by Emma Wildes
At the sound of Adam’s familiar voice, he sent a small prayer heavenward and got painfully to his feet, still holding the duke’s daughter and blinking as his eyes adjusted once again to illumination. “I’m here. Damnation, what took so long?”
His brother lifted the light, a relieved look on his face as he stepped inside. “We’ve found you…thank God. What the devil is going on?” His gaze focused on the girl. “Is she all right?”
“She’s just asleep.” Even as he spoke, Andrew felt Christa Hatton shift and mumble a little against his chest, her eyes lids fluttering. To his dismay, he saw the doorway was crowded with faces, one of which was the glowering countenance of the duke himself.
The sound of voices must have pierced even her deep slumber for the woman he held suddenly opened her eyes, confusion evident in those dark blue depths. “Oh,” she said in groggy recognition.
“Here, are you awake enough to stand?” As gently as possible he lowered her to the floor, taking her arm to make sure she was steady on her feet. “I told you they would come in the morning. Everything is fine now.”
“Not exactly fine,” her father snapped out as he strode forward, shouldering past Adam and grasping her free arm. “But we’ll discuss that later, Carlton.”
Not anxious to engage in a tug-o-war over the young lady, Andrew let her go and lifted his brows. He hadn’t exactly expected Dunbarton to be cordial, and since they both looked a little disheveled after their uncomfortable night—no doubt the duke thought the worst. Not to mention Landry’s servants, his lordship himself obviously amused at the drama unfolding in his household, and Adam looking both perplexed and concerned. With careful nonchalance, Andrew retrieved his coat which had slipped off Christa’s shoulders and fallen to the floor when he stood, and dusted it off with a careless hand. “I am sure your daughter can fill you in on what happened, your Grace.”
“I’m sure you both had better be prepared to offer me an explanation. I will expect you to present yourself at my home at two o’clock this afternoon.”
Not particularly enthused at being so caustically and summarily ordered to do anything, much less after spending such an uncomfortable night, Andrew felt his face tighten. It was Adam, ever the diplomat and no doubt only too aware of the listening ears, who said quickly, “I’m sure there is a reasonable answer for any questions you might have, your Grace, and Andrew will be happy to give it. In the meantime, however, there can be no doubt they are both tired and hungry and we have imposed on Lord Landry long enough.”
Never so glad to leave a place in his life, Andrew marveled at the bright fall sunshine once they were outside, climbing gratefully into the Wenton carriage and dreaming of hot tea and a hearty breakfast, then a good soak in a warm tub. Settling into the seat opposite his brother, he noted the grim look on Adam’s face with an elevated brow and weary sigh. “This particular incident is not my fault.”
“How the devil did you come to be locked in Landry’s wine cellar, of all places, with, of all people, Dunbarton’s beautiful daughter?” The words came out explosively and Adam looked openly concerned. “By the gods, Andrew, you may not slide easily out of this one in your usual fashion. The duke wants your head, understandably, and I cannot even argue that his sentiment is unreasonable.”
“I didn’t lure Christa Hatton to that cellar,” Andrew snapped back, “and I haven’t fucked her either. Do you think I’ve lost my mind? We were both given notes, neither one signed, asking us to meet the sender on some urgent matter there. Having no cause to be particularly suspicious, I went. So did she. Someone immediately and deliberately locked us in together. I had never even met the girl.”
“For someone you had never met, she certainly looked delightfully disheveled and comfortable in your arms.”
Not quite able to believe the vague note of accusation in his twin’s voice, Andrew explained furiously, “It was cold, damn you, Adam, so I held her so we both wouldn’t catch our death. Don’t tell me you truly think I’d try to seduce her there on that dirt floor? Or at all, for that matter. If I touched her, I would have to marry her.”
Adam’s blue eyes were as cool as polished slate. He said slowly, “I think you are going to have to marry her anyway, whether you touched her or not. She’ll be ruined when it all comes out that she spent the night with you. Dunbarton is going to want to avoid as much disgrace as possible for his lovely daughter and the best way to do that is if you wed her immediately. I doubt you are the son-in-law he would have chosen, but his hand will be forced.” Adam added gravely, “And so is yours, brother.”
