But then he recalled Brandon’s advice that the most helpful thing he could do to speed the colonel’s efforts would be to redress the scandalous situation with the heiress.
Wedding her would rub out the tarnish on his honour, especially if he prevailed upon Jane to circulate the myth of their prior relationship that Miss Denby had just invented. His lips twitched again with appreciation at that blatant falsehood. Oh, how satisfying it would be to rout the noxious Lady Melross!
More importantly, wedding Miss Denby was the only way she could salvage her reputation. Though he wanted to remain angry with her for embroiling him in this mess to begin with, in truth, she was as much an innocent victim of the scandal Henshaw had unleashed upon them as he was.
As a gentleman of honour, he didn’t see how he could refuse her plea that they marry now, any more than he could have avoided making her an offer after the escapade in the glasshouse at Barton Abbey.
Dismayed by that conclusion, he stared into the fire, his mind furiously casting about for any feasible way out...and finding none. It seemed he might have to marry her after all. Could he make himself do it?
If he did, he vowed the relationship would have to be more than the cold-blooded alliance of convenience his parents had made. He already knew that even if they had nothing else in common, there was passion between them.
He stole a covert look at Miss Denby, who had, after presenting her first proposition, having laid out all her arguments, left him alone to ponder his decision, with no further effort to entreat or cajole.
Though she was certainly far lovelier than she gave herself credit for being, there was no getting around the fact that she was nothing like well-connected society beauty Lady Mary Langton, whom he’d vaguely imagined marrying back when he was thought to have a brilliant political future.
But there might be advantages to that. Since Miss Denby wanted to remain in the country, he would not have to torture himself escorting his wife through endless rounds of society amusements, when he’d much prefer being at the nearby political gatherings from which he was now barred.
But she would never bore him. Unless he was much mistaken about her character, she’d never beg him for trifles, demand that he dance attendance upon her, sulk or pout or importune him to get her way over some matter upon which they disagreed. Like a man, she’d discuss and reason and agree to compromise.
He’d be passing up his only chance to marry for love, but he wasn’t sure he really believed in that poetic nonsense anyway. Of his closest friends, only Alastair had experienced it, and all that had got him was a desire to blow himself up on the nearest battlefield.
By now, Miss Denby had stopped eating and sat gazing glassy-eyed into the distance. Since she appeared too weary to notice, he indulged himself by openly inspecting her.
He’d thought it angular, but in fact her face was all soft curves and planes crowned by high cheekbones and finished with a determined little chin below full, soft lips he remembered all too well. Above that graceful arch of neck, another stray auburn curl caressed the edge of a delicious little shell of an ear.
How far down her back and breasts would that thick mass of curls tumble when he removed it from its pins? His fingers tingled and desire stirred, thick and molten in his blood.
She wore another of her dreadful, over-trimmed dresses. He imagined the kind of gown he might buy for her, that would show off to perfection her slender form...and luscious bosom.
His mouth grew dry as he remembered that, too.
This current appraisal confirmed his previous assessment that she was far lovelier than anyone at Barton Abbey had realised. Having gone about all her life thinking of herself almost as her father’s son, she treated her womanly attractions as negligible. She seemed to have no inkling whatsoever of their potent power.
He could teach her that. Awaken her.
The zeal with which she pleaded for her horses, the fire he’d seen in her as she rode, the energy and determination that had driven her to travel halfway across England by coach and halfway across London by night all bespoke a passionate nature.
That passion and loveliness could be his, to arouse and enjoy. But, no, hadn’t she also requested a marriage in name only?
Why would a woman of such obvious fire wish to enter a marriage without any? he wondered. Had one of her father’s buyers cornered her in a stall one night, frightened her, manhandled her, as Henshaw had?
Anger boiled up at the thought. If she had been attacked, she’d not been violated; forthright as she was, she would have told him if she were not a virgin. He would certainly never force himself on her, but he had no right whatsoever to his reputation as Magnificent Max, able to charm any woman and persuade any man, if he couldn’t manage to seduce his own bride. The fiery young woman who, he recalled with satisfaction, had already admitted in the conservatory at Barton Abbey that he tempted her.
