Wicked With the Scoundrel

by Elizabeth Bright

  She was no longer a child. But then, she hadn’t been a child yesterday, either. Her earlier panic faded, leaving behind a pleasant, sated drowsiness.

  And then Colin said, “When did you last have your courses?”

  “Almost a month ago.” She answered without hesitation, so startled was she by the question.

  He nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Then we will know soon. I meant to withdraw. To protect you from— Christ, I’m an arse.”

  He had been so calm and steady when he had cared for her and seen to her comfort. Now their roles had reversed, and he looked every bit as panicked and lost as she had upon awakening in his arms. And why shouldn’t he be? Her life was not the only thing balanced on that precipice.

  Of course he was afraid.

  But she was not. They would go over the edge together, but they wouldn’t fall. They would soar.

  By the look on his face, he had not yet reached that conclusion. She was horribly afraid he was about to ruin this moment with words like “duty” and “obligation.” She didn’t want to hear those words. She didn’t want the foundation of their lives together to be anything but love.

  “God, how could I have been so careless?” he berated himself bitterly. “You could be—”

  “Call me ruined and I will bite you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. His lips twitched. “Bite me, would you? Perhaps we best not risk it, then. No one knows yet that we’ve found the treasure. We could make a run for Gretna Green.”

  Her eyes widened. “Elope? You cannot be serious. If we marry, we’ll do so in London, or at my father’s estate in Kent.”

  He gaped at her as if she had suggested the wedding should take place on the moon. “Your father would never allow it. He would never permit you to marry me.”

  Claire gave him a sympathetic look. Poor man! He clearly had not entirely grasped the enormity of what had happened. “An hour ago, that would be true. But an hour ago you had not found Scipio’s Treasure and the Cleopatra Emerald. Now you are a very wealthy and famous explorer. Or you will be, once it is published in the papers. Of course he will allow us to marry.”

  Colin regarded her carefully. “And you…you would agree to this?”

  “Darling.” With a sigh, she rose to her feet and went to him. She twined her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his.

  “I want an answer.” He glowered fiercely at her, as he always did when he thought she was being foolish.

  She brushed aside the lock of golden-brown hair that fell across his eye. “I am not going to answer you now, because you are not going to ask. Don’t ask me when you think we have no choice. Ask me when the whole world is open to you, and you still choose me.”

  “Claire.” He rested his forehead against hers.

  She pressed her fingertips to his lips, silencing him. “Please. Just wait a few days, or even a week. Determine your fortune. Then come to me, if you still wish to.”

  His eyes searched her face for the truth of her feelings. Satisfied, he gave her a brisk nod. Then he wrapped his arms about her waist and kissed her deeply. She clung to him, wanting, craving, hoping.

  Loving.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Colin had left Bath with a sum of one hundred pounds to his name and returned four days later with one hundred thousand. Less Chatwell’s share—which the marquess promptly added to Claire’s dowry, thus ensuring every fortune-hunter from England to Russia would be arriving on her doorstep within the fortnight.

  Colin was now fifty thousand pounds richer.

  It was beyond his wildest imaginings. He could buy his own ship, employ his own crew, fund his own exploration of Egypt. He could probably buy his own pyramid if he wanted to. Claire had been right. The whole world was open to him now. He only had to reach for it and it was his.

  She could be his.

  Wonderful, terrifying thought.

  He had not dallied in London, but returned to Bath straight away. Wait until the whole world is open to you, she had said, but he could wait no longer. He did not care if the money opened the door to Paradise, so long as it opened Chatwell’s as well. He had his doubts, despite Claire’s assurances to the contrary. Money was currency in Colin’s world, but blood was what mattered most in theirs.

  Colin paused outside the marquess’s home. If he’d had his way, he and Claire would be already married in Scotland at this very moment. He was of the opinion that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, yet now he was here to do both. Very likely, the marquess would toss him out on his ear.

  But for Claire, he would do this. She loved her father and would not like to part from him on ill terms. Colin could be reasonable about this to keep her happy. He could present himself as a gentleman would and make the necessary arrangements man to man.

  And if that didn’t work, he would toss her over his shoulder and carry her off bodily, his lordship be damned.

  He knocked.

  The butler allowed him to enter and showed him to the drawing room. Colin had only a moment to collect his thoughts before Chatwell appeared.

  “I’ve been expecting you!” The marquess acknowledged Colin’s bow with a wave of his hand. “Sit down, sit down.”

  Colin sat. He shifted his parcel to his lap and reached into his jacket. “I’ve brought a letter from your man of business. Your part of the payment was dealt with per your requirements.”

  Chatwell took the letter and scanned it briefly. “Excellent, indeed.”

  Colin shifted on the silk-embroidered chair and cleared his throat, which suddenly felt dry as the desert. “There is another matter I wish to discuss.”

  “You are referring to our bargain, eh, Mr. Smith? You would ensure my daughter’s safety on her adventure, and in return I would fund your enterprise in Egypt. You have upheld your end of the deal quite handily, I must say.”

