Despite the steaming hot bath she had insisted upon the moment they returned last night, Lydia had deemed it necessary to order another this morning and to request all the bedding be changed and her night rail boiled because she felt so dirty and soiled.
Kelvedon made her nauseous. Everything about him disgusted her, from his uneven brown teeth to the creaking corset he wore under his coat. But the thing which disgusted her the most was the way he continually touched her. He had squeezed, then groped her thigh so many times during the performance, she was certain his horrid hands had left a greasy stain on her silk gown and each unwelcome touch, no matter how swiftly or vehemently it was rebuked, made her want to gag.
Worse, as he pawed her, his breathing became erratic, heavy and laboured and the blatant lust in his beady eyes was horrifying. He was looking forward to their wedding night. She knew that because he had seen fit to tell her not once, but three times while the theatre lights had been dimmed and her brother could not see or hear what he was doing.
But Owen Wolfe had seen.
His gloating eyes had been on her all night, doubtless enjoying the sight of her with the very man he had predicted she was being sold to. It was humiliating in the extreme and, somehow, his presence made the ordeal of the evening worse. Especially because he was sat beside a very beautiful woman. Very closely beside a beautiful woman who had gazed at him longingly all evening like a starving dog outside a butcher’s window, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Yet another bitter blow she had not been expecting and one which cut her to the quick.
Before she had bolted for the carriage and wept bitter tears into her powerless brother’s handkerchief, the hideous Marquess had insisted on kissing the back of her hand. It had been a sloppy kiss. A lingering torture. One which had left a sticky patch of spittle clinging to her skin. Despite all the hot water, and the stiff brush she had taken to it which had made it red and raw, that hand still did not feel like her own.
And even though her dear brother was still hopeful he could convince their father to consider someone else as her husband, to widen his search for a better suitor, she couldn’t help wondering how she would ever cope with the ordeal of the marriage bed if just the man’s touch could make her feel so hideously violated? Unless she procured some laudanum and rendered herself incoherently nonsensical on her wedding night and was spared from ever remembering it at all.
The past five days had been horrific. After barely digesting the fact she had to marry for the sake of the family and fast—the man she loathed above all others had been the one to tell her who she was to be shackled to. That Owen had known it was Kelvedon before her father had deigned to tell her had been a humiliating and bitter blow. Yet when she had challenged her father, he had been dismissive in his acknowledgement.
Kelvedon was a marquess. A respected peer and politician. He was wealthy and he was agreeable to the speedy marriage the Barton coffers required because he was in dire need of an heir and desirous of a wife young enough to provide him with one. Of course there was no other groom being considered. Why would there be? She should be grateful to be marrying so well after all her fickle years languishing on the shelf, refusing wealthy peer after wealthy peer. Grateful to Kelvedon for rescuing her from that shelf and grateful, too, to her father for finding her such a good catch at such short notice when she was long past her prime.
Not that he was the least bit grateful that her speedy marriage to a groom no other woman wanted also brought him a swift ten thousand. That was by the by. Her duty.
In desperation, and she was not proud of herself for this self-centred and selfish outburst, she had argued it made better financial sense if Justin married. Not only was he five years older, he was the heir to an earldom and quite a catch. He could command a dowry of twenty thousand at least. And it was his inheritance after all. All for his ultimate benefit.
Papa had practically had a fit at that, which his physicians had expressly warned against since his heart had turned bad. He was so incensed at her question he had gone purple and his lips an ominous blue. How dared she?
How dared she?
The marriage of a future earl with such close connections to His Majesty, no less, was much too important to rush! The right wife needed to be found and Lydia could hardly expect her brother to appear impoverished and begging for a wealthy woman. That would lead to them being short-changed in the settlements! Whereas her brother would not have to appear desperate once Kelvedon had paid for her, because he wouldn’t be desperate. Refusing to marry him not only jeopardised the estate and everyone who depended on it—it sabotaged her brother’s future as well.
That, rather than her father’s plight, had been the clincher. So she had agreed to it all under duress, in case her father’s heart gave way on the spot because of her insolence, thoroughly ashamed she had tried to save herself by sacrificing Justin, when he had quite enough on his plate already trying to manage the mess her father had made of their finances. Feeling pious as well as beaten, she decided the only way to cope with it was to be matter-of-fact. It was what it was and she would make the best of it. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.
But since her agreement, everything had been planned around her. Earth-changing things were decided for her without either her presence or her input in the decisions and she was apprised of them when her father saw fit. Or when Justin came to seek her out, his expression filled with pity and remorse, as he passed across those details neither her sire nor her aged new fiancé thought important enough to concern her with.
