by Trisha Telep
He was surprised to discover that her residence was located beyond London, hidden away behind wrought iron and towering elms. The driver and horses must have known the path well, for they barely slowed as they turned off the main road. Yet no torches lit the narrow dirt trail they travelled. Even with a full moon, little was visible before the mansion came into view.
It was as grand, if not grander, than the one Harteley had inherited. Even from a distance, it was evident that it required no repairs. Here, torches flickered to reveal the magnificent estate. In the moonlight, the lawn appeared immaculately groomed.
As soon as the coach rolled to a stop, a footman was opening the door. Harteley disembarked, his curiosity piqued. This could not be the residence of an unmarried lady, even if she did refer to herself as “Miss”. She was either married and in want of an affair, or her father was off tending to business and she was taking advantage. Then another thought occurred to him: perhaps she was an aging spinster, in want of a bit of fun while she was still able to enjoy it. He wasn’t bothered by the possibility. In the dark, the particulars of a woman were left to a man’s imagination. And he’d always possessed a grand imagination.
“If you’ll come along with me, milord,” the footman said.
He followed the footman up the steps and into the impressive manor. He had an eye for the finer things, and this home was filled with them: marble floors, candles flickering in crystal chandeliers, well-made furniture, statues, flower-filled vases, paintings created by the masters.
A butler stepped forwards and bowed slightly. “Milord, the mistress awaits you in the morning room.”
The morning room. Not the bedchamber. Was it possible that she truly was interested in only sharing dinner? He suspected not. She no doubt wanted to be charmed out of her clothing. While he’d begun the adventure with a bit of scepticism, he found he was suddenly very interested in this woman of mystery.
As the butler led the way down the wide hallways, Harteley took in his surroundings. Everything was perfection, nothing was overlooked. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that the elaborate surroundings were all for show, as though someone were striving to be impressive, to deflect interest away from something else. Considering what he’d inherited, he could certainly understand that desire. He’d held on to artwork as long as possible simply because it allowed him to feel civilized. As he’d been forced to sell each piece, so he’d felt as though he were whittling away at the core of who he was. He’d always known his place resided in the upper echelons. Falling from it was a painful and belittling process.
He had moments where he despised his father for his gambling habits, for his preference for selfish pleasures. But then Harteley was not so very different. It was the very reason he’d accepted the invitation. For a night of expected pleasure.
Another footman – good Lord, how many servants did she possess? – opened a door and the butler ushered Harteley inside. One wall and a portion of the ceiling were all glass. Moonlight whispered inside to shimmer along the figure standing near the far windowed corner. Her back was to him, but he was struck by the paleness of her hair, which rivalled the moon. It was caught up in a simple style that revealed the long, slender slope of her neck. He decided he would kiss her nape first and then trail his mouth along her delicate shoulders.
“Miss Vernon,” the butler said, reminding Harteley he was not yet alone with her, “Lord Harteley has arrived.”
She turned from her observation of the gardens, and he nearly stepped back from the unexpected beauty of her. And her youth. She was far too young for a man as jaded as he. Yet he could not deny the appeal of her innocence or the desire to regain his youth that swept through him. She reminded him of an earlier time when his life was filled with choices – and he’d chosen poorly. Why of a sudden these bothersome reminiscences when he’d astutely avoided them for years? Something about her was familiar. The high cheekbones, the delicate chin. He knew her, but from where?
“My Lord.” Her voice was that of a nightingale and so enthralled him that he almost didn’t notice her curtsey.
He couldn’t recall ever being so mesmerized. He bowed. “Miss Vernon. Tell me, have our paths crossed before?”
“We ’ve not been introduced.”
Which was not exactly a proper answer to his question. “You remind me of someone.”
“Do I? Who?”
He shook his head. “I’m not quite sure.”
She released a slight laugh. “Well, when you remember, I do hope you will share.” She indicated a round lace-covered table at the other end of the windows. “Please, let us not delay. Dinner awaits.”
“You’re very young, Miss Vernon.”
She was only momentarily flummoxed by his seemingly random statement. “Two and twenty,” she responded with her chin angled high. She possessed a great deal of pride. Perhaps as much as he once had.
“And I am not so young,” he pointed out, rather unnecessarily.
“Two and thirty.”
He fought not to reveal how it bothered him that she would know his age. It was a small thing, no secret, but he sensed she knew quite a bit more than that. Her next words confirmed it.
“Don’t look so surprised, My Lord. I know a great deal about you.”
“Then you must also know that I prefer women of experience.”
He recognized disappointment in her expression, and it made him feel like a cad. It had been a good long while since he’d given any care to another’s sentiments. Why did he care about hers?
“You are quite presumptuous, My Lord, to think my invitation included anything more than dinner.”
“The hour is late, Miss Vernon. A certain amount of secrecy accompanied my arrival here. It has all the makings of a clandestine meeting.”
She acquiesced with a slight nod. “I’d not expected you to object.”
“Then I have correctly discerned your purpose in sending for me.”
“Hardly. You see, My Lord, I am in need of a champion.”
