Married by Morning (23 page)

His arms loosened. He gave her a quizzical glance. “Worse?”

“Yes, because I can never give you anything more than that. And regardless of what you claim to the contrary, you’ll want the kind of marriage your sisters have. The way Amelia is with Cam, the devotion and intimacy … you’ll want that too.”

“I don’t want intimacy with Cam.”

“Don’t joke about it,” she said wretchedly. “This is serious.”

“I’m sorry,” came his quiet reply. “Sometimes serious conversations make me uncomfortable, and I tend to resort to humor as a result.” He paused. “I understand what you’re trying to tell me. But what if I say that attraction and fondness would be enough?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. Because I know how unhappy you would become, seeing your sisters’ marriages, remembering how devoted your parents were to each other, and knowing that ours was a counterfeit by comparison. A parody.”

“What makes you so certain that we won’t come to care for each other?”

“I just am. I’ve looked inside my heart, and it’s not there. That’s what I meant before. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust anyone enough to love them. Even you.”

Leo’s face was expressionless, but she sensed something dark lurking beneath his self-control, something that hinted of anger, or exasperation. “It’s not that you’re unable,” he said. “It’s that you don’t want to.” He released her carefully and went to retrieve his discarded clothes. As he dressed, he spoke in a voice that chilled her with its pleasant blandness. “I have to leave.”

“You’re angry.”

“No. But if I stay, I’ll end up making love to you and proposing to you repeatedly, until morning. And even my tolerance for rejection has its limits.”

Words of regret and self-reproach hovered on her lips. But she held them back, sensing that it would only infuriate him. Leo was hardly a man to fear a challenge. But he was beginning to comprehend that he could do nothing with the challenge she presented, some inexplicable quandary that couldn’t be solved.

After dressing and shrugging into his coat, Leo returned to the bedside. “Don’t try to predict what you’re capable of,” he murmured, sliding his fingers beneath her chin. He bent to press his lips to her forehead, and added, “You may surprise yourself.” Going to the door, he opened it and glanced up and down the hallway. He glanced at Catherine over his shoulder. “Lock the door when I leave.”

“Good night,” she said with difficulty. “And … I’m sorry, my lord. I wish I were different. I wish I could—” She stopped and shook her head miserably.

Pausing a bit longer, Leo gave her a look of amusement edged with warning. “You’re going to lose this battle, Cat. And despite yourself, you’re going to be very happy in defeat.”

Leo liked Mayfair immensely, not so much for its fashionable reputation as the fact that it had once been deemed a “lewd and disorderly” place in the early eighteenth century by the Grand Jury of Westminster. It had been condemned for its practices of gaming, bawdy stage plays, prizefighting and animal baiting, and all the attendant vices of crime and prostitution. Over the next hundred years it had gradually gentrified until John Nash had sealed its hard-won respectability with Regent Street and Regent’s Park. To Leo, however, Mayfair would always be a respectable lady with a notorious past.

Upon arriving at the residence, Leo was shown to a reception room overlooking a two-tiered garden. Vanessa Darvin and Countess Ramsay were both present, welcoming him warmly. As they all sat and made the obligatory small talk, inquiring after the health of their family, and his, and the weather, and other safe and polite subjects of an opening acquaintance, Leo found that his impressions of the two women from the ball in Hampshire were unchanged. The countess was a garrulous biddy, and Vanessa Darvin was a self-involved beauty.

A quarter hour passed, and then a half hour. Leo began to wonder if he would ever discover why they had prevailed on him to call.

“Dear me,” the countess eventually exclaimed, “I quite forgot that I had intended to consult with Cook about the evening meal. Pardon, I must go at once.” She stood, and Leo automatically rose to his feet.

“Perhaps I should leave, as well,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to escape.

“Do stay, my lord,” Vanessa said quietly. A look passed between Vanessa and the countess before the latter left the room.

Recognizing the obvious pretext to leave them alone, Leo lowered back into the chair. He raised a brow as he regarded Vanessa. “So there is a point to this.”

“There is a point,” Vanessa confirmed. She was beautiful, her shining dark hair arranged in pinned-up curls, her eyes exotic and striking in her porcelain complexion. “I wish to discuss a highly personal matter with you. I hope I may rely on your discretion.”

“You may.” Leo studied her with a flicker of interest. There was a hint of uncertainty, urgency, beneath her provocative façade.

“I’m not certain how best to begin,” she said.

“Be blunt,” Leo suggested. “Subtleties are usually wasted on me.”

“I would like to put forth a proposition, my lord, that will satisfy our mutual needs.”

