Lady Rosabella's Ruse

Chapter Fifteen




Damn her. Garth watched his mother’s carriage draw away. So sweet. So utterly false.

He swung around and went back into the house. Now he’d have to explain his bout of temper to Rosa.

Damnation. And damn whoever had run to his mother with the tale. Surely not Mark? But Penelope might. Women were so predictably malicious.

He took the stairs two at a time. The drawing room was empty. Sighing, he continued up the stairs to their chamber. He’d upset her, he’d seen that from the look on her face. He should have held his tongue between his teeth, but he’d grown so used to fencing verbally with his mother, he hadn’t even realised what he was doing until it was too late. Until he saw the shock on Rosabella’s face.

At that point he could have bitten out his tongue.

No sign of her in the bedroom. Then where…? Ah, the dressing-room door was closed.

On silent feet, he crossed the room, heard the sound of sobbing. Blast Mother to hell. He turned the knob. The door didn’t give.

‘Rosabella,’ he said softly. ‘Open the door.’

A sniff. ‘Go away.’

‘Open the door. We need to talk.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

A rustling sound had him frowning. Was she packing? ‘Open the door or I’ll break it down.’

More sniffles. Damn it to hell, he was never letting his mother across his threshold again. The bolt on the other side of the door slid back.

He opened the door. She was kneeling on the floor, facing him before the chest they’d found in Pelham’s house. He hunkered down in front of her.

She looked small and vulnerable crouched before a trunk full of old costumes. A strangely soft feeling invaded his chest. It had fierce edges. As if he could hold her tenderly in his arms, yet fight a dragon if need be.

The only other time he had felt anything like it was when Christopher had been in danger, trying to rescue the woman he later made his wife. And it had been nowhere as strong as this. But then, he’d been drinking hard in those days, so most of it had passed in a blur.

The sensation was unexpected. It made him nervous. Made him clumsy. His usually silver tongue became awkward. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. My mother is such a bitch.’

She raised her gaze. They were swimming in tears. Her nose was red. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want children?’

Damn it all. ‘You heard.’

‘Your conversation was hardly private.’

‘I never planned to get married, so naturally I didn’t expect to have children.’ He scrubbed at his chin. ‘There are reasons why I would prefer—’

‘Shouldn’t you have told me before we made our agreement?’ A tear rolled down her face.

‘Rosabella. Don’t.’ He reached over the chest to capture the wayward drop.

She whipped her face to the side, out of his reach. ‘Don’t touch me.’

The old anger flared at her rejection. Rage mixed with humiliation. ‘If you wanted children, you should have put it in writing in that damned settlement of yours.’

She flinched.

He wanted to howl his frustration. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

Her expression hardened. ‘And if I am with child—how will you deal with it? What did you mean?’

He froze. Dear God, had he said that? ‘I meant will live with it. Deal with the consequences of losing control. What else would I mean?’

‘Control.’ She sat back on her heels and wrapped her hands around her waist. ‘Live with it. Will you, indeed? I’m sorry, the wedding is off.’

The pain of her words knifed through his chest. A new kind of anger flooded his veins. It was hotter than fire. Hotter than molten metal. If he set it free, it would destroy them both. He fought to contain it. ‘You don’t have a choice. I have kept my part of our bargain. Now you will keep yours. Think of your sisters. Of the child, if there is one.’

‘And if there isn’t…? There won’t be any, will there? Because you’ll make sure. You’ll do…whatever it is you’ve been doing.’

He stared at her, almost dumb in the face of her pain. ‘You don’t understand.’

Her gaze turned cold. ‘I understand very well. I made a bargain to marry a degenerate rake who wants to continue his life as if nothing has changed. There really is no point to us being married.’

‘You will marry me. Rosabella—’

‘I cannot let my child grow up with a father who does not love it.’

‘Why not? Plenty do.’

She stared at him, her eyes full of disgust. The look he’d seen on his parents’ face growing up. ‘I wouldn’t let you near a child of mine.’

‘I’m not a monster. I would never hurt a child.’

She regarded him for a moment from those velvet-soft eyes. ‘Not physically, no. But the way you spoke to your mother, you hurt her, Garth.’

