An Indecent Proposition (39 page)

“Why on earth wouldn’t she?” His mother looked indignant.

“Her first experience with marriage was a disaster. She’s told me outright she doesn’t intend to marry again.” He paused for a moment and then added in a calm voice, “Which brings up another issue I’m sure will occur to you, if it hasn’t already. There’s the possibility she’s barren. During the course of several years of marriage she never conceived.”

There was no response, just silence, and Nicholas took another swallow of brandy. He went on, “I was hoping you’d approve anyway. Althea will like her. You’ll like her, I’m sure. More importantly,
I
like her. I am not indifferent to my duty, Mother. I realize the title and entailed portion of the estate would go to a distant cousin should I fail to have a son. It’s a devil of a dilemma to have to decide if sacrificing personal happiness is worth the gamble of marrying some young chit who might—or might not—give me a male child. I’ve never found the idea of it appealing in the first place and less so now. I only have this one life.”

“And she will complete it?” The question was said softly, his mother’s gaze fastened on his face.

Nicholas had done nothing but ponder the issue since his return from Aylesbury. “I think so. When I found myself contemplating the idea of being able to see her every day, I started to question my level of detachment. We . . . talk. The first time I met her, she quoted Alexander Pope, and I was struck by her lack of flirtatious affectation. We’ve discussed the latest mechanizations of the War Office, debated over the works of Horace and Virgil, and”—he couldn’t help it; he smiled remembering the argument—“we both like Herr Mozart’s work, but she thinks Haydn the greater master.”

“I . . . see.” It was a quiet statement.

Did she? He wanted her to understand. “Combined with the same level of enthusiasm as I feel over her undeniable feminine appeal, it was somewhat of a revelation. She interests me.”

His mother sat back a little, her sharpened gaze on his face. “That unique smile tells me you are in earnest.”

“I believe I am,” he said deliberately. “But I am concerned. If I ask, and if I am lucky enough she agrees, I want her accepted fully and with warmth. I can’t subject her to further indifference or hurt.”

“And you are protective. What a promising sign.” The dowager duchess gave him—to his relief—a brilliant, if somewhat misty, smile. “Darling, I am delighted for you, of course. What mother doesn’t want her child to be happy?”

“You approve?” Here he was, a grown man, an influential duke, no less, desperate for his mother’s approval. Still, it was important to him his family embrace the match without reservations.

She lifted her brows in a haughty way only she could manage, designed to send a chill through the air. “If she refuses you, let me talk to her. She’ll agree, mark my word. As for her childless state, we can only wait and see. Though everyone usually blames the woman, it could be her husband was the culprit. Perhaps it isn’t an issue. For that matter, fertility isn’t a guarantee anyway. The Earl of Wexton has six daughters and no sons, poor man. Their marriage portions alone will bankrupt him, I’m sure.”

The idea of six young females to manage was a bit daunting and Nicholas would have said something to the effect, except behind him someone cleared his throat loudly.

He turned to see one of the footmen there. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but there is a young man outside who insists on seeing you immediately. He refuses to state his business but says to tell you his name is Huw. That’s all he’ll say. I would have turned him away, but he swears you’ll wish to talk to him.”

Caroline’s young driver had come to see him? That was unconventional enough to send a flicker of alarm right through him and the word
immediately
didn’t help. Nicholas nodded. “Please take him to my study and tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Nicholas gave his mother an apologetic look, a different kind of anxiety replacing his earlier trepidation over telling her about this new turn in his life. She’d been remarkably supportive, so his doubts there were assuaged. He went over swiftly and bent to kiss her cheek. “Forgive me, but I have a feeling this is important. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked, correctly reading his expression, concern furrowing her brow.

“I hope not,” he answered grimly. “Excuse me.”

He walked swiftly across the polished floor of the hallway, his booted feet ringing in sharp staccato, the feeling of foreboding building. It could be nothing, he reassured himself. Maybe Caroline wished to see him but didn’t want to send a written request and used Huw as a medium of communication instead. After all, their parting after Aylesbury had been open-ended. He hadn’t proposed then, mostly because he wasn’t prepared. He’d had no ring, no speech ready, no idea even he was contemplating such a permanent change in his life. Caroline hadn’t petitioned him for a similar declaration of love or even a promise of a future meeting, and because his feelings had been in such turmoil, he’d gratefully accepted her silence on the subject of the future.

