"I -- stole a kiss." Robin smiled. "A sweet, enticing confection that only left me hungry for more!"
"Mon Dieu, Robin! You didn't..."
"No, Georges. I took it no farther than a kiss. I'm not such a great monster as that! But I did want her, mon ami! I can't ever recall wanting a woman quite so badly."
"And the lady rejected you."
"When I offered her carte blanche, she was insulted," Amberley drawled.
"Imagine that!" Georges shook his head in mock bewilderment.
After a short silence, Robin said, "The devil of it all, mon ami, is that I'm still wanting her. My heart is racing; my blood is hot -- nom de nom! If I could have found some way, some place, I think -- I very much fear -- damn! I wanted to bed her then and there, with or without her consent, regardless of the consequences. A single kiss and I almost lost my wits with that slip of a girl in my arms. Such carelessness can lead to a disastrous, even fatal, error."
"But, Robin, your adventuring days are over. You need no longer fear an unguarded moment."
Lynkellyn shook his head. "She intoxicates me! She endangers my logic, my vigilance, and my reason. I must avoid her until after my wedding to Miss Saddewythe and leave her far behind when we go to London to confront Giles."
"'Tis still to be Miss Saddewythe, then, mon ami?"
"Naturellement! Giles would laugh me out of England if I presented a governess to him as my duchess!"
"Naturellement!" De Valiére threw up his hands. "You are mad to have la petite governess but, fearing the strength of your own desire and your worst enemy's opinion, you will marry this other girl that you hold in utter contempt, instead. I ask myself who gives a damn what Monseigneur Mountheathe thinks? If you want the governess so very badly, mon vieux, consign your cousin to the devil and marry her! You will still have your fortune and, even if you lose interest after you've bedded her, you will have sated your appetites and had some genuine pleasure as well! Mon Dieu! How can you prefer respectable boredom with Mademoiselle Saddewythe to wild intoxication with la petite governess?"
Robin shrugged. "Mountheathe's opinion means nothing to me, but I need respectability, Georges, and I cannot allow unreasoning lust to interfere with my thinking. Miss Saddewythe is clearly the proper choice for a dishonored man trying to regain his respectability."
Amberley settled in his corner of the coach to nap for the rest of the drive home. Gazing at his friend in the silver moonlight, the marquis shook his head in disbelief, muttering, "Mon Dieu! I shall never understand the English!"
Chapter 3:
In Which His Grace Receives Enlightenment and Proposes Marriage
When Mr. Gleason arrived at Brackenwell Hall on March twenty-first, Lynkellyn introduced the marquis and the gentlemen swiftly turned to business. "Well, Gleason," Robin said, lounging in an overstuffed chair, "have you brought the special license?"
"Yes, Your Grace. I have it here." Gleason sifted through a sheaf of papers in his satchel and handed the document to the duke. "May I say, Your Grace, that both Lady Blayne and I are pleased that you have decided to fulfill the stipulations in your grandfather's will and claim your inheritance."
"I am always happy to oblige you, naturellement," Robin drawled, "but I fear you mystify me. Who is Lady Blayne?"
"Lady Amaryllis, your cousin! 'Twas she who hired my firm to find you and inform you of your legacy."
Robin smiled. "Faith, I've not seen Ryl since she went off to some dismal school in Bath when she was sixteen. She didn't like the idea above half. Threw the devil of a tantrum! And now she is married!"
"For seven years, Your Grace, to Sir William Blayne."
"Sir William Blayne! I remember him! Good man! Dependable! Just the sort of husband Ryl needs. She's done well for herself." Amberley's eyes darkened. "She is happy?" he said after a few brooding moments.
"As nearly as a man in my impersonal position can tell, Your Grace, yes."
"Good! Good!" Leaning back in his chair, Robin closed his eyes. It was exhilarating and excruciating to speak of the people he loved. He had too long denied himself thoughts of them. The hardest part of this venture was knowing he would meet only contempt and condemnation when he took his bride to London to satisfy Giles. Bitterness twisted his heart. "And have you brought information on Saddewythe's women?" he said.
"Yes, Your Grace! I have everything here." Gleason pulled a few more pages from his satchel and started to hand them to Lynkellyn.
