In the Prince’s Bed by Sabrina Jeffries (10)

Chapter Seventeen

Katherine’s visit to Lady Lovelace the next morning went as well as could be expected. At first, her ladyship insisted upon being the one to send any message from Katherine to Sydney. But Katherine remained steadfast in her determination to send it herself, and finally the woman revealed that Sydney was indeed at Lord Napier’s estate. It took more coaxing to gain the address from her, but Katherine finally came away from the Lovelace town house successful.

After she returned home and sent her message to Sydney, however, she found herself at loose ends. She started half a dozen volumes of poetry before tossing them aside to pace the parlor restlessly.

What on earth was wrong with her? Poetry generally took her mind off her troubles, but not today. Any overly flowery passage reminded her of Alec’s witty comments and made her laugh. And the love poems, with their talk of ruby lips and sweet kisses, sent her imagination into wild fancies about touching Alec—

She cursed under her breath. This was all his fault. The things he’d done last night, the things he’d made her hope for, had thrown all her emotions into confusion. Her feelings had never vacillated so wildly, and it frightened her. This was the whirlwind she’d sought to avoid, this heady excitement one minute and fearful anxiety the next.

Yet she couldn’t regret her agreement to marry him. By altering all her perceptions of him, he’d made her believe that a life of passion might not be so terrible. Perhaps a woman really could have a husband who was both passionate and responsible, exciting and reliable.

The idea of marrying him grew more appealing by the moment. She couldn’t wait for his next kiss, for their next encounter, for the day when they would say their vows and the night when he would—

“Let go of me—I told you, he don’t need me to stay for no answer!” squeaked an unfamiliar voice from the hall.

She hurried out to find Thomas dragging a liveried footboy toward her, lecturing him all the way. “Now see here, you little whelp, you’ll do this proper-like, the way your master would want, and not be shirking your duties so you can stroll through the park on your way back—”

“I ain’t shirking nothin’! His lordship told me…” He trailed off as he caught sight of Katherine watching the curious byplay.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

Thomas yanked the boy to a halt. “This lad has brought a letter for you from his lordship.” As her foolish heart began to pound, Thomas cast the boy a stern glance. “But he’s trying to scurry off without delivering it proper-like.”

Katherine bit back a smile. Being an older man from the country, Thomas had often expressed his disapproval of the lax ways of city servants.

The boy gave a quick bow. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I promised his lordship I’d give the note to your servant, so as not to…er…disturb you.” He scowled up at Thomas.

“I see,” she said, though she did not see at all. “And this note is—”

“I got it right here.” The boy handed her a folded sheet of paper. “Now you have it.” He turned toward the door. “If you please, miss, I’ll just be going—”

“Not so fast, boy.” Thomas jerked the lad back. “Wait until the miss reads it. Then you can go.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “A-All right.”

Something about the footboy’s persistent attempts to leave struck warning bells. “You came from his lordship’s town house?” she asked.

“No, miss.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she raised an eyebrow, but he just stood there, eyes fixed ahead and back ramrod straight. Growing more curious by the moment, she opened the note and read:

She folded the note, swallowing her disappointment. She should be pleased that Alec had so responsible a character. Not many lords would dash off to their estates to deal with such matters. They would rely on their stewards to handle it.

Yes, they would, wouldn’t they?

Her eyes narrowed on the footboy. “What do you mean, you didn’t come from his lordship’s town house? Aren’t you his servant?”

“No, miss.”

Ignoring the unease settling into her belly, she waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she asked, “Then whose servant are you?”

The boy shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I…um…would prefer not to say, miss.”

Her unease swelled to a roiling in her stomach. “Whyever not?”

“I’m not supposed to say, is all.”

“And who gave you that particular instruction?”

When the boy didn’t answer, Thomas shook him. “Answer the lady!”

The boy sighed. “His lordship asked me not to say, miss.”

She swallowed. “I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble. You may go, and you may tell your master—or rather, his lordship—that you followed his instructions to the letter.”

The boy’s face cleared. “Thank you, miss, very kind of you, miss,” he babbled as he bowed a couple of times.

When he scurried off to the front door, Katherine turned to Thomas and said in a low voice, “Follow him. Find out who he works for and how he knows Lord Iversley. But don’t let him see you.”

