Two Wrongs Make a Marriage
Christine Merrill
They’ve made their bed… Lord Kenton is surprisingly happy to be lured to a moonlit gazebo, held at gunpoint by the delectable Cynthia Banester and forced to marry her. The only finger he’s had to lift is the one that’s caressed the neckline of her dress. She’s claimed a title – he’s secured a fortune.There are just two problems – he’s not the real Lord Kenton, and she’s not rich! So they might as well lie in it! Bound by their own deceptions, Cynthia and Jack decide to make the best of a bad deal. They may not have two coins to rub together, but consummating their vows proves deliciously satisfying…
Cynthia stared back at him, large green eyes narrowed in scepticism. ‘If I give up the gun, what will I have to protect me from your advances?’
Absolutely nothing. She blinked at him, as though she had heard his thoughts, and her mouth puckered, ready to be kissed.
‘Is it really necessary to keep me at a distance? You must understand that if I remain as you wish your honour will be compromised. When we are discovered, as we well might be, I shall be forced to marry you.’
She nodded vigorously. ‘That was precisely what I hoped,’ she said.
That was most unexpected. But it certainly saved him time in wooing. ‘Your methods for seeking my offer are rather unorthodox,’ he said. ‘I will not hold them against you, should we marry. I am not opposed to the institution itself, and I am willing to entertain the proposition that there be a union between us. But I will not allow the woman I marry to bring a pistol into the bedroom.’
‘Perfectly understandable,’ she agreed. But she showed no sign of relinquishing her weapon.
About the Author
CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.
Previous novels by Christine Merrill:
THE INCONVENIENT DUCHESS
AN UNLADYLIKE OFFER
A WICKED LIAISON
MISS WINTHORPE’S ELOPEMENT
THE MISTLETOE WAGER
(part of A Yuletide Invitation)
DANGEROUS LORD, INNOCENT GOVERNESS
PAYING THE VIRGIN’S PRICE* (#ulink_05c1bf4f-d7ad-5a48-b0d7-53f90b3c0ab9)
TAKEN BY THE WICKED RAKE* (#ulink_05c1bf4f-d7ad-5a48-b0d7-53f90b3c0ab9)
MASTER OF PENLOWEN
(part of Halloween Temptations)
LADY FOLBROKE’S DELICIOUS DECEPTION† (#ulink_42020709-d2a0-5a9c-bdcf-561aaafc8542)
LADY DRUSILLA’S ROAD TO RUIN† (#ulink_42020709-d2a0-5a9c-bdcf-561aaafc8542)
LADY PRISCILLA’S SHAMEFUL SECRET† (#ulink_42020709-d2a0-5a9c-bdcf-561aaafc8542)
A REGENCY CHRISTMAS CAROL
(part of One Snowy Regency Christmas)
* (#ulink_e36b4eeb-960e-51f0-a026-15071cda222a)Regency Silk & Scandal mini-series
† (#ulink_659c9abf-946f-56c3-96e3-ace6df63f9a3)Ladies in Disgrace trilogy
And in Mills & Boon
HistoricalUndone!eBooks:
SEDUCING A STRANGER
TAMING HER GYPSY LOVER
VIRGIN UNWRAPPED
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?
Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
AUTHOR NOTE
Writing a story featuring an actor is so much fun, and it gives me a chance to share with you some theatre history research that did not make it into the book.
The stage in Jack’s day was raked, with the front being lower than the back. Going upstage was actually like walking uphill. Scenery included a painted backdrop and flat wooden wing-pieces painted to match. These gave the audience an illusion of depth, and left actors with places to enter and exit on both sides of the stage. At the front of the stage footlights, or floats, rested in a trough of water to prevent accidental fires should a candle tip over, and they could be lowered below the stage when not in use.
The theatre’s chandeliers had to be raised and lowered as well—but never during the performance. Once the candles were lit the house lights were always up, which made it easy for the audience to watch each other as they watched the play. As they are now, the cheap seats were in the upper balcony or gallery. If the audience there was unhappy, they booed by hitting their boots on a loose ‘kicking board’ in front of their seat.
And, as there are now, there were theatrical superstitions. Green has always been an unlucky colour for a costume. Not only is it unfavourable to most complexions, it was supposedly the colour Molière was wearing when he died on stage in 1673.
Happy reading. And ‘break a leg’!
Two Wrongs
Make a Marriage
Christine Merrill
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Ray-Ray, Betty, Les, Judy, Jana, and Rose. Encore.
Chapter One
Kidnapped! Dishonoured! Forced to marry one’s abductor to avoid the scandal!
It was almost too perfect. Jack Briggs could hardly contain his glee, though this was not the moment to reveal it. The plans he’d set in motion at the beginning of the London Season were coming together, suddenly, unexpectedly, and in a way almost too perfect for words. He would have a rich and well-born wife and he’d have her months ahead of schedule.
Miss Cynthia Banester was not the woman he’d expected to catch. There had been no time to lay the groundwork for a less inauspicious campaign for her hand. But she was gentle born, wealthy and more than middling pretty. Jack might go so far as to call her beautiful, for the ginger hair and full figure were very much to his personal taste. She was certainly desirable.
But more importantly, she was everything that the Earl of Spayne had requested Jack bring to his family by marrying. Of course, Jack had expected to present his choice to the peer for approval before making an offer. This impromptu abduction had changed everything. Now that weapons had been drawn, there could be no turning back. He would have her, whether the earl liked her or not.
The girl smiled at him in a hopeful, rather worried way, as though her own happiness depended on his co-operation, and edged between him and the doorway of the gazebo they shared. ‘I am sorry, Lord Kenton, but I cannot permit you to leave. If you attempt it, I will be forced to shoot you.’
Jack watched the barrel of the little pistol she held moving in twitching figure eights as she tried to keep it steady. If the gun fired, by accident or with intent, Miss Banester would become the second most beautiful woman to have shot him. But if she did not control her aim, it could prove more damaging than a hurried leap from a courtesan’s boudoir window. At such close range, there was a very real chance she might hit something he wished to keep whole.
He kept his hands raised, put on his best smile and worked his magic upon her. ‘I would not dream of leaving, my dear. Did I not come willingly to this spot when you requested me to follow you away from the other guests?’
‘That was because you expected some dalliance with me,’ she said, giving a wise nod. Her assessment was accurate, but delivered with a coldness that surprised him. ‘You thought me foolish enough to leave a crowded ballroom to go walking in a dark garden with a man who is nearly a stranger to me.’ She tightened her grip on the pistol and for a moment, it stilled, before the muzzle drooped alarmingly in the direction of his manhood.
‘I might have suspected some such thing,’ Jack admitted. ‘You can hardly blame me for it. In most instances, that is precisely what your sudden interest in a tête-à-tête would mean. But I can see that is not the case. Perhaps, if you were to lay down your weapon, you might accept my parole. I am sure we could discuss your reasons for this meeting without the threat of violence. If I have done something to upset you, I would be only too happy to apologise.’ At length, and with as much physicality as their inevitable discovery would permit.
He smiled in anticipation. The folly she’d lured him to was still within earshot of the house. One overloud shriek of delight and they would be found out. Her reputation would be ruined. And he would offer nobly, albeit with proper resignation, for her lovely white hand. If he could just coax her out of her pistol, the end of hostility would mean the beginning of seduction. Stitching together the tatters of her innocence for a church wedding would be far preferable to mending a hole in his coat or body.
She stared back at him, large green eyes narrowed in scepticism. ‘If I give up the gun, what would I have to protect me from your advances?’
Absolutely nothing. She blinked at him, as though she had heard his thoughts, and her mouth puckered, ready to be kissed. The moonlight glinted in her copper curls and gave a faint luminosity to her already magnificent bosom, making him wonder at the rest of the body hiding beneath her ladylike muslin gown. Such lush curves brought to mind an earthy sensuality not present in the eligible innocents he’d been courting. Though her friends might shorten Cynthia to Thea, Jack thought some variation on Cyn would be more appropriate. She was sinfully tempting and everything he desired in a bedmate. It might be quite pleasant to lose his freedom to her.
He lowered his hands a fraction, turning them palms up in supplication. ‘Is it really necessary to keep me at a distance? You must understand that, if I remain as you wish, your honour will be compromised. When we are discovered, as we well might be, I shall be forced to marry you.’
She nodded vigorously. Curls and bosom bounced in response. ‘That was precisely what I hoped,’ she said.
That was most unexpected, but it certainly saved him time in wooing. ‘Your methods for seeking my offer are rather unorthodox,’ he said, lowering his hands a little farther. ‘I will not hold them against you should we marry. I am not opposed to the institution itself and willing to entertain the proposition that there be a union between us. But I will not allow the woman I marry to bring a pistol into the bedroom.’
‘Perfectly understandable,’ she agreed. But she showed no sign of relinquishing her weapon.
‘Surely, if you are intent on having me, it will do no harm to become better acquainted before that time.’ He smiled again, his mouth watering at the thought of her excessively kissable lips.
‘I have no objection to knowing you better,’ she agreed. ‘But I am sure that it can be done across this distance.’ She took a tighter grip on the pistol.
‘Are you sure?’ He adjusted his posture to make best use of the available light and felt the moon outline his profile as he stretched a hand toward her. It was vain of him to strike such a pose, but he’d heard ladies sighing over it, often enough. And until the gun was back in her reticule, he needed all the good will he could muster. ‘There would be no risk to our sitting side by side, admiring the roses through the lattice.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The air is like perfume and the moonlight tints the blossoms with silver.’
