Reginald shook his head and brushed his thumb across her lips. “You really don’t know, do you?” He brushed his lips where his thumb had been, and she quivered slightly. He raised his head again, and a flicker of amusement reached his eyes. “I can see where you might save me from one of my extravagances. I’ll let you know if I can think of any others.”
Reginald remembered that wide-eyed dewy look well after he was down the road. Lady Marian Lawrence would definitely save him his most expensive indulgence—his mistress, Madelyn. Reginald didn’t think he would have any trouble adapting to this one pleasure of having a wife.
Lady Marian had his blood racing hotter than any opera actress he’d ever seen, and he wasn’t adverse to teaching her what a mistress ought to know. Perhaps other men thought ladies were only for getting an heir. Perhaps other ladies thought they only must do their duty to get an heir. He was of a different mind, and he thought Lady Marian might be the same. If he must marry, he was glad that it was to someone he could bed as readily as his mistress.
Reginald sighed as he thought of Madelyn. She was going to throw a tantrum when he gave her her conge. He was going to have to give her a very expensive gift to ease the parting. That would have to be the first thing he did upon returning to London. He didn’t wish to imagine what would happen should Marian discover he kept a mistress. Theirs was going to be a difficult enough marriage as it was.
If marriage there must be. He was still more than certain that the marquess and O’Toole were working together to hide the necklace. Perhaps the first thing he ought to do when he returned to town was to visit the dealers he knew so well to determine if anyone had tried to sell the ruby. He’d have them nab the thief if he showed up anywhere in London. Once the necklace was back in his hands, he might have the power to release Marian from this vow they were neither willing to take.
Of course, if he were released from his betrothal after he had disposed of Madelyn, he would have to go to the trouble of finding another mistress. That would be a damnable nuisance. At the moment, he had little enough interest in Madelyn. He definitely couldn’t summon much interest in finding someone new. He was much more interested in having Marian.
At that startling thought, Reginald spurred his horse to a gallop and rode into London in a brown study unconducive to communication of any sort. The idea that he might possibly prefer marrying Marian to taking a mistress was a bite he was having great difficulty swallowing.
* * * *
“Lord Darley! I thought you had left for town with Mr. Montague.” Marian entered the dining room and found the viscount already there, conversing with her mother and sister. The marquess was again nowhere to be found.
Darley looked up with a small frown between his eyes. “I am not presently speaking to the cad. Besides, we have not yet found the necklace, and I am convinced it and that blasted valet are still about. I mean to do more exploring, and I don’t think you ladies ought to be left unprotected while a thief is still on the grounds.”
Neither Lady Grace nor Jessica objected to the fallacy in this explanation, but Marian couldn’t refrain from reminding him. “Our cousin is about somewhere. We aren’t entirely unprotected.”
Darley scowled as he pulled out a chair for her. “He’s as much a rascal as that valet. I don’t trust him.”
Marian looked to the walls and waited vainly for the choked laughter she was certain she had heard more than once. Perhaps she was imagining things. After all, they had only found one passage behind the walls, and that was in the other wing.
“We thank you for your care, sir,” Lady Grace murmured when it became obvious that Marian would not. “You have been more than gracious under the circumstances.”
Darley took his seat and threw a brief glance to Jessica, catching a shy smile on her face before she returned her gaze to her plate. She was too young, he decided for the millionth time that day. But then, so was he. A man shouldn’t have to think about marriage until he was thirty-five, not for another good six years. But in six years, Jessica would surely be snatched up by someone bolder than he, and he would be back to looking at simpering misses half his age.
Dash it all, there was no escape from this marriage trap. Morosely, he examined the plate of food he had chosen and wished he had followed Reginald. It had all been much simpler when Lady Marian was leading the way.
Marian was set upon doing just that now. Wielding her fork, she mentioned casually, “I am sensible of the fact that you wish to come to know our new cousin better. Mother, but as we could not cancel our gowns with the modiste, we are due back for fittings shortly. That is, unless you have decided we should not go to the ball?”
She was perfectly aware that now that her mother and sister were back in the country, they were not disposed to readily return to town. Their brief fling had been more than adequate to satisfy their curiosity and craving for company. But the problems that had sent them to town in the first place had not been adequately resolved, and they could not be while remaining on this bankrupt estate. Since Marian had failed to make a triumphant marriage, it was now Jessica’s fate to find a husband of her own. That couldn’t be done while chasing ghosts in the walls.
Besides, Marian was not yet ready to trust Montague out of her sight. He could have gone haring off to town with the necklace in his pocket for all she knew. She didn’t think he would, but she had learned not to trust so easily these last weeks.
If they were truly to be married, it would be better to be seen together after the announcement. It probably wouldn’t do to let him gallivant around London behaving as if he were still unattached. If she must marry Montague, then she meant it to be a very real marriage.
“Uh-oh, Marian’s got that look in her eyes,” Jessica whispered in an aside to Darley. “That means we might as well agree now or she will never let it go.”
