The Wedding Clause, Page 2

  Andrew offered a short, disbelieving laugh at her confident words. “Just arrive at the chapel? You believe that Lord Woodhart will allow you to blithely snatch a fortune from beneath his very nose? I never thought you such a goose wit.”

  She gave a faint shrug. “To prevent me from acquiring the fortune he must also arrive at the chapel and risk having me as his wife. A fate you must know he considers worse than death.”

  “That all depends upon whose death you refer to, Molly.”

  Her eyes widened at his grim tone. “Good heavens, do you mean to imply that you fear Lord Woodhart might murder me for the paltry sum of thirty thousand pounds?”

  Astonishingly, her teasing words merely deepened Andrew’s fierce scowl. “It is not a paltry sum, as you well know.”

  “Not for us, but Lord Woodhart is hardly in need of additional wealth,” she pointed out with a careful logic.

  “A nobleman is always in need of wealth, Molly.” He grimaced with self-derision. “It is extraordinarily expensive to be a gentleman of leisure, as I learned to my regret. Besides, whatever his need or lack of need for a fortune, it will be his pride that will demand he not allow a fortune hunter to steal what he believes to rightfully belong to him.”

  Molly abruptly stepped back, a frown marring her wide brow. “Andrew, that is a horrid thing to say. I am no fortune hunter.”

  He held up a soothing hand. “Of course, you are not. But Lord Woodhart has made it obvious that he suspects you of nefarious purposes since you first took a position with his grandmother.”

  Well, she could hardly argue with that. His high and mighty lordship had made her life with Lady Woodhart a near misery with his unrelenting suspicion. Of course, she had begun to presume that he made a sport of causing everyone misery. For all his astonishing male beauty and undoubted success among the fairer sex, he seemed to take perverse pleasure in strolling through society like a predator on the prowl for his next meal.

  “The man would suspect a saint of nefarious purposes,” she retorted dryly. “No doubt his heart is so black he cannot conceive that there are those who can genuinely care for one another.”

  “Precisely.” Andrew regarded her with a steady gaze. “Which is why you will have nothing to do with the scoundrel.”

  “But . . .”

  “No, Molly. Lady Woodhart was clearly out of her wits to even contemplate allowing you to be at the mercy of such a notorious rogue. I, however, possess fully functioning faculties and I will not allow you to place yourself in such danger.”

  Less than a year younger than her sibling, Molly was not at all accustomed to obeying his stern commands. Especially when he was not making the least amount of sense.

  Planting her hands upon her hips, she met him glare for glare.

  “You are a fine one to talk, Andrew. You court danger every night of your life.”

  He at least possessed the grace to redden at her reprimand. “It is not so bad as that.”

  “Yes, it is. I hate knowing that you are forever taking risks that could have you transported or worse. That is not even to mention the danger of those horrid men from London discovering you have returned to England.” She gave a shake of her head. “You should be at Oakgrove tending to your crops and raising your children, not hiding in this damp cottage like a skulking criminal.”

  Without warning, Andrew turned on his heel and rigidly paced to gaze out the window. For a long moment a heavy silence filled the oppressive air, and then with a deep sigh he turned to regard her with shadowed eyes.

  “Molly, you should leave before it grows dark. This is no place for a lady. Especially not one who is beautiful enough to tempt my crew to mutiny.”

  If she had hoped that her fervent words would convince him to agree to her daring plan, she was doomed to disappointment. For all his youth her brother possessed a full share of Conwell pride.

  Clearly, she would have to keep her schemes to herself.

  “Very well,” she murmured.

  “Will you go to Cousin May?”

  She suppressed a shudder at the mere thought. Her elderly cousin lived as a near recluse in the wilds of Devonshire with a habit of treating her visitors as unpaid servants there to pander her every whim.

  “Actually I believe I shall return to London.” She paused, knowing that her brother was bound to offer up yet more protests at her choice of destinations. “Georgie has invited me to stay with her.”

