A housemaid stoked the fire into a welcoming blaze of heat. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
“No, thank you.”
When the maid opened the door to leave, her cousin Emma bounded into Claire’s sitting room like one of her father’s retrievers, always willing to swim the deepest waters to capture the fallen prize. She collapsed on the sofa next to Claire. “You and Pembrooke in the garden alone? How did you accomplish such a feat in a single hour? I’ve been out for years and still can’t get LaTourell to sneak away for a kiss.”
“Em, it’s not what you think,” Claire said gently.
Her other cousins, McCalpin and William, arrived at a more leisurely pace and took the seats directly opposite.
“Kiss?” McCalpin’s jaw tensed. “Did Pembrooke touch you?”
William leaned toward McCalpin. “The marquess wants to test the bounds of propriety with our cousin? I say we take the blackguard—”
“No. Of course he didn’t,” Claire said. William and McCalpin always cared for her welfare, but sometimes their zealousness to protect both their sister and her spiraled outside the limits of acceptable behavior.
“Brute force is hardly the answer,” Emma continued. “Goodness, not long ago we were at the modiste’s for the final fitting of your first wedding dress. The ton called your wedding to the Earl of Archard the romance of the Season.” With a dramatic sigh she continued, “Last month, I was there for the fitting of Lord Paul’s gown.”
“Lord Paul’s gown?” She laughed as she threw a pillow at Emma’s head. “It’s my gown.”
With a coquettish smile, Emma cooed, “Another gown is in your future.”
Claire grabbed another pillow to toss, then hugged it to her chest as the levity of the moment evaporated into thin air. Most women practically caught kissing another man besides their intended would die from mortification. After the years of whispers and insinuations from “polite” society, she was immune to such shame. Instead, her overriding concern was doubt about his motives. There was no logical reason Pembrooke would offer for her unless it was a hoax.
With her cursed luck, she half expected him not to show in the morning.
McCalpin reached behind his back and pulled out a small rectangular pillow. Without dropping his gaze from Claire, he lobbed the pillow and hit Emma square in the face. “Quit teasing her, Em.”
Emma tossed her head. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“I’ll take you to any bookshop you want tomorrow without time restraints to make up for it,” McCalpin said.
“Prepare to be gone all day on a grand adventure, dear brother. I’m hunting for Jeremy Bentham’s first book of essays.”
“The philosopher?” William scratched his head. “McCalpin, why do you do this to yourself? God knows, once she sets her mind to acquiring a book, she’s like a terrier and won’t let go.”
McCalpin’s full attention settled on Claire. “Are you acquainted with Pembrooke?”
“Not really.”
“Why did he announce this supposed engagement?” McCalpin pressed.
“I have no answer. We’re just acquaintances. He must want something, but your father says he’s wealthy and well respected.” Claire’s hold on the pillow in her lap tightened. “What do you know about him?”
McCalpin leaned against the chair and relaxed, but the intensity in his blue eyes never wavered. “We belong to the same clubs. For years, at White’s he had a table reserved every day at three o’clock. Most days, Lord Paul joined him for a drink. If he didn’t attend, Somerton joined him. Never all three together.”
“There’s bad blood between Somerton and Lord Paul,” said William. “After Lady Alice’s death, Pembrooke let the table go. Now, he only socializes with Somerton. What caused the break with Lord Paul has never been discovered.”
“Let’s finish this tomorrow when we’re rested.” Claire caught a glimpse of the sky from the window where the moon reigned over the night. A hefty dose of contentment swept through her at the sight. Tonight, she could concentrate on Pembrooke.
Emma leapt from the sofa and settled into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. “Oh, we don’t mean to keep you, but I must share something.” She curled her long legs under and continued as if she hadn’t heard Claire’s request. “Tonight, Lady Lena told me Pembrooke has an arrangement with Monique LaFontaine.”
McCalpin heaved a heavy sigh. “Em, for heaven’s sake, that’s not an appropriate subject to discuss in mixed company.”
“I’m sure William’s tender ears have heard worse,” Emma countered.
Will shot a devilish grin to his sister. Emma straightened in her chair. The two siblings baited each other relentlessly. Even though they argued with an annoying vigor, they were close.
