Читать книгу The Marriage Truce - Ann Elizabeth Cree - Страница 10

D ev followed Lady Beatrice into the cool hallway of Henslowe Hall. His hopes of escaping to the stables were quickly dashed when Lord Henslowe popped out of his study just as they passed the door. He fixed Dev with the same suspicious stare he’d had since last night.

‘So, my lord, I trust you’ve settled the matter.’

‘Yes.’ Dev had no intention of elaborating further. His patience at being treated like a pariah was evaporating. He started to move past Henslowe, who stepped in his way.

‘There will be a wedding, my lord?’ It was almost a snarl.

Lady Beatrice, who was halfway up the staircase, suddenly turned around. She gave Henslowe one of her most quelling looks. ‘I hope you are not accusing my nephew of dishonourably compromising Miss Chandler. He is, of course, to marry her. However, may I point out, her own behaviour is hardly above reproach.’

Henslowe swung his bushy-eyed stare to Lady Beatrice. ‘May I inquire exactly what you mean by that, madam?’

‘I mean…’

‘I fear my aunt is rather shocked by the fact that once Miss Chandler and I discovered our—er—feelings were mutual, we could no longer resist the temptation to express those feelings in a more bold manner.’ He was rapidly becoming an adept liar as well as a diplomat.

At least this round appeared to be diffused. Lord Henslowe looked taken aback. ‘Er, I see.’

Dev smiled coolly. ‘Yes. If you will excuse me, then, I must take my aunt to her bedchamber. She is rather fatigued after the morning’s events.’

‘Er, of course,’ Henslowe said. He backed into his study.

‘Fatigued? I most certainly am not!’ Lady Beatrice snapped. ‘And this nonsense about expressing your—’

‘But you are.’ He mounted the steps and took her arm before she could say anything else. He finally managed to get her safely to her bedchamber and then retreated to his own.

The quiet was welcome. He walked to the window and looked out at the rolling park spread before him. In the distance he could make out the grey roof of Monteville House.

What the devil had happened? He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the knot he could feel forming. The last place on earth he’d ever expected to set foot in was Monteville House.

But it was no more bizarre than contemplating marriage to Sarah Chandler.

He had first seen her at the ball celebrating his betrothal to Mary. Mary had spoken of her dearest friend many times before, but he’d hardly been prepared for a pair of expressive brown eyes in a heart-shaped face and a smile that lit her face from within. He’d taken her hand, and a jolt of recognition shot through him, almost as if she was the woman he had been waiting for. The sensation had scared him and set his carefully ordered world reeling.

Up until that moment, he had accepted his betrothal to Lady Mary Coleridge as a matter of course. Beautiful, cool and reserved, Mary had seemed to expect no more from marriage than he did. Nor did she appear affected by his less than pristine past. Or the fact that he’d scandalised most of society by a rash affair with one of the most dashing and notorious widows in London.

He had avoided Sarah Chandler as much as possible at the ball and the picnic the following day. He had been relieved when she’d left. Her own hesitant friendliness towards him had quickly turned to puzzlement at his brusque manner, and finally to cool politeness. The next time he expected to see her was after he was safely wed to Mary.

The last thing he had anticipated was that his cool, proper wife would run away a fortnight after their wedding. And that he would find her three weeks later with another man, a man who happened to be Sarah’s brother.

Undoubtedly, Sarah held him responsible for Mary’s death as did a good half of society. Rumours had been rampant that he’d done away with Mary until she was found. And then the gossip had turned to speculations on what he must have done to his wife to cause her to flee his house so soon after her marriage.

They were only wrong in the details. For he had, without doubt, driven Mary to her death.

And now he was about to again undertake marriage with a woman who did not want him. Except this time, he planned to stay as far away from his wife as possible.

‘Dev?’

He swung around to find his sister had quietly entered the room. ‘You are not out riding with the others?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She came towards him. ‘How could I until I knew what had happened? Besides, I was worried about you.’

