by Kelly Boyce
She didn’t answer him. The truth would only confirm his opinion of her.
“Well you can dismiss the play-acting, my lady. I am well aware of what you are about and I have decided to accept your refusal. I have furthermore decided to accept your promise to me that you will not repay my kindness in saving your lovely ass by accompanying you back to London. Tell me, did you and your mother plan that aspect of it once you had fallen ill?”
“No!”
He shrugged. “Ah, well. Either way, you executed your plan flawlessly. I’m afraid the only fly in the ointment was your previous victim, Lord Billingsworth. A stroke of luck my meeting him in the common room. For me, I mean. Not so much for you.”
Words jammed in her throat. She wanted to deny it all, to explain things, but his closed expression told her he had made up his mind. Anything she said now would only sound like more lies.
“But—” He came closer and picked up a curl that had escaped her braid, twisting it around his finger. “Just because your plan will not come to fruition does not mean you and I cannot still enjoy ourselves.”
Was he suggesting? Did he think she would—?
He lifted the curl away and pressed his mouth against her neck. A traitorous ache pulled between her legs. Even now, after his harsh accusations, her body wanted him with a passion she had no control over. Was this what had plagued her father? What had sent him over the edge when his mistress turned her back on him?
She squeezed her eyelids shut. Heaven help her, how had it come to this? Pain wrapped around her heart and squeezed.
“Stop,” she whispered.
Spencer pulled the quilt from her grip. It pooled at her feet and he pulled her closer. Her thin, linen nightgown offered little protection against the warmth of his hand as it slid down her hip and around to cup her bottom. He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear.
“Stop? Why ever for? Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to compromise you?”
The scent of brandy wafted around him. He dragged her earlobe through his teeth and heat raged through her without mercy.
Caelie opened her eyes and they quickly filled with tears. How had it come to this?
She pressed a hand against his chest. “Stop. You are drunk. When you come to your senses in the morning, you will regret this.”
He pulled away slightly. “I regret a great number of things, my lady. I regret that I befriended you. I regret that I let you worm your way under my skin until I opened up to you as if you were someone who could be trusted. I regret that I allowed myself to—” He stopped and his mouth twisted in anger.
“You can trust me,” she said, but it was too late. She could see it in his eyes. He believed the twisted truths Billingsworth had told him. The more she tried to defend herself the guiltier she would look in his eyes.
He scoffed and pushed her away. She bent and picked up the quilt, wrapping it around her shoulders like a shield to protect her from his anger. His disgust.
A fat tear rolled down her cheek.
He turned away from her and walked to the fire to stare at its embers. Moonlight filtered through the window and pressed against his back. “Do not think to use your tears to soften me, my lady. Nothing you say will sound like anything but lies to me.”
“Do you think he has told others what he told you?”
Spencer shrugged. “I do not know.”
She swiped at the tears but they continued to fall. “If he has—” She couldn’t say the words.
“You will be ruined. Quite thoroughly, I imagine.”
Her life had been horrible enough when the scandal had been second hand, but this—this would spell the end of her.
“I wish you had left me on the ship,” she whispered. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been as direct as her father’s path of putting a bullet into his brain, but the result would have been the same. The pain would have ended.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You would have died.”
She closed her eyes and said nothing. What was there to say? Yes, she would have died, but would that have been any worse than what awaited her in London? Her fall from grace would be so complete there would be no coming back from it. Worse still, the stigma would not be worn by her alone. Her father’s scandal had taught her that. Abigail and Benedict, Aunt Lorena. All of them would wear the taint of her ruin.
She had not heard Spencer move. Did not realize he stood in front of her until his hand touched her chin and tilted it upward. She opened her eyes and stared into his. A small hint of confusion wrestled with the anger that burned more brightly than the fire’s embers.
“Why did you do it? Did you truly think it would change Billingsworth’s mind if you gave yourself to him? Were you that desperate?”
She stared at him a moment and wondered if she should bother to try, but something made her anyway. Some sad little piece of hope that had yet to die within her. “It was not desperation. It was sadness.”
Spencer’s brow furrowed. “Sadness?”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Father had just died and everyone had turned away from us. Mother had locked herself away in her room and refused to come out. I was devastated and turned to the man who promised to become my husband. I…I sought solace.”
“Solace? You expect me to believe you gave up your innocence for that?”
She dug deep and found a shred of dignity buried beneath her shame and straightened her shoulders. “Whether you believe it or not, that is the truth. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I am exhausted and I wish to go bed.”
He moved out of her way and Caelie brushed past him.
“We will be leaving on the morrow. If Billingsworth has recognized me, it has become too dangerous for us to tarry longer.”
“I will be ready.” She crawled beneath the covers. “And you may rest easy, my lord. I will not try to force a proposal from you. I will uphold my promise despite what has transpired between us.”
She’d had such hope earlier, thinking perhaps they had something they could build a successful marriage on, but she had only been deluding herself. Spencer did not wish to marry and he certainly did not wish to marry her, especially now that he believed the worst.