Emma focused once again on Claire. “How will you manage a mistress?”
“Don’t be naïve. There’s nothing to manage. Whether he keeps a mistress is simply a tale batted about by people who have nothing better to occupy their minds.” She, above all people, knew how gossip was woven into a false truth.
When she had sought refuge in Pembrooke’s arms to escape the storm, he had accepted her without question and had stayed by her side. Even when her deepest fears were exposed, he hadn’t questioned why—he had protected her.
How he had handled the gaping bystanders in the garden when he defused her broken engagement and claimed her for his own was unforgettable. The man had been magnificent in his command. She would be forever grateful he had shielded her from the scandal as best he could. The least she could do was to return the favor and safeguard his reputation.
“Claire, I’ll discover if he has an arrangement.” McCalpin reached over and grasped her hand. “If it’s any comfort, I haven’t heard such rumors.”
Emma cocked her head and knit her eyebrows together. “What if it’s not a rumor? Now who’s being naïve?”
Claire bit her tongue hard to stop the doubt that skipped across her thoughts. Pembrooke had never explained his reasons for the proposal. What right did she have to question his motives, as long as he came to her tomorrow? It shouldn’t matter if he kept a mistress. With a resigned sigh, she knew it made a world of difference. Granted, her overriding goal was a marriage that would provide her with her own family and respectability. Nevertheless, she’d not marry if Pembrooke carried on with a member of the notorious demimonde behind her back. No matter how desperate, she’d not marry under such circumstances. What remained of her reputation, she’d protect fiercely.
Since Archard, she had never expected to have a husband in love with her. Pembrooke’s arms around her had been an unexpected comfort, one she would not share with another.
Claire yawned. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Shall we?” She had dropped her tone and was hopeful the hint would do its magic. She would never rest if Emma continued to dredge up old tales.
Emma stood and stomped her foot. “What if he makes you a laughingstock?”
Claire groaned. “Many consider me such already.”
Emma bristled with outrage but continued, “How can you dismiss this so easily? What if he’s nothing more than a contemptible rogue?” Emma stood at attention much like a field marshal rallying the troops for a take-no-prisoners battle. “He frequents gambling hells and never attends society functions. What suitable husband does that?”
“Contemptible rogue or not, perhaps we should hold our judgment. He sounds like a jolly entertaining fellow to spend time with,” William added.
Emma didn’t bother to hide her attack. She hurled McCalpin’s pillow at William, where it landed at his feet. “We’re talking about Claire’s future. Be serious, for once.”
“I’m not privy to his exploits in gambling hells. Besides, your father thinks he has admirable qualities.” Claire knew there was no use arguing the point, but she had to explain. “He just came out of mourning for his sister. I have no other options.”
“Claire, you have choices. You always have. We’ll not let Pembrooke or that ridiculous curse force you into marriage.” McCalpin stood. “He all but disappeared from town after his sister’s death. I didn’t hear one mention of him or the rest of his family while they were in mourning.”
“Nor I.” William joined his brother. “We’ll see what we can discover.”
With an exaggerated puff, Emma blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “Dreadful business about Lady Alice. His other sister, Lady Daphne, just arrived into town, too. I’m anxious to see her.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I believe Lord Pembrooke is honorable. He knew about Lord Paul and offered to help me before anyone saw us.” Claire softened her voice. “He could have made an excuse and walked away when we were discovered.” An honorable man would protect his wife from ridicule. She had to believe Pembrooke would give up his mistress, if she existed.
“I hope for your sake he is, Claire. You deserve only the best.” McCalpin turned to leave, with Will following suit. “We’ll bid you good night.”
Emma narrowed her eyes, as if debating whether to accept Claire’s argument. A simple shrug of one shoulder signaled her surrender to the challenge. With a quick spin, she made her way to leave. “When you marry, I’ll miss”—she turned from the door—“these talks.” Her voice wobbled. “I don’t want you hurt anymore.”
Claire jumped up from the sofa and gathered her cousin in her arms. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. With my history, you might have me until you marry.” She had made her voice light, but the familiar dread emerged from its dark cave inside her chest to keep her company. She pushed it aside. She had more important things to consider.