‘I am sure they will be just as lovely after we are wed,’ she responded.
‘Which we most certainly will be,’ he assured her. ‘You have my word of that. Nothing will happen that you do not thoroughly enjoy.’ They would both enjoy it, if he was not mistaken.
‘It would not be proper.’
‘A kiss or two between a couple on the day of their betrothal is not amiss.’
The gun did not move. ‘You may kiss me once. When my parents have discovered us and can witness it.’
Damn. He had found in the past that many young ladies were curious about such things and eager to take advantage, or be taken advantage of, once they knew there was no risk of discovery. This one seemed to court disaster, as long as it was disaster delayed.
‘Once we are married, I will expect you to kiss me far more than once,’ he reminded her. ‘And do other things as well.’ He raised an eyebrow to imply wicked, but unnamed, behaviours, wondering how much she knew of them. If she was angling after some gallant union, with him sleeping above the sheet and her beneath, she was sorely mistaken.
‘You are speaking of performing the marital act,’ she said in a prim way that was all the more erotic for its frankness.
‘I do like performing,’ he admitted quite truthfully. Regular shows and matinees.
‘I have no objection to that,’ she said.
‘That is good to know,’ he said, imagining her creamy-white skin flushed pink after an acting lesson.
‘But not tonight,’ she said. ‘I must be married first.’
‘We,’ he reminded her. ‘I will be marrying as well. And, if I may ask, why have you chosen me for your groom? Not that I object, overly. I intended to marry this Season and had not fixed my affections elsewhere. But we hardly know each other.’
‘It has been difficult to attract your attention,’ she said, blinking at him again.
Which was another odd thing. He had always favoured buxom redheads. She was that in spades. If she’d made any effort at all to catch his eye, he was sure he’d have responded. With all the talk of getting her to bed, he was responding now, in an involuntary and physical way.
Then he glanced at her gun, which was still pointed at his middle, and felt the tightness in his breeches easing. ‘You have my full attention tonight. If I did not notice you before?’ He shrugged. ‘At Almack’s and the like, young ladies seem to make an effort to be underfoot and in the way. Did you express an interest in making a match with me?’
She bit her lip. ‘Until recently, I did not realise how urgent it was that I marry … you.’ There was a strange pause, as though she had only just remembered to be enamoured of him, specifically. ‘You are the catch of the Season, Lord Kenton. And I am shy in gatherings and did not know how to gain your favour, other than this. As they say, “We should be woo’d and were not made to woo”.’
‘Shakespeare?’ Jack’s heart beat iambic pentameter in time with her words. There was no quicker way to gain his attention than quoting the Bard. But she could not know him as well as that, or she’d never have lured him out in the garden. ‘And you say it is urgent that you find a husband?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded again vigorously.
He stared down at her jiggling chest and had to force his mind back to the primary reason that a young lady might have for an urgent marriage. If there was a child in less than nine months, he must hope that it looked more like its mother than its father.
Spayne should have considered this and been more specific before sending Jack on this mission. He had requested a rich daughter-in-law. But he must have known that marriages resulted in babies. Considering his own past, Jack had no right to quibble about legitimacy. If Spayne was so desperate for an heir to act as he had, would it really matter if the child was Jack’s or someone else’s?
Then the moonlight cast a particularly bright beam through the lattice of the gazebo and he saw the dusting of freckles on her white shoulders, like cinnamon and sugar on a blancmange. Spayne’s possible objections could be damned along with the earl himself. A man had needs and the luscious body of Miss Cynthia Banester was suited so perfectly to Jack’s that she might have been heaven sent.
He threw his hands in the air in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Far be it from me to stand in the way of a lady who knows her own mind. You are from a respectable family. You seem intent on having me.’ And he’d have her as well. Though she was damned prickly on the subject tonight, if she was the victim of a previous fall from grace he need have no scruples about the rather unusual nature of his side of their union. A little deception was a good thing, when shared equally between partners. ‘I am yours. Since you will not let me have a kiss, let us seal the bargain.’ He dropped a hand and thrust it out to her for a shake.
She gave him a sidelong glance, as though searching for the trick, and cautiously offered her left, elegantly gloved hand.
‘The right,’ he said firmly. ‘Else it shall not be official.’
She stared at him, then at the little pistol she held, and then back to him before cautiously setting it down on the bench beside her and offering her right hand.
He seized it and dropped to a seat on the bench behind him, pulling her forwards into his lap, pinioning her wrists between them so that she could not retrieve her weapon. She was a pleasant weight against him. His member, which had flagged at the sight of the gun barrel, sprang to life again.
‘Unhand me this instant,’ she said, giving a wiggle that was quite delicious.
‘In a bit,’ he agreed. ‘When I am sure you will not just take up arms against me and once we have established that I am the aggressor and not the victim. If you mean us to be discovered, it would do my pride an injury to have the world thinking you had trapped me into marriage at gunpoint.’ He wrapped an arm about her waist, drawing her farther forwards until she was very near to straddling him. The kicking of her slippered feet against his legs accentuated the rocking, creating a friction that inflamed his imagination as well as his body.
‘It is better that they think I am to blame, taking advantage of an innocent girl. I shall admit that I was overcome by your beauty and acted in haste to secure you. When your father demands an immediate marriage, I will agree.’
‘You would really do that for me?’ She ceased struggling, her body settling against his in relief.
Her sudden gratitude made him feel almost heroic for wanting to ravish her. He was doing her a service. ‘Of course, my pet,’ he said. ‘But we must do our best to sell the story, so that all might believe it. I am the swain, overcome by desire. And you are the hapless maiden, caught in my clutches.’
‘I am,’ she said sceptically.
‘Of course,’ he reminded her. ‘See, I am clutching you.’ He brought his hands to her bottom and squeezed it, adjusting her in his lap.
‘Oh, dear.’ The contact between them was intimate. If she had any understanding of anatomy, it would explain why Cyn Banester was finally nonplussed.
He raised a hand to her face and drew one finger down her cheek, tangling with a red curl. ‘Now I will take the kiss you offered. When I am through with you, you shall scream and bring the house down upon us, so that I might plead convincingly for your hand.’ Those wide green eyes were blinking at him again, more expectant than frightened.
It made him feel strangely dizzy, probably from a loss of blood to the brain. When she looked at him like that, he could not seem to think clearly, even though it would be better to take such a major step with a clear head. He was sure there were things he was missing in all this. Probably some vitally important reason to postpone the decision until morning. But with one last look at her lips, he threw his reservations aside, closed the last inches between them, let the full breasts crush against his vest front and pressed his lips against hers.
Until recently, Jack had had little experience with true ladies of any kind. One could hardly count bored wives and randy widows as genteel. They’d been seeking a bit of adventure and he’d been happy to provide it. But he had never kissed the sort of young lady he was kissing now. She was of limited experience, cautious, unworldly, but with all the grace, innocence and sweetness of a Juliet. So he did his best to be a worthy Romeo, demonstrating all the ardour of first love, but with just a bit more confidence than that doomed lad would have managed. If this first kiss had to last him until the wedding night, then it must be memorable.
Her mouth opened in surprise like the first bud of May, and as he delved into it he felt the growing, urgent heat in his loins. It was a heat that must go unanswered tonight, he reminded himself. But that did not mean he should not give her reason to be eager for more.
He must have succeeded. When he pulled away from her, he felt her mouth trying to find his again, even as he kissed his way down her throat. ‘Your lips, like cherries,’ he whispered. ‘And breasts as white as …’ No matter how much he wanted to taste them, it could not be wise to use two food references in a row. ‘As white as matched doves.’ He could almost hear the groans and the thunder of boots as the gallery hammered on the kicking board to express their disgust at his hyperbole. He was but a hackneyed mummer with no right to improvise. But the words seemed to work on Cyn, for the sigh she offered was of contentment and not protest. He stared down at her body. ‘Do I dare to touch them? I cannot. And yet I must.’ He placed a hand beneath her breasts and pressed up as he lowered his face to them, covering the exposed skin with kisses, while leaving the best of them tantalisingly hidden.
In response, the little minx rose up on her knees, pressed her body to his and her chest to his lips, her fingers tangling eagerly in his hair until he held her, one hand splayed over the globe of her breast and another over the globe of her hip. She was a perfect armful, and his common sense struggled with his withered conscience to find a reason not to hoist up her skirt and take the evening to its logical conclusion.
Not tonight. He had but to wait a bit and he could have all he wanted of her, gorging himself on the sweetness until he was sick of it. In a few months, Lord Kenton would be experiencing a tragic death and the girl would be a wealthy widow. Then Jack would be free of his wife and richer for the experience. Before he had to visit the ‘undiscovered country’ he would have ample time to investigate as yet uncharted places on the lovely Cyn. It was hard to imagine that he was to be paid for becoming lord and master to such a tasty bit of pastry. But if some man must make the sacrifice, then why not him?
He sighed in contentment and buried his face more deeply between her ample breasts. Then he remembered that before it went further, they must be discovered here. He sighed an au revoir into her cleavage and gave her a vicious pinch upon the bottom, making her shriek.
‘Cynthia!’ As if on cue, her mother burst into the folly to find the girl, dressed but dishevelled, in the arms of the eligible Lord Kenton.
‘Mother!’ After a moment of dazed confusion, Cyn remembered her role and threw a hand theatrically across her brow. It was overdone. Given time, he could teach her to play the compromised innocent more convincingly. For now, it would have to do.
The sad display had the desired effect. Her mother rushed forwards to take the disgraced girl in hand. ‘How dare you, sir.’
