The Bachelor Page 2

  Major Wolfe arched one dark brow at her. “And what were you proposing to do with an unloaded pistol?”

  “Never mind that. I’m merely saying I want it back.”

  “Ah.” Major Wolfe gestured to Lionel with his firearm. “You heard the lady. Give it to her.”

  Lionel’s eyes narrowed, and Gwyn’s heart nearly failed her. What if he chose to reveal her secret to Major Wolfe? It would be just the sort of thing he’d do to revenge himself on her. And she would die of mortification, which was saying something, because there was little that mortified her these days.

  She edged closer to Lionel. “Hand it over.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I promise you’ll have your money once I reach London. But not if you say one word to him about our past together.”

  Lionel glanced from Major Wolfe’s weapon to her ashen face. “I’ll hold you to your promise,” he murmured, then gave her Thorn’s pistol and backed to the end of the bridge and onto the path that led to where his phaeton was waiting.

  Major Wolfe, who’d been watching their exchange intently, fortunately didn’t ask what they’d talked about. She was fairly certain he couldn’t have heard them over the roar of the river below, but she still shook from the knowledge of how narrow an escape she’d made.

  And would continue to make as long as Lionel was about.

  “I wish you’d killed him,” she muttered as Major Wolfe approached her, keeping his eye on the retreating Lionel.

  Once Lionel climbed into his phaeton and drove away, Major Wolfe relaxed his stance. Then he shoved the large, odd-looking pistol into the capacious pocket of the ragged greatcoat she’d always seen him wear when working on the estate.

  “I’ll accompany you back to the hall.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Just in case Malet is lurking nearby, waiting to get a chance at you again.”

  Oh. That was certainly a good point. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  He nodded, taciturn as always, and gestured for her to go ahead of him. They crossed the bridge and climbed the hill for some time in silence, with her casting him furtive glances every few steps. Lord, but the man was handsome—unfashionably so, with his long black hair tied in a queue by a simple leather cord—but handsome nonetheless.

  Some would say his jaw was too jutting and his lips too thin to be called attractive, and that might be true. Personally, she found the combination arresting. But it was his hazel eyes that distinguished him from every other man she’d ever met, even Heywood, whose eyes were also hazel. The major’s were the color of dark honey, a golden color so unusual that she could stare at them all day.

  Not that she’d had many chances. When his sister Bea had been on the estate, Gwyn had seen him more often, but once Bea had married, he’d seemed determined not to associate with anyone who lived in Armitage Hall.

  That didn’t keep the maids from whispering about him—how he looked, what he said, what he did. One had even stated that she would marry Major Wolfe in a heartbeat, lame leg or no. Yet he seemed to have no idea of his appeal to the female sex, or surely he’d have taken a wife by now. According to his sister, he was already thirty-one.

  “What did Malet want?” Major Wolfe finally asked.

  She was glad she had a plausible explanation ready for him. “To make me go with him. That’s why I brandished the pistol.”

  Major Wolfe searched her face. “Since when do you carry a pistol with you on Armitage land?”

  “Since Mr. Malet told Heywood that he meant to kidnap me in revenge for something Heywood and his friend did abroad,” she snapped.

  “Malet made that threat four months ago,” Major Wolfe pointed out. “It’s odd that he waited until now to attempt it.”

  “Perhaps he was waiting until our guard was down,” she said dryly. “Or perhaps he had tried courting an heiress who wouldn’t know all about his wicked intentions, and she didn’t prove viable, so he fell back on his old ways.”

  “And you just happened to be roaming the estate with your brother’s unloaded pistol when Malet came looking to kidnap you.”

  She knew perfectly well that Major Wolfe wasn’t credulous enough to believe that. Then an idea struck her. “Thorn heard that Mr. Malet was nosing around in Sanforth, so he warned me to keep an eye out.”

  “Your brother is presently in residence at the hall?”

  “Yes. And he gave me his pocket pistol for protection.”

