Chapter Two
Dear Lord Rockford,
I hope this letter finds you well. Forgive me, I know we’ve never met before and I’ve no practice with these sorts of things, so I shall come right out and say it: I am blackmailing you.
I apologize if this comes as a shock. You see, my father is Baron Devereux. He knew your father, the late Earl of Rockford, quite well. I recently found a letter in my father’s old correspondence from the earl, and it contained a few alarming allegations.
I won’t copy the whole of the letter here, which was rather long and, frankly, a tad misspelled. However, the earl was clear in his thinking: you looked nothing like him, and your mother had engaged in a clandestine affair with a former groundskeeper before the man was thrown off the property. The late Earl of Rockford had long suspected you were not his, and he committed his misgivings to paper. That letter is now safe in my possession.
I know this could create a scandal you would rather avoid. I’ve no wish to cause you harm, and I believe we can come to an adequate arrangement that will suit us both. Please write back to me at this address and let me know your thoughts.
Again, please do not take the blackmail too hard. I assure you it is nothing personal.
Best wishes,
The Hon. Miss Caroline Devereux
Gabriel had read that blasted letter over and over until he’d committed it to memory.
At first, he’d thought it a joke, then had realized with growing alarm that it could not be. The rumor about his mother and a groundskeeper had long circulated at Havenlock Hall, the family estate; Gabriel did not, in fact, resemble the old earl; and the man’s spelling had been atrocious.
This Miss Devereux could not know that without reading such a letter, which meant it must exist.
The old bastard got one last jab in, Gabriel had thought bitterly. In a way, he rather hoped the rumors about his parentage were true, because no one had hated the former Earl of Rockford worse than his second son. That hatred had driven Gabriel from the house at age twelve, seen him gain employment as a cabin boy on a ship out of Portsmouth, wandering the globe brawling and drinking for ten years before returning to England to live as wildly as possible.
If his elder brother had lived, Gabriel would still be Mr. Kane, the rogue of Whitechapel. But Philip had died of consumption, only two months before the old earl, and Philip had made Gabriel promise him to keep the Rockford legacy secure. And as Philip was the only person on this earth Gabriel had ever loved, he’d made that promise.
And now this girl was threatening his ability to keep it!
Gabriel studied the chit as she sat across from him.
Honestly, this Miss Devereux had not been what he expected. Gabriel had thought she’d be a prim little spinster type, the sort of woman who delighted in looking down upon others. Proud of her own inexperience of the realities of the world, judgmental to any who had ever tasted forbidden pleasure. He’d thought she’d be starched and well curled, scrubbed with soap until her skin was dry.
Instead, she was splattered in ink. She fidgeted, looked on him with fascination and a sort of sympathy. He almost liked her as soon as he saw her…and she was bloody blackmailing him!
Her eyes flashed; this Miss Devereux was no wilting flower, it seemed. “We ought to discuss what I want,” she said.
“Oh no. We’ll get to your wants in time,” Gabriel said. “First, I need to be satisfied.”
The young woman went a bit pink in the cheeks. Was she embarrassed or angry? Either way, he’d roused her to intense feeling, something that didn’t seem difficult to do.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want to see this letter from my father. I want to verify that it’s real.”
“Oh no. You can’t think me that foolish.” She scoffed. “You’re a large, imposing brute of a man. The moment I produced the letter, you would rip it out of my hands and tear it to shreds.”
Gabriel rather liked being called a brute by her. It proved she had good judgment and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
“I may be a brute, Miss Devereux, but I somehow doubt you would be so easy to disarm. You seem the type to put her teeth into a man who oversteps the mark.”
“I’ve never had the opportunity to find out,” she drawled.
Surprising. Even covered in ink and a blackmailer, the girl was shockingly pretty. She had the sort of wide, innocent eyes that asked questions, and a lush mouth that demanded answers. Gabriel frowned.
Perhaps this was why she was blackmailing him for money. Gabriel felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl. Likely all the prigs in the ton had passed this lady over for marriage, and, judging by the lack of tea and obvious shortness of staff, the family had little to live off.
“I can’t produce the letter until our terms have been settled,” Caroline said. “However, I could recite a bit of it and let you judge for yourself.”
“Recite it?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Erm. I’ve something of a perfect memory. I remember almost everything, really, which is rather exhausting.” She closed her eyes and thought a moment. “The letter started: ‘ Devereux!’ Just my father’s last name and an exclamation point; isn’t that a rather rude way of opening a letter?”
