A Necessary Husband (3 page)

“It’s a rather indelicate matter,” she stalled.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s even better.”

The man was a scoundrel, to sit there and fix
those stunning blue eyes on her while demanding that she speak of things no lady was supposed to know about! “It’s something of a family secret,” she admitted, heat creeping into her cheeks. “I really do think you should ask your grandfather to explain.”

“I don’t agree,” he said softly. “You’re blushing, Mrs. Devering.”

“Of course, I’m blushing!” she snapped. “You are making me quite uncomfortable.”

“Good,” he said, dimples flashing. “Now what was this deep, dark secret you were about to reveal?”

“Captain, please. I really cannot.”

“I like the way you say that,” he murmured. “‘Captain, please.’ I’d like to please you, Lucinda.”

His warm, low voice stirred longings she hadn’t felt in years. She squelched the rebellious emotions. “My name is Mrs. Devering,” she corrected, but her tone wasn’t as chiding as she would have liked. “And I will thank you not to seduce me at the breakfast table.”

“My apologies,” he replied. “Where would you like me to seduce you, then?”

“Your uncle did not like females,” she blurted out. “Obviously, we do not have that concern with you!”

Garrett burst out laughing as understanding lit his features. “Old Erasmus really did it, didn’t
he? He disowned the one son who could provide him with an heir!”

“You
are
his heir,” she snapped. “And you have quite ruined my breakfast.”

She stood to leave, but he held up a hand, still chuckling. “Sit, Mrs. Devering. I apologize.”

She hesitated.

“Sit,” he told her again, his face creasing in amusement. “I promise to behave.”

Slowly she sat down again, watching him closely. “I shall hold you to that, Captain.”

“Let’s change the subject,” he suggested. “I had heard that the English do not rise before noon, yet everyone seems to be up already.”

“We keep country hours at Raynewood,” she informed him, taking a bite of her now cold eggs. “Only Meg is still abed, but as the dance master arrives this afternoon, she will be rising soon as well.”

“I see.” Garrett attacked his breakfast again. Then he looked up and pointed his fork at her. “If Lady Agatha is the chaperone, why does Meg need you?”

Alarm streaked through her at the question, and her heart skipped a beat. Then she took a deep, calming breath. No one knew her true circumstances. Well, almost no one.

“The duke felt Meg needed someone younger, to be a companion,” she replied evenly, managing somehow to keep placidly eating her eggs.
“Lady Agatha is a lady of some years, and His Grace felt that a high-spirited young girl might be too much for her.”

“So he hired you.”

She clenched her teeth in annoyance. Was the man never satisfied? “I assure you, Captain, that I am
not
His Grace’s employee. I am simply a friend of the family who is doing him a favor.”

“And for that favor, you get to stay here in this huge house and live off my grandfather?”

Color rose again in her cheeks. She jerked to her feet and threw her napkin down on the table, her entire body quivering with fury and fear. The irritating man was skating uncomfortably close to the truth.

Fascinated, Garrett put down his fork. Her flushed cheeks and anger-bright eyes contrasted with the pale green of her dress, bringing her loveliness to life.

“You, sir, do not know what you are talking about,” she said in a low, clipped tone. But her fingers crushed the napkin where it rested on the table.

“Maybe I don’t,” he agreed, watching her with interest. “But something sure has you all worked up.”

“Good day, Captain,” she said tightly, and swept from the room as if she couldn’t stand his presence another moment.

Garrett looked at her empty chair and the
crumpled napkin. So the lovely Mrs. Devering was a widow. That changed everything, as he was now free to seduce her with a clear conscience. She looked like a woman who could use a good romp between the sheets, and he was just the man for the job. Which brought him to his grandfather.

Was there something illicit going on between the duke and Mrs. Devering? She had acted very strangely when he had suggested it. Did she see the duke as a meal ticket? Was she his mistress?

If something was going on between the two of them that he didn’t like, there was no way Meg was staying another day. He dug into his breakfast. He would have his answers soon, one way or another.

