on one side. “I imagine the two of you would deal very well together, with so much malice in common.”
“We have an arrangement,” Tom said indifferently.
“Is she to become the next Lady Fortune, then?” Lizzie asked, with perfectly calculated innocence.
Tom laughed. He put a hand on Starfire’s bridle and stroked the horse’s nose gently. It was one of the odd things about Tom, Lizzie thought, that he adored his dogs and his horses and yet was without compassion when it came to people.
“I hardly think so,” he said. “I am not wealthy enough to tempt Priscilla and I am not sure I wish to marry such a slut anyway.” He looked up. “Don’t play games with her, Lizzie. She’s much more experienced than you are and she could hurt you badly.”
“And you are warning me out of the goodness of your heart?” Lizzie asked. She found she was not unduly shocked to hear that Tom and Lady Willoughby were lovers. She remembered John Jerrold saying that he suspected that Priscilla was a great deal less respectable than she pretended to be. She wondered if Nat knew. Most probably he did not. In his mind Perfect Priscilla was probably pickled forever as the flawless, ideal wife. And Lizzie knew she could never tell Nat the truth because it would merely look like jealousy talking.
Tom laughed again. “Hardly that.” He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes against the sun. “There are things you don’t know, Lizzie-things about that oh-so-worthy husband of yours. That’s what I want to tell you.”
Lizzie’s hands tightened involuntarily on the reins and Starfire side stepped. Tom grinned to see his barb strike home. “Your Achilles’ heel,” he said softly, “your love for the undeserving Earl of Waterhouse.” He shook his head. “You’re a great girl, Lizzie-I admire you, I really do. In so many ways we are so alike, but you are too, too naive.”
“Don’t bracket me with you,” Lizzie said. “I may be wild, Tom, but I’m not a callous, heartless
“More fool you,” her brother said calmly. “You’ve given your heart to the wrong man, Lizzie.”
“You’re boring me with all this talk of love, Tom,” Lizzie said. Her heart had started to thunder. She felt mortified. The thought of Tom and Priscilla Willoughby laughing over her innocent love for Nat, perhaps as they lay in bed together, made her feel sick. How had Tom known? Could everyone see how she felt? Were her emotions too transparent, her vulnerability evident to everybody? Everybody except Nat…
“What are you going to tell me?” she said, affecting ennui so that Tom should not see how much he was upsetting her. “Is your big piece of news that Nat was once Priscilla Willoughby’s lover?”
As soon as the words were out she wondered if Tom was actually going to tell her that Nat was still Priscilla’s lover and she felt a lurch of horror and a fresh wave of sickness engulf her. But Tom was shaking his head.
“I’m sure she would wish it,” he said, “but no. I’ll spare you that torture at least, Lizzie.” His eyes were full of mocking amusement as he dealt out scraps of malice like playing cards.
“What I was going to ask,” Tom said casually, “was whether you knew that Cousin Gregory Scarlet paid Nat to marry you?”
Lizzie stared at him whilst the sun poured down through the shifting leaves and the birds sang and she could not seem to hear them properly because there was a buzzing in her ears.
“A dowry,” she said, through stiff lips.
Tom was shaking his head. “A bribe, Lizzie. You know how stuffy Cousin Gregory is. He had heard you were becoming much too much like our mother.” He paused. “The drinking, you know. You have a reputation for it. And the flirtations with unsuitable men…Very undignified and unbecoming to the ancient and great name of the Earls of Scarlet.”
“You’re a fine one to talk of conduct unbecoming,” Lizzie said. She felt cold, skin deep, bone deep.
“It’s different for men,” Tom said complacently. “I won’t be labeled a drunken doxy.”
“No,” Lizzie said, “just an arrogant, insufferable, hateful
Tom laughed with the pleasure of hurting her. Lizzie knew he was enjoying it. She could see it in his face and yet she seemed powerless to resist his provocation.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to retaliate against me,” he said cheerfully. “At least I won’t be bought and sold like a piece of meat as you were.” He stepped closer, staring up at her. “Cousin Gregory
Lizzie had heard enough. She dug her heels into Starfire’s side and turned the horse so sharply that she knocked Tom flying. Lizzie pulled back and Starfire reared and for one satisfying moment Lizzie saw the genuine terror on her brother’s face as the horse’s hooves came down toward him. At the last moment she turned again so the horse pirouetted in the most perfect piece of dressage. Tom scrambled to his feet, swearing horribly, and Lizzie looked down at him.
“I never understood your need to hurt people, Tom,” she said. “We were close once, you, and me, and Monty. Where did it all go wrong?”
She did not wait for his reply. She rode off toward Fortune’s Folly and left Tom standing in the bridleway staring after her. She could feel the venom in his look and her heart bumped against her ribs with the effort not to cry.
Gregory Scarlet had not wanted anything to do with her from the moment that he had inherited from her father and now all he cared about was preserving the good reputation of the Scarlet name. And Nat had agreed, for the money…For the money…The words drummed in her head with every beat of Starfire’s hooves.
When she got back to Chevrons she rubbed Starfire down herself and fed her. Being in the stables with the horses soothed her. It was one of the few things from her past life that was a constant. The house was quiet when she went in. A supper for one was laid on the table in the dining room.
“Lord Waterhouse returned whilst you were out, my lady,” Mrs. Alibone said. “He is dining at the Oyster Club tonight and said not to expect him back until late.”
Nat was out. Of course he was. He was always out, the husband who had been bribed to marry her. He was working, or he was visiting his family, or he was with his friends…Lizzie felt sick with misery that Nat did not choose to spend his time with her. But then it was money and duty that had forced them to wed, not love.
She stripped off her riding gloves and slapped them down on the table. The decanter on the sideboard seemed to beckon to her, the wine glowing red in the evening sunshine. One little drink would take the edge off her misery.
With a sudden violent sweep of the hand she sent the decanter tumbling onto the floor. It smashed into the skirting board and broke, spilling wine across the carpet. Mrs. Alibone slid back into the room so swiftly Lizzie wondered if she had been lurking outside the door polishing the keyhole.
“Madam!”
“An accident,” Lizzie said. “I do apologize for the mess. I’ll tidy it up-”
“Madam!” Mrs. Alibone sounded even more outraged at the thought of her mistress cleaning. “You certainly will not!”
Lizzie sighed. “Very well. Thank you, Mrs. Alibone.” She glanced at the table with its lonely dinner setting. “Pray tell Cook not to bother with dinner. I shall go out.”
Mrs. Alibone raised her brows. “Out? Madam, you cannot! It is not the Done Thing!”
“Yes, I can,” Lizzie said. “I am going out without my husband. Again. Shocking, is it not?”
And she ran up the stairs to get changed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I WILL BE MAKING your cousin Mary an offer of marriage tomorrow morning.” Tom Fortune lay sprawled in his chair in the study at Fortune Hall. His shirt was hanging loose and his
