by Anna Bradley
“Why are you here, Mr. West? You haven’t come to enquire after my sister, and you haven’t come to offer an apology for your reprehensible behavior. So, what do you want?”
There. She couldn’t be any plainer than that.
“I want a number of things from you, Lady Eleanor, but let’s start with the easiest, shall we? I want you to call me Camden. It won’t do for you to call me Mr. West once we’re married.”
Eleanor stared at him.
Married. But . . . that word didn’t make sense. Not in the context in which he’d used it. Her brain groped blindly for another meaning, but none came.
Married? No, surely not.
“Married,” she repeated.
“Married. Yes, that’s right, my lady.” He sounded as if he were encouraging a dim-witted child to work out her sums. “You may call me Mr. West in company, but I prefer you call me Camden when we’re being, ah . . . private.”
Private? No. That word didn’t make sense, either. “Private,” she repeated, aware she sounded like a trained parrot.
He was mad, of course. It was the only explanation. Utterly mad. She’d no more marry him than she would the devil himself.
Though if they did marry, they’d have lovely children. Tall, with green eyes.
A hysterical laugh escaped her at the thought. Perhaps she was the one who’d gone mad.
He wasn’t amused. “I’m serious, Lady Eleanor. It would be too bad if Lady Charlotte’s indiscretion became fodder for vicious gossip. From what I understand, it would take far less than a scandalous seduction for the ton to turn their backs on her once and for all.”
Eleanor’s brain ground back into motion with a vengeance. “Are you threatening me, sir?”
He draped his arm over the mantle. “Yes. I believe I am.”
Her entire body went rigid. Marry him? Impossible. One didn’t marry a man like Camden West, or any of the gentlemen like him who ran amok in London. If a lady wasn’t careful about whom she chose, she could find herself married to a man like her father.
Lady Catherine’s marriage to Hart Sutherland had been nothing short of disastrous. He’d been a cruel husband, and a cruel father. He’d been a cruel man, period, and his wife and children had felt only relief when he died three years ago.
No, one married a man like her brothers—a kind man, an honorable man. A man who loved her, and whom she loved. Oh, she knew love matches among aristocrats were rare, and she also knew the odds of her making such a match faded with every suit she rejected. Things couldn’t be much worse, in fact. She was twenty-one and in her third season, she had her own section in the betting book at White’s, and every gentleman in London was mocking her.
And yet despite all this, Ellie still held onto the promise of love, clutched at it with both hands. She deserved love—real, transformative love—and she wouldn’t let anyone steal it from her.
To marry a man like Camden West . . .
No. It would mean years of misery. Decades. “Do I understand you, Mr. West? You seem to be saying if I don’t agree to marry you, you’ll ruin my sister.”
He gave her a cordial smile, as if they were discussing the chances of rain this afternoon. “You understand me perfectly, my lady.”
Good Lord, the man truly was mad. Why, her brother was liable to flay his skin from his body when he heard about this. “My brother. Lord Carlisle. You haven’t—”
“Asked him for your hand? No. I have a suspicion he’d refuse me. I see no reason to get Lord Carlisle involved. I’m sure you’ll come to the sensible decision on your own.”
Refuse him? Both her brothers would rain hell’s fury down upon Camden West’s head.
Eleanor drew herself up, but even at her full height she just reached his shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t agree. My brothers will take it quite ill indeed to find you and your cousin have seduced one of their sisters so you could force the other into a sham marriage.”
Mr. West released a heavy sigh, and shook his head as if he were disappointed with her. “Do you suppose one of them will take it ill enough to challenge me to a duel? Your younger brother, Mr. Robert Sutherland nearly lost his life in a duel last year, from what I understand. He’s just married, I believe? And Lord Carlisle—didn’t Lady Carlisle just bear him an heir? The child can’t be more than a few months old. Tell me, Lady Eleanor, does your brother prefer swords or pistols? Either would suit me. I’m an expert with both.”