  “A valuable, unloaded pistol that he didn’t teach you how to load or shoot? That seems reckless of him, and your twin has never struck me as the reckless sort.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she muttered. A pox on Major Wolfe and his military mind. This was not going well.

  “What’s more, you and Malet seemed to know each other, at least well enough to be exchanging confidences.”

  “Confidences! Don’t be silly. Whatever you think you saw isn’t what you’re implying.”

  “Hmm. If you say so.” Major Wolfe moved along the path through the woods at a surprisingly good pace given his damaged leg. “Why is your brother here anyway? Doesn’t he have an estate of his own to run?”

  “Of course, but he decided to accompany me and Mama to London for the Season. I am to be presented at court and have my debut in society, you know.”

  “I’m well aware,” he said tensely.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Oh, he must be thinking of his sister Bea, and the fact that she was being presented as well, but as Grey’s new wife, the Duchess of Greycourt.

  “Fortunately,” he went on, “today’s incident will impress upon Thornstock the need to keep a closer eye on you and your suitors in London.”

  The statement was so typically male and arrogant that she was about to blister his ears over his presumption when the greater implications of his words hit her. “Surely you don’t mean to tell Thorn about this.”

  Major Wolfe lifted a brow. “Of course I do. He needs to know so he can make arrangements to accompany you everywhere.”

  She stepped in front of him to block his path. “But you can’t! I don’t want Thorn mucking about in my personal affairs. I had enough of that growing up with him in Berlin.”

  In the darkness of the forest, the major’s eyes looked as brown as oak and just as hard. “You cannot expect me to keep silent on this matter.”

  “Why not? It’s none of your concern. I’m a grown woman. I can handle the likes of Mr. Malet in good society, where I will never be alone.”

  “Never? Even in the Armitage town house? Or going out onto a balcony at a ball for a breath of air? Or—”

  “I will be careful everywhere, I assure you. And anyway, there won’t be nearly as many situations in which he could effect a kidnapping without drawing attention to himself.”

  And there’d be even less if the major told Thorn about Lionel and her twin decided to dog her heels wherever she went. Then she’d never get to meet with Lionel privately to give him his money.

  Nor could she tell Thorn about the blackmail. He would either kill Lionel outright and end up in gaol, or challenge Lionel to a duel and end up in gaol. No, Thorn could never know what Lionel was up to.

  “Please, Major Wolfe, you must not tell my brother—”

  “Your brother may heed your pleas, Lady Gwyn, but I know better than to do so. Either you tell him in my presence, or I will tell him myself. But one way or the other, he is going to hear what Malet attempted. That’s the end of it.”

  Good Lord, he was like a dog with a bone. And now, thanks to him, her ability to pay Lionel his money and put an end to this madness had just become ten times harder.

  Chapter Two

  Joshua couldn’t believe he and Lady Gwyn were having this discussion. Even his sister wouldn’t be so reckless as to court danger in such a way.

  But she would keep the news of danger from you. And did, too, before Greycourt married her. So perhaps Lady Gwyn and Beatrice have more in common than you think.

>   It didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to keep Lady Gwyn’s secrets for her. And he could tell from how she’d reacted to his questions that she definitely had secrets. He recognized fake outrage when he saw it.

  The fact that she didn’t want to involve her brother said a great deal, too, probably having something to do with Malet showing up on the estate today. So not telling Thornstock of the encounter truly would be imprudent. What if Malet harmed her because Joshua hadn’t informed her brother of the danger?

  No, he wouldn’t take that chance. The sight of Malet manhandling her had nearly stopped his heart. Not because he cared about her. Feeling anything but disinterested concern for the wealthy sister of a duke would be absurd. Even though, according to his sister, Lady Gwyn was thirty, she looked no older than Beatrice. She would have her pick of the men once she reached London. Best to remember that before he let himself slide into anything foolish . . . like desiring her.

