River of Fire: Book 6 in The Fallen Angels Series

by Mary Jo Putney

  Then Lavinia pushed to the front of the group. "Well, my little lovebirds, you won't be able to keep your betrothal private any longer," she said with indulgent humor. "Sir Anthony will be glad to finally send out the notices."

  Kenneth caught Rebecca in his arms and got to his feet, then smoothly set her beside him, wrapping his left arm around her waist for support. "Please forgive us," he said disarmingly. "Ever since Rebecca agreed to be my wife, I've been behaving like a mooncalf. I still have trouble believing my good luck." He smiled dotingly into her eyes. Under his breath, he whispered, "Play along, Ginger, and we'll survive this skirmish."

  Jarred out of her paralysis, she tilted her head and gave him a slightly shaky smile. "It is I who am the lucky one."

  Catherine stepped forward, Michael just behind her. As Michael shook Kenneth's hand, Catherine exclaimed, "How wonderful! Mind you, I suspected an engagement the first time I saw you together." She kissed Rebecca's cheek. "You're the only woman I know who is good enough for Kenneth."

  An instant later the duke and duchess were offering their best wishes, quickly followed by others, even the dowager who had been so outraged. A little hysterically, Rebecca realized that Lavinia's quick thinking had transformed them from outrageous sinners into a charmingly romantic betrothed couple. Her reputation had been saved—but dear God, at what price?

  * * *

  Though the next hour passed with ghastly slowness, Kenneth managed to keep up the facade of proud newly engaged man. Rebecca stayed close, smiling shyly and accepting good wishes. But he didn't like the brittle expression in her eyes. They must talk before she shattered.

  Luckily they had already arranged to leave right after supper, but Michael and Catherine's presence in the carriage prevented private conversation. He suspected that his old friends guessed that no betrothal had existed. However, with exquisite tact, they asked no questions.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally set down at Seaton House. Rebecca held on to his arm as they climbed the steps and he unlocked the front door. She even waved good-bye to the Kenyons, but the instant they entered the dimly lit foyer she jerked away. Under her glowing auburn hair, her face was white.

  Wanting to ease the distress in her eyes, he said, "We got out of that rather lightly. All we have to do is maintain the pretense of a betrothal for several months, then quietly let it be known that we decided we wouldn't suit."

  "So in addition to my previous reputation as a slut, I will now be known as a jilt." She yanked off her cloak and hurled it onto a chair. "Wonderful."

  "Ending the engagement will cause only a mild ripple compared to the scandal that would have erupted if Lavinia hadn't thought so quickly." He sighed as he removed his hat and set it on the hall table. "I'm sorry, Rebecca. I swear that you won't have to marry me because of a stupid accident."

  "Was it an accident, Captain?" She peeled off her kid gloves and said in a voice that trembled, "You have access to most of my father's papers. Did you learn that my mother's death made me a considerable heiress? I imagine there is enough to save your precious estate, with some left over to start your own private art collection."

  "Christ, do you think I engineered that wretched scene to trap you into marriage?" he asked incredulously.

  She stared at him with bleak eyes. "No, I suppose not. Still, I've wondered why you were so vehement about not wanting to marry for money. You seemed to be protesting too much about what is clearly the logical choice for a man in your situation."

  He turned away, feeling as drained as if he'd spent the evening pounded by an artillery barrage. And now he was going to have to reveal a wretched truth to explain his aversion to fortune hunting.

  "I was raised to assume that wealth and rank and privilege would be mine by right," he said painfully. "Through a combination of bad luck and bad judgment, most of those assumptions were beaten out of me. While other young gentlemen raced horses and chased opera dancers, I learned that the world grants no rights beyond the chance to struggle for survival."

  His mouth twisted. "In the army I was flogged, wore rags, and damned near starved to death. I was forced to face every flaw and weakness in myself, and to learn the harsh lesson that men born to whores and raised in the gutter could be stronger, braver, and more honorable than I."