Eleanor’s hands turned to ice as he spoke. There was no question Alec would issue a challenge, and Robyn was no better. He’d gone mad when he found out about the wagers at White’s. It had taken every one of her persuasive skills to dissuade him from calling out half the ton.
If one of her brothers should be injured in a duel, or worse . . .
No. To even think it was unbearable. Robyn’s duel last year had sent her mother into a collapse, not to mention what it had done to Lily, who was now Robyn’s wife. Then there was Alec, husband to Lily’s sister Delia, and doting father of the Sutherland heir, also named Alec, Ellie’s six-month-old nephew.
She raised her chin. Camden West might deserve to be run through with a sword, shot in the forehead, or both, but she wouldn’t put her family through such misery. She’d just have to drag herself out of this quagmire, and Charlotte along with her.
There would be no duel, and no marriage. Not to Lord Tidmarsh, and not to any of the other swains who trailed after her at balls and routs, trying to convince her of their devotion while they panted after her dowry.
As for Mr. West . . .
She studied him. Such a handsome man—perhaps the handsomest man she’d ever seen—but under his striking looks lurked a terrible darkness. To be married to this man, completely in his power . . .
Eleanor shuddered. Such a man must be cold down to his very marrow.
“Does your silence mean you accept my suit?”
Mistake number one, Mr. West. When a lady is silent, it rarely indicates agreement.
She gave him a tight smile. “I’d like to ask a few questions first, please, with your permission.”
“Of course, my lady. You’ll find I’m a generous husband.”
She gritted her teeth. “Why me?”
He bowed, and gave her a charming smile. “You don’t give yourself due credit with that question, Lady Eleanor. Your beauty alone—”
“Please, Mr. West.” She held out a hand to stop him. “I’m well aware you have no romantic interest in me. You’re not proposing a love match, and you insult me when you pretend otherwise. So, I repeat my question. Why me? Is it my dowry? It’s a generous one, I’ll admit. It’s tempted many gentlemen before you.”
He appeared surprised for a moment, but the look was there and then gone. “I don’t care about your money. Keep your dowry in your name, or use it as pin money. Whatever you like.”
Keep her dowry? What nonsense. Did he think her a half-wit? He’d strip her of every shilling before the champagne had gone flat at the wedding breakfast.
“I see you doubt me, but I assure you I have no interest in your fortune. Perhaps you’ve heard of the ship, the Amelia? She’s mine. I own her, as well as a dozen or so others.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. She’d heard of the Amelia, yes. The ton considered anything to do with trade beneath their notice, but all of London knew of the Amelia. The ship had attained mythical status among the laboring classes because of the enormous fortune she’d made her owner, and even the ton couldn’t ignore that kind of money.
That explained why he’d been invited to the Foster’s ball. She’d known he was wealthy, but his fortune exceeded even hers. Indeed, it made the fortunes of half the aristocracy in England look like a paltry pile of coins.
If this wasn’t about money, what the devil did he want her for? “Is it my social connections you want, then?”
The Carlisle earldom was an ancient and well-regarded one, and the Sutherlands were a large, tight-knit, handsome family. Their fortune was substan
tial, and despite the whispers about Charlotte, and Eleanor’s growing list of rejected suitors, they wielded considerable social influence.
But Camden West, with his devastating green eyes and piles of money could wed whomever he liked, and have a grateful wife in the bargain.
He shrugged. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Hope flared in her breast at this admission. “But there are several other young ladies in London with fortune and family equal to mine. Why force me into marriage when you could have one of them for the asking?”
His face closed. “I don’t want them. I want you.”
Eleanor’s jaw clenched. No, he didn’t. He didn’t want her any more than any of the others did, but he wanted something, and she wouldn’t rest until she found out what it was. “But why? Why me?”
“My reasons are my own. Will you accept my suit, or shall I enter a bet about Lady Charlotte into the book at White’s?”
Eleanor looked into his face, tight and hard as a fist, and realized he was deadly serious about this. For his own twisted reasons, he wanted to marry her, and if she refused, he’d ruin Charlotte.
Time. She needed time to come up with a scheme.