‘My mother has no feelings to hurt. Do not speak about what you do not know.’

She shuddered. ‘She is your mother. She deserves your love and respect.’

‘No. She doesn’t.’

Her gaze returned to the trunk. She extracted a small pink satin reticule and stroked the fabric against her cheek.

He watched her warily. Saw the light of joy in her eyes, mingled with a sadness he didn’t understand.

‘This was my mother’s. She let me play with it when I was a child. She told me stories of her life before she met my father. And of how they fell in love. I want the same.’ She lifted her gaze. ‘I will not marry you.’

He took the blow from her words deep in his chest. Never had he felt such agony of spirit. Not even when he realised why his father hated him had he felt so wounded. He wanted to lash out, to hurt her back.

‘I won’t let you keep my child.’

Her lovely dark eyes widened. ‘You don’t want the child.’

He pushed to his feet. ‘I won’t let a child of mine grow up without its father.’

‘A father who doesn’t love it? Why would it matter?’

He looked down at her, smiling. ‘Make no mistake, Rosabella, we will marry, or you will lose the child.’

The look on her face said she’d fight him to the death.

Sanity eased into his brain. If he said another word right now, there would be no going back.

‘We will talk about this later, when we are both in a calmer frame of mind.’ He swung around and left, slamming the door behind him. He ran down the stairs and out of the door.

Outside in the street, the bright sunlight seemed almost obscene. There should be thunderclouds, lightning, rain. Where the hell was he going? He needed to get control of his temper, then work out how to woo Rosabella out of her anger. Diamonds should do it. He’d visit Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, then head for White’s for a brandy, before heading home.

One thing was certain. She wasn’t going to leave him. She needed him. Without him she had nothing. She had nowhere else to go.





The sound of the front door slamming jerked Rosa to her feet. She had to leave before he came back. Before his temper calmed and he used his charm, the pull of the allure she could not deny, and persuaded her to stay. It would be a terrible mistake to remain with a man who had that much coldness in his soul.

Gently she returned the reticule to the trunk and picked up the shoes, their leather cracked and worn, one much heavier than the other. Frowning, she pried the paper stuffing free from the heavy one. Not just paper. A green pear-shaped stone. It tumbled into her lap, glittering as its facets caught the light. She flattened the paper it was wrapped in.

Dear Rosabella, this jewel is your inheritance. It is the only thing I own of your mother’s that is not tied to the estate. It was always intended for you and your sisters. It has no sentimental value, bought by another noble admirer for your mother. My beloved Rosabella, sell it and live well. Please care for your sisters. Signed Andrew Cavendish, with two scrawling signatures of the servants and dated 18th of June. She stared at an emerald as big as a pigeon’s egg.

Elation filled her. Father had kept his promise. He’d hidden his gift among her mother’s things where he knew Grandfather would never look. She lifted her gaze from the paper and stared at the dressing-room door. If she understood the value of this stone, she didn’t have to marry anyone. She and her sisters were wealthy.

She stuffed the paper and the jewel into the pink reticule and grabbed her cloak from the clothes press. She needed help. And there was only one person she could think of who might know what to do.





Clutching the scrap of pink satin to her chest, Rosa glanced up at the knocker on the modest front door of a town house in Golden Square. Thank goodness Lady Smythe had left her calling card with her address. The hackney driver had no trouble finding the house.

Would she stand by their promise to help? If not, where would she turn next? With more bravery than she felt, she banged on the door.

A rotund cheerful-faced butler opened the door. ‘Yes, miss?’

Rosa took a deep breath. ‘Is Lady Smythe at home?’

He opened the door wider. ‘I’ll enquire, shall I, miss? Who shall I say is calling?’

‘Lady Rosabella Cavendish,’ she said. She could barely remember the last time she’d introduced herself so formally, but she could not risk the butler refusing her admittance.

An eyebrow shot up. He gestured her to come in. ‘Please, have a seat, my lady. I’ll let my mistress know you are here.’

‘Thank you.’ Rosa sank down on the hall chair beside the door while he trotted off down the corridor.

She didn’t have long to wait before he was back. ‘This way, if you please, my lady.’

