Читать книгу A Treacherous Proposition - Patricia Frances Rowell - Страница 10

London, England, April 1814

Vincent Ingleton, Earl of Lonsdale, leaned his shoulders against the stained wall, arms folded across his chest, and studied the lady’s face where she sat by the bed. Tired. Tired and sad. He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely. No, not sad exactly. In truth, she showed very little grief. Just an abysmal weariness. Little wonder in that. The man dying in the bed had not made her life easy.

Hardly even bearable for a lady of her breeding.

Vincent wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood and mildew pervading the room. The dying man coughed and fumbled at the bedclothes. “Diana?”

She reached out and took his hand while the doctor wiped blood away from his patient’s lips. “I’m here, Wyn.”

Vincent sighed and bowed his dark head. She had always been there when Wynmond Corby needed her. No matter what he had done, Lady Diana had been there for her husband. No matter how little Wyn had provided, she had always been a gracious hostess for him, quietly welcoming his friends into their home, even as Corby finally descended into these cramped, grubby quarters. She had been there for him.

No matter how little he deserved her.

But who was Vincent to say who deserved love? He had not much experience with that thorny subject.

He glanced at the two other men quietly conversing against the adjoining wall. Men like Wyn seemed always to have friends, even though he hadn’t two coins at a time to rub together in his pocket. And why not? He constantly had a quip on his tongue, a laugh in his eyes, the heart to put his horse at any fence in the country. Perhaps that was why Corby was, in fact, the only one of his old friends with whom Vincent still associated, very nearly the only friend he had.

The only one of them who had never sponged off him.

But having friends had not stopped someone from slipping a blade between Corby’s ribs.

The softest of sighs brought his gaze back to Diana. In spite of the fatigue, she looked as she always did, calm and serene, the small pool of candlelight in the dark room setting her smooth, pale chignon aglow. Even in a worn, dull-gray gown, she was beautiful. Truth be told, Vincent knew the reason he spent so much time at the Corby home had as much to do with Lady Diana’s company as it did that of her husband.

But of course, there was the other, more important, reason.

A barrage of coughing from the bed caused him to straighten and step closer. Blood spattered the sheets, and the doctor and Diana both moved quickly to lift Corby higher on the pillows. He gurgled and coughed again. Vincent and the two other men converged on the bed and gathered around the foot.

“Friends…dear…” Corby’s whisper made them all lean closer. He coughed again. “Please…” Another cough. More blood. “Care… Diana…my…my chil…” His eyes closed, and Vincent thought it was over, but Wyn rallied for one more breath. “I’ve…not…done…well.”

The next cough brought forth such a quantity of blood that the watchers knew no living man could have given it up. Wyn’s blond head rolled to one side and the doctor let it fall back against the pillows. “May God rest his soul.”

The stocky, sandy-haired man some years Vincent’s senior bowed his head. “Amen.”

“Amen.” The lanky younger gentleman standing next echoed.

The widow covered her eyes with one hand.

Vincent closed his eyes, clenched his teeth together and said nothing.

“Well…” The larger man took a long breath and a step away from the bed. “That’s that…” He walked to Diana and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Of course, my dear, you must not worry about the future for a moment. It will be my pleasure to see that you are provided for, just as Wyn asked. I will make arrangements and send a carriage for you as soon as the funeral is done.”

Something in the man’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away from his moment of grief. He looked up sharply, his gaze focused on Diana’s face. This time he had no trouble at all identifying her expression.

Fear.

He moved around the bed in her direction. “Perhaps we should discuss this further, St. Edmunds. You might find it a bit awkward to explain those…er, arrangements to your wife.”

St. Edmunds turned a glare on him. “I can deal with my wife.”

“I’m sure you can, but it might also be awkward for Lady Diana.”

The tall man hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, running his fingers through his straight, light brown hair.

Vincent glanced at him. “Sudbury?”

