Page 64 of The Proposition
Clemency huffed out a dry laugh. “I promise you, Nora, I will not be the same person after I speak those words in the church.”
“Yes, you have always had your qualms with marriage….”
Her instinct was to argue, but Clemency found she had grown very tired. Every step toward the bedchamber where she would dress felt like a chore. At the open door, her mother waited in her frilliest and finest, the ostrich plumes of a tall bonnet brushing the ceiling as she gave a soft squeal of excitement. The maids were there. Everything was prepared.
She took Clemency’s other hand and squeezed it hard enough to bruise.
“Oh, smile,” her mother said with a sigh. Her own bedchamber had never felt colder or more foreboding. “You are going to your wedding soon,” her mother reminded her, “not your funeral.”
—
Audric felt much like a gargoyle as he stood at the bannister on the wide balcony overlooking the west lawn of the Beswick estate. From that height, the grounds gently sloped through sparse forest, down to the stream that wound like a fine blue ribbon across the green velvet of the grounds.
A perfect day. A horrid day.
A gargoyle he remained, stony, silent, hunched, waiting for the bells to toll at the church and signal proof of his torment.
Yet the French doors behind him swung open loudly, no doubt Ralston’s attempt to warn him in case he was up to any humiliating weeping. Audric’s face remained dry as he glanced over one shoulder toward the doors, finding Ralston there, straight and serious as ever, and beside him a stout, well-muscled gentleman with a square face and reddish nose.
“Mr. Jack Connors to see you, sir.”
Ralston knew that Audric was accepting no visitors, particularly not that accursed morning. He was about to remind his man of just that when he noticed the intruder, Jack Connors, gulping desperately. His eyes never seemed to stay in one spot, jumping from Audric’s face to his hands to his feet, and back again. This had every indication of a confession.
“I beg your pardon, sir—” Connors began, stumbling forward on clumsy feet. He had the bearings of a man who boxed for pleasure and boxed enthusiastically but not well.
“No, I beg yours. I am not receiving company today. Good day, sir.”
Audric had hoped the finality in his tone was impolite enough to shock the man and make him leave, but Connors held his ground. In fact, he strode forward, impertinently joining Mr. Ferrand at the bannister. Audric pulled his hands away from the stone with a grimace and inhaled sharply through his nose.
“I know what you will say,” Connors blurted. He shook his head vigorously. The deep, dark smears under his eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. “But today is not yours alone to mourn. I suspect many of us are in great pain today….”
Ralston disappeared before Audric could call on him to dismiss their unwanted visitor. No matter, Audric would see to it himself. He held out his hand toward the French doors and cleared his throat.
“You are invited most forcefully to leave, Mr. Connors. You do not know me and you certainly do not know my state of—”
“Lee Stanhope.”
Audric arched one brow. “What of him?”
“Turner—Lord Boyle—knew about him. He’s no man of honor, only a man of greed. He doubled your payment and had Stanhope report all of your dealings in London to him. Miss Fry’s too.”
“Preposterous,” Audric thundered. “Stanhope is a friend. And you say Boyle doubled my fee? How? With what money?”
His temper, which had been quelled by the shattering of many a vase in London, flared again and more dangerously. He crowded Connors against the railing, his vision blurring at the edges as if the man’s accusations had driven him to the verge of madness.
“With mine,” Connors murmured, shrinking. “Might be a baron, but never had a farthing to his name. He had you both followed. Every step you took in London, he had you followed, and he did it with my money.”
A misplaced urge to strike the man rose sharply in Audric, but he stowed it, taking a pronounced step back and away from Connors. All of his questions, all of his swirling, spiraling thoughts, might be answered by what this man had to say. But to be betrayed by both Clemency and Lee…
In how many places and configurations could a man’s heart break?
“Why come to me with this now?” Audric barked.
“The drink had me and…” Connors shuddered and tugged at his chin. “And so did Boyle. God help me, I loved him. Love made me a fool, but no more. My eyes are open, and I have no doubt he’ll expose my secrets to the whole world. Let him. I don’t give a damn; a man has his pride and his code or he has nothing at all.” He paced away from the bannister, grabbing his head with both hands as he hurried on. “I found at last the receipts that had bankrupted me. Boyle spent a fortune having you followed and buying off Stanhope’s loyalty. I tried to confront him but he already had what he wanted. Listen now, Clemency was always kind to me, and even knew of my proclivities but told no one—”
Audric raised his hands, trying to convince the man to slow down.
“What exactly does Boyle intend to do?” Audric asked carefully.
