But this could not be the earl. This man was not what she had expected.
In fact, he was amazingly robust for a dying man, younger than she had anticipated—perhaps a score and ten. Caroline guessed he might stand a head taller than the average male, and thus herself, for she could meet most men on eye level. The crisply starched lawn of his shirt and loosely tied cravat seemed a gratuitous semblance of civility encasing a massive chest and shoulders as broad as the mighty Atlas. A carefully tailored morning coat stretched snugly across the breadth of these assets, showing them to advantage then tapering to accentuate a narrower waist and hips. Oh yes, a man in excellent physical health to be sure. Caroline was certain she must be mistaken.
“My lord?” she asked. Her voice sounded high and unnatural in her own ears. Goodness, she had suffered a shock.
He bowed slightly, almost mockingly. “Magnus Eddington, at your service, Miss Wembly.”
This was the earl! His face was fascinating, for there was hardness in the cut of his jaw and the contemptuous curl of his nostrils, yet the strange green eyes, held as they were in frames of sooty lashes, looked haunted and the sensuous curve of his mouth belied a soft, sensitive aspect as if twin natures were at war within him, each claiming different features. A peculiar observation, as was the certainty of mystery, of something withheld, behind the aristocratic bearing and devastatingly handsome face.
That was another surprise. Her mental image of the earl had been of a frail, sickly man prone to vanity, for she had heard rumors of his amorous conquests and questionable reputation. A popinjay, perhaps; what used to be called a “fop” in her grandmother’s day. The man before her was the quintessential opposite of such a dandy, for he exuded an air of unrefined masculinity that seemed to steal across the room and entwine itself around her, choking away her courage.
And he had seen her preening like a court peacock! Ignoring the shame flooding through her, she pulled herself up into a rigid posture and met his gaze head-on. It was an old reflex; just when she felt the most vulnerable did she become the most reckless.
“Miss Wembly,” he said again as he strode into the room. “Please have a seat.”
She was grateful to do so, for her faux pas left her feeling off-balance. She perched on the edge of the chair and watched as he moved, as stealthily as any feline, to recline comfortably in the opposite chair. Crossing his long legs, he cocked his elbows on the tufted arms of the chair and folded his hands in front of his chin. Saying not a word, he gazed at her mercilessly until she spoke to fill the void.
“You have many beautiful pieces.” Waving an arm toward a pedestal, she indicated the gorgeous sculpture set upon it. She was mortified to realize the piece was a particularly vivid depiction of two unclothed lovers in each other’s embrace. Quickly, she returned her hand to her lap.
The half smile reappeared on his face. “Yes, I noticed you admiring them.” He meant, as she well knew, that he had seen her fussing over her appearance. It was this quip which caught her up short and enabled her to regain her head.
She forced herself to sit back in her seat and return his stare with what she hoped was a look of defiance. She would be damned if she would flutter and gab to fill the silence. After all, it was his interview. Let him take the lead.
Best not to think how desperately she wanted, needed, to win this position. How odd, to think of it that way, but it was the truth. She was applying for the position of his wife and future mother of his heir.
Forcing aside discomfort, she sat unmoving under that strange stare of his until he finally spoke.
“Please tell me about yourself, Miss Wembly.”
She had prepared for this. “My name is Arabella Caroline Wembly, but I have been called Caroline since birth. I am twenty-two years old. I was born in London, and have lived there since I was a babe. My father was the second son of a marquess, and made his money in shipping, so we were somewhat well-off, though by no means wealthy. I was educated by a governess until the age of eleven, when I was sent to-”
“Why are you unmarried at such an age as twentytwo?” the earl interrupted.
The question was insufferably rude. Yet in this strange, almost absurd situation, common courtesies could not stand unaltered. Caroline drew in a bracing breath and answered. “1 did have two seasons when I was seventeen and eighteen, but no one caught my fancy.”