Jack raised his hands again, as he had done when the girl held the gun upon him. ‘Alas, I could not help myself, Lady Banester. A surfeit of wine and moonlight, a waltz. And the supreme loveliness, the charm, the fresh perfection of your daughter … I was undone.’ Jack could see the crowd gathering in the doorway, preventing an exit which he’d not have sought in any case.
He dropped to a knee. It was the one farthest from the entrance so that the majority of the people gathered could see his profile as he placed a hand over his heart. ‘I will do the honourable thing, of course. And with pleasure. I do not regret my precipitous action, if it encourages this sweet girl to a proper union which will make me the happiest of men.’
He bowed his head, as though conquered. ‘Say you will accept me, Miss Banester. Take my hand, my heart, my everything. I lay them at your feet.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a spark of suspicion in the cat-green eyes of his lady love. If she hadn’t have been so pretty, he’d have been annoyed at the criticism of his acting. He was in full form tonight and the rest of the audience was in the palm of his hand. He could hear sighs of envy coming from the girls crowded in the doorway. They’d have accepted his proposal in a heartbeat. Now that it was made, his intended was looking at him as though she was no longer quite sure she wanted him.
But it was far too late for a change of heart. Her mother had seen the whole thing and clapped hands enthusiastically across a matronly version of the bosom that her daughter had inherited, tossing her dark-red curls as she looked heavenwards. ‘Thank you, Lord Kenton, for protecting my little girl.’
‘What the devil?’ Unlike his statuesque and lovely wife, the diminutive Sir William Banester needed to push his way through the crowd for a better view. ‘Kenton, you ass. Get up off the floor. If you want her, you can have her, of course. But you could have asked in the parlour, like a normal gentleman. Now enough of this nonsense. We can settle it in the morning. Thea, come away.’
‘Yes, Papa.’ His betrothed did her best to look both contrite and happy, but cast one last glance back at him, as though still a little surprised that her plan had succeeded.
He could hardly blame her. He was surprised as well. ‘Until the morning, my love,’ Jack said, holding out a hand in a farewell gesture. There would be time to sort out the details, he was sure. ‘I will visit properly, if your parents will receive me. We have much to discuss.’ He gave Lady Banester a look worthy of any hopeful Romeo.
‘Of course, Lord Kenton. We would be honoured.’ She offered a sweeping curtsy so imbued with grace that Jack nearly stammered the truth: he was the one honoured to be received by such a lady and to be marrying her equally beautiful daughter.
Then he remembered himself. He was not the humble Jack Briggs, itinerant actor. He was Lord Kenton and he was the catch of the Season. The Banesters should be happy to have him. And he was happy as well, for tonight he would write to the earl and announce the impending and successful completion of his scheme.
Chapter Two
Trying to catch the best light in the shop window, Cynthia Banester flourished the two pieces of lace she held, admiring their drape and softness, but unable to decide between them. Vieux Flandre was beautiful, but expensive, and a bit heavy for the face of a girl with nothing to hide. In comparison, the Brussels seemed almost too simple for such a special event. ‘Which is better?’ she asked, holding the two veils up to her mother for approval.
‘Take them both,’ Lady Banester answered without a second thought.
‘I am only marrying once and therefore have no need of a second veil.’
‘But if you should change your mind later …’
‘About Kenton or the veil?’
‘Either, dear. It is always wise to have an understudy waiting in the wings.’
Thea sighed. It had been foolish of her even to request her mother’s input, for she should have guessed what the answer was likely to be. Father had often joked that he would not trust her to choose the lesser of two evils, should the devil decide to open a shop on Bond Street. ‘Mother,’ Thea said gently, ‘I must make a selection. We no longer have the money for unnecessary extravagances.’
‘Perhaps we do not, but Kenton does. Once you are married, you have but to send him the bills. He is a viscount, after all. He will take care of everything.’
Thea winced. That had been her plan from the first. And it was all going much too well. It had been three weeks since she had waylaid the poor man, plucking him out of the card room at Lady Folbroke’s ball with promises of a moonlight stroll in the garden and an urgent need for private conversation. He had gone, like a lamb to the slaughter, and they were engaged before midnight. Since then, he had made regular visits to her home, each one properly chaperoned to prevent the ardour he had displayed when they were alone. He had danced with her when they met at balls, escorted her to musicales and behaved like a complete gentleman on each outing.
The church had been reserved, the banns read, the invitations sent and the menu chosen for the wedding breakfast. Had she written the script for a perfect engagement, she could not have done better.
And Kenton had offered no objections to the lack of intimacy, nor shown any sign of waking to the realities of his situation. Why was he not bothered by the fact that she had tricked him? That she had drawn her little pistol and waylaid him like a highwayman stopping a coach? She deserved outrage or ostracism in response. She had feared a total failure, if Kenton measured the worth of her family connections as she did lace veils. A sensible man should have been more eager to take a bullet than her hand.
Her mother tapped her hand with an ivory fan, then replaced it on the haberdasher’s counter. ‘You are thinking about him again, aren’t you?’
‘No, Mama.’
Her mother smiled knowingly. ‘Of course you are. When you try to conceal your feelings, my darling, you are as transparent as glass. But you have no need to hide these. It is only natural to think of such things, when one is young and in love …’
‘Do not put too fine a point on it, Mother,’ Thea said firmly. ‘You know my reasons for seeking him out and they have nothing to do with love.’
Her mother cast a sidelong glance in her direction. ‘Judging by his speech to us when we discovered you, you’ve charmed him. He was most fulsome in his praise. And I have seen the way he looks at you since.’
Her mother was right in that, at least. Her betrothed bathed her in respectful but doting attention, taking her driving in Hyde Park, escorting her to the opera and behaving as though they had known each other for years and not days. She should be flattered. She was flattered—and excited—by his attentions, but they also filled her with a strange combination of guilt and unease. At last, she blurted, ‘That is just the problem, Mother. Why does he behave so? I have done nothing to earn even a jot of his affection.’ Anyone who had been in town for any length of time had at least formed suspicions about the Banester family, its eccentricities, profligacy and rumoured bugbears. But it seemed Lord Kenton was too new to the country to know why they could not marry. Or perhaps he was too rich to care.
Her mother gave a quick scan of her body and toyed with the lace on her own bodice. ‘You have inherited certain assets that make even strong men malleable. When I was your age, I had admirers aplenty. When I performed, half the young lords of the day threw roses on the stage and the rest sought out my changing room. But then I met your father …’
‘No stories, please.’ Thea dropped the lace in her hands and put them over her ears to forestall any more of her mother’s ridiculous anecdotes about the ardent courtship of young Sir William. Her mother’s previous career was not quite a secret amongst the ton. But it had taken all her charm and much of Father’s money to make the truth fade into insignificance. Now that the fortune was gone, they could not afford to have the old scandal resurrected.
‘Very well.’ At forty, her mother’s pout was every bit as pretty as a girl half her age. ‘But allow me some pride. If you have charmed Kenton without effort, it shows that the apple has not fallen far from the tree, no matter how we wished to change your nature.’
‘I am no actress, Mother. I have no desire to dazzle the man with illusion.’ It was why she had brought the gun. Using a weapon had not been fair, but at least it had been cold, hard and real.
Her mother sensed her weakening and took up the fan again to give her another tap on the wrist. ‘Do not waste time feeling sorry for him, Thea. A gentleman should have seen the risks of taking a young lady out in the garden alone. What happened to him after was his own fault.’
‘Perhaps he is not quite right in the head,’ Thea suggested. That made more sense to her than his sudden, willing attachment. ‘His behaviour has been rather odd, has it not? So many men seem to return from India with tales of fever and malaise. But he is tanned and hardy.’ And very handsome, if Thea truly wished to be honest.
‘His complexion indicates nothing more mysterious than a strong constitution,’ her mother replied. ‘It guarantees virility, which you will appreciate soon enough, if you do not already. If the kiss I interrupted was any indication …’
‘Mother!’
Her mother gave her an innocent smile and laid a finger to her lips to indicate a shared secret. She had been hinting since the first night that she had caught more than a brief glimpse of the way Kenton had behaved and the eager way Thea had responded to him. Her approval was no more maternal than Thea’s response had been maidenly. It was all very inappropriate.
‘I meant,’ she corrected, returning the conversation to a safer topic, ‘that Kenton’s stories of his travels are almost too grand to believe. All wild adventures, narrow escapes, tigers and tea.’ And, more worrisome, he spoke of bejewelled ladies and hinted at romantic escapades while veiling the details with Oriental silk. The stories were very exciting, but she’d had more than her fill of exaggerated anecdotes from her mother. She should have learned better and sought something more mundane in a marriage partner. Instead, she was sighing over Kenton like the silliest girl in London. ‘If his life was as wonderful as it seemed, then what brought him home?’
‘I expect it was his father,’ her mother answered. ‘The Earl of Spayne is seldom in town, though he lives only a county away. His health is rumoured to be failing. He could not have been comfortable with his heir spending half a lifetime away from home. Continental education and exotic travels are quite all right, but they should be taken in moderation.’
Thea raised an eyebrow at the disapproval in her mother’s voice. It was a rather parochial sentiment from a woman who’d spent her formative years in a travelling band of players. ‘I merely wonder if he exaggerates the happiness of his past. He seems a most contented fellow. Perhaps he is simply choosing to ignore or forget some hardship.’ Or else he was too stupid to understand the things that had befallen him. Her pathetic attempt at kidnapping had made no impact on his mood, unless one could count this total and inexplicable infatuation.