A more unpleasant explanation occurred, chilling his ardour like the splash of a North Sea wave. Did she spurn fulfillment because she wanted to ‘save herself’ for the absent Harry? He was willing to risk many things, but not the possibility of being cuckolded.
‘Despite our marriage vows, you offered me freedom of conduct if I agree to wed you, did you not, Miss Denby?’ he asked, breaking the long silence.
Startled out of her abstraction, she looked up. As the meaning of his words penetrated, surprise widened her eyes. ‘You might actually...consider doing this?’
‘If I do, I’m afraid I’m not prepared to be as generous about your conduct. I require unquestioned faithfulness in my wife. What of Harry, when he eventually returns?’
‘I promise you, upon my most solemn honour, that if you agree to marry me, I will pledge you my loyalty as well as my hand. I would never betray you with anyone else. Not even Harry.’
Another woman, seeing what she most desired within grasp, might dissemble at such a moment, but Miss Denby had never told him less than the absolute truth. Even when it didn’t flatter her, he recalled ruefully.
He remembered her soldier’s bearing as she straightened her shoulders and marched off with no tears or pleading after he refused her first offer. How she’d backed away, apologising for intruding upon his peace, when they’d met by accident in the conservatory the second time. How she’d stationed herself outside his aunt’s door at Barton Abbey, refusing to leave until she had spoken with Mrs Ransleigh and exonerated him.
He knew in his bones she meant every word of her promise and intended to keep it.
That fact sealed his fate. Perhaps on some level he’d known, ever since they’d been caught by Lady Melross in the glasshouse, that eventually it would come to this, for his initial fury had subsided to a calm resignation.
Never one to put off what must be done, once he’d truly decided to do it, Max dropped to one knee before her. ‘Miss Denby, would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’
Her eyes widened further. ‘Don’t you want to consider this further?’
‘I have considered it. I’m quite willing to proceed at once.’
A look of befuddled wonder came over her face. ‘You’ll really marry me, Mr Ransleigh?’
‘If you will have me, Miss Denby,’ he replied, amused and a little touched by the enormity of her surprise. It seemed she hadn’t truly believed her last-minute, desperate appeal would succeed.
Did she count the wealth she brought him, her intriguing personality, that ferocious honour and sense of loyalty...that luscious body, of such little worth?
Max would have to show her differently. Marriage to Caroline Denby might even be...fun.
If she’d been so unprepared for his acceptance, though, maybe she hadn’t considered the consequences very carefully. ‘Are you sure you don’t need to think it over further?’
‘Absolutely!’ she cried, one of the tears still lingering at the corners of her eyes spilling down her cheek. Tentatively, as if she couldn’t quite believe she now had the right, she laid
her hand on his. ‘I should be honoured to accept your offer, Mr Ransleigh.’
‘Please, my friends call me Max.’
‘Yes, friends. I believe we can be very good friends...Max.’
Friendship was a beginning, he thought. But with any luck and a full measure of his celebrated charm, he hoped to become a good deal more. If he must wed, by heavens, he intended his union to be a passionate one.
‘If you’ve finished, let me escort you back to your cousin’s house—by way of the front door, if you please. Now that we are to marry, I’ll have no more skulking alone about the back streets of London.’
She nodded, ‘And if we’re to wed without delay, there is much to be done.’
‘I’ll set about obtaining a special licence, but there doesn’t need to be unseemly haste.’
‘But we only have—’
‘I’ll speak with Lord Woodbury and the trustees, telling them I don’t wish the stud to be sold. Once they know we are to wed, I’m sure they will respect that choice.’
Her lips twisted in distaste. ‘I expect you’re right. My desires mean nothing, but the trustees will bow to the wishes of my intended husband.’
