Читать книгу The Runaway Heiress - Anne O'Brien, Anne O'Brien - Страница 7

‘Lady Torrington has called, ma’am. I have explained to her that his lordship is unavailable, but she has insisted on seeing you. I have shown her into the drawing room.’ Rivers, Aldeborough’s butler, bowed, his face expressing fatherly concern. ‘Do you wish to see her, ma’am?’

Frances felt her blood run cold in her veins and a familiar sense of panic fluttered in her stomach. Since Aldeborough’s departure to keep his appointment with Kington she had enjoyed a number of solitary hours in which to contemplate her present situation. It had made depressing contemplation. Mrs Scott had provided her with a light luncheon, which she had no appetite to eat, and she was now taking advantage of his lordship’s extensive library. Her education might have been limited, but she had been free to make use of her uncle’s otherwise unused collection of books and normally Aldeborough’s possessions would have been a delight. But not even a magnificently illustrated tome on plants and garden design, which should in other circumstances have enthralled her, had the power to deflect her mind from the present disaster.

‘Will you see Lady Torrington, miss?’ Rivers repeated as Frances hesitated.

‘Yes. Of course,’ she stammered. On one thing she was adamant. As she had informed Aldeborough, she would not go back to Torrington Hall. So the sooner she confronted her aunt, the better.

‘And shall I bring tea, ma’am?’ Rivers enquired. ‘You might find it a useful distraction.’ His smile held a depth of understanding.

‘Yes, please.’ She smiled shyly. ‘You are very kind.’

Frances found Viscountess Torrington seated before the fire in the drawing room. Encouraged by Rivers’s tacit support, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and advanced into the room. Its furnishings paid more attention to fashion than the library, with matching chairs and a sofa in straw-and-cream striped silk brocade, but it had the chilly atmosphere of a room not much used. It seemed to Frances an appropriate place for this unlooked-for confrontation with her formidable aunt.

‘Aunt Cordelia.’ She forced her lips into a smile. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’

Her ladyship, she noticed immediately, had dressed carefully for this visit, no doubt intent on making an impression on Aldeborough. Her stout frame was draped in a green velvet three-quarter-length coat with silk braid trimming. A matching turban with its single ostrich plume, black kid halfboots and kid gloves completed an outfit more suitable for London society than country visiting. Her curled and tinted hair, glinting red in the sunlight, would have taken her unfortunate and long-suffering maid not a little time and effort to achieve the desired result, but nothing could disguise the lines of discontent and frustrated ambition round her cold blue eyes and narrow lips. If she was disappointed not to meet Aldeborough, she gave no sign as Frances entered the room.

‘I dare say, but something has to be done to sort out this unfortunate situation. And I did not think it wise to leave so delicate a matter to Torrington. The outcome, if it became widely known, could be disastrous for all of us—’ She broke off abruptly. Her words might be conciliatory towards Frances, but her voice was harsh and peremptory, her gaze on her niece full of contempt.

‘What is it you intend to do, Aunt?’ Frances cautiously sat on the edge of a chair facing her.

‘I have come to take you home. We can hush up the matter and continue as if nothing happened. Whatever might have happened here last night.’

‘Nothing happened,’ Frances answered calmly enough, but remembered Aldeborough’s warning.

‘I am afraid the world will not believe that. Aldeborough’s reputation is too well known. There must be some plain speaking between us here, Frances. He might be rich, handsome and a prize in the matrimonial stakes—I cannot deny it—but it is also well known that no woman is safe from him, no matter what her class. And as for his brother’s untimely death—the least said about that the better. But that is not our concern. Your reputation will be in shreds if we do not take immediate action, and that can only reflect badly on the whole family. What possessed you to run away and to throw yourself into Aldeborough’s path? Of all men you could not have made a worse choice, you little fool. It is imperative that you come home with me now.’

‘I am amazed at such concern, Aunt. I have to admit that I am unused to my feelings being shown such consideration.’

Her aunt ignored her sarcasm, fixing her with a stony stare as if she might will her into obedience. ‘You will return with me to Torrington Hall. Charles has agreed to marry you at once as was planned. Nothing need change our arrangements.’

‘Poor Charles! Should I be grateful for this, Aunt?’

