She gasped her indignation. “Your mistress? Why … why … that’s …”
“Most generous of me,” he interjected, reaching out to trail a finger down the slope of her breast. “Just think, my dear. Not only will you be spared the horrors of prison, you shall have the pleasure of my intimate attentions. Since you profess to love me so, that prospect should please you immensely.”
Sophie slapped away his hand, more affronted than she’d ever been in her life. “How dare you insult me in such a manner.”
He laughed. “Come, come, now, dearest. Don’t think of it as an insult, but as a rescue.”
“I would rather marry Lyndhurst than enter into such a — a — an indecent arrangement,” she flung back, and it was true.
“Perhaps, but I’m afraid that marriage to Lyndhurst is an option you no longer possess.”
“Of course it is. I’m officially engaged to him. By this evening everyone in London will know of our betrothal.”
“By this evening everyone in London will know of your visit here, and of your uncle’s hoax. I can assure you that neither the ton nor Lyndhurst will look kindly upon being played for a fool.”
She gaped at him, stunned by his threat. “You wouldn’t!”
“Indeed I would. You see, my dear. Though I shan’t marry you, I do want you in my bed. Very much so.”
He smiled with a ruthlessness she’d never have believed he possessed. “And what I want, I always get.”
Hating him with every fiber of her being, she spat, “Not this time. I shall deny your allegations with every breath in my body. It shall be your word against mine.” “Yours against mine and Somerville’s,” he reminded her. “No doubt I shall be able to persuade Hucknell and Dumont to take my part as well. That’s four against one.”
“You’re despicable,” she hissed, impotent to do more. “I can’t imagine how I could ever have thought you kind and noble.”
“I’ve already told you how: You’re a fool.”
Wishing that looks could kill, she fixed him with her most murderous glare and shot back, “I may be a fool, but I’m not a harlot. You shall never have me for your mistress. Never!”
He smirked. “Watch me.”
Chapter 5
It had been a most satisfying day indeed.
Having spent the entire afternoon writing his parents and relatives of his upcoming marriage, Nicholas now traveled the short distance to his club to trumpet his triumph to his fellow clubmen. It was a moment to which he’d looked forward almost from the instant he clapped eyes on Miss Barrington, a victory that would make him the envy of every bachelor in the ton.
He smiled at that last as his carriage pulled to a stop in front of White’s. Unlike his parents, who would be thrilled by the news of his engagement, his peers would greet them with hisses and groans of disappointment. As they always did in such situations, they would then proceed to call him every insulting name in the book — jokingly, of course! — after which they would clap him on the back and toast his happiness until they were all quite foxed.
It would be the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Ready to burst with excitement, Nicholas peered out the window and tried to gauge the crowd at the club. By the number of men loitering on the walkway and the long queue of coaches lining the street, it was clear that there was a crush inside.
His smile broadened into a grin. Excellent! The more in attendance, the more to hear his splendid news. His excitement mounting another degree, he stepped from the coach. The instant his feet touched the ground, the men on the walkway fell silent and eyed him in the queerest of manners. Several of them even raised their quizzing glasses.
Taken aback, Nicholas froze mid-step. Whatever possessed them? He hadn’t seen them stare at him in such a — critical? — yes, critical fashion since his scapegrace brother had gotten foxed and ridden down Park Lane with his bare buttocks hanging out —
His brother! Of course. He almost groaned aloud. As cup-shot as Quentin was at the Stuckely’s soiree last night, he wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that he had done something utterly disgraceful. And as they were wont to do, his peers no doubt blamed him for not keeping a tighter rein on the scoundrel.
Promising to find his madcap sibling and take him to task for whatever he’d done this time, Nicholas strode forward, nodding cordially as he went. At his approach several of the men nudged their neighbor and exchanged wide-eyed looks that were nothing short of incredulous.
Wondering at the punishment for murdering one’s own brother, he mounted the stairs and stepped through the punctually opened front door. It was only after he’d handed his hat and walking stick to the waiting footman, and the servant had walked away that he allowed himself to sigh his exasperation. Quentin was clearly in the basket this time.
