A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement)

by Victoria Vane

  "I'm sorry to have disappointed you," he said dryly, "but I am indeed come on Lord Rochford's business."

  "And what business might that be?" she inquired, tight-lipped.

  "May we sit, my lady?" he inclined his head to the settle.

  Mariah feared her legs might give out before she made it to the settle. What was he doing here? "H-how long have you been back?" she asked as she sank into the silk damask cushions.

  "Two days only," he replied. "I believe I arrived on your heels." His mouth twitched. "Or perhaps you arrived on mine."

  "Why did you write me that letter if you knew you were returning?" she asked, her throat so dry that she barely managed a whisper.

  "I did not know I was returning until well after I posted the letter."

  "I see." She swallowed. "But now you are here."

  He extended his arms, palms turned upward. "In the flesh."

  Half of her wanted to throw herself into those arms and kiss him madly while the other half wanted to shout and thrash and rage. She willed herself to do neither. "Why have you come here?"

  "I am on a mission from Lord Rochford."

  "And what has that to do with me?"

  "You, my lady, are the mission."

  "I don't comprehend you."

  "The earl wishes to wed. Her Grace the Duchess of Bedford wishes to help him achieve this desire. She selected ten eligible, well-bred maidens. Of the ten, the earl chose to pay his respects to you."

  "But I met the man only once!" How could this be happening? How could he be so cold and aloof after all they had shared? She felt as if her heart was breaking all over again.

  "Nevertheless, he remembers you favorably."

  "And I barely remember him at all," she replied coldly. "How could he possibly think that I would be an appropriate helpmeet for him?"

  "He believes you would have sufficient compatibility."

  She shook her head, barely stemming a flow of hysterical giggles. "I am at a loss as to how he possibly could have come to that conclusion. I can't think of a single thing we have in common."

  "Rochford is suitable. As his wife, you would have every advantage the world has to offer. Did you not come to London to seek a husband, Lady Mariah?"

  "Yes." She forced herself to meet his gaze straight on. "I did." He appeared to wince, or had she imagined it? "What precisely does his lordship seek?"

  "He desires a bride of noble breeding and good character. Your family is one of the oldest in England. He is assured by the Duchess of Bedford that your reputation is impeccable, your dowry is considerable, and that your lands produce a highly respectable income."

  “And that is all he desires in a wife? What of compatibility?" she asked, her gaze searching his. "And affection?"

  "'Tis hardly a prerequisite for people of your station. He has no reason to believe you shan't get along. As to affection, he does not consider that a requirement from a wife."

  The implication was clear. If wed, her husband would seek affection elsewhere. "I see. The offer he puts forth is purely for convenience. But convenient for whom, Mr. Needham? What about my desires and needs? Are those not to be taken into account?" Although she had accepted how it would be, she nevertheless found the reality of a loveless future disheartening.

  "Lord Rochford offers a highly respected family name with close connections to the king and queen, as well as a house in Berkley Square and estates in Suffolk, Essex, and the Utrecht province of the Dutch Republic. You would have a life of great comfort in return for bearing his offspring. Should you accept, you would go to him in Turin and remain there until an heir is born. After that, you would be free to choose where you wish to reside."

  "Separate lives, Mr. Needham?"

  "That is often the way of it," he replied. "The earl would only expect an appropriate degree of . . . circumspection on your part."

  "Circumspection? Are you saying he would not only expect his wife to take lovers, but would turn a blind eye? I don't wish to hear any more."

  "Might I convey to his lordship which part of his proposal you find objectionable?"

  "I think perhaps I object most to Lord Rochford's choice of emissary." She rose on legs that still felt like aspic. "Forgive me if I do not invite you to stay for tea, Mr. Needham. I am feeling quite indisposed." That much was true. Would she even make it out the door before the dam of emotions burst? "Rogers will be happy to see you out."

  She only managed four steps toward the door before he murmured her name.

  "Mariah, please. I can explain everything."

