Chapter Twelve

Marcus' mood was still dark and angry when he arrived at that evening's entertainment, a musicale hosted by Lord and Lady Coleridge.  Though he did not know the duke or his family well, they were old friends of Lord Ardenton's family.  And, of course, Ardenton was now his sister's husband.  Since Amy and Gibson were preparing to depart for the country soon, Marcus had begrudgingly accepted the invitation to the event, mostly so that he might spend additional time with his sister.  He had missed her greatly while he had been away in Bath and now he felt compelled to see her as much as their schedules would permit.

At the moment, however, Marcus was doubting the wisdom of his plan.  Instead, he thought it might have been better for all if he had simply sent his regrets, informing his hostess for the evening that he had taken ill.

It would have been a perfectly believable excuse, as there was some sort of malady sweeping through the ranks of London's Upper Ten Thousand.  It had even laid the infamous Lady X low, preventing her from writing that morning's column.

Not that Marcus had been paying much mind to Lady X that day.  In fact, ever since the previous night when Caroline had come to his bed, he found his fascination with the gossip woman waning.  After all, it was difficult to fantasize about an unseen - and quite possibly troll-like woman - when one had a deliciously willing female in one's bed.  Except that Marcus no longer had such a female, and it was making him decidedly angry.

Not even the amorous attentions of the lovely Italian soprano Gianna Vienetti were enough to lift his spirits.  The beautifully stunning - not to mention usually scandalously dressed - woman had made headlines a few scant weeks ago when she had attempted to seduce Gibson at the Falconridge musicale.  That overture had been soundly rebuffed, so besotted was the man with Amy, but that did not stop the lovely Gianna from attempting to snare a different peer for her own gains.

Except that the soprano had been foolish enough to set her sights on Marcus from the moment he had arrived, clearly having read all of the exploits of the infamous "Viscount of Mystery."  To just about everyone's amusement, however, Gianna had quickly turned and practically run for the door the first time Marcus had snarled at her, allowing her a good, long look at his ruined eye.  After that, the less-than-innocent woman had scampered away, clearly not liking what she saw.  Instead, she had begun to pursue Lord Hathaway, much to the dismay of one Lady Diana Saintwood.  Marcus would not have been surprised in the least if fisticuffs would have broken out between the two women, no matter how scandalous such an incident would be.

To add insult to injury, Harry Greer, the Runner Marcus had hired had appeared at Cheltenham House that afternoon to inform Marcus that, due to another very pressing matter for the Crown, he was suspending his investigation into one Lady Caroline Turner, especially as there was little information to uncover.  Marcus was both relieved and angry at the same time.  He had not yet discovered Caroline's secret and now was not likely too.  Then again, he was still furious at her for refusing his proposal so perhaps it did not matter anyway.  But he was curious about her time away.  He always had been.

That lack of complete information regarding the woman he wished to wed gnawed at Marcus, eating away at him.  Not to mention that Greer's resigning from the case was unusual.  Harry Greer was a man who saw a job through to the bitter end, no matter how distasteful.  He did not quit.  If he had this time, that meant that there was someone or something else at work.  Someone who did not want Marcus to learn the truth of Caroline's missing years.

And that, in the end, had only served to make him angrier.

Now, Marcus stood in a corner watching his sister and her husband dance a lively reel while he glowered fiercely, almost as if daring anyone to approach him.  He was alone.  Just as he preferred it.

In his hand he held a glass of champagne, though he longed for something stronger.  With a growl, he shoved the delicate crystal flue on a passing footman's tray, very likely cracking the glass as he did so.  Not that he cared.  In fact, at the moment, he cared about precious little other than getting roaring drunk.  Anything that might erase Caroline's blunt refusal from his thoughts.

He had made up his mind to head for the library where he knew Coleridge stored a particularly fine bottle of scotch when a man appeared in front of him.  It took a moment for both of Marcus' eyes to focus properly but once they did, the man did not look any more appealing than he had when he was blurry.  He also looked vaguely familiar but then, Marcus was a peer and had met a good many people over the years, many of whom he did not remember.

"Can I help you?" Marcus all but sneered, not wishing to engage in conversation with a man who looked as if he had somehow snuck in through the servants' entrance.  Which he probably had.  Really, did Coleridge not employ better trained staff than this, ones who were intelligent enough to keep out the riff-raff?  What was the world coming to that a man could simply barge in off the streets like this?

"Nae, my lord, but I can 'elp you."  The man had a thick accent and it jogged something in the back of Marcus' mind but he could not remember what.  Though he did have the feeling that it was important.

