Authors: Mary J. Putney
The Bargain (12 page)
As she nodded, an interesting hint of pink colored her lovely creamy skin. Abruptly he remembered why. He'd kissed her, and for a few incredible moments she had responded wholeheartedly. Then common sense had returned, and Jocelyn had ended the embrace.
Suspecting that she would prefer to pretend that kiss hadn't happened, he said with gentlemanly tact, “I presume you guided me in here, and I fell asleep right away.”
“Exactly,” she said, looking relieved. “My room was closest, and the only one made up. I didnâ²t want to be driven from my own bed, especially since there was room enough for two.”
Which is why they were now lying together with such provocative intimacy. He stroked her chestnut hair, the silky strands twining around his fingertips. “You saved my life last night. Saying thank you seems quite inadequate.”
Without moving a muscle, she retreated slightly, as if alarmed by the warmth in his voice. “If you'd fallen, you'd have made the most dreadful mess on the marble.”
“Which would be unmannerly, when you've been so kind.” Feeling that he had been politely chastised, he withdrew his hand. Lady Jocelyn might be his wife in law, but they were virtual strangers, and he saw no evidence that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And attracted he was, in a powerful but oddly nonphysical way, since he was still a long way from fully recovered. Desire was dormant. A powerful yearning for greater closeness, to understand her life and mind, was not.
If he was this attracted when he was only a few days off his deathbed, what would he feel when he became a well man again?
She interrupted his thoughts. “You seemed very determined last night. Do you remember where you were heading?”
Glad to be on safer ground, he replied, “Hereford, I think.”
“Why Hereford?”
“Why not? It's a very lovely county.” Before he could stop himself, he added, “Almost as lovely as you are.”
She sat up in the bed, trying to look severe. “I am beginning to think you are a practiced flirt.”
“Not in the least.” He studied her graceful form, which her loose nightwear only hinted at. “I'm merely stating the truth. Surely you know that you are beautiful.”
Her gaze dropped and she looked uncomfortable. He wondered why. In his experience, most women loved being admired. Perhaps Jocelyn was interpreting his comments as a husbandly advance to a woman who had no interest in being his wife.
That sobering thought was interrupted when Jocelyn's maid, Marie, hurried into the room. “Milady, the major is missing . . .” Her eyes rounded as she took in the picture before her. “Mon Dieu!”
As cool as if she was sitting in her parlor rather than in dishabille on her bed, Jocelyn said, “As you can see, the major is not missing. He was wandering last night and it was easier to bring him here than to rouse the whole house. If your slumbering swain is awake, inform him that he can assist Major Lancaster back to his own room.”
Marie bobbed her head and backed out of the room, still staring, but with a hint of smile playing around her lips.
Repressing a sigh at the intrusion of reality, David cautiously swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then stood, bracing a hand on a bedpost. “I think I can make it back to my own room without assistance.”
She climbed from the bed also. “Best wait for Morgan, Major Lancaster. You've been very ill and are probably still unsteady on your feet.”
“I thought I had persuaded you to call me David the other night.”
She tightened her wrapper around her, an unconscious act intending to cover her more, though in fact it accentuated her shapely figure. “It will be easier to keep you at a distance if I call you Major.”
Using the bedpost as a pivot, he swung around to face her. “I won't do anything that you don't want.”
“I . . . I didn't really think you would.” She sighed. “But we are in the very devil of a bind.”
When the subject had first been raised, he'd avoided it by going into opium withdrawal. This time, the situation must be discussed. “I believe there is a way out of this . . . unintended marriage that will preserve your inheritance and allow both of us to go our separate ways.”
She regarded him with great, hopeful eyes. “You really think so?”
“I'll have to look at the will. Do you have a copy in the house?”
“I believe so.”
He rubbed his chin and felt a heavy rasp of whiskers. Lord, he was a mess, unshaven, unwashed, and surely showing the effects of his days of delirium. “After I've had a chance to bathe, shave, and breakfast, I'll take a look at the will. One should never look at legal documents on an empty stomach.”
She made a wry face. “Just thinking about my father's will gives me indigestion.”
Hugh Morgan rushed in, his expression showing the fear he'd felt on waking to find his patient gone. Gushing explanations and apologies, he took David's arm and assisted him from the room.
After the door closed behind the men, Jocelyn glanced up to find Isis sitting on the windowsill where she had spent the night after her spot on the bed was usurped. “Well, puss, it appears that our major has definitely recovered. But what are we going to do with him?”
Isis yawned disdainfully. Cats arranged their relationships much more neatly.
Chapter 12
W
hen Jocelyn joined Major Lancaster some two hours later, it was hard to recognize the man who had been at death's door a handful of days before. Bathed, shaven, and sitting at ease by the window, only his dressing gown indicated his convalescent status. He stood as she entered and executed a commendable half-bow despite the recent surgery on his back.
hen Jocelyn joined Major Lancaster some two hours later, it was hard to recognize the man who had been at death's door a handful of days before. Bathed, shaven, and sitting at ease by the window, only his dressing gown indicated his convalescent status. He stood as she entered and executed a commendable half-bow despite the recent surgery on his back.
