by Cheryl Holt
In reality, she was Harry Carstairs’s child, a girl he’d molded to earn lots of money so he didn’t have to earn any himself. She’d been good at it, and she’d had an enormous amount of fun being Libby. She enjoyed the freedom and independence Harry had provided, and she couldn’t imagine carrying on any other way.
Charles was planning to publicly claim her, but then what? An earl’s daughter could never be employed in a theater. Would she retire to Roland and dawdle there in quiet isolation until the tedium drove her insane?
Yet she yearned to be part of a family, to be valued and cherished as a member. Shouldn’t she glom onto Charles and figure out the rest later on?
Though it was humiliating to admit, she was terrified to proceed. She—who’d never been afraid of anything—was afraid she might wedge herself into a spot by Charles’s side, but that she’d never fit there.
She had no idea how to be his daughter or Penny’s sister. She’d likely jump in with both feet only to have them acknowledge the mistake they’d made in welcoming her, so she’d tarried in London by herself rather than face her fears. It was stupid and cowardly, but there it was.
The door opened, and for a fleeting instant, she smiled, automatically presuming it would be Fish, but recognition swiftly dawned, and her shoulders slumped. Fish was heedlessly pursuing her ridiculous amour at Roland, and Libby was on her own, but then, hadn’t she always been on her own?
A male voice spoke from behind her, and she blanched, then whirled on the stool to glare at her intruder.
“Well, well,” Luke said, his tone a tad snotty, “if it isn’t Little Libby Carstairs, Mystery Girl of the Caribbean.”
“What are you doing here, Lord Barrett?”
“You’ve begun calling me Lord Barrett instead of Luke. Why is that? Are you pretending we aren’t intimately attached?”
“Yes, I’m pretending exactly that.” She scoffed. “I’m sure it will be a huge blow to your massive ego, but I’m over you.”
“Really? Are you positive?”
“Yes, so you can turn around and head off to entertain yourself however a rude, obnoxious nobleman entertains himself on a Saturday night in London.”
“I’m not here to be entertained. I rode to town specifically to see you.”
“I can’t fathom why you would have, so it was a wasted trip. The last time we chatted, I was very clear as to my opinion about you.” She frowned, feigning confusion. “Where did it occur again? Oh, that’s right. I was in jail because I’d dared to reveal the identity of my father.”
“Why are you so angry with me? When I bailed out your sorry behind, I thought you might be a bit grateful.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I could have sworn you were fond of me.”
“I was fond—in the past—but any affection has vanished. It faded the minute you accused me of lying about my being Charles’s daughter.”
“I was an ass about it, wasn’t I?”
She was still seated on the stool, and there was one chair in the small room. He grabbed it and put it directly in front of her, then he plopped down on it, sitting so close that their legs were tangled together.
He looked magnificent as ever, dressed in formal evening clothes, a black velvet jacket and trousers, a white shirt, a pristine cravat sewn from the finest Belgian lace. The space surrounding him was full of delicious masculine odors: horses, tobacco, fresh night air.
He was handsome and dashing, and he simply enticed her as no other man had ever been able to manage. Very much against her will, she could feel herself leaning toward him, anxious to fall into his arms and return to that fantastic period when any conclusion had seemed possible between them.
What was wrong with her? Yes, she was desperately attracted to him, but he couldn’t give her what she truly desired, that being a devoted husband, so any continuation of their affair was pointless.
Lucas Watson was a walking, talking scoundrel who’d lured her to misbehave, and she had to buck up, grow a spine, and move on.
“Fish stopped by Barrett the other day,” he said.
“She can’t stand you anymore than I can. Why would she have?”
“First, she was eager to brag about traipsing off to Roland to disgrace herself with Charles.”
“If you’re about to scold me over it, please don’t. I tried to dissuade her, but no one listens to me on any topic.”
“I wasn’t planning to lecture you,” he said. “I just mention it because she’s an intriguing female. It’s rare to stumble on a woman who is so blunt about her immoral choices. Men can sin with relish, but women aren’t allowed such liberty.”
“She’s always lived however she liked. She’s been lucky.”
“I suppose some people might believe that.”
“I take it you’re not one of them.”
“No. You see, I’m quite set in my ways. I think a woman’s place is in the home, and she should be meek, modest, and deferential to men in all matters.”
She snorted with disgust. “Then I’m certain you’ll be very delighted with whatever silly debutante you ultimately wed.”
She was being an incredible shrew, but polite conversation was beyond her. He overwhelmed her, and she’d erected plenty of mental barriers to keep him at bay. If she let down her guard for a single second, she’d stagger right back into his life. She couldn’t and wouldn’t do it!
He scrutinized her as if she were a strange insect he’d never encountered before.
“I need to marry, don’t I?” he said. “With my being thirty and having inherited my title, I can’t delay a decision.”
“Yes, the nursery at Barrett Manor must be calling out for you to get busy and pick a bride so you can begin packing it with little Watsons.”
“Have you heard about Penny and Simon?”
“Yes, and don’t scold me about them either. I warned Simon to leave her alone, but I’ve never had the power to make him heed me.”
