Clasping Jonathan’s arm even more tightly, Ellen muttered, “Of course I have something to say.” She flashed Hugh a dark look, and then, hiding her fears and dismay, she smiled blindingly up at Jonathan. “I would be honored to become your wife. ’Tis what I have always wanted.” There! See what Mr. Hugh Walker thought of that.
Hugh’s mouth thinned, and brushing past Ellen and Jonathan, he snapped, “My congratulations. And now if you will excuse me, I will leave you all to your happy plans for the future. There is nothing here to interest me any longer.”
With that he stormed from the solarium, leaving behind a small silence. Before it became too awkward, Letty blinked and said brightly, “Well. This has certainly been a momentous day.” She beamed at Chance and Fancy. “Your marriage and now”—her warm gaze went to Jonathan and Ellen—“Jonathan’s engagement to Ellen. How very thrilling. Don’t you think so, Constance?”
Constance forced a smile. “Yes, of course it is.” She glanced pettishly at her son. “I just wish that you had waited, Jonathan dear, before bursting out with this news,” she muttered, her tight features revealing her displeasure. “You know that I like to discuss all your decisions with you before you make them public. And really, dear, it is too bad of you not to have let me plan a special ball where you could have made your announcement.”
“Well, I see nothing wrong with keeping the news amongst ourselves for the time being . . . and I doubt Hugh will say anything about it. I am certain that if I have a word with him and explain that our betrothal is meant to be kept, er, secret, for just a little while longer, he will keep his mouth closed,” Jonathan said smoothly. He glanced at Fancy and Chance and smiled wolfishly. “I think everyone who needed to know my choice of a bride knows it now. You may still plan your ball and invite your guests. The news that Ellen and I are to be married should definitely have its own festive occasion. Believe me,” he went on nastily, “I want no hasty hole-in-the-corner affair such as we have seen today when I marry.”
“Jonathan,” Letty exclaimed disapprovingly. “How rude of you. Chance’s marriage to Fancy may have been hasty, but it has certainly not been a ‘hole-in-the-corner’ affair. I think you owe all of us an apology.”
Jonathan’s eyes flashed angrily at Letty’s rebuke, but he bowed low in her direction and said glibly, “As you say, my esteemed sister-in-law, it was rude of me. Forgive me.”
Chance noted derisively that Jonathan had apologized only to Letty, and he said smoothly, “It was rude of you, indeed, and I am sure that my wife is waiting to hear your sincere regrets for having implied that there was something improper about her wedding.”
Jonathan threw him a lethal glance, but Chance only smiled, albeit without amusement, his hard blue eyes cold and commanding. Under the interested gazes of the ladies, Jonathan had no choice. Swallowing the rage that clogged his throat, he bowed in Fancy’s direction and said thickly, “I deeply regret any distress my comment may have caused you.”
“Very prettily said,” murmured Fancy, wishing this uncomfortable scene would end. Ellen looked as if she were going to burst into tears at any moment, and the distinct possibility of Chance and Jonathan erupting into violence could not be ignored. Casting Letty an apologetic look, Fancy said hastily, “After all this excitement, I think it would be best if we postponed the tour of your solarium, don’t you?”
Letty beamed at her. Patting her hand fondly, she said, “Of course, my dear. I understand.” Plainly oblivious of the dark undercurrents, she turned back to Constance and said, “Come along, Constance, dear. I am sure that the young people have things they want to talk about.”
Dismay filled Fancy, and she barely controlled the impulse to grab Letty’s arm and plead with her to stay. Being left alone with Chance and the newly engaged couple was not what she’d had in mind. Somewhat desperately, she said, “Oh, you need not leave us. We will come with you, won’t we, Chance?”
“In a moment,” Chance said perversely. “There are some things I would like to discuss privately with my bride, and the solarium seems like a perfect place to do it.” He glanced pointedly at Jonathan. “I am sure that you and Ellen can explore here some other time, but Fancy and I will be leaving in a few days for Devil’s Own, so I know you will not mind leaving us in sole occupancy.”