"How so?"  Marcus did not want to stand here in Coleridge's hallway conversing with the man, but bloody hell, he had the distinct impression that this was important as well.  Just as the man's accent was.

"It's about Lady X, yer lordship, sir."  Then the man stuck out his hand, which while not precisely clean did not look as if he'd just climbed out of a refuse heap either.  "Ezekiel McTavish is me name, but ever' one jus calls me Mac."  Once more, the name resonated inside of Marcus but he still could not place it.

However the part about Lady X stopped Marcus where he stood.  "What of her?" he demanded, his voice harsh.  Perhaps it was time to set his sights on a new potential bride after all.

"Merely that you know her.  Well."  Then the other man smiled, baring crooked, blackened teeth that made Marcus want to gag with disgust.  Did the man not own a canister of tooth powder?

"How so?"  Marcus wanted to think that the man was lying, especially given his appearance, but something in his gut told him otherwise.

"In the, shall we say, biblical sense, me lord?  And recent too, from what I ken tell."  There was a wicked glint in the other man's eyes, as if he was enjoying this far too much.  He was taking malicious pleasure from baiting Marcus, though for what reason, Marcus could not even imagine.

Frowning, he studied the man carefully.  Was this Mac addled brained?  Or perhaps an escapee from Bedlam?  Why, he had not been with a woman since....  Just last night, actually.  He paused as the pieces of things that had never quite fit before began to slide together in his mind, allowing him to see the entire picture rather clearly.

"Lady Caroline."  Those two words were a mere whisper, a croak.  The man, this Mac person, did not say anything in response.  Instead, he just smiled.  And Marcus felt the world shift beneath him.

No wonder she had refused him!  She had lied to him!  If she had cared for him at all, she would have confided the truth to him long ago.  There was no wonder that Lady X appeared to be infatuated with him, and in turn made Marcus fascinated with her.  She was infatuated!  Because she was really Caroline bloody Turner.

"Wait, me lord.  There's more.  I know..."  Then the man made a strangled sound and Marcus looked up to see both Lord Candlewood and Lord Enwright standing behind Ezekiel McTavish.  And Enwright, for one, looked positively murderous, his hand wrapped around the shorter man's neck.

With a growl, Enwright shook the other, much smaller man.  "McTavish," he sneered, that single word dripping with hatred.  "So we meet again.  I thought we had an agreement, did we not?  A little something about staying away from London?  And those I care about?  Those under my protection?  Or was I unclear in some manner?"

It wasn't much of a surprise to anyone when McTavish paled visibly and began to shake.  "I didn't do a thing!" he protested, though his voice was a mere croak compared to what it had been before.  "I swear."

"Yes, well forgive me if I don't take you at your word, hmmm?"  There was a wicked glint in the duke's eye.  "This coming from the man who attempted to sell my wife to a whore house in Covent Garden.  Were you planning to ruin Lady Caroline as well so that you might do the same to her?"

"You did what?"  Now it was Marcus' turn to gape at the disgusting pig of a man, his ire rising quickly, the black temper he had fought to control ready to break free.  "You were planning to sell Lady Caroline?  As if she was some common whore and not a lady?  To whom, or do I even want to know?"  He was shocked and disgusted but not entirely surprised.  One look at McTavish was really all one needed to assess his morals.  Or rather, lack of morals.

"Now see here, me lords," McTavish squirmed in Enwright's grasp and looked to Candlewood, who had until this point been leaning casually against the wall, for help.  Help that was clearly not forthcoming, given the way the duke was studying his fingernails in what appeared to be utter boredom.  "That wasn't 'sackly me plan, ye see.  But t'd have been a nice benefit if it were."  The more terrified the man became, the more his accent thickened until he was nearly incomprehensible.

Marcus' temper, which had been threatening to boil over all day, erupted in a full-blown rage.  "You would have forced her into a life of servitude as a whore?  Or worse?  With who?"  Then in a moment, the answer was rather clear.  Unfortunately.  "With Madame Philotes, of course.  I should have deduced it immediately.  Who else would deal in fallen society women but her?"

It was well known within the ton that noble women who fell upon hard times and could not support themselves often sought refuge with Madame Philotes, who took her name from the Greek goddess of intercourse.  In her house of ill repute, The Golden Temple, the women could lead a lifestyle similar to that which they had previously enjoyed while servicing the men of society, including some of the growing middle classes who could afford such a luxury as high-priced whore.

