Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition Read online

  “I feel so frightened and alone. I don’t know whom to trust, which way to turn.”

  Pain shot through Vincent’s heart. He knew Diana had no reason to trust him. Every reason not to. Still… He reached over and turned her face toward his. “I’m sorry you feel alone. Perhaps one day you will learn to trust me. I will do my utmost not to fail you.”

  She gazed at him soberly, searching his eyes, not speaking. Her face was too close. Her eyes too deep. Her mouth… Before he realized he would do it, he covered it with his own. She tasted salty from her tears, soft and sweet. Her breath checked. For a moment she leaned into him.

  And then she pulled away.

  He touched the wound on her cheek, and reality intruded. This must go no further….

  Praise for Patricia Frances Rowell

  A Scandalous Situation

  “The admirable hero and brave heroine are bound to win all but the stoniest heart.”

  —Romantic Times

  A Dangerous Seduction

  “Rowell creates a wonderful Gothic atmosphere, using beautiful Cornwall and its history of smuggling and shipwrecks to enhance her story.”

  —Romantic Times

  A Perilous Attraction

  “Promising Regency-era debut…a memorable heroine who succeeds in capturing the hero’s heart as well as the reader’s.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Ms. Rowell has a nice touch for penning likeable characters…a relaxing, romantic read.”

  —Romantic Times

  DON’T MISS THESE OTHER

  TITLES AVAILABLE NOW:

  #763 ONE NIGHT OF SCANDAL

  Nicola Cornick

  #765 ROCKY MOUNTAIN WIDOW

  Jillian Hart

  #766 THE BOUGHT BRIDE

  Juliet Landon

  A TREACHEROUS PROPOSITION

  PATRICIA FRANCES ROWELL

  Available from Harlequin Historical and PATRICIA FRANCES ROWELL

  A Perilous Attraction #621

  A Dangerous Seduction #668

  A Scandalous Situation #716

  A Treacherous Proposition #764

  This book is for my auxiliary kids—

  my stepchildren, John Parker and Cindy Lynn Rowell,

  George Richmond and Shelia Rowell,

  William Dean and Pamela Darlene Rowell,

  Darlene Rowell and James Michael Hussmann,

  and my daughters-in-law, Renee Marie

  and Leigh Elizabeth Annand.

  Thank you all for so enriching my life.

  And, of course, every time, for Johnny.

  A Word of Thanks

  To all those who fought wars that seemed to make no

  difference in the long run. The outcome changes nothing.

  You did what you did. You gave what you gave.

  You risked what you risked, and you did it with honor.

  And we thank you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Yorkshire, England, April 1796

  “But, Papa! Timothy is my friend!” The little boy’s lips quivered in spite of his determination to forbid them.

  His father glared at the older boy standing beside him. “Your friend, do you think? Now what would a great boy of thirteen years want with a lad not quite eight? What have you given him?”

  The younger boy’s gaze dropped, then slid sideways toward his friend, guilt in every muscle of his small body as he stared at the straw on the stable floor.

  “Ah!” His father folded his arms.

  The boy lifted his chin. “I only gave him my soldiers, Papa. Tim doesn’t have any.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed as he studied the ragged Timothy. “And a boy your age likes to play with toy soldiers?” Suddenly he barked, “Let me see what is in your pockets.”

  The older boy made a break for it, sprinting for the stable door, only to be captured by an under groom and hauled back before he had made good his escape.

  The boy’s father grasped him by the collar and shook him. “Your pockets.”

  Reluctantly, Timothy turned his pockets outward and two gold coins fell into the straw. The man stooped and retrieved them, his icy stare never leaving Timothy’s angry face. “So you steal from your friends?”

  Timothy lifted his chin defiantly. “He’s not my friend!” He kicked straw at the younger boy. “You aren’t my friend. You’re just a baby.”

  He turned and ran for the door again, and the boy’s father let him go. After the boy had disappeared from sight, the man knelt beside his son and looked into his tear-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, Vincent, but there is a hard lesson you must learn. When one has the power and wealth that will someday be yours, one must always be on guard. Always. The world is filled with people who will let you think they like you, but who, in fact, only want what you have. Do you understand?”

  The boy nodded, his mouth firming into a hard line.

  “Yes, Papa. I understand.”

  Chapter One

  London, England, April 1814

  Vincent Ingleton, Earl of Lonsdale, leaned his shoulders against the stained wall, arms folded across his chest, and studied the lady’s face where she sat by the bed. Tired. Tired and sad. He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely. No, not sad exactly. In truth, she showed very little grief. Just an abysmal weariness. Little wonder in that. The man dying in the bed had not made her life easy.

  Hardly even bearable for a lady of her breeding.

  Vincent wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood and mildew pervading the room. The dying man coughed and fumbled at the bedclothes. “Diana?”

  She reached out and took his hand while the doctor wiped blood away from his patient’s lips. “I’m here, Wyn.”

