The Bridegroom

by Joan Johnston

  “Thank you,” Reggie said, surreptitiously shooting Becky a grin of triumph.

  After supper, Reggie and Becky left Penrith alone with his port and headed upstairs. It was dark in the upper hallway because, although Penrith insisted on expensive beeswax candles, he could not bear to burn them, so only a few of the wall sconces were lit.

  “You are impossible. Incorrigible. Hopeless,” Becky muttered as she marched down the hall toward the nursery.

  “Why?” Reggie demanded. “Because I have contrived to have my sister come with me to the theater. You know you will enjoy it. You have not often had the opportunity to attend, since Penrith does not care for it. You should be thanking me.”

  To Reggie’s surprise, Becky rounded on her. “This is not a game, Reggie. This is my life. I know you cannot like Penrith, but he is my husband. Please do not humiliate me again as you did at table tonight.”

  “What harm was there in confirming Penrith’s overindulgence in spirits last night?” Reggie retorted. “You already know the worst. Indeed, you have suffered disgracefully for it. When Mick arrives we will contrive a way to free you from this marriage.”

  “Are you mad? Penrith will never let me go!”

  “Why not?”

  “He wants an heir,” Becky said bitterly. “And I have not yet given him one.”

  “I should have considered that, of course,” Reggie said, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “I had hoped a separation would be sufficient, but I see it will have to be something more permanent. An annulment, perhaps, so Penrith can remarry and have his heir.”

  Reggie glanced at Becky and saw that her sister’s eyes were huge with disbelief. “What is wrong? Don’t you want to be freed from this marriage?”

  “I would like it above all things,” Becky hissed, the words obviously wrenched from deep inside her. “But it is impossible!”

  “If you desire it, I will manage it somehow,” Reggie assured her. “Mick is certain to have some idea of how it can be done.”

  Becky groaned. “You know how your plans have a way of going awry, and that is putting things in their best light. Please don’t do anything. And please don’t involve Mick.”

  “But I know we could contrive—”

  “You are forgetting one very important thing,” Becky interrupted, her eyes bleak. “You may force Penrith to relinquish his right to his wife, but you will never convince him to give up Lily.”

  “Why would he care about Lily?” Reggie asked, confused. “She is a mere girl—not the heir he desires.”

  “You do not understand,” Becky said, her voice filled with despair.

  “Explain it to me,” Reggie urged.

  “You have seen how he does not ask to hold her, that he rarely even acknowledges her existence. But Lily is his. She belongs to him, as I belong to him, as the chairs and sofas and silverware belong to him—something he can show off if an occasion arises, but which otherwise should stay in its proper place.” Becky shook her head. “It is hopeless.”

  Reggie slipped her arm around Becky’s waist in comfort and continued walking with her toward the nursery. “Nothing is ever hopeless.”

  “I don’t wish to discuss the matter further.”

  “Will you still come with me to the theater?” Reggie asked.

  Becky stopped outside the nursery door. “I don’t understand your attraction to Lord Carlisle,” she said with a sigh. “He is a totally inappropriate escort.”

  “But I told you how he gave Freddy a job. I think there is more to the man than meets the eye,” Reggie said. “And what harm could befall me with you there to watch over me?”

  Becky made a sound in her throat that suggested a great many things might go amiss in such an outing, but conceded, “I am no good judge of men, as this discussion has proved. Only promise me you will guard your heart.”

  In her sister’s pained voice, Reggie heard more unhappiness than she could bear. She pressed a kiss to Becky’s cheek and whispered, “I am in no danger there. With you as my chaperone, Carlisle will never get a chance to do more than speak flowery words, and you know I am immune to vows of eternal love spoken by callow young men.”

  “Carlisle is no callow young man,” Becky warned.

  “No, indeed,” Reggie agreed. “I think he must be at least … three and thirty.”

  Becky laughed. “You are incorrigible.”

