by Marlowe Mia
“And you would yoke my dear sweet cousin with you, an upstart from the gutter?” Washburn demanded.
“Who said I was yoking anyone?”
“Oh, that’s right. You’d rather just rut her and let a decent man take your leavings.”
The smile faded from Crispin’s face and he stepped toward the baron. “Have a care with your cousin’s reputation. I might have to call you out.”
Washburn curled his lip. “A gentleman only grants satisfaction to another gentleman. As if I’d deign to respond to the braying of a whore’s spawn.”
“Very well,” Crispin said, his tone soft, but full of silky menace. “If you persist in maligning Grace, perhaps I’ll settle matters the way we whore’s spawn do in Cheapside. With a knife to your ribs.”
Clearly flustered, Washburn appealed to Dorset. “Did you hear that? The man threatened me.”
“If he hadn’t, I’d have been forced to demand satisfaction myself for your scurrilous slurs on Miss Makepeace.” Lord Dorset rose with the full majesty of the marquessate heavy upon him. “You will do nothing to sully the reputation of a guest—any guest—in my home. Do I make myself clear, sir?”
“I had hoped I could persuade the two of you to step aside for the sake of decency, but that was my mistake,” Washburn said. “Decency hasn’t had anything to do with the house of Dorset for generations.”
“Then it will not trouble you to be asked to leave it,” Dorset said.
“Willingly, my lord, but I wouldn’t want a whiff of scandal my departure would cause to dampen your house party,” Washburn said. “Unless, of course, I convince Miss Makepeace to come with me. As my fiancée.”
The baron turned on his heel and stomped out.
“When she refuses him, he’ll spread those tales about Grace,” Crispin said, rage coloring his vision as he glared after Washburn. “Is it wise to allow him to stay?”
“I can keep an eye on him while he’s in this house.”
“I meant on Earth. Some people outlive their breathing privileges, you know.”
“Don’t be hasty.” Dorset rose and came around the desk. “If I hadn’t rushed matters this afternoon, if I had been more circumspect, none of this would have happened.” He studied the thick Persian rug beneath his feet for a moment. “Your lie about a liaison with Olympia Sharp saved my dignity. I thank you for . . . acting a brother’s part.”
Hawke shrugged and the murderous rage he felt for Grace’s cousin dissipated a bit. “It seemed the best way to irritate Washburn at the time.”
“Unfortunately, all Washburn has to do is question Miss Sharp to find me out.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Crispin said. “I can explain things to Olympia and she’ll be only too happy to fall in with my tale. But she does love to brag about her lovers, so don’t be surprised if you catch all the ladies of the ton gossiping about your gifts behind their fans.”
Lord Dorset’s mouth twitched.
“Olympia’s a compassionate and clever woman,” Crispin said. “If there is a way for you to regain . . . well, she has a good deal of practical knowledge. It would not be a mistake to spend some time with her.”
“If I’m betrothed, I can’t very well spend time with a courtesan, can I?” Dorset said. “And I do intend to propose to Miss Makepeace this night. Once she is my marchioness, she’ll be untouchable. It’s the best way to shield her from Washburn’s gossip.” His lips tightened. “It grieves me that I threatened to do the same thing. I must have been mad.”
“Then you won’t mind if Grace elopes to Gretna Green with me,” Hawke said. “There’ll be a bit of talk, but it will all blow over once society believes we’ve done the right thing.” He chuckled. “In fact, it’s just the sort of romantic nonsense the ton likes to believe of its artists.”
“Perhaps we should let Grace decide.” The marquess extended his hand. “May the better man win.”
“I’ll shake your hand,” Crispin said, matching his actions to his words. “But, I cannot second your wish. You see, I know who the better man is. And my only hope is that Grace chooses me anyway.”
Chapter 36
Pygmalion began to feel optimistic about his chances, but he should have remembered we all carry the seeds of our own downfall within us.
Jasper Washburn stood at the threshold of the ballroom, his gaze scanning the crowd. The sooner he found his American cousin and pinned down her acceptance of his offer, the better.
“My lord, there you are.” Lady Sheppleton skittered toward him, abruptly leaving Lady Longbotham, whom she’d cornered near the punchbowl. The lady looked relieved to be abandoned. “I have news.”
“More news? This is indeed a banner day.”
“Quite. We need to speak privily.”
She pulled him to one side, approaching the long row of curtained alcoves that lined one side of the ballroom. He set his feet determinedly before she could drag him into one. The spaces were intended as trysting spots for lovers to snatch a kiss or two, something no man wouldn’t entertain with Lady Sheppleton unless he was mad as King George.
“This will suffice,” he said. “What is your news?”
“As you know, my agent discovered a wealth of information about Mr. Hawke through a liaison with one of his upstairs maids. Now that Mr. Hawke is not in residence in London, my investigator was able to gain entrance to his home and found something truly astounding.” She stood tiptoe and whispered the salacious details into his ear.
“You’re sure?”
“It arrived today in the boot of Lord Smelton’s carriage.”
“And you’ve seen it?”