The man was a complete barbarian, Lucinda thought, storming down the hallway. And his remarks had been far too close for comfort.

She paused in her flight, pressing her palms to her flaming cheeks.

The American was too bold and spoke too easily of things that should be left unsaid. He would never understand her reasons for accepting the duke’s bargain. How desperate she had been. How trapped.

She closed her eyes to will away the memories, but they came anyway. The tradesmen pounding on her door the day after her hus
band’s death. The salacious lord who had approached her at Harry’s funeral to collect a gaming debt—any way she cared to pay it. The lovely country house, the only place she had been happy during the ten years of her marriage, sold to cover Harry’s vowels. Yet it still wasn’t enough.

And then there was Malcolm.

Just his name made her drop her hands from her face and straighten her spine. Malcolm would
not
defeat her.

She would survive, even if she had to go around Garrett Lynch to accomplish her objectives. He had no concept of correct social behavior, and worse, she wouldn’t put it past him to deliberately sabotage Meg’s chances to make a good match—especially once they moved to London for the Season.

And the way he looked at her! She had heard tell of lusty sailors, but last night…No one had
ever
looked at her that way. It was…indecent! Yes, that was the word.
Not
exciting. That was not what she had meant at all.

With any luck, Garrett would soon return to America and leave her—leave all of them—in peace.

“Mrs. Devering, a word if you please,” the duke said from the doorway of his study. “
Now
, if you please,” he repeated, then disappeared into the room.

With a feeling of dread shadowing every step, she walked into the study.

“Kindly close the door,” the duke said, seating himself behind his desk. He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t have to. The Duke of Raynewood had spent eighty-five years learning how to command people with the sheer power of his presence.

And it was effective, Lucinda thought, taking the chair the duke indicated with a sweep of his hand. No one could intimidate better than the Duke of Raynewood.

“Have you just come from breakfast?” he asked, glancing through some papers.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then I take it you must have seen my grandson.”

She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Yes, I did, Your Grace.”

“He’s grown into a handsome lad.” He looked at her expectantly.

“Indeed, sir.”

The duke leaned back in his chair. “He does credit to the Stanton name—though he would deny the connection if he could.”

Unsure where the conversation was going, Lucinda could only murmur, “Yes, Your Grace.”

“But he’s my grandson and my heir, Mrs. Devering, whether he wills it or no. I would like time
to convince him to stay in England and take on his responsibilities.”

Though she fervently hoped otherwise, Lucinda pointed out, “He has said he will not leave until Meg does. She intends to stay the full season, if not permanently, which should give you plenty of time to get to know each other.”

The elderly man tapped his fingers on the desk. “I do not think Garrett will wait that long. I saw him this morning, speaking with one of the men from his ship. It wouldn’t surprise me if he means to take Margaret away with him by force.”

“What!” Lucinda rose to her feet. “Your Grace, are you certain?”

“No, I am not certain, but the possibility does exist.” He raised his brows at her, and she slowly sat as he continued, “I am very fond of my granddaughter, Mrs. Devering, and being a selfish man, I would like to keep her with me as long as possible. It is my greatest hope that she will marry well and settle here in England. Should Garrett succeed in spiriting her away, I doubt he would allow her to return until long after I was in my grave, if then.”

“Surely he would not be so cruel?”

“I’m certain he would not see it that way. But he is very angry with me, and he sees me as a threat to Margaret.”

Lucinda nodded. “I believe you are correct. He is very protective of his sister.”

“As am I, Mrs. Devering. I want what is best for my granddaughter, but that is where my grandson and I have differing opinions.” He gave a small, sardonic smile. “Among other things.”

“Perhaps, over time—” she began.

“Over time, I shall be in my grave, with my estates abandoned and my granddaughter an ocean away!” The duke took a deep, calming breath. “To make certain none of these things comes to pass, I am charging you with keeping an eye on my granddaughter, Mrs. Devering.”

Lucinda nodded. “Of course.”

“And my grandson.”

