by Dara Joy
“It is shocking.” She wiggled her rump on the chilly stone bench.
“Cold? Here sit on my lap, ‘tis warmer than that hard stone.”
So saying the rake effortlessly lifted her onto his lap. He then placed a proprietary hand at her waist, spanning almost half her midriff. The heat of his palm burned through the thin cotton of her chemise and corset.
Inwardly, Ginny fumed at his presumption, but outwardly she just stared at him, rather dumbly. This marriage of convenience might be the only answer for her. She could be free of Jediah and go about her business. But what of her parent’s estate? She would have to think about this carefully; his proposal did have some merit.
Nevertheless, she did not like being so close to such a notorious rake. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement whenever he looked at her made her feel odd. And the man was so wretchedly handsome. It didn’t seem to be quite fair.
Tapping down her qualms, she surreptitiously removed the offending hand at her waist, saying, “Thank you for your kindness, my lord. Your lap is softer than stone, too.”
Not for long, Tyler acknowledged as she wriggled to get more comfortable. Kindness was not exactly a motive he was known for, either. And yet, he was rather famous for knowing the right maneuver to win his objective.
In a seemingly unconscious move, he firmly replaced his hand at her waist. “Why don’t you call me Tyler, since we soon shall be husband and wife?”
He picked up her braid and gently draped it over her right shoulder. It was a style he had seen the women of an exotic country wear and he rather liked the saucy look.
It certainly fit her, he surmised, having taken her measure quite accurately.
Ginny was piqued at his overly familiar gesture.
And why was that annoying hand at her waist again?
Smile, she told herself. Just smile stupidly at the man.
“Not so fast, good Lord Devon. You have not told me all I wish to hear.”
Speaking softly into her ear, he whispered, “I will tell you anything you wish to hear.” His thumb idly traced a path along the curve of her breast, indicating an entirely different promise.
A worry line furrowed Ginny’s forehead as a shiver skirted down her spine. Does the man know he’s doing that? Should I say something? What would I say–
your thumb is annoying me?
Annoying wasn’t exactly the right word.
Ginny thought it best to ignore it for the time being. “About the heir, my lord?” she prodded.
“Yes, the heir.” Tyler’s lashes swept down over his eyes. “I shouldn’t worry about an heir.”
By her relieved expression, she seemed to accept his statement at face value. He had successfully hooked her–
now it was time to reel the marlin aboard. “I understand that your uncle has an appetite for your fortune. He has made an agreement with my grandfather to retain control of your estate after the marriage.”
Her shoulders sagged. “That is true.”
“But there is one thing they have forgotten. I have signed nothing. I will gladly turn over your fortune and estate to you on your twenty-first birthday if you agree to my proposal. Consider it my gift to you in exchange for our bargain.”
Ginny’s smile was brilliant. “Can you do that, Lord Devon?”
The rogue smiled back. “Hadn’t you heard? I do anything I choose.” He winked at her.
Ginny grinned from ear to ear. “Then you most certainly have a deal, Lord Devon.”
“Do call me, Tyler,” he whispered close to the raspberry lips that would soon belong to him.
He hadn’t started out the day hunting treasure; but since he had come upon one he knew enough not to let it go.
* * *
Completely satisfied, they each thought they had the situation well in hand.
Chapter Seven
“Ye did wot?”
Mabel was having an apoplectic fit. “Ye spoke with the man in yer undergarments? Are ye daft?” Her bulky figure paced the bedroom, arms thrown wide.
Lord Devon had given Ginny a hoist into the tree after she had convinced him she could negotiate safely back into her bedroom. If his broad palm lingered too long on her backside as he assisted her... Well, it was probably due to concern for her safety.
“Calm down, Mabel. Don’t you see? It couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it myself.”
From Mabel’s expression, it was apparent she didn’t ‘see’. Ginny pressed on. “Lord Devon and I have agreed.
