Wicked Rivals Page 3

  Rosalind wished it were so simple. But if Lennox was setting that plan in motion, she would have little chance of stopping him, unless she could get to the banks and ask for more credit to cover the gold cash-outs. But that wouldn’t solve her debt problem if he bought the debts. She would then still owe him everything.

  “What can we do to help?” Horatia asked.

  It took several long moments for Rosalind to recover. Her stays were too tight, and dizziness swamped her.

  “I’m afraid I must go—” If she could get out in front of this, she might survive.

  “Of course,” Emily replied. “Would you like someone to go with you?”

  “No!” Rosalind gasped, then recovered herself. “I mean, no thank you, Your Grace. I’m afraid it would not do to have you walk into a bank with me. They act poorly enough when I go in—I should not like to see how they react to a duchess.”

  Emily grinned, her violet eyes twinkling. “Nonsense. I have no qualms about scandals. You forget who I am married to. Scandal is nothing new to me.”

  Rosalind debated her options. She wasn’t all that fond of accepting help, but something about Emily was reassuring. Neither she nor Horatia nor Anne seemed to be the sort of women who allowed men to control them, not even their husbands.

  “Well, if you wouldn’t mind.” She finally sighed and rubbed her temples.

  “Not at all.” Emily shared another of those secretive glances with Anne and Horatia.

  “Might I ask, why are you helping me, Your Grace?” Rosalind closed the window facing the garden and focused on the three women. “I cannot help but notice you keep looking at each other.”

  Horatia blushed. “We’ve all had to put up with men in the past when they’ve caused trouble. We wish to help you, and we know Ashton can do great harm to your business.”

  “I’ll ring for my coach.” Emily rose from her chair and pulled a slender cord on the door.

  *****

  Half an hour later the coach bearing the Essex coat of arms rattled to a stop outside Drummond’s Bank. It was the bank where Rosalind kept the majority of her lines of credit.

  Rosalind and Emily climbed out of the coach and proceeded toward the bank, ignoring the stares of men and women on the street. It had amazed Rosalind to learn on the ride over that Emily was a skilled businesswoman herself. She’d handled her uncle’s accounts, then taken over her husband’s once she married. Through the course of the conversation, Emily had told her a fantastical tale of abduction, intrigue and eventually love, which had resulted in her marriage to the Duke of Essex. The local papers had certainly not given any of those details.

  As they reached the door to the bank, Rosalind drew them up short. “Are you positive you wish to go in with me? There will be talk—more than talk—if you do.”

  With a chuckle, Emily replied, “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been considered scandalous, so it’s time to dive back into the gossip, I think.”

  If Rosalind’s nerves hadn’t been so raw, she would have laughed with her.

  The inside of the bank was filled with men of business and members of the peerage, talking, perusing papers and making business deals. A collective hush filled the room when she and the duchess entered. Women were not supposed to enter such a realm without a gentleman escorting them. It was something she’d gotten used to, the quelling gazes of men who wished to intimidate her into leaving. But she never gave in. There was nothing any of them could do to her. After living most of her life at the hands of an abusive father, she was done letting men dictate her life.

  “Is it always like this?” Emily leaned in to whisper. “The way they stare at you?”

  Rosalind answered with a faint nod.

  Suddenly a tall, dark-haired man with honey-brown eyes stepped out of the crowd and approached them. Rosalind recognized the gentleman. She had half feared that Emily’s husband or one of the other so-called Rogues would be here to intercept her, but this man was not one of their number, though he was an acquaintance of theirs.

  “Your Grace.” His smile dispelled some of the tension around them. There were still a few grumblings, but the majority of the men returned to their previous conversations.

  “Lord Pembroke! How lovely to see you,” Emily greeted the man and turned to Rosalind. “Lord Pembroke, this is Lady Melbourne.”

  Pembroke bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “A pleasure. What brings you ladies to Drummond’s?” Pembroke’s eyes darted around them, but he did not seem entirely surprised at their being in such a bastion of masculine activity.