“How intriguing. I wasn’t aware that we had mutual needs.”

“Obviously yours is to marry and have a son quickly, before you die.”

Leo was mildly startled. “I hadn’t planned to expire any time soon.”

“What about the Ramsay curse?”

“I don’t believe in the Ramsay curse.”

“Neither did my father,” she said pointedly.

“Well, then,” Leo said, both annoyed and amused, “in light of my rapidly approaching demise, we shouldn’t waste a moment. Tell me what you want, Miss Darvin.”

“I need to find a husband as quickly as possible, or I will soon find myself in a very unpleasant position.”

Leo watched her alertly, making no response.

“Although we are not well acquainted,” she continued, “I know a great deal about you. Your past exploits are hardly a secret. And I believe all the qualities that would make you an unsuitable husband for anyone else would make you ideal for me. We are very much alike, you see. From all accounts, you are cynical, amoral, and selfish.” A deliberate pause. “So am I. Which is why I would never try to change any of those things about you.”

Fascinating. For a girl no more than twenty, she possessed preternatural self-confidence.

“Whenever you chose to stray,” Vanessa continued, “I wouldn’t complain. I probably wouldn’t even notice, because I would be similarly occupied. It would be a sophisticated marriage. I can give you children to ensure that the Ramsay title and estate will stay in your line of descent. Furthermore, I can—”

“Miss Darvin,” Leo said carefully, “pray don’t continue.” The irony of the situation was hardly lost on him—she was proposing a true marriage of convenience, free from messy desires and feelings. The diametric opposite of the marriage he wanted with Catherine.

Not long ago, that might have appealed to him.

Settling back in his chair, Leo regarded her with detached patience. “I don’t deny the stories of my past sins. But despite all that … or perhaps because of it … the idea of a sophisticated marriage doesn’t appeal to me in the least.”

He saw by the frozen stillness of Vanessa’s face that he had surprised her. She took her time about replying. “Perhaps it should, my lord. A better woman would be disappointed and shamed by you, and come to hate you. Whereas
I
”—she touched her chest in a practiced gesture, drawing his attention to her round, perfect bosom—“would never expect anything from you.”

The arrangement Vanessa Darvin proposed was a perfect recipe for aristocratic domesticity. How fantastically bloodless and civilized.

“But I need someone to expect something from me,” he heard himself say.

The truth of that bolted through him like lightning. Had he really just said it? And did he truly mean it?

Yes. Dear God.

When and how had he changed? It had been a mortal struggle to leave behind the excesses of grief and self-loathing. Somewhere along the way he had stopped wanting to die, which was not quite the same thing as wanting to live. But that had been enough for a while.

Until Catherine. She had reawakened him like a cold dash of water in his face. She made him want to be a better man, not just for her, but for himself, as well. He should have known that Catherine would push him over the edge. Good God, how she pushed him. And he loved it. Loved
her
. His small, bespectacled warrior.

I won’t let you fall
, she had said to him, the day he’d been injured at the ruins.
I won’t let you turn into a degenerate
. She had meant it, and he had believed her, and that had been the turning point.

How deeply he had resisted loving someone like this … and yet it was exhilarating. He felt as if his soul had been set on fire, every part of him burning with impatient joy.

Aware that his color had heightened, Leo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A smile twitched his lips as he reflected on the peculiar inconvenience of realizing that he was in love with one woman, when he had just been proposed to by another.

“Miss Darvin,” he said gently, “I am honored by your suggestion. But you want the man I was. Not the man I am now.”

The dark eyes flashed with malice. “You’re claiming to be reformed? You think to disown your past?”

“Not at all. But I have hopes for a better future.” He paused deliberately. “Ramsay curse notwithstanding.”

“You’re making a mistake.” Vanessa’s pretty features hardened. “I knew you were no gentleman, but I didn’t take you for a fool. You should leave now. It seems you’ll be of no use to me.”

Leo rose obligingly. He paused before taking his leave, giving her an astute glance. “I can’t help but ask, Miss Darvin … why don’t you simply marry the baby’s father?”

It turned out to be a very good guess.

Vanessa’s eyes flared before she managed to school her expression. “He is too far beneath me,” she said in a tight little voice. “I’m rather more discriminating than your sisters, my lord.”

“A pity,” Leo murmured. “They seem to be very happy in their lack of discrimination.” He bowed politely. “Farewell, Miss Darvin. I wish you luck in your search for a husband who’s not beneath you.”

“I don’t need luck, my lord. I will marry, and soon. And I’ve no doubt my future husband and I will be happy indeed when we come to take possession of Ramsay House.”

