34. Chapter 34
“Ah.” Sterling straightened off the edge of his desk and tapped the correspondence he held against one thigh. “In a word—no.”
“Then why the secrecy?” Worry tightened the corners of his sister’s dark eyes.
“I have my reasons. Reasons that do not concern you.”
Her expression turned mulish. “I wish I could believe that. You cannot blame me for doubting.”
“I can. I have told you that you have nothing to worry about as far as Gaston’s death is concerned.”
“Then…why have you neglected to mention Annabelle’s parents’ correspondence to her? Surely you see how anxious she’s been, the more time that goes by without any word from them?”
He huffed out an exasperated sigh. “If you must know, the letter I received did not contain any sort of congratulatory message for Annabelle, and I have not decided how to deal with it.”
“What do you mean, deal with it? What did it say?”
“It was an acknowledgement of the marriage—and a demand for compensation.” Of sorts.
She threw her hands in the air. “What of it? I agree it’s hardly laudable to use their daughter’s marriage to a wealthy member of the peerage as a means of financial gain, but neither is it beyond the pale.
Not to mention, you can afford it. Sterling, Annabelle’s peace of mind is worth far more than any moralistic high ground you might take by ignoring their request to make a point. ”
“I wish to make more than a point,” he clipped out.
“Annabelle’s father wishes to barter his daughter’s good name for…
” he broke off with a low curse. His temper had him running off at the mouth.
He had not planned on sharing details with either Annabelle or his sister.
“The compensation her father demands is not financial in nature, and he’s willing to play dirty to get it. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Her self-righteous air gave way to wary curiosity. “Whatever do you mean?”
He set the letter from steward aside and contemplated the second, unopened missive. It took a moment for him to recognize the name as belonging to the local magistrate in Fenwick with whom he’d corresponded about the missing guide.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as if someone had walked over his grave, as his grandfather would have said. He flipped the folded parchment and thumbed off the wax seal.
“Caroline, Annabelle recounted a conversation to me once between you and your betrothed.”
“Sterling, do not attempt to fob me off by changing the subject. I fail to see how any conversation from months ago—”
He glanced up with impatience. “The discussion pertained to Gaston’s desire to join me at my club. Do you recall?”
She went quiet. “A discussion during which Annabelle was present…Yes. I do recall. You had just returned to town, and he asked if you planned to attend White’s.
When I explained that you would go that very night, but that you had planned an evening with our grandfather and would, therefore, not be open to expanding your party, he became”—her expression hardened—“annoyed.”
“Entitled prig,” he muttered, unfolding the parchment to reveal a brief, penned note. He scanned it. Then scanned it again. Then carefully refolded the sheet.
Jack Blackwell, the guide who had gone missing, was dead. Found murdered.
“Well, sir? What has this conversation to do with Annabelle’s father?”
He needed to think. He’d misjudged the situation. He’d concluded the guide had murdered Annabelle’s maid and fled. He’d been only partially correct.
Good God. All this time Annabelle had been blithely going about her business while a killer roamed the streets. His overreaction last night had been anything but.
“Sterling, I asked you a question.”
He no longer had the time to indulge his sister’s curiosity. “Caroline, I will cut to the chase as I have pressing matters to attend.” He glanced toward her, hearing her sound of exasperation.
Her dark eyes flashed. “What is more important than taking care of your wife?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. “The bottom line is this: Gaston wanted an entrée into White’s. A foot in the door, so to speak, because he had been assured by someone who knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he would not be offered membership, period.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Someone? Who?”
“Lord Montrose.”
Her eyes widened. “His father?”
He issued a brief nod.
She paled. “Was it because of something he knew? Does this have something to do with what happened that night? Wh-what Gaston attempted to do?”
He gazed at her very steadily. “That night? Again, no. Think other nights—plural. And not Gaston.”
“Sterling, explain yourself.”
“I am not versed in all the sordid details, but from what our grandfather once told me about Lord Montrose, we can conclude that the apple did not fall far from the tree—at least as far as the men are concerned.”
