The Bridegroom

by Joan Johnston

  Reggie stood in the doorway, unable to take her eyes off of Carlisle. She had the strangest desire to run after him, to beg him to take her with him.

  “Come inside, Reggie, and close the door,” Becky said, taking her by the arm and tugging her inside. “You are staring at Lord Carlisle as though he were a hot cross bun and you a starving child.”

  Reggie made a face. “Don’t be silly. It was nothing of the sort. Although I do confess I like the man.”

  “Like is too weak a word for what I saw on your face. Be careful, Reggie.”

  “I thought the earl very well behaved tonight,” Reggie said as she followed Becky upstairs.

  “Oh yes, very well behaved. But I believe the earl to be capable of dissembling,” Becky said.

  Reggie hurried up two stairs to get in front of Becky and stop her. “Do you think he was? Dissembling, I mean?”

  “His manners were not so nice at Viscount Raleigh’s ball. Could he have changed so much in such a short time?”

  Reggie sat down in the middle of the staircase and grabbed Becky’s hand to tug her down onto the step beside her. “A man may have manners and yet not employ them,” Reggie mused.

  “I suppose so,” Becky said. “But you must ask yourself what caused such a striking change.”

  “I suppose he wanted to impress me,” Reggie said.

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why would a man as rich, as powerful, as determinedly unattached as Lord Carlisle, want to impress you?” Becky asked.

  Reggie flushed. “He said he wishes to court me.”

  Becky frowned. “He wishes to court the daughter of the man who had him transported?”

  “You are forgetting Papa has made amends.”

  “The earl is rich enough to attract a diamond of the first water from the current Season’s crop of young misses. Why would he choose you, a female practically on the shelf?”

  Reggie laughed. “Only you could insult me so thoroughly in the name of concern for my person. Perhaps he enjoys my company.”

  “I only pray that you will not make the same mistake I did,” Becky said quietly.

  Reggie put her arms around her twin and hugged her tight. “Oh, I will not. I promise I will not.” She opened her mouth to explain her plan to expose any character flaws which Carlisle might possess but closed it again without speaking. If she included Becky in her plot, she might cause more trouble between Penrith and her sister.

  “I understand there was a letter from Papa today,” she said, subtly changing the subject.

  Becky disentangled herself from Reggie’s embrace and rose to continue up the stairs. “Papa promises he will send Mick to bring us the news when the child is born.”

  “I can hardly wait until Mick arrives,” Reggie said, following after her.

  “I wish he were not coming,” Becky said vehemently. “I don’t know how I will bear it!”

  Reggie caught her sister’s elbow and urged her down the hall. “Come with me.”

  “Where—”

  “Not another word,” Reggie said firmly. Once they were inside Reggie’s bedroom, she closed the door and turned to confront her sister. “Has Mick said anything, done anything to hurt you? I will pummel him into mincemeat. I will tear him limb from limb. I will—”

  Becky giggled. “Oh, Reggie, you ridiculous creature. Mick has done nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Reggie asked suspiciously, crossing to the foot of the canopied bed where Becky stood and looking closely into her sister’s eyes. “Then why don’t you want him here?”

  Becky sighed and levered herself up onto the foot of the bed. “You will think I am silly.”

  “I often think that,” Reggie teased.

  “He will know,” Becky said.

  “Know what?”

  “That my marriage is … not entirely happy.”

  Reggie did not argue with her sister. Mick had always been good at reading faces, something he had learned in the orphanage in Dublin, where divining what someone was thinking might help him avoid a blow or manage an extra portion of gruel. And Reggie had to admit, Becky’s face spoke volumes about the state of her marriage.

  The slight puffiness in her lip had not lasted beyond the morning after Penrith had struck her, but the wounded look had not left her eyes. Mick could not fail to see it.

  Reggie reached for her sister’s hand and twined their fingers together. “I will not say a word about … about what I saw. I promise.”

