Which explained why Elias was here today, uninvited and far too early for a social call.
“Lord Wilmott,” a low, musical voice said behind him. A voice he heard in his dreams. Except in his dreams she called him Elias.
At Fentonwyck in the warm, loving atmosphere of a happy home, they’d used one another’s Christian names. Since returning to London, she’d reverted to using his title.
Like this morning.
Although at least she’d appeared.
Slowly he turned from the window, to savor the moment when he beheld her. He should be accustomed by now to the way his heart rose at the sight of her.
She was beautiful in the classic English style with her mink brown hair and deep blue eyes. Eyes that hid more than they revealed, even during those few cherished hours at Fentonwyck when he’d had her to himself.
“Lady Marianne. Thank you for seeing me.”
So polite when his blood rushed with primal need. This was the first time they’d been alone since Christmas, although she left the door open behind her as propriety demanded. To hell with propriety. It would kill her before it was done.
“I can’t spare you much time. We leave for Wiltshire this afternoon.”
“I know.” Very deliberately he stepped past her to close the door. He didn’t want any nosy servants overhearing him.
“My lord?” The discouraging tone was regrettably familiar.
He turned to face her, his manner composed, while nerves churned in his stomach. “I want to talk to you.”
As she stepped back, he read a flash of fear in her remarkable eyes before she masked all emotion and became again the perfect lady. “Pray open the door, Lord Wilmott.”
Her voice was firm. But of course she’d never lacked courage. That was the first thing he’d really noticed about her, the way she’d held her head high last year when society had derided her as Sedgemoor’s leavings. Elias had admired her then. He admired her even more now. If only he could make her believe that.
“I have no intention of doing this in public.” Knowing their privacy could be short-lived, Elias strode forward and captured her hands. Unlike her voice, they trembled. When she tried to pull free, he firmed his grip.
“Doing what?” But he saw that she guessed his purpose. He admired her cleverness more than he admired her courage.
“Marry me, Marianne.” He’d planned a more subtle approach, but having her so close threw strategy into chaos.
For an instant, something in her expression set him ablaze with hope. Then cold set in, hard and unforgiving as a northern winter. “Let me go.”
Feverishly he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them with all the fervor in his heart. “Don’t send me away.”
“If you act like a barbarian, I have no choice,” she retorted, straining away.
“Marianne, please.” Desperate to touch her, knowing that if he could just pierce the polished shell to reach the real woman, she’d listen, he caught her around the waist. He hauled her up against him and for one searing moment, her fragrant softness pressed close. He felt the wild flutter of her breath against his jaw.
She wriggled to create some space between them. “How dare you?”
“Don’t fight me,” he said despairingly, before making the worst mistake of all. “I love you.”
She went completely motionless in his hold. Worried, he pulled back far enough to see her face. She was as white as paper. Clearly she’d never harbored the hope of hearing a confession of love from him.
“Stop lying,” she snarled.
Defeat began to pound around him like drums at a military funeral. He’d never spoken those particular words to a woman. Of all the reactions he’d expected, he’d never prepared for open disbelief. “I’m not lying.”
“This is madness.” More chill when under his hand, her skin was warm and smooth like living satin.
“I can make you happy.” Hurt tied his gut in knots and humiliated heat stung his cheeks.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Sarcasm weighted her statement.
This time he let her break free. What was the point of trying to hold onto her when she was so eager to have him gone? He was such a bedamned idiot. He knew when he’d arrived that unleashing his disorderly emotions would turn her hostile. Still, he tried again. “I can make you happy.”
Fury kindled in her eyes and a loosened tendril of hair curled down her shoulder. The dishevelment suited her, set his blood pumping with futile desire.
“Just as I’m sure my portion would make you happy.” Her lips curled with scorn. “We can all be jolly together, me with my handsome fortune hunter and you with all my lovely golden guineas.”