  No, he had not. He had not kept Claire safe. He had, in fact, quite thoroughly debauched her. Neither was he the least bit sorry, although it made conversation with her father rather uncomfortable. Colin studied the carpet but found no respite in the disparaging countenance of a fat cherub. Like most things about the ton, their taste in furnishings was quite baffling. Who wanted an angel underfoot?

  “Things did not work out exactly as we planned. I will not hold you to our bargain.”

  Chatwell wagged a finger. “You don’t mean to cut me out, do you? You no longer need my backing, but surely, money between friends is a welcome thing. I want to invest.”

  “You would be unlikely to see a return of those funds, much less an increase, for several years,” Colin warned. “Egypt is a risky venture.”

  “Piffle.” The marquess waved away Colin’s caution with a swipe of his hand. “I don’t care about the money, Mr. Smith. I care about the discovery.”

  How very like his daughter he was! “In that case, perhaps we can come to a new understanding.” Colin reached down to gather the packages at his feet. “But first, here are your jewels that we buried at Scipio’s ruins.”

  “I had quite forgotten.” Chatwell took the package and then, to Colin’s bemusement, tossed it carelessly aside. Again, just like his daughter.

  Colin doubted he would ever be able to treat money so lightly, even if he discovered a dozen more treasures.

  “What is the other package?” the marquess asked.

  “A gift.” He watched Chatwell remove the brown paper and unroll the linen. “You have heard of the Egyptian mummies, of course. It wasn’t just people, but also animals, like this cat. We don’t know why they chose this burial practice, but perhaps soon we will, when the Rosetta Stone is fully translated. I thought you might like it.”

  “I do, indeed.” Chatwell regarded the cat mummy for a long moment, twisting it this way and that to study it from all angles. Finally, with a happy sigh, he set it gently on the table, with much more care than he had dispatched the jewels. “All right then, Mr. Smith. I suppose you ought to say what you ca
me here to say.”

  “I would like to marry your daughter, my lord.”

  “Ah.” The marquess steepled his hands over his belly. “My answer is no.”

  “I did not ask a question.”

  There was a long pause. Chatwell furrowed his brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  Colin was done for now. The marquess would have him hogtied and thrown aboard the next ship bound for Australia. Colin stood—the better to make his escape, should the need become immediate—and the marquess slowly rose to his feet, as well.

  “I did not ask a question.” Colin’s voice was quiet, but firm. “With all due respect, my lord, Lady Claire is of age, and I now have the means to support her. I am neither asking for your permission nor your money. I am going to marry your daughter, if she chooses to have me.”

  Chatwell glanced from Colin to the mummy and back again. “Men who come bearing gifts do so for a reason. You must want something that you believe is mine to give.”

  “Only that you continue to welcome her as your daughter. If you are angry, let me bear the worst of it. She has done nothing wrong.”

  The marquess tilted his head and gave him a speculative look. “I assure you, it would never be otherwise.”

  Colin grinned. He rather liked Claire’s father.

  “Go on, then,” Chatwell said gruffly. He nodded his head toward the door. “She’s waiting for you in the library.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Claire was, indeed, in the library. Colin paused at the door and watched her. She was wearing a frock the color of a summer sky. It suited her. She looked lovely.

  She also looked unhappy.

  His heart gave a heavy thump against his ribs. Why was she unhappy? Wait, she had told him. Perhaps he had waited too long? Although it was not his fault that the carriage had required a stop and a new wheel. Or perhaps she had not really wanted him to wait, despite her arguments. He ought to have assured her of his love then, in that cave where they had given themselves up to passion.

  Christ. He had bungled it.

  She noticed him then and smiled in greeting. Her eyes still looked anxious, but she seemed at least somewhat happy to see him.

  As she always was. He did not doubt her regard for him. She had shown plainly from the moment of their first meeting that she was attracted to him. Neither could he claim ignorance when the attraction had turned to something deeper.

  She liked him. He was sure of it. Perhaps she even loved him, although it had not escaped his notice that she had never admitted those feelings out loud.

  Not that love mattered so very much in her world. The daughter of a marquess did not marry for love.

  “Colin,” she said. “You’re here.”

  He bowed instead of taking her in his arms as he wanted. He closed the door halfway—not enough to raise alarm, but enough that they might have a private conversation. “Of course I’m here. You didn’t think I would stay away, did you?”

  “No.” Her lips turned slightly upward, and she shook her head. “I hadn’t expected you to return so soon. I thought you might visit your mother first.”

  “I left something behind in Bath that could not wait. I’ll go to her tomorrow.” He sighed. Truth be told, he was exhausted. He’d spent most of the last fortnight in one carriage or other. Of course he wanted to fetch his mother out of her small house and give her everything she deserved, but he also wanted to find a bed—preferably with Claire—and never leave it.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she smiled again. “Well, I am glad you’re here.”

  Thank God for that, at least.

  She sat with a swish of silk. “I have been making a list.”

  “Oh?” He felt the tension ease from his shoulders somewhat. It was such a Claire-like thing to do. Everything was a list for her. He took the chair opposite hers and looked at her expectantly.

  “You won’t mind if I speak plainly?”

  He shook his head, smiling.

