The Rake's Arranged Marriage (2 page)

"And since it's my party," he said, his voice gravelly and snide, "it's also my prerogative to dance with whomever I wish. And I wish to dance with you."

"There is no music. This is a
card party
, Lord Eliot."

"Q," he insisted.

"I shan't call you that. And if you think I'm about to dance with you, you are sorely mistaken, sir."

And with that, Cara turned on her heel and strode out of the immense parlor without a second glance. Her father began to rush after her, but Eliot stopped him in his tracks with a loud command.

"Oh, let her go, old man! She's off to wander the grounds, no doubt. And it's the middle of the afternoon. She'll be perfectly fine if she doesn't trip and break an ankle!"

***

Mercifully, everyone seemed to have heeded Lord Eliot's command. Cara had the entire expanse of Hedgeton Estate at her disposal. She wandered aimlessly for a bit, finding herself glad of the warm afternoon sun. As soon as it dipped behind the distant hills, she knew she'd be chilly and would have to return to the retched mansion that Quentin Eliot called home. For more abuse, no doubt.

She soon found herself following a well-worn path through the grounds. Up ahead it turned sharply to the right and when she rounded the corner, she came to a full stop. She was standing before the hedge maze – the famed botanical structure for which the Eliots' estate had been named. Cara considered herself a well-traveled, well-educated person (at least, amongst members of her own sex), and she'd seen and done a good many things. But a hedge maze was one wonder she'd never come across.

After sizing up the height of the hedges and the vibrant green color of the leaves, she began to trot forward towards it. The ground here was muddy from the rain of the previous night and she could plainly see that the hem of her dress was quickly becoming soiled. Her satin slippers would have to be thrown out altogether. But she didn't care. In fact, her mind landed on a delightful new idea. She would walk the hedge maze, getting herself as filthy and disheveled as possible. And then she'd make a grand re-entrance into Lord Eliot's stupid party. That would
really
give them something to talk about.

Cara continued to follow the path she was on until she reached the entrance to the maze. It was a simple, small gap between the high hedges, and she slipped through it quickly. Her instincts told her to turn right, and she followed them. Soon, she was striding confidently between the hedges, her white silk dress billowing behind her in the summer breeze. It felt so good to be outdoors, so good to be alone. There was nothing but the high green walls of the leafy maze on either side of her, stretching up to the perfect blue sky above. She stretched her arms out and let her fingers drag along the greenery to her left and right as she walked. She began to forget all about Quentin Eliot –  and her father. And the endless expectations of anyone and everyone she had ever met.

She was humming sweetly, her mind far away, when she rounded a left-hand turn and caught sight of a figure up ahead. The same rakish grin he'd been wearing when she first met him was plastered on Lord Eliot's face. Cara stopped dead in her tracks.

"What do you want?" she called out. He did not answer right away – just continued to drink her in with those shining blue eyes of his. It maddened her that he'd followed her out here. She could feel her blood rise as her gaze drifted over him. He'd been so brazen as to take his jacket off and the creamy shirt he wore now was billowing in the breeze around his thickly muscled frame. She found her eyes drifting lower, lower, down over his well-fitted breeches...

She shook her head brusquely. "Your guests must be wondering where you are, Lord Eliot!" she snapped. But still, he did not move. He just regarded her steadily. Cara was certain that this was all a ploy to drive her mad. She felt no fear at being alone in the maze with the rogue. But she was tired of the game.

If he's set on staying here, let him. It's his damned maze.

She turned on her heel and walked quickly back in the direction she'd come. But behind her, she heard footfalls.

Cara resisted the urge to turn around. Instead, she picked up her pace. Lord Eliot followed suit.

"Find your own way – and be damned!" she called over her shoulder. And then she began to run. She only got a few paces, though, before a root seemed to rise up from the ground before her like a living thing. She was moving so swiftly that she couldn't stop in time. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she felt her foot catch on the root. She lost her balance, tumbling forward and landing on her knee – hard. She lay there for a moment, biting back the tears that pricked her eyes. There was a sharp pain shooting through her leg, threatening to take her down in a faint. She rolled onto her back with a great gasp, clutching her knee to her chest. But when she saw that Lord Eliot was rushing towards her, she bit her lip and made a valiant effort to stand.

