Lord, where to begin? Finishing her sandwich, she dabbed the corners of her mouth and laid the napkin on the plate. “I recently came out of mourning. My late husband, the earl, did not provide for me in his will. His heir and nephew tossed me out, and I had no choice but to return to my father.”
Mr. Black frowned. “I am sorry this happened to you. It’s a travesty that women do not have any rights, whether inside of marriage or out.”
“No, we do not. None at all. My hateful father no longer wishes to provide for me, as he has his own plans to remarry. To paraphrase, he does not wish his widowed, ancient daughter lurking about the house.”
Mr. Black’s mouth quirked with amusement. “You’re hardly doddering, my lady.”
“According to society, I am. I’m thirty years of age. My father believes I’m only fit for old men. Pepperdon was more than thirty-five years older. I will not be forced into such a union again.” Sabrina exhaled. She had come this far. Might as well lay it all out. “The baron has given me an ultimatum: marry another prehistoric peer, or find my own way in the world.”
Mr. Black’s friendly smile turned into a frown. “Damn. Pardon, my lady. I am sorry to hear this.”
“Good. Then you can aid me by marrying me. Right away.”
Chapter 4
Riordan could not be more shocked if Lady Pepperdon had stripped off her layers of clothes and danced the fandango on his desk. Was the woman insane?
“Hear me out,” she said. “It would be a temporary situation. My father would settle a sum of money to be rid of me, I am sure of it. Six months later, or whatever time is required, we can obtain an annulment and go our separate ways. I will pay you out of the settlement for your trouble. Say, twenty percent?”
Jesus, she was insane. “Lady Pepperdon…”
“When we are alone you may call me Sabrina.”
“My lady, it’s not easy to obtain an annulment. It is even more difficult to obtain a divorce, which in itself must be an Act of Parliament. Have you spoken to a solicitor about this?”
A furrow appeared between her brows. “Well, no. The solicitor in town is employed by my father.”
“Is there no other family member you can live with, besides your father?”
“I have a great aunt in Manchester, but I hardly know her. She will not take me in; we’re complete strangers. Where does it leave me? Become a paid companion to a peer’s widow? I was married to an earl, I am the daughter of a baron. I have no idea how to be a companion. Or a governess. Nor do I wish to become one. It is not to be borne,” she sniffed scornfully.
A pampered lady of society with no means to look after herself. In one way he pitied her for her hopeless situation, but in another he resented her snooty tone. She had no idea what it was like to truly struggle. But then, neither did he. “And you think being married to a penniless schoolmaster will be a step above a paid companion?” He didn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. Let her hear it, for his opinion of her had dropped several notches. “You wish for me to enter into a scheme to swindle money out of your father in order for you to continue to live the life to which you have become accustomed.”
Riordan could never stand the spoiled, pampered young women of the upper class. They couldn’t even open a door for themselves, let alone pour their own tea. And here sat a perfect example of all he disdained, thinking she could bend people to do her bidding.
Lady Pepperdon at least looked contrite. “Well, since you put it in such stark, mercenary terms, I thank you for your time.” She stood, her lower lip quivering. Tears hovered on the surface, and it caused him to soften slightly. After all, she was in a bit of a fix.
“My lady, please take a seat. I know a little about annulments. Let me explain as frankly as I can.” She sat, then met his gaze. “Women have no rights. Once married, you become the property of your husband. Any dowry or settlement becomes your husband’s. You cannot even open a bank account in your own name. The laws are abhorrent, and in desperate need of reform.” Riordan took a breath and exhaled. “For an annulment to take place, you would have to claim the marriage was not consummated.”
“We don’t have to consummate it. In fact, I would prefer it if we do not.”
“Indeed?” Her words stung. Was he repulsive to her? “Regardless, it cannot be proven, as you’ve been married before. You see, the proof the ecclesiastical court requires is an examination to ascertain if your maidenhead was breached.”
“Oh, my Lord. How barbaric,” she gasped. “How perfectly medieval.”
“I completely agree. The next reason is as humiliating. Forgive me for speaking plainly. I would have to claim I’m impotent. Stand up in court and declare that I could not perform sexually. That I was less than a man. I, too, would be subjected to an examination from a court-appointed doctor.”
“Examination? What kind?” she whispered.
The conversation was growing more embarrassing by the minute, but he must make her understand how impossible this entire situation was. “To see if I would become hard under stimulation.”
Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Oh, dear heaven.”
“No amount of money would induce me to subject myself to such humiliation. My career would be at an end. I would be a laughingstock. It would cast aspersions on you, since I would have to state that you were such an abominable creature in bed I could not fulfill my husbandly duties. All this would be laid out for public consumption. You would become a pariah, and a source of amusement for society.”
“I…I had no idea.” Her tone bordered on horrified.
“The third option is for me to label you a wanton whore, one who cheated on me with several men. You have no legal right to make the same claim of me. Again, hardly fair. As I stated, once married, you become your husband’s property. He has every legal right to do with you as he pleases. Take your property. Take your money. Beat you. Rape you.”
