He’d allowed his gaze to unfocus while his thoughts streamed through his mind; he refocused on her and saw the genuine worry in her fine eyes, noted the way she was unconsciously gripping—not quite wringing—her fingers, and was appalled by his silly intransigence, his selfishness. He’d left her to shoulder the social weight of the evening, and now, on top of deserting her, he’d dragged her away from her guests.
He should have come to his feet when she’d entered. Where were his manners?
Abruptly, he drew in his legs and stood.
Only to realize, too late, that she’d been standing too close; instinctively, she stepped back, trod on her hem, and with a smothered squeak, arms flailing, toppled backward.
He lunged and grabbed her about her waist, but his feet got tangled in her multilayered skirts, and he tripped, then he was falling, too.
With a massive effort, he flung them sideways, toward the chaise.
At the last second, he twisted and landed stretched full length on his back, with her on top of him.
Her elbow rammed into his chest, and his breath left him, just as the sensations of her body impacting on his—her lush breasts squashed to his chest, her hips and thighs cradling his—slammed into his awareness, and a ravenous desire he’d been endeavoring to suppress roared to full-blown life.
He froze.
So did she. She wasn’t breathing any more than he was.
Her gaze locked with his; he saw the change in her wide blue eyes as she registered that the softness of her stomach was cradling that part of his anatomy the state of which he couldn’t control.
He steeled himself to deal with fluster, rejection, and retreat.
Instead…
Her eyes widened even more.
She stared at him—and he stared at her as the realization dawned that they were both struck dumb and rendered immobile by the most searing desire he’d ever experienced.
The doorlatch clicked. “You can rest in here.”
He and Stacie turned their heads to see Ernestine looking down as she and another middle-aged matron guided two elderly ladies, both leaning heavily on canes, into the room.
“You can lie on the chaise, Lady Hernshaw, and recoup before attempting your carriage—oh!” Glancing at the chaise, Ernestine came to a jarring halt. Her free hand rose to her throat. “Oh—oh, dear!”
Frederick managed not to roll his eyes. Oh, dear? The situation was far worse than that.
A multitude of gasps and shocked exclamations confirmed his fears; not only had the two elderly biddies and the other lady seen him and Stacie lying together on the chaise, but apparently, a small cavalcade of ladies had trailed them to the parlor door and got an eyeful as well.
Stifling a sigh, he smiled reassuringly at Stacie and whispered, “Follow my lead,” then helped her to scramble off him. The instant she was on her feet, he swung his legs around and rose to stand beside her.
With blithely arrogant unconcern, he directed a smug smile at the assembled ladies. “It seems you ladies will be the first to know. Lady Eustacia has just done me the honor of agreeing to be my marchioness.”
He’d kept her hand locked in his; he felt the jolt of her shock and pressed her fingers in warning, then smoothly, smiling with the full force of his ready charm, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles.
The impulse to follow that innocent kiss with one far less innocent almost floored him. What the hell?
He wrestled his desire back into its cage as Stacie, her features rather blank for a lady who had supposedly just landed one of the biggest and certainly the most elusive catch on the marriage mart, shifted to face him.
Wearing the smile of a nobleman who’d seized a prize he’d wanted, he met her eyes as she endeavored to assemble the correct expression; her lips curved, and her features softened into a believable mask of happiness.
Thankfully, only he was close enough to see the horror that swam in the depths of her eyes.
Chapter 6
It was almost two hours later before the house finally fell silent, the guests all gone and Stacie’s sisters-in-law packed off to their own homes with a promise to reveal all tomorrow—meaning today, for it was now long past midnight.
Frederick could only give thanks that her brothers—including her half brother, Raventhorne—had left earlier, before Frederick had been discovered not quite in flagrante delicto with their only sister.
Later today would be soon enough to deal with the Cavanaughs.
The other Cavanaughs. First, he had to calm Stacie.
He sat in the armchair he’d earlier occupied in her parlor and sipped the large brandy Ernestine had happily handed him before taking herself off. Being affianced meant that he and Stacie no longer required a chaperon, which, given the subject they had to discuss, was just as well.
Stacie, meanwhile, was wearing a track in the carpet before the fireplace. “You don’t understand!” Dramatically, she flung out a hand. “I can’t marry you!”
He’d intended to swiftly and simply explain how and when their supposed engagement would come to an unproductive end, but her vehemence struck a nerve. Didn’t she know what a catch he was? Just thinking that might be atrociously arrogant, yet it was undeniably true. Shouldn’t she at least have paused to consider the prospect before insisting it could never be?
Stacie halted, hauled in a huge breath, then walked to the chaise and collapsed on its end. From the moment they’d fallen on the wretched piece of furniture and she’d realized that not only was Frederick attracted to her but she was equally attracted to him, her mind had felt fractured, her wits in utter disarray.
That he desired her was one thing; over the years, many gentlemen had. What had rocked her—blindsided her—was her response; apparently, she desired him—or desired him to desire her or…
Never having dealt with such a situation before, she wasn’t certain she was interpreting any of it correctly, not least her own reactions.