‘Who also happens to be the son of a powerful member of government, someone they would not want to offend. Might as well use Papa’s position to our benefit.’ Since it has done me little other good of late, Max thought cynically. ‘Besides, I suspect Lady Denby would be hurt were we to rush off and marry without even informing her.’
To his satisfaction, her eyes lit at that observation. ‘You are right again, of course. She’s harangued and cajoled me toward matrimony so frequently, I know she would be disappointed not to be present when her fondest wish is finally realised.’
‘Exactly. Once I obtain the licence, we can be married at Denby Lodge, if you prefer.’
‘I’d rather do so here, as soon as Stepmama and Eugenia can get to London. I don’t trust Lord Woodbury.’
‘Would you like to accompany me when I call on him?’
‘Only if you intend to make him grovel,’ she retorted.
He grinned at her. ‘That could probably be arranged.’
Her eyes scanned his face, weighing the seriousness of his offer. Finally realising he meant every word, she said, ‘That, I would very much like to witness—galling as it will be to watch him treat you with every solicitude, when he has always dismissed my opinions out of hand.’
‘He will never do so again,’ Max promised. Having a female, especially a young female, run a horse farm might be unusual, but since it was Lord Woodbury’s interference that had forced this situation upon them, Max was not inclined to be forgiving.
She smiled with genuine gratitude. ‘Though I sorely wish I might be able to do it on my own, watching you vanquish Lord Woodbury will still be satisfying. Thank you for being so considerate. And waiting until I can have my family present for the wedding. It will make it seem more...real.’
‘Legally, it’s absolutely real, wherever it takes place.’ Pushing away the faceless image of an army lieutenant serving in far-off India, he continued, ‘You must be very certain this is what you want; there’ll be no going back later.’
‘No going back for you, either,’ she countered soberly. ‘I only hope you won’t hate me one day...as you might well, should you ever fall in love with a woman you then can’t marry.’
‘I think I will be quite satisfied with our bargain,’ he assured her...and, to his surprise, realised that if wedding her made obtaining a posting easier, he might actually mean those gallant words.
‘I shall do my best to make sure you never regret it.’
Max brought the hand she’d given him to his lips. As he brushed them against her knuckles, he heard her quick intake of breath, felt the shiver that moved through her.
Desire rose in him, sharp, sudden. He wanted to taste her skin, take her mouth, trace his thumb over the outline of her breasts, sure he would find the nipples taut and pebbled.
But not yet, not now, while fatigue clouded her eyes and worry over the loss of her home and her horses consumed her thoughts.
She tugged at her hand, confirming that caution. At once he released her.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Wilson peeked in to inform Max that a hackney awaited them.
‘I’ll return you to your cousin’s, then,’ Max said, helping her to her feet. ‘You need your rest. Can’t have my bride looking haggard, letting Lady Melross claim she had to be coerced into marrying me.’
‘No, I must be radiant—if only to confound Lady Melross.’
Max escorted her out, reflecting that over his time as a privileged son, he’d had women from Diamonds of the ton to experienced courtesans try to entice him. None of them had sparked in him the combination of curiosity and desire inspired by the plain-spoken Caroline Denby—who’d made no attempt at all to entice him.
He had a sudden, lowering thought that he was about to marry a woman who might well fascinate him for the rest of his life...and she was marrying him to save her horses.
He’d just have to be up to the challenge of fascinating her, then. He might not be able to coerce an apology from the Foreign Office, but surely he could make one slip of a girl never regret marrying him.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days later, Max collected Caro at Laura Place and escorted her to the offices of Mr Henderson in the City, where Lord Woodbury, as spokesman for her father’s trustees, was to meet them.
The solicitor, to whom Caro had already sent a note apprising him of her new status, greeted her warmly and treated Max, she thought, with just the right amount of deference, respectful of his status as an earl’s son, but not fawning over him. After offering congratulations on their imminent nuptials, he said, ‘I’m assuming you wanted to consult Lord Woodbury about transferring control over Miss Denby’s inheritance?’
‘Yes. Most urgently, though, I want to inform him that I do not wish for Denby Stud to be sold.’