‘Of course. No one else will marry you after this escapade, that is certain. It will be impossible to keep it secret. All those so-called friends of your uncle, gossiping as soon as they are in their cups. It is too salacious a story to keep to themselves.’

‘But I don’t choose to marry. When I come into my inheritance I will be able to—’

‘Your inheritance, indeed!’ Lady Torrington broke in sharply. ‘Don’t deceive yourself, my dear. It is only a small annuity. Your mother’s family cast her off when she married your father. There is not much money there, I am afraid. You have no choice but to come home with me.’

Frances held tight to her decision despite her body’s reaction to her aunt’s words. She wiped her damp palms surreptitiously on her skirts. She had, after all, never disobeyed her aunt so blatantly before.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, but no.’ Frances was adamant.

‘You foolish, stubborn girl.’ Lady Torrington surged to her feet, to intimidate Frances as she remained seated. ‘You have always been difficult and ungrateful. Are you really expecting that Aldeborough will marry you? A nobody when he can have the pick of the ton? Don’t fool yourself. You will not trap him into marriage. You don’t know the ways of the world. He will abandon you with a ruined name and no one to support you.’

‘You appear, madam, to have remarkably detailed knowledge of my intentions.’

Neither lady had heard the door open. There stood Aldeborough, coldly arrogant, quickly assessing the situation, aware of the momentary shadow of relief that swept across Frances’s face as she turned her head towards him. He executed a graceful bow and strolled over to stand beside Frances. As she rose nervously to her feet he took her hand, tucking it under his arm, and pressed it firmly when she made a move to pull away.

‘Perhaps I should inform you that I have asked your niece to do me the honour of becoming my wife.’ A smile touched his mouth momentarily, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

Lady Torrington’s eyes narrowed, lips thinned. ‘You must know that she is not yet of age. You do not have Torrington’s permission.’

‘With respect, I do not give that for his permission.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘After her treatment at Torrington’s hands, Miss Hanwell has expressed a preference that she should not return to Torrington Hall. It is my intention to fulfil that wish.’

‘I do not know what you intend to imply about her upbringing or what she has seen fit to tell you. I would not put too much weight on her honesty, my lord.’ The Viscountess’s eyes snapped with temper as she glanced at her niece. ‘Frances must return home to her family. You will hear from my husband, sir.’ She pulled on her gloves, clearly ruffled, but refusing to give way.

‘Indeed, my lady. I am at his service. Perhaps you will stay for tea?’

‘No, I thank you. I hope you know what you are doing, Frances. You would be wise to heed my warnings. I would be sorry if the story of your abduction of my niece was to become common knowledge, my lord.’

Aldeborough felt Frances’s hand quiver in his grasp and try to pull free, but he merely tightened his hold and smiled reassuringly down at her.

‘Abduction? I think not.’ His smile, Frances decided, held all the sincerity of a cat releasing a mouse, only to pounce a second time. ‘If it does, my lady, I might be compelled to enlighten our acquaintances about Torrington’s role in the events. It is perhaps not good ton for a guardian to subject his ward to a lifestyle unfit for a servant, much less to make her the object of unseemly abuse. I would advise you of the foolishness of attempting to threaten me—or my future bride.’

‘Then good day to you, my lord.’ Viscountess Torrington inclined her head in false civility, bosom heaving in righteous indignation, an unattractive patch of colour high on her cheekbones. ‘As for you, Frances, I hope that you do not live to regret this day. Unfortunately you were always headstrong and selfish, in spite of all the care we lavished on you!’ In a swirl of outraged velvet and ostrich plumes, Lady Torrington left, sweeping past Rivers, who had materialised to bow her out of the room.

‘So! You are headstrong and selfish, are you?’ Aldeborough smiled as Frances grimaced. ‘And what warnings were those? Or can I guess?’

‘Only your dark and dreadful reputation, sir.’

He grinned, a sudden flash of immense charm that gave Frances insight into why so many misguided members of her sex were willing to be beguiled by the Marquis of Aldeborough. She chose to ignore the fact that it made her own heart beat just a little more quickly and put it down to the effects of her aunt’s harsh destruction of her character.