She seated herself, placing a sheaf of papers by the coffee tray that rested on the small table between them. “Major, you're a wonder. Even Dr. Kinlock thought it would be a week until you were up and about.”
“Healing quickly is an excellent trait to have in the military, where time is often in short supply. Care for some coffee? Hugh Morgan just brought a fresh pot.”
“Thank you, I believe I will.” She studied him as he poured two steaming cups of the fragrant brew. Though he was still very thin, his cheeks almost hollow, his color was healthy. She was amused to see that even though his thick brown hair had been combed into a semblance of military order, it was rapidly, and charmingly, reverting to an unruly natural wave. He was younger than she had supposed, closer to thirty than forty.
When he handed her the cup, she asked, “Speaking of Morgan, where is he now?”
“I thought he might wish to catch up on his other duties, or spend some time with his brother.” Correctly interpreting her raised brows, David said reasonably, “I really don't need a full-time nursemaid anymore.”
“I suppose not. He hasn't much catching up to do, though. London is very thin of company at this season, so the servants haven't been busy.”
He added cream to his cup, pouring it over the back of his spoon so that it covered the surface of the coffee in a rich layer. “When your maid came earlier, you referred to Morgan as her swain. Are they courting?”
“I believe so. The housekeeper assures me that they are behaving with discretion, but there is clearly interest on both sides.”
“You're a liberal employer to allow such goings-on in your house. Many prefer their servants not to keep company.”
“It's human nature for males and females to be drawn together. Employers who deny that merely force their servants into slyness. As long as no one's work suffers, it would be foolish to issue commands that won't be obeyed.”
He smiled. “Lady Jocelyn, I do believe that you are a romantic.”
“Not in the least. Merely pragmatic.” Although she must have a romantic streak, or she wouldn't be yearning for the Duke of Candover, which had led her into this distressing situation. She handed over the papers. “Here is the copy of my father's will that you requested.”
“With your permission?” David began scanning the document. The last will and testament of a wealthy peer was necessarily long, but he made short work of it, returning to study only one section with greater care.
He laid the document on the table. “There are no conditions attached to your inheritance apart from the simple one of marriage by your twenty-fifth birthday. Even divorce or murder would not disinherit you now that you've married.”
“Are those the only two options?” she asked, alarmed.
“Not at all. We could live in a state of permanent separation, but that would be very unsatisfactory for both of us. Certainly it would be for me. The best solution is to have our marriage annulled.”
Her brows drew together. “What does that mean?”
“Annulments are granted by ecclesiastical courts, and they dissolve the marriage, leaving both parties free to marry again later,” he explained. “They are very rare, but if grounds are sufficient, an annulment would be faster and less expensive than a divorce, and far less scandalous, since no misconduct is involved.”
“That would certainly be desirable, but what grounds are required? They must be stringent, or annulments would be very common.”
He regarded her steadily. “A marriage can be annulled because of lack of consent, bigamy, lunacy, being under the age of consent, and several other reasons. What would work in this case would beâimpotence.”
It took a moment to absorb his words. Then she stared at him, her eyes rounding with shock. “You mean that because of the paralysis, now you can't . . . ?”
“You needn't look so appalled, Lady Jocelyn. In fact, I have no reason to believe that is the case, but given the nature of my recent injuries, it will be simple to claim that the marriage cannot be consummated and should be annulled. The incapacity must have existed at the time of marriage, and medical witnesses would have to swear to my injuries, but that shouldn't be a problem.”
Blushing, she applied herself to the coffee. She hadn't realized how uncomfortable this discussion would become. She was dimly aware that men took their amatory performance very seriously. Surely David was unusual in his matter-of-fact offer to claim an embarrassing disability. “You wouldn't mind making such a claim?”
“Though I'll admit it's legal hairsplitting, as long as I have no clear evidence to the contrary I'll be able to swear to being . . . incapacitated with a clear conscience.”
She made herself look up and meet his gaze. “It's very gallant of you to be willing to do something that will surely be humiliating.”
“There will be enough embarrassment to go around. Among other things, you would have to be certified as virgo intacta.” He hesitated, then said, “Forgive me, but . . . would that be a problem?”
“Of course I'm a virgin!” she exclaimed, flushing violently. Though there was no “of course” about it; even among her own class, it was hardly unknown for brides to go to the altar when they were already breeding. But Jocelyn had preferred to hold to a higher standard. Besides, she'd never really been tempted.
Charitably overlooking her fluster, he said, “Then I think it very likely an annulment will be possible.”
She certainly hoped so. Ready to change the subject, she asked, “How did you learn so much about the law?”
“I read law for two years. It was thought to be a suitable profession for me.”
Intrigued, she asked, “Why didn't you continue in the profession?”
He grinned. “I decided that I quite literally preferred death to life as a lawyer, and joined the army.”
“You're confirming my prejudices. Since lawyers are usually prosy old bores, the law must be boring.”
“Not at all. The great body of Anglo-Saxon common law is part of what makes our nation unique. It's derived from precedent and common sense and is quite different from the French Code Napoleon, for example, which was based on the Roman Justinian Code. Common law has the admirable ability to grow and change with the times. I have no doubt that a thousand years from now our descendants will still be governing themselves with a recognizable form of the law that rules us today.”
