To Be Seduced (10 page)

Losing patience at her stubbornness, Mr. Ilkston gave her a rough shove. Bethany cried out and nearly lost her footing, but before anyone could intervene, the door flew back on its hinges.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

Richard filled the doorway, sword drawn, taking in the entire tableau through narrowed eyes. His breath came and went heavily, as if he had just run a long way. Behind him stood Lane, also panting. Bethany nearly wept with relief at the sight of them.

She extricated herself from her mother’s suddenly flaccid grasp with little effort. Mr. Ilkston was not so easily intimidated, however, and clasped her other arm so tightly she hissed in pain. The rapier’s point flicked threateningly close to his throat. He flinched.

In two steps Richard reached forward and disengaged her from his grasp. She wanted to cling to him, but he handed her over to his uncle as he sheathed his weapon.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit from so many of our relations, my dear?” His mild tone belied the twitching muscle in his jaw as he waited for an answer.

From her place at Lord Rothley’s side, Bethany answered him, her voice trembling slightly. “They want to take me away and annul the marriage.” She gestured to the constable. “That man is here to arrest you for kidnapping me.”

Richard’s knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword and he raised his brows at the constable. The plump fellow hastily assured him that the young lady insisted she had not been forced into anything. Watching the sword warily, he added that there remained the matter of stealing her away for her money.

To the official’s relief, his lordship released the hilt and brushed a speck of mud from his cloak. “By now that is a moot point, my good man. I married the lady yesterday at the home of a Mr. Barker, a clergyman known to both Lady Harcourt and her mother.” Both men took Mistress Dallison’s strangled protestations at this information as agreement. “In fact, you see her bride dress right there.” He indicated the dress lying on the back of the settle.

“And what, pray tell, would it be doing on the floor of your parlour?” Bethany prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole when Richard answered her mother’s question with an apologetic shrug. At her side Lord Rothley shook with suppressed laughter. The constable grinned openly.

The older woman regarded both of them with horror as the truth dawned on her. “Wicked, shameless girl! No thought given to my needs in my old age.” She dabbed her eyes. “I shall be alone, with no compensation for my years of caring for you.”

The men became restive at the threatened tears, but Bethany’s patience ran out. “Nonsense. Father gave you the use of the estate and its income for life.” She moved to stand next to Richard. “We were properly wed by Mr. Barker, and I am well pleased to be Lady Harcourt.” Her tone changed to cajolery. “Think of telling the neighborhood that you are mother-in-law to a lord.”

Struck by this cheerful thought, Mistress Dallison remonstrated a few minutes longer for form’s sake before announcing her acceptance of the marriage. Informing Lord Rothley that she would await him in his coach, she swept from the room muttering the names of her acquaintances. By the time she reached the landing, she had already decided who would be the first to hear of Bethany’s improved circumstances.

Mr. Ilkston did not take defeat as well. He attempted to force the constable to arrest Richard, but that official declined. He declared the warrant sworn out on shaky evidence and begged that the two noble gentlemen might appear before the Lord Mayor to clarify the matter at their earliest convenience. Richard graciously consented to this, and as a sign that he bore no ill will, tossed a coin to Lane and ordered him to show the constable to the nearest alehouse.

Mr. Ilkston watched this transaction with disgust. Preparing to leave, he paused before Richard and Bethany. “Rob me of the better part of twenty thousand pounds, will you?” She stepped back at his venom.

To her amazement, her husband’s hand shot out and grabbed him by his throat. “Be very careful how you speak of my marriage in London or out. Touch my honor or my wife again and I’ll spit you where you stand.” He released him so quickly that the other man fell back a few paces before he could regain his balance.

Gathering his dignity as best he could, the black-coated countryman addressed her. “I cannot felicitate you on your choice of Lord Harcourt, madam. However, I shall pray most earnestly that after he has wasted your substance, you may repent of your foolishness from your place in the gutter.”

He bowed stiffly and stormed out of the room, followed by Lord Rothley’s shout. “You can walk to your quarters and then back to Stanworth, you crow. Damme if I’ll give you a place in my coach.”