Dreading yet determined to learn the scope of his brother’s infamy, he stalked down the hall, his steps faltering as he neared the salon where he and his peers assembled nightly. After pausing to brace himself for what would no doubt prove an arduous ordeal, he squared his shoulders and entered the room. As he did so the men nearest the door fell silent, all gaping at him as if stunned.
Forcing himself to smile, Nicholas nodded politely and glanced down the line of dumbstruck faces, seeking an ally among them. Frensham … Rivell … Clendon … Randolph …
Randolph, yes. His old school chum from Cambridge. Recalling that his lordship was always flush with the latest gossip, compliments of his prattlebox wife, Sarah, he approached the man, murmuring, “Randolph. Good to see you.”
By the pained look on his lordship’s narrow face, you’d have thought that he’d slugged him in the belly rather than tendered a greeting. After several beats during which his mouth opened and closed like a ground mackerel, Randolph gathered his wits and croaked, “Uh, Lyndhurst … uh … fancy seeing you here.”
Nicholas felt as gut-punched as his friend looked, though he tried hard not to show it. How very unlike the imperturbable Randolph to act so — so, well, perturbed. Whatever Quentin had done, it must be wicked beyond imagining.
Wishing his brother were there so he could wring his worthless neck, he coolly pointed out, “In case it’s escaped your notice, I’ve been here every evening at precisely this time since the start of the Season.”
“True, but we all thought that … a-hem! … well, with Miss Barrington …” He broke off, eyebrows raised in a confidential manner, clearly assuming that Nicholas knew exactly what he meant.
Miss Barrington? Nicholas frowned, momentarily nonplussed. Then enlightenment dawned, and it was all he could do to refrain from laughing out loud.
Ah. But of course. Sophie’s cousin must have been there earlier and delivered the news of his engagement. That meant that this queerness was most probably some sort of joke aimed at punishing him for snatching up the Season’s prize.
His suspicions were further confirmed when he noted that the room was now completely silent and that the other men inched forward, visibly straining to catch his response. Judging it high time to call their bluff, he said loud enough to be heard by all, “I hardly see how my engagement to Miss Barrington would curtail my visits here. Indeed, you should have guessed that I would come to share the grand news.” There. That should end their ruse.
They merely gawked at him.
Wondering exactly what they wanted him to say or do, he grinned and tried again. “Yes, gentlemen. I’m afraid it’s true. Miss Barrington accepted my proposal this very morning. We’re to be wed in two weeks’ time.” Several jaws dropped, and in every direction he looked he was greeted with a confounding melange of expressions that ranged from pity to outright contempt. He even heard what sounded suspiciously like a snicker. In the next instant everyone started to whisper at once, their indecipherable exchanges buzzing around him like agitated bees. After several moments one of the gentlemen, Lord Bowton if he remembered correctly, stepped forward, and they hushed.
“Um … Lyndhurst,” he began, gazing
at his companions as if seeking their sanction. When they nodded, he nervously looked at Nicholas and continued, “It appears that you haven’t heard — “
“Lyndhurst! Thank God!” someone interjected. “I went to your house, but your man told me you’d just left for here. I almost killed myself in my rush to catch you.” Recognizing the voice as that of his best friend, Freddie Priscott, Earl of Huntley, Nicholas turned. By the flush of his face and the way his black hair stood willy-nilly atop his head, it was evident that he hadn’t lied about the madness of his dash. Peering at Nicholas as if he’d suffered a death in the family, he murmured, “Good God, man. I’m so sorry. Are you quite all right?” Frustrated to the point of anger, Nicholas gritted out, “Huntley, will you please be so good as to tell me what the hell is going on around here?’
“You haven’t heard?” His friend more gasped than said the words.
“Apparently not,” he retorted as the buzz about him started anew.
“The devil you say! I thought everyone had heard.” “Everyone but me it seems,” he snapped. “And I do wish you would enlighten me.”