Arianna could barely suppress her disappointment. He didn’t remember her. Not that she’d truly expected him to. It had been ten years. And she’d been a child. All of twelve. While he’d been a young man searching for an evening’s delight. He’d spoken to her only in passing, but it was enough to win her heart.
He’d been so dashing, so joyful, so handsome. Tonight he was less so on two counts. Still handsome, he now possessed a weariness. While they sat at the table as her butler, Jones, directed the servants who were arranging their dinner, she had an uncanny urge to reach across and massage the furrows from Harteley’s brow. His hair was the black of a moonless night, his eyes the blue of sapphires, rich and deep. Through the years, it had become her favourite gem because it reminded her of him.
If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget sitting on the stairs, waiting for her mother to finish with business so they could go to the theatre. He’d been on his way up, following a tart named Satin when he’d spotted Arianna and smiled. The wide grin, so white in the dark face that spoke of a man who possessed a preference for the outdoors, had caused her childish heart to gallop wildly in her chest.
“You’re a bit young for this establishment, aren’t you, poppet?” he’d asked.
She’d been so taken with him that her voice had refused to work. He’d laughed. A soft laugh, a comforting sound, as though he understood why she was so flummoxed. She amused him. Even then, she’d had little doubt that he was accustomed to attracting the attentions of the ladies, that he knew he was too handsome for his own good. He’d cast his spell over her.
“Come along, milord,” Satin had urged, rubbing her silk-clad body against his.
That was all it had taken for Arianna to lose his attention. She was determined not to lose it now.
“I’m hardly the champion sort,” he finally grumbled, after the servants left and Jones took his place across the room, in front of the door. She knew her butler didn’t favour her plan, and that he wo
uldn’t leave her alone with a man “the likes of Lord Harteley”.
“I believe you underestimate yourself.”
“I know myself very well, Miss Vernon.”
She watched as he wrapped long, tapered fingers around the bowl of his wine glass. That hand possessed strength, and she knew with little enough effort, he could crush the crystal. But instead he held it with a feigned gentleness. She could see in his eyes that he was not happy with this turn of events. He’d expected something quite different from her invitation. But then she’d known he would. It was the reason she’d sent it. The reason she’d not doubted that he’d come here tonight.
She knew a great deal about Nicholas Wynter, Lord Harteley. Her mother had kept accounts on every man who had frequented her establishment. Arianna had scoured them searching for any clues regarding her father. While her endeavours had proved fruitless in that regard, she had been rewarded with bits and pieces about Lord Harteley. An overwhelming relief had taken hold when she realized that he’d never once bedded the infamous Jewel.
She watched now as Harteley savoured his wine while glancing around.
“You are obviously a lady of means,” he said quietly. He pinned her with his blue gaze. “How did you acquire your wealth?”
“My mother. She is responsible for all of this. I grew up here with nannies, and governesses, and tutors.”
“And what of your father?” he asked, but she detected no curiosity in his tone.
A portion of the truth would have to be revealed now, and he would come to understand the formidable task she placed before him. “I have only the foggiest notion as to who he might be.”
And then only if he’d been one of her mother’s numerous paramours or gentleman callers. It was quite possible he’d held a special place in her heart and she’d never noted his name in her records. It was also possible that he was someone of whom she’d been incredibly ashamed and so she’d never written out his name.
A true gentleman, Harteley didn’t bring the question to his lips, but his unwavering gaze asked it just as loudly.
“They were never married,” she admitted.
She saw understanding enter the depths of his blue eyes. “So by champion . . . you seek a protector. I fear you have misjudged me. I have not the means to take or provide for a mistress – not that I don’t find you beautiful and utterly charming—”
“I care little how you find me, My Lord.” Lie. She cared deeply. She wanted him to be infatuated, to want her as she wanted him. “It is not a protector I seek, but a husband.”
“With your questionable background, you expect to entice a suitable gentleman into asking for your hand?”
She easily caught the rough edge of disbelief in his voice. She was illegitimate, born in shame, although her mother had never allowed her to feel that way. It was only as she’d grown into womanhood that she’d begun to understand her life would include the freedom to do as she wanted but never the respectability that her mother had tossed aside in order to survive. It was the very reason that she’d not asked Harteley outright to wed her. She’d fancied him since she was a child, caught glimpses of him over the years. He deserved a respectable lady. But if while in her company, he were to decide that he wanted more from her . . .
She would very likely cast aside respectability as her mother had. The heart, after all, could be far more convincing than society, and because she’d lived on the edge of society, she was more accustomed to listening to her heart. Even now it was urging her to cast aside her original plans, to take him as a lover.
The flames from the candles on the table cast a dancing mosaic of shadow and light over the rugged features of his face. He had grown into a handsomeness that was breathtaking, and yet there was a harshness to it, tempered by disappointment. She wondered if he’d known the extent of what he would inherit. So little. Mounting debt and no means to earn the coins needed to alleviate his burden.
“I intend more than that, My Lord. I intend to marry a titled gentleman.”
“You reach beyond your station, Miss Vernon.”
“I have coins aplenty,” she stated. “I know most marriages are based on what is held in the family coffers.”
