by Gaelen Foley
“Yes. Society is off its schedule this year with the war’s end.” She nodded gracefully to another acquaintance as they rolled along. The friend stared back in amazement to see them together. “You were lucky you weren’t here in July, when the casualty lists from Waterloo began appearing in the newspapers.” She glanced at him suddenly. “By the way, I have a friend who told me you were there. That you saw the battle.”
“What kind of friend?” he replied with a dubious frown, immediately recalling all the glory-hound officers at Waterloo who had referred to him as the Grand Tourist, never realizing he was only there to save Wellington from an assassin. Cringing to think what she might have heard, he felt a fleeting wish that he could’ve told her of his own heroics that day. But of course, she’d never know.
Futile vanity.
“One of those insufferable officers, no doubt,” he grumbled. “I’ll bet they all go fawning over you.”
“Why, Lord Rotherstone, are you jealous?” she asked with a coquettish glance.
“Occasionally, as warranted.”
“Well, you needn’t worry.” She gave him a sly little smile. “It was not an officer who told me. It was a young lady, one of my closest friends, actually. And if I decide to marry you, you’re going to have to be nice to her.”
“Am I?”
“She is very dear to me. Miss Carissa Portland.”
“Hm, be nice to a chit who gossips about me. That’s a fine thing. How did your Miss Portland know I was there? Was she at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball in Brussels?”
“No, Carissa was here, and she knew, my dear Lord Rotherstone, because actually, between you and me—Carissa is a spy.”
“A what?” He looked at her in utter surprise, but she merely laughed at him.
“Carissa always knows the gossip. I’ve no idea how! I fear she has nefarious ways of finding out these things, but I never question it. Her information often comes in handy—just as it did regarding you.”
“Aha.” He was quite taken aback, however amused to hear her mischievous explanation. With a soft laugh, he looked at the road again. “Well, you must introduce me to this lady spy of yours. Perhaps she can teach me something.”
“I don’t think I will,” she said. “She is afraid of you. And you didn’t answer my question. Was she right? Did you really witness the battle that day at Waterloo?”
He shifted in his seat a bit. “Some of it, yes.”
“What was it like?”
“Not a sight I will forget anytime soon.” He slapped the reins lightly over his horse’s back, urging the animal into a jaunty trot.
“You needn’t protect my feminine sensibilities,” she said. “I am English, too. I have a right to know.”
He shrugged at her desire to know more. “Picture your worst nightmare, and multiply it by ten thousand. That was Waterloo.”
She stared at him, absorbing this. “They say it was England’s greatest victory, but…fifty thousand dead on both sides after just a couple days of fighting? Who can fathom that?”
Max said nothing.
She was silent for a moment in her thoughts. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to turn our outing morbid. The important thing is that people have pulled together to help each other through these difficult times.”
“As they should.”
“I imagine there will be all sorts of celebrations when all the troops are withdrawn from France and the ships start arriving, bringing them home. The autumn should be very merry. I’ll be glad of the cooler weather. London is just ghastly in the summer. But now it shouldn’t be too long before someone is giving a hunt ball.”
“Good,” he replied. “Because you still owe me a dance.”
She glanced at him in surprise, and they exchanged a smile.
Max feared he held her gaze a bit too long. “Does your family have plans to remove to the country for the autumn? Your father seems the sort for all the good old country sports.”
“No,” she answered with a pert smile. “He does enjoy a bit of fishing and shooting now and then, but only if he’s invited to someone else’s country box. We Starlings are unusual in that we reside in London all the year round.”
“Why? Is he active in the Lords?”
She shrugged. “Moderately so.”
“Tory?”
“Of course. You?”
“Independent, he replied.
“Interesting,” she answered, eyeing him with a nod.
“I can’t say it’s won me many friends,” he answered dryly. “The party leaders so love being able to predict one’s vote. But if not for politics’ sake, why does your father keep you in Town year-round?”
She let out a wistful sigh, gazing down the road. “He sold our country house after my mother died. The memories were too painful for him there. We moved into our present home when I was fifteen, and I have been a Town girl ever since.”
“A Town girl, eh?” he teased her softly, determined to chase the note of sadness out of her voice. “Everyone knows about them. Sophisticated, fashionable, and fast—”
“I am not fast!”
“No? I don’t mind, truly, if you ever want to act fast with me, I’m perfectly willing to let you—”
“You are bad!”
They exchanged mutual smiles of cautious delight.
“It’s my turn for a question,” he said.
“All right.”
He glanced over at her. “How soon after your mother’s death did your father marry the present Lady Starling?”
“Ugh. A few years.” She watched an impressive coach-and-four go thundering by. “The ironic thing is sometimes I think Papa married her more for my sake than his own. He was convinced I needed some sort of mother in my life. I do have a slightly terrifying great-aunt who was my sponsor in Society. The Dowager Duchess of Anselm. But she’s more like a grandmother to me.”
“A duchess? Well, indeed.”