Thomas nodded. “I won’t fail you, miss.”

As Thomas headed after the boy, she returned to the parlor. Was she being too hasty in suspecting Alec of deception? Sending Thomas off like a spy—that was absurd, really. What did it matter if Alec didn’t want her to know where he spent his time? Some men were private like that.

Like Papa, with all his “private meetings in town.” The ones that had generally involved some merchant’s wife or a fetching taproom maid or—

She shook her head, trying to ignore the sudden churning in her stomach. Alec would never be so callous as to send her a note from another woman’s house. But then, why had he tried to hide where he was when he sent the note?

For the next hour she tortured herself with such thoughts, alternately calling herself a fool for making so much of it, then a fool for ever trusting a man as smooth-tongued as Alec.

By the time Thomas entered the parlor, her stomach was a bundle of knots. “Well?” she asked him. “Who employed the lad?”

“Stephens Hotel, miss.”

That wasn’t an answer she’d expected. She frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s in Mayfair, not a top hotel, but fashionable enough with men from the military. I’m told that a great many cavalry officers and the like dine there.”

Relief swamped her. Of course. She’d been silly to worry. Where else would a man like Alec go to have a bite to eat?

But then, why hide it if his reason were so innocuous?

She swallowed. “And did you ask about Lord Iversley?”

Thomas looked stonily ahead. “Yes, miss. Spoke to the owner himself. He said he never met his lordship and knew nothing of him.”

Her heart raced. “But you didn’t believe him.”

Thomas’s expression grew pained. “The question made the man a mite nervous. All the other servants were close-mouthed, too. They seemed—”

“To be hiding something?” she whispered through a throat raw with hurt.

“Perhaps.” He forced a smile. “Or perhaps they were just too busy to talk to me. There’s lots of gentlemen going in and out of that hotel—I daresay they’d have a time of it remembering them all.”

That still didn’t explain why Alec had asked the boy to keep it secret. “And ladies? Were there ladies coming in and out, too?”

Thomas’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, miss, it wasn’t that sort of hotel. I mean, yes, there were ladies—there’s ladies in every hotel—but—”

“So he could have been meeting a woman there. Which is why the owner wouldn’t discuss it.”

Thomas’s face went carefully blank. “I wouldn’t know, miss.”

She gritted her teeth. That had always been Thomas’s standard answer for questions about Papa, too. Why did men invariably stick together when it came to infidelity? They hid each other’s indiscretions with a loyalty that would be admirable if it weren’t also disgusting.

Thomas took one look at her face, and added hastily, “I expect his lordship went there for supper just the one time, and they didn’t remember him.”

She bit back a hot retort. Thomas was right—she had nothing to base her suspicions on but some footboy’s words. He could have misunderstood Alec’s instructions. Or Alec might not have wanted her to know he’d been carousing with his friends. She mustn’t jump to conclusions until she spoke to him.

Could Alec really have left here after proposing marriage and gone directly to spend the night with a doxy in a hotel?

She didn’t want to believe it. Oh, men could lie through their teeth when it suited them, but surely he couldn’t have stared her in the face and promised fidelity, then turned right around and betrayed her. Could he?

“Thank you, Thomas. I do appreciate your help in this. And if you would be so good as not to tell Mama, I would be most grateful.”

“Certainly, miss.”

All the servants had learned long ago that Katherine ran the house, not her mother. So if they wanted to be paid, they did as Katherine said. Unfortunately, while she could keep the footboy incident secret from Mama, she couldn’t keep the contents of Alec’s note from her. Best to get that over with.

She found her mother in her bedchamber, where she sat atop the bed surrounded by her many fans. Mama explained that she was sorting them according to use—one pile for “paying calls,” one for “important social occasions,” and one for “parties to be given by my daughter when she’s a countess.” The fan Alec had given her was on the top of the last pile. Would it be demoted when Mama heard he wasn’t coming for dinner?

Unsurprisingly, Mama took the news badly. “What do you mean, he’s gone to Suffolk on estate business?” Mama fluttered a lower-ranked fan in extreme agitation. “That’s just silly. Nobody runs off to their estate in the middle of the season unless they’re having a house party.”

“I gather it was an emergency. But he promised to return for tomorrow night.”