Even more frustrating was her illogical desire to believe him. Before forming her recent plan, she had thought herself immune to his looks and charm. She had managed to resist them the better part of the Season. It had been easy when she could keep a distance from him. In close quarters, his speeches inflamed her curiosity and she’d become a rapt listener.
And his kisses inflamed something else entirely. Had she ever thought that her first kiss would be accompanied by reverent and impassioned poetry? She did not dare to share the details with her mother, who was already too willing to give her advice on the matter, based on the scene she’d witnessed. Thea could imagine the frank response she would receive if she announced that the man she intended to marry had heaped praise on her breasts and demonstrated his approval of them so strenuously that her heart had almost hammered its way out from under them.
Of course, then she might learn if all men kissed as Kenton did. His lips had been as hot as the Indian sun and had left her just as dazed. She did not really need a husband for anything other than the fortune he possessed, but she could not help but be a little grateful that he offered so much more.
She felt another prod from the fan. ‘And you are gone again. Really, my dear. I said it was normal to be so distracted, but that did not mean I encouraged it. You must keep your wits about you when you meet the man’s family. Perhaps you did not realise that Kenton’s uncle is Mr Henry de Warde. If you could manage to make him aware of the difficulty he’s placed us in …’
‘The idea had crossed my mind,’ Thea said, all thoughts of romance fleeing from her mind. ‘It will be a challenge not to tell him what I really think of him, when next I see him face to face.’
‘You must exercise diplomacy, my dear. And perhaps just a touch of the charm you used to snare Kenton.’
Thea thought of the pistol, which must still be tucked between the cushions of the gazebo bench, unless Kenton had retrieved it for her after Mama had hustled her away. ‘If I am given the chance to make my case to Mr de Warde, I shall use persuasion even stronger than that.’ She would gladly put a ball between the man’s beady eyes if it meant that she could restore even a fraction of the money that he had swindled from her father.
‘I doubt your new husband would allow that, dear. Much stronger persuasion than you used on Kenton would have you uncovered to the waist.’
‘Mother!’
Lady Banester sighed. ‘I merely approve of your choice of gown when you finally decided to arm yourself for the hunt. It was quite lower than your usual necklines and you notice it had the desired effect on your quarry. We must choose lingerie for you with similar results in mind.’
Thea blushed. ‘Surely once we are married that will not be necessary.’
Lady Banester held a swatch of champagne silk to the light, so that Thea could see her hand clearly through it. ‘This should do the trick. And remember to stand with the firelight at your back. Once you are married, you must still keep the man’s attention, my dear. It is so much easier when they do not stray. You have only to look at your father …’
‘… to see just how horribly wrong that plan might go,’ Thea said firmly. ‘It is high time that he thought of more serious matters, Mother. Both of you. Really. You are very near to forty.’
‘And still you have no brother,’ her mother pointed out. ‘Not for want of trying, of course. But with all the money caught up in the entail, we might as well have nothing at all to call our own. I was at a loss as to where we would get a dowry now that we can hardly pay our own bills. Thank goodness you have saved us that worry.’
‘You will not have to worry about anything. I swear.’ She would get the money from Kenton to make things right for her parents, no matter what was required of her.
Her mother took note of her silence and held up the silk again. ‘As I said before, we will shop for nightclothes and you will be breeding in no time. That is what Lord Kenton wants, and Lord Spayne as well. The future must be provided for. A round belly is the quickest way to win the heart of the father. And what the son wants …’ Her mother smiled as though that should be quite obvious. ‘Once you have given it to him, perhaps you can persuade Kenton to talk to Mr de Warde. If we explain the situation …’
‘No!’ The whole story was mortifying in the extreme. She could not imagine sharing the worst details of it with her new husband. ‘I will tell him as much as he needs to know, so that he will pay the debts we have incurred. And then I will go to Mr de Warde and appeal to his sense of decency. He will surely return the bulk of the sum he has taken once he realises that we are now family. And there will be no further need for trickery or seduction.’ Or even pearlhandled pistols in the moonlight.
‘Of course, darling,’ her mother said in a soothing voice. ‘There is no need to become overwrought. Let us collect our things and go have an ice.’ And then, with a shake of her head, she added the transparent silk to the pile of purchases.
Chapter Three
Miss Cynthia Banester was a beautiful bride. Of course, she was Lady Kenton now. She had Jack to thank for that. And she did seem inordinately pleased. Since they’d been seated, she’d made sure that his plate and cup were never empty as though seeking any way possible to show her devotion. ‘Champagne, darling?’ She smiled up at him.
‘Thank you, love.’ He smiled back as she saw to the filling of his glass. Jack felt a not entirely appropriate swelling of pride at how well things had turned out. The ceremony had felt real enough, with a licence and a vicar, and the good wishes of her family heaped upon them.
But she was his wife for only as long as he played at being Lord Kenton. Then he would go on his merry way and they would both be the better for his departure. He would have the money. She would be safe in the keeping of the earl, who was a fine old gentleman, for all his quirks. And she would be spared a lifetime of him as a husband. Jack doubted that she would continue to smile after she learned of his true character. Other women had assured him that he was fickle, shallow and faithless. He doubted that money, a false title and an equally false marriage would change that.
But that was a future he need never face. Today, his darling Cyn was frowning into her glass. She gave the smallest of pouts and he felt a sudden urge to kiss it away. He had to force himself to remember that he was as likely to grow tired of her as she would of him. The feelings of infatuation seemed real enough at the moment, but there was no way that they could outlast the honeymoon. He must be sure to be gone before they faded. Better that she should have bittersweet memories of the dashing Lord Kenton, the adoring husband who was taken too soon, than any introduction at all to plain old Jack Briggs.
Today, he was still Kenton and eager to show his mutual admiration. ‘Is something the matter, my sweet?’
‘I had hoped that we would see your father for the wedding. I quite looked forward to meeting him.’
It was a predictable expectation on her part and Jack answered it smoothly. ‘He was detained in Essex. Business with the estate, I think. Travel is difficult for him. But I have written to him about you. He is very pleased with the union and eager to meet you. He sent the ring you are wearing now.’ He paused dramatically to make the next words sound more like sentiment than a quickly constructed lie. ‘It belonged to my mother. It was a great favourite of hers. I remember it well, though I was so very young, when she …’ He sighed.
She looked around for something with which to distract him from his grief. ‘Toast, Lord Kenton?’
He grinned at her and accepted the proffered bread. ‘Thank you, Lady Kenton. And no need to be formal, now that we are practically as one. Kenton is fine. Or you might call me by my Christian name.’
‘John?’ she said hesitantly, as though trying the word for the first time.
He gave a silent thank you to the late John de Warde for being so conveniently named. ‘Or you might call me Jack. It is what my friends call me. And I very much wish to be your friend.’ He glanced down the table. ‘I wish to be friends with your family as well. I must talk to your father before the day is through. He has spoken of a settlement, but we could not manage to find time to discuss it until now.’
‘Tongue?’
Hells, yes. She was leaning forwards, over the tray of cold meats, in rapt concentration as though it took any great thought to choose the best piece for him. The tip of her own pink tongue protruded ever so slightly from between her teeth, and the set of her body gave him a tantalising glimpse down the front of her gown.
His body shot to attention as his mind instantly focused on the wedding night, which, as far as he was concerned, could begin any time after noon. Was it normal to be so utterly fixated on bedding one’s own wife? There was probably some quote in Shakespeare’s canon about delayed pleasure being sweeter, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of it.
Because his wits were addled by lust. It had been three long and very respectable weeks since he’d offered for her. In that time he had done nothing to shock or annoy. He had played the part of a perfect gentleman and played it to the very hilt. Now, if they could just get this interminable breakfast behind them, he would get Cynthia Banester alone and fall on her like a condemned man at his last meal.
At least Jack Briggs would have done so. Lord Kenton would be a connoisseur. And if ever there was a dish to be savoured, it was the new Lady Kenton. There would be plenty of time later for risky and hurried couplings, after he had initiated her into any of the conventional arts that she was not yet familiar with. If the lady proved willing and true to her initial response, they might have no end of fun together before it was time to part from her. Several months as a doting husband to this redheaded pocket Venus was almost, but not quite, an ample payment for his services to the earl.
She stood beside him now, looking up through gold-tipped lashes, a shy smile on her face. ‘My dear,’ he said, surprising himself with a sincere sigh.
‘Jack.’ She leaned forwards again, giving him an even better look down the front of her bodice.
He leaned closer to speak into her ear. ‘Have I thanked you yet for bringing me to this pass? I had not thought to offer for you, but now I cannot imagine my future with another.’
‘I am relieved to hear you say that,’ she said, sighing as well. He could not help but admire what a deep breath did to his wife’s anatomy.
She reached out a finger and traced it lightly down the back of his hand. ‘Many men would not have been so forgiving of my impudence. I very nearly tricked you into this marriage.’
He put an arm about her shoulder and pulled her close, planting a kiss upon her forehead, even though they were still in plain sight of both her father and the vicar. ‘Let us speak no more of that … unless it is as an amusing story to tell our children.’
For a moment, the woman cuddling at his side seemed to evaporate and was replaced by a harder, shrewder but equally beautiful version of herself. ‘I’d rather die. I mean …’ she dissolved into softness and innocence again ‘… children often find tales of their parents’ courtship to be more shocking than romantic. And describing the interlude in the gazebo with any sort of detail …’ She stopped again. ‘You are a compelling storyteller, Kenton, but some things should be kept secret.’
