Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  His eyes widened. “Quite right.”

  The marchioness turned to Eve. “Did you have a chance to see any of the castle today?”

  “Only the great hall, which your son showed me after Lord Burns left.”

  “Lord Burns? He was here today?”

  “Yes. Did Lord Rushton not tell you?”

  She looked at him. “What happened?”

  “Nothing of consequence. Burns was concerned that Hilary was paying too much attention to his son.”

  “He is right. She was.”

  “Really?” Lord Rushton’s brow furrowed. “Since when did Hilary become interested in men?”

  “Since she turned seventeen.”

  “Seventeen?” Surprise shown on his face. “She grew up while I was away.”

  “I shall speak with Hilary.” The marchioness regarded him. “Actually, I think you should speak to her.”

  “Me?”

  Eve saw genuine alarm in his eyes.

  “What do I know of seventeen year old girls?”

  “You were once a nineteen-year-old boy, which I believe is the boy’s age.”

  “Mother, I do not think I—”

  “No arguments,” she cut in. “Hilary adores you. With David gone she could use a little guidance from a brother.”

  “Burns mentioned David was gone. How long?”

  “Two years.”

  “I’m surprised his father let him go. He is the only heir.”

  “You know David. He was insistent.”

  “Young fool,” Lord Rushton muttered. “He could easily have avoided the madness.”

  “Young fools seldom avoid madness,” the marchioness remarked.

  Lord Rushton’s expression cleared. “You wouldn’t by chance be referring to me?”

  “You are, without a doubt, a young fool,” she said.

  Her tone was light, but Eve was startled to detect a note of melancholy.

  Lord Rushton straightened. “Mother, I—” He stared for a long instant, apparently forgetting that Eve was there, then broke off and leaned back against his chair. “Forgive me. I am worse than a fool.”

  Eve suddenly understood the byplay was due to the lady’s sorrow in losing her youngest son. Eve grasped the marchioness’ hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I…” Eve released a sigh. “There is no consolation, is there?”

  Lady Rushton looked at her, clearly surprised, but a gentle smile touched her lips. She returned Eve’s hand squeeze. “Nothing else is needed.”

  Eve nodded, unable to speak through a lump in her throat. She became aware that Lord Rushton was watching her and removed her hand from Lady Rushton’s. Perhaps it was time for her to retire, after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Eve.”

  Something jarred her—hard. Her head swam.

  “Eve, wake up.”

  She burrowed deeper into the surrounding warmth.

  “Eve, the marquess is calling for us.”

  Eve’s eyes popped open and she bolted upright in bed. The room swam around her for an instant, then Grace snapped into focus where she knelt on the bed beside Eve. The fire in the hearth had burned to coals and no light shone through the colored glass window.

  “What time is it?” Eve croaked.

  “Three thirty in the morning.”

  “Holy God,” she breathed. “Whatever can they want at this hour of the morning? Do you know what has happened?”

  Grace shook her head. “Lady Rushton came to me. She asked that I wake you. She will return presently and take us to the marquess’ library.”

  Eve sat for a moment, unable to move. “I cannot imagine why they would call us at this ungodly hour. Why not wait until the morning? Papa must know we are all right. Surely, he didn’t have us wakened just to see us.” And he wouldn’t. She threw back the covers and stood for a moment at a loss as to what she was looking for, then realized she wanted the dress she had draped over the corner chair. She started toward it, but stopped upon realizing Grace hadn’t moved, nor was she dressed. “You had better dress.”

  “What if Papa is angry?” Grace said.

  “You only just now realized he might be angry?”

  She looked at Eve, eyes wide. “I thought I would be married by the time he saw me and that would soften the blow.”

  “Nothing will soften the blow.”

  Grace paled and guilt stabbed at Eve. Despite her woman’s body, Grace was only nineteen, and Eve, after all, had gotten her into this mess. Grace would never have thought of kidnapping Lord Rushton, and Eve couldn’t blame her for readily agreeing to come to Mull. After all, Lord Rushton would have tossed Grace into the carriage just as easily as he had Eve if she’d balked.

