“Why me?” Mitchell asked suspiciously, and not without a little scorn. He was slightly cynical, which Simon thought was excellent. A purely green boy would be of no use at all. “You don’t know me, or what I’m capable of.”
Simon held his gaze steadily. “I understand well the lengths a man will go to for a woman he cares for.”
“I love her.”
“Yes. To the point where you would seek her out at great cost to yourself. I need dedication such as that. In return, I will ensure that you become a man of some means.”
“That would take years.” Mitchell ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know that I can bear it.”
“Give yourselves time to mature. Allow her to see what she has missed all of these years. Then, if she will have you anyway, you will know that she is making the decision with a woman’s heart, and not a child’s.”
For a long moment, the young man remained motionless, the weight of his indecision a tangible thing.
“Try it,” Simon urged. “What harm can come from the effort?”
Finally, Mitchell heaved out his breath and sank into the seat opposite the desk. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent!” Simon leaned back in his chair. “Now here are my thoughts…”
“Why did you say nothing to me?” Maria asked when the tale was finished, staring at Simon as if he were a stranger. She felt as if he were.
“If I had told you, mhuirnín,” Simon said softly, “would you have withheld the information from your sibling? Of course not, and the secret was not mine to share.”
“What of Amelia’s pain and suffering?”
“Unfortunate, but not something I could alleviate.”
“You could have told me he was alive!” she argued.
“Mitchell had every right to make himself worthy of Amelia’s esteem. Do not fault him for pursuing the woman he loves in the only manner available to him. Of all men, I understand his motivations very well.” He paused a moment, then spoke in a calmer voice. “Besides, what he did with his life was no concern of yours.”
“It is a concern of mine,” drawled a voice from behind them, “now that it affects Miss Benbridge.”
Maria turned in her chair and faced the man who approached. “Lord Ware,” she greeted, her heart sinking.
The earl was dressed as casually as she had ever seen him, but there was a tension to his tall frame and a tautness to his jaw that told her leisure was far from his mind. His dark hair was unadorned but for a ribbon at his nape, and he wore boots instead of heels.
“This is the fiancé?” Mademoiselle Rousseau asked.
“My lord,” Christopher greeted. “I am impressed by your dedication.”
“Until she tells me otherwise,” the earl said grimly, “I consider Miss Benbridge’s welfare one of my responsibilities.”
“I have not had this much fun in ages,” the Frenchwoman said, smiling wide.
Maria closed her eyes and rubbed the space between her brows. Christopher, who stood at her back, set his hand on her shoulder and gave a commiserating squeeze.
“Would someone care to fill me in?” Ware asked.
She looked at Simon. He raised both brows. “How delicately should I phrase this?”
“No delicacy required,” Ware said. “I am neither ignorant nor cursed with a weak constitution.”
“He does intend to marry into our family,” Christopher pointed out.
“True,” Simon said, though his gaze narrowed. He relayed the events leading up to the present moment, carefully leaving out names like Eddington’s, which could not be shared.
“So this man in the mask is Colin Mitchell?” Ware asked, scowling. “The boy Miss Benbridge fancied in her youth? And she does not know it is him?”
“She knows it now,” Tim muttered.
“Mitchell is telling her as we speak,” Christopher explained.
There was a thud behind them, and they all turned to find Pietro, who stood gaping with a dropped valise at his feet. “That isn’t possible!” the coachman said heatedly. “Colin is gone.”
Maria glanced at Simon, who winced.
“This grows more fascinating by the moment,” Mademoiselle Rousseau said.
“You are a vile creature,” Simon snapped.
Looking up at Christopher, Maria signaled her intent to stand, and he stepped back. “I should go see how things are progressing.”
“No need,” he murmured, his gaze trained beyond her.
All heads turned toward the hallway that led to the private dining room. Amelia appeared with reddened eyes and nose and disheveled hair, the picture of tormented heartbroken loveliness.
Mitchell came into view directly behind her, and the sight of him took Maria aback, as it did everyone who saw him. Elegantly attired and proud of bearing, he left no traces of servitude clinging to his tall frame. He was an arrestingly beautiful man, with dark, sensual eyes framed by long, thick lashes and a voluptuary’s mouth framed by a firm, determined jaw. He, too, looked devastated and gravely wounded, and Maria’s heart went out to both of them.
“Amelia…” Ware’s cultured drawl was rough with concern.
Her verdant gaze met his and filled with tears.
A low growl rumbled from the earl’s chest.
“Colin.” Pietro’s agonized tone deepened the trauma of the day’s revelations.
Distracted by the many unfolding events, Maria did not foresee Ware’s intent until he stalked up to Mitchell and asked, “Do you consider yourself a gentleman?”
Mitchell’s jaw tightened. “I do.”
Ware threw a glove down at Mitchell’s feet. “Then I demand satisfaction.”
“I will give it to you.”
“Dear God,” Maria breathed, her hand at her throat.
Christopher left her side. He drew to a halt beside the earl and said, “I would be honored to serve as your second, my lord.”
“Thank you,” Ware replied.
“I will serve as Mitchell’s,” Simon said, joining them.
“No!” Amelia cried, her horrified gaze darting between the grim masculine faces. “This is absurd.”
Maria pulled her away. “You cannot intercede.”
“Why?” Amelia asked. “This is not necessary.”
“It is.”
“I have a home in Bristol,” Ware said. “I suggest we retire there. Our audience will then be made up of those we trust.”
Mitchell nodded. “That was my destination, so the location is convenient for me as well.”
“I caused this.” Amelia looked pleadingly at Maria. “My selfishness has led to this end. How do I stop this?”
“What is done, is done,” Maria said, rubbing her hand soothingly down Amelia’s spine.
“I want to go with them.”
“That would not be wise.”
Christopher turned to her, and she saw in his face that he disagreed. She did not understand why he would wish them to go, but she could learn his motives later. As it was, she trusted him implicitly and knew that his first concern was always for her health and happiness.
“I want to go,” Amelia said again, with more strength.
“Shh,” Maria soothed. “We can discuss this over a hot bath and a change of clothes.”
Her sibling nodded, and they moved away to order heated water and a tub. With everyone distracted with their own thoughts, no one noted the man who occupied a shadowed seat in the far corner. He attracted even less attention when he left.
Stepping outside, Jacques tugged the brim of his hat down and sauntered across the drive toward the carriage that waited a short ways down the lane.
He opened the door and looked inside. “Mitchell was just challenged to a duel.”
Cartland smiled. “Come in and tell me everything.”
Chapter 14
It never ceased to amaze Amelia how a man as vibrant and impossible to ignore as Christopher St. John could fade into oblivion when he chose to. As it was, she hardly noticed that he shared the same squab with Maria as they traveled to Bristol. He held his tongue as she poured out her heart, and she was grateful to him for his silence. Few would believe that the notorious criminal could tolerate hours upon hours of a weeping woman’s lamentations over love, but he did and he did it well.