“But I’ll wager you caught theirs, did you not?” He moved suddenly, leaning forward to peer at her more intently. How like a cat his movements were. A cat eyeing its prey. “How many marriage proposals did you receive?”
“Several,” Caroline countered curtly.
“Several, meaning two? Or several meaning twenty?”
Caroline glared at him. The maddening way his gaze held her almost as tightly as a stifling embrace wore on her nerves. She notched up her chin and said, “I received nine marriage proposals, my lord.”
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, but she could see he was pleased at having baited her so well. “And did none suit?”
“No, my lord.”
“May I ask why not?”
She gritted her teeth. “No, my lord, you may not.”
He was deciding whether to anger or be amused, she could see. Damn him, and his impertinent questions. She wanted this so badly, but already he was prompting a most unattractive aspect of her nature to assert itself—pride.
He finally shrugged. “I was merely curious. Now, tell me, Miss Wembly, how is it you came to hear of my.predicament?”
This too, she had anticipated. “A friend of mine who is acquainted with a clerk in your solicitor’s office was told your lawyer was making inquiries as to young ladies of good breeding and poor situation to consider a marriage of convenience. As I matched that description, I went round to see Mr. Green and eventually was persuaded to make my application.”
She was surprised she could say all of this without fluster, for thinking of the studious grilling she had submitted herself to under that vile Caractacus Green was most unpleasant.
Think of James, she reminded herself, and managed a smile.
“Ah, good. I instructed him to be discreet. I am already the target of much gossip. Pray tell, what precisely is your unfortunate situation.”
Caroline cast her eyes downward. It was not difficult to speak of her circumstances, but she must tread carefully, for the full reason behind her presence here today, he must never know. “Upon my father’s death, my mother found his estates heavily mortgaged, and after the debts were settled, there was no annuity to provide for us. We had to sell our house and lease apartments in a modest neighborhood.” She did not explain about her father’s gambling debts, nor did she recount how the creditors had descended upon the house, swarming like a cloud of vultures and plucking up valuables like apples from a tree, before it, too, was taken. “I am presently employed at a bookseller’s shop. There is no longer any money for my portion, so marriage to a man of breeding is out of the question.”
He took all of this in, nodding as if he understood. He did not. No one could. Who could imagine what it was like to see one’s life disassembled before one’s eyes?
“All of your erstwhile suitors deserted you, did they?”
he said in a quiet voice that was almost compassionate.
“Which leaves you to come to me, a man who will be dead within the year, most likely. A stranger, and a wellknown reprobate at that. Which brings up an interesting point.” He cocked his head to one side, affecting a look of helpless appeal. “Which of the rumors about me, if any, have reached your ears? It is important to clear the air of these matters, so please, feel free to tell me.”
He was trying to charm her, and she had to admit the lopsided smile and soft-eyed expression were incredibly bemusing. Even as she named it for the manipulation it was, her heart started to beat faster.
“I have heard nothing,” she lied. She didn’t even care if he knew it.
They were interrupted just then by the arrival of a troop of serv
ants.
“I took the liberty of ordering tea, as I assumed you would be in need of refreshment after your journey. Tell me, how do you find the accommodations at the Barrister’s Ordinary?” He relaxed now, leaning back as the butler and a pair of maids rolled in the cart and began spreading all the essentials on the teakwood table between them.
“Very fine, my lord. It is a lovely inn.”
“I trust your journey from London was not too tiresome.”
“Not at all.”
“Would you do me the honor of pouring out?”
Caroline almost groaned, fearful her hand would tremble and not only betray her inner feelings, but scald the man whom she was so trying to impress.
And not doing a very good job of it, she thought miserably. How she would have liked to stand right now and stalk out of this place with her dignity intact, but so very much counted on this.
Thankfully, she did not disgrace herself. After the servants had laid out silver teapot, sugar, creamer along with two sets of china cups and saucers so thin she could almost see through them, Caroline determinedly took hold of the pot and poured two perfect cups of tea.
