by Olivia Drake
She had not thought the evening could be any more wonderful. His proposal made the breath catch in her throat. She imagined being with him every night like this, sharing his life, bearing his children, growing old together.
Yet in the midst of her joy, something gave her pause.
Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her.
His gaze held that secretive darkness she’d sensed in him from time to time. There was a watchfulness about him, an elusive tension that now struck her as peculiar. She felt an odd certainty that she was missing something vital, that he wasn’t being completely honest with her.
Questions crept past the haze of her happiness. How much did she really know about James? Was it possible—just possible—that he had romanced her for a mercenary purpose? That he viewed her as his key to achieving the life of a gentleman?
She hesitated even to think it. But the possibility must be faced.
“Do you love me, James?”
He did not answer at once. A faint frown touched his brow, and he lowered his head to kiss her fingers—or perhaps to hide the truth in his eyes. “My affections belong only to you,” he murmured. “Surely you know that.”
His slight hesitation told Blythe everything. His reply was not the impassioned declaration she so desperately craved from him. Her questions grew into full-blown doubts that dealt a blow to her heart.
Denying the truth served no purpose. If James did not love her, then that could only mean he’d been wooing for his own hidden purpose.
For her money.
Blythe slipped out from under him, disengaging their bodies. Snatching up her dressing gown, she blinked back tears while thrusting her arms into the garment. How could she be so blissful one moment and so filled with suspicions the next?
Behind her, she heard him rise to his feet. His hands settled, warm and heavy, on her shoulders. “Blythe, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Temptation urged her to fling herself into his embrace. To forget this sudden onslaught of misgivings. But that would mean throwing away her whole life for a charming bounder.
A man who did not cherish her.
Pulling away, she swung to face him. “A marriage between us is impossible. It would cause a terrible scandal for my family.”
“I can provide for you, if that’s your concern. I’ve plans to make my fortune. With you at my side—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I must ask you to leave here. I-I need time to think.”
“Pray do not refuse me. Not after what we just shared.” He softened his voice, cajoling her. “Blythe, you might already be carrying my child.”
The notion caused a bittersweet lurch inside her. What would she do in such an instance? She desperately needed to be alone, to sort through her tangled emotions. “Please go, James. Now.”
Chapter 26
The following afternoon, Blythe descended the grand staircase. A summons had been delivered to her bedchamber a short time ago by one of the maids. The Duke of Savoy had arrived and Mama had requested Blythe’s presence in the green drawing room.
Her every step felt leaden. She did not want to face this interview. Only a fortnight ago, she would have been thrilled to know that His Grace had come to ask for her hand in marriage. She would have rejoiced in the golden future that lay before her.
But that had been before she had fallen in love with James.
The mere thought of him threatened to open the floodgates of her emotions. She hadn’t seen him since that glorious interlude in the middle of the night and their ensuing quarrel. After he had gone, she had crawled into bed and hugged Minx for comfort, eventually falling into a troubled slumber.
By the time she’d awakened, it had been late morning. The patter of raindrops on the window explained the darkness of the room. Minx had vanished, presumably taken out by the maid.
In a state of numbness, Blythe had prepared herself for this audience. She had bathed, then donned the garments Mama had chosen for her. She had sat quietly while the maid did her hair. All the while, thoughts of James had preoccupied her. She had teetered between misgivings about his mercenary purpose and memories of the joy she had found in his arms.
You’re mine now, he had said as he’d joined their bodies. Mine. Never forget that.
She wouldn’t—couldn’t—forget. He had been so tender and loving that it was difficult to believe he might harbor an ulterior motive. Perhaps her instincts had been wrong, and James wasn’t a cold-hearted scoundrel. Perhaps she had simply expected more from him than he was able to express. What he felt for her might not be love, but surely it wasn’t villainy, either.
Was it so terrible, anyway, that he would seek to use her family connections to better himself? Hadn’t she herself intended to do the same with the duke?
Besides, James was more than intelligent enough to know that Papa would never sign over her dowry to a footman. It was very likely she would be cut off without a penny, so there would be no monetary gain for James. She would lose all standing in society, too. She would be a pariah, an outcast, scorned by the nobility who now invited her to their parties.
Would she also be shunned by her parents?
Pausing outside the drawing room, Blythe drew a shaky breath. Papa would be devastated to learn of her fall from grace. By marrying James, she would be giving up everything for a man who had not even professed to love her. If she married the duke, at least she would always have the esteem of her family.