  Still not looking at her, he removed his cloak and folded it meticulously. "Now I've inherited the rank I once assumed was my natural due, but there's a very real possibility that I'll spend the rest of my life living hand to mouth, only a single step from disaster. Much of the fault is my own. But even though survival meant surrendering pride and hope and most of my youth, the one thing I refuse to yield is the belief that if I ever marry, I have a right to choose a woman I care about."

  He thought he would suffocate in the ensuing silence. Then Rebecca said in a barely audible voice, "You're very eloquent. I'm sorry for saying what I did—getting caught was as much my fault as yours. More, probably, because I had less excuse for losing my head. But..." She drew a ragged breath. "Everything was going so well. Then it ended in an instant. I... I should have stayed in my attic and never allowed myself to be lured out." She turned and climbed the stairs, her back rigid.

  He sank into an uncomfortable gilded chair and buried his face in his hands. She was right; they both should have stayed home. He had wanted to improve her life, and instead had caused greater damage. How many times did he have to learn the lesson that good intentions could produce terrible outcomes?

  He could hardly blame her for her suspicions. She already knew that he was being less than fully honest; he'd told her so himself. From there it was an easy jump to believing he was a fortune hunter, especially when he had been so insane as to kiss her in what was virtually a public place.

  Of course, he had been a little insane at the time. Damn Hermione. Though he'd known that eventually he would run into her, he had not been prepared for it to happen on his first venture into London society. He should have guessed that she would not respect the rules of mourning.

  As much as he had always disliked his stepmother, he had still underestimated her viciousness. The best proof that she had deliberately seduced him was her brazen willingness to let Rebecca know about the incident. Bloody hell, had she told his father? The thought nauseated him.

  Rebecca, bless her, had handled the revelation very well. Instead of running away in disgust, she had offered comfort and understanding. Thank God for her lucid, unconventional mind.

  But now, because of his criminal carelessness, the two of them were officially betrothed. The hell of it was that, under other circumstances, he might well have asked her to marry him. He had never found such mental rapport with another woman, nor such intense desire. It would be very easy to fall in love with her. Instead, he was honor-bound to end the betrothal as soon as possible. He was in no position to marry. Even if he managed to resolve the mystery of Helen Seaton's death without Rebecca learning of his duplicity, a serious proposal would revive her suspicions that he wanted her for her money.

  With a groan, he got to his feet and headed upstairs. He would change from his evening clothing, then go to his little studio and paint a furious watercolor of a battle scene. Perhaps that would relieve some of his turmoil.

  * * *

  As soon as Rebecca entered her bedroom, her shaky control dissolved. After locking the door—did she fear that Kenneth would follow her? Would she mind if he did?—she threw herself onto the bed. What a damned fool she had been. If she hadn't taken her distress out on him in the form of a stupid accusation, Kenneth would not have had to spell out that she was not a woman he could care for deeply.

  Oh, he liked her in a friendly way, and he found her somewhat attractive, but those were superficial emotions. It was the beautiful, doomed guerrilla whom he had loved. She herself was not worthy of marriage even to save his estate and sister from ruin.

  Not that she wanted to marry him, or any man. But she liked him. And—admit it—she desired him, a
nd wanted him to desire her. To burn with desire, that only she could satisfy.

  What would be the ideal relationship with him? Rebecca rolled over on her back and considered. To be lovers. That would be perfect. They would live in separate homes, and when she was in the mood, she would invite Kenneth over. They would make mad, passionate love, with no hurtful consequences.

  What a pity that life was not so simple.

  Chapter 18

  Rebecca's first thought when she awoke was that she must tell her father what had happened. He would probably be half amused and half irritated. With a groan, she rose, washed, and put on an exceedingly respectable gray morning gown. Then she headed downstairs, praying that she would not run into Kenneth. She had no idea what to say to him.

  Luckily, Sir Anthony was alone in the breakfast parlor. At her entrance, he glanced up from his newspaper. "Good morning. You're up early for someone who went to a ball. Did you have a good time?"