“I should think you deserve better than that.”
It was the first comment he’d made that gave her hope that her true reason for inviting him here might not be in vain. “And you deserve better than what your father left you.”
His eyes narrowing, he leaned forwards. “How do you know of that?”
“He came to trouble by visiting the unsavoury parts of London, and I . . . well, I have some knowledge regarding those portions of town.”
“A true lady would not know of such things.”
“I never claimed to be a true lady. However, I wish to be, and I’m willing to do whatever is required. What of you, My Lord? What will you do to be free of debt?”
For the first time since they sat down to dinner, she could see a spark of interest in his expression. “Did you have something in mind, Miss Vernon?”
“Indeed, My Lord. I wish you to marry me.”
God help him, but he wanted to laugh. Instead he excused himself from the table and wandered to the corner where she’d been gazing when he’d first entered the room. He could see a fountain and a white gazebo. He had no reason not to accept her offer. She’d spoken true. A full coffer often married an empty one.
He could restore his estate to its splendour. He could maintain his London residence. His pride would take a bit of a bludgeoning as he’d not be marrying the daughter of a peer. He’d be marrying a woman who’d arrived in the world with a shady past.
He heard her soft footsteps. He slid his gaze towards her, almost becoming lost in her eyes. He’d not been able to tell their shade until they’d sat for dinner and the flames on the table had illuminated them. They were unusual, so pale that her eyes seemed to be little beyond brightness. He couldn’t explain it, but they reminded him of something.
“Must he remain while we discuss this?” he asked, indicating the stoic butler.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Jones, please leave us.”
“Miss—”
“I shall be fine.”
The butler grunted in obvious disapproval, before leaving the room, the door closing quietly in his wake. Harteley turned, pressed his shoulder to the window, and folded his arms across his chest. “You could have anyone. Why me?”
“I can’t have anyone. The circumstance of my birth ensures it.”
“Still, I am left with the impression that you’re not being totally honest with me regarding this arrangement.”
She nodded, glanced down, then lifted her gaze in what he was coming to recognize as her defiance against the world and its unfairness. “My mother is dying.”
He heard true sorrow and bereavement in her voice, and couldn’t prevent his tone from indicating the same. “My condolences.”
“She’s not yet dead. As I said, she’s provided all this for me. My entire life, she has strived to give me what she never had. She has very little time left. I want her to know that I am to marry above my station. I believe it will bring her . . . peace.”
“And you believe I can be easily bought?”
Her lips parted slightly, and not for the first time that evening he wondered what it might be like to press his against hers. He couldn’t deny that she appealed to him on a primal level. Sharing a marriage bed with her would certainly be no hardship. Lord, who was he striving to convince? Bedding her would be bloody marvellous. He’d want to take her here, in this room, with the sunlight streaming in. He’d have no reason to imagine her as anything other than the beauty she was.
“Have I judged you poorly?” she asked.
“Unfortunately for you, no.”
Her green eyes widened at that. “Why unfortunately?”
“I take after my father. I’m a selfish man who cares about only what benefits and satisfies me.”
“I don’t believe
that.”
Unfolding his arms, he took a step towards her. “You should, Miss Vernon. If I am to accept your offer for marriage, I believe it imperative that you understand exactly what you have bargained for.” With one hand, he cradled her face and stroked his thumb at the corner of her mouth. “I would not be denied.”
“I would never deny you,” she said on a soft breath.
“I would expect complete obedience.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head. He couldn’t prevent a corner of his mouth from curling up. “That you would deny me.”
“I cannot promise it, no. I fear I’ve been rather spoiled. I’m accustomed to having my own way.”
“Would you at least try?”
“I would try, but make no promises. What else would you require?”
Her breath was coming in short little gasps; her eyes had grown languid with each stroke of his thumb.
“I believe those are all my requirements,” he murmured. “What of yours? Surely you expect more from me than to simply parade me about as your husband.”
“In public, I would expect you to at least pretend to love me. And we must be seen in public. As soon as possible. My mother still has visitors. Some are men of influence. She must never know that I’ve paid for your . . . favours. It would break her heart, and I’ll not countenance that. If you cannot put on a good show for her benefit, there is no reason to go any further.”
“My dear Miss Vernon, I believe I have the acting skills necessary to play Romeo.” He held her gaze.
“How many men have you entertained?”
“None. I am still a virgin.” He believed her.
“Pay all my debts, and we shall announce our betrothal.”
“You’re accepting my offer then?”
“I would be a fool not to.” Before she could object or say more, he lowered his head and took possession of her mouth. It had teased him from the moment she’d first spoken. He preferred women of experience, but her innocence was an aphrodisiac. He felt within her quivering slender frame a hesitation and an eagerness. One of her arms wound around his neck, while the other formed a slight buffer between them, her hand clasping his waistcoat. She didn’t object to his questing tongue, rather she welcomed it with seeming abandon. She explored as much as he did. She tasted of wine, so much so that he wondered if she’d fortified herself before his arrival. But there was nothing in her speech or actions to indicate she’d imbibed too much.