“And Penelope had her own two girls to think of. She was newly widowed, and my stepsisters only babies at the time.” She let out a sigh. “Frankly, I think Papa felt sorry for them.”
“Maybe he loves her. Ever think of that?”
“He loved my mother,” she replied in a prickly tone. “She never henpecked him or bossed him around like a shrew.”
“I meant no offense.” Determined to keep the mood genial, he changed direction slightly, not just with the conversation, but also with the cabriolet. “Did you enjoy living in the countryside before you moved to Town?”
“I hardly remember it.”
“What about now?” he asked. Still bristling over this obviously sensitive subject, she did not seem to notice they had turned out of Hyde Park. His horse had perked up, however, recognizing the familiar way home. “Do you like spending time in the country?”
“Visiting is all right, as long as it’s not too remote.” She shrugged. “I enjoy visiting my friends at their country houses, but when you’re with friends, it doesn’t necessarily give a true picture. Most of the other young ladies assure me the rustic world is a dead bore when there are no amusing houseguests to keep one entertained.”
“I see.”
“Perhaps it’s just my nature. Too much solitude depresses me. I require agreeable conversation and pleasant people on hand to associate with.”
Max realized she was taking care to explain her preferences because when they were married, he would be in charge of where they lived. But she needn’t have worried.
He was determined that she should be happy, above all, as his wife. “I see,” he mused aloud. “A social butterfly. You do seem to know everyone,” he added as she waved at a group of ladies going by in a barouche.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far. I just enjoy being around people.”
“God knows why,” Max drawled. “They are miserable creatures.”
“Lord Rotherstone!” she exclaimed. “For heaven’s sake, I’m beginning to think you are either a dedicated cynic or a misanthrope.”
“Right on both counts, actually.”
“And you wonder why they call you the Demon Marquess?”
“Honestly,” Max said with a laugh, “I think it’s just the beard.”
“Then you should shave it,” she declared.
“Don’t you like it?”
“No,” she answered, to his vast amusement. “Frankly, my lord, it makes you look like Lucifer.”
“Maybe I want to look like Lucifer,” he replied.
“To scare everybody away, no doubt! Yes, that is my point exactly,” she chided with an arch smile. “You say you want to improve the Rotherstone reputation, but I am getting the feeling you actually enjoy making people uneasy. You deliberately provoke them into steering clear of you.”
“Me? Miss Starling! I am an innocent lamb.”
“Ha. More like a wolf who barely bothers with sheep’s clothing. You hardly ever come into Society, and when you do, you get into fights.”
“I didn’t get into a fight,” he protested in a droll tone.
“You threatened Albert, didn’t you? You told me so yourself.”
“But that was different, Daphne, sweet. I did it for you. Nor do I regret it. If the blackguard says one more word about you, by the way, I have promised to put him through a window—just so you know.”
“You see?” she exclaimed. “You are not helping yourself. You just can’t do that sort of thing.”
“I can’t not do it,” he answered amiably, “being me. Oh, very well! Tell me how you want me to make nice to all the lovely people in the ton.”
She gave him a vexed look in exchange for his sarcasm. “They’re not that bad. Not all of them.”
“You fascinate me. Defending the fools who would gossip about you.”
“They don’t mean any harm. All I am trying to say is that if others interpret your demeanor as hostile—or dangerous—it’s only natural they’ll steer clear of you, however undeservedly. I mean, I’ve been spending time with you, and I can see you’re a good person—”
“I beg your pardon!” he retorted in mock indignation.
“Oh, never mind! You are impossible,” she scolded lightly. “So, there. You’ve had my advice on Society, and now I need your expertise in investment matters, if you would oblige me.”
“Certainly.” He looked at her in surprise.
“It’s about the orphanage.”
“Bucket Lane? Tell me you have not been back there.”
“No, unlike certain marquesses, I do not have a death wish.”
He looked askance at her.
“I’ve been seeking contributions to buy a new building for the orphanage. The children clearly need a more suitable location. Well, I’ve found the perfect place—a boarding school for sale in Islington. I have been trying to raise money to secure the property before somebody else buys it. But after the market chaos, nobody wants to give just now. I understand people are worried about their own affairs, but I cannot let those poor children stay in such a place. You’ve seen the conditions—”
“Of course,” he agreed at once. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“What? Oh!” Her eyes widened. She began to blush. “No, it’s all right. I didn’t mean that you should have to—”
“Not at all. Consider it done.”
“Done? What, you’re going to buy it?”
He almost said, Consider it a wedding present. But then he saw the sudden alarm written all over her face, and he stopped himself abruptly.
It dawned on him that with her need for control, such a gesture might only make her feel pressured and torn, as if he would hold the children’s welfare over her head to coerce into going along with the marriage. Well, damn.
He was not about to hold her hostage.
“My friends and I were less affected by the market drop, since many of our holdings are abroad. I will talk to them,” he said as he turned the cabriolet into his street and headed for the mews. “We’ll make sure you get the contributions needed.”
