Isabella squared her shoulders. “As you seem unable to provide me with an explanation, let me make my position clear.” Her sharp tone conveyed the true nature of her emotions. “I will tell everyone willing to listen, that you plotted to have me removed from the house so you could use it for sordid little parties. Those who know of your father’s reputation will believe it to be true. Lord Morford will tell everyone how you terrorised an innocent woman purely out of a need to satisfy your debauched cravings.”
The muscle in his cheek twitched. “That is simply not true.”
She smirked. “Gossips do not care for the truth. Indeed, being made aware of the desperate lengths you would go to in order to get your way, there will be some who will wonder if you killed your father.”
Her remark was equivalent to a sharp slap to the face or a hard punch to the gut. Rather than appear offended she saw anguish flash briefly in his dull green eyes.
“What sort of man do you take me for?”
“A man who will do anything to get his way,” she whispered.
He raked his hand through his hair, before giving a sigh of resignation. “If I am honest with you and tell you of my plans, do you swear you will tell no one?”
She owed Henry nothing. After everything he had done, she should tell him to go to the devil. But she was tired. If she had any hope of moving on with her life she needed to put all this nonsense behind her.
“Whatever you tell me in confidence will not be repeated. Unlike some, I do have morals.”
Henry nodded as though he deserved to feel the razor-sharp edge of her tongue. Cupping her elbow, he escorted her to the alcove further along the corridor where it was quieter. “Mrs. Forester is a dear friend. Of course, you know Mr. Forester is still of this world, although he is rarely seen in town.”
“Yes,” she said, despite assuming the woman was a widow.
“Mrs. Forester has a sister in Cambridge. Highley Grange would be the perfect place for us to … to meet on occasion.”
It took a moment for her to absorb his words. “You mean to tell me your intention was to see me removed from my home so you could meet your mistress there?”
Good Lord. It beggared belief. The man had the morals of a guttersnipe.
“It was also out of interest for your welfare,” he implored. “It is degrading to have to live in the place where one’s husband …” He gave an odd wave. “You will be happy at Grangefields. I promise you.”
Isabella clutched her throat for fear of throttling the man. “No, I won’t, because I am not moving to Grangefields.”
Henry appeared a little shocked. “But you said—”
“No. I have listened to you waffle on about your needs, yet not once have you apologised for the distress you have caused. Whilst your father may have been depraved in his appetites at least he was honest.” She could feel her anger breaching the dam she had built to hold her emotions at bay. “Your behaviour is despicable.”
All traces of emotion were wiped from his face, replaced with his mask of indifference. “If you refuse to concede to my wishes, know that I can make your life at Highley Grange uncomfortable.”
“No, you can’t.” She would rather live in a tiny one-roomed cottage than be beholden to such a loathsome gentleman. “And just to clarify, I will not be living at Highley Grange, either.”
He gave an arrogant smirk. Hope flashed in his eyes. “And where will you go?”
“I’m afraid I refuse to discuss my private affairs with you or with anyone,” she said hitting him with his own words.
The door to the card room creaked open. Matthew Chandler exited. He paused outside, leant back against the wall and sucked in a ragged breath. With a vigorous shake of the head, he straightened. Locking gazes with her, he inclined his head as he made his way back to the ballroom.
“There goes another pathetic fool,” Henry said with a sneer.
His comment irritated her. “I do ask one thing. During the hauntings, items of value have gone missing from the house. I want them returned to me. Else I shall be forced to follow your unprincipled example and break a confidence. I may write to Mr. Forester to convey my concerns for my stepson, who has been lured to sin.”
Fear flickered in his eyes. “I do not know anything about any missing items.”
“I do not care about the silver pin pot, the crystal vase or the candlestick, to name but a few items. They belonged to your father, now to you. But I would like my ruby brooch. Perhaps your man, Mr. Blackwood, may be able to enlighten you as to its whereabouts.”
“I have already told you. I made no instruction to remove valuable items.”
“But you did instruct the servants to frighten me?”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “Yes. Yes. But I shall speak to Mr. Blackwood about your missing brooch. Perhaps it was part of the charade.”