain a few things: since his arrival in Chuddums, nothing was going his way.

“Welcome to Hatcherds, sir.”

Conrad turned from the window, where he’d been surveilling Wally, to see another elderly fellow smiling up at him.

God’s teeth, what is it with friendly codgers in this village?

“I am Mr. Khan, the proprietor of Hatcherds.” The man was as wrinkled as a prune, with snowy hair and eyebrows. His eyes twinkled behind thick spectacles, and he was holding out a tray dotted with exotic-looking sweets. “May I offer you refreshment whilst you browse?”

Since it would be churlish to refuse, Conrad took a small, pale confection studded with slivered nuts. He popped it into his mouth, his eyes widening as creamy, spiced sweetness melted upon his tongue.

“That is exquisite,” he said.

“Thank you. I made the barfi myself.” Mr. Khan beamed at him. “Have another.”

Conrad didn’t have to be asked twice. Before he knew it, he’d consumed the entire tray and found himself having a cup of tea with Mr. Khan at the counter. The bookshop owner was as chatty as Wally, and Conrad used this to his advantage, subtly milking the other for information.

“I’m told a family from London moved here recently,” he said casually.

“You must mean Lord Ethan Harrington. His new bride, Xenia Harrington, is a gracious lady and dear friend,” Mr. Khan said fondly. “She inspired me to reorganize the shop?—”

“I think I’ve made her acquaintance.” Conrad reined in Mr. Khan before the other could meander. “Is she dark-haired and slender, with remarkable violet eyes?”

“No, you’ve mixed her up with Lady Gigi, Lord Ethan’s younger sister.”

“My mistake,” Conrad said smoothly. “I saw Lady Gigi in the square the other day, and she reminded me of someone I met in London.”

“It is possible that you met our Lady Gigi during the London Season, for she is a popular debutante,” Mr. Khan said proudly. “She wintered here at her brother’s house and is a friend of the village. She has helped Miss Letty to refurbish her spa…but then again, you know about the spa, don’t you?”

The astute gleam behind Mr. Khan’s spectacles reminded Conrad that while affable, Chuddumites were not ignorant bumpkins, and it would behoove him to remember that fact.

“News travels fast, I see,” he said easily. “It’s true that I hoped to purchase the spa, but as Miss Letty informed me that she has no interest in selling, I shall have to seek out another venture.”

“It is for the best,” Mr. Khan agreed. “The success of the spa means a great deal to our village. With the grand reopening less than two weeks away, we expect an influx of visitors that will benefit everyone in Chuddums. I, myself, have restocked on stationery and plan to make extra batches of sweets.”

“An excellent idea, I’m sure.” Conrad racked his brain for a covert way to ascertain Gigi’s routine. “As a fellow Londoner, I should like to introduce myself to the Harringtons. Are they in the village much?”

“Xenia Harrington does the rounds on Mondays and Thursdays and always makes a stop here,” Mr. Khan said proudly.

Goddammit. How do I ask about Gigi without being obvious?

“And, er, the rest of the family?”

“Lord Ethan often accompanies his wife. Being newlyweds, they don’t like to be apart, eh?” Mr. Khan winked. “The rest of the Harringtons—Lord Ethan’s siblings and parents—join them from time to time, most often for tea at the Leaning House.”

Conrad could hardly barge in on the family tea and ask to speak to Gigi. After further probing failed to yield results, he thanked Mr. Khan for the hospitality, purchased several packets of sweets, and left the shop. He exited the square, thinking a walk might clear his head. He hadn’t gone far when jeering voices snagged his attention.

“Stop sniveling, you sorry scrap. We ain’t barely started with you.”

Hastening his pace, Conrad followed the voices to a back lane. A small, sandy-haired boy stood shaking against a brick wall. He had a shiner over his left eye. His smart woolen jacket and trousers were streaked with dirt, and his fashionable felt hat lay on the ground between him and the brutish, pug-nosed boy facing him. The leader was flanked by two other bullies—one blond, the other ginger-haired.

“This is what you get for being a tattle-tale,” the ginger-haired bully spat.

“I d-didn’t tattle,” the boy protested.

“Then ’ow did the schoolmaster know that you’ve been giving us your lunch, eh?” the leader demanded.

“I d-didn’t say anything, I swear?—”

“Liar, liar, fancy pants on fire,” the blond bully taunted.

“Let’s teach this runt a lesson.”

When Pug Nose stomped on the victim’s hat, grinding it into the dirt, Conrad’s nape burned. He stalked over, grabbing the surprised leader by the scruff.

“Pick on someone your own size,” Conrad said coldly.

“Unhand me, you bastard,” the bully yelled. “Help me, lads!”

