"But you did."
He breathed out a quick, frustrated breath and set his candle on a table near the front door. "Why, exactly, are you here again?"
"After your brother and his wife baited you, you were so quiet and you barely looked at me." He hooded his eyes, not answering. "I never meant for you to endure ridicule and pain on my behalf," she said. When he wouldn’t look up, she rested a hand on his forearm. It felt so easy to lay it there.
"You shouldn’t be here," he said darkly, staring at her hand.
"I know—believe me, I know—but I was worried about you."
"I assure you I’m fine," he said.
"But truly? If my sister had spoken to me the way your brother spoke to you—"
"Would your sister steal your intended?"
Chastity blinked at his interruption. "Of course not."
"Then already her character is worthy of far more concern than my brother’s. I assure you, Miss Drummond—" He laid both his hands gently on her shoulders. "—I am not hurt by his remarks."
"Truly?" She rested her own hands on top of his. They were warm, and a little rough, although from what she couldn’t imagine.
He nodded and gulped, his eyes intent on where their hands joined over her right shoulder. She felt a jolt of energy.
"Our agreement continues, then?" she asked, her voice cracking.
At this, he finally released her and pulled back. "How can you continue the agreement knowing you’ve no real affection for Mr. Highster?"
"I’ve affection enough for a marriage," she said in her own defense. "And we’ve plenty in common, including our love of the high seas."
"He has no love for the sea like you do—it’s only a post to him."
She opened her mouth to defend Mr. Highster, but couldn’t. Because part of her had considered this to be true. He hadn’t seemed one bit interested in anything she had to say. She’d been a nuisance, but nuisance or no, he was the best candidate she knew of to take over her father’s administrative duties. "Please, Lord Willoughby, I beg of you, help me continue our farce."
He gave a short laugh. "Farce? Tell me, what part of this is farce?"
"The presumed engagement," she said. Perhaps waking him from sleep had been a bad idea—he seemed confused. "Please tell me you haven’t forgotten the plan."
"Ah yes," he said mockingly. "My presumed interest in you. A farce, isn’t it?"
He moved swiftly. One moment she was standing a foot away from him. The next he’d gathered her against his chest, his hands splayed at her back, his lips on hers for the second time.
But unlike the first time, this wasn’t his mouth pressed against hers. This was his mouth savage upon hers. He tilted his head, pulling her closer.
There was no dry brush of lips as there had been before. Her head tipped back, her pulse hammered through her, making her flush with heat. One of his hands trailed up her shoulders to her throat and his mouth slid down to meet it. He dragged his lips across her skin, as if drinking her pulse.
He slid his fingers to tilt her face back toward him and brushed his thumb against her lower lip before dipping his head again to take her mouth. The brush of his tongue sent silken sweetness writhing through her.
She melted against him, molded to him, clawed at his shoulders and it seemed they might be sinking to the floor…but then she realized he was pushing her away.
With a stream of expletives, he held her at bay. "See," he said bitterly. "A complete farce. All of it."
He seemed unhinged, but no more than she. They were both breathing hard, their chests rising and falling in unison.
With that he opened the door and checked the street. She could hear a carriage clattering by and he waited until it passed before hustling her outside. As the cold night air bit at her cheeks she finally found the voice to say, "So we’re in agreement that our engagement shall continue?"
But the door shut behind her.
That was twice now he’d kissed and then discarded her.
* * *
"You have a caller," Jeffrey announced.
"We do?" Cassandra asked looked up from her design sketches.
"Show him in," Chastity said as she rose from her chaise, butterflies dancing across her skin.
"How do you know our visitor is a he?" Cassandra asked. "Are you expecting someone? Why didn’t you tell me? You know I’m in no state to receive visitors."
Chastity peeked in the mirror and pulled back the stray curls escaping her knot before taking her seat. She couldn’t very well tell her sister that she’d kissed a man—twice—and there was so much left to be said between them that he likely was visiting. Although she didn’t know what to say once he arrived.
She’d barely slept during the night. Memories of his drugged kisses, his mouth on her throat…
"Chastity, please," Cassandra croaked. "May I leave?"
With a quick glance to make sure her companion was comfortably posted on the piano stool, she nodded.
"Thank you," Cassandra sighed. "It took you long enough—who is this visitor?"
But before Chastity could answer or Cassandra could take her leave, Jeffrey returned. "Mr. Peter Highster," he announced.
Chastity swallowed her disappointment and pasted a smile on her face as she rose to greet him, then retook her seat on the chaise.
She should be ecstatic. That Mr. Highster was here meant her ploy with Lord Willoughby had worked wonders—and after only one dinner, at that. At this rate, by tomorrow’s ball she’d have a proposal in hand.
"Miss Drummond," Mr. Highster said with a bow. "Miss Cassandra" he said to her sister.
A tea service was discreetly brought.
"I’m sorry you were unable to join us for dinner, Miss Cassandra," Mr. Highster said.
Cassandra coughed what may or may not have been a yes or a strangled cry. Her hands shook and she dropped her sketches to the floor.
"Let me help you." Mr. Highster picked up the pages, standing up slowly as he studied them. "Are these engine designs?"
