Because her tears were about to imminently fall, Minerva excused herself and rushed to the retiring room. After ten minutes and the hasty repair of her face, she left it shaky—but outwardly calm at least. She took a deep breath, intending to return to the relative safety of Olivia’s side, but found her feet taking her toward the door instead, craving fresh air for a few moments before she pasted on her mask again.
She hadn’t lied. Being his Minerva was exhausting. Every day threw up new challenges she was ill equipped to cope with. Rubies, wedding gowns, drunken actresses, secret sisters, her own crushed heart. Was it any wonder she was at her wits’ end? Or that tears were never far from the surface? She had been lured here by the promise of greener grass and had found herself waist deep in a field of nettles instead.
She embraced the brisk winter chill as she wandered past the waiting carriages, toward the dark village square, needing to be alone.
“When did you learn to dance?” The voice chilled her more effectively than the December night could.
“Father?” Her head whipped around from left to right, trying to find him in the blackness, until a brief flash illuminated him leaning against a wall as he lit one of the foul-smelling cigarillos she had always hated.
“Landed on your feet, haven’t you? Engaged to an earl no less.”
She felt sick, knowing his convenient presence after such a long time could only signal one thing.
Trouble.
“What are you doing here?”
“No tearful reconciliation for your long-lost father?”
“I hoped you had died in a gutter somewhere years ago.”
He took a long drag, then slowly blew out the smoke. “You always were a cold one, Minerva.”
“Answer my question! What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, typically unfazed. “I’d have thought it obvious. I’ve come to rescue my daughters.”
“We don’t need rescuing.” The acrid smell of the cheap tobacco took her straight back to Clerkenwell in the dark days before he disappeared. Hiding in silence while the rent collector, the debt collectors, or the occasional Bow Street Runner hammered on the door. That same door being pounded by the fists of whichever messenger had been sent to summon her in the middle of the night to fetch her drink-sodden sire from whichever fetid pit he had collapsed in. Hiding the bulk of her hard-earned wages under the loose floorboard so he wouldn’t take them and drink himself unconscious rather than see food on the table. “How did you find us?”
“If your little con was a secret, you probably shouldn’t have allowed Venus to leave a forwarding address at the Dog and Duck. I took that as an invitation. Not that I needed one. We are family after all and I am still head of the household.”
“Something you have managed to conveniently forget for the last five years! I won’t bother asking where you’ve been. I know already all I’d hear was the usual crock of lies.”
“Talking of lies, Daughter dearest, I wonder how your earl’s mother or this quaint little village would feel about the lie you and he are telling the lot of them?”
Icy tentacles of dread wrapped around her ribs and squeezed her chest. “What makes you think we’re lying?”
“Him? Marry you?” Her father threw his head back and laughed. “Earls don’t marry guttersnipes.”
Wasn’t that the truth! “I thought I was a gentleman’s daughter? A blessedly dead gentleman’s daughter!” Minerva turned on her heel. She would brazen it out and then talk to Hugh, let him know they no longer had a week. They had hours.
“I hear I froze to death … in the Cairngorms.” She stopped in her tracks. “And I thought you always looked down your nose at me because you thought you were morally superior, when it turns out the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it … Minerva Landridge?”
“Nobody would ever believe you over Hugh.”
“Hugh, is it? Cozy … But we’ll see? Or we could do this the easy way, and everyone remains none the wiser…”
“What do you want?”
“Whatever he’s paying you.”
“He’s not paying me.”
“Then I’ll have those rubies.… They are rubies, aren’t they? A toff like him would never buy paste.”
Automatically, her hands went straight to her neck to protect Olivia’s unwanted gift. “They aren’t mine. They’re borrowed.”
“Then I shall expect the funds in cash, then. Shall we say a hundred pounds … by tomorrow?”
“He’s only paying me sixty!” She instantly regretted the stupid outburst, born entirely out of panic, but couldn’t take it back. The damage was done.