Even less did Fancy want to be alone with Chance. Uneasily she said, “Oh, there is no need for that—there will be plenty of time for us to have private discussions later. I do not think we should desert our guests.”
“Do not worry about the guests,” Letty said with a twinkle in her eyes. “They are all too busy eating and drinking and enjoying themselves to be concerned with your absence. And no one will be surprised if the newlyweds choose to absent themselves from the festivities this late in the afternoon. I shall make your excuses for you.” Before Fancy could utter further protest, Letty, with Constance following reluctantly behind her, disappeared through the doorway of the solarium.
“Well, my love,” Jonathan said with false heartiness to Ellen, “it appears that you and I have been given our marching orders. The newlyweds wish to be alone.” He smiled tightly. “And of course, for today, at least, their wish is our command.”
With Ellen clinging numbly to his arm, Jonathan moved forward a few steps to stop in front of Fancy. Sending Chance a mocking look, he reached for her hand and lifted it gallantly to his lips. Brushing a polite kiss on the back of it, he murmured, “Congratulations on your marriage, my dear. I always knew that you were too young and too beautiful to remain a widow forever.”
Still holding Fancy’s hand, Jonathan met Chance’s eyes. “You are a fortunate man, and you should guard her well. Wives, as you know, can be such fickle creatures.”
His gaze never wavering, Chance coolly removed Fancy’s hand from Jonathan’s clasp and kept it firmly imprisoned in his own. “Perhaps some wives,” he said silkily, “but not this wife.”
Jonathan merely smiled. “Only time will tell, won’t it?”
Looking down at Ellen, Jonathan caressed her small hand where it lay on his arm. “And now, my sweet, I think we shall see if my mother has managed to keep our exciting news to herself.” Supremely confident, he strolled out of the solarium; Ellen sent one last despairing look in Fancy’s direction before she was swept along with him.
It was very quiet in the solarium after they had departed. Fancy glared up into Chance’s dark face and wiggled her hand in his grip. “You may release me now. There is no longer any need to impress anyone with your possessiveness,” she said tartly.
A faint smile quirked at the corners of his lips. “Is that what I was doing?” he asked sweetly. “I thought I was merely holding my wife’s hand.”
“Do not take me for a fool” Fancy said grimly. “There is something very ugly going on between you and Jonathan. In each other’s presence you are seldom more than one word away from daggers’ drawing. I do not enjoy being the source of contention between you.”
Chance’s eyes rested on their hands as Fancy tried futilely to free herself from his grip. “What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly.
Fancy made an impatient sound. “Precisely what sort of a game Jonathan was, or is, playing I have no idea. I do know, though, that his actions have led several people to the very wrong conclusion that I was to be his bride instead of my sister.” She took a deep breath and, unable to keep silent about her suspicions, burst out impulsively, “Are you going to deny that you thought that I was Jonathan’s choice of a bride? And that because you thought so, you went to the outrageous lengths that you have to marry me?”
Fancy’s reading of the situation was far too accurate, her words cutting far too close to the bone for Chance not to give some sign, and he winced—noticeably. Her breath caught angrily at his reaction. “My God,” she said in a fury. “It is true. I had hoped that I was wrong, that you were not that monstrous.”
Her words rankled, and Chance’s temper rose. “What about you?” he asked coolly. “T
here were any number of occasions in which you could have clarified the situation between you and Jonathan. You did not. You let everyone think that you were his choice . . . or are you going to pretend that you did not?”
Some of Fancy’s rage abated. She would have liked to deny the truth of Chance’s accusations, but she could not, and not for the first time, she regretted her promise to Ellen. Glancing away from him, she said uncomfortably, “No, I will not pretend that I did not prevaricate. There were reasons for my actions . . . compelling reasons.”
Chance’s lips twisted wryly. The lady, it seemed, was painfully truthful, and he would have had to be blind not to guess the reason behind her actions. “You did it for Ellen, didn’t you?” he asked softly. “Ellen did not want Hugh to know, did she?”