Giving silent thanks for that small miracle, she settled back.
“So, you have heard none of the gossip, eh?”
“No, my lord.”
“Not even the duel on the continent? I must say, I like that one. Rather dashing, I think. Completely preposterous, of course, but amusing.”
“Oh?” she queried, angling a look up at him as she stirred cream into her tea.
“You will hear a number of things about me, most, if not all of them, unflattering. I am what they call a controversial figure, that is to say my associates cannot decide whether I am a rogue or a scoundrel or a bounder or a cad. The truth is I am all of these, and none, if you will allow such a statement to stand without explanation. Those who hold a good opinion of me will no doubt regale you with my virtuous qualities, none of which I can think of at the moment. Others, in fact most, would frighten you witless with tales of my misdeeds. It is, of course, relevant to mention the rumors of my criminal nature are greatly exaggerated.”
Indeed, she had heard plenty about this man, including the incredible claim that he had been Queen Victoria’s first crush. Some said it was for wanting of him the young monarch went into decline just before she met and married her precious Albert, and that she had allowed the earl to affectionately call her “Drina,” a nickname from her childhood when she was the impoverished, isolated Princess Alexandrina Victoria. Caroline laid her silver spoon on the fine bone saucer. “And what of the ‘duel on the continent?”‘
He laughed, revealing the flash of strong white teeth and eyes that crinkled merrily and.impossible! Yes, there was one dimple in his right cheek. A dimple! The summation of all those attributes left her nearly breathless. Her cup stalled on its way to her lips and her mouth stayed open as she stared.
He really was a splendid-looking man! So, why had he found it so difficult to find a bride, even if he was dying—which was difficult to believe in and of itself, for never had she seen a man so hale and hearty. Surely a few score besotted souls would have vied for the privilege of easing his last days on earth and bringing forth his child.
“The duel,” he said, raising one dark eyebrow in a rakish manner, “never took place. The story goes that a certain gentleman, with whom I had a. shall we say, disagreement, challenged me to a contest of pistols, and we traveled to the continent in order to do the thing legally. There, it is told, we chose our weapons, paced off the deadly field, and I killed him in cold blood. Depending on the teller, you may have heard versions where I spit on his corpse, or spent the following sennight in an orgy of carousing to celebrate the poor chap’s demise.”
She had to give him credit. He certainly hadn’t stinted on the details. If she had been ignorant of this particular tale, which she was not, he had done a fair job of relating it.
“None of it is true.” He was momentarily distracted by a small particle of lint on his arm. He frowned at it, pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and set it adrift on the air. “It is based on fact. A certain gentleman accused me of improper behavior with his wife. He did challenge me to a duel, and he did die on the continent while I was also there, but that is where the verity of the tale ends. In actuality, the chap went to Provence where I was supposed to have been visiting friends, for he intended to catch me there and throw down the gauntlet. I was still in Paris, however, and while searching me out, he fell in with a band of miscreants who slit his throat for the purse he held. Since attaching the murder to me was much more romantic, I am afraid the gossipmongers had their way, and it became a much more exciting story.”
Now it was Caroline’s turn to question him. “Would you have fought him, had he caught up with you?”
His expression was only a little surprised. He blinked, then smiled. “I do not know, Miss Wembly. I suppose so. I am only glad I did not have to find out. Contrary to my reputation, had I needed to kill him in order to protect myself, I would not have enjoyed it. After all, the man was half-mad with grief.” He paused, adding in a softer, almost penitent voice, “and he did have cause.”
He seemed to catch himself, jerking his gaze back to her. Caroline took a long, thoughtful moment to sip her tea.
She peered at him over the gilded rim of the cup, her lashes shielding her eyes as she studied him. “So then you do have a conscience?” she asked.
“Now, there is no cause to be insulting,” he replied as he shifted in his seat. Giving her a sideways glance, he added, “I thought you said you had not heard tell of my vile nature.”