Caught by surprise by this admission, Darley looked up in time to see the resigned look on Lady Grace’s face and the determined one on Marian’s. He was beginning to understand who ran this family. He felt a little quiver of relief at the thought of Reginald instead of himself running up against this stubborn determination every day of his life. He ought to be ashamed of the thought, but he wasn’t.
“I suppose you are right, dear. Perhaps we could persuade the marquess to accompany us. He really must be introduced to society.”
The elusive nobleman appeared as if summoned by the sound of his name. He strode into the room in rolled up shirt-sleeves with the smell of the stable still on him, and when the ladies didn’t appear to take offense, he pulled out a chair and made himself at home.
“This marquess doesn’t need any such thing,” he said as if he had been included in the conversation all along. He watched with interest as a maid hurried to pour tea in his cup. He would have preferred something stronger, but he was thirsty enough not to argue. He drained the cup while dishes were passed to him so he might fill his plate. “I have enough on my hands without having to meet a bunch of gussied-up snobs.”
“They’re not all snobs, dear,” Lady Grace said as she wrinkled her nose in thought. “But they can be frightfully judgmental, I suppose. It would be better if you could appear in the proper clothes. Perhaps Lord Darley and Mr. Montague could help you there.”
Gavin glanced up to see if she were serious, then looked to his young cousin to see how she was taking this monstrous suggestion. Marian was fighting a smile and hiding behind her teacup. At least she had the sense to understand that his clothes were the least of his worries. He rubbed his cheek unconsciously and returned to eating.
“Personally, I think Lord Effingham is much more effective as a phantom,” Marian murmured with some amusement. “We could host house parties and insist that the guests must bring their own servants and food as the price of admission. All we need do is go back to London and gossip about our Gothic visit with missing jewels and haunted passages and ghosts, and all society will wish to visit for th
e excitement, hoping they will be the first to see the phantom marquess. It would be as diverting as Vauxhall. We could charge admission, I’m certain.”
“Obviously, you are in dire need of entertainment, Lady Marian,” Gavin growled. “Shall I wear a black cape and lurk in shadows to keep the company thrilled?”
“Ohh, please don’t,” Jessica hastened to answer. “That would be much too frightening. I don’t like masquerades. At least, I think I don’t. I have never been to one, actually, but lurking in shadows sounds most unpleasant.”
Marian almost giggled and hastily sipped her soup as Lord Darley leaned over to pat her sister’s hand and reassure her no one would lurk in any shadows when he was around.
Marian caught her cousin’s eye. There was a glint of something there that made her quickly look back to Jessica and then to Darley. Her eyes widened as she noticed the slight flush on her sister’s cheeks.
When she looked back to the marquess, he was calmly devouring his food.
How odd. She had the distinct impression that the marquess was feeling very satisfied with himself about something, and that something seemed to have to do with the new color in her sister’s cheeks.
* * *
Chapter 20
Reginald cursed as he struggled into his coat without the help of the wretched O’Toole. He had too quickly grown accustomed to the services of a valet, a result of his own expensive upbringing, he realized. He trusted Marian’s taste didn’t tend to be as expensive as his own or between them they would be in dire trouble quickly.
That was a ridiculous thing to think, and showed the unstable state of his mind lately. He wished he had a well-furnished town house, an elegant carriage, and an unlimited budget for fancy gowns for her, but he knew only too well the limits of his means. Had this been a love match, he might have felt more comfortable with that knowledge. As it was, he feared he was going to be a dreadful disappointment to a woman who had hoped to marry money.
This train of thought led back to the blasted necklace. He had agreed to settle a comfortable allowance on Marian for her own use, but the amount would be much more comfortable should the necklace be found and sold. He was quite aware that Marian would use her allowance to provide for her family, and that if the necklace came to her, she would sell it without a qualm to help them. He had no objections to that if the necklace rightfully belonged to her. The damned marquess could obtain his funds elsewhere.
But first he had to find the necklace, which meant finding O’Toole. So far, his search of London’s dealers had yielded nothing. He hoped the man wasn’t foolish enough to go elsewhere to sell the thing. He’d never get half the price anywhere beyond London. But then, O’Toole might fear getting caught if he tried to sell it in town and prefer to take a lesser price. Reginald would gladly give him the difference for the opportunity to wring his neck.
Deciding his coat was as straight as it was going to get, he checked his image in the mirror, gave his cravat one last tuck, and picked up his hat and stick on the way out the door. The announcement of his impending marriage had appeared in the newssheets just today. He needed to play the part of happy fellow as he made the rounds of his clubs tonight.
Reginald found himself wishing for Darley’s company after the first round of congratulations. The betting had been running heavily in the viscount’s favor of late, and there were those who were looking at Reginald with suspicion and a trace of disapproval. His intention never to marry had been widely known. Suddenly announcing a betrothal to a woman without a shilling who had been known to favor Darley was causing gossip in all corners. Only Darley would appreciate the subtleties of this quagmire.
Reginald suffered through the first round of drinks with what he considered to be great aplomb. Offers to take Madelyn off his hands he referred to the female in question. She had thrown a rather valuable crystal vase at his head when he gave her notice. He didn’t think she would take any of his suggestions when it came to her next lover. He also didn’t believe Marian would be properly appreciative of the sacrifices he was making for her. All things considering, he was feeling particularly put upon.