“Don’t you think my brothers will find it suspicious if I announce I’m marrying a gentleman I met only last night? My mother will find it so, I assure you, and don’t suppose Charlotte won’t ask questions.”
He gave her an impatient look. “What do you want, then? You wish me to court you?”
“Oh, I think we’ve put aside my wishes at this point, Mr. West, but if you want your nefarious plot to work, a courtship is in order, yes.”
Perhaps he was lying about her dowry, or perhaps he wanted to win the one woman in London who’d evaded all the others. She could believe it of him—a man of obscure origins who’d achieved such success, and amassed such a fortune. Camden West liked to win. He may not have a title, but he was as callous as any aristocrat. Marriage was simply another challenge, another game to him.
A game, with my hand as the prize.
“Two weeks,” he said. “You will accept every invitation I extend to you during that time. Rides in the park, escorts to balls—whatever I wish. A whirlwind love affair. Aren’t you pleased with the romance of it, Lady Eleanor? It’s what every young lady dreams of.”
I’m not every young lady.
He hadn’t any idea who she was, and his ignorance would cost him.
“At the end of two weeks’ time, we’ll announce our betrothal.”
“Or else? You sound like a villain, Mr. West. I can almost imagine I’ve stumbled into a drama at Drury Lane. Or is this a farce?”
“A comedy, my lady. Do you recall how those typically end?”
She gave him a cold smile. “Let me see if I remember my Shakespeare. Ah, yes. Weddings.”
He returned her smile with an even colder one of his own. “Very good, Lady Eleanor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to today.”
“Extort a lady into marriage, and now it’s off to Tattersall’s?”
“No.” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “I went to Tattersall’s first.”
“Wise of you.” Eleanor managed a sweet smile through clenched teeth. “Wives are easily had in London, but one can’t say the same of excellent horseflesh.”
“You’ll soon find, Lady Eleanor, I insist on only the finest pedigrees in both my horses and my wives.” His icy green eyes swept over her. “There’s a great deal to be said for superior breeding stock.”
Eleanor managed another tight smile. “Indeed.”
He bowed. “I’ll return this afternoon to take you riding in Hyde Park.”
He wasn’t going to waste any time, then. Well, neither would she. “I do hope you don’t plan to abscond to Gretna Green with me under pretense of a jaunt around The Ring.”
She followed him into the entryway, where he collected his coat and hat from Rylands. “Two weeks, Lady Eleanor.”
After he was gone, Eleanor stood still for a long moment, hiding her shaking hands in her skirts, and staring at the place where he’d stood.
Two weeks. Two weeks to beat the devil at his own game.
Chapter Four
“What did Lady Frost say to your marriage proposal? I’ll wager she had a footman throw you onto your arse in the street.”
Cam tossed aside a sheaf of unanswered letters, leaned back in his chair and smirked at Julian, who’d fallen into a full sprawl on one of the leather chairs in front of Cam’s desk. “You’d lose that wager.”
“Indeed? Don’t tell me she accepted you. She didn’t look like the meek and biddable type to me. More like this type.” Julian picked up a letter opener, idly tested the point with a fingertip, and then drew it across this throat.
Cam laughed. “If she’d had a letter opener to hand, she might well have taken a chunk of my flesh.”
She’d never let her temper overcome her, but Cam had seen how furious she was. It seemed no one ever made Lady Eleanor Sutherland do anything she didn’t wish to do. She was a typical ton female in that regard.
In most regards.
He rose, crossed to the sideboard and poured two whiskeys. He handed one to Julian, then reseated himself behind his desk. “She didn’t not accept me, and she agreed to go riding with me this afternoon in Hyde Park.”
Julian balanced one booted foot over the other knee. “She agreed? Or you bullied and threatened her until she understood she hadn’t any choice, and gave in? Be honest, Cam.”
Cam shrugged. “What difference does it make? The result is the same.”
“On the surface, yes. But I’d keep an eye on the blades once you’re wed, or you may wake one morning to find one at your neck.” Julian ran a thumb over the point of the letter opener again. “Lady Eleanor would make a fetching widow, and a wealthy one.”
