Page 54

W ith Henry at his heels, Sir Frederick strode purposefully towards the library. The events of the evening had left him in turmoil.

First there had been the shock of Miss Fairchild’s cool manner towards him followed by her strange confession about gambling. Then there was Caroline’s near-elopement.

And now he was forced to respond to this summons from Mrs. Perry. The widow’s note, scented with that cloying lavender, burned in his pocket like a brand.

His leg ached, but he ignored it. He’d endured far worse pain in battle.

Oh, he’d not been hailed a hero like Amelia’s former fiancé for the full extent of his involvement was more in the nature of diplomacy.

He’d hoped to talk to her of those dangerous, heady days.

Now he wondered what the future held with the women he loved. Everything seemed to have shifted on its axis.

But right now, with the backup he needed, he was suddenly full of resolve. And ire.

So Mrs. Perry had written that cruel letter denigrating his Amelia?

The memory of Miss Fairchild’s hurt expression when she’d confessed to “gambling away” her inheritance made his blood boil.

He understood now. She’d been protecting her brother, taking the blame for Edward’s foolish wager.

Just as she’d protected Caroline by keeping the near-elopement secret.

He would make Mrs. Perry pay for her perfidy.

Just as Mr. Greene would pay for his schemes—both against Caroline and, if the rumors were true, against the entire Pendleton estate with his outrageous claims about being a direct descendant of Lady Pernilla.

Sir Frederick was not usually one for vengeance. He’d experienced the brutality of war and but knew that the diplomacy of negotiation was a far better antidote to conflict.

Nevertheless, he was on the warpath.

Mrs. Perry had conducted an act of war by trying to separate him from Amelia.

Mr. Greene had initiated an act of war by targeting his sister.

They deserved each other, and each would pay.

“Stay!” he commanded Henry, turning abruptly at the door so that the lad nearly bumped into him.

The library’s leather-and-paper scent wafted out as he adjusted his cravat.

“I shall enter the usual way. But you… You need to take up position from the French doors leading into the garden. I believe they are unlocked on a balmy evening such as this. I need you to ensure that you hear, and witness, all that takes place between Mrs. Perry and myself.”

It did not need putting into words what Mrs. Perry intended. Sir Frederick’s very future depended upon ensuring that the scheming woman failed in the clear goal she had tonight.

Miss Fairchild’s very future depended upon it too. And that was more important to safeguard than anything.

“Sir Frederick.” The temptress’s voice was a purr in the dimly lit library, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw her rise from the depths of an armchair and take a step towards him.

The candlelight caught the diamonds at her throat and the calculating gleam in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“And what do you suppose that my answering your summons tonight signifies, Mrs. Perry?” He kept his voice cold, remembering Amelia’s forthright gaze, so different from this woman’s practiced seduction.

“Call me Catherine, please.” Her voice was warm honey, but the desire burning in her eyes was terrifying in its naked ambition.

She moved closer, her expensive French perfume threatening to overwhelm him.

“What does your presence here signify to me? I hoped you’d ask that question, Sir Frederick.

Because I want to tell you honestly what burns in my heart. ”

“I doubt honest is the word I would choose for anything about this encounter, madam.” He took a deliberate step back, noting how her eyes narrowed at the rejection. “Just as I doubt the honesty of certain letters that have been circulating.”

She froze for just a moment—a telling pause—before letting out a silvery laugh.

“Letters? My dear Sir Frederick, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

I’m here only to save you from making a terrible mistake.

” She moved to the desk, trailing her fingers along its polished surface.

“That bluestocking Miss Fairchild… surely you can see she’s completely unsuitable?

A woman who values dusty books over social graces, who can’t even dress properly without borrowing from others… ”

Sir Frederick clenched his jaw. Every word she spoke only confirmed his suspicions about the letter’s author. But more than that, every criticism she leveled at Amelia only served to highlight what he truly valued in Miss Fairchild—her intelligence, her integrity, her complete lack of artifice.

“I find Miss Fairchild’s qualities exactly to my taste,” he said coldly. “Her love of learning shows a lively mind. Her concern for others reveals a generous heart. And her choice of dress reflects a sensible nature unconcerned with frivolous display.”

Mrs. Perry’s perfect features twisted into something ugly for just a moment before she smoothed them back into a practiced smile.

“Oh, but my dear sir, you can’t really mean to saddle yourself with such a…

limited creature. When you could have someone who truly understands the pleasures life has to offer. ”

She moved closer, her intentions clear in every languid movement. Sir Frederick thought of Amelia’s blush when he’d kissed her, the genuine passion that had flared between them, so different from this calculated seduction.

“Someone who knows how to please a man of the world,” Mrs. Perry continued, her voice dropping to a whisper as she reached for his cravat. “Someone who won’t bore you with improving lectures or expect you to spend your evenings discussing dusty philosophers…”

Sir Frederick caught her wrist before she could touch him, his grip firm but controlled. “Madam, you go too far.”

A sound from the direction of the French doors made Mrs. Perry whirl around, her composure cracking. “Someone’s there!”

“Indeed.” Sir Frederick’s voice was cold. “Just as someone was there to vet that malicious letter you wrote attempting to malign Miss Fairchild’s character. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your hand? Your particular turn of phrase?”

Her face transformed, the mask of seduction falling away to reveal raw calculation. “That prim little bluestocking doesn’t deserve you. And she has nothing to offer—no fortune, no connections worth mentioning. Why, I heard her brother gambled away what little she had…”

“How interesting that you should know that,” came a new voice from the doorway. “When it was meant to be a private wager recorded only at White’s.”

Mr. Greene stood in the library entrance, his handsome features twisted in a sneer. “Really, Catherine, my dear, you’re making a mess of things. Sir Frederick wasn’t supposed to be here at all—you were meant to keep him occupied while I secured my own interests.”

“Your interests?” Sir Frederick’s voice was deadly quiet. “You mean my sister? Or perhaps your fraudulent claim to the Pendleton estate?”

Greene’s face went pale, then reddened. “I dislike the charge of fraud, but I knew that’s how it would be.

It’s why I thought an insurance policy to shore things up while my claim was proved would be in order.

But yes, I have proof that Pernilla lived and bore children after her supposed death.

And I am the last in the direct line. Once that’s established, this estate and title will be mine, as they should have been all along! ”

“So, that’s why you needed my sister? To force my cooperation and keep you in funds while your claim was challenged in the courts?”

“It would have simplified matters,” Greene admitted with a shrug that made Sir Frederick’s blood boil. “A marriage to your sister would have given me leverage, made the transition smoother. But now…” He reached into his coat.

“I wouldn’t,” came Henry’s voice from the French doors as he stepped into view, a pistol trained steadily on Greene. “Sir Frederick thought we might need this precaution. And I’ve heard every word about your scheme.”

“As have we,” said Lord Thornton, appearing in the main doorway with Lady Townsend and Miss Fairchild. “Most illuminating. Though I believe we have something that might interest you regarding Pernilla’s true fate…”