"Ye—ye—yes." Cassandra gathered the pages against her chest.
Chastity furrowed her brow. Cassandra’s discomfort was obvious, even when discussing her favorite of all subjects, but at least she was speaking…out loud…to someone who wasn’t related to her or in the family’s employ. Still, it wasn’t wise to test Cassandra’s mood once her stuttering began.
"Might you return the drawings to father’s study?" Chastity suggested.
Cassandra nodded on a gasp, giving Chastity a look of thanks before escaping.
Mr. Highster stared after her, his jaw working as he took his seat. "Those were very interesting modifications. Is that your father’s newest endeavor?"
"You’ll have to ask my father when he returns at week’s end," Chastity said apologetically, not eager to admit she knew very little of the company’s engineering.
"Ah," he said. "Surely your sister—"
"Has plans for the morning," she said. "But should you wish to discuss other aspects of our company … our plans for expansion, perhaps? As we discussed last night—"
"Perhaps we can make arrangements for me to discuss those with your father upon his return."
"Oh. Absolutely." Her hand shook so her tea sloshed a little over the rim. She wiped it away, brushing aside the discomfort that her cotton frock should be soaked right away to avoid staining. He was eager to discuss engineering with Cassandra but not financials with her?
Well, of course he wouldn’t want to discuss anything related to operations with her. She was neither the owner of the company nor its operator. She had no public means of affecting operations, only private.
"It so happens, Miss Drummond, that I may have other business to discuss with your father. Business of a more personal nature, should that be pleasing to you."
The supposition hung in the air—did he mean to declare interest in her?
That was precisely what she wanted. She wanted to marry a man of his position who would
be able to help secure her father’s company’s future.
But now that he’d said it, she couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t excited at all.
Chapter Four
Normally, Chastity would not feel awkward about wearing the gold silk gown that she had worn days ago to another event. Especially since she’d taken care to accent it with an ivory shoulder wrap and, instead of confining her hair in a knot, she’d swept it back. But at tonight’s ball, she felt self-conscious.
Francesca was still sickly and unable to attend. Cassandra, of course, had begged off. Worse yet—worst of all—Lord Lucas Willoughby was nowhere to be found, leaving Chastity feeling very much alone.
She should not feel alone.
In fact, she had never been more popular.
Mr. Highster had fetched her half a dozen drinks. Her dance card was nearly full. Several ladies had stopped by for polite conversation, which were merely veiled attempts to unwrap the rumor that she may or may not be engaged to Lord Willoughby.
"How long have you lived next to Lord Willoughby?" one particular lady asked.
"Four years," Chastity answered, struggling to remember the woman’s name. She was tall, sleek and sophisticated, every bit the lady Chastity would never be.
"Do you know the others?" the lady asked.
"The rest of his family does not reside in Lord Willoughby’s home. My understanding is his brother resides across town and his parents remain in the country."
"Not the others in his family." The lady leaned close. "I meant…the others."
The other fiancees.
She hadn’t given them much thought until now, but it occurred to her that Lucas Willoughby had cared enough for six women, six years in a row, to propose marriage. Combined with the knowledge that he’d kissed her twice in the past week, she wasn’t sure what to think of the man.
Was he fickle? He didn’t seem so. A rake? No, there were no rumors to suggest that.
"I recently met his brother’s wife, but cannot claim to know her well nor any of the others at all," Chastity said. "Can you?"
"Two of them," she said triumphantly.
"And?" Chastity asked, hating herself for stooping so low as to ask.
"And…they were very different women. In fact, if you consider it—not a single one of them looks the same or acts the same or comes from the same pedigree. Isn’t that curious?"
Chastity hadn’t considered any patterns among Lucas’ fiancees before, but it was true. Each lady was different from the next, which bothered her. A lot was bothering her tonight, and by the time she consumed another glass of punch delivered from Mr. Highster and Lord Lucas Willoughby made his grand entrance and gave her a charming smile from across the ballroom, she was irked and annoyed.
"Miss Drummond," he said in greeting as he approached her. Everyone surrounding them scattered as if they would have better viewing from afar.
"Why did you propose to all those women?" she asked.
He frowned. "What women?"
"You can’t possibly have forgotten your six prior engagements."
He grabbed her forearm and walked her toward the French doors swinging out toward the gardens. His expression darkened as he glanced around the ballroom. All eyes were on them, watching, every tongue whispering.
Once they reached the terrace where the number of couples fell from several hundred to a half dozen, he spun her away. "Ask me again." He was breathing heavily, his hands anchored to his hips. Almost as though he was daring her to ask the question.
She cleared her throat. "Why did you propose to all those women?"
"I don’t know," he said.
She blinked, wondering if she’d misheard. If she’d been too distracted by his angelic dark curls. It was ridiculous how attractive he was sometimes. "You don’t know? You were struck by memory loss prior to the proposals? Six times?"
"Are you quite finished?"
"No," she said, feeling the anger clawing its way up her throat. "Did you love any of them?"
"Which answer would you prefer?"
"The truth."
