The viscount strolled around the little dressing room. With great interest, he eyed the costumes that hung from hooks on the wall, the piles of folded accessories in the trunk, the chipped china pitcher on the washstand, the collection of cosmetics on the dressing table.
Maddy clenched her teeth and watched him scrutinize her private space. His presence seemed to suck the very air out of the room—that had to be why she found it difficult to draw breath into her lungs. She ought to make a dash for the door while his back was turned.
Yet curiosity rooted her in place. How had he managed to hoodwink Gertie into cooperating in his scheme? What exactly had he said to the maid?
Grabbing a rag, Maddy used it to wipe her sticky fingers. “You had no right to follow me,” she snapped. “You aren’t wanted here.”
He fixed his keen gaze on her. “I followed you because I have something that belongs to you.”
“If you’re referring to your bid,” she said, rubbing furiously at a spot on her thumb, “I’ve already said I won’t take it.”
“Then perhaps you’ll take this.”
A provocative smile playing on his lips, he held out the ripped half of Lord Herrington’s offer. The one that had been stuck under his shoe. The one she had totally forgotten about.
She snatched it from him. “If you think to soften me, you’re sadly mistaken. That phony charm won’t work on me as it did on Gertie. So you may as well save your breath.”
Maddy marched to the dressing table and added the ripped piece to the other bids. Too bad she lacked the bodily strength to evict Lord Rowley. Well, she would simply ignore him. She’d pretend he wasn’t even there. Eventually he would be forced to depart in frustration.
Seating herself on the stool, she pinned up her messy blond locks, securing them in a loose bun on top of her head. Then she dipped a corner of the rag into a pot of linseed oil, using it to scrub the makeup from her face. The task of removing the wrinkles kept her busy for several long minutes. All the while, she sensed Lord Rowley’s nearness like an impending calamity.
From this angle, she couldn’t see him in the oval mirror. Yet the fine hairs prickled at the nape of her neck. What was he doing? What if he was a madman? What if he drew a knife and murdered her?
Maybe then Gertie would be sorry for deserting her!
On the pretext of cleaning a stubborn place beside her nose, Maddy leaned forward to peer more closely into the mirror. She spied him standing to one side behind her, his shoulder propped against the wall in a relaxed pose. The filthy beast was watching her. His gaze roved over her as if he were trying to peer through the dense padding beneath her black gown.
She pivoted on the stool. “Blast you! Just go! I’ve already made my choice, anyway.”
“Without reading the bids? You’re bluffing.”
“Actually, I’m not.”
“Who’s the lucky fellow, then?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
In utter disregard for her wishes, Lord Rowley sauntered closer, coming to stand by the dressing table. There, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. An enticing hint of his masculine scent drifted to her, and his nearness caused an irksome pulse in her loins.
“I did a bit of research on the men you invited to the auction,” he said. “Bachelors, all of them. You must have an aversion to engaging in an affair with a married man.”
Paying him no heed, Maddy resumed cleansing her face. It wouldn’t do to admit he was right, that she could never steal another woman’s husband. The very thought repelled her.
“So who is the chosen one?” the viscount asked. “I can’t imagine you’d pick Lord Netherfield. He’s too much the whiner.”
She ignored Lord Rowley. Any answer would only encourage him.
“I also very much doubt you’d favor a loudmouthed boor like Gerald Jenkins,” he mused. “Or a nefarious rake like Dunham, no matter that he’s heir to a dukedom.”
Lord Rowley and her cousin had spoken to each other as Dunham had been leaving the theater. She badly wanted to ask what they had said, but restrained herself.
“No,” he went on in a speculative tone, “you’d go for a man you can control. A fledgling like Mr. Stanford, perhaps.”
She rubbed the last of the putty from her chin. Let Lord Rowley blather all he liked. She had the training and discipline to pretend he wasn’t even there.
“The trouble is, young Stanford lacks the funds to keep you in high style. I rather doubt his offer will suffice.”
Maddy concentrated on her image in the mirror. Her skin was rosy from all the scrubbing and shiny from the linseed oil. So much the better. Maybe if Lord Rowley deemed her unattractive, he’d go away.
“That narrows the field,” he continued. “I’m guessing you’d select a dull dog who’s rich enough to keep you in jewels, yet will allow you free rein to do as you please. Perhaps a scholar who spends most of his time in the library. Like the Marquess of Herrington.”