  As if on cue, the finely chiseled features hardened with distaste. “Georgie? Gads, Molly, I realize you consider her a friend, but the woman is not at all a suitable companion.”

  Her own countenance firmed into an expression of stubborn annoyance. Really, the prickly dislike between Georgie and Andrew was becoming absurd beyond bearing. Georgiana, Lady Falker, had been her closest friend since they had been in the nursery. And most aggravatingly, when they were young, Andrew had been just as devoted to the charming maiden. What occurred to turn them into fierce enemies, Molly had never discovered, but whatever had happened Georgie had abruptly wed a man twice her age who had died within weeks of their marriage, and Andrew had taken off for London where he had managed to efficiently destroy his future.

  Neither would admit what precisely had set them at odds, but neither of them could be within the same room without coming to near blows.

  “Andrew,” she chided with a frown.

  “You cannot deny the truth, Molly,” he growled. “She is the biggest flirt in London and is rarely more than a breath away from scandal.”

  “She is also my dearest friend and I will not have a word said against her. Besides, I shall only be staying with her until I can find a new position.”

  His anger abruptly drained away to leave him appearing heartbreakingly harassed. “Blast. I am sorry, Molly.”

  She gave a small sniff. “Well, you should be. Georgie is . . .”

  “Oh, not that.” His hands lifted to wearily scrub his face. “I am sorry I have been such a bloody worthless brother. It is because of me that you are forced to hire yourself out as a lowly servant rather than possessing the life you were born to enjoy. You should be lady of the manor at Oakgrove, or dancing your way through London ballrooms. I should be shot for what I have done to you.”

  Her heart twisted with sympathy at the dark reproach that laced his voice. She moved to grasp his hand in a tight grip.

  “Please do not say such things, Andrew.”

  “Why should I not? I am utterly to blame.” He gave a disgusted shake of his head. “And the truth of the matter is that I cannot promise the future will be any better.”

  Molly briefly allowed herself to lean against his strength. It felt astonishingly comforting. It had been so very long since she had been able to depend upon anyone but herself.

  “It will be,” she whispered softly.

  “My sweet Molly.” Andrew dropped a kiss upon her curls before firmly stepping back. “Promise me you will take care of yourself and not allow Georgie to lure you into trouble.”

  She smiled ruefully. “I promise.”

  Reaching beneath his rather shabby coat, he pulled out a small leather bag and pressed it into her hand. “Here.”

  “What is it?”

  “A few quid.” He gave a shrug of his broad shoulder. “You shall need it until you can find a new position.”

  She gave a firm shake of her head, knowing that her brother would no doubt take unnerving risks to regain the small fortune.

  “No, Andrew, I still possess the very generous salary that Lady Woodhart paid me. I have no need for this.”

  He crossed his arms against his chest, his chin jutting out in an ominous manner. “Then buy yourself something pretty while you are in London. It is the least I can do for my sister.”

  Molly wavered. As much as she disliked the notion of Andrew placing himself in danger, she could not blatantly wound his pride by refusing his gift. He felt guilty enough that he could not provide what he believed she deserved.

&n
bsp; With a small nod of her head, she placed the bag in her reticule, intending to place the money in the first offering box she passed. She would not accept ill-gotten wealth, even to please her brother. Reluctantly she moved to collect the heavy cape she had left beside the door. Once prepared to battle the chilled November air, she turned back to send Andrew a concerned glance.

  “Be careful, Andrew. I could not bear for anything to happen to you.”

  He smiled wryly. “The devil takes care of his own, my dear. Now be off with you.”

  “Good-bye.”

  She had pulled open the door when her brother abruptly took a step forward. “Molly.”

  With a lift of her brows, she paused upon the threshold. “Yes?”

  “Stay away from Lord Woodhart,” he warned in fierce tones.

  Unable to utter a blatant lie, Molly merely smiled sweetly as she gave a small curtsey. “Do not fret, Andrew. All will be well.”

