Thankfully, she flashed him a shy smile. At last, he’d found the right thing to say. “You’re not alone in that, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t start ‘my lord’ing me now, when we’re about to be man and wife.”
She swallowed. “No matter what my aunt says, you mustn’t feel compelled to marry me.”
“It’s a bit late for that. We were caught in a compromising position by your aunt, a fact rapidly made apparent when other people joined us. If we don’t wed, you’ll be ruined, and—”
“I don’t care if I’m ruined, I told you.”
“I care. Because it means I’ll gain a reputation as a scoundrel who debauches innocents and doesn’t take responsibility for it.” When she winced, he softened his tone. “And surely you care if your sister-in-law and nephew are tainted by the scandal.”
A hint of desperation crossed her features. “Perhaps we can quash the rumors. Clarissa is my friend, and Lord Blakeborough is yours. Surely they wouldn’t say anything. We can explain about the nightmare to my aunt—”
“You already tried that, and she didn’t relent. Why should she? She’s been trying to find you a husband. Now that one has fallen into her lap, she’s not going to give that up without a fight.”
He didn’t notice the bitterness creeping into his voice until the color drained from Delia’s features.
She thrust out her chin. “I know you probably think this has all been some devious scheme to snare you, but I swear I wasn’t—”
“I never thought you were.” Cursing his clumsy words, he grabbed her hand. “God knows you’ve avoided me all day, dearling. And I’m well aware of how I get during my nightmares.”
She blinked. “You’ve had them before?”
Damn. “A time or two, yes. That’s not the point. Surely you see that we have no choice but to marry.”
An insultingly large sigh escaped her. “I suppose.”
“Do contain your enthusiasm at the prospect,” he said dryly.
“Oh! No, that’s not . . .” She reddened again. “I’m sure that you . . . I just . . . well . . . What was it you said that day at my aunt’s house? ‘But I also know that seduction is a dangerous game, and sometimes the outcome is beyond one’s control.’ Little did you guess that the seduction would be unintended, and the outcome beyond your control. I fear you will resent me for ending your bachelor life.”
“Trust me, my bachelor life isn’t as much fun as it looks.”
Even as she snorted her disbelief, he realized that the words were true. His bachelor life hadn’t been much fun in a very long time.
“In any case,” he went on, “it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that we settle this to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Except mine and Brilliana’s,” she said glumly, pulling her hand from his. “Now she’ll have no choice but to attempt to marry to save the estate.” She cast him a hopeful glance. “Unless you’re willing to let Jack Jones keep going to Dickson’s to gamble?”
“Not on your life. So you’ll also have to give up looking for the tattooed man, at least at Dickson’s. Though perhaps if you would tell me why you’re looking for him—”
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said hastily.
Something in her eyes told him that it did indeed still matter, but he wouldn’t press her on it just yet. It was going to be hard enough to reassure her that they could rub along well as man and wife.
But there was one anxiety of hers he could put to rest at least. “As for Camden Hall, as soon as we marry, I’ll speak to the lender for your mortgage and set up payments to keep foreclosure at bay until the estate can get on its feet again.”
Her eyes widened. “You would do that? Pay the mortgage?”
“For a while.” His desire to reassure her warred with his urge to maintain his dignity and not look as if he were groveling for her hand. Which he wasn’t. Not exactly.
“If the choice is between watching my wife’s relations tossed out of their home and forced to live with me, or helping them to stand on their own, I would much rather do the latter.”
“Oh, of course,” she said disappointedly. “That makes sense.”
Now he wished he hadn’t sounded quite so brusque. But God help him, he didn’t want to start the marriage with her thinking she could twist him about her finger and get him to do whatever she wanted. This wasn’t a love match. Best that she know it from the beginning.
It would, however, be a lust match. Perhaps he should clarify that, too. “You once said that you thought we might do quite well together in bed. Do you still think so?”
Her cheeks flamed. “I . . . that is . . . you said there was no might about it, and that we certainly would. So I shall have to take your word for it.” She arched her brows. “Though you also said that you wouldn’t be the one to satisfy my supposed ‘craving for wickedness.’ You were quite firm on that.”
He debated whether to be honest. But this would be hard enough without trying to wrap it up in a fancy—and utterly false—package. “I admit I wouldn’t have chosen to marry just yet.” He was still wary about joining himself to an innocent who would eventually expect something more than he could give.
Not to mention a persistent chit who might pry into his past until she unearthed his most humiliating secrets. He mustn’t let that happen. Bad enough that she would soon know about his way of life—that he kept busy during the night, slept until midafternoon, and then conducted his business or went to Parliament in the afternoon and early evening, when the world was still full of activity. She would already wonder about that.
But he couldn’t let her discover firsthand how difficult he could be, how the nightmares were getting more vivid over time. She would grow terrified of him.
Lords aren’t afraid of the dark. Buck up and be a man.
Or worse, regard him with contempt for his damned inability to get over his fears. He couldn’t stomach either response.
And she already distrusted men. He didn’t want to make that worse.