“Penny has been very sheltered, and he seems sophisticated and jaded to me. In my view, they don’t have much in common. Do you imagine they’ll be happy?”
“Happy enough,” she churlishly muttered.
She couldn’t predict how it would unfold. Simon was charming and charismatic, but he could also be devious and dishonest. Girls threw themselves at him, and he wasn’t in the habit of declining their amorous overtures. The word monogamy had never entered his vocabulary.
Would he be faithful? Libby couldn’t picture it.
Then again, most of his schemes were implemented because he was broke and trying to quickly fill his purse, and Penny was very rich. Maybe that money would calm him down and he wouldn’t be such a charlatan.
She wouldn’t talk about any of it with Lord Barrett though. Her relationship with Simon wasn’t any of his business.
“After Fish finished crowing about her fling with Charles,” he said, “she pointed out an interesting detail with regard to Penny.”
“Penny is my new sister, so don’t you dare denigrate her.”
“I wasn’t about to. I like Penny. She’s very nice. Not a good choice to have been my wife probably, but nice all the same.”
“You just noticed she wasn’t a good choice?”
“She was too young and inexperienced for me.”
It was Libby’s opinion too, but she swallowed down her agreement. “It sounds as if Simon—by running off with her—ensured you dodged a bullet.”
“It appears I have.” He studied her carefully, an odd gleam in his eye. “I can’t have Penny. She’ll always be the one who got away, so I have to start searching for someone else.”
“Poor, poor you,” she murmured.
She couldn’t bear to have him expound on the next debutante he’d woo. Was that why he was really in town? Was it because Penny had spurned him, so he had to fin
d an heiress just like her?
The whole notion left her extremely bereft. She nearly slid to the floor, curled into a ball, and wept like a baby.
Why couldn’t she be the woman he needed? Why wasn’t she—beautiful, talented, amazing Libby Carstairs—enough for him? Why had she never been enough for anyone?
Her temper sparked. “You’re determined to wax on about the situation, but I can’t believe you’d have the gall to presume I’d commiserate. And you’ve overstayed your welcome in this dressing room.”
She shifted away from him, marched to the door, and yanked it open. She gestured into the hall, indicating he should depart, but he was a vain oaf, and he didn’t move. He grinned as if he were a wolf stalking its prey. There was no doubt about it. She was the prey.
“Shut the door, Libby,” he said.
“If the show wasn’t still in progress at the front of the theater, I’d shout for help and have the stage hands toss you out.”
“I’d like to see them try,” he boasted. “Where were we? Oh, yes, we were discussing how I have to select another betrothed.”
“I won’t listen to you blathering on about it!”
The fight went out of her, and she was on the verge of bursting into tears, but she never cried. Harry had drummed out that sort of emotion, so she never displayed much passionate sentiment.
She was simply sad and hurt, and she wished he’d go away so she could head home to her quiet, empty house and her quiet, empty life with no Simon or Fish for company.
He stood and came over, and he shut the door for her. Then he leaned in and trapped her against the wood. Instantly, her torso was on fire with memories of how thrilling it was to be close to him.
“I can marry whoever I want now,” he brazenly said, crushing her a bit more.
“Bully for you. I hope you settle on a flighty ninny who makes you miserable forever.”
He was unfazed by her fit of pique. “The prospect worries me. I don’t have a parent to advise me in this arena, and it’s why I was relying so heavily on Charles to guide me.”
“Yes, and Charles thought Penny would be a stellar match for you, so I wouldn’t necessarily give him any medals for shrewd assessment.”
He snorted. “I’d persuaded myself that—since I lost out on Penny—I should once again seek out the perfect aristocratic girl.”
“Who would that be?” she snidely asked. “I can just imagine the type of paragon you’d relish.”
She squirmed away and walked to the dresser where there was a bottle of wine. She poured herself a glass and took a hefty drink, not because she was thirsty, but because she had to keep her hands busy so she didn’t strangle him with them.
Obviously, he had an issue he was anxious to get off his chest, and he wouldn’t leave until he had. He was too big for her to push him out, so there was no option but to hurry him along so he’d speak his piece, then go.
He was still leaned on the door and watching her as if she were a frightened rabbit. He was so annoyingly smug, as if he held all the cards. She’d like to bring him down a peg, but with his being such a haughty cretin, she had no idea how.
“I’m averse to scandal,” he said.
“Yes, yes, you’ve been abundantly clear on that subject.”
“My brother was such a wastrel, and I’m working hard to clean up my family’s name and reputation.”
“You couldn’t prove it by me,” she said. “You were ready to wed Penny, but have me as your mistress, which is a secret that always leaks out. It doesn’t sound to me as if you’re strolling down a moral path.”
“I heartily agree. It was mad for me to pursue you when I was about to betroth myself. With your notoriety being front and center, I couldn’t have concealed an affair.”
Yes, it had been mad, but it wounded her to have him admit it. Blithely, she retorted, “You were definitely out of control over me. It’s refreshing to see how quickly you’ve come to your senses.”