"Don't move, you fool!" Eliot barked.

And then he was at her side. His warm, strong hand slid underneath her back, and he lifted her with ease. She stiffened all of her muscles, unwilling to let him touch her.

"I can't carry you if you're as stiff as a board, woman!" he growled. She reluctantly relaxed some. "Now, wrap your arm over my shoulder. That's it. You'd think you'd never been carried by a man before!"

"I haven't!" she hissed. "Not since I was small."

"Well," said Eliot, striding easily through maze with Cara in his arms, "that's a damn shame."

Chapter Two

Cara's mind was spinning, her ability to think rationally dulled by the shooting pain in her knee – and the proximity to Quentin Eliot as he rushed towards Hedgeton manor holding her tightly was not helping. She wanted to scream “Put me down!” but she knew it was no good. Her knee was seriously injured – she had felt the awful snapping that foretold something very bad indeed when she'd fallen. Besides, she didn't think that Lord Eliot would take orders from her under any conditions.
Stubborn man.

Held close in his arms, Cara could smell the brandy on Eliot's breath – a sweet, musky smell that mingled with his sweat. She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly faint again, and let herself drift. When next she opened her eyes, they were ascending the staircase to the front entrance of Hedgeton and Eliot was calling out loudly for his housekeeper and the butler.

"Mrs. Cooper! Sanderson!"

He burst through the front doorway, and as Cara's eyes blinked open, she could see guests spilling out from the drawing room. They crowded into the foyer to see what all the fuss was. Her father's shocked face, alongside Frederick Simms' equally aghast maw appeared in the midst of the chattering press. Then, Mrs. Cooper was closing in on them.

"Oh dear God! What's happened to the girl?" Lord Eliot's plump housekeeper asked.

"Taken a tumble out in the maze."

"The shock's setting in. You don't think-?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper – a broken leg, likely. Something in her knee joint," Lord Eliot said solemnly.

"I'll have Sanderson call the doctor," Mrs. Cooper breathed, and then she turned and made a hasty exit in search of the butler.

Guests were crowding them now, pressing in to get a look. The heat from their bodies and the high-pitched, excited talk all around were simply too much for Cara.

"Make them go away," she whispered, praying that the plea would reach Lord Eliot's ears.

"All of you – get the hell out and go home!" Eliot bellowed without a second's hesitation. Several of the guests' faces went white as a sheet. But in another moment, they were turning tail and fleeing, calling for their carriages as they made for the drawing room again. Only Lord Calloway and Frederick Simms remained, and as they stepped forward, Mrs. Cooper reappeared.

"Come, we'll take her upstairs. I've a room all cleaned and aired, with fresh linens. The doctor can see her there. Poor child."

"She's not a child, Mrs. Cooper. She's a merry mad widow," Eliot retorted, following the round, gray-haired housekeeper up the grand staircase. He was still clutching Cara in his arms, and he squeezed her a bit harder. "And she's caused me a lot of trouble today."

"I never asked to come to your party, Lord Eliot," Cara bit out. It was quite a struggle to form the words – her teeth were chattering now and she was very nearly losing consciousness. But she was determined to go out on a high, sour note if she had to faint in front of Lord Eliot. "My attendance was not my own idea."

But in the end, she didn't have the last word. For just as they reached the top of the stairs, Lord Eliot whispered in her ear.

"Oh, I know it wasn't your idea, Lady Boyle. It was all your father's. He's trying to get me to ask for your hand in marriage. Very cunning, your papa."

"You mock him."

"No, I don't. In fact, I think it's quite a brilliant plan. You must admit, we're almost perfectly matched. In fact, I think it would be a damned sin if we didn't tie the knot in the very near future."

"Oh yes, Lord Eliot," Cara managed with bitter sarcasm. "We'd be a perfectly loving pair. I say we marry as soon as possible!"

"Next spring?" Eliot asked, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Cara couldn't bear to be mocked like this, especially when the damned fool was carrying her like a child and she was too weak to do anything but let him. The whole situation was infuriating and it made her even more determined to beat Eliot at his own ironic little game.

