A Bargain With Fate

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  Her mind was blank, she could think of nothing to say.

  Even more disconcerting, she was completely aware of him, the broad shoulders beneath his dark black coat, the thickness of his hair, his strong masculine features.

  ‘Is something else wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘No! I am just rather tired. It is very late.’ Why must he stand there watching her with that peculiar look as if he wished to read her soul?

  ‘Is that a hint for me to leave?’

  ‘I suppose you must have other things to do.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Don’t you usually go to a club or…or something?’ What else did men do? Visit their mistresses? She could hardly ask him that.

  A sardonic smile lifted his lips. ‘Since I’ve met you, my dear, I’ve spent most evenings attending some damnable function or another. In fact, Caroline informed me tonight that Lady Jersey declares me quite tame.’

  ‘That is hardly my fault. I haven’t asked you to attend all of those da—functions! In fact, I would be quite grateful if you would go back to doing whatever it was you did before you met me. Perhaps I could have a bit of peace and some sleep.’

  ‘I believe we’ve had this conversation before, my dear.’ He folded his arms, a sure sign, along with the drawl in his voice, he was going to become even more difficult. ‘Spending my evenings at White’s will hardly convince my family I hold you in affection.’

  She felt unexpectedly hurt that he considered her nothing more than an inconvenience. ‘I am beginning to question why this charade is even necessary,’ she told him coldly. ‘Miss Randall is a most superior young lady in every respect. And you certainly seemed to get along very well with her last night. I have no idea what possible objections you could have towards marrying her.’

  If anything, the expression on his face grew even darker. He stalked towards her, causing her to back up against the sofa.

  ‘So you think I should marry Miss Randall, do you?’ he snarled. ‘I suppose you cherish some hope I’ll release you from this arrangement early and you’ll be rid of my presence.’ His hands came down on each side of her, imprisoning her against the back of the sofa. His dark eyes impaled her. Blood rushed to her head, and she prayed she wouldn’t faint. ‘I have no interest in Miss Randall. I have no intention of releasing you from our engagement. Furthermore, you will spend as much time in my presence as I deem necessary in order to carry out this betrothal.’

  His gaze fell to her lips, his eyes darkening. He brushed a strand away from her face, and she knew he was about to kiss her. She shoved him with all her might. Caught off guard, he staggered backwards.

  She beat a hasty retreat behind the sofa, then glared at him. ‘Not if you intend to browbeat me in such a revoltingly high-handed fashion, my lord. I pray you will go, or I…I will call my housekeeper. She is very dangerous with a broom!’

  He stared at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses. For a moment, she thought he intended to strangle her, but instead he snatched up his gloves and beaver hat.

  ‘A threat to inspire fear in any man’s heart,’ he drawled. ‘You will ride with me tomorrow in the park.’

  ‘I have other things to do.’

  ‘You will be here and ready.’

  He turned on his heel and stalked out. She stared at the door, her heart racing furiously. She couldn’t remember being so livid in her whole life. Her entire body seethed with anger. She felt like throwing something at the door.

  She sank down on the sofa, trying to calm herself. What was wrong with her? What did she care what he thought of her? Why should it matter whether he viewed her as a means to an end or not? He was nothing more than that to her.

  As her anger dissipated, she wanted to cry. The carefully constructed wall she’d built around her emotions seemed to be collapsing around her. And the destruction was all due to him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael reined Faro to a walk. He’d hoped a hard ride through Hyde Park would clear his head after last night. Unfortunately, letting his horse run at a full gallop only increased his headache.

  No doubt because of his excesses at Fallingham’s after leaving Rosalyn last night. He swore. Faro’s ears twitched. Somehow she’d managed to pierce through the cool indifference he’d displayed to the world. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt angry enough with a woman to lose his temper, much less threaten one to do his bidding. Reluctantly, he acknowledged it was because with most women he was quite aware of having the upper hand in the relationship.

