Merely the Groom Page 11

  “Women don’t usually mistake that sort of thing,” Wickham disagreed. “Lord Grantham isn’t the Fox we seek.”

  “But he’s the one we have.”

  Colin didn’t like the sound of that. “Lord Davies—” he began.

  But the baron cut him off. “Do you know where the blue-eyed Colin Fox is?”

  “No,” Colin admitted.

  “Can you prove there is a blue-eyed Colin Fox?” Lord Davies asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Colin admitted. “But I don’t have to. Your daughter can prove there’s another one. She eloped with someone, sir. Someone who married her using the name I sometimes use.”

  “And you’ve no idea who that someone is,” Lord Davies concluded.

  “None. But I’ll wager his decision to use that particular name wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “Is it possible that he’s using his real name?” Wickham asked.

  Colin shook his head. “According to our information, there should only have been one Colin Fox in greater London and its environs.”

  “And now you’ve got two,” Wickham said.

  “Of which we’re aware.”

  Wickham pursed his lips in thought, then began to pace the width of the room. “I agree with you, Lord Grantham. That’s not coincidence.”

  “Coincidence or not, it’s going to be fortuitous for my daughter,” Baron Davies announced. “Because I intend to see that something good comes of this disaster.” He gave Colin a speculative look. “You’re a viscount, Lord Grantham, from an old and respectable family. Gillian could do far worse.”

  Lord Davies’s suggestion stunned Colin. “You can’t mean to imply that I should assume responsibility for another man’s actions—”

  “What other man?” The baron was all innocence. “As far as I know, you’re the only man.”

  “Your daughter knows otherwise,” Colin reminded him.

  “My daughter desperately needs a way out of the mess,” Lord Davies replied. “And I mean to do the best I can for her and the child she may be carrying by providing it.” He looked Colin up and down. “You may not be the scoundrel who seduced and abandoned her, but you’ve admitted to using the same name. As far as I’m concerned, you and Colin Fox are one and the same.”

  “We are not one and the same,” Colin corrected.

  But Baron Davies wasn’t listening. “She married Colin Fox in good faith, and that’s the same as marrying you.”

  “It is not the same,” Colin’s Scottish bun grew more pronounced as his voice took on determined edge. “I did not marry your daughter. And she did not marry me.”

  Baron Davies looked Colin in the eye. “But you will,” he said. “And so will she.”

  “Oh, no...” Colin held up his hand as if to stop the words and the idea he knew would follow. For once the baron gave voice to the idea, there would be no going back.

  “It would be an ideal solution,” Wickham added, suddenly realizing the advantages of Lord Davies’s proposition.

  “For whom?” Colin demanded.

  “For everyone involved.” Lord Davies grinned. “My family, His Majesty’s government, Colonel Grant and those who work within the War Office and keep its secrets, Bow Street and Mr. Wickham, the other Colin Fox—if he exists—and you, Lord Grantham.”

  Colin arched an eyebrow at Lord Davies. “You know I had nothing to do with your daughter’s unfortunate elopement, yet you expect me to pay for it. Tell me, Lord Davies, how that solution benefits me?”

  “You get to marry my daughter.” Lord Davies reached over and clapped Colin on the back. “And you get to continue your vital work for His Majesty’s government; otherwise I’ll continue my investigation, and I won’t stop until I uncover every scrap of information there is about Colin Fox and his position in the War Office.”

  Jarrod had warned him, but still, Colin was stunned at the baron’s apparent ruthlessness. “You would endanger the lives of the brave men fighting for their country just to secure a husband for your daughter?”

  “I’ll do whatever’s necessary to secure you as husband for my daughter, because your position doesn’t allow for scandal any more than hers does.”

  “No offense, sir, but I’m not inclined to marry, and your daughter may feel likewise.”

  “My daughter is disgraced,” the baron said. “If she marries you, she gets a husband, a respected name and title for herself and the child she may be carrying, and protection from blackmail and scandal.”