We’ve struck a bargain. He wants his freedom as much as I do so we’re to get married in name only.”
“Are ye tellin’ me the rake seen ye in yer unmentionables and told ye he wouldna’ touch ye?”
Mabel lifted a craggy eyebrow. “Was ye born yesterday?
And him being the rogue he is!”
Ginny waved her concerns away. “I’m telling you, he isn’t interested. He only wants his freedom. Why, the man was like clay in my hands.”
“Hmph! I’m thinking he just wants to be in yer hands, period.”
Ginny was scandalized. “Mabel Dooley!”
The older woman squinted her eyes at Ginny.
“And wot does his Lordship give ye in return fer leaving ye alone. As if that makes sense to a sane body.”
“Only my inheritance when I reach my majority.
At last I shall be free from Uncle Jediah.”
Mabel shook her head in exasperation. “Now, Regina Thomlinson, ye’ve cooked up some harebrained schemes in the past, but this is beyond all. And ye did it by yer onesome without yer lamebrained cousin adding his skewered bit t’ the stewpot! Mark my words, girl– yer in fer it.”
“Don’t be silly. What could possibly go wrong?”
Mabel gave her a look of total disbelief. “Be tellin’
me, Ginny,“ she drawled slyly. “Is he as handsome as wot they say?”
Ginny flushed. She nervously shoved a stray lock of hair out of her face. “I– I suppose he isn’t too hard on the eyes.”
Mabel eyed her knowingly. The rake had already gotten to her and the girl didn’t even know it. Well now, this was intriguing... Her Ginny had never shown a wit o’ interest in any man, swearin’ she’d never get shackled.
Now here she was, having been in the rakehell’s presence only a short time, already agreeing to marriage, and heaven-knew-what-else.
Mabel decided she had to meet this Lord Devon.
Anyone who could talk her ladyship around the bend must have a bright candle in the belfry. She had her suspicions that there was more to this man than what was bandied about. The plot was about to thicken for sure.
Ginny threw open the doors to her wardrobe and inspected the contents. “Lord Devon is currently speaking with Uncle. Of course, he won’t mention that we’ve already met. Please, Mabel, help me dress for dinner?”
Mabel nodded at “Reggie’s” clothes. “Shall I put these away then?”
“No, nothing has changed; I am still going to meet Lord Henry tonight. Which reminds me, Charles executed the wig but I think we may be able to resuscitate it.”
Mabel looked around. “Where is it?”
“I kicked it into the rosebed out of Lord Devon’s view. After I go down to dinner, go and reclaim it from under the bushes. Be sure to keep an eye out for Charles, though; you know how he is when he’s claimed something.”
Mabel exhaled a long suffering breath. “Aye.” For a quiet country house, there always seemed to be something afoot.
And the root cause was standing before her in corset and chemise.
* * *
Ginny glided down the stairs and into the parlor like a lady to the manor born.
At her entrance, both men stood.
She had donned a rose damask gown with a white underskirt and a darker hued rose stomacher. Gone was the urchin in undergarments; in her place stood a fashionable young woman of remarkable beauty.
Tyler’s eyes gleamed in appreciati
on when he saw her.
“Lord Devon, may I present my niece and your betrothed, Lady Thomlinson?” Jediah’s stern expression warned Ginny to behave. “Regina, Lord Devon.”
Ginny curtseyed properly, her expression demure.
“My lord.”
Tyler took her hand as she rose, pressing a brief kiss to the back. “My lady,” he intoned in an even voice.
Ginny smiled at the hint of amusement in his tone.
She also noted that he had taken some care to present himself to her uncle. While still wearing his buff colored breeches, black riding boots, white silk shirt, and black waistcoat and jacket, he had tied off his hair into a neat queue at the back of his neck.
He was without a doubt, the most breathtaking man she had ever seen.
Not that it mattered.
