“So is Princess Amelia, but you have as much chance of persuading her to share a room with Lady Elizabeth as you have us,” Dahlia said. “Why do you think we are here?”
The table held evidence of his sisters’ occupation. An astrological chart jostled for room with a book of botanic illustrations and a teetering pile of leather-bound essays. If he was not mistaken, they’d been here for some time. “I thought you’d gone out until I realized your bonnets were still in the hall.”
“You were meant to,” Dorcas said, uncharacteristically sharp. “We’re making camp here until she’s gone.”
He stared at them, bewildered. “What do you mean?”
The sisters exchanged glances. Eventually Delphi spoke up. “There is no easy way of saying this, Gerald. We cannot abide Elizabeth. If her well-meaning manipulation goes on much longer, we will arrange to leave you two alone. You may enjoy the estate and the house in splendor. My guess is that she is trying to get rid of us, so she can have you to herself.”
“What has she been saying?” His heart sank.
Damaris snorted. “She will agree to anything you say so long as it benefits her. If it does not, then she does not do it. She will badger you until she gets what she wants. She is autocratic and overbearing, sure of herself and determined everyone will obey her.”
Gerald stuck to his course. “Elizabeth is of such good standing in society that you could leap up the ladder by several bounds.”
Dorcas gave him such a pitying look he nearly turned around and left the room. “Gerald darling, you are an earl. You do have some standing of your own. So what if we are not invited to the stuffiest balls? Why should we care?”
“That is where you will meet the cream of society.” He had verified that for himself. “You girls deserve the best.”
“The best isn’t always the highest born.” Damaris appeared quite cross with him. For a woman with her head in the stars for most of the time, she was not behaving as he expected. Damaris hardly seemed to notice real life.
“My dearest sisters, in order to obtain the best life can offer, you need husbands.”
“Certainly, if you marry Elizabeth that will ensure you will push me into the arms of the first man I meet.” Dorcas pinched the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb, her habit when she had a headache coming.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Damaris exclaimed. She got up from the table and put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Dorcas could be incapacitated for days if her headache worsens.”
“And how is that my fault?” Gerald paced agitatedly, tracking the patterns in the carpet, the relentless lines of roses that led inexorably to the center of the design. He paced back. “I have done everything for you. You deserve it, all of you. I neglected you shamefully for the past few years. I should have seen to your come-out years ago.”
“You had us presented at court.” Delphi leaned back in her chair and glared at him. “That was all we asked you to do, because Mama wished it, and you had it done. We have asked for nothing else, nor have we needed anything.”
Dorcas sucked in a breath and joined her sisters in glaring at him. “We have discussed the matter, Gerald,” she said very quietly. “If you persist in marrying this woman, we will go through the season, because not to do so would appear odd. We do not wish to harm you, or have society discuss what should be our private concerns. But after, we will retire to one of the smaller estates.”
“There’s a pretty manor house in Devonshire,” Damaris pointed out.
“As long as it isn’t too close to the sea,” Dorcas said. “Salt air is awful for most plants.”
Gerald couldn’t bear that prospect. Not only was he about to marry a woman he could barely tolerate, he would have to find husbands for his sisters in the next couple of months. Either that, or watch them dwindle into old maids. He had no doubt they would carry out their threat. He would lose them, and all his dreams for them. His sisters were lovely, and striking. They could take London by storm.
However, thinking back, he recalled a few occasions when Elizabeth’s taste was less than perfect. His sisters had the dark hair he also shared, and blue eyes, although the shades varied, together with the creamy skin tone. Certain shades of green and yellow made them appear bilious, and Elizabeth had warmly recommended exactly those colors, declaring them all the crack. For his sisters, not for herself.
He might almost call her a scheming hussy. “I must go down soon,” he said, “she’ll be missing me. If I do the unthinkable and call off the wedding, will you promise to stay with me until you find suitable husbands?”
The women exchanged another series of glances, almost as if they were discussing the matter. Damaris turned to him and gave him a sharp nod. “We do not expect you to ask our approval, but we do expect the woman you marry not to give us quite so much unwanted advice.”
“Especially bad advice,” Dorcas muttered. Damaris’s hands tightened on her shoulders.
Gerald nodded, spun on his heel and left, feeling far more light-hearted than he had for, well, weeks.
Elizabeth was standing in the parlor, tapping her delicate foot. In his absence her mother had arrived. Recalling a phrase the vicar had used last Sunday, Gerald mentally girded his loins.
He pasted on his usual easygoing smile and bowed. “Good day, your grace.”
She bobbed an absolutely stiff curtsey. “My lord.”
Gerald had planned what he would say on the way downstairs. He was ready, although he didn’t relish the next half hour.
“I am glad you are here, madam,” he said to the duchess. There was no way of approaching this delicately. “I fear I have come to a conclusion which, while inevitable, will prove somewhat painful to us all. I fear Elizabeth and I are not the perfect match.”