He gave her a slanted half-smile. ‘There is no need.’ He moved away from the window and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘All is well.’

‘So, you are to marry Miss Chandler?’

‘Yes, and I fear I will beat you to the altar,’ he said lightly. ‘I hope you do not mind.’

‘Mind?’ To his surprise, her face lit up and she dashed forward, and threw her arms around his neck. He staggered back a little at the impact. She pulled away. ‘Never! You don’t know how much I feared leaving you alone. Now, you won’t be.’

‘You approve?’ he asked stupidly.

‘Oh, yes! I have always like Miss Chandler, she has such a nice face, but I did not wish to say anything because you always look so cross when you see her. And then I had wondered if perhaps you had a tendre for her, but did not wish anyone to know because of her brother! And then to find it is true after all! And even more astonishing, that she is in love with you!’

‘Certainly it is,’ he said faintly.

‘Adam says that she has a very kind heart, so I know you will be safe with her.’

‘Safe?’ He was losing track of the conversation. ‘Wouldn’t it be more proper to worry more about Miss Chandler’s person in my safekeeping?’

Jessica smiled. ‘Oh, no. Because I know you will take care of her, just as you have cared for me. No, it is you I fear for. I never want you to hurt so much again. And I do not think Miss Chandler will hurt you at all.’

Amelia touched Sarah’s arm. ‘Come, we cannot stay in your bedchamber forever.’ She ran a critical eye over Sarah’s person. She had helped Sarah dress, pulling out one gown after another before deciding on the pomona green silk. It had a round, low-cut bodice, the hem trimmed with rows of matching ribbon. ‘You look very lovely. Lord Huntington will be enchanted.’

‘I really don’t want him to be enchanted.’ Sarah snatched up her gloves from the dressing table. What she really wanted was for him to go away and leave her in peace.

Amelia arched a brow. ‘My dear, you need to look a bit more enthusiastic if you’re to convince everyone you’ve conceived a mad passion for his lordship.’

Sarah scowled. ‘That was his idea, not mine.’ As the dinner approached she had found herself in more and more of a horrid mood. The last thing she felt like doing was pretending to be in love with Lord Huntington. She could feel the beginning of a headache and her stomach was churning. At this point she would be quite fortunate if she made it through dinner without being sick.

‘Yes, you have made that very clear. But you will need to do better than that. Such a sour look will hardly persuade anyone you’re in ecstasy over finding your hidden love reciprocated.’

‘I would prefer that it had remained hidden,’ Sarah snapped. She heaved a sigh. ‘I am sorry, Amelia. I have a slight headache and I wish I was anywhere but here.’

‘I quite understand.’ Amelia picked up a fan from Sarah’s dressing table and pressed it into her hand. ‘But we do need to put in an appearance or everyone will think you decided to escape through the window.’

‘I still might,’ Sarah said. She trailed Amelia down the staircase, wishing it truly were possible to run away. She had finally decided to lie down before dressing for dinner. It had not helped; instead of resting, her mind had replayed the events over and over. She had tried to tell herself that she should be noble and accept marriage to Lord Huntington to save his reputation as well as to ensure his sister’s happiness. But instead she felt resentful and trapped. And, underneath, more than a little despairing.

And the headache gnawing at the back of her neck hardly helped.

He was the first person she noticed when she entered the drawing room. He stood near the window engaged in conversation with Adam, Lady Jessica, and her grandfather. He looked elegantly masculine. His tight pantaloons fitted over well-muscled legs and he wore a bottle green coat moulded to broad shoulders which obviously had no need of artificial aids.

He looked over when she entered with Amelia. His cool eyes met hers and she felt her heart slam alarmingly against her ribs. Worse, the room fell silent and everyone else turned to look at her as well. She wondered how she was ever to make it through the evening.

Lady Omberley bustled over, her expression relieved. ‘My dear, we had quite wondered where you’d gone to. That is, we had hoped nothing was amiss.’

‘Sarah couldn’t find her fan,’ Amelia said brightly.

