The Determined Lord Hadleigh Read online

  Despite all of Clarissa’s careful staging, he now thoroughly commanded the room. He had ignored the tiny chair. Avoided the sweltering fire. And instead of regally looking down her nose at him, Penny was forced to look up. A long way up. Another professional trick he had clearly done on purpose. She stood, hoping she appeared partially regal despite the vast difference in their heights, and allowed her irritation to show plainly on her face. Money aside, no matter which way one looked at it, having her followed was a gross invasion of her privacy, one she had every right to feel angry about.

  ‘Did the Crown also sanction the Runner you had spy on me?’

  He blinked again, frowning slightly. ‘No. Of course they didn’t. My actions have nothing to do with the government or the Crown in any way.’

  ‘But you are such a noble man, such a seeker of justice, that you simply decided to right a wrong regardless? Or do you merely have a guilty conscience about what transpired?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He took another step back and his normally inscrutable expression dissolved briefly into one of outrage. ‘I had no part in their decision.’ The bland barrister’s mask slipped back in place. ‘If you must know, I petitioned the Attorney General on your behalf.’

  That she knew. Clarissa and Seb had told her as much that dreadful night in their house in Grosvenor Square once she realised she no longer had a home to go back to. Those had been the darkest and most hopeless days of her life. The press had huddled outside the house like vultures, doing whatever they could to catch a glimpse of the traitor’s wife—soon to be traitor’s widow. No peer of the realm had been stripped of his title and his estates in decades. Neither had any peer been sentenced to death for any crime—let alone treason—since Lord Lovat after the Battle of Culloden two generations previously. Meanwhile, inside her friend’s house Penny had been too stunned, too broken down after years of her oppressive marriage, to do anything other than weep or stare, catatonic.

  What was she going to do? What was to become of her son? Oh, woe is me!

  When news came days later that her husband had escaped the hangman’s noose only because his criminal associates had decided it was safer to have him murdered in Newgate than risk having him make any deathbed confessions which might implicate them, an intrepid reporter had broken into Seb’s house. The intruder had successfully climbed three stairs before he was tackled and removed by the guards. Those had been three stairs too many for Penny and strangely galvanised her into action, awaking a part of her which had lain dormant for too many years. She was so tired of being the helpless victim.

  Weeping and lamenting Oh, woe is me was not going to change a single thing and it certainly wasn’t going to protect her son. Only she could do both—yet could do neither while feeling pathetically sorry for herself when she only had herself to blame. The signs had been there from the outset. Clarissa had warned her. Even her father had offered to help her flee the church on the morning of her marriage despite spending a king’s ransom on the gown, the elaborate wedding breakfast and the marriage settlements, and despite knowing her mother would also be devastated to have encouraged the match. But blinded by the belief she was madly in love and madly loved in return by her handsome, titled, ardent suitor, she had positively floated down the aisle towards her groom, regardless of the niggling voice in her head which cautioned she was making a huge mistake.

  It had been a revelation to finally accept the fact she had made her own bed, through her own foolish weaknesses, and now had to lie in it—and just because her new bed was hard and uncomfortable, it didn’t make it a bad bed. If anything, it was a significantly superior bed to the one she had been lying in. Only this time, she could make it exactly as she wanted.

  The next day she had gone into hiding, in plain sight at Seb’s suggestion, to live independently for the first time in her twenty-four years and she had not looked back or wallowed in one drop of pointless self-pity since. Her new life had started and she found she rather enjoyed it. The past was the past. Done. Dead. She had come to terms with it all and was well shot of it. Didn’t allow herself to think upon it any more.

  Yet now the past was back in the most unexpected and unforeseen way. Not from the press. Not from being recognised. But from the man still stood proudly in front of her. Too proudly when he was the one clearly in the wrong here. What gave him the right to assert change on her life when he’d had a professional hand in creating her current situation? Did he feel guilt at proving her husband guilty?

  Perhaps that was the problem? That awful possibility had been niggling since she had learned the truth this morning. What if his guilt about the trial ran deeper than he was letting on? If so, then it kicked a veritable hornets’ nest she was only too content to leave well alone.

