tables at a single sitting.’
Eve stared at him in astonishment. ‘Might I ask how much?’
‘If you are interested. It was thirty-five thousand pounds.’
She was stunned, unable to believe anybody could lose so much money, although her Aunt Shona had told her on one of her visits to London, that the rattling of a dice box or ill luck at cards, could well result in many a gentleman’s country estate being lost, and that as a result suicides were not uncommon.
‘But that is an enormous sum of money.’
‘Indeed it is. It is not something that can be dismissed with a flick of the wrist.’
‘And what did he do? Could he pay?’
Marcus smiled indulgently at her naïvety. ‘No. His estate was already mortgaged up to the hilt. Facing ruination, anyone else would have shot himself—but not Gerald Somerville. He took the only option and borrowed the money from unscrupulous moneylenders—who, on learning of your father’s death and knowing Gerald was his heir, have called in the loan…with astronomical interest. These men are ruthless and show no mercy to those who cannot pay. I have heard that they are exerting enormous pressure on him, so I don’t wonder at his anger on finding Atwood Mine is not his by right. He is in deep water. He needs it desperately to pay off his loan and get the these men off his back.’
Eve was astounded to learn all this. ‘I—I had no idea Gerald’s situation was so serious.’
‘Yes, it is. Inheriting your father’s estate will have come as a godsend to him—but your father has seen to it that he has not come into a fortune. Through his own hard work and good management the estate has never been so prosperous, and if Gerald is sensible and takes legal advice on how to settle his loan, then it will continue to be so—but if he does not mend his ways then I am afraid that in no time at all you will begin to see signs of its decline. Everything your father has worked so hard to achieve will be eradicated in one fell swoop.’
Eve winced, the very idea of her beloved home being mortgaged to pay off Gerald’s gambling debts and falling into the greedy hands of moneylenders and suchlike angering her beyond words. But there was nothing she could do.
‘Which is why your father made quite sure his financial affairs were put in order before he died.’
‘It’s a pity he did not consider putting me before his financial affairs,’ Eve remarked bitterly. ‘It seems to me that I was as much his property as Atwood Mine.’
‘But a more desirable property,’ Marcus smiled, his expression softening.
‘Am I?’ she remarked coldly. ‘I’m glad you think so, Mr Fitzalan, but that does not alter the fact that you cannot have one without the other—or, at least, you cannot have the mine without me, whereas you would not have me without the mine by choice.’
Marcus frowned with annoyance. ‘You do me an injustice, Miss Somerville. I am not nearly as mercenary as you make me out to be.’
‘And I have every reason to think you are,’ she shot back at him, referring to their encounter three years ago. ‘But what if I do not agree to marry you? And if my father thought so highly of you, why did he not leave Atwood Mine to you outright, knowing how important it is to you? It would certainly have avoided all these complications and I would not be faced with the daunting prospect of marrying a man not of my choosing—a man I have every reason in the world to despise. I could as easily have gone to Cumbria to live with my grandmother—or to London to my Aunt Shona.’
‘He knew that—just like he knew you would see the sense in what he was asking of you. I tend to share Mr Soames’s view.’
‘And that is?’
‘That, if it were not for his untimely death, he would have explained it to you himself—and to me. He probably believed you would fall prey to all manner of fortune hunters if you were left alone.’
‘What? Two thousand pounds is hardly a fortune, Mr Fitzalan.’
‘Two thousand pounds is a great deal of money to men who have nothing, Miss Somerville. Perhaps the conditions he laid down were his way of making sure you would be taken care of. Do not forget that your father desired only your peace of mind and future happiness. You must believe that.’
‘Which is why he has suggested making you my keeper, is that not so, Mr Fitzalan?’ she said scathingly. ‘However, I do not need you or anyone else to tell me what my own father desired for me,’ she said, lowering her head so he would not see the tears collecting her eyes.
‘Your husband—not your keeper,’ Marcus contradicted in a low voice.
‘Nevertheless, I confess I am bewildered by all this. It’s a riddle I cannot begin to comprehend. I always believed I knew how his mind worked—but it seems I was wrong. I would like to know why, knowing how I feel about you, he has used what can only be described as emotional blackmail to virtually force me into marriage with you. If I decide not to abide by his wishes, and I am sorely tempted not to,’ she said rebelliously, ‘then Gerald will stand to benefit enormously.’
‘That is true—and I implore you to consider his wishes seriously.’
Eve sighed deeply, so confused her head was spinning. Since her mother’s death and the onset of her father’s illness, she had stubbornly refused to consider the future and what it would mean to her when the inevitable happened, but now the future was with her and she was unprepared for the life that was being thrust at her. When she spoke a touch of anger had come to add to the bitterness of her disappointment.
‘Oh, I shall. I always knew how much my father’s work meant to him—Atwood Mine and all his other concerns—but it did not occur to me until now that he would allow his loyalty to all that, and to you, to affect his dealings with me, his daughter. Please—you must excuse me,’ she said quickly. ‘All this has come as something of a shock. I need some time to myself.’
‘Of course. I fully understand. I am leaving myself presently. I realise that you are your own mistress—but anger is a bad counsellor. Do not allow it to influence your decision, and do not foolishly refuse what is your due.’ He sighed. ‘We both have much to think about. I shall return to Burntwood Hall when you’ve had time to recover from today and we can talk seriously about what is to be done,’ he said, standing aside to let her pass.
‘Yes—thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘Goodbye, Mr Fitzalan.’
Marcus watched her go, staring thoughtfully after her. Meeting Eve Somerville for the first time in three years had been like being a contestant in the first round of a boxing match. She was possessed of the most formidable temper he’d ever witnessed in a woman, having a tongue that could flay the meanest man, gladly stamping on his pieces of lacerated flesh before finally pulverising them into dust with the heel of her pretty foot.
He realised that the lady was a termagant, but he sensed she had a magic quality—if she chose to use it. Troubled, he turned to go back to Alex Soames, his expression tightening, his brows drawn together in an ominous black line when he continued to think of her.
He had felt a slight sense of shock the first time she had looked at him fully, when her grandmother had brought her to be introduced to him after the funeral. There was something in her eyes that set his pulse racing and he felt a great sense of excitement—as he had on that other occasion when he had had her at his mercy three years ago. She looked very young—almost a child—yet he already knew that behind the childlike exterior there was a ripe sensuality just bursting to be set free.
Instinctively, he knew that no matter how in control and confident she might conceivably be, she had that bewitching quality that could well captivate a man and enslave him for life—a burgeoning femme fatale. Yet, when he recollected how outspoken she had been at the reading of the will, of the insult she had thrown at him and how quick she was to anger, then he would make damned sure she curbed that temper of hers if she became his wife; if she did not come to heel, she would feel more than the