“Of course. I had to make certain of the facts.” A sly glint made her eyes bright. “It’s most scandalous, I assure you. Guaranteed ruin. What would you like me to do with it?”
Jasper ran his tongue over his teeth. Gossip always made his mouth water. Gossip with unequivocal evidence was positively delicious. This little morsel would give him the upper hand in dictating a monstrously generous dowry.
“It depends on my American cousin. Wait till the end of the evening. Then if I give you the word, I want you to present it to Lord Dorset with your compliments. It would be best to leave my name out of matters.”
“And if I do this for you, do I have your word that your sister Mary will accept dear Manfred?”
“You do indeed.” Jasper cleared his throat. God forgive me, for Mary never will. He spotted Grace across the long room dipping a final curtsey to her dance partner. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with my future bride.”
* * *
“Good evening, Grace,” Cousin Jasper said. “You’re looking especially lovely this evening.”
“Thank you.” She fought to keep her attention on the man before her but her gaze kept flitting about like a drunken butterfly, searching the room for Crispin. What could be keeping him?
“That last dance was quite an energetic reel,” Cousin Jasper said, bowing over her hand. Perhaps you’d like to sit for a bit?”
The suggestion was surprisingly thoughtful. She’d been afraid Lord Washburn would press her for a dance. Grace took his arm and he walked her toward the outer wall of the ballroom. But instead of depositing her on a chair along the brocaded wall, he led her into one of the curtained alcoves. Once the heavy velvet dropped behind them, the strains of music were muffled and even the furious buzz of multiple conversations was reduced to a low hum. Moonlight silvered the padded window seat in the small space.
“Really, my lord, I’d be more comfortable on one of the chairs.”
“In good time,” Jasper said. “I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you first.”
Her belly fluttered as she sank onto the tufted cushions. Surely he wasn’t about to—
Her distant cousin dropped to one knee before her and took one of her hands. She was too flummoxed to protest. In practiced tones, he recited his admiration for her, his belief that they were well-suited and finish
ed with, “And of course, your parents will be delighted that you’ll be known after our nuptials as Lady Washburn.”
“Lord Wa—”
“Jasper,” he corrected as he pressed kiss on her hand.
She pulled it out of his grasp. “Jasper, mutual admiration is all well and good.” In truth, she found little to admire in her English cousin, but she decided it would be politic to toss him a bone. “But we’ve hardly spoken more than half a dozen sentences to each other. How can you possibly know we’re well suited?”
“How does the sparrow know how to fly?” he said grandly.
“With a good deal of trial and error, I believe,” Grace said. “I have no wish to merely hope for success on an enterprise as important as marriage.”
“Spoken like the practical girl you are. I should have known romantic gestures are lost on Bostonians.” Jasper rose from his kneeling position to sit beside her. “Very well, let us speak plainly. I have need of a baroness to serve as my hostess. And of course, one must be mindful that with privilege comes responsibility. I must produce an heir for Burnside one day.”
Grace swallowed hard. The heart-stoppingly intimate things she and Crispin had done together sizzled through her. The thought of doing them with Cousin Jasper instead made her want to retch.
“And there has never been any doubt that you want a title,” he went on as if Grace weren’t about to be sick beside him. “Let us each help each other.”
“Since you’ve made no mention of it, I assume my dowry isn’t important to you,” she said archly.
“There’s no need for you to concern your head with such things.” A practiced oily smile tugged at his lips. “That’s a matter for your father and I to discuss once he’s been apprised of all pertinent facts.”
“Such as?”
He shook his head. “No, Grace. Some things are best left to the men to sort out.”
“I do not require ‘sorting out,’” she said stonily.
“How you’ve missed the point! All I meant was you need not trouble yourself with anything but fittings for your trousseau. I will take care of the arrangements.”
“No.”
“Well, if you want to be involved in procuring the license and posting the banns, I suppose you—”
“No,” she repeated. “My answer is no, cousin. I will not marry you.”
“I would advise you to reconsider.” His voice had a sharp edge she’d never heard from him before.
“There is no need,” she said firmly. “I do not love you. You do not love me. It would be foolish in the extreme for us to marry.”
“Love has very little to do with such a decision,” he informed her.
“Perhaps for you.” She rose preparing to leave. “You’re right about Bostonians waving off romantic gestures, but we are practical enough to know love is essential. I thank you for the offer, but I will not accept it.”
He grasped her wrist as she started to leave, his grip so tight it was painful. “You will regret this, Grace.”
“You’ve just given me reason not to. Now release my arm or I will scream loudly enough to be heard in the next shire,” she promised, willing her voice to remain steady while her heart thumped wildly. “Wouldn’t that give the men something to ‘sort out?’”
* * *
Once Grace pushed through the thick curtain, she drew a relieved breath. She’d thought Cousin Jasper a sedate, even-tempered fellow. When crossed, he’d shown a quietly vicious side. She wondered how his sister Mary bore living with him. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Grace made a mental note to ask her parents if Mary could come for an extended stay in Boston.
Whether Grace returned home with them or not.
She made her way across the long space to put some distance between herself and the alcove where she’d left Jasper brooding. She nodded and smiled a false little cat’s smile to each person she passed, as her mother would want her to do. Crispin still wasn’t in the ballroom.