  She felt Becky squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Reggie. I could not bear it if Mick were to learn the truth.”

  “He would not blame you for it,” Reggie said.

  “I know that. But he will pity me. And that is much worse.”

  “Won’t you please let us help you escape this marriage?” Reggie asked.

  When Becky shook her head, Reggie felt a hot tear spill onto her hand. She took one look at Becky, then gritted her teeth to keep her own chin from quivering.

  She might not be able to save her sister, but she could save herself. If Carlisle failed even one test, she would dismiss him. Spending the rest of her life as a spinster or a maiden aunt, even being stuck on the proverbial shelf, was preferable to a life filled with disappointment, with disillusion, and with utter disdain for one’s spouse.

  Reggie’s nose pinched as she entered the Smuggler’s Den and was assailed by the smells of spilled wine, male sweat, and cheap perfume. A servant at the door handed them each half-masks, and Carlisle helped her to don hers before putting on his own.

  The cacophony inside was punctuated by shouts of joy and groans of despair as patrons won or lost at the tables. Now she knew why such places were called gaming hells. How could any decent gentleman bring a lady to such a place? It seemed Carlisle had flunked a test she had not even meant to give.

  Before Reggie could ask to be taken home, she felt the earl’s arm around her waist ushering her through the jostling crowd. A moment later they passed through a door at the back of the room, and the noise was shut out behind them. She found herself in a quiet, elegantly decorated room where masked patrons like themselves stood or sat around tables where various games of chance were being played.

  “What is your pleasure, Reggie?” the earl asked. “Hazard? Faro? Whist? Rouge et noir? Piquet?”

  Reggie realized too late that there was a flaw in her plan to determine whether Carlisle was a high-flyer. The only sharps or flats she had ever come in contact with were on the pianoforte. And though she had heard of gambling vowels, she wasn’t certain precisely how one obtained an I.O.U.

  “How about whist?” she ventured.

  “Very well. Come this way.”

  Carlisle led her to a square table where a lady and gentleman were sitting, but which had two empty seats. “May we join you?” he asked.

  “Of course, Carlisle.”

  Reggie turned to the earl, her mouth rounded in surprise. “He knows who you are!”

  The earl grinned. “May I introduce my friend and solicitor, Mr. Roger Kenworthy.”

  “But I thought—”

  “So nice to meet you, my lady,” Roger said, rising and bowing to her. He turned to the lady who had risen along with him and said, “May I introduce Miss Millicent Waters.”

  “So very nice to meet you, my lady,” Millicent said with a bobbing curtsy.

  Reggie leaned over to whisper to Carlisle. “I thought the purpose of coming here in masks was to remain anonymous.”

  “To everyone else here, you are anonymous,” Carlisle assured her in a quiet voice. “Mr. Kenworthy and I were roommates at Oxford. I told him I would be bringing you here tonight and asked him if he would come and bring a partner in case you wished to play at cards. I thought you might be more comfortable playing with friends, rather than with strangers.”

  Reggie could not fault him on that. She had been afraid she might say something during play that would give away her identity. “Thank you. I would.”

&nb
sp; As Carlisle seated her in one of the two empty chairs, she examined the man he had named as his friend. It was good to know the earl was capable of making friends—and of keeping them—since Roger’s friendship was apparently of long standing. Of course, that could also mean the earl had not made any friends recently. She had so much to learn about him!

  It was difficult to tell much about Roger Kenworthy’s face behind the half-mask he wore, although he had a nice smile, with one front tooth that slightly overlapped the other. His hair was chestnut brown and so curly it must be a trial to his barber. He was a portly man, and to judge from his lime green waistcoat, enjoyed bright colors. The woman with him was rather thin, her dress bare of ornamentation, though it still must be considered fashionable. Despite Miss Waters’s austere attire, she wore a smile as warm as the one on Mr. Kenworthy’s face.

  Reggie was able to say with the greatest sincerity, “It is so nice to meet you, Mr. Kenworthy. And you, too, Miss Waters.”