Rosa let go a sigh of relief and followed him to a small room at the back of the house. When the butler opened the door, she was surprised to find both husband and wife seated at tea in the drawing room. Of course, they would both be home; it was a Saturday.

Lord Smythe rose as she entered. ‘Lady Rosabella,’ he said. ‘Please, sit down. Would you care to partake of some luncheon?’

If she tried to swallow, she would be sick. ‘No, thank you. I am so sorry to disturb you. I didn’t know where to turn.’ She turned to Penelope. ‘You did say you would help me if…’

‘Please,’ Penelope said, ‘sit down. Tell us how we can be of service.’

Rosa bit her lip. Would Lord Smythe indeed be willing to help her if it meant going against his friend’s wishes? ‘I’m sorry. I should not have come here, after all. If you will excuse me.’ She turned away.

‘Rosabella,’ Lady Smythe said. ‘Please. Don’t go. Mark, tell her she can trust us.’

‘By us,’ the young husband said, in measured tones, ‘I presume my wife means me. I assure you, Lady Rosabella, anything you say to me will be held in confidence, on my honour.’

She turned back, looking at him standing beside his chair. His eyes were a clear grey, his face was open and grave. Something about him engendered her trust. And yet… She looked at his wife, who smiled. ‘Mark is employed by the Home Office. His word is his bond.’

Whatever differences lay between these two, it seemed there was mutual respect. She slipped into the chair offered by Lord Smythe.

‘What can we do?’ Penelope asked quietly.

‘Stanford didn’t hurt you, did he?’ Lord Smythe asked. ‘I’ve not seen him turn ugly since he’d ceased crooking his elbow.’

She blinked.

‘Drinking,’ Lady Smythe explained.

Her husband’s fair face flushed. ‘Canting talk. I beg your pardon.’

‘No,’ Rosa said softly. ‘He hasn’t physically harmed me.’

‘Lashed you with that damned tongue of his, did he?’ the young man said with a snort of indignation. ‘He doesn’t mean the half of it, you know.’

He didn’t know the half of it. ‘I need to hire a lawyer.’

He frowned.

‘It is a matter of an inheritance. From my father. I found a letter this morning among some things belonging to my mother. I—I’m not sure what to do next.’

For a moment both of them looked at her, mouths agape.

‘Oh, good Lord,’ Lord Smythe said, his fair brow creasing. ‘Is it a legal will? Signed and witnessed.’

‘Not a will, but a gift. No will was found when he died. The family lawyer said he didn’t make one and probate went ahead on that basis.’ She dug into the reticule and handed over the document. ‘The letter is signed and witnessed. The signature is his.’

Lord Smythe took the paper and glanced through it. ‘Oh, this is a fine kettle of fish. Do you have the stone?’

‘Is it legal?’ Lady Smythe asked, leaning to look over his shoulder as Rosa put the emerald on the table.

‘I have no legal training, but if the signature is genuine, it seems legal enough to stand in a court of law. What we need is at least one of the witnesses to swear to its authenticity.’

‘Inchbold,’ Rosa said. ‘He is caretaker of the property where we lived. He said he remembered signing something for my father, but he wasn’t sure what it was. That is his signature.’

‘Did you tell Stanford about this?’ Lady Smythe asked. ‘Can you not use his lawyer?’

Rosa swallowed. ‘We had a…a difference of opinion. We are not getting married.’

The hot lump that had been floating somewhere in her chest and her stomach finally lodged high in her throat. The pain of it brought moisture to her eyes.

‘Oh, my poor dear,’ Lady Smythe said. ‘Are you sure?’

Her husband looked grim. ‘What the hell did Stanford do?’

Unable to speak, Rosa shook her head. It was hard enough to breathe without letting the tears spill over.

‘You can stay here,’ Lady Smythe said with a darting glance at her husband.

If anything, her husband looked grimmer.

Rosa breathed hard through her nose and rose to her feet. ‘I couldn’t. He is your friend. I will go to an hotel.’ She would have gone to Bess, because she didn’t have any money until the stone was sold, and what little she had she would need to live on, but Bess had left London. Her biggest fear was that Grandfather would try to lay claim to the stone once he heard of it. ‘I just hoped you could recommend a lawyer. One who would not want payment in advance.’