“What?” Once more, Lucinda surged out of her chair. “Your Grace, it is one thing to have charge of a young girl, but quite another to attempt to keep track of a grown man!”

“Be seated, Mrs. Devering.”

“You can not ask such a thing of me,” she continued, her voice rising. “It is impossible!”

“
Be seated!
” he thundered.

Lucinda sat.

“Perhaps you misunderstood me,” the duke said in a low, dangerous voice. “We have an agreement, Mrs. Devering.”

“Garrett Lynch was not part of the agreement.”

“I have changed it.” Calmly, the elderly man folded his hands before him on his desk.

“You cannot do that!”

He raised his brows. “I have just done so. Mrs. Devering, you have always maintained an impeccable reputation for good breeding and elegance. You have done your family name proud, and I am certain your father would have been pleased.”

Lucinda nodded stiffly.

“However…” He paused. “Before his death, your husband acquired a shocking amount of gaming debts. And for some reason, his brother, Lord Arndale, has not paid these debts of honor.”

Lucinda set her jaw at the mention of Malcolm Devering, her brother-in-law. She knew exactly why Malcolm had not paid Harry’s debts, and it had nothing at all to do with honor. “That is correct, Your Grace.”

The duke continued, “You are in a difficult situation, madam. Without my help, you do not have the means to repay the amount.”

“I have my mother’s pearl necklace,” she whispered, desperate to gain some control over the situation.

The duke shook his head. “You and I both know that the necklace would make but a small dent in such a sum.”

Feeling trapped, she said, “It is all I have, Your Grace.”

“Not at all, madam.” He steepled his fingers. “You have a respectable family pedigree and excellent social standing. You have entrée into the salon of every society hostess, and your demeanor is that of a lady in every way. Your reputation is quite unassailable, despite the current gossip.”

Her cheeks heated. “You mean the tale of how my husband died.”

“Indeed. While the gossips have continued to chew on this particular tidbit, I have noticed that your husband’s actions have not injured your own consequence. It’s quite remarkable.”

“I’m glad you approve, Your Grace,” she said with a tight smile.

He looked uncomfortable for a brief moment. “Yes, well, it is an uncommon tale, and you have weathered the storm quite exceptionally.”

Uncommon tale indeed!
My husband died in his mistress’s bed. He broke his neck during one of their shocking games with whips and ropes
.

“A woman of your fortitude should have no trouble handling my grandson,” the duke continued, “so I want you to keep him in your sights as much as possible. I have plans for him, as well. I intend to arrange a match for him with Lady Penelope Albright.”

“He will never agree,” she blurted out.

“I am aware of this, Mrs. Devering.” She flushed. “You will assist me in making sure Gar
rett and Lady Penelope spend time together while we are in London. Once he marries the daughter of an English peer, he will be more inclined to stay here in England and tend to his responsibilities.”

“It is not my place—”

“Your place is where I say it is, Mrs. Devering! I will arrange the introduction to Lady Penelope, while you turn my grandson into a proper Englishman.”

“Impossible,” she whispered.

“You must make it possible.” He stood. The sunlight streamed in through the window behind him and shadowed his face, making him seem all-powerful. “For if you fail in this, if my grandson returns to America, then our bargain is forfeit.”

“But, Your Grace—”

“Forfeit, Mrs. Devering.” He stepped forward and held her trapped with his cool, dark gaze. “Without me, you will never be able to fund your own season, and your reputation will be ruined once word of your financial difficulties gets out. Which it must, at some juncture. You will never be able to make the match you so desperately require. We need each other, madam.”

“But—”

“Good day, Mrs. Devering.”

The words were a dismissal. Rising, she left the study, remembering how less than an hour
ago she had been hoping to rid herself of Garrett Lynch.

Now she was totally bound to the man. Turn Garrett Lynch into an English gentleman? Impossible! He would resist every step of the way. Yet if Garrett succeeded in convincing Meg to leave with him before the end of the season, he would take Lucinda’s future with him.

She had no choice. She had to make him comply with the duke’s wishes—by whatever means possible.