So she was embarrassed by her ardent response to his wooing. It was really quite flattering. ‘As you wish. The circumstances of our meeting shall stay a secret.’ The point was moot, after all. If there were children, it was not as if he would be there to spin tales for them.
And there would be no risk of them at all if he could not manage to say farewell to the girl’s plaguey family and get her alone. He took a final sip of his wine and wiped his mouth with the napkin. ‘I think it is time I spoke with your father, my dear. And then we shall retire to the Kenton town house and you may begin your new life.’
Her hand tightened on his suddenly and he patted it in reassurance. ‘You have nothing to worry about, sweeting. Did I not promise you, on the night we met, that I would give you nothing but pleasure?’
‘It is not that.’ She attempted another melting gaze and leaned so close to him that he could feel the side of her breast pressing against his arm. ‘Can we not go now? You may speak to my father on another day, when things are not so busy. I swear, he would hardly notice if we left together right now.’
From his other side, he heard Lady Banester give a knowing chuckle. ‘The eagerness of young love.’ The older woman touched his other arm, and for a moment Jack had to remind himself of the marriage that had just taken place and the sublime beauty of his bride. It was clear that Cynthia had inherited the charms of her mother. The woman was a stunner in her own right. And though clearly devoted to her husband, she was not afraid to wield her beauty like a weapon. ‘You must forgive my daughter’s impetuosity, Lord Kenton. Although with such a handsome husband, I can certainly understand it.’
‘Thank you, Lady Banester,’ he replied, remembering not to be too flattered. ‘And your daughter has done nothing in need of forgiveness.’
‘But it is plain that she wishes to see her new home. And you gentleman have things you must discuss.’
‘Mother.’ The single word from his wife was clearly a warning, although damned if Jack knew what it meant. The air between the two women crackled with tension. Occupying the space between them was like being caught in a battle of sirens.
‘I am only trying to help.’ Lady Banester pouted and Jack felt an illogical desire to agree to whatever she might suggest. ‘And I have a suggestion that will please you both. While you and Sir William talk, I will escort Thea to your home, so that she might prepare herself for your arrival.’
‘You will part me from my husband on our wedding day?’
He turned back to his wife with what he hoped was a firm but benevolent smile. ‘Only for an hour, dearest. And then I shall return to you and we might continue our celebration.’
In bed. By then, he would have money in the bank and a promise of continued support for the lovely Cyn, in exchange for the use of various Stayne properties and the prestigious connection with one of the oldest families in Britain. Sir William was nothing more than a humble baronet. But since he lived like the plumpest pigeon in London, Jack assumed the level of gratitude would be substantial.
Between the equally generous rewards he would receive from Stayne and the fringe benefits of a buxom and affectionate wife, John de Warde, Lord Kenton, was proving to be the nicest role Jack had ever played. He would be sad when the farce had to end.
It had been more than an hour. More than two. And at last, more than three. In fact, it was nearly time to dress for bed, which was quite ridiculous. Thea had donned the négligée her mother had pressed upon her at half past one in the afternoon. It was getting rather chilly.
Her mother had assured her she would be well out of the thing by now. Thea had allowed the final scraps of embarrassing advice, because she had assumed that they would be just that. Final. No matter what occurred between her and Kenton, it would not have to be coached, described or dissected by a too-curious female parent. It could be a secret, between her husband and herself.
If Father had ruffled his feathers with precipitate demands for funds, there might be more than an unusual number of secrets to keep. While she knew more than a maiden should about the activities of the marriage bed, she lacked the experience to be a seducer. But she was prepared to be as willing and enthusiastic a pupil as a disgruntled husband might wish.
As soon as Kenton came home, at any rate.
How much had Father demanded of him? And how long could it take to write a bank draft? Thea had a mortifying fancy of treasure caskets changing hands. Or, worse yet, sheep and goats. Somewhere in London, her worth was defined in livestock and chattel. She must hope that her value was sufficient to fix the mess they were in.
From somewhere down the hallway, outside the closed bedroom door, she heard a thump. And then another and another. As the sounds came closer, they formed an irregular pattern. Booted footsteps? Perhaps if the visitor had a wooden leg. There was something not quite right about them.
The door to her room burst open, slamming against the opposite wall to reveal her husband leaning lopsidedly in the door frame.
‘Kenton?’ It was him, she was sure. But judging by the noxious stench accompanying him, he was disguised by gin. A quick examination of his boots revealed the reason for his uneven gate. At some point during their wedding afternoon, his champagne-polished Hessians had been abused to the point where one heel was missing. He had walked halfway out of the other and had been staggering along on the calf, trying to free himself as he walked. As she watched, he gave a final kick and the offending footwear sailed across the room to land beside the bed.
‘Kenton. John. Jack.’ She tried to settle on a name for him that best suited the situation. ‘Shall I call your valet?’
‘No, thank you,’ he said, and, for a moment, he sounded almost like the man she’d expected. His voice was beautiful, as it always was. Clear, resonant and compelling. It was the sort of voice to melt hearts and reservations. And if they could get this difficulty behind them, she would happily listen to it for the rest of her life.
‘Do you wish me to help you?’ She crawled towards the edge of the bed, the silk of her nightdress billowing about her. ‘You appear to need some assistance.’
He threw a hand dramatically in front of his eyes. ‘Do not help me, you … succubus. Do not help me ever again.’ He seized his remaining boot, hopping about a bit before managing to free himself of it and then tossing it after its mate.
‘I do not understand.’ She sank back on the bed, painfully sure that her last statement had been a lie.
‘Don’t you, now.’ He struggled out of his jacket and pulled a bundle of papers from the pocket before dropping it on the floor. ‘And you knew nothing of these, I suppose, when you decided it was urgent that you marry the first man stupid enough to be trapped by you.’ He dropped the familiar invoices on the mattress beside her.
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said, hoping that she looked sufficiently guileless.
‘Then I will tell you. These are a wedding gift. From your father. Your settlement. The one he promised to give to me, after we were wed.’
‘Oh.’ Now the storm would break for sure. And no amount of transparent silk would hold it back.
‘Of course, foolish man that I am, I went to him, imagining it would be something akin to a small estate, or a rather large bank draft. Instead, I find—’ he brandished the first paper ‘—the bill for the wedding breakfast. And here is another, for your wedding clothes and your mother’s as well. Tailor’s bills, grocer’s bills. Butcher’s bills, for God’s sake. And they are a month old. Am I expected to pay for chops that I have not tasted?’
‘Recently, there have been difficulties,’ she said. It was a huge understatement.
‘Difficulties?’ There was a slightly hysterical edge to her new husband’s lovely voice that took her by surprise.
‘Well, yes. My mother has always been prone to extravagances. But of late, a miscalculation on the part of my father has led to misfortune.’
‘Misfortune?’ The tone of this, if possible, was even higher than the last statement had been.
‘But I am sure that they are nothing that you cannot handle, as heir to Lord Stayne.’
‘Ahhhh.’ And this was the strangest sound of all. One-part confirmation, and two-parts wordless oath, followed by a sharp slap to his own temple and a collapse into the nearest chair. ‘I see it all now. The ease with which it was possible to catch you. Your sudden, devoted interest in me, which my own vanity made me want to believe. And damn me for a fool in that. Stayne will have my neck back in the noose as sure as your eyes are green.’
‘Noose?’
‘Where were my eyes? Where was my brain? And why, Lord, why must it be so easy for a ginger-haired girl with a magnificent bosom to trick a trickster?’
‘A trickster.’ He was hardly speaking to her any more. But since all he’d spoken before appeared to be lies, it was just as well. The last little speech had been so full of information that she could hardly take it all in. He was a trickster. He feared hanging and he feared Stayne.
Apparently, he admired her eyes and certain other portions of her anatomy. It was nice, but not germane.
‘Why would your own father want to see your neck in a noose?’ But he’d said, back in a noose. ‘And why was it ever there in the first place?’
Lord Kenton stared back at her with a bitter grin. ‘I have no idea what my father would want. I’ve never met the man.’ He reached for a flask in his pocket, opened it and took a healthy gulp of the contents.
It was her turn to sit down suddenly on the nearest surface, collapsing back on the bed and hugging a pillow to her chest to conceal everything she had meant to display. ‘But that means that you’re …’
‘A bastard,’ he replied cheerfully and offered her the flask.
She waved it away. ‘Then you cannot be Stayne’s heir.’
‘I am not even his natural son,’ Jack replied. ‘At least, I do not think I am. My mother was none too clear on the identity of my sire. I did not press her on the subject.’
‘And I married a man of no birth, no consequence …’
‘And no fortune,’ he added, taking another drink. ‘And there you are, hoisted upon your own petard. Since I married an heiress with no fortune, I have no sympathy for you.’ He stood, walked to the fireplace and tossed her father’s bills one by one into the flames.
‘You cannot,’ she said, dropping the pillow and hurrying across the room to retrieve them.
‘You are clearly unaccustomed to having debts. These are but first requests. They will send others. I speak from experience.’
‘A bastard with unpaid debts.’ She folded her hands across her chest, trying to draw the spider’s web she was wearing into some semblance of modesty.
‘And do not forget the near hanging,’ he said, wagging a finger at her and taking another drink.
‘I cannot forget something that I know nothing about.’
‘It is a very interesting story,’ he said.
‘I imagine it is. Would you share it with me?’ Your wife. Who would not have been such hadshe heard any of this a scant day ago. She glared at him.
Her anger had no more effect than her near nudity was having, for he was lost in drink and the story he told. ‘While it might be possible to dodge a London tailor, some of the more provincial innkeepers are less forgiving. When I elected to leave an establishment suddenly, by a window at the first light of dawn, the ostler caught me and had me up on charges of theft. When Stayne found me with his interesting proposition, I was on my way to the gallows.’