"Are you sure?" He stepped closer, towering over her now, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. "Would you rather I loved them all and was heartbroken? Or would you rather I was a callous, unfeeling ass who was stupid enough to become engaged to six people toward whom I was completely indifferent?"
"I don’t know," she cried. She felt so out of control, so annoyed with herself. "I wish…."
"You wish what?"
"I wish…."
He sighed and brushed his fingers over her forehead. He gazed into her eyes, his expression softening. "Yes?"
"I wish you hadn’t proposed to those women."
"But then I wouldn’t be the Matchmaking Baron," he whispered.
"Is that who you are, Lucas?"
His eyes darkened and he guided her backward into a dark corner against a Doric column. Her back pressed against the cold, hard surface and he brushed the length of his body against hers.
She cried out softly, which seemed to awaken him. He swore as he studied her disarray but didn’t step back, not this time. This time, his hands pressed at the small of her back. "I’m sorry I was carried away. It’s just…you’ve never called me by name before."
"Lucas?"
His eyes darkened again and he kissed her with a groan.
His lips were magic, were drink in themselves. "Lucas," she murmured against his mouth.
He deepened the kiss, straining against her, searching almost blindly for her tongue.
"Lucas," she teased again.
This time he pulled away and laughed, pressing a kiss to her hair before resting his forehead against hers.
When he finally pulled away, he gazed at her face, almost peaceful and contemplative. "Listen to me, Chastity. I proposed to those women because I wanted to be in love and married, but that doesn’t mean I was in love with them. I was young and naïve, and I assumed the rest would follow. But it didn’t. And it won’t—not for you and Mr. Highster, either."
She shook her head. She was forgetting herself and her purpose—that she was here to tempt Mr. Highster into marriage. Not be kissed senseless by her altogether too attractive neighbor.
She couldn’t let herself be distracted by her personal needs, not when her family was more important. "My arrangement with Mr. Highster will be different. It will be more than a marriage."
"There’s no such thing as more than a marriage," he said.
She pulled away from him and after a moment’s hesitation, he let her go. But he threw his parting words at her back. "You’re either in a marriage or not. And everything else is less."
* * *
Chastity laid a wet washcloth over Francesca’s sweaty brow. "Thank you," her friend moaned, closing her eyes and snuggling further under the covers.
"Is this normal?" Chastity asked. Her friend’s condition worried her.
"It’s insanity, but I suppose the two are not mutually exclusive. I’m sorry I keep my eyes closed, but I fear once I open them, yet another meal will find its way up."
Chastity hiked her hip onto the bed to sit at her friend’s side and prepared another cold towel in the basin of water on the bedside table. "How can I help?"
"Distract me," Francesca said. "It should be easy enough. I’ve heard rumors of not one, but two possible engagements in your future." Chastity wrung the washcloth harder and replaced the one on her friend’s forehead. "I don’t need to open my eyes to know when you’re avoiding an answer."
"To be fair, in truth I have no meaningful engagements."
"That is not what Phillip says."
"Since when does your husband engage in gossip?" Chastity found it hard to believe Francesca’s husband could be engaged in anything not having to do with his wife, with whom he was smitten.
"Since I’ve asked him to keep an eye on you."
"Francesca!"
Francesca moaned as the bed shifted with Chastity’s movements. "Please, no—I
beg of you. Amnesty."
"Only because your misery is punishment enough," Chastity said, arranging the sheets more closely around her friend’s shoulders. "Although I hope your doctor is correct that the vertigo will resolve itself once your nausea passes."
"Your hope is a distant second to my own. And don’t think you’ve distracted me—are you saying the rumors of your understanding with your neighbor, the Matchmaking Baron, have been grossly exaggerated?"
"I’m sure they aren’t exaggerated enough," Chastity said with a sigh.
Francesca opened one green eye. "Explain that comment, please. I would rather not orphan my unborn baby, but if Phillip must dust off his dueling pistols I’d rather know sooner than later."
"There’s been nothing untoward," Chastity promised. "I merely propositioned him."
Francesca sat up in bed and in one smooth motion bent over its side to heave the contents of her stomach into a bedpan.
Chastity set to wiping her brow and mouth and turning her gently on her back. "For that, you owe me an explanation," Francesca said, closing her eyes.
"As you know, Mr. Highster unknowingly holds my father’s company hostage as he continues to determine which routes England will allow, and as you know, a marriage to him would be quite advantageous."
"I know nothing of the sort," Francesca said, "so please get to the part about your understanding with Lord Willoughby."
Chastity quickly recapped her arrangement with Lord Willoughby, as well as the charade’s success with Mr. Highster. She left out the more intimate physical details of the past week. "It’s all spiraling out of control," she said.
"Illicit engagements often do," Francesca said knowingly.
"What should I do?"
"It depends on what you want."
"I want Father’s company secure," she said. "I can tell that continuing with the administration of the company is killing him slowly. His trips to sea are longer and longer. He can barely bring himself to look at a ledger and if he continues this way, we’ll be in ruins. I can’t keep covering for him."
"Then you must end your understanding with Lord Willoughby immediately. You’ve already caught Mr. Highster’s interest. Surely there’s no need for the continued charade."
An Illicit Engagement (The Gentlemen Next Door) Page 4