Subsequent to that moment and his utterly stunning but necessary declaration, she’d been forced to keep her entire focus on not panicking and, instead, presenting the right façade—that of a lady thrilled at having secured an offer from one of the ton’s most eligible noblemen. Indeed, given the success of his musical performance, at that moment, he was arguably the ton’s most eligible gentleman—wealthy, well-born, titled, handsome, and talented. From the ton’s perspective, he was an enormous catch.
But she wasn’t going to marry. For her, marrying was far too dangerous and not just for her.
Not that she could explain that, certainly not to him.
She eyed him where he sat, sipping brandy and silently regarding her—as if she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Given the desire that had erupted between them, that, courtesy of that moment on the chaise, had manifested and remained simmering in the air, him wanting to know more might prove dangerous, too.
But the time for mindless panic was over; she had to face what was and sort it out. “It was neither my fault nor yours that I fell and we landed”—she waved at the velvet expanse beside her—“as we did. I understand perfectly why you declared we were engaged—Lady Hernshaw might be old, but even overcome with faintness, she has all her wits about her.”
“I noted that her attack of faintness evaporated on learning our news.”
“Be that as it may, I don’t wish to marry, and neither do you.” She studied him. “You’re what? Thirty? You have years yet before you need to marry.”
He tipped his head. “Thirty-two, but otherwise, you’re correct. I was planning on enjoying my bachelor existence for quite a few more years.”
“There you are, then. So!” She blew out a breath and tried to focus her slowly reassembling wits. “At this moment, only you and I know our engagement is a sham, made necessary by unavoidable circumstances.”
“Indeed.” He took another sip of brandy, watching her over the rim of the glass.
“But neither of us wishes to marr
y, so what’s the best way of resolving this…situation?”
He lowered the glass, studied her for a moment, then said, “Us stepping back from the altar won’t be easy to explain. I’m a marquess possessed of significant wealth and estates, in excellent health, and passably handsome. In ton terms, I’m the definition of a highly eligible parti.”
She made a derisive sound. “You’re ridiculously handsome and an excellent catch.”
His lips twitched, and he inclined his head. “As you say. And you’re a marquess’s daughter, sister of another, have a certain level of independent wealth, and are considered a great beauty. All the ton’s ladies will envy you while all the ton’s gentlemen will envy me. By every criterion imaginable, we are the definition of a well-nigh perfect match—no one is going to readily understand us suddenly changing our minds and calling it off.
“Compounding that, you have, until now, avoided all matrimonial entanglements, I presume despite the active encouragement of your female relatives and connections, many of whom rank as grandes dames.” He pointed a finger at her. “That, more than anything else, is going to make backing away from our necessary declaration an exceedingly delicate task. You must have noticed how incredibly thrilled and relieved your ladies were on learning you’d finally taken the plunge.”
She grimaced. He was more observant than she’d given him credit for; the female members of her family had been in alt. But... “They’ll come around.”
Frederick nodded. “In time. Which is my point.” He continued to watch Stacie closely. “There is a relatively simple and straightforward way out of the snare that circumstances have forced us into, but it can’t happen overnight.”
She fixed her eyes on his. “What way?”
He inwardly smiled, careful not to allow his satisfaction to reach his eyes. Neither he nor she had planned any of this; it hadn’t been some trap one had devised and the other fallen into. Neither had wanted to become engaged, yet now they were, her resistance, perversely, had provoked a contrary reaction in him. He didn’t understand it, didn’t entirely trust it, yet the impulse to carefully consider the benefits of their new situation before ending it was too strong, too powerful, for him to deny.
And underneath all else, he was curious—about so very many things.
“It’s easy enough.” He held her gaze. “No one will believe us innocent of wrongdoing if we break our engagement off now, so we’ll behave as if we are, in fact, a newly affianced couple, and we’ll continue to play that part until summer. Then, in July, when the ton has quit the capital and is busy doing other things, we’ll quietly let it be known that we have, after all, decided we don’t suit.”
A frown slowly formed in her eyes as she imagined that.
Smoothly, he continued, “Given our respective ages—that we are both beyond the years of mindless frivolity and are regarded as sensible adults—no one will question such a plainly well-considered decision. However, for the very same reason of our ages, which also place us in the liable-to-be-indulging-in-liaisons class, we can’t call off the engagement too quickly, say within the next few weeks, because then everyone will assume we invented the engagement to conceal a potentially scandalous interaction.”
Her gaze grew distant, her frown manifesting and drawing her fine brows down.
After a moment, he murmured, “We have a simple choice—end our engagement soon and find ourselves the scandalmongers’ favorite target, a fate neither of us deserves, or take our time, pretend our engagement is real, and ultimately, step free without any repercussions.”
She refocused on his face. “You’re willing to do that—to pretend we’re engaged for the next four months?”
He lightly shrugged. “We’ve managed to work together in successfully organizing our first musical evening.” It had been only a week since he’d agreed to the venture, yet… “We’ve rubbed along well enough.” He drained the brandy, watching her all the while. Lowering the glass, he murmured, “Of course, once the ton gets over its excitement and moves onto the next happening, we won’t need to be quite so assiduous in keeping up our façade.”