Appalled he stared at her. He’d long suspected the reason behind her reserve, but that wasn’t the same as hearing her say the words to his face. “Where in Hades did this nonsense come from?”
“From the brain you clearly don’t credit me as having.” Her erratic breathing made her lush bosom heave, ruffling the cream lace edging her pink gown. “Next time you try your wiles on an heiress, make sure she can’t put two thoughts together.”
“You can’t imagine—”
“Oh, yes, I can.” She sliced one hand through the air to silence him.
Nobody seeing her vibrant beauty now would dismiss her as colorless. She looked at him like she loathed him. He’d hoped to stir her to genuine feeling. He should have been careful what he wished for. His hands clenched at his sides. “At Fentonwyck, we were friends.”
Impossibly she turned paler, but she held her ground. What a gallant wife she’d make. Right now, though, he had a foreboding that she’d never be his gallant wife.
“I applaud your shrewd campaign, my lord. However I’m awake to your scheme.”
He sucked in a rough breath and strove to speak calmly. Difficult when his heart battered his ribs and he burned to tug her into his arms and make her see sense. “Your father warned you against me.”
“What if he did? The empty Thorne coffers are no secret. Your brother was a wastrel and everyone knows that you’re doing your best to restore the family fortune.”
He drew himself up to his full height until he loomed over her. “There’s no shame in wanting to make my family great again.”
She didn’t budge. Her eyes sparked blue fire as she stared up at him. “There is when you lie to achieve your ends.”
“When the devil have I lied to you?”
“Let’s start with five minutes ago when you claimed to love me.”
He sighed with impatience and ran his hand through his hair. Common sense dictated that he flatter and cajole. Unfortunately he was so on edge that his response emerged like a lecture. “Of course I damn well love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re glorious. I’m not the problem here, you are. Since Cam jilted you, you’re convinced nobody could want you. Well, blast it, I do. You’re worth a hell of a lot more than your fortune, Marianne Seaton.”
If he’d imagined his declaration might soften her attitude, he was doomed to disappointment. She made a soft sound of disgust and turned to face the windows. “There’s no point in continuing this discussion.”
Her brief passion faded. She went back to sounding like a pattern card of decorum.
He refused to leave her like this. Her withdrawal usually hid deep emotion. He’d watched her long and hard for months and he was sure of that. The brittleness in her ruler-straight posture cut at his heart.
What a blasted dunderhead he was.
“Marianne, I’ve gone about this all wrong. Forgive me. My feelings overcame me.” He sucked in another shaky breath, cursing his deuced recklessness. “I’d count myself the most fortunate of men if you honor me with your hand in marriage.”
Her laugh was derisive and irony sharpened her tone. “Thank you for your proposal, Lord Wilmott, but I find myself unable to accept.”
His temper, barely mastered, exploded and he strode up to catch her arm and bring her around to face him. “S
o what are you going to do? Marry that dry stick Desborough? Or even worse, that puppy Tranter?”
Without pulling away, she regarded him with a dislike that fired his anger. Why couldn’t she see that they were meant to be together?
“That’s none of your concern, sir.” Then proved that her own temper was far from serene. “At least those gentlemen are interested in more than my dowry.”
“I’m not interested in your bloody dowry,” he snapped, blasting his brother for leaving the family affairs in such disarray. It wasn’t the first time he’d damned Peter’s fecklessness since he’d inherited. “You know I want you for yourself alone.”
“Save your breath.” She broke away and backed toward the wall.
Surely she wasn’t genuinely afraid of him? If she was, he’d go straight home and blow his brains out. What an infernal mess he’d made of all this. “Marianne—”
“Why is this confounded door closed?” Large, burly, belligerent, Lord Baildon barged into the room and glowered at his daughter.
Bugger. Elias had hoped to have longer with her, if simply to apologize for acting like such a boor.
“Papa, Lord Wilmott was about to leave,” she said steadily, looking like a queen and shifting further from Elias.
