Читать книгу The Impostor Prince - Tanya Crosby Anne - Страница 11

N o longer was the preservation of honor a luxury to be considered. The contents of the box—a severed finger and a threatening note—necessitated that even the lowliest of solutions must be weighed.

Until now, Claire had not resorted to begging, but today she would add that particularly distasteful endeavor to her growing list of embarrassments.

To that end, her greatest opportunity lay with Lord Huntington, Alexandra’s father. Though he was known to be a frugal man, he was kind at heart, and if anyone might feel compelled to help her, it would be he. He had, after all, known her most of her life.

At any rate, she didn’t know anyone else well enough to solicit money from them. It was Ben who was everybody’s friend. Claire had always been content to remain in his shadow. She’d never been particularly fond of, or very good at, idle conversation. And though she had many acquaintances, her circle of true friends was quite small.

In fact, it numbered the grand sum of one.

Hoping her best friend wouldn’t wake this morning while she was visiting with her father, Claire awaited Lord Huntington in his office, gnawing anxiously at her thumbnail as she inspected the heads of exotic animals hanging about the room.

Lions bared their teeth at her. Small, doglike creatures seemed to be cackling down at her. Great, deer-like beasts, taller than Claire, turned their noses up at her disapprovingly.

In all the years she’d known Lexie, she’d never entered her father’s office. Lord Huntington was most often abroad, managing his business affairs from behind the telescope of a hunting rifle. When in residence, though, he’d always had a kind word for Claire and for Ben.

Ben, in fact, had turned to Lord Huntington for financial advice after their father’s death, and Lord Huntington had, in the beginning, taken Ben under his wing. Claire only knew this because she’d overheard a discussion between the two concerning debts and assets when they’d joined Lexie and her father for dinner one evening.

“Sorry to have kept you,” Lord Huntington said as he entered his office.

Claire bounded to her feet, sucking in a breath to calm her ravaged nerves. “My lord!” she exclaimed. “Please, no need to apologize.”

“Sit down, my dear,” Lord Huntington directed her as he approached the desk. He flicked his hand when she didn’t at once sit.

Claire plummeted into the chair, though her stomach seemed disinclined to follow.

“I do realize you’re busy, my lord,” she offered, wanting him to understand how truly grateful she was even for a moment of his time. “You know I would never intrude unless the matter were urgent.”

Lord Huntington took a seat behind the enormous cherry-wood desk that dominated his office. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the surface. He was a rather handsome man, despite his advanced age, and his smile reminded her of her father’s. He clasped his hands together and set his chin on two steepled fingers, waiting for her to speak.

Claire suddenly couldn’t find her voice. She opened her mouth, but words became difficult.

He lowered his fingers and dropped his chin to rest on his joined hands, his look concerned now. “What is it you need, dear girl?”

Claire was grateful for his directness.

Averting her eyes for an instant, she said a silent prayer that her father would forgive her for this moment of utter disgrace. Then she met Lord Huntington’s gaze, secure in the knowledge that her father would never accept his only son’s demise over the salvation of his family estate or his name.

“I—It’s Ben,” she stammered. “My lord, please don’t speak a word of this to anyone—not even Lexie—but Ben…he’s…gone missing.”

Lord Huntington sat up straight in his chair, dropping his hands to the desk. “What do you mean, ‘gone missing’?”

Tears pricked at Claire’s eyes. “Well, someone has kidnapped him and is holding him for ransom. And I am expected to raise two hundred thousand pounds—one hundred fifty more—or they tell me…” Her eyes misted. “They say they will kill him.”

Huntington slapped on the desk. “What?”

“I’m afraid it’s true, my lord,” Claire assured him. “In fact, last night, they sent a particularly gruesome gift as a testament to their sincerity.”

Choking back more tears, Claire disclosed everything—her father’s debts (of which he was already aware), Ben’s gambling (of which he was not), Ben’s disappearance and the box that had been delivered to Jasper last evening.

Lord Huntington pursed his lips. She wondered if he didn’t believe her.

“I have heard of this sort of thing before,” he said finally. “But, my dear, there is no need to panic as yet. They will not harm your brother as long as they know you are willing to deal with them. I have a friend with the Met,” he began.

“No!” Claire exclaimed. “They said no bobbies!”

He cocked his head.

“They are watching. A strange man followed me from the—” She stopped, not quite able to share the indignity of having to sell her most-treasured family possessions. “Someone is following me. Were it not for the incompetence of this lunatic driver last evening and his arrogant…”

The image of the man’s employer came into her head and momentarily dazed her. The memory of that smile—startling white teeth and crooked, mocking lips—accosted her.

Claire blinked, forgetting for the briefest instant what she was saying. She fingered the scrape on her chin.

“Were it not for this driver?” Lord Huntington prompted her.