"Next
month!
" she shot back.

And then, the most shocking thing of all happened. Without waiting for a reply – and utterly without any warning – Lord Eliot stopped at the top of the staircase. He spun about recklessly on his heel. Cara felt sure that he was losing his balance and that they were both about to topple headlong down the stairs. But Eliot stopped with surprising agility, facing Lord Calloway and Frederick Simms who were following him up. Cara had a split second to take in their rather blank, stunned expressions.

"I've just asked Lady Boyle to be my wife!" Lord Quentin Eliot barked out. "And she's set the wedding date for next month!"

Cara just had time to see a very sincere expression of delight flash over her father's sallow face. And then she really did faint.

***

Cara's lids fluttered open, but for a long moment she couldn't seem to make her eyes focus. She felt groggy and dull, and she was dimly aware of a throbbing pain in her right knee. She propped herself up on her elbows and swallowed hard, trying to make the dryness leave her throat and willing her vision to clear at the same time. But as it did, she was struck with a sudden confusion and fear.

Where am I?

She instantly judged that this couldn't be her own bedroom. The chamber she slept in at Boyle Estate was small and cozy, with flowered paper on the walls and thick, dark drapes to match her dark moods. In fact, it was one of the smallest, most modest guest rooms in Lord Boyle's vast estate. But it was the room in which Cara felt the most comfortable. When her father had moved in shortly after Lord Boyle's untimely death, he'd spent fruitless hours begging Cara to occupy the grand master suite to no avail. She enjoyed the tiny niche she'd carved for herself in the unfamiliar manse of her late husband.

This room was its polar opposite. It was huge, light, and airy. With high ceilings and white walls, it was almost palatial. Large windows emitted natural light and fresh air, and paper-thin muslin curtains with tiny flowers embroidered on them billowed at the windows. Cara blinked several times. This most definitely wasn't Boyle Estate. A fire burned merrily in the grate opposite her bed and the mantle above it was adorned with ornate scrollwork covered in gold flake.

"You have a distinctly bovine look of confusion on your face, Lady Boyle."

At the sound of the low voice, Cara's head snapped hard to her left. There, leaning back in a large armchair, was Lord Quentin Eliot. The grin that stretched his handsome, wolfish features was as satisfied as that of the proverbial cat who ate the canary.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice came out in a scratchy, broken croak.

"I like that!" Eliot retorted. "My own house and she asks me what I'm doing here!"

Suddenly, the memories came crashing over Cara like a rogue wave on a rocky beach.

"Where is my father?" she demanded. She tried to sit up fully, but pain stabbed sharply through her right knee and she gasped suddenly. In an instant, Eliot was on his feet and at her side.

"Lay back!" he commanded. "You're not to move suddenly for the next week."

"Do not presume to tell me what to do, Lord Eliot!"

"I
shall
presume to tell you," he said with sudden, maddening calmness. He was tucking her back in now, and there was nothing Cara could do about it, except to observe how strong and surprisingly gentle his hands were. And warm. "I'm to be your husband soon. And then you'll be taking orders from me for a good, long while, Lady Boyle. Until you die, I should say."

"Or until
you
do," she bit back. Eliot only chuckled and resettled himself in the chair beside her bed, re-crossing his arms behind his head. Suddenly, Cara felt very close to crying. Everything was simply too overwhelming: the terrible pain in her knee, the foggy condition of her mind. "Where is my father?" she asked again, struggling to keep the tremble from her voice.

"He went home yesterday."

"Do you mean to tell me that I've been asleep for a whole day?"

"Two days," Eliot said simply. "I had my doctor give you laudanum so that he could examine you without the flailing."

"I was...f-flailing?" Cara stammered. She remembered everything right up until that dreadful moment on the staircase when Eliot had announced they were engaged. But beyond that, her mind was a dark void. She had no recollection of having been seen by a doctor at all.

"Most dreadfully," Eliot sighed. "Quite a sight you were. I had to have Mrs. Cooper and Sanderson restrain you. I hope you don't plan to behave in such a way after you've become Lady Quentin Eliot of Hedgeton Manor."