  “I know,” Reggie said with an unrepentant grin. “And impossible and hopeless. Come, let us kiss our darling Lily good night and go to bed ourselves. You will need to be in fine fettle from now on to protect me from the earl.”

  Becky laughed. “I have never imagined myself as a knight in shining armor, but I stand ready to defend you. Forward into the fray!” she said as they stepped into Lily’s bedroom.

  Reggie was glad Becky did not realize that she was not entirely joking. She found Carlisle every bit as threatening as Becky had suggested. He had already destroyed her peace of mind.

  Carlisle’s past made him intriguing. The tragedy he had suffered made him a figure for whom she could feel compassion, especially considering her father’s part in the catastrophe that had caused him to lose everything. The earl was attractive to her in a way she could not understand or define … or resist.

  Oh, yes, he was dangerous.

  But Reggie had no intention of making the same mistake as her sister. She would know her man before she married him. She would doubt him, dispute him, defy him. She would put Carlisle in every situation she could conjure that might reveal his true nature. When he had proved himself worthy of her love, then, and only then, would she consider giving him her hand … or her heart.

  Chapter 4

  Heads turned. Brows lifted. Fans snapped closed as the Ice Princess arrived at Covent Garden in company with the pirate. Although Reggie was certain Carlisle could not know it, he was already being measured against her list of Seven Deadly Sins in a Suitor. It had taken her an entire evening to compose it, and she had actually wound up with more than a dozen sins by the time she was through.

  Will he ignore present company in favor of some prettier face or larger bosom? she wondered.

  His eyes never left her, and they were filled with admiration. “That is a charming gown, Reggie,” he whispered in her ear as he seated her in his box.

  Reggie supposed she must allow the earl a passing mark on one point, at least: he did not appear to have a roving eye. But will he show my sister equal courtesy?

  “May I take your wrap, Lady Penrith,” the earl said solicitously.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Becky said.

  Carlisle settled the Norwich shawl across the back of Becky’s chair, which was in the row behind Reggie. “Is there anything else I can arrange for your comfort, Lady Penrith?” the earl asked.

  Reggie conceded Carlisle’s manners were impeccable. He was both considerate and kind. But she had known that already, from his behavior toward Freddy and the children.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. The problem was how to test all those other sins. It might be possible to determine whether he was willing to spread vicious gossip, or whether he would bore her to death with his conversation, simply by attending the ton events to which she was regularly invited.

  But how could she measure whether Carlisle drank to excess or gambled beyond his means? She had never been to a tavern, and Becky was not likely to agree to attend a gaming hell with her. That meant finding ways to spend time in Carlisle’s company without Becky along to chaperone.

  While the thought of being alone with Carlisle did not precisely frighten her, it did cause her a certain amount of trepidation. Nevertheless, she was determined to discover even those flaws it might be dangerous to encounter. Was Carlisle the sort of man who might strike a woman? Reggie was certain it would take some great provocation to know for certain, but that meant she must devise some means of protecting herself if the earl became violent.

  There were also matters of a more personal nature to
be determined, matters about which ladies and gentlemen did not ordinarily discourse. Did the earl believe it was his right to keep a mistress after he was married? Reggie had made up her mind long ago that she could not bear to share her husband with another woman, even one he craved only for her body, which was the excuse Penrith had given Becky for why he kept a mistress.

  And there were matters of character to be uncovered. Would Carlisle take advantage of an innocent? She could only know for sure by giving him an opportunity to seduce her in surroundings where they would not be fortuitously interrupted by her sister.

  “You do not seem to be enjoying the play,” the earl said.

  Reggie started at the feel of his warm breath in her ear. “But of course I am,” she protested.

  “You are not laughing,” Carlisle pointed out.

  Reggie looked around and saw that the audience in the pit had broken into raucous laughter. She could hear Becky giggling like a schoolgirl behind her. “I was not … I mean …”

  “Perhaps if you share your troubles, I may be of some help,” Carlisle said.

