Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Yet again, Jason wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “Let’s just wait and see what happens with Mr. Chartley. Regardless of whether or not I end up with Lyon’s Gate, I will help you find Thomas.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He fell silent, watching her.

“You’re not as angry as you should be with Thomas Hoverton,” she said slowly, eyeing him. “Why is that?”

Jason smiled. “Fact is, he didn’t get my money. Not because I’m such an excellent man of business, mind you. It was the Sherbrooke solicitor, Wily Willy Bibber, who refused to pay the solicitor a single groat until I had taken actual possession of Lyon’s Gate.”

Hallie felt like a complete and utter fool. She turned on her heel and went back up the wide staircase. Midway up, she paused and turned to see Jason standing in the entrance hall, staring up after her.

She said, her voice emotionless, “I understand now why Lord Renfrew took Mrs. Matcham for a lover not two weeks before we were to be married. He believed I was too stupid and too infatuated with him to find him out. Do you know what? I didn’t find out about Mrs. Matcham until after I had broken our engagement. What I did find out was that his tailor, a Mr. Huff, hadn’t been paid for six months. He came to me, you see, hoping I would pay him. He told me not to be surprised if more tradesmen arrived on my doorstep since all his lordship’s creditors knew now that his lordship had found a lovely plump pigeon who was so green she’d probably start blooming before spring.”

“That’s a goodly dose of humiliation,” Jason said. “Are you talking about William Sloane?”

“No, William Sloane gambled away nearly all the money before he conveniently died, and his brother, Elgin Sloane, became Lord Renfrew.”

“But didn’t your uncle meet him? Make certain he wasn’t marrying you for your money or—”

“Yes, he did. It was William who had the bad reputation, not Elgin. After all, Elgin Sloane had only been on the London scene for seven months before he met me. No one knew the real state of his finances.”

“So only the tradesmen knew the truth about him.”

“Evidently so.”

“At least you found this out before you married.”

“If I’d found out after the wedding, I would have shot him.”

“That’s an American thing to say.” But he laughed. “You would have been hung here. It was then you decided you wanted to own a stud?”

“Yes. I will become independent, and never marry.”

“As I’ve said, Miss Carrick, there are probably many properties for sale as well as many men out there who aren’t rotters like Elgin Sloane.”

She waved away his words. “Or, I suppose, I could become a nun.”

“I can’t imagine any mother superior worth her salt taking you on. I strongly doubt you are docile enough to take orders.”

She shrugged. “Regardless, I will never marry, not unless I lose my wits entirely and pour my money into another bounder’s hands. I believe I’ll hire someone to watch me. If I am in danger of falling into that wretched trap again, that person will simply shove me into the herring barrel.”

“Like I said, not all men are bounders, Miss Carrick.”

She shrugged again, not looking at him.

He felt her pain and hated that he felt it. She turned to go back up the stairs when he called out, “Like you, Miss Carrick, I have also determined that I will never marry. I am fortunate that it isn’t my responsibility to provide an heir for the Sherbrooke line, so it won’t matter.”

She said nothing, but he knew her attention was focused on him. Still, he wasn’t about to say anything more, and was horrified at himself for saying this much. Never would he speak of it, never—“It happened to me nearly five years ago.” He shut his mouth. He was a fool, an idiot. None of this was her business, anyone’s business.

“You were going to marry a girl who wanted you only for your money?”

He laughed, this time a low, vicious laugh from deep inside him, and the words tumbled out. “Oh no, I far exceeded your paltry betrayal, Miss Carrick. I picked a girl who would have killed my father if Corrie hadn’t shot and killed her.” He couldn’t stand himself. He’d poured all that out just to make this outrageous girl feel better. Thank God there was nothing else to burst out of his damned mouth. A pity one couldn’t retrieve hasty words and stuff them back down one’s throat. He turned on his heel and left the town house.

Hallie Carrick stood on the stairs for a very long time. She’d heard all sorts of gossip about why Jason Sherbrooke had abruptly left England and gone to live with the Wyndhams, but nothing close to this. He was right. She was hurt and humiliated because one dishonorable man had tried to get his hands on her money. What had happened to her was common, but what had happened to him—the way he’d been used, it would rot the soul. He had run away to America; he’d tried to run away from himself. She didn’t think he’d succeeded. She turned to go up to her bedchamber. He would never trust another woman. She would wager her substantial dowry on that. She couldn’t blame him.

CHAPTER 11

At lunch the following day, Douglas said, “I’m very sorry, Miss Carrick, but Mr. Chartley is selling Lyon’s Gate to Jason for the sum he himself paid for it.”

“And a paltry amount it was. Yes, it is what I imagined would happen,” Hallie said. “Isn’t it interesting that after all of this, you, Mr. Sherbrooke, have gained what you wanted and paid only a pittance for it?” She rose slowly. “I would like to thank you for your hospitality, my lord, my lady. I’ll be leaving in the morning for Ravensworth. I must pack now.”

She nodded to each of the Sherbrookes in turn, and walked out of the drawing room to see Willicombe standing at the foot of the stairs, clearly blocking her.