One Moonlit Night (Moonlight Square: A Prequel Novella)

by Gaelen Foley

  His father marched closer. “Did it never occur to you, in addition, that dueling is illegal in the first place? Is my son, a future peer, to be arrested for breaking the law like a common criminal? Do you have any idea what it would do to my bill in Parliament, the one I have been working on for the past two years, Gable?

  “And even if you aren’t arrested,” he charged on, not letting Gable get a word in edgewise, “since justice so often turns a blind eye to our kind, people learn about these things! How does this make you look to decent folk? Adultery and dueling?” he cried. “What sort of example, I ask, are you setting for the lower orders?”

  “I never set myself up to be an example for the lower orders, Father,” Gable attempted angrily, but his father talked over him.

  “Well! If hitting you in the purse strings is the only way to get your attention, then you leave me no choice. I did not want it to come to this, but I would be remiss in my duties as your parent if I let this continue.” The earl rounded his great oaken desk again, resuming his seat of authority and power. “If you wish to keep your handsome house in Moonlight Square, dear boy, your memberships at the Grand Albion and White’s; if you wish your bills paid to the tailor and the boot maker, and the pubs and the brothels, and the wages of your household staff paid, then you will do your duty and comply. Any questions?”

  Why, it was the most his father had spoken to him in years.

  Gable dropped his gaze, but could not quite hold his tongue. He lifted his chin, politely glaring. “Why don’t you just choose my wife for me, as well, Father? I’m sure you must have ideas about that. You always seem to know what would be best.”

  “Don’t give me your cheek,” the earl warned. “No. So long as she is suitable, you will choose your own bride. Perhaps, then, you might just be inspired to be a faithful husband after having tempted so many other men’s wives astray. I expect a report on your progress within a sennight. However, ahem, as it happens, I did make a list of my preferences for you,” he admitted. “Here. You may peruse them at your leisure.”

  He slid a piece of paper across his desk to Gable, who picked it up, numb.

  “If you wish information on the young ladies or their families, that can be arranged.”

  In shock, Gable skimmed the list, so incredulous he almost could have laughed. “These are the daughters of your political allies!”

  A defensive flicker passed behind his father’s eyes, but he shrugged. “So? Strengthening such ties would be most advantageous. Well, you might as well go and have a look at them. It can’t hurt!”

  Jaw clenched, Gable refused to read any further. It was all he could do not to tear the paper into shreds. Furious, he felt as though a noose were closing around his neck, even as he’d barely just survived a duel. His father, the political lords, and their simpering daughters could all go hang.

  His pulse thumped. “Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Why, yes, in fact, there is. And this part may please you. I am not so cruel a father as to know how difficult this may be for you. So I have devised a couple of carrots, as well as the stick, for my wayward son,” he said dryly. “Choose a bride off my list, and I will give you Castle McCray for your country house. You always liked it up there in Scotland, by the sea. Furthermore, should you produce a child within a year of your marriage, I will double your monthly allowance.”

  Gable stared at him in amazement. “You think you can bribe me into having a child, too?”

  “When you have a family, your financial needs will increase,” his father said in an oh-so-reasonable tone.

  And although this was quite true, and very much the way things were done, Gable was revolted. Dazed, he folded up the list and tucked it into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, feeling like some sort of stud horse about to be crossbred with some equally purebred filly, for no other bloody reason than to produce the wanted foal.

  It was repulsive, he thought, standing there while his father stared matter-of-factly at him, waiting for him to absorb his instructions.

  Alas, his reaction was probably not what His Lordship had desired. For Gable was suddenly filled with rebellion, glad for every woman he had seduced. In that moment, he was a rakehell to the core, worse even than Netherford—defiantly proud of his charity work in giving Society’s poor, hobbled broodmares a brief, wild taste of freedom. Hell, every one of them deserved it after being auctioned off, as was the way of their class, and put through this exercise in humiliation.