  Chapter Two

  Despite being quite late when Molly at last returned to London, she directed the driver to the elegant Mayfair Square where she had resided with Lady Woodhart. There was no use in putting off the inevitable, she told herself. She had to accept that her beloved employer was gone, and that she must once again confront an uncertain future.

  Requesting that the driver await her return, Molly retrieved her key to the door and let herself into the silent house. There was little use in disturbing the servants. And in truth, she was not inclined to endure the inevitable tearful parting with those she had grown so close to. Later she would return and say her good-byes, she promised as she slipped through the shadowed foyer and toward the curved staircase. She would even bring with her a few trifling gifts to show her appreciation for their efforts in making her feel comfortable in the household.

  In the meantime, she would gather her few belongings and remove them to Georgie’s townhouse.

  Weary from her exhausting day, Molly climbed to the upper floor that housed her former chambers and moved down the wide hall. She had nearly reached the door to her rooms when a large form detached itself from the wall to abruptly block her path.

  Her breath vanished as she pressed a hand to her racing heart.

  “Oh.”

  The apparition stepped closer, allowing a slanting shaft of moonlight to bathe over the silken raven curls and starkly masculine countenance. No, not a demon, as she had first feared, but as close to one as it made no difference.

  As if sensing her dark thoughts a sardonic smile curved Lord Woodhart’s full lips.

  “So, the prodigal fiancée at last returns,” he murmured in those tones that always reminded her of black silk.

  Molly determinedly gathered her courage about her. This man possessed the ability to unnerve the staunchest of souls. And usually with nothing more than an imperious lift of his brow.

  Well, she would not be intimidated, she silently swore. Nor would she be bullied. Andrew’s future depended upon her. She would not fail.

  “My lord.” She forced herself to meet the glittering black eyes, ignoring the odd prickles that raced over her skin. “You frightened me.”

  That famous brow slowly arched as he blatantly allowed his gaze to sweep over her small form in a dismissive manner.

  “Surely you did not believe I would leave my grandmother’s home unattended? Who knows what sort of devious, untrustworthy creature of the night might crawl off the street?”

  Her hands curled at her side. Oh, the pleasure of smacking that smug expression from his face. Unfortunately, she had been raised a lady and as such was forced to squash her rather violent desires.

  Instead she forced a smile to her stiff lips.

  “I must admit that devious, untrustworthy creatures were not a danger that I had considered until this moment.” She pointedly allowed her own gaze to sweep his large, decidedly male form.

  “While I, Miss Conwell, have considered one in particular any time these past twelve months.”

  Oh yes, just one punch. Directly to that arrogant nose.

  “How tedious it must be for you to forever harbor suspicion of all you meet.”

  “It is far more tedious to forever have my suspicions confirmed,” he drawled softly.

  Molly stiffened in embarrassment. Ridiculous, of course. She had not desired Lady Woodhart’s wealth. And certainly not at the risk of being irretrievably stuck with this aggravating gentleman. It was Lady Woodhart who had insisted upon that absurd will. She had done nothing but be a friend and companion to the elderly woman.

  Of course, she could not deny that she fully intended to take advantage of her unexpected windfall, she wryly acknowledged. She was not utterly selfless.

  “Well then, I shall leave you to your vigilant guard, my lord,” she said with a mocking curtsey. “I am merely here to collect my belongings.”

  Intent upon sweeping past him with her nose firmly in the air, she was annoyingly halted when he smoothly shifted to stand in her path.

  “You are moving your belongings?” he demanded with a narrowed gaze.

  She glared into the fiercely handsome countenance. “Of course. My services are clearly no longer needed with . . . with Lady Woodhart gone.”

  Despite her best efforts, she could not prevent a small quiver from entering her voice as she was struck with a sharp pang of loss. Predictably, however, her display of sentiment was met with nothing more than aloof disbelief.

