Chapter 17

CHAPTER

a

17

L ola tiptoed into Jackson's town house. Dawn was breaking and she'd been out all night with Nell Parsons. She didn't particularly like Nell, but it had been difficult to wedge herself into the London demimonde. She intimidated other women, and they didn't like her, so it had been hard to fit in.

After their sojourn in the country, it appeared she and Nell had become cordial. Arthur was hiding from Jackson, which meant Nell was free to revel without having to worry about him stopping by and needing to be entertained. She'd sent a note, asking Lola to join her at a private party.

The invitation hadn't included Jackson, and for once, she'd had a pleasant evening without him. There had been drinking, gambling, and opium pipes, supplied by numerous rich dandies who'd enjoyed her company.

It had been delightful to be showered with so much male attention. Anymore, in her relationship with Jackson, it was constant fighting and sniping. She was still peeved over his mischief at Owl's Nest, where he'd gone to supper at Peachtree and hadn't returned until the next day. She hadn't yet received a believable explanation about why he'd been delayed.

Supposedly, the torrential rain had trapped him, but he could have made it back if he'd truly wanted to. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to. On several caustic occasions, she'd interrogated him about his fondness for Miss Cronenworth, and about the interval when he'd been missing, but he hadn't furnished any genuine information.

He didn't feel she had any right to question him about any issue, but she was his devoted mistress and—after he quit being such a lazy ass—he would propose and she would be his wife. If he was engaged in an amour, she deserved to know how badly she was being betrayed.

It was early, the place quiet. None of the servants were up to greet her, but she hadn't expected them to be. She removed her cloak and bonnet and tossed them on a nearby chair, then she spun to start up the stairs.

She was a bit inebriated, so she was tipsy. She staggered and had to clasp the newel post to steady her balance. She straightened and glanced down the hall, and Jackson was standing there and watching her. Because he often gambled all night, he liked to sleep until noon, so it was odd to see him.

He was frowning and she was exhausted to witness it. He'd told her she could carouse with Nell and she had told him there was no predicting when she'd be home. Surely, he wasn't vexed. If she chose to make merry into the wee hours, he wasn't the sort of fellow to complain about it.

"Jackson? You scared the life out of me," she said. "Why are you up?"

"I've been waiting for you. We have to talk."

"Now? What time is it? Five? Six? I have to wash and climb into bed. We'll chat this afternoon, after I awaken."

"No, we can't put this off."

His expression unnerved her. He didn't exactly look angry, but he was obviously annoyed with her. Normally, she would have ignored him, but he was peering at her so strangely that she figured she should humor him and find out what was so urgent.

He was positioned at the library door, and it was a room with shelves to the ceiling, but that had no books in it. For furniture, there was a fancy desk, plus a large table he used when he was dealing with his correspondence or meeting with the staff.

He gestured for her to join him and she walked over and went in. To her dismay, Cedric was there and his presence was extremely shocking. He was the biggest scapegrace in the kingdom and he especially never rose before noon. Apparently, she was in trouble.

She did a quick mental calculation of the past few days, but she couldn't recall any incident that might have landed her in hot water. What could have happened?

Jackson seated himself behind the desk, then he motioned to the chair across. She sat too and braced herself. A grim conversation was about to ensue, and with her being a tad foxed, she might not be able to defend herself as shrewdly as necessary.

She seized the initiative. "Are you upset with me for staying out too late? You encouraged me to accept Nell's invitation. I assumed you were sincere about it, and if I had a curfew, I didn't realize it."

"You didn't have a curfew." His comment provided some relief, but he was studying her so peculiarly that her pulse raced.

"What is it then?" she asked. "You appear to be furious."

"We've been together for an extended period," was his reply.

"It's been marvelous," she hastened to insist. "You can't deny it."

He shrugged. "We don't get on all that well. Don't pretend otherwise. It would irritate me beyond my limit."

"What are you babbling on about? I understand you better than anyone ever has. We're like two peas in a pod. We're a team; we're allies. You've always said so."

"No, you've always said so. As for myself, I enjoyed the early years of our liaison, but the last one—after I was wounded—has been very difficult."

"If you're fatigued, you can't blame it on me. It wasn't my fault you were hurt, but since you were, I've been your most dedicated nurse."

The remark caused Cedric to snort with disgust, but thankfully, he didn't utter an insult.

"I've felt sorry for you," Jackson kept on. "I recognize that you're estranged from your parents and that you've burned your bridges with them. I allowed our dalliance to flourish, to the point where your reputation was destroyed in India, so I helped to fuel that rift. I take responsibility for my role in your current dilemma."

