by Lyn Stone
She had hoped at first to appeal to someone she knew to give her some respite from her uncle, but he had warned her no one would. In fact, she had nothing provable to complain about except his clearly implied hatred and her suspicion that, for some cause unknown, he wished her to wither and die. She could not run away again, for even if he were disposed to let her, where would she go and what would she do?
Revealing her fears to anyone and asking their interference might imply hysterics on her part. Wardfelton had accused her of that himself, cleverly attributing it to her martyring grief and self-induced illness. No doubt he had already broadcast that diagnosis to anyone willing to listen. Secluding her in a madhouse was a distinct possibility, and perhaps tonight was meant to set the stage for that.
Damn the man and his threats! This was no way to live, and she was sick of it. Why had she stood it for so long?
Let him do his worst. She probably would die soon one way or another. Sad, but that fact seemed oddly freeing at the moment. It wasn’t as if she stood any chance of ever making another match or doing any of the things a young woman of means might undertake. She had no means. No prospects at all. Why not do as she pleased tonight and damn the consequences?
Without thinking any more about it, Grace placed her gloved hand in the captain’s again. He swept her onto the dance floor and into a scandalously close waltz.
She was not so familiar with the steps, but he held her firmly and guided her as if they had practiced daily for weeks. Grace found it exhilarating, being held so near and whirled about so expertly.
After one turn around the floor, she looked up at him. “Why do you do this, really? You have already made us a spectacle, so honesty will lose you nothing.”
His expression smoothed out. “Honestly? I need a wife. And I am guessing that you need a husband. That is why we are here, is it not?”
“You do know Wardfelton. He has put you up to this.”
“We have never met, I vow it on my life. I will admit I sent Lord Trent as my emissary to ask Wardfelton’s leave to court you.”
“Oh, he would never agree to that,” she stated, quite sure of it. Who knew what her uncle would do to her simply for having this dance and conversation?
“Well, he did not refuse, either. Probably too deep in his cups. I can only hope he’s drunk enough to let me have you. Assuming you are willing, of course. Are you?”
She laughed a little. “What idiot steered you in this direction, I wonder? I’ve not a farthing to recommend me. I would come with nothing. Surely he made that clear enough.”
“I come with everything you will need. Make your demands and I shall meet them.”
Grace shook her head and kept a smile on her face, unwilling to let him see how painful it was to be toyed with in such a way. Yet she decided the best way to deflect this sort of jest was to laugh along with the jester. “Ah, well, if you put it that way… A thousand quid per annum, two maids and a shiny new phaeton. Oh, and diamonds, of course. A lady must have diamonds.”
He gave a satisfied nod. “Done and done, my lady. Only, you shall have two thousand, all the servants you like, plus a matched team to pull the phaeton.”
“Why, thank you!” she exclaimed with her widest smile. “But what of the gems, my lord? Does that break the deal?”
“No. Do you prefer blue or yellow stones?” He whirled her again, causing her stomach to flutter wildly.
“White diamonds,” she declared, leaning back and challenging him with her eyes. “You know, this is most entertaining. For you, that is to say. As for me, I should like to kick you in the shins and spit in your face. Manners prevent, however, so if you would kindly lead me back to my place by the wall and collect whatever sum you have riding on this farce, I would be most appreciative.”
He stopped dead still in the middle of the floor and stared down at her. The music faltered and the noise died down. With no apparent care for who was watching and listening, he took both her hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Lady Grace, you’ve quite stolen my heart and I cannot live without you. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” His voice was even deeper than before. And rather loud in the gathering hush.
A collective gasp shook the cavernous room. Someone dropped a violin and the strings pinged, the only other sound to be heard.
“Say you will have me, or my heart will break.” A stage whisper if she had ever heard one. It fairly echoed round the room.
Grace barely resisted the urge to throw back her head and laugh out loud. She had not laughed that way in so long, perhaps she had forgotten how, but the urge was there.
She glanced over the group surrounding them and saw Wardfelton had entered the ballroom and was standing there with his mouth agape. She realized at that moment she would do virtually anything to discommode him further. And anything to get away from him permanently, even if it landed her in a worse fix. Well, here was her chance.
She recalled the old expression, better the devil you know… Balderdash, that wasn’t so in her case. The devil she didn’t know could hardly be any worse than Wardfelton. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to live without constant terror. And for some unfathomable reason, she had no fear of Captain Morleigh. None at all.
Grace looked back into the eye of the presumptuous man who held her hands. Here was no devil, only a slightly disfigured fellow who doubted his appeal to women so devoutly he would settle for the one he thought most desperate. Well, he had found her right enough.
The description of him that Miss Thoren-Snipes had passed around had been widely dispersed, according to Grace’s companion earlier this evening. Perhaps Morleigh suffered more than anyone knew, especially if he was now reduced to pleading with the least-agreeable woman in the room to marry him.