"Just tell me, Gleason. Your fine prose doesn't tempt me this afternoon."
"Very well, Your Grace." The solicitor cleared his throat. "Er -- which young lady interests you most?"
"Miss Saddewythe. She is the one I intend to marry."
"A very wise choice, Your Grace." Relief colored Gleason's voice.
"I always strive for your approval, Gleason. Pray proceed."
The solicitor cleared his throat a second time. "Miss Pamela Saddewythe and her family fulfill your grandfather's stipulations admirably. Lord Saddewythe's Saxon lineage can be traced some three hundred years before William the Conqueror. His lady is one of Sir Carwell Halverton's daughters and her ancestry can be documented for five hundred years. In short, there has not been a scandal or blemish in either family within living memory, Your Grace."
"They sound much too dull, mon ami," Georges frowned. "That much respectability would put one to sleep!"
"Pamela Saddewythe is perfectly suited to shore up my own lack of respectability, Georges."
"Well, what of the other one? The governess?" de Valiére asked.
Gleason shuffled his papers. "Quite a different story!"
Lynkellyn straightened. "Do you mean that she is not of good family?"
"Oh, no! Her heritage is impeccable. If Your Grace married her, however, you would be fulfilling the letter, but not the spirit, of the will."
"You speak in riddles, Gleason. We merely asked the lady's background."
"As you wish, Your Grace. The Cothcourt family traces its ancestry back to the Conqueror. Lucia Cothcourt's father was Albert Cothcourt, brother of the present earl. Family connections include the dowager Countess of Easterbury and the Earl of Malkent." Amberley's brows rose as Gleason continued. "Miss Cothcourt's mother was Elise de Couvrelle, daughter of the present Duc de Mondecharles. Coming to prominence in the court of Charlemagne, the family can trace an impressive lineage to the present day."
"Mon Dieu!" Georges muttered, growing pale. "Elle est ma cousine!"
"Je ne comprends." Robin frowned. "With so much money and such high-born kinsmen at her disposal, why is this woman a governess?"
"Because they are not at her disposal, Your Grace. Neither family will acknowledge her existence."
"Riddles again, Gleason!" Robin said. "Pourquoi?"
"Miss Cothcourt's parents were cast off when they married against their families' wishes," Gleason said. "Her English grandfather detested the French and her French grandfather abhorred the English. They both pronounced the marriage a mésalliance and cut the newlyweds adrift."
Georges nodded. "That sounds like grand-père!"
"When Miss Cothcourt was born, both families were informed of her birth, but neither was willing to recognize her. Here is a letter from Madrid dated February 14th, 1711, announcing the babe's arrival." Gleason handed the letter to Robin. "No one heard anything from the Cothcourts for sixteen years. Then, in 1727, the Earl of Cothcourt received a letter from Miss Cothcourt in Copenhagen informing him of Albert's and Elise's deaths in a fire." Gleason also passed that document to Lynkellyn. "Four more years passed in silence and then, from Paris, Miss Cothcourt sent a letter to the earl, asking that she be taken in as a poor relation or given assistance in finding a respectable situation. Here is the letter, Your Grace."
"Obviously, she got some response. Who was it took pity on our hapless heroine?"
"Her aunt, Lady Lavinia Laddon, offered her a home if she would be governess-companion to her daughters, Your Grace, but within six months, Miss
Cothcourt was with the Saddewythes. One can only suppose that she did not prove satisfactory in Lady Laddon's household."
"She probably caught Laddon's eye. The man always was a thorough-going rakehell!" Robin muttered. "How do you come to have all these letters, Mr. Gleason?"
"Discreet inquiries yielded little about the governess, Your Grace, but Lord Cothcourt employs our firm to handle his family's legal affairs. Viewing Miss Cothcourt and her parents' mésalliance as such, he filed all documents pertaining to the matter with the firm. I merely borrowed the file for Your Grace's confidential inspection. I shall, of course, have to have the letters back, but not immediately, if Your Grace would care to look them over."
"Yes, I would."
"And now, Your Grace, if I might retire? The journey from London was rather wearing."
"Certainement," Lynkellyn nodded, rising. He rang for Carter to show Gleason to a bedchamber. "But I will require your presence at Brackenwell Hall until I am married, Gleason."