After the door closed, Claire made short work of preparing for bed, then drew the draperies around her bed-frame. Settled under the covers, she caressed her lips with her fingers. Might a kiss from the “contemptible rogue” be so different from that given by any other man?
She had come close to discovering the answer tonight. He would have kissed her if they hadn’t been interrupted by Lord Honeycutt. Surrounded in the safety of his embrace, with all her attention narrowed on him, she had forgotten the storm completely. When had that ever happened?
Pembrooke’s offer of marriage might change in the light of day. No doubt his friends and others would encourage him to avoid her and the curse. Proof once again that romance and love were fairy tales. She didn’t believe in them, at least not for herself. The only reasonable expectation was respect and honor from her husband.
If Pembrooke’s mettle had him somewhere other than her doorstep tomorrow, she hated to think of the ramifications.
She dared hope he was the answer to her prayers. Otherwise, she’d be crushed by the curse and completely ruined.
* * *
Alex descended the main staircase of his town house. He had important matters to iron out at Langham Hall, namely negotiating his marriage to the lovely Lady Claire Cavensham. His butler, Simms, stood at attention beside Somerton.
“Ready?” Somerton checked his pocket watch, not hiding his irritation. The earl had been Alex’s friend since their early years at Eton and knew him better than anyone.
“In a moment.” Alex was not worried. He had fifteen minutes to walk the two blocks to Langham Hall.
Somerton delivered a long-suffering sigh. “I have to be at Goodwin’s by nine.”
“What in the devil for this early in the morning? No. Do not answer. I have an excuse. You don’t.” Alex smoothed his waistcoat as Simms held out a beaver hat. Without a look in a mirror, Alex donned the hat and walked out the front door. The earl was right beside him.
“I heard you managed to become betrothed last night. How will the Duke of Langham receive you today?”
“I’m not certain. He was not pleased last night. I’ll show him my sincerity and hope that’s enough.” It made no difference to Alex. He had to marry Claire. Sunshine broke through the gray clouds and chased away the gloom of the London morning. The sun’s effects matched Alex’s mood. “I’ll not allow her reputation to suffer at my hand.” He quickened his pace.
“It’s a little late for that. This morning every gentleman at White’s had you, Lady Claire, and her curse as the topic of discussion.” Somerton pulled his hat at an angle to lessen the sun’s effect. “Do you realize what you’re undertaking this morning?”
“I assume you’re referring to Lady Claire. Rest assured, I know what I am doing. It’s the final piece. We’ll marry Friday morning and arrive at Pemhill by nightfall.”
“Marriage is a lifetime commitment.” Somerton’s voice lowered. “Seriously, perhaps you need to think this through. There’s something not quite right about her. Why has she been engaged so many times?”
“Please, Somerton, I never took you as one to believe in curses.”
“Sometimes you can be so obtuse.” The earl shook his head. “She has the worst luck of anyone I’ve seen.”
“Her luck’s about to change.”
“Don’t be an arrogant arse. It would be tragic if she were hurt again because you rushed this engagement. Just take your time and become better acquainted before marriage.”
“Don’t be an old hen. Save the speeches for when you’re in the House of Lords. She’s perfect.” Alex grinned. “I was pleasantly surprised by her person. There’s a quiet elegance about her.”
“Do you think you can come to care for her?” In typical fashion, his friend had found his jugular.
Alex released an inward groan and gritted his teeth. With a sudden stop, he faced Somerton. The sun reflected off the earl’s light hair, nearly blinding him. “It’s none of your bloody business.”
“She’ll be your wife and the mother of your children. She’ll be by your side, God willing, when you grow old.” Somerton stared with narrowed eyes, as if calculating the return on one of his complicated investments. “Neither of us witnessed sterling examples of happy marriages growing up. Your parents were indifferent to each other. My father was miserable after my birth when my mother died, and he never remarried.” Somerton hesitated. “Based upon the law of averages, don’t you think this deserves more consideration? What if she’s in love with him?”
Unease inched its way into Alex’s thoughts. He tried to tamp down the concerns Somerton had unearthed. He’d never intended to hurt Lady Claire, just safeguard her future. “Do you think there’s reason to believe she is?”