  For five months, there had been no doubt in her mind that Penhurst had been guilty of all the charges levelled against him and probably more. Penny had realised as much the moment the King’s Men had stormed into her house and arrested him. Later, the lawyer’s case had been convincing and thorough, and while she felt stupid at her own ignorance and ashamed of her own cowardice to question that ignorance, so many things she had seen or heard during the final year of her marriage suddenly made perfect sense once all the pieces of the puzzle were finally slotted together.

  Lord Hadleigh had done that. So much so, it had given her the confidence to stand up to her husband by telling the truth and she had resigned herself to hearing a guilty verdict.

  Resigned was the wrong word.

  It suggested she was dreading the verdict, when the opposite was true. While she had not expected a peer of the realm to receive the death penalty, she had anticipated a guilty verdict and a life blessedly free from Penhurst afterwards. Looked forward to it eagerly—something which caused her guilt late at night when sleep eluded her. Whatever Penhurst had done, he was still the father of her son. Something she knew she would one day have to explain to her little boy.

  Was it wrong to be completely relieved to be free of him? Or to have helped him on his way by testifying against him the moment fate had given her the chance? For five months, she had consoled herself that she had done the right thing for Freddie’s sake so that he could grow into the man he was meant to be rather than one tainted and poisoned by his sire’s warped morals.

  The lawyer’s guilty conscience suddenly made her question the validity of the trial. Had Lord Hadleigh embellished the truth or lied? Covered important and pertinent details up? Fabricated evidence? She sincerely hoped not. Penny did not want to have any of her relief at the tumultuous end of her marriage dampened. She had hated Penhurst and was glad he was dead. Felt no guilt at his violent passing whatsoever. But guilt might well explain why the lawyer had paid her rent for an entire year.

  * * *

  ‘I don’t want your blood money!’

  ‘Blood money?’ Her harsh words took him aback. ‘I can assure you, madam, my gift was nothing of the sort.’ Hadleigh raked an agitated hand through his hair and began to pace. The very idea was as preposterous as it was insulting and he wanted to loudly proclaim his utter disgust at the suggestion. He was a principled man who believed in right and wrong. Good and evil. Justice and truth. A man who righted wrongs, not caused them. How dare she even suggest his motives were fuelled by...what? Malpractice? Deceit? Wrongdoing? And on what evidence was his good reputation so unfairly besmirched?

  But as he paced the worn old rug on the hard, scuffed wooden floor, took in the mismatched furniture, the cramped and basic surroundings alongside the proud and clearly frightened woman stood before him, he couldn’t help but remember a similar scene years ago. And another time when he had attempted to rescue a woman who flatly refused to be rescued because there was nothing she needed to be rescued from.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Hadleigh realised that losing his temper now, just as it had done then, would not help her at all. Better to stick to reason, log
ic and the truth and keep emotion well out of it.

  ‘I can see why you would jump to that conclusion, so please allow me to reassure you. My actions had nothing to do with guilt regarding your husband or the way his trial was carried out. I am sorry if you find that difficult to hear, but on that score I am remorseless...’ Good grief! Hardly the best way to win her over and accept his benevolence in the spirit it was intended. ‘I acted as I did more out of a sense of regret that you had to suffer more than was necessary and completely unjustly. If the Crown refused to see you right, then someone needed to. I am a wealthy man, so it was no hardship for me to help. Consider it my penance for failing to get the Crown to see sense.’ He was righting a wrong. It was that simple.

  ‘That does not explain why you saw fit to have me spied upon these past months.’

  ‘I didn’t have you spied upon.’ So much for sticking to reason, logic and the truth. Hadleigh found himself wincing. She had a perfectly valid reason to be angry with him and now that he was seeing it all through her eyes, he had made a royal hash of it. ‘All right... I suppose in a manner of speaking I did, but again it was not done with any malice. After you had been left with nothing—through no fault of your own, I might add—I needed to reassure myself you and your child were coping all alone. When the Runner informed me you were selling your jewellery...’