The Honorable Justinian Sudbury studied his shining boots thoughtfully. “Going to be dashed awkward for all of us.”

“Gentlemen.” Diana stood and stepped away from St. Edmunds’s hand, her mien dignified. “I appreciate your concern more than I can say, but it is quite unnecessary. I will care for myself and my children. None of us need be embarrassed.”

At that moment the door opened and a snaggle-toothed, slatternly old woman shoved into the room and peered at the body on the bed. “So the cove’s finally stuck his spoon in the wall, has he? So who’s going to pay me the rent what’s due?”

Diana opened her mouth to answer, but the woman was looking at the gentlemen. Vincent shifted his gaze from Diana to the landlady. “What’s the damage?”

She named a figure and Vincent’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t try to gull me, old woman. These rooms are not worth a quarter of that.”

“Ha! They are when I ain’t been paid for four months—and another month due. Hadn’t been for the little ones, I’d have put ’em out last month.”

So much for no one’s being embarrassed. Vincent glanced at Diana. She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. He pulled his purse out of his coat pocket and counted the amount into the old woman’s hand and added an extra coin. “There. That will cover the next month.” He took a step toward her. “Now get out.”

Suiting the action to the threat, she made for the door. “Aye, ye black-haired devil. I’m going.”

Vincent returned to the discussion at hand. St. Edmunds and Sudbury were looking at Diana who was looking down at her clasped hands. Even in the dim light, Vincent could see that her cheeks were crimson.

“Thank you, my lord. Your kindness will give me the opportunity to make plans.” She still did not look at them.

“Nonsense!” St. Edmunds frowned. “We all know in what case you stand.”

Sudbury nodded. “Wyn was a very good fellow, but… No sense about money. Always under the hatches. Can you go to your family?”

“I’m sure that I can.” An expression of uncertainty flickered across Diana’s face. “I will write to my cousin immediately.”

Vincent gave that notion some thought. Not bloody likely. When her father had died, the title and estate had gone to a distant cousin—one who had not spoken to her family in years. And Wyn’s older brother was no less profligate than Wyn had been. No, someone was going to have to see to her welfare. Damn Wyn and his charm and his prodigal ways and his horses and his women! Damn him for putting her in this humiliating position.

Damn him for getting himself killed.

With an effort Vincent pushed the ache out of his heart. He would deal with it later. Now he must think. St. Edmunds could not be allowed to take control of Diana and her life. The man might be Corby’s friend, but he was not Vincent’s.

And Diana was wise to be afraid of him. Not only were his intentions highly questionable, St. Edmunds had a certain reputation amongst the libertines of London. Women did not fare well at his hands. Why Corby had let him dangle after Diana…

But that was neither here nor there. He needed to get her out of the room. They could hardly continue to discuss this delicate question before her as though she were a child who did not understand. “Lady Diana, are your children still sleeping? I thought I heard a cry.”

“Surely they are—it is well after midnight—but I should make certain. Meanwhile, you gentlemen will be more comfortable in the parlor. I shall just be a moment.” She left the room in a soft swish of skirts and Vincent turned to the doctor, reaching once more for his purse.

“Sir, I appreciate your assistance this evening. Can you further oblige me by having Mr. Corby made ready for burial?”

“Certainly. I regret that I could not be of better use, but a sliced lung…” The doctor shook his gray head sadly.

“Yes.” Vincent handed him several coins. “If this is not sufficient, send word to me at Lonsdale House, and also apprise me when it is done.”

The doctor bowed and left the room, and the three remaining men pulled themselves into a circle. St. Edmunds cleared his throat. “Now see here, Ingleton. It’s good of you to take care of these matters, but don’t think for a minute that it changes anything. I have told Lady Diana that I shall care for her, and I shall.”

Vincent folded his arms, drawing together his dark eyebrows. “And I have told you that I do not believe that is a suitable course of action.”

St. Edmunds sneered. “And I suppose you believe you are a more suitable guardian—with your reputation?”

“At least I do not have a wife.”