“How would I have knowledge? Lord Paul isn’t my friend either.” Somerton continued his trek. “All I’m saying is you need to come to terms with this betrayal, or your grief will never heal. You’ll continue to live in isolation. That doesn’t bode well for a happy life or a contented wife.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? Your social calendar is nonexistent.”
“Pembrooke, that’s a poor analogy. I choose not to attend events because I don’t enjoy them and have no responsibility to attend. You do. You sit in the House of Lords, and you have a sister in her first Season. You need to make appearances.”
Alex refused to admit Somerton had a valid point. “Weeks ago, I shared my plan to marry her as the final punishment for Lord Paul. You made no objection.”
“I didn’t endorse it either. I never thought you would go through with it.” Somerton slowed his pace as he continued to offer his opinion. “Some of your most admirable traits are the deep love and sense of responsibility you bear for your family. Don’t confuse that with Lady Claire. She isn’t your obligation.” Somerton offered a grim smile. “Marriage, much less love, has never been something I understood. Nonetheless, it seems to me you should have some reason to marry her other than revenge.”
The short answer was “yes,” he had a reason. He already cared for her. Whether the feelings came from chivalry or his desire for revenge wasn’t easy to determine. He’d protect her from Lord Paul. He had failed to do it for his own sister, but Claire would not suffer the same fate. A shadow of annoyance darkened Alex’s earlier mood. “This conversation is getting monotonous.”
Somerton ignored the comment, which was typical. “Lady Claire is a lovely woman. Some fellow will be lucky to have her—under the right circumstances. I’m not convinced it’s you.”
“Last night was the right circumstance. I could not have planned it better.” Alex slowed his stride. Before him was Langham Hall, where Claire resided with her aunt and uncle.
Located in fashionable Mayfair, the mansion was one of the newer residences, specifically designed and built for the crème de la crème of the aristocracy. The large structure was a perfect example of Georgian architecture. With red brick and a wrought-iron railing around the perimeter, the home loomed like a veritable fortress.
“After last night, Langham will press for a quick ceremony, which works to my favor. I don’t trust Lord Paul. Unless he marries another heiress quickly, he’s ruined. The faster our marriage vows are said, the better.”
Somerton’s face turned to stone. He tugged the sleeves of his dark gray morning coat. “Make the attempt to woo her. The effort will provide you both an opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“When did you become an expert on courtship?”
Somerton’s lean body tightened as if he were ready for a fight. With a quick glance skyward, he appeared to reclaim his patience. “Lady Claire deserves better than what you’re offering, and so do you.” He continued to push his point. “For all that’s holy, make certain you’re on the right path.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow to halt the lecture. His friend’s worries would not squander what promised to be a spectacular day. “This is my life. I expect your good wishes at the opera this evening.”
He turned from Somerton and entered the gate to Langham Hall.
* * *
Claire stood ramrod straight and waited for Pembrooke to enter the blue drawing room. Small compared with the others, this room had been her mother’s favorite. Ivory silk covered the walls, while Oriental rugs the color of a kingfisher’s blue feathers carpeted the floor—an appropriate place for her first visit from Pembrooke. Never before had she met any of her fiancés in this room. A change of scenery when discussing marriage might change her chance of success. For luck, she wore her favorite morning gown in a shade of emerald green, trimmed with black rosettes around the hem and sleeves. It was striking, and she wanted to look her best. More important, it gave her confidence.
Good Lord, how pathetic. Now, she was allowing the curse to dictate her choice of dresses in her everyday life.
Before breakfast, she’d contemplated how to explain tactfully, of course, that she wasn’t interested in his offer of marriage. He had no valid reason to marry her. If she rushed this engagement and it didn’t work, the curse would hang over her head for the rest of her life. But after the morning’s visit with Uncle Sebastian, she didn’t have another choice.
Last night after they arrived home, her uncle had read Lord Paul’s note. He’d immediately sent out investigators to find the man’s whereabouts. Sure enough, as Pembrooke had stated, Lord Paul sat at the Reynolds’s gaming tables.
She’d come in second to a roulette wheel.
Perhaps Pembrooke offered sage advice. Her life might be hell with Lord Paul.
