Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] (5 page)

“I daresay,” the countess continued. “It seems you are also a woman of very few utterances.”

“I am rather reserved, Lady MacLaren, but when I choose to speak I do not mince my words,” Anne replied softly.

“That you do. On that point, we agree.” The countess was twittering. Indeed, her whole demeanor seemed to change within the span of a breath. “Besides, I cannot fault you for keeping to yourself, my dear. No doubt you are stunned after tonight’s surprise…er…Miss Royle, it
was
a surprise, was it not?”

“Why, y-yes, Lady MacLaren. A
complete
surprise.” At least that was not a lie. Until Apsley said she was Lord MacLaren’s intended, the idea of a betrothal never entered her mind. And why would it have? The notion had been—and was—insanity!

“Surprise is good. We shall adhere to that part of the story.” Lady MacLaren chewed her lower lip. “Of course, I will be asked if your family was
aware that your engagement was a possibility, even if I was not. My son has always been an impulsive lad, so if your family is as unprepared for this occurrence as I, we must dispatch Laird at once to receive the blessing of your parents.”

“I beg your pardon, Lady MacLaren, but I should inform you that my parents have passed on. My sister Elizabeth and I reside with our great-aunt, Mrs. Prudence Winks, on Berkeley Square.” Anne shifted her stance so she might better look Lady MacLaren in the eyes. “But my guardian, Sir Lumley Lilywhite, is well aware of the betrothal. In fact, he is amongst the guests in the drawing room.”

“Sir Lumley Lilywhite?
” What Anne could only identify as an expression of absolute astonishment lit the countess’s eyes.

Anne nodded warily. “Y-yes, Lady MacLaren.”

The countess slapped a gloved palm to her heart. “Good heavens, such a happy coincidence. Dear gel, did he tell you that we are well acquainted? La, it has been so long since we last saw each other. Such a delightful man, and so admirably connected.”

Anne’s brow furrowed in her confusion. Could
she truly be speaking of Lilywhite—of the Old Rakes of Marylebone? It seemed impossible.

The wisp of a smile touched the countess’s lips, and for several moments she seemed adrift in cloud of pleasant memories. By the time she met Anne’s gaze again, the brightness had hold of her entirely. “He and Malcolm, my late husband, were school chums and remained close until…well, I am not certain why they parted ways, only that they did at one time or another.”

Anne wrinkled her nose. “Parted ways?”

“Oh, perhaps their friendship faded with the years, as some relations are bound to do. I honestly do not know. But he stopped calling when I came to Town. I missed seeing him terribly. He is such a jovial fellow, you know. Always made me laugh.” A tenseness tightened the countess’s features, but in a blink she had rebounded. Gone was her earlier sternness and reserve toward Anne. It was if the countess was suddenly seeing Anne anew.

For it suddenly seemed that Anne’s association with Lilywhite bequeathed her with new respect from the countess. Indeed, Lady MacLaren’s transformation within the next minutes was nothing less than remarkable.

The formerly stern hostess now addressed her as if they were social equals, and began to chatter happily with nary a breath between her sentences. “My husband resided here, in this very town house on Cockspur Street, when Parliament was in session, you see, while my growing sons and I kept primarily to MacLaren Hall.”

Anne masked her confusion and madly racing thoughts with a pleasant smile.

Was it possible that if she gave Lady MacLaren no further reason to doubt her intention to wed her son—understanding now that total ruin was her only other path—the countess would remain bright with benevolence. And, perhaps, just perhaps, she would feel no need to set in motion plans to accelerate their union.

Oh, if only that could be so!

Well, she had to do it. She’d do anything to purchase herself a little more time to extricate from this horrible mess.

“Oh, you must come visit with me there, Miss Royle. St. Albans is not so far. Why, if the weather is fair, the journey might be as little as two or three hours.” She laced her fingers. “Yes, you must come and stay for a time. My husband
was so proud of his estate, and you will see why. I always thought it a pity that his duties kept him in London for months at a time. He so enjoyed the country. Laird, well, the boy seems to have taken to Town. But now that he is to be married, perhaps that will change.”

