“But why, if Meg is all right, didn’t Rush return with a message from her?” Maryann asked when, contrary to her fears, she and Stephen met without a mishap at Hookham’s lending library in Old Bond Street.
They were as private as they could wish to be, sheltered from view among the stacks and too far in the back of the library to be overheard by the bored clerk perched behind his tall desk, or the elderly lady flipping through periodicals in the reading area. Taking no chances, though, they spoke in hushed tones.
“Because he’s still at the tavern. Drunk as a brewer’s horse.”
“Oh.”
So it had been nothing but the truth when Stephen said the night before that a tavern was a tempting place.
“Thank you for checking on him,” she said.
Stephen nodded. “Fletcher is letting him sleep it off. No doubt you’ll see a very sorry soldier this afternoon.”
Absently, she agreed.
“What will happen now, Stephen? Is Sir Nathaniel giving up?”
Stephen’s face hardened. “No! It’s the devil of a coil, I admit. We were so certain Tammadge would take Meg to the Venture and we’d nab him—and then, nothing! But we won’t give up. We’ll think of something.”
“Perhaps Tammadge never intended to take Meg. What does she think?”
Stephen placed two of the steps used to reach the highest shelf close together and offered one to Maryann as a makeshift bench.
Seating himself, he said, “She’s as much in the dark as Sir Nathaniel and I are. All she had to report was that the servants, save for Tammadge’s valet, had been given the evening off and that, after several games of piquet and a ‘scrumptious supper,’ she was asked to come back next Thursday. Tammadge made no demands of her or said anything that would imply he might do so next week.”
“I am glad. I don’t want her hurt in any way.”
Stephen looked at Maryann. He forgot anger and frustration over his failure to catch Tammadge as his heart swelled with love—and pride.
Her kisses had shown her innocent of passion or lust; the wide gray eyes were clear and guileless as a child’s. Yet she showed an understanding and generosity of spirit for Meg’s situation that many a mature woman would have been unable to offer.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and—”
“Ha!” Maryann exclaimed and immediately looked guilt-stricken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. But I believe I may have hit on something.”
He was still thinking about what he’d like to do if his situation were different. If he didn’t live under a false name—or, at least, had told her who he was—if he still had his investments, he might forget that Maryann was above his touch. He might ask her to marry him and grow flowers in Cornwall….
Her next words caught his full attention.
“This coming Thursday is the second day of May, Stephen. That evening, Princess Charlotte will marry Prince Leopold.”
“By Jupiter! If I didn’t forget.” He was about to slap his thigh when he recalled their surroundings. He lowered his voice. “There’ll be so much celebrating in the streets, Tammadge could abduct every woman and child in town and no one would take notice.”
He saw her eyes widen, her face turn pale. With an effort, he suppressed the excitement surging in him. He reached over to press the hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“I know that’s taking us too close to your own wedding day. May the sixth. I’ll never forget how you flung the date at my head at the Fighting Cock. But remember, Maryann! You will not marry Tammadge.”
“I may have to,” she whispered.
“No!”
Two large tears fell.
Within the airless confines of the high stacks, Stephen felt cold. He got off the steps.
Raising her hands to his lips, he vowed, “I’ll do anything to keep you away from Tammadge. If Thursday turns out to be another blind, I will call him out.”
“You don’t understand.”
Her hands clutching his, she rose. “Stephen, circumstances have changed. I am totally in Tammadge’s power.”
Baldly, without mincing words, she told him of the summons from her father, of Reginald, of Tammadge’s blackmail. She did not cry any more, but her eyes, which had always before held a glint of determination or rebellion, or a spark of mischief, had the dull look of hopelessness.
A vise gripped his gut and tightened unmercifully as he listened and began to foresee the inevitable conclusion of the sorry tale.
“If anything happens to my father, Mama will have nothing but debts. She won’t be able to move to Bath, where she’d escape the brunt of the scandal. She—”
Her voice broke. She withdrew her hands from his grip, fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief, and blew her nose.
To Stephen, it was a valiant gesture that gave him hope. She might think herself lost, doomed to martyrdom. But her spirit was not broken.
When she looked at him again, though, he could not like the bitter twist of the mouth he had kissed only a few hours earlier. He stepped toward her to wipe out the bitterness with the tip of a finger, but she drew away.
“I shan’t have a dowry,” she said. “Mama cannot rely on me to contract another advantageous marriage and offer her a home—even if I were willing to consider such a step once more. As father said, she’ll be out in the street.”
“Your sisters—”
“Not one of my worthy brothers-in-law would allow his wife to associate with Mama,” she said bitterly. “Not if the Rivington name is tainted by scandal.
“And then,” she added after a pause, “there is Reginald.”
“With the education your father has provided, the boy is well able to take care of himself. He is eighteen, you said. Not a helpless infant.”
“But what is there for him to do? Clerking?”
“There is nothing wrong with clerking.”
“He wants to read law. As long as my father provides for him, he can stay at Christ Church. Stephen, I cannot forget that he, but for the mischance of being born illegitimate, would be the future Earl of Rivington.”
“That is to be laid at your father’s door. You can do nothing about it.” Stephen gave her shoulders an exasperated little shake. “And neither need you feel guilty.”
He saw the stubborn tilt of her chin and realized that her unbroken spirit could work against him as much as it could against Tammadge. Right or wrong, she felt responsible for her mother and the boy Tammadge had thrust under her notice.
And he unable to help.
Stephen had been bitter about William’s suicide, had raged at William’s cowardice, but not until now had he wanted to curse William for gambling away not only his own property, but Stephen’s as well.
