Nothing but Trouble

by Allegra Gray

  No one bothered trying to pretend the matter away.

  Elizabeth did at least try to convince her the engagement could still happen. “He may not even see this letter. How many men actually read the Tattler?”

  Charity shook her head. “It won’t matter. He was mentioned as well. Certainly someone will think to tell him.”

  “You two are all but engaged already. Perhaps, if the duke talked to him, they could agree to put out the word that the engagement became official on Thursday and that…kiss…was celebratory. It was just a kiss, right?”

  Charity cringed. “Yes. Maybe more than one. But nothing more than that.”

  Lady Medford, for once, kept her mouth shut. In fact, she had it shut so hard her lips were turning white and Charity was afraid her face might crack.

  “Even so,” her sister said. “I daresay duels have been called over accusations less damning than what that letter in the Tattler contained. If you’re telling me the letter was true, I think Alex should have words with your Lord Maxwell.”

  “No duels. Don’t even think of it. Elizabeth, please, please, tell the duke not to put any undue pressure on Lord Maxwell.” She knew her sister too well. If there was a way to fix things, she would try to do it.

  “Whyever not?”

  She lowered her eyes. “I just…I don’t want him to someday look back on this past week and think it was one giant mistake that ended in a forced marriage. And then I’ll be stuck somewhere in Scotland with a husband who resents me.”

  “Oh.” She thought about that. “I wish I could say you’re being silly, but you have a point.”

  “A good point,” Lady Medford cracked her lips long enough to add.

  Charity blinked. She’d been certain her mother would absolutely insist on pressing for the engagement. Instead, she was once more standing by her daughter’s side. After years of conflict, Charity didn’t know what to make of that. “Lovely. We are all in agreement.”

  “Sarcasm does not become you,” her sister chided gently.

  Charity sighed. “Very little does these days.”

  Little Noah, lying on a small quilt near the sofa, stretched up his arms and cooed. Before Elizabeth could reach for him, Lady Medford scooped him up, not even cringing when he took the fingers that had been in his mouth and patted her cheek. Having a grandson who was heir to a dukedom had gone a long way toward mellowing out persnickety Priscilla Medford. “I had hoped to see both my daughters make good matches,” she said finally. “But I have begun to think, Charity, that your penchant for trouble would make you a difficult wife.”

  She almost laughed. It probably would.

  “I also know the pain of feeling trapped. You are too young for me to wish that upon you. But if Lord Maxwell were to come to you of his own accord…”

  “He won’t.” Tears welled, threatening to spill over her lashes. The last thing she’d expected was for her mother to actually be nice to her. “Why should he? Nearly every encounter we’ve had so far has resulted in awkward moments and embarrassment for him.”

  “Perhaps it is time to give some serious thought to a life in the country. You would not be turned away at any of our estates,” Elizabeth offered.

  “Maybe,” she managed past the lump in her throat.

  “Cousin Lily did finally leave Montgrave around Christmastime, but I’m sure if I wrote to her, she would return in a heartbeat. You’d have company.”

  “Cousin Lily who filled the liquor bottles with water after consuming their contents in secret?”

  “Charity! You weren’t supposed to repeat that.”

  She gave a horrified laugh. This was what it had come to. Crazed Charity and tipsy Cousin Lily, rusticating the years away as guests of the benevolent duke? “I will think about it,” she promised. Maybe when her emotions settled down, the idea would hold more appeal. “Right now, though, I just want to go lie down.” She felt like she could sleep for a year.

  In fact, she did sleep for much of the next few days, which was a strange blessing indeed. Somehow, being a confirmed pariah lifted the strain of being a near-pariah. She had nothing to worry about, because no one had any expectations for her to live up to at all. As long as she stayed tucked away in her room, and the duke’s men maintained the guard, she was safe.