  She willed herself to keep her back to him. If his expression matched his pleading tone, she would surely fall to pieces. "There is no excusable explanation for what you have put me through, Mr. Needham. Please leave. I don't wish to see you again."

  ***

  "Can you believe the audacity of the man?" With skirts swishing, Mariah paced the chamber. "I feel like such a fool for ever caring about him!"

  "What reason did he give for breaking it off?" Lydia asked.

  "He didn't! We never even discussed it. I had barely overcome the shock of seeing him before he began speaking of Lord Rochford."

  "So Rochford has offered for you by proxy? How will you answer him?" Lady Russell asked.

  "I cannot even fathom considering an offer from Lord Rochford," Mariah replied.

  "Why is that, child?"

  "When I wed, if I ever wed, I would at least like it to be for my person, not just for my purse. I never held overly romantic notions of marriage, but I do aspire to marry someone who at least treats me with kindness, courtesy, and a modicum of respect. In return, I cannot respect any man who sends another to woo his bride." Her throat tightened as she fought another onset of tears. "How could he be so cruel as to come to me bearing an offer of marriage from another?"

  "Perhaps it was not by choice?" Lady Russell suggested. "He is in Rochford's employ after all."

  "Supposing that is the case, he should have refused, given the circumstances."

  "But those circumstances are what brought him back to London," Lady Russell pointed out. "You cannot know what he is thinking. Perhaps you should have given him a chance to explain himself."

  "I still can't believe you sent him away," Lydia said.

  "What would you have done in my place, Lyddie?" Mariah asked.

  "The same, I suppose," Lydia confessed. "I would have none of Marcus for weeks after he returned from Breda. But when we were forced together," she slanted Lady Russell a mildly accusing look, "we began to realize just how compatible we really are."

  "And in the end you reconciled with him," Lady Russell said with a self-satisfied smile.

  "Why, Lyddie?" Mariah asked. "You were so determined to break it off after he made you wait so long. What softened your heart toward him?"

  "In truth, I didn't want to soften," Lydia said. "But then Marcus began to see me as a true helpmeet. After I won his respect, he won back my love. He is still an arrogant arse, but I do love him passionately." Lydia smiled. "I confess our physical attraction was another major point in his favor."

  "One should never underestimate the power of passion," Lady Russell said. "My own marriage to Wriothesley was a most fortuitous match. We wed for convenience but discovered passion in our union. I recall sleeping very little in the first years of our marriage." Her eyes misted with a faraway look. "We would no doubt have had many more children had he not been taken from me so early."

  "Are you content with memories, my lady? Is that why you never remarried?" Mariah asked.

  "In part. Although I cherish those years still, in all truth, I have no real need of a husband when I have all the comforts of a queen. But we digress. We were speaking of you."

  "And I can't help desiring what you had, my lady."

  "Do you still have tender feelings for Mr. Needham?" she asked.

  "I don't want to after the ill way he has used me, but I don't know how I feel anymore," Mariah replied in a choked voice.


  "Of course, my dear," Lady Russell consoled.

  "Even if he begged, how could I ever forgive him?" Mariah asked. Yet, even as she railed against him, she couldn't banish his face from her mind.

  ***

  Nick had stood helplessly frozen to the floor as Mariah gave him her back and walked out. Bloody hell. He couldn't have blundered it any more if he'd tried. As he'd hoped, she hadn't the least interest in Rochford's proposal, but that was small consolation given that her rejection was largely because he'd been the one to present it. How could he possibly hope to win her back if she refused even to see him?

  He'd been such a fool ever to imagine he could sacrifice his own selfish desires and let her go. He'd known the moment he'd laid eyes on her again that he could not give her up, not to Rochford, not to any man.

  Nick was leaving Russell House just as Marcus was arriving. "Once more, we are well timed," Marcus declared. "I have just come from the Duke of Richmond's. I heard he has several horses for sale. I'm seeking a good English hunter to take back with me to Modena. The countryside there is ideal for the hunt, but the Italians know nothing of good horse flesh. Have you come to see Mariah?"