  But not with Rosalyn. She made it quite clear last night she wanted nothing to do with him, that she only suffered his company because of their bargain. He’d felt that peculiar hurt again when she told him to leave and then he’d blown up at her.

  The damnable thing was he wanted her to like him.

  Several drops of rain fell on his bare head. The grey overcast sky reflected his sour mood. He best get home before he was caught in a downpour.

  Watkins opened the door to him. Michael strode past him, only to stop as his butler cleared his throat.

  He turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have a message for you. I think it might be of a somewhat urgent nature.’

  Michael took the note from Watkin’s hand. It bore the mark of one of London’s jewellers, Compton’s, an establishment he occasionally frequented. He had no idea why they would contact him; his bills were always sent to his agent. He perused the contents, then crumbled the note. ‘Damn!’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Never mind.’ He turned and dashed up the staircase to change. Whether Rosalyn liked it or not, she was going to see him now.

  But she was not at home. Mrs Harrod, a fount of information where he was concerned, told him she intended to do a bit of shopping and perhaps stop at Hookham’s. ‘And I will say, my lord, that she appeared a bit overwrought. Great big circles under her eyes as if she hardly slept, poor lamb. I hate to say much, but it’s my belief her brother is in a spot of trouble.’

  Michael thanked her and decided to head for Compton’s in Bond Street. He emerged a half-hour later, after instructing Compton where to send his purchases, more determined than ever to track down Rosalyn. His next stop was at Hookham’s library.

  She was there, dressed in a grey pelisse, standing in front of a shelf, thumbing through a book. She did not notice him until he spoke from behind her.

  ‘You’re devilish difficult to find, my dear.’

  She jumped, the book tumbling from her hands. Her eyes widened in surprise, then a cool expression settled on her features. ‘What are you doing here, my lord?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Indeed. I am certain it can wait until later. I am busy now.’ She turned back to the shelves in dismissal.

  ‘What I have to say cannot wait until later.’

  She gave him an icy glance. ‘As far as I am concerned, it can. I am not at your beck and call every hour of the day or night, no matter what you may think.’

  He touched her arm. She flinched. ‘I don’t think you are at all,’ he said quietly. ‘Will you at least look at me?’

  ‘I am certain I will be forced to do that later.’

  ‘Rosalyn. Look at me.’

  She pulled another book from the shelf and determinedly flipped through the pages.

  ‘Then I will be forced to follow you around until you do.’

  She finally turned. The expression of martyred resignation on her face was not encouraging. ‘What is it you wish, my lord?’

  ‘I wish to talk to you.’

  ‘And I wish to borrow some books. You will have to wait.’

  ‘Very well.’ His glance fell to the one at her feet. He bent and retrieved it. ‘Is this one you want?’ Then he saw the title. He snorted. ‘The Libertine? Is this the sort of thing you read?’

  ‘Give it to me, my lord.’ She held out her hand, her face turning pink.

  ‘No.’ He thumbed through the volume, a passag
e catching his eye. “‘…a deadly chill crept through her blood, a universal weakness trembled through her frame, her mouth became parched, now her cheek turned of an ashy paleness…”’ He looked up and grinned. ‘Fascinating prose.’

  ‘Please!’

  For some reason, the discovery the prim Lady Jeffreys read Gothic novels delighted him. Even more rewarding was watching her cool composure crumble. His ill humour evaporated. He raised a brow. ‘And here I thought you read only elevating literature. History, Hannah More’s tracts and the like. This is a most enlightening side to your character.’

  ‘Stop it! What if someone hears you?’ she said in a fierce whisper. She looked mortified as she glanced around the library.

  No one was near them, but he moved closer to her just the same. ‘They’ll just think I’m reading you love poetry.’ He lowered his voice.

  She walks in beauty like the night,

  Of starry climes…

  ‘Don’t! Michael!’

  ‘Ah! You’ve finally remembered my name!’

