Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords)

by Mary Gillgannon

  “I’ve really haven’t met Lord Northrup yet, so I can hardly make a judgment about his character.”

  Caroline recalled observing the earl in her father’s library. She probably could make some judgments about him, that he was an intense and proud man, and one with a frightening temper.

  “You haven’t met him? I say, that’s rather odd.”

  Caroline sighed. “Yes, it is. But you know Papa. He gets into his head about how things are done, and I’m powerless to change his mind.”

  “Carrie, dear, you can come down now!”

  The maid giggled as they heard Caroline’s father calling from the stairwell. “Well, you’re about to meet him now, miss. Don’t worry about a thing. I’m certain you’ll charm him utterly.” Jeanette leaned near to arrange a curl near Caroline’s cheek. “You look lovely, as cunning as any society miss.”

  Caroline’s apprehension deepened as she started down the stairs. Was she making a mistake? As Jeanette had pointed out, under normal circumstances, Lord Northrup would be an extremely desirable suitor. When she thought about all the spotty-faced boys and foul-breathed old men she’d danced with this past Season, the earl did seem like a dream come true.

  But not her dream. She’d never sought out men like Northrup. Not only was she certain they’d have no interest in her, she also had doubts about their characters. According to the gossip, most titled men were degenerate, lazy sorts who spent their time amusing themselves with gaming, horseracing, and women of questionable virtue. She’d much prefer to wed a man like her father, someone hard-working and with a sense of purpose for his life.

  Her sense of resolve returned. She must convince Lord Northrup to refuse this ridiculous misalliance.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Lord Northrup, may I present my daughter, Caroline.” Her father was the picture of grave restraint as she entered the drawing room. Dressed in his best frockcoat, his beard carefully combed, Merton Beaumont looked the model of respectability, although he suffered greatly in comparison to the earl. Lord Northrup stood nearly a head taller than her father, and his athletic physique and striking coloring contributed to his imposing appearance.

  The earl approached her and bowed low over her hand. “My pleasure, Miss Beaumont.” He straightened, and Caroline found herself frozen in place by his piercing hazel eyes. What did he think of her? Would he agree to her plan?

  “Is it still cool out?” she asked awkwardly.

  “Yes, unseasonably so,” he answered. “I fear it will be a severe winter this year.”

  Caroline looked toward her father. She wanted him to leave so they could talk in private. On the other hand, she felt panic at the thought of being alone with Northrup.

  Her father smiled benevolently, as if everything was proceeding in the most convivial fashion. Realizing she would get no help from him, Caroline gestured toward the settle near the fire where tea had been set up. “Shall we?”

  Lord Northrup didn’t answer, but walked stiffly toward the settle.

  “I’ll be off then.” Beaumont moved toward the door. “I’m sure you two young people have much to talk about.”

  Caroline took a seat in a chair across from the earl. “Do you take sugar in your tea?”

  “No, thank you.” Northrup sat back against the settle, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

  Caroline poured the tea, her hands trembling as she struggled to remember the speech she had rehearsed. “I’m sorry we must meet under such difficult circumstances, my lord,” she began. “I’m certain your pride was a little affronted by my father’s proposal.”

  The earl stared at her but said nothing.

  Caroline took an uneven breath. “You see... that is... I want to make a counteroffer to my father’s.” Northrup’s brows shot up. When still he didn’t speak, she continued. “If we both agreed to say we didn’t suit, my father might be willing to forget the whole thing.”

  The silence stretched between them. “Why would you do this?” he finally asked.

  Caroline rose in agitation. “Because I truly don’t think we do suit. Under the circumstances...” She paused, unable to think of a graceful way of saying that since she was miles below him in social station, a marriage between them would be doomed to unhappiness.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Beaumont. I’m afraid things have gone too far. Over at White’s, they’re already wagering on how soon we are to become man and wife.”