“What are you doing here, Wilmott?” the old man barked.
Elias struggled to look as if he and Marianne hadn’t just been shouting at one another. “I’m taking my leave, sir.”
“Then take your leave. We’re for Hillbrook’s place in the country today and she’s no time for her flirts.”
“Papa!” Marianne protested.
“I speak as I find, my girl. This ruffian has been sniffing around you for months. He can obviously smell a fortune.”
Elias’s lips tightened against a hot response. “You are offensive, my lord.”
“Offensive, am I?” Baildon regarded him from under heavy gray brows. “See how offensive you find this. My daughter’s portion is at my discretion. If she marries without my consent, I’ll cast her off. How amorous do you feel now you know that she’ll come to you destitute?”
“You do both of us an injustice, Lord Baildon,” Elias said stiffly.
“I don’t think so,” Baildon grunted.
“Lady Marianne’s person is fortune enough,” Elias said, meaning it, although he could see neither Baildon nor, more importantly, Marianne believed him.
“I’ve decided that she’s marrying Desborough, so don’t waste your time here, my fine fellow.”
The temper Marianne had so recently directed at Elias brightened her eyes. “Papa, this is not a suitable discussion to hold outside the family.”
Her father scowled and puffed up like an angry toad. “It is when I find my daughter closeted with a man whose very name is a byword for folly and vice.”
“Lord Wilmott isn’t responsible for his brother’s sins,” she retorted. Elias was surprised and gratified to hear her defend him. After all, her father’s insults weren’t far removed from what she’d said to him. He supposed he should take umbrage at Baildon’s churlishness, but what was the point?
“All the Thornes are useless charges on the state. This popinjay might have a handsome face, but that won’t keep you warm when he’s gambled away every penny of your dowry.”
“My lord, I charge you to watch your tongue,” Elias snapped, losing patience. He regarded the man down his long nose. He’d always known that Lord Baildon disliked him. Only now did he realize the depths of the man’s loathing. This wooing seemed more hopeless by the minute.
Baildon glowered. “I can say what I like when you’re in my house, whispering dangerous lies to my daughter. The minute I heard you’d turned up this morning, I knew what your game is. Marry my lovely Marianne to a scoundrel like you? I’d drown her first.”
“Nobody’s drowning anyone,” she said evenly. She crossed to place her hand on her father’s arm. “Be at peace, Papa. There’s no need for all this shouting. You know Dr. Manion said you shouldn’t get upset.”
“He’s an old woman,” Baildon said gruffly and patted her hand with an affection that, in other circumstances, might have soothed Elias’s resentment.
Marianne cast Elias a pleading look. “Forgive my father’s frankness. He’s very protective of me.”
Too protective in Elias’s mind, but he bowed shortly to the older man. He had grounds to call Baildon out. Unfortunately shooting his prospective father-in-law wouldn’t further his cause, much as the brute asked for it. “My esteem is sincere, my lord.”
Baildon growled his contempt for that statement. “You esteem her pounds and shillings.” He turned to Marianne. “You haven’t been fool enough to commit yourself, have you, lass?”
“No, I haven’t, Papa,” she said, and Elias wished to God that he heard a shred of regret in her answer.
“That’s good. You’re for Desborough. You should be bloody glad to take him after this blackguard’s hoyden of a sister snatched Camden Rothermere from under your nose.”
Marianne whitened and lifted her hand from his arm. “His Grace and I would never have suited. And Penelope is one of my dearest friends. You do nobody a service by clinging to this dream.”
“My dream would have come true if that hussy hadn’t stuck her oar in.”
“Whatever you think of me, my sister deserves your respect, sir,” Elias said coldly as shocked dismay seized him. He should have guessed long ago that more than mere aversion for a fortune hunter lay behind Baildon’s hostility. Clearly the marquess would never forgive any member of the Thorne family for the fact that Cam and Pen had fallen in love and as a result deprived his daughter of a duchess’s coronet.