  ‘Why are you being so difficult?’

  ‘For the sole purpose of watching you blush.’ He grinned, pleased at the results. She looked utterly discomposed. ‘Do you want this book?’

  ‘No! I have changed my mind. I don’t want any books.’

  ‘Perhaps another day,’ he said kindly. He took her arm. ‘Come with me. I have something for you.’ After setting the book back on the shelf, he propelled her out of the library.

  In front of the library, she stopped and looked up at him. He saw she looked pale and tired. ‘What is it you want?’ she asked.

  ‘I need to talk to you, Rosalyn,’ he said quietly. ‘We can’t do it here on the street in this rain. I am taking you home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘My home.’ He looked around. ‘Where is your footman?’

  She flushed. ‘He has the toothache.’

  ‘And I suppose your abigail is occupied elsewhere.’ He took her arm again and led her down the street. ‘You seem to be woefully lacking in servants.’

  ‘I really don’t need very many.’

  He glanced down at her. ‘You should at least have enough to make your life comfortable.’

  ‘My life is very comfortable,’ she said stiffly. ‘At any rate, I cannot afford to keep on a retinue of servants to meet my every whim.’

  Unlike himself. His father was one of the wealthiest men in England. He’d never had to worry about the lack of money for servants or anything else he’d desired. He had no idea what it would be like to worry about money.

  But one thing did puzzle him. They arrived at his carriage and he helped her in. After instructing the coachman, he settled in across from her. ‘Why are you not staying with your grandmother, Rosalyn?’

  She looked out the window for a moment and then turned to look at him. ‘Because then my life would not be my own. I want to live by myself and come and go as I please. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.’

  Her words surprised him. Not only were they coming from a woman, which was extraordinary enough in his experience, but that they so much reflected his own philosophy. He had spent most of the last ten years avoiding any sort of entanglement that might endanger his independence. His position shielded him from ever becoming financially beholden to any man. But what he had avoided was the other kind, the more dangerous sort, the kind that might mean he could no longer call his life his own. An entanglement that would mean his life was intricately tied to another’s.

  He looked at the woman across from him. Whether he wanted it or not, her life had become intertwined with his. And he had no idea how to stop it. Worse yet, he wasn’t certain he wanted to.

  Rosalyn had no idea why she was sitting in Michael’s carriage, allowing him to take her to his house without protest. She must be more tired than she realised. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so…so nice, she would have worked up the energy to argue with him.

  Nice? It was hardly a word she would associate with the arrogant Lord Stamford, but that was what he had been. His unusually quiet manner had broken down her resistance.

  Her gaze fell on him. Not that he hadn’t been his usual commanding self. No one would ever think him anything but arrogant with the strong, stubborn line of his jaw and the proud tilt of his head.

  The carriage halted in front of his mansion. She shivered a little, recalling the only other time she’d been here. If she had known then how bound up in her life the Marquis of Stamford would become, would she have ever come? She had no answer.

  The footman had flung open the doors. Michael helped her out, and then took her arm. He hurried her through the rain and up the steps. His butler opened the door.

  ‘Lady Jeffreys will be staying for luncheon,’ Michael said.

  ‘Very well, my lord.’ He turned to Rosalyn. His stiff face creased in what appeared to be a rare smile. ‘May I offer my profound congratulations, Lady Jeffreys, and tell you on behalf of the rest of the staff how pleased we are that you are to be wed to Lord Stamford.’

  ‘Thank you. That is very kind,’ Rosalyn replied, taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. She would have thought, after the first disastrous visit, that he would have quite disapproved of her.

  ‘Come.’ Michael allowed her to proceed him up the winding staircase, past numerous portraits of ancestors in wigs, swords, and jewels, to the first floor. Instead of showing her to the drawing room, he took her into the library. She looked around at the dark-panelled room with its shelves of books, instantly liking the warmth of the room. A fire burned in the grate.