Dawning horror splashed over her pretty features. “You mean to say Gaston’s father…”
“Has a reputation that precedes him. One that made him a persona non grata at White’s or any other upstanding gentleman’s club in London. He was blackballed long before achieving membership at a gentleman’s club was even a consideration for his son.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. “I see. But how does this pertain to the present day?”
“Lord Montrose, it seems, would very much like a membership at White’s.”
She gaped at him.
“The bastard is attempting to blackmail me with the threat of revealing his daughter’s presence here that precipitated our marriage if I do not see that he receives an offer.”
“Are you going to help him?”
“No.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Poor Annabelle. Imagine growing up in such a household. She’s nothing but a commodity to them.”
“Yes, well, as I said, I shall deal with her father in good time.”
She searched his face. “I think you should at least tell her you’ve heard from him.”
He sent her a bland smile and straightened from the desk. “I appreciate your advice. I shall bear it in mind.”
“In other words, you’ve already made up your mind against doing so. Sterling, she’s fragile in some ways, I’ll grant you that. But she’s also smart and capable.”
“I’m aware.”
“I think she can handle the truth.” She bit her lower lip, then sent him a beseeching look. “About many things.”
His feigned smile vanished. “Stop right there. Madam, whatever you’re contemplating, forget it. Annabelle is my wife and I will handle her as I see fit.”
Regarding him balefully, she chewed her inner lip.
He might as well throw more fuel on the fire. “Meanwhile, I’ve decided to adjust our travel itinerary.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve received word from my steward that he’ll be further delayed.
I will await him on my own and send you and Annabelle ahead.
Chip will escort you. You’ll stop in Harrogate, I think.
” He considered, briefly. “Yes, Harrogate. I hear the waters are considered very healthful and that the city’s a favorite among the upper class. ”
“What? What on earth…? Have you informed Annabelle of this?”
“No. I shall do so presently so she can commence packing as you’ll leave on the ‘morrow—and then I must briefly go off island.”
Caroline huffed in exasperation. “Sterling, this is completely unnecessary. Not to mention I do not think your bride will be at all pleased to be forcibly separated from you.”
Despite his determination to see his plan to fruition, his sister’s words brought a flush of pleasure. It was all he could do to staunch the threatening grin. “You think not?”
“She’s in love with you. Surely you recognize the signs?”
The urge to grin vanished as gooseflesh sprouted over his limbs and a fierce sense of—he didn’t want to call it longing, but it was damned close—filled him at the notion.
Did Annabelle love him? She had given him her body with unabashed abandon, but she’d never so much as hinted at harboring tender feelings for him.
He clamped down hard on the mental cogitation. He did not have the luxury of meditating on such non-essential matters. Still, he heard himself ask, “Did she say so?”
She gave a soft chuckle that made him regret his query. “She did not need to. I do have eyes.”
The silly grin threatened once more. He cleared his throat. “Be that as it may. There are things that require my complete attention. It would be best for Annabelle—and you, my dear sister—if you are away from the island. My decision is final.”
Her mouth firmed, then her eyes narrowed on him in speculation. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you aren’t telling me.”
“There are many things I do not tell you, Caroline, because you do not need to know everything I know.”
Her indignation was instant. “Of all the bloody, arrogant—”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, already striding for the door. “I must speak with Annabelle before I head out.”
***
Annabelle dipped her quill and held it aloft, considering anew how to word her letter to her parents.
Thus far, she’d tried several different approaches and none of them had struck her as quite right.
Though her intent was to ensure that her parents had indeed learned of her wedding, she could not be sure that they had not already done so.
It was possible they were merely too busy to send an acknowledgment.
Or worse, they were put out by her having acted without their blessing.
She did not want to come off as needy, for lack of a better word. Neither of her parents appreciated the sentiment from their children—although, in her opinion, Gaston had an easier time communicating his wishes to their parents than she ever had.
A single rap sounded on her door, and she turned in time to see it open. Her husband entered, bringing all his dark vitality with him.
She sent him a tentative smile, half breathless at the sight of him, as always.
Then she noticed that he had not ventured further into the chamber. He remained near the door, arms folded over his chest, gaze drifting over her in a lazy fashion. When he reached the hem of her skirts, and spotted the crumpled missives, a frown puckered his brow.