‘What I do not understand,’ mused Frances, ‘is why she was so determined to take me back. At best I was treated as a poor relation, at worst as the lowest of the servants. There was never any love in my upbringing. Only duty. And why should Charles consider marrying me if my reputation is so besmirched?’ A slight frown marred the smoothness of her brow. Aldeborough was moved by a sudden inclination to smooth it away with his fingers. He resisted the temptation. Matters were difficult enough.

‘That is not something for you to worry about. It is no longer necessary.’

‘You are very kind. And, indeed, I am honoured, but you need not marry me. The mistakes of a night—my mistakes—should not be allowed to blight the rest of your life.’

‘I was thinking of the rest of your life, Miss Hanwell.’

Frances raised her eyes to search his fine-featured face, touched by the compassion in his voice, but seeing little evidence of it in his expression. No man had the right to have such splendid eyes, she thought inconsequentially. Dark grey and thickly fringed with black lashes. But they held no emotion, certainly no warmth or sympathy, merely a cold, calculating strength of will.

She shook her head. Before she could reply, Rivers entered the drawing room again on silent feet and coughed gently.

‘Sir Ambrose Dutton, my lord.’

Aldeborough turned to greet his friend, instantly recognised by Frances as one of her uncle’s guests from the previous night. Her heart sank even further, if that were possible.

She could not face such an embarrassing encounter yet with someone who had witnessed her shame.

‘Excuse me, my lord. Sir Ambrose.’ She dropped a curtsy and followed Rivers from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, the enormity of her situation finally hitting home as she became uncomfortably aware of the cynical and knowing amusement curling Sir Ambrose’s lips at the very moment he saw her unmistakably in deep and intimate conversation with his host.

‘Well, Ambrose? Was I expecting you to drop by this morning?’ Aldeborough’s expression was a hard won study in guilelessness.

Ambrose’s brows rose. So that was how he wished to play the scene. So be it. ‘Yes, you were. How’s your head, Hugh?’ He cast his riding whip and gloves on to a side table. ‘You don’t deserve to be on your feet yet after Torrington’s inferior claret.’

‘If it’s any consolation, my head is probably worse than yours.’ He grimaced and threw himself down into one of the armchairs. ‘I hope I don’t look as destroyed as you do!’

‘You do, Hugh, you do!’ He paused for a moment—and then plunged. ‘Forgive me for touching on a delicate subject. But why is Miss Hanwell apparently in residence at the Priory? It would appear that you had a more interesting night than I had appreciated.’

‘You do not know the half of it!’

‘So are you going to tell me?’ Exasperation won. ‘Or do I have to wring it out of you?’

‘Why not?’ Aldeborough took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face as if to erase the unwelcome images, and proceeded to enlighten Sir Ambrose on the events of the night.

‘And so,’ he finished, ‘I brought her here, too drunk to think of the consequences. Although I am not sure of the alternatives since we were halfway to the Priory before I discovered her. I suppose I could have turned round and taken her straight back to Torrington. Still …’ There was more than a little self-disgust in his voice as he glanced up and frowned at Ambrose. ‘It was not well done, was it?’

‘No.’ Ambrose, as ever, was brutally frank. ‘It is always the same—too much alcohol and you can be completely irrational. And as for the girl, throwing herself in your way so obviously. Was she worth it?’

‘Show some respect, damn you!’ Aldeborough surprised his friend by surging to his feet, rounding on him in a sudden whiplash of temper. ‘Do you really think I would seduce an innocent young girl?’

‘Probably not. Probably too drunk.’

Aldeborough relaxed a little, bared his teeth in the semblance of a grin, admitting the truth of it. ‘You should know—I have asked Miss Hanwell to marry me.’

Ambrose paused as the significance of this statement sank in. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t realise. But, Hugh!’ He rose to his feet, took a hasty turn about the room and returned to stand before the fireplace. ‘Don’t let them trap you into marriage. You wouldn’t want to be connected with the Torrington set. And apart from that, she would not seem to have much to recommend her. She is no beauty.’

‘No, she is not. But I believe that she needs a refuge. I can provide one.’ Aldeborough turned away with weary resignation. ‘What does it matter? As my loving mother would tell you, it is high time I took a wife and produced an heir to the Lafford estates. Any girl would marry me for my wealth and title. At least Miss Hanwell is not a fortune hunter.’

