“At any rate, I thought Worthington Castle would be the best place to wait until this matter is resolved. I’m afraid my uncle has let it run down a bit but it’s not intolerable.”
“Jocelyn’s always wanted to live in a castle,” Thomas murmured.
“I doubt if this was what she had in mind. Still, it’s probably the last place anyone would expect the incomparable Lady Jocelyn to be.”
“The incomparable Lady Beaumont, you mean.”
“Damn it all, Thomas, I’ve never considered myself a romantic sort. I’ve always thought I was rather practical. The kind of man who sees what needs to be done and does it.” Rand pulled himself to his feet and paced the room.
“The kind of man who feels it’s his duty to participate when his country is at war,” Thomas said quietly.
“I suppose, although admittedly at first I saw it all as a grand adventure and great fun.” The muscles of his face tightened into the hard expression that came without thinking whenever talk turned to Rand’s activities during the war.
In the beginning, intelligence work was little more than a game. Exciting and exhilarating, a gamble with high stakes. But all too soon he realized the stakes were not merely high but a matter of life and death, not just for him but for the faceless thousands of British troops who would be affected by the accuracy of the information he gathered and conveyed. And with the realization came fear. The kind of fear known only to those who held the fate of other men in their hands. Fear that sharpened his senses and honed his skills and made him more than he’d ever imagined he could be.
Perhaps that was the problem tonight. He simply hadn’t been terrified enough to do a good job. He might well be now. He would not allow someone, anyone, to lose his life because he did not do his job. Not in the past. Not ever.
“You’re not a romantic sort?” Thomas prompted.
“What? Oh, yes.” Rand shook off the memories of the past. “I am not prone to flowery phrases or”—he cast Thomas a grin—“poetry. Yet, whenever I’ve considered marriage I’ve thought...”
He groped for the right words and continued his pacing. What did he think? His footsteps brought him from the light cast by the lamps to the deeper shadows of the library and back. It struck him as a fitting metaphor for his life. “I thought...”
“You thought?”
“I thought I’d at least know the woman. Probably even like her. Definitely desire her. And more, actually want to spend the rest of my days with her.” His thoughts jelled even as he spoke the words. “I’ve never particularly considered love but I have always thought, or at least hoped, it was a possibility.
“My parents loved each other. And since my father’s death my mother has been in love a dozen times or more.”
Thomas choked back a laugh.
Rand couldn’t resist a grin. “At least she has claimed to be in love. But never enough to give up the title of Viscountess Beaumont, so perhaps not.” He shook his head. “Even though my father is gone, I believe Mother married for life. Hers as well as his.”
He glanced at Thomas. “As I suspect I will. Because I further suspect there will be no annulment, no divorce.”
“Either would be extremely difficult.” Thomas studied him carefully. “Are you sure there is no other choice here but marriage?”
“No. I wish I was.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know for certain if there is any continuing threat. All I do know is that should anything happen to Lady Jocelyn, it would be my fault. And I cannot allow that. So”—he uttered a strained laugh— “I am about to be wed.”
“It could be worse,” Thomas said helpfully. “She could be ugly.”
“Come now, Thomas.” Rand sank back down into his chair. “An ugly girl would be grateful for a husband regardless of the circumstances. I’d much prefer a bride’s gratitude to her hatred.”
“I doubt that she hates you.”
Rand cast Thomas a dubious glance.
“Perhaps, at the moment...” Thomas smiled weakly.
“Nonetheless.” Rand heaved a resigned sigh. “She is to be my wife.” He shook off the melancholy the words brought. There were far more serious things to consider at the moment than his future wife’s feelings. “Now then, about tomorrow ...”
Briefly they went over the arrangements for the next day. It was simple enough. Rand would get a special license and Thomas would quietly secure a minister to marry them right here in the house. It was unorthodox but Thomas was confident Effington money would smooth the way.