That was how she knew the settlements were being signed today. In fact, they were probably being signed right now as she sat here in her bathtub, pathetically trying to blot it all out and pretend it wasn’t happening. The panting, groping, odious Marquess had procured the special licence, a bland and insipid bridal gown she had neither been measured for nor chosen had arrived yesterday and in just three days Lydia, Justin and apparently her ailing father would all travel to Kelvedon’s estate several hours east of the city where the wedding was to take place in his private chapel.
In view of the haste of the affair and the dubious circumstances, the announcement would not go into The Times until that fateful morning because her advantageous marriage was to be a private affair with no pomp or ceremony.
That was one detail she was relieved about. She could not fake happiness or celebration and was determined not to try. She had been bought and sold like a piece of meat, with no consideration of her feelings or concern for her happiness, to pay her father’s debts. If her sacrifice wasn’t the only thing which would prevent her brother from inheriting complete chaos and ruination, too, she wouldn’t be doing it at all. But of course her father knew that, which was why he had ruthlessly used it as leverage.
The only act of recourse available to her at this late hour, the only futile act of rebellion, was her utter disdain for the proceedings and the two callous old men who controlled them. She might well be doing her duty exactly as a Barton daughter was expected to do, but she fully intended to be the most disgusted and disappointed bride who ever walked down the aisle as a mark of protest. Let Kelvedon see from the outset exactly what he was getting for his money. A chattel, yes, but not a submissive and willing one. She fully intended to make him as miserable as he made her, for as long as they both should live.
Beyond that, she couldn’t bring herself to think about her future, despite Justin’s assertions her intended was old enough and unhealthy enough he wouldn’t last long and she’d be free soon enough in the worst conceivable scenario.
That was easy for him to say when it was those daunting intervening years which terrified her the most. So much so that, until further notice, she only wanted to contemplate the present and cope with living in it hour by hour. And this hour, and very probably the next, would be spent here in this bath.
‘My lady! You are wanted immediately in His Lordship’s study.’ Her flustered maid dashed in wide-eyed and snapped open a towel. ‘We must make haste.’
‘Does he know I am bathing, Agnes? And therefore indisposed?’ At least her marriage would release her from her father’s dictatorial demands. A tiny glint of sunlight in the darkness until she remembered she would be her husband’s to order around instead.
‘I don’t think he cares, my lady. And in case you were thinking of defying him and taking your time, you should also know there has been an argument. A huge one. Between His Lordship and your brother. Your brother is fuming.’ That didn’t sound good. Justin wasn’t one for arguing with their father. Or anyone for that matter. He always bowed down to pressure. ‘I would even go as far as to say I’ve never seen him so angry.’
‘Do we know what they were arguing about?’ Lydia grabbed the proffered towel and began to rub herself down briskly while Agnes rushed around like a whirling dervish collecting undergarments and stockings.
‘Your name was heard by the footman stationed in the hallway. And more than once, too, so I’m told.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Fresh dread settled in the pit of Lydia’s stomach as she dressed. Justin was clearly having little luck fighting her corner this morning as he had promised and, with the sands of time rapidly running out, it appeared her fate was sealed. Her brother wasn’t one to shout, unlike Lydia who was always too fiery. It was one of the reasons Justin sometimes managed to break through their father’s stubbornness when she only ever met deaf ears. For Justin to be fuming and to have raised his voice, things had to be dire, when normally he would surrender swiftly and back away.
Their father did not like to be crossed and, knowing Papa, he’d have brought the wedding day forward as a punishment to the both of them for having the audacity to attempt to defy him.
While the maid laced up the back of her gown, Lydia gathered her damp hair into an unceremonious knot and clumsily pinned it to her head before flying out the door and into the vipers’ pit.
She skidded to a halt outside, took a deep breath to steady herself and then knocked.
‘Enter.’
Her father was sat behind his desk, looking fearsome despite his increasing frailty, yet suspiciously calm all things considered, whereas barely suppressed rage positively rippled off her brother in waves as he stood ramrod straight next to his elbow.
‘There has been a development.’ Never one for pleasantries, her father got straight to the point. ‘A counter-offer.’
‘I don’t understand?’ Her eyes flicked to Justin’s for clarification and with gritted teeth he shook his head. ‘From someone else?’
Please God let it be someone else!
‘Someone else…’
Lydia’s relief was so palpable, she slumped into the nearest chair. She wasn’t going to marry a lecher. The miracle she had prayed for had occurred.
