What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  Thank the Lord, Mr Chandler saw fit to wreak havoc with the spiteful woman’s plan. Like a knight of old, the gentleman had stepped forward to offer his hand, to drag her bloodied and bruised from the battlefield and promise protection.

  Not even Lady Morford could have anticipated his move.

  Priscilla knew little of Mr Chandler’s character, other than he owned a rather grand townhouse and was an exceptional host — or so people said. The matrons spun tales of a reckless rogue. A gentleman unfit for timid debutantes. But a man willing to sacrifice freedom to save his friend surely had honour running through his veins. Besides, Lord Morford was a kind, affable soul, not at all the sort to associate with a scoundrel.

  Priscilla sighed.

  There was little point trying to convince herself of Mr Chandler’s suitability now.

  In truth, she found his rugged charm appealing. An air of mystery radiated from his persona. The dangerous glint in his eye made her heart miss a beat.

  Still, none of those things accounted for her decision to accept his proposal.

  The real reason sounded foolish when she examined its merit. But something about him seemed familiar. It was as though they shared a connection in ways she could not explain. If she closed her eyes, she could picture every line, every mark or imperfection on his handsome face. When he’d kissed her, well, the essence of the man proved potent. It drew her to him in some inexplicable way.

  The sound of approaching footsteps disturbed her fanciful musings.

  Priscilla shrank back into the shadows and held her breath. Mr Chandler strode into the concealed garden via the topiary arch. With a straight spine and an arrogant grin, he held out the thick wool travelling cloak.

  “I’m afraid it’s the best I could do.” His gaze dropped to the ripped bodice of her gown. “It should keep the cold out and protect your modesty.”

  Priscilla stared at him. It occurred to her that this man was to be her husband. Was this considerate gesture one of many? Or would he grow to regret his impetuous decision?

  “Thank you.” With hesitant fingers, she took the cloak and fastened the garment around her shoulders. “Did you find Miss Hamilton and my uncle? Did you tell them I was ill and had to go home?”

  “No.” Mr Chandler tugged at the cuffs of his coat. “What I mean is I found them, but I told them the truth.”

  “The truth?” Priscilla sucked in a breath, gulped at the sudden rush of cool air. “But surely—”

  “I said we were in love. I explained that the depth of our feelings led to an impromptu incident and now it is imperative we wed.”

  I said we were in love.

  The words fluttered through her mind. To hear an amorous declaration fall from a gentleman’s lips was all she had ever wanted. However, she’d imagined them to convey a greater depth of emotion, an intense power capable of shaking her to her core.

  “But that is not the truth, Mr Chandler,” she countered, knowing the reality of her situation proved vastly different from that of her daydreams.

  Mr Chandler closed the gap between them, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Other than Lord Morford, only we will know the truth. As far as everyone else is concerned, we are hopelessly in love.” The rich timbre of his voice stirred the hairs at her nape. “You have possessed me mind and body — or so others shall believe.”

  His emerald eyes twinkled in the darkness. A raw, masculine essence filled the air. There was no need to wear a cloak for protection. He radiated confidence, strength in his ability to fend off an attack.

  “And you have possessed me mind and body.” The lie left her lips with ease. “You have captured my heart — or so others shall believe.”

  He lowered his head, brushed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss so opposed to the way he had claimed her mouth earlier. “Do not be afraid,” he whispered. “I promised my name and my protection, and I shall be true to my word.”

  Priscilla forced a smile. In such a dire situation, his offering should have been enough. Was it foolish to hope for more? Was it feasible to expect a mutual affection to develop?

  “You must have owed Lord Morford a great debt. When you came here tonight, I doubt you intended to take a wife.” She looked into his eyes, searching for the same hint of admiration she’d noted in Mr Mercer’s gaze. A sign to instil confidence in their future. But he was as unreadable as a book written in Latin.