‘What makes you so sure? Torrington would be more than happy to get his hands on your money through his niece. He probably put her up to it.’

Sardonic amusement flitted across Aldeborough’s face. ‘I am certain that Miss Hanwell is no fortune hunter, because so far she has refused my offer.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Ambrose stared in amazement.

‘Oh, it is true. And, I might tell you, it has been quite a blow to my self-esteem to be turned down!’

The third stair from the bottom creaked loudly under her foot. Frances froze and held her breath, listening intently to the silent spaces around her. Nothing. Clutching her cloak about her with one hand and a bandbox containing her few borrowed possessions with the other, Frances continued her cautious descent. The splendidly panelled entrance hall, its polished oak floorboards stretching before her, was deserted—she had planned that it was late enough for all the servants to have retired. A branch of candles was still burning by the main door, presumably now locked and bolted, but it made little impression on the shadowy corners. If she could make her way through to the kitchens and servants’ quarters, surely she could find an easier method of escape—an unlocked door or even a window if no other means of escape presented itself.

After her rapid exit from the drawing room earlier in the day, she had remained in her room, pleading a headache, and submitting to the kindly ministrations of Mrs Scott. It had become clear to her through much heartsearching that she must not only make some decisions, but act on them before she was drawn any further into the present train of events over which she appeared to have less and less control. She had allowed herself a few pleasant moments of daydreaming, imagining herself accepting Aldeborough’s offer to allow her to live a life of luxury and comfort. She pictured herself taking the ton by storm, clad in a cloud of palest green gauze and silk. When she reached the point of waltzing round a glittering ballroom with diamond earrings and fashionably curled and ringletted hair, in the arms of a tall darkly handsome man, she rapidly pulled herself together and banished Aldeborough’s austere features and elegant figure from her mind.

He has no wish to marry you, she told herself sternly. He is only moved by honour and duty and pity. She had had enough of that. And since when was it possible to rely on any man when his own selfish interests were involved? It would be far more sensible to find somewhere to take refuge for a few short months until she reached her twenty-first birthday and the promise of her inheritance.

There was only one avenue of escape open to her. She would make her way to London and throw herself on the mercy of her maternal relatives. Even though they had turned their concerted backs on her mother following what they perceived as a mésalliance, surely they would not be so cold-hearted as to abandon her only daughter in her hour of need. Frances knew that it was a risk, but she would have to take it. London must be her first objective and here she saw the possibility of asking the help of the Rector of Torrington. If nothing else, he might, in Christian charity, be persuaded to lend her the money to buy a seat on the mailcoach.

So, having made her plan, determinedly closing her mind to all the possibilities for disaster, Frances continued to tread softly down the great staircase. She reached the foot, with its carved eagles on the newel posts, with a sigh of relief. All the doors were closed. There was an edge of light under the library door but there was no sound. Frances pulled up her hood, turned towards the door which led to the kitchens and sculleries and tiptoed silently across. Soon she would be free.

‘Good evening, Miss Hanwell.’

Frances dropped her bandbox with a clatter and whirled round, her breath caught in her throat. Aldeborough was framed in silhouette, the light behind him, in the doorway of the library. In spite of the hour he was still elegantly dressed, although stripped of his coat, and held a glass of brandy in one hand. Her eyes widened with shock and she was conscious only of the blood racing through her veins, her heart pounding in her chest. Aldeborough placed his glass on a side table with a sharp click that echoed in the silence, then strolled across the expanse between them. He bent and with infinite grace picked up her bandbox.

‘Perhaps I can be of assistance?’ he asked smoothly.

Frances found her voice. ‘You could let me go. You could forget you have seen me.’ Her voice caught in her throat, betraying her fear. She tried not to shrink back from him against the banister, from the controlled power of his body and the dark frown on his face. Memories forced their ugly path into her mind, resisting her attempts to blot them out.

‘I could, of course, but I think not.’ Aldeborough held out his hand imperatively. She felt compelled by the look in his eyes to obey him and found herself led to the library, where he released her and closed the door behind her.

‘You appear to be making a habit of running away. Might I ask where you were planning to go?’ he enquired. ‘Surely not back to Charles!’

‘I will never go back to that house!’ Frances replied with as much dignity as she could muster in the circumstances. ‘I had decided to go to the Rector of Torrington for help.’