  “We’re resolving an issue,” Emily said. “Rosalind, who is it we need to see?”

  “Mr. Reed.”

  “Very well.” Pembroke offered an arm to Emily and she took it, winking at Rosalind while he escorted them to Mr. Reed’s office.

  The banker was settled at his writing table, poring over several letters. He glanced up and froze when he saw Rosalind, Emily and the Earl of Pembroke in his doorway.

  “Lady Melbourne?” Her name escaped the banker in a stutter.

  “Mr. Reed.” She took a seat in front of him and studied the older man closely. His skin had taken on a white pallor, and he began to shuffle all manner of papers and items on his table. This did not bode well.

  “What may I do for you?” Mr. Reed asked as he slid a finger beneath his neckcloth and tugged on it.

  “I wanted to see about extending my line of credit.”

  “Your credit…” Mr. Reed swallowed and smiled a little, but the expression was forced.

  “Yes, I have several notes out, and I am afraid they may be called in.” She hesitated when Mr. Reed’s glance darted away and then back.

  “Lady Melbourne, I do regret to tell you this, but I cannot extend any further lines of credit.”

  Knots formed in Rosalind’s stomach. She leaned forward in her seat. “Why not? Do you need more collateral?”

  Mr. Reed shook his head. “I cannot extend your credit under any circumstances.”

  “Why is that?” Lord Pembroke demanded.

  Rosalind saw he had remained with her and Emily. He was now scowling as he leaned against the door frame to Mr. Reed’s office.

  “Well, it’s bank policy to make decisions that protect our stability and—”

  “Mr. Reed,” Emily cut in gently, though Rosalind caught a hard glint in the young woman’s eyes. “You have a daughter coming out this year, do you not?”

  “Why, yes. Amelia. My youngest.” Mr. Reed sighed and dropped his head a few inches.

  “She’s a lovely girl, I recall,” Emily continued. “And she could make a good match if she had help, say if a duchess sponsored her?”

  Rosalind blinked. Was Emily actually offering herself as a sponsor to the banker’s daughter?

  Mr. Reed’s face lit up. “Why, that would be wonderful.”

  Emily raised a gloved hand. “It would be an honor to sponsor her, but I’m afraid that I simply could not do it unless I trusted you, Mr. Reed, in all things.”

  The banker stared at Emily for a long moment. “You would help Amelia find a good man, with say ten thousand pounds a year?”

  Emily’s smile grew. “I have quite a few suitable candidates in mind already.”

  When Mr. Reed spoke again, his voice was low and he leaned close. “You must not tell him that I betrayed his confidence.”

  “We shall not. Now, who has told you not to allow any credit extensions? I assume someone ordered that, correct?”

  “Lord Lennox.”

  It was the name Rosalind had dreaded to hear. Hearing her worries confirmed sent spirals of panic through her. So Lennox was finally making his play, after a month of letting her believe she was safe following that night in the theater.

  “Thank you, Mr. Reed.” Emily glanced toward Rosalind.

  Pembroke looked horrified. “Wait a minute. Lennox is trying to stop you from obtaining credit? Whatever for? I know him. He’s a ruthless man of busi
ness, but not to ladies.”

  With a mirthless laugh, Rosalind fisted her hands in her skirts. “It seems I am to be the exception.” How fortunate am I? Her inner voice was a tad impolite, but who could blame her? Lennox had her back against a wall, and she wasn’t handling it very well.

  “Lady Melbourne, I was advised not to give you details. However,” Reed said, glancing at Emily again, “I’ve been informed he also bought the debts you have and will be sending demand payments through proxies this afternoon.”

  Rosalind sank in her seat. That was far worse than the gold demands she’d been expecting, but it was oh so clever as well. A personal touch, to let her know exactly who had bested her.