“It is,” Gabriel muttered, his spirits sinking. That was another of the old earl’s habits, an informal opening with an exclamation mark. Caroline continued her recitation, convincing him more of the still-unproduced letter’s authenticity with every word.
“‘ Been a damned long time since I’ve seen you in White’s. The fellows have started wondering if you’re quite alive still.’ I should point out that he spelled ‘you’re’ as ‘ Y - O - U - R .’ Anyway, ‘ I’m beginning to wonder’ —he had three g ’s in beginning, by the way—‘ I’m beginning to wonder how I ended up at Havenlock for Christmas with the prune and my so-called loving sons.’ ”
“That’s enough,” Gabriel snapped. He was now glad she hadn’t produced the letter; he wasn’t sure he could bear to look at that man’s hated script. “The prune” had been the old earl’s cruel nickname for his countess, Gabriel’s mother. As Miss Devereux recited those words, he’d been launched back into every miserable holiday, every unpleasant exchange with the man.
“I’m sorry.” The young woman cast down her eyes. “He did not seem like a very pleasant man.”
“You’ve keen powers of observation.” Gabriel wanted to settle this matter and go. He’d give her money, tear up the letter, and live the rest of his life in some modicum of peace. “All right, Miss Devereux. Name your price.”
“My price?”
“How much money do you want for the letter? No doubt you’re aware the Rockford estate is particularly well endowed.” That was putting it lightly. They’d a fortune to rival any prince or duke worth mentioning.
“I’m very aware of your wealth,” she said. “But I’m afraid I don’t want money.”
Most gentlemen would cheer if informed they didn’t need to part with a penny of their wealth, yet this only set Gabriel more on edge. If she didn’t want money, what on earth could she be after?
“What do you want, then? My head on a silver platter?”
“Like Salome, you mean?” She gave a smile. “No. I don’t require your head.”
“But you do wish some part of my body? A pound of flesh?”
“Ha! The Merchant of Venice , very good. I like a gentleman who appreciates literature.” Miss Devereux even gave a laugh. She seemed to genuinely enjoy their repartee, which under the circumstances was rather shocking.
Then again, she was also fidgeting with a bit of ribbon at the corner of her dress, a nervous habit. Whatever she wanted, she was building herself up to asking for it.
“What, then?” Gabriel’s patience had never been plentiful, and tonight he had no reserves left. “Speak up.”
“Very well. It is your hand I require, my lord.” The lady was now all business. She stopped pulling at ribbons and sat quite straight, meeting Gabriel’s eye with a boldness he hadn’t expected. “I require a husband for my family’s sake, and a well-placed one at that, but I have not yet been able to secure an offer of marriage. I’ve no dowry or talents large enough to make up for my lack of natural charm, so I’ve had to resort to blackmail. Which I’m very sorry about, just so you know. So, there it is. I need a husband, and you shall do. If you marry me, I shall give you the letter and you may tear it up. If you refuse, I shall spread word of your father’s gossip throughout the ton . Now. What do you say to that?”
Gabriel froze. While he waited for his muscles to thaw, he studied the vixen before him.
Caroline Devereux was still a mystery, a sphinx splattered in ink, but in these last few minutes he had seen a dynamic range of attributes.
She was comely, fiendishly so, with the type of softness and suppleness that should drive men to distraction; she was untidy, disorganized, not a planner in the slightest; she was blackmailing him like a common criminal; she had a quick mind, enough decency to feel shame in what she was attempting, and enough courage to attempt it anyway.
In all his years of traveling the globe, Gabriel had never met another person quite like this.
Had they met in a Mayfair ballroom, he might have found her enticing, but he was not going to allow this. The whole thing was an absurd farce. Gabriel raised himself slowly to his feet, knowing his muscled bulk would tower over the young woman.
She bit her lower lip but did not drop her gaze or wilt. She was made of ink and steel, it seemed.
“This is a dangerous thing to joke about, Miss Devereux.” His jaw was clenched.
“I would never joke about such things. Comedy is not my forte.”
“Oh? You’ve a forte, have you? Not a common accessory for a lady of the ton .”
“Indeed, I’ve not many of the attributes or accessories a lady in our society should possess.” The wench flushed; he’d wounded her pride, and that seemed to make her dig in her heels even more. “But I know how to structure a plot, and I know how to negotiate a character from needing a thing to attaining it. I need to be married to a peer, and you are the only man in our society who possesses a title and over whom I’ve the leverage to make such a thing happen.”
“Why do you need to be married? Why not accept a substantial sum of money and have done with it?”
