Never Trust a Scoundrel Page 3

  She sighed, grasping at ideas. “I…challenged him for ownership of the violin.”

  Edward frowned as his gaze searched her face. She went on quickly.

  “He doesn’t believe that I could convince him to give it back of his own accord, but I can.”

  “How? He will want too much from you, Grace.”

  Now he was hitting too close to the truth, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t know, Edward. I had thought first of revenge, of course, but in the end, it is not his fault that our mother is…what she is.” Her mind was working frantically—only a different sort of man would give back the violin. She stiffened. Would Edward believe that she could change Mr. Throckmorten? She had no better idea. Before she could change her mind, she said, “I decided to try to turn him from a gambler into the kind of man who, for honor, would give us back at least the violin.”

  Edward sat back, looking at her through bleary, puffy eyes. “I don’t understand. How can you make him give up gambling? If you were capable of that miracle, our mother would be here with us.”

  There was a tense silence, as they both wondered where their mother had fled to, how she would survive. But knowing their mother, Grace thought, she’d taken something of value with her. And for now, it was a relief not to have to deal with her.

  “You need to stay away from him, Grace.” Edward leaned forward on the sofa, staring at her with sincerity. “He is not a safe man to be around.”

  “I don’t plan on being alone with him,” she said quickly.

  But how could she know what Mr. Throckmorten had planned for her? she thought with a too-pleasant shiver.

  “Grace,” he said with exasperation, “don’t you know who he is?”

  “Well…his name was familiar, but I had no time to search my brain for the reason why.”

  “His father, Baldwin Throckmorten, was a famous composer before his death.”

  “Oh yes, that is why I know him! I own sheet music to his father’s symphonies.” She tried to imagine young Mr. Throckmorten growing up in a household surrounded by music, but she couldn’t even picture him as a child. He surely had made any household miserable with cunning pranks and ruthless demands.

  “His mother is Lady Flora, daughter of the late duke of Madingley.”

  “He’s related to a duke?” she asked in surprise. This might even help her plans. Surely he would care what his family thought of him.

  “Just listen. Lady Flora also loved to compose music, but was never successful.”

  Grace frowned. “But I own music by her as well.”

  “You’re getting ahead of my story,” Edward said in a low voice. “When they first married, her husband was very poor, and her father supported them. That was a scandal in and of itself, that she married so far beneath her. She tried for many years to have her work published, but was unsuccessful. Baldwin Throckmorten became more and more famous. And then he fell off the balcony at Madingley Court and died.”

  With a gasp, Grace said, “How old was their son?”

  “Young, but I do not know the exact age.”

  She didn’t want to feel sympathy for him. He was a gambler and an overconfident seducer of women.

  “Worse was yet to come. Servants heard Lady Flora say that it was all her fault that her husband was dead.”

  “Oh, surely she was just grief-stricken.”

  “But then not six months later, she emerged from mourning with an incredible symphony, and she never again composed another. Though there was no proof, everyone believed that she’d killed her husband. She lives reclusively in the country and never comes to London. Throckmorten has become just as scandalous as his parents. The duke’s other children are no better, but that gossip can be saved for a different time.”

  “Surely Mr. Throckmorten’s scandals cannot top his parents’ rumor of murder.”

  “Of course not. But he gambles with anyone, even over foolish things like how many callers the newest Original receives in a day, or how many times Queen Victoria makes a public appearance in a week.”

  Or if he can seduce a desperate woman into his bed, she thought, gritting her teeth.

  “He dabbles in business too much for a gentleman. He is notorious for his ability to…persuade even the most reluctant of women to become his mistress.”

  Her face was hot with a blush, and her resolve to resist the man strengthened.

  “He shows no interest in marrying,” Edward continued, “so the young ladies stay away from him.”

  “He sounds like a foolish man,” Grace said. But he also sounded like a man who would do anything to win, which would play right into her plan. Could that be his weakness?

  Edward shrugged. “I’ve been told he’s beyond wealthy.” There was a tired envy in his voice.

  “Was his father that successful?”

  “I think not. Throckmorten is a genius with his own finances.”

  “And he’ll ruin it all with his wild ways.” Grace turned away, and spoke without thinking. “Does he not understand that once the gambling fever takes hold, it might never let him go?”

  Then she realized what she’d said and looked back at Edward.

  His eyes watched her with sadness, the wariness gone. “It doesn’t have him like it has me, Grace.”

  “Don’t say that! I was thinking of Mother.”

  “I can’t even be angry with her. I might have done the same.”

  “You’re wrong! You don’t have to be like her. You can stop the gambling now.”

  “It’s in my blood, don’t you know that?” he said, his voice sounding as weary as if he’d given up. “But not you, Grace, thank God.”

  She felt sick. If he knew how recklessly she was gambling with her own reputation, he would be so disappointed in her. “I have my own flaws, Edward, as you well know.”

  He sighed and put his arm around her. “Wells played you for a fool, Grace. I had thought he was my closest friend—I had even encouraged you to attach yourself to him.”

  “You didn’t know, Edward,” she whispered. “And it was my fault that I—” She broke off, unable to even say the words.