“Well, I might not have arrived safely home,” she finished a little breathlessly, embarrassed by her moment of absentmindedness.

Lord Huntington didn’t bother to question her about the particulars of the accident, nor did he comment on her scratched chin. She must have concealed it well enough, she reasoned, and dropped her hand into her lap.

There was an interminable silence.

“So, then, what is it you need from me?” he finally asked.

Gone was the fatherly aura. His visage was suddenly more like that of the pawnbroker’s, like that of a man considering his own affairs.

In truth, Claire had hoped he would offer something without being asked.

“I thought…perhaps…that you might let us…borrow the money …”

Huntington lifted a brow. “Borrow?”

“Yes, my lord. I am quite certain Ben would relinquish Highbury Hall to you upon his safe return.”

She refused to consider the unthinkable—that he might not return. But if Ben should die, Claire would inherit the house and she would honor her agreement.

“You could sell the house,” she persuaded him, “or keep it. It’s worth at least one hundred thousand pounds, and I am quite certain it is worth far more. I was told that Lady Kensington recently remodeled their home for the sum of seventy-three thousand.”

“Nash’s services do not come cheaply,” Lord Huntington allowed, speaking of the architect who had been hired to do the task.

“Yes. But their home is scarce the size of Highbury Hall. And they merely remodeled. The property itself is worth much, much more.”

Lord Huntington sat back in his chair and eyed her. “And what would prevent Ben from reneging once he is released by his captors?”

Claire leaned forward, hoping, praying for his agreement. “I could sign a note,” she offered.

Lord Huntington said nothing for a moment and then shook his head. “No, that just wouldn’t do. Forgive me for speaking frankly, my dear, but your signature isn’t worth the paper it’s written upon. Not to disparage you, but your brother could very well renege and no one would so much as slap his hand for doing so.”

It was true that she hadn’t the least bit of control over her father’s estate. She was a woman, after all. Claire’s hopes were dashed as quickly as they had been raised. Her shoulders slumped. “But, my lord, Ben wouldn’t!”

“You cannot know that,” Lord Huntington countered. “He might very well claim I took advantage of your…predicament. And perhaps it would be true,” he admitted. “Certainly, many would believe it.”

“But, my lord, I am offering,” Claire pointed out. “You are not taking advantage!”

“No, I’m sorry,” Huntington replied.

He wasn’t going to help; it was obvious by the tone of his voice and the stubborn set of his shoulders.

Claire couldn’t entirely blame him.

“However…”

Claire’s head snapped up.

“I have always thought you a lovely girl,” he suggested.

“Thank you,” Claire said, blinking.

“You must know that Lexie’s mother and I have been estranged for some time.”

Claire’s gasp was almost inaudible. She was suddenly afraid of what he would say next.

“In fact, as you know, she has taken up residence at our country estate.”

Claire swallowed.

“Let us not mince words, Claire. If you would, perhaps, be interested in an arrangement, I might consider the loan, after all.”

Claire’s mouth opened to reply. Then she closed it again.

She’d never expected such a scandalous proposition.

She stared at Lord Huntington, horrified by the possibility that she might have, at some point, given him the wrong impression. He had never intimated that he was romantically interested in her.

He was her father’s good friend. Her best friend’s father.

“In fact,” he continued. “I might even be persuaded to make the loan a gift.”

Claire shook her head. “My lord—”

“You needn’t answer just now,” he said, and opened a drawer. He removed a card. “Take some time. Think about it. And if my offer does not suit you, I know a man who may be able to assist you in locating your brother.”

He snatched his pen from the inkwell and scratched something on the card.

“Thank you,” Claire said numbly. She stood, her mind reeling. “I’m so sorry for having burdened you.”

Her stomach turned.

He handed her the card. “Keep in mind that Ben is a grown man,” he said. “And whatever befalls him is of his own doing.”

“Yes…thank you,” Claire repeated. “Please…give my love to Lexie when she awakens.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Claire didn’t wait for him to see her out.

She hurried to collect her belongings and practically ran out the door, clutching the card in her hand.

It wasn’t until she reached the street that she dared even to examine it. On one side of the calling card was Lord Huntington’s full name and address. Scribbled on the other side was the name and the address of one Wes Cameron, Private Investigator.

She shuddered, uncertain whether it was Lord Huntington’s offer or the name and address he’d offered her that caused it.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she walked down the street toward Highbury Hall.

They were neighbors, for God’s sake!

She had supped with his entire family!

She had considered Lady Huntington a second mother in the absence of her own, and Claire and Lexie had practically grown up together, spending summers at each other’s country estates.

The idea of lying with Lord Huntington—and more—was worse than unthinkable—it was utterly distasteful. It would be tantamount to carrying on with her own father.

First thing in the morning, she would seek out Wes Cameron. It was the only acceptable solution.