  "Yes and no." She poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and sat down. "It was quite enjoyable at first. But then a sort of accident happened."

  He laughed. "Someone stepped on the hem of your gown?"

  Wrapping her cold hands around the cup, she said baldly, "Kenneth and I were caught kissing."

  Before she could continue, her father's smile vanished. "The devil you say! The idea was to reestablish you socially, not make your reputation worse."

  "It was... an accident."

  He glared at her. "You tripped and happened to land in Kenneth's arms?"

  She gave him a look of annoyance. "Of course not. Something upsetting had happened to him. I was sympathizing, and a... a friendly kiss was exchanged." It was a good deal more than friendly, but she suspected that even a father as liberal as hers would not want to hear the lurid details. "We were in an alcove, and a dozen or so people came by on their way to the supper room. Some old trout saw us and became incensed. Lavinia happened to be part of the group. She saved the day by pretending that Kenneth and I are betrothed. Since she's well known as a friend of the family, no one questioned it."

  "Thank heaven she was there and showed some sense," Sir Anthony said grimly. "Obviously you and Kenneth had none. I would have expected better of you both."

  Clearly irritation was outweighing amusement. "It was an unfortunate incident, but harmless," she said defensively. "Everyone accepted the idea of a betrothal. We'll call it off in a few months, but in the meantime, formal notices will have to be sent to the papers to maintain the pretense."

  "What do you mean, pretense?" He folded his newspaper and slapped it onto the table beside his plate. "I was willing to overlook your elopement with that imbecilic poet, but enough is enough. You'll simply have to marry Kenneth."

  She almost choked on her scalding coffee. "Don't be absurd! Getting married because of a minor indiscretion is exactly the sort of foolish social convention that you are always railing about. Of course we won't go through with it."

  Sir Anthony scowled at her. "I've been far too lax with you. It's time to rectify that. You're a grown woman and you should be respectably married. Kenneth will make a perfectly adequate husband. At least he recognizes a good painting when he sees it, unlike your poet."

  Unable to believe what she was hearing, she sputtered, "What makes you think you can start ordering my life when I'm twenty-seven years old?"

  "Better late than never." His eyes narrowed. "I am your father and it is my duty to guide you. You will do as I say, and I say you must marry Kenneth."

  Rage exploded through her. Rebecca got to her feet and leaned over the table, planting her fists on the polished mahogany. "How dare you! You committed adultery with any attractive woman who caught your eye. You blandly accepted the fact that one of your best friends was your wife's lover. And now you claim the right to guide me? You... you hypocrite!"

  Taken aback, her father stammered, "That has nothing to do with your situation."

  "Nothing to do with it?" She crumpled her napkin into a ball and hurled it across the room. "With the example of marriage you set, I'd rather burn in hell than take a husband! If you don't like that, fine. I'll leave and set up my own establishment. I can perfectly well afford it."

  "I told Helen it would be a mistake for you to inherit her fortune outright, but she was as stubborn as you are." He got to his feet, his expression ferocious. "If you set up your own household, I wash my hands of you. You are no longer my daughter. You can live alone, an outcast."

  Too enraged to care, she shouted, "Fine! I look forward to not having your lazy friends underfoot all the time. You can stretch your own canvases and make your own pastels and special oils. And if you think I'll tell you the formulae for my flesh tints, you're an even bigger fool than I thought!"

  "You arrogant chit! I was mixing oils when your mother was still in the nursery." He swept his arm across the table, sending crockery crashing. "Go on, leave and good riddance!"

  She was about to make another furious reply when a deep voice said sharply, "Enough! Both of you stop before you say something irrevocable."

  Rebecca and her father turned to see that Kenneth had entered the breakfast room from the door at the far end. She flushed, wondering how much he had heard. After the heat came a chill as she realized how close she and her father were to a devastating rupture. If she lost him, she would be wholly alone.

  Less reflective, her father snapped, "Mind your own business. This is a family matter."

  Kenneth arched his brows eloquently. "That's the whole point. In theory, I am almost a member of your family."

