She bit her lip, trying to think. What would they live on? John had left Rosalyn a small income and this house. The rest of his estate had been entailed to a nephew. Her competence could be stretched to accommodate two people in meagre comfort, but James would never accept that from her.
What would become of him?
She stared into the street with unseeing eyes. After all, how much time would she really be in his company? He was unlikely to spend much time dancing attendance on her. Such a flirt as Lord Stamford would undoubtedly find a woman more to his taste to occupy him.
She had no choice. She only prayed his offer was still open.
Michael entered Lady Burkham’s crowded ball room at half past midnight. Almost immediately, Lady Burkham glided forward, and caught his arm. ‘Why, Lord Stamford! We had given up all hope that you ever planned to show! I fear there has been more than one lady suffering from pangs of disappointment.’
‘I doubt the affliction is permanent.’
Her smile faded a little at his cool tone. ‘No, now that you are here. We are about to go down to supper. I hope you will partake of it.’
‘Thank you. Your suppers are always superior.’
She smiled again and, after a few more remarks, departed. He watched the guests drift towards the doors, talking and laughing. The boredom he felt at these occasions assailed him. He regretted his impulse to come.
Except he’d felt equally bored at White’s.
He finally admitted to himself he came in hopes of seeing Lady Jeffreys. Why, he had no idea. Until this morning, he had no doubt she would agree to his plan. But he had gravely miscalculated the depth of her dislike for him. Her words had stunned and then angered him. He tried to tell himself it was only because her refusal foiled his plans. He cared little what anyone thought or said of him. Including Lady Jeffreys. But a shaft of hurt he hadn’t felt since his youth had shot through him, piercing his careful armour of indifference.
This was ridiculous. He decided he would make his excuses to his hostess and leave. Then he saw her.
She was going down to supper with Lady Carlyn. Dressed in a dark blue gown that emphasised the gentle curve of her breasts, she looked delicately lovely.
He would stay after all.
He finally caught up to her at the supper laid out in buffet style. He waited until she finished putting a lobster patty on her plate before speaking.
‘Lady Jeffreys.’
She whirled around and looked up at him as if he’d sprung out of the wall. ‘What are you doing here?’
He removed the plate from her hand since the food appeared to be in danger of sliding to the table. ‘I was invited.’
‘I only meant I had not yet seen you. Did…did you get my note?’
‘Note? No, although I have hardly been home. Does this mean you wished to see me?’
‘Yes.’ Her face turned a delicate pink.
‘Perhaps you could continue your conversation elsewhere?’ Michael turned to find a stout gentlemen glaring at them.
Rosalyn quickly moved forward, Michael behind her. ‘Do you wish some strawberries? They look quite good.’
She looked completely confused. ‘Yes, I think so. This is for my grandmother.’
He put some strawberries on the plate. ‘You are not eating?’
‘I am not hungry.’
‘So you hoped to see me? What has caused you to change your mind?’ he asked softly.
She looked alarmed. ‘Please, not here.’
‘No.’ He looked down the plate, now containing enough food to feed several elderly ladies. ‘Is this enough for your grandmother?’
She eyed the plate doubtfully. ‘I hope so.’
‘Where is Lady Carlyn?’
He followed Rosalyn. Lady Carlyn sat at one of the long tables, between two older ladies. She beamed when she saw them. ‘Lord Stamford! How kind of you to fetch my plate! And you have found my granddaughter, I see. Perhaps you will join us.’
Lady Carlyn’s voice carried. Rosalyn’s face coloured as several heads craned their way.
‘Actually, I had hoped to have a word with your granddaughter in private.’ He smiled at Lady Carlyn.
‘Why…why, I suppose so. Yes, but I trust you will be on your best behaviour!’
‘Of course.’ He took Rosalyn’s arm, leading her from the room before Lady Carlyn could make any more pronouncements to the rest of the guests.
He led her to Lord Burkham’s study. He closed the door and leaned against it, watching her face.
‘What did your note say?’
‘I wished to accept your offer,’ she replied so softly he almost didn’t hear her. She twisted her hands. Her face had all the appearance of one offering to take another’s place on the gallows.
‘So you decided a few months of misery in my company was worth the price of your brother’s estate?’
Guilt washed across her delicate face. ‘I didn’t exactly mean that. I am sorry I said…’
He held up his hand. ‘There is no need to apologise. Your sentiments towards me are quite clear. At least you are honest. Very well, my lady, your brother shall have his estate.’
She cast him a helpless, almost fearful look. ‘What do you wish me to do now, my lord? Are we to announce our…our agreement right away?’
His mouth quirked slightly. ‘I see no reason to delay the announcement of our…betrothal. As soon as our families are informed, I will put an announcement in the Morning Post.’
She looked almost horrified. ‘Is that necessary?’
‘It is quite necessary, my dear.’
‘But what will everyone say? It seems so sudden. We hardly know each other.’
He shrugged. ‘What does it matter? I am known for making up my mind quickly. Come, Rosalyn, the sooner this is settled, the sooner your brother will get his estate.’
The frightened look fled. ‘I have not given you permission to use my given name, my lord.’