  “Protection, a respected name, and title would be all she’d get,” Colin said bluntly. “As you are no doubt aware, I’m in no position to take a wife or accept a legal heir. My line of work doesn’t afford me that luxury. And neither does my bank balance.” He frowned. He might have been able to afford a wife yesterday, before he’d promised to pay for Liana’s season. But today, it was out of the question. “And if I did consent to marry her, I wouldn’t have a place to put her or a child who would become my legal responsibility.” He looked at the baron. “I occupy a suite of rooms in the Marquess of Shepherdston’s town house across the park. I don’t have a home of my own in which to take her.”

  “You marry my daughter, and you’ll be able to afford anything your heart desires,” Lord Davies told him cheerfully. “I’m a very wealthy man, and as my only child, my daughter stands to inherit a vast fortune. Her dowry is quite handsome.”

  Colin had always known he would have to offer himself up as a sacrifice on the altar of matrimony one day. He had always understood that marrying money was the only practical solution to his problem. He couldn’t maintain his place in society and support his mother and siblings without a considerable income, and although his financial investments were turning a profit, Colin couldn’t make enough money to pay his father’s gambling debts and support them all.

  Bloody hell, but the baron’s solution was tempting! More tempting than he wanted to admit. Colin had never dreamed he’d be faced with a moral dilemma. He’d never imagined that he would find the idea of selling himself to a rich prospective father-in-law objectionable, but that was before a rich prospective father-in-law had made an offer.

  Now, the idea seemed sordid somehow, like trafficking in slaves and sugar in the West Indies or seducing and stealing from unsuspecting virgins. “It’s tempting, Lord Davies, but I’m not for sale.”

  “Everyone’s for sale at some price.” Lord Davies studied the expression on Colin’s face. “And I mean to buy my daughter a respectable husband, whatever the price. Surely, that comes as no surprise to you, Lord Grantham. It’s the way in which the world works and the way in which most unions are fashioned—especially among the peerage. You’re a poor viscount. You must have realized that you would have to secure a wealthy heiress as wife someday.”

  “I’ve been a dedicated bachelor since I was but nine years of age because I’m a poor viscount with little chance to inherit even the most moderate of incomes,” Colin informed him. “I’ve always known I would have to marry well in order to support my family in the manner my name and title demands. I didn’t know I would find the proposition so distasteful.”

  “I, for one, am delighted to hear it!” Baron Davies threw back his head and laughed. “Because I’ve already had one request for fifty thousand pounds for her upkeep from her first husband and I’d find it distasteful to have another fortune hunter marry my daughter. The fact that you find the idea of marrying her for my money repugnant sets my mind at ease. I hate to disappoint you, Lord Grantham, but you’re no matrimonial mercenary. And that’s all the more reason you should marry her.”

  “I don’t follow,” Colin said.

  “It’s simple,” Lord Davies explained. “I prefer you to a true fortune hunter. You have more to offer than you know. In the course of performing your vital work for His Majesty’s government, you will be able to find the man masquerading as Colin Fox and bring him to justice without risking my daughter’s reputation. Who better to see justice done for a lady betrayed than he
r father and her new husband?”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Of course it is,” the baron agreed.

  “I’ll be sacrificing my freedom.”

  “Yes, you will,” Lord Davies replied. “But you’ll be amply rewarded for doing so, and you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that you sacrificed your freedom to protect a young woman’s reputation and your country’s secrets.”

  Chapter Ten

  “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers”

  —William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

  King Henry VI, Part 2

  He had sold his soul to the devil. An English devil. A ruthless merchant devil. Life, as he knew it, was over.

  Colin McElreath, twenty-seventh Viscount Grantham, stared down at his signature on the smooth vellum paper as he pressed his signet ring into the puddle of melted red wax on the document. It was done. He was about to become a very wealthy man. And his new solvency had only cost him his good name, his title, his future, his freedom, and fifteen hundred pounds sterling.