Bethany, shaken by her former betrothed’s outburst, held Richard’s arm as they listened to him stamp down the stairs. He placed a warm hand over hers and chuckled. “No wonder you chose me.” She looked at him numbly for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck.

“I am so glad you came when you did.” She burrowed her face into his shoulder as his arms hesitantly closed around her. “I feared I’d end up married to Ilkston after all.”

Lord Rothley observed them with a benign smile of his own as Richard released her. “Thought I’d have to pull your head out of the hangman’s noose. Very havey-cavey way of going about the business, but all’s well enough now. Married her in front of old Barker.” He chortled. “’Twas a master stroke, my boy. We didn’t think you’d find a parson to marry you so soon, much less one they’ve known for years. And bedded her as well.”

He kissed Bethany’s flaming cheek and welcomed her to the family. “Too late for missishness, especially if you agreed to run off with him in the first place, minx. Now you’ve discovered the best and worst a man can do to a maid, you’ll go on very well.”

Mercifully leaving the subject, he suggested that he accompany the couple to the Mayor’s office to deal with the warrant for Richard’s arrest. Between the three of them and Mistress Dallison, he speculated, the matter could be cleared up easily. He added that they should then sojourn to his town house, where he could treat them to dinner.

They agreed with alacrity, although Bethany begged to delay their departure. Picking up the much-maligned apricot twill, she announced her intention to put it away before she had to listen to one more piece of raillery.

Richard watched her carry the dress into the bedchamber. When Lane had burst into the coffeehouse to fetch him, only the old servant’s worry about the arrest warrant induced him to return. He had resolved to do no more than clear his own name and leave his calculating wife to her fate.

All intentions of indifference had flown out of his mind when he had heard her frightened cry. He had raced up the stairs, drawing his sword in a soldier’s reflex. At the sight of his wife struggling between her mother and Ilkston, a possessive fury had boiled up in him, along with gratification that she did not want to leave him.

Of course, as the scene had played out, he came to understand her reluctance. Seeing what she had to bear from that pair, he knew he had to be a better husband than the one she had expected to marry.

Accordingly, her protestations of satisfaction with their marriage struck him as questionable. With the settlement she had foisted on him, she doubtless meant that she liked the financial terms of their union. His conscience pricked him again. She had said nothing of gold or fortune in his bed last night, and he had found plenty of satisfaction himself there.

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts. Lord Rothley waved him over to the fireplace in an attempt at secrecy. “Seeing that you’ve married such an heiress, Rickon, I wonder if I might take back the thousand pounds I promised for Glory’s dowry. With the Dallison money at your disposal, you can afford it better than I.”

Taken aback at his uncle’s request, Richard glanced over at the open bedchamber door. “I had hoped, Uncle, that I might add to your pledge when it comes time for my sister to marry. I feel sure you wish her to obtain the best match possible.” He wanted Bethany’s inheritance in part to provide a decent dowry for his sister, but that greedy settlement impeded his ability to do so. And he’d be damned if he’d reveal its demeaning terms to his uncle, or anyone else for that matter. He’d be a complete laughingstock if news of it ever got out.

Their low-voiced conversation ended when Bethany reappeared, cheerfully announcing her readiness to depart. He studied her expression as he helped her into her cloak, hoping she had not had to overhear yet one more discussion of her inheritance. She gave no sign of having done so, but a hardness in her gray eyes made him wonder.

The visit to the Lord Mayor’s office achieved, Lord Rothley invited the newlyweds and Mistress Dallison to dine at his town house in Saint Clement’s Lane. There, over a snug meal of turkey-pie washed down with sack, he toasted their health, even persuading Bethany’s mother to join him.

Bethany asked so many questions about various neighborhoods and available rentals that the old man urged them to set up housekeeping in his own house. Richard regarded her with a jaundiced eye. He had angled for that exact invitation for months without success. Now his uncle sat jovially waving aside her stammered thanks.

“I shall be gratified to leave the place in the hands of one who has had such an excellent guide in the domestic arts.” He bowed to Mistress Dallison, who unbent enough to smile at the compliment. He smiled indulgently at Bethany. “Stay until you make suitable arrangements for yourselves.”