‘And how were you intending to get there?’ He allowed his eyebrows to rise.

‘Walk.’

‘For ten miles? In the pitch black along country roads?’

‘If I have to.’ She raised her head in defiance of his heavy sarcasm.

‘I had not realised, Miss Hanwell, that marriage to me could be such a desperate option. Clearly I was wrong.’

Frances could think of no reply, intimidated by the ice in his voice.

He dropped her ill-used bandbox on to the floor and approached her, raising his hands to relieve her of her cloak. Her reaction was startling and immediate. She flinched from him, raising her arm to shield her face, retreating, stumbling against a small table so that a faceted glass vase fell to the floor with a crash, the debris spraying over the floor around her feet. She turned her head from him and buried her face in her hands, unable to stifle a cry of fear as the dark memories threatened to engulf her.

‘What is it? What did I do?’ Aldeborough’s brows snapped together. Frances shook her head, unable to answer as she fought to quell the rising hysteria and calm her shattered breathing.

‘Forgive me. I had no intention of frightening you.’ He grasped her shoulders in a firm hold to steady her, aware that she was trembling uncontrollably, when an unpleasant thought struck him.

‘You thought I was going to hit you, didn’t you? What have I ever done to suggest that I would use violence against you?’ There was anger as well as shock in his voice. ‘Tell me.’ He gave her shoulders a little squeeze in an effort to dislodge the blank fear in her eyes. It worked, for she swallowed convulsively and was able to focus on his concerned face.

‘It’s just that once I tried to run away,’ she managed to explain. ‘It was a silly childish dream that I might escape. But I was caught, you see … and …’

‘And?’

‘My uncle punished me—whipped me—for disobedience. He said I was ungrateful and I must be taught to appreciate what I had been given. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …’ Her voice trailed away into silence, her expression one of utmost desolation.

Aldeborough gently removed her cloak from her now-unresisting body. He steered her away from the shards of glass, scattered like crystal tears on the polished wood, and pushed her into a chair before the dying embers of the fire. He poured a little brandy into a glass and handed it to her.

‘Here. Drink this. Don’t argue, it will make you feel better—it’s good for shock amongst other things. Although, from experience, I do not advise it as an aid to helping you forget.’ The touch of sardonic humour at his own expense allowed Frances to relax a little and do as she was told. ‘Now, tell me—what did you expect the Rector to be able to do for you that I couldn’t?’

She sipped the brandy again, which made her eyes water, but at least it stilled the shivering. ‘I thought that he would lend me some money to enable me to reach London where I could make contact with my relations,’ she explained.

‘But you told me you didn’t have any.’

‘It is my mother’s family.’ She was once more able to command her voice and her breathing. ‘They disowned her, you understand, when she married my father. They thought he was a fortune hunter and too irresponsible, so they cut all contact.’

‘Your father, I presume, was Torrington’s younger brother. I never knew him.’

‘Yes. Adam Hanwell. I remember nothing of him—he died when I was very young.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She was Cecilia Mortimer. She died just after I was born. That’s why I was brought up at Torrington Hall and Viscount Torrington is my guardian.’

‘As I understand it, the Mortimers are related to the Wigmore family.’

‘Yes. My grandfather was the Earl of Wigmore. I hoped the present Earl would not abandon me entirely if he knew I was in trouble. I believe he is my cousin. Do you think he would?’

‘I have no idea. And I cannot claim to be impressed by your plan.’ Aldeborough ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘If they refuse to recognise you, you will be left standing outside their town house in Portland Square, with no money and no acquaintance in London. Or what if they are out of town and the house is shut up? Do you intend to bivouac on their doorstep until they return? It is a crazy scheme and you will do well to forget it.’

‘It’s no more crazy than you forcing me into a marriage I do not want!’ Frances was stung into sharp reply. ‘You have no right to be so superior!’

‘I have every right. There is no point in making the situation worse than it is already.’

Frances sighed. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’ She raised her hands in hopeless entreaty and then let them fall back into her lap. ‘Do you think I could be an actress?’

‘Never!’ Aldeborough laughed without humour. ‘Every emotion is written clearly on your face. I cannot believe that you would actually consider such a harebrained scheme.’

‘No. But desperation can lead to unlikely eventualities.’ She tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt.

