‘No! It…it is impossible.’ A cold pit settled in her stomach. Not another marriage of disappointment and waiting, of loneliness. With a strangled sob, she pushed past him and dashed from the room.
Elinor caught her cousin’s arm as he headed towards the card room. ‘Edmund! I must speak with you! Now!’
Fairchilde looked down at her and gently removed her hand. ‘There is no need to clutch me like that. I fear you are wrinkling my coat. Now, what has you in high dudgeon, dear cousin?’
‘He is here with her! They are dancing!’
Fairchilde looked at the dancers performing the intricate steps of a quadrille in Lady Carruthers’s ball room. His gaze fell on Rosalyn and Stamford, who were circling each other, their faces stiff and unsmiling. ‘Yes?’
‘They should not be! I thought by now they would not be speaking to each other!’
Fairchilde raised a brow. ‘They don’t seem to be now.’
‘That is not what I meant! They should not even be looking at each other.’
‘My dear, did you really think sending that little piece to the Morning Post would put an end to their connection?’
‘What I meant is I thought you would have done something! She certainly has not fallen into your arms!’ Elinor said.
‘No.’ His lips curled momentarily in a harsh smile, causing Elinor to fall back a pace. Then his usual bland expression returned. ‘No, not yet. However, tonight our delightful hostess and one of our most malicious gossips will catch the proper Lady Jeffreys in a flagrant act of impropriety. With myself, of course.’
‘Delightful!’ Elinor exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
‘I thought you would think so.’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘So go enjoy yourself with the dull Lord Melton and leave Lady Jeffreys to me.’
Elinor bestowed an excited smile on him and hastened away. Fairchilde watched her for a moment, then turned his attention back to the dancers.
The dance had ended and Stamford was leading Rosalyn from the floor. He watched as Stamford bowed over her hand, then stalked off. Head held high, Rosalyn moved in the opposite direction. Fairchilde smiled. It was high time to make his move.
Rosalyn touched her grandmother’s arm. ‘I think I will go and sit somewhere. I am rather tired.’
Lady Carlyn turned from her conversation—or, rather, her monologue—with Miss Waverly, an elderly lady who was hard of hearing and whose conversations mostly consisted of nods and smiles.
‘I must admit you do look rather out of curl,’ Lady Carlyn said after glancing at Rosalyn’s face. ‘Well, go and sit, but do not disappear for too long. I don’t want everyone to think you are going into a decline after that nasty bit of gossip.’
Rosalyn gave her a wan smile and, after pressing Miss Waverly’s frail hand, made her way towards the door leading from the ball room. She was not really ill—so much as she wanted to be alone.
Lady Carruthers’s ball room was small and extremely crowded. Rosalyn waited for a pair of giggling debutantes in white muslin gowns to move before she was able to reach the doors. Then she was forced to plaster herself against one of the doors to avoid being slammed into by a stout elderly man in an old-fashioned bagwig. As she stepped away, she felt a tug on the hem of her skirt and then heard an ominous rip. Looking down, she saw the lace on her skirt had caught and torn away.
Could anything else go wrong today? She made her way to the circular hall. She was thankful to see an empty gilt chair. She sank down on it and then bent down to inspect the damage to her hem.
A large strip of lace and ribbons had torn away from the satin material. She would need to call for a maid and obtain some pins to secure the lace. She straightened back up and leaned against the chair with a heavy sigh.
She would rather call the carriage and go home. The only reason she had agreed to attend this ball was that her grandmother had insisted. ‘It will be most noticeable if you do not put in an appearance. Not just for your sake and, of course, mine, but Stamford’s family. And, my dear, Eversleigh is in town! Why did you not mention that! He would be most displeased if you are not there!’
In the end, it was the mention of the formidable Duke that decided Rosalyn. She had no desire to have him censure her. Perhaps she could escape this nightmare by fleeing to some remote village in Northumberland. She closed her eyes. They flew open as soon as she heard her name.