  “This is what you have been waiting for, Grace.”

  “Not exactly. I was waiting for Lord Rushton to whisk me off to visit a magistrate.”

  “That might yet happen. Now, we had better dress.” Eve would rather find the closest mouse hole and crawl inside, but kept the sentiment to herself.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lady Rushton appeared at Eve’s door.

  “Can you tell us nothing, ma’am?” Eve asked as Grace closed her bedchamber door and the marchioness started forward with them.

  “I am as much in the dark as you,” she said. “The marquess woke me and told me to bring you both to his library.”

  “So you did not see our father?” Grace asked.

  “I have not yet met him.”

  They fell into silence until they reached the library door, which stood open. The marchioness entered first, and Eve almost lost her nerve when she glimpsed her father sitting in a wingback chair with a small table between him and another chair where the marquess sat. Neither man wore cravats, their shirts were open at the neck, and a nearly empty decanter sat on the table between two partially filled glasses. Had they been discussing the situation all these hours? Eve caught sight of Lord Rushton and Lord Somerset sitting on a couch and she slowed when she saw that a stranger sat on the couch with them. He, like Lord Rushton and Somerset, seemed to have dressed in as much haste as had she and Grace.

  “Papa,” Grace cried, and hurried to him.

  He rose and she practically fell into his arms. He hugged her close and to Eve’s relief, Grace didn’t cry, though she feared she might.

  He pulled back from Grace and looked at her. “You are well?”

  “Quite well,” she said. “Lord and Lady Rushton have been very kind.”

  He nodded and looked at Eve. “And you, Eve?”

  “I am well, sir.”

  “Sit down,” he instructed them.

  “You, too, if you will, my dear,” the marquess said to his wife.

  The three of them sat on the sofa to the left of the marquess.

  “We have been many hours sorting out this mess,” the marquess said. “Tolland and I considered each taking aside our respective offspring and dealing with them separately, but the task is too daunting—not to mention, we will take no chances this time that the three of you might scheme behind our backs.”

  “Four of them,” their father said. He pinned his stare on Eve. “Oscar isn’t present, but he is as much a party to the situation as you are. Eve, you kidnapped an earl. You are lucky he and his father didn’t have you thrown into prison.”

  “The earl fought a duel,” Eve said. “He is as guilty as me.”

  “Indeed, he is.” Her father turned his stare onto Lord Rushton. “The only reason I did not chase after you to Gretna was because I assumed Eve was getting married.”

  “Me?” Eve blurted. “Why would you think that?” Then she knew. “My God, you told him to kidnap me.”

  “I would have kept that bit of information to myself, if I were you, Tolland,” the earl muttered.

  “Oh, this is rich.” Eve couldn’t believe it. “How can you possibly convict me of the very crime for which you are guilty?”

  “I can,” her father said in a dark voice that cut off any
further retort.

  “As can I,” the marquess said. “But as a marriage contract has been signed, it would seem the matter is settled.”

  Fear rendered Eve speechless, but Grace spoke up. “What marriage contract?”

  “The one I drew up in Manchester, signed by me and the earl.” He nodded to a secretary against the left wall and Eve spied several sheaths of folded paper.

  Grace looked from her father to Eve in confusion. “But who is the bride?”

  “Grace,” the earl said in a gentle voice, “I did say I was going to marry your sister.”

  “But Eve doesn’t want to marry you,” she protested.

  “Signed in Manchester?” Eve cut in. “You signed the contract before going to Gretna?”

  “No,” her father answered. “He had his solicitor sign for him, then sent it to me, along with the letter he posted from Gretna, which instructed me to meet you on Mull.”