He began to look hopeful then, taking her hesitation for wavering, she supposed. It certainly was that. She felt him draw her closer as he leaned down to speak privately. “All that I promised you, plus independence,” he whispered, then added, “no conditions attached.”
“None?” Yes, he was mad.
“Well, faithfulness, of course,” he said against her ear. “We will vow that much when we wed. But otherwise, you shall do as you please, go where you will, act as you choose.”
“Your word of honor?” she whispered back, actually considering it seriously. She might be trading one threat for another. Morleigh could beat her, lock her away or possibly get rid of her permanently as she was sure her uncle planned to do. Even as she thought that, it seemed more likely this man would simply leave her to her own devices if she displeased him. Or even if she didn’t. It certainly was a gamble, but she really had nothing to lose.
“Then yes,” she replied in a whisper.
“Louder,” he suggested. “That will make it official and irrevocable.”
“I will!” she declared, flashing her uncle a steely glare. “I would be honored to marry you, Captain Morleigh. My heart is lost and I simply cannot wait to be your wife.” Who cared if that sounded like a line from some mawkish play. So had his loud proposal.
Morleigh kissed her hands, each in turn and signaled to the orchestra. “Gentlemen, if you please, a celebratory waltz!”
Stunned, shaken, still feeling the urge to laugh wildly, Grace followed his lead until the music stopped.
Lord, she felt dizzy, overcome with heat from the exertion. The moment he released her to applaud the music, she swooned. Her last thought was that she had finally starved herself into wild delusions. This night could not be real.
Chapter Three
“Fetch a do
ctor!” shouted Caine. He felt her wrist for a pulse and found one. It seemed steady enough and only a trifle weak.
No one came forward to help. Highly unlikely that a mere physician would be present at the assembly, so he scooped her up in his arms and strode out, barking an order to have his carriage brought round on the instant.
“Where do you think you’re going with her?” Wardfelton demanded loudly. He followed them out the front entrance and scampered around to hamper Caine’s progress.
“She needs a doctor. I know one. Stand aside. She’s mine now.”
“She is not yours!” The man’s outrage seemed real enough. “I forbid this!” he shouted. “Put her down, I say!”
“Come with us if you’re worried about her. Otherwise, stand clear!”
Half the attendees had followed them out to the steps and stood transfixed. Better than a horse race or a boxing match, Caine figured. More food for gossip at any rate. He needed the audience, so he didn’t mind.
“Someone call the watch! This is abduction!” Wardfelton cried, wheeling right and left, searching for someone to interfere.
Caine faced him down, the lady’s inert form between them. “Lord Trent is my witness. He spoke for me and you did not deny my asking for her hand. I have done, and with intentions most honorable. She is of age to accept without your consent. Lady Grace will be properly chaperoned by my aunt, the countess of Hadley, until she recovers and then we shall be married.”
“This is absurd!” Wardfelton announced, still looking around for support amongst his peers.
“Is it? What is your objection, sir?” Caine noticed the carriage making way along the thoroughfare to where they stood at the edge of the steps. “I marry her not for money or property, for you and she both swear she has none. I admire her enormously and find her delightful.”
He appealed to the crowd, whose female members had just uttered a sigh and were looking rather dreamy eyed. “Beauty is as beauty does, you know. And she does beautifully so far as I am concerned.”
Another collective sigh and numerous eager nods of approval. As he meant them to, the women present were eating this up with a spoon.
His carriage now awaited with the door open. Caine turned sideways and stepped into it with his featherlight fiancée still in his arms, her head resting on his chest.
She had revived on the steps. He had felt the tension in her thin body the moment he had faced down Wardfelton, but she continued to feign unconsciousness. He didn’t blame her in the least, and it did suit his purpose of keeping crowd sympathy.
“Don’t come round yet,” he warned her in a whisper as he waited for the footman to close the door. “Your lady friends are sighing at the romance of it all. Add that to their relief that I’m no longer in the market for a bride and we two could become legend.”
“Thank you for a moment I shall never forget,” she whispered back. “Even should you dump me in the nearest ditch, I would still feel beholden. The look on his face was priceless. I peeked.”
He grunted in response as he shifted her more comfortably on his lap. “You are guaranteed more than a moment. Can you survive all this or do you plan to faint on me regularly?”
She shook her head. “No, it was merely the exercise. I’ve not danced in ages. Or eaten of late. Is there food where we’re going?”
Caine relaxed. “I believe we can find something.”
*
The carriage was well away from the crowd now. Grace sat up, moved off his lap and onto the opposite seat. She leaned forward and clasped her hands on her knees. “So we are going to your home now?”
“My uncle’s house here in Mayfair, where you’ll be properly chaperoned, as I promised.”