  “No. I never envisaged myself as a husband. I fear I lack the necessary qualities in that regard.” Mr Chandler gave a sigh of resignation. “Under the circumstances, you can have no expectations of love.” He paused. “Let's continue this conversation in my carriage. For all my faults, it is not in my nature to deceive you. A frank discussion is due.”

  What did he mean he lacked the qualities of a husband? Perhaps he was speaking of trust, of loyalty. Did he intend to take a mistress? Was it not a little late to tell her that now?

  A strange sense of foreboding took hold. “You certainly know how to make a lady nervous.”

  “One should never fear honesty. Only lies and deceit make fools of us.” He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Now, let us leave here. During the journey home, I shall tell you what I seek from our alliance. And you may do the same.”

  With all romantic notions quashed, she braced herself for what was to be an enlightening conversation. “If we are to wed, I suppose we should have realistic expectations.”

  He appeared pleased with her reply. “As with any game, without knowledge of the rules, one cannot ever hope to win.”

  “Indeed.” Priscilla smiled though her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. A lifetime full of love and laughter was the prize for the winners of this game. Yet she suspected his motives for playing differed from hers.

  They crept through the shrubbery at the end of the garden, found a door leading into the mews where Mr Chandler’s carriage was waiting.

  “This is Billings.” He gestured to the coachman. “The man is not one for conversation but has an innate ability to navigate crowds. Now, I’m told you live on Berkley Street.”

  Priscilla nodded. “Yes, at number twenty.” Heavens, bile bubbled in her stomach at the thought of facing her aunt and uncle.

  “Take the longer route to Berkley Street, Billings.” Mr Chandler removed his watch and squinted at the face. “I estimate we’ll need thirty minutes to complete our business.” He looked up at her as he placed his watch in the pocket of his waistcoat. A sly smile touched the corners of his mouth. “On second thoughts, make it forty-five.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Mr Chandler assisted her into his conveyance, closed the door and dropped into the seat opposite. Despite sharing a salacious kiss in the garden, there was something far more intimate about being alone with him in the confined space.

  “Well, Mr Chandler,” she began, desperate to fill the silence, desperate to distract her mind. “You wished to inform me of the list of rules.”

  “Rules? I think not. The word suggests an element of control, rigidity. Together, we will forge an alliance that allows us to live freely, to live as we please.” He leant back and rubbed his chin as his gaze swept over her. “You can begin by calling me Matthew. Only my solicitor calls me Mr Chandler, and I find it creates a certain unease.”

  Matthew.

  Once again, a cloak of familiarity enveloped her.

  “Very well. You have permission to use my given name.”

  “Forgive me. But I cannot recall what it is.”

  “Priscilla.”

  He inclined his head but said nothing.

  Silence ensued.

  “Well, I am sure you didn’t need forty-five minutes to agree to use our given names,” she said.

  “Not at all.” He glanced at her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “It is simply that I do not wish to cause offence and so must decide how best to proceed.”

  Nothing could make her feel more foolish than she did already.

  “Does i
t matter? I shall appreciate your honesty, regardless.” Priscilla steeled herself, held her body firm and rigid in preparation.

  “Very well.” Mr Chandler brushed his hand through his ebony locks. “There is nothing I could ever do or say to repay the debt I owe to Lord Morford. I do not believe I would be the man I am today had it not been for his friendship and support.”

  Various questions formed in her mind although now was not the time to ask.

  “Lord Morford is one of the kindest gentlemen I know,” she agreed.

  “Indeed. Tristan has loved the same woman for many years, but Lady Morford refuses to accept his choice. As his friend, I cannot allow his mother to manipulate events to suit her own purpose. And, after all he has done for me, it eases my conscience to know he has a chance of finding true happiness.”

  Priscilla’s shoulders sagged. They were noble words. It was reassuring to know Mr Chandler had a conscience. “You would sacrifice your own happiness for that of a friend?”