  “Why that pompous, bloody bastard!” The curse did not come from Rosalind, but Emily. “Just wait until I get my hands on him. He’s supposed to be the most gentlemanly of the League. Ooh!” Emily’s hands were curled into fists, and anger sparked in her eyes.

  Pembroke growled and looked at the two ladies. “That is indeed a very low thing to do. If you give me the nod, I’ll have half the ton give him the cut direct by this evening, and he’ll be tossed out of his club.”

  “Thank you, James, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve a better plan in mind to deal with our misbehaving friend.”

  Rosalind laid a hand on the duchess. “Please, Emily, you need not get involved—”

  “Nonsense. That is precisely what I must do. But first, we have to get you home, Rosalind.”

  “But I need to handle the notes—”

  Emily smoothed out her skirts. “Let me see to that. You must handle Ashton.”

  “How on earth do you suggest I do that?” She had her own ideas, of course. Strangulation being at the top of her list. But she was also curious as to what Emily might say.

  “You are rivals, correct?” Emily asked.

  “Yes.” Lord help her if they were rivals in anything besides business.

  “And how would you handle a business rival?”

  Finally Rosalind felt like smiling. “By finding his weakness. Breaking him down from the inside.”

  “And do you know any weakness you might exploit?”

  Her thoughts went back to the theater. One heated encounter in that alcove and he’d lost his control, but she’d kept hers. She’d won.

  And I can win again.

  Emily clapped her hands at the sight of Rosalind’s cunning smile. “See, you have the right of it. I’m certain you can use that to your advantage. Now let’s get you home so you can change into something more suitable for seduction.”

  The banker sputtered in shock, and Pembroke covered a laugh with a polite cough. “Allow me to escort you ladies to your coach.” Pembroke nodded his goodbye to Reed.

  “Thank you, Lord Pembroke,” Rosalind said, but her mind was still reeling.

  Seduction? She hadn’t necessarily thought of that sort of plan, but there was logic to it. If it could get her back what was hers, her life, her independence, then she would play him like a fiddle if she must. But she’d only ever been with one man before, her late husband. Sweet and gentle in bed he had been, but his touch had never burned the way Ashton’s had, nor had her entire body felt as though it was on the edge of something dark and wild when they had kissed.

  But she detested Lennox. He knew just how to prod her until her barely leashed temper snapped. How was a woman to enjoy herself in bed when she wanted to strangle the man with his own bedsheets? Was he even capable of being seduced? She doubted he ever let himself be free enough to fall completely for a seduction, but what else could she try?

  By the time she finally parted ways with Emily and Lord Pembroke, she had become thoroughly agitated. No, that was not nearly a strong enough word, but the words that came to mind were most unladylike.

  As she reached the front door of her townhouse, her butler was there, anxiously holding out a letter.

  “What is it, Pevensly?” She took the letter from his shaking hands.

  “A man under the employ of Lord Lennox delivered this. He told me you must read it immediately and that he would be back within the hour to see that the letter’s instructions are followed.”

  With trepidation, Rosalind peeled off her gloves and broke the seal on the letter as she entered the hall. Pevensly close the door behind her.

  The letter was written elegantly, and yet as she began to read, it felt more mocking with each stroke of the quill.

  My dearest Lady Melbourne,

  As I’m sure you are now aware, Drummond’s Bank as well as every other bank within your immediate traveling distance has been given strict orders not to extend or offer you any additional credit. All of your notes will be cashed in by my proxies if I hear of you trying to buy them back.

  Additionally, I have purchased all of your debts. At this moment, my accountants and solicitors are taking a full account of your affairs at your offices in London and Brighton. Your entire fate lies in my hands. The house you stand in at this very moment? Mine. The clothes upon your back? Also mine. I own you, Lady Melbourne, in all but name.

  What does this mean? I am putting you on the street. Your servants may remain at the house and I will see to their continued employment, but you, my cunning rival, must seek home and hearth elsewhere until I decide what to do with you.

  I own you.

  Chapter Three

  I own you.