The Marquis noted the emotion that shimmered just below the surface, prompting him to take the brandy glass from her. She did not resist. ‘Let us be sensible.’ He returned to lean his arm along the mantelpiece and stirred the smouldering logs with one booted foot. ‘I think that we are agreed that you have very few realistic options. There is no guarantee of a favourable welcome from Wigmore. You have spent far too long unchaperoned in my house—don’t say anything for a moment—so you must marry me as it is the only way to put things right.’

‘But—’

‘No. Think about it! Your reputation will be secure. We can call it a runaway match, if you wish. We saw each other at some unspecified event—unlikely, I know, but never mind that—and fell in love at first sight. With the protection of my name no one will dare to suggest that anything improper occurred. You will be able to escape from your uncle and a life that clearly has made you unhappy. And, until your own inheritance is yours, you can have the pleasure of spending some of my wealth and cutting a dash in society.’

It sounded an attractive proposition. For long moments, Frances considered the clear, coldly delivered facts, smoothing out a worn patch on her skirt between her fingers. She raised her eyes to his, trying to read the motive behind the unemotional delivery.

‘But why would you do this? You don’t want a wife. Or, certainly, not me.’

He laughed harshly. ‘You are wrong. I do need to marry some time. It is, of course, my duty to my family and my name to produce an heir. So why not you?’

Frances blushed. ‘I am not suitable. I am not talented or beautiful or fashionable … Your family would think you had run mad.’

He shrugged carelessly. ‘You come from a good family and the rest can be put right. And it will stop my mother from nagging me. What do you say? Perhaps we should deal very well together. Your view of marriage seems to be even more cynical than mine! As a business arrangement it could be to the benefit of both of us.’

Frances still hesitated.

‘If for no other reason, you might consider my position. It may surprise you to know that I do have some sense of honour.’ His lips curled cynically. ‘I would not wittingly seek to be accused of abducting and ruining an innocent girl. I do have some pride, you know.’

Frances took a deep breath. ‘I had not thought of that.’

‘Then do so. You are not likely to be the only sufferer here.’

‘But you already have a reputation for—’ She came to a sudden halt, embarrassed by her insensitive accusation.

‘Ah. I see.’ His voice was low and quiet. ‘So my damnable reputation has reached even you, Miss Hanwell, shut away as you have been in Torrington Hall. Do you expect me to live up to it? One more victim from the fair sex will make no difference, I suppose. Perhaps I should seduce you and abandon you simply to give credence to the rumours spread by wagging tongues. I am clearly beyond redemption. Perhaps I should not insult you with an offer of marriage.’

Frances could not answer the bitter mockery or the banked anger in his eyes but simply sat, head bent against the wave of emotion. When he made no effort to break the silence that had fallen, she glanced up at him. The anger had faded from his face, to be replaced by something that she found difficult to interpret. If she did not know better, she might have thought it was a moment of vulnerability.

‘Well, Miss Hanwell?’

‘Very well. I think I must accept your offer, my lord. I will try to be a conformable wife.’ She could hardly believe that she was saying those words.

‘You amaze me. So far all you have done is argue and refuse to listen to good sense.’

‘But … I never meant …’

‘There is no need to say any more. Come here.’ She stood and moved towards him. He turned her to face the light from the candles at his elbow and looked at her searchingly for perhaps the first time, turning her head gently with his hand beneath her jaw. Her skin, a trifle pale from the emotions of the past hour, had the smooth translucence of youth. Her eyebrows were well marked and as dark as her uncontrolled curls. Her remarkable violet eyes expressed every emotion she felt—at the moment uncertainty and not a little shyness. But equally he had seen them flash in anger and contempt. She had a straight nose, a most decided chin and softly curving lips. She was not a beauty, he thought, but a little town bronze would probably improve her. It could turn out to be not the worst decision he had made in his life. She dropped her eyes in some confusion under his considered scrutiny.

‘Look at me,’ he demanded and when she automatically obeyed he wound his hand into her hair and his lips sought hers. It was a brief, cool caress, but when Aldeborough lifted his head there was an arrested expression on his face. Frances had steeled herself against his kiss, but was now aware that his grasp showed no intention of loosening. She drew in a breath to object, but before she could do so Aldeborough placed his hand gently across her lips and shook his head.