Returning to the hotel from a morning dressmaker’s appointment with Poppy, Catherine shivered in pleasure as they entered the Rutledge apartments. It was raining steadily, in fat chilling drops that heralded the approach of autumn. Despite the precautions of cloaks and umbrellas, she and Poppy had not escaped entirely from the damp. They both went to the parlor hearth, standing before the snapping fire.

“Harry ought to be coming back from Bow Street soon,” Poppy said, pushing back a wet tendril of hair that had stuck to her cheek. He had gone for a meeting with a special constable and a Bow Street magistrate to discuss Lord Latimer. So far Harry had been maddeningly closemouthed as to the specifics of the situation, promising that after he’d gone to the magistrate’s office, he would explain in detail. “And so should my brother, after seeing Miss Darvin.”

Catherine removed her spectacles and used a fold of her sleeve to clear the steam from the lenses. She heard a welcoming sound from Dodger, a sort of ferrety chuckling noise, and he came loping toward her out of seemingly nowhere. Replacing her spectacles, she bent to pick him up, and he wriggled into her arms. “You odious rat,” she murmured, cradling his long, sleek body.

“He loves you, Catherine,” Poppy said, shaking her head and smiling.

“Nevertheless, I’m returning him to Beatrix at the first opportunity.” But she furtively lowered her cheek and let Dodger kiss her.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the bustle of someone entering, a masculine murmur, a maid taking his coat and hat. Leo entered the parlor, bringing in the scents of damp wool and rain. His hair was wet at the ends, curling slightly against his neck.

“Leo,” Poppy exclaimed with a laugh, “how wet you are! Didn’t you take an umbrella?”

“Umbrellas are of little use when it’s raining sideways,” he informed her.

“I’ll fetch a towel.” Poppy darted out of the room.

Left alone with Leo, Catherine met his gaze. His smile faded, and he stared at her with alarming intensity. Why did he look at her that way? It seemed as if something had been cut loose in him, his eyes demon-blue and dangerous.

“How was your conversation with Miss Darvin?” she asked, tensing as he approached her.

“Illuminating.”

She frowned at the brief reply, taking refuge in a show of exasperation. “What did she ask of you?”

“She proposed a marriage of convenience.”

Catherine blinked. It was what she had expected, and yet to hear it caused a stab of jealousy.

Leo stopped beside her, the firelight flickering over his features. Tiny droplets of rain glittered like jewels on his sun-browned face. She wanted to touch that light mist, put her mouth on it, taste his skin.

“What was your response?” she forced herself to ask.

“I was flattered, of course,” he said smoothly. “One always appreciates being wanted.”

He knew she was jealous. He was toying with her. Catherine struggled to keep her temper from igniting.

“Perhaps you should accept her,” she said coolly.

His gaze didn’t move from hers. “Perhaps I did.”

Catherine drew in a sharp breath.

“Here you are,” Poppy said cheerfully, oblivious to the tension between them as she entered the room with a neat stack of toweling. She brought a cloth to Leo, who took it and blotted his face.

Catherine sat on the settee, letting Dodger coil in her lap.

“What did Miss Darvin want?” she heard Poppy ask.

Leo’s voice was muffled in the towel. “She proposed to me.”

“Good heavens,” Poppy said. “She clearly hasn’t any idea of what it’s like to tolerate you on a daily basis.”

“In her situation,” he returned, “a woman can’t afford to be particular.”

“What situation is that?” Catherine asked tersely.

Leo handed the towel back to Poppy. “She’s expecting a child. And she doesn’t care to marry the father. That’s not to go any further than this room, of course.”

The two women were silent. Catherine wrestled with a curious mixture of feelings … sympathy, hostility, jealousy, fear. With this bit of news, the advantages of a match between Leo and Miss Darvin were abundantly clear.

Poppy regarded her brother gravely. “Her circumstances must be quite desperate, for her to confide in you like that.”

Leo’s reply was forestalled as Harry entered the apartments, his coat and hat streaming with water. “Good afternoon,” Harry said, flashing a smile. The maid took the sodden hat and coat, and Poppy approached him with a fresh towel.

“You walked?” she asked, her gaze sweeping from the sodden hems of his trouser legs to his rain-dappled features. She reached up to dry his face with wifely solicitude.

“I very nearly swam,” Harry told her, seeming to enjoy her ministrations.

“Why didn’t you take a hackney or send for a carriage?”

“All the hackneys were taken as soon as the rain started,” Harry replied. “And it’s a short distance. Only a milksop would send for a carriage.”

“Better a milksop than to catch your death of cold,” Poppy fussed, following as he drew near the hearth.