She cared not one whit that his eyes were the color of a glistening waterfall, or that he had two perfectly placed dimples carved into his sculpted cheeks. It did not concern her that his heated stare seemed to crackle the air between them. All that mattered was that the man had entered into an advantageous bargain with her.
* * *
Doing a brilliant job of passing himself off as a gentleman, Tyler graciously offered her an arm into the dining room.
* * *
Dinner was a strange affair full of undercurrents, passing signals, and curious undertones. Jediah, totally unaware, enjoyed the meal to the fullest. Indeed, he fairly beamed his satisfaction, for it appeared Lord Devon was well-pleased with his niece, and the chit was for once behaving herself. Everything seemed to be going his way.
He let out a sigh of pent up relief.
He had had some worry over Lord Devon. The man had a reputation for being unpredictable.
Jediah knew the old Duke had coerced the bounder into the match, but he still had some concerns whether Devon would willingly go along. He supposed the threat of losing his inheritance had done the trick. That and the sight of his niece. Willful though she might be, there was no denying her loveliness. Ginny favored Violet, his stepsister, in that regard.
The thought of sister Violet and what she would have to say to him regarding this match were she alive today made Jediah feel slightly uncomfortable. Violet had been the only person in his miserable life who had accepted and loved him unconditionally. He tried to rationalize away his prickling conscience by telling himself he was doing what was best for the gel. After all, she would be a duchess one day. Who could ask for more?
The fact that he was shackling her to the most notorious rake in England in exchange for control of her fortune was brushed aside as inconsequential.
Jediah was not a bad man... Just a practical sort.
“Lord Devon, your grandfather requested the ceremony take place at Islemoor Hall. I take it that is agreeable to you?”
Tyler’s focus remained fixed on his plate. “What my grandfather requests is a law onto itself. So, yes, it is agreeable to me.”
Ginny noted that his lordship’s tone was strangely morose. In that moment, she almost felt sympathy for him. It appeared he was no less subject to the Duke’s whims than she was to her uncle’s.
He looked up suddenly, catching the compassionate expression on her face. He smiled wistfully at her. “We shouldn’t want to disappoint Grandfather.”
“Excellent!” Jediah chortled, “We’ve arranged for the ceremony to take place this coming Saturday.”
“Saturday?” Ginny was horrified. Saturday was only five days away. “Could we not delay the ceremony for a while?”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. It appeared he had caged her agreement but had left the impression that the door remained slightly ajar. He was not about to let her get the idea she could still fly off. He needed this to come together and quickly. “I don’t see any reason to delay the ceremony.”
“Of course not.” Jediah leveled a stern look at his niece. “Wouldn’t do to insult his lordship now, would it, my dear.”
Before Ginny could respond Tyler slammed her options shut. “I will, of course, escort my bride to Islemoor Hall on Saturday. Personally.”
Ginny gave him a shocked look. Did he think she would back out? Fly from the coop? “I assure you that won’t be necessary, my lord.”
He stared her down with a rather frightening sense of knowledge. “Oh, I think it will be,” he drawled.
That tone brooked no argument. Ginny bristled.
She could never tolerate anyone presuming authority over her. A terrible trait in a lady, she supposed, but there it was. He would learn soon enough.
“Whatever his lordship wishes, my dear.” Jediah quickly motioned to a servant to refill Lord Devon’s wineglass.
Taking a sip of the wine, Tyler locked eyes with Ginny over the rim of the goblet. “I wonder if I might call on your niece on Wednesday, Moore.”
It was not a question, and Jediah– conscious of his station– knew it.
“By all means, Lord Devon. After all, she is to be your wife.”
Tyler nodded. “Then I will see you Wednesday, my lady. We shall enjoy a picnic in the country and get better acquainted.”
Ginny fumed. He could have asked her. She would have refused, but he could have asked. What on earth was the man playing at with this heavy-handed routine? Barking out orders as if–
Suddenly Ginny realized what he was about.
