She felt a coldness invading her. If he knew her . . .
She did not want to follow the thought to its logical conclusion. She took a step to one side and tried to decide which direction to take. Confused by fear she hesitated, not sure which way to go. But his next words galvanised her into action. His perplexed look disappeared and his face cleared. ‘Miss Delaware!’ he said.
He knew her! And if he knew her, he would surely try and return her to her uncle.
Turning round, she fled down the street. As she hurried along she looked anxiously to either side, trying to decide which would be the safest way to go. The main thoroughfares were dangerous, as she had just discovered, and she decided to take a side alley instead. It was poorly lit and it was unlikely to encourage drunken revellers. Once she had turned into the alley, however, her footsteps began to slow. She went more cautiously, already beginning to think she had made a mistake. She went more slowly still. She could see something at the bottom of the alley. Something or someone. No, a group of someones. Ragged men, seemingly engaged in some sort of transaction. She backed away, but not before they had seen her. She looked at them, mesmerised, for a moment, and then turned and ran back the way she had come.
Footsteps came after her. They were following her! Would she reach the main thoroughfare before she was caught? Yes, she - And then suddenly her heart gave a lurch. Her way out of the alley was blocked. Standing there in the lamplight was the man with the scar, the man who had kissed her.
How could she have been so blind! She should have recognised him at once! It was Philip Rochdale, the Earl of Pemberton!
She stopped in her tracks. She had a fleeting memory of their introduction at Lady Appleton’s ball some months before; and then a grunt behind her reminded her of the danger she was in and she ran on. Caught between two dangers she chose to face the one in front of her rather than the worse one behind.
As she came to a stop in front of the Earl she saw that a hackney carriage was drawn up at the side of the road. The horse was fretting and stamping its feet. ‘Get in!’ he said, taking control of the situation. He took hold of her arm and thrust her inside, following her in one lithe movement and closing the door in the face of the three villains who cursed and hammered on the side of the carriage.
The driver gave a shout and the hackney carriage pulled away.
Madeline watched, terrified, as the three men dwindled into the distance and then turned her attention, scarcely any less terrified, to the man who was sitting across from her in the carriage.
Her first impression was of strength. His face was harsh and hawk-like, his sharply-defined cheekbones giving definite angles to his face. His jaw was craggy and his scar cut across his cheek like a seam in a rock.
Even so . . . even so, although his appearance was hard, her heart was starting to slow of its own accord and her panic was beginning to subside. He may look intimidating, and he may carry with him an aura of power, but somehow it was not the same aura that surrounded her uncle. The Earl seemed dangerous, yes, but not wilful or cruel.
She felt some of the tension leave her.
Warily, she began to take him in more closely. He was a little over six feet tall, she guessed, with broad shoulders, appearing broader for the moment because of his many-caped greatcoat. It did not have the profusion of capes that marked the dandy, but nevertheless it marked him out as a man of consequence. Beneath it she glimpsed a coat of blue superfine, a restrained waistcoat and a patch of snowy linen, with cream breeches stretched tight over firm legs. His black leather boots, with their tops turned over, were coated with dust, as befitted a man of action rather than fashion.
As her eyes returned to his face she saw that his amber eyes were looking at her appraisingly.
With what she hoped appeared to be calmness, Madeline returned his gaze. As he made no sudden moves, and as he showed no further inclination to kiss her, she allowed herself to relax a little more, but even so she settled herself right back against the squabs in an effort to stay as far away from him as possible.
She half expected him to say something, but he remained silent. His penetrating eyes watched her thoughtfully.
Was he sure of her identity, Madeline wondered? Or had it just been a guess? She hoped it was the latter.
‘So, Miss Delaware,’ he said at last. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you are doing on the streets without a chaperon, alone and unprotected?’