Aunt Ginny broke the silence for the fifth time in five minutes. “Are you sure you don’t want me or your uncle present? I still think this is highly improper. What if you are forced into something not in your best interests?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” Claire grasped her aunt’s small hand, its warmth reassuring. “Thank you, but I need to talk to Pembrooke. Four previous engagements do provide one with some benefit. If we come to an understanding, I’ll be living with him for the rest of my life.” She smiled in hopes of relaying a good spirit. In reality, she was desperate for this to work.
Concern lined the corners of Aunt Ginny’s eyes.
Claire gently squeezed her aunt’s fingers. “I’m wise enough to know I’m not marrying for love. Don’t worry. I’m not afraid to tell him no if I grow uncomfortable with his demands.” She released her aunt’s hand and wiped her damp palms on her dress.
Her poise cast aside, Aunt Ginny grabbed Claire in a tight embrace. “I wanted you to fall in love.”
Claire’s eyes stung at the words. “What you and Uncle Sebastian have is rare. I’ll be content if Pembrooke and I are comfortable.”
She drew a deep breath for fortitude and stepped away from her aunt when Pitts, the family butler, announced Lord Pembrooke. A quick sigh of relief escaped her. His appearance this morning proved he was a man who kept his promises.
The room magically narrowed when the marquess entered. His gaze captured hers with a gleam of interest. Keenly aware of his scrutiny, she curled her toes in her slippers and forced herself not to bolt from the room.
After the appropriate greetings, Aunt Ginny announced, “Lord Pembrooke, you and Lady Claire may talk in private. No one will disturb you.”
A slight smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. “Your Grace, if you and the duke would have a moment after Lady Claire and I finish, I’d be grateful.”
Her aunt tilted her head and nodded her assent. “Claire dear, if you need anything, Pitts will find me.” Without waiting for a reply, she glided out of the drawing room.
He continued to stare at her long after her aunt left. Claire’s face grew hot. To show vulnerability before a word was spoken spelled doom. Claire met his gaze even though last night’s wanton memories of their shared imaginary kisses left her on edge. “Won’t you sit down, my lord?”
“Thank you.” The velvet richness of his voice soothed some of her nerves. He waited for her to sit before he took the chair directly across from her. “You look lovely.”
Like a girl in her first Season, her breath quickened at the kind words. Though he appeared to relax in the chair, his eyes were sharp.
Alex lowered his gaze and came right to the point of the day’s visit. “Have you given any more consideration to our circumstances?”
“Some.” Claire swallowed to stop the flutters in her chest. He leaned close. The clean smell of citrus soap and his unique masculine scent encircled her, much like last night when he’d held her in his arms.
“The same for me.” His tone held an unexpected degree of warmth and, with it, concern.
“I am truly sorry about last evening.” Her voice turned wooden, and her throat closed around the forced words. The bevy of earlier flutters had roosted in her stomach. “My actions alone caused you to be in this situation. I appreciate your help, but I—”
“I am not sorry,” he interrupted. His gray eyes held hers with an intensity that reminded her of the sea bashing against a rocky shore on a stormy day. “What happened in the alcove?” His voice turned gentle. “Why were you so frightened?”
She had dreaded this moment. He was the only person outside the family to glimpse her naked fear of storms. If she confided the real reason, he’d think her a loon and leave Langham Hall at a full run, an outcome that might be best for both of them. “I was out of sorts from the whole evening. Please, it was nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes, his doubts clear.
After an eternity, he reached across the space that separated them and took her hand in his long fingers. The warmth of his palm offered comfort, and she desperately needed it. She should pull her hand away, but her arm refused to move.
“Lady Claire, it would be the greatest honor if you became my wife.” His sinfully smooth voice coaxed her to move closer. “Will you marry me?”
Completely captivated, she stared at him. Then reality intruded. As the result of last night, she had to answer another proposal. She should be thankful he’d made the effort to appear this morning instead of wary.
After she croaked out, “Yes,” a balm of relief coursed a path through her until it settled in the center of her chest. There, she had said it. Another added to her collection. Maybe five was her magic number.
His eyes flashed with humor. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
If he only knew.
