‘I don’t care if she is still abed! I will see her now!’
Rosalyn stiffened. Oh, no! What was her grandmother doing here so early? She turned over and sat up just as the door burst opened.
Lady Carlyn looked livid. In her hand was a newspaper which she brandished about. ‘How could you hide this from me? Your own grandmother! Tell me it is nothing but a pack of wicked lies!’
‘What is?’
‘This!’ With a furious finger she jabbed at a point on the paper. ‘It says that your brother lost Meryton to Stamford, who is forcing you to marry him as payment! Tell me this is not true!’
‘I…I haven’t married Stamford yet,’ Rosalyn said in a faint voice.
‘So it is true! And you never told me! How could you deceive me so!’
‘I did not wish to worry you. At any rate, James has Meryton back so there is no need to overset yourself.’
‘But to sell yourself into a loveless marriage! And to a rake who would take such advantage! My dear child, there was no need for such a sacrifice! You should have come to me!’
‘Lord Stamford has never taken advantage of me,’ Rosalyn said stiffly, offended by hearing Michael spoken of in such terms, although a mere month ago she would have said the same thing herself. ‘Besides, I…I am not going to marry him.’
‘Not marry him?’ Lady Carlyn asked incredulously. ‘You have no choice now. If you jilt him, it will only prove the story is true. I won’t have it bandied about that my granddaughter had to marry as…as payment for a debt. No, you must marry as soon as possible. I will see Lady Spence about it the first thing.’
A dull throb was beginning in Rosalyn’s right temple. ‘I would think a marriage would only confirm the story.’
‘Nonsense. It will show you don’t care a fig for such gossip.’ Lady Carlyn eyed Rosalyn sternly. ‘I hope you do not plan to stay in bed the entire day with a fit of the vapours. We have several calls to make and a wedding to plan. St James’s, I think. You cannot wear white since you are a widow, but perhaps a grey would look becoming.’
‘Grandmama! No! I am not going to marry Mi—Lord Stamford. I…I don’t want to marry him, and he does not want to marry me. The whole betrothal was a…a farce! He only needed a temporary fiancée and said he would give the estate back if I would agree.’ There! She had finally admitted it, but somehow the words gave her little comfort.
Lady Carlyn’s mouth fell open, then she snapped it shut. ‘Ridiculous!’
‘But it is true. So you see, we cannot marry.’ Oh, no! Surely she wasn’t about cry in front of her grandmother.
Lady Carlyn sighed loudly. ‘It is quite obvious that he is in love with you and I dare say, if you weren’t so stubborn, you would admit you are in love with him.’
Rosalyn stared at her. ‘But, did you not say you thought I was being forced into a…a loveless marriage?’
Lady Carlyn smiled blandly. ‘I was merely overset by the shock of reading such a thing in the paper. But, of course, I have known for an age he is in love with you, as does the whole of London. I haven’t been quite so certain about you, but now I see how it is.’ She patted Rosalyn’s hand. ‘So there is no need to worry, I shall handle all the arrangements. Perhaps it would be best for you to stay in bed. You shall need all your strength for your wedding, and,’ she added with a coy smile, ‘your wedding trip.’
‘Grandmama, no!’ But Lady Carlyn had already risen from the bed and, with a bright smile, bustled out of the room, undoubtedly to arrange the rest of Rosalyn’s life.
Rosalyn slumped back on her pillows. Could this whole situation get much worse? They had returned from Longbourne yesterday. She’d had no opportunity to speak to Michael since two nights ago, when he’d kissed her so ruthlessly in Giles’s study.
She felt cold every time she thought of that night. His behaviour had been unfathomable to her; she could only think he feared he would somehow be trapped into marriage with her. Yet, he’d seemed so angry when she said she wouldn’t marry him.
But her grandmother’s supposition that he was in love with her was ridiculous! He could not be! Lady Carlyn always saw what she wanted.
And now the article in the paper! Who would do such a thing? A trap seemed to be closing around her, and around Michael. She must do something.
She had to break off their betrothal.
Watkins showed her into the drawing room, the same one where she’d been shown the very first time she’d ever met him. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
Sitting proved impossible. She rose and went to stare at the portrait above the mantelpiece. Now that she knew Michael so well, she could see the resemblance in the same dark, intelligent eyes, the arrogant tilt to the head, the shape of the sensuous mouth.
Then her stomach churned in a sickening manner as she heard his familiar, firm tread. She turned as he came into the room.
He observed her with an unsmiling countenance before coming forward. ‘Rosalyn, I had planned to call on you.’
‘Did you?’ He looked tired, almost as tired as she felt. ‘I didn’t know, otherwise I…I would not have called on you in such a manner.’