Hearing him utter her name for a second time, Madeline felt her heart begin to beat more rapidly. She looked about her, feeling her fear beginning to rise again, but there was no way out of the carriage. Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to calm down. When she felt in control of herself again she said coolly, ‘You are mistaken, sir. I am not Miss Delaware, nor do I know anyone of that name.’ If he knew who she was he would undoubtedly return her to her uncle, but if she could just convince him that he was mistaken, that she was what she appeared to be, a woman of dubious morals who happened to bear a passing resemblance to Madeline Delaware, then she may yet be safe. ‘I am Miss . . . ’ She had been going to say Smith, but it was too obviously contrived. The carriage was at that moment passing a row of shops, and the name of one of them caught her eye. ‘Miller.’
He looked at her steadily for a minute. ‘Is that so?’ he asked with a lift of his eyebrows.
She swallowed, but met his gaze. ‘Yes.’
For a moment their eyes locked, and she had the unnerving feeling that he was recalling the rumours that were circulating about Gareth Delaware and his treatment of his niece.
‘If you can bring yourself to trust me, Miss Delaware, I may be able to help you,’ he said.
Madeline pressed herself back against the squabs. Trust him? A man? Never.
‘It was at Lady Appleton’s ball that we were introduced, was it not?’ he asked softly.
Her heart jumped. ‘You are mistake— ‘ But suddenly there seemed no use denying it. He had not only remembered who she was, he had even remembered where they had met. Her voice fell. ‘I . . . yes, I believe it was.’
Surprisingly, his face softened and he smiled. But despite this, she still she did not trust him. Because now that he knew who she was, what was he going to do with the information?
‘You said - you said you may be able to help me?’ she asked him cautiously.
The carriage began to slow. She glanced out of the window and saw they were pulling up in front of a large town house. It was an imposing residence, with iron railings separating it from the pavement. A short flight of steps led up to a magnificent porticoed entrance.
The carriage stopped. Without answering her question Lord Pemberton climbed out. He went round to her side of the carriage and handed her out. Her skin tingled as he touched her, and she pulled her hand away, confused. Why did she tingle when he touched her? she wondered. And why had she felt so strange when he had kissed her?
Lord Pemberton gave no indication that he had noticed anything unusual, however. He guided her up the steps that led to the front door. Their way was lit by two flambeaux, one on each side of the door.
Madeline hesitated. Should she really go into the house with him? It was dangerous. She turned and looked down the street. Unconsciously she shook her head. Going into the house may be dangerous, but wandering the streets was even more so. And as for going back to her uncle . . .
She took a deep breath, and went into the house.
Chapter Two
‘Why, Lord Pemberton –’ The motherly housekeeper stopped mid-sentence as, coming from the back of the house, she caught sight of Madeline.
‘Ah, Mrs Green,’ said Philip. ‘Miss . . . Miller has met with an unfortunate accident. She was separated from her party on the way to the theatre and was then set upon by a group of footpads, who amused themselves by reducing her to the state you see her in now. Be so good as to show her upstairs, and provide her with the means of washing and a decent gown.’ He looked at Madeline judiciously. ‘Miss Emma’s
dresses should fit her well enough, at least for the present,’ he said.
‘Very good, my lord,’ said Mrs Green, rather dubiously. But if she wondered what was the true explanation of Madeline’s presence she did not wonder aloud, for Lord Pemberton was her master and it was her job to serve him, not to speculate on the nature of his guests. ‘If you’ll follow me, miss,’ she said to Madeline.
‘Go ahead,’ said Philip as he saw Madeline hesitate. ‘We’ll talk again once you’ve changed your gown.’
‘Oh, I had almost forgotten, my lord,’ said Mrs Green, turning round as she began to conduct Madeline up the stairs, ‘Mr Fellows is here. Crump has shown him into the library.’
‘Mr Fellows?’ asked Philip in surprise. ‘How long has he been here?’
‘Not long, my lord. He arrived barely five minutes ago.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Green.’
What brings Jason here? he wondered, as Mrs Green disappeared up the stairs with Madeline in her wake.
At that moment Jason Fellows himself appeared from the back of the house.