"Yes. I certainly must be here to serve as legal witness."
After the solicitor left, Robin and Georges sat for some time in tense silence. Finally, Amberley rose to pace the room, halting to stare at the faded letters on the table. "Damnation! I cannot credit it!"
"Mon ami?" Georges looked up.
"How could anyone turn an infant, his own granddaughter, out into the streets? Mon Dieu! All she did to merit four-and-twenty years, a lifetime in hell, was to be born!" Robin's eyes smoldered.
"Surely it's not as bad as that, Robin?"
Amberley flung himself back into his chair. "Yes, it is, Georges! No home; no name; just cold and hunger and endless wandering. The loneliness corrodes you and your soul is ripped apart again and again until you draw away from humanity, lest it savage you. And if, a Dieu ne plaise, someone touches your heart, you had best flee before you are discovered, denounced, derided and cast out." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "You say Miss Cothcourt is your cousin. Why the devil haven't you tried to help her?"
"I was four years old when my Tante Elise eloped, Robin. My family never spoke of her and I had forgotten her very existence until I heard Gleason's report. I knew nothing about a child or, believe me, I would have sought her out and offered her a home."
"Forgive me!" Robin sat up to look at Georges, his eyes dark. "'Tis just that I shudder to think of la petite governess forced to live by her wits. An adventurer's life is not a fate I would wish on anyone."
"C'est rien." Georges smiled. "Have your intentions changed in the light of this new information, Robin?"
"Of course not. I shall still woo and win Miss Saddewythe for my bride. Miss Cothcourt would be a liability. Giles would be only too delighted if my wife's own family refused to receive her."
"Giles! 'Tis always Giles with you, Robin! What about your own pleasures? What about your bride's happiness?"
"I don't take your meaning, mon ami."
Georges shook his head in defeat. "No," he said, "I don't suppose you do!"
***
Lynkellyn haunted Saddewythe Manor for five days, endeavoring to fix his interest with Pamela. He took her for rides and drives, strolled with her in the manor gardens, and attended her at the harpsichord when she practiced in the afternoon.
As each day passed, however, she irritated him more and more with her helplessness and inanity. He longed for the day when they married so he could pursue his own interests and leave her, for the most part, to pursue hers.
Of Miss Cothcourt, Robin saw nothing. He was relieved, yet disappointed. In quiet moments alone, he dwelled upon the kiss he had stolen and his soul yearned for more. Ruthlessly quelling such importunities, he forced his mind to focus, instead, upon Pamela's spun-gold tresses and soft brown eyes.
Lady Saddewythe, always present as chaperone, smiled on Amberley's courtship, resolutely ignoring the wagging, warning tongues of friends. Her lord, however, was not so sanguine and when, on the twenty-fifth of March, Lynkellyn asked for a private audience, Saddewythe agreed, resolved to be rid of him.
In Saddewythe's study, Robin formally requested Pamela's hand in marriage. Saddewythe eyed him as if he were a dead worm. "And what makes you believe that I would have you in my family when your own grandfather was ashamed to have you in his?"
Robin's cheeks reddened. "I will not pretend that I don't take your meaning. I know my name is scandal-ridden and therefore I do not require a dowry. I am extremely wealthy and if your daughter becomes my duchess, she shall want for nothing. I am also prepared to bestow a generous marriage settlement upon your family. I must, however, request that Miss Saddewythe and I be married within three days. I have a special license in my pocket and I will make arrangements with Vicar Stanfield for the wedding ceremony immediately."
"Rushing your fences a bit, aren't you?" Saddewythe flushed angrily. "You are a scoundrel and a reprobate, sirrah, and no fit husband for any daughter of mine! You entered my house at my lady wife's insistence, but I'll be damned -- damned -- if I let such a beast into my family, sir!"
Robin stood frozen, consciously crushing his fury. "Good day to you, then, my lord," he said through gritted teeth. Bowing stiffly, he turned to leave.
"One thing more!" Saddewythe said. "You will grant me the favor of not calling on my family again."
Robin bowed a second time and stalked out of the room, his eyes mutinous and his lips compressed into a thin, hard line. He had just entered the foyer when Lady Saddewythe hailed him. "Oh, Your Grace! You are not leaving already? Did you have your mysterious conference with Nigel?" She threw him an arch look.