  ‘Insignificant pieces to which I had no attachment.’ Her pretty face flushed as she resolutely avoided her friends’ sympathetic eyes and he realised he had inadvertently put his big, fat foot in it again. Like his mother, she was too ashamed of her situation to accept help despite none of it being her fault. ‘Things given to me by a husband which I would prefer to forget and mine to dispose of as I see fit.’ Despite the fact that both her friends, and he, knew she was pawning her mother’s jewellery to pay her monthly bills, she was still labouring under the misapprehension that her friends, at least, didn’t. ‘I no longer wanted any reminders of him in my house.’

  She was proud in the face of defeat and his heart wept for her. His hands wanted to touch her, tug her into his arms and hold her close. What was that about, aside from the bone-deep exhaustion which came from weeks of sleeplessness? No wonder his emotions were a tad frayed and close to the surface. ‘A perfectly understandable reason to sell them and one which makes me sorrier my heavy-handed and unnecessary response has caused you both worry and embarrassment.’

  ‘I am not in need of charity, Lord Hadleigh.’

  ‘That I can plainly see, my lady.’ Blast it all to hell, he had gone about this all wrong. Pride always came before a fall and, like his mother, this one would rather suffer in silence than allow the world to see her pain. He, of all people, should have pre-empted such a reaction. ‘And once again, I humbly apologise for insulting you. It was well intentioned, although, I concede, highly inappropriate and misguided.’

  It was time to make a hasty retreat before he was backed into a corner of his own making and forced into rescinding his gift before she had had time to mull over the many benefits of it. Given a little time, and the obvious easing of her financial burdens, she might be convinced to keep it.

  ‘I really meant no offence, or to cause you worry of any kind. Although I can see that my ham-fisted, overbearing and overzealous attempt at helping you has done exactly that, and for that I am sorry. This has most definitely not been my finest hour. But know that I am on your side whether you want me to be or not.’ From his pocket he produced a calling card which he gently pressed into her hand, making it impossible for her to refuse it. For some reason, his fingers longed to linger so he quickly snatched them away.

  ‘What I should have done all those months ago, rather than put a watch on you, was simply this. Should you need anything...anything at all...money, help...a ham-fisted but well-meaning friend...all you need do is ask. Whatever it is, whenever it is, send word to this address and I will move heaven and earth to see it done.’ Before she could respond he bowed. ‘Good day to you, Lady Penhurst. Thank you for allowing me the chance to explain and to see for myself the error of my ways. You have been most gracious.’ Then, with the swiftest and politest of nods to the room in general, he promptly turned and marched swiftly out the door.

  Chapter Four

  Three days of silence lulled him into a false sense of security, so Hadleigh wasn’t expecting his clerk to inform him she had turned up at his chambers unannounced, wishing to speak to him. While the clerk went to fetch her, he braced himself for another difficult conversation and was not disappointed. She arrived ramrod straight and proud, only her eyes giving him any indication she was nowhere near as confident as she wanted to portray. They were wide and restless, darting every which way before finally settling on him stood politely behind his paper-strewn desk.

  ‘Please forgive the intrusion, Lord Hadleigh, but I needed to speak with you.’

  The gaunt, pale woman from the courtroom was gone and clearly her appetite had improved in the intervening months, as the same dull spencer which had once hung from her frame was now filled with gloriously feminine curves. She might be petite in stature, but there was no disguising she was all woman. Something he had no right noticing considering the circumstances.

  ‘It is no intrusion at all.’ He gestured to the chair opposite and she sat daintily on the edge, gripping her reticule for all she was worth. Her errant hands, once again, saying much more of the truth than he was likely to get out of her pretty mouth. ‘What did you wish to speak to me about, Lady Penhurst?’

  Her dark brows drew together in an expression of what he thought might be distaste as her fingers toyed with the ribbon handle of her bag. ‘I am not Lady Penhurst any longer and, if you don’t mind, I would prefer not to be addressed as such. I go by Mrs Henley now, which was my mother’s maiden name.’ Her troubled blue eyes flicked to his briefly as she shrugged an apology. He found himself drowning in their intense, stormy depths. ‘There is less chance of my being recognised with a run-of-the-mill name and I would prefer not to use my real married name any more...for obvious reasons.’ And there it was again, that flash of distaste, although whether it was at the thought of her husband or her situation, he had no idea.