He was a good-humoured gentleman with a pleasing countenance, and at this moment his face wore a grin. ‘I didn’t realise you had company,’ he said as he caught sight of Madeline following Mrs Green upstairs. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll show myself out!’
‘It isn’t what it seems,’ said Philip. He removed his greatcoat and steered Jason back towards the library.
‘No?’ Jason sounded incredulous.
‘No.’ The two men went through into the library. ‘Drink?’ Philip asked, as he took the stopper out of a decanter which was placed on a small table by the fireplace.
Jason settled himself down in a wing-backed chair. ‘I don’t mind if I do.’
Philip poured them both a drink and then, flicking the tails of his coat behind him, he sat down opposite Jason, on the other side of the fireplace.
The two men had met at university but on leaving their paths had diverged. Jason now had the soft features and almost boyish manner of a man about town, whilst Philip had the hardened look of a soldier, a man who had spent his adult life on the continent, and most of it on the battlefield. It wasn’t just his naturally hawk-like features that gave him such a strong presence, nor his lean, firm-muscled body; it was something about his air. There was an alertness about him, a strength and litheness, that Jason did not have.
‘So, what brings you here?’ asked Philip. He took a drink from his glass and then put it down on the table beside him as he settled himself more comfortably in his chair.
‘I was just passing, on my way to the club,’ said Jason. ‘I thought I’d call in and see how you’d got on with your lawyers.’
Philip shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected. Mr Murgo, that is, Mr Murgo the elder, told me exactly what he’s been telling me since my father died: that the will is watertight and there’s no way round it; that although I inherited the title and the Stonecrop estate when my father died last year, I won’t inherit the Rochdale fortune until I’ve been married for six months.’
‘But that isn’t a problem,’ said Jason.
‘No,’ Philip agreed. ‘I fully intend to marry. I may not have had my father’s good luck in finding a woman I can love, but at thirty-four I know I must go ahead and marry anyway, to provide an heir for the estate.’
‘It’s just a shame your father took a dislike to your chosen bride,’ said Jason.
Philip nodded. ‘It is.’
‘Even so,’ said Jason, ‘I never realised your father’s dislike of Letitia went so deep. I didn’t think he’d put a clause into his will to try and stop you marrying her. Who would have thought he’d make it a condition of his will that you must be married for six months before you can inherit the fortune? And who would have thought he’d stipulate that you can’t inherit the fortune even then if you marry Letitia? He’s all but made it impossible for you to go through with it. And yet she comes from an old, if untitled, family. And if she doesn’t have a fortune, well, the Rochdale fortune is big enough for two.’
Philip was thoughtful. ‘I know. But my father took against her. He thought she was selfish, shallow and vain –’
‘Which she is,’ interrupted Jason.
Philip nodded. ‘Which she is. But she is also capable and undemanding, at least in any personal way. I tried to explain as much to my father but he was deaf to my arguments, even though he knew I needed an heir and that Letitia was the most suitable bride I could find.’
‘He thought you should marry for love, as he did,’ said Jason.
‘Believe me, nothing would have pleased me better,’ said Philip. ‘But I was not as lucky as he was. I never fell in love. Still, life goes on. I must marry. My nurseries need filling and I need a countess to run the Manor whilst I look after the estate.’
‘You’re still determined to marry Letitia, then? You don’t think, in the light of your father’s will, it might be easier to find someone else?’
Philip sighed. ‘I’ve tried. But a year on the marriage mart has convinced me there is no one else I can bring myself to take to wife. If I was a young man, if I was twenty-two or three, then I’d choose a débutante, but I can no longer abide their idle chatter. My years in the army have changed me; hardened me; and if I have to listen to the merits of muslin over sarsenet at the breakfast table for the rest of my life I’ll end up in a madhouse!’ he said with a wry smile.
‘Come now!’ said Jason, laughing heartily. ‘That’s not fair! There must be any number of charming young ladies who can converse intelligently on things beside the latest fashions - art and music, for example.’