“Anticipating my demise, cousin? You forget the lady must be a wife before she can become a widow.”
“Details. Besides, to hear you tell it, a ride in the park is a mere step removed from a betrothal.” Julian tossed the letter opener onto the desk. “A jaunt today, a marriage tomorrow. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I’ve no idea what they say, but for Lady Eleanor a jaunt around the park will lead to a marriage soon enough. I’ve given her two weeks.”
Julian raised an eyebrow at this. “What, a two week grace period? You didn’t say anything about that before.”
Cam turned his whiskey glass between his fingers. No, he hadn’t, because he was done being gracious or merciful to Eleanor Sutherland. When he first returned to London he’d tried to court her in the honorable way, but she’d rebuffed him, much as she had every other suitor.
This wasn’t a courtship anymore. It was conquest and surrender.
As irksome as he found the delay, the lady had a point, and her sister’s reputation would be as much at risk two weeks hence as it was now.
“Lady Eleanor pointed out she couldn’t simply announce an engagement to me without any warning—her family wouldn’t like it, and I’d rather not attract unwanted attention from those hot-headed brothers of her. Besides,” he added, with an innocent look, “I couldn’t refuse the lady’s one request. I’m a gentleman, after all.”
Julian choked on the sip of whiskey he’d taken. “Yes, of course. Once we put aside the blackmail, extortion and threats, there’s nothing left but gentlemanliness at its finest.”
Cam took a sip of his own whiskey and eyed his cousin over the edge of his glass. Another attempt to make him feel guilty? It wouldn’t work. He had a conscience much like any other man, but not when it came to the Sutherlands.
“How did you find our Lady Frost, then?” Julian asked. “Does she live up to her reputation? I hear she’s clever.”
Cam leaned back in his chair, considering. “She has a sharp tongue. I suppose some might mistake it for cleverness.”
“Not you, of course.”
Cam waved a dismissive hand at his cousin. “I’d s
ooner call it arrogance. No doubt her wit and accomplishments have been exaggerated. Gentlemen tend to lose their heads over extraordinarily beautiful women.”
“Ah, so you noticed the extraordinary beauty, did you? I thought you might have overlooked it.”
“I don’t care for her sort of female, but I’m not blind, cousin.”
Eleanor Sutherland had the kind of beauty men crawled across deserts on their bellies to possess. The huge dark eyes and regal cheekbones, set off by that red, wickedly full, pixie of a mouth? He didn’t care for brunettes, and he didn’t care for Eleanor Sutherland, but even he hadn’t been unmoved by the sight of that mouth, and more so when it delivered a sarcastic comment or set down. The lady had spirit, if not true wit, and he did appreciate a challenge.
He’d enjoy bedding her, at least until he wearied of her sharp tongue. Once the inevitable tedium set in, she could do as she wished, and he’d go about his business much as he had before he married.
Julian snorted. “Never mind blind, Cam. A man would have to be dead to overlook Lady Eleanor’s beauty. I was about to check your pulse this minute if you didn’t acknowledge it.”
“It’s strange, though . . .” Cam frowned as he remembered something she’d said that surprised him.
“What is?”
“She talked about the gentlemen being enamored of her dowry, as if she believes all those swains sniffing after her only want her fortune.” Cam shook his head. “She didn’t seem to think any of them might want her.”
“That is strange. In my experience, most ladies tend to overestimate their charms, not otherwise. Unless her dowry is large enough to drown England in gold sovereigns, I believe the lady is mistaken. It would explain her coldness, though.”
“What do you mean?” Cam tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “Why would it?”
“It’s obvious, Cam. If she thinks her suitors are only after her dowry, it’s no wonder she’s cold to them, is it?”
“I suppose so.” Or perhaps she wished to be known as the most unattainable lady in London, or some other foolish thing. It didn’t matter. He didn’t choose to delve into the reasons Lady Eleanor might feel as she did. Cold or warm, clever or featherbrained, dark-haired or fair—she was a Sutherland. For his purposes, that was good enough.