"My dilemma? I have no idea what you're talking about. My life—our life—is wonderful. We're home in London and we rule in the demimonde." She paused so he could agree with her assessment, and when he didn't, she added, "We're happy. Don't claim we're not."

His gaze narrowed. "I think you are happy. I'm very miserable."

There was a dreadful finality to his words that had her pulse racing at an even faster clip. "You're being awfully grumpy and awfully enigmatic. What's bothering you? I wish you'd just spit it out, so I'm clear on what's transpiring."

She'd voiced the request with plenty of bravado, but she wasn't really serious. He was about to spew an edict that would be too terrifying to hear. She nearly leapt up and ran over to clap a palm over his mouth so he could never reveal it.

"I've decided you can't continue to live with us," he said.

She gaped at him, the decree bewildering. They were parting? She was being evicted? Was that what he was telling her? Her intoxicated brain was too foggy to unravel his intent and she was positive she'd misconstrued.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "It sounds as if you're kicking me out."

"Yes, I am. I've rented a room for you at a reputable women's boarding house."

She choked out a stunned breath. "You've what? I have no desire to move away from you. I simply want to go to bed, in my own bed, but you're delaying me."

His next statement floored her. "Your belongings have been packed and loaded in the carriage. Cedric will escort you to your new lodging. The owner will welcome you and get you settled."

From how Cedric was smirking, she couldn't imagine accompanying him anywhere and she said, "Would you slow down a minute? Have I offended you somehow? Have I committed a gaffe of which I remain unaware? It seems as if I'm being punished, but what is my crime?"

"There's no crime. I've been weary of you for ages and I can't abide the drain you've been on me and my finances. There have to be some changes."

"I am so confused."

Cedric chimed in with, "It doesn't matter if you're confused. You just have to walk out to the carriage with me."

"Sod off, Cedric," she furiously retorted. She focused her irate glare on Jackson and asked, "Is this Cedric's ploy to be shed of me? He's always hated me and he tried to prevent me from sailing to England with you. Is that what's occurring?"

"No, this isn't Cedric's scheme," Jackson quietly said. "This is me, advising you that you have to depart. I can't have you residing here."

She scowled. "Why not?"

"You don't need to worry about the reason, and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave without making a scene. I can't have you fly off the handle in a rage."

A fraught silence descended, and she meticulously scrutinized him, searching for an ounce of affection, of compassion or sympathy, but any fondness had vanished. What could have propelled him to such a ridiculous ledge?

It dawned on her that she had to fawn and grovel. She jumped up and hurried around the desk, where she fell to her knees and clasped his hand. She peered up at him with beseeching eyes.

"Whatever it is," she said, "whatever I've done, I most humbly apologize and beg you to forgive me."

"There's naught to forgive. I'd simply like you to go without a fuss."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"I don't suppose you will."

"Then I won't oblige you!" she vehemently said. "I love you and you love me! You can't act like this. It's deranged behavior."

There had never been any love between them. Their relationship was about lust and shared vices, and at her uttering the preposterous declaration, Cedric snickered and Jackson clucked his tongue with annoyance.

"You've never loved anyone but yourself," he said, "and you've certainly never loved me. At this late date, please don't rewrite our history."

He slid away from her and stood, yanking away as if he couldn't bear to have her touch him. He stared her down, as if he didn't recognize her. She was still on her knees and a complete supplicant, but it hadn't had any effect. He'd charted a course, and he was implementing it, and she couldn't dissuade him.

Cedric raised her up and he scolded her. "You're being a pest, and Jackson is tired of supporting you, but then, I've repeatedly warned you that he was. You should have listened to me and you might have been better prepared for this moment."

She stamped her foot like a spoiled toddler. "Jackson! You can't be serious! After how close we've been, you can't toss me away!"

Cedric answered for his son. "He can and he has."

Jackson's expression was filled with pity, as if she'd always been a weighty burden to him. How could he have such a low opinion? In her view, she'd been the perfect partner, the perfect mistress, and she'd planned to be the perfect wife. Evidently, she'd misjudged every facet of their liaison.

"I will pay your rent for six months," he said. "I will also provide you with a small allowance for incidentals, but that's it."

"Six months? Then what will I do?"

"I suggest you use the time wisely. You should hunt for a new paramour. You're cordial with Nell; perhaps she can help you find someone."

"Someone like Arthur Cronenworth?" she sarcastically sneered. "Are you hoping I'll be as lucky as she was?"