The duchess opened her mouth. Gerald ploughed on. “In fact, I am convinced we will not suit. I regret that I have come to this conclusion so late in the day. At least it has happened before the press has been informed, and our friends must congratulate us. We had agreed to use a special license, to prevent the public intrusion of having the banns called, which is another piece of fortune. Indeed, I regret any inconvenience but I truly believe we have discovered in time what could have become a disastrous union.”
The duchess glared at him. “You are a blackguard, sir.”
Gerald tried not to look like one. He’d do anything to bring this uncomfortable interview to a swift conclusion.
“He doesn’t mean it! You do not mean it, do you Gerald?” Elizabeth’s eyes were swimming with tears. “You are joking, are you not? Why, I have ordered several new gowns and already I have made arrangements for a new carriage!”
“I must insist. If you insist on going forward, I have to inform you I will not be at the church waiting for you.” If it meant his ruin, he would do this.
His sisters had reminded him of the fact he preferred to ignore. He was an earl. Furthermore, he was a wealthy earl. If he ensured he fulfilled his duties, a broken engagement would not ruin him. Women might avoid him for a while, but he could live with that.
“Be assured we will take you to court for breach of promise,” the duchess said, holding her sobbing daughter in her arms.
He’d expected that argument. “We have not yet signed the marriage contract. Any promises were made have been informal. Would that not serve to hold Lady Elizabeth up to ridicule? It would be sure to damage her future promise, and that of their sisters.”
After that followed an hour Gerald preferred to forget. With Elizabeth sobbing on her shoulder, the duchess resorted to pleas. That was when Gerald began to wonder if there was something other than her eagerness to become a duchess to the swift betrothal.
Thanking his lucky stars he had not yet committed anything to paper, Gerald and the duchess concocted a plan. In public, they would say they had never planned to marry. The duchess and Lady Elizabeth were just helping Gerald and his sisters out of the goodness of their hearts. Where the gossip of m
arriage had come from, they had not the faintest idea.
Of course the people who had seen them together would know they had called off the wedding, but if they both denied it entirely, and continued to do so, society would forget.
It took twice as long as Gerald had assessed, and by the end of the session, he was exhausted.
He spent the rest of the day getting comprehensively drunk, which made him feel much better, at least for a few hours. He’d removed the burden oppressing him, and he felt himself again. Almost, that was. That vital piece was still missing, the one with her name on it.
The one he had to forget.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE NEXT DAY GERALD WALKED TO THE OFFICES of his man of business in the City, to take care of the practicalities. He almost skipped there. He put the carriage at the disposal of his delighted sisters, who were heading for the mantua-makers, to cancel half their order and find something that suited them better.
They agreed that Elizabeth’s influence was wrong for them, and they would promote Elizabeth’s match to whoever she discovered once the season began. “The sooner she is married,” Damaris opined, “the better it will be for the unsuspecting bachelors who are hurling themselves at the ballrooms.”
Today he took a few hours to himself. London’s weather had taken a turn for the better, although the smoking chimneys had all but obscured the blue sky as he strode through the crowded streets.
London was seething with people, all busy, all occupied. Life filled every niche of the place. Gerald missed this part of town. He’d only moved a couple of miles west, and Mayfair was not exactly devoid of activity, but this—this was different. People had moved around here since Roman times, perhaps even before. They had lived, and loved and all had made their mark, if one knew where to look.
He turned up the long street containing the offices of many men of business, their brass plaques shiny or tarnished, depending on the state of their businesses. He was passing an office with a particularly highly polished plate when he nearly collided with a man coming out. He stepped back and doffed his hat. “I beg your pardon—“
His apology stopped dead, because the man was helping someone down the steps. Annie Cathcart, to be precise.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
Because he had no choice, his rival faced him. That bastard Stephenson stood there, with Annie’s hand hooked through his arm, smiling. Annie’s eyes were wide with shock.
“Are you well?”
Annie swallowed, then nodded. “Perfectly, my lord.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to correct the honorific to “Gerald,” but perhaps he should not. He glanced at her hand, but she was wearing gloves, so he couldn’t see if there was a ring or not.
“You owe us your congratulations,” the bastard said.
Gerald pinned his smile in place. He was getting good at that. “Are you married now?”
“In a week.” Her voice was thin and thready; she didn’t seem happy. Gerald yearned to comfort her. “The last banns will be read then.”
His heart quickened in its beat, throbbing insistently against his chest. Everything in him yearned to reach out and snatch Annie to safety. His arms had never felt so empty. That space inside him, the one with her name on it, opened, as if to take her in.
She was not his. She would never be his.
A thought hammered at his brain. He’d forgotten their bargain about the house. She had not contacted him, and he’d let the matter drop. He had taken any choice away from her, forced her into Stephenson’s arms.
The least he could do was honor the agreement. Perhaps then—but no. He must not wish for what he could not have.
“I will offer you my congratulations after the event,” he said, keeping his voice low and smooth. “Not before. I have been the recipient of totally misguided congratulations myself recently.” He bowed. “Good day, sir, ma’am.”
With an effort he forced his feet to move and continued on his way.
***
Annie watched him pass, her eyes huge in her face. As he swept by her, a trace of his male scent invaded her nostrils, and longing invaded her body. With that brief contact he woke her senses, the ones she’d been working so hard to suppress. She wanted him so badly. Her nipples tensed, and grew sensitive, ready for his touch and the place between her legs dampened.