  The deep loss that left her chest hollow and aching was another matter. The night of the masquerade, Lord Maxwell had swept into her life, swept her into his arms, and nothing had been the same since. She’d been almost in love with him. Maybe more than almost. But whether he’d ever had that audience with the duke, or what the outcome had been, she didn’t know. She’d heard nothing from him personally since the night at Vauxhall. Unless she missed her guess, he’d finally learned the truth about her.

  By the following Friday, Charity had accepted her fate. She spent the entire day and well into the evening in her morning dress, reading books and beginning to wonder, really wonder, what she would do with a life in the countryside. She couldn’t imagine just mouldering away as a permanent guest in one of her sister and brother-in-law’s houses. Perhaps she could go to America and become a teacher. One of her cousins had done so, some years ago. She should write her a letter. See how the adventure had come out.

  A tap on her door signaled the entrance of the butler. “Miss Medford, you have a caller.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  “No, miss. Lord Maxwell is here.”

  Charity popped to attention, going from listless to heart-thudding anticipation in the span of a second. Lord Maxwell. What did he want?

  “He says you have an engagement at the theater.” His carefully-schooled expression gave no hint that he’d noticed her attire was anything but appropriate.

  “I do? Oh!” She had agreed to attend the theater tonight, but that had been ages ago. Another lifetime. She’d been certain, with all that had happened, the plans had been canceled. “Tell him I am running just the tiniest bit late, and will be down shortly.”

  “Yes, miss.” He bowed and left.

  “Penny! Help!”

  The maid rushed in, and Charity stared worriedly into the looking glass. At least she hadn’t been crying in the past hour. Her face was pale, but not blotchy. “I have to get dressed.”

  “Your blue silk is pressed. Will that do, miss?”

  “Perfectly.” She wasn’t even certain what Graeme would say. Perhaps he just wanted to formally end things. She might not be leaving the house. But she could hardly see him en dishabille. Faster than they’d ever managed before, Penny got Charity dressed with her hair pinned up. The hurry brought a flush back to her cheeks, at least enough to confirm her standing among the living. Pearl earbobs, a present from Elizabeth on her last birthday, completed the look.

  Charity flew down the stairs and stopped dead at the entrance to the salon.

  Lord Maxwell stood in full theater-going attire. He wore a black jacket and trousers with a stark white shirt and cravat, his form filling them so perfectly, so thoroughly that her mouth went dry.

  “Miss Medford, you are a vision.”

  Was it possible? Had he somehow spent the last week hidden in a cellar and not heard that his almost-fiancé was unfit for polite company?

  She lifted her chin ever so slightly. Meeting his gaze, she saw the knowledge there. No, Lord Maxwell hadn’t been hidden in a cellar, under a rock, or anywhere else news didn’t travel. He was just too honorable to ignore a prior commitment. Still, he’d kissed her just as thoroughly as she’d kissed back and they both knew it. But she could be honorable too. There was no sense in ruining a second life. She would go down with whatever dignity she had left.

  “Lord Maxwell, I fear there has been a mistake.”

  Graeme hated his role in causing the paleness in her face. It had been so hard to stay away this week, when he wanted to spend every waking moment wooing her. Now she stood like a vision, pale but determined. Beautiful. Not to mention stubborn.

  So stubborn that her benefactor, the
Duke of Beaufort, had given his approval of Graeme’s request, then told him he’d have to work out the details with Charity herself. Knowing where she stood on that matter, he’d tried to up the ante by publicizing their courtship.

  His ploy had hurt her. But if the second part—the part he’d set into motion tonight—worked as planned, he would make it up to her in a thousand ways. He could spend the rest of their lives making it up to her, and would do so gladly.

  He cleared his throat. “Nay, no mistake. We made plans to attend the theater, did we not?”

  “I thought—” she started, then stopped. “You should not be seen with me.”