“She thinks she is in love with him,” Fancy answered simply, suddenly very weary. “She was afraid he would think ill of her if he knew that she was encouraging him while near-as-makes-no-never-mind engaged to Jonathan. And Jonathan’s actions made it seem . . .” Fancy stopped, then added tiredly, “The way Jonathan acted around me led her to believe that he had lost interest in her. I am sure she meant to explain everything to Hugh, eventually.”
“Instead, Cousin Jonathan, with his usual penchant for creating discord and antipathy, gleefully trod right into the middle of the situation,” Chance said thoughtfully.
Fancy sighed, the memory of Ellen’s woeful little face and Hugh’s frozen expression flashing through her mind. “For once, I have to agree with you. Jonathan could not have timed his announcement more badly. I cannot help but think that he did it deliberately—to warn Hugh off and”—her gaze settled accusingly on him—“to let you know that you had married the wrong woman.”
Chance stared at her for a long moment, noting not for the first time today how achingly lovely she looked. The formally powdered hair and soft curls framed her delicate features, making her brows and lashes appear darker and her eyes a deeper shade of topaz. Against her pale skin her lushly curved mouth looked rosier and even more tempting to him than usual—if that were possible. For their wedding, she had chosen to wear a gown of pale amber silk over a cream-colored petticoat, heavily embroidered with gold thread. Chance’s breath had caught sharply in his chest when he had gotten his first glimpse of her as Sam had proudly led her toward him and the preacher this afternoon. Staring keenly down at her, aware of the sudden thudding of his heart, he said slowly, “But I do not think that I married the wrong woman.”
With astonishment, he realized that it was true. The idea of taking Fancy away from Jonathan might have started him thinking of marrying her, but he knew with paralyzing certainty that if, on some elemental level, Fancy hadn’t appealed irresistibly to him, he never would have compromised her and forced her into marriage. He couldn’t deny that Jonathan had fooled him and that he hadn’t wanted Jonathan to marry her, but neither could he pretend that the reason for his aversion to the idea of Fancy being Jonathan’s wife had more to do with wanting her for his own than with any notion of revenge.
The knowledge of his own self-deception did not please him, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. He had sworn, after Jenny, that no woman would ever mean anything to him again. By heaven, he intended to keep that bitter vow. His reasons for marrying Fancy Merrivale might not have been the ones he’d originally thought, but that didn’t mean he cared for her. He simply wanted her. He wanted that soft mouth and sweet body for his own, and that was why he had married her. There was simply no other reason.
Fancy smiled acidly at his words. “You married exactly the woman you wanted, is that what you are saying?” she asked dryly. At his curt nod, she murmured, “How very interesting. Does this mean that if you had known Ellen was really Jonathan’s choice you would not have insinuated yourself in her bed?”
A dull red burned on his cheekbones. He didn’t blame her for treating his statement so derisively. He’d certainly done nothing to make her take his words at face value, but her open contempt nettled him. “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying,” he muttered. At Fancy’s skeptical expression, he added tightly, “I would not have married Ellen simply to take her away from Jonathan.” He suddenly needed to make her understand what he didn’t understand himself, and he grasped her shoulders in his hands to pull her closer to him. As always, whenever he was near her, desire, stark and powerful, rose up within him. He could feel the heat in his loins, feel his staff hardening. Looking down into her face, he said thickly, “I do not want Ellen—for any reason. I want you—in my arms and in my bed.”
Fancy searched his dark features, aware, and furiously not wanting to be, that they were alone and that his warm body was only inches from hers. His blunt words conjured up the memory of the way he had made love to her on the bluff —something she’d been trying desperately to forget, to pretend hadn’t happened. Recalling vividly the giddy sensation of his body merging with hers, she trembled. No one had ever made her feel that way, never made her lose control of herself that way. Until Chance, she had never guessed the pleasures that could be shared between a man and a woman. The knowledge she had gained in his arms was both heady and frightening. She didn’t want to feel anything for him but contempt and fury, but to her great shame she admitted that she had never been so unbearably aware of another person as she was of him, never been conscious of the primitive, magnetic pull between two people—even when she was at her angriest with him.