Nothing Joseph had done had gone even part way toward rousing her in this way, but this man did it effortlessly. She wanted to turn and watch him go, so she could bask in his presence one more time—one last time.
This could not happen, she could not spend more nights tossing and turning, trying to get an hour’s rest before the day started its relentless path once more. Closer to her wedding day.
Closer to her doom.
***
Four days before her wedding to Joseph Stephenson, Annie sat in her office opening her letters. Petit stood at his desk, scribing the latest orders. “Do you intend to go on a honeymoon, madam?” he asked.
She looked up and forced a smile. “No, I don’t believe so. I shall make arrangements to move to his house when I’ve dealt with matters here.” She had been putting the move off for weeks. Ever since she had realized what was missing. What she hadn’t seen lately.
Annie had done everything in her power to reconcile herself to the marriage. Joseph was a better prospect than John Cathcart had been, on paper at least. She would be making a solid marriage.
Her parents were delighted. They planned to come to town for the ceremony and the wedding breakfast. Even Matilda was reconciled to the prospect, particularly after Joseph took her on a tour of his fine house and showed her the room she would occupy. Her mind put at rest about her own future, Matilda set herself to helping Annie. But Annie was far from reconciled.
Her fears had solidified recently, and now she could not keep her secret to herself.
When she’d seen Gerald, her flagging spirits had taken a boost for the short time he’d spoken to them. He looked well, dressed modestly but finely in dark red, his powerful body shadowed by the fabric, but not completely hidden.
When he’d bowed she’d watched his hands, the hands that had taken her to paradise in that never-to-be forgotten night. Now she was in all likelihood to carry the results of that night.
Gerald walked away, forever a stranger. And yet—he was not to marry Lady Elizabeth? Or had his words meant something else? Annie had rummaged through the gossip sheets that were usually the purview of Matilda, and found nothing but innuendo and rumor. Gerald was still seen in company with Lady Elizabeth. He must have meant something else, or she was too dazed to take in what he was saying.
When the door clanged, she glanced up and suppressed a sigh, forcing a smile to take its place. Joseph nodded to Petit, who left the office, as he always did when Joseph arrived. Just as if he was taking orders from her betrothed instead of herself. Mild irritation rose in her breast. At least she was feeling something.
Her nervousness rose, too, until her throat tightened and her stomach churned. That was part of the problem, the stomach-churning. “May I speak to you in private, Joseph?”
His thin-lipped smile told her he thought she wanted kisses from him. He was delusional.
She rose and led him upstairs to the parlor. She could not talk to him anywhere she had a chance of being interrupted. Once there, she closed the door. The parlor door was only closed when the occupant did not wish to be interrupted. In a house this cramped, they had to have some signals, or they would be forever colliding with each other.
When Joseph would have taken her in his arms, she held her hands out, palms up. “No, Joseph, I truly need to talk to you.” Clasping her hands together, she tried hard not to wring them. Whatever she thought of him, she owed him this. The truth, to tell him what he needed to know.
Joseph flicked his coat skirts out of the way and sat. He was wearing brown, his favorite color. True, the shade was a rich one, and as subdued as the dull red coat Gerald had worn
the other day, but he did not have the body to fill it out. Nor did his costume have the touch of the tailor, the flourishes and details that marked the garment out as fashionable.
Once Annie would have said she preferred a man who dressed simply. Now she knew that was not true. But she had made a bargain. Every deal she had ever made, whether personal or business, had always been honest and straightforward. This marriage was no different. They would sign the immensely complicated documents tomorrow that would bind them as securely as their marriage would on Saturday. There would be no going back.
“Joseph, I have become aware in recent weeks, that is, not aware, that is, something has been missing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” The ice-cool tones dropped into the air between them like stones.
“No, I suppose you do not.” She laughed nervously. What was she, a young girl again, stammering her vows on her wedding day? She lifted her chin to steady the trembling that consumed her. “The thing is, that is I mean—I think I’m pregnant.”
His dark eyes warmed, then glowed, then opened wide. “How can that be, when we have not anticipated the wedding?”
“I had a moment of madness.”
“You were raped?”
“No!” The notion appalled her. “This was before you made your intentions clear.” Surely she was allowed that single white lie.
He gave a nod. “You had a lover.” His hand, resting on the arm of the chair, tightened into a claw. “Do you want to tell me who was the fortunate recipient of your attentions?”
Her breath caught in her throat. If she told him it was Gerald, he would destroy him. “No. What I did at that time was entirely my concern. It only happened once, and it was, as I said, a moment of madness.”
A spot of color rested high on his cheeks. He was in a temper. But she had learned from observing him with his underlings that Joseph did not bluster, or shout. He remained rigidly in control of himself, though God knew what he did in private. He had not treated her carefully, although he had not been deliberately rough—at least, she did not think he had. But she knew he whipped the boys in his office when they did wrong. Perhaps he would whip her. He would be within his rights come Saturday.
Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors Page 25