A Dangerous Man, page 27
Noelle turned away, going to the alcove that served as their bedroom, and began to take off the black dress she had worn to Adam’s funeral. Adam would have hated that; he had always said she was suited only for color. She had but one black dress. It was old and uncomfortably tight across her breasts, so full now since the baby was born. Tossing it onto the bed, she pulled on the bright silk wrapper Adam had bought her. It was far too extravagant, as were so many of the things that he bought, but it was soft and comfortably loose, and it made her feel closer to Adam.
Taking an ornate box from the dresser, she sat down on the bed and opened it. The jewelry Adam had bought her was the most valuable asset she possessed. She began to pull out the pieces, laying them out on the bed beside her. The diamond earrings Adam had given her when Gil was born. Gold bangles. An enameled brooch. A jeweled hairpin that looked like a dragonfly. Pendants, earrings. That foolish narrow ruby-and-diamond tiara that Noelle would never attend anything formal enough to wear.
Indeed, she would never wear most of them. She had protested time and again that Adam spent too much on jewels and clothes for her; it would have been far more useful for him to pay the rent. But Adam was the son of an earl, and he’d never completely adjusted to his new financial circumstances. He would complain about his lack of funds and call the monthly payment he received from England “blood money.” He would make periodic vows to follow a budget. But then he would see something he wanted, and he would buy it on the spot, without regard to the price.
That first bracelet he’d given her, she had promptly handed back to him, saying heatedly that she was not the sort of girl to accept such a present from a man. She smiled to herself, stroking her finger over the delicate chain of sapphire flowers. Adam had kept it and presented it to her again after they married, smiling in that irresistible, mischievous way of his and saying he believed she could accept it now.
Noelle swallowed the lump in her throat and fastened the bracelet on her wrist, holding her arm out to admire it. She pulled out the matching necklace that he’d given her on their first anniversary. Going to the mirror, she fastened it around her neck. She smoothed her finger over the delicate stones, remembering the way he looked as he gave it to her. Tears welled in her eyes.
A thunderous knock sounded at the door, breaking into her reverie. Whirling, she ran for the door in the futile hope she might keep the visitor from waking the baby. But, naturally, Gil began to howl, his tiny face screwing up and turning red. In exasperation, she flung the door open.
A tall, lean man stood outside her door, his strong-boned face set in a stony expression and his eyes the cold gray of a winter storm. His brown hair had no silver to it, but his fierceness gave him an authority that his age, and even his obvious peerage, didn’t.
Noelle took an instinctive step back. The man’s eyes flicked down her and beyond to the cradle. “I believe your child is crying.”
“Not until you started banging on the door.” Her temper flashed at his tone. Turning, Noelle scooped Gil up and held him against her chest, murmuring soothing noises. When she pivoted back to the door, she saw that the man had walked into the room uninvited and closed the door behind him. He stood there silently, his coolly assessing gaze roaming over the small living quarters.
His eyes fell on the unmade bed, the contents of the jewelry box spread across it, and his lips lifted in a sneer. “Sorry to disturb you. I can see that you are deep in…um, sorrow.”
His tone gave a sarcastic twist to the words that made them sting and brought a flush of embarrassment to Noelle’s cheeks even as they angered her. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Suspicion of the man’s identity was already tickling at the back of her mind. English, aristocratic, contemptuous…and surely she had seen a charcoal drawing of this man among Adam’s sketches.
“I am Carlisle Thorne. I am a friend of the Rutherford family.”
“I see.” Adam had spoken of him several times. Though not related to Adam by blood, Thorne had been the earl’s ward. He had lived with Adam’s family for some time and had been something of an older brother to him. When Adam first mentioned him, it had been with affection, but after their marriage, his references to the man had turned bitter. Adam had believed Thorne would intercede with his father, but instead he had, like the earl, opposed the marriage.
Noelle remembered well the letter Adam had received from Carlisle Thorne. He’d torn it up and flung it on the ground, but Noelle had pieced it together and read it: It is entirely understandable, even expected, that you should dally with the lasses while you are at university, but it is out of the question for a man of your heritage to marry one of these common girls.
It had only exposed the man’s arrogance and narrow mind, but the words had made Noelle feel ashamed. Even now, she could remember the pang of hurt, assuaged only partially by Adam’s fierce denouncement of Thorne.
It was not surprising that this icy man was the author of that missive. She felt sure his opinion of her had not changed. Certainly, she had no liking for him. But still, she could not help but feel a quiver of hope. Thorne had been something of an emissary between Adam’s father and his renounced son in the past; the earl had sent Adam his monthly stipend through Thorne. If the earl had sent Thorne himself to pay a visit, surely that meant he would help his son’s widow and child, no matter what he thought of Noelle herself.
Thorne’s gaze went to the bundle in Noelle’s arms. Gil had once again fallen asleep against her chest. Thorne shifted awkwardly, tilting his head to look at the baby’s face. “Is this…”
“Yes. This is Gil. Adam’s son.”
He gave a short nod and turned away. For a moment Noelle thought he was about to simply walk out the door, but then he swiveled back to face her. “I am here to return Adam to his family.”