  "In that case, talk some sense into my daughter." Sir Anthony waved an exasperated hand at Rebecca. "She's being bullheaded, but surely you recognize that after being caught in a compromising situation you must marry, and soon."

  "Not necessarily," Kenneth said calmly. "The consequences of a broken engagement would be minor compared to those of an ill-advised marriage."

  Temper kindling again, Sir Anthony roared, "Damnation! I thought you were a gentleman, even if you were promoted from the ranks. I never should have hired you."

  Beginning to feel a little giddy, Rebecca said helpfully, "You're forgetting that he's a viscount, he went to Harrow, and you've said yourself that he's the best secretary you ever had."

  "All the more reason for him to do the right thing!" Her father glared at Kenneth. "Don't think you can get away with shirking your duty. You've compromised my daughter, and by God, you will damned well marry her or I'll take a horsewhip to you."

  Rebecca stifled a giggle as she tried to imagine her slightly built father horsewhipping a man who outweighed him by four stone and who had fought through years of brutal warfare. The situation had gone from anger to farce.

  Still calm, Kenneth said, "The decision whether or not to marry must be Rebecca's. If she wishes to go through with the betrothal, naturally I will oblige. But I will not force her to the altar. Neither you nor I have the right, or the power, to do so." His voice became dry. "I'm not much of a prize, so I can't blame her for preferring hell to having me for a husband."

  Rebecca winced, sorry he had heard that.

  "It's a perfectly eligible connection," Sir Anthony replied. "The more I consider, the better I like it. The house has ample room for the pair of you to stay on. Very convenient."

  "For heaven's sake, Papa, I'm not going to marry merely so you can keep your favorite secretary!" Rebecca exclaimed.

  Before her father could answer, Kenneth said soothingly, "The issue cannot not be decided now, when tempers are raging."

  "Perhaps you're right." Sir Anthony stalked to the door. "But whether it is settled now or later, there is only one acceptable outcome. Kenneth, draft betrothal notices for the newspapers." Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

  Rebecca folded her shaky body into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Kenneth's soft footsteps approached, and she felt the warmth radiating from his body as he knelt by her.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.<
br />
  "Don't worry, I'm closer to laughter than tears." She raised her head and gave him a slightly unsteady smile. "Of all the times for my father to decide that he should be a stricter parent! This whole situation is absurd."

  He stood and went for the coffee pot, replenishing her cup before pouring one for himself. "Sir Anthony isn't taking this well," he agreed. "Am I about to be discharged?"

  "I shouldn't think so. His tantrums don't last long."

  "What about yours?" He served himself breakfast from the covered dishes, then sat down. "Will you really move out and set up your own household?"

  "I doubt it will come to that."

  "I hope you're right. I would hate to be the cause of a rift between you and your father."

  As she took a grateful swallow of coffee, she realized that she felt no awkwardness with Kenneth. Her earlier unease seemed to have been burned away by the shouting match with her father. "If that happens, it will be our fault, not yours." She regarded him thoughtfully. "Did you mean what you said—that the decision whether or not to marry is entirely mine?"

  "Of course." He cut his ham into neat squares. "Gentlemen are not allowed to end betrothals. It's a basic social rule."

  She snorted. "I should hold you to the engagement as punishment for making me go to the ball."

  He gave her a wry smile. "I've had worse punishments."

  The intimate light in his eyes sent warmth cascading through her. Lord, if he wasn't careful, she really might make him go through with it. The thought was wickedly tempting. But she didn't want to lose him as a friend, and nothing would be more fatal to friendship than a marriage he didn't want.

  Lightly she said, "Apart from publishing the announcement, do we have to do anything to support our false engagement?"

  "Accepting a few invitations might be advisable, but that's all." He stabbed a piece of ham with his fork. "In a few weeks, life will be back to normal."

  He might believe that, but she didn't. The events of the previous evening had caused a change in their relationship. She felt an odd mixture of intimacy and wariness and saw the same in him. Only time would tell how significant that change would be.