“I had much time this morning to think about the decision I must make,” said Maryann. “If I defy my father and Tammadge, I will condemn my mother to penury. But if I marry the monster, I’ll be going against all principles I hold dear.”
“I told you!” he said with a harshness stemming as much from frustration at his helplessness as it sprang from apprehension of what she’d say next. “I shall not let you marry Tammadge. He will be arrested and convicted. Or he shall die at my hands.”
She was so pale, he could see the veins beneath her skin.
“Stephen, it is too late. I must ask you to let Tammadge go.”
He flinched.
He’d had ample warning of what she would ask, yet he was not prepared. The wrench at his heart was infinitely worse than the physical pain he’d suffered when, climbing the Pyrenees, he had been kicked by a mule.
“Don’t ask me that! You must know I cannot back out of my commitment.”
“Yes, I know.” Her shoulders drooped. “But I had to ask anyway. Good-bye, Stephen.”
She turned, stumbling blindly into the steps behind her, but was caught by Stephen. With her back toward him, he pulled her into the shelter of his arms, fiercely determined to protect her, to save her from Tammadge and her own misguided sense of obligation.
One of the feathers on her hat tickled his nose, and he had to twist his head to speak around it.
“Before you go,” he said hoarsely, “let me tell you again that I love you.”
A tremor ran through her slight frame. She drew breath, like a sob barely stifled.
“I love you, too.”
The words were almost inaudible, but he heard.
He tightened his hold on her. “If you will but trust me, I’ll see to it that nothing happens to your father—provided he gives up the gambling salon.”
For an instant, she yielded against him, and his spirits rose. Then she stiffened.
“My father is over his head in debts. So far, his name and position have kept the creditors at bay, but one word against him will send them scurrying to our door. He’ll end up in debtor’s prison.” And Mama—on the streets.
“I’ll make certain Tammadge will have no chance to say that word.”
“How?” she asked sharply. “By killing him?”
Yes, by killing him.
He did not say it aloud. He did not need to.
Maryann turned in his arms. Her hands frantically clutched at the lapels of his coat.
“You mustn’t kill him! I forbid it. Do you hear, Stephen? You must not kill Tammadge. I could not live with myself if you were arrested for murder.”
“Shh!” His voice was rough, hiding the tenderness welling in him. “You’ll have the clerk on us if you don’t take care.”
“I don’t give a straw! Promise me, you won’t call him out!”
He looked into her eyes, and, seeing her fear, he grew calm.
He wanted Maryann’s happiness more than anything in the world. And he wanted Maryann.
But he was committed to go after Tammadge—committed personally for the sake of his sister-in-law and his young nieces, and bound by pledge to assist the Bow Street magistrate in ridding society of a canker.
Desire and obligation—a chasm gaped between the two. But he had overcome obstacles far more difficult and deadly.
“Promise, Stephen!”
The stakes were high, but never were they more worthwhile.
“If you promise not to marry him.”
They stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. Stephen forceful, demanding. Maryann pleading.
Again he felt her tremble. She slumped against him, hiding her face against his chest. And the dratted feather tickled his ear.
“I cannot bear to marry him,” she admitted.
Stephen gave the hat a nudge, tilting the nuisance of an ornament to a more accommodating angle. One hand cupping her cheek, the other stroking her back, he held her against him. He did not allow himself to feel relief. Maryann was a woman. She might well give in to the pressure of what she perceived as obligation and duty, and change her mind.
And he knew better than to press his luck by insisting on a promise when he knew that he would never make the vow she demanded.
“Are you planning to see Hannah again?” he asked.
Her face still rested against his chest and her answer was muffled. “I must. I told her I would.”
Satisfied, he said no more. As long as Maryann saw Hannah and was reminded of the viscount’s trade, there was a good chance she’d stand firm.
For some time, Stephen had been aware of movement in the front of the library. Twice, he had heard the door open and close, and he knew that they must soon be discovered.
Gently rubbing her temple with his thumb, he said, “Won’t you let me look at you once more before I must send you home?”
A tentative smile greeted him when she raised her face. Consigning to perdition anyone who’d dare spy on them, he traced the curve of the smile with his mouth.
“You had better go now,” he said reluctantly. “I hear someone coming this way.”
Looking dazed, she drew away. “You go first. I’ll select a few books. One of us should give the poor clerk some business after sheltering us for so long.”
He adjusted her hat, then looked deep into her eyes.
“That’s better,” he said. But he was not speaking of the hat.
Maryann watched him go, and when he disappeared around the stack into the main aisle, she slowly followed. Surely there was no harm in looking after a very handsome man. Many girls did so.
She stepped out into the aisle and came face to face with Mrs. Webster. Maryann curtsied; the widow nodded and swept past her. She had not forgiven the slight to her nieces.
The snub did not greatly disturb Maryann. She was absorbed in watching Stephen. She had convinced him she wouldn’t marry Tammadge; she was sure of it. But she had promised nothing.
A tightness in her chest made breathing difficult. He had passed the reading area where three elderly ladies now sat with newspapers and periodicals. In a moment, he’d be gone.
She saw him nod to the clerk, heard him say something about coming back to look for a military history book when he had more time at his disposal.
He was almost at the door when it was opened from outside and a young gentleman, fashionably attired in a fawn-colored double-breasted coat of superfine, off-white pantaloons, and glossy Hessian boots, entered the lending library. Catching sight of Stephen, the young elegant stopped in his tracks, his face breaking into a wide smile.
Stephen, too, came to an abrupt stop. Maryann could not see his face, but, judging by the stiffness of his back, his reaction to the fashionable gentleman was anything but pleasure.
The young man snatched off his hat. “By Jupiter!” he exclaimed. “I couldn’t have wished for a better sight on my first day in town. How do you do, Major Fant?”