She looked up to see a bewigged footman standing in front of her. ‘My lady, your grandmother desires your assistance. If you will follow me.’
She shot up from the chair. ‘Oh, no! Is she not well?’
‘I do not know, my lady.’
Worried, she trailed him down the staircase, holding her skirt so she would not trip on the lace. She barely acknowledged Miss Markham’s greeting as she passed her and another lady on the stairs. The footman showed her to a door on the first floor. She thanked him and pushed open the door.
She saw no one at first glance in the dimly lit room. It appeared to be some sort of private study. She moved further in the room and saw the sofa in one corner was empty. ‘Grandmama?’
‘I have been waiting for you.’
She jumped as Edmund Fairchilde rose from a chair at one side of the doorway. He stepped behind her and shut the door.
She turned, her hand going to her throat in fright and confusion. ‘Where is my grandmother?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. In the card room, I would imagine.’
‘But the footman said she was ill.’ He merely looked at her and suddenly she understood. ‘You sent that message?’
‘Of course. I am certain you are about to ask why. So I will tell you. I have wanted to speak to you alone and this was the only way I could think of to do so.’
‘I have no idea what you want to say to me. My brother’s debt has been paid.’
His smile caused her to shiver. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. But I still did not get interest. That is what I want to collect tonight.’
‘I have no money on me.’
‘I said nothing about money. I want something else entirely. Come here, Rosalyn.’
‘Let me go. I…I will scream.’
‘And I will stop you before you make more than a peep.’
‘What do you want?’ She had no idea what to do. He was standing in front of the door, blocking her escape.
‘A kiss. Nothing more.’
She could scarcely stand to look at him. The thought of his thick lips on hers made her shudder. ‘No.’
‘Come here now.’
She darted a glance around the room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. The only item remotely useful was an inkwell sitting on the desk. She backed towards the desk, keeping a wary eye on him. He moved quickly towards her. She snatched up the inkwell just as he reached for her. She darted around the side of the desk as his hand closed around her wrist.
Her foot caught in the torn lace. She tripped backwards, his hand losing its grip on her wrist. He attempted to grab her bodice but she jerked away as his hand closed over the silk rose at her bodice. It tore off in his hand, ripping the silk of her bodice. She darted around the side of the desk, her breathing come in gasps, and held up the inkwell.
Fairchilde laughed, his eyes glittering with a peculiar excitement as if stimulated by the chase. ‘That will hardly stop me, my dear.’
‘But I will.’
Michael’s voice came from the doorway, soft and deadly. Fairchilde turned towards him; for an instant his face registered a deadly hatred. Then his expression became hooded.
‘Lady Jeffreys is hardly in need of your assistance,’ Fairchilde said in a bored voice. He moved leisurely towards Michael. ‘However, I suggest you keep a tighter rein on your fiancée. She is perhaps a bit too free with her favours.’
Michael glanced in her direction, his face filled with a cold, hard fury she’d never seen before. His glance rested on her bodice. With a sickening realisation she saw that the material had
torn, revealing her shift beneath. She tried to pull the edges together, feeling as if she were in a horrible nightmare. And her hair had tumbled from its pins.
Michael turned back to Fairchilde. ‘I warned you to stay away from her. I protect what is mine. I will have no regrets about putting a bullet through you.’
‘You’ve only to name the place, my lord.’
Rosalyn found her voice. ‘No, Michael. Please say no more. This is a misunderstanding. Nothing happened. I cannot bear another scandal.’
His mouth in a tight line, Michael looked over at her. She moved swiftly to his side and touched his arm. ‘Please. He…he is not worth it!’
His own features softened slightly as he looked into her pleading face. ‘Very well, my dear.’ He lifted his head and stared at Fairchilde.
‘I’m warning you, Fairchilde. If you come near her again, I will kill you without regret.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
‘It’s a warning. If you value your life at all, you will heed it. I suggest you now remove yourself from the premises or I will throw you out.’