‘Oh? If that was all… Come—’ Lady Omberley took Sarah’s arm in a firm grip ‘—we must greet Lord Huntington. But first, here is Lady Beatrice and I believe you have met Lord Pennington.’

‘Yes, how do you do?’ Sarah managed to smile although she feared it was probably strained.

‘Well enough,’ Lady Beatrice snapped. She wore a remarkable gown of purple satin trimmed with lace and silk flowers, a matching turban on her head. The effect with her broad, double-chinned face was quite intimidating.

Lady Omberley gave her a wary look, then her face brightened. ‘I see the Misses Waverly have arrived. If you will excuse me, I must greet them.’ She hurried off, leaving Sarah to cast about in her mind for something to say.

Lord Pennington smiled. He was tall and lean with light brown hair and a pair of humorous grey eyes. ‘Congratulations, Miss Chandler. It is quite amazing. Only last night I suggested to Dev that he might consider repairing relations between himself and your family. However, I will confess I hardly expected he would take it to such lengths.’

‘Nor did I,’ Lady Beatrice said, giving Sarah a suspicious look as if she still suspected Sarah had managed to bring Huntington to heel by less-than-honest methods.

‘Take what to such lengths?’ Huntington materialised at Sarah’s side.

‘Your method of effecting a reconciliation between the two families,’ Lord Pennington said.

‘So far I can’t see it has had much effect,’ Huntington said drily. His fingers closed lightly around Sarah’s arm. ‘If you will pardon me, I would like to speak with Sarah alone.’

Sarah? Had she heard correctly? She glanced up into his face, but his expression was bland. He escorted her over near the window before she could say a word. He looked down at her. ‘Should we make a stab at some sort of conversation? I’d hate everyone to think we have quarrelled already.’

‘But then we’d have an excuse to break our…our…’

‘I believe the term is betrothal.’ His mouth curved in a humourless smile. ‘No, it would only give Henslowe an excuse to put a bullet through me. Although that might solve your problem.’

His drawling words made her scowl. ‘That is really an extremely stupid remark! I certainly would not consider that a way to solve anything.’

His brow shot up. ‘Wouldn’t you? Should I be flattered?’

‘No, you should not. Besides, Cousin George is a very poor shot. His eyesight is quite dreadful although he would never admit it.’

A hint of amusement crossed his face. ‘I am relieved. However, my dear, I suggest you cease to look at me with such blatant disapproval. I fear no one will ever think you were in the throes of a violent passion for me.’

‘No more than they think the same of you,’ Sarah retorted. ‘If you think I intend to…to cast sheep’s eyes at you while you stare at me in that sardonic fashion, you are quite wrong.’

His eyes glittered. ‘I fear, my lovely Sarah, if I was to truly pretend that I was in love with you, you would run as far and as fast as you could. And I’ve no intention of scaring you away.’

‘Oh.’ She took a step back, suddenly a little frightened. For the first time, the realisation sank in that she would soon be bound to this dangerous stranger.

His brow snapped together. ‘There’s no need to look so fearful. I’ve no intention of abusing you,’ he said coolly.

‘No.’ She shivered and looked away. Most of the guests had arrived and she again experienced the odd sensations of being in a bad dream. She rubbed the back of her neck, which by now ached.

‘What is wrong?’

She looked back at him, startled to see an odd concern in his face. But it vanished so quickly she thought she must be mistaken. Thrown off, she said, ‘I merely have the headache, but it is nothing.’

‘I hope not.’ His eyes roved over her face, a little frown on his brow. ‘Try not to worry too much. I’ll make certain this damnable mess doesn’t hurt you any more than necessary.’

Again he surprised her. She bit her lip. ‘You are very kind, considering this entire affair is all my doing.’

‘Hardly,’ he said curtly.

‘Dinner has just been announced.’ Lord Pennington’s voice broke the odd tension between them. He raised a brow. ‘So perhaps you should cease gazing at each other and join us.’

Sarah blushed and turned away, only to find Amelia regarding her with amusement.