  “How could they know?” she gasped. “Surely you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Not I. Your father. The fact is,” Northrup continued, “even if you had the money to match your father’s offer, which I doubt, there is still the matter of your reputation. We could put it about that you’re the one who cried off, but no one would believe it. Your reputation would be forever tarnished.”

  Caroline sank back in her chair. “Perhaps if I went to Papa... explained that we are incompatible...” Her voice trailed off as she realized the hopelessness of their situation.

  Northrup continued to stare at her, his expression unfathomable. “Are you that opposed to marrying me?”

  Caroline felt the blood rise to her face. He must feel insulted. “It’s not that...” she said. “I... I only found out about the arrangement yesterday. I need some time to adjust.”

  “Of course.” Northrup rose. “I would be happy to give you time. Unfortunately, I don’t think your father is nearly so patient.” He bowed over her hand. “Your servant, Miss Beaumont.”

  Caroline watched him leave the drawing room. As Northrup had said, they were trapped.

  Two

  Caroline walked down the aisle, feeling as if her face would crack from the strain. Were they all laughing at her, the three hundred members of the ton crowded into the church like so many pilchard piled in a fishmonger’s cart? If only her father hadn’t chosen to make the occasion quite so ostentatious. The huge church, ablaze with hundreds of wax candles and every pew decorated with late-blooming yellow roses, provided ample demonstration of the Beaumont wealth. Her father was gleefully celebrating their admittance to Society, albeit by the “back door” of marriage.

  What must Northrup think of all this vulgar display? The thought made her shudder.

  At the front of the endless aisle, her future husband waited for her in black tailcoat and trousers, looking as if he’d just stepped off the floor of Parliament. Despite his elegant appearance, she suspected he would be equally at home handling the ribbons of a bang-up phaeton or astride a thoroughbred hunter. He was so utterly... masculine. She couldn’t help but admire the almost haughty cast of his cheekbones and arched black brows. His straight, well-formed nose. The pleasing shape of his lips. The soot-black eyelashes framing his arresting hazel eyes. Northrup was an exceptionally handsome man. There must be dozens of women lined up, eager to warm his bed.

  Bitterness settled inside her at the thought, and she had to struggle to keep her composure as Northrup took her arm and guided her to stand before the altar.

  A century later, the ceremony was over. At the minister’s nod, Caroline tilted her face up for Northrup’s kiss. As his lips lightly met hers, a tremor traveled down her body. For better or worse, they were wed.

  They progressed through the church, and Caroline met the proffered good wishes with appropriate expressions of gratitude. There were a few’ half-heard barbs, but she ignored them, always maintaining a bright smile.

  The crowd bore them outside and to the fine chaise her father had rented. Lord Northrup helped her up and then sat across from her on the plush squabs. Once the carriage was away, Caroline took a deep breath. “Thank heavens that’s over.”

  “Unfortunately, there is the wedding party yet to endure,” Northrup reminded her.

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what my father was thinking. At least half those in attendance will be sneering at us behind our backs, that is, sneering at my father and me.”

  Northrup shrugged. “That’s the way the ton are. Do
n’t let it bother you. In a few days, there’ll be some juicy new gossip and our marriage won’t even merit a mention.”

  Was he trying to console her? It was hard to tell from his clipped, emotionless way of speaking. Truth was, she knew virtually nothing about what went on in her husband’s mind, his hopes and dreams, or even why he needed money so badly. Since the announcement of their engagement, they’d attended several social functions together, but they were always surrounded by well-wishers and had no opportunity to converse privately.

  Perhaps her husband was thinking the same thing, for he fixed her with a direct look and said, “By the way, Caroline, we haven’t yet discussed where we will reside.”

  “Reside?”

  “Yes. We could rent a town house here, or there is my family’s estate, although it’s terribly run-down. Perhaps staying in London would be better. You’d be close to your friends, your father, all the people and amusements you’re accustomed to.”