After dinner, Mistress Dallison expressed a desire to see some of the shops. Her daughter reluctantly took the hint and the two ladies set out, following the housekeeper’s directions.

Lord Rothley bluntly informed Richard that he could amuse himself for a few hours and retired to his bed for a nap. Pleased to be on his own, Richard strolled to a favored haunt off nearby Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

He entered the smoky tavern to find, as he had expected, several friends present. A familiar pale blond head bent over a dice game in one corner. Richard observed the players until the departure of one of them enabled him to slide into the abandoned seat.

“Rickon! I haven’t set eyes on you in nigh a week.” Lord Thomas Orsey’s deceptively angelic face lit up at him. “Hiding from the duns?”

His lordship grinned at his friend’s sympathetic question. “Just the opposite, Tom. You behold a man who’s coming up in the world. I’ve married an heiress.”

“You landed the country chit? Well done!” Lord Thomas called for a round of ale to celebrate his friend’s change of fortune. The company bombarded Richard with questions about his venture. Mindful of quick ears and loose tongues, he gave an edited account of his recent activities. He described his wife as a Puritan fond of reading and housekeeping without further details.

“To fifteen thousand!” Richard joined the toast silently, unwilling to disclose the fact his wife had outsmarted him.

“Pho! I think Lord Harcourt must be enjoying a jest at our expense.”

He tensed as he recognized the voice of Captain Arthur Loring, an old rival. “Why, I saw him five days ago at a ramshackle inn buried in the country, and with a female claiming to be his sister.” The newcomer’s dark brows lifted suggestively. “As I’ve known Miss Harcourt for years, I can assure you she most certainly was not.”

Richard leaped to his feet. Only Lord Thomas’s firm grip on his wrist prevented him from drawing his sword for the second time that day. His friend did not let go as he chuckled at the captain.

“Faith, Arthur, hold your tongue! You make it sound like a scandal when Richard tells us that he just dined with his uncle and his wife’s mother this very afternoon.” Steel laced the slim nobleman’s voice. “Very likely you mistake the matter completely.”

The tall, dark-visaged man bowed, the sneer not leaving his face. “I admit I may have spoken in error. Particularly easy to do with a man of Lord Harcourt’s reputation.” Twirling his walking stick, he sauntered over to a card game on the far side of the room.

“Easy, Rick.” Knowing Harcourt’s temper, Lord Thomas stayed on his feet as his friend glared after Loring. “You don’t want to start a brawl, and it’s not as if he mentioned any names.”

“He came close enough.” Richard slowly lowered himself to his seat. He kept his ears open for any more untoward comments from across the room, but the captain evidently decided on circumspect behavior. The two men did not acknowledge each other’s presence again. To Richard’s relief, his rival left first. When he stepped into the street himself, he did not observe any sign of Loring.

Dusk approached already, so he hurried back to Saint Clement’s Lane. Bethany and her mother had arrived earlier, and he rescued his uncle from a recitation of their purchases by requesting an interview in his library. As the interview consisted of enjoying a glass of brandy free from feminine chatter, he and his uncle parted on good terms.

After escorting Mistress Dallison to her lodgings, he and Bethany returned to the half-timbered building containing their rooms. He helped her out of her cloak and hat, but did not remove his own.

“Take off your things; I shall have supper laid out directly.” She smiled over her shoulder as she moved to set the table.

“’Twill be unnecessary. I sup with friends tonight.” His cronies had urged him to join a convivial gathering at a nearby town house that evening, claiming that Richard could not already be reduced to hanging on his wife’s apron strings, and Richard’s wounded pride had accepted.

Guilt pricked him at the hurt expression in her eyes. Annoyed at the sensation, he spoke sharply. “You wished for a title and social position, my lady. You now possess them unassailably, having been properly wed.” His voice lowered suggestively. “And properly bedded, if I do say so myself.”

He ignored her crimson cheeks and snapping eyes. “I bid you joy in your new position, not to mention the unheard-of sum set aside for your own use. In our level of society, married couples do not live in one another’s pockets, so I bid you
au revoir
for the evening.”