She wished she could change his mind, but that would mean changing the truth, and that she could not do.
* * *
“You look a might worse for wear, m’lord.”
Spence glanced up to find Garron leaning against the exterior wall of the stables, his hands shoved into the pockets of his well-worn woolen pants.
“That’s one way of putting it,” he said. His brain pounded beneath his skull and the bright morning sunshine did not help matters. The journey that lay ahead of them did not even bear consideration.
“Little too much brandy, eh?”
“Something like that.” Though it wasn’t the brandy that had his conscience twisted into a knot. He’d behaved abhorrently last night. Said awful things. Made horrible accusations that, in his inebriated state had made perfect sense. Some of them still did, but it didn’t justify the way he’d approached it with Caelie.
He’d slunk from the room like a thief and searched out Garron. They had to move on. He’d left Caelie a note telling her to pack her things and then informed Miss Brampton to ensure she was awoken in time to prepare for travel by ten o’clock.
He followed Garron into the stables and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. “Can you ready the carriage? We will leave no later than ten o’clock.”
“Of course, m’lord. Hopin’ to get away before any of the other lords and ladies recognize you, eh?”
“It’s for the best. We cannot jeopardize Lady Caelie’s reputation.” He may have been seen, but Caelie had managed to remain undiscovered. Better he should keep it that way.
Garron reached for the harness and pulled it off the hook on the wall. It jingled as he slung it over his shoulder. “Aye. ’Course, s’pose ye could always marry her if ye were seen together. No folly in that
.”
“I cannot marry her.”
“Are you promised elsewhere?” Garron asked, calling the question over his shoulder as he walked down the length of the stable to where their newly purchased horses were housed.
“No! I just…can’t. It’s difficult to explain.”
Garron’s head popped up inside the stable next to one of the horses. “Can’t see what’s so difficult. She’s a pretty lass with a sweet nature.”
“Perhaps.” Spence remained on the fence with respect to her nature, unsure which aspect of it to believe. “But there is more at play than that. The politics of society cannot be discounted.” The excuse sounded lame.
Garron grunted; a telling commentary on what he thought of society and its politics.
“Besides, I doubt she’d have me anyway.” Desperate or no, after his behavior last night he could no longer be certain how she felt toward him.
“Guess you can’t fault the lady for her taste.”
Spence scowled at the man. “Either way, I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”
Which was a good thing because he was having difficulty this morning remembering why he couldn’t marry her. Then the night before would come rushing back and the knot in his belly reminded him. Even if he could see past his belief that Caelie had somehow orchestrated the situation to her advantage, likely after his behavior toward her she wouldn’t have him even if he begged on bended knee.
Which he would not do.
“Well, s’pose if you can’t marry her, ye shouldn’t ’ave too much of a problem findin’ someone who will. Beauty like her, inside and out, be a prize for any man.”
“Not if Billingsworth has his way.”
“That the gentleman you put on his arse last night?” Garron led one of the horses out of the stall, forcing Spence to move out of the way lest he wanted to be trampled by the beast.
“It is. He and Lady Caelie had been affianced but he broke it off when her father met a rather scandalous end.”
Garron tsked. “Not well done.”
Spence couldn’t agree more. The situation notwithstanding, a man’s honor dictated he keep his promises. Then again, Billingsworth wasn’t the most honorable of men. Any honorable man would not speak of what occurred between himself and a lady in the way he had, an act that would ruin her for sure. Despite his personal feelings on what she had done or her reasons for doing it, Spence did not want to see that happen.
In the sober light of day, and after a restless night of staring at the ceiling, Spence concluded whatever Caelie had done had been an act of desperation. Her world had fallen apart around her and she had used the only ammunition she had—her body—to try and hold it together. It didn’t say much in respect to her character, but desperate people did desperate things. Such as board ships heading for the West Indies in the hope of avoiding the marriage mart.
He should have been more understanding. Perhaps he would have been if she hadn’t turned her desperation toward trying to trap him. A trap she could still snare him in if he didn’t find her a better alternative.
He’d ruminated on it all night and into the morning and could come up with only one solution.
He needed to find Caelie a husband. And he needed to do it before Billingsworth started spreading his tale and ruined her for good.
Chapter Ten
Caelie was more than happy to leave The White Stag behind, though she dreaded the upcoming trip, trapped inside a carriage for the duration with Spencer and his newfound beliefs. But the option to linger and potentially run into the man who had promised her the world, then robbed her of her innocence and left her ruined held even less appeal.
Caelie’s face heated at the merest remembrance of the event. Not that there had been much to remember. Billingsworth had tossed her skirts up until she had to brush them away from her face just to see him. He’d pushed inside of her, heedless of her gasp of pain or request that he stop. She had not known it would hurt so and the surprise of it destroyed any ardor she may have felt. Surely she had felt some, though in hindsight, she could not recall.