It wouldn’t do to make Uncle Jediah suspicious by being too friendly with her. Why, if the Toad even suspected something he would call the marriage off–
undoubtedly the very reason Tyler agreed to the quick ceremony on Saturday. He was not going to give her uncle the chance to back out.
Very sharp of you, Lord Devon.
Ginny winked broadly at him, letting him know she understood his game.
She missed the gentle, sly curve of the rogue’s lips as he sipped his wine.
* * *
“No, Ginny, say it isn’t true!”
Two identically bewigged heads huddled together inside the Henry coach. Ginny, dressed as Reggie, put a consoling hand on her cousin’s arm.
“I’m afraid it is, Henley. Uncle forced it on me.
There is naught I can do.”
“But Lord Devon!” He squealed.
“I know, I know.”
Ginny fully commiserated with Henley’s outrage.
Hadn’t she felt exactly the same until she had met the man? Not that she felt any different now, she quickly told herself. It was just that it had been concluded far better than she could have ever hoped for.
“Oh, when I think of you marrying that rakehell I could just die.”
Ginny continued to pat her cousin’s arm in understanding.
“I’ll be fine, I assure you. Don’t worry about me, Henley.”
Henley looked at her as if she had just come off the moon. “You? Who’s talking about you? I’m thinking of that poor, gorgeous man forced into marriage. The waste of it all!”
Ginny’s brows lowered ominously. She snatched her hand from his sleeve. “Lord Henry, you are odious! How could you even think of siding with that bounder?”
Henley sighed. “Forgive me, dearheart. I momentarily became blinded by the light of a dazzling chimera. Breathtaking to look at, impossible to attain, and most likely poisonous to the bite.”
Ginny relented; she had never been able to sustain anger against her beloved Henley. “Very well, then; that’s understandable. He almost mesmerized me with that countenance of his.”
Her cousin clasped her hand, his generous and concerned nature coming to the fore. “You will be all right with this scheme you have concocted?”
“Yes.” She waved her hand airily. “Right as rain.
Despite his stellar attributes, the man is easily controlled.”
Henley made a moue with his mouth. “That man is many things– but never would I call him malleable.”
“That’s odd for you to say. You know his reputation; he seems to care for nothing but debauchery.”
“
I know; it’s just that he’s never struck me as...” He tapped his rouged lips. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Believe me, Lord Devon is nothing to be concerned about.”
Even as she said the words, Ginny recalled the incident in the garden when his smooth voice had given her chills. She could still hear that cold voice in her head.
‘You have what exactly?’ How could four simple words sound so... So dangerous?
Ginny shook off the memory with a shiver. Surely, she had imagined his focused intensity? The sparks of fire in his lucid eyes? The sudden command in his presence?
Of course, she had.
For heavens sake, the man had been with her in her unmentionables and had been completely innocuous.
She turned her focus back to her cousin. “Let’s change the subject. Tell me, what is Frock’s like?” Her eyes glowed with excitement at the thought of entering the famous gaming hell.
Just as she asked the question, the carriage rolled to a stop.
“You are about to find out. Come, Ginny, let’s have some fun and set them all on their ears!” Lord Henry offered his arm to escort her from the coach and four.
The excitement began with the muffled sounds of the lively patrons drifting through the closed doors of the establishment. Ginny held her breath as footmen opened the heavy wooden doors with a flourish: the thrill of a new adventure tingled through her.
They entered the den of iniquity without a backward glance.
* * *
Rows of flickering chandeliers met her eyes.
The glowing candles illuminated the boisterous crowd, making the scene appear as if a painting had come to life. Ginny’s senses were assailed with the colors, sounds, scents, and textures of a lively gambling hell in full operation.
Members of the ton floated by in a kaleidoscope of brightly colored raiment. Fashionable and not fashionable. Women clung to the arms of gentlemen, some ladies, some obviously not. Ginny tried not to gape at her first sight of a painted doxy who was drinking and guffawing alongside a bewigged lord that she recognized from Gingridge’s soiree.