A lone tear snaked its way down her pale cheek. “I have already endured it. All of it.” Her voice was hoarse.
The desolate admission shocked him. It explained why she was driven to such a desperate act, asking a stranger to marry her. It also explained why she did not want to consummate the supposed marriage. A surge of protectiveness moved through him. The thought of this lovely woman beaten and raped churned his insides.
“No woman should be treated as you were. But how do you know I will not behave in the same vile manner? I’m a complete stranger. If I married you, lawfully, I could do as I wished, including keeping all the money for myself. You would be taking a hell of a risk—begging your pardon, my lady.”
Lady Pepperdon opened the small reticule dangling from her delicate wrist, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “You are a complete stranger. But I believe a man who would treat children with respect and kindness would extend the same courtesy to a woman in dire need. At least, that is what I’d hoped. Lord, I am naïve. And a fool.”
He poured her a glass of lemonade and refilled his own. Blast it all, he needed a whiskey, not this sugary, sickening beverage. “Here, drink.” She reached for the glass and took a large gulp. Exhaling, she placed the glass on the desk and hiccupped. Riordan bit back a smile; he found her hiccups endearing. It made her far less haughty and more…human. At least, for a moment. “What other options do you have?” he asked.
“Marry my father’s choice, the Marquess of Sutherhorne, and subject myself to another repugnant marriage as I wait for the dotty old debaucher to die.” Her eyes again showed the weariness of a woman who’d seen and experienced much, all of it reprehensible.
His progressive soul soared with fury. It tore him to shreds to see how the damned laws did not protect the innocent. What recourse was a woman left with but to enter another “repugnant marriage,” as she called it?
“My father claims that this time he will ensure there is a provisio
n for me when the marquess dies.”
“He should have ensured such was in place with your first marriage,” Riordan growled.
“Yes. I’d assumed it had been. What did I know? I was barely eighteen. As I said, naïve.”
Riordan laid his hand on top of hers. “You were naïve because of youth and inexperience, hardly any fault of yours. Why wouldn’t a daughter trust her father to see to all the appropriate arrangements?”
A small gasp left her throat as she wrenched her hand away from his as if she’d been burned. A look of fright shadowed her lovely face. Dear God, the touch of a man scared her? Another wave of empathy rolled through him. But he couldn’t allow it to cause him to make a hasty decision. Again, his grandfather’s warning tolled in his mind like a pealing church bell: lock away your heart.
Yet he found he wished to assist her. How, exactly, and why…Scotland. The rules for matrimony were different there than in England—at least, he thought they were. He would have to investigate it further. For now, he would keep this kernel of an idea to himself.
“I must tell my father my decision tomorrow at breakfast. If I do not agree to marry the marquess, he will turn me out on the street to make my own way, and I have no idea how to go about it.”
The damned bastard. “Tell him you agree in order to buy more time.”
“For what?” she whispered. “If I agree, I’ll meet the marquess next Tuesday. Which leaves no time at all.” She stood, flustered. “I should not lay my burdens at your door. Apparently I should accept my fate, as many women before me have done. But as melodramatic as it sounds, I would rather die.”
Riordan immediately rose to his feet, sprinted around his desk, and gathered her in an embrace. An impulsive act, but he was a compassionate man, there was no denying it. Her ladyship stiffened in his arms as if she were about to pull away. Then the most extraordinary thing happened: she softened all around him and encircled his waist with her arms, pulling him tight against her. The effect on him was sudden and swift, and her enticing citrus scent filled his senses. He became aroused.
He tried to pull away slightly, but she clutched him tighter, as if he were a lifeline to a drowning woman. The feather from her fashionable hat brushed his cheek, and Riordan had the sudden urge to tear it from her head and tunnel his hands through her golden-brown hair.
A ragged sob escaped from her throat and tore at his heart. Right. Lock it away. Easier said than actually done. He gently rubbed her back. “There, do not despair, my lady. I’m not sure what I can do to assist you, but I will give it some consideration.” Damn it all, he should not be making such pronouncements. Her ample breasts mashed against his chest, causing his shaft to stiffen. If her ladyship was aware of his arousal, she did not react.
Several minutes passed. Then, as if in slow motion, Lady Pepperdon detached herself from him, and the loss of having her in his embrace struck him like a forcible blow. “Forgive me,” she said. “I…I should not have…I must go.” She scurried from the room before he could stop her. As tempted as he was to chase after her, his aroused state convinced him to stay inside until his lust subsided.
George the footman entered the room, and Riordan quickly moved behind his desk and took his seat. “Lady Pepperdon wishes you to have this,” the footman said. He passed Riordan a heavy brown paper-wrapped package and gathered up the dishes, placing them in the basket. “Her ladyship says keep the food.” The footman turned and exited the room.
Riordan untied the string, pulling the paper aside. A note, along with four books.
Please accept this donation for your school library.
Best Regards, Lady Pepperdon
The books were of the highest quality, leather bound with gold-tipped pages. The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, Oliver Twist, The Pickwick Papers, and Histories or Tales of Past Times, as told by Mother Goose.
