Chapter Three
Andrew’s attorney stood from the dining table as Andrew entered. “Milord.”
“Do not milord me,” he barked. His anger, growing by the minute, had to be noticeable to Gordon Lynd, of Lynd and Son.
Andrew’s missive had been blunt, making his displeasure clear. Not to mention being dragged from Miranda had left him frustrated beyond reason. Leaving her in that bed could very well have been the hardest thing he’d ever done. The same instant attraction he’d felt at the ball, the sizzle between them, hadn’t dimmed.
In the instant he’d stepped into the room to find his lawyer drinking the expensive brandy, Andrew had gone from aroused to furious in one step. Sitting in the chair closest to Mr. Lynd, he focused on the servant hovering nearby. The well-trained man fidgeted from one foot to the other. He could not have seemed more uncomfortable if he had walked in on the two men having sex. “You can leave us.”
“Thank you, milord.” The young man made his escape, leaving Andrew and his solicitor alone.
“You asked me to bring you the betrothal contract.” Gordon’s voice held no hint he knew Andrew might be close to jumping over the table and throttling him. Instead, the man pulled a leather satchel from the worn saddlebag on the floor by his chair. Untying the leather bindings, he handed over several yellowed pages. “This, as I am sure you aware, was signed on the day you were born. My father is the one who drew up the papers between your father and the late Mr. Beauchamp.”
“Actually, I didn’t have clue about this contract until about,” Andrew glanced at the clock on the mantel, “two hours ago. Shortly before I had you summoned.”
Looking at him over the rim of his spectacles, Gordon blinked—repeatedly. “I’m confused.”
“You’re confused?” Jumping to his feet, he ignored the crash his chair made as it hit the wall. “Imagine for a moment my amazement when the lady I’m spending the evening with informs me she is actually my fiancée.”
Horrified, Gordon gaze darted toward the closed door Andrew had entered. “Miss Beauchamp is here—as in the other room?”
“That is none of your business.” Righting the chair, Andrew sat again and began to leaf through the pages before him, then gave Gordon a pointed look. “Explain to me why no one has ever mentioned this contract before.”
Fear filled the other man’s eyes. “I have no idea, milord.”
“Not the answer I wanted,” Andrew managed through clenched teeth. “What was to happen if I had tried to marry someone else?”
The solicitor pulled another slip of paper from his satchel with shaking hands. “This is from your mother, stating that, on your eighteenth birthday, you were to be told about the contract to prevent you from getting into that very situation.”
“And who was to be the bearer of this news?”
Gordon shuffled through other pages. “Since that would have occurred during my father’s time, I am not in possession of that knowledge. I assumed you knew because Mr. Beauchamp said he had been in contact with you, personally, so it made—”
“Mr. Beauchamp? Miranda’s father?” He hadn’t had contact with any Beauchamp in years, perhaps decades, his recent encounters with Miranda notwithstanding.
“No, sir. Her father passed away when she was but fourteen. This would be her brother. He came in shortly after his father’s death to discuss the yearly allowance given to his sister.”
“How much have we been giving her?” Not that Andrew cared about the amount, but something smelled like rotten fish.
“Your father willed to her an allowance not to exceed fifty thousand pounds, to be divided annually, with the yearly amount negotiable depending upon the needs at the time. For instance, the year she was to be presented to the regent, additional income could be made available to pay for needed gowns, lodging, maids—you understand. Any moneys left over on the occasion of your wedding would be placed into a trust for any daughters you might have.”
It certainly explained why Andrew had never once questioned a large amount of money going to the Beauchamp estate from his own. But he had to figure out what game Miranda’s brother played. Working through the papers, Andrew made his decision. He would walk into the other room and declare his hand to Miranda. It would then fall to her to accept his suit or reject it. He hadn’t come there to find a bride, but the thought of her turning her back and voiding the contract made him physically ill. Ironic that, before that evening, he would have expected it to be the other way around.