‘Since you had no idea of my intentions, I can hardly fault you for that.’ His mouth lifted slightly and then he sobered as he observed her face. ‘I suppose you saw the piece in the Morning Post.’
She nodded and tried to keep her voice from shaking. ‘My grandmother called before I had even risen. She was not very pleased.’
‘I imagine not. Nor was my father.’ He looked at her more closely. ‘What is it, Rosalyn?’
She took a deep breath, clutching her reticule in white fingers. ‘I want to break off our…our betrothal.’
‘Why?’
She stared at him, taken aback by the coldness in his voice. ‘Why?’
‘Yes, why?’ His eyes were cool and wary and he’d folded his arms across his chest in a stance she knew only too well. ‘You gave your word until September.’
‘I know, but everything has changed. Your father seems to think we…we should marry as soon as possible, and my grandmother…’
‘Yes?’
Rosalyn took a deep breath. ‘Thinks the same thing after she saw the Morning Post. I am afraid that if we do not stop this we…we will find ourselves married.’ She twisted her hands in her locket and looked away. ‘So I am releasing you from our betrothal. I plan to leave London as soon as possible.’
‘If you do that I will bring you back.’ There was no denying the threat in his voice. ‘Make no mistake, I have no intention of releasing you from our agreement.’
‘But…’
‘And furthermore, you are going to marry me.’
She gaped at him, feeling as if she’d been struck. Was he drunk again? No, he looked perfectly sober and deadly determined, his eyes cool and impassioned. ‘I…I beg your pardon?’
‘You are going to marry me.’
Marry him? Bewilderment, outrage and hurt flooded through her. And then pure fury. How dare he dictate to her as if she had no say in the matter! ‘Marry you? I think not, my lord. I have told you I have no intention of ever marrying again, and certainly not you.’
He stepped towards her. It took every ounce of courage she possessed not to quail at the look on his face. ‘Oh, yes, you are,’ he said softly. ‘Even if I have to force you to the altar.’
‘But why? You can’t possibly want to marry me!’ she blurted out.
‘Because after this damned article we have no choice, unless you want a scandal attached to our association. Because my father insists I do so, and moreover—’ his eyes ran over her face and deliberately down her body in a way that made her go hot all over as if he had stripped her naked ‘—because I want you.’
She stepped back, coming up against a side table. The colour drained from her face, leaving her dizzy. ‘No.’
‘I promise you marriage to me won’t be the hell you seem to think,’ he went on ruthlessly. ‘You will have my title, and you will have my fortune at your disposal. You may come and go as you please.’
‘Those things mean nothing to me,’ she whispered.
‘There will be money to do as you wish with Meryton, then.’
‘No, it…it is not worth this.’
‘Isn’t it?’ He came to stand in front of her, almost touching her. She stared at him, helplessly trapped by the table boring into her back. Then he bent his head towards her.
‘Michael, please! Don’t!’ she whispered. He wasn’t going to kiss her again. Not in that angry, ruthless way he had last time as if he meant to force her to his will. She had no idea what was wrong with him. She could only think he was angry that he was somehow trapped. And that he felt a physical desire for her.
He jerked back at her whispered words and stared at her face. Then stepped back, his own face pale. ‘Rosalyn, damn it! Don’t look at me like that. I won’t ravish you.’ He moved away from her, running a hand through his hair, then looked back at her. ‘I promise I won’t touch you after we’re married. Except for what is necessary to satisfy society, we need not see each other.’
‘No! It…it is impossible.’ A cold pit settled in her stomach. Not another marriage of disappointment and waiting, of loneliness. With a strangled sob, she pushed past him and dashed from the room.
Elinor caught her cousin’s arm as he headed towards the card room. ‘Edmund! I must speak with you! Now!’
Fairchilde looked down at her and gently removed her hand. ‘There is no need to clutch me like that. I fear you are wrinkling my coat. Now, what has you in high dudgeon, dear cousin?’
‘He is here with her! They are dancing!’
Fairchilde looked at the dancers performing the intricate steps of a quadrille in Lady Carruthers’s ball room. His gaze fell on Rosalyn and Stamford, who were circling each other, their faces stiff and unsmiling. ‘Yes?’
‘They should not be! I thought by now they would not be speaking to each other!’
Fairchilde raised a brow. ‘They don’t seem to be now.’
‘That is not what I meant! They should not even be looking at each other.’
‘My dear, did you really think sending that little piece to the Morning Post would put an end to their connection?’
‘What I meant is I thought you would have done something! She certainly has not fallen into your arms!’ Elinor said.
‘No.’ His lips curled momentarily in a harsh smile, causing Elinor to fall back a pace. Then his usual bland expression returned. ‘No, not yet. However, tonight our delightful hostess and one of our most malicious gossips will catch the proper Lady Jeffreys in a flagrant act of impropriety. With myself, of course.’