It wasn’t until he walked into White’s and found his brother waiting for him that he knew the evening was going to plummet from low to lower.
Charles, Viscount Witham, gestured an invitation with his port glass. “Thought you’d be around this evening. Sit, Reggie. Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself lately.”
It was bloody unlikely that he would tell his family precisely what he had been doing, but Reginald knew the reference was to the announcement in the paper. It was just his luck that Charles had trotted out of his country home across the breadth of England just in time to read that announcement. Reginald took the seat and the glass offered.
“Don’t play sly with me, Charley. You saw the paper, else you’d not be here. If you want to meet her, you’ll have to travel up to Hertfordshire to Effingham’s Gothic relic. You’ll need to bring your own servants, though. He’s not got a penny to squander on one.”
There, that ought to tell his brother everything he wished to know without getting too personal with Marian’s history. Reginald disliked talking about her behind her back. He preferred that she be by his side while he introduced her to his family. That was another thought that caught him by surprise, and he took a hefty swallow of his wine.
“You could have had any heiress in the kingdom, yet you settled for a penniless bluestocking? I had not thought you a romantic, brother mine.”
Older than Reginald by some five years, Charles did not have the same dramatic looks as his younger brother. His hair, always thin and of a lighter color, had begun to recede slightly. He wasn’t quite so tall nor as athletically built as Reginald, but there was a quiet handsomeness in the way he held himself that marked him of a superior nature. His speech was no different. Refined and elegant, he did not raise his voice or even use sarcasm. His question hit its mark all the same.
Reginald tried not to wince. “Where did you hear that she was a bluestocking?” was the only reply that he could make.
Charles smiled slightly. “I left my card at the lady’s house, of course. It was the only proper thing to do. While I was doing so, my groom had a long chat with hers. Seems the lady enjoys Hatchards and museums and scientific as well as literary lectures. I cannot think of another soul in our circle who is half so well educated.”
Reginald wondered if there was enough wine in the bottle to get him through this night. He didn’t think so. Perhaps he ought to go back to Hertfordshire. He enjoyed being roasted by Marian a great deal more than by his peers. That was probably because he could spend most of the time imagining other uses for her tongue and wondering how best to win her into his arms. Her tongue might be tart, but by Jove, the rest of her was as sweet as any he had ever sampled.
His thoughts were interrupted by a laugh from across the table.
“Smitten good, are you? You aren’t even listening to me. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day when the mighty Reginald was brought down by a pretty face. I’m itching to meet the lady. When will she be back in town?”
Reginald shrugged. “Devonshire’s ball is in two days’ time. I daresay she’ll return for that.” He struggled with his conscience, wondering how much he ought to say to Charles. His brother knew him too well to believe he had actually fallen for any woman, bluestocking, penniless, or not. But he found it difficult mentioning the actual circumstances of his unplanned betrothal. Charles didn’t seem to be questioning too hard yet. Perhaps it could be glossed over.
“If she’s not an heiress, how do you intend to support her? I find it hard to believe Effingham even permitted your addresses.”
That was cutting to the bone. Reginald grimaced and filled his glass. “You’ll have to meet Effingham to understand. He’s an American and a recluse. He’s inherited a deteriorating estate and no funds. I imagine he’s simply interested in seeing that he does
n’t have any relatives encroaching on what little he does have.”
Charles made an uncommunicative grunt. “So you have seen the man. I wondered. The town is agog with rumors, you realize. No one was even certain he existed.”
“He exists, all right.” He was the reason for this damned marriage, but Reginald didn’t say that aloud. There was another thing or three he held against the marquess. “As I said, he’s American. He doesn’t know our ways and isn’t much interested in learning, apparently. He’s been badly scarred, by a rapier it appears. I imagine he was in the war. He has a military bent to him. Combined with the fact that he hasn’t a shilling for entertaining, I can understand why he stays out of society.”
“Then I suppose it will be up to us to introduce the lady and your betrothal. Harriet has been wishing to come in for the Season, but she’s breeding again and I didn’t wish her to travel. I suppose the weather has improved enough the roads shouldn’t be too difficult for her now.”
Reginald gave his brother a sour look. “Congratulations. You mentioned nothing of the blessed event when I was there last month. Starting your own dynasty, are you?”
Charles shrugged carelessly, but there was a gleam of pride in his eyes. “She says she wants a pack of ’em. Damned inconvenient, if you ask me, but I can’t think of any way to stop her. She’d kill me if I set up a mistress.”
Suddenly imagining Marian growing round with his child, Reginald reached for his glass again. He’d never given children a thought. The idea made him weak in the knees now. Had Marian given any thought to carrying his child?
Of course, she had. Women always thought of these things. They had to. They were the ones who had to bear the burden. By agreeing to marry him, she agreed to bear his children. Devil take it, but his lust was aroused at just the thought. He was going to turn into one randy bounder before this was over.
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