Jackson merely sighed. "I would heartily recommend you mend fences with your parents. I realize the world is a hard place for a woman, and so long as you're floating free, you'll be at risk."

"Precisely," she fumed, "so why are you being so cruel to me?"

"I can't continue on with you. I've felt guilty for the part I played in your downfall, so I didn't move forward as I should have. I've let you tarry with me, but I was never keen to have a mistress. I've finally come to my senses and that era is over."

Her jaw dropped, and there were a thousand comments she was anxious to voice, but before she could start, Cedric gripped her arm and dragged her out of the room. She struggled to wrench away, but he was stronger and more determined than she was.

She glanced over her shoulder at Jackson, and he was watching her be carted out, as if she were a mongrel dog that had wandered in by accident. His face was a blank slate, with no emotion showing. It appeared as if he'd never been fond, as if he was already over her.

"Jackson!" she pleaded. "You can't want this."

"Actually, Lola, I do want it. I want it very, very much."

That was all the imploring she could manage. Cedric pulled her into the hall, and two of Jackson's burliest footmen, old army veterans who were big and tough, stepped in behind them. They were her guards as she was marched out the rear door. It was a minor insult, but a painful one: She wasn't permitted to exit out the front—like the dear friend she'd previously been to Jackson.

They went to the mews and the carriage had been harnessed and was waiting for her. In a trice, she was lifted in, Cedric followed, and the horses whisked her away. She was driven off so fast that she didn't even have an instant to look at the house as it faded in the distance.

v

Arthur strolled into his favorite club. He studied the crowd, but didn't see Lord Thornhill, and he grinned with relief. He hadn't met with Thornhill to discuss the money he owed and the notorious nobleman was searching for him everywhere.

It had become a sly game of cat-and-mouse and Thornhill's dogged pursuit had put a damper on much of Arthur's socializing. His chums attended the best routs and soirees, but Arthur had had to cry off and invent excuses as to why he couldn't join in. He was afraid to show up at any location where Thornhill might be present too.

In order to square his fiscal obligations, he'd have to either give Thornhill most of the company's ships or sell them and give him the money. If an import company didn't have any ships, how could it function? And since the business income was necessary to support the family, how could he relinquish them?

Plus, he wasn't sure he had the authority to sell anything. His mother had finagled herself into the role of trustee, back when their cousin, Benedict, had been in failing health. But if the wrong people—Theo? Investors? Bankers?—learned that he'd shucked off major assets without having the right to proceed, he was fairly certain he'd be in massive legal trouble.

It was a terrible tangle, orchestrated by his deranged mother, but he could never bear to think about problems, and he was adept at pretending they didn't exist. He was avoiding Thornhill, having convinced himself that, if they never chatted, he would never have to deal with the situation.

Due to his hiding and ducking for cover, he hadn't gambled in several days. The urge to wager was so overpowering that it was like a potent drug, so he'd decided to risk a foray into a public venue. He'd play for a few hours, then he'd flit away again, so he couldn't be accosted by Thornhill or his henchmen.

Arthur waved to a group of acquaintances and was walking toward them when a brawny footman blocked his way.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cronenworth," he said, "but you have to speak with the manager before I can let you in."

Arthur was a valued member of the club, so he didn't suspect any mischief. Why would he have? He was guided down a deserted hall and he went into the manager's office. When he emerged four minutes later, he was so angry that little red dots had formed on the edge of his vision. He wondered if he might be about to suffer an apoplexy.

Banned! Exiled! For exceeding the debt limit! He'd never been so humiliated! His mortification was compounded when the footman wouldn't allow him to return to the gaming room. Nor was he allowed to use the front door, but it was probably just as well. He couldn't have anyone see him being thrown out.

He was led to the rear exit behind the kitchens, where he was ignominiously shoved out into the alley.

"Don't come back, you sniveling rat," the footman snarled. "I'll be watching for you, so you won't be able to sneak in. Don't press your luck; you won't like the consequences."

With that, the footman strutted inside and shut the door. Arthur listened as a bar was laid across it, so he couldn't have stormed back in even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't!

His temper flared and he glanced about to get his bearings. Suddenly, he could smell smoke, and the tip of a cheroot glowed in the dark. It was flung away, then a man stepped out of the shadows.

"Hello, Arthur," he said. "How nice to finally stumble on you."

Arthur blanched with dismay, but with fear too. "Thornhill! What are you doing out here?"