The rest of the family would make a great show of leaving for the country at dusk. While Thomas, Marianne, Becky, and Aunt Louella headed by carriage in one direction, Rand and Jocelyn would travel by horseback in the other. It was an odd hour to start a journey but Rand felt it was imperative to leave London under cover of darkness.
“Enough of this.” Rand sat his glass on the table and got to his feet. “I have arrangements to make.”
In spite of the late hour, he would go at once to speak with his superior, the man who’d gotten him into this mess. Now that Rand had ascertained there was indeed at least a political threat to the prince, it was imperative that the investigation continue, albeit with someone else at its head. He would also request permission to leave the man’s name with Thomas simply as a precaution. He hoped his friend would never need the information, but it was best to be prepared for any eventuality. It shouldn’t be a problem. As the son of the Duke of Roxborough, the Marquess of Helmsley was above reproach.
Thomas stood and studied him in an offhand manner. “Regarding whatever it is you’re doing?”
Rand bit back a smile. As intensely curious as Thomas no doubt was, he could count on his friend not to ask untoward questions. In the years after Napoleon’s defeat, while Thomas had now and again casually asked about Rand’s wartime activities, he’d never pressed for answers. Rand’s secrets remained secret.
“Precisely.” Rand grinned. “Although I have a few personal arrangements to make as well if I am to leave the city tomorrow.” He started toward the door. “With luck, this will be resolved soon and we can return from the country. At any rate, Prince Alexei will return to Avalonia within the next few weeks, and I’m confident that will put an end to any danger for”—he tried not to choke on the word—“my wife.”
Thomas walked him to the door and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not so dreadful, old man. I’m about to be shackled myself.”
Rand restrained the urge to point out the differences between Thomas and Marianne’s impending nuptials and his own. The difference between eager and resigned. Between love and, well, not even tolerance at the moment.
“Shackled does seem the appropriate word.”
“One way or another”—Thomas’s tone was abruptly somber—“I’m certain all will work out.”
“I wish I shared your confidence, Thomas. I’m only certain I can keep her alive. Beyond that...” Rand blew a long breath. “The idea of living with a woman who detests me ...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“It seems to me the two of you will be spending a great deal of time together. Alone. Perhaps,” Thomas said slowly, “that time could be put to good use.”
“What do you mean?”
“I simply mean I’ve seen you charm more stubborn women than Jocelyn.”
Rand stared at his friend. “You’re suggesting I seduce her?”
“If anyone, especially Marianne, were to accuse me of that I’d deny it to my dying breath but”—he grinned—“that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“Seducing Jocelyn,” Rand murmured. “What an intriguing idea.”
Thomas raised a brow.
Rand laughed. “Very well, more than intriguing. You yourself pointed out she’s not ugly. It has a certain amount of appeal.” At once he remembered the feel of her delightful body against his. “A great deal of appeal.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t think of
it yourself.”
“As am I. I’m afraid the overwhelming specter of wedded bondage quite obscured the more pleasant aspects of wedded bliss. However, now that you have brought it up...” Rand grinned. “Thank you, old man.”
Thomas shrugged modestly. “One does what one can for one’s friends.”
Rand laughed. Seducing Jocelyn would not be at all easy. She would not fall quickly into his bed. But by God, it was a challenge he was well up to.
He already had the lady’s hand. Now he just needed to win her heart.
———
“I hate him.” Jocelyn lay crosswise on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I hate him with every breath in my body.”
“Nonsense.” Marianne’s tone was brisk. “You don’t hate him at all. What you hate are the circumstances.”
“Pardon me if I don’t see a great deal of difference between the circumstances and the man.” Jocelyn heaved a heartfelt sigh. “My life is over.”
“Your life is not over.” Marianne settled on the foot of the bed. “It will simply be somewhat different than you’d imagined.”
“Somewhat different? Hah.” Jocelyn rolled over onto her side and rested her head on her hand. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re about to marry a future duke. An Effington. And the man you love. I was supposed to marry a prince.”
