Boundless (The Shaws)

by Lynne Connolly

  The marchioness turned a freezing stare onto her that would have frozen a lake of water under the midsummer sun. “My children are not your concern, my lady. They have behaved well enough to engage themselves in useful occupations that are valuable to this country.” A not-so-subtle warning lay in her words.

  “I regret that I did not moderate my behavior,” Adrian said gravely. His cravat was torn aside, and the top half-dozen buttons of his waistcoat were undone. She’d managed to tousle his hair too, pulled some out of the neat black velvet bow at the back of his head. Despite that he spoke with all the hauteur of a duke. Livia had never seen him do that before. She had not even considered him capable of it. “When Lady Livia consented to accept my hand in marriage, I fear we were both transported by joy.”

  Then he released her, only to sink to his knees before her.

  Her heart sank before he lifted her gown slightly to reveal her cloth-wrapped ankle. Tenderly, he unwound the fabric. “Slightly reddened but the swelling is much reduced. I’ll find a maid to help you restore yourself, my love.” Getting smoothly to his feet, he lifted her trembling hand and kissed it before laying it gently on her lap. He turned, his stance still protective of her, to address her mother. “And I beg your pardon, Lady Strenshall. I had merely intended to ask Lady Livia if she would accept me, should I approach her. I had meant to pay the marquess a visit in the morning. But I was so overjoyed by her acceptance we perhaps became a trifle over-enthusiastic. The blame is all mine. Of course we remain at your husband’s disposal.”

  But her father would hardly deny him now.

  “Do I not have a say in this?” Her protest might be futile, but she would be damned if she’d allow them to believe her a milksop miss, overwhelmed by a duke’s passion. What a fool she’d been. But however tight this corner, they would emerge unscathed. The Shaw family always did and she would not let the family down.

  “Of course, dearest.” His tender smile warmed her inside, despite her anger. They could have got past this without any word of marriage. After all, Lady Calman wanted Adrian for her daughter. They could have agreed not to say anything. Livia would wager that would have worked. “You have every right.”

  Oh, now he said it. Far too late. “I did not exactly accept you.”

  “As you should not,” her mother said briskly. “You know you will not do that until his grace has spoken to your father. But we may take it that he will accept his visit to you.” She shot Livia a scathing glance. “Your appearance says as much.”

  Livia sighed. She would speak to her father first. Perhaps he would reject Adrian’s request. “I beg your pardon, Mama.” She would not do so in private, but the Shaws never engaged in public squabbling. How could she even consider marrying the man? How could her mother consider it? She suspected she did not, but was making the best of a scandalous situation. Someone would talk, if only to remark on the length of time the duke and Livia had spent together in an unoccupied bedroom.

  The print shops would be full of the story in the morning and that, in many ways, was worse than the scandal-sheets. Livia did not doubt that Lady Calman would spread the story, if only out of spite. She had invited every eligible duke in London to her ball tonight in order to snare one for her daughter, and Livia had snatched one from under her nose.

  Her mother examined Livia’s ankle and sighed. “I do not want you walking again tonight. I would appreciate the services of a footman to carry her home immediately.”

  “Indeed,” said her ladyship. No doubt eager to spread the scandal, she scurried from the room, her daughter at her heels.

  Lady Strenshall quietly closed the door. “We must steal a march on her. Can you walk, Livia?”

  “I daresay I can manage. It’s only a wrench.”

  Her mother nodded. “Very well.”

  “I can take her,” Adrian said.

  The marchioness fixed him with a steely glare. “You, sir, have done enough for one night. If you wish to ameliorate this situation, then pray go to the clubs and carry your news. You are excited and pleased with your choice of bride.”

  “Mama—”

  Livia’s mother cut her off by raising one hand. “Please, we don’t have much time. You will go home and let the maid put you to bed, Livia. Please don’t argue. The footman will not accompany you. The coachman will be enough. Our man will go to the offices of the London Gazetteer. He will allow them to bribe him and he will tell them what I tell him to.”

  “And that will be?” Adrian drawled.

  Anyone else would have heard the menace in his voice, but either Lady Strenshall chose not to or she truly did not notice. Or did not care. “That the Duke of Preston anticipated his prearranged visit to the Marquess of Strenshall and proposed to Lady Livia. The duke was searching for a place to conceal himself after the shameful chase by Lady Calman to attract his interest for her daughter, and he found Livia recovering from a badly damaged ankle, after Lord Calman had danced with her and trodden on it heavily. Distressed by her condition, the duke blurted out his proposal.” She frowned. “Yes, that will do. Can you do that?” She lifted her chin, challenging the man who was fully a foot taller than she.

  Livia enjoyed seeing such a large man confronted by her mother in full flow. Few people could resist her.

  “I may,” Preston said. “But are you sure you want your daughter associated with the Blackamoor Duke?”

  “Pshaw!” Livia had always admired her mother’s capacity to find the right words in any situation. “What has that to do with anything? We will discuss your association at another time. However, if you ever want to maul my daughter again, you will comply with my plan. Considering I had so little time to develop it, I think it will serve. We must go on the attack as fast as Lady Calman. I saw the light of battle in her eyes, even if you did not.”