Baildon must have realized that he’d gone too far. He made a conciliatory gesture with one hand. “Your pardon, Wilmott. I had no right to talk down your sister in your presence.”
Which, Elias noted, didn’t withdraw the insolent remarks. About Pen or about him.
“Look, lad,” Baildon said with the closest thing to affability he’d managed. “I know you’ve got your eye on my girl. No sin in that. But she’s not for you.”
“Papa, I do have a mind of my own.” The softness of Marianne’s tone in no way lessened its determination.
“Aye, you do. You’re no silly chit, ready to tumble into the clutches of the first pretty fool who winks in your direction.” Baildon turned to Elias and spoke in a clipped tone. “I’d thank you to take yourself off, Wilmott.”
What a bloody disaster. Today Elias had hoped to claim Marianne as his. Instead, all he’d done was drive her further away. Suffocating frustration lodged in his chest. If she accepted Desborough while she was in Wiltshire, Elias wouldn’t know until the official announcements. That prospect struck him as unendurable.
“Lady Marianne—” he started, knowing it was too late to save his cause.
She sent him a blank look and stepped away so he couldn’t even kiss her hand in farewell. “Good morning, Lord Wilmott.”
Hurt and anger flooded him. She dismissed him, and he had the galling suspicion that if he didn’t go, Baildon would tell the footmen to throw him out, scandal be damned. With the bitter knowledge that today’s debacle threatened to place the one woman he’d ever loved permanently out of reach, he bowed shortly to the marquess and marched out.
Chapter Three
* * *
Marianne usually enjoyed the company of Jonas and Sidonie Merrick, Lord and Lady Hillbrook, her hosts for the fortnight in the country. But Elias’s self-serving proposal left her heart shredded. How dare he try to manipulate her by saying he loved her? She’d never have credited him with such duplicity. Or such cruelty. For surely he must know that it was cruel to pretend to care for her when he didn’t.
Elias had sounded so sincere when he’d claimed to want her as his wife. He’d stared at her with such longing. What an actor he was. But in weaker moments, she almost wished she was silly enough to believe him. At least she could bask in the fantasy that he loved her, if onl
y until he showed his true colors after the wedding.
Good sense might save her from excruciating disillusionment. It couldn’t keep her warm at night or assuage endless yearning.
If she could, she’d go to ground somewhere she didn’t need to show a calm face to the world. She’d much rather return to her busy life as chatelaine of her father’s estates. There she felt competent and in charge of her own decisions in a way she never did in London.
Unfortunately when she’d suggested that her father travel without her, he’d reacted so angrily that she’d worried about his health. Any urge to rebellion had wilted under concern for a parent who loved her, however little he understood her.
Sometimes she had the vile suspicion that the one person on God’s green earth who understood her was Elias Thorne.
The first days at Ferney passed without incident, unless she counted how her avoidance of Desborough aroused her father’s disapproval. Luckily the party was large enough for her to disappear into the crowd. The Hillbrooks had included Richard and Genevieve Harmsworth, as well as a handful of Jonas Merrick’s business associates, hard-faced, narrow-eyed men who lingered over their port after dinner.
Nobody linked with last spring’s dramatic events was present. The events that had deprived Marianne of her ducal suitor and left Desborough humiliated after his chosen bride eloped with Harry Thorne. Hillbrook clearly worked to ensure that no uncongenial company spoiled his plans to purchase those fields in Hampstead.
Even before Elias’s visit to the London house had left her a shaking mess, Marianne had dreaded this house party. But so far the men spent the days on horseback taking advantage of the last of the hunting season. She passed the hours with Genevieve and her hostess. To Marianne’s relief, neither badgered her about marital plans. Gradually her wretchedness and confusion dulled and she almost started to enjoy herself.
Three Proposals and a Scandal: A Sons of Sin Novella Page 2