  “Please do not bother with false tears on my account, Miss Conwell. I fear unlike my grandmother I am immune to such feminine wiles.”

  “Will you please remove yourself from my path?” she gritted.

  “No.”

  “You mean to deny me my belongings?”

  Even in the silvery shadows, she could sense his brooding menace. He clearly had not expected her to so readily abandon her luxurious chambers and life of ease. And he was not a man who liked being caught off guard.

  “I mean for us to have a long overdue discussion of our supposed engagement, Miss Conwell,” he stated in tones that defied argument. “A discussion that would have taken place this morning if you had not so mysteriously fled London.”

  A faint shiver of fear raced down her spine. She had never considered the notion that anyone beyond the servants might have noted her absence. Now her stomach clenched at the mere thought of this man devoting the entire day to pondering her odd disappearance. Whatever her dislike of him, she was never foolish enough to underestimate his shrewd intelligence. If he truly put his mind to the matter, he would no doubt ferret out her brother with frightening ease.

  And then . . . dear God, he would ruthlessly destroy the both of them.

  “I did not flee London, my lord,” she retorted in an icy tone, grimly forcing herself to meet the black gaze.

  “No? Then where have you been?”

  “That is none of your concern.”

  His eyes narrowed. “On the contrary, Miss Conwell, it is very much my concern.”

  Realizing that he was not about to be put off she swallowed heavily.

  “I . . . I traveled to visit my old nurse who has been ill,” she grudgingly forced the lie past her stiff lips.

  Thankfully, his mouth curled in a mocking smile and the prickling sense of danger slowly eased.

  “Another vulnerable old woman who believes your appearance of an angel is more than skin deep? Or perhaps the two of you were merely celebrating the fortune you managed to bilk?”

  “Enough.” Molly tugged the heavy cape closer to her chilled body. “If you would be so good as to have my belongings sent to . . .”

  “Oh no. I have said that I wish to speak with you.”

  “Well, that is rather unfortunate since I would as soon be boiled in tar as to spend another moment in your presence.”

  His lips twitched at her stilted words, his large form gliding close enough for her to catch the scent of warm male cologne.

  “A tempting notion; however, you are not worth a hangman’s noose. Now, Molly, do
we do this as reasonable adults or do I need to toss you over my shoulder and carry you kicking and screaming to the parlor?”

  She longed to defy him. She was cold, weary and not at all inclined to endure any more of his tangible contempt. Unfortunately, she did not doubt for a moment that he would forcibly haul her to the parlor. And no doubt take great pleasure in doing so.

  “You are no gentleman,” she informed him, even as she reluctantly allowed him to take her arm and steer her back toward the stairs.

  “A fortunate thing since you are certainly no lady,” he smoothly shot back.

  She clamped her lips together, determined to ignore his annoying presence as they traveled through the shadowed house. A ridiculous notion, of course. She could as soon as ignore a stalking panther chained to her side.

  Especially when his clinging touch was creating the most peculiar shivers along the length of her arm.

  Reaching the landing, Hart turned her toward the nearby parlor. They had nearly reached the open door when the elderly butler made a sudden entrance from a side staircase.

  “Good evening, sir,” he murmured with a low bow, seemingly not at all surprised to discover the nobleman in the house at such a late hour. “May I serve you tea?”

  “Thank you, no. I believe we shall have need of something rather more bracing.”

  “Very good.”

  “Oh, Clark,” Hart halted the dignified servant’s retreat. “Please ensure we are not interrupted. I would not desire an innocent bystander to stumble into the fray.”

  Clark shot an alarmed glance toward the silent Molly, but at her faint nod he conceded to the inevitable. Molly inwardly shrugged. There was no use in involving the poor servants in the brewing confrontation.

  “Er . . . yes, my lord.”

  With an insistent tug, Hart maneuvered Molly into the pale blue and ivory parlor and firmly shut the door. Only then did he at last release her to stroll casually toward the oak sideboard and plucked a crystal decanter from the tray.