“I’ve already discussed the major issues with my uncle. If we come to an agreement, his acceptance will be a certainty.”
“We’ll reach an accord.” His mouth eased into a smile that curved like a sinuous cat. “Thank you for accepting my offer. After we parted last night, I wasn’t certain how you would answer.”
She couldn’t stop staring, and he wouldn’t look away. Everything he said was so—so perfect. Didn’t he realize she had no other option?
Taking a deep breath, Claire took the plunge into the unknown. “My dowry is fifty thousand pounds. I haven’t visited Wrenwood in fourteen years and have no objection to giving the land to you. Three families have farms on the land. Their shares are small, but I ask that you allow them to remain.”
He nodded. “They’ll be a great help to my steward as he inspects the property. It’s all very generous.”
“I want the house and all other estates and holdings to remain mine.”
Pembrooke continued to smile but added a single nod of his head, his movement slow and measured.
“I have three hundred thousand pounds. I want the money, without question, for my use at my discretion. At the end of my life, any remainder placed in trust.” She waited, certain a rejection was forthcoming.
Alex gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. “Done.”
Claire found it difficult to determine if he was bored or ready to strike. Nothing seemed to alter his controlled demeanor.
Maybe luck was with her today, as he was so agreeable. “I’m dedicated to my mother’s and the current duchess’s charitable works and will continue to be so. It requires I attend several fund-raising events throughout the year. I’d like to host one after we marry. I’ll expect you to attend and help me at these events.”
“I’d be happy to.”
“There’s something else you must know. I’ve always loved children.” She studied her clasped hands. “Every year I host a yuletide holiday party for orphans associated with those charities. It’s always been at Langham Hall, but I want to host it in my own home.”
“Are you asking for my permission?” He furrowed his brow.
“Not really, my lord. It’s a commitment I keep every year, and I don’t want to continue to rely on Langham Hall’s staff and the duke’s generosity after I’m married.” With a calculated insouciance, she adjusted her smile. “The expression on your face tells me you’d be appalled if there were children running amok at your house.”
“Ah … no. I wasn’t aware of your interests. Of course you can host it at our home. It’ll be yours as much as mine.”
Claire tilted her head at his perfect answer. Interestingly, he didn’t seem the least perturbed with her wishes. Thankfully, he didn’t ask for her reasons. She’d started the tradition when she was eighteen to privately remember she had suffered the same loss as the children she’d entertained. Such a small effort on her part brought immeasurable joy to the children. Equally important, it helped soothe her guilt over surviving the carriage accident that caused her parents’ death.
“Believe it or not, I like children also. How many shall we have? I’ll go first. I’d like at least a boy and a girl.” Humor inched its way into his response.
This was an unexpected topic, but if he wanted to discuss children, that was fine with her. “I want as many as we can have. It makes no difference to me.”
“I want to know which I prefer. That’s why I want a girl and a boy to start.” His gaze appeared thoughtful as he studied her. “I’ve heard if seasoned properly, they’re quite tasty.”
Shocked, she raised her hand to her heart, the pounding beat indicative of her unease at their whole conversation. The smile that tugged at his lips softened his face, and he laughed, the rich sound filling the room. She could easily grow accustomed to such banter, particularly with him. She bowed her head to hide the effect he had on her. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You’re beautiful,” he countered.
“No. I’m adequate.”
He drew closer. “Little liar. The truth is when you smile or laugh, you take my breath away.”
Aware of his gaze, she tingled all over. His words gave her hope their future marriage might work splendidly.
She started to relax and allowed herself a study of his face—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his square chin, and the slight indentation at the center. The curve of his lips was nearly perfect. The only flaw, if one could call it that, was the fullness of the lower lip. He was the one who was beautiful.
This was no time to moon over her future husband. She scrambled to break the silence that rose between them. “I want a trust created to hold the rest of my wealth for our children. My father kept my estates separate from the duchy. It was his wish I have something from my mother’s side of the family.”
“Done.” He leaned back in the chair and contemplated her with a lazy grin. “Are you nervous?”
“No.” She tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“Sitting on the edge of the seat, you appear ready to bolt from the chair. Let’s discuss something else besides settlements and trusts, shall we? I’ll tell you something about myself that no one else knows, and you do the same with me.”