‘Not very hospitable, are you? However, I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome.’ Fairchilde moved lazily towards the door, but with a wary look in his eye. He stopped and glanced at Rosalyn.
‘I hope you know what you are doing in marrying such a madman.’
Rosalyn closed her eyes, thankful there wasn’t to be a duel but afraid Michael’s temper would now descend upon herself. If she could have magically transported herself to another country at that moment, she would have done so.
Her legs trembled so hard she feared they would not support her. She swayed and the next thing she knew she was in Michael’s arms. He held her for a moment and then asked, ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No,’ she replied, not looking at him.
‘What did he do to you? Did he do this?’ He touched her torn bodice and his gaze hardened as he saw the rent in the skirt of her gown, which by now was beyond simple repair.
‘I tore my skirt in the ball room. I…I am fine, really.’
‘And your bodice?’
She closed her eyes, ashamed. ‘He…he tried to reach for me and…and when I tripped he…he tore the lace.’
She heard his sharp intake of breath. Opening her eyes, she saw he looked furious. ‘Damn it, Rosalyn, what were you doing alone in here?’
‘A footman said Grandmama was ill. Otherwise, I…I never would have come. Please believe me. I would never have…have willingly gone with him.’
‘I know that.’ His voice gentled. He stroked her cheek. ‘But I fully intend to see he never so much as looks at you again. He will not dare insult my wife.’
‘I…I am not going to be your wife.’
‘Oh, yes, you are.’ He pulled her close and then his mouth descended on hers, his hands tangling in her hair. She made a feeble attempt to shove him away, but his arms only tightened. And his lips, moving gently over hers, were warm and familiar and comforting.
‘My dear Lydia! I am certain he said we should find it here. Let me…’
The small shriek caused Rosalyn and Michael to spring apart. Their startled eyes met those of Lady Carruthers and Mrs Bellwood-Smythe, one of London’s most notorious gossips.
‘I do beg your pardon,’ Lady Carruthers gasped, her eyes wide. She backed towards the open door, but Mrs Bellwood-Smythe’s fascinated gaze ran over Rosalyn’s dress.
‘Oh, my! Are you all right, my dear?’
Rosalyn flushed. ‘Oh, yes. I…I merely tore my dress in the ball room.’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Bellwood-Smythe’s expression was one of complete disbelief.
‘Lydia!’ Lady Carruthers grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room.
Michael stared after their retreating backs, his face stunned, then seemed to come to his senses. He strode to the door, closing it firmly behind them.
His gaze was impassive as he turned towards Rosalyn. ‘That settles it. By tomorrow the entire ton will most likely think I was attempting to rip your clothes from your body and ravish you in Lord Carruthers’s study. I’ll be damned before I let you leave me with that hanging over my head.’ A peculiar smile twisted his lips. ‘You have no choice but to wed me after tonight, my dear.’
Chapter Seventeen
Rosalyn sat on the edge of her bed, dressed only in her shift and petticoat. She supposed she should ring for Annie to help her to dress for the dinner party she was to attend. She had only meant to lie down and close her eyes for a few minutes; instead, she’d slept for nearly two hours.
She heaved herself off the bed and rang the bell. Caroline was holding a small dinner party for family. Nothing very formal, she had reassured Rosalyn.
Ever since the Carruthers’s ball five days ago, his family had gone out of their way to protect her from the gossip surrounding the whole disaster. Despite the efforts of Lady Spence and the Duke of Eversleigh, the rumours had run wild all over London. As Michael had predicted, Mrs Bellwood-Smythe had spread it about that Rosalyn had been locked in a passionate embrace with him, her gown ripped from her bodice, the rest left to everyone’s sordid imagination. The more nasty-minded believed he had tried to ravish her.
Which was why she could not bring herself to run away from London. Such action would only serve to confirm the rumours. And she could not do that to Michael.
She’d refused, however, to discuss the wedding. Lady Spence had unexpectedly come to her rescue, saying Rosalyn needed a few days to herself. She had been seen in public only once with Michael. Rosalyn had forced herself to smile and nod and take his arm as if nothing had happened.