  Colin was relinquishing his Free Fellow status, sealing his fate for cash because duty required it. Because his first loyalty was to the Free Fellows League and the work they did. The work they had sworn to do. But Colin had an equally large obligation to his family. Because his father, the ninth Earl of McElreath, had squandered what had remained of the family fortune and because the man standing before him—the newly created Baron Davies—was a rich silk merchant who urgently required a respectable son-in-law for his disgraced daughter and had ruthlessly set in motion the means to make it happen…

  “Welcome to the family,” the baron said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, my lord.”

  Colin grunted in reply, wincing at the baron’s choice of words. Pleasure? What pleasure? Colin’s wince became a frown. A few bold strokes of his pen had forced him into the ultimate sacrifice. He’d sold himself for a few million pieces of silver, sentenced himself to a lifetime of marriage to a girl who had foolishly entrusted her heart and her virtue to a scoundrel who had eloped with her, then abandoned her at an inn in Edinburgh. A scoundrel impersonating a government agent. A scoundrel impersonating him.

  Colin didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the irony. After a lifetime of avoiding society misses, he was about to marry one. His betrothed was damaged goods, but her good name and her place in society were safe.

  Miss Gillian Davies was about to become a blushing bride.

  He was merely the groom.

  Baron Davies took the marriage contract Colin had just signed, scrawled his name at the bottom, and set his seal beside his signature. When he was done, he blotted the ink and passed the paper along to Wickham and to Mr. Hayes, the solicitor, who had delivered the marriage contract a half hour earlier and who had stayed to witness the signing of it.

  After verifying the signatures, the solicitor returned the document to Lord Davies.

  Lord Davies barely allowed the ink to dry before he carefully folded the contract, slipped it into a sheepskin folder, and locked the contract in the top drawer of his desk. He pocketed the desk key, then rubbed his palms together. “I believe this calls for a celebration.”

  Colin didn’t know if the situation called for a celebration, but he made no objection as Lord Davies walked over to the drinks table and began pulling out bottles.

  He didn’t need the ceremony, but he certainly needed the drink.

  “Brandy, Madeira, claret, or whisky?” The baron asked, looking first to his future son-in-law, then to his solicitor and the Bow Street detective.

  “Whisky,” Colin answered.

  “Claret for me, sir,” Wickham replied.

  “Brandy, if you will, sir,” Mr. Hayes responded.

  “And whisky for me.” Lord Davies couldn’t keep the note of glee from his voice. He poured the drinks and handed the glasses around before lifting his in toast. “Here’s to a long and successful union.”

  “Hear, hear,” Wickham and the solicitor echoed.

  “To Lady Grantham,” Colin murmured softly, briefly clinking his glass against Lord Davies’s before taking a hefty swallow of the bracing whisky.

  “I’ll have Hayes draw up another copy of the agreement,” Lord Davies offered, “and have it sent around to your solicitor for review. We can negotiate the points you deem less than advantageous once your solicitor has had an opportunity to read it.”

  Colin nodded. “I’ve no complaints with the generous dowry or the general terms of the contract, Lord Davies. I find it quite favorable.”

  “Mr. Hayes and I decided any marriage contract we devised must offer a few more incentives once my daughter returned from Scotland without her groom. Her purity can no longer be guaranteed, and we thought it prudent to make allowances for that fact. Mr. Hayes suggested that we treat her as if she were a new widow and proceed accordingly.”

  Colin bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that a new widow wouldn’t need to worry about protecting her good name and would, most likely, have inherited at least a widow’s portion of her husband’s estate, whereas the illegal wife of a bigamist might be haunted by the specter of scandal and gossip for years. But the solicitor’s suggestions explained the modest amount of the pin money he was to provide while he lived and the generous and extremely favorable terms regarding the jointure and children’s portions after his death.