‘You must stay,’ Lord Smythe said. ‘Stanford would never forgive me for letting you wander the streets on your own.’

She couldn’t help her scornful laugh.

‘He wouldn’t.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, I owe him a debt and this is one very good way to repay him. You will stay here.’

‘Yes,’ his wife said. ‘We insist.’

‘You won’t tell him I am here.’ She pressed a protective hand to her stomach. ‘You must promise me.’

‘Not without your permission. On my honour,’ Smythe said.

‘On mine, too,’ his wife added.

‘Then I am glad to accept your help for a few days. I promise I will pay you back.’

‘Nonsense,’ Lord Smythe said. ‘Not when I am in your debt for offering me a way of discharging my obligations.’

It all seemed rather confusing, but in the face of their insistence, Rosa accepted with a sense of relief.





The interior of White’s hummed with male conversation and laughter to the accompaniment of rattling dice. Garth ordered a brandy, took a freshly ironed copy of The Times from the stand and cloistered himself behind it in an unoccupied corner.

The anger had faded, leaving him confused. Anger he could deal with, but this sense of being wrong left him off balance.

The more he thought about his conversation with Rosabella, the more uncertain he became. All this talk of love made for a very heavy weight on his chest. Why the hell did she put so much store by it? He’d managed perfectly well without it all his life.

How dared she suggest he would harm his own child? Anger refused to flare and obliterate the hurt. She was wrong about him, though. He did care for some people, in his own way. Mark. Kit. Her. These were people he would protect with his life if need be. Just because he didn’t get along with his mother didn’t make him evil.

He sniffed at the brandy the waiter delivered. The fumes made his stomach roll and he put the glass down on the table.

In a perfect world, he supposed he would have told her of his intention not to have children. She certainly shouldn’t have learned it from his mother. But the world wasn’t perfect. It didn’t come close to perfect, or he wouldn’t be in this position.

Hell, he wouldn’t be here at all.

He should not have lost his temper. On the other hand, she could have listened. Who knows, he might even have told her why he was opposed to fatherhood.

Hell. He might be a father. A daughter. He could live with a daughter. A thrill ran through him.

‘Stanford.’

Garth pretended not to hear the familiar jocular tones. After all, it was not good ton to beat a man to within an inch of his life in a gentleman’s club. And right now he was in the mood to hit someone.

The idiot flicked a finger against the newspaper. ‘I say, old chap, didn’t you hear me?’

Garth lowered his shield. ‘I heard you, Fitz. I’m just not in the mood for conversation. I’d advise you to leave unless you want my fist in your face.’

The other man grinned. ‘Under the weather, old boy? I had a pleasant chat with your mother yesterday.’

Teeth gritted, Garth put aside the paper and pushed slowly to his feet, forcing the other man to look up at him. He smiled. ‘Did you now? What the hell were you doing discussing my business with my mother?’

‘Where’s your sense of humour, old boy? I met her at a rout.’

‘So you thought you’d regale her with my doings, like some gossipy old tart.’

He looked puzzled, then laughed. ‘Good God, don’t tell me you took the wench home? I saw your face when you ran out of the chop house and followed to see what you were up to. I recognised her in the light of the lantern. I had no trouble guessing your intentions. I simply mentioned to your mother I thought you had a new occupant for the Blackheath town house. She was surprised to hear you were in town. I imagined her putting a flea in your ear, not catching you in flagrante delicto. Too funny.’

‘Not in the least funny, you idiot.’ Garth’s cheeks ached from smiling. ‘But if you say one more word about meeting Mrs Travenor, anywhere, be prepared to defend yourself.’ He took a step forwards.

Fitz backed up. He giggled drunkenly. ‘Good Lord, man. Look at yourself. You are completely smitten. You want to be careful or you’ll find yourself leg-shackled. You do know she’s the daughter of an opera singer? Hapton told me.’

Garth grabbed him by the lapels. ‘One more word and I will take you outside and thrash you.’