  ‘Of course...very wise.’ He settled back in his chair, hoping his posture would help her to relax, calmly waiting for her to proceed. It didn’t. Only the smallest fraction of her bottom was on the chair, her knuckles quite white as she continued to nervously fiddle and twist the ribbons further.

  After a few seconds ticked by awkwardly, she sat up straighter. ‘The thing is, I went to visit my landlord, Mr Cohen, this morning...and was informed you have made no attempt to contact him since our last meeting...to retrieve your money.’

  ‘Mrs Henley, might I speak plainly?’ She nodded, eyes widening once again as if fearing his words. ‘I think we would both agree our last meeting was a little awkward. I believe we both left a great deal unsaid.’ How to frame these next words in the most gentle and appeasing way and leave her dignity intact? ‘For my part, I realised that neither Clarissa nor Seb knew you were selling your jewellery, so I quickly backtracked to avoid further embarrassing you.’

  ‘I explained about the jewellery, Lord Hadleigh.’ Two charming pink spots began to appear on her cheeks which called her a liar. ‘They were gifts from my husband and I no longer wanted them.’

  Pride always came before a fall. ‘I beg to differ. I saw you that morning outside the pawnshop.’ It had done odd things to his heart.

  ‘You did?’ That seemed to surprise her and set her expressive eyes blinking. She had lovely long lashes. Dark and thick. The sort that waylaid a man’s thoughts from the important task at hand, much like the way she filled out that spencer.

  ‘Indeed I did, so I saw for myself how difficult you found it to part with them.’ Should he tell her he had the brooch? That it was safe with all the other trinkets necessity had forced her to sell and hers again whenever she wanted?
Probably not. It would make her feel more beholden, when clearly beholden was the state which caused her the greatest discomfort. ‘I also went in and questioned the pawnbroker who showed me the piece. It was old and well-worn. You were married only three years, were you not? Hardly long enough to cause the deterioration I witnessed in that brooch. Which lead me to believe it was hardly the sort of piece of jewellery a husband would give to his wife.’

  ‘My husband was not a generous man...’

  ‘Mrs Henley, we both know that was your mother’s brooch or your grandmother’s. It was a sentimental item. Worth more to the heart than the purse.’ He had similar items himself. The handkerchiefs his mother had embroidered for him. Her letters sent while he was away studying. The last one filled with no hint of the nightmare she was living or the absolute fear she must have been feeling in the days before her death. If only he could turn back time.

  ‘And what if it was?’ The sudden affected bravado was brittle and unconvincing. Eerily familiar. ‘It was still mine to do with as I wished.’

  He mentally took a step away from those old emotions which had suddenly decided to plague him to focus on the here and now. An unfair wrong he could easily right and the woman his soul appeared to demand he rescue. ‘The Runner said you took the money from the jewellery each month directly to the shops and used it to pay your accounts.’ Hadleigh decided to present her with irrefutable evidence in the hope she might realise further lies were pointless. ‘You always go to Palmer’s Shop of All Things first because it is closest to the pawnshop. Then you walk to your landlord Mr Cohen’s place next, followed by Shank’s the butcher and Mrs Writtle’s bakery. I can even tell you how much you paid to each of these merchants and how much you received for each precious piece of your mother’s jewellery that was sold.’

  She blinked rapidly, her mouth opening to speak before she closed it firmly. For several moments, she seemed smaller and he realised now might be the best chance he had of appealing to her logic. ‘You see, I had a very clear picture of your finances, Mrs Henley, before I took it upon myself to assist you with them.’ He exhaled slowly and waited for her dipped eyes to pluck up the courage to rise back up to meet his. ‘You were barely making ends meet and unless you have a jewellery box stuffed full of old earrings and brooches to sell, I also knew your reserves would likely soon run out. That is why I stepped in...or stomped in more like.’ He smiled to soften the blows he had just dealt her. ‘I wanted to take that worry away from you. I still do. That is why I have not, nor will I make any attempt to get the rent money back from Mr Cohen. Allow me to help you.’