  Caroline thought of the demands of the London social scene, the endless round of parties and balls. “Actually, I’d rather live in the country,” she said. “Even if the estate has been neglected, could it not be refurbished?”

  “Yes, I suppose it could.”

  There was a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. Caroline wondered if he’d prefer to live in London for some reason.

  “The thing is”—his dark brows drew together—”I have pressing business at the estate. I’d hoped to leave London right after the wedding.”

  “You mean, tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Do you think you could be ready by then?” Caroline felt a flash of irritation. Why hadn’t he brought this up sooner? Or at least mentioned the matter to her father?

  “If necessary, I could go on ahead,” he added. “And you could come in a few days. That would give you time to pack and make all the necessary arrangements.”

  There was no doubt of it, Caroline thought. He wanted them to travel separately. Or, perhaps he hoped she wouldn’t bother to come at all.

  “Of course, I can be ready,” she said firmly. “I’ll have my maid pack a few things tonight. She can follow later with the rest of my luggage.”

  “Excellent,” he said, his tone even more clipped than usual.

  Caroline felt her jaw set stubbornly. She was now his wife, and she meant to behave as one. And that included sharing a household with her spouse, whether he wished it or not.

  Almost instantly, doubts assailed her. Might it not be better to yield in this matter? Perhaps he wished to ready things for her at the family residence. Genuine consideration of her comfort might be what prompted him to suggest she arrive later.

  She glanced at him again, trying to discern his motivation, but soon they arrived at the town house and other worries consumed her.

  ~ ~ ~

  “The Honorable Earl of Northrup and his countess.” The butler’s voice rang out as they entered the house. Caroline felt a wave of disbelief. Would she ever become accustomed to her grandiose title? She was the same person, but from now on, people would treat her differently. Would she come to enjoy it, or would she always feel hopelessly awkward?

  They’d barely left the foyer when her father appeared at her side. His face was ruddy with drink, his blue eyes bright. “Look around you, pet,” he exulted. “Did you ever think to see this day? Lord Bridgewater and his countess, Lady Faringdale, Bassett, the Earl of Devonshire, Trelaney of Cheshire—they’re all here, in my house, drinking my wine, toasting my daughter....”

  “Lower you voice, Papa,” Caroline whispered, mortified by his tone. “Surely you know that a good portion of them are here only to amuse themselves at our expense.”

  “They wouldn’t dare!” he growled, then his voice softened. “This is your day, Carrie. I want everything to be perfect.”

  “It is, Papa,” she said resignedly. “It is.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Her jaw ached from smiling and her knees felt stiff from curtsying when Caroline realized the earl was no longer beside her. Scanning the ballroom, she caught sight of her husband talking to a group of bejeweled matrons. The sight of Lady Fortescue leaning her voluptuous form close to Northrup made her want to grind her teeth.

  Agitated, she left the drawing room. After pausing in the kitchen to speak to the majordomo and assure herself that the champagne remained cold and the food fresh and plentiful, she moved back toward the ballroom, on the way passing the drawing room where a group of young lords were gathered. Despite her determination to ignore the gossip, the words “Beaumont chit” caused her to pause by the doorway.

  “Rather cunning baggage, I say,” a man drawled. “If he’s forced to wed an heiress, a man could do much worse.”

  Caroline felt a little better. At least not everyone thought Northrup had made a terrible mistake.

  “I hear Northrup was pretty much tricked into the marriage,” someone else responded. “And he doesn’t seem like the sort to meekly accept being handled that way. And the girl is Beaumont’s only heir. If something untoward should happen to the old man, Northrup would suddenly have very deep pockets.”

  Harsh laughter sounded. Caroline started to move away, feeling almost dizzy with shock. A sinister-sounding voice froze her in her tracks. “If I were Beaumont, I’d watch my step. While I’m not saying Devon is as ruthless as his father, he’s got a hellish temper.”