  Abruptly Adrian turned and went to the mirror hanging on the wall. As he swiftly buttoned his waistcoat and retied his cravat, Livia caught sight of a slight indentation in one cheek. He was suppressing a smile. “I did, ma’am. I will do as you wish, if only to protect Lady Livia.” He tugged at the ribbon at the nape of his neck, letting his hair swing free, and set to smoothing it back once more. “My man wants to add curls at the ears, but I have never yet allowed it. Perhaps I should.”

  Livia wanted to sift her fingers through those abundant locks. A hint of a curl coiled the ends, tempting her to touch, to wind them around her fingers and drag him back. What he’d shared with her was explosive, and if not for the advent of their visitors would have gone much further than it did. That powerful body, the slight roughness against her palm when she stroked his jaw, the promise of more…he had beguiled her. She couldn’t call it seduction. She was as much of an active party as he was.

  With practiced hands, he grasped his hair in one hand and wound the ribbon around it with the other. “I will not swear to stick to your script, though. If embellishments occur, I will use them.”

  Lady Strenshall grimaced. “Try not to. My daughter’s reputation is at stake.”

  He turned to face her, the skirts of his rich velvet coat swinging against his thighs. “I am aware, ma’am. I will not damage that.”

  “Any further than you have already.” Lady Strenshall sighed heavily. “I suppose there is no stopping you.”

  After a sharp knock on the door, a footman in the Strenshall livery entered. “My lady?”

  “Lady Livia has damaged her ankle. Carry her to the carriage and take her home. Send it back for me. Ensure she is carried into the house and up to her room.” She fixed Livia with her gimlet gaze. “Go straight to bed, and do not allow anyone other than your maid into your room.”

  Livia wanted to protest, but what did she have to protest against? She could not go downstairs with Adrian, that would answer everyone’s questions and the scandal would spread. She could hold her head high and see the scandal through, but she could not b
ear to face that.

  Not after she had hidden a much greater scandal. Casting about her, she spied the brooch, nestled in the folds of the counterpane. Snatching it up, she gripped it firmly. At least she had that back.

  Chapter 8

  “Are you sure about this, my dear?” Lady Strenshall was surrounded by the gowns that her daughter had already discarded. The bed was piled high with silk, satin, cotton and velvet.

  Livia glanced over her shoulder to where her mother stood, deliberately in the way. Her maid, in the process of pinning a lace cap to her mistress’s head, tutted, as well she could with a mouth full of pins. More of a low-throated grunt of protest. “About what?” She plucked the skirts of the gown she had finally settled on, a cream and cherry-red concoction, and flipped the satin bows marching down the front of her stomacher. “Do you think it isn’t right?”

  “It will do. Your father is closeted with the Duke of Preston.”

  “He’s arrived already?” Goodness, she wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t considered what she should say, or how, or if she should allow him anywhere closer than a yard to her. Livia had spent last night making her bed into a churned-up mass of sheets.

  “An hour ago.” Lady Strenshall turned over a gown. “You still have this thing? I told you at the time you should not wear it. I thought you’d passed it on to Drusilla. Apricot is not a color you should even consider wearing. Not with your hair.”

  The gown had been Livia’s small rebellion against blues and greens, together with the peach she had worn the other night. But the apricot had been a mistake. “Do as you wish with it, Mama. It would become you, if you wish to take it.” What did gowns matter?

  Her ladyship addressed Finch. “Bring the gown to me when you clear this up.”

  Finch, her mouth full of hairpins, bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lady.” She thrust in another pin and dropped the rest in the dish on the dressing table. “I suggest you wear the pearls, my lady.”

  Good woman, doing her job. However, Livia didn’t want to discuss anything with the woman present. She would trust her maid, but the fewer people who knew of her dilemma, the better. “You may go, Finch.”

  The woman bobbed a curtsy and left.

  “Good. Now we may speak freely,” Lady Strenshall said with satisfaction.

  Livia didn’t like the sound of that. “About last night?”

  “Naturally. You cannot marry the Duke of Preston.”

  Her heart leaped and her stomach screwed itself into a small ball. Hearing that sentence did terrible things to her. Made her want what she couldn’t have. But she did not voice those feelings now. “I know.”

  She picked up her fan and tucked it in her pocket, taking one last look at herself in the mirror before turning away. Finch had drawn her hair back tightly, so the drag was almost painful. Her gown had few embellishments, only a double ruffled cuff. She hadn’t allowed her maid to pull her stay laces as tight as usual, so her breasts did not rise under the prim linen fichu wrapped around her chest.

  She would not wear the pearls.

  “He isn’t for me. I’m not for anyone, Mama, I know that.”

  Her mother nodded. “You must accept his proposal for now, but I trust your father is making clear that this is only a temporary measure.”

  She shook her head. “If I marry at all, it cannot be to a philandering scoundrel.” Recalling Preston’s many kindnesses to her, she bit her lip. He had not shown that side of himself, the ruthless, uncaring man who took and discarded women quicker than he used handkerchiefs. “It cannot be to someone at the center of society. I have tried to avoid contact, Mama, I truly have.”