The women at The Golden Temple could also be purchased directly from Madame Philotes - at a very steep price, of course.  Many men of the ton were finding it both more pleasurable and more financially sound to simply purchase one of the fallen women outright rather than keeping numerous mistresses over the years.  If the lords grew bored with their playthings, well, there were plenty of other houses of ill repute, not to mention lower class gaming hells, that had use for such women.

It was a disgusting practice and not one that Marcus indulged in.  Oh, he had been a rake and kept a mistress or three over the years.  Hell, he had even frequented brothels on occasion, though he had kept strictly to the ones known for exotic pleasures rather than the ones that simply serviced a man's need to fuck.

The one thing he would not do, however, was give the Madame Philotes of the world one single coin, finding her business practices reprehensible.  He well understood the ways of the world, certainly.  However there was a difference between the pleasure houses he had frequented and ones like The Golden Temple where human life meant so very little.

The very idea that this man had somehow planned to force Caroline into service there made Marcus ill.  It also made him very, very angry.  So angry that his vision, which had only just cleared, grew blurry again and a sharp, shooting pain began to pound at his temples.

"You vile, pathetic worm!"  Marcus raged, finally feeling a bit more like his old self than he had in weeks, relishing the way the anger flowed through his body, making him feel alive.  The only other person who could make him feel this way was Caroline.  But he could not think of her.  Not now.  Otherwise, he was afraid he might expire on the spot, though whether from anguish, rage, or a broken heart he could not be certain.

"How dare you?  How dare you come into this fine home and dare attempt to tarnish the name of one of the most kind and gracious ladies of society!"  By now Marcus was well aware that he was attracting somewhat of a crowd.  Well, if he was, he meant to play this game to the very end.  There was one thing he wanted, one thing he had been denied.  If he had to use this vile man to obtain that goal, then so be it.  In the end, he would have what he wanted, price be damned.  "Lady Caroline Turner is to be my wife, you despicable, pathetic, worthless bag of scum!  If you ever, ever so much as mention her name again, I will slice you to ribbons!"

Where that last phrase had come from, Marcus did not know, but it tickled something at the back of his mind, yet he pushed it aside.  There was the groveling man in front of him to deal with at the moment.  Except that Enwright seemed to be deriving great pleasure from torturing the man merely by holding him in place.  The so-called Devil Duke also seemed to enjoy watching Marcus hurl insults at McTavish for some oddly perverse reason.  Since Enwright seemed to have the situation well in hand, Marcus saw no reason to intervene.  Instead he simply stood there and glared, willing the pain lancing behind his eyes to subside so that he might regain his vision once more.  If asked to walk out of this hallway, he did not think he could, not even with the assistance of his cane.

"Do you wish to hit him?" Candlewood asked lazily, almost as if he were bored out of his skull.  Perhaps he was.  Marcus was discovering that he actually knew very little about one of his oldest friends.  "You can if you like.  I doubt anyone here would care."  There were about ten men assembled in the Coleridge's narrow hallway and Marcus suspected that Rosemont was correct.  None of them would probably care if Marcus beat McTavish into a bloody pulp.  Or killed him.  

"Or do you wish to seek out Lady Caroline and attempt to reassure her that the lies this man would have spread were ended before they began?  As your intended, that message might be better served coming from you than another."  There was a note of warning in the duke's tone, one that Marcus knew he would do well to heed.

Then Marcus remembered the previous evening, or rather morning, and how it had all ended so badly.  Though he was still furious with Caroline, Marcus had just announced that they were to marry.  God, what an idiot he was, thinking with his cock and not his head.  

Caroline was likely here at the Coleridge's, as well.  She had informed him several days ago that she planned to attend the musicale.  It was part of the reason he had attended as well.  Marcus quickly realized he needed to reach her first, before she began speaking with her friends.  If she did and professed no knowledge of their betrothal, they would both be socially ruined.  Especially her.

She would be furious anyway and likely not want to be anywhere near him.  Well that was simply too bad.  For once, she would have to do as she was told.  Even though she did not have to like it.

So Marcus shook his head.  "No.  You are correct, my friend.  I need to seek out my intended and make certain that she is well.  I do not wish her to suffer a moment's pain or worry from this man's pathetic lies."  His eyes met Rosemont's and in that moment, Marcus was certain that the other man knew all of Caroline's secrets.  Perhaps he was a spy after all. Then, Rosemont offered a small, barely noticeable nod, as if letting Marcus know he had made the correct choice.

