Her mouth fell open. Pick a quarrel with him? He was doing his best to provoke her.
‘However, any time you wish to quarrel with me in private I would be delighted to accommodate you.’
‘If you had an ounce of sensibility you would realise that, under the circumstances, I want neither to speak to you nor to see you.’
‘I take it you refer to the business with your brother. I cannot see what it has to do with you or…with you and me.’
She was floundering, badly out of her depth. Nothing in her limited experience with the opposite sex had ever prepared her to deal with a man such as Lord Stamford, a man with devastatingly dark expressive eyes, a man as handsome as the devil himself, a man who was flirting with her in a blatantly sensual fashion that caused her to feel vulnerable and utterly confused.
Desperate, she looked around for escape. With relief, she saw Lady Carlyn winding her way towards them. Her relief was short-lived when she noted the look of utter disbelief on her grandmother’s face. What if Lord Stamford said something about this morning?
He must have read her mind for he said, ‘There is no need to fear, my lady. I promise I will not tell your grandmother how you called on me in such a bold manner without so much as a maid to accompany you. As far as I am concerned, our first meeting has only now taken place. Of course, I shall not mention your fan. I will find a more private moment to return it to you.’
The wicked spark in his eye did nothing to reassure her, but it was too late to do a thing. Lady Carlyn had already made her way to them.
Lord Stamford’s mouth curved in a disarming smile as he bowed over her plump hand. ‘Lady Carlyn, I have just had the delightful opportunity of meeting your granddaughter. She is as lovely and charming as her grandmother.’
Lady Carlyn fluttered her lashes at him in a disgustingly flirtatious fashion. ‘It’s no use trying to turn my head at my age, young man. Rosalyn is much lovelier than I ever was. But how did you come to make her acquaintance? With a proper introduction, I trust?’
His eyes danced. ‘Not at all. I was forced to introduce myself after she stumbled into my arms. Quite by accident, of course. But now that I have met her…I hope to secure your permission to call on her.’
A peculiar expression crossed her grandmother’s face. ‘You may, but I’ll have you know I intend to keep a strict watch on her. She may be a widow, but she is not one of your flirts. I will not have you trifling with her.’
He turned his gaze on Rosalyn who felt as if she’d turned to stone. ‘I shall behave with the utmost propriety.’
‘That I shall have to see to believe.’ Lady Carlyn stared at him for a moment. ‘Very well, you may call on her.’
Rosalyn had to put a stop to this. ‘It is quite doubtful that I would ever be at home to you, my lord.’ And how could they discuss her as if she were in leading strings with no mind of her own? She did not know which one to strangle first.
‘Nonsense. Of course you will, dear.’ Lady Carlyn shot her a quelling glance.
A smile of pure devilment quirked his mouth. ‘Unfortunately, I must depart now. I will see you soon, very soon, Lady Jeffreys.’ Her name sounded like a caress on his lips.
He made an elaborate leg and strode off. Lady Carlyn watched his dark-haired figure weave its way through the crush.
With a bemused expression, she took Rosalyn’s arm. ‘My dear, I can scarcely believe this! Lord Stamford wishes to call on you. I cannot image why; he never pays the slightest heed to any respectable woman. Surely he cannot think that…no, of course not. Not with you dressed in that gown!’
‘Isn’t it fortunate that I wore it, then,’ Rosalyn replied with a humourless smile. Her simply cut blue gown had been a source of contention between them, Lady Carlyn declaring it was fit only for a Methodist.
Rosalyn barely noticed as they made their goodbyes to Lady Winthrope, descended the crowded staircase, and waited a good twenty minutes for the carriage to be brought around. Her thoughts were totally occupied with the icy set-downs she planned to give Lord Stamford.
It wasn’t until they had settled into the carriage and her grandmother spoke that Rosalyn started out of her reverie.
‘My dear, what do you think of Lord Stamford? I hadn’t even considered him. But now that I think of it—he would do quite nicely. No woman would ever be bored with him.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Lord Stamford. For a husband.’
