‘Everyone except me, apparently,’ she snapped. ‘For I don’t recall you getting down on one knee and saying I would make you the happiest man in London if I gave you my heart.’
‘Well, that’s because I’m not such a sapskull,’ he retorted. ‘Anyway, what would be the point? I’ve known for ever that you have no greater ambition than to marry me. And...look, old girl, I admit I’m not ready to settle down quite yet—’
‘Not. Quite. Ready.’ It was no consolation to hear, now, that he’d been thinking of marrying her when he was ready.
He took her so much for granted that while she’d been in London, right before her eyes, and with her full knowledge, he’d joined the set that hung round Miss Waverley, jockeying with them for position as favourite.
Thank heaven she’d had her eyes opened to his true nature. If she really had ended up married to him, he would have treated her with as much consideration as though she were a piece of furniture.
‘But I know that when I am ready I couldn’t do any better than you,’ he added hastily. ‘Oh, come on,’ he blustered, going red in the face. ‘It’s been understood for ever. M’father...your brothers...and then when we kissed, I thought...’
So that kiss had been in the nature of an experiment. To see whether he could stomach the notion of marrying to please his father.
‘You went off to London, thinking your future secure,’ she spat. ‘Thinking you’d conquered me with one paltry kiss. Well, you are correct in saying you could do no better than marry me,’ she said coldly. ‘But I can most certainly do better than you. Lord Deben...’
As she began to turn away from him, Richard seized her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake.
‘Stop right there, Hen. Do not commit yourself to anything in a fit of pique. I admit, I may not have given you as much attention since you’ve been in town as you would have liked, but I thought we’d have our whole lives ahead of us.’
‘You didn’t even have the common courtesy to call on me, as a family friend, never mind accord me the kind of respect the woman you planned to spend the rest of your life with deserves.’
‘At least I didn’t make myself a subject for gossip with indiscreet behaviour, like you did. What do you think your father will say when you get home and he finds out you’ve been making a fool of yourself?’
‘If anyone has been making a fool of themselves this Season, it has not been me. Watching you trotting round at Miss Waverley’s heels like a spaniel has to be the most revolting display of idiocy in which you have ever engaged. And that includes the time you harnessed those poor cows to your father’s gig and they pulled the entire rig to bits in the middle of the high street and tipped you into the midden.’
‘That was for a wager,’ he said. ‘And leave Miss Waverley out of it. She...’
‘She what? Is worth a dozen of me, is that what you were going to say?’
‘No. But perhaps it is the truth. My God, it would serve Lord Deben right if you did accept him.’
‘Serve...him...right?’
While the two of them had been bickering, Lord Deben had remained very quiet. In fact, everyone in the room had gone very quiet, as though they were taking the greatest care not to remind those involved in the brangle of their presence. At one point Lady Twining had clambered on to the dais, opened and closed her mouth, reached out her hand imploringly, then pulled it back to her chest. And instead of saying anything, she was just standing there, wringing her hands. For there was nothing, in any of the books of etiquette, that covered interrupting a lovers’ quarrel that had turned into a marriage proposal from an earl in the middle of what was supposed to have been a poetry reading.
Henrietta wrenched herself out of Richard’s grip, turning to look at Lord Deben, to gauge his reaction. Did he look like a man who was waiting for the axe to fall? Did he look as though he dreaded what she might say next?
No. He looked completely calm.
For a second.
Just until he smiled at her. A lazy, devilish sort of smile that seemed to be daring her to do her worst.
Chapter Thirteen
Henrietta’s heart began to beat very fast. He’d said nothing on earth would have induced him to marry Miss Waverley. And she was sure nothing would pressure him into marrying anyone, if he didn’t want to. So the fact that he was kneeling at her feet, with that devilishly teasing grin on his face, must mean that he...that he...oh, dare she hope that he actually wanted to marry her?
He’d told her he would have to marry one day. That it was part of his duty. But from the way he’d confided in her, she’d assumed he’d already ruled her out.
But then just now he’d said that while he’d been away from town he’d missed her.
And he’d promised her, once, that he would never lie to her.
Did that mean he’d come to the conclusion that since he had to marry somebody, and he got on with her as much as he was ever likely to get on with any woman, he thought they could make a go of it?
Or had this proposal been a spur-of-the-moment thing? Was he just acting out of some fit of gallantry because Richard had been so insulting?
Gallantry? She almost laughed out loud. There was nobody less likely to indulge in a fit of gallantry than Lord Deben. And he never did anything on the spur of the moment. He laid careful plans. After giving everything a lot of thought.
If he really meant this proposal...
But then, supposing he didn’t? Supposing he felt secure in the knowledge she would turn him down?
His kneeling at her feet like this, expecting a rebuff, would therefore be a very dramatic act of...well, what, exactly?
Perhaps he still felt he was in her debt. He had gone to absurd lengths to repay her for coming to his rescue on the terrace in the first place. Or perhaps this was his way of repaying her for...well, for having so very nearly ruined her, that night on the sofa at the Swaffhams’ ball. Could he be suffering from a guilty conscience? He had looked rather tortured at one point that night. And again, earlier, when she said his movements were of no interest to her. Perhaps this was his way of offering her the chance to have her revenge upon him.