  “Miss Crenshaw,” the earl said. He rose, walked to where she sat, then squatted eye-level with her and took her hands in his. “Let us be honest. Things were bad enough when I came into your room at the inn. There might have been a way to redeem ourselves at that point, but once we ended up at Gretna…well, even I knew there was no turning back.”

  “You neglected to tell me you had signed a marriage contract,” she said.

  “It made little difference at that point. There was going to be a wedding. You cannot doubt that.”

  “It is unfair.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Not completely unfair,” her father said.

  “I’m sure you do not think so,” she snapped. “You are simply relieved to have me married off.”

  “Did it occur to you that Lord Rushton made sure the contract was dated and signed for the day before you left for Gretna in order to save your reputation?”

  “What possible difference could it make when the contract was signed?”

  “Eve, don’t be an idiot,” Grace said. “The fact the contract was signed the day Lord Halifax kidnapped you, tells the polite world that Lord Halifax did, indeed, kidnap you, and that Lord Rushton defended your honor because you were to be his wife. Even my reputation is unscathed. It is just as I said, only you are the bride, not I.”

  “I am sorry,” Lord Rushton said.

  “It is your loss, I assure you, my lord,” Grace said in an airy tone. “Though Eve is a fine catch, and you would do well not to forget that.”

  Eve stared at her sister. She had expected tears, shouts, perhaps even the stamping of feet if Lord Rushton didn’t marry her. Instead, she was acquiescing with poise and refinement befitting the marchioness she one day hoped to be. This was all wrong.

  Eve looked at the earl. “And if I don’t sign the contract?”

  “You have no choice,” her father boomed. “The earl owned up to what transpired between you two.”

  Lord Rushton shoved to his feet. “Tolland, leave well enough alone.”

  “I will not. Eve, you have gone too far this time.”

  Eve recalled the night in the ship’s cabin a little over a day ago when she and Lord Rushton were alone. In truth, allowing the earl to touch her as he had was enough to warrant that they marry. But no one knew about that. Did they?

  “What do you mean ‘what transpired between you two’?” she asked her father.

  His mouth thinned. “Will you make me say it? At least Rushton was honorable enough to admit the truth and do the right thing.”

  “Tolland,” Lord Rushton growled.

  “How dare you?” Eve jumped to her feet and slapped him.

  The room went silent.

  The earl shrugged. “It was bound to happen eventually.” He addressed his father and her father. “My future wife and I have a few things to discuss.”

  “Erroll,” the marquess began in unison with Eve’s father’s, “Here, here,” but he cut them off.

  “We will be in the hallway. Have no fear, we won’t run away. We would not get even to the stables, and I do have the presence of mind to know, Tolland, that you would chase me this time with murder in your heart.” He grasped her wrist and started toward the door.

  She yanked. “And if Miss Crenshaw has no desire to speak with his lordship?”

  He didn’t stop. “Oh, but she does.”

  “Lord Tolland,” Eve heard the marchioness say.

  They reached the door and Lord Rushton opened it and pushed her into the hallway. He paused and looked at the gathering, “Be warned, any interruptions will result in my taking Miss Crenshaw back to England where none of you will be welcome in our house.” He closed the door behind him.

  Eve whirled on them. “You told them we-we—”

  “Not here.” He grasped her arm and strode down the hallway.

  She was forced to take quick steps in order to keep up. “What are you doing?”

  He stopped beside a large tapestry and twitched aside the fabric. Eve saw a hidden alcove an instant before he pushed her into the shadowy space. She retreated when he stepped inside and released the tapestry behind him, cutting off the light from the hallway. They weren’t in total darkness as they had been in the hidey-hole at the party in Manchester, but that didn’t stop her heart from jumping into an erratic rhythm.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Getting us a moment of privacy.”

  Anger shot through her. “That is what got us into trouble in the first place.”

  He snorted a laugh. “You are right there. But it matters little at this point.”

  “What could we possibly have to talk about?” she demanded. “You lied. You told my father that we-we—you know what you told him.”