‘A husband?’ Horrified, she stared at Lady Carlyn.
‘I don’t believe you’ve been attending at all. His aunt, Lady Spence, told me—in strict confidence, of course—that Eversleigh has been casting about for a wife for him. Why did I not think of this before? There is no reason why you should not be in the running. Now that you are finally in London, I shall call on Margaret and drop a hint in her ear.’
A most alarming headache was beginning in her right temple. ‘Grandmama, please, no. I would rather be dead than ever, ever consider him for a husband.’
His most blatant efforts to flirt with her had failed dismally.
Michael received his overcoat and hat from the footman and headed down the steps into the cool spring night. He liked walking at night, despite the risk of footpads.
A smile curled his lips. It was wicked of him to tease Lady Jeffreys so much. Especially in front of Lady Carlyn. But the fire that sprang to her eyes and the all too-ready colour washing over her cheeks was too tempting to resist.
He had no idea why such a respectable widow should interest him. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her dress, even tonight, was unfashionably plain; no rows of lace and flowers adorned its hem, no low-cut bodice designed to reveal its wearer’s charms. But it became her.
He usually found such ladies excessively dull. But not Lady Jeffreys. Behind the proper façade she tried to present, he sensed a warm, passionate woman. It would be a challenge for any man to storm those barriers.
Particularly as she detested him and made no pretense otherwise, not even in hopes he might relent and return her brother’s estate. He admired her for that. At least she was honest in her dealings with him.
It would probably be too much to hope Miss Randall would harbour the same sentiments. No, from what he gathered of the young lady, she was very biddable and unlikely to disobey her family’s wishes. A pity Lady Jeffreys was not his intended bride; he’d never get her to the altar unless she was drugged and bound.
Suddenly, Charles’s words flashed through his mind. His head snapped up and he stopped dead in the quiet street, inspiration hitting him like a bolt of lightening. Why not? She was well bred, respectable, pretty, intelligent. And she disliked him thoroughly.
What more could he want in a prospective bride?
Having the proper, disapproving Lady Jeffreys in his power would be most agreeable. He’d wager any sum that by the end of their association, he could break down her resistance to him.
And he knew without doubt he could induce her to agree to his plan.
Chapter Three
Morning sunlight streamed through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains of Rosalyn’s bedchamber. She fought to open her eyes, heavy with sleep, wanting nothing more than to snuggle back down into the cosiness of her bed.
It was these late nights. She was not used to staying up past midnight, let alone until two or three in the morning. She had never realized what energy a woman of sixty some years could possess. An evening at home was far too tame for Lady Carlyn; she must be out to a soirée or ball or to a concert every night. And she insisted Rosalyn accompany her.
Rosalyn struggled up as Mrs Harrod, her housekeeper, entered. She carried a tray with a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast.
‘Anything else, my lady?’ she asked as she set the tray in front of Rosalyn. She was plump and kindly and watched Rosalyn with a motherly eye. ‘I thought you might like a tray today seeing how you did not come in until nearly three. Such a long night for you.’
Mrs
Harrod bustled about, opened the curtains and then departed. After pouring herself a cup of the steaming chocolate, Rosalyn sunk back on her pillows, wondering if there was any way she could escape tonight’s ball. She had been to more of these affairs since arriving in London ten days ago than in the eight years since her own coming-out.
Her husband, John, had considered ton parties a frivolous waste of time, as did most of his scholarly colleagues. After the miserable, tongue-tied shyness of her one and only season, she had been grateful.
Sometimes she had longed for a little more gaiety. It seemed after the first year or so of their marriage, as he became more deeply immersed in completing the massive book he’d spent years working on, that anything which distracted him from his work was a waste of time.
Including her.
Tears pricked her eyes. She brushed them away with an angry hand. It was only that she had lost so many people she loved in the past five years, first John, then her mother a year later. Her father’s spirit had been buried along with her mother, his body finally succumbing to a bout of influenza two years later. Now, she was losing James.