“Is this a game?” She bit her lower lip to keep from scowling. His gaze flew to her mouth and lingered. What was he about?
“No. I thought it would help us get to know one another better.”
“Oh,” she whispered. There was no need, as she’d just agreed to marry him, but inside a little of her melted. He’d completely captivated her with the simple gesture.
“I’ll go first.” He tilted up one corner of his mouth. “Now, do I have your solemn promise not to disclose anything we discuss?”
“Absolutely.” She put her fingers to her lips and twisted as if locking away the secret.
His eyes darkened for a moment, turning a steel gray. “I shall test the lock later for safekeeping, you understand.”
A deep heat fell across her cheeks.
He seemed pleased with her response, and his smile returned. “When I was a boy, I wanted a pet, but my mother had a strict rule, no animals in the house. So, I snuck one of the tame barn cats into my room. For two months, I kept Athena hidden.”
“Athena?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Appropriate for a mouser.”
“What happened?” She breathed deeply to keep from laughing.
“My sisters let it slip one evening I had a cat sleeping on my bed. My mother marched into my room and demanded I hand over Athena.”
“Poor kitty and poor you.”
“No need for sympathy. This story has a happy ending. I simply informed my mother that after seeing a mouse, I took matters into my own hands. Athena deserved to stay inside. Shocked at the news of a mouse infestation, my mother readily agreed. From that day forward Athena had free rein at Pemhill.”
“Did she do her job?”
“I have no idea.” He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. “The mouse I saw was in the lower pasture. Athena never ventured beyond the courtyard.”
She put a hand over her mouth and shook her head to hide her mirth. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Never,” he whispered. “Only you.”
She shivered, then pulled away to study him. Was he teasing her? Or was the low thrum of his voice something else?
“Your turn.”
She swallowed. With so many secrets, it was hard to settle on just one. “Several years ago, I stole away from Langham Hall without anyone knowing.”
“Scandalous,” he murmured, but his eyes were bright with merriment.
“There was a gypsy camp about an hour away. I visited and bought a witching ball.” The confession proved she believed in the curse. How could she explain her desperation to protect her family after her first fiancé, Archard, had died?
The room grew quiet. Without breaking his gaze, he took her hands in his. “What’s a witching ball?”
“A glass sphere that traps curses and keeps them from harming loved ones.” This was beyond foolish to have disclosed. She stilled but forced herself to push through the answer. “The old gypsy promised it would keep evil spells from a house. It’s in my bedroom to stop the curse—”
Suddenly, he tilted her head with his fingers. His lips gently brushed hers. He drew back and studied her, his eyes liquid pools of silver. “If you like, bring it with you when we marry.”
“Are you scared of my curse?” The words slipped free, as if his kiss had released all her doubts and fears.
“No.” His lips brushed hers again. “My kiss simply locked your secret in me.”
She blinked slowly. What if she was scared of the curse? Scared of getting close to another person again and losing him? She shook her head to clear the momentary weakness. They were discussing marriage settlements, not baring all their secrets.
The next term held little, if any, financial worth but was as important as any dealing with her fortune. Fidelity within marriage fostered respect for the union and each other. She had seen the effect it had on her aunt and uncle.
If Pembrooke acknowledged he kept a mistress and refused to give her up, she could not marry him. Otherwise, his affair would give the ton another excuse to make her life miserable. She brought enough of that to their marriage and didn’t need any additional fodder from him and his mistress.
“I want us to commit to one another completely.” With a complete lack of grace, she blurted, “You must give up your mistress immediately.”
His mercurial gray eyes sharpened, and his show of lighthearted humor lifted instantly. He leaned closer and brought his face level with hers. “How do you know whether I have a mistress or not?”
“People believe you keep Monique LaFontaine.” Claire stayed glued to the chair. If she moved an inch, he would perceive her as weak. “If you have an arrangement, you must break with her. My cousin McCalpin will verify it before we marry.”
He was so close, but she refused to blink. Without moving a muscle, she waited as if she had all the time in the world. Truthfully, her insides jiggled like a blancmange. She might have pushed him too far, far enough for him to walk out the door never to return. Even so, she must present a face that was unwavering in her resolve.