Lady MacLaren paused, and Anne knew she ought to say something. She ought to set her own shyness aside and become the bold woman she had pretended to be when she stood before society in the bedchamber—telling the most enormous lie of her lifetime. “You are so well known within the ranks of society, Lady MacLaren,” she managed, “surely you must have come to London regularly.” Not the most enlightened of responses, but passable, Anne decided.

“Alas, not as often I would have chosen. My husband oft reminded me that our family’s presence would distract him from his duty to the Crown. So for the good of the kingdom…” Lady MacLaren’s thought trailed into nothing. “Well, it was the way of things.”

Anne shared a sad smile with the countess.

“Besides, it is not the number of days spent in Town that makes a lady memorable.” Her spirits visibly lifted. “It is the grandeur of her parties!
Do not fear, Miss Royle from the wilds of Cornwall. I shall instruct you in the art of entertaining well.”

Smiling all the while, she straightened Anne’s ivory skirt, and then stole a quick glance in the mirror at herself. “Are you ready to face your audience now, Miss Royle?”

Anne stared into the looking glass at the startled visage. Tonight, her worst nightmare had come to life.

I shall never be ready for this. Never.

Still, Anne knew it was impossible to forestall the inevitable, and so she responded by meekly lifting the corners of her mouth.

“Grand. Come with me now, Miss Royle. Our guests await!” With that, she took Anne firmly by the arm, and together they descended the stairs. “I will introduce you to every esteemed guest who had the manners and good sense to remain in the drawing room despite the late hour. Don’t you fret at all. Leave the talking to me and all will be well. You’ll see.”

As they entered the elegant drawing room, the gathering of gentlefolk hushed momentarily before a roar of applause rolled toward them.

Heat surged into Anne’s cheeks. Never before
had she been afforded so much attention, and lud, she hadn’t even an inkling how to manage it.

Several moments passed before it occurred to Anne that were she truly just betrothed, she would seek out her future husband and join him. She had to make this charade of their betrothal believable this night, did she not?

Anne rose up onto her toes and gazed about the room for her
intended
. Emotions battled inside her as she found herself simultaneously wishing for and fearing his presence.

She hadn’t seen the earl since, blank-faced and stunned, he was literally dragged from the bedchamber by well-wishers and his horrid friend Apsley.

All at once clusters of regal ladies cinched around Anne like a very dear satin ribbon, suffocating her with their attentions. Making her, horror of all horrors, the pulsing heart of all activity.

The countess wrapped her arm around Anne’s waist. It was as if she was reluctant to let loose the miss who would make her grandest dream for such a wayward son come true. It no longer seemed to matter to the countess that their engagement was naught but a convenient lie.

The engagement was real enough now.

Within minutes, it became all too clear to Anne, if not everyone else, that the countess’s intention was to polish the story of her son’s shoddy introduction of his betrothed to society until it gleamed like sterling.

It did not seem to disconcert Lady MacLaren that at least a dozen of London’s finest had witnessed the event unfolding. Her truth was the one her guests would retell—or risk the cut direct from London’s premier hostess.

Anne had never seen such unabashed self-assurance in a woman as she saw in Lady MacLaren. How she wished she could be so confident! But as the minutes passed, and the countess finally left her side to browbeat everyone into agreeing with her version of this night’s betrothal tale, Anne began to realize that, oddly enough, she was not quite as unnerved by the assiduous notice as she first had been.

Suddenly her solution became as clear as the crystal goblets she had snatched from bejeweled fingers earlier that evening.

Yes, all she had to do was feign confidence and pretend she really was the woman the earl loved so well as to offer for her.

“Miss Royle?” A deep voice hummed in her ear.

All the courage she had just drawn suddenly trickled from her limbs as she turned and looked up to see the Earl of MacLaren standing beside her.

“Darling
.” The sarcasm in his tone was as thick and cloying as treacle. “Would you care to join me in the library?”