G
arrett descended from his room shortly after two o’clock. He had been waiting all day to speak to Meg, but first she’d been sleeping, and then she was dressing.

He was not used to being idle.

Pursuing Mrs. Devering would have been an amusing pastime, but the lady had not reappeared after her dramatic exit from the breakfast room. No matter. Their paths would cross again, and he would have another opportunity to charm the lovely widow into his bed.

He had been over a year at sea, and he didn’t dally with innocents or other men’s wives. But a widow…He grinned wickedly.

Since Mrs. Devering had gone to ground, he sought other means of passing the time. He had already been down to the stables to take a look at
Raynewood’s admittedly excellent horseflesh, then he had perused some titles in the library. He had walked the grounds. Twice. He had viewed the gardens. Finally he had attended to some correspondence that had been neglected while he chased all over the world after his errant sibling. Letters in his hand, he stopped one of the maids as she passed through the foyer.

“Excuse me, miss. Do you know if my sister has come downstairs yet?”

The young girl bobbed a quick curtsy. “Not yet, Your Lordship. She’s dressing.”

“Still? She’s been dressing for the past hour!” He scowled. How long did it take the girl to put on a dress and brush her hair?

As if that did not make him impatient enough, the servants insisted on addressing him by the blasted title, no matter how many times he had tried to convince them otherwise. He had finally given up.

Catching the nervous look in the maid’s eyes, he deliberately softened his expression. “What’s your name?”

“Alice, Your Lordship.”

“Alice, would you please let my sister know that I need to speak to her? I’ll be in the gardens.”

“That won’t be necessary, Alice. I’m right here.”

Garrett looked up and saw Meg coming down the stairs. Once again, he was struck by how
much she had changed. She wore a fashionable dress of pale pink, and her dark hair was carefully arranged in cascading curls. And she walked down the stairs. Slowly. Elegantly. He remembered, on the rare occasions he had come home, how she used to run down the stairs of their house in Boston to throw herself breathlessly into his arms.

Were the English stifling every bit of spirit she possessed? Where was the feisty girl he loved so much? The sooner he got her home, the better.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Garrett said as Meg reached them. “You never used to stay in bed until noon or take over an hour to get dressed.”

“I never used to stay up late at a soirée thrown in my honor, either,” Meg replied coolly. “Do you need to post those letters?”

Soirée?
Frowning, he looked down at the letters in his hand. “Actually, I wanted to send them over to Tim O’Brien so they could go out with the
Trinity
.”

“We’ll have a footman take them.” Before he could respond, Meg plucked the letters from his hand and turned to the maid. “Alice, would you please have Stephens send one of the footmen to deliver these to my brother’s ship?”

“Certainly.” Dipping a curtsy, Alice took the letters and hurried off.

Garrett peered at his sister skeptically. She
seemed so poised. Where was the little minx who had once tried to stow away on one of his ships? Where was the laughing, vivacious young woman he had left in Boston over a year ago?

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Meg asked politely.

She spoke to him as if he were some vague acquaintance and not the brother who had practically raised her! He didn’t like this one bit. She reminded him of some unfeeling English-woman, afraid to put a hair out of place. How was he supposed to talk this cool stranger into coming home to Boston with him?

“Well?” she asked, lifting her brows in that condescending manner that seemed to run in the family.

“Let’s go out to the garden,” he replied. “I’d like some privacy.”

“As you wish.” Head held high, Meg led the way.

Garrett felt a small sense of accomplishment as they arrived in the garden, once he realized that he could have gotten there without Meg’s guidance. It seemed his navigational skills were still intact.

Meg led the way down the path to a stone bench surrounded by young cherry trees bursting with pale pink blossoms. She turned and faced him, her expression still unreadable.

“What did you want to speak to me about, Garrett?” she asked. “My dance master arrives in less than an hour.”

“You already know how to dance,” he pointed out.

“Hardly.” With a haughty toss of her head, she drawled, “I know the colonial dances. Today Monsieur Collineau is going to teach me the waltz.”