Caught off guard, she had to confess. “I suppose I did hear a few things. I thought it unkind to mention it.”
He was staring at her again over his interlaced fingers. She hated herself for fidgeting, but she couldn’t help it.
“How wise.”
She inclined her head in a regal fashion. She could swear it amused him, drat the man. It seemed no matter how she tried, she could not manage to get the upper hand.
He continued, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “I offer this information, for it is important you have an understanding of my character as we are about to , enter into a most. intimate business arrangement, and these matters are inarguably pertinent.”
“It is kind of you to explain,” Caroline stated. She caught the flash of pride in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts: Magnus Eddington does not explain himself to anyone! She smiled, deceptively demure.
She had provoked him, it seemed. His brows slanted down wickedly as he leaned forward, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his chin. “Tell me more about yourself, Miss Wembly. I hardly feel you have disclosed the equal of what I have shared with you, and it is I who am the one to make the choice of your suitability.”
“I have told you of myself, all there is to tell.” Setting down her cup, she was uncomfortably aware of the way his eyes could bore into her, seemingly able to plumb the depths of her thoughts and bare her secrets. She looked away.
“Your answer as to why you wish to marry a complete stranger was incomplete. In short, you never said why it is you desire to enter into this.what did Mr. Green call it? Ah, yes. ‘Odd alliance.”‘
She forced herself to face him calmly, but her hands grabbed fistfuls of the lovely blue silk dress as she said simply, “Money.”
He liked her directness, she surmised, for he whooped in delight and rocked back in his chair. “And what, pray tell, do you wish with my money?”
It was a laughing matter, was it? Her temper raced hot and dangerous. How well the wealthy were amused by the grasping need of the less fortunate. They never had to go hungry, had they? Or wear dresses that hung threadbare and short, so tight across a burgeoning breast it was almost impossible to breathe. Or bury all dignity and come to an earl’s house and offer oneself like a brood mare for a chance at life for someone they loved.
Her bitterness alm
ost choked her. “Why does anyone need money?” she spat. “To buy things.”
Things like medicines. Things like life for a dying child.
He narrowed his eyes, those seemingly omnipotent orbs that saw all. Good God, she had gone too far!
She would be foolish to forget her precarious position. Oh, what had made her think she could do this? She was hardly the deferential type—the very kind of woman whom the earl would desire, she had no doubt. Swallowing hard, she began to stutter an apology.
The earl cut her off. “Do not! Groveling does not become you.” Stunned, she snapped her mouth shut. “I am not displeased by your strong character. It is an asset, for my son will need a firm hand to guide him through life since I will not be able to do it. I am not looking for an agreeable partner for myself, Miss Wembly, but a surrogate for myself in my child’s life.”
There was something chilling about his casual tone when speaking of his own death. It stopped her.
“You are being interviewed for the position of mother for my son, nothing more, nothing less.”
Worried at this statement, she asked, “What if the child is female?”
“She will be likewise endowed with my fortune.”
“What if there is no child?”
An odd look passed over his features. Pain. “It would be regrettable, but we can hardly control all of it, can we? We must merely do our best, and leave the rest to the Almighty. Which brings me to the rather delicate matter of lovemaking.”
The word made her start. She actually jumped and a small sound like a tiny squeak escaped her. As if to calm her, the earl held his hands up. “It must be discussed. I need to know the prospect of being intimate with me is not, how shall I put this? Distasteful?”
Suddenly, the swell of flesh gushing over her décolletage felt glaringly conspicuous and completely too much. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. They were large, capable, callused—now how did an aristocrat acquire calluses?—and wondered what it would be like to have him touch her, hold her in the manner in which, as she understood it, a husband holds a wife. He was not a tender man. Submitting to him.that way, well, it could be unpleasant, she imagined. Yet her blood raced and a strange heat stole up her neck as she continued to stare.
A Rose at Midnight Page 2