Motioning with his head for him to follow, Freddie led Nicholas down the hall to the less crowded library. Mercifully, the occupants of the cozy book-lined room were too engrossed in their newspapers to spare them more than a preoccupied nod.
After settling in facing wing chairs and ordering a bottle of the club’s finest brandy, Freddie turned his attention to Nicholas, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry, Lyndhurst. I should have come around to your house the instant I heard the gossip and made certain that you’d heard as well. It’s just that — ” he shook his head — “I assumed Quentin would tell you.”
“Quentin?” Nicholas made a derisive noise. “Just as I suspected, this has something to do with him. As for him telling me anything — ” he shrugged one shoulder — “you know well enough that we’re scarcely on speaking terms.”
“Yes. But being as the gossip is of a scandalous nature and involves you, I was certain he’d delight in telling you himself.”
“Not if by refraining from doing so he could make me look a fool, which, as you saw, he did quite admirably.” Nicholas made an impatient hand motion. “But enough about my plaguesome brother. Tell me of this scandal in which I’m purportedly involved.”
Freddie nodded somberly. “As you wish. But before I begin, I think it only fair to warn you that Oxley, Hucknell, and Dumont were here with Quentin, all bandying about the same tale and attesting to its truth.” “But of course. The Hell-born Four are as thick as thieves.” Emitting a contemptuous snort for emphasis, Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest and nodded for his friend to spill the bag. When he didn’t immediately comply, he prodded, “Well?”
Freddie returned his gaze for a moment, then ducked his head as if suddenly too embarrassed to look at him. “Ah, yes. Of course. It’s about — um — Miss Barrington.” “I gathered as much,” he retorted dryly. “Please do go on.”
“Well, uh — ” Freddie started to pick at his coat buttons, a sure sign that what he was about to say was very dreadful indeed. “Uh, by all accounts, Miss Barrington — um — visited them at their bachelor quarters this morning. Seems she’s madly in love with Oxley and went to beg him to flee with her to Gretna Green. Your brother claims to have witnessed the entire scene. More shocking yet, they all maintain that Oxley was wearing nothing but his — ahem! — dressing gown during the whole interview.”
Nicholas frowned, unable to credit what he was hearing. Miss Barrington was a lady to the first degree. As such she was far too genteel to even consider indulging in such ill-bred behavior. Add that to the fact that she was utterly without guile, and one could only conclude that had she some attachment to Oxley, she’d have told him so when he proposed and thus rejected his suit. Therefore, it must be a lie — a vicious, slanderous lie fostered by his brother to ruin what should be the happiest day of his life.
When he said as much, Freddie sighed and pulled on his top button so hard that it was a miracle it didn’t pop off. “She accepted you because she’s desperate for funds. The lot of them are. It seems that Marwood lost Miss Barrington’s much touted fortune several years ago, leaving them all but penniless.”
“Nonsense!” Nicholas more roared than said the word in his disbelief. Several of the other gentlemen lowered their papers to scowl at him, but he was beyond caring. “If such a thing were true, it would most certainly have been the talk of the ton. And I can recall hearing no such tattle. Indeed, aside from the former Lord Marwood’s weakness for gambling hells, I’ve never heard so much as a whisper of scandal regarding Miss Barrington or her relatives.”
Freddie shrugged. “How they managed to keep the matter hushed, we shall probably never know. What I do know, however, is that they concealed their ruin so as to introduce Miss Barrington on the Marriage Mart as the heiress she once was. With her charm and beauty they were certain she would make a plum match, thus ending their monetary woes. Miss Barrington herself is said to have confessed the scheme to Oxley.”
“But that’s absurd!” Nicholas exclaimed. “Even a fool would see that such a hoax could never succeed.”
“Well, desperation often breeds fools,” Freddie returned philosophically. “Yet, fools or not, what better or quicker way to get funds than to lure the wealthiest bachelor in Town, namely you, into a hasty marriage?”
A hasty marriage. To gain funds. And here he had spent the entire day believing that it was his kiss that had spurred Miss Barrington’s urgency to wed. That it might not be so struck a crushing blow to Nicholas’s manly pride.