But on the ride back to London, he’d realized the depth of his emotions. How he would be unable to see her in public and stay away, how he longed to wake up every morning with her at his side. All those miles he contemplated the word
marriage
with growing certainty. With the problem of his mother’s possible disapproval out of the way, all he needed to do was persuade Caroline he might make a suitable husband.

As he’d told his mother, Caroline wasn’t interested in his financial or social status, but he knew full well she disliked his reputation. That alone—without her opposition to relinquishing her control over her own life—might make her refuse him. Infidelity was a given in their class, especially for the males. Certainly he’d never considered faithfulness except in the most abstract of terms, but then again, he’d never promised it to any woman either.

He would offer it to her, if she would accept him.

Was that love?

Huw waited by the fireplace, his cap moving nervously in his hands, his curly dark hair rumpled, an unhappy look on his face. Nicholas came into his study, closed the door behind him, and said without preamble, “What’s wrong?”

“My . . . my lady doesn’t know I’m here, Your Grace,” the young man stammered out. “I took this upon myself.”

Another twinge of apprehension hit him. Nicholas crossed to his desk and sat down behind it, indicating a chair with a motion of his hand. “This is between us, then. Tell me.”

Huw looked uncomfortable, glancing at the velvet-covered wing chair as if afraid he’d soil it, but then he perched on the edge of it and cleared his throat. “It’s him, sir. Lord Wynn, the bastard. I thought you should know.”

Nicholas recalled how Caroline had mentioned the man with distaste. He said curtly, “What about Lord Wynn?”

“He’s always sneakin’ about. She doesn’t want to see him, so he waits, or sends one of his footmen to wait and see if she’s home.” The young man’s hands crushed his hat, the knuckles visibly whitening. “And this morning, he barged in, pushing right past Norman, and then he . . . he . . . well, Your Grace, there ain’t no good way to say this. He tried to have his way with her, he did.”

Nicholas felt a flame of rage explode in his brain. “Is she hurt?”

“No, sir. A young lady caller bashed his high-and-mighty lordship over the head. Jones and me tossed him into his carriage and told his driver to take the rubbish home. I imagine he’s there now, nursing one hell of a headache. But he’ll be back for her, mark my word. In fancy clothes or in rags, I know his kind. He wants her money. It ain’t no secret. Since she won’t have nothing to do with him, he meant to ruin her and force her to marry him.”

Though he wasn’t conscious of standing up, Nicholas realized he was on his feet. “Thank you for telling me, Huw.” He added with lethal promise in his voice, “I’ll take care of Lord Wynn.”

 

Margaret gazed at Derek with resigned censure over the rim of her teacup. “The words
the sooner, the better
make me jump to a certain conclusion.”

He lifted his brows, too happy to feel properly chastened at her implication. Even the day reflected his mood, sunny and warm, the afternoon pleasant and the informal parlor holding a golden glow. He said neutrally, “I’ve waited for Annabel a long time. Do you blame me for wanting a swift wedding now that she’s agreed?”

His aunt sighed. “I suppose not. A special license is probably in order anyway. Still, your hasty marriage right after her broken engagement is going to cause a tidal wave of gossip.”

Thomas, who had been silent so far, chuckled. “I am not sure Derek has ever concerned himself overmuch with what people say, my dear. Besides, happiness wins over the opinions of people who will soon see it is a love match and lose interest. Controversy holds society riveted. Marital bliss bores them all to tears.”

A cynical truth, but accurate, Derek thought. “I’m glad there is no objection, then. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

Margaret looked flustered, her teacup rattling into the saucer. “Derek! Tomorrow?”

“I’ve talked to Annabel and she agreed that whenever I could secure the arrangements, she wanted to proceed. Tomorrow was the earliest possible.”

“How much did that cost?” Thomas just looked amused. “A small fortune, I wager.”