‘I must request your pardon if you are displeased. Are you displeased, Frances Rosalind? It seemed to me that we should seal our agreement in a more … ah … intimate manner, even if it is to be a marriage of convenience. What do you say?’

Frances was unable to say anything coherent or sensible and was overcome with a sudden anger both at Aldeborough’s presumption and her own inability to respond with a satisfactory reply that would leave him in no doubt of her opinion of men who forced themselves on defenceless women, even if they had just agreed to marry them.

‘Let me go!’ was all that she could manage and thrust at his shoulders with her hands as she remembered the humiliation of his embrace in the coach. It was to no avail. Her confusion obviously amused Aldeborough for he laughed, tightened his hold further and bent his head to kiss her once more. But this was different. Aldeborough’s mouth was demanding and urgent, melting the resistance in Frances’s blood whether she wished it or not. It was as if he was determined to extract some reaction from her beyond her previous reluctant acceptance. And she was horrified at his success. Her instinct was to resist him with all her strength, but she was far too aware of the lean hardness of his body against hers beneath the thin lawn of his shirt. His hands caressed her hair, her shoulders, sweeping down her back to her waist. Her lips opened beneath the insistent pressure of his and she found herself responding to a surge of emotion, a lick of flame that warmed her skin and spread through every limb. Her hands seemed to move of their own accord, to grasp his shoulders more tightly rather than to push against them … when suddenly she was free. As quickly as Aldeborough had taken possession of her he released her and stepped away.

Frances was left standing alone in a space, feeling strangely bereft and unsure of what to say or do next. Her mind was overwhelmed by the enormity of what she had just done. Could she really have agreed to marry this man against all her previous intentions and heart searching? She felt a chill tremor touch her spine at the prospect. Of course there would be advantages—she knew that. It would remove her finally and irrevocably from her uncle’s authority and without a stain on her reputation. Comfort and luxury would be hers for the asking with a guaranteed entrée into fashionable society. But Marchioness of Aldeborough? She pressed a hand to her lips to suppress a bubble of hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt at the unlikely prospect. And what on earth would his family think? It was all very well for him to deny any difficulty, with typical male arrogance, but she would have to face a mother-in-law who would doubtless see her as a common upstart who had wilfully trapped her son into a disastrous marriage.

A marriage of convenience, he had implied. Very well. He was driven by an impeccable impulse to protect her—as well as the desire for an heir. But she could not quite banish from her mind the leap of fire in her blood when he had kissed her, touched her. It might be a mere legal formality for him, but she was suddenly afraid of her own response. It would be better if she never allowed him to see the effect of his devastating smile on her heart or his elegant hands on her skin. She must never forget that it was duty and honour which drove him, whatever her own feelings might be.

She received no help as she stood, lost in her deliberations. Aldeborough merely stood and watched her quizzically, a faint smile on his lips.

‘I think I should tell you that my uncle will not give his permission for our marriage,’ she managed eventually in a surprisingly calm voice. ‘Will that present us with a problem?’

‘A special licence will solve the matter,’ the Marquis stated, chillingly dismissive. ‘We claim to have a bishop in the family so we may as well make use of him. It can all be arranged discreetly and quickly.’

‘Thank you.’ She swallowed at her presumption. ‘There is just one thing.’

‘What now, Miss Hanwell? You are very difficult to please, but I am sure it will not be an insurmountable problem.’

‘You are laughing at me, my lord. I wish you would not,’ Frances exclaimed crossly. ‘It is just that I will not marry you in this dress.’

‘Then I must do something about it, mustn’t I?’

Frances blinked at the casual acceptance of her demand.

‘I shall need to leave you for a few days to make arrangements,’ he continued. ‘I must ask you to promise that you will not try to run away again.’

‘Or?’ She could not resist the challenge to the implied threat.

‘Or I might have to lock you in your room until I return.’ Frances was left under no illusion that he would do exactly as he said.

‘It is not necessary.’ She sighed, with resignation to a stronger force. ‘I will marry you. I will not run away.’

‘Thank you.’ He tossed off the rest of the brandy in his glass. ‘I am relieved. Go to bed, Miss Hanwell. It has proved to be a long and tiring day, for both of us!’