“As you’ve probably guessed, they have debts,” Freddie continued, his tone growing more somber with each new revelation. “Bad ones. They all went deep into dun territory to keep up appearances. Word is that they are on the very brink of being hauled off to prison.” Numbed by the mounting charges being laid before him, Nicholas watched as his friend twisted a button and then released it to spin like a top. Grasping it again to wind it in the opposite direction, Freddie confided in a low voice, “I, too, dismissed this business as being just more of Quent’s trumped-up nastiness. In truth, I didn’t give it another thought until I stopped by Fribourg & Treyer’s this afternoon to buy snuff.”
“Oh?”
His gaze still glued to his buttons, Freddie nodded. “While there, I overheard a clerk inform Mr. Fribourg that Marwood is months in arrears on his bill. Though I didn’t catch the entire exchange, I did hear that when he went around to collect earlier today, he was met on the stoop by five other creditors, all clamoring for payment. I couldn’t help wondering then if there wasn’t perhaps some truth to the Hell-born Four’s claims.”
“It does make one wonder, yes, though I fail to fathom why Miss Barrington would turn to Oxley if matters are so very dire. Besides being worth only ten thousand a year, he, too, is deeply in debt.” Nicholas shook his head. “None of it makes a whit of sense. Not when you consider the ease with which she could have escaped her coil by marrying me.”
Freddie stared at the gold button in his hand as if suddenly fascinated by its pressed griffin design. “As I said, she fancies herself in love with him. You know how silly chits are when they get all calf-eyed over a man. She no doubt views him as a fairy-tale prince capable of magically rescuing her from her woes.”
“Miss Barrington may not be the most wide-awake of females, but she’s no goose,” Nicholas countered, refusing to believe he’d so grossly misjudged her. “And a girl would have to be an utter goose to be taken in by Oxley’s pretty face and smooth manner.”
“Ur — yes. Silly to the extreme.” Freddie gave his button a vicious tug. “Any woman corkedbrained enough to put such stock in looks and manner is far too silly to merit the notice of a man such as yourself. Bloody undeserving, if you ask me. Indeed — “
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed as Freddie rattled on, suspecting by both his words and fidgeting that his friend hid something. When Freddie actually to
re the button he worried completely off his coat, he was certain of it. Determined to learn exactly what that something was, he leaned forward and demanded in a soft voice, “What is it you’re not telling me, Huntley?”
Freddie plucked at the threads left behind by the button. “Nothing.”
Nicholas was about to pursue the matter further when a footman bearing a bottle of brandy and two glasses came to a stop beside them. When he’d poured them each a healthy ration of the spirit and bowed himself from their presence, Nicholas turned back to his friend and resumed his interrogation.
“How long have we known each other, Huntley?” Freddie looked up and smiled at the question. “Fifteen years. Since you saved me from that thrashing at Harrow.”
“And after all these years, don’t you think I can tell when you’re hiding something?”
His friend shrugged, but the gesture was far too stiff to project the nonchalance he was obviously trying to convey.
“Well, I can,” Nicholas informed him. “And it’s evident that you’re concealing something, something truly awful by the expression on your face. As my best friend, I do wish you would tell me what that something is. Otherwise, I shall be obliged to ask around and learn it from someone else.”
When his friend remained mute, Nicholas made an impatient noise and rose. As he started to move away,
Freddie grasped his arm. “No, wait. I shall tell you. Best you hear it from me.”
With a curt nod Nicholas sat back down. After an extended moment of silence, he prompted, “Well?” Looking infinitely unhappy, Freddie muttered, “According to the Hell-born Four, Miss Barrington found the prospect of marriage to you intolerable. That is why she didn’t go through with the scheme.”
Intolerable? Him? Nicholas frowned. Though he knew she didn’t love him any more than he did her, he considered them companionable enough. Indeed, she’d always appeared content in his company, as he was in hers. Not knowing quite what to make of that latest disclosure, he murmured, “Did she, by chance, say what she finds so intolerable?”
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