to murdering him, but he knew that for Lizzie’s sake he could never do it. She had the same desperate regard for Tom as she had had for Monty, an affection that was immune to sense or reason, a desperate need for family. Nat’s heart ached for Lizzie that she so longed to have about her a family she could love when all she was left with was Tom, who was an utter bastard, and a distant cousin who did not give a rush for her. It seemed monstrous unfair.
As it was, Lizzie was the one who would rescue them all. She did not know it, but she would save him and Celeste and his family. Nat’s only hope now was to marry her. Lizzie’s money would buy Tom’s silence. There was some irony in that, Nat thought. But Lizzie must never, ever know about Tom’s blackmail. Nat knew he had to protect her from this latest proof of Tom’s villainy. Monty’s death had hurt her profoundly. To show that her other brother was even more of a criminal than she suspected would devastate and disillusion her.
Nat rode into the stable yard of Drum Castle, left his horse with the groom and sought Miles out in his study. Although Miles was no longer Marquis of Drummond now that his errant cousin had been found still to be alive, he and Alice had taken a lease on the castle in order to stay in Yorkshire.
When Nat went into the study, Miles and Alice were standing in the window together and talking, their heads bent close, their voices low and intimate. Nat hesitated a moment on the threshold, because they looked so loving that he felt like an interloper and did not wish to interrupt them. But then Miles looked up and invited him in. Nat stepped forward into the room and noted wryly that Alice’s blue gaze was flinty and less than welcoming as it rested on him. He knew she was thinking of Lizzie.
“Lord Waterhouse.” Alice’s tone was almost as cold as the look in her eyes. She looked from Nat to Miles. “I will leave you to talk business,” she said.
“Lady Vickery,” Nat said. “Please…” Alice paused and Nat pressed his advantage. “You know that I wish to marry Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “If you have any influence with her…”
He thought Alice almost smiled. “You know as well as I do that no one can influence Lizzie once she has set her mind to a thing,” Alice said. Her voice softened. “I wish you good luck, though.”
She went out and Miles gestured Nat to a seat beside the fireplace. There was a fine carved wooden chess set on the games table between the two fireside chairs. The room was warm and smelled of beeswax and flowers. It felt like a home, Nat thought, remembering the cold emptiness of Drum before Alice had married Miles. Alice had wrought that change in the castle, and an enormous change in Miles, too. Marriage, Nat supposed, could be like that but it was a far cry from both the cold distance of the arrangement he had contemplated with Flora and the fiery quarreling he was already anticipating with Lizzie.
“I found Tom,” Nat said, without preamble. “I’ve told him to report to the magistrate and to you and Dexter in the morning. He’s too drunk to talk sensibly now.” He sighed. “Not that he is likely to be much more sober on the morrow.”
“Do you think he murdered his brother?” Miles asked.
“No,” Nat said. “Unfortunately not.”
“He had a strong motive,” Miles pointed out. “The baronetcy, the prospect of wealth under the Dames’ Tax. Everyone knows that Monty kept Tom on a tight allowance and Tom hated him for it.”
“Too many people had a motive to kill Sir Montague,” Nat said, shrugging, “though I will allow that Tom’s is one of the best. I imagine,” he added, “that he will be able to claim he was with someone last night.”
“A woman,” Miles said, nodding.
“Or several,” Nat said, ironically. He sighed. “Lady Elizabeth’s motive is less strong.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Miles said, laughing. “In point of fact she was better off with Sir Montague alive.”
“Quite.” Nat shifted. “ Miles, I have a problem. You know that Lizzie is only twenty and therefore requires her guardian’s permission to wed?”
Miles nodded. “And her legal guardian is now Tom Fortune.”
“Precisely,” Nat said. “Tom will never give his consent, because he would thereby lose out on claiming half of Lizzie’s fortune under the Dames’ Tax. In two months’ time he can take her twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Miles grimaced. “I see your problem.”
“What can be done?”
