JORDAN Nicole (27 page)

The squire’s eyes widened in shock when he recognized her in turn. “Miss Loring! Whatever—”

Arden stepped in front of her to shield her from view, yet Roslyn could see the squire’s already florid complexion grow a deeper shade of scarlet upon his comprehending that he’d interrupted a lovers’ tryst.

“Your g-grace…. Do f-forgive me,” he stammered.

“Mr. Goodey, is it not?” the duke said smoothly. “I believe we met at the Haviland ball last evening.”

“Aye, sir…your grace. I didn’t meant to…The Missus and I came across a curricle in the road and then saw smoke coming from the chimney, so I came to investigate. She is waiting in the carriage—”

But apparently that wasn’t the case, for a plump matron appeared in the doorway, shaking off drops of rain from her cloak. “Ralph, whatever is keeping you—Oh, my word!”

Roslyn wanted to die and to curse at the same time. What a dreadful misfortune, to be discovered by Mrs. Goodey of all people. The squire’s wife was the biggest gossip between London and Richmond. She fancied herself a leader of local society and had always looked down her rather large nose at the Loring sisters, not only for the past scandals in their family but for having to earn their daily bread by teaching at an academy for daughters of the lower classes.

Guilty of putting on airs far above her own station, the Goodey woman couldn’t even recognize her hypocrisy. She’d been the first to fawn over the new Earl of Danvers, and professed to be glad to welcome his wards back into the fold of the Beau Monde.

Now she seemed gleefully appalled to see Roslyn looking as wantonly disheveled as she did. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline at the titillating ignominy of finding the most reserved and refined of the Loring sisters causing a new scandal. “Miss Loring…I cannot believe my eyes.”

Roslyn felt her stomach clench into knots as reality returned with a vengeance. The dreamlike moment she had shared with Arden had shattered in a thousand fragments.

Knowing her ruin was inevitable, she decided it was time to stop hiding behind the duke, and so stepped forward, her head held high. “How fortunate that you have come to our rescue, Mrs. Goodey. We were stranded here by the storm when his grace’s curricle suffered a broken wheel.”

“I can see that,” the squire’s wife said, her tone gloating.

Arden fixed her with a quelling glance. “You will do me the courtesy of keeping this unfortunate incident to yourself, Mrs. Goodey. Miss Loring has consented to be my wife, and I don’t wish my duchess’s reputation to suffer. You understand, of course.”

His startling pronouncement had the desired effect: The matron’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

Even realizing his purpose—to shut up the nosy woman by giving her a more juicy tidbit to chew on—Roslyn froze in dismay and only just managed to keep her own jaw from dropping.

She certainly was in no position to deny the betrothal, however, so she merely forced a smile to her lips. “I admit I was quite surprised by his grace’s offer myself,” Roslyn murmured. “You are the first to hear of our betrothal, Mrs. Goodey. But perhaps you will be kind enough to keep the news secret until I have had the opportunity to inform my family and close friends.”

The squire answered for her. “Of course, Miss Loring. My wife won’t mention a word of any of this, will you, dear? We wouldn’t want your little mishap to be misconstrued.”

His wife looked a little indignant and mulish, but the squire ignored her. “Pray, how may we be of service, your grace?”

Arden offered him a bland smile. “Now that the storm has passed, I would like to take Miss Loring home, so a loan of a vehicle would be welcome. And I must arrange proper care for my horses—they’re stabled in the shed—and have a wainwright fetched to repair the wheel.”

“Leave everything to me, your grace.” The squire bowed deeply. “I will take the Missus home and send our carriage back to you, to use at your leisure. And my servants will see to your curricle wheel and horses.”

“Thank you, Goodey,” the duke replied. “I will be greatly indebted.”

“Think nothing of it, your grace.” He took his wife’s plump elbow. “Come, dear, we must give this betrothed couple some privacy,” the squire insisted, before ushering the sputtering lady out of the cottage and firmly shutting the door behind him.

Chapter Twelve

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My dearest Fanny, disaster has struck and I fear it is very much my own fault! I am now betrothed to the Duke of Arden.