  “I am not a complete martyr to the cause. Like most men, there is a limit to my benevolence.” He cleared his throat. “I am a gambler by nature. What I mean is I live in the moment. I do not wallow in the past. Nor do I plan for the future.”

  “So you base all decisions on current feelings?” Perhaps he did find her attractive. Perhaps he also felt the strange connection that thrummed in the air.

  “I base all decisions on the current situation,” he corrected. “Tonight, I played recklessly at the tables. I lost more than I care to contemplate. It proved a factor in my decision to make you an offer.”

  The sensation of ice-cold fingers crawling up her spine made her shiver. “You used me for your own gain?” One did not need to be a wise seer to know her dowry would ease his financial burden.

  “Used is an ugly word. We have assisted each other in order to secure our position and reputation. Trust me. All will be well.”

  Things could not be any worse. No doubt his penchant for gambling was the reason the matrons called him a rogue.

  “Did you play in the card game?”

  “Unfortunately, I did.”

  “How … how much did you lose? A hundred pounds?” One could but hope. “A … a thousand?”

  He swallowed audibly. “Too much.”

  Too much!

  “What happened to your desire for honesty? Is vagueness not a mere mask for deceit, Mr Chandler? Let me at least hope I am not marrying a hypocrite.”

  “You’re right.” His raised brow conveyed a hint of admiration. “Forgive my lack of clarity. I lost ten thousand pounds this evening.”

  Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand for fear of blurting an obscenity. “Ten thousand,” she eventually said. “Am I to understand you lack the funds to pay?”

  “The full amount would pose a problem.” His tone held no hint of shame. “I can raise almost half the sum.”

  Heaven help her. What sort of person gambled with money they didn’t have?

  “And do you plan to pay the debt with my dowry?”

  “I do.”

  The reality of the situation hit her like a hard slap to the face. She jerked her head back, blinked to clear her blurred vision. Her mind scrambled amidst the chaotic thoughts hoping to find a way to extricate herself from her obligation.

  “And what if I refuse to marry you?”

  He shrugged. “Then I shall have no option but to seek other methods to raise the funds I need. In your case, I expect every fortune hunter in town will come knocking.”

  “The words cold-hearted devil spring to mind.” What a naive fool she was!

  “Is that your way of saying you’ve changed your mind?” he continued. “If so, let me offer a more detailed explanation that might sway your judgement somewhat.”

  She waved a hand for him to continue. “I may as well hear it all.”

  “It was not bad luck that I lost such a significant sum. Indeed, Lord Callan was just as unfortunate.”

  Priscilla shot forward. “My uncle? But he has no experience with gambling. He would never squander money in such a fashion.” Henry Callan was honest, dependable, forever lecturing on the need for prudence. “You have made a mistake. You did say you'd forgotten my uncle’s name.”

  Mr Chandler stared down his nose. “There is no mistake. You will discover the truth soon enough. I am convinced we were both duped by sharps.”

  “Sharps!” Priscilla flopped back into the seat. Fate was determined to cause total devastation. “Some speak of ruthless play at the gaming hells, but surely Lord Holbrook attracts a better clientele.”

  “Even peers use unscrupulous methods if it means saving their estates. Gentlemen fleeced us, not rogues. The stakes were high, and so the temptation to cheat is great.”

  Priscilla touched her fingers to her temple. No doubt someone had tricked her uncle into playing. The man would not willingly play deep. Heavens, he insisted on reusing the tea leaves when they had no visitors.

  “How … how much did Uncle Henry lose?”

  “A little more than I.”

  “What?” Anger surfaced. “How much more?”

  “Lord Callan lost fifteen thousand, though I’m told that is not his only loss this month.”

  Priscilla put her hand to her head. The slight sense of disorientation had nothing to do with the excessive rocking of the carriage. “Fifteen thousand! Fifteen thousand?”

  “If it is any consolation, the sharps added laudanum to our port. Not enough to make it obvious but enough to cloud our judgement.”