Robin schooled himself to smile. "Lord Saddewythe and I had a most enlightening conversation, my lady. I trust you will pardon my haste, but I have pressing business at the Hall."
"You'll call on us tomorrow, though!" Lady Saddewythe was instinctively aware that something had gone wrong regarding Amberley's proposal. "Pamela will be completely cast down if you do not."
"I am desolated to disappoint Miss Saddewythe, but my estates will require my attention for the next few days."
In a vexed voice Lady Saddewythe said, "Very well, Your Grace. Perhaps we shall see you in London. We leave bright and early Saturday morning, the twenty-eighth. If you want to visit Pamela before she is surrounded by suitors, you had better call on us within the next three days."
Aware that he had given her every reason to presume, Robin nevertheless found Lady Saddewythe's audacity infuriating. " I shall bear it in mind, my lady," he said through gritted teeth in a forced smile. "Good day!" His fists clenched, he bowed his farewell.
He stepped out onto the porch and descended the steps, shouting for his carriage. Fuming, he jerked his gloves onto his hands as a servant headed for the stables.
Miss Cothcourt came around a corner of the house, her boisterous flock in tow. While she scolded Philip for punching Terrence and bent to wipe a smudge from Honor's face, Amberley stared pensively at the scene. Making a sudden decision, he strode toward her.
Seeing his approach and disliking the fire in his eyes, Lucia hastily told Arabella to escort her younger siblings back to the schoolroom for tea. As the children disappeared into the house, he reached her side and nodded. "Miss Cothcourt."
"Your Grace." She curtsied stiffly, her eyes lowered.
Robin did not bandy words. "Miss Cothcourt, I want you to marry me."
The governess frowned, tucking an errant lock of hair under her cap. "Why must you amuse yourself at my expense, Your Grace?" she accused, her gaze flying up to meet his. She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm, halting her.
"'Tis no jest. I must marry by Saturday midnight or lose my grandfather's legacy. Saddewythe has not only denied me his daughter, but his house as well. You are my last hope."
"And what of the other young ladies in the area?"
"I'm not deemed worthy of them." Bitterness tinged his words.
"Ah, but as a lowly governess with no future, I should swoon with joy when you deign to offer me
marriage. Very flattering, considering I rejected your last proposal."
Amberley grinned. "Still smarting from that, are you?"
"I have never accepted carte blanche, Your Grace, and never will. One needs at least a scrap of honor to salve one's soul when all else has been sacrificed to survival."
"A touching philosophy." Robin sneered. "But I've no time for such abstractions just now. Give your notice to the Saddewythes. We shall wed this evening."
"No, Your Grace. I cannot marry you. My past is questionable. A union with me would bring you no honor. Besides, I do not love you."
Robin grabbed her shoulders, spinning her to face him.
"One hundred thousand pounds a year is at stake here, ma douce. I know all about your past and love has absolutely nothing to do with this. You will be amply rewarded. A title, money, jewels, fine clothes, great estates, servants..."
"You know all about my past! But how?" Lucia paled.
"I had my solicitor look into your background to be sure you were suitable. My bride must come from aristocratic stock."
Cold, incredulous anger stole over her. "And is my blood properly blue? Am I noble enough for you?"
"I'd not be here, else. I've no time to waste on someone who is unsuitable. Wed me and you shall have all I've promised you, but we must produce a child from our union within a year. On our first anniversary, I will give you a separate maintenance and clear title to a fine country estate; Brackenwell Hall, if you like; but you must leave the child in my care. I will provide you a very generous lifetime annuity in return. What say you to my offer?"
Miss Cothcourt blushed. "I say you have run quite mad, Your Grace. I have made a home here and if you 'know all about my past', then you must know that I have forsaken it. I have no desire to sell myself back into plots and deception. Furthermore, if I should ever be blessed with a child, I certainly would not abandon my babe for money, as you are suggesting! The answer is 'no', Your Grace."
Amberley's hands tightened painfully on her shoulders and his stormy, steely grey eyes bored into hers. With a crack of laughter, he shoved her away. "You've made a home here? A home! That's rich! Slave quarters, belike!"
The Rogue's Revenge Page 4