She pushed back the curtains on another alcove and looked out over the stables and duck pond to the place where the land fell away and Crispin’s cottage was tucked under the hillock. If he didn’t come, she might have to sneak out of the grand house again this night.
“That’s my favorite view, too,” a rumbling voice said from behind her.
She turned, expecting Crispin, and was surprised to find Lord Dorset instead. She hadn’t noticed before how similar their voices were, both pleasantly rumbling.
“Your home is lovely,” she said politely.
“And usually very quiet.” He eyed Lady Sheppleton with a raised brow expression that reminded Grace of Crispin as well. “Blast! Here she comes again. Do you mind if we step in here and close the curtain?”
Without waiting for Grace’s answer, Dorset did just that.
“My lord—”
“Richard,” he corrected, putting a finger to her lips as Lady Sheppleton passed by on the other side of the curtain, talking loudly so as to be heard over the music. Grace pitied whomever she’d cornered into taking a turn around the room with her.
Richard released a sigh and indicated with a hand gesture that Grace should sit.
“Do you mind if we bide here for a while? I’m not normally the type to declare retreat, but that woman has been plaguing me for that last quarter hour over some grand ‘gift’ she wishes to present to me at the end of the festivities,” Richard said. “Please don’t think me ungrateful, but the best gift Lady Sheppleton could give me would be her swift departure.”
Grace laughed. “Some people do have that effect on others.”
“You certainly don’t,” he said with a smile. “I have a reputation for reclusiveness. I’m not the sort to enjoy company at the best of times, but you’re very . . . restful to be around.”
“Thank you, . . . Richard.” It still felt odd to call a marquess by his Christian name, even though she’d been invited to. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“Not at all.”
They sat together in companionable silence while the dancing and gaiety continued on the other side of the curtain. As the sprightly jig tune ended and the quartet started a more stately gavotte, Richard took her hand.
Oh, no.
“Grace,” he said softly and again she was struck by his voice. If she closed her eyes, he might fool her into thinking he was Crispin.
Or perhaps it was just because she wished he was.
“We do not know each other well, but you have impressed me considerably. I think we share a love of quiet things—fine books, an evenly matched chess game, a ramble in the garden.” He covered her hand with his. It was warm and dry and not at all unpleasant. “You seem happy here.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ve enjoyed my brief time at Clairmont,” she said politely. If God sent lightning bolts as the penalty for understatements, she’d be burnt to cinders on the spot. The time she spent with Crispin in the little cottage was the most wildly exciting time of her life.
“I believe mutual respect is not an inauspicious beginning for a marriage. One that may ripen into something far deeper, if given time.”
When he looked at her, his deep-set eyes were tinged with sadness. Surely a prospective bridegroom shouldn’t be melancholy. Perhaps she misread his intentions.
Then he plowed ahead with, “Would you do me the honor of becoming my marchioness?”
She closed her eyes. Her mother had schooled her on the proper etiquette of accepting proposals often enough. Why had she not spent a moment on the art of rejecting one?
“Richard, I hold you in great esteem,” she began. “And any woman would be flattered by your proposal, but . . .” She withdrew her hand from his.
“You will not accept me,” he said in a flat tone.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot. It’s nothing to do with you. The fault is mine,” she hurried to explain. “If I should accept your offer, we would both eventually be miserable.” Grace hesitated and then decided she owed this decent man the truth. “My
affections are already engaged.”
“Hawke,” he said with a grim nod.
Grace blinked in surprise. “How did you know?”
One corner of his mouth curved up. “A marquess knows everything that happens on his estate.”
“Then you must know I didn’t mean to mislead you.”
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “No, I don’t believe you did. Hawke was right though.”
“About what?”
“You wouldn’t wed one man and bed another,” he said softly, not meeting her gaze.
All the air fled from Grace’s lungs in a whoosh. He’d as much as told the marquess they’d been intimate. “Crispin said that?”
“His very words.”
She stood, steeling herself not to tremble. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I believe I need a bit of air.”
“Of course,” he rose as well and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you for a turn around the garden.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need. I’ll be fine by myself and you wouldn’t want to desert the rest of your guests,” she said with a final curtsey.
Besides, if I should accidentally meet and strangle Crispin Hawke, I’d rather not have a witness.
Chapter 37
Of all betrayals in this life, the one from a lover cuts deepest.
Grace didn’t make it as far as the garden. When she reached the tall double doors leading out into the corridor, Crispin was coming through them.
“Good evening, Miss Makepeace,” he said raising his voice slightly so as to be heard over the musicians who were enthusiastically desecrating a dance suite by Handel. “You’re looking lovely this night.”
But Grace wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. She grasped his arm and started to pull him toward one of the alcoves.
“Patience, dear lady,” Crispin said, slurring his words slightly.
“Be quiet,” she hissed. There was plenty to say to each other, but it wasn’t for public consumption. She wished with all her heart she’d met him on the other side of the ballroom doors. They couldn’t very well leave together now, not without drawing the attention of gossips, so the alcoves were the only available private space.
