The Marriage Bargain Read Free Page A

if powder had suddenly exploded in their faces.
    The fair one approached her. “Lady Kellworth?” His voice rose incredulously. “Allow me to make our introduction. I am Viscount Blakewell and this is Mr. Gideon Wolfe. We are friends of . . . of your husband.” He had to swallow to get those last words out.
    Emma extended her hand. “How do you do.”
    Blakewell shook it, managing a congenial smile that created two deep dimples creasing his cheeks, but did not reach his eyes. “Forgive us, my lady. We are somewhat surprised at your appearance.”
    She could not doubt that, trying to surreptitiously fold the tattered lace under her sleeve before turning to shake Mr. Wolfe’s hand.
    “Where is my husband, gentlemen? Perhaps you may give me his direction so I might contact him.”
    The two men exchanged dark glances.
    Emma could guess what that meant. “He has forbidden you to give me his direction, I suppose?” She gave a derisive laugh. “Well, I beg you would pass on a message from me to him. It is about his estate—”
    Mr. Wolfe broke in, his gaze filled with suspicion. “The place looks shabby. Neglected. Why has it not been cared for?”
    Emma bristled, tossing the dark man the quelling look he deserved. “I have kept out the elements and made sure its people had food to eat. More than that I’ve not had the pleasure to accomplish.”
    Blakewell stepped between her and the indignant Mr. Wolfe. “There is much we do not know.” His eyes full of sympathy, he reached toward her as if to pat her on the arm.
    Emma stepped out of his reach. She did not know these gentlemen any better than she knew her husband. “What is the purpose of your visit, if you please?”
    The two men again exchanged looks that could only be described as stressed.
    A muscle near Blakewell’s eye twitched. “Do sit down, Lady Kellworth. Perhaps a companion might be summoned to join you?”
    Emma felt apprehension, as insidious as a garden weed, grow through her from head to toe. “I will stand, thank you.” She managed to keep her voice steady.
    Blakewell paused, turning away and pressing his fingers against his eyes before facing her again. “Your husband is dead, ma’am. We come bearing his coffin.”
    Even though she had guessed what his words would be, Emma felt as if the walls of Kellworth had fallen down upon her. It was difficult to remain on her feet.
    She closed her eyes. “How?”
    “He was killed—” he began.
    Mr. Wolfe interrupted. “Blake, take care!”
    Emma could hear Blakewell turn from her to address his friend. “We must tell her. She is Spence’s wife, man.”
    “What do we know of her?” Wolfe countered. “Nothing. We ought to heed what we do.”
    Emma opened her eyes and raised her voice. “How did my husband die?”
    Mr. Wolfe swung away and paced over to the window. Blakewell stared at her a long time, before finally answering her. “He was killed in a duel.”
    Another blow. His death had not been due to something as honorable as war, or natural as illness. It had been in a duel, a useless way to die, something men chose to do over such trifles as insults or card games or women.
    At the thought of Spence fighting over a woman, a surprising shaft of pain nearly doubled her over. She hoped Blakewell had not noticed, and tried to manage a brave stare. “Pray tell me why my husband fought a duel.”
    Blakewell took a breath. “He was accused of cheating at cards—”
    “He cheated at cards,” she repeated in disgust.
    Nearly as bad as dueling over a woman. Until Spence’s abandonment of Kellworth, Emma would not have thought him so lost to honor as to cheat. Had Spence fallen that much in debt?
    “He was falsely accused!” Mr. Wolfe cried. “And, if you ask me, he was set up.”
    “Yes. Yes,” agreed Blakewell. He gave Emma an intent look. “He was not cheating, my lady, but need I say this is a delicate matter. Duels are illegal, you must know, and, for everyone’s sake, especially