  Did one dare ask the fox to guard the hen coop? “No, my lord. I do not believe that would fadge.”

  “If the play bores you, perhaps you would prefer to engage in conversation,” he said. “But not here.”

  He turned to her sister and said, “Reggie has a bit of the headache. We will walk in the hall for a while, where it is less noisy, and hope that helps.”

  When her sister started to gather her shawl, Carlisle laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “I see you are enjoying the play, Lady Penrith. Pray continue to do so. You may trust me with your sister.”

  To Reggie’s astonishment, Becky sat back in her chair and said, “Very well, my lord. I shall.”

  She and Carlisle made as unobtrusive an exit as they could through the rear of the box into the hallway beyond, which was indeed more quiet. Carlisle surprised her by stopping while they were still within sight, and easy calling distance, of her sister.

  She turned and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “For rescuing you from your thoughts? I doubt I have done much but delay your distress. Will you not share the problem with me?”

  Reggie took a deep breath and braced herself, as though she were preparing to dive into the icy pond at Blackthorne Abbey. “If you must know the truth, I was wondering how I might manage to attend a gaming hell.”

  He laughed. “Surely you jest.”

  “No, my lord—”

  “Clay.”

  “No, Clay, I am not jesting,” she said. “It is a matter of … of curiosity, you see.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Carlisle replied.

  Well, Reggie thought wryly, the earl certainly had not pounced on the opportunity to draw her into flaunting convention. To be caught out in such a place could mean the ruin of her, but how else was she to discover what she needed to know. She had not heard any gossip about the earl’s gaming habits, and she did not know anyone who knew him well enough to ask about them.

  Reggie was not about to give up. Perhaps a little coaxing would do the job. She smiled prettily up at him, though she forbore batting her lashes. That was a coquette’s trick. She only wanted to convince him, not seduce him. “Surely it could be arranged if I were in disguise,” she suggested.

  Before the earl could answer, a drunken fop laid a hand on her shoulder.

  One minute the hand was there, the next it was gone, along with the castaway young man. He had been lifted bodily by his neck cloth and removed some distance down the hall by the earl, who said in a voice sharp enough to pierce even a drunken sensibility, “Kindly watch your step.”

  At the same time, Carlisle managed to bow and smile at Lady Hornby, the ton’s most notorious gossip, as she passed by.

  Lady Hornby paused and lifted the lorgnette that hung from a ribbon around her neck to stare pointedly at the pair of them. “What are you doing out here with that chit, Carlisle? The play is inside.”

  “I might ask the same of you,” Carlisle said, arching a black brow. “Are you in need of any assistance, Lady Hornby?”

  Reggie watched in awe, as Carlisle not only deflected Lady Hornby’s question, but left her flustered at the attention he paid her. It was difficult to tell, beneath all the powder and rouge, but Reggie would have sworn the old bat blushed!

  “Enjoy your evening, Carlisle,” Lady Hornby said. The ostrich feathers sprouting from her turban bobbed with each step she took, so she looked like that massive bird as she strolled regally down the hall toward the theater.

  Reggie suddenly found the earl’s eyes turned back to her, and she knew exactly how Lady Hornby had felt. There was nothing she could do to stop the rush of blood to her cheeks. If he was a rogue, he was certainly a charming and protective one.

  “The answer is yes,” he said.

  Reggie barely managed to avoid blurting, “What is the question?” She merely smiled. Brilliantly. “When shall we go? How shall we manage it?”

  “Leave everything to me. How does tomorrow sound?”

  Reggie gulped. “So soon?”

  “Do you have some other engagement tomorrow evening?”

  “My sister and her husband are promised for dinner with the Covingtons, but I made my excuses.” The last time she had dined with the Covingtons, their nineteen-year-old son Harvey had cornered her in a dark hallway, sworn his undying love for her, and tried to prove it by forcing himself on her.

  “I will pick you up at nine tomorrow night,” Carlisle said.