“The library, my lord?” The sudden dusting of air on her widening eyes stung like sand, sending her lids blinking uncontrollably. “I am sorry, my lord, but I do not believe I
care
to join you just now. I must assist Lady MacLaren in seeing to the guests—”

The earl raised a single brow, the same unnerving way he had when he caught her stealing his goblet earlier. “Allow me to rephrase my request.
Do
join me in the library, Miss Royle. The guests are well-tended.”

A large, warm hand pressed against the small of her back and nudged her forward toward the passage.

“Anne!” Just then, Elizabeth managed to reach her side. Her eyes were wild with worry. “Lilywhite desires to speak with you…most urgently.” She gestured to Lilywhite, who strug
gled to wedge his generous form between the wall and a ring of cackling matrons surrounding Lady MacLaren.

The earl lifted his possessive palm from her back and folded her arm over his, securing it against his side. “I shan’t detain Miss Royle overlong.”

Elizabeth scurried around them and tried to block their entry into the passage, but the hulking earl surged forward, causing her to leap from his path. “Please, my lord, won’t you wait but a moment longer? He comes this way.” When Elizabeth saw that the earl paid her no heed, her concerned eyes turned from the earl’s to Anne’s own.

Anne reached out, just managing to brush her sister’s outstretched hand as they passed her. “No need to fret, sister. I shan’t leave without you. Go enjoy yourself, Elizabeth, for this is a celebration.” She looked meaningfully at her sister. “I shall join you both very soon,” Anne called back over her shoulder as MacLaren pulled her into the passage and trotted her down its length to the dark library.

Two footmen entered behind them. The shorter of the two, with deep pockmarks pitting
his round face, hurriedly lit the candles in the sconces on either side of a cold fireplace, while the other, tall and lean, illuminated the candelabra upon the long desk near the window overlooking the garden.

Anne’s heart thudded smartly against her rib cage. Slowly she turned around to look at MacLaren. It was just as she’d feared. His countenance was cold and impassive. His gaze, hard.

Then he took a purposeful stride toward her. “You and I have
much
to discuss…
my love
.”

“M
y lord, you well know that I did not conjure this ludicrous fantasy that I was your betrothed! It was your…your—that depraved Apsley fellow,” Anne sputtered.

The earl said nothing, which sent her stomach fluttering like a frightened fledgling. “You
know
I had no choice but to follow his lead and claim to be your betrothed. I was facing my ruin!”

“You may yet.” He took another step toward her, and lud, if he wasn’t beginning to look rather red about the face. “Though Apsley denies it, I must ask if the two of you concocted this scheme together.”

“My lord, I assure you I am not, nor have I ever been, in league with your devilish friend.” Anne zigzagged her left foot backward, and
then leaned her weight upon that leg. The additional half step wasn’t much, but at least she was not within his reach if he decided to throttle her, which, were she in his place, she certainly might have considered.

“Will you swear to this?” He cocked his eyebrow again.

Anne set her hands on her hips. “My lord, I am simply a victim of circumstance, a dreadful, unimaginable situation that forced me to act immediately to preserve my reputation.”

“And was your
reputation
at the forefront of your mind when you crept into my bedchamber, Miss Royle?” He raked his fingers through his wavy, raven-black hair, and Anne knew at once that he was not as calm as he would lead her to believe.

Her gaze fixed on the vibrant blue of his tired eyes and the stubble just beginning to shadow his strong, firm jaw. Tonight clearly had not been all jollity and conviviality for him. And something in the dour expression on that wickedly handsome face told her that his demeanor had little to do with her lie. As she looked into his pained eyes, her heart began to ache for him.

Fear of his anger suddenly dissolved.

The urge to open her arms and comfort him propelled Anne toward him without warning. Her arms rose up from her sides, and she reached for him before she realized what she was about to do.

Perdition!

Anne halted and snapped her arms to her sides like a soldier. Hurriedly she dropped her gaze to the floor.

What exactly had he asked her? Oh yes.

She gave a small sigh for effect while she rummaged through her mind for a plausible reason why she might have slipped into the earl’s chamber. Then her tongue wrapped around just that.