‘As well you should have been. You were stealing from the innkeeper.’
‘As was he from me. I should think the stirring performance of Shakespeare’s better soliloquies was worth the price of a room and a dinner. He hinted at such before I began. But when I had finished, he claimed he did not care for tragedy and presented me with the bill.’
‘A bastard, a thief and an actor!’ The last was the worst news of all. She grabbed for the pillow and swung it at his head, and kept swinging until the leading edge was trailing feathers.
He dodged the final blow with a bow worthy of Covent Garden, then straightened, seized the pillow and thrust it back into her arms. ‘At your service, miss. Or shall I say madam. You are a married lady now, after all.’
‘I am most certainly not. I cannot be held to a marriage entered into under such fraudulent circumstances.’
‘Fraud?’ He pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘You dress in silk and have not a feather to fly with.’
‘That is merely money,’ she said waving a dismissive hand.
‘The words of someone who is used to having it,’ he countered.
‘It is nothing, compared to the lies you told. I thought, when I agreed to marry you, that I knew who your family was. Now it appears that you do not know them either. There must be a law that covers this.’
‘You have but to make this disgrace public and find out,’ he offered with an expansive gesture towards the door. ‘Perhaps you can tell the next fellow you trap that this marriage does not matter. Here, take the licence with you.’ He tossed a mud-spattered scrap of paper at her. Their signatures were still legible through the many bootprints that marked it. ‘But I doubt another man will be as stupid as I was, once the story of this mistake gets around.’
It was a horrible truth and one she had not yet considered. Once the truth was known, she would have no choice but to take de Warde’s despicable offer that she repair her father’s fortune with her virtue. ‘You’ve ruined me!’ she shouted, throwing the pillow back at his head.
He caught it easily. ‘You’ve ruined yourself, darling. Do not expect me to feel sorry for you. Spayne hired me to do a spot of play-acting. I was to find a rich wife, bring her and her fortune back to Essex. My very life depended on success. What is to become of me now?’
‘If he does not hang you, then I will. I will be a widow,’ she said with narrowed eyes. ‘That suits me well.’
‘I was planning to give you just such a wedding gift before we discovered the truth about each other.’ He gazed off at an imaginary and happier horizon. ‘When all the settlements were made and your non-existent fortune was in the earl’s bank, I was to meet with a tragic accident. Punting, perhaps. Although the water is too shallow to do the job right.’ He framed the scene with his hands. ‘Sailing. My boat would be found, dashed against the rocks. But alas, no body would be recovered. My father? Heartbroken. And you, the beautiful, young, rich widow, would weep openly over the empty coffin.’
‘That will never happen,’ she said, mouth set in a grim line.
‘After how I meant to treat you in the months before the tragedy, I dare say you would have.’ He gave her a long hot look that said she’d have been on her back by now and he seemed to think she’d have enjoyed the process. ‘You would wear black for a year.’
‘Six months at most.’
‘Followed by half-mourning,’ he insisted. ‘I see you in lavender, wan, fragile and appealing.
‘I see myself in red, dancing on your grave,’ she said. ‘You meant to bed me, cheat me and leave me a bigamist.’
‘Spayne would have taken care of you. For all his idiosyncrasies, the man is a gallant gentleman at heart. He’d have seen to it that you were re-launched, remarried and none the worse for the experience.’
‘But that happy future will not come to pass until you have the courtesy to die,’ she said. ‘I suggest you get about it.’
‘Without your fortune, the earl has nothing to offer you. Adding two ciphers does not make an appreciable sum. If I were to die now, you would be a poor widow on the morrow.’ He held his hands out again and pulled a frown. ‘I see you in shabby black, tinged with the green of hard wearing. Perhaps you will take in sewing and live on the charity of the church.’
‘I will not!’ she shouted back at him. ‘I could not make nearly enough by sewing,’ she added softly, resigned. Then a thought occurred to her. ‘I don’t suppose there is a real Lord Kenton somewhere. Perhaps I am not married to you at all.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Died as a child along with his mother on a trip abroad. Spayne kept the illusion alive because he did not want to be troubled by his family to produce an heir. But the foolish deception has gone on too long and, of late, his brother was clamouring to see the prodigal son.’
‘Henry de Warde,’ Thea announced bitterly.
‘You know of him?’
‘Only because he is the reason for my family’s poverty. He sold my father a certain …’ What would be an appropriate description? ‘A fraudulent artefact,’ she decided.
‘That your father was willing to spend the whole of the family fortune to gain?’ Her faux husband was eyeing her with suspicion, waiting for the rest of a story she had no intention of telling.
She ignored the unstated request for detail. ‘It was no more unwise then Spayne’s mythical son.’
‘Probably true,’ Jack admitted.
‘I spoke to de Warde about it. I pleaded with him for mercy.’
‘And he suggested that you work off the debt on your back.’
It had been the single most revolting moment of her life. But now that she had destroyed herself, it was likely to be the first of many. ‘How did you know?’
Jack was staring at her with something almost like sympathy. ‘Because it’s what any sane man would have done.’
Now he seemed to be assessing her value and she wondered if he would have behaved the same, had he been de Warde. A glance at her reflection in a nearby cheval glass told her that it was too late to protect her modesty from him. A single pillow could not have hidden enough. ‘I refused him. But now …’ she looked at the man in front of her and resorted to complete honesty, which her teacher, Miss Pennyworth, had assured her was the shield and bulwark of any virtuous young girl ‘… I don’t know what I shall do.’
He continued to stare. ‘Suppose I were to suggest another way.’
‘Anything.’ She’d spoken too quickly. This was a man willing to steal from innkeepers, trick her into wedding him and fake his own death. He had made no mention of seeking a marriage in name only, at any time in his plans. There was no telling what scheme he intended now. ‘Anything within reason,’ she amended.
‘I do not know how reasonable my plans are,’ he admitted. ‘But recent actions proved that we are both willing to consider unreasonable options to gain success. The kidnapping was an admirable twist,’ he added, nodding with approval.
‘Thank you.’ She frowned. ‘I did not think it would work.’
‘A more timid tactic might not have got me. And you were not the most convincing actress I have seen. But the combination of beauty and risk was irresistible.’ He paused dramatically. ‘As I suppose my performance was to you.’
Silently, she cursed all actors and their perpetual need for approval. ‘Actually, it was your relationship to de Warde that attracted me. Any man would have done.’
‘I see.’ She watched as his excessive pride deflated. Then he rallied. ‘It makes me wonder what we might achieve by working together against a common enemy. There is more to Spayne’s story than I have told you. And you are still keeping secrets as well.’
‘I?’ She tried to look guileless.
‘You,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘And why did I not see it before? But it is clear that Henry de Warde is at the crux of both troubles.’
‘What do you think you can do about him?’ It was unlikely that the man before her had a simple solution to her problem, but a forlorn hope was better than no chance at all.
‘I will not appeal to his better nature, that’s for certain. I doubt he has one. If we are to get anywhere with the man, we must do it in the same way he’s got one over on us, using base trickery, lies and chicanery.’ He walked past her to the bed, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. ‘But the details can wait until after we have spoken to Spayne. If we must travel tomorrow, an early night is in order.’ He stretched out upon the mattress and patted the space at his side.
‘Certainly not,’ she said. Then she remembered what her mother had said about the transparency of nightwear and did her best to move out of the firelight.
He smiled invitingly and his voice, though slurred, was still as soothing as warm honey. ‘You were not so ungenerous this morning.’
‘That was when you were Kenton.’
‘And you mean to hold out for nothing less than a viscount.’ He sighed. ‘My loss, I suppose. But you are wise to have standards.’ He picked up the pillow she had thrown and tossed it back to her. ‘I suggest you remove yourself from the vicinity of my bed, before I forget what you have done to me and take advantage.’
‘And where am I supposed to sleep?’
‘The house is large. Call a servant. They will find you a place.’
‘They will know that we did not …’
‘Then take the couch on the other side of the room.’
She glared at him. ‘A true gentleman would leave me the bed.’
‘As we have established, I am not a gentleman,’ he said with a smile. ‘But at least I have my wits. I have survived on those and little else for thirty years. If you wish me to apply it to this situation, I will need to be well rested. Good night, my dear.’ And with that, he rolled so that his back was to her and closed his eyes.
Chapter Four
In the company of her new husband, the imposter Jack Briggs, the ride to Essex was proving intolerable. Instead of the sweet afterglow of a honeymoon, the day after Thea’s marriage was rather like waking with a bad head from too much wine. Her brain ached from trying to comprehend what had happened to her. Her body was stiff and sore from a night spent without sleep on the hard couch in her husband’s room, muscles rigid and teeth clenched with anger and frustration. The Kenton carriage was well sprung and roomy, but she might as well have been travelling in an open dog cart for all the comfort it gained her.
It was precisely the condition that the false Lord Kenton should have been experiencing. He had snored his way through the night, wrapped in a cloud of cheap spirits and the monogrammed linens of one of the finest families in England. Instead of waking the worse for drink and racked with guilt at how he had treated Thea and her family, the morning found him happy, relaxed and quite pleased with the way the day was going. When she had pressed him for an explanation, he had been unwilling to share the reason for his good mood. He acted as if lying about his life and identity, marrying some unsuspecting girl and being sorely disappointed in the result was an activity that happened every day.