‘My lady, what will you wear? The cream gown or perhaps the one of sea-green?’ Annie’s voice interrupted her reverie.
‘Oh, the green, I think.’ She watched Annie bustle around. At least the Season had proved beneficial for one person—Annie had quite turned from a shy country miss to a very competent lady’s maid. Rosalyn hadn’t the heart to tell her yet that she would most likely never be the lady’s maid to a Marchioness.
Annie helped her into the gown, then dressed her hair in an elaborate knot on top of her head. After that, she retrieved Rosalyn’s jewel box and brought it to her. Rosalyn’s eye fell on the rose brooch Michael had given her. She touched it, feeling unexpectedly sad.
Annie peered over her shoulder. ‘It is so pretty, my lady. Do you wish to wear it?’
‘I don’t know. Yes, I think I will.’ She pinned it to her bodice, her thoughts straying to Michael. She had spent no time alone with him, almost as if there was some sort of conspiracy to keep them apart. Either her grandmother was with her, or one of his relations. He had not once called on her. His manner was polite, almost too polite. He seemed a stranger.
After Annie finished with her toilette, Rosalyn picked up her gloves, fan, and shawl and went down to her drawing room. Her grandmother should be arriving soon and Rosalyn would share her carriage.
Lost in thought, she jumped at the sound of a rap on the door. She gathered her things and went to the hallway where Mrs Harrod had opened the door. ‘And where is Frederick?’ she was asking.
‘E’s been taken ill. I’ve come for her ladyship.’ Rosalyn gave Mrs Harrod a distracted smile as she stepped past her into the night air. A light misty rain was falling as she reached the carriage. She stopped, puzzled, for the carriage was completely unfamiliar. Her grandmother did not seem to be inside. She turned as a terrible uneasiness assailed her.
Then she screamed as a hand clamped over her mouth. She was pulled up against a hard chest, then shoved into the coach. The door slammed shut, and she fell against the cushions as the horses sprang away.
Michael stood next to the mantelpiece in Caroline’s drawing room, every nerve in his body on edge, as Lady Carlyn was announced. He’d been waiting for Rosalyn, worrying about her. Always quiet, she had seemed to be in some sort of daze ever since that damnable night at the Carruthers’s ball. He had no idea how to reach her, afraid if he
touched her he wouldn’t be able to stop. And like a coward, he’d avoided spending time alone with her. He had no intention of giving her the chance to tell him she would not marry him.
He frowned. Lady Carlyn had come alone. There was no Rosalyn. Was she unwell? Or couldn’t she bear the thought of facing his family one more time? Facing him? He’d hoped she would come so he could tell her he’d finally tracked down James. He hoped the news James had been at Meryton since he had left Newmarket would jolt her out of her trance.
He moved across the drawing room to Lady Carlyn’s side. She was smiling and talking to his aunt, apparently unperturbed by Rosalyn’s absence. ‘I had the most dreadful time persuading her to accompany me to the dressmaker’s! And then she would not look at anything! Sometimes I vow she is—’ She broke off to address Michael. ‘I really should not say such things about your bride-to-be! But really, she can be most difficult, I should warn you.’
‘Where is she?’ Michael asked.
Lady Carlyn looked puzzled. ‘Who?’
‘Rosalyn. I thought she was to come with you.’
Lady Carlyn looked surprised. ‘Really? But you had sent a note around saying that you would send a carriage for her. I must admit I was rather relieved as it meant I needn’t rush around so much.’ She peered around him as if expecting to see Rosalyn behind him. ‘But she is not here?’
‘I sent no note.’
‘Of course you did. It arrived—why yes, it arrived just as I returned from shopping. I remember because the footman gave it to me just as I stepped into the drawing room. I was quite surprised.’
‘Where is the note?’
‘I have no idea. I suppose I tossed it away.’ His meaning finally seemed to penetrate her mind. ‘You did not send a note? But who would?’
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