“I’ve been loafing at Barrett, feeling sorry for myself and focusing on how I like women who are modest, unassuming, and honorably inclined. I was actually writing lists of the attributes I would demand in the next candidate I courted.”
She’d never been modest or unassuming. By her growing up in the public eye, it had been impossible to acquire humble traits. She’d tried, but she’d rarely succeeded.
Her mood plummeted to the lowest level ever. Why didn’t he depart? Why continue torturing her? It was needlessly cruel.
“I’m sure a splendid bride is waiting for you out there,” she glumly said.
“I’m sure she is too,” he cheerily concurred, “but after I wrote those stupid lists, guess what I figured out?”
“What?”
“I don’t want a modest, unassuming wife. Are you joking? What would I do with a female like that? Now that I’ve met you, I’d throw myself off a cliff rather than wed someone so boring.”
At the bizarre comment, her jaw dropped in astonishment. “You’re not serious.”
“I don’t want an immature debutante. I don’t want an heiress whose only redeeming quality is her fat bank account. I don’t want an ordinary wife.”
He emphasized his point by stepping toward her until he was standing beside her. He yanked the wine glass away from her, downed the contents, then smacked the goblet onto the dresser. Then he trapped her against it.
Before she realized what he intended, he dipped down and kissed her fiercely. She hadn’t expected it, but her traitorous anatomy leapt into the fire. They carried on as if they were the last two people who would ever kiss, and the wild interlude sent shivers down her spine. She was instantly and gleefully prepared to debase herself in any mortifying way he requested.
Finally, she mustered the energy to stagger away, but she was so off balance that she had to grab the chair so she didn’t fall to the floor in a stunned heap.
“You can’t just barge in and kiss me!” she fumed.
“Really?” He was all innocence. “No one told me it wasn’t allowed.”
“I can’t dawdle while you brag about your pending nuptial exploits. You’re killing me with your stories about matrimony and the fiancée you’re about to pick. Go away! Please! Have mercy on me!”
He smirked with irritation. “You ridiculous creature! You’ve driven me insane, so I have no idea why I’m fussing with you, but I’ve decided—if I don’t resolve this with you—I might have to be locked in an asylum. You’ve left me that unhinged.”
“My condition isn’t any better. Why are you here? Will you spit it out and put me out of my misery?”
“I’m trying to inform you, but you keep interrupting. Will you listen for once?”
“I’m listening! I’m listening!”
Suddenly, without warning or preamble, he said, “I want to marry you Libby Carstairs or Henrietta Pendleton or whoever the bloody hell you are. I want to marry you!”
“You do not!” The words were out before she could swallow them down.
“I have to be clear with you, don’t I? I’m committed to making numerous personal concessions in order to have you. You’re magnificent and bewildering and the complete opposite of everything I told myself I sought in a bride, but after we’re wed, I will be the man of the family. I will wear the trousers. Not you! And you will not tell me what to think!”
She studied him, her penetrating gaze digging deep. He looked aggrieved, but very sincere too, and she stammered, “Are you . . . are you . . . proposing?”
“Yes, you daft shrew. Are your ears plugged? I swear, if you refuse to provide the answer I’m demanding, I can’t predict how I’ll react.”
Her knees gave out, and she lurched over and plopped down on the chair.
“You’d like to marry me,” she mumbled. “You, Lucas Watson, Lord Barrett, would like to wed me, Libby Henrietta Pendleton
Carstairs. You’re deranged to even consider it.”
“I am deranged; I won’t deny it. You are flamboyant and alluring and divinely beautiful. You constantly entice men until they become obsessed. With you as my wife, I figure I will suffer perpetual jealousy and resentment over how everyone dotes on you. Yet I’m willing to bind myself anyway.”
“Why would you?” she could only ask.
“Don’t you know? You silly fool, I love you. I’m not the brightest oaf in the world though, so I didn’t understand what was wrong with me. I thought I was about to perish from an undiagnosed illness.”
“You don’t love me,” she insisted. “Don’t pretend.”
“Haven’t we been through this? You will not tell me what to think.”
He was furious, and she laughed. “All right, all right, but I simply have to mention that you are behaving like a lunatic. I’m worried you’ll wake up tomorrow morning and regret your declaration.”
“You’re correct. I will probably regret this forever. You will drive me mad with lust and joy and wild living. I will have abandoned every bit of propriety and moral rectitude merely for the chance to wallow in your precious company. I will climb any mountain—I will debase myself, humiliate myself—to have you for my very own. Don’t you dare claim that dream won’t come true.”
He appeared genuinely earnest, and she began to shake uncontrollably.
“You need an heiress,” she reminded him, “and I’m poor.”
“No, you’re not. According to the newspapers, you’re Lord Roland’s daughter. When Fish visited me at Barrett, she apprised me that Charles will give you a dowry. He’s generous that way, and he feels guilty that he didn’t watch over you when you were small.”
“He will not dower me. That’s absurd.”
“Fish thinks he’ll likely confiscate a pile of it from Penny—as punishment for her running off with Simon.”
Libby gasped. “I couldn’t take it from Penny! I would never permit that.”