  The marriage contract Lord Davies and his solicitor had crafted minimized the bridegroom’s expenses and maximized the gain. In this marriage document, the husband benefited from the alliance to a much greater degree than the bride. He gained a fortune and the prospect of an heir. She gained safe haven and protection from those who would sully her name. Lord Davies had waived a number of the customary safeguards generally included to protect his female offspring and ordered a contract drawn up that virtually guaranteed that his daughter’s intended would have no reason to cry off at the last minute.

  While Colin didn’t object to benefiting financially, he greatly objected to the idea that Gillian Davies might suffer financially. “I’ve signed the existing contract,” Colin reminded him, “but I’d consider it a personal favor if you would have your solicitor include a larger separate estate for your daughter’s protection.” He looked Lord Davies in the eye. “My father is an inveterate gambler. I’ll not have it said that I entered into an agreement that left my bride-to-be vulnerable. As an heiress, she should be protected from financial ruin in the event I develop a similar propensity for losing vast quantities of my wife’s fortune.”

  Lord Davies bit back a smile. “I don’t foresee that happening.”

  “I’m sure my maternal grandfather didn’t foresee that happening to my mother, either,” Colin pointed out. “And as a consequence of losing her fortune, my mother and my siblings are dependent upon my generosity and the generosity of strangers in order to survive. I would not have a similar situation thrust upon your daughter or upon my heir, should God see fit to grace me with one. I insist upon that modification of the contract.” He glanced at Mr. Hayes. “I admit that I can be bought, but that particular issue is not negotiable.”

  “Agreed.” Lord Davies was wise enough to realize that the young viscount was smarting from the impending loss of his bachelor status and the manner in which it had come about. Grantham was a good negotiator, but an older, more experienced and ruthless one had bested him. In large part, because the young viscount was more far more honorable than he believed himself to be.

  After witnessing that exchange between Lord Davies and Viscount Grantham, the Bow Street runner drained his glass and set it on the drinks table. Lord Davies’s solicitor immediately followed suit. “We should be going, sir,” Wickham said.

  “Yes, of course.” Lord Davies pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to the detective. “Thank you, Mr. Wickham. I appreciate the work you’ve done on my daughter’s behalf.”

  Wickham took the envelope and tucked into his pocket. “I�
�m pleased everything has worked out to your satisfaction, my lords.”

  Saunders knocked on the study door.

  Lord Davies opened it. “Mr. Wickham and Mr. Hayes are leaving,” he told the butler. “Please see them out.”

  “Very good, sir.” Saunders bowed and allowed the detective and the solicitor to precede him before he withdrew from the study and closed the door behind them.

  Lord Davies waited until the others had left the room before he turned to Colin and asked, “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  Colin placed his empty whisky glass on the drinks table. “A reprieve.”

  The baron laughed. “After all the trouble I went to in order to force your hand? Not bloody likely.”

  “The blackmail of an innocent man is troubling business,” Colin retorted. “But you were quite up to the task.”

  “Only because you made it possible,” Lord Davies answered. “You allowed it. Had you not agreed to meet with me this afternoon, I would still be engaged in the hunt for the other, more elusive Colin Fox.”

  “Unfortunately for us, you were much more likely to damage my work and bring harm to my colleagues with your persistent probing than locate the impostor and put an end to his nefarious ways.” Colin exhaled. “I took a calculated risk that I could prevail upon you to end your search, and I failed.”

  “You failed because I have as much to protect as you,” Lord Davies said. “And equal justification for doing so. I can’t allow your impostor to continue to victimize my daughter or other young ladies of good family. You understand the risks and the rules of the games you play. The young ladies your impostor preys upon did not. Don’t they deserve the same measure of protection and secrecy you and your colleagues enjoy?”

  “Yes,” Colin replied. “And I entered into a personal contract with you in order to insure they have it.”

  Lord Davies smiled. “Doesn’t the fact that I’m willing to guarantee you profit handsomely from our personal contract mean anything?”