“My God. You’re serious,” he said.
“Yes.” Claire raised her eyebrows and set her jaw. A hint of unbridled panic started to buck within her chest. What if she had made a mistake? She had just insulted him. She couldn’t lose this last chance at marriage. Could this be any more of a bloody blunder on her part?
Pembrooke broke the silence in a tone that, though quiet, held an ominous quality. “I have no such arrangement. I’ve been in mourning for the past year and didn’t leave Pemhill. I’ll not comment any further about my past. It has no impact on our union.”
A modicum of dread tightened in her chest. What about her past? If he had any inkling of the truth, he’d recoil in horror. Every thought and concern she wanted to pursue congealed into a huge pool of muddle in her mind. With a slight shake of her head, she attempted to gather her wits.
How could she have been so cruel, bringing up the subject of mistresses while the man had been at his ancestral seat caring for his family? “I’m sorry. Losing a family member is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face. I’m sure you still grieve.”
He stared out the window, completely distracted and unaware of her inner turmoil. Finally, his gaze returned to hers, and his face softened. “Thank you. We all miss Alice very much.” He took a deep breath and released it, his pain evident. “Let’s continue. What else would you like to discuss about the settlements? Or is there anything else you’d like to share?”
Taken aback by his question, she relied on her greatest nemesis to save her from floundering anymore. “No, I think we’re done. Might I suggest you call upon the ton’s gossips if you want to know about me? They know more about the past and the curse than I do.” If he pursued this line of questioning, she was going to lose him, too. Only this time she would be the reason for the loss.
His eyes crinkled, betraying the humor he found in her comment. “Indeed. Probably the same applies to me.”
Claire remained still. If she shared any of her secrets, the remains of her reputation would be in tatters, but more important, her dreams for her own family and the children’s home she was building in her parents’ memory would be shattered. Who would trust innocents to her?
A muscle flickered in his jaw. “This is an extremely delicate subject, one I’m afraid will cause you embarrassment but needs to be discussed.” He spoke softly, his voice deep with a mellifluous timbre. “You may think this is a tit for tat, but I assure you it is not. Nasty rumors have surfaced that you … have a lover. Rest assured, I’ll do whatever is necessary to silence such talk and protect you.”
She studied his face for a sign, any hint he knew the truth about her. Without warning, shame slammed into her chest. She choked with memories of Lord Archard. To show the depth of their commitment, they had made love and given their virtue to each other all those years ago. “Thank you for your concern. I’ve not heard those rumors.”
“I apologize if I’ve caused you distress.” He plowed his hands through his black hair. The long length brought to mind a pirate. For a moment, he appeared to be as lost in the past as she was.
“Who’s spreading that tale?” She struggled to sound nonchalant.
“It’s hard to identify. It’s innuendos and rattles from people who have no—” The pain on his face turned into a rueful smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll put a stop to it.”
“There’s no need. No one can stop the rumors about me.” Desperate to escape the torture, Claire bit her lip to gain control as her pulse raced. Her heart whispered it was time to tell the truth and bare her guilt. For years, she had carefully protected the secret deep inside. But this man and his vow to protect her made her want to confess all.
Oh God, she couldn’t. He’d walk away, and society would waste little time in labeling her a pariah.
He rose from the chair and stood before her. “I should take my leave and see your aunt and uncle.”
She took a deep breath to settle the rampage of emotions coursing through her. “They’ll want to go over our agreement again. Be patient with my uncle. He has a reputation for being quite tenacious.”
“I don’t think your uncle cares one whit for my patience. He’s concerned for your welfare, as he should be.”
Claire felt her cheeks heat once again.
“That pink is enchanting on you. I must make you blush at every opportunity if that is my reward.” He clasped her hand and brought it slowly to his lips. The warmth sent shivers through her. “I’m very pleased with our union. I’ll call again soon.” His retreating steps grew silent.
Deep inside, she knew the only true course of action before her. She had no other choice or option in life. The costs of not moving forward with the marriage outweighed any temporary relief of escaping his disapproval once he discovered the truth.
She was Pembrooke’s. God save them both from the curse.