  “I told my father, actually, but yes, I did imply that I had compromised you in the worst way.”

  “You are no better than Grace,” Eve said. “You lied to get what you want.”

  “I might as well have done what I said I did, for I compromised you beyond all redemption—and you allowed it,” he said. “More than once, I might add. So pray, do not waste your time comparing me to your sister.”

  She didn’t need to compare him to her sister. Eve remembered all too well that Blane also had lied in an attempt to get what he wanted. “You are not the first man to lie about me.”

  “You refer to Lord Blane, I presume.”

  “Gossipmonger,” she muttered.

  “He lied about you?”

  “I was not pregnant with his child.”

  “But the rest was true?”

  Eve gave him a cold smile. “As a man, you probably think that by giving him my virtue, I gave him the right to lie about me.”

  “Did he have reason to believe you were pregnant?”

  “No.”

  Lord Rushton shrugged. “Then he was wrong.”

  “Yet your lie is justified?”

  “Tell me you would rather marry Somerset and I will step aside. Heaven forbid I should stand in the way of true love. Do you love him?”

  “Love has little to do with marriage when one is forced to choose a husband,” she muttered.

  “Does that mean you choose him over me?”

  “I shouldn’t have to choose.”

  “If you can convince your father of that, then I’ll not insist you marry me.”

  “I imagine not,” she retorted. “You have made it perfectly clear you have no wish to marry me.”

  “No, I made it perfectly clear I have no wish to marry your sister.”

  She snorted. “You have no wish to marry anyone.”

  “Will your father let you remain unmarried?” he demanded.

  “You know he will not.”

  “Then it is Somerset or me. I am willing to be the jilted lover. It’s no less than I deserve and no one will be surprised.”

  “Better the jilted lover than to be saddled with a wife.” And that, she realized, had been his plan all along. “I see now,” she said with feeling. “Very clever of you, my lord.” Eve swallowed. “You d
idn’t sign that marriage contract in order to save my reputation. You signed the contract hoping I would refuse your offer, then you wouldn’t be obligated to marry Grace, either.”

  “So you believe that if you absolutely refuse me that our fathers will let me go my merry way?”

  “You are the one who told me to hold fast and we would be free of one another,” she countered.

  “That was before we ended up in Gretna Green.”

  Eve snorted. “They cannot insist you marry Grace after you signed a contract for marriage to me.”

  “Make no mistake, Miss Crenshaw, our parents are decided that I will marry you or your sister. But, if you have doubts, we will ask them. First, however, you will answer one question: would you rather marry Somerset?”

  “Yes.”

  Her heart broke as the seconds of silence passed, then he canted his head. “You will marry Somerset, then. Shall we inform our parents?”

  “There is nothing to tell them. I may prefer him, but that doesn’t mean I will marry him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” she broke off, silently adding, because he prefers my sister—and because I am a fool, then said, “Because I am ruined for any man of character.”

  “But Somerset is a man of character and he did ask you to marry him, repeatedly.”

  “That was before.”

  Lord Rushton leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Before you sullied yourself with the likes of me?”

  “I doubt it would matter who the man was,” she said.

  Eve hadn’t lied when she told Grace she wasn’t angry that Grace was more beautiful. Eve had had her share of suitors, a few who she felt sincerely held some genuine affection for her. But to discover that the man who had only days ago threatened a duel in her honor had fallen in love with her sister hurt.

  “I doubt any other man could have incited you to kidnap him,” Lord Rushton said.

  “That is most certainly true.”

  “You need never fear that I will think you unworthy of my esteem.” He flashed a smile. “As I am not a man of character, there is no danger of you falling from grace.”

  Had she heard right? “How am I to take that, my lord? Does your lack of character mean you don’t care that I am no better than you? Or is it that since I have fallen to your depths, you see us on even footing? Or perhaps I should take comfort in the fact you have no character, therefore, you do not require a wife of character?” She gave him a cold smile. “I suppose I win in any case.”