  “They drugged you?” Good Lord, yet another shocking revelation. “If you were not of sound mind when you played then I doubt you were of sound mind when you offered marriage.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  An odd puffing sound left her lips. “Well, should honesty be the foundation for a successful union, we have nothing to fear.”

  “Does that mean you intend to accept me?”

  Only a fool would marry him under the circumstances, but she’d spent the night making one foolish decision after another. “I have no notion what to do. Lady Hadden is a frightful gossip and would have recognised me. I am doomed either way.”

  Without warning, he crossed the carriage to sit at her side and cupped her face between his large hands. “Then let me offer some form of recompense for your plight.”

  As soon as his lips touched hers, a fire sprang to life in her stomach. Mr Chandler’s skilled tongue penetrated her mouth. The tantalising strokes teased the senses. It was impossible to resist him.

  Heavens above!

  Within seconds, her breathing grew ragged as she tried to contain a surge of raw emotion. Hot hands caressed her body. The arousing smell of bergamot flooded her nostrils. His essence consumed her. She was a slave to his will. Her skin tingled, burned to feel the heat from his body.

  “You will find pleasure in the marriage bed,” he drawled as they broke for breath. “I sense the spark of attraction between us and believe you will welcome my attentions with optimism.”

  His hypnotic pull proved potent. When he kissed her, she almost believed his proposal had nothing to do with helping Lord Morford, nothing to do with needing her money.

  “What will become of us if we wed?” She hadn’t meant the words to leave her lips. In truth, she suspected she would grow desperate for his taste, crave his attention like a bittersweet addiction. “What if we are both miserable and unhappy?”

  “I shall provide for your every need.”

  Material needs perhaps but never emotional.

  “Is that not what every lady wants?” he continued. “A life of comfort, a life free from worry.”

  Comfort had never been a priority.

  “If I’m to be your wife, I assume you will have certain expectations.” She imagined more kisses but struggled to picture anything else.

  “A few. But there is only one thing I must insist upon.”

  Priscilla held her breath in anticipation.

  “I do not
own land,” he continued. “I have an income from my late father’s estate but earn my living hosting parties for the dissipated members of the ton. During the day you will be free to do as you please. But should I be entertaining guests, you are to remain in the bedchamber for the duration of the evening.”

  He would keep her hidden away like a naughty child? “But surely people will expect your wife to act as hostess.”

  “It is not that sort of party.”

  “What sort of—” Priscilla’s cheeks flamed as realisation dawned. “Oh, I see. You mean married men cavort openly with their mistresses. Inhibitions are relaxed. They—”

  “Indeed.”

  Having no desire to witness the unscrupulous events, she would gladly remain in the bedchamber. Suspicion flared. Despite having little choice but to marry, she refused to suffer humiliation.

  “I agree to your request,” she said, even though his hard tone suggested she had no option. “But I have one question and insist on an honest answer.”

  He sat back in the seat. “Then please continue, Priscilla.”

  To hear her name fall so languidly from his lips made her heart thump hard in her chest. If only she were immune to his charm. “Do you have a mistress?”

  Mr Chandler frowned. “By mistress, do you mean a woman I court regularly and support financially?”

  Priscilla bit down on her lip and nodded.

  “Then, no. I do not have a mistress.”

  That did not answer the question. “But you are intimate with women.”

  “I am not a monk, Priscilla. I have not taken a vow of chastity.”

  “Then let me be blunt, sir. Do you intend to be faithful during our marriage?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I am a man of my word. If I make a promise, I keep it.”

  Why could he not say yes or no? “I need a more definitive answer.”

  “Then, yes. It is my intention to be faithful during our marriage.”

  “And do you intend to share my bed?”

  “On occasion. When the need arises.”

  Oh, how dreadfully unromantic. “Do you expect my loyalty in return?”

  “Absolutely. That is not a matter for negotiation.” Mr Chandler removed his watch, checked the time and pushed the item back into his pocket. “Now, do we understand one another?”