  He’d been dumbfounded when, during his next audience with the duke, Beaufort informed him that, Tattler or no Tattler, he would not insist on an immediate marriage. “I would, actually,” the duke had confided, “if I thought there the slightest chance that Charity could be dragged to the altar and made to comply. Unfortunately, though her virtues are many, compliance is not among them.” A diplomatic way of saying that in spite of any fondness he might hold for his sister-in-law, he’d written her off.

  “I have every intention of being seen with you.”

  She looked tempted. And tempting. Still, she protested. “You should save yourself while you still can.”

  He stepped closer, holding back a smile. “You told me that once before. Lass, it is too late. Even then, I was already lost.”

  She took a shivery breath.

  He closed the distance between them, his hand coming up to caress the bare length of arm between the tiny sleeves of her gown and the top of her gloves.

  “Charity.” Her eyes widenened at his use of her given name. “I can offer what you seek.”

  “You have no idea what I seek.” It was hardly more than a whisper.

  Something solid to hold onto. A modicum of wisdom made him keep that thought to himself.

  A distinctly female shriek echoed from somewhere above, followed by a voice whose words were indistinguishable, but whose tone was clearly that of a mistress berating her maid. In answer to Charity, he suggested “Peace?”

  A reluctant giggle escaped her. But when she said, “Peace, indeed,” he caught a wistful tone to her words.

  “And protection,” he offered, struck by the fierceness of his desire to shield her from hurt.

  Charity, quick to recover, tossed her head. “What makes you think I want your protection?”

  He laughed. “Nothing in all this world has led me to believe you want my—or anyone else’s—protection.” A husky note entered his tone. “But, lass, I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

  She said nothing, just stared at him with those huge blue eyes that were somehow both soft and wary. Finally she tipped her head in acknowledgment. “How very chivalrous of you, Lord Maxwell. Allow me to collect my wrapper, and I shall be down directly.” She turned to go, but he heard the last words under her breath. “If only it were that easy.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and took long breaths, trying to quiet the thumping of his heart. So far, so good. He’d feared, especially given the wait when he first arrived, that she would refuse to leave the house entirely.

  He heard female voices above, and the berating voice of moments ago let out a happy squeal. Lady Medford approved, then. He wondered if she’d feel the same way tomorrow.

  Charity returned a few minutes later, a light wrap covering her gown, a confection of blue silk that brought out the fathomless blue of her eyes. He saw dainty slippers poking out from beneath her gown. Perfect attire for a night at the theater. Not at all suitable, though, for what they were actually going to do.

  “Miss Medford, I fear the evening has turned chilly. Will you be warm enough?”

  She glanced at her attire. “I shall manage. The theater is often quite warm.”

  Insisting she bring warmer clothing would only draw suspicion, so he let it go. “Shall we be on our way, then?” He took her arm, escorting her from the house and down the short walk to his waiting coach. A footman assisted her up, and he followed quickly after.

  She turned to him in surprise. “I thought you said your cousins would be joining us?”

  “Yes. About that.”

  This was it. The telling moment. Suddenly he realized he should have practiced a speech. They were still too close to her home. He needed to buy time.

  “I do hope you’ll forgive the impropriety, but we travel alone tonight.”

  She was silent for a moment. “I have been alone in a coach with you once before.” He could hear a note of amusement creep into her voice. “I had not thought to make a habit of it.”

  He reached for her. “’Twould seem to me a fine habit to make.”

  Her face fell. “Lord Maxwell, I understand that the way we met might have conveyed the wrong impression about the type of behavior I typically engage in. And whatever rumors are being bandied about…”

  “Nay. It is I who have conveyed the wrong impression. What I meant was, it won’t matter once we’re married.” He drew his fingers along her hair, her chin, guiding her lips to his. Her body belied her words, for she did not pull away. He heard a soft sigh as he settled her more comfortably against him.

  “But we are not married,” she murmured against his lips. “And my reputation is already in tatters.”

  He kissed her once, then again, unable to resist. “A problem for which, fortunately, I know the remedy.”