She had come to London, hoping to somehow bridge the gap between them. Since their mother’s death, he’d walled off his emotions, rarely talking to her as he once had. Her father had been no help; lost in his own sorrow, he’d scarcely noticed James was growing more unmanageable, running around with some of the wildest young men in the neighbourhood. After her father died, he stayed away from Meryton for long periods of time, only once bringing a group of his new friends down for a week.
Rosalyn had been appalled. It took no more than a few hours in their company to discover he kept company with some of the most disreputable rakehells in London. She’d stayed out of their way, afraid to say anything to James for fear he’d shut her out even more. But he’d never asked them again.
She finally forced herself out of bed. Her abigail, Annie, helped her dress in a long-sleeved navy print cambric gown with a ruff around the throat, then dressed her hair in its usual knot.
Rosalyn had just reached the staircase when Mrs Harrod bustled up to her, her plump face shining with curious excitement.
‘You have a visitor, my lady. I have shown him to the drawing room.’
‘A visitor? Is it James?’
‘No, not your brother.’ Mrs Harrod clasped her hands. Her voice quivered with anticipation. ‘It is the Marquis of Stamford, my lady. He wishes to see you.’
Rosalyn backed away from the staircase, her hand fluttering to her throat. What was he doing here so early? It was hardly the hour for morning callers. Did he think she was at his disposal at any time?
‘Lord Stamford? He wishes to see me? Please inform him I am not at home.’
‘But, my dear, he is very anxious to see you.’
‘No, I certainly do not want to see him. It is much too early.’
Mrs Harrod pursed her lips in disapproval. When she saw Rosalyn did not plan to relent, she nodded and bustled away.
Irritated, Rosalyn turned back to her room. She supposed he’d finally decided to return her fan. A full three days had passed since the rout. Well, he could leave it with Mrs Harrod. She would hide out until he left. She picked up a novel she was reading, but the words jumbled into nonsense.
She jumped at the knock on her door. Mrs Harrod poked her head around the edge, her face devoid of expression.
‘His lordship wishes me to inform you he will not leave until you see him. He will wait for your convenience, even if it is past midnight.’
‘That is most ridiculous.’ But something about his confident, overbearing manner made her think he was perfectly capable of carrying out his threat, effectively holding her prisoner in her room. She could hardly go about her business while he cooled his heels in the drawing room. What if someone called? Her grandmother, for instance. She closed her book and rose.
The strange sensation that her life was about to be altered forever floated over her. But how silly—she had never been prone to such fanciful notions.
With reluctant steps, she entered her drawing room. The morning sun cast a friendly glow about the small yellow room. Her unwanted visitor sat in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, absorbed in a leather-bound volume, his buckskin-clad legs stretched out before him. He didn’t notice her presence for a few seconds and then he glanced up, closed the book and laid it aside. He rose to his feet in a lazy movement.
He was dressed much as he had been the first time she saw him, in riding coat and breeches, and top-boots, his cravat tied carelessly about his neck. His elegance looked out of place amidst the fading Oriental carpet and the comfortable but old-fashioned furnishings of the room.
His face was relaxed and his manner confident, as if there was no reason he was not perfectly welcome in her home.
‘Lady Jeffreys, I did not expect to see you quite so soon. I was betting on some time in late afternoon.’
This threw her off completely. ‘Indeed. I usually don’t keep visitors waiting that long.’
‘In my case, I was not sure. I am relieved, although my day is at your disposal. I decided to fetch a book from the library to occupy my time.’
‘A book?’
‘Does that astound you? I occasionally engage my mind in less dissipated pursuits, such as reading. I have even been known to pick up a volume of philosophy or history on occasion. But only when I have tired of sitting around a gaming table, stealing away estates or pursuing improper women.’
‘Is there a purpose for your visit, my lord?’ she asked with ice in her voice.
‘Yes. To return your fan, of course. And to speak with you in private. I would not have called so early, except I did not want you to flee.’ He held out her fan. She took it from him, careful to avoid any contact with his hand.