“Colonial? Have you forgotten that you
are
a so-called colonial?”

“Not here, I’m not. Here I am Miss Margaret Stanton-Lynch, granddaughter of the Duke of Raynewood.”

“Stanton-Lynch? What the hell is that all about?”

“Garrett, really! Your language!” She gave a sniff of disapproval that made him want to throttle her. “Our father’s name was Stanton, after all. He only changed it to annoy Grandfather.”

“It was always good enough for you before,” Garrett ground out. “Meggie, what are you doing? Why don’t you quit all this foolishness and come home where you belong?”

He finally caught a glimpse of the old Meg as her blue eyes sparked with temper. “Home to Boston, you mean? What is there for me now? Mother is gone, and you’ll go sailing off again as soon as we arrive.”

“Meg—”

“At least Grandfather won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know that!” Garrett roared. “He abandoned our father, didn’t he? He’s only playing at this because he needs us. He needs
me. I’m
his precious heir!”

“Grandfather loves me!” she shouted back. “This is not about you, Garrett William Lynch!”

Garrett’s heart lightened.
Here
was the Meggie he knew.

“Don’t fool yourself, Meg. Once his older son died, the old man had no one left to take on his precious title. That’s all he’s ever cared about. That’s why he disowned our father.”

“That was over thirty years ago,” she snapped. “People change.”

“Not that old coot. If I ever saw anyone set in his ways, it’s him.”

“There’s no talking to you,” Meg declared, throwing her hands in the air. “As long as I can remember, you’ve given the orders, and I was supposed to obey them. Did you ever once consider that I might want some say in my future?”

“You were just a child.”

“Garrett, I’m twenty-two years old. I haven’t been a child for a long time,” she said quietly.

Had she screamed the statement at him, he might have been able to ignore it. But her sad solemnity made him pause.
Had
he been too overbearing recently? Meg was eight years
younger than he was, and he was used to taking care of her. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

“You’re right.”

She had actually parted her lips to argue before she realized what he’d said. Closing her mouth, she looked at him curiously.

“You’re right,” he said again. “It’s just that I’ve been in charge of the family for so long, I never noticed when you grew up.”

“You weren’t home enough,” she said, but the words had no heat.

“I was trying to support a family, Meg. I know you can’t understand that, but it was important to me to give you the best I could.”

“No, I do understand it.” She began to stroll as she spoke, reaching up to gently touch one soft, pink cherry blossom. “But what you don’t understand is that I don’t remember our father, Garrett. I was only three years old when he died at sea. You’re the closest thing to a father I have ever had. And I needed you.”

“I’ve always been here for you.”

“No, you haven’t.” Plucking the bloom from the tree, she met his gaze. Her eyes were sad. “I didn’t need the money you sent as much as I needed you, Garrett.”

He sighed. “We’ve been over this, Meg. I can’t change the past.”

“Neither of us can. But things are different now. Mother is gone and now we’ve found
Grandfather. You don’t need to work so hard. You’ve done well, Garrett, but it’s time to make changes.”

“I don’t want anything to do with that old man,” Garrett grumbled. “He can keep his stiff-rumped English ways and his precious fortune and his blasted title.”

Meg let out a sigh of exasperation. “Has it occurred to you, Garrett Lynch, that maybe Grandfather is sorry for what he did?”

Garrett laughed harshly. “
Him
? Hardly.”

“You are so stubborn! Why can’t you stop being so angry at him and see that he regrets what he did?”

“Because of what he did, our parents are dead,” Garrett ground out. “Da would never have had to go to sea if he’d been here in England, living the life he was raised for. And Ma got so sick after I was born that they almost didn’t have any more children. If the duke had accepted her as our father’s wife, she would have had better medical care. She was never really strong again after you were born, and that’s probably what killed her.”

“And I feel guilty every day because of that,” Meg said, her voice catching on the words.