"Very well, then."  Candlewood finally peeled himself away from the wall and glanced at Enwright who still held the protesting McTavish in his firm grasp.  "Shall we deal with this worthless heap of humanity?"

"Yes."  

Never had Marcus known that one word could convey so much information as Enwright stalked out of the hallway with McTavish still struggling in his grasp, a seemingly unconcerned Candlewood trailing behind as if he did this sort of thing every day.

For a moment, Marcus simply watched them depart.  There was little else he could do.  Even if his leg would support him, from the look of things, Enwright was going to take great enjoyment from dishing out whatever punishment he thought McTavish deserved.

Then a woman clearing her throat near his elbow caught his attention.  It was Lady Julia Radcliffe of all people.  And she, quite clearly, had witnessed the entire, ugly scene.  "My lord?"  She raised an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of her brother, which made Marcus wonder if she was just as good at ferreting out secrets as Candlewood was.  He would not doubt it.  "I believe your betrothed has arrived.  Do you not wish to spread the good, if somewhat surprising, news with her at your side?"

Damn it!  He was not ready to see Caroline.  Not yet.  Then again, it was Marcus himself who had thought up the bloody brilliant idea to announce to all and sundry that he and Caroline were betrothed.

Instead, he pasted one of his brightest smiles on his face and prayed people could not tell he was lying through his teeth.  "Of course, your grace.  Shall we seek her out then?"  And he offered Lady Radcliffe his arm, praying to God that he had not just made the most stupid mistake of his life.

The moment Caroline stepped inside the Coleridge town home, she knew something was amiss.  Eyes followed her.  Ladies snapped open their fans and whispered, their voices tittering with something akin to scandalous delight, as she passed.  Something was very, very wrong.  This was not the way The Mystery of the Ton was greeted.  Rather, this sort of reception was reserved for women of the demimonde who dared accompany their aristocratic lovers to such events.

She did not think it was her gown.  She had chosen a very sedate midnight blue creation with a moderately scooped neckline that had been trimmed in silver and jet beads.  It was not in the least bit revealing or at least not in comparison to many of the other young ladies who were milling about, all of whom were showing more than a good bit of bosom.  In fact, she would not be surprised if a breast or two popped out at some point in the evening, given the indecently low cuts of some of the gowns.

Caroline's gown was not as immodest and also featured some pretty flounces at the hem, along with Madame LaVallier's trademark bit of gold lace, and a dash of silk rosettes to give the entire creation a little bit of character.  Small cap sleeves were perfect for the warm evening, especially since it was nearly summer and the season nearing its end.  Her slippers, too, were sedate with only a bit of decorative silver stitching at the toe.

Around her neck Caroline wore a sapphire and diamond necklace, one of the few pieces that had belonged to her mother that was not entailed to the estate.  Glenna, who was also rather skilled with hair, had swept Caroline's tresses up into a rather elaborate cascade of curls, some of which had already escaped to twist about her face in what she thought was a rather becoming fashion.  No, there was no fault in her manner of dress, she was certain.

But there was something amiss.  She was about to go in search of her hostess for the evening and discreetly inquire about whatever salacious bit of gossip was floating about when she saw her friend Amy making a direct line for her, even stepping on some toes as she did so.  The former Paragon of The Ton did not behave in such a brash fashion, especially not now that she was Lady Ardenton.  She was tonight, however.

"Come with me.  Now," Amy hissed as she snatched Caroline by the arm and began dragging her off towards a secondary parlor that was set apart from the main ballroom.  Caroline vaguely remembered that Lady Coleridge used it for her own small library, a place where she could conduct correspondence and attend to other matters in relative privacy.

At first Caroline wanted to drag her feet, but then she remembered the stares she had been receiving since she had arrived and thought better of it.  "At least tell me what is afoot?" she hissed back at her friend.  As Amy's mouth was set in a grim line, she did not think her friend was of a mind to inform her of the specifics as of yet.

When they reached the parlor, Amy practically shoved Caroline inside and then locked the door behind them both, even though there was a set of pocket doors that led to the main library.  Anyone might come marching through at any moment, which did not sit well with Caroline.  Then, she took a good look at the room's other occupant.  Much to her shock, Julia Radcliffe was there as well, and looking far less serene than she had earlier when she had paid Caroline a visit.

As Caroline began to curtsey to Julia, the other woman waved her off.  "Unnecessary and wasteful," she said, her face a little flushed and slightly resembling a patchwork of pinks, whites and reds where the skin around her scars did not color quite as easily as the rest of her.  "Please. We are friends now.  You do not need to do that when we are in private."