  Vincent sighed and bowed his dark head. She had always been there when Wynmond Corby needed her. No matter what he had done, Lady Diana had been there for her husband. No matter how little Wyn had provided, she had always been a gracious hostess for him, quietly welcoming his friends into their home, even as Corby finally descended into these cramped, grubby quarters. She had been there for him.

  No matter how little he deserved her.

  But who was Vincent to say who deserved love? He had not much experience with that thorny subject.

  He glanced at the two other men quietly conversing against the adjoining wall. Men like Wyn seemed always to have friends, even though he hadn’t two coins at a time to rub together in his pocket. And why not? He constantly had a quip on his tongue, a laugh in his eyes, the heart to put his horse at any fence in the country. Perhaps that was why Corby was, in fact, the only one of his old friends with whom Vincent still associated, very nearly the only friend he had.

  The only one of them who had never sponged off him.

  But having friends had not stopped someone from slipping a blade between Corby’s ribs.

  The softest of sighs brought his gaze back to Diana. In spite of the fatigue, she looked as she always did, calm and serene, the small pool o
f candlelight in the dark room setting her smooth, pale chignon aglow. Even in a worn, dull-gray gown, she was beautiful. Truth be told, Vincent knew the reason he spent so much time at the Corby home had as much to do with Lady Diana’s company as it did that of her husband.

  But of course, there was the other, more important, reason.

  A barrage of coughing from the bed caused him to straighten and step closer. Blood spattered the sheets, and the doctor and Diana both moved quickly to lift Corby higher on the pillows. He gurgled and coughed again. Vincent and the two other men converged on the bed and gathered around the foot.

  “Friends…dear…” Corby’s whisper made them all lean closer. He coughed again. “Please…” Another cough. More blood. “Care… Diana…my…my chil…” His eyes closed, and Vincent thought it was over, but Wyn rallied for one more breath. “I’ve…not…done…well.”

  The next cough brought forth such a quantity of blood that the watchers knew no living man could have given it up. Wyn’s blond head rolled to one side and the doctor let it fall back against the pillows. “May God rest his soul.”

  The stocky, sandy-haired man some years Vincent’s senior bowed his head. “Amen.”

  “Amen.” The lanky younger gentleman standing next echoed.

  The widow covered her eyes with one hand.

  Vincent closed his eyes, clenched his teeth together and said nothing.

  “Well…” The larger man took a long breath and a step away from the bed. “That’s that…” He walked to Diana and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Of course, my dear, you must not worry about the future for a moment. It will be my pleasure to see that you are provided for, just as Wyn asked. I will make arrangements and send a carriage for you as soon as the funeral is done.”

  Something in the man’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away from his moment of grief. He looked up sharply, his gaze focused on Diana’s face. This time he had no trouble at all identifying her expression.

  Fear.

  He moved around the bed in her direction. “Perhaps we should discuss this further, St. Edmunds. You might find it a bit awkward to explain those…er, arrangements to your wife.”

  St. Edmunds turned a glare on him. “I can deal with my wife.”

  “I’m sure you can, but it might also be awkward for Lady Diana.”

  The tall man hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, running his fingers through his straight, light brown hair.

  Vincent glanced at him. “Sudbury?”

  The Honorable Justinian Sudbury studied his shining boots thoughtfully. “Going to be dashed awkward for all of us.”

  “Gentlemen.” Diana stood and stepped away from St. Edmunds’s hand, her mien dignified. “I appreciate your concern more than I can say, but it is quite unnecessary. I will care for myself and my children. None of us need be embarrassed.”

  At that moment the door opened and a snaggle-toothed, slatternly old woman shoved into the room and peered at the body on the bed. “So the cove’s finally stuck his spoon in the wall, has he? So who’s going to pay me the rent what’s due?”

  Diana opened her mouth to answer, but the woman was looking at the gentlemen. Vincent shifted his gaze from Diana to the landlady. “What’s the damage?”

  She named a figure and Vincent’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t try to gull me, old woman. These rooms are not worth a quarter of that.”

  “Ha! They are when I ain’t been paid for four months—and another month due. Hadn’t been for the little ones, I’d have put ’em out last month.”

  So much for no one’s being embarrassed. Vincent glanced at Diana. She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. He pulled his purse out of his coat pocket and counted the amount into the old woman’s hand and added an extra coin. “There. That will cover the next month.” He took a step toward her. “Now get out.”

  Suiting the action to the threat, she made for the door. “Aye, ye black-haired devil. I’m going.”

  Vincent returned to the discussion at hand. St. Edmunds and Sudbury were looking at Diana who was looking down at her clasped hands. Even in the dim light, Vincent could see that her cheeks were crimson.

  “Thank you, my lord. Your kindness will give me the opportunity to make plans.” She still did not look at them.

  “Nonsense!” St. Edmunds frowned. “We all know in what case you stand.”