But it didn’t change anything, she thought bitterly. He had still compromised her for his own selfish reasons, and she only partially believed him when he said that he wouldn’t have done the same to Ellen if he had known the truth. And it didn’t change the fact that he had thought she was to marry Jonathan and it was that mistaken knowledge that had brought about their marriage.
Burningly aware of his hands on her shoulders, Fancy fixed her gaze on the heavy fall of lace on the front of his shirt. Painfully she said, “You want me. Is that supposed to comfort me for having my life destroyed?”
“Is your life truly destroyed, Duchess?” he asked softly, his hands caressing her shoulders. “Or has it merely taken a path you had not expected?”
Fancy swallowed, trying very hard to whip up her resentment and outrage against him. It was exceedingly difficult to remember how despicable he was when he was standing this close to her and touching her in that mesmerizing fashion. Even harder to remember all the reasons why she should not let him beguile her, harder still not to give in to the mad impulse to see if in his arms, she could savor again the carnal joys he had shown her.
A gust of anger went through her, and she hated him again for being able to breach her defenses so easily. Glaring up at him, she said, “Tell me one thing. Did you marry me because you thought to thwart Jonathan?”
Chance’s mouth tightened. Trust her to put her finger on the one thing he didn’t want to discuss. He hesitated, unwilling to explain that thwarting Jonathan might have been his original plan, but . . . What? he demanded angrily of himself. That I do not understand my own motivations anymore? That I simply had to have you? That I could not bear the thought of your being Jonathan’s wife? And that I was willing to go to any lengths to make you mine?
His hesitation confirmed her worst fears, and Fancy jerked angrily out of his arms. The sheen of unshed tears sparkling in her topaz eyes, she held out a warning hand to stop him when he surged toward her. “Don’t,” she said thickly. “Do not touch me and do not answer. I do not want to hear any lies.”
“What do you want to hear?” he demanded harshly, suddenly furious with the trap he had made for himself. “Bedtime fables for children? Shall I swear that ruining Jonathan’s chances of marrying you did not make me do what I did? Or perhaps you would prefer to hear that I lost my head? That I took one look at your lovely face and fell head over heels in love with you? That I could not stop myself from wanting you or arranging, however unprincipled it might have been, for us to be married?” His jaw clenched. “Is that what you want to hear?
That I am half-mad with love for you?”
Fancy bit back a sob. That was exactly what she wanted to hear, she realized despairingly. But she wanted it to be the truth, not the obviously angry lies that they were. Hurt and furious, she spat, “No. I want nothing from you—not even your love.”
Heedless of the anguished expression on Chance’s face, aware only of her own aching heart, she picked up her silken skirts and fled. Like a wounded animal, she sought sanctuary, grateful that she passed no one as she slipped unnoticed through a side door of the house and swiftly made her way to her rooms.
I will not cry over him! I will not! she told herself fiercely as she ran into her bedchamber and threw herself on the welcoming bed. He’s a disgusting, manipulative monster! And I hate him! I do! I absolutely do!
Having vented the worst of her hurt and anger, Fancy sat up and brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her elegant coiffeur. Scrubbing away any signs of tears that may have fallen, she stared glumly around her bedroom—a bedroom she was to share with Chance tonight.
She couldn’t, she thought with a shudder, not knowing that he had married her simply to take her away from Jonathan. She had known that Chance had not loved her, known that he’d had some perverted reason of his own for compromising her, but she had hoped . . . Her lips twisted sadly. Had she really thought that there was some way he could explain his actions? She sighed. There was only one explanation, she realized miserably, that would have satisfied her, that would have made the heaviness in her heart go away—if he confessed to loving her. . . . She shook her head at her own folly. Love had obviously not played a part in any of his plans. Lust certainly had, she thought waspishly, he had brazenly admitted that much, lust and the desire to best Jonathan.
A Heart for the Taking Page 19