“I say,” Sudbury intervened. “Why don’t we ask Lady Diana? Ought to be able to chose who’s to take care of her. I would but…pockets quite to let, myself.”

Both of the other men favored him with annoyed glances. “You heard what she said,” St. Edmunds snarled. “She’ll insist that she can manage, but we all know she cannot.”

“No.” Sudbury sighed. “Can’t see how she could. Not a feather to fly with. Went through his fortune and hers, too. Four months’ back rent…!” He shook his head in disgust. “A governess, do you think?”

“With two children hanging on her skirts?” St. Edmunds grimaced. “Not likely. That is why I shall send my people…”

“No.” Vincent made no attempt to be conciliating. “If you send your carriage the whole of the ton will immediately draw unflattering conclusions about Lady Diana. I will see to it some other way. And that fact need go no further than this room.” He turned to glare meaningfully at Sudbury.

“No, no,” Sudbury hastily assured him. “Not a word. On my honor.”

St. Edmunds’s broad face had turned an angry red. He took a step toward Vincent. “Damn you, Lonsdale, I know what you really want.”

Vincent stopped him with a cold stare.

Sudbury shuffled his feet uneasily. “Come now, my lords. No way for gentlemen… Great God! His body lies dead in this very room.”

“Very well.” Vincent reached again into his coat pocket. He pulled out his hand and opened it. “We’ll settle it as gentlemen. What do you say to a game of hazard?”

“Throw dice?” St. Edmunds’s eyes took on a crafty look. “For a woman?”

Vincent made no answer. He just stood, his expression hard, and tossed the dice in one hand.

St. Edmunds laughed uneasily. “Well, I suppose gambling is nothing if not a gentleman’s sport.” His eyes narrowed. “But not with your dice.”

“As you wish.” Vincent let the implied insult pass. A mere diversion. St. Edmunds also had a reputation where dice were concerned. Not that anyone ever accused him outright of cheating. He was much too good a shot and much too vindictive to chance a duel. But Vincent’s past had long ago taught him how to deal with cheats.

His mouth crooked up slightly on one corner. “But hazard will take too long. We have only minutes before Lady Diana returns. I suggest one roll of the dice each—high number wins. I will roll with your dice, and you may roll with mine.”

Sudbury nodded sagely. “Bound to be fair.”

Vincent handed his dice to Sudbury. “If you will give these to Lord St. Edmunds…”

St. Edmunds eyes became slits in his face. “What are you about, Lonsdale?”

“Apparently you believe my dice too likely to win. I offer them to you. I will use yours.” Vincent’s crooked smile flickered briefly.

Fury and suspicion strong in his face, St. Edmunds reluctantly reached for the dice in Sudbury’s palm. Vincent held his own open hand between them. “If you will first give me yours, my lord….”

St. Edmunds slapped them into Vincent’s hand and grabbed the pair Sudbury held, speaking between his teeth. “Very well. Roll.”

Vincent nodded and went to one knee on the splintered floor. The others followed him down. He shook the dice and tossed them into the space between them.

Sudbury bent for a closer look. “Six! Two treys.”

St. Edmunds smirked. “Surprised, Lonsdale?” He cast Vincent’s dice and scowled.

“Three!” Sudbury called out. “Lonsdale wins.”

Vincent retrieved his own dice and left St. Edmunds’s on the floor.

“Surprised, St. Edmunds?”

Diana slipped into the room she shared with her children. Not since Bytham was born almost four years ago had she slept in the bed in which her husband’s body now lay. Sometimes she wondered if he had ever noticed. She tucked the covers snugly under her little son’s chin, smoothed his golden curls, and moved to his sister. Six-year-old Selena lay sprawled out of the cover, the flaxen hair splashed across the pillow mirroring her mother’s. Diana straightened her in the truckle bed, covered her and kissed her rose-colored cheek.