  “The pleasure is entirely mine,” Roger replied.

  “Thank goodness we may play whist,” Reggie said with a laugh. “It is the only card game I know. I enjoy playing it with my sister.” She looked longingly at the hazard table, where she could hear the sound of dice against the baize. “Although I must confess, I had imagined playing something a bit riskier.”

  “Fortunes are won and lost playing whist,” Roger said.

  “Oh. Really?” Reggie said, her interest piqued. She glanced across the table at the earl, with whom she was partnered. “Shall we risk all, my lord?”

  “Everything, my lady.”

  So, he could be tempted to gamble. And not just a little. Perhaps this was the Fatal Flaw in Carlisle’s character. The next few hours would tell the tale.

  Though the earl had allowed a servant to fill a crystal goblet with wine for him at the beginning of play, he did not drink from it more than twice during the next three hours.

  So much for drinking to excess, at least while he is playing at cards, Reggie thought.

  If she had hoped to see how much Carlisle was willing to lose gambling at cards, she should have picked another game. Because all he did was win. And win. And win. And that despite her ghastly play.

  “Oh, that was the wrong card. Again,” Reggie said.

  She had not purposely begun playing badly to test Carlisle’s patience and composure, but she had learned a few lessons there, as well. He never criticized her when she played the wrong card, but merely encouraged her when she was playing well.

  He was infinitely patient.

  He had no temper.

  He was a paragon.

  In fact, he was simply too good to be true. Except, she could not imagine what purpose the earl could have for pretending to be other than what he was. Unless Becky was right, and he had some unknown, nefarious motive for courting her other than the hope of winning her hand. Then, of course, he might be dissembling. If he was playing a deep game, she would uncover his deception. But she wanted to believe he was what he seemed to be.

  This time her poor play caused them to lose. Reggie lifted her eyes to the earl’s face, looking for signs of blame. But all she found in his dark eyes was esteem. And regard. And respect.

  She felt buoyed. And elated. And delighted to be in his company.

  Which made her all the more suspicious. Carlisle was not going to break down her wall of caution with a single night’s good behavior. Oh, no. Anyone might manage to have a good day. She was certain this perfect, polite facade could not last. Perhaps she had not made the challenge sufficient to the task. Perhaps he needed greater provocation to reveal his true nature.

  “I think I would like to try a game of hazard,” she said.

  The earl lifted a brow, but all he said was, “Very well.”

  “I think Miss Waters and I must take our leave,” Roger said. “Until tomorrow, Carlisle,” he said, making his adieus.

  Once Roger and Millicent were gone, Reggie rose and began walking with Carlisle toward the hazard table. “I like your friend Mr. Kenworthy.”

  Clay smiled. “We got into a great deal of trouble together at Oxford.”

  Reggie stopped and turned to him. “What were you like then? I mean, before you became the Sea Dragon?”

  “Foolish. Profligate. Licentious,” he said curtly.

  Reggie’s jaw dropped. There were the flaws she had been seeking, named aloud by the earl himself! “I cannot believe you would describe yourself in such terms.”

  “Lying would serve no purpose. You need only ask any gossip to know what was said of me then.”

  “And now?”

  “No longer foolish. Or profligate. Or licentious,” he said with a wry smile. “Rather the opposite.”

  “Because of what my father … I mean … Because of what happened?” Being transported would have been a life-altering experience for anyone.

  A fleeting look passed across his face—anguish or anger, it was hard to tell which, or perhaps it was both—before he focused his gaze once more on her. “My life was changed forever. But that is in the past. Suffice it to say, I am a different man now.”

  A better man, she would say, based on what he had said. It was a great relief to know her father’s interference in Carlisle’s life had not had disastrous consequences.

  He slipped his arm through hers and began walking toward the hazard table. “Shall I explain the game of hazard, or would you prefer to watch for a while before you try it?”