“You could elope with her to Gretna,” Miles said, “or apply for a special licence and swear on oath that the guardian had given his consent, knowing full well that he had not.”
“I would have to perjure myself,” Nat said, nodding.
“Effectively, yes.” Miles moved a chess piece idly. “Or, if the guardian was clearly a man-or woman-of dubious moral stature, you might find another reputable family member who could give their consent.” He shot his friend a look. “In Lizzie’s case we know that her guardian is a blackguard, but she also has an irreproachably respectable third cousin in the current Earl of Scarlet.”
“A man who has taken not the slightest interest in her welfare since he inherited from her father,” Nat said a little grimly.
“He would take an interest soon enough if he heard his cousin would one day be Duchess of Waterhouse,” Miles said, “and he would, I am sure, do all in his power to assist the match.”
Nat smiled reluctantly. “You are so cynical, old chap.”
“But also so very correct,” Miles drawled. “Scarlet Park is less than a half day’s ride to the west of here,” he added. “It would be a simple matter to sound Gregory Scarlet out.”
Nat shifted. “One further complicating factor…If I cannot persuade Lizzie to accept me…”
Miles laughed. “I suspect I should be offended that you think me the expert, albeit theoretically, on the carrying off of unwilling brides.”
“I remember you once contemplated carrying Alice off,” Nat murmured, “before you resorted to blackmailing her into marriage, of course.”
“Touche,” Miles said. “Abduction is the answer. You would also need to bribe a crooked clergyman. Not ideal, especially for one of your rarefied moral principles,” he added sardonically, “but it depends on how much you want the prize.”
There was a short silence. “I want the money,” Nat said, after a moment. “I need it very urgently.” He had toyed on more than one occasion with the idea of telling Miles and Dexter of his predicament, but in the end he had kept silent because he knew that both of them would advise him to tell Tom to go to hell and take his blackmail with him. They could not approve-how could they when they all worked for the Home Secretary to protect against criminal activity and he was contradicting every principle that they held sacred? Yet moral dilemmas were seldom so easy to resolve, Nat thought bitterly. He appreciated that now.
“You want the money but not the bride who goes with it?” Miles’s expression was suddenly sober. “My advice? Don’t do it, old fellow. A lifetime is a hell of a long time to be tied to a woman whom you don’t love.”
“The ultimate irony,” Nat said, “is that you, the most cynical amongst us, are always preaching to marry for love, Miles.”
Miles shrugged elegantly. “What can I say? I am a convert.”
“I care for Lizzie,” Nat said slowly. “I may not love her the way that you love Alice, but I care a damn sight more than Tom Fortune does for her as a sister. Is that so bad?”
He saw some expression change in Miles’s face. “I cannot answer that, Nathaniel,” Miles said slowly. “Only you and Lady Elizabeth can resolve that between you and I think you have already made up your mind.” He stood up and Nat had the strangest feeling that Miles not only knew something that he did not but also that he had, in some way, disappointed his oldest friend. He struggled with the thought. In his day Miles had been the most ruthless of fortune hunters, prepared to take risks that Nat would never contemplate. Miles was no hypocrite, so why would he disapprove of Nat marrying for money?
Miles held out his hand to shake in an oddly formal gesture. “Good luck, old fellow.”
“Thank you,” Nat said, taking his hand and wishing he did not have a strange and superstitious belief that Miles thought he would need all the luck in the world-and more-to get him through.
IT WAS VERY LATE the following day that Nat rode up to Fortune Hall. He had been to Lancashire and spent some time with the Earl of Scarlet, a meeting that had been congenial and had ended in a most satisfactory outcome as far as Nat was concerned. He did not like the man particularly-Gregory Scarlet was selfish and lazy and self-interested-but the Earl had agreed that Tom Fortune was not fit to be any young lady’s guardian and had been pleased to give his consent to a match between Nat and Lizzie. Now all Nat had to do was obtain Lizzie’s consent, a