Her voice trembled for some odd reason. ‘I see. I can’t imagine what you would wish to speak to me about.’
‘I wish to discuss your brother’s gambling debt. I have a proposition to lay before you that I believe will benefit both of us. If you will sit, I will tell you.’
Even more confused, she quickly seated herself on one of the Queen Anne chairs. He settled back in the other, his eyes fixed on her face. The horrid premonition he was about to offer her another carte blanche caused her heart to beat uncomfortably fast. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
‘I do not think you will find my proposal too distasteful. I merely want you to become betrothed to me.’
Her heart stopped for a dizzying moment. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I would like you to become betrothed to me in exchange for returning your brother’s estate to him.’
Her hand went to her throat. ‘Betrothed to you! You must be mad! I would never consider such a thing!’
‘Do you always answer your offers with such an excess of civility?’ he inquired drily. ‘Perhaps I didn’t phrase it quite right. You don’t need to marry me, merely become my fiancée for a short time. I am in need of a temporary fiancée.’
He sounded as if he were discussing the need for a new pair of boots.
‘A temporary fiancée? Whatever for? I have never heard of anything so…so ridiculous!’ She stood up and backed away from him towards the window, knotting her hands.
He rose and followed her. ‘Not at all. My father has informed me it’s high time I marry. He’s already chosen the bride. I want to put a stop to his plans before I wake up one morning and find I’m expected to show up at the altar before noon. If I produce a fiancée of my own, I can hardly be expected to offer for the young lady he has in mind.’
‘I…I should hope not.’ He sounded so reasonable, Rosalyn had no doubt he was quite mad. ‘But why me? I hardly think I would suit your purposes. We do not deal at all well together.’
A disarming smile settled over his features. ‘You mean you wish me to perdition, my dear. There is no need to look so shocked, your face is far too honest. The strong aversion you’ve shown for my company s
uits me very well; I’ve no doubt you will be quite willing to cry off at the appropriate time. The bargain benefits both of us. You want your brother’s estate back—it will be done. I avoid a marriage I don’t want. And just consider, what could be more natural than for me to return Meryton to your brother as his future brother-in law? It will save a lot of explanation.’
‘It is blackmail!’
‘Hardly. Come now, Lady Jeffreys, what is so difficult? Is a few months in my company such a sacrifice for your brother? Just think how much you’ll enjoy publicly jilting me in the end.’
Apparently the whole thing was nothing but a huge jest to him.
And how dare he be so confident that she would be delighted to play the role of his fiancée?
‘A few months! I’d rather spend an eternity in hell than a day in your company.’
Her hand flew to her mouth, horrified at her rude words.
Something wholly unexpected crossed his face, but for such a fleeting moment, she was certain she had imagined it. Only slight amusement remained. ‘Indeed? In that case, I shall leave you to plan your move from Meryton.’
He picked up his gloves and moved towards the door, then turned and bowed elaborately in her direction. ‘However, I will leave my offer open for a day or so. In case you change your mind. Good day, my lady.’
‘My lord, I am…’ Before she could frame an apology, he quitted the room.
Mortified, she sank down on the sofa. Never had she said such an unkind thing to anyone. She tried to tell herself he richly deserved it, but she wasn’t so certain. For one brief moment, he had looked as if her words had affected him. But no, that was impossible. Not the imperturbable Marquis of Stamford.
She put a hand to her head, which was beginning to ache in a familiar way. She could not possibly take him up on his preposterous suggestion, not even for James.
She stood up and took an agitated turn around the room.
But would a few months in his company really be such a high price to pay for Meryton? It was not as if he demanded she be his mistress. She had heard of men who were unscrupulous enough to ask for a woman’s favours to pay off a debt. Not that she thought Lord Stamford was above that if it suited him. Most likely she was not to his taste, thank goodness. The thought of spending a night in his arms filled her with shivery panic.
A Bargain With Fate Page 3