  "Yes. I have already spoken with her."

  "And?" Marcus prompted. "Never mind. Your expression tells me everything. Care for a drink?"

  "Yes. I could use one."

  After several brandies in Marcus's study, Nick found his distress had only marginally tempered. "She refuses to see me again. What am I to do?"

  "Do you recall how obstinate Lydia was when she perceived that I had snubbed her? Good Lord, what she put me through! She had me kneeling at her feet before she would forgive me."

  Nick grinned. "I never would have imagined you groveling, but I must say you are a better man for it."

  "If I am a better man, it is indeed because of her. I don't know how I ever lived without her."

  "I can't imagine myself with anyone but Mariah," Nick said. "I've never felt this way about another woman. I can't bear to give her up without a fight."

  "Fortunately for the male half of this world, most of the females of our species are possessed of a compassionate and forgiving nature. As I did with Lydia, you must get her alone with you somewhere private . . . and make it impossible for her to refuse you."

  "Impossible how?"

  "You must use every weapon in your arsenal." Marcus returned a slow, sly smile. "Did I never relate to you the . . . particulars . . . of how I won Lydia back?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "He who would search for pearls must dive below."- John Dryden

  THEY ARRIVED BY CARRIAGE at the Westminster pier, where the private barge awaited to take them to Richmond House. It was Mariah's first social outing, and she was filled with nervous anticipation. It had also been nearly a week since her fateful meeting with Nicolas. Her stomach knotted at the thought of another encounter with him, but as part of the diplomatic corps that had forged the peace, he was almost certain to be there.

  After a week's campaign of flowers she’d discarded and letters she'd refused to open, he was steadily wearing her down. Would he seek her out again? Would she once more snub him if he did? She didn't know if she had the strength to do so.

  Her heart was sorely bruised, as was her pride, but her anger had softened. She would not seek him out, but if he asked again, she would at least allow him to explain himself. That was not to say he'd be forgiven, but not knowing what had moved him to write that heart-wrenching letter still tortured her.

  It was just past dusk, yet the river teemed with sailing vessels of all shapes and sizes, from fishing boats to the wherries that taxied the working classes and then the elegantly canopied and gilt-adorned luxury barges, such as the one that would convey them to the duke's fete.

  The night breeze grew in strength as they approached the dock, blowing back the hood of her cloak. Mariah breathed it in as she stepped across the planks onto the barge, allowing her olfactory senses to explore the unfamiliar melange of scents—dank and briny riverbank mixed with the hemp and teak wood oil of the barge.

  Although Mariah would have preferred to remain in the open air to take in all of the sights and sounds of the Thames by night, she accompanied Lydia and Lady Russell inside the velvet-draped cabin.

  Ever solicitous of his pregnant wife, Marcus had ensured that the barge provided every conceivable amenity. The cabin was stocked with hampers of food and bottles of wine, and a Turkish divan provided a place of repose. Though Lydia rarely complained, it was evident by her demeanor that she was growing increasingly uncomfortable by the day. Mariah was both surprised and a bit envious of Marcus's thoughtfulness. Would she ever know such devotion? She had once thought it possible, had dreamt of the day she and Nicolas would have a child, but now her chances of that kind of marriage seemed so bleak.

  Marcus didn't immediately join them inside, but stood on deck until well after the oarsmen had launched the vessel.

  "Mariah," Lydia said. "Please don't let me forget that there is a package hidden in one of the hampers."

  "What kind of package?"

  "A gift for Marcus. I didn't know how else to carry it undetected, so I asked the footman to hide it in the hamper. Since tomorrow will be our first anniversary, I thought it appropriate to give him a signed first edition of Henry Fielding's newest novel."

  "Mr. Fielding has a new novel?" Lydia remarked excitedly.

  "Yes. It's said to be a scandalous story entitled The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. It is almost impossible to get one's hands on a copy, but Marcus is such a great admirer of his works that I had to find one. I am planning to surprise him with it at the stroke of midnight." Lydia bit her lip. "With all of the excitement of the party, I fear he may have forgotten our special day."