  “I have changed my mind entirely,” she said. “I would rather hear more about your adventures—past and present,” she added with a cajoling grin.

  “Then perhaps it is time I called for the carriage.”

  Reggie wasn’t sure whether that meant the earl wanted privacy to talk, or whether she had asked one too many questions, and he wished to put an end to the evening as quickly as possible.

  She managed to hold her tongue until they were both settled in his carriage—which was tastefully opulent, if there was such a thing—before asking, “What was it like to be a pirate?”

  He was sitting next to her, which meant she could only see his face in profile. She could feel the heat of him, feel the rigid tension in his body. She wished he would look at her. There was no light in the carriage, but the flicker of the gas lamps they passed on the street defined his strong cheekbones and the hollows beneath them.

  “That is not a story fit for your ears,” he said with a smile to ease the sting of his refusal to answer.

  Carlisle’s unwillingness to share the details of his past life was not a flaw, precisely, but it did leave her wondering what he might be hiding. “Did you ever have to fight for your life?”

  He eyed her sideways and smiled. “You’re a bloodthirsty thing.”

  But that was all he said.

  She had nothing to lose by asking the question she had already asked once, but which he had never answered. “Have you ever had occasion to kill anyone?”

  “Not lately,” he shot back.

  She caught a glimpse of eyes so full of malice, so livid with violence, that she would have screamed with terror, except her breath was caught in her chest.

  As suddenly as the violence had flared, it disappeared, hidden behind shuttered eyes. As though he willed it to go, the tension left his shoulders and thighs. His lips curved in what could only be a smile, but which bore no joy. “I have not yet come to terms with what happened in the past. Sometimes it feels a part of my present. I apologize if I frightened you.”

  “Apology accepted,” Reggie said. But she felt an overwhelming sense of despair.

  She had found a reason to reject him.

  Beneath Carlisle’s perfect facade was a boiling river of rage. She had seen it. It had been almost real enough to touch. And yet … He had lifted no hand against her. He had done her no harm. He had remained in control.

  Excuses. She was making excuses. Why?

  Because behind the rancor I saw pain. And I would rather try to heal his pain
than give him up.

  She seemed to have even worse judgment about men than did her sister. Becky had chosen Penrith without knowing the dangers to be found in loving him. How could Reggie commit herself to a man she knew beforehand was fighting demons?

  Then she realized the awful truth. She believed she could make the demons go away. She believed she could redeem his tortured soul. She believed if she loved Carlisle enough, they would end up living happily ever after.

  Oh, dear. Time to take a step back. Otherwise, the Ice Princess would end up a muddy puddle at the pirate’s feet.

  Chapter 5

  The Earl of Carlisle was coming to propose marriage this afternoon, and Reggie had not yet decided what her answer would be.

  After that first lapse, when she had seen evidence of a tortured soul, Carlisle had never again dropped his guard. In four weeks of outings, he had comported himself so well that she had abandoned her list of Seven Deadly Sins in a Suitor. She had stopped looking for flaws and begun to search for the assets she might desire in a husband—companionship and common interests and comfortable conversation.

  Reggie had been delighted to learn that the earl planned to eschew the debauchery of London when he married and retire to his estate in Scotland. She had discovered that they both loved to ride neck-or-nothing, that they both played the pianoforte with gusto rather than precision, and that they both enjoyed reading. Which had led to a great many stimulating conversations, because they rarely agreed on the substance of what they read.

  And yet, something about the earl troubled her. It was as though he wore a mask, and there was a part of him she could not see. He had never again spoken about the past, and when she raised the subject, he had pretended it was of no consequence. Reggie feared the secrets Carlisle’s past might hold, feared that, like Becky, she might marry the man of her dreams and wake up in a nightmare.

  “What has you so Friday-faced?”

  Reggie turned to look at Becky, who had entered the drawing room with Lily wrapped around her like a limpet. “Come here, you scamp,” she said to her niece, sitting forward in the wing chair and holding out her arms.