Perhaps, to him, it did. The idea that she might be one of a string of similar Lady Kentons was more than disturbing. He did not seem the sort to travel from town to town, ruining innocents and stealing fortunes. But until last night, she’d have sworn that such a thing as had already happened was quite impossible. How could she be sure?
And he was whistling. Thea could not identify the tune. But she suspected, judging by the look in his eyes, that the lyrics were inappropriate for female ears.
She glared at him. ‘Stop that incessant noise.’
Jack stared back at her, all innocence. The whistle paused. ‘You do not like music?’
‘That is not music. It is precisely the opposite. If you had any manners …’
‘And the kind of breeding and education …’ he said, in a pompous tone, waving a hand. ‘We have already established that I do not. You were the one who wished to marry me. Now you must learn to make do.’ He went back to whistling.
‘It is vulgar,’ she said with desperation.
‘And so am I.’ His eyes were narrowed, as though it had been possible to hurt him with a statement of truth.
‘I have no doubt that you are vulgar, after your comments of the previous evening. But it is all the more reason for you to stop. You should aspire to be something better than you are.’
‘As you do?’ He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for an answer. His cheerful manner disappeared. He was looking at her, for all the world, as though he were the one who had been wronged by her scheming.
‘Is this some veiled reference to my willingness to—’ her mouth puckered in revulsion as she parroted his words back to him ‘—hold out for a man of sufficient rank?’ It was as if he thought her no better than a whore for marrying him. ‘There is nothing wrong with seeking a decent future through marriage.’
‘For a woman, perhaps,’ he said.
‘You were quick enough to do it yourself.’
‘I was doing it in service to another,’ he said firmly.
As was she. Her family would have seen the benefit, had her plan worked as expected. But his comment rankled. ‘You are little better than a servant to Spayne, then? If so, I order you to stop whistling.’
‘I may be a servant to Spayne. But to you?’ He grinned. ‘I am a husband. And humble though I might be, it is not your place to command anything of me. As I remember, it was you who promised to obey.’
‘But not to obey you. I said the words when I thought you were Kenton. I promised loyalty to a man who does not exist.’
‘The majority of women who marry would say the same thing. I fail to see why I owe an alteration of my behaviour to you, if you were not aware of the fact that marriage changes everything between us. Now hush, woman, and cease your nagging. I am trying to think.’ He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes with a blissful smile upon his face.
Marriage changed everything. He was right in that, at least. For the moment, it left her completely dependent on the man across from her, for she could think of no way to explain away what had happened without making matters even worse than they were. Jack had stopped whistling, though she doubted it was in an effort to spare her nerves. But she found the silence even more annoying than the noise had been. ‘What are you thinking about?’ she said at last.
He opened one eye. ‘Are you to be one of those women, then? The sort that is continually trying to pry out the contents of a man’s head for their own entertainment?’
‘It is not entertainment that I desire. I merely wish to know what you have planned for our future together.’
‘Together?’ He laughed. ‘I do not plan any such thing. I am taking you to Spayne, just as he wished. He will explain as much or as little of his situation as he chooses. Between us, we will see if there is anything that can be salvaged of his original plan. You will help us. And when it is through, I will return to my life. Beyond that, we have no future together.’
The glee with which he contemplated the end of their connection hurt, although why it should she had no idea. She wanted to be rid of him as much as he wanted to break with her. ‘You seem to be angry at me, which is hardly fair.’ Had she not worked long and hard to mould herself into the perfect wife? The least he could do was appreciate her effort.
He was having none of it. ‘You deceived me.’
‘Only because you wanted to be deceived,’ she reminded him. ‘At no time did I promise you wealth, or an adequate settlement. Nor did my father. It was you who chose to assume that there was money rather than debt. I, on the other hand, had no reason to believe that you were not Viscount Kenton. I trusted your word as a gentleman.’
‘Just as your father trusted de Warde.’ He snorted. ‘The gentry is far too trusting, in my opinion. But you are right. I was a fool. Your sort have been lying to me my whole life and it was only now that I chose to see truth where there was none. I apologise for my bad temper.’
‘Apology accepted,’ she said uneasily. Had it been her imagination, or had she just won an argument with the man? Truly not, if she had to do it by claiming herself a liar. ‘But I did not lie to you. I merely omitted certain key portions of the truth. I took a gamble to gain your full attention. But I never claimed to be rich. You merely assumed it.’
‘Of course I did. You were well dressed, seen at all the finest parties and your father spent freely.’
‘Just as everyone else in society,’ she responded. ‘If you scratch the surface, you will find many in a similar predicament. It is hardly unusual.’
‘You claimed that you needed to marry. You pretended to be fond of me.’
‘But that was true,’ she insisted earnestly, glad that he was finally understanding her. ‘I did need to marry. And it would have been difficult to gain your attention any other way than kidnapping. You were the most sought-after man of the Season. Even if I’d have caught your eye, your interest would have waned when you realised that my family was inappropriate.’
‘As it did,’ he admitted. ‘Though it might have faded more slowly had I the chance to enjoy your favours, as I’d expected to.’
She gave a little gasp of shock to hear him freely admit that he’d meant to use her so, knowing full well that it would be a trick.
It did not seem to bother him in the least. He was still too focused on his own selfish complaints. ‘You did not need to claim an attraction where you felt none.’
But she had been attracted to him. There was no way to escape that, for he was a most handsome and charming fellow. And the kisses he’d given her, when she’d allowed it, had been quite wonderful. But she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing so and allowed herself a small white lie, by avoiding the accusation with a scoff. ‘You would have noticed no difference had we married.’
‘And this is what honesty is worth,’ he said with a dramatic gesture. ‘The least you could do, now that you are trapped with me, is to spare my feelings and pretend that you once liked me.’
She had not intended to hurt his feelings, not that she truly believed he had them. ‘I liked you as well as any other man,’ she allowed. ‘I have always known that the match I would make might be decided after a brief acquaintance, and based on fondness rather than grand passion. Had we married in truth, I would have given you the same wholehearted devotion that I’d have given to any other man.’
If possible, he looked even more injured. ‘It is faint praise to know that any man could have taken my place and received similar affection.’
‘You would not have minded, I assure you.’ She raised her head with pride at her one accomplishment. ‘I have been properly educated on that score and would have made you a fine wife.’
‘This I must hear,’ he said with a lascivious smile. ‘Tell me what sort of education you have that would lead us to be in the situation we are sharing. Did it involve tricking men into having you? Or are there other skills I might appreciate?’ He gave a waggle of eyebrow to imply the sorts of things her mother had all too candidly explained to her.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ She did her best, but the thought that he might see easily through the falsehood was acutely embarrassing. ‘I know all that is important for a wife to know. I can sing and dance and play the pianoforte. My watercolours are deemed to be quite good. I can net a purse and embroider with silks. I can manage the servants of a large household and plan all sorts of entertainments. My manners are impeccable, whether on a morning visit to a friend or a court presentation. In addition, I am quite well read, can speak and understand French and read a bit of Italian. Most importantly, I am willing to be led in all things by the wisdom of my husband. What more could a man expect?’
‘I stand corrected,’ Jack said with an ironic smile. ‘Apparently, you are all I could want. The fact that you are poor as a church mouse and cannot hide your contempt for me does not enter into the equation.’
‘The poverty cannot be helped. It was not my doing. And I hold you in contempt because you lied to me,’ she said. ‘You pretended to be someone you were not. Your name, your family, your stories of India—not a word of it was true.’
‘I was acting,’ he insisted. ‘I played the role I was hired for.’
‘But I believed in you and your stories.’ And she was most thoroughly disappointed to find that the man she had convinced herself she could love did not exist at all.
He brightened. ‘Which is proof that I am a better actor than I have been given credit for. I wish, my dear, that I could take you to meet some of my critics and show to them how completely convincing I am in this part. They would take back what they said about my performance of Mordaunt Exbury in Love and Fashion. They said I was not lordly enough,’ he added indignantly. ‘And some wag in the audience had the nerve to throw a rotten potato.’
‘I hope he hit you, you miserable cur,’ Thea said with sincerity. ‘You stood before God and lied through your teeth about staying with me until we were parted by death.’
‘And as far as you knew, we would have been.’ He thought for moment. ‘It is almost the truth, when you think about it. A real Kenton existed. But he is, in fact, dead.’ He smiled at her in encouragement. ‘Perhaps you are already a widow.’
‘But I did not wish to be his widow. I wished to be his wife. And in any case, I did not marry that man, rest his soul. I married you.’ She raised a finger in a dire gesture of accusation, hoping that he would see the difference and the dilemma it put her in.
He caught her hand out of the air and pressed it to his lips for a quick kiss. ‘And we must endeavour to make the best of that unfortunate mistake. We are just coming to Spayne Court. Let us tell all to the earl and see what he makes of it. I am sure that, once he has explained the advantages of the situation, you will be a most happy widow.’
‘Once I know you better, I am sure I shall.’ She snatched her hand back from his, ignoring the tingling in the fingers where his lips had touched it, and hurried to exit the coach as soon as the servants could open the door.
Chapter Five
Even before she’d set her cap for Kenton, Thea had known that Spayne Court was as venerable a house as one could hope to find in England. As the guidebooks had assured her, it looked like a castle. And that was what it had been when the first earl was awarded the land and title. The current Spayne was rumoured to be an enigma. He made few trips to London for Parliament, and none at all for social reasons. By turns the gossips described him as frail, in ill health, and healthy but suffering tragically from grief after the death of his wife, though this had occurred some ten years earlier. The ton speculated that the sudden appearance of Kenton was a sign that he was failing at last and the coronet was likely to be passed sooner rather than later.