  “Good.” She rubbed her hands against her skirt. Was she nervous? “First, my person. I will never be the subject of excessive attention. I am neither beautiful nor ugly. I am simply a commonplace pretty-ish.”

  “Why the devil would you say that?” he growled, completely forgetting that he had once thought the same thing. He would rather look at her face than a whole heap of emeralds. That was much more than pretty-ish.

  “Riya is very lovely, and she said there were times you insisted she remain locked in her room on the voyage from Egypt.”

  He stared at Claire, perplexed. He had done that, not because of Riya’s excessive beauty, but because of one seaman’s excessive regard for his own prick, regardless of what a woman might feel about it. But what did Riya have to do with anything now?

  But Claire was charging forward. “Item two. My father. He values my happiness. Therefore, I may pick my own husband without fear. Within reason, of course.”

  “Of course,” Colin repeated blankly.

  “Item three. My money. I have quite a lot of it, you realize.” Her gaze lowered. “Your discovery of Scipio’s treasure will bring you fame and some fortune, but your ventures in Egypt and India are expensive and risky.”

  Suddenly, he understood. Her list was reasons why they should not marry. She liked him, but not well enough to overcome the difficulties of their marriage. He tilted his head and contemplated her.

  He had waited too long, it appeared.

  Too bad. He only had one good card, and he played it without remorse. “You might be carrying my child.”

  “Oh! That would be terribly inconvenient.” Her gaze skirted to the partially opened door. Her voice lowered. “I met a Romani woman once who carried her baby everywhere in a sling on her back. It was very pretty, a bright red pattern that matched her dress.”

  “Claire.”

  “Right.” She leaned forward eagerly. “My point is that it would be ridiculous to push a pram across the desert, but prams are not necessary.”

  His bafflement increased tenfold. This conversation was not going at all to plan.

  “And that is why we should marry.” She smoothed her skirts.

  He was so surprised by her pronouncement that all he could muster was a startled, “What?”

  “You will not have to lock me in my room, my father will not protest too much, my dowry will make us comfortable, and I am quite determined.” She ticked off each statement with a finger. “Therefore, we should marry.”

  He blinked slowly and then blinked again. He looked about the room, searching for signs that this was all a dream. But no, he was here, in the Marquess of Chatwell’s library, and Lady Claire, the granddaughter of a duke, was proposing she marry the bastard son of a lady’s maid. He shook his head in wonderment.

  “Do you know,” he murmured, “I also made a list.”

  She eyed him warily. “Oh?”

  “Yes. It is the opposite of yours in nearly every way. And yet, I came to the same conclusion.”

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  “Would you like to hear it?” he asked.

  “Yes. Very much.”

  “Item one. You are beautiful. Especially when you are naked.” He glanced at her and had the satisfaction of watching her pink cheeks darken to a deep rose color. “Item two. Hang your father. I don’t care what he thinks, because I think you would be happy with me. Item three. You don’t care a fig about money, outside of necessities. Item four. I am very determined.”

  She came to him in a rush of silk and kisses, the force of which would have knocked him over if he had not been seated. He returned her affection enthusiastically, although he remained sensible to the open door.

  “Love,” he said against her mouth.

  She went very still. “Yes?”

  “We will marry and be very happy. But you will not,” he said sternly, “not ever, carry our baby on your back through the Sahara.”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes. It occurred to him that Claire of
ten made that little humming sound when she had her own thoughts on a matter, and that those thoughts were the opposite of what a sensible lady would think.

  “I won’t if it’s not necessary,” she said.

  He sighed. He wasn’t going to argue the point now, not when they had only just become engaged. He didn’t know if there would even be a baby to carry. Best worry about that when it was a certainty rather than merely a possibility.

  “You will tell me.” He caught her chin between his thumb and fingers and searched her face. “The moment you have your courses, or if you suspect—even the smallest notion—that you are with child. You will tell me.”

  She nodded. “I will tell you.”

  He would be satisfied with that. “I’ve spoken to your father. He—” Colin hesitated. “He wasn’t joyful at the news I would marry his daughter, but he won’t stand in our way. What will your mother think?”

  “My mother?” Claire straightened, and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Marchioness of Chatwell was not, of usual, an emotional woman, but just now she was working herself into a state that Claire could only call hysterical.

  Claire watched with fascination as her mother paced the length of the room, raised her fists to the ceiling, and wailed.

  “What have I done to deserve such a daughter?” she demanded of the crown molding.

  The crown molding did not answer.

  “It will be all right, Mother,” Claire said soothingly. “You’ll see.”

  “No.” Her mother whirled to face her. “I will be all right. Your father will be all right. But you, my daughter, will be miserable. Do you not see? Do you not understand? You will not be welcome in a peer’s home. He is not one of us.”

  But his father is one of us, damnably so, some wicked, rebellious part of Claire whispered defiantly. She sighed. The trouble with remembering everything was the inevitability of patterns. Over the course of her lifetime, she had met thousands of people and could say with certainty that there was no connection between gentle birth and good behavior. Some of the peerage behaved well, others did not. Some servants behaved well, others did not.