Her grandfather spoke. ‘Perhaps, Lord Huntington, you will escort my granddaughter to dinner.’

‘Of course. Miss Chandler?’ Huntington held out his arm, his voice polite. She lightly placed her hand on his coat sleeve, avoiding his eyes. So, they were back at daggers drawn. At least it felt infinitely safer than his concern.

Dev put down his scarcely touched wineglass. His gaze drifted across the table to where it had been most of the never-ending dinner. On Sarah Chandler.

She was listening to something Adam said, a polite smile on her face, but he suspected from her pallor that her headache had increased. She had barely touched her dinner, mostly pushing the well-prepared food around her plate. He hoped she would make it through the dinner without collapsing.

At least some sort of truce seemed to be in effect. Lady Beatrice sat next to Lord Monteville, whose presence served to keep her more outrageous remarks in check. The rest of the guests were making an effort to carry on conversation and the room hummed with the usual sounds of a normal dinner party, quiet conversation punctuated by laughter, the clink of covers laid and removed. If anyone noticed his terse silence, they gave no sign.

Which he must give Sarah credit for. She seemed determine to carry on some semblance of conversation, showing her innate good manners. And, in spite of his reluctance to admit it, he found her completely lovely. Her auburn hair curled softly around her face in a manner that made her dark eyes more luminous. Her gown, a pale green, clung enticingly to her slender curves. She had matured from the rather uncertain girl she had been at nineteen to a beautiful, composed and extremely desirable woman. The thought was frightening.

As if sensing his regard, she turned to look at him, slight colour rising to her cheeks. Her brown eyes met his and an uncomfortable bolt of awareness shot through him. It was not exactly desire, but something much more disturbing.

He tore his gaze away, only to meet his cousin’s amused eyes. He took a sip of wine, wondering what the devil was wrong with him.

He set his wineglass down with unnecessary force. A few drops sprayed out.

‘My lord, I can certainly understand why your preoccupation with my cousin might cause you to forget your manners, but I must draw the line at being drenched with wine.’

He turned to Lady Marleigh, who was seated next to him. ‘I beg your pardon.’

A little smile touched her lips. ‘Sarah is quite lovely, isn’t she? I cannot blame you for wanting to marry her.’

His brow shot up. ‘I take it that means you approve?’

‘Not quite,’ she said carefully.

‘And what are your reservations?’ He leaned back a little, watching her.

Her blue eyes were direct. ‘She has the kindest heart of anyone I know. I hope you will remember that.’

Monteville had said much the same thing. As had Mary. He smiled sardonically. ‘And you fear I intend to trample it.’

‘Not intentionally. But your reputation does concern me.’ All archness had left her manner.

‘Ah, I see you’ve heard the rumours. Set your mind at rest. I do not intend to lock your cousin away or beat her so she finds it necessary to run fleeing from my house.’

‘I was not speaking of your first wife, but of your other liaisons.’

‘You are blunt, Lady Marleigh.’ His fingers closed around his wineglass. ‘I will be blunt in return. There are no other liaisons at the moment. Nor am I contemplating one. Amazingly enough, you see, I believe in fidelity in marriage.’

Her brow arched in surprise as she searched his face. For the first time an actual smile lit her countenance. ‘Very good, my lord. I think there might be hope for you and for Sarah after all.’

This time it was his turn to feel surprise. Before he could speak, Monteville stood.

The Earl waited until everyone had quieted down. ‘As most of you know, we are gathered here for a most important occasion, to announce an alliance, an alliance that I hope will serve to eradicate the unfortunate fissure between the Chandlers and the St Clairs.’ He paused for a moment, a rare smile touching his lips. ‘I am most pleased, then, to inform you that there is to be a marriage between Devin St Clair, the Marquis of Huntington, and my granddaughter, Miss Sarah Chandler.’

There were a few exclamations of surprise. And then the dining room doors were flung open behind Monteville. He turned. A man swept into the room with firm, purposeful strides and then stopped. In the silence that followed, Sarah’s faint, ‘Oh, no!’ was audible.