“I need to look after my family.” She was earnestness itself. “You see, my father has no head for finances. Money rushes out our door as fast as it comes in. Should you give me money, even a fortune, it would be gone before Edmund, my elder brother, could inherit his estate and title. But if I marry well, I can provide Edmund and Simon—that’s my younger brother—with the money and respectability they need to have every advantage in the ton . I’ll also be able to keep my father out of debtors’ prison. This isn’t for myself, you understand. I’d be happy to live and die in impoverished spinsterhood. Well, maybe not happy , but I’d accept it. Rest assured, I’ve no romantic designs on you at all. It’s strictly business.”
Gabriel felt dizzy; he’d never imagined a man could be in this situation. Of all the unsentimental, clear-eyed women he had ever known, Caroline Devereux took the top spot. She had already vaulted over his mother, which was a feat in itself.
“Don’t young ladies usually wish to find a man who loves them? The sort to get on one knee, recite poetry, and all that rot?” he snapped.
“Please think, my lord.” She crossed her arms and looked as if he were being quite silly indeed. “I’m almost twenty-five. Do you imagine I still have romantic delusions? If I were a man, it would be different. Men have the luxury of waiting for romance; women must take whatever they can find. If anything, a romantic union is more a business proposition to a lady than it is anything else. And besides, what if our positions were reversed?” she cried. “How many stories have a man marrying a woman for her fortune and status? How many marriages in the ton have started thus?”
She wasn’t wrong, and the practical logic of it all surprised him. Gabriel grunted.
“Well. How many of these marriages are the product of bloody blackmail?”
“Probably more than a few,” she said sagely. He didn’t argue; considering the miserable state of many people, she was likely correct. “I promise to be a decent wife to you. If you think about it, now you won’t have to spend the Season hunting for a bride. It will be more relaxing.”
She was talking as though she had written out their whole life story already, as if Gabriel were a character she was sketching to fullness as she plotted out a suitable trajectory for him. She was the boldest, most willful creature he’d ever known. And he couldn’t even hate her; she was too damned surprising and lovely to hate.
But he wasn’t about to be haggled for and sold like this. If there was one thing he loved, it was freedom. He’d never let her take that from him, not even if she was bloody alluring.
“Try your blackmail, my dear woman. If you think the Earldom of Rockford can’t withstand some scandal, you know nothing of us at all.”
“That’s precisely it,” Caroline said firmly. “The late earl covered your family with scandal and shame. I think you wish to correct that.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Really, did this woman think she knew Gabriel better than he himself?
“Because you came to my house! And now, when I’ve named my price, you’re still here arguing with me. I’ve gleaned enough of your character at this point to know you want to protect what’s left of your reputation.” She gave a small, satisfied nod. Those limp golden curls framed her face, caressed her cheek. There was a touch of earthy sensuality about her now that she knew she’d won. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but the world has rather got me backed into a corner. If I haven’t looks and charm enough to secure a position, I shall have to rely on my wits.”
Indeed, this headstrong girl was not wrong. Men in their society schemed and fought their way to win the hand of a rich heiress, the daughter of a duke, or some other lush prize. Women of beauty and wealth were treated like spoils of war to be carried off, and women without those magic qualities were often left on a shelf like an afterthought, an annoyance when they spoke up or acted out.
Women were expected to meekly accept their fates. Caroline hadn’t a drop of meekness in her. Under different circumstances, Gabriel would have found that exciting.
Intoxicating, even. If this girl were a character in a novel or a play, he might even be taken with her feistiness.
But this was all bloody reality, and he would never be brought down like this. Even if there was an erotic possibility to a union with this young woman, Gabriel would not yield.
“You’ve made a rather powerful enemy tonight, Miss Devereux.” He hoped she heard the growling edge in his voice, saw the gleam in his eye women had described as bestial. From the way she paled beneath that ink, she likely noticed it, too. “You should have taken the money.”
“I’m certain we’ll come to a satisfactory arrangement in time,” she replied.
Cold-blooded minx.
Gabriel stormed out the room and shoved past the stammering footman. He didn’t wait for anyone to get the door, slamming it shut behind him as he emerged onto a rainy London street at evening.
The lamplighters were having a difficult job in this downpour, and Gabriel started for home. Kane House was not far from Miss Devereux’s. He could likely see her front door from his bedroom window.
He’d stand there tonight and stare at the place, trying not to think of her willful mouth and vibrant, original personality. No, he couldn’t like anything about this woman.
He had to get that damned letter back.