‘Delightful!’ Elinor exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
‘I thought you would think so.’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘So go enjoy yourself with the dull Lord Melton and leave Lady Jeffreys to me.’
Elinor bestowed an excited smile on him and hastened away. Fairchilde watched her for a moment, then turned his attention back to the dancers.
The dance had ended and Stamford was leading Rosalyn from the floor. He watched as Stamford bowed over her hand, then stalked off. Head held high, Rosalyn moved in the opposite direction. Fairchilde smiled. It was high time to make his move.
Rosalyn touched her grandmother’s arm. ‘I think I will go and sit somewhere. I am rather tired.’
Lady Carlyn turned from her conversation—or, rather, her monologue—with Miss Waverly, an elderly lady who was hard of hearing and whose conversations mostly consisted of nods and smiles.
‘I must admit you do look rather out of curl,’ Lady Carlyn said after glancing at Rosalyn’s face. ‘Well, go and sit, but do not disappear for too long. I don’t want everyone to think you are going into a decline after that nasty bit of gossip.’
Rosalyn gave her a wan smile and, after pressing Miss Waverly’s frail hand, made her way towards the door leading from the ball room. She was not really ill—so much as she wanted to be alone.
Lady Carruthers’s ball room was small and extremely crowded. Rosalyn waited for a pair of giggling debutantes in white muslin gowns to move before she was able to reach the doors. Then she was forced to plaster herself against one of the doors to avoid being slammed into by a stout elderly man in an old-fashioned bagwig. As she stepped away, she felt a tug on the hem of her skirt and then heard an ominous rip. Looking down, she saw the lace on her skirt had caught and torn away.
Could anything else go wrong today? She made her way to the circular hall. She was thankful to see an empty gilt chair. She sank down on it and then bent down to inspect the damage to her hem.
A large strip of lace and ribbons had torn away from the satin material. She would need to call for a maid and obtain some pins to secure the lace. She straightened back up and leaned against the chair with a heavy sigh.
She would rather call the carriage and go home. The only reason she had agreed to attend this ball was that her grandmother had insisted. ‘It will be most noticeable if you do not put in an appearance. Not just for your sake and, of course, mine, but Stamford’s family. And, my dear, Eversleigh is in town! Why did you not mention that! He would be most displeased if you are not there!’
In the end, it was the mention of the formidable Duke that decided Rosalyn. She had no desire to have him censure her. Perhaps she could escape this nightmare by fleeing to some remote village in Northumberland. She closed her eyes. They flew open as soon as she heard her name.
She looked up to see a bewigged footman standing in front of her. ‘My lady, your grandmother desires your assistance. If you will follow me.’
She shot up from the chair. ‘Oh, no! Is she not well?’
‘I do not know, my lady.’
Worried, she trailed him down the staircase, holding her skirt so she would not trip on the lace. She barely acknowledged Miss Markham’s greeting as she passed her and another lady on the stairs. The footman showed her to a door on the first floor. She thanked him and pushed open the door.
She saw no one at first glance in the dimly lit room. It appeared to be some sort of private study. She moved further in the room and saw the sofa in one corner was empty. ‘Grandmama?’
‘I have been waiting for you.’
She jumped as Edmund Fairchilde rose from a chair at one side of the doorway. He stepped behind her and shut the door.
She turned, her hand going to her throat in fright and confusion. ‘Where is my grandmother?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. In the card room, I would imagine.’
‘But the footman said she was ill.’ He merely looked at her and suddenly she understood. ‘You sent that message?’
‘Of course. I am certain you are about to ask why. So I will tell you. I have wanted to speak to you alone and this was the only way I could think of to do so.’
‘I have no idea what you want to say to me. My brother’s debt has been paid.’
His smile caused her to shiver. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. But I still did not get interest. That is what I want to collect tonight.’
‘I have no money on me.’
‘I said nothing about money. I want something else entirely. Come here, Rosalyn.’
‘Let me go. I…I will scream.’
‘And I will stop you before you make more than a peep.’
‘What do you want?’ She had no idea what to do. He was standing in front of the door, blocking her escape.
‘A kiss. Nothing more.’
She could scarcely stand to look at him. The thought of his thick lips on hers made her shudder. ‘No.’
‘Come here now.’
She darted a glance around the room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. The only item remotely useful was an inkwell sitting on the desk. She backed towards the desk, keeping a wary eye on him. He moved quickly towards her. She snatched up the inkwell just as he reached for her. She darted around the side of the desk as his hand closed around her wrist.
