Chapter 3

3

“How dare you…”Richard growled. “How dare you try to force your sister’s hand on me in exchange for information you should give unconditionally. A man’s life is at stake!”

Blackmore folded his powerful arms across his chest. “You’ll never find out the truth without my help.”

Richard’s teeth ground together, and he could feel his nose flaring with rage. “You are a scoundrel.”

“That is not news, Lord Richard,” said Blackmore indifferently.

He walked to the fireplace and pulled on the cord to summon a servant.

“I do have a condition, though.”

“You have a condition?” Richard snarled.

“Your reputation precedes you. You frequent my club. You’ve also been known to have a lover or two. I know your type, and I have personally seen rakes reformed into loyal and committed husbands. Your older brother Preston is an example. Once you step out of my study engaged,” continued Blackmore, “you may not look in any other woman’s direction. You may not even think of another female. If you do…if a single tear of sadness rolls down my sister’s face, I will cut off the most precious part of your body. Please tell me you understand.”

Richard’s fists clenched and unclenched in helpless rage. He had never been unfaithful, making it a point to set clear expectations with any woman with whom he had an affair. He knew all too well the devastating, world-shattering pain of seeing the woman he loved in the arms of another man. He’d never inflict that heartbreak on someone else.

“I do not need a reminder from you of how to be loyal and committed to my betrothed. However, I have not agreed to your proposal yet.”

Footsteps sounded from behind the door, it opened, and the footman who had guided Richard to Blackmore entered.

“Bring Jane here,” said Blackmore.

The man nodded and left.

“You cannot be serious,” growled Richard, but Blackmore ignored him and strode to a sideboard that bore a decanter of amber liquid.

“You’ll see, Lord Richard.” He poured the liquor into two glasses and offered one to Richard. “Finest whisky of Lagavulin Distillery. My MacDonald connections.”

Richard’s jaw muscles tensed, but he accepted the drink. Now that he’d had a moment to breathe a little, he realized that the situation wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. At least now he had a starting point of negotiation.

Of course he wouldn’t marry.

Richard had grown up witnessing the true happiness between his parents. His father, a man who was known for being demanding and strong-willed, had somehow managed to capture his lighthearted and friendly mother’s heart.

Richard had thought he’d found someone with whom he could be as happy as his parents were. But he’d been terribly wrong. After Lady Charity, he’d sworn he would never open his heart again, never take a wife.

A few minutes later, there was a knock against the door, and it was flung open. The footman came in again and held the door open, and from the darkness of the endless labyrinth emerged a woman.

Her translucent eyes fell on him from behind her spectacles, and Richard was left speechless. It was the bluestocking he’d met earlier, the infuriating, know-it-all schoolteacher…

She was Blackmore’s sister.

Shock left him speechless. And the expression in her eyes was as astonished as his own.

“Miss Jane Grant,” Blackmore said. “Jane, this is Lord Richard Seaton. He is interested in marrying you.”

Shaking off his stupor, Richard glared at Blackmore, feeling his jaw work. “Your brother is mistaken—”

Blackmore interrupted him. “You remember our agreement, Jane?” he asked her without throwing a second glance at Richard. “You promised. Last attempt.”

Miss Grant tore her shocked eyes away from Richard and glared at her brother.

“But, Thorne—” she began.

Blackmore walked two steps towards her. His emotionless mask fell off, and for the first time since Richard had met him, he looked like he may care about something. “Lord Richard is the brother of a duke, one of the most powerful and oldest bloodlines in England. Grandhampton.”

Her eyes widened as she returned her gaze to Richard, studying him.

He felt a shiver run across his body, an immediate urge to straighten his shoulders and wipe the unfortunate mud stains from his clothes. Silly. It must be her authoritative demeanor. Nothing but judgment, he decided. Just like back in the yard, she condemned him for his appearance.

A man like him didn’t need to impress a bluestocking. But he would be damned if he didn’t like her big gray eyes on him, the flush in her cheeks, her chest rising and falling faster under that gray muslin.

“You will return to the noble society to which you have always belonged, Jane,” said Blackmore. “Where you should be. The Seasons you missed because our father died robbed you of a proper introduction into the ton. But this is your chance at the life you should have always had.”