“Jocelyn.” Marianne studied her sister for a moment. “Did you love him then? Prince Alexei, I mean.”
Jocelyn plucked at the coverlet, then sighed. “No. But I’m confident I would have someday.”
“You may well grow to love Beaumont someday as well.”
“First I have to like him,” Jocelyn muttered.
“I like him. Quite a bit actually.” Marianne’s voice was thoughtful. “Beyond that, I think he’s trustworthy and honorable. He’s been an admirable friend to Thomas. And he has a charming sense of humor and an excellent imagination.”
Jocelyn knew the tale of her sister’s involvement with Beaumont. Marianne had written a series of stories for a Sunday paper based loosely on her relationship with Thomas. When Thomas had found out, he’d convinced Beaumont to play the role of a suitor Marianne had fabricated as a way to teach Marianne a lesson.
“And don’t forget he’s quite dashing and extremely good-looking.” Becky sauntered into the room and dropped a small bag on the bed. “And his shoulders are extraordinary.”
And he does have the most amazing dark eyes. Annoyed, she pushed the thought away and eyed the valise suspiciously. “What is that?”
“Aunt Louella told me to bring it to you,” Becky said. “It’s for your things.”
Jocelyn sat up. “But that’s entirely too small. I can barely fit a decent ball gown in that.”
“Dearest,” Marianne said gently, “I doubt if you’ll be attending many balls in the immediate future.”
“Of course not. I’m being exiled. To someplace quite dreadful no doubt.” Jocelyn groaned and flung herself back on the bed. Marianne was right, of course. There would be no balls. No galas, no soirees, no routs. No fun of any kind. “Then just throw a few old dresses in there. It scarcely matters, I suppose. I don’t even know where he’s taking me but I daresay it won’t be the tiniest bit enjoyable. Probably some horrible little cottage in some nasty little village.”
“He could take me to a horrible little cottage,” Becky said with a grin.
“You’re welcome to him.” Jocelyn propped herself up on her elbows and considered her younger sister. “It’s a pity we don’t look more alike. Oh, we share a similar height but your hair is distinctly red. Of course, a wig would—”
“Jocelyn,” Marianne snapped. “Don’t even think about it.”
“It was just an idea.” Jocelyn grimaced. “I’m desperate. If I don’t think of something I’ll be the Viscountess Beaumont by this time tomorrow.”
“There are worse fates,” Becky said pointedly. “Death for one.”
“At the moment, death does not seem especially worse.”
“Isn’t there anything about him that you like?” Marianne rose from the bed and moved to the wardrobe. She pulled open the doors and studied its contents.
Becky crossed her arms and leaned against a bedpost. “I like him.”
“You don’t have to marry him,” Jocelyn said.
“He once told me he was a spy,” Marianne mused. “Of course, I didn’t believe him at the time. Now, I wonder...”
“A spy.” Becky’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “How very exciting.”
Jocelyn wasn’t sure if the idea of Beaumont as a spy made him more palatable or completely unacceptable.
“You must like him a little,” Becky said. “You did kiss him, after all.”
“Not exactly,” Jocelyn said quickly. “He kissed me.” And admittedly, it was a lovely kiss, the memory of which even now made her insides warm and her stomach flutter. A kiss that made her wonder, in spite of herself, what else this man could make her feel. Abruptly she sat upright. “I hadn’t considered that at all.”
“Kissing him?” Becky smirked. “I have.”
“No. At least not just kissing him.” Jocelyn’s eyes widened and her gaze met Marianne’s. “What shall I do if he ... that is, he’ll be my husband. Legally, and what if he ... well”—she swallowed hard—“demands his... rights?”
“I doubt Beaumont is the kind of man who would force you to do anything against your will,” Marianne said firmly, pulling a gown from the wardrobe.
“Except marry him,” Jocelyn said.
“Jocelyn.” Marianne folded the dress and handed it to Becky, who tossed it into the bag. “I think you should keep in mind that Beaumont doesn’t especially want to marry you any more than you want to marry him. He’s only doing out of a sense of responsibility and honor. He’s doing it to save your life.”