“Only sixty?” Her father looked her slowly up and down, making her feel sullied and dirty. “You sold yourself too cheap, girl.… Or do you think me a fool when your fancy man’s pockets are lined with gold?” He blew smoke in her face and chuckled again. “I’ll take seventy-five. I’m sure you can convince him to give you more. The poor fellow looks at you like a dog at a butcher’s window. Use your wiles, girl…”
“I am not giving you a penny!” She turned, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
“Happy to see your beloved’s name dragged through the mud, are you? The locals here all think he walks on water. And what about that mother of his? Does she know her precious boy has hired himself a fiancée? Or a whole family of Landridges to go along with her? Betrayal like that cuts a mother deep…”
“Stop!” He knew too much—or he had pieced it all together too well—and thanks to her stupidity, he had confirmation she was being paid. “I can’t give you seventy-five. I can’t even give you the whole sixty … We have bills … rent … If we don’t pay up, we’ll be homeless.” Mentally she rapidly added up everything, wondering if she could get away with more, then realized it wasn’t worth the risk. “I can give you forty. By tomorrow. If you promise you’ll go away…”
If she could remove her father for a few days, she could think of a way to terminate her pretend engagement swiftly and head back to London before her father ruined Hugh or hurt his mother …
What was she thinking? This was merely opening the floodgates. Her father was vile enough to continue his extortion, and he had never kept a single promise to anyone in his life. He would be back like a bad smell, and he would want more. Some things were as inevitable as night following day.
“Minerva?”
Neither of them had seen Hugh’s stealthy approach.
“What’s going on?” His eyes slowly turned to her father’s and glared. She had two choices. Both were awful but only one felt right.
“My father knows. He’s trying to blackmail me!”
Hugh took this shocking news with impressive calm, almost smiling as he folded his arms. “Is that so?” Bizarrely, his strength soothed her. “Was my hundred not enough, Mr. Merriwell?” The relief at having an ally was swiftly replaced by horror as the full weight of that damning statement sunk in.
Hugh wasn’t surprised, because he had already met her father. Met him, paid him, and purposefully kept it from her. Another betrayal. Another reminder he wasn’t at all the man she had believed him to be.
“You cannot blame a fellow for trying, my lord.”
“I can. Especially when his duplicity reneges on the bargain we made.”
Bargains? Blackmail? More secrets? So many lies she no longer knew which way was up. She must have shivered, because he turned to her and immediately shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. The instant warmth—his warmth—should have comforted her, but it didn’t.
“Go back inside, Minerva. I will handle this.”
“No!” She wanted to slap him. “I have a right to hear everything said!”
“Get lost, girl! I’d rather deal with the organ grinder than the monkey…” The final word came out in a croak as Hugh’s fist gripped her father’s lapels and twisted. Hard.
“Do not speak to her like that!” With her father’s boots scrabbling for traction on the floor, he turned back to her with gritted teeth. “Go back inside, Minerva! Now! The things I need to say to your father are not for a lady’s ears and this is my mess to sort out!” And with that he frog-marched him farther into the darkness.
She simply stood there, glued to the spot like a statue, desperately trying to comprehend everything, before coming to the conclusion there were too many gaps for her to understand exactly. Too many questions now needing answers. Why had her father suddenly turned up? Where had he been? The intervening five years hadn’t been kind to him. He looked older. Sicker. Colder than he ever had before. When had he approached Hugh? How long had Hugh been keeping this from her? And more importantly, why?
As her lungs burned from the frigid air sawing in and out of them, Minerva realized she already knew the answer to the last question. Hugh had done whatever was necessary to save his own selfish, shallow skin and hadn’t given a damn how she would feel! Or how her sisters would feel … What in heaven’s name was she going to tell them? Hurt made her want to run and tell them now, but common sense told her now was not the time.
Hugh emerged out of the darkness alone.
“He won’t bother you again.” He came to stand in front of her. “I’m sorry you had to suffer that. I thought I had fixed…”
Her hand shot out without her realizing, and slapped him hard in the face. He recoiled, stepping back, his expression wary.
“Let me explain…”
“There really is no need. Even a monkey like me can work it out!” She pushed his chest hard with flattened palms. “You looked after yourself, didn’t you!”
“Minerva, it wasn’t…” She pushed him again, putting all her weight into it.
“You did whatever you thought was necessary to maintain your convoluted and selfish charade!” Another push. He made no attempt to defend himself. No attempt to stop her. “You are a liar, Hugh Standish! A lying, self-centered, untrustworthy, two-faced scoundrel! And I want nothing more to do with you!”
She ran then, not caring that his jacket fell from her shoulders into the mud, not caring that every carriage driver in the long line of them waiting outside the assembly rooms could see her in this state, dashing back to the sanctuary of the retiring room and bolting the door behind her in case he had the poor sense to follow, then sinking to the ground in a heap.
At least she expected no less from her father. He was a wastrel. Morally moribund and terminally hideous. She had hated him all her life but had always known where she stood. But Hugh …
He had manipulated her with charm and played her like a fiddle. She’d fallen for his story and agreed to lie for him. Fallen for every supposedly well-meant good deed. Fallen for every honeyed falsehood that had dripped out of his practiced seducer’s mouth. Fallen for him. All of him. Completely.
Fallen in love.
With the worst sort of scoundrel.
What the hell was she going to do?