Philip groaned. ‘Even worse!’
‘Well, why not choose a more mature woman, then?’ asked Jason.
‘More mature?’ Philip lifted his eyebrows. ‘In my experience ladies get older, but not more mature.’
‘You’re thinking of Mrs Hardcastle,’ smiled Jason. He thought of the wealthy widow who had pursued Philip relentlessly for the last six months, flirting girlishly with him whenever she met him – no mean feat, considering that she was over forty years old!
Philip laughed. ‘I must admit she sprang to mind! But seriously, Letitia’s the only woman I’ve ever felt I could marry. She may not be what I’d once hoped for from a wife, but at least she understands the situation and knows the sort of life I am offering her. She is not a young girl who will expect me to fall in love with her and then be hurt when I can’t, nor yet an older woman who may not be able to give me an heir. At twenty-seven she is as close as I am going to get to a suitable match: old enough to be realistic about the sort of life she will have with me, young enough to fill the Stonecrop nurseries - and shallow enough to believe that marrying an Earl is preferable to marrying for love; if she even has the ability to love, which I very much doubt. Added to that, she’s experienced at running a country house and will take a lot of the day-to-day cares off my hands, leaving me free to manage the estate. It isn’t what I’d once hoped for from marriage, but under the circumstances. . . ’ He shrugged. ‘ . . . it’s the best solution.’
‘Then all you need is to find a way round your father’s will.’ Jason took a sip of his drink and then put his glass down on a pie-crust table. He pondered the problem of the old Earl’s will. ‘Mr Murgo could offer you no hope, you say? I must admit, it’s a thorny problem.’
Philip stretched out his legs and crossed his booted ankles. ‘Old Mr Murgo couldn’t, no. But the youngest Mr Murgo could.’
‘Ah!’ Jason nodded in satisfaction. ‘So it’s good news at last.’
‘He didn’t want to say so in front of his father and grandfather because his suggestion was – unusual,’ said Philip. ‘I have a feeling that young Mr Murgo will go far!’
‘Unusual?’
‘Yes. Unusual, and rather unorthodox, which is why he didn’t want his father and grandfather to know about it. He followed me out of the office when I was leaving and asked me to meet him later for a mug of ale, in a disrep
utable tavern in a poor part of town; one he knew his father and grandfather would not visit.’
‘You agreed, of course,’ said Jason.
‘Of course.’
‘And what was his idea?’ Jason asked.
‘His idea was, that if I arrange a temporary marriage with a willing young woman - someone who isn’t Letitia - then at the end of the six months I will inherit my fortune.’
‘Go on,’ said Jason.
‘After that, there will be nothing to stop me getting an annulment,’
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Jason. ‘As long as the marriage isn’t consummated, then you will be able to have it annulled!’
‘And then,’ said Philip, ‘once it’s been annulled, I can compensate my temporary bride for her time and her trouble - she will need some inducement to go along with the idea, after all - and go on to marry Letitia.’
‘With the fortune already in your hands! By George!’ said Jason, sitting up sharply. ‘Young Mr Murgo’s right. What a plan! He’s a genius.’ Then said, with a whistle. ‘But it’s no wonder he didn’t want his father to hear about it.’
Philip nodded. ‘No. It is rather a . . . creative . . . solution to the problem.’
‘And?’ asked Jason. ‘Are you going to go through with it?’
‘I thought not, to begin with. After all, where would I find a young lady I would want to take to the Manor and treat as my wife, even it was only for six months? The sort of person I would be able to hire to play such a part would not be the sort of person I would want to inflict on my friends and neighbours, even as my temporary countess.’
‘Would you have to take her to the Manor? Couldn’t you stay in London for six months? Or bury yourself at a seaside resort?’
‘No. The marriage would have to seem genuine, and as my love for the Manor is well known it would not seem convincing if I stayed away for long. And besides, I can’t stay away: there is too much that needs my attention in Yorkshire.’
The Six-Month Marriage Page 2