‘Someone entirely unsuitable!’ Her brother’s fist slammed on the table, popping the bubble of relief before she had had a chance to enjoy it. ‘Someone I cannot believe was allowed through the front door, let alone granted an audience!’
‘He offered significantly more than what Kelvedon did for her!’
‘Then let us use that as a bargaining chip and get Kelvedon to raise his offer!’
Lydia reeled back, stunned her brother would even suggest such a thing when he knew how much Kelvedon disgusted her.
‘Getting ten out of him was like drawing blood from a stone!’
‘Let me try, then… Perhaps I can convince him?’
Had Justin gone mad? He wanted to negotiate with the Marquess? Sell her to a man he knew she could not abide the sight of? ‘I do not want to marry Kelvedon, Justin! Under any circumstances!’
The panic in her voice brought her brother up short and his expression instantly collapsed in remorse. ‘I know, poppet…but the alternative…’ He looked bilious. Pale. Scared.
‘The alternative is a lucrative one.’ An unspoken message passed between father and son, one she was clearly intended to be excluded from. ‘It would be foolish to dismiss it and I am no fool and nor should you be. I insist we take it.’ For the first time her father looked rattled, as if he, too, was frightened of the new candidate. ‘As I see it, we have no choice in the matter anyway and it is agreed in principle already.’
‘You never should have entered into a negotiation with him! And certainly not without me there!’
‘The papers are being drawn up as we speak, Justin.’ Her father said this with such finality, as if she wasn’t in the room at all. ‘Be advised I fully intend to sign them—irrespective of whether you agree with my decision or not. Until the earldom is yours to thoroughly ruin, what I decide still goes.’
‘We would look like idiots! The laughing stock of the ton.’
‘There are ways around that.’
‘Kelvedon is a marquess! A respected peer and politician!’ Words that she had heard her father use on her now came forcibly from her brother’s mouth. ‘The settlement papers are already signed! The Marquess could sue!’
‘Not if we are clever about it.’
‘He is in well with the government! Powerful in the Lords! We cannot afford to alienate him! You would jeopardise all that for a villain with the morals of a snake?’
‘It is not in jeopardy. Lord Kelvedon need not know we are considering another.’
‘You would sell your daughter—my sister—to a monster for a paltry few thousand pounds?’
A monster? The relief at there being another candidate was rapidly turning into a panic that she was heading for a worse fate. ‘Who is he?’
Both men ignored her. ‘In the long run Kelvedon is a better prospect…’
‘It is the short run which concerns me most!’ Her father raised one bony hand and snarled at her brother, ‘Do you want to lose this house, Justin? Do you want to inherit an earldom consigned to our dilapidated estate in Cheshire? Hundreds of miles away from this city and the many entertainments you love so very much. Because there is not much joy to be had in Cheshire, I can tell you!’
They were about to lose the house? This house? They had given her no clue things were that dire. Debtors’ prison for a little while rather than all-out destitution. Again Lydia stared pointedly at her brother, hoping he would clarify exactly what was going on, who the new villain of the piece was or at least hear him state for the record he would happily rusticate in Cheshire for ever and live on a diet of dried beans if it saved his sister from marrying either a lecher or a monster, only to watch him deflate as if all his fight was gone.
‘No.’ Just like that her brother backed down, his temporary bout of uncharacteristic bravery clearly over.
‘Then stay out of this! You’ve done quite enough already, boy!’ Another odd look passed between them, one which had Justin staring at his feet like an admonished child. ‘Do you think I like this? I am livid, Justin! Livid! The nerve of the scoundrel beggars belief, but we have no choice. Not any more at any rate!’
Remembering she existed, her father finally turned to her, cold and matter-of-fact once again because it was the only emotion he could ever muster around Lydia.
‘The offer is annoyingly conditional at this stage. The gentleman refuses to proceed unless you are in complete agreement with the terms and insists on hearing that agreement from your own lips in private. I am entrusting you to see that is done today, Lydia.’ He glanced back down at his papers, dismissing her in his customary way, but she saw his shoulders slump as he suddenly looked very old. ‘He is expecting you and I need not remind you the house of Barton is depending on you.’
Justin’s pale face and downcast expression put fear into her soul. That he would rank Kelvedon above whoever the new candidate was spoke volumes in itself. ‘Am I to be told who he is or must I guess?’
‘It is Wolfe, Lydia.’ Justin’s eyes were desperate as they darted nervously to their father and back again. ‘Owen Wolfe. And you can say no.’