“That’s true.” After a moment, she straightened, and her chin firmed. “I’ll need to tell my family the truth.”
He thought quickly and countered, “Just your sisters-in-law and Ernestine. If your sisters-in-law tell your brothers, well and good, but I’ll speak with them directly.”
Her frown returned. “The Cynsters—”
“No. And I won’t be revealing the truth to my mother and Emily, either.” He caught her gaze and willed her to accept the condition, one his instincts insisted was necessary. “The more people who know our engagement is, as you termed it, a sham, the harder it will be to maintain a believable façade for the wider ton and the more likely someone will let our secret slip, and we’ll be plunged into scandal for no good reason.”
She grimaced. “You’re right, but this seems so unfair—it wasn’t as if we were actually indulging.”
More’s the pity. He promptly buried the thought.
The clock on the mantelpiece whirred, then chimed three times. He set aside the glass and got to his feet. “I should leave—we’ll both have meetings with others to weather later today. I’ll send a notice to the Gazette, but it won’t run until tomorrow’s edition.”
She rose and fell in beside him as he walked to the door. “Not that the ton will need a notice in a newspaper—I predict our engagement will be the principal topic of conversation over the breakfast cups throughout Mayfair and surrounds.”
He grunted and walked with her along the short corridor to the dimly lit front hall. She’d sent her staff to their beds before he and she had sought refuge in the parlor; the two of them were the only ones awake and about in the house.
They halted before the front door, and he faced her, caught her hand, and gently squeezed. “So we’re agreed—we behave as if our engagement is real, at least until July?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
He scanned her face, but the shadows cloaked her expression and made reading her eyes impossible. They were standing quite close; on impulse, he raised the hand he held to his lips and, more slowly this time, brushed a lingering kiss to her knuckles.
Because he was watching her like a hawk, he detected the slight hitch in her breathing and the way her lips fractionally parted. He definitely wasn’t the only one who felt the prod of that flaring attraction, wasn’t the only one susceptible to it.
For a second, he battled an impulse to lean closer and taste her lips, but he wasn’t sure either of them was yet ready for that—ready for what such a caress might reveal. Instead, he forced himself to smile easily and release her hand. “I’ll call later in the day.”
She nodded again. “Until later.”
She opened the door, and with a last tip of his head, he walked out. He paused on the porch and heard the door softly shut behind him. His carriage waited by the curb, his coachman nodding on the box.
He started down the steps, his mind toying with a novel notion. She’d inveigled him into performing for the ton again; she hadn’t accepted his initial dismissal and had persisted until he’d agreed.
If pushed, he might now admit that him returning to playing within the ton might, indeed, be a good thing—something that was meant to be.
So why shouldn’t he return the favor?
He had no idea why she was so set against marrying—given her age and unmarried state, it didn’t appear to be marriage to him but marriage in general she’d taken against.
She’d boldly challenged his stance of not playing for the ton—and had been proved correct.
Perhaps it was time someone—him—challenged her attitude to marrying.
He reached the carriage and opened the door, startling his coachman awake. “Home, Jenkins,” he ordered and climbed aboard and sat.
As the coach quietly rattled off, he leaned back in the shadows and pondered a fact even more unexpected than their engagement, namely,
that a large part of his mind was insisting that convincing Stacie to allow their unintentional engagement to stand was not just a good but an excellent idea.
Stacie stood in the shadows of the front hall and stared at the door she’d closed and locked. Her senses were not entirely steady; the back of her knuckles, where Frederick’s lips had brushed, still felt entrancingly warm.
She hauled in a constricted breath and slowly let it out. She wasn’t at all sure that agreeing to a four-month-long sham engagement was the wisest course, but his arguments had made sense. And he hadn’t even thought to blame her for treading on her hem and landing them in this ludicrous predicament; some gentlemen would have.
After a moment, she looked around her—recalling all the people who had been there that night, the unalloyed success of her long-anticipated first musical evening, ultimately trumped by what the ton would consider the highest triumph of all, namely her engagement to Albury.
Success upon success—and behind it lurked potential disaster.
Still, he had thought of a safe way out for both of them; despite what her panicked mind had thought, they hadn’t been trapped into unavoidable matrimony.
Her thoughts, she realized, were going around and around.
She was utterly wrung out; she needed sleep. With a sigh, she turned and started up the stairs.
Today was already a new day.
After the eventful night, Frederick breakfasted later than usual. He was still at the breakfast table, sipping coffee and glancing through The Times, when his mother, trailed by Emily, swept into the room.
“Good morning, Frederick,” his mother said as she continued to the sideboard.
Slowly, Frederick inclined his head. “Mama. Emily.” Despite his mother’s even tone, he could only view her appearance with deep suspicion; she and Emily usually breakfasted in his mother’s apartments.
When his mother turned from the sideboard, a plate bearing a single slice of ham and a piece of cheese in her hand, Fortingale leapt to draw out a chair at the round table. Emily followed and accepted the seat alongside.
The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh: The Cavanaughs Volume 3 Page 12