She could do so very easily by turning him down. It would be the talk of the town. How he had gone down on one knee at Lady Twining’s literary evening, for all to see, and claimed his heart beat only for her. He was laying his pride, his future, and his reputation as a consummate lover on the line here. If Lady Carelyon were here, she was sure she would be urging Henrietta to grind his pride into the dust.
If she had wanted to take revenge for the liberties he’d taken, and the harsh way he’d repudiated her afterwards, now was the time to do it.
But then, he was giving her the chance to make this anything she wanted it to be. If she refused him, she would have revenge on him. If she accepted him, she would have revenge on Richard for his neglect, and then the litany of insults he’d just heaped on her head. If she were to repudiate them both, and stalk out of the room with her nose in the air, she would not only have paid them both back, but would become a minor celebrity. Everyone would be talking about the girl over whom two men had practically come to blows at what was supposed to have been an elegant, intellectual evening held in aid of a worthy cause.
And to top it all, Miss Waverley would be beside herself with envy, for both of the men on whom she’d set her sights were fighting over Henrietta.
But had he really thought about what would happen if she accepted his proposal? Because he’d made it in public, he wouldn’t be able to back out, as Richard had warned him.
Though he really didn’t look as if he cared.
Perhaps he didn’t.
And that was where her deliberations came full circle. He had to marry someone and so it might as well be her.
Well, she didn’t want revenge. Not
on anyone. She wasn’t a vengeful person.
But she would like to marry Lord Deben.
If only...no, she thrust aside the little voice that clamoured if only he loved me. A girl who waited for Lord Deben to fall in love before accepting a proposal would wait for ever. If she was going to marry him, she had to take him exactly as he was and hope that, over time, her love for him would melt away one or two layers of cynicism.
But she was not going to let him walk all over her in the meantime.
‘My lord,’ she began tremulously, ‘I am well aware that you do me great honour by proposing to me. And I thank you for it.’
‘Henrietta,’ said Richard. ‘I’m warning you...’
‘And, upon certain conditions,’ she said, blocking him out by keeping her eyes fixed on Lord Deben’s wicked smile, ‘I rather think I might accept.’
‘Name them,’ said Lord Deben swiftly.
‘Hold hard, Hen,’ said Richard, at the exact same moment.
‘Speak your mind, my angel,’ said Lord Deben. ‘Tell me what conditions I must meet to win your approval and your hand.’
Taking her courage in both hands, she said, ‘If I agree to become your wife, I shall expect you to be completely faithful to me. If I ever discover you have broken your marriage vows, I shall...I shall...’ The thought was so appalling that she found her eyes sting with tears.
‘Break my nose?’ he supplied helpfully.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! A man like him will never be faithful to you! Look at him. He appears to think this is funny. When it’s my whole future at stake.’
‘Not yours, Richard,’ she said firmly. ‘Mine. For I must tell you that whether I choose to accept this proposal from Lord Deben or not, nothing on earth would ever induce me to make the monumental mistake of becoming your wife. Should you ever,’ she said pointedly, ‘get round to asking me.’
‘What?’
‘You heard her, Bishop,’ drawled Lord Deben with a smug smile. ‘She has far too much intelligence to throw herself away on a country bumpkin like you.’
Hearing someone fling the words Richard had used to belittle her right back at him made her want to cover his face with kisses.
‘She was born,’ said Lord Deben with a touch of hauteur, ‘to preside over the houses of a man of influence in this country. To act as his hostess whether he invites politicians or peers, foreign ambassadors or tenants to his table.’
A sudden qualm struck her. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’d be rude to them. You know how outspoken I can be...’
‘When you are a countess,’ he countered smoothly, ‘you can be as rude as you like to people and they will just say you are charmingly eccentric.’
‘No, but I wouldn’t want to let you down.’
‘You could never do that. And I will endeavour never to betray your trust in me by giving you cause for jealousy.’
‘Really?’ Hope timidly tried to push aside her doubts.
It didn’t quite succeed. He was not exactly saying he would be faithful. Only that if he strayed, he would be discreet about it.
She supposed that was quite a concession, from a man like him.
His face softened. ‘Unlike your country swain,’ he told her, ‘I will not regard marrying you as settling for anything. There is nobody else I could consider trusting with my future. My children. My heart.’
She looked at him. There was a pulse beating at his temple. It was beating very fast. His eyes were so intent upon her that she felt as though he was willing her, with every fibre of his being, to accept.
But then, if she didn’t, he was going to look perfectly ridiculous.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. What she wished she could do, more than anything, was to bend down, cup his face in her hands and tell him to go away and think about it. Then, if he really meant it, to ask her again in a couple of days. In private.
During which time she could seriously consider whether she could cope with a lifetime of wondering where he was, and what he was doing, every time they were apart.