And then Dev’s own blood ran cold.

Nicholas Chandler, Viscount Thayne, stood in the doorway, drops of rain glistening on his golden brown hair. His cool gaze surveyed the room and then fell on Dev. Surprise flicked in his eyes, before they hardened. ‘How very interesting. Pray, Lord Huntington, whatever has induced you to step foot in my family home?’

Dev rose, the anger he’d thought long dead sparking to life. He smiled coldly. ‘A very happy occasion. I am glad you have arrived in time to celebrate.’ He looked at the nearby footman. ‘A glass of wine for Lord Thayne.’

The footman stepped forward and quickly proffered a glass. Thayne took it, his eyes never leaving Dev’s face. Dev raised his glass. ‘Shall we have a toast, gentlemen?’ The others, who’d sat in stunned silence, hastily stood. Dev looked at Thayne, a devilish smile curving his lips. ‘A toast to my upcoming marriage to Lord Thayne’s sister, Sarah Chandler.’

He raised the glass to his lips, downing the contents in a single swallow accompanied by a chorus of well wishes. The satisfaction of watching the colour leave Thayne’s face was worth a thousand such announcements. Until he saw Sarah.

Her face had gone completely white, as if someone had just dealt her a death blow. The quick rush of heady pleasure evaporated and he wondered what the devil he had just done to her.

It wasn’t until the guests had left and Sarah had finally escaped up the stairs that Nicholas cornered her. She was just about to enter her bedchamber when he appeared at her side.

‘Sarah, what the devil do you think you’re doing?’

‘Going to bed,’ she snapped. The rest of the evening had been a disaster, which had left her head hurting worse than ever. Nicholas’s presence had cast a pall over everyone and the company had quickly divided into two opposing camps. Angry and hurt, Sarah had made no effort to speak to Huntington and instead had aligned herself firmly on the Chandler side. She cared little what anyone thought.

‘Not that.’ He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘I don’t know what the devil has happened, but you can’t marry Huntington.’

‘I am.’

‘Why? Damn it, Sarah, it is more than apparent he only wants you out of revenge. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a cream pot when he announced you were to be wed.’

Sarah tried not to flinch. The memory still burned. ‘None the less, we are to be wed. There is no choice.’

‘Why?’ His brows snapped together. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘Nothing at all.’ She opened her door. ‘If you will excuse me, I am extremely tired.’

‘Not until you tell me why.’ He had that stubborn look on his face, which meant he planned to persist until she was forced to answer. ‘You can’t fob me off, Sarah.’

She sighed and rubbed her temple. ‘If you must know, Lord and Lady Henslowe found us together in their garden last night. I had gone out to be alone for a moment. And then I saw my gown had a tear in the bodice. My…my brooch had torn the cloth and Lord Huntington tried to help me repair it. If we do not marry, I will be ruined.’

Nicholas’s fist tightened. ‘I will call him out,’ he said softly.

‘No! Please, Nicholas! It was not his doing. And I couldn’t bear another scandal! Or more pain! Do you understand?’

He stared at her in disbelief and then gave a short laugh. ‘Much more than you think. He purposely tried to compromise you.’

He was always so stubborn, particularly when it came to someone he disliked as intensely as he did Lord Huntington. ‘No, he did not. I told you, it happened even before he came. He saw me leave the ballroom and wanted to assure himself of my safety.’ It was no use trying to pretend they had met in a lovers’ tryst. Nicholas, like her grandfather, had the disconcerting habit of ferreting out lies. So she might as well give him as much of the truth as she could without revealing Blanton’s role.

‘Assure himself of your safety? I find that impossible to swallow. Why should he care what happens to any of us?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sarah whispered. His behaviour last night and even up to Nicholas’s arrival had seemed to indicate some concern for her. But after tonight, she could only think it had been false.

Nicholas’s expression hardened. ‘Neither do I. But if he hurts you, he’ll have me to answer to.’