And having all those long black hours to contemplate what was going to come when he and the beauteous Christa were found, Andrew knew with a sinking feeling that his brother was absolutely right.
Chapter Three
Blinking back tears of aggravation and anger, Christa said flatly, “He won’t do it.”
“By the devil, he will do it,” her father argued harshly. “His brother says he’s a gentleman. Let’s hope that’s true, despite all the rumors.”
Wanting to scream with frustration, she whispered, “Don’t you understand, I don’t wish to be married like this…to a reluctant bridegroom who has no affection for me. Papa, we don’t even know each other.”
“At least he has a respectable fortune and I understand his new venture into breeding racing stock is making a nice profit. His bloodlines are also acceptable, and his brother, the earl, is a fine upright man.”
“You aren’t listening to me.”
“At least he’s as handsome as sin and dances beautifully. Gentleman or not, his manners are as impeccable as his reputation is not.” Her mother, always focused on the more shallow aspects of life, pointed out an entirely different aspect of the situation. Sitting on an elaborate settee embroidered in pale green vines on ivory silk and arranging her skirts in a delicate movement, her silvery blond hair caught at her nape, she pouted, “Though I could swear Lord Pennington was coming up to snuff and ready to offer for you. Someday, he will be a marquess and I always envisioned you with a titled husband, my dear. However, getting the gorgeous and reluctant Andrew Carlton to the altar is also a coup.”
“Mother! Getting him to the altar like this is not an achievement of any kind.” Shoving herself to her feet, Christa paced across the formal salon, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Perhaps the only redeeming point of the disaster of the night before would be that she would not have to marry the very insipid Lord Pennington simply because her mother coveted one more title in the family. Controlling her tone as best as she could, she strived to say calmly, “Can’t we wait to see if anyone even notices this…unfortunate prank?”
“No, we can’t.” When her father spoke in that icy voice, he was unshakable and her heart plummeted. “The nightmare has already begun for my sister called here this morning, not long after we arrived home. She had heard about it from one of her friends, who heard it from another and so on. We need to face it, Christa. You spent the night alone with celebrated libertine and were found many hours later sleeping in his arms. Landry saw it, his servants saw it, and your reputation will be in tatters by nightfall.”
“It was chilly, as I told you,” she cried, the knowledge that it had been so innocent making the situation worse. “Would you rather I sleep on a cold dirt floor? He was being solicitous and had already given me his coat.”
Her father’s face was dark, his expression implacable. “Most certainly I would rather you slept on the floor and do not try to sell me on the notion of Carlton’s abiding kindness when it comes to lovely females.”
“Oh dear,” he mother murmured languidly from across the room. “All this arguing is giving me a terrible headache. Christa, darling, I know it is in your nature to be overemotional and moody, but you are also supposed to be intuitive. Can’t you tell this is upsetting to me?”
Feeling a scream of frustration threaten to erupt, Christa gritted out, “Mother, now is not the time for you to indulge your new
hobby of equating zodiac signs with people’s personalities. This is serious.”
“Yes it is,” her father snapped harshly, “This is, in fact, a disaster and we need to take measures at once.”
Even as she opened her mouth to still stubbornly argue, there was a discreet rap on the door. One of the footmen cleared his throat noisily, trying without success to look impassive over their undoubtedly raised voices. “Your Grace, Mr. Carlton has arrived.”
“By all means, show him in.” her father said grimly, adding with a mutter, “At least he’s prompt.”