“Well?” He stepped closer. Though he was not yet standing directly before her, he might as well have been. For he was so tall, his shoulders so broad—why, they were twice the span of her own, at least—that his presence seemed to loom over her like a wall of black storm clouds.

“Miss Royle?”

Anne raised her chin and fixed him with her most offended expression. “If you are intent on wrenching from me my purpose for entering
your bedchamber, you will have it. Though I had hoped your manners were more refined than to force my confession.”

“I apologize for my wretched comportment. But do continue.” As if to prod her, he moved again, and now he truly was looming.

Anne swallowed down the second lie she was about to tell this night. But, because the scowl pinching his otherwise passably handsome face made her doubt any appeal to his sense of chivalry would be effective, she added a few more words. “I find the thought of admitting my reason for trespassing highly embarrassing. You must understand, I am naught but a common miss from Cornwall.”

“Darling, you are anything but common, but nevertheless, I will have your explanation, since it was the impetus for our upcoming nuptials.” His voice was deep and resonant, and at this short distance, it rumbled through her body like rolling thunder.

“’Twas the wine, my lord.”

“The wine? Was it not to your liking, Miss Royle of Cornwall?”

Anne knew better than to drop her mask to defend herself. “Oh indeed, sir. It was quite ex
traordinary, but too much for my constitution to bear. I fear I was in dire need of a…of a chamber pot…and a bit of privacy.”

“And did you find one?”

“Wh-what?” Anne stammered. This was maddening! Why couldn’t she seem to focus?

“Why, the chamber pot. It is what you had come in search of, was it not?”

“You are vile.” Anne did not have to hold her breath to force the heat into her cheeks.

The earl turned his face to the ceiling and forced a hard laugh before looking down at Anne again. “You honestly expect me to believe this story? This, from a woman who only an hour or so before was prancing about the drawing room stealing goblets from unwary guests.”

“Ah, yes. Well, there, too, the wine was at fault.” Anne shrugged. My, her story was fitting together nicely, wasn’t it? “It simply turned my mind topsy-turvy before my belly. And I am very sorry for the trouble I have caused you. Truly, I am.”

The disbelieving mirth that lit the earl’s eyes faded away.

Anne sucked her lips into her mouth to conceal a burgeoning smile. He believed her now.
Ha! She could see it. “So, we have had our important conversation, no?”

She gathered up a fistful of her skirts, lifting her hem from the floor. “Now then, my lord, if you will just allow me to pass, I will depart your home and leave you to explain this whole mistake to Lady MacLaren.” She started forward, but he caught up her arm and pulled her close against him.

“Oh no, darling.” His mouth hovered just above her ear. “You are not dipping your hands into the washbasin and strolling through the door. We are united
together
in this muddle, Miss Royle, and until we come upon an explanation that does not brand the two of us liars of the first order, you
will
remain my betrothed.”

Anne shook her head vigorously. “No. No, no, no. I know Lady MacLaren has an expectation, but surely you do not. You are as much a victim in this as I—more so. I know that
together
we can come up with a suitable plan to put this nonsensical betrothal aside.”

“Yes, I agree, but until this plan of yours surfaces, you are my fiancée.”

“You cannot expect me to pose as your intended after this night.”

“I mean exactly that.” The earl clasped her gloved hand and raised it upward as if he meant to kiss it. She pulled against him, but he would not free her hand. “You seemed so wholly eager earlier in my bedchamber.”

The faint scent of brandy lingered on his warm breath, luring her gaze to his mouth, forcing her to remember the way he grabbed her and kissed her in his bedchamber. The way that kiss stole her breath away!

“B-but, my lord, there is a solution—a very simple one. When I return to the drawing room, I will admit I agreed to marry you in haste. I shall blame it on the wine. And then I will cry off. No harm done. We will both be freed from the shackles of this hoax.”

The earl shook his head. “No, lass.”

