A Reckless Encounter

Celia. When this was over, as it surely would be in the next two days, he’d go back for her. There were a few more things he needed to know about her. Then there was that damned agreement with Lady Leverton that must be addressed.

A faint, cynical smile curved his mouth. How delighted Lady Moreland would be to learn that her son intended to marry at last.

Would the prospective bride be as delighted?

Colter would have been surprised to know Celia was thinking of him at that very moment, fervently wishing he would arrive. Oh God, how had she become so involved without even knowing it?

Yet this man seemed to think she was a danger, or so he informed her.

“Miss St. Clair, I’m afraid that you’ve become rather a liability,” he said apologetically. “Yet I find your plight regrettable. Perhaps we can come to a compromise of sorts.”

Anger didn’t dilute her terror, but made it sharper. “I cannot imagine any bargain with a villainous man who would be so insensible to his own nephew’s—”

“Great-nephew,” Lord Easton corrected mildly. “And I am not at all insensible to Northington’s welfare. Indeed, it is my concern for him that prompts me to this rather drastic solution.”

Quivering with a mixture of rage and fear, Celia drew a deep breath to regulate her racing heart and sharp tongue. “What compromise do you suggest, my lord?”

Philip Worth, Lord Easton, leaned back in the plain wooden chair he’d dragged from beneath the table across the room. Now he smiled at her, nodding approval. Light from a lamp on the table barely illuminated the small room.

“You’re proving to be much more intelligent than I had assumed you would be, Miss St. Clair. Let us hope you are as agreeable.”

Celia had no idea where they were. She’d been taken from the granary, blindfolded and put into a carriage to be brought to this house, but it had to be fairly close for the journey had not lasted long. Nor was Marita still with them, having returned to the camp, no doubt, with some story about how Celia had escaped her. She hoped no one believed it!

“I can be agreeable,” she said, “once I know what I’m to agree to.”

“Yes, of course.” His smile widened, and his gaze was thoughtful, that of a kindly older man, his appearance so deceiving, with his shock of white hair and impeccable air of breeding and affluence. How deceptive these English aristocrats could be! Was everyone in this family immoral and wicked?

No, no, not Colter, though she’d thought so at first, thought him just like his father. Yet now another member of that family sought her destruction.

“You are very like your mother, you know,” Easton shocked her by saying, his tone conversational. “I imagine you could even be mistaken for her. It’s amazing. Léonie St. Remy was one of the most sought-after women in London at one time, and even the lack of a dowry had little effect on many impetuous swains. Ah, I remember her so well…It was nearly a scandal when she ran off with her American.” His smile was benign, his eyes hiding his real thoughts as he regarded her as casually as if they were having tea in the parlor at Harmony Hill. “But surel

y you must know why I have taken such a—shall we say, personal interest in your relationship with my nephew.”

“No,” she said stiffly, “I cannot say I do. Nor do I care to know, my lord, if you will forgive my bluntness.”

His smile did not waver, and he made a dismissing gesture with his hand. “That’s to be expected, of course. It would be supposed you might feel some resentment.”

“Resentment? Resentment, my lord? That hardly describes what I’m feeling at this precise moment! Fury would be a more apt word to use, and determined, perhaps, for I have no intention of making any agreement with you at all!”

“A lamentable decision, Miss St. Clair. Do reconsider, if you will. Life can be singularly unpleasant for those who fail to bend even a little. Trust me on that advice. I’ve spent an entire lifetime perfecting the art of bending. And bending does not necessarily mean yielding, so that militant light in your eyes need not be extinguished. Indeed, I find it quite flattering to you. It becomes clear what my nephew sees in you, however unwise that may be.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that what this is about, this abduction and attempt to terrorize me? You want me to stay away from Colter?”

“Abduction is such an ugly word. I much prefer to use invitation, for that is, after all, what it is—an invitation to leave England quietly, calmly and with more money than you arrived with in your purse. No need for an unnecessary scene, now, is there?”

“He put you up to this.” Emotionless, she stared at him with sudden realization. “Northington—Moreland, the earl. He is behind this, isn’t he? He discovered who I am, and he wants me gone before I can cause him trouble.” A half laugh escaped her, anguished and bitter. “Oh, no need in denying it, for who else would want me to leave England like this?”

“Who else, indeed,” Easton murmured, the small smile a slight curve on his lips. “Who else indeed.”

“Well, it only proves that he knows why I am here, and that he’s afraid of what I’ll say, afraid of what I can prove about him!” She surged to her feet, hands knotted into fists at her side, anger and pain vibrating through her body so that she could scarcely stand still. “I won’t do it. I’ll be heard, by God, for now I know that I can’t keep quiet! I had thought—Oh, I was so stupid, for I should know I could never really forget, not even for him. But I thought I might be able to, so that no one would be hurt—not the earl, no, not him, but those I care about. I didn’t want to hurt them, you see. Really, it wouldn’t bring them back, would it, if I told? Maman and Old Peter are still dead. But now I know that I can’t forget it, can’t ignore it, that it was done and justice was thwarted.”

Easton merely watched her, an arrested expression on his fine features, his eyes unreadable and hooded. He made no attempt to soothe her, nor even to halt her when she turned to the door. Then she discovered he’d had no need to try, for a guard waited outside, turning quickly when she opened the door.

“My dear Miss St. Clair,” Easton said finally when she slammed shut the door and whirled back to face him. “You are overwrought. Perhaps in the morning you will be more aware of your plight and amenable to my suggestions. America is your home, but if you prefer, England has many colonies.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

Easton rose from the chair, intimidating without being threatening, his smile urbane. “You will find it necessary to choose which option you prefer, or it will be chosen for you, but rest assured that you will not remain in England. It is up to you how you leave here.”