  "I am sure he has not," Lady Russell interjected. "I have rarely seen a husband so devoted to his wife."

  Although a short distance, the journey by barge took close to an hour with the river traffic that significantly increased the closer they got to Richmond House.

  "It appears we aren't the only ones who thought to travel by water," Marcus remarked at the long line of vessels queued to land at the duke's dock. "If we don't wish to wait here all the night, we will have to moor and approach the house by tender. Are you comfortable with that idea, my dear?" Marcus asked.

  "I am a passable swimmer," Lydia replied, "but I daresay I would float exceptionally well were I to fall into the Thames."

  "Don't even jest, my love," Marcus chided.

  Moments later, he hailed a passing wherry manned by two watermen, one of whom deftly ascended the ladder to assist the passengers. Marcus was first to board the smaller craft, from whence he assisted each woman by turn into the wherry—Lydia, then Lady Russell, and finally Mariah, who was halfway down the ladder when Lydia exclaimed, "Botheration! The hamper!"

  "My dear wife," Marcus said, "I daresay the duke will have enough food—even for you."

  "That's not funny, Marcus." Lydia swatted his arm. "I left something important on board."

  "Then I will retrieve it for you," Marcus offered.

  "Pray don't trouble yourself, Lord Marcus. I'll be happy to fetch it," Mariah said.

  "Yer hand, milady?" The wherryman on deck offered his own as she reascended the ladder. His collar was turned up against the wind and his tricorn pulled low, casting his face in shadow, but there was no mistaking the golden-brown eyes that stared back at her. The moment she came under the lamplight, she realized she'd been duped.

  "You!" She snatched her hand away.

  "Aye, me."

  Mariah spun back toward the ladder, only to discover the wherry had already pulled away. "I can't believe this!" she cried, aghast at the conspiracy. "Lydia! How could you?"

  "She didn't have much choice, I'm afraid," Nick answered. "Marcus wouldn't let her come tonight unless she agreed to give me a chance to speak to you. In turn, I promised her I would take you immediately back to them once you have heard me out."

&nbs
p; "Very well," Mariah said stiffly. "Speak your piece and take me back to them."

  "Please, Mariah." He stretched out his hand to her. "Don't be like this."

  "Like what?" she asked, backing just out of his reach.

  "So bitter."

  "How do you expect me to react after what you did?" She bit her lip to stop the quiver. "Do you think I am made of stone?"

  "No," he replied, reaching out to brush the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "Stone is cold and unmoving. You are all that is warm and wonderful. Please," he glanced at the oarsmen, "let us go where we can speak privately."

  His warm and gentle touch sent a familiar frisson to a place low in her belly. She despised her rebellious body that responded so readily to him. He pressed a hand to her lower back. She didn't resist as he gently propelled her toward the privacy of the cabin.

  "Why?" she demanded the moment he'd closed the door. "I kept my promise. I eagerly anticipated every letter and marked off each day that passed, thinking it one less that kept us apart."

  "As did I," he said. "Yet as the year came closer to an end, I knew that I was no closer to achieving my desire. I was utterly despondent and thoroughly foxed when I wrote that letter to you."

  "You were?" Was it true? Had he really written it out of despondency?

  "Yes, Mariah. I was wallowing in the pit of despair."

  "How do you think I felt upon receiving it?" she asked.

  "I didn't think about that. When I wrote you, I saw no way forward. I couldn't conceive of how we could be together. I meant only to free you, not to hurt you."

  "But you did!" she cried. "And the worst part was that you gave me no explanation." She averted her gaze and tried to swallow against the choking sensation in her throat. "I could only think that you had fallen in love with another."

  "Is that what you really thought?"

  "Yes."

  "My dearest heart," he murmured while whispering distracting kisses over her face. "Have I not told you that I have never loved anyone but you?"

  She pulled back from him with a frown. "How do you expect me to believe that when you did what you did? If you truly loved me as you claim, why did you insist on going away in the first place? Why did you make me wait?"