Dear God, how she loved them. The only lasting gift that Wyn had ever given her. The tears she had not shed for their father now sprung into her eyes. What would happen to her babies? In spite of her brave words, she had no idea how she might care for them. But almost anything would be better than to accept Lord St. Edmunds’s offer. She had not a doubt as to where his arrangements would lead.

No, as difficult as it would be, she would write to her father’s cousin. As the present head of the Bytham family he should be obligated to help her, but considering the longstanding feud between him and her father, she doubted that he would. At the very best she would become an unpaid servant in his house, and her children… She could not imagine what their lives as despised poor relations would be. She might even be separated from them. Oh, dear heaven.

Poor little fatherless mites! If Wynmond had been a poor husband, in many ways he was a worse father. Worse because, like most people who knew him, his children adored him. And he spent only enough time with them to ensure their adoration, disappearing for weeks at time afterward.

And he never understood that. In his way, he did love them—just as, in his way, he had loved her. The children would miss him. They would grieve as she no longer could. What comfort might she offer them? What would she tell them about their lovable, irresponsible father?

She went to her own narrow bed and felt under the mattress, sighing in relief. The last terrifying, precious gift of money still lay where she had hidden it. If indeed it could be called a gift. She prayed it had not been sent by Lord St. Edmunds. If he was the one who knew… An icy fist closed around her stomach.

She closed her hand tightly around the few remaining coins, the metal biting into her skin, the shame of possessing them gnawing at her heart. They would feed them, barely, for the next month, the month’s reprieve that Vincent Ingleton—to her complete surprise—had bought for her. Such a strange man. Dark and cold, with the face of a hawk. She had heard whispers about him, gossip of a misspent youth, a cruel nature. But Diana could hardly picture the man carousing. He had never been anything but solemn and polite in her presence. Solemn and polite and cold.

But three gentlemen awaited her downstairs. She must go to them. Blood stained her shabby gray gown, but Diana could not find the strength to change it. Perhaps they would go soon.

Go and leave her to her dead husband and her fears.

All three men rose politely as Diana came into the parlor, although St. Edmunds’s expression remained dark. He was not accustomed to losing. Neither was Vincent. But unlike St. Edmunds, Vincent took care not to underestimate his opponents.

He ignored the man and directed his question to the lady. “How did you find the children?”

“Sleeping, as I had hoped.” She rubbed her temples as though they ached. Sighing, she sank into a threadbare chair. “Thank you, all of you, so much for coming. I will let you know when I have made the funeral arrangements.”

“Anything at all I can do…” Sudbury leaned to kiss the hand she extended as he approached her.

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”

St. Edmunds cleared his throat. “Of course. If I may render any service at all, you have but to send word.” He glared at Vincent. “Your servant, Lady Diana…my lord… Sudbury.”

With a nod at Vincent, Sudbury followed St. Edmunds out the door.

When Vincent sat rather than follow them, Diana sent him a startled glance. With an effort he dredged up his crooked half smile. “I have persuaded Lord St. Edmunds to let me assist you with your future plans.”

The look of relief which rewarded that statement flickered after a moment and one of wariness replaced it. Not quite knowing how to reassure her, Vincent glanced down at the floor, only to see a cockroach emerge from under his chair. With an oath, he brought his boot down on it.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Once again color flooded Diana’s cheeks. “I cannot get rid of the creatures, no matter how much I clean. I find them everywhere.”

“And little wonder, in this hole.” Vincent stood and walked to where she sat, and stood looking down at her, forcing down the anger that rose in him. “My lady, you are not to blame for the roaches any more than you are to blame for the unpaid rent. I knew Wyn. I knew him well, and my heart is sore for the loss of him. But I also know his nature. He should never have brought you to this.” He glared around the room. He’d be damned if he would leave her here. “And I see no reason for you to stay here another minute. You are not even safe in this neighborhood. And with a dead body in the next room, the cockroaches and rats will… You cannot stay. Go and gather up what you need for yourself and the children, and I will take you to a hotel.”