  The words from Ashton’s letter blurred as Rosalind struggled to breathe. No, he couldn’t do this to her. Shock paralyzed her body, her muscles tensing painfully.

  The past came rushing up from the depths where she had buried it, swallowing her in its icy waters, unable to stop the memories as they enveloped her.

  The cold castle corridors, wind whistling through the faded, tattered tapestries. The booming shout of an angry father.

  “You think you can tell me what to do? You little wretch! I own you, and you aren’t worth the breath in your lungs!”

  A cup of mead exploded against the wall where Rosalind, only sixteen, hid behind a half-opened door. The aching sorrow of her mother’s recent death hung in the halls like an invisible cloud. It had sent her father over the edge.

  “Rosalind,” a deep voice chided from behind the hall. Rosalind jumped, but her older brother Brock steadied her. “Leave Father alone—he’s been drinking.”

  The door crashed open as their father, Lord Kincade, launched himself at Rosalind.

  He swung a balled fist at her, but Brock knocked the hand away.

  “Oh! Think you’re a man to take me on? No son of mine would dare!” He moved fast, too fast. The punch knocked Brock onto the floor. Rosalind too was hit, spiraling wildly as she bounced off the wall and fell beside Brock.

  “Pieces of shite, the both of you! Not worth the clothes on your backs! I should sell you both for the uselessness you are to me.” Their father snarled like a wild boar and stalked down the hallway, leaving them alone.

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she reached for her aching jaw. It felt like it was broken. She knew it wasn’t, but it hurt like the very devil.

  A hand settled on her shoulder, causing her to flinch. “’Tis only me,” Brock said gruffly, but there was a gentleness to his tone. It wasn’t proper for a young lass to cry, but she couldn’t stop. Living in fear of her father every day was chipping away at her soul.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered. “He’s going to kill me.”

  Her older brother was still no match for their father, but she knew he would keep taking blows for her. All of her brothers would.

  “Rosalind, what are you talking about?” Brock cupped her chin, but she whimpered at the flash of pain and pulled away.

  “I’m not staying. I have to get out of this house. Ever since Mother died, this hasn’t been my home.”

  Her brother brushed the tears away from her cheeks, and his gray eyes, so like her own, were as silver as a waning moon up on the moors.

  “Rosalind, this is your home. It will always be y
our home. And we shall protect you.”

  Rosalind believed him, but she was no fool. As the exact likeness of her mother, she could not stay here and continue to risk her father’s wrath. She would have to leave one day. But she would need a way out, a place to land.

  If only there was a man who could find in his heart to marry her, she might be able to escape. But who would want the broken daughter of the cruel Lord Kincade?

  The past faded, leaving a bitter taste upon her lips and tiny thorns embedded in her heart.

  This home was the one she’d made for herself, the one her late husband had let her run. It was her world, and that damned fool Lennox thought he had the right to take it all away from her? To cast her out?

  She stared at the note and realized she hadn’t finished reading it.

  I am not a cruel man. If you wish to discuss the situation, you may join me at my estate. However, you may not take your coach as that too falls under my control now. I’m sure if you were to come to me, we could come to some arrangement that would benefit us both.

  Lennox

  “An arrangement that would benefit us both?” she muttered. Anger and panic rippled through her, dueling for dominance. That damned bloody Englishman. She wanted to strangle him, but the truth of her situation was dire. He had full control over her and was toying with her the way a cat would a mouse. Something had to be done. Perhaps Emily’s suggestion to seduce the man was indeed a good idea. Rosalind sensed an opportunity here. If Lennox desired her and believed she’d come to heel, she would prove just who was the one in control when she brought him under her command.

  But she was taking her own coach, Lennox be damned!

  I have to face him. Perhaps the duchess’s advice about seduction wasn’t so unreasonable after all.

  “What is it, Your Ladyship?” Pevensly asked. His dark brows knit together in concern.

  Rosalind stared at the address on the parchment, frowning, then handed it to him.