She nodded. “All right. This is no jest, is it? You truly were not in collusion with him.”
“With Wardfelton? You heard our exchange.”
With a heartfelt sigh, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Thank God.”
“I’ll send someone round for your things tomorrow,” he said. He reached up and started to shift the patch from his eye, then stopped himself.
“Oh, go ahead. The binding must be dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said with a flap of one hand. “My father was a doctor and I assisted with patients. I shan’t be shocked by an empty socket.”
Still he didn’t remove the patch. He merely studied her in the carriage light. “You seem a different sort from the lot I’ve known.”
“Truer than you could ever guess,” she admitted, then stifled a yawn with her hand.
“Are you ill, Grace?” he asked, then seemed to realize his impertinence. “Sorry. May I call you Grace in private?”
“Address me as you like. I suppose you have a given name?”
“Caine,” he replied, looking a trifle uncomfortable.
He had a strong face and very fine skin where it wasn’t scarred. His hair was rather too long, but a lovely shade of brown and with a slight wave to it.
She imagined he had been far too handsome for his own good before his injury. In fact, he was even now, though he would never believe it should anyone say as much. “How were you wounded?” she asked.
For a full moment, he remained silent and she thought he would refuse to answer. Then he did. “Artillery fire.” He gestured to his face. “A shell exploded nearby and I was struck by fragments. Killed my horse.”
“But you survived,” she said, fascinated and wishing he would tell more. “That’s the important thing.”
“So I thought at the time. Wouldn’t you like to lie down? I’ll make a pillow of my coat.” He began to take it off.
“No, don’t bother. Is it very far?”
He glanced out the window. “Almost there. How do you feel?”
“Exhausted, if you must know,” Grace admitted. “But I shan’t need a doctor. A good night’s rest should put me right. And food, as I said before. I’m famished.”
“Good God! Has he been starving you?” Caine demanded.
She laughed, giddy and a bit light-headed. “No. I’ve done it to myself.”
His worried expression said what tact prevented. He thought she was the mad one. And given her present situation, perhaps he was right.
*
Caine would not second-guess his choice. That was not his way. He made decisions and lived with them. If one proved wrong, he worked it to his advantage as best he could. Never vacillate, never look back on what might have been. And now he had chosen a wife. Granted, this decision had been made more impulsively than most any other in his life, but he would stand by it.
He would stand by her. For some uncanny reason, he felt an odd kinship with the little Lady Grace and had from the moment he had first seen her across the ballroom. Odd.
Trent had followed them home and stood in the foyer behind him as he introduced Grace to his uncle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Oliver. The older women curtsied even as she frowned at the newcomer. Caine could sense her disapproval, or perhaps it was only concern. The earl might mirror that when he met Grace, since she did not possess the appearance of a healthy breeder. No matter.
“Mrs. Oliver, could you arrange something to feed us?”
“The three of you, milord?”
“Yes, but nothing fancy. A simple tray in the breakfast room will do nicely. And a pot of strong tea for the lady.”
“Only brandy for me,” Trent supplied. He turned to Grace with a succinct bow. “I am Gavin Trent, friend of this nodcock you’re now attached to.”
“And his second this evening, so he tells me. Thank you for your assistance with the arrangements,” she said with a curtsy.
“My pleasu
re.”
“This way,” Caine said, ushering Grace down the corridor.
“A lovely residence,” Grace observed, sounding a bit breathless. “Your uncle is…?”
“Earl of Hadley.”
She turned to him. “And you are his—?”
“His heir. Yes, you will one day be a countess. I understand your father was an earl, so perhaps you won’t mind the station.” Caine hoped she wouldn’t faint again and took her arm in case she did.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed, her hand clutching her bodice. “Why me?”
Caine might not know much of women’s minds, but he certainly knew better than to be completely honest in this instance. “You looked positively regal standing there. I was quite smitten.”
She laughed out loud, a full-throated, joyful sound he hadn’t expected. It was contagious and he laughed with her. Trent shot him a frown and, obviously not amused, went straight for the brandy decanter when the butler appeared with it.
They sat at one end of the breakfast-room table, Grace on his right, Trent to the left. “So, here we are,” Trent said on a sigh as he poured a draft into three snifters. “What now?”
“Would you see about getting the license?”
“If you like.” Trent gulped a swallow and winced at the burn. “But first I’ll need information you haven’t given me yet. Where will you marry?”
“Do you have a preference?” he asked Grace.
She gave a shrug and a small shake of her head. “Anywhere.”
“The chapel at Wildenhurst,” Caine stated. “It’s close enough that Uncle can attend comfortably, but not here in town where we might be plagued by hordes of the curious. Have you friends you wish to witness or attend?” he asked her.
Again, that small, disbelieving shake of her head. She knocked back the entire contents of her glass and coughed.
“Easy there. Are you quite all right?”