—Roslyn to Fanny

Roslyn stared speechlessly at Arden, wondering frantically how they could escape this wretched catastrophe.

To her surprise, he didn’t seem nearly as dismayed as she was. Indeed, his expression seemed almost nonchalant as he crossed to where her clothing hung. His tone was just as bland when he declared, “We need to dress. The Goodey carriage will be returning for us shortly.”

“That is all you have to say?” she demanded in disbelief. “We are facing utter calamity and all you care about is getting dressed?”

He lifted an amused eyebrow at her. “Would you rather remain half naked?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then put on your clothes, love. This is hardly the calamity you think it,” he added as he retrieved her still-damp corset and held it out to her. When Roslyn made no move to take the undergarment, he tugged the quilt from around her shoulders. “Don’t be so missish,” he ordered, tossing the quilt on the chair. “We are betrothed now.”

“We arenot betrothed. You only said that to blunt the disgrace of our being discovered together.”

“No, I said it because I have every intention of wedding you. Now turn around so I can hook you up.”

“I can dress myself!”

He wasn’t listening, however. His hands clasping her upper arms, he spun her so that her back faced him. Roslyn had no desire to don the cold, clammy corset, yet she could hardly leave her lingerie there in the cottage or carry it with her, so she raised her arms and allowed Arden to slide the garment around her torso. She shivered when moisture seeped through her thin chemise, and squirmed when he fitted the bustle beneath her breasts.

“Hold still.”

Although gritting her teeth, she dutifully stood as he fastened the hooks, but when she felt his lips caress the bare curve of her shoulder, she whirled and glared at him mutinously. “Will you please leave off your lechery long enough to discuss this predicament seriously?”

“What is there to discuss?”

“Our betrothal, what else! You are purposefully being obtuse.”

“No, I fully comprehend your problem. You do also, or you would have refuted my announcement in front of our unexpected guests instead of waiting until we were alone to argue with me.”

“It is your problem as well as mine!” Roslyn exclaimed.

“So it is. But I intend to accept my fate gracefully.”

She wanted to hit him. When he would have helped her on with her gown, she snatched it from him and struggled into it, wincing when the damp sleeves chilled her arms.

As he started putting on his own clothing, Roslyn clenched her teeth, disgruntled and frustrated that she had landed herself in such a fix. She was furious at herself. She had vowed to keep away from the duke, not to melt in his arms like a perfect wanton.

She was just as angry at him for making her lose her head, for enchanting her so that she’d eagerly abandoned any semblance of common sense. She had planned out her entire future, and now it lay in ruins.

She would not let herself cry, though. In the first place she loathed watering pots. And in the second, she had brought this disaster on herself. Now, somehow, she had to determine what to do about it.

“How could I ever have let this happen?” she lamented in a muttered undertone.

“How could you have resisted?” Arden replied. “I had every intention of taking up where we left off last night.”

Roslyn turned to stare at him as he tucked in the tails of his shirt. “You planned my seduction this afternoon?”

He grinned ruefully. “Not exactly. Even I don’t have the power to arrange a storm at my convenience. But I was glad for the opportunity to speed up the pace of our courtship.”

“Even after I told you I would never marry you?”

“I never intended to let your refusal stand. And having you almost naked in my arms was too great a temptation.” He shrugged into his waistcoat and began fastening the buttons. “Did you honestly expect me to keep my hands off you, darling? I may be a gentleman but I’m not a saint.”

Roslyn huffed indelicately. “I would say you are not much of a gentleman, either. You promised you wouldn’t ravish me.”

“And I kept my promise. You were entirely willing.”

Her expression contorted into a grimace before she set her jaw. “I won’t accept your proposal, your grace.”

“You most certainly will accept it,” he stated with the cool assurance of a man who inevitably got his own way. “You have no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Not for members of our class. Marriage is the only honorable course for a gentleman after taking a lady’s virginity. And the lady is even more at the mercy of convention. A betrothal is the only way to keep any shred of your reputation intact.”