‘I’m so very glad to hear it!’ Mr Henderson exclaimed. ‘Having Miss Denby assume so active a role in the business might have been uncommon, but knowing how well she discharged those duties, I very much regretted the trustees’ decision, an action I had no authority to countermand. I’m delighted you intend to retain ownership.’
‘Anything that pleases my intended, pleases me as well,’ Max said. ‘I’ve been impressed by how highly Miss Denby has spoken of your services, Mr Henderson. If you will, I’d like you to work with my solicitors in drawing up the wedding settlements. We’re both anxious to be wed as soon as possible,’ he added, giving Caro a warm, lover-like look so believable that her face heated...and her body hummed.
Observing that glance, the lawyer smiled. ‘So I see. I’m honoured by your confidence and will begin the necessary paperwork at once. Now, if I may show you into my private office? Lord Woodbury awaits you.’
Max offered his arm; Caro took it and together they walked into the office.
Lord Woodbury rose from his chair as they entered. After looking at Caro with some surprise, he recovered to say, ‘Ah, the affianced couple! Allow me to wish you both every happiness.’
‘Thank you,’ Max said. ‘As I mentioned in my note, I wish to briefly review the status of Miss Denby’s estate.’
‘Of course. Miss Denby, I’m sure Mr Henderson will make you comfortable elsewhere whilst Mr Ransleigh and I discuss these matters.’
‘No, I wish her to be present,’ Max said. ‘The first item under review is halting the sale of the Denby Stud and Miss Denby knows the details of its operation much better than I.’
Woodbury looked as if he’d like to assert she knew them far too well—but after viewing Max’s expression, swallowed those words and said instead, ‘You wish the estate to retain ownership?’
‘I don’t want any major changes made to the estate’s assets before my man of business and I have the opportunity to review the whole.’
To Caro’s mingled outrage and
chagrin, without a syllable of protest, Woodbury replied, ‘Quite understandable, Mr Ransleigh. I must confess some surprise, however, that you have an interest in running the stud. I assumed you would prefer to return to a government post.’
‘I probably shall accept another position. Since my bride has overseen the stud’s operation with great competence for years, I see no reason to make any changes in its management.’
Though the approving light in Woodbury’s eyes dimmed, to Caro’s added irritation, whether out of respect for the Earl of Swynford’s son or because a man made the statement, Woodbury did not argue. After a moment, he said only, ‘I suppose you may order things as you like in your own household.’
‘Indeed I shall. I shall also see that my bride is never again slighted or insulted by those into whose safekeeping her inheritance was entrusted.’
Woodbury had the grace to look a bit uncomfortable. ‘Certainly not.’
‘I regret to say I am most disappointed in your stewardship, my lord. Nay—’ Max held up a hand when Woodbury, eyes widening in surprise, began to sputter a protest. ‘I appreciate that, in the main, the estate has prospered. But I must wonder at the character of a man who would so carelessly injure the delicate sensibilities of a female under his protection.’
Woodbury stared at him. ‘Delicate sensibilities of a female...you mean Caro?’
After a warning glance from Max, Caro stifled the protest automatically rising to her lips. Following his lead, she sighed heavily and dropped her gaze, trying her best to look like a fragile maiden in distress.
‘I understand you were a close friend of Sir Martin. I cannot imagine he would have been happy to learn you intended to strip away from his poor orphaned daughter the great project upon which the two of them had worked closely for so many years, the sole reminder she possessed of the father for whom she still grieves.’
‘Well, I certainly—’ Woodbury sputtered.
‘Then there’s the matter of the letter you wrote to Lady Denby, making rather...regrettable remarks about my betrothed. I’m shocked that a gentleman of your standing would have given so much heed to scurrilous rumour, rather than discreetly enquiring of the families involved. Surely you don’t expect the Earl of Swynford to post details about private family matters on a handbill in every print-shop window! Or that he would stoop to correct common gossip.’
The Rake to Ruin Her Page 13