For several agonisingly long seconds it felt as though the entire room was holding its breath.
‘He will never be faithful to you, Hen,’ said Richard. ‘He will make you miserable.’
Yes. She’d accepted that one way or another, Lord Deben was going to break her heart.
Because if she didn’t marry him, he would certainly go out and find someone else. She’d already had a taste of how painful it could be, imagining him in the arms of another woman.
And at least if she was his wife, she would know that he would always come back to her once he’d tired of his temporary diversions.
‘On the contrary,’ said Lord Deben vehemently. ‘I shall be faithful unto death, now that I have found a woman to whom it will be worth being faithful.’
There was a collective gasp from the bystanders.
Henrietta opened her eyes and looked at him again. ‘Do...do you really mean that?’
‘Of course he doesn’t mean it!’
‘Richard, will you please keep out of this. Just because you don’t think I’m worth making any effort for, does not mean that I’m not worth it. And whether he means it or not, I’m jolly well going to marry him.’
She couldn’t let this chance slip through her fingers. She would never forgive herself. He might be asking her for all the wrong reasons, he might never make her happy, but at least there was a chance that he might. A chance she would never have if she refused him now.
‘Thank goodness,’ said Lord Deben, getting to his feet. ‘You have no idea how uncomfortable it is kneeling in such a fashion, in evening breeches. At one point I began to fear you had forgotten me altogether while you were squabbling with your childhood playmate.’
What a ridiculous thing to say. As if anyone or anything could make her forget him.
Though at the same time, it was good to hear him reduce everything that had passed between her and Richard to its proper perspective, for her own sake, as much as the assembled company. They had never loved each other. They had just grown up together, and almost, disastrously, drifted into a marriage that would have pleased both their families. Richard would be able to see that in time, too, though at the moment he looked absolutely furious.
There was just the tiny matter of her own conscience still to come to terms with. For whatever had prompted Lord Deben to propose to her, she was well aware she had just taken full and shameless advantage of the situation to get exactly what she wanted.
Him. For better or worse. For the rest of her life.
She hung her head.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Lord Deben growled softly.
And then she felt his hand under her chin, lifting her mouth to his so that he could kiss her.
And being Lord Deben, he did not deliver a chaste kiss, the kind anyone might expect a newly betrothed man to bestow upon his bride-to-be.
No, he crushed her into his chest and kissed her fully and thoroughly.
Almost as though he was staking his claim upon her.
She could dimly hear gasps of outrage, then murmurs, and finally giggles as the kiss went on and on, and she was reduced to clinging to his lapels to stay upright, since her knees had turned to jelly. At one point she dimly registered the sound of footsteps stomping away. Richard, she supposed, furious at being balked of control of what he would consider her substantial dowry.
And then an increasingly strident female voice, repeatedly saying, ‘My lord! I must protest!’
Lady Twining was desperately attempting to restore decorum.
‘Please, my lord...’ She was still wringing her hands, Henrietta noted as Lord Deben turned to frown at her over his shoulder. He looked fierce enough to make her quail, yet she managed to squeak, ‘Please try to remember that
this is a respectable drawing room. You cannot carry on like this here.’
From within the charmed circle of Lord Deben’s arms, Henrietta was incapable of feeling guilty for embarrassing her hostess. Once she’d recovered from the initial shock, Lady Twining would thoroughly enjoy recounting every detail of the dramatic events that had disrupted her evening. Everyone would want to know all about it and Henrietta could just picture her
quavering voice, her recourse to the smelling salts as she teased out the details of the sordid squabble, the shocking proposal, and the subsequent depraved behaviour of the newly engaged couple. For weeks to come, she would have the cachet of being the woman in whose house the notorious rake, Lord Deben, had finally surrendered his bachelor status.
Lord Deben caught her eye at that point and it was clear to her, from the spark of amusement that flared between them, that he was thinking more or less the same thing.
‘I am sure my fiancée agrees with you,’ he said to Lady Twining, though he did not take his eyes from Henrietta for a second. ‘A respectable drawing room is the last place we wish to carry on.’
She knew he was about to do something even more scandalous before he’d swept her into his arms and off her feet.
‘We need privacy, do we not, my heart? Besides,’ he said to the room in general, ‘you all came here to listen to poetry, did you not? And Miss Lutterworth, I believe, has some ready to read to you.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Lady Twining, making frantic beckoning motions in Cynthia’s direction.
Nobody watched the hapless poetess as she mounted the podium. They were all enthralled by the spectacle of Lord Deben carrying his fiancée out of the room.
‘Poor Cynthia,’ said Henrietta as they reached the hall. ‘Nobody will pay her the slightest bit of attention now. They will all be far too busy discussing...us.’
‘At least they won’t be laughing at her behind their fans,’ said Lord Deben curtly. ‘Which is what you dreaded, was it not?’
All traces of amusement had left his face.
Now that they were alone in the hall, with no audience to perform for, it was as though he no longer saw any need to pretend to be deliriously happy. Or totally besotted. Or whatever impression he’d been trying to give in there.
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