“No?” Anne was incredulous. “Why ever not? It is the perfect solution.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Why is that? I know you have no true wish to marry me. Even in the short time my sisters and I have resided in London, I have heard tales about your wicked ways.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. When I first arrived in Town, I was told
by more than one matron that every young lady should count herself fortunate that you were away for the year, and not in Mayfair dedicating yourself to rending all the gossamer reputations that you might. I cannot be connected with
you
.”

He winced at that, making Anne immediately wish she could snatch back her thorny words.

Lord MacLaren cleared his throat quietly before pinning her with his gaze. “Obviously you have not heard everything about me, Miss Royle. Had you, you would have known that Lady Henceforth and I were betrothed until
she
cried off some fifteen months ago.”

Anne stared up at him. “You were to be married?
You?
The new Earl of MacLaren, the veriest rake of the realm?”

“Veriest? Hardly. There are worse. Apsley for one.” He straightened his back. “But yes, Miss Royle. Yes, I was to be married. She left me standing in the chapel, comforting my distraught mother and making excuses to my embarrassed father.”

“I am sorry for that, my lord.” She dropped her gaze for but a moment. “So, just to be perfectly clear on the subject, I gather that—”

He did not allow her to finish. “Crying off this eve is not an option I will discuss with you. What else have you? Anything?”

“Oh. Well, I suppose we could…” Anne narrowed her eyes and peered up at him. “Wait one moment, sir, why must I craft a plan? I do not hear you offering any impressive ideas.”

“And you shan’t. I was too deep in my cups to respond properly when you announced our engagement. Therefore, I will call upon you tomorrow evening when I am confident that the brandy has been sufficiently evaporated from my veins.”

“Tomorrow?” Anne gasped.

“Yes. Berkeley Square, was it not? Oh yes, one more thing.” Lord MacLaren stuffed two fingers into his watch pocket and fumbled about a bit. From the pocket, he withdrew a cabochon sapphire ring, and without comment or explanation, began to slide it onto Anne’s finger.

Anne squealed as the ring met with some resistance at the wrinkle of her kid-gloved knuckle, but he did not relent. It was clear that he meant to have that damnable ring on her finger, even if it meant breaking her digit to achieve his goal. He pushed harder and harder still, even as she
struggled against him, until at last it rode down to the base of her ring finger.

He released her hand then and smiled at her. It was a warm, wonderful smile—not half as devilish as she might have expected from him. He should let himself smile more often. She’d tell him that, if she did not despise him so just now.

“A betrothal ring,” he explained. “It belonged to my grandmother. The countess expects to see you wearing it when we emerge from the library.”

“Lord MacLaren, I will not wear it. This only deepens the lie.” Anne sucked in a shallow breath and began to tug and twist at the heirloom ring glistening like a night sky. “Blast! I can’t move it past my knuckle.”

“Good.” He smirked.

Having been a proper lady long enough, Anne opened her mouth to assail him with a stinging retort, when suddenly his mouth covered hers. She gasped as his tongue swept inside, and his lips began to move as if he were devouring her.

For the briefest of moments, she could not breathe. The faint taste of brandy was sweet on his tongue, and it warmed her mouth, for just an instant, before he pulled away.

She was stunned for a moment, dizzy and
confused. Anne stared up at him, her lips still throbbing and sensitive from his searing kiss.

The left edge of his lips pulled up in a cocky grin. “Mmm. Not bad by half.” He chuckled, then smacked his moist lips together.

Instantly Anne’s senses returned with force. The back of her hand flew to her mouth, but she had forgotten about the ring, and instead of displaying her utter distaste for him by wiping his kiss from her lips, she clinked her front tooth loudly with the sapphire.

Heat swept her cheeks. “Y-you are naught but a wicked man.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And to think I actually pitied you this night.”

“Oh, you should feel sorry for me. We are both victims.”

“Yes, we are. And while everyone in this house might believe we are engaged, we are not. So…so please stop taking liberties.”

“The kiss was delicious. You must admit that.”

“I will not. And it is not as if you had not already kissed me once this night. This was no new experience for you.”

The earl chuckled. “Oh, but darling, it was. I am quite certain this was the first time I kissed my
betrothed
.”