Marcus gritted his teeth, holding the words back.He rose and strolled toward the mantlepiece, his back to her, as if warming himself—though the grate was empty—while he tried to master his rage and work out how to tell her.And how much to tell her.Would she even believe him if he told her the unvarnished truth?
Probably not.Nevertheless, she had to be told.He couldn’t let her be persuaded to sacrifice herself a third time because of the lies her swine of a brother had told her—and this time Marcus knew for certain it was a lie—a big one, possibly the worst of all.
She wasn’t the mercenary ice-maiden Barney had warned him about.
He understood more now, and when she’d talked about her beloved Ferndale, her voice had warmed and he’d caught a glimpse, beneath the cool, polished facade, of the scruffy little girl who’d been passionate about her forest and the wildlife in it, and who cared nothing for riches or position.She wanted her home back.
But it was the one thing she couldn’t have.
It was none of his business—shewas none of his business—but he couldn’t help himself.She was his little friend of the forest, and her company had made his adolescent years at Alverleigh almost bearable.He was damned if he let her go on thinking her sacrifice would save her home, but how to explain it without telling her the whole story?It was the devil of a coil.
He resumed his seat.“You say Ferndale is mortgaged to the hilt?”
She nodded.“Yes, and the mortgage holder is threatening imminent foreclosure unless we pay him immediately.That’s why Edgar was in a hurry to get me married.But I’ve convinced him to look for a different solution.”
Marcus took a deep breath.“I don’t quite know how to tell you this, Tessa, but the Ferndale estate was sold two years ago.”
She stared at him, then shook her head.“No, you’re mistaken.It can’t have been sold.The Ferndale estate belongs to me and came to me from my mother.She—or more likely my grandfather—must have known of the Blaxland tendency to gamble, and so it was written into her marriage settlements.So you see it can’t possibly be sold without my permission— and I would never sell Ferndale.Never.”
“Nevertheless, it was sold two years ago.”
Two spots of color rose in her cheeks.“You’re wrong, I tell you.It’s not possible.”Her knuckles were white around her tea cup.
“Do you think I’d make such a mistake about an estate that borders my own?Ferndale has changed hands.Another family is living there now.”
“No.”Her complexion turned chalky.“It can’t have been sold.It can’t.”She was almost whispering, as if trying to convince herself.But he could tell she more than half believed him.
She rallied.“Edgar can’t have sold it, not without my permission.And I would never give it, never.”
“You mentioned he used to get you to sign documents.”
She stiffened.“Sometimes.”
“And do you read them—every detail?”
She looked at him, stricken.Her expression said it all.
There was a long silence.She put down her barely touched tea cup and pushed it away.The clock in the hallway chimed the hour and she jumped and rose to her feet.“My brother will be back soon, and he won’t be happy to see you here.He dislikes callers and can get quite unpleasant about it, so I will bid you good day, Lord Alverleigh.It was kind of you to call.”He could tell her mind was still elsewhere, no doubt reeling from the news he’d given her.
Marcus rose.“We used to be Marcus and Tessa.”
She shook her head sadly.“Goodbye, Lord Alverleigh.”
He moved toward the door, then turned back.Producing his silver card case, he took out a card and handed it to her, saying, “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know.”
She glanced at it, but made no move to take it, so he placed it on a small side-table and left.
The butler slammed the door behind him.