  He could barely wait to pleasure even more of them. He almost told his father to take his fortune and shove it up his arse, but he bit back the words at the last minute…for he liked his easy life, and had no desire to acquaint himself with the sponging house.

  Then he was disgusted with himself. God, maybe he really was a whore.

  At a loss, Gable just shook his head, turned away, and walked toward the door without even bidding his elder a good day.

  “Are you quite clear on what is expected of you?” the earl clipped out after him.

  “Crystal,” he muttered, and slammed the door behind him.

  His heart was pounding and his mind was a blur as he gusted out of the house in a fury, marching down the pavement, ignoring passersby.

  With the powerless sense of rage washing through him, he could suddenly relate all the more to the marital pressure that had driven Lady Katrina to angry, futile tears on the night he had met her.

  The thought of her stopped him mid-stride.

  Hold on!

  He took his father’s list out and unfolded it, a crafty smile spreading across his face. Well, I’ll be damned. There it was, third name down, in his father’s own hand: Earl of Beresford – several eligible daughters, your choice.

  “Oh, ho, ho…” A vengeful snicker escaped him. Now, here was one solution he could live with.

  Hell, I can even get a castle out of the deal.

  For he knew one very agreeable daughter of Lord Beresford who’d likely be glad for any offer she could get at this point. Relief flooded him. Thank God. Their meeting at the gazebo that night must’ve been fate.

  Lady Katrina was the obvious solution. He liked her, and he was more than willing to bed her.

  Repeatedly.

  They got on well enough, and she already knew he had no serious intention of ever changing his picaresque ways, especially now that his controlling father was trying to force him to do so. Two birds, one stone.

  Gable could be very stubborn indeed.

  Well, Trinny, my girl, he thought roguishly, jumping up into his phaeton and feeling quite pleased with himself. I hope you like Scotland.

  Of course, he knew full well that she already liked him. Why, he might even fancy getting the chance to play her rescuer, saving her from her spinsterhood fate.

  A good deed, after all his wicked ones.

  It never crossed his mind that her answer could ever be anything other than a joyful yes.

  Chapter 4

  A Dubious Proposal

  One of the most wonderful and unexpected consequences that dawned on Trinny after choosing the single life was that, at last, she could eat anything she wanted.

  The prospect of flouting Mama’s longstanding order to curb her hunger for the sake of a trim figure filled her with wicked glee. Now free from the oppressive obligation of snaring a husband, she decided to indulge that very day.

  After all, she had cause to celebrate. Dear Lord Sweet Cheeks had survived his duel.

  And so, she ended her daily constitutional in Hyde Park by going straight to the famous sweets shop, Gunter’s, with her lady’s maid in tow. With a smile from ear to ear, Trinny waited in the queue, discussing the confections on offer with her maid with childlike excitement. When she reached the front counter, she ordered a dainty goblet of chocolate ice cream with a great, shameless dollop of whipped cream on top. She bought some for her maid, too.

  “Oh, miss, it’s not necessary,” Cora protested.
<
br />   “Eat, girl! Lord knows you deserve it for all the work you do keeping me and all my sisters looking coiffed and well-dressed. Besides, you’re too skinny. What flavor?”

  Cora could not mask her grin, and said, “Pistachio.”

  Then they walked back out into the midday sunshine of Berkeley Square, and Trinny couldn’t help but gloat at all the starving debutantes who foolishly felt sorry for her. She and her maid drifted down the pavement with their treats, in raptures.

  “Mmm.” Trinny ate the ice cream luxuriously, licking bite after bite off the little spoon, making sounds of pleasure at the sheer deliciousness of it.

  She only realized that perhaps some might think she was making a pig of herself when a smooth voice drawled, “So, it’s good, then?”

  She looked up from her creamy, sugary treat and suddenly found herself face to face with Lord Roland.

  His deep green eyes danced as he watched her gulp the mouthful down in embarrassment.