  Sudbury nodded. “Wyn was a very good fellow, but… No sense about money. Always under the hatches. Can you go to your family?”

  “I’m sure that I can.” An expression of uncertainty flickered across Diana’s face. “I will write to my cousin immediately.”

  Vincent gave that notion some thought. Not bloody likely. When her father had died, the title and estate had gone to a distant cousin—one who had not spoken to her family in years. And Wyn’s older brother was no less profligate than Wyn had been. No, someone was going to have to see to her welfare. Damn Wyn and his charm and his prodigal ways and his horses and his women! Damn him for putting her in this humiliating position.

  Damn him for getting himself killed.

  With an effort Vincent pushed the ache out of his heart. He would deal with it later. Now he must think. St. Edmunds could not be allowed to take control of Diana and her life. The man might be Corby’s friend, but he was not Vincent’s.

  And Diana was wise to be afraid of him. Not only were his intentions highly questionable, St. Edmunds had a certain reputation amongst the libertines of London. Women did not fare well at his hands. Why Corby had let him dangle after Diana…

  But that was neither here nor there. He needed to get her out of the room. They could hardly continue to discuss this delicate question before her as though she were a child who did not understand. “Lady Diana, are your children still sleeping? I thought I heard a cry.”

  “Surely they are—it is well after midnight—but I should make certain. Meanwhile, you gentlemen will be more comfortable in the parlor. I shall just be a moment.” She left the room in a soft swish of skirts and Vincent turned to the doctor, reaching once more for his purse.

  “Sir, I appreciate your assistance this evening. Can you further oblige me by having Mr. Corby made ready for burial?”

  “Certainly. I regret that I could not be of better use, but a sliced lung…” The doctor shook his gray head sadly.

  “Yes.” Vincent handed him several coins. “If this is not sufficient, send word to me at Lonsdale House, and also apprise me when it is done.”

  The doctor bowed and left the room, and the three remaining men pulled themselves into a circle. St. Edmunds cleared his throat. “Now see here, Ingleton. It’s good of you to take care of these matters, but don’t think for a minute that it changes anything. I have told Lady Diana that I shall care for her, and I shall.”

  Vincent folded his arms, drawing together his dark eyebrows. “And I have told you that I do not believe that is a suitable course of action.”

  St. Edmunds sneered. “And I suppose you believe you are a more suitable guardian—with your reputation?”

  “At least I do not have a wife.”

  “I say,” Sudbury intervened. “Why don’t we ask Lady Diana? Ought to be able to chose who’s to take care of her. I would but…pockets quite to let, myself.”

  Both of the other men favored him with annoyed glances. “You heard what she said,” St. Edmunds snarled. “She’ll insist that she can manage, but we all know she cannot.”

  “No.” Sudbury sighed. “Can’t see how she could. Not a feather to fly with. Went through his fortune and hers, too. Four months’ back rent…!” He shook his head in disgust. “A governess, do you think?”

  “With two children hanging on her skirts?” St. Edmunds grimaced. “Not likely. That is why I shall send my people…”

  “No.” Vincent made no attempt to be conciliating. “If you send your carriage the whole of the ton will immediately draw unflattering conclusions about Lady Diana. I will see to it some other way. And that fact need
go no further than this room.” He turned to glare meaningfully at Sudbury.

  “No, no,” Sudbury hastily assured him. “Not a word. On my honor.”

  St. Edmunds’s broad face had turned an angry red. He took a step toward Vincent. “Damn you, Lonsdale, I know what you really want.”

  Vincent stopped him with a cold stare.

  Sudbury shuffled his feet uneasily. “Come now, my lords. No way for gentlemen… Great God! His body lies dead in this very room.”

  “Very well.” Vincent reached again into his coat pocket. He pulled out his hand and opened it. “We’ll settle it as gentlemen. What do you say to a game of hazard?”

  “Throw dice?” St. Edmunds’s eyes took on a crafty look. “For a woman?”

  Vincent made no answer. He just stood, his expression hard, and tossed the dice in one hand.

  St. Edmunds laughed uneasily. “Well, I suppose gambling is nothing if not a gentleman’s sport.” His eyes narrowed. “But not with your dice.”

  “As you wish.” Vincent let the implied insult pass. A mere diversion. St. Edmunds also had a reputation where dice were concerned. Not that anyone ever accused him outright of cheating. He was much too good a shot and much too vindictive to chance a duel. But Vincent’s past had long ago taught him how to deal with cheats.

  His mouth crooked up slightly on one corner. “But hazard will take too long. We have only minutes before Lady Diana returns. I suggest one roll of the dice each—high number wins. I will roll with your dice, and you may roll with mine.”

  Sudbury nodded sagely. “Bound to be fair.”

  Vincent handed his dice to Sudbury. “If you will give these to Lord St. Edmunds…”

  St. Edmunds eyes became slits in his face. “What are you about, Lonsdale?”