If there was a path leading to his supposed locked-away heart, Lady Pepperdon had found it. And Riordan had no clue what to do about the surprising development.
* * * *
Another night of restless sleep. Sabrina headed toward the dining room for breakfast like a criminal walking toward the gallows. The thought of eating and watching her father devour kippers made her stomach reel—as did the fact that she would have to give her answer regarding the marquess.
That alone would be enough to disturb one’s slumber, but what kept her wide-eyed until the late hours was the fact that she’d thrown herself at the handsome young schoolmaster. Granted, he’d come to embrace her first, to offer comfort, but she’d grabbed him brazenly, pulling him tight against her—and the sensation was like nothing she’d experienced before.
He must be over six feet by a couple of inches, as the top of her head fit neatly under his chin. The warmth and comfort he exuded was addictive, and she ached for more. His body was hard, unyielding, and she could not stop her hands from exploring his torso and trailing up his back. Muscle flexed under her fingertips. The fact that the hardest part of him did not make her flinch and run from him in fright shocked her to her toes.
Yes, she understood what part of male anatomy pressed insistently against her thigh. The fact that she’d aroused him simultaneously pleased and worried her. The most logical explanation? He’s a young man in his prime and would react to any woman embracing him. The shameful episode convinced her she would have to keep her distance. It should rule out Mr. Black as a potential partner in her scheme.
During the early years of her marriage, Sabrina came to the conclusion she did not possess the physical urges she’d read about in books. To discover now that she did was confusing, to say the least. Perhaps she merely longed for the warmth of his embrace and nothing else. The schoolmaster was as tempting as a plate of sweet, frosted cakes, and she had sworn off sweets long ago. Dejectedly, she sat at the table. “Tea and a raisin bun, George,” she muttered to the footman. “And be quick about it.”
Her father continued to ignore her, reading his paper as if she did not exist. Sabrina tore the bun apart and glumly nibbled on it.
“Well?” Her father lowered his paper. “What is your decision?”
Oh, good heavens. “At least grant me a few months to try and find an alternative? I can reach out to my friends.” What friends? The girls she grew up with had married and moved away and she’d lost all contact with them. Pepperdon would not allow her to entertain nor correspond with anyone. Not that she knew where any of them lived. But she could try and locate them. Perhaps one of them could take her in temporarily.
“I have wasted enough time and money this past year keeping you fed and clothed. And paying the salary for your servant,” he snapped irritably.
Clothed? She wore the same two mourning dresses. “Would you entertain another choice? Before next Tuesday, if I found someone who would agree to marry me, would you make a settlement on me?”
The baron regarded her shrewdly. “What are you cooking up, you devious piece of baggage?”
“An alternate plan is all, Father.”
Tapping his fingers on the table, he kept his hard gaze on her. “You think to trick me? To bring in an imbecile you snatched off the streets, only to leave him after you sink your claws in my money?”
The fact that he’d managed to hone in on a variation of her plan made Sabrina gulp deeply, but she kept her expression neutral. “It depends how much you want to be clear of me. What amount would you settle?”
“That is between me and the man in question and is none of your business. You can march every eligible man before me from a hundred-mile radius; the fact remains, I would have to approve of the match.” A smug smile curved about his lips. “And he would have to meet the terms.”
What terms? She sipped her tea. “What does it matter? I cannot leave my husband, can I? Obtaining an annulment is next to impossible and a divorce even more so.”
“At least you under
stand that much. Very well, Daughter. If you find a desperate man who will agree to marry you, by all means, have him come see me.” Her father’s cruel smile widened. “I will be sure to inform him of all your many faults. Pepperdon kept me apprised through the years. The fact that you are a barren, frigid bitch will give any man pause.”
Again, his words sliced across her heart. How she wished she were frigid and unfeeling, then his hurtful words would be a glancing blow, nothing more. Were all men as malicious and spiteful as her father and late husband? She had no other men in her life to compare them to; perhaps all men were hateful creatures.
The image of Mr. Riordan Black formed in her mind. No, not all men. However, she would not take advantage of his kind, compassionate nature and draw him into this messy mire. There must be another solution, but what?
He deserved better than her, a broken shell of a woman.
Chapter 5
Not ten minutes after Lady Pepperdon departed, Riordan penned a letter to the law firm in London that the Wollstonecrafts had used for years. One of his mates from Cambridge worked there as a solicitor, and Riordan laid out the woman’s dilemma (without mentioning her name), asking if there were any precedents for dissolving a marriage, and was Scotland an option? He asked for William Chambers’s complete discretion in the matter. Lady Pepperdon—Sabrina—haunted his thoughts as he made his way home at six o’clock in the evening. He felt compelled to help her—why, he hadn’t quite worked out. But her desolate declaration of being subjected to horrors from her husband played over and over in his mind.
His residence came into view. The board provided him with a small, partially furnished cottage not a half a mile from the school. They employed a housekeeper/cook, who came four days a week for general cleaning, laundry, and meal preparation. Often Mrs. Ingersoll, the wife of a laborer at the flour mill, made enough to last for days.
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 4