  She gave a muffled laugh, and the remainder of her protest was swallowed by his kiss. He took her mouth fully, shaping her lips with his, delving inside to taste her. Her sharp intake of breath fueled his desire, as did the way she grasped him as though she were drowning and he the only rock amidst the swirling water. His tongue tangled with hers as he stroked her back, feeling the soft curve of her hip.

  He pulled back just enough for air. God. Who was this minx? A few kisses and he was practically panting, imagining her naked and writhing beneath him.

  “We can’t,” she murmured, though her fingers running through his hair, clutching him to her, said they most certainly could.

  “Aye, we can.”

  “We haven’t time. We must be nearly to the theater by now.”

  He followed the instructions of her fingers, rather than her words, and bent his head to hers once more.

  Minutes later, the carriage hit a bump—just enough to jostle them apart. Just enough for Charity to regain her senses. She was breathing hard. So was he. He would have reached for her again, but she pressed her face to the small window. “Shouldn’t we have arrived by now?”

  He could avoid the truth no longer. “About that,” he said.

  She turned her face back to him, and in the dim light he could see her eyes widen.

  He took her hand. “Your sister told me you had a flair for drama. This should be right up your alley.”

  Chapter 8:

  Sometimes, reckless seduction achieves what proper courtship cannot.

  “What? What should be up my alley?” Charity demanded. “Where are we going?”

  “Gretna Green,” he informed her with more confidence than he actually felt. “We’re getting married.”

  “We’re doing what?” she screeched. “No! We most certainly are not.”

  “We most certainly are,” he countered.

  “This is madness.”

  “I prefer to think of it as daring. And you, Miss Medford, are known to be daring, are you not?”

  “But—”

  “Our courtship is public knowledge. More public, as you yourself admitted, than is healthy for a maiden’s reputation. Once we are married, no one will question how the marriage came about. Or what we were doing alone together in a carriage. Or anything else they might think we have done.”

  “Oh, yes they will.” How could this be happening? Her situation had gone from dire to…to…

  “Not for long. Some other scandal will come along to distract the masses. Just think of the stories you can someday tell
our grandchildren.”

  “Grandchildren?” she squeaked. She sucked in a breath and fought the urge to tug at her hair. What he said was true—the first part, at least. A rushed marriage invited speculation, but rarely resulted in prolonged censure.

  But that didn’t mean she was ready for it. “This is not a traveling carriage,” she pointed out.

  He laughed. “And here I thought the notion of marriage was what you objected to. Never fear, beautiful one. My traveling coach is being readied. ‘Twill be no more effort than stepping from one to the other, and we will be on our way.”

  “I have nothing with me. No trunks, no clothing…”

  His smile grew. “Another problem that can be easily rectified. We will send for your things to follow us. Ach. Look. Here we are.”

  Sure enough, the carriage stopped along the drive to a well-kept townhouse. A footman hurried to open the door. He assisted Charity down, with Graeme following scant inches behind her.

  “As I said, a quick transfer of vehicles, and we shall be on our way. Look, your carriage awaits.”

  Just ahead on the drive, a lacquered black traveling coach and team of six stood, the horses huffing and shifting their hooves as though eager to be off.

  Charity couldn’t breathe. Graeme held her hand, tugging her along so that she nearly tripped in the fluster of consternation…but not holding her so tight that she couldn’t have wrenched her arm free if she’d wanted to.

  Did she want to? She couldn’t even think. This past week had thrown her from dizzying heights, down to the depths of despair, and back up again. She’d thought her engagement over before it was ever officially announced. When he’d returned tonight, she’d been afraid to hope. Part of her still feared he’d come only because he was a man of his word. She hadn’t realized he was serious. No. That wasn’t it. She’d known he was serious about marriage. Just not that he meant to marry now.

  Before she knew it, Graeme himself was helping her into the traveling coach. She couldn’t say he tossed her in, exactly, but it was hardly her most graceful entrance.