‘You have my permission to use mine. You sound like my butler, not a woman who has accepted an offer of marriage.’
‘But I have not accepted an offer of marriage. I am merely pretending to be betrothed to you. There is no need to be on such familiar terms when we are alone.’
He raised his brow. ‘Pretending? No, you will be betrothed to me. You will be my fiancée and you will address me by my given name, Rosalyn.’
Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘You will not dictate to me. I will call you whatever I please, my lord. I understood I was merely to become betrothed to you so you could avoid an arranged marriage. I do not think we need to expand our acquaintance beyond that. We shall do the bare minimum to establish that we are engaged and nothing more. You are free to go your own way.’
So she thought she could avoid him so easily, did she? He settled more firmly against the doorway and folded his arms. ‘You’re quite wrong,’ he drawled. ‘I have no intention of going my own way. If this is to succeed, I must play the role of the devoted fiancée. My Aunt Margaret, not to mention my father, has an uncanny ability to sniff out a scheme. In fact, I intend to make it clear I am in love with you. I shall accompany you everywhere and take as many opportunities as possible to be alone with you.’
‘That is…is ridiculous. There is no need to go to such lengths.’ She seemed at a loss for words, and then recovered herself. ‘In fact, it is quite mad and I have no intention of going along with this. We can see each other once or twice a week and no more. I will not have you accompanying me about like some sort of…of lapdog.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Now you are attempting to dictate to me, my lady. I know you wish me to the devil, but we have a bargain. I will return your brother’s estate and you will play the role of my fiancée. I expect some enthusiasm on your part for my company. Do you understand?’
She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze. ‘Quite, but I will not pretend to be in love with you. And I want you to understand I have no intention of engaging in idle flirtation with you when we
are alone.’
They faced off for a moment like a pair of duellers, eyes locked. He finally shrugged. ‘As you wish.’
He moved away from the door. ‘I will escort you to the opera tomorrow. You will meet my sister and her husband. I will ask Lady Carlyn to accompany us.’
‘Very well, my lord,’ she replied.
‘You had best begin to practise using my given name.’
‘I have no idea what your given name is.’
‘It is Michael.’
She said nothing, merely continuing to regard him as if she wished he would go away. He stepped towards her, causing her to put her hand to her necklace, and retreat a step back. He captured her slender hand and lifted it towards his lips, then pure devilment shot through him as he looked down at her. Without warning he pulled her to him, his lips brushing over hers.
She tasted cool and surprisingly sweet. He had a sudden urge to crush her to him. His hands dropped away.
‘Until tomorrow, Rosalyn.’ He dragged out her name with deliberate, intimate slowness. Her gaze flew to his face. There was no mistaking the apprehension in her eyes.
Chapter Four
Rosalyn stared down at the note, completely dismayed. Lady Carlyn, pleading a sudden headache, would not accompany them to the opera. Since her grandmother developed a headache only to avoid some commitment. Rosalyn suspected Lady Carlyn wanted her to be alone with Lord Stamford. She must have the only grandmother in London who actually encouraged her granddaughter to consort with rakes.
She crumpled the note, resisting the temptation to fling it across her bedchamber. Apprehension made her hand tremble. She had no desire to be alone with Lord Stamford, cooped up in his carriage across from him, forced to make conversation with a man she knew nothing about, a man whose power she was now in.
She was behaving in a ridiculous manner. She rose from her bed and peered distractedly into her looking glass, not really seeing her pale face. He had no power over her. She was hardly alone in the world; she had her family and her own small but adequate income. So there was nothing to fear. She would take part in this absurd charade, Meryton would return to James, and she would return to her safe, well-ordered world.
But nothing, she told herself, could dispel the sense of dread she felt every time she thought of that fleeting kiss. She must make it very clear that she had no intention of engaging in that sort of behaviour with him.
She turned from the mirror in an impatient movement and picked up her gloves and fan. A glance at the small clock on her dressing table showed Lord Stamford was already fifteen minutes late. The least he could do was show up on time.
‘My lady?’
Rosalyn started. Mrs Harrod peered around the edge of the door. ‘Lord Stamford is here. So very handsome he is. All dressed in black. Like one of those heroes in a novel.’
Even her housekeeper was charmed by the man. Rosalyn picked up her velvet cloak from the bed. But Mrs Harrod stepped in front of her before she could leave. ‘There’s a bit of hair that’s come out, my lady.’ With deft fingers, she pulled the offending lock back into place. She stepped back and beamed, her kindly face warm with admiration. ‘There, my lady. You look lovely. No wonder his lordship is so smitten.’
Rosalyn flushed, wishing her housekeeper did not have such a romantic imagination.
She slowly descended the staircase, her heart beating much too fast. She entered her drawing room, the lamps casting a cosy intimate glow about the room.
Lord Stamford stood in front of the fireplace, gazing at the landscape over the mantelpiece, hands clasped behind his back. He turned at her soft footsteps.
She caught her breath at his dashing appearance.
His black long-tailed coat, contrasted with the stark white of his ruffled shirt, became his dusky complexion and emphasised the lean, aristocratic planes of his face. A diamond glittered in the folds his white cravat. His hair, wavy from the misty rain, gleamed midnight in the lamplight. The black silk breeches and white stockings revealed a pair of muscular calves.