  Swallowing thickly, Caroline hurried back to the ballroom. She refused to listen to such crude gossip. It was foolish talk, nothing more. Northrup wasn’t intent on vengeance. And certainly he would never do anything as base as commit murder.

  She stared across the ballroom at her new husband. At this moment, Northrup appeared the very ideal of refinement and gentility. But she remembered him shouting at her father that day in the library. What if he were not all he seemed to be?

  “There you are, Carrie.” Her father joined her. “It’s almost time for the dancing to begin. I’ll get Northrup and see that he does his duty in partnering you for the first set.”

  Caroline clutched at her father’s blue superfine waistcoat. “Perhaps you shouldn’t, Papa. It’s not reasonable of you to nag Northrup about his social responsibilities. He’s an earl, after all. He knows what’s expected of him.”

  “You’re worried I’ll offend him?”

  “Yes, Papa. Don’t you think you’ve been high-handed and rude enough in the way you’ve dealt with him already?”

  “What do you mean?” her father demanded. “I’ve given Northrup a generous settlement and my beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage. I fail to see how he can bear me a grudge for that.”

  Her father broke away and walked toward Northrup. Caroline watched him in distress. What if Northrup found having her father order him to dance with her the ultimate indignity?

  Her father spoke briefly to Northrup, then the earl started across the room toward her. Caroline watched him approach, her mouth dry.

  Northrup bowed low. “I believe tradition requires that we dance the first dance together.” His face still wore a remote, unreadable expression. Caroline nodded and extended her hand.

  He led her out onto the area cleared for dancing, and she arranged her pearl-encrusted train carefully over her arm. As the strains of a waltz echoed from the chandeliered ceiling, they began to move across the polished parquet floor.

  Gradually, the tension in her body vanished, and she suppressed a sigh of pleasure. Dancing with Northrup was a delight. His movements were both commanding and graceful, and his skill as a partner made it seem as if she floated over the floor. She scarcely had to think about where her feet went.

  No wonder the matrons at Almack’s deemed the waltz scandalous. It was so excitingly intimate. One slight movement and their bodies would be touching. As it was, she could feel the heat of him, the firmness of his muscles. She thrilled to the sensation of his strong hand on her waist, the warmth of his breath, the scent of him. Sandalwood soap and some underlying odor that she could not identify. Intriguin
g, appealing, and yet unsettling.

  Too soon, the waltz was over. Northrup released her waist, then took her arm to guide her from the dance floor. He bowed and thanked her, taking his leave.

  Her father came to stand beside her and announced, “The two of you make a fetching pair. I defy anyone here to dispute that Northrup has done well for himself.”

  Caroline looked across the ballroom at her husband. Now, instead of the flutter of hair feathers and the gleam of jewels, Northrup was surrounded by men in snowy white cravats and colorful waistcoats. She wondered if her husband’s companions were the same men she’d heard talking in the drawing room earlier. Scanning their faces, she searched for some hint of the coarse menace she’d felt, but saw nothing more than a group of young, well-dressed noblemen enjoying themselves.

  She shook her head, trying to banish the fears the foreboding conversation had aroused. It was absurd for her to imagine that her elegant husband would plan violence against her father. The members of the ton were above that sort of thing.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You’re shivering, miss. Hurry and put this on.”

  Obediently, Caroline lifted her arms so Jeanette could pull the thin lawn nightgown over her head. Then the maid quickly slipped a wool shawl around her shoulders.

  “I made a fire as soon as I heard you were coming up. I’ll move your chair nearer so you can warm yourself while you wait for the earl. I’m going downstairs and bring up some brandy, in case his lordship likes a nip before bedtime.”

  Jeanette left, and Caroline went to sit in the blue brocade armchair. Another shiver swept through her, but she knew it wasn’t from the cold. Very shortly, her husband would join her, and the final drama of her wedding day would take place. She couldn’t help speculating on what it would be like. Would Northrup perform the marital act the same way he danced? Skillfully, gracefully, as if he had been born to it?