Christa stood there, her mouth going dry, humiliation vying with a strange unwanted desire to see the handsome and intriguing man who had held her so gently through the darkness. When he stepped through the doorway, his dark gold hair gleaming in the early afternoon sunshine coming in the tall, elegant windows, she was struck again by his undeniable masculine beauty. In better light, he was athletically built, wide-shouldered and lean—though his face seemed shuttered, none of that legendary easy charm evident. Which, she had to acknowledge silently, was not surprising under the circumstances. His clothes suited his appearance; expensive and well-tailored but understated, dark blue jacket, snowy cravat, doeskin breeches, and polished Hessian boots that hugged his long calves.
His compelling blue gaze simply brushed by her and formally bowed to her mother. “Madame de la Duchesse.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Carlton.” Christa watched her mother smile flirtatiously, as if her parents weren’t bent on cajoling their guest into an unwanted marriage.
His own smile was polite and slightly rueful. “The circumstances could be better, of course, but I agree, a pleasure.” Straightening his tall body, he gave Christa a decidedly impersonal similar greeting. “I trust you are none the worse for our…adventure, Miss Hatton?”
Compressing her lips, she replied tightly, “Not quite unscathed, or so my father seems convinced.”
“Indeed.” Her father spoke coolly, “Perhaps, Carlton, we can retire to my study and discuss this man to man. Understandably, I am worried over my daughter’s future.”
Andrew Carlton gave her father an unfathomable look out of those vivid azure eyes. “As you wish, sir.”
“Absolutely not,” Christa burst out impulsively, her hands fisting in her silk skirts, crushing the material. “You will not go elsewhere and discuss what is going to happen to me without my participation.”
“She’s a Cancer, they are notoriously touchy and dramatic,” her mother explained kindly to their visitor, making him lift his brows, either in confusion or amusement, it was hard to tell.
“You have told me your tale, daughter. I want to hear his, if he has one.” Her father spoke with stark ducal authority, his face showing disdainful disapproval for her unladylike demand. “What happens to you has been my responsibility since the day you were born. Until you marry—which will be very soon if I have my way, it will continue to be so.”
“You cannot force two people who are the victims of a nasty trick to wed one another.” She gave the tall blond man across the civilized, lovely room an imploring look. “Please tell him how ridiculous all this is. I know you must be as opposed as I am to this--this farcical solution to a little scandal, Mr. Carlton.”
“I am afraid I don’t think it is ridiculous. In fact, your father is right. It is the only solution to an untenable situation.”
The calm reply from such a noted rake shocked Christa speechless for a moment, for she had been certain from everything she had ever heard about this man that he would fight the very idea of being shackled to a young woman he did not know—and had certainly never seduced. She finally stammered, “What?”
Her father nodded vigorously, his expression lightening a fraction in obvious relief. “Quite right. I’m glad you are being reasonable, Carlton. My solicitor is waiting for a summons and we can hammer out the marriage settlement between us quickly enough, I would guess. Christa’s dowry is generous. I think you’ll find it easy for us to come to terms.”
There was just the slightest tightening in Andrew Carlton’s well-shaped mouth. “I don’t want your money in any way, Dunbarton. Give it to her and she can do with it as she likes. Put it in a trust for our children…do whatever you wish, but there will be no marriage settlement. Make no mistake, while I see clearly enough that whoever wished to disgrace both your daughter and myself succeeded—and to fix it we must arrange a hasty wedding and pretend a clandestine romance that never existed—that doesn’t mean I am enthused by this situation.”
She had wanted him to agree with her, but not quite in such a vehement way. Why it should hurt her feelings that he didn’t wish to marry her was mystery, since she basically felt the same. Christa said almost painfully, “You see…neither of us wants to wed a stranger. Surely there is another solution?”
Andrew Carlton, the man who made legions of ladies sigh in both desire and capitulation with his hot blue eyes and easy seductive smile, looked at her with detached, cold practicality, and said flatly, “No, my lady, there isn’t.”