Her fingers paused ever so slightly while wiping a trace of putty from her hairline. Quickly she schooled her expression into blankness.
He leaned down suddenly, planting his hands on the edge of the dressing table. “I’ve guessed him, haven’t I? It is Herrington you favor.”
Maddy thinned her lips. This time, she couldn’t help but turn her head to glare at him, only to find his green eyes on level with hers. They seemed to peer into her very soul. How was it that he could read her thoughts so well?
Flustered, she jumped up from the stool. “And what if it is him? He’s a marquess and a gentleman and I’ll be exceedingly happy as his mistress!”
Maddy stomped over to the washstand, grabbed the pitcher, and filled the basin with water. She seized the sliver of soap and lathered her hands vigorously, then bent over the basin and scrubbed the last traces of makeup from her face. How foolish of her to answer Lord Rowley. She should not have let him goad her like that. And if he imagined his mockery of her suitors would induce her to change her mind in his favor, he’d be sorely disappointed.
The soap suds burned her eyes. Blinded, she splashed water over her face, then groped for the towel where it always hung on its hook. Her fingers found only bare wood. “Blast it … Gertie! Where’s the—”
A linen cloth made its way into her hand, and she felt the unexpected touch of Lord Rowley’s warm, rough skin against hers. Startled, she backed away while blotting the water from her face and rubbing her eyes.
Through damp lashes, she glowered at him. “Are you still here, my lord? I vow, you’re like a swollen pustule that won’t go away.”
Rather than take offense, he chuckled. “I wonder if Herrington knows that you can hurl insults like a fishwife. He won’t be happy to have his peace and quiet disturbed.”
“There will be no outbursts with the marquess, for he merits being treated as a gentleman.” Maddy flung the wet towel at him. “Unlike a tedious wretch like you who deserves to be cursed from here to perdition.”
He easily caught the towel with one hand. “Call me whatever you please, Miss Swann. I happen to like your colorful curses.”
His grin held a genuine appreciation that Maddy found perplexing. Any other gentleman would be insulted, infuriated, affronted. Perhaps he truly was a madman.
“I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense,” she said crisply. She tried to cross her arms, but it was awkward with the padding around her midsection. “I should like you to go now.”
“So you can piece together Herrington’s bid and see how much he’s offered you to warm his bed? Don’t waste your time.”
With that, Lord Rowley strode to the dressing table, gathered up the proposals, and tossed the lot into the rubbish bin.
Maddy lunged forward to rescue them, but his long legs blocked her access to the container beneath the dressing table. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “Move out of the way, you tyrant.”
“None of them can possibly match my offer.” The viscount reached inside his coat and produced a folded paper. “Here, do yourself a favor and have a look.”
He thrust the folded bid into her hand. She felt a strong compulsion to rip it into shreds and throw it at his too handsome face. But then he would continue to plague her with his presence. It was clear Lord Rowley wouldn’t leave until he’d had his way.
As much as she disliked being forced to capitulate, reading the proposal might be her best course of action. Then she could reject it soundly and send him packing.
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Hissing out a breath, Maddy broke the silver wax seal and unfolded the sheet of paper. She angled it close to the oil lamp on the dressing table. Written in bold black penmanship, the offer was brief, concise … and utterly astounding. Her legs wilted and she sank down onto the stool to scan the words a second time.
She cast a disbelieving look up at him. “You want me to be your wife—not your mistress? This must be a jest.”
“Oh, it’s quite true, Miss Swann. All the other bidders will keep you hidden away like a dirty little secret. I, on the other hand, want you at my side as I enter society. I’m offering you the honor of my name along with a generous stipend. You will be Lady Rowley—and a wealthy woman in your own right.”
The masculine angles of his face revealed a firm resolve. As an actress, she’d made a study of facial expressions so that she could reproduce them on stage. Lord Rowley was indeed telling the truth.
All of a sudden she understood why Gertie approved of him. He must have told her of his plan to offer marriage. Nothing would make the maidservant happier than to see Maddy with a ring on her finger and a title to her name.
But that didn’t explain his motive for the startling proposition.
Why would a nobleman wish to wed a lowborn actress whom he had only just met? In fact, he hadn’t even met her when he’d written up the bid. One possibility jumped to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps he was like Edmund. Perhaps Lord Rowley needed a convenient wife to cover up his secret predilections. “Are you one of those men who prefers … other men?”