Mama scowled at her. “He’s not at his estate, I tell you. He’s gone off to Lady Holland’s—that’s what it is.”

Katherine blinked. “I doubt that seriously, Mama.”

“I tell you—that’s where he’s off to tonight. And it’s all your fault, too. You just had to tell him we weren’t invited, didn’t you?” She shook her head. “You never listen to me, but I do know some things. One of them is that you don’t let an earl think you’re not welcome somewhere. Either you want to marry the man or you don’t. If you do, you’re certainly going about it the wrong way.”

Katherine gritted her teeth, sorely tempted to reveal that Alec had already proposed marriage, and she’d already accepted. But something held her back.

Part of it was the fact that Mama would trumpet the news throughout London before Katherine could even get to talk to Sydney. And part of it was…

Fear, pure and simple. Fear that she’d been wrong to trust Alec. Fear that she’d been wrong to accept his suit. Fear that she’d find out something so horrible about him that she’d have to refuse to marry him in the end. And then Mama would never let her hear the end of it.

“He’s not going to Lady Holland’s,” Katherine said firmly. “Really, do you think he’s stupid? Why would he lie about such a thing when he knows it would get back to us? Half of society would see him there—the fete will probably be mentioned in the papers tomorrow. So I seriously doubt he’ll be anywhere near Lady Holland’s fete tonight.”

But would he be anywhere near any other lady’s fete? That was what she couldn’t answer.

*   *   *

That evening, Alec was in his borrowed carriage again, barreling toward Hertfordshire after a frustrating afternoon futilely trying to convince Harris in Ipswich to extend him credit for his tillers and plows.

The man had held firm—he wanted his five hundred pounds, and nothing else would do. But Alec didn’t have five hundred pounds, not until he married Katherine.

Unfortunately, he needed the money immediately. Harris was threatening to sell the implements to another customer. If he did, it would be weeks before Alec could get more, and then it would be too late to do the planting.

Somehow he’d convinced Harris to give him two more days to raise the funds, leaving Alec with only one choice: He’d have to borrow it. Worse, he’d have to borrow it from Draker. Byrne was in Bath, and no bank would lend Alec money fast enough. Draker was his only hope.

That was how Alec found himself at Castlemaine early the next morning, restlessly pacing the floor of Draker’s study. His eyes itched and burned from lack of sleep, his stomach rumbled, and every muscle felt taxed to the breaking point.

Yet he couldn’t sit still while he waited for the viscount to appear. His headlong trip to Hertfordshire could very well have been for naught. What if Draker refused to see him? What if the man had second thoughts about helping a half brother he’d only recently discovered existed?

What if he simply laughed in Alec’s face?

Alec balled his hands into fists. He hated that he was here doing the very thing he’d sworn never to do.

The door opened, and Draker strode in, looking as harried as Alec felt. “This had better be good, Iversley. I was out in the north pasture—got in a new flock of sheep, you see—when the servant found me.”

Alec gazed at the man in surprise. “It’s rather early to be out, isn’t it?”

“Not for me. I’m not like you city folk, out all night dancing, then sleeping until noon the next day. I come by my wealth honestly. Early bird catches the worm and all that.” He ran his gaze over Alec’s tired face and rumpled attire. “And frankly, you’re not the sort of worm I’d hoped to catch this morning.”

“I know.” Alec fought down his resentment at being called a worm. Right now, he felt like one.

Draker walked purposefully to take a seat behind his desk. If not for his scruffy clothing and his wild man’s beard, Draker would look the very picture of the wealthy landowner receiving a supplicant. He certainly had the superior manner down pat.

Planting his elbows on the desk, Draker steepled his fingers and eyed Alec with lordly contempt. “Well? Why have you come?”

Alec dragged in a deep breath. “I need to borrow five hundred pounds.”

Draker’s face betrayed no reaction. “Things not going well with the fortune hunting?”

“Actually, I’ve convinced Miss Merivale to marry me. And according to Byrne, she’ll inherit a hundred thousand pounds upon her marriage.”

Draker scowled. “I wouldn’t trust Byrne, if I were you.”

“I don’t have any choice.” Alec flashed Draker a rueful smile. “And since the Merivales are in debt to him, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Ah. So why do you need five hundred pounds?”