“What life I’ll have left won’t be worth saving.”
Marianne heaved an exasperated sigh. “I do wish you’d stop being so selfish about this.”
“Well, I wish I’d stop being so selfish about this too,” Jocelyn snapped. “I know how I sound and I hate myself for it. But I can’t seem to help it. It’s how I feel.”
“I daresay most women would jump at the chance to marry a man like Beaumont. And he’s very mysterious, which just makes him all the more attractive,” Becky said. “You may not know Beaumont at all but I think he’s already figured out your nature. You sound like a spoiled, shallow, insufferable child.”
“Becky!” Jocelyn stared in stunned disbelief. “How can you say such a thing?”
“I am sorry. That was mean of me. I know you’re overset and therefore allowances should be made.” Becky moved around the bed, sat beside Jocelyn, and gazed into her eyes. “And I know, even if he doesn’t, that you’re not really spoiled, shallow, and insufferable, at least not all the time.”
“Thank you,” Jocelyn said dryly.
“And I also know this is dreadful for you. But he’s really not all that bad. Why, I’d wager eventually you’ll have a wonderful life together.”
“No, we won’t. I don’t see how we could.” Jocelyn got to her feet and turned to Marianne. “You have to promise me, when this is over and you’re the Marchioness of Helmsley with all the money and power of the Effington family behind you, you’ll do everything you can to help me procure an annulment or a divorce.”
Marianne shook her head. “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”
“Marianne.” Jocelyn took her hands and met her gaze firmly. She drew a deep breath. “I’m doing this as much for you and Becky, more really, as I am for myself.”
“What a selfless heroine she is.” Becky sighed dramatically. “Willing to sacrifice herself for her sisters’ safety.”
Jocelyn ignored her. “I’m willing to take the risk of staying right here but I can’t put you in danger.”
“Is she willing to sacrifice her virtue as well?” Becky said in a stage whisper.
“Quiet,” Jocelyn snapped b
ut kept her gaze on Marianne. “All I’m asking in return is that you help me escape from this marriage when the time comes.”
“But perhaps our fair heroine forgets there would not be a threat in the first place if she hadn’t—”
“Becky!” Jocelyn whirled toward the younger girl. “If you say one more word I shall—”
“Stop it at once, both of you,” Marianne ordered. “Becky, you are not helping.”
“Will you promise me then?” Jocelyn held her breath.
Marianne nodded slowly. “I promise to do what I can to ensure your happiness. Whatever that entails.”
Jocelyn heaved a sigh of relief. Marianne’s vow wasn’t, in truth, very much, but it was at least something to hold on to, a tiny raft to keep Jocelyn’s spirits afloat. If she could cling to the belief that marriage to Beaumont was not permanent, she could take whatever came. At least for now. “Thank you.”
“You do realize annulment or divorce will not really put things right. It will not erase your marriage as if it never existed.” Sympathy shown on Marianne’s face. “Even if we manage to keep all of this secret, there is no way to privately obtain the dissolution of a marriage. Word will get out. There will be a certain amount of scandal.” She shook her head. “You will not be able to pick up your life as if nothing has happened.”
“I know.” Even as she said the words Jocelyn realized, deep down inside herself, she did indeed know her life would change forever. And nothing would ever be the same.
“Now, you must make me a promise,” Marianne said firmly. “Promise that you will keep in mind the fact that Beaumont too is making a sacrifice. That his life too will be changed irrevocably. And give me your word that you will at least try to accept this marriage for however long it may last.” She pulled her closer and kissed Jocelyn’s forehead. “We have been through far greater difficulties in our lives and survived. You will come through this unscathed.”
“Will I?” Jocelyn murmured.
“I for one have no doubt of it.” Becky grinned. “It takes a certain strength of character to be spoiled, shallow, and insufferable. A weaker nature couldn’t handle it at all.”
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