  “You were an innocent, Grace. He took advantage of you, said he was going to marry you. Even I believed him. Why wouldn’t you, a girl in love, believe him, too?” He ground his fist into his open palm. “He’s steered clear of me in London. Knows I’d pop him in the face for how he treated you.”

  She hugged herself, and then leaned her head against his arm. Poor Edward, so close to her, yet she’d been too humiliated to tell him everything that had happened between her and Baxter Wells, including the several days where she’d snuck away to lie in his arms.

  “Promise me that you won’t discuss this with Mr. Throckmorten, Edward,” she insisted. “I think he’ll respond to me better than you. I’ll get that violin back.”

  “I hate using you this way, Grace.”

  “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  At last, he nodded. “For what it’s worth, I won tonight.”

  “Oh, Edward,” she whispered forlornly. She wanted to beg him not to bet any of it, but she could not show him her distrust.

  “We’ll be able to pay the bills for a few weeks, maybe even buy you a new gown. If you’re going to redeem Throckmorten, you’ll need to see him wearing your best.”

  “Redeem?” she echoed.

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  Redeeming a gambler, she thought morosely. She’d spent her life trying to do that, first with her mother, then her brother, and now Daniel Throckmorten. And it never worked, not down deep inside. But if she couldn’t redeem Mr. Throckmorten’s soul, maybe she could redeem him in Society’s eyes?

  With this plan, she could convince Edward she’d won the violin legitimately.

  And she could thwart Mr. Throckmorten’s attempted seduction.

  When Edward left the room, he did not kiss her cheek, or put his hand on her shoulder, as he once would have done. Tears pricked
her eyes, but she willed them to dry. She wasn’t finished fighting—not just for her own freedom, but for her brother’s recovery. For what sort of life would he have without the social standing of land?

  She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She was tired and distraught. She told herself that for now, they had a place to live and food to eat. She had confidence in her ability to resist Mr. Throckmorten. And by resisting, she could win the violin. To save Edward, she’d try anything.

  Grace woke up at dawn, because she always kept country hours. With Edward usually in London, and her mother sleeping late, Grace had been the one to consult with the steward every day, to do the household accounts. She’d begun to read books on agriculture that the bailiff had suggested to her, so she’d understand what he was discussing. She’d always considered it time well spent, for she wanted to make a useful wife someday.

  Not a mistress.

  When she thought of a mistress, she pictured a selfish creature, given to pleasures of the flesh rather than the hard work that came with preparing for marriage. She couldn’t imagine why a woman would rather devote herself to a man for money only. Of course, now she knew how easily a woman could be tricked into losing her virginity. And there was always the fear that on her wedding night, her new husband would realize she had not come to him pure.

  Her confrontation with Daniel Throckmorten had made her rethink some of her ideas, had even confirmed things she knew about herself. She was far too easily attracted to a man with handsome looks and a dangerous air. She wasn’t worried that she’d succumb to any pressure on his part, not anymore, but she was disappointed that once again, she was proving to herself that men seemed to be her weakness. For her mother and brother, it was the risk of games of chance. For her, it was the age-old game between men and women.

  And the new game she’d begun with Mr. Throckmorten.

  How did he plan to proceed? she wondered as she ironed a gown to wear. Would he show up at unexpected times, imposing on her with his presence? Would he “court” her, visiting every day, having conversations as if they were getting to know each other for marriage instead of a more illicit purpose?

  Grace washed and dressed, vowing to have Edward help her carry buckets of hot water to her room that night so that she could have a proper bath. While she was in the ground-floor library, writing a letter to send for her maid, she heard noises from the back of the house. Thinking it was Edward, she went to the kitchen, only to find a young boy eating pieces of dried apple, looking at her with big, wary eyes. After some questioning, Grace learned that Edward still retained a horse and the services of this young groom, Will, to take care of the stables and apprentice as Edward’s valet. It was surely cheaper than his last perfectly trained manservant.

  She sent the boy on a new errand, parting with another of her coins. He was to find Daniel Throckmorten and follow him for the day. She had to know what kind of man he was, his favorite haunts, and his friends in Society. Her plans for him needed witnesses, and she already had one in mind.

  Later that afternoon, Grace rode a hackney to the fashionable town house of Baron Standish to make her morning call upon his wife, whom she’d known so many years ago as Beverly. They had gone to school together, before Grace’s mother’s financial situation had changed. Grace and Beverly still occasionally wrote, but when Beverly married and began having children, the letters became more infrequent.

  But Grace still trusted Beverly’s friendship, and if anyone could introduce Grace to the correct matrons and hostesses, it was she.

  While Grace waited for the butler to take her card upstairs, she thought about what she might be involving Beverly in. She was keeping so many secrets, although she thought she could trust Mr. Throckmorten’s love of a challenge to keep their…relationship quiet. But what about those other two men who knew that he had won the right to marry her? One of them had obviously wanted her, she thought worriedly. She could only pray that he would not want to risk a scandal by bringing his part in the affair to light.

  At last the butler showed Grace upstairs to a lovely drawing room, where the sun shone through sheer curtains.