“Return him to his family! They would not accept Adam when he was alive, but now that my husband has died, they want his body?” Noelle flared. “It’s a trifle late, isn’t it?”
His eyes darkened and for the first time it was fire, not ice, that flared from them. “I am well aware that I did not arrive in time to save Adam from the disastrous consequences of his marriage to you.”
Noelle drew in a sharp breath, shocked. “Are you implying that I harmed Adam?”
“I am implying nothing. I am saying plainly what we both know—if he had not run off with you, Adam would be alive today.” His words pierced her, and Noelle could say nothing as he continued, “I will regret to my dying day that I did not keep him out of your clutches. But I am not too late to save his son.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, and Noelle turned away to hide them from him. She laid Gil back in his little bed, buying herself time to force down the pain and anger that threatened to swamp her. She hated this arrogant man. But she had to think of her son. She must take care of him, and Carlisle Thorne was the only person who might do that. If he was offering to provide support for Adam’s baby, then she must accept it, no matter now humiliating, no matter how much it galled her.
Not looking at him, carefully keeping her voice drained of emotion, she said, “And how do you propose to do that?”
“Ah. Yes. Now we are at the heart of the matter, aren’t we? No need for any pretense; you are ready to bargain. What is your price?”
“My price?” She turned to face him, confused. Was she supposed to figure out how much it would cost to raise her child? And what an odd way to put it. “I—I’m not sure—”
“You must have a number in mind. What will you take to give me Adam’s son?”
Noelle stared at him, stunned. “You want to buy my baby?”
“If you want to call it that.” He frowned. “Did you expect me to hand over a pile of banknotes and leave him here with you? To let the earl’s grandson be raised in…” He gestured vaguely around the apartment. “…in this? In the sort of life you will lead? No. I can assure you I will not. The earl is his legal guardian, as you must know. The child will be earl one day, and he shall be raised at Stonecliffe, just as Adam was, in the care of his grandmother and grandfather. You will take the money and be on your way. A thousand pounds.”
“No,” Noelle said weakly. She was too shocked to put her thoughts into order. He could not really expect her to sell him her child.
His mouth tightened. “Two thousand, then. You’ll have money, your jewelry, your clothes, and you won’t have the burden of a child. Even a woman of your face and form would find it difficult to attract a protector with a baby in tow. Here.” He reached inside his jacket to pull out a small pouch. “I haven’t that much in coin with me. I will have to visit the bank. But here is a deposit on that.” He tossed the pouch down on the table. “I’ll return tomorrow for the boy.”
With that, he turned and left the room as abruptly as he’d entered it. All the air in the room seemed to be sucked out with him. Noelle could hardly breathe. Her heart hammered, and she stared at the pouch as if it were a snake. Thorne thought she would sell Gil to him.
No, he wasn’t Gil to that man. He had called him the boy. The baby. Adam’s son. He’d never once said his name. As if Gil were a thing, a possession that belonged to the Rutherfords. Anger surged in her, breaking her paralysis. Noelle picked up the small leather pouch and hurled it at the door. It hit with a satisfying thud and fell to the floor, spilling a few gold coins onto the floor. If only she’d been quick enough of mind to have hurled it at him as he left.
The noise jarred Gil awake again, and he began to whimper. She picked him up and tried to soothe him, but it was difficult with her own feelings jumping about so. Carlisle Thorne was a rigid, uncaring, ignorant bully. How dare he intimate that she was the sort of woman who would find a “protector” now! That she would become some man’s mistress!
Without knowing her, he had judged and condemned her from the very beginning for the crime of loving a man above her station. He labeled her “common” because her father was a teacher instead of a peer. Her father was a respected scholar, a learned, thoughtful man to whom other academics turned with their questions. He was a man superior in manner, mind, soul and every other way to someone like Carlisle Thorne.
Gil was both hungry and wet. As she tended to his needs, her anger drained away. She nursed him, rocking, and considered what she would do and say when she faced Thorne tomorrow. Her desire was to throw the coin purse in his face as she screamed invectives at him. But that would serve little purpose and would only confirm his low opinion of her.
Instead, she should be as icy as he was, hand him back his money and order the horrible man to leave. She would make it clear that she would never think of handing her son over to him or the earl to raise. He would be furious. She was certain he was unaccustomed to being denied. It made her stomach clench to think of confronting him. He was a frightening man—his size, his implacable face, his cold, gray eyes. But she would do so because she had to. She stroked her finger over Gil’s soft cheek, smiling down at him. She would do anything for Gil.
But what, she wondered uneasily, would Thorne do when she refused him? What if he decided to simply take the baby from her? What if, when she told him no, he snatched Gil from her arms and strode off? Her insides churned at the thought. She couldn’t stop him; even a mother spurred by terror and rage could not match his strength. Surely a gentleman would not resort to such a thing. But then, she would never have imagined that a gentleman would try to buy her baby.
She tried to remember what Adam had said about Carlisle Thorne. He’d termed the man “like a brother” to him, though he was no relation, but bitterly added that Thorne was more his father’s son than Adam himself.