He stared at her, then chuckled softly. His hand reached out to caress her cheek. “Hardly. I can assure you, Miss Swann, this marriage will be consummated. I’ve every intention of making love to you. Thoroughly and completely.”
His light touch unfurled a ribbon of heat that descended deep into her body. The sensation was so potent, so pleasurable, that she immediately pictured herself lying naked in his arms while he explored her most forbidden places. It was a disturbing fantasy, for she couldn’t deny that a part of her burned with lust for him. Another part, however, rejected the prospect of submitting to such a conceited rogue.
She sprang up from the stool again. “I haven’t agreed to this marriage. How can you expect me to commit the rest of my life to you on the basis of one meeting? We don’t even like each other—or at least I don’t much like you!”
Lord Rowley shrugged. “You need only tolerate me for one season—perhaps three months in all. Then I will leave England for good. And I shan’t ever return.”
“Leave? Why?”
“I’ve numerous business interests abroad. As part of our agreement, you will be required to remain here in London. You’ll have the income and the title—along with the expectation of becoming Countess of Gilmore upon the death of my father.”
When Lord Rowley mentioned his sire, his jaw tightened slightly and his lips firmed. That hint of tension in his expression sparked a realization in her. Slowly, she guessed, “You intend to use me to embarrass your noble family.”
“Indeed.” He prowled the confines of the dressing room before turning to face her. “You strike me as a clever woman, Miss Swann, so I shan’t mince words. The Earl of Gilmore will be livid to learn that his heir has taken a notorious actress as a bride. He’ll be even angrier when he discovers we’ll be living at Gilmore House with him.”
“Why do you despise your father so much?”
“My reasons are my own,” he said sharply. “You are not to question me on the matter. In return for my generosity, I’ll expect you to perform as you’ve done tonight—by hurling insults and playing the guttersnipe. The more outrageously you behave, the better. Feel free to swing from the chandeliers if it suits you.”
A deep anger underscored his words. Lord Rowley truly hated his father. Enough to foist a low-class female into the earl’s household as a member of the family.
She wondered what terrible circumstances could have inspired such a powerful animosity in him. Was that why he’d been abroad for the past ten years? Had he come back to England for the express purpose of setting into motion this odious plot to punish his father?
Her every instinct warned Maddy not to entangle herself in the scheme. Lord Rowley expected her to behave as a coarse, foulmouthed termagant. No wonder he had found her actions tonight so entertaining. She had played right into his hands. She fit the profile of the slattern he wanted to wed.
He intended to parade her before his aristocratic family and all of society, too. They would scorn her as an ill-mannered commoner. She would be snubbed at every ball, every dinner party, every drive in the park. They would never accept her as one of their own. No matter how lofty her title, she would always be the scandalous actress who’d been purchased at auction by the Earl of Gilmore’s heir.
So why did she feel tempted to accept?
It wasn’t the money. One of the other noblemen could provide her the funds to open her shop. In a year’s time, the affair would be over and she would gain her freedom.
But Lord Rowley would set her free, too, and much sooner. He would leave England forever in a few months and then she could open the ladies’ apparel shop she’d always wanted to own. Her elevated status would bring the wives of merchants flocking to her store. They wouldn’t care that society had shunned her. It would be enough for them to rub elbows with a lady of high rank …
“Well?” he prompted as he came to stand in front of her. “I need your answer, Miss Swann. In exchange for a title and wealth, will you be the trollop who causes an uproar in my father’s household?”
“It’s more likely you and I will be at each other’s throats.”
“So much the better.” Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips for a smooth kiss. “This is your chance to play the greatest role of your career. Only think of all the ingenious ways you can irritate my father. It shall be great fun, I promise you.”
He gave her that heart-stopping smile, complete with dimples and a flash of white teeth. It was absurd for one man to be so gorgeous—and to cause her blood to heat at his slightest touch. She must be a fool even to consider participating in his despicable plot of vengeance.
Yet who was she to stand in judgment of him? She had long dreamed of taking her own revenge—though he must never know it.
Unlike the other bidders, Lord Rowley was offering her the chance to enter society. The chance to mingle with the nobility. The chance to seek out her grandfather, the Duke of Houghton, and to punish him for disowning her mother.
“All right,” Maddy said. “I accept.”