The other two charged. Skills honed from years of prizefighting kicked in, and in a matter of moments, the three lay in a groaning heap.

“Leave this boy alone, or it will be worse for you next time,” Conrad warned. “Now get out of here.”

The bullies limped away.

Conrad turned to the boy, who was staring at him, one eye bright blue, the other swelled shut. When a tear trickled down the lad’s freckled cheek, he wiped it away with his sleeve.

“You all right, lad?” Conrad asked.

The boy shook his head, snot running from his nose.

“Here.” Conrad took out a packet of Mr. Khan’s sweets. “Medicine for that shiner.”

The boy peered into the bag. “That’s not medicine. That’s Mr. Khan’s barfi .”

“It’s medicine if it makes you feel better.”

While the boy ate one of the treats, Conrad picked up the crushed hat and handed it to him. “Unfortunately, this looks damaged beyond repair.”

“My mama can fix it. By the by, I’m Kenneth Sommers. You can call me Kenny.”

At the boy’s proper bow, Conrad stifled a smile.

“Conrad Godwin.” He returned the courtesy. “Now, Kenny, you’d best run along and have your mama take a look at your eye?—”

“How did you learn to fight like that, sir?” Kenny asked.

Years of being bullied just like you.

“I did some prizefighting in my day.”

“You were a prizefighter?” Kenny gazed at him as if he’d taken a stroll over a lake. “Could you teach me how to box?”

Conrad shook his head. “I haven’t got time, lad. I won’t be in the village long?—”

“It won’t take long. I’m a fast learner.”

“Ask your papa?—”

“My papa’s too busy for me. Mama says he has a long-standing appointment at the tavern.” Kenny’s bottom lip quivered, his good eye shimmering. “Just one lesson, please ?”

Christ.

“I have to be somewhere?—”

“Tomorrow, then. Please, Mr. Godwin? I’ve saved up money from doing chores at Mama’s shop, and I’ll pay you.”

Seeing the boy’s desperation, Conrad couldn’t turn away.

What harm could it do to teach the sprat a few defensive maneuvers?

“One lesson.” He sighed. “And you don’t owe me anything.”

In his study at Honeystone Hall, Conrad was reading the latest report sent by Redgrave, his chief manager, when the butler alerted him to a visitor. At the mention of the man’s name, Conrad’s pulse started to thud.

What does he want? Did he hear of my interest in the spa and guess my intentions? Does he know who I am—are my plans compromised?

His chest constricting, Conrad maintained his outward calm. “Send him in.”

Moments later, Abel Pearce entered the study. Conrad rose, noting that the passing years had been kinder than the bastard deserved. Pearce was fuller in the middle, thinner on top, but was otherwise little changed. He still dressed like the pretentious ass he was and had the same grating, falsely hearty manner.

Despite the twenty-odd years that had passed, Conrad could have picked his distant relation out of the crowd. He tensed as Pearce studied him with keen eyes.

Does the blackguard recognize me?

“Mr. Godwin.” Pearce’s bow was deferential. “I hope I am not intruding. Although we are not acquainted, my family has a long legacy in Chuddums, and I take it upon myself to extend a welcome whenever a gentleman of quality joins our fold.”

Relief loosened the knots in Conrad’s chest.

Of course, Pearce doesn’t know me. He couldn’t get rid of my mama and me fast enough. He didn’t think twice about throwing us out…about withholding what was rightfully ours.

“I am glad you came, Mr. Pearce.” Conrad waved at the chair across his desk. “Have a seat.”

“I don’t mind if I do, sir.” Pearce’s eager manner gave off a whiff of desperation. “May I ask what brings you to our little village?”

“I sought a change from the brisk pace of London.”

“Ah, yes. Chuddums is an oasis from modern life,” Pearce agreed. “My great-great-grandfather, Langdon Pearce, was an industrialist like yourself. He built a mill here—which still stands, though it has long been abandoned. A man of great vision, he had a hand in developing Chuddums. The village owes much of its charming character to him.”

Charming character? What a joke. Chuddums is a sinking hole and you know it.

Conrad rearranged some papers on his blotter. “A quaint slice of history, I’m sure.”

After an awkward pause, Pearce said, “The truth is, I have an ulterior motive for my visit.”

Why does that not surprise me?

“Oh?”

“Your financial prowess precedes you, Mr. Godwin, and I was hoping to get your advice on a matter. Confidentially, of course.”

Just like that, the solution presented itself to Conrad. It was simple, elegant, and, best of all, removed the spa from the equation. The strategy would allow him to have his revenge and Gigi. Exhilaration filled him, and he clenched his hands beneath the desk, reminding himself not to show his cards.

Looking his enemy in the eye, he said, “I would be glad to be of assistance.”