But the man that greeted them when they entered the great hall seemed spry enough. He was healthy, well groomed and barely past middle age. He was also smiling broadly at Thea and gave no evidence of debilitating grief.
She could see from the first why he might have chosen Jack to imitate his heir. Though the resemblance was not strong, their blond hair, straight noses and sparkling blue eyes were close enough to alike that it was not hard to believe them father and son.
‘Jack.’ Spayne stepped forwards to clap the back of the mock Kenton, as though there were nothing strange or unfamiliar about him. ‘Back from London at last and with your lovely bride. Let me have a look at the girl.’ He stepped away again, turning to Thea and giving her a thorough, head-to-toe examination before holding out his hands to her in what seemed to be a sincere gesture of welcome. ‘My dear Cynthia.’
‘Lord Spayne.’ Her knees buckled instinctively into a curtsy and her head bowed in respect, even as she reminded herself that the man had been instrumental in her recent undoing. No matter her personal feelings about his scheme, he was a peer and her training would permit nothing less than total respect.
He took her hands and lifted her back to face him, beaming. ‘You were certainly right in your letters, Jack. She is magnificent.’
Jack cleared his throat as though embarrassed to be caught in praise of her. ‘I said she was well suited to your needs.’
Without looking away from her, Spayne corrected him. ‘That is not what you said at all.’
‘I think, if you were to read the letter again—’ Jack said, sounding rather desperate.
Spayne cut him off. ‘Sometimes it is better to read between the lines to find the meaning. Yours was quite clear. The girl is a great beauty, you were smitten and so you presented her as the logical choice for my needs.’
‘That is not at all what I …’ For the first time, her faux husband seemed totally out of countenance, and perhaps a little in awe of the man before him.
The earl held up a finger. ‘I do not blame you for it. One has but to see her to understand.’ But he did not understand at all. As Jack had taken pains to remind her, she was not the daughter he had wanted at all. After all the effort she had taken to be otherwise, it was distressing to be such a disappointment to the father of the man she had thought to marry. Rank and honours aside, he did seem to be a most personable gentleman.
Beside her, Jack cleared his throat again. ‘My lord. If we could speak in private for a moment. The situation has grown rather complicated.’
The earl looked at him with a tip of the head.
Jack glanced around to make sure the servants were not so close as to overhear. ‘After our wedding, I had a most enlightening talk with Cyn’s father. It seems I misunderstood much of our courtship. The man was seeking a settlement from me.’
There was an agonising silence in the room, as Spayne contemplated the meaning of that. Thea held her breath, waiting. His response, when it came, was not the angry outburst that she feared. The man blanched white, his welcoming smile frozen on his face. He said nothing. And though she felt an almost convulsive tightening on her hands, he did not release them.
Jack continued. ‘I have explained to my lady wife much of my recent history. But I think further discussion is necessary.’
That pause continued a moment longer, then Spayne seemed to thaw, returning almost to the lively gentleman he had been only a few moments ago. ‘Things have not gone to plan, have they?’ He gave a slight sigh and released her hands. ‘But that is the way of things, in my experience. They are never what they seem.’
‘I agree,’ Jack said, with a touch of asperity.
‘No matter. It cannot be helped.’ Spayne’s response was firm, and showed no judgement against her, though it seemed to hold some unspoken warning to Jack. ‘Let us go into the library. There is an open brandy bottle and a stout door to keep the world at bay. Just the way I like things.’ Absently, the earl wandered towards a door to the left and Jack followed at his heels.
They would retire to the library to decide her fate and she would be excluded from the decision. Miss Pennyworth had assured her that it was a woman’s lot to be treated thus, hammering away at her unfortunate tendency to behave as her mother might, insinuating herself into the situation, offering opinions and speaking altogether too much.
But it irked Thea that she was to be at the mercy of the scheming men who had hatched the plan that had got her married to Kenton. They had also left no instruction as to what she must do while they retreated. The least they might have done was call for a maid to take her to a parlour for a small glass of ratafia to steady her nerves.
Then, the earl, who was framed in the doorway of what must be his sanctum, glanced back at her and gestured. It was the merest twitch of a finger, inviting her to follow. ‘You must be a part of this discussion, my dear. After all, you are family now.’ There was no irony at all in his voice.
Perhaps that meant he was a better actor than Jack.
Thea hesitated, then followed a step or two behind, as the earl led them to the library and closed the doors behind them. It was a comfortable room full of well-used books and deep soft furniture, almost Oriental in its opulence. She had the impression that this place, rather than a more formal study or office, was where Lord Spayne spent the majority of his time. ‘Come, sit. Refreshment, Jack?’ He gestured to the decanter. ‘It is rather early. But I think, under the circumstances, a good stiff drink is in order.’
Jack looked longingly at the bottle—and then refused. It surprised Thea. Of the many qualities he possessed, she would not have counted self-denial as one of them. It seemed that being in the presence of Lord Spayne intimidated him. Or rather, that he treated the man with the sort of respect an actual son might give to a beloved father.
‘My dear?’ Spayne looked at her now. ‘Do you enjoy brandy? Or something weaker, perhaps.’
‘No, thank you, my lord.’ Now that the man had made the offer, her desire for a restorative vanished. It put her quite in sympathy with Jack. If there was to be punishment for the muddle they had made, better to get the truth out of the way quickly and have the drink after.
‘Very well, then.’ He turned to Jack. ‘I sent you to marry for money. It seems you have failed and married for love instead.’
‘No, my lord. Not love, certainly.’ Jack was waving his hands in denial, as though embarrassed at the idea that he had failed so completely in following what should have been simple instructions.
‘Infatuation, then. But I do not blame you. I know, more than many, of the dangers one treads when following the call of one’s own heart. Only one question remains: what is to be done now?’
Jack seemed to relax a little, once he was sure of the earl’s mood. ‘There is more. The lady, herself, is in distress. She married me, expecting your money to rescue her family from difficulties caused by your brother.’
‘Damn!’ It was the first time she’d seen Spayne act with anything less than aplomb and it startled her. Then his calm returned. ‘I am sorry, my dear. But it upsets me to know that my brother has caused you bother. Henry is a villain and has been so for as long as I can remember. It is bad enough that he gives me trouble, but unforgivable that he hurts others. If you could explain the nature of the problem, I will find a way to rectify it.’
‘But Jack said you could not.’
‘It does not matter what Jack said, or that I have no fortune left to spare. Henry is my brother and my responsibility.’ His words should have encouraged her, but suddenly Spayne looked a little older than he had when she had come into the room. It made her feel bad for burdening him. ‘Please, tell me what he has done now.’
Jack gave an encouraging nod and Thea sighed. ‘He has swindled my father out of a great deal of money. And though I have pleaded with him to relent, he has refused.’
‘He made an offer of protection,’ Jack added.
Spayne made a huffing noise as though he was disgusted, but not particularly surprised.
‘And while I do not doubt her, she has been less than forthcoming of the details of the transaction that has caused all the trouble.’ Jack turned suddenly to her, and it felt as though she were standing trial and guilty of some horrible crime. ‘Just what artefact did your father purchase that could have been worth so much?’
Spayne looked at her expectantly.
‘It is very complicated,’ Thea said, not knowing how best to start.
‘We have time,’ Jack said, folding his arms and settling into a chair. Both men were staring at her now and the silence was nearly as pregnant as it had been when Jack had revealed her lack of funds. It was clear that they were not going to say another word until they had heard her story.
Very well, then. If she must tell it, she had best make a clean breast, start at the beginning and give them every last embarrassing detail. ‘It all began,’ she said, ‘when my father married an actress.’
Spayne laughed.
‘An actress?’ For the first time since she’d met him, Jack was caught flat-footed, unable to respond with more than two words and a gaped-mouth stare.
Thea looked around carefully, to be sure that no servants could hear. It was hardly a secret, but the less said on her mother’s career, the better. ‘Mother has worked very hard in the last twenty years to put it behind her and, for the most part, she has succeeded. The scandal is nearly forgotten. Although, when we are alone, she is more candid about her past than is proper.’
‘Twenty years,’ Jack repeated, as though the passage of time had some added significance. ‘When she performed, was she, by any chance, one Antonia Knowles?’
‘How did you know?’ It had been a long time since someone had recognised her, but it seemed that the past was impossible to bury.
Jack smiled at the memory. ‘Because I saw her perform. She did Ophelia. And I wept buckets when she died.’
‘You saw my mother? On the stage?’
He closed his eyes, his head raised to the ceiling as though giving thanks for an answered prayer. Then, a sigh of ecstasy escaped his lips.
And as she sometimes did, Thea felt an odd prickling annoyance at the attention her mother garnered so effortlessly. It was common, earthy and certainly nothing Thea herself aspired to. But men other than Father seemed to find her near to irresistible when she made an effort to call attention to herself. The fact that it came from the man who would be her son-in-law was more annoying by far than any past irritations. ‘She is much older now,’ Thea reminded him.
‘But still a surpassingly handsome woman,’ Jack replied, unfazed by her tone. Then he examined her as though it was their first meeting. ‘You hold many features in common with her.’
‘Because she bore me,’ Thea snapped. ‘It is hardly a surprise that I favour her.’
But Jack was no longer looking at her, but at the woman on the faraway stage. ‘Antonia was the most radiant, most beautiful, most talented woman I had ever seen. I fell quite in love with her that day. It was hopeless, of course. She had many admirers, older, richer, more powerful …’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/christine-merrill/two-wrongs-make-a-marriage/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.