Something in Garth’s eyes must have registered, because Fitz put up a hand. ‘On my honour, not another word.’ Once released, he reeled away, chortling his fool head off.

Garth would have to talk to him when he was sober. Make sure he remembered the warning.

Smitten? Him? The sot was drunk.

He glared at the curious faces turned in his direction. By thunder, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to soothe Rosabella’s ruffled feelings, seduce her into his bed and make her see reason. What the hell was he thinking?

Never before had he walked away and left a woman in possession of the field of battle. They always capitulated. He should have kissed her senseless, not argued with her. Women never listened to reason.

The necklace he’d bought at the jeweller’s would help.





In less than fifteen minutes he was striding up the front steps to his town house in the gathering dusk. An odd presentiment caused a prickle at the back of his neck as he entered the front door. Unease rippled through his gut. The house felt empty.

One thing he’d learned over the years was to trust his instincts. It was how he’d discovered the truth of what he was.

‘Where is Lady Rosabella?’ he asked the butler, handing over his hat.

‘I haven’t seen her since Lady Stanford’s departure.’

Damn. She was either still sitting on the floor crying or…

Or she’d done what they all did eventually.

He tore up the stairs and burst through the bedroom door. The dressing-room door lay open, the items from the theatrical chest scattered around it. Of Rosabella there was no sign.

Where the hell could she have gone?

Back to the theatrical troupe? He picked up the discarded breeches she’d worn on stage. Surely she would have taken them with her? He let them fall. Her grandfather? After all she’d done to avoid the old gentleman it hardly seemed likely. Perhaps she’d simply gone for a walk to clear her head. In that case the butler would know, because she would have taken her maid or a footman. Although she might have slipped out alone. She’d done enough of that in Sussex. The thought of her walking the streets of London alone chilled him to the bone. She wouldn’t take such a risk.

Doubt tightened his gut, his heart dipped. Rosabella would dare anything.

Think. Where could she go?

Of all the choices, the opera company seemed most likely. She had friends there. He strode into the bedroom, dropping the velvet pouch on the bed, and rang for his valet. He grabbed his riding boots and started pulling them on.

His valet walked in and rushed over to help. ‘Leave it,’ Garth growled. ‘Have a message sent to the stables. I want my phaeton outside the front door in a half-hour. And have Cook put up some bread and cheese. I’ll eat it in the study while I write some letters requiring delivery. Also pack me an overnight valise.’

He stamped his foot into the second boot and stood up. ‘Clear?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ The valet shot off to do his bidding.

Garth ran downstairs and set to work on a letter to Mark, asking for yet another favour, dammit.

A scratch at the door announced the arrival of his supper. He continued writing. ‘Put the tray on the table. I’ll help myself.’

Metal clicked on wood. The servant didn’t leave.

A reprimand ready on his tongue, Garth raised his head. ‘You.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I might have guessed.’

Mark sat down and crossed one leg over the other, his face sombre. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t.’





‘This document is valid, you say?’ Garth rubbed the back of his neck. Rolled his shoulders. Tried to get his mind around this new development.

‘As far as I can tell. I will get a lawyer to have a look. If it is, she is independently wealthy and is quite adamant that she no longer needs to marry you and will pay back every penny you spent on her behalf.’

‘I need to talk to her.’

Mark shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. She is also adamant about not seeing you.’

The words were a knife between his ribs. ‘She could be carrying my child.’

‘You damned fool. Don’t you know better than to seduce an earl’s granddaughter?’

‘Devil take you, Mark. She lied. About everything. Hell.’ He got up and paced the floor. ‘Not one scrap of truth has she told me. First she was a widow. Then I discover she’s an innocent. Then she’s searching for a portrait. Like an idiot, I help her. Next she runs off to be an opera singer like her mother, but her mother, it turns out, was married to a nobleman.’ He swung around and glared at his friend quietly nursing a brandy. ‘Everything was a complete fabrication from beginning to end. And still I’ve offered marriage.’

‘Noble of you.’

‘I had no intention of ever getting married.’

‘Did you tell her that?’

‘More or less. I wasn’t going to lie to her. She wouldn’t believe it if I did.’