  He looked over at her and noted that she’d gone a trifle pale, quite a feat for a woman whose skin was already as creamy as alabaster. She probably used some sort of cosmetic, like the ones Beatrice had always been trying, although God only knew what Lady Gwyn used to make her lips that fetching shade of peach and her eyes that provocative shade of green. Emerald green, he would call it, because they glittered like the gemstone itself.

  Damn it, he was waxing poetic about her. Best to be careful about that. He might be the grandson of a duke, but his father had been the youngest of three of that duke’s sons, and a wastrel besides. From birth, Joshua had been ineligible for the coddled—and yes, beautiful—daughter of another wealthy duke. He was even more so now that his damaged leg kept him on half-pay, incapable of pursuing his ambition in the Royal Marines.

  Besides, if he couldn’t serve his country, he preferred to live as far out of range of so-called “good” society’s frivolous maneuverings as he could manage.

  “You’re suddenly very quiet,” he said, unaccountably annoyed by that.

  She sniffed. “I don’t see much point in speaking when you refuse to listen.”

  “I listen. But that doesn’t mean I will automatically heed your commands. That’s what has you angry—the fact that every other gentleman does your bidding, while I refuse.”

  She halted to glare at him. “Thorn doesn’t do my bidding, and neither do my half brothers.”

  “The important word being ‘brothers.’ A woman’s brothers always see her more clearly than other gentlemen.”

  “Oh? You wouldn’t have thought your sister could become a duchess, yet you were wrong.” When he bristled at that bit of honesty, she added, “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t exactly have Mr. Malet in my thrall there on the bridge.”

  “I did notice. Which is why you should take more care with him, before you find yourself dragged into a carriage on its way to Gretna Green.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “So which is it, Major Wolfe? I’m spoiled because all men fall at my feet or I’m in danger because they don’t?”

  Damn the woman for pointing out his lack of logic. She muddled his thinking—made it impossible for him to argue rationally with her.

  He didn’t want to examine too closely why that was.

  Then she added, “You’ve only ever seen me with my brothers and Mr. Malet. You know nothing of how I behave with other gentlemen. Yet you presume to know my character.” Steadying her shoulders, she walked on. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  He shook his head. The woman had the ability to use her tongue in flaying a man’s very flesh from his bones when she didn’t get her way. And he wasn’t about to rise to the bait.

  When he didn’t answer that at once, she huffed out a breath. “I never understood why Bea got so frustrated with you all the time. I certainly do now.”

  The remark about his sister pricked him as nothing else could. “Speaking of people presuming to know people, you don’t even know my sister well enough to realize she dislikes being called Bea.”

  The profound silence provoked by his words stretched on so long that he looked over at Lady Gwyn, then wished he hadn’t. She wore an expression of such embarrassment that he wanted to take back his words.

  “Is that true?” she asked in a mortified tone. “Or just . . . something you’re saying to vex me?”

  He considered lying, if only to wipe that look off her face. “Forgive me, Lady Gwyn. Beatrice would throttle me for having told you that.”

  “Why did she not tell us? We would never purposely . . . That is, we all thought . . . No, there’s no excuse for it.” A frown creased her forehead. “Except that Mama called her that from the beginning because your Uncle Armie called her that in letters.”

  Joshua could well imagine why. Their uncle, the previous holder of the title of Duke of Armitage, had belittled Beatrice in every way, even to the extent of giving her a nickname she didn’t care for. It was his perverse way of forcing her into doing what he wished. Fortunately, the bastard had died before he could succeed in the worst of his plans.

  But Lady Gwyn couldn’t have known that. And despite everything, her mortification over not using the right name for Beatrice softened him toward her. Because clearly she did like his sister and regretted doing anything to hurt her.

  “Still, we should have asked her what she wanted to be called. It was very wrong of us not to.” Lady Gwyn’s color receded a bit. “Although that does explain why Grey always calls her Beatrice. I’d assumed he was being his usual formal duke self, but she must have told him what she preferred. I can’t imagine why she didn’t tell the rest of us.”

  He sighed. “She wanted to fit in, wanted to be liked by you and yours. So she wasn’t about to ruin that by informing you all—especially our aunt—that she didn’t like that version of her name.”