She tore her gaze away, praying he hadn’t noticed her staring. She crossed the room towards him, arranging her features in what she hoped were cool, impersonal lines.
He took her hand and released it. His eyes searched her face. ‘I hope I did not keep you waiting too long, Rosalyn.’
‘Only a mere fifteen minutes, my lord.’
He grinned. ‘Tis some improvement. Usually I am at least twenty minutes late. By the time our association is at an end, you may cure me of my propensity for lateness.’
He removed the cloak from her hands and stepped behind her. She felt the soft velvet slide around her shoulders. And then his hands stilled at the nape of her neck, making her feel as if every nerve had sprung to life.
‘It is really your fault, you know,’ he said.
‘My fault?’
‘You are not like most women. They are always at least ten minutes late to add to the stir their appearance will create. That is what I expected.’
‘I don’t like to waste time.’ His touch distracted her so she hardly knew what she said.
He removed his hands and stepped around to observe her. His eyes took in her gown of black crêpe over a black sarcenet slip and the simple diamond necklace and matching ear drops.
‘Certainly you didn’t tonight.’
A blush crept over her face. Of course, he was a practised flirt who knew exactly how to gaze at a woman, making her feel as if she were especially lovely in his eyes. She dropped her eyes, attempting to get her thoughts in order. ‘My grandmother will not accompany us, my lord. She has the headache.’
‘She has already informed me.’ He continued to watch her with a penetrating look that made her uncomfortable.
‘Perhaps we should depart, my lord.’ She turned away and picked up her reticule.
‘Michael,’ he said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Address me by my given name, Rosalyn.’
‘Until we announce our…agreement, I do not think it is necessary to be on such familiar terms.’
‘I think it is. My name is not that difficult. I want to hear you say it.’
He moved in front of her. She recognised that particular half-smile and knew they could be here all night if she didn’t comply with his request.
‘Very well…Michael.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He leaned towards her, his fingertips lightly brushing her cheek. ‘That is a good beginning. My name sounds very nice on your lips.’
She could think of nothing to say as she sat across from him on the comfortable cushions of the coach. Even the weather seemed too difficult to discuss. There was nothing but the sound of the horses’ hooves on the street and the soft patter of rain on the coach. She hardly knew where to look and mostly stared down at her hands. Finally she glanced up at Lord Stamford, lounging in his corner, and found his unfathomable eyes fixed on her face.
‘Must you stare at me in such a way?’
‘What way is that?’
‘As if you mean to memorise my features. Or as if I am some strange creature! It is most unnerving and quite rude.’
‘My apologies, but you have the most expressive features. I find it fascinating to watch your emotions play across your face.’
‘I cannot imagine why you would find that so interesting.’ She’d always disliked her inability to hide her feelings. It made her feel vulnerable and, at times, awkward. And now with Lord Stamford, she wanted more than anything to present a cool, remote exterior. Instead, he was telling her she had a face that displayed her every emotion.
‘Can’t you? Perhaps it is because I’ve known too many women who hide their every thought and feeling under a carefully cultivated veneer.’
‘Sometimes I think that would be an advantage.’
‘It’s not. I prefer honesty.’
She looked away from him, even more disconcerted.
The coach finally halted, and she saw they were n
ear the Opera House. Several carriages waited in line before them. She watched a gentleman followed by an elegantly dressed lady glittering with jewels, and then a younger lady in the dress of a debutante, descend from the coach. The man was dressed much as Lord Stamford in the dark coat and breeches required for admittance to the opera. The young lady stared up at the impressive rectangular building with its façade of columns marching across the row and seemed to bounce in excitement.
It brought to mind her season when she first saw the elegant King’s Theatre. She had been so nervous, in her white muslin gown and pearls, as she accompanied Lady Carlyn up the steps and passed through the portico with all the haute ton milling about. She could barely speak when she was introduced to some of Lady Carlyn’s elegant acquaintances. But she had merely been one among a throng of young girls presented that season and hardly dazzled anyone. No one stared much at her arrival or fixed a quizzing glass on their box. It had been both a relief and a disappointment.
Stamford lightly touched her arm, causing her to jump. ‘Rosalyn, we are here. We cannot spend the evening in the carriage.’
She abruptly returned to Stamford’s coach and saw the footman had flung open the door. Stamford alighted in one swift, graceful movement and held out his hand to her.
She accepted his assistance, but stumbled a little, so he was forced to steady her. She started away from the unnerving contact and then dropped her reticule at his feet.
He retrieved the bag, handing it to her with his characteristic half-smile. ‘Have you always had the unfortunate habit of dropping your reticule?’
‘Only since I’ve met you.’ Thank goodness for the dark, so he couldn’t see the dark blush that she knew stained her face and neck.
‘That is not the usual effect I have on women.’
She coloured even more, and vowed to avoid any further contact with him. But he lightly caught her arm before they entered the portico, turning her to face him. The half-shadows kept her from clearly seeing his expression.
A Bargain With Fate Page 4