* * *
Less than two hours later, her carriage pulled up outside Libertas. Or at least she assumed it was Libertas because there were no signs or clues that it was. To all intents and purposes, this grand building on the corner where elegant and refined Curzon Street met its neighbour, the more egalitarian Half Moon Street, was much like any other Mayfair town house. Significantly bigger, perhaps, because it occupied a corner plot so she could not see the back of it and was not joined in any way to the residences butted closely against it.
The four cream-stucco storeys were perfectly proportioned and symmetrical whichever street you happened to be standing on. The uniform windows were framed in stark white cornices decorated with intricately moulded garlands hanging beneath each sedately painted sill. Subtle black railings flanked the perimeter from the pavement, the only gap in them giving way to a huge set of double doors, painted in shiny ebony and adorned with just two enormous brass door handles in their centres which were slightly hexagonal in shape.
All in all, hardly the den of iniquity Justin had painted it to be. But then again, an elegant facade, whether it be on a house or a man, could be deceiving.
Still, and to her great consternation, the prospect of the man within appealed more than the aged groom her father had picked out. Owen vexed her, alternately made her furious or caused her to question her own sanity and consistently left her off-kilter—but at least he didn’t turn her stomach. Far from it, heaven help her, not that she would ever admit as much to her brother. Or anyone else for that matter. Owen’s continued hold over her was Lydia’s intensely private shame to bear. He’d ruined her chances of ever settling for another man when he returned. Devil take him!
‘All built from his ill-gotten gains, no doubt. A leopard doesn’t change his spots no matter how much nonsense and misinformation he peddles around town.’ Justin shook his head in disgust. ‘When they locked him up, they should have thrown away the key.’
But they hadn’t. They’d pardoned him. He had left the Antipodes lauded for his heroism by the governor of New South Wales himself. The moment he had set foot on the dock in Portsmouth stories had multiplied in the newspapers of the gross miscarriage of justice he had suffered at the hands of the English courts.
Had she known he was coming home, she would have done her best to avoid him. But he had appeared out of nowhere in Hyde Park one afternoon as she took her daily ride, looking even more handsome than he had when he had left, and the years they had been apart disappeared in a puff of smoke alongside the entire world around them.
He had wanted to talk and like a dolt she’d listened, hoping he would be remorseful for what he had done and eager to apologise. The traitorous female part of her which had once been completely in love with him wanted to hear him explain why he had done it, to fall on his sword and beg for her forgiveness and reassure her he was not that greedy, self-centred and duplicitous boy any longer, but a man who had never got over choosing greed above the one true love of his life.
But he was innocent, he had said, and not the least bit sorry for all the pain he’d caused. He also said he would prove it—but two years on she was still awaiting that proof and was furious at herself for spending at least the first six months praying he would find it.
What an idiot!
When every fool knew once bitten, twice shy.
It was only then she faced the harsh reality she had so desperately wanted to deny: that Owen Wolfe was nought but a charming liar and she must completely harden her heart against him.
Despite that, she had greedily read about Libertas in the gossip columns over the past year and listened to more gossip about the place among the ladies of her acquaintance. They all spoke of it like forbidden fruit. Decadent, luxurious…exciting. All words she would always associate with the man who owned it, because that was exactly what he had been when she had been foolish enough to succumb to his charms. Because that was how he had made her feel. His goodnight kisses had been decadent. Being basked in his attention had felt luxurious and their doomed and short-lived clandestine romance had been beyond exciting—before it all went to hell in a handcart, of course. Yet still he intrigued her despite it all.
Dratted man!
‘Have you ever been inside?’
Justin shot her a horrified look. ‘I wouldn’t darken the scoundrel’s door! At least not under any normal circumstances. This will be my first and hopefully my last visit here! The man repulses me.’ He huffed out a sigh of regret and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Lydia…that was tactless of me. Obviously, if you do the unthinkable and agree to his insidious proposal, then I will make the best of things.’
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t going to be the one shackled to him for life. And with Owen it would be for life. He was young and robust and unlikely to keel over at any moment like the dissolute Marquess of Kelvedon.
‘However, for your sake I hope you do find the courage to turn him down.’ Courage? What had Wolfe threatened to frighten her father so? Papa hated him. They all did. ‘After all he has done to our family… When our mother lay dying…’ He let the sentence trail off. Neither of them needed reminding of Owen Wolfe’s crimes. ‘I would sleep easier knowing he wasn’t your lord and master. That is all.’