“What a wonderful thought,” she said admiringly. “You've also just done the impossible, and made the law sound romantic. Perhaps you should have become a barrister or advocate after all.”
“The day-to-day practice is an indoor, paper-shuffling business. I would have hated it.” He tapped her father's will. “Though this is certainly an interesting document. What on earth was your father thinking of?”
“Isnâ²t it obvious?” she said tartly. “I believe he described me as âa headstrong wench, and too particular in my tastes.' ”
“Most unhandsome of him,” the major said, voice sober but eyes laughing.
She didn't blame him for being amused. The situation was hilarious for everyone except her. “In fairness, I know my father was sincerely concerned for me. He really believed that for a woman not to marry was a ghastly fate. Also, while he was perfectly happy to see the title go to his brother, Willoughby, he didn't want his own line to die out if I chose not to marry.”
“That's understandable.”
“Perhaps, but it doesn't mean I will accept coercion tamely.” Her mouth twisted. “It's paradoxical. Because of the way he raised me, I can never be content with the ladylike life he wanted me to have.”
David lifted the coffeepot and poured more for both of them. “How were you raised?”
“He treated me as if I would be his heir. We rode the estate together discussing drainage and livestock and crop rotation, all the things the lord of the manor must know. The Kendal estate, Charlton, is in my blood and mind and soul.” Her voice faltered. “But . . . Charlton can never be mine.”
“It won't be the same, but now you are in a position to buy another estate. With time and love, you can make it as much your own as Charlton was.”
She glanced at him shyly. “You understand, don't you? I've seldom talked of this. Mere females are not supposed to be so attached to the land.”
“Anyone who says that is a fool.”
“To be honest, I've always felt that, but few men agree,” she said candidly. “Now that my inheritance has been secured, I shall start watching for a suitable estate to come onto the market. It may take years, but in time, I will find what I'm seeking.”
“Becoming a woman of property is a worthy ambition, and I don't doubt that you shall achieve it.” He studied her face. “But what about marriage? The first time we met, I believe you said there was a man you had hopes of.”
She concentrated on mounding the sugar lumps high in the bowl with the little silver spoon, wondering how much to say. Confining herself to the bare facts, she said, “The relationship was only just beginning to develop. I ran out of time before I could determine if we might have a future together.”
“What is the gentleman like?”
“Very grand and worldly, and very unimpressed by people who worship his title and wealth. He has a great deal of wit, but kindness, too. He's an admirable landlord and a much respected member of the House of Lords.” She hesitated, knowing that she couldn't, and shouldn't, explain the yearning she felt whenever she thought of Candover. “I . . . I enjoy his company greatly.”
“He sounds like a worthy and suitable husband.” David scanned her, his gaze enigmatic. “And he'd have to be a complete fool not to appreciate you.”
“He seems to enjoy my company, too, but he's always behaved with the utmost propriety because I am, or was, a well-born spinster,” she said wryly. “He has a reputation for preferring women who are as . . . as worldly as he is.”
Understanding her implication, the major said, “Such behavior is not uncommon among men who are not yet ready to marry. No doubt he has been waiting for the right woman.”
“That's what I have believed.” She toyed with her delicate china cup in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. “No doubt I sound very foolish, to be so interested in a man who may never return my regard.”
“Not at all. Interest is the essential first step, and if you're right, the interest is mutual.”
“You're a very understanding man. I wish you were my brother, but I suppose Miss Lancaster would be loath to share you.”
His smile was wry. “You would like me for a brother?”
“I know that's impossible, but I would hope we can be friends. Too much has happened in these last days for us to be strangers.”
“You're certainly correct about that.” He offered her his hand. “Friends, then.”
She was struck by the warmth and strength of his clasp. In fact, she felt something akin to the tingle experienced after crossing a carpet on a cold day. He was well on the road to recovery.
After their handshake, he said, “Speaking of my sister, I presume that you'll want to revoke the annuity you settled on Sally, since I didn't fulfill my half of the bargain.”
For a moment she was tempted. Five hundred pounds a year was a considerable sum, and Sally Lancaster was hardly an endearing object of benevolence. But she had made a bargain. “Of course I won't revoke it. You married me, which was the essence of our agreement.”
“You're very fair.”
His gaze was approving, but his face and posture were showing signs of fatigue. “I'm tiring you,” she said apologetically. “I'm sorry, you seem so well that I keep forgetting how ill you have been. Do you wish to lie down?”
“Perhaps I should.” He levered himself carefully from his chair. “I imagine I shall do little but eat and sleep for the next week or two.”
She rose also, wondering if she should summon Morgan. “Do you need assistance?”
“I can manage, Lady Jocelyn. Thank you for your concern.”
The atmosphere had become oddly formal for two people who had just pledged friendship. “Until later, then.”
Her hand was almost on the knob when the door swung open and the Countess of Cromarty exploded into the room, her flushed face a close match for the fuchsia plumes bobbing over her head. Fixing Jocelyn with a fulminating stare, she snarled, “
What is the meaning of this?”
What is the meaning of this?”
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