It had, the price of expedience never small. Annabel was worth it, and he found being so close to having her bound to him in every way, including legally, made him impatient. “I didn’t care,” Derek admitted, not bothering to dissemble. “Who could think of something as mundane as money in comparison with having her as my wife?”

Margaret and Thomas exchanged a glance. It was an unspoken communication, moving and obviously intimate. Thomas reached over and took his wife’s hand, raising it to his lips for a moment. “I believe,” he said, “I know just what you mean.”

And after their many years of marriage, Margaret still blushed. “You’ve always been hopelessly sentimental.”

“I suppose I am,” Thomas responded with a small unrepentant shrug. He turned back to Derek. “You have my permission to wed Annabel, of course, but you’ve had that all along. It was your own mind you needed to reconcile to the idea.”

The arrival of the subject of their conversation in a flurry of sprigged muslin, golden hair, and breathless agitation halted the discussion and Derek stood at once. He smiled, but Annabel didn’t smile back.

His stomach tightened. Surely she hadn’t changed her mind? After the sweet, warm passion they had shared . . .

“Good afternoon.” She gave Margaret and Thomas a perfunctory greeting. “Sorry I’m late. I was with a . . . friend. I . . . well, Derek, can I please talk to you?”

He had been surprised at her absence, but Margaret said she was out with her maid, running a few errands, and his aunt didn’t seem concerned, so he hadn’t thought too much about it.

“Of course.” His voice was a little thick.

His fiancée grabbed his hand. “A walk in the garden, then?”

Puzzled, he nodded, bowed to Thomas and Margaret, who looked just as surprised, and allowed himself to be led outside into the small walled garden behind the town house. In the sun-warmed embrace of flowering trees and stone paths, the expression of the young woman clutching his hand was incongruously somber.

But it was promising she still kept their fingers clasped together. “Away from the house,” she suggested. “I don’t want to be overheard.”

“Whatever you wish, of course.”

“I’ll explain, just give me a moment.” A pretty frown creased her brow.

Since he’d walk hand in hand with her off the end of a cliff, he didn’t argue. After a moment, when they were close to the back at the corner farthest away from the house, she let go of his hand and turned to him.

Her blue eyes—the ones he thought were so lovely with those dark gold lashes and deep cobalt hue—stared at him accusingly. “By your own admission,
you
started this. You need to help her now.”

Not even wedded yet and he was already in trouble.

Mystified, he asked, “Help who and started what?”

“I know Lady Wynn was the one to pass judgment on your wager.”

Bloody hell.
He opened his mouth to say only God knew what, but Annabel forestalled him. “She told me nothing ever happened between you. Considering her feelings for the duke, and her reasons for entering the contest in the first place, I believe her. The trouble is, what you put forth as a playful challenge to Rothay now threatens to destroy her. In a way you are responsible, and indirectly, so am I.”

He was culpable over the wager but had no idea what she was talking about. “Destroy her how?”

“Lord Wynn knows she volunteered to be your judge. I can say firsthand he is a conscienceless blackguard. He threatened to ruin her socially but not before he tried to ruin her in truth.” Annabel paused and then shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m afraid I knocked him unconscious.”

“I beg your pardon?” Derek stared down at his bride-to-be in consternation. “Annabel, do you mind clarifying what you are talking about?”

Her story, told in quick concise words, made him feel a surge of anger as he heard about Caroline’s brush with Wynn’s nefarious intentions. When Annabel was done, Derek was furious and he could only imagine how Nicholas would feel. “If he follows through with his threat, Wynn just made the last mistake of his miserable life,” he said through his teeth. “Nick will tear him limb from limb. More than that, he’ll call him out.”

“I certainly hope so.” There among the gardens, her feminine figure surrounded by glossy green leaves and delicate blooms, Annabel looked not just indignant but fierce. “She refuses to tell him unfortunately. I suggested it, but she would not hear of sending for him.”

“Why the devil not?” Derek understood women when it came to their bodies, their susceptibility to romantic gestures, their sensitivity to a look or a glance, but he would never claim to fathom their logic.