“But I’m sure we can find a way to make it work,” he went on. He hoped they could, anyway.
“You mean, as long as I toe the line and do as you say.”
He eyed her askance. “Is there really any chance of that?”
A hesitant smile graced her lips. “Probably not. The ‘obey’ part of the vows always sticks in my craw.”
“Personally, I prefer the part that says, ‘with my body I thee worship.’ ”
She colored deeply. “Of course you do. I’ll be doing the worshipping.”
“Actually, no. That vow is only made by the man.” He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, then let his hand trail down her cheek. “So I’ll be doing the worshipping, and I daresay I shall enjoy every moment.” That much was true.
A shaky breath stuttered out of her. Their gazes locked, and his mind leapt ahead to when he would have her in his bed. He could finally ease the lust that had seized him practically from the moment he’d met her.
He bent close. “As I said, dearling, I believe we can find a way to make it work.”
Her eyes turned a luminous blue that made his pulse thunder. He was on the verge of kissing her when the door banged open.
“It is time to leave, sir,” said a stalwart female voice.
Damn. Lady Pensworth had reached the end of her patience. But she could go to hell if she thought he would be ordered about like some schoolboy. “Another moment alone, madam, if you please,” he said coldly, keeping his gaze fixed on Delia’s flushed features.
The baroness bristled. “Solicitors do not stay open until all hours, my lord, so if we wish to have the settlements done in time—”
He tore his gaze from Delia to stare down her aunt. “I will not be hurried. This is too important. So I suggest you allow me a few more moments to woo my future wife.”
Lady Pensworth blinked, looking owl-eyed beneath her spectacles. Clearly, the harridan wasn’t used to being spoken
to in that tone. But she had the good sense to nod and back out, though he noticed that she left the door cracked open.
It mattered not. There was only one question left to ask. “Yes or no, Delia? Will you marry me?”
She stiffened. “Don’t pretend I have a choice. You’ve made it quite clear that I do not.”
“You always have a choice. And if you choose to be ruined, I will walk out right now, and to hell with the consequences. I suppose I can weather a few years of being considered a scoundrel.” He narrowed his gaze. “But I daresay you’re not quite so much a rebel that you’d trample over the reputations of me and your family just to avoid marrying.”
She hesitated a long moment before uttering a defeated sigh. “Blast you for being right.”
Oddly, that answer reassured him. He liked her spirit, and he hoped to see more of it. But a rebel with no sense would not make him a good marchioness. “Does that mean your answer is yes?”
“It does.” She searched his face, and her expression grew calculating. “Assuming you grant me one request.”
Uh-oh. “Depends on what the request might be.”
Was that a twinkle he saw in her eyes? “I must be allowed to bring Flossie to my new home.”
A relieved laugh escaped him. “Done. If all your requests are as easy as that one, we shall rub along quite nicely, I expect.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it with a smile that gratified him. “Lead on, my lord. It appears I have a wedding to plan.”
Her aunt came in just then, her expression softening as she saw them arm in arm. “I do hope you’re not aiming for a large wedding, niece. Because this must be done quickly, before the guests can return to London and start gossiping about what happened.”
Clarissa entered behind her. “You can marry here!” She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, that would be such a fabulous addition to my house party. People will be talking about it for ages.”
“Wonderful,” Edwin muttered behind her, though Warren would swear he saw his friend smile fleetingly.
“Wonderful, indeed,” Lady Pensworth said. “Though it will require the acquisition of a special license.”
“I’m sure I can manage that,” Warren drawled. “The archbishop is a cousin of mine.”
“Of course he is,” Delia said under her breath. When he shot her a sharp glance, she added, “What? I’m just saying that you know everyone of note in society. I’m surprised you aren’t demanding to have the wedding in Westminster Abbey.”
“I’m afraid they reserve that for royal weddings and parishioners, my dear.” But her comment reminded him that none of them had yet asked her what she wanted. “You don’t mind having our wedding here, do you?”
Her quick look of gratitude told him that she appreciated his gesture. “Not in the least. I can’t imagine anything more marvelous than to be married in a beautiful house like this, among all the friends and family I have in the world.”
“Then it’s settled,” Lady Pensworth said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll have the wedding.”
All Delia’s pleasure seemed to vanish. “Tomorrow! So soon? Can’t I have another day or two to plan?”
“The sooner the better,” her aunt said grimly. “Before the gossip hits town. You should arrive there already wed, so that the worst they think is that you two got carried away by your romantic feelings and insisted upon marrying right away.”
“But it may take more than one day to procure the license and settle matters with our solicitors,” Warren said in a steely voice. If his future wife wanted a couple of days to plan, then she would have them, by God. “I don’t think waiting until day after tomorrow will hurt anything.”
“Oh, very well, if you insist,” Lady Pensworth said. “And now, my lord, we really must go.”
“Of course.” Though he wasn’t looking forward to an hour or more of being interrogated by the baroness in his carriage.
So he took one more moment to gaze down at his new fiancée and say, sotto voce, “Everything will be fine, dearling. I swear it.”