‘What did you do to make her run off?’

The note of accusation in Mark’s voice brought his simmering temper to a boil. ‘What did you do to make Penelope run off the moment you stepped out of the house?’

Mark glared at him, then his shoulders slumped. He stared morosely into the fire. ‘She didn’t want me to go north without her. We argued and then I left. I didn’t have a choice. My income depends on me doing my job. There is trouble brewing in the north. We have to find out what is going on before it gets out of hand. I can’t take her with me. It’s far too dangerous. Penelope knows she was wrong and that is the end to it.’

The glow he’d seen in his friend when he first married had not returned. Apparently love was as fleeting as it was elusive. The idea of it made him feel cold. ‘Seems as if we are both caught between a wall and cartwheel.’

‘I know. Who knows why they do what they do?’ He shook his head.

‘And yet here you are, offering me advice.’

Mark looked up at him. ‘I’m trying to help. Yesterday your marriage was all set, today she’s at my house refusing to see you. It isn’t about money. Something must have happened.’

Bitterness rose up in his throat. ‘Mother happened.’

Mark straightened. ‘Your mother?’

‘She arrived while I was out. Fitz saw me and Rosabella together and blabbed on about it, I gather. Mother dropped some pretty strong hints that she didn’t think Rosabella was good enough for our family. She is such a damnable hypocrite. I threw her out.’

‘So you defended Rosabella?’

‘Oh, you know how it is between me and Mother.’

Mark gave a little grimace, which said he understood very well.

‘We were still sparring at the front door and Rosabella must have overheard me say that while I didn’t particularly want a child, I’d tolerate one if it came along. By the time I returned from seeing Mother off, Rosabella was up in the boughs and not listening to reason. I said some pretty harsh things, if I recall, and thought it better to leave before I said more. By the time I cooled off and returned, she was gone. I suppose finding that damned letter and the stone was all the excuse she needed to slough me off. Rosabella has pretty strange notions about family members loving each other.’

Mark nodded. ‘I see.’

His temper flared ‘What in hell’s name do you see? I ruined the girl. Now we have to be married.’

‘You muffed it. In my experience, women are a bit odd about marriage and such. They don’t care about logic. They want to be courted. Wooed.’

‘I wooed her exceedingly well, right into my bed.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I thought she was a widow.’

‘You seduced her. It is not the same. Not in their eyes. Women today expect a man to be romantic.’

‘Damn it, what are you suggesting?’

‘You must like her or you wouldn’t have—’

Garth put up a warning hand. ‘I find her attractive, yes. It might not be my first choice, but I am not as unhappy about this marriage as I might have expected.’

‘You could be a little more enthused. Tell her you care for her.’

The very idea of talking about feelings tied his stomach in a knot. ‘Why is she being so idiotic about this? She could be carrying my child. There is no choice but marriage, no matter how much money her father left.’

Another wince from his friend. ‘You—’

‘All right. I’ll talk to her. Tell her I care. It is all nonsense, but if it makes her happy, I’ll do it.’

The doubt in Mark’s face offered little hope of success.

‘Don’t worry, I know how to charm a woman.’

‘That’s what she’s afraid of.’

‘What?’

‘It is why she doesn’t want to see you. She is afraid you will charm her into wedding you. That’s what she told Penelope.’

Garth glowered at him. ‘Why the hell did she come to your house in the first place?’

‘Penelope. She told her yesterday that if she ever needed help she could come to us.’

‘Nice of her,’ Garth snarled.

‘You didn’t want me to turn her away, did you?’

No. His blood turned to ice at the thought of Rosabella with no one to turn to. Alone in London. Vulnerable. He shook his head. ‘No. If it had to be anyone, I’m glad she came to you and Penelope.’

Glad for her. He just wished she hadn’t left.

Her departure had created an empty place in his chest. He felt as if a piece of him was missing. A piece he hadn’t realised was part of him until he lost it.

No. Rosabella was his responsibility and he wasn’t going to let her go. ‘Convince her to let me talk to her.’

Mark pushed to his feet. ‘I’ll try, but you know I have never seen a woman as determined as Lady Rosabella.’