  Blushing, she laughed and dabbed at her mouth with the napkin provided by the shop. “You’re not going to ask me to share it, are you?”

  “Aw.” He feigned a pout, then narrowed his eyes. “Hand it over.”

  She turned away, pretending to hoard it, but when he grinned, she laughed again and gave him the goblet and spoon. He proceeded to take a huge bite.

  “Greedy! Leave me some!” she scolded playfully.

  He surrendered it back to her, his mouth full, but his glance merry.

  She hugged the treat close to tease him, enjoying their camaraderie.

  “So,” she said at length, “you’re alive.”

  He nodded but did not answer aloud, still quieted by the ice cream in his mouth.

  “I was so relieved to get your note. Thank you for remembering to send it,” she added. “How did it go?”

  He shrugged, still eating, but gestured in the direction of Moonlight Square, and then he walked with her. Cora chaperoned, following them at a respectful distance. Fortunately, the environs of Gunter’s were considered a perfectly respectable place for young ladies to be seen in the company of gentlemen. For that reason, Trinny did not intend to go far. Besides, they had to return their goblets and utensils.

  “Thank God you didn’t get shot,” Trinny said.

  “Actually, I did,” he informed her after he finally swallowed.

  “What?” she cried, turning to scan him. “Where?”

  “Across the arm. Don’t worry, it was just a scratch.”

  “Oh, you poor thing! Here. Clearly you need this more than I do.” She gave him back the ice cream.

  He took it without argument. “If you ask me, I got off easy,” he mumbled, then scooped another spoonful from the glass goblet. “Well done, by the way. The chocolate is the best.”

  “Does it hurt?” she asked. “Oh, never mind—silly question.”

  He chuckled. “It stung.”

  “Well, I hope you learned your lesson!” she chided, nudging him with her elbow as he ate his next bite.

  “About that…”

  She furrowed her brow and looked askance at him.

  “It’s been an interesting morning.” He licked his lips and handed her back her ice cream. “My father heard about the duel and summoned me for a lecture.”

  “Oh dear.” She gave him a sympathetic frown. “One can’t really blame him for being angry, though.”

  “True,” Lord Roland agreed. Then he paused, studying the pavement as they strolled along.

  “So what did he say?” she asked.

  He slid his hands into his pockets with a shrug. “He ordered me to marry or have my funds cut off.”

  “Oh, that is harsh! You must be hating this,” she offered in heartfelt concern. “Based on what you said at the gazebo, I know marriage was the last thing you wanted.”

  “Well, he is going to force my compliance. He even gave me a list.”

  “A list?” she echoed.

  “Of approved young ladies.”

  She shook her head. “How very helpful of him.”

  His gaze slid sideways cautiously to her. “You were on it.”

  “What?” She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. “Me?”

  “Apparently your father is one of his political allies. So?” He gave her a beguiling little smile. “What do you think?”

  Trinny stared up at him, incredulous. “I’m sorry, are…are you asking me…?”

  “To be my wife, yes.” His expression was unreadable, as though he were at the gambling table. Not a flicker of doubt passed behind his eyes. His gaze was steady. “I do see the irony, of course, considering I was the one who told you to shun the vicar’s mousetrap. But you and I seem to get on rather well, and considering the circumstances… Well, I don’t think we’d do too badly, leg-shackled together. So what do you say?”

  She was quite speechless for a moment.

  “Oh dear,” he murmured at her continued silence. “Well, say something.”

  “Now you ask me?” She shook her head, at a loss, then snorted. “You have some timing, my lord.”

  He furrowed his brow, worriedly searching her face, as though this was not quite the reaction he’d expected.

  “The timing was not of my own choosing,” he reminded her as they walked on.

  “I daresay! If it was of your own choosing, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

  He did her the courtesy, at least, of not denying it, but conceded this with an uncertain shrug.