Her foot caught in the torn lace. She tripped backwards, his hand losing its grip on her wrist. He attempted to grab her bodice but she jerked away as his hand closed over the silk rose at her bodice. It tore off in his hand, ripping the silk of her bodice. She darted around the side of the desk, her breathing come in gasps, and held up the inkwell.
Fairchilde laughed, his eyes glittering with a peculiar excitement as if stimulated by the chase. ‘That will hardly stop me, my dear.’
‘But I will.’
Michael’s voice came from the doorway, soft and deadly. Fairchilde turned towards him; for an instant his face registered a deadly hatred. Then his expression became hooded.
‘Lady Jeffreys is hardly in need of your assistance,’ Fairchilde said in a bored voice. He moved leisurely towards Michael. ‘However, I suggest you keep a tighter rein on your fiancée. She is perhaps a bit too free with her favours.’
Michael glanced in her direction, his face filled with a cold, hard fury she’d never seen before. His glance rested on her bodice. With a sickening realisation she saw that the material had torn, revealing her shift beneath. She tried to pull the edges together, feeling as if she were in a horrible nightmare. And her hair had tumbled from its pins.
Michael turned back to Fairchilde. ‘I warned you to stay away from her. I protect what is mine. I will have no regrets about putting a bullet through you.’
‘You’ve only to name the place, my lord.’
Rosalyn found her voice. ‘No, Michael. Please say no more. This is a misunderstanding. Nothing happened. I cannot bear another scandal.’
His mouth in a tight line, Michael looked over at her. She moved swiftly to his side and touched his arm. ‘Please. He…he is not worth it!’
His own features softened slightly as he looked into her pleading face. ‘Very well, my dear.’ He lifted his head and stared at Fairchilde.
‘I’m warning you, Fairchilde. If you come near her again, I will kill you without regret.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
‘It’s a warning. If you value your life at all, you will heed it. I suggest you now remove yourself from the premises or I will throw you out.’
‘Not very hospitable, are you? However, I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome.’ Fairchilde moved lazily towards the door, but with a wary look in his eye. He stopped and glanced at Rosalyn.
‘I hope you know what you are doing in marrying such a madman.’
Rosalyn closed her eyes, thankful there wasn’t to be a duel but afraid Michael’s temper would now descend upon herself. If she could have magically transported herself to another country at that moment, she would have done so.
Her legs trembled so hard she feared they would not support her. She swayed and the next thing she knew she was in Michael’s arms. He held her for a moment and then asked, ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No,’ she replied, not looking at him.
‘What did he do to you? Did he do this?’ He touched her torn bodice and his gaze hardened as he saw the rent in the skirt of her gown, which by now was beyond simple repair.
‘I tore my skirt in the ball room. I…I am fine, really.’
‘And your bodice?’
She closed her eyes, ashamed. ‘He…he tried to reach for me and…and when I tripped he…he tore the lace.’
She heard his sharp intake of breath. Opening her eyes, she saw he looked furious. ‘Damn it, Rosalyn, what were you doing alone in here?’
‘A footman said Grandmama was ill. Otherwise, I…I never would have come. Please believe me. I would never have…have willingly gone with him.’
‘I know that.’ His voice gentled. He stroked her cheek. ‘But I fully intend to see he never so much as looks at you again. He will not dare insult my wife.’
‘I…I am not going to be your wife.’
‘Oh, yes, you are.’ He pulled her close and then his mouth descended on hers, his hands tangling in her hair. She made a feeble attempt to shove him away, but his arms only tightened. And his lips, moving gently over hers, were warm and familiar and comforting.
‘My dear Lydia! I am certain he said we should find it here. Let me…’
The small shriek caused Rosalyn and Michael to spring apart. Their startled eyes met those of Lady Carruthers and Mrs Bellwood-Smythe, one of London’s most notorious gossips.
‘I do beg your pardon,’ Lady Carruthers gasped, her eyes wide. She backed towards the open door, but Mrs Bellwood-Smythe’s fascinated gaze ran over Rosalyn’s dress.
‘Oh, my! Are you all right, my dear?’
Rosalyn flushed. ‘Oh, yes. I…I merely tore my dress in the ball room.’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Bellwood-Smythe’s expression was one of complete disbelief.
‘Lydia!’ Lady Carruthers grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room.
Michael stared after their retreating backs, his face stunned, then seemed to come to his senses. He strode to the door, closing it firmly behind them.
His gaze was impassive as he turned towards Rosalyn. ‘That settles it. By tomorrow the entire ton will most likely think I was attempting to rip your clothes from your body and ravish you in Lord Carruthers’s study. I’ll be damned before I let you leave me with that hanging over my head.’ A peculiar smile twisted his lips. ‘You have no choice but to wed me after tonight, my dear.’