****
The room was ostentatious and almost stiflingly formal with rococo moldings, tapestry chairs, and French marquetry tables. Huge arrangements of fresh flowers sat in oriental vases and a gilt mirror the size of one of the huge windows hung against one wall. The duchess sat amid this splendor as if also on display, her dress the latest fashion; beribboned and beaded, even in the middle of the afternoon. The duke, on the other, hand favored severe tailoring and stark colors, a non-nonsense man apparently. Andrew wondered, with a jaundiced view of his class and a vast knowledge of the English aristocracy, if his Grace was more concerned for his daughter’s reputation, or his own disdain of being embroiled in scandal.
He watched Christa Hatton’s father examine the special license it had cost him a fortune—and Adam’s considerable connections—to obtain on such short notice. Andrew smiled thinly. “I assumed, naturally, that the sooner would be the better. This could be fait accompli by tomorrow afternoon.”
It was satisfying to realize that he’d shocked the hell out of the arrogant duke with both his compliance and foresight.
Unfortunately, it also shocked his unwilling and flustered bride-to-be, he thought with resigned cynicism. Christa stood rigidly by a long window that illuminated her dazzling beauty in the early afternoon sun, her long-lashed dark blue eyes wide and soft lips parted as she stared at him. She was lovelier than ever when he got to really see her. Shining pale hair the color of flax, her skin, true English rose—ivory and smooth, her features classically perfect and giving her an almost untouchable air, except for the voluptuous and earthy curves of her slender but decidedly female figure. In contrast to her mother’s icy air of fading beauty, she was warmth and glowing womanhood, her soft rose gown gathered enticingly under those full, tempting breasts.
He remembered a little too well how she felt in his arms. If there was any consolation to this whole macabre situation, Andrew had decided, it was that his bride-to-be was very beautiful and it would be his pleasure to initiate the lovely duke’s daughter to the pleasures of the flesh.
“Well done, Carlton.” Dunbarton actually gave Andrew a look of reserved approval. “I admit, I thought I would have a fight on my hands persuading you to do the right thing. You have a notorious aversion to settling down, by all accounts.”
Not bothering to address the latter part of that speech, Andrew said coolly, “Since neither myself nor your daughter have actually done anything wrong, sir, I’d say it isn’t so much the right thing, as they only respectable avenue open to either of us.” He added darkly, “Whoever perpetrated the hoax anticipated one of two things would happen. Your daughter would be ruined in the eyes of society, losing all chances of making an acceptable marriage, or I would be branded a man who seduced innocent young maidens and considered dishonorable. Both scenarios, of course, would actually occur, but the question is, which one of us was the actual intended victim.”
&
nbsp; “I cannot see Christa having any enemies. You on the other hand…” The duke lifted a brow, and cleared his throat, apparently well-aware of his daughter and wife both being still in the room. “Well, no offense, but I think you know what I mean.”
Also aware of both Christa and her mother listening, Andrew said neutrally, “Whichever one it was, we could turn the tables. The bishop is not available to marry us until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I think it best if you allow me to escort your daughter tonight, chaperoned by my brother and sister-in-law, to the Vollmer’s gala. If we appear there together and if you seem to give your approval, sir, we will avert at least the assumption of the ruined maiden and despicable rogue, but might instead appear to be truly romantically involved. When we marry so hastily, people will think it a love match, not a sordid liaison. It won’t completely avoid scandal, but it will be a scandal of a different kind.”
It was the duchess who clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Brilliant, my dear Lord Andrew. I can aid by mentioning the fact I knew my daughter was resistant to the offers of marriage my husband had received because she was enamored of someone her father might not approve of. I’ll say so in earshot of Harriet Bosworth. The woman is a terrible gossip and the entire ton will know immediately.” It was clear Christa’s mother liked the idea of the intrigue of the situation, her aging but still lovely face showing some animation.
Finally speaking, still stiff by the window, Miss Hatton said slowly, “You appear to have thought this through, Mr. Carlton.”
“There wasn’t much else to do, now was there, in that dark cellar last night.” His reply was soft.
She blushed slightly then, obviously remembering their close embrace and the hours she slumbered in his arms, but her gaze did not waver. “So you are a practical man and have resigned yourself to the inevitability of our plight, is that it?”