“Your friends?” She stared at him dubiously. “From the Inferno Club?”
“Yes. If it’s all right with you, I will go and see the new location you have found. Make sure everything’s structurally sound, or if any repairs will be needed before the children can move in.”
“That would be…lovely of you.” She stared forward for a moment, as though in stunned disbelief at his words.
Max stole a sideways glance at her and saw the relief that crept back into her demeanor.
She looked at him suddenly. “Maybe we could go and look at it together.”
His heart leaped at her suggestion of an outing, but he hid his jubilation behind his usual cool insouciance. “As you wish.” He gave her a casual nod. “I’ll have my man set up an appointment with the agent.”
He could feel her staring at his profile; when Max glanced over at her, she gazed into his eyes and gave him, slowly, the most beautiful, beaming, beatific smile that he had ever seen.
He was entranced. The light that shone from her was like the dawn. He stared back.
No one had ever looked at him that way in his life. So tenderly, with so much hope in him. As if he was a hero, not a fiend.
God, he thought in a sudden wave of bewildered desperation, I have got to win her. She has to say yes.
In that moment, he could not imagine having to go back to his life the way it was. Back to the darkness, to the cold, to the endless isolation. He’d had no idea till now just how deep his hunger was. He had successfully ignored it for so long, pledged to his duty.
But to be with her now, this angelic creature, to receive that shining smile—and then, to have her refuse him, that would reduce him to the state of some poor prisoner who had crossed the czar, sentenced to a life of hard labor in the northern reaches of Siberia.
Whatever it took. He knew then he would do anything to bring her into his life, permanently. He was shaken by the intensity of his desire; his very soul flamed with a whole new motivation to complete what had been, until now, essentially a marriage of convenience.
Whatever it took, this woman would be his.
Having turned into the mews behind his house, he now brought the carriage to a halt.
At once, a groom in dark red livery rushed out to take the horse’s bridle.
“Where are we?” she asked all of a sudden, glancing past him at the large brick building in whose cool shadow they now lingered.
He set the brake, then turned to her, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I call it home.”
“This is your house?” she exclaimed, glancing from it to him in startled apprehension.
He nodded stoically, holding her stare. “Would you like to come in?”
Chapter 8
Lord Rotherstone!” Daphne said breathlessly, dropping her gaze. She floundered. “I’m sure you know that would not be proper. We have no chaperone!”
“It is no matter,” he murmured softly, staring at her with an intimate half smile. She could feel the sheer force of his willpower surrounding her, tempting her to do what she should not. “We are already engaged.”
She looked up again in alarm. “That has not been settled!”
His smile widened knowingly; his pale eyes had darkened several shades. They mesmerized her. “Aren’t you just a little curious to see what I am offering you?”
“Is that why you brought me here, for a bribe?” she demanded in rattled defiance.
“Oh, come in, just for a moment,” he cajoled her with consummate skill. His voice had deepened to a husky timbre that plucked at her senses like clever fingers unlacing her stays. “I would so like to show you the art that I collected in my travels, Miss Starling. Allow me to offer you some light refreshments, as well. Perhaps a drink?”
Daphne quivered. She knew what he was doing, casting that spell of his again, with his dark-velvet voice and beguiling little smile.
“You know you want to see where we would live.”
She could fe
el her strength to resist him draining away. He did not wait for her answer, but stood up in the driver’s seat, then jumped down from the carriage, coming round to her side.
Daphne racked her brain, trying to rally a protest before he arrived to hand her down. But their talk about Penelope a few moments ago had reminded her of the reason she had greeted the marquess today in a more cooperative mood, and had decided to let herself be more open to his persuasion on the question of their match.
Her stepmother had made it clear that she was not particularly welcome in her own home; therefore, Daphne had to ask herself why she was fighting so hard to stay in a place where she was not entirely wanted.
Would it not be better to accept this admittedly brilliant match, this outstanding man for her husband, and create a home and family of her own?
Maybe it really was time to move on in life. She could not live like a child forever under her father’s roof, after all. There came a time when a grown girl had to take a man and become, truly, a woman.
But was Lord Rotherstone the right man for her?
There was no point denying that she was attracted to him. She had changed her gown three times today before he had arrived. She had never gone to such silly lengths to impress a suitor before. Indeed, after twenty-four hours to think it over, she was seriously considering his proposal. She was not a fool. And dash it all, she wanted to go in and see his house. Their house, maybe. Someday.
But, God, if they were seen, if Society caught wind of this reckless act of daring, there would be no turning back. Might that be his ploy?
“Oh, such intense concentration,” he observed in affectionate amusement as he sauntered up to her side of the carriage. He rested his elbow on the edge of the door. “My dear lady, do not hurt yourself.”
“Rogue,” she answered.
He flashed a smile that made her heart rebel against all the strictures placed on nice young ladies.
“I think you’re beginning to like me in spite of yourself.”