  “Well, then,” she said softly, “I will apologize to her as soon as we go to London day after tomorrow. I realize that Bea . . . Beatrice . . . isn’t my blood relation, but I consider her as family all the same. And I want to make her feel welcome with the rest of our motley crew.”

  Now he felt like shite for bringing up the matter in the first place. Especially because he actually liked his aunt and knew perfectly well she never intended to offend.

  Joshua and Beatrice’s Aunt Lydia was also Lady Gwyn’s mother, having married into the Wolfe family after Lady Gwyn’s father died. Aunt Lydia had married Uncle Maurice, who had almost immediately taken up a position in the foreign service in Prussia and had eventually become ambassador.

  That was why Joshua and Beatrice had only recently met Aunt Lydia and her two sons by Uncle Maurice. They’d returned to the estate after Uncle Armie had died, leaving Uncle Maurice to inherit.

  Then Uncle Maurice had died, and their cousin Sheridan had become the new Duke of Armitage. Sheridan’s younger brother, Heywood, would be heir to the title if Sheridan didn’t spawn an heir himself.

  Being the son of the youngest Wolfe brother, Joshua could only inherit the title if Sheridan and Heywood died without siring heirs. Because they were both young and healthy, that wasn’t likely to happen.

  Not that he cared to be duke. Having seen Sheridan struggle to keep the estate from falling into arrears, Joshua wanted no part of it. What he wanted was to be taken off half-pay so he could return to the Royal Marines. Unfortunately, the state of his leg made that unlikely, especially when the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies wouldn’t even answer his letters.

  Suddenly he realized that Lady Gwyn was speaking to him. “Hmm?” he asked.

  “We’re here.”

  He gazed up at the imposing Armitage Hall and sighed. “Right.” Time to have an uncomfortable conversation with her brother, the Duke of Thornstock, whom he barely knew.

  They entered the hall and were told that the duke was in the writing room. Joshua wondered what use Thornstock was making of the cramped space fitted with only a writing desk and a bookshelf containing almanacs going back some years. Somehow, Jos
hua doubted that the man was doing any reading. Thornstock didn’t seem the type.

  As it turned out, the duke had found the very excellent brandy that was kept there. He was also writing intently, and apparently not being too pleased with the result because balls of crumpled foolscap littered the floor.

  “Don’t tell me—you’re writing a play like your namesake, Marlowe,” Lady Gwyn said. “Mother will be so proud.”

  It was the only time Joshua had ever heard Thornstock’s Christian name, which, he must assume, had been chosen in homage to Christopher Marlowe, the playwright. One of Joshua’s favorites, in fact.

  Thornstock’s head shot up, and he scowled at his twin. “Dukes don’t write plays, remember? But we do write a bloody great number of letters.”

  Joshua didn’t miss how the duke slid the one he’d been writing into the top drawer of the writing table.

  Smirking at her brother, Lady Gwyn gestured to the balls of paper. “It must be quite the important letter to require so many drafts.”

  Lady Gwyn was clearly poking at Thornstock as usual. Those two had a contentious relationship, rather like the one between Joshua and Beatrice before she’d married so well. Except that his and Beatrice’s had been fueled by the desperation of their situation, whereas Lady Gwyn and her brother were both rich. So what was it that fueled their acrimony?

  No, he didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem. Lady Gwyn wasn’t his problem.

  Thornstock rose to acknowledge Joshua with a nod. “So, what brings Sheridan’s gamekeeper and my favorite sister here to grace me with their presence?”

  “Favorite? Do you have another sister I don’t know about?” Lady Gwyn asked archly.

  “I hope not. One is all I can handle.”

  Joshua had seen the twins spend hours sniping at each other. He had no patience for it today. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, but we just encountered Lionel Malet on the grounds.”

  “What?” Thornstock hurried to the small window to look out. “Where? How long ago?”

  Lady Gwyn leaned close to whisper, “You could have broken it to him more gently.”