  “What costume shall I wear?” Reggie asked, both elated and terrified at the prospect of stealing away with the earl.

  “The Smuggler’s Den supplies masks at the door for the disguise of their patrons,” Carlisle said. “Be ready when I call. I will manage everything.”

  Reggie laid a hand on Carlisle’s sleeve. “Thank you, Clay. I know I can trust you to take the best care of me.”

  He lifted her gloved hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You are precious to me in more ways than you can possibly imagine, my dear.”

  “Oh.” She felt the heat of his breath again, this time on her flesh beneath the glove. She stood frozen, unable to move, unable to retrieve her hand or to offer him her lips as she had the undeniable urge to do. She could not ask for a more perfect suitor.

  But he could not possibly be perfect. No man was perfect. She noticed a flaw in his perfection—and reached out to brush back the stray lock of dark hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

  Reggie suddenly realized what she was doing and jerked her hand away. “Please forgive me,” she said. “I don’t know why I did that.”

  He stared at her, his dark eyes burning with some strong, frightening emotion she could not name. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said at last. “Shall we return to the box?”

  Reggie did not want the interlude to end, but she knew it was perilous to stay where she was. It was too private, and there was a tension between them now that had not been there before. “Of course,” she agreed.

  She tried to enjoy the rest of Sheridan’s comedy, but her thoughts kept straying to her engagement with the earl on the morrow. The evening’s entertainment at a gaming hell would offer her the opportunity to evaluate Carlisle on more than one count, but it was also risky because she did not have a plan yet for how to save herself if the earl’s behavior was not all it should be.

  Reggie glanced at Carlisle and saw a man whose tailoring was impeccable, whose demeanor was entirely proper, but who reminded her of nothing so much as a caged jungle cat. “I am an idiot,” she muttered under her breath. “Completely out of my mind. A fool on a fool’s errand.”

  But it wasn’t foolish, not really. She wanted a home and a husband and children. Until she had met Clay Bannister, she had not believed she would ever find a man she could respect and admire who also respected and admired her. That brief episode in the hall had been more than a little revealing.

 
Carlisle had dealt courteously with the importuning fop, but the fellow could not have mistaken his message. More impressive was the way he had dealt with Lady Hornby. And then there was that kiss on her hand. And the look in his eyes. For the first time in a very long time, Reggie had a hope that she might find … love.

  Reggie had never allowed herself to dwell on the subject of love. At the same time, it had never been far from her mind since she had become old enough for her father to agree to a match. To be honest, she feared the emotion. Love exerted some magical power, created some powerful inner turmoil that allowed men and women to overlook the worst of faults in each other. Becky had allowed love to propel her into a match with Penrith, and look how badly that had turned out.

  Reggie was quite certain she had never experienced love, at least, not the sort that would allow her to overlook a fatal flaw in a man’s character. She glanced at Carlisle from the corner of her eye, looking for the defect she was certain she would find. In his face and form she could find none. But physical assets—however pleasing to the eye they might be—were not what really mattered in a man, as she well knew. It was what was inside that counted. And that did not show at first glance.

  She was determined to know the truth of Carlisle’s character because she saw in him the sort of perfection a lover sees in her beloved. And Reggie knew how illusory that sort of perfection could be.

  On the ride home in Carlisle’s carriage, Reggie was so engrossed in her thoughts, and thus so quiet, that Becky asked, “Are you all right, Reggie? Has your headache passed?”

  “What? Oh, yes, I am very well.”

  Becky turned to Carlisle and said, “It was kind of you to allow me to see the rest of the play while you walked with my sister.”

  “The pleasure was entirely mine, Lady Penrith,” Carlisle replied. “Ah. We have arrived at Penrith House.”

  He stepped down from the carriage and helped Becky out first, then reached for Reggie’s hand. Carlisle was everything that was proper. He waited at the door until Hardy, the butler, had let them in before he turned and headed back toward his carriage.