“You cannot guarantee that, my lord,” she said. “But if you’re willing to try to make it so, then I am, too.”
Then she surprised him by kissing his cheek. It touched him deeply. And made him wish they were alone.
He glanced around at the waiting company. To hell with that. In for a penny, in for a pound. Tugging her into his arms, he gave her a hearty buss on the lips.
“Now that, my dear, is more like it,” he murmured. Leaving her standing wide-eyed, he strode out the door.
Moments later, after he and Lady Pensworth were ensconced in his coach and headed to London, she said, “Nicely done, Knightford.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What part?”
“Getting past my niece’s silly objections to marriage.”
“Her objections? What about mine? You assume that I wished to marry. She wasn’t lying, you know. She really did happen upon me having a nightmare. I really did grab her thinking she was—” In my bed. He paused, figuring he’d best not tell that much of the truth. “Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at the time. And she was just trying to help me.”
“I know.”
He gaped at her. “You know?”
The harridan’s eyes twinkled. “It was hard not to notice the look of complete shock on your face when you realized what you’d done. Or the panic on hers.”
His temper flared. “But you chose to ignore the evidence of your eyes and force us into an untenable position. That is scheming of the worst kind, madam.”
“Is it?” Lady Pensworth didn’t look the least cowed by his accusation. “She likes you. You like her. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with you can tell that the two of you would make an excellent match. But you both would allow your foolish ideas about marriage to keep you from something that could be wonderful. So, yes, I interfered.”
She smirked at him. “It didn’t require much, given that you were entwined in each other’s arms when I found you. You will thank me later, I promise. Now be honest: Are you that unhappy about the situation?”
The question threw him off guard. In truth, he was not. He was worried about what might happen to them as a couple and whether Delia would eventually become content with their union. But he was rather looking forward to a lifetime of sparring with her. Which, in itself, alarmed him.
“That’s what I thought,” she said.
“It’s not me you should be worried about. It’s your niece. Delia deserves better than to be forced into marriage.”
“Forced?” She snorted. “That girl has never been forced into anything in her life. Don’t let her spin that line with you. Delia does as she pleases, and I can assure you she is well pleased to be marrying you. She just hasn’t acknowledged it to herself yet.”
“I hope you’re right. Because if you’re not, then we have a miserable future ahead of us.”
“I doubt that.” She leaned back against the squabs. “How about this? If you wish to stop this marriage now, then do. I will try to halt the gossip before it begins, and she can go on as she pleases. I daresay between you and me, we might be able to keep matters quiet. Is that what you want?”
He glanced out the window at the countryside whizzing past. What a choice. He could go back to being a bachelor, to drinking and gambling and whoring at all hours to keep the night at bay.
Or he could attempt to live a normal life with a wife and children . . . or as much of a normal life as was possible, given his night terrors.
The second choice could prove disastrous. He simply had no way of being sure that his rebel of a fiancée could be the sort of wife he needed, let alone the sort of wife he wanted.
Yet the first choice—of returning to endless nights in the stews alone—seemed horribly bleak. Not to mention monotonous. And frankly, he was getting a bit old for that life.
Besides, given the chance—and good odds—he had always preferred taking risks. Even whe
n it meant marrying a chit who was liable to run him a merry dance.
He shifted to meet Lady Pensworth’s gaze. “Very well. Assuming you’re right and we could manage to keep what happened quiet, I still don’t wish to halt this. And God help me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think that’s what she wants, either.”
Lady Pensworth’s sharply released breath told him she hadn’t been entirely sure of him. Good. He’d never liked being predictable.
A calculating glint appeared in her eyes. “Then we might as well begin discussing the settlement. No point in waiting until we get the lawyers involved.”
With a rueful laugh, he nodded.
Delia was definitely cut from the same cloth as her aunt. And for some reason, that reassured him that his decision was sound. Because any woman who would grow into being a Lady Pensworth might suit him quite well.
Now he just had to make sure he brought Delia around to feeling the same way about having him for a husband.
Fifteen
“It really depends on whether you choose the lavender or the Clarence blue for your wedding gown,” Clarissa said.
Delia blinked. Once more, she’d been woolgathering. That was all she’d been doing since Warren and Aunt Agatha had left yesterday. “What does?”
Clarissa shook her head. “The flowers, silly. I have all sorts in my gardens. It’s a pity you don’t have a white gown that would work—or that one of mine wouldn’t fit you—but it can’t be helped. My Lavandula will go nicely with the lavender gown, and my blue hydrangeas are almost exactly the shade of the other. So which do you want in your bouquet with the white roses?”
“She’ll have the hydrangeas,” Brilliana answered, then smiled at Delia. “You look best in the blue, dearest. The lavender gown is lovely, but the blue gown is stunning. And you want to be stunning for your wedding day.”
A sad smile crossed Delia’s lips. “I doubt any gown could make me stunning.”
“Nonsense,” Clarissa said. “Every woman can be stunning if she just believes she can. It’s all in the way you present yourself. Behave as if you are stunning and voilà, you will be. There’s more to beauty than looks, my dear.”
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