"Would someone please tell me what is going on?" Caroline asked, completely befuddled.  "This entire evening has been bewildering.  People are staring, for one thing.  For another, they are gossiping.  About me.  That simply does not occur.  What has happened?"

Amy reached out and laid a comforting hand on Julia's arm.  "A man named Ezekiel McTavish was here but moments ago.  He accosted several men, including Marcus, claiming to know some secrets about your past.  He said some rather unpleasant things before a handful of the men silenced him."  Her gaze flickered to Julia.  "Including Candlewood and Enwright.  But Marcus was there and it was him that McTavish approached at first.  Marcus now knows you are Lady X.  We overheard McTavish admit that much.  Beyond that, we do not know if he revealed anything more, but it is clear that the awful man knows the truth of your time in Northumbria."

Caroline's eyes flew first to Amy then to Julia.  Both of them knew her secrets, certainly, but how had this McTavish person discovered them?  Worse, what else had he told Marcus?  If it even mattered, for it was doubtful that the man she loved would ever speak to her again.  Not when he knew she was also Lady X, the woman he had been infatuated with for weeks.

"There is more," Julia offered, coming over to take Caroline's other hand.  "In his rush to defend you, Marcus accidentally announced that the two of you were betrothed."  She raised an eyebrow to indicate her disbelief that Marcus had done so.  "Since I do not believe much has changed since we last spoke, I am going to assume he merely said what he did in order to save your reputation."  She waved a hand in the air. "Or some other oddly male line of reasoning."

"You are correct.  Nothing has changed."  Caroline swallowed hard, her hands clutching her reticule tightly.  "Marcus and I have not spoken.  Nor could I even begin to guess why he would do such a thing.  In fact, I am firmly convinced that he does not wish to set eyes on me again.  I knew of his infatuation with Lady X and yet, I lied to him.  Repeatedly."

At that, Amy chuckled briefly.  "Men in love do very odd things, Caro.  My own husband is a perfect example."  Then she sobered as if remembering the severity of the situation.  "However, for now all we can do is continue the ruse.  No one outside of our small circle can be allowed to know the truth of the matter.  Not even the tiniest bit."  She put a hand on her hip as if she was thinking hard.  "And we, Julia and I, that is, as well as Candlewood, Enwright and several others, think that it is best if the two of you do in fact marry.  However, you also need to tell Marcus the complete truth.  All of it.  Especially about Northumbria."

"But he despises me!  I know that he does!" Caroline cried, the little voice in her head reminding her that not even Amy and Julia knew all of her secrets.  Merely most of them.  "He doesn't want to marry me, at least not any longer!  Not really, anyway."

"Yes, he does," Amy insisted firmly, her mind clearly made up on the matter.  "I know my brother and while he has changed somewhat during his time away, in his heart, he is the same Marcus he has always been.  And that man has been in love with you for a very long time.  He might be angry with you at the moment, but he would never truly allow any harm to come to you.  Nor does he despise you."  She glanced at Julia before turning her gaze back to Caroline.  "And Caro?  Any resulting scandal from this incident could likely well destroy you.  I could destroy what is left of your family as well."

Shaking her head, Caroline attempted to back away from her friends, though she really had nowhere to go.  This could not be happening.  Only a scant evening before, she had been blissfully happy in the arms of the man she loved.  She had needed nothing else and nothing more had been asked of her.  Everything had been so simple and uncomplicated.

Or had it been?  Maybe she was merely seeing things as simple because that was how she wanted them to be.  Maybe nothing had been simple from the moment Marcus had returned to town.

"I cannot marry him," Caroline insisted again, fighting the urge to stamp her foot like a child.  "I absolutely refuse."

"Not this time, my love.  Now we do things my way."

Whirling around, Caroline saw Marcus standing in the parlor's doorway, having entered through the pocket doors, his hand clasped tightly around his cane.  His grip was so tight that his knuckles were white.  "This time, I will propose marriage and you will accept.  No arguments and no avoidance.  We will marry with as much haste as is proper and I will not accept the word no as an answer.  Not again."

From the look in his eyes Caroline knew he meant every word that he said.  He would not allow her to refuse him.  And if she was foolish enough to refuse, she would be ruined.  Then she remembered the possibility that she was with child.  If that was true, her refusal would lead to an even greater disaster.  An innocent life should not have to pay for her mistakes.

"Yes."  It was the only answer she could give and still live with herself.  "Yes, Marcus.  I will marry you."