  “Grace!” Beverly came toward her, looking more mature, but still with that lively sparkle in her eyes that meant mischief. Blond and pert and happy, she was obviously a very contented woman.

  Grace gladly hugged her. “Beverly, it is so good to see you.”

  “You should have written when you were arriving! I would have invited you to a dinner party last night.”

  Grace found herself blushing, remembering whom she had spent last evening with. “I didn’t know myself until quite recently. I’m staying with my brother.”

  “Do sit down and tell me everything. I admit my last letter to you was surely sometime ago.”

  Grace didn’t want to say that it had been over a year because she understood how busy the woman was. They chatted about Beverly’s children and Grace’s occasional suitors. When at last polite conversation was exhausted, and an expectant silence replaced it, Grace didn’t quite know where to start.

  Beverly gave her a kind smile. “Do tell me why you’re really in London. You never wanted to leave your mother before.”

  I couldn’t trust her alone, Grace thought with a sigh. But inwardly, she began to recite the story she’d conceived because she could not possibly tell Beverly the truth.

  “I am twenty-three years old,” Grace said in a soft voice. “I have not been meeting men who suit my fancy in Hertingfordbury.”

  Beverly smiled. “And here in London we have a veritable feast of men. You’ll meet someone to please you.”

  “My brother can introduce me to his friends, but he’s a bachelor, of course, and—”

  “Say no more, my dear! Allow me to be your sponsor in Society. You come from an old family name. I am certain you will be well received.”

  Grace felt a surprising sting of tears, when she would never have considered herself an easy crier. But Beverly was proving herself a true friend—and Grace was lying to her. She consoled herself by remembering that she really did want to marry, so at least that part wasn’t a lie.

  “I must be honest, Beverly.” Partly honest. “My mother always had something of a reputation as a woman who enjoyed games of chance.” What an understatement.

  Beverly leaned forward and touched Grace’s arm. “I remember, dear, but I’m sure others won’t. It is how you present yourself that matters. As long as you are well-bred, and possessed of a dowry as well as your beautiful face, you will have no problems.”

  Grace gave her a relieved smile. Thank God for Papa, who’d thought to protect her dowry. At least she didn’t have to lie to Beverly about that.

  The butler stepped into the open doorway. “Lady Standish, Mr. Throckmorten is here to see Lord Standish.”

  Grace took a deep, quivering breath and tried to appear disinterested as she studied the small statue of a bird resting on the nearby table. Oh heavens, how had he come to be here at the same time? Was he following her? she thought, affronted. But of course, she was having him followed right this moment. She bit her lip, quelling a bubble of hysterical giggling as she imagined looking out the window and seeing Will watching from across the street.

  Beverly clapped her hands together. “What perfect timing!”

  Grace winced.

  “Do show Mr. Throckmorten up,” Beverly continued. “I think we can certainly rid him of any disappointment that my husband is not at home.” When the butler had gone, she turned to Grace, and whispered, “Here is a most eligible man. His grandfather was the delightfully scandalous duke of Madingley, and his sensible cousin now has the title. Mr. Throckmorten himself has had to put up with much scandal, but it seems contagious in that family. And he has shown no preference to any young lady.”

  Of course not, Grace thought. He preferred a mistress.

  Beverly leaned toward her. “You might be just the woman to make him interested in Society again. The mamas would thank you!” />
  Grace held back a snort.

  And then Mr. Throckmorten entered the room. If she thought the sheer effect of him would be less imposing in comfortable daylight, she was wrong. If anything, the shining sun made him seem so much more a creature of the night, dark in coloring, sedate in his choice of clothing, as if he had no need to preen with vibrant colors. He bowed to the two women, and they returned the formality with curtsies.

  “Lady Standish, do forgive my interruption.”

  Mr. Throckmorten spoke in that smooth, deep voice that made Grace shiver inside. Why did even the man’s voice attract her?

  “I wanted you to come up, Mr. Throckmorten,” Beverly said. “Miss Banbury, may I present Mr. Throckmorten.”

  His eyes focused on her, betraying not even a hint of the amusement he must surely be feeling. He thought he’d gotten the best of her.

  “Miss Banbury,” he said, with another bow.

  Grace inclined her head, using all of her skills at hiding her emotions as she responded, “Good afternoon, Mr. Throckmorten.”

  They all seated themselves, with him sitting directly across from her. But at least he concentrated that devilish smile on Beverly for the moment.

  “I am sorry my husband is not at home to receive you, Mr. Throckmorten,” Beverly said. “Did you have an appointment that he forgot?”

  “No, my lady, I merely had a question about a railway investment we’re both a part of. It can certainly wait.”

  Beverly glanced at Grace. “My husband always says that Mr. Throckmorten has an uncanny sense for which investments will bring the best rewards.”

  Grace smiled politely. This confirmed her brother’s assessment of him. “So you know the best risks to take, Mr. Throckmorten?”

  “Always, Miss Banbury. And I only choose to participate in something at which I know I will win.”

  “Is that a gambling reference?” she said, tilting her head. “Gambling is a terrible habit to have. I always feel sorry for someone caught within its spell.”

  “Luckily, there are those of us who can safely navigate its treacherous shoals.”