“It’s not your fault, Meggie.” Hurting for her, Garrett searched for words of comfort. “You know how much she wanted children. If you want to blame someone, blame that selfish old
bastard for denying her a life she should have had, a life where she might not have gotten so sick. Where neither of them would have died.”

“And don’t you think
we’re
entitled to that life?” Meg’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “Don’t you think he owes us? Even if you can’t believe that he’s sorry, Garrett, can’t you find some way to accept what he’s offering?”

“I’m sorry, Meg, but I don’t want anything from him. And I don’t want you near him, either. I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

“
You’re
the one who’s hurting me, Garrett!” She threw the flower at him. “For once, I want something for myself. Did you know Grandfather is going to present me at court? That he’s going to take me to London and buy me beautiful clothes and introduce me to earls and princes and grand ladies? I want that! I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.”

“Damn it, Meggie,
why
? I’ve tried to give you everything. What can I do to make it better?”

“You can let me do this, Garrett.” She gave him a steady look full of so much maturity that he was shocked. “I know you, and you probably thought you would take a couple of days to talk me into going home with you. And then once you got me home to Boston, I bet you’d never allow me near England again.”

“I…” Garrett shut his mouth. She had him there.

She narrowed her eyes at his guilty expression. “I bet you even sent Tim off to handle business while you bided your time to talk some sense into me. Well, I have news for you, Garrett. I am
not
leaving England until I get what I want.”

Garrett rubbed a hand over his face. “What
do
you want?” he asked wearily.

“I want to go to London. I want to be presented at court. And I want you to be there with me.”

“Me, in London?” He snorted. “With those primping idiots and those empty-headed women? Are you crazy?”

“Yes, you in London,” Meg said with a steel in her voice that he had to admire. “We’ll get you some clothes, and you can come with me to all the parties.”

“Clothes again?” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“It’s not correct dress for an English peer. Which you are, whether you like it or not.” She put her hands on her hips. “I want to spend some time with you, Garrett, and I want a taste of what Grandfather is offering. Then I’ll discuss going home with you.”

Garrett remained silent for a long moment. She really wasn’t asking so much. And once she saw what fools the English nobles could be, she’d be eager to return to sensible Boston society. Once she was back in Boston, maybe he would see about being home more often and
throwing a party or two for her. Young girls liked that sort of thing.

“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll come to London, but I can’t stay there forever. I still have a business to run.”

“Oh, Garrett, thank you!” She ran and threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly, relishing this glimpse of the old Meggie.

“Just don’t marry some damned Englishman,” he murmured into her hair.

She just hugged him more tightly. For now, that was enough.

The dance master’s name was Monsieur Collineau, and he looked, Garrett thought, like a stork dressed in expensive clothing. The tall, thin fellow had a beak of a nose and spindly legs, and his shirt points rose so high that Garrett was amazed he didn’t put an eye out every time he turned his head.

And if “Monsieur Collineau” had been born anywhere near France, Garrett would eat Tim O’Brien’s hat.

No one had spotted Garrett yet. He stood in the door of the music room and watched as Lady Agatha played the pianoforte for Meg, who danced with Lucinda. The lovely widow had changed her gown to one of soft brown, which molded her slender figure and emphasized the whiteness of her skin. Her tawny curls bounced
as she waltzed with Meg, yet a small frown creased the delicate skin between her brows.

“No, no, no!” Monsieur Collineau cried, clapping his hands together. Lady Agatha stopped playing. “This is wrong, all wrong.”

Lucinda sighed and brushed a stray curl back into place as the tall, thin dance master paced the floor of the music room.

“You should be graceful,” Monsieur declared, “not clomping about like a dairy maid through a muddy field! Let us try again.”

“This is not going to work,” Meg said, folding her arms obstinately.

“It
must
work, my lady,” Monsieur Collineau said sternly. “You must learn to waltz if you are going to be a success this season! Come, Madame Devering, take your places again.”

Lucinda hesitated. “Monsieur, perhaps Miss Stanton-Lynch is correct. I am not used to playing the man’s part in the waltz, and I am finding it difficult to remember where to put my feet.”