Billingsworth had assured her the pain was a common thing and she would feel fine momentarily. She’d imprudently trusted him, a mistake she’d made too often, and after a few more awkward, painful thrusts, his body stiffened and he collapsed on her, murmuring something ridiculous about her sweet, soft thighs before rolling away to do up his trousers.
The entire episode had left her feeling bewildered. Foolish even. She had come to him broken hearted, her emotions raw on the heels of Father’s death. She’d sought solace in the arms of the man who claimed to love her. She had imagined it would be lovely. Magical. A sharing of hearts and souls and—
Well, obviously grief had skewered her thinking for it had been nothing like that at all.
“You look quite a sight, m’lady.” Elsie pushed the last hairpin into place to secure Caelie’s bonnet then stood back to survey her work. She’d proven a quick study in the role of lady’s maid and Caelie was pleased she had agreed to accompany her to London. She hoped to offer her permanent employment, but she would need to speak with Benedict first. She did not want to make promises she could not keep.
“Thank you, Elsie. It is kind of you to say.” She gave her reflection one last glance. Elsie had done her best, but the lack of sleep from the night before had left its telltale signs. Dark smudges rested beneath her eyes and her pale skin lacked its usual lustre. Even the red of her hair appeared dull in the morning light.
Elsie reached for the cape draped on the end of the bed and settled it on Caelie’s shoulders. “The trunks have all been taken down. I thought I might say one last good-bye to my sisters and Da, if you don’t mind, m’lady?”
“Of course, Elsie. I will meet you out by the stables. I expect Garron has the carriage ready for us by now.”
Elsie led her down the narrow servant’s staircase that brought them into the kitchens and pointed Caelie in the right direction. The carriage waited in the distance, but she did not see Spencer or Garron.
She took a moment to breathe in the fresh morning air. It seemed like forever since she’d been able to enjoy the scents and the feel of sunshine upon her skin. How she had missed it. Confinement did not set well with her. She closed her eyes and stood still a moment, letting the wonderful sense of freedom soak in. She should enjoy it while she could. There was no telling how long it would last.
“Lady Caelie?”
She froze. Her stomach lurched and she contemplated closing her eyes tighter, as if that would make him go away. A foolish notion.
Resigned, she turned around to face Billingsworth.
“It is you. But what are you doing here?” He gave her a pompous sneer. “I cannot imagine you attended Lord Iber’s wedding.”
Caelie forced a cordial smile despite the stench of brandy that assaulted her. He smelled as if he had spent the morning swimming in the swill. “Good morning, Lord Billingsworth.”
Whatever had she seen in him? His cravat had been hastily tied, his jacket pulled askew across his growing belly, and his hair, often more coifed than her own, had been hastily finger-brushed into place. If he had been abed, it had not been in his own.
“Are you leaving?” He stared down his nose at her, a nose which appeared rather swollen if she wasn’t mistaken.
“I am returning to London.”
“From where?”
“From here.” She had kept her plans to leave London within the family and with Mother having no close friends and Abigail away to the country; word of her departure had not gotten out. She did not feel the need to explain it now to Billingsworth. She owed him nothing.
Her answer did not suffice. “And where were you before here? It seems an odd place to find you if you were not here to attend the wedding. All of the others at the inn are here for that purpose save for Hunts—” He stopped abruptly and stared at her, his red-rimmed eyes growing larger until she could see the blood shot through the whites of them.
“You are here with Huntsleigh!” Billingsworth’s laughter cut into her and he slapped his leg. “No wonder he defended you so staunchly at our last meeting. He’s made you his mistress! I suppose that is to be expected given your circumstances.”
Caelie struggled to keep her composure in the face of Billingsworth’s assumptions. “My circumstances?”
He gave her another pompous sneer and waved his hand in the air. “My dear lady, you and I both know you are no innocent maid. What other choice do you have? Even your cousin’s marriage to Lord Blackbourne did not make you an enticing prospect on the marriage mart, did it?”
She wished to refute him, but she could not. The only invitations she had received came after Abigail and Nicholas’s wedding, and even then, they were only out of courtesy. She had become a ghost. And like a ghost, people shied away when they caught sight of her.
But ghost or no, she refused to be cowed by him. She had grown sick and tired of playing the timid miss in the hope people would forget the scandal and accept her back into the fold. Tired of thinking she would find a gentleman who would take pity on her and see more than just her father’s scandal.
It hadn’t happened and she no longer wanted to spend her time trying to please others when they did not give her the benefit of the doubt. She certainly did not care to please Billingsworth, considering he seemed bent on ruining her.
“How gentlemanly of you to share your opinion. Though truly, I would expect nothing less from a man of your substandard character, Lord Billingsworth.”
She had made a mistake seeking solace in his treacherous arms. She had trusted where she shouldn’t have, but the betrayal was his to wear, not hers. She gave herself in good faith, believing they were to be married. He had been the one to break that faith with his lies.