Sometimes when he was in his cups, Adam called Thorne dictatorial, straitlaced, unfeeling, a traitor. He even intimated darkly that Carlisle was probably glad to have Adam out of the earl’s life so that he could be the man’s son. Noelle had dismissed much of what he said as exaggeration, born from his hurt at the man’s abandonment of him. After all, Adam also told her smiling stories about this time or that when Carlisle pulled him out of some fix or other.
But now, having met Carlisle, Noelle thought perhaps Adam had not been harsh enough in his assessment. Thorne was more than unfeeling; he was cruel. No man of any sensitivity would want to take a child from his mother or tell a grieving widow that she was responsible for her husband’s death. He obviously despised her. She could well believe that he was capable of stealing Gil from her.
Even if he did not snatch the baby right out of her arms, there was the very real possibility that the earl would go to court to take Gil legally. Thorne had said that Adam’s father was the child’s legal guardian, and Noelle was well aware that women had few rights in this world. Her father was a free-thinker, very interested in the rights of individuals, including women. When she had told him she wanted to marry Adam, he had said acerbically that as soon a woman married, she ceased to exist in the eyes of British law. She could not own property. She was subject to her husband’s authority. She had no recourse if he beat her.
A widow did have some stature. She could, at least, own property. But Noelle suspected it could very well be true that she could not hold legal guardianship of her child. Thorne had seemed quite confident in his statement, and she was not naïve enough to believe a court would favor her claim over that of a nobleman. She had seen too many instances of young “gentlemen” at Oxford slipping out of any consequences for their behavior simply because their fathers were men of importance.
She stood up and paced the room, her nerves jumping. It wouldn’t be enough to refuse to give Thorne her child. She had to make sure Gil was out of the man’s reach. She didn’t know where she would go or how she would live, but it was clear that she had to leave. Now.
He would be pounding on her door again tomorrow, and she needed to get as far away as she could before he went looking for her. Laying Gil down on the bed to coo and kick, she began to gather up clothes. She could take only the barest essentials. Everything would have to fit in a bag she could carry, for she could not haul around a trunk.
She grabbed a sack from Adam’s studio. She felt a pang at leaving his paintings, but she must. She stuffed a dress and undergarments into the bag, as well as clothes and nappies for the baby. Wrapping up a hunk of cheese and some bread in a napkin, she tossed that in as well. What else? The jewels. She must take those; they were her only source of money. Noelle scooped them up, adding the necklace and bracelet she wore.
Last, she made sure Gil was dry and dressed warmly, then found the plainest dress she owned and her sturdiest boots and put them on. She tied on her cloak and covered her golden hair with a scoop-brimmed bonnet that partially shielded her face. She must look as nondescript as possible.
She wasn’t sure where she would go—Italy, or perhaps Prussia. Thank heavens her father had insisted on her learning Latin, French, and Italian, calling them the languages of beauty and learning. Latin would do her little good, but the other two would stand her in good stead. She had studied German as well, simply because she was adept at languages. Those would open up most of Europe to her.
She knew Thorne would try to find her. Where would he expect her to go? Home, she imagined, back to England, to her father. He would look for a coach going north. So she would go in any other direction. Perhaps she would travel south to Nice or Marseilles; there, she could catch a boat to any number of places. Italy, perhaps. Her friend Yvette and Yvette’s husband Henri, a sculptor, had moved to Florence a few months ago so that he could hone his craft in the city of Michelangelo. They would take Noelle in, give her a little time to decide exactly what to do.
The important thing was to travel quickly. Thorne could catch up easily if she was on a lumbering public coach. Even worse, she doubted there was one leaving this late; it was already dusk. The fastest way would be to hire a post chaise. She could leave almost immediately. And she felt sure one of Adam’s friends would do her the favor of making the transaction so that the innkeeper would not see a very-identifiable young woman with a small baby.
Even if he managed to find the inn where she rented the vehicle, she would be hours ahead of him, probably more. The only problem with her plan was the expense of hiring a post chaise. She would have to sell some of her jewelry. Opening the small sack, she studied the pieces. Which should she sell? She had long thought Adam bought her too much jewelry. Now, it seemed far too little.
Worse, it was evening, and all the shops where she could sell it would be closed. Her eyes slid over to the pouch of gold coins. But, no, she couldn’t take the money he had tossed at her in exchange for Gil. It would be stealing. Besides, the thought of even touching that money was abhorrent. She refused to do anything that indebted her to Carlisle Thorne.
But she must think of Gil. She had to take care of him, had to get away from Thorne as far and fast as she could. Perhaps she should put her pride aside. For a moment, she hung there in indecision. Then she grabbed the pouch and dropped it into the pocket of her skirt. She would pay the man back, every cent. She swore it.
Wrapping Gil up in his blanket, she tucked him into the crook of her elbow and picked up her bag. With a single glance back at the home she and Adam had shared for two years, she slipped down the staircase and out into the dark night.
Copyright © 2022 by Candace Camp.
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ISBN-13: 9780369734419
A Dangerous Man
First published in 2007. This edition published in 2022.
Copyright © 2007 by Candace Camp.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises ULC. 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor Toronto, ON M5H 4E3 Canada.