Their father’s death… Richard struggled to remember who that could be, if he had heard the name Grant or Blackmore before, but failed.

“Brother,” said Miss Grant, her voice shaking. “I have my class and my school. I can’t just abandon them. The children need me.”

Blackmore poured another glass of whisky. “You can still run the school until the wedding.”

She blinked at him with teary eyes. “Surely not just until then, brother! I can’t stop teaching them.”

“You gave me your word.”

The silence in the room was interrupted only by the crackling of the fire.

“So, Jane?” Blackmore insisted. “What do you say?”

Miss Grant locked eyes with Richard. They were impossibly wide behind her spectacles, wide and vulnerable and haunted. Her cheeks flushed even more, and Richard had a strange urge to rush to her, take her into his arms, and tell her all would be well, somehow.

He and Blackmore waited as she stood thinking, breathing hard. Then something crossed her expression—a fleeting image of an idea, he thought—and she brushed the side of her face so quickly it could have been a tic.

Then she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, making her breasts thrust out. Richard’s gaze glued to the two lush orbs under her gray muslin. He couldn’t help wondering what other delights were hiding under those plain, stiff layers.

He was so distracted he almost missed the word. “Yes.”

Richard tore his eyes from her chest and glared at her, but her gaze was on her brother.

“Pardon me, what did you say?” he demanded. “Perhaps this whisky is making me lose my mind.”

“I said yes,” she said coldly as she looked at him, “Lord Richard.”

Sister of a criminal or not, she was surely a properly raised English lady.

Something cold and slippery crawled down Richard’s spine. He had come here for information, to find out what happened to his brother, and now he was betrothed, when he never wished to be in his entire life.

No. The echo of the pain of his failed engagement slipped through his body.

“But I didn’t agree yet,” he said quite dumbly, as though he’d lost half of his wits.

Blackmore took a quick sip of his whisky, then came to lay his large hand on Richard’s shoulder. “If you want what you came here for, you will agree.”

Richard blinked, anger rising quickly up his windpipe. “Mr. Blackmore—” he started, putting his glass of whisky on the sideboard.

But Blackmore pinned him with his relentless stare. “I will give you all the information on the day of the wedding, Lord Richard. The moment you walk out of the church with the ring on your finger and my sister on your arm, you will know what you’re looking for.”

Richard swallowed a hard, painful knot in his throat. Which was more important, his own happiness or his brother’s life?

With every day that passed, Spencer may be closer to death. They didn’t know what happened to him nine months ago, where he was, if he was well, if he had been captured by someone, if he needed help.

How could Richard’s dislike of marrying a stranger compare to saving his brother’s life? He’d trade it in a heartbeat.

Even if he hated being backed into a corner, this was his chance to make a difference.

Richard nodded, and Blackmore’s dark eyes glimmered in satisfaction.

This was for Spencer, he told himself.

And then he said something that would seal his fate forever. “I agree.”

His eyes were drawn back to Jane. Since Lady Charity, he had plunged into meaningless nights of debauchery to dull the unyielding ache in the middle of his chest. However, bluestockings like Jane were never among the ladies in his repertoire. He was happy to share his body with a woman…

But not his heart.

“Do you, Lord Richard?” asked Blackmore, crossing his arms over his chest, a satisfied smile on his face. “Do you really agree?”

Richard said, “Yes.”

Blackmore thumped his glass of whisky against the sideboard with a triumphant smile and rushed back behind his desk. Shuffling some papers, he said quickly, “The wedding should not be later than two weeks from now. On the day of the wedding, I will give you the information you seek.”

Richard’s hands shook. Two weeks felt incredibly soon. And yet, the sooner the better. With every day that passed, something terrible could be happening to Spencer.

As he locked his eyes with Miss Grant, he was not at all sure that she looked happy. Perhaps she wanted this as little as he did.

Blackmore kept talking. “You must take Jane into society every other day. You must court her publicly. You must ensure she gets invitations to soirées and other events. People must see you with her.”

“But what about my school?” demanded Miss Grant.

“This is your future, Jane,” said Blackmore. “You can do both until the wedding, but after that, it will be up to your husband.”