  Lady Strenshall’s eyes showed nothing but sorrow. “Your father is doing his best to find an excuse, a reason to stop him even asking you.”

  Because now Livia had become an official old maid. On the shelf, unmarried, a spinster. She had longed for this condition, not to have the pressure of marriage any longer. Nobody would eye her as a prospective bride, other than the eternal fortune hunters and old men wanting companionship. Perhaps she should consider them.

  A lifetime of being an aunt and cousin, becoming a companion to her mother, who did not truly need one loomed before her. She could pursue studies, paint, spend more time playing music. All the things she enjoyed more than attending balls and having men and mamas judge her for what she was, not who. That ended today. As soon as word got out that she had refused the Duke of Preston, she’d be relegated to the back seats of life.

  Just where she had always wanted to be.

  Boredom awaited and she couldn’t be happier. Except, one thing was for sure—she would never be bored with Adrian.

  Except she’d had a taste of what might have been. Those kisses, the caresses had woken her to a world she hadn’t believed existed. If she turned her back on all that, she would never know it again. That touch of ecstasy.

  Not for her. Never again. She had donned her armor, and she was ready to use it. She had even painted her face, albeit with a little red on her cheeks and a dusting of rice-powder. Not the heavy white cream some of her contemporaries used, but more than usual.

  “Will this create a scandal?” Her lip trembled, but she easily controlled it. She’d faced much worse than this.

  “Probably, but not much of one. He did the honorable thing by proposing marriage, and you will do the right thing by accepting him, but only for a few months. He is a walking scandal.”

  “Yes.” But he should not be. As she’d come to know him better, she’d understood more about him. He had done no worse than many other members of society. Only his recklessness made him stand out. And his coloring, proclaiming him a living scandal, a constant reminder of what his mother had done. Society would expect her, the daughter of one of the country’s most prominent peers, to refuse him.

  Her mother dusted her hands briskly, as if the situation was already dealt with. “We can leave for the country as soon as tomorrow, if you wish. As soon as his Parliamentary business is done, your father will follow us. Then the news of the betrothal can die a slow death. There is no reason at all why we should even visit town next season, if you do not wish to.” With the practice of years, she glided with unconscious grace to the door. “I will not chaperone you for more than five minutes. I trust you to do what you need to.”

  She put her hand on the door panel and stood frozen before she turned back. “But if you wish to go ahead with the marriage, we will not cast you off.”

  Then she left, with a swish of skirts and the gentle tap of her shoes.

  Livia had nothing left to do, no more preparations to make. She followed her mother down to the green drawing room.

  * * * *

  After an excruciatingly tedious meeting with Livia’s father, Adrian finally left what was admittedly a comfortable study and a footman escorted him to the green drawing room. For a horrible moment Adrian thought the man was going to announce him but fortunately, after a gentle tap and a “Come!” from inside, he opened the door and allowed Adrian to enter.

  His attention went immediately to Livia. If he’d been struck blind he’d still know where she was sitting. He bowed to her first, although he should have offered his first bow to her mother, as the older lady and the superior in rank.

  But perhaps not superior in rank for long. His discussion with her father had solidified a few things in Adrian’s mind, and the decisions he’d come to were probably not what his lordship had wanted. Served him right, for assuming matters he should not.

  Livia sat, white-faced and unsmiling, her hands folded in her lap. Resplendent in a cherry-red and cream gown, she warmed his heart. Enough for him to worry a little. First he had to go through the kind of social niceties he despised and avoided at all costs. When he picked up his tea dish and answered Lady Strenshall’s question about the success of the last harvest on his various estates—something he left to his st
aff—he caught Livia’s half-grin before she suppressed it. And damnation, he answered it with a smile of his own, warm and intimate, just between then.

  Abruptly, Lady Strenshall put down her tea dish and got to her feet. “If you will excuse me, I will leave you. I need to discuss something with my husband. I am anxious to catch him before he leaves for his club.”

  If affairs went according to plan, Adrian could be leaving with him, in order to put on a united front. He stood and bowed, going to the door and opening it for her ladyship. Blackamoor or not, Adrian knew his manners.

  Although he closed the door quietly, Livia flinched at the small sound. She was nervous. Why, he couldn’t imagine. They had struggled through the awkward situation last night. Now all they had to do was arrange the niceties.

  Instead of returning to his chair, he sat next to her and reached for her hand. “Now, my sweet. Shall we decide what happens next?”

  She snatched her hand back, clasping it in the other protectively, as if he’d burned her. Turning her head, she stared at a spot past his left ear. He would rather she looked at him. “Sir, your grace, I appreciate your kind offer. You got us out of the uncomfortable situation with considerable aplomb.” She bit her lip in a way that made him want to do it. Then to soothe it with his tongue before taking the kiss deeper. Even the thought of it made his groin tighten. Later, he promised himself. Let her speak first. He didn’t take her hand again, although he sat close enough to do so.

  Adrian knew the value of patience, although he rarely imposed it upon himself. He did so now.

  Livia blinked hard, and her throat moved in a swallow before she spoke again. “Indeed, there was little else we could do, given the circumstances. I’m aware that the situation was of my own making, and I owe you an apology.”