Roslyn had no immediate response to his declaration. Although indignant at his high-handedness, she knew Arden was set on protecting her reputation. Yet she couldn’t stand that he was compelled to offer for her.

“I won’t allow you to make such a sacrifice on my account,” she finally said through gritted teeth.

“I am not so sure it would be a sacrifice on my part.”

“Itwill . You have told me more than once how arduously you try to avoid the grasping females chasing you. If I accept your offer, you will only accuse me of ensnaring you against your will.”

Amusement danced in his eyes as he shook his head. “I know better. And it is actually a great comfort to know you won’t be marrying me for my title or fortune.”

“This is no laughing matter, your grace!”

He suddenly fixed her with those penetrating green eyes. “I agree, but neither is it cause for tears, sweetheart.”

Knowing further argument was futile, Roslyn turned away unhappily to fetch her shoes and stockings.

“Don’t you think a marriage of convenience preferable to a ruined reputation?” the duke asked.

“No!”she retorted, even though she knew it wasn’t true. She sank down into the chair before the hearth to put on her stockings. She wouldn’t force Arden into a marriage that was repugnant to him. Nor would she herself be compelled to marry without love.

Confound it all! She had only wanted one critical thing in her marriage: to love and be loved. She’d always vowed she would never settle for less. But if she married the duke, she would have to give up that dream.

“Before you refuse, perhaps you should think of your sisters,” he pointed out. “Can they afford another scandal in the family?”

Roslyn’s heart sank. Any scandal she caused would certainly reflect on her sisters—just when they had finally gotten out from beneath the cloud of shame that had hovered over them for four long years.

“And what about your academy?” Arden asked. “How will the gossip impact your position there?”

She nearly groaned. She would have to stop teaching when word of her affair with the duke got out. Their pupils’ parents would never approve of a scarlet woman tarnishing their precious young daughters, nor should they. Jerking on her stocking, Roslyn muttered an invective that no lady should even know, much less say aloud.

Ignoring her outburst along with his sodden cravat, Arden sat in another chair to don his own stockings and boots. “You must admit,” he added congenially, “in the eyes of the Beau Monde, being betrothed to a duke will make up for a multitude of sins.”

Roslyn abruptly straightened, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “Perhaps, but you don’t love me, and I don’t love you.”

“We have friendship at least. We enjoy each other’s company. And I expect our married life will rarely be dull.”

She couldn’t defend against that argument. She did enjoy his company immensely. No doubt life with Arden would be challenging, exhilarating, even exciting.

But for how long? How long before he found another woman to interest him and keep him from the marriage bed?

Their matrimonial goals were vastly different, Roslyn knew. He only wanted a wife so he could beget an heir. She wanted a real family, children to love and cherish. Arden was not the kind of man to put much store in family.

And without love, what kind of marriage could they hope for? Would he expect her to accept his connubial demands, bear his children, run his home, plan his entertainments, and never question his liaisons? Would he leave her languishing in the countryside while he cavorted in London with his latest paramours? Would he continue keeping a mistress after they married?

She couldn’t bear having a libertine husband. Her mother had endured her father’s outrageous philandering for most of their twenty-year marriage. Not only hadn’t Sir Charles bothered to hide his dalliances and indiscretions, he had flaunted them in his wife’s face. It had been a prime source of contention between them.

Would Arden flaunt his affairs and make his duchess an object of gossip and pity?

But the subject was a trifle too embarrassing for Roslyn to argue with him just now.

And then he interrupted her dark thoughts with a casual comment. “Come now, a marriage between us won’t be so bad.”

“How can you say so?” Roslyn said crossly. “I shouldn’t think a determined bachelor is competent to judge the quality of a marital union.”

“You must admit we are physically compatible.”

“There is a great deal more to marriage than physical compatibility!”

“Perhaps, but that is more than I ever expected with my bride. It’s one of your prime attractions—that you act more like a mistress than a wife. Ladies are not supposed to enjoy passion, but you have a healthy appetite for lust.”

Roslyn felt her cheeks turn red. “I wish you would not remind me.”