“That’s…that’s very kind, my lord, but not necessary. I have survived here very—”

“Diana, spare me.” Vincent glowered in her direction. “You have survived, but only that. The moment that hag of a landlady spreads the word that you are now alone, you will cease to have any security at all.” He softened his tone. “I understand your pride, but you must remove yourself and your children from these quarters. Now go and collect what you need. I promise you will be safe with me.”

And from him, more was the pity.

She sat for a moment more with eyes closed and one hand pressed to her mouth. At last she drew in a deep breath and stood. “You are correct, of course. For months I have slept with a pistol by my hand. I will go with you. My concern must be for Selena and Bytham. If you will wait, it will take only a few moments.”

Vincent watched her through the door and began to pace the small room. Why had Wynmond Corby done this to her, to his children, to himself? Vincent shuddered. He had been so close to following the same path, so close to bringing himself to utter ruin. And he still wasn’t sure why.

Nor exactly why he had mended his ways, for that matter.

“I believe this will do for a day or two.” Diana came into the room dragging two small valises. “Now I must get the children up and dress them.”

“May I help?” Vincent moved toward the bedroom. “I know very little about youngsters, but perhaps I can assist.”

The first smile he had seen since he had helped carry a bleeding Wynmond Corby home softened her face. “It is not that difficult. Perhaps you can get Bytham into his clothes. He is such a heavy sleeper—it will be a struggle.”

His brief smile answered hers. “Surely I will prove equal to stuffing a small boy into his britches.”

Her eyes twinkled for an instant. “We shall see.”

He had done surprisingly well with it, Diana thought as the hackney turned into St. James and headed toward Fenton’s Hotel, even if his lordship’s previously crisp neckcloth did now hang around his neck in crumpled folds. Thank heaven he had been willing to help her. She felt completely unequal to the task of wrestling with a cross, half-asleep, small boy. Getting Selena, now sleeping, slumped between them on the seat, dressed had almost proved more than she could do. When had she last enjoyed a sound night’s sleep? Diana could not remember. She roused herself when she realized his lordship was speaking to her.

“I desired the doctor to have the body prepared for the funeral. If you will tell me what you want, I will convey your wishes to him.”

“Oh, thank you.” Diana struggled to focus. “You are very kind. Right now I am not sure…” She rubbed at the pain in her temple.

“You needn’t think of it now. Tomorrow is time enough for that.” Vincent shifted slightly to move the dozing Selena away from his pocket, retrieved his overworked purse once again, and settled the child back against him, holding her upright. He removed a few coins and handed the purse to Diana. “There should be enough here to provide for any services you need tonight and in the morning. I had rather not be seen handing it to you.”

How thoughtful of him, even though Diana had little doubt that his championship of her would soon be all over London—with the attendant gossip. She should not take any more money from him. She really should not. But the pittance she had in her purse would hardly cover a night at Fenton’s, let alone meals for the children. Once more she must bite her tongue and swallow a large chunk of her pride with it. “Thank you, my lord. I will repay you as soon as I am able.”

He stared at her for a moment with sharp black eyes, and Diana experienced a twinge of alarm. Then he shrugged slightly. “Of course. In the meantime, until you have made your plans, I will settle with Fenton’s.”

The carriage drew to a stop and Vincent opened the door. He took Bytham from Diana and helped her down, then gave the boy back to her, lifted her daughter into his own arms and paid the driver. As they made their way into the hotel, Selena snuggled her face against his neck.

Diana collapsed onto the nearest sofa while her escort approached the desk. In a matter of minutes, the child draped limply across his shoulder, he had arranged for rooms with a parlor, turned the luggage over to the porter, instructed a maid to assist Diana with the children and seen the three of them upstairs.

And in a few more minutes he had invited her to send for him if she needed him, promised to call on her on the morrow and bowed himself out of the room, no doubt relieved to be rid of the three of them.

Diana fell into bed in a blur of fatigue.