Swallowing his resentment at having to explain himself, Alec related the entirety of the situation between him and his tenant farmers and Harris.

When he finished, Draker’s lordly manner had softened. “I see. Sounds like you’ve got a good steward there in Mr. Dawes. That strain of barley is high-yielding indeed. If the man is suggesting you plant that, he’s got a good head on his shoulders.” When Alec raised an eyebrow, Draker shrugged. “Half of my own tenants have been planting it for three years now, with excellent results.”

“I’ve read the literature Dawes gave me about it, and it sounds like a viable crop, especially in Suffolk’s soil. But the clay gets so hard that we need those heavy tillers, and I’ll soon have to buy some Suffolk punch horses—”

“I’ve heard of those. A kind of draft horse, isn’t it? Only bred in Suffolk. I wonder if they’d be useful around here.”

“I’ll send you the first foal I get from them,” Alec offered, “if you can see your way clear to loaning me that five hundred pounds.”

Draker’s face went carefully blank. “Why didn’t you borrow it from Byrne? You’re doing him a favor by marrying this heiress.”

“Byrne is in Bath right now, and I need the money by tomorrow night.”

“So I’m just supposed to hand over five hundred pounds to you, is that it?”

“I have something to offer as collateral.” He’d pondered the problem all the way here and had come up with one enticement, though not one he relished offering.

Draker raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He steeled himself. “My horse.”

Interest flickered in Draker’s eyes. “Your horse?”

“It’s a Lusitano of excellent bloodlines, worth over a thousand pounds.”

“Then how did you come by it?”

“General Beresford acquired it in battle and gave it to me for my service to the cavalry.”

Draker’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Byrne told me how you’d actually spent the past ten years.”

That surprised Alec. He hadn’t realized his brothers had spoken again since that night at his hotel.

“He says,” Draker continued, “that you can do amazing tricks on a horse. Not a particularly useful skill for a man trying to get an estate running again.”

Alec gritted his teeth. “I’m willing to learn the right skills. I just need help.”

“Five hundred pounds of help.”

“For which I’m offering my horse as collateral, and it’s worth twice that. If you know of my work in Portugal, then you know I can assess a horse’s value. And that I’m not exaggerating Beleza’s attributes.”

“You could be. Horse merchants do it all the time.”

Alec bit back an oath. “But I’m a gentleman and a man of good character, not a horse merchant.”

“That remains to be seen.” Draker settled back in his chair. “If it’s so fine a horse, why didn’t you offer it to your Mr. Harris as collateral?”

“I tried. Having been taken in by my father one too many times, he’s beyond accepting anything but money from my family—he made that very clear.”

“Did you bring this horse with you?”

“No. I came straight here from Suffolk.”

“In my carriage,” Draker said dryly.

Alec glared at him. “Yes. I needed speed.” He tamped down his temper. “But if you want to see Beleza, meet me at my hotel in the morning, and I’ll let you look her over. Then you can decide whether to loan me the money.”

For several long moments, Draker seemed to consider Alec’s offer. “So why don’t you sell the horse?”

“I want to keep her if I can,” Alec growled. “And since all I need is a loan for a few weeks until I marry—”

“If you marry. What if it doesn’t work out with your heiress? Will you still give me the horse in lieu of payment?”

Feeling as if someone had reached inside to rip out his heart, Alec said, “Yes.”

“And what would you ride?”

“A nag,” Alec snapped. “Now, will you loan me the money or not?”

Draker gave him a speculative glance. “I tell you what. Let me show you my estate while I’m thinking it over. You can talk to my tenants about the barley. You can even speak to my steward about husbandry. Then I’ll give you my answer.”

Alec held back his hot retort. This was a test. Draker wanted to determine if Alec had what it took to make a go of an estate, or if he was just playing at it.

Although Alec didn’t blame the man for doubting him, time grew short. He glanced at the clock on Draker’s desk. He had ten hours before he had to pick up Katherine and Mrs. Merivale for the Purefoy party, including an hour to drive back to London and an hour to dress. He couldn’t miss the party—he was hoping Katherine would finally have spoken to Sydney so Alec could make their betrothal official.

But there was still time left. And he had no choice but to play Draker’s game if he wanted his money. “All right,” Alec told his half brother. “Let’s go.”