"I've been waiting for you. Obviously, you weren't aware that the manager is a good friend of mine. I asked him to bring you to me once he was finished crushing you under the heel of his boot."

Arthur had been drinking, so his wits were a bit addled. He'd been so cunning in his evasions, so furtive in his movements. How had Thornhill known he'd be at the club? Why had he been waiting? It made him seem omnipotent and impossible to thwart.

Arthur struggled to muster his aplomb, but it was difficult. Thornhill was rumored to have murdered a thousand natives in India. He had a reputation as a savage villain when riled, and Arthur—by being such a scofflaw—had definitely stirred his ire. They were alone and Thornhill appeared large, determined, and very dangerous.

"What do you want?" Arthur blustered. "I have other engagements this evening and I can't dawdle in this putrid alley."

"You never visited me to discuss your debts."

"I've been busy."

"That's not what I heard. I heard you've been loafing with Nell Parsons and developing an addiction to the opium pipe that's even worse than your addiction to gambling."

"I have no idea why such ridiculous gossip would spread."

Thornhill snickered, as if he possessed secret information Arthur could never unravel. "The strangest thing has happened, Arthur. Like magic, Harold Cronenworth's Will has been found."

Arthur gulped, then flippantly said, "Has it been? How very odd. I've always been positive there wasn't one."

"Much to my surprise, you don't own HH Imports. Theodora and her sister, Charlotte, own it, so how will you ever pay me?"

Arthur huffed with feigned indignation. "Of course I'll pay you. Eventually."

"With what? Air? Or maybe fairy coins?"

"Well, no, but I'm a gentleman. You'll get your accursed money, but I must admit that it's very exasperating to have you constantly nag about it."

He assumed he'd sounded frank and blunt, but he couldn't fork over what he owed to Thornhill, not if he had a hundred years to try. He'd dug a deep hole from which he could never extricate himself.

Thornhill loomed in very close and he was so much bigger than Arthur that he was very scary. The moon was up, so there was a bit of light shining down, and Thornhill's malice was clearly visible. Arthur was transfixed and couldn't look away.

"You think I've been nagging?" Thornhill said, his tone soft and lethal.

"Yes. You've been an absolute beast about the whole thing."

Arthur couldn't have predicted what Thornhill intended, but with no warning, he lashed out and punched Arthur—right in the face! Arthur squealed with astonishment and collapsed to the ground. He couldn't imagine what sort of vermin and garbage were strewn about on the bricks, and he yearned to leap up, but his legs weren't working. He was too stunned to move.

Thornhill leaned down and hit Arthur again, then he said, "That was for Theodora."

Arthur was completely bewildered and he sputtered, "Theo? How is she involved in any of this?"

Thornhill didn't explain, but said, "When I'm through with you, she'll have received all the vengeance she deserves. Make ready."

Blood was dripping from Arthur's mouth and he suspected some teeth had been knocked loose. He mumbled, "You're insane."

"Yes, people often claim that I am. It's why I was so proficient at soldiering."

Thornhill seemed to be bragging as he walloped Arthur a third time, and Arthur gave up any hope of climbing to his feet. Thornhill grabbed Arthur's shirt and pulled him up so they were nose to nose.

"Tomorrow, I'm conferring with your bankers," Thornhill hissed, "then I'm stopping by the warehouses at HH Imports, and I'll have legal documents with me that will allow me to seize every asset. I'm running advertisements about your downfall in the newspapers. Tomorrow, Arthur. You'll be totally ruined. You may even wind up in jail. Didn't you realize that theft is a crime? In addition, a man can't fail to pay his bills. It's called fraud and I've decided to collect from you. Starting now."

Thornhill tossed him away, and Arthur dropped down on the bricks very hard, hard enough that his poor teeth clacked together. For no reason he could discern, Thornhill kicked him in the ribs, and air whooshed out of his lungs, so he couldn't catch his breath.

"Have mercy!" he begged, but the words emerged as a slight wheeze.

"Greedy, worthless bastard."

Thornhill spat the insult, then limped away, and Arthur curled into a ball and lay in the dirt and grime.

He'd never been physically assaulted before, so he hadn't understood how much it would hurt. Every bone in his body protested in agony, as if he'd been attacked by a horde of bandits rather than a single madman.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the black sky. His dreams had been dashed and his mother's scheme had been exposed. He was destroyed forever. What would his mother say? What would Nell think? How would Arthur clarify what had occurred? How would he save himself?

He whimpered, moaned, then began to bawl like a baby. He cried for help, but his voice was weak and inaudible. He was all alone and no one came.