  “Lord Roland—”

  “Gable,” he corrected her.

  “I just finished taking your advice!”

  “I know, I know.” He sighed.

  “I changed my whole life based on what you said to me—because you inspired me! I gave my parents this whole big dramatic speech! I’ve already brazened out Society’s reaction! If I go back on my decision now, the whole ton is going to think it was just a sorry lie on my part, and that you were forced into it, and only chose me out of pity!”

  Which was exactly the case, she realized, the thought instantly curdling the ice cream in her belly.

  But meanwhile, her handsome companion was scoffing at her words as they resumed their walk, Trinny moving dazedly.

  “That’s not the case. I like you well, my lady. I find you very agreeable, and I think you know that’s the truth.”

  She eyed him in suspicion, then paused to ask Cora to take her empty goblet and spoon back to the shop for her. She did not want the servant overhearing any more of their conversation.

  “It makes sense to me,” he said.

  “A marriage of convenience.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you said marriage is a cage, a trap. And I assume—forgive me if I’m wrong—that you have no desire to, er, shall we say, change your ways?”

  He avoided her gaze, but his diplomatic silence told her all she needed to know.

  She shook her head, realizing the firm conditions of his offer. What nerve! This was not a marriage proposal; it was a rooming arrangement.

  “No, thanks. I’ll not be made a laughingstock over a cheating husband,” she said, then shuddered. “No, thank you, indeed.”

  “Oh come,” he cajoled her, “it’ll be fun.”

  She eyed him in severe disapproval. No doubt that charm usually got the rogue everything he wanted, especially where females were concerned.

  “You realize we only just met? We barely know each other,” she pointed out.

  “That is not uncommon among those betrothed, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  She scowled at him, ignoring the bizarre reality that after being rejected by far less desirable suitors, she couldn’t seem to get rid of this one.

  “You don’t want to be a countess?” he goaded her, as though his vanity had taken hold now. Like he had to win this contest for his pride’s sake.

  Why? Because to be rejected by the girl no one else wanted was just too much? She gave him a dirty look.

  “Well, at least it must mean som
ething to you that I don’t care if you’re a quiz—your words, not mine!” he reminded her when she belted him in the arm for that remark. “Ow! Do you mind? Bullet wound.”

  “You deserve it,” she muttered.

  “Now, now, dear girl,” he soothed, eyeing her in bemused fascination. “I understand that the, er, limits on what I’m offering you may not be entirely to your liking—”

  “But beggars can’t be choosers? Is that it? I thought you applauded my decision!”

  “That is not what I was going to say! I was going to say that at least I accept you for who you are. You don’t have to pretend with me or ever feel nervous, the way you described feeling around those other chaps. Ever since that night I found you crying in the park… Well, I happen to like you being eccentric. That must count for something!”

  “Certainly.” She gazed up at him in dismay, tempted, in light of everything. Don’t do it, her heart warned. It can only lead to disaster. She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Your acceptance of me as I am makes me very glad to have you for a friend, Lord Roland.”

  His eyes widened, as though no female had ever said such a thing to him before.

  Cora returned and they walked on, resuming their slow trek homeward to Moonlight Square. It wasn’t far.

  “Dear me, a friend!” he echoed in astonishment at last, his air of sardonic humor beginning to run a bit thin, by the sound of it.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered.

  He seemed to struggle for words. “I confess I am amazed, my lady. Am I to understand you are really turning me down?”

  “You’re the one who told me not to marry.”

  “Well, I’ve changed my mind!” he said with a flash of annoyance. “And maybe this time, it’s you who needs to swallow your pride.”

  “Me?”

  “Come, reconsider.”

  “There are other names on your father’s list, surely. Try them.”

  “I don’t want them. I like you. You make me laugh. There’s a castle in it for you,” he added with a roguish glance.

  “What castle?” she mumbled, admittedly intrigued and already beginning to wonder if she was an idiot for balking.