Love's Price(49)
“I care.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“I plan to mend my behavior. Starting now.”
He knelt down and took her hands in his. He looked magnificent, contrite and splendid at the same time.
“Harriet, I am so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
Suddenly, the prison yard was very quiet. It was like a dramatic scene you’d see in a theater. The bystanders were on tenterhooks, eagerly anticipating her answer.
“I loved you,” she petulantly complained. “I loved you, and you let this happen to me.”
At the declaration, he grinned. “You loved me, Harriet?”
“Yes.”
“You say so as if it was in the past. How about now and in the future? Could you learn to love me again?”
“You’d have to be nicer to me than you have been.”
The oaf laughed and laughed. “Oh, my dearest, Harriet, I love you, too.” He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
“You’re probably not serious.”
“I am, and I swear to you that no one will ever harm you again. From this moment on, with all these people as witnesses”—he gestured to the hovering crowd—“I vow that you will always be safe. I will protect you with my life. Will you marry me?”
“Marry you!”
“Yes.”
“But who was that woman with you at the dock? Aren’t you already married?”
“Engaged, but only temporarily.”
“It doesn’t sound temporary.”
He stood and tugged her to her feet, but she was so hungry that the abrupt movement made her dizzy. She swayed and nearly collapsed, and he swept her into his arms.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Don’t argue.”
“But...but...”
He drew her close and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth.
“Don’t argue!”
They walked out, and the prisoners behind them began to clap and cheer.
“Where are we?” Harriet asked, pulling at the curtain to gaze out the carriage window. “Is this your home?”
“No,” Tristan replied, “but it will be a good spot for you—for the time being.”
“What are you saying?”
“I live with my brother, but for now, I can’t take you there.”
“Why?”
“I have some...ah...arrangements to make first.”
Specifically: a betrothal to end and a fiancée to send back to the country. The next few days would be extremely unpleasant. Miranda would put up a fight, but Tristan was determined to win it.
He’d be relinquishing her dowry, but he didn’t care. He and James wouldn’t starve. It would simply take them longer to get their finances in order. Tristan would have to purchase a new ship and start working, and he was even thinking that perhaps Harriet could travel with him.
It was intriguing to imagine coming into his cabin every night and finding her asleep in his bunk. “So,” she mused, looking very glum, “you’re already getting rid of me? Why am I positive I’ll never see you again?”
“You’ll see me all right. In fact, from this point on, I’m going to be such a pest that I can guarantee you’ll grow sick of me.”
“A likely story.”
“Do you know who your father is?”
She studied him, and he could sense that she was dithering over what tale to tell. The silly woman was more furtive than a palm reader at a fair.
“No secrets, Harriet,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“I was always told,” she hedged, “that he was a gentleman farmer.”
“But?”
“I might have once heard a different version.”
“That he’s Lord Trent?”
She debated, then admitted, “Yes.”
“It’s true, and you have a half-brother named Phillip Sinclair.”
“I do?”
“Yes. This is his house, and I need you to stay here for a week or two.”
“But I don’t even know him!”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll be delighted to have you as a guest.”
“No. This is wrong. It would be rude of me to impose.”
“It’s not wrong. It’s absolutely right. You’ll remain here while I straighten out my personal affairs.”
“What affairs?”
He cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing with chagrin.
“I have to break off my engagement.”
“Your fiancée—what’s her name?”
“Miranda.”
Harriet scoffed. “A fussy name for a fussy girl.”
“Yes, it is.”
“After you jilt her, what will happen to me?”
“Then you and I are marrying the very next day.”
She glared, then grabbed his shirt and shook him. “If you don’t follow through, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
“I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
The door to Sinclair’s house opened. Tristan had sent word that he’d be arriving with Harriet, and through a crack in the curtain, he could see Sinclair come out, along with Lady Henley. Helen Stewart was with them, too.
“Look out the window again,” he advised her.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Just look, you blasted woman! Stop being so cantankerous.”
Tristan tugged at the curtain as Harriet leaned across him to peek outside.
“Helen is here?” She turned toward him, appearing stunned and amazed. “You found my sister for me?”
“She was never lost.”
Harriet hugged him tightly and kissed him over and over.
“Thank you, Tristan. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
A footman opened the carriage door, and she tumbled out and into Helen’s waiting arms.
Phillip gazed at Fanny over the rim of his brandy glass.
He had to bundle her up and escort her home to her husband. Michael was very much in love with his wife, very devoted and possessive of her time, and he would be concerned over her lengthy absence. He didn’t like to share.
Normally, Fanny would have left hours earlier, but with the excitement of finally locating the Stewart twins, it had been impossible for her to tear herself away. Prior to her marrying Michael, Fanny’s life had been very difficult, and she’d needed to bond with her new sisters as much as they’d needed to bond with her.
“I’m aggravated with Westwood and his brother,” he said.
“I am, too. They haven’t behaved very well.”
“You know I take this type of nonsense very personally.”
“I know you do.”
They both chuckled.
They’d been in much the same spot over Fanny’s relationship with Michael. Michael had blatantly ruined Fanny with no intention of marrying her, and when the arrogant oaf had refused to propose, he and Phillip had actually fought a duel.
“We should have a pair of weddings,” he decided, “with Westwood and Harcourt as the grooms.”
“I agree.”
“Tristan already spoke to me. He’s eager to wed Harriet, but he has to end his betrothal first.”
“Oh, that’s a nasty quandary. Will he have any trouble?”
“He didn’t seem to think so.”
“What about Westwood? Will he come up to snuff with Helen?”
Phillip shrugged. “Westwood may be a bit of a problem.”
“Why is that?”
“He hates Charles, so I doubt he’d willingly shackle himself to one of the man’s illegitimate daughters.”
“I heard a rumor recently—about Charles seducing Westwood’s mother.”
“It’s probably true.”
“It probably is.”
They sighed, having no illusions about Charles or his dastardly habits.
“So,” Fanny asked, “how will you convince Westwood to propose? I don’t want you fighting any more duels, and I’m positive your wife would concur.”
“No duels. I promise. Anne would murder me if I even considered such a thing. But I have an idea.”
“What is that?”
“Westwood has been wrangling for a high-stakes card game with Charles.”
“Gambling with Charles? Doesn’t Westwood know that Charles cheats?”
“Westwood supposedly cheats too, so they’re a balanced duo of scoundrels.”
“Why would Westwood bother with Charles?”
“It’s revenge—for his father and all they lost after his mother fled.”
“He’ll never be satisfied,” Fanny wisely said, “despite how much he wins. A pile of coins can hardly compensate for that sort of loss.”
“My opinion exactly, so I suggest we give Westwood something worth having instead.”
“What would that be?”
“Helen.”
“Helen?”
“Yes. Tristan claims Westwood was madly in love with her last summer.”
“Is he still?”
“His feelings are irrelevant,” Phillip said with a firm resolve. “He ruined her, and he’s going to wed her—whether he likes it or not.”
“How will you persuade him?”
“I have a plan, and it involves Charles.”
“Will he help us?”
“If I ask him? Of course he will.” Phillip was always able to coerce Charles in a way that no one else could. “Besides, if Westwood is about to marry into the family, he needs to smooth over his differences with Charles. He can’t have his father-in-law as his mortal enemy.”