  ‘You may wish to remove your bonnet and pelisse,’ Michael said. When she hesitated, he added, ‘I did not bring you here to rip it up again, if that is what worries you.’

  ‘No, it is just…perhaps I should go home.’

  ‘After we eat. I missed breakfast so I will confess I’m quite ravenous. And I would prefer to eat with company.’ A slight smile lifted his mouth. ‘I hope you don’t plan to suggest I eat at my club.’

  She blushed. ‘I am sorry. I really did not mean to insult you last night.’

  ‘Have you ever noticed we spend an inordinate amount of time apologising to each other?’ he asked.

  He was definitely in a most peculiar mood. Neither angry, nor teasing, he seemed to actually want to talk to her.

  ‘I suppose it is because we argue so much. I have no idea why.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ He watched her while she removed her bonnet and pelisse with shaky fingers and then indicated a wing chair near the fire. ‘Come and sit.’

  She hesitantly sat down, wondering what he wanted. He took the chair across from her. The warmth of the fire combined with the steady beat of the rain made her feel warm and drowsy. She forced herself to say, ‘What is it you wished to speak with me about?’

  ‘This.’ He pulled a small box from his waistcoat pocket and rose. He held the box to her. She took it, after glancing up into his now-expressionless face. ‘Open it.’

  She did, and then her heart stopped. ‘Where did you get it?’ she whispered.

  ‘The same place where you sold it as well as your other pieces. Compton’s.’

  She stared down at her beloved locket. ‘But…how did you know?’

  ‘Compton sent a note around informing me you had sold some jewellery.’

  She looked up at him with a frown. ‘He had no business doing so.’

  ‘He correctly thought I should know. Why did you find it necessary to sell your jewellery?’

  ‘I…I have some debts to pay.’

  ‘Whose debts? Yours or your brother’s?’

  She looked down at her lap. ‘I will pay you as soon as I can.’

  He made an impatient sound. ‘Rosalyn, the money means little to me. Tell me why. Has James been gambling again?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘It…it is for an old debt. The creditor wishes to be paid. He is making threats.’

  ‘And who is this creditor?’ His gaze was suddenly ale
rt. ‘Is it Fairchilde?’

  She stared at him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rosalyn, how well do you know him?’

  ‘He came to Meryton once. I only met him again when I came to London.’

  ‘Rosalyn, why did you stand up with him?’ he asked, his voice quiet.

  She rose, knotting her hands together. ‘He said James was not at Newmarket and if I wanted to know where he was, I would stand up with him. He…he said he always sees to it his debtors pay.’

  ‘Is that all he said?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough? I have no idea where James is! I don’t know what he owes anyone! And I am worried he…he means to harm James!’ Her voice broke.

  ‘Rosalyn, he won’t harm James.’

  ‘How can you know that? He…he is despicable.’

  ‘Because I won’t let him.’ He spoke with such calm assurance she believe him. He frowned. ‘Why didn’t you come to me instead of selling your jewellery?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was—’

  ‘My concern.’ He took two steps away from her, then turned. ‘When will you get it through your head that you are my concern? I am responsible for you until this damn betrothal is over.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to be responsible for me. I…I can manage.’

  ‘You are not managing very well, my dear. How much is his debt?’

  ‘Two thousand pounds. Michael, really, there is no need to worry. As soon as I give the money to Fairchilde it will be over.’

  ‘You’re not paying Fairchilde, I am.’

  ‘Michael, this isn’t necessary.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said ruthlessly. ‘You’re not going near him. And you will tell me if Fairchilde approaches you again for any reason.’

  The vehemence in his voice left her speechless.

  Two footmen entered the room, one carrying a heavy silver platter. Michael stared at them for a moment as if he had no idea who had invaded the room. He snapped into motion, directing the servant to set the tray on the massive library table. The footmen then set a smaller table in front of the fire, arranging the two wing chairs on either side.

  Michael turned to Rosalyn. ‘Shall we eat?’