‘You would prefer it to be Kelvedon?’ Lydia could barely say the man’s name without wincing.
‘Of course not! He is not much better.’
‘But you do think him better?’ Which gave her a peculiar sinking feeling in her stomach.
‘He is not a thief or a liar or a convicted criminal. With Kelvedon what you see is what you get. With Wolfe…well, who knows?’ He gestured to the building with his gloved hands. ‘How else does a motherless ragamuffin from a workhouse, an illiterate stable boy, a barefaced lying, swindling, cheating crook get all this?’ Unfortunately, Owen was all those things and more. Her head knew that even while the irrational feminine part of her seemed keen to ignore it. ‘He’s been back…what? Two years? And he can afford to buy this grand house, start a lucrative club from scratch—and then still have enough left over for you?’
It did beggar belief, she supposed. The sums involved were astronomical.
‘And with money which was not legitimately earned, I’ll wager.’ Justin continued to say the exact things which troubled her conscience. ‘That is not a man I want to entrust my only sister to, no matter what our father has to say. It is clear to me he only wants you for revenge. That he will make you suffer because he was stupid enough to get himself caught.’
Certainly food for thought, but unpalatable whichever way you viewed it. The archetypal rock or hard place. Wolfe or Kelvedon? A shameless criminal who had an irrational hold on her or a disgusting but honest lecher? Neither appealed, but regardless of what her heart said, she would heed her brother’s counsel. ‘Papa will not be happy if I turn him down.’
‘Is Papa ever happy?’ Justin shook his head and smiled without humour. ‘Leave him to me, poppet. I will be by your side to take all the blame once the deed is done and work my fingers to the bone to see we never have cause to regret turning down this dirty villain’s money!’ Usually averse to conflict and weak in the face of adversity, he suddenly seemed passionately determined to fight. Then his fierceness crumpled, replaced with pure remorse. ‘You’ve been put in an impossible situation, Lydia, and I wish things could be different. I’ve been racking my brains trying to come up with another candidate… Another way to fix things…’
It was her turn to squeeze his hand. ‘I am sure you have done your best, Justin.’ Once their father’s mind was made up, only a miracle would change it. ‘It means the world knowing you are looking out for me.’ That should make her feel better, but didn’t. Poor Justin held no sway. Not when Kelvedon loomed once again and there was absolutely nothing now to be done about it. ‘Come… Let’s get this over with and then we can suffer the inevitable explosion from Papa together.’
She held his arm as they took the three marble steps together and hugged it tight when he knocked on the imposing front door, trying to remember she was a Barton and Bartons did what needed to be done.
It was opened straight away by the biggest man Lydia had ever seen. He was so tall, they both had to crane their necks to look up at him, so wide he practically filled the frame. He was dressed like a butler, but this man resembled no butler she had had the misfortune of encountering. His nose had been broken at least once and reset badly, as it had partially collapsed on the bridge and then veered off to the right. Both his front teeth were missing and etched into the skin of his cheek next to his right eye were three black ink tears. He looked every inch the criminal she suspected he was and somehow that strengthened her resolve. This was a den of iniquity. Filled to the brim with crooks, cheats and ne’er-do-wells. Owen’s kind, not hers.
‘Lady Lydia?’ His accent was as coarse as his features, marking him as a man from the gutter as she suspected. She nodded, trying not to appear intimidated by this enormous brute of a gatekeeper. ‘Owen’s expecting you.’
Owen.
An equal, not a master.
Odd.
He stepped aside, but when they both went to pass, the brute halted Justin with one meaty hand. ‘Owen wants to speak to her alone.’
‘I am afraid that will not be happening… The very suggestion is highly improper. My sister needs an escort and that escort will be me.’
‘Then I’ve instructions to send you both packing, my lord.’ The brute planted his feet wide and crossed his arms. ‘It’s the lady on her lonesome, sir—or neither of you, I’m afraid.’
‘Then it will be neither of us!’
‘It’s all right, Justin. I can do this myself.’
Lydia let go of his arm decisively and offered him her best brave smile when he looked about to argue. She wanted to do this. Needed to do it for the sake of her own pride. Whatever Owen was up to she wanted no part of it, was sick to the back teeth of the hold he had on her. While she might be for sale, she wanted to let him know not at any price.
‘Wait in the carriage. I shan’t be long. Owen Wolfe doesn’t frighten me.’
If anything, this rude and eye-opening welcome to his dastardly domain merely made her decision to defy her father easier and to hell with the consequences.