Dear God, what should she do?
The final decision still eluded her. Yet the course of the rest of her life depended upon the choice she would make this afternoon.
She forced herself to walk through the arched doorway and into the long chamber. At the tall windows, swags of gold cord held back the green brocaded draperies. Chairs and chaises in asymmetrical groupings filled the immense space.
Her mother sat alone beside the marble fireplace. She was pulling a needle and thread through the embroidery hoop in her hand.
Relief poured through Blythe. The duke wasn’t here, after all. The reprieve made her so giddy, she caught hold of the back of a gilt chair to steady herself.
Smiling, Mrs. Crompton laid aside her sewing. “There you are, my dear. I was about to come in search of you.” She hurried over to Blythe and eyed her critically. “The lemon yellow is an excellent color for you, although your cheeks are a bit rosy. Are you feeling ill?”
While making love, James had pressed his face to hers. She had relished the whiskered roughness against her tender skin.
“Perhaps from the sun on the drive in Hyde Park yesterday,” Blythe murmured. How long ago that seemed. She had felt carefree and happy while flirting with James. In the guise of Prince Nicolai, he had rescued Minx for her.…
“Well, do hurry and sit down.” Mrs. Crompton glanced out into the empty vestibule. “His Grace may arrive at any moment.”
A knell struck Blythe. “Is he … still in Papa’s study, then?”
“Of course. They are no doubt working out the particulars of the dowry arrangements. With so large a portion as yours, these things take time.” Mrs. Crompton motioned Blythe to a chair by the hearth and handed her an embroidery hoop. “Now, concentrate on your sewing.”
Blythe obediently sat. The knot inside her tightened as she noticed how happy her mother looked. Mama often seemed dissatisfied, always ambitious to improve their social standing. But now, she must be reflecting on the grand alliance Blythe was about to make.
“I despise needlework,” Blythe objected. “You know I do.”
“Never mind, just pretend to sew. It’s important that everything look ordinary. We must act as if we don’t know why His Grace is here.”
Blythe jabbed the needle into the fabric. It was one of her father’s white handkerchiefs. She stared down at his half-completed initials in blue thread and blinked back tears. Dear God, Papa would furious—and terribly disappointed—if he knew she had given away her virginity.
And to a foot
man, no less!
Rain tapped on the window, underscoring her despair. And what of the duke? Even if she agreed to marry him, it would be wrong of her to wait until their wedding night to reveal the truth. She would have to tell him today. What would he say when he found out? Would he withdraw his offer?
Perhaps not. He needed to pay off his gaming debts. The size of her dowry might be a powerful incentive for him to overlook her indiscretion, though he likely would insist upon waiting a few weeks to be certain she was not with child.
At the notion of carrying James’s baby, Blythe felt the softness of yearning. Every child was a gift, no matter what the circumstances. It seemed only right and good that the marvelous joining of their bodies could result in the miracle of a son or a daughter.
She’d had no inkling that a woman could feel such complete abandonment in a man’s arms. Or that his touch could transport her to perfect pleasure. Even now, fraught with doubts about her future, Blythe felt a deep pulse of longing. She wanted to experience it again.
With James. As his wife.
But her parents would never allow the marriage. They would be devastated—and they would do everything in their power to stop her.
It wasn’t penury she feared, but the loss of her family. They would suffer the consequences of the scandal every day. Her sisters cared little for society, but Mama enjoyed all the visits and dinners and balls.
How could Blythe heap disgrace on her parents in exchange for life with a man who didn’t truly love her? That was the crux of the matter. If only she had time in which to assure herself of James’s affection.
“Mama, what if … what if I don’t wish to marry the duke? What if I’ve changed my mind?”
Astonishment on her face, Mrs. Crompton let the sewing fall to her lap. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve very disturbed to find out that he’s a gambler. I had no idea he had so weak a character.”
“Shh. Do keep your voice down.” Lips taut, her mother glanced at the empty doorway. “All men have their foibles. It is nothing to fret about.”
“But it’s been such a shock. I-I need time to consider the matter.”
Mrs. Crompton gave her a keen stare. “Does this have to do with Prince Nicolai? Have you set your sights on him instead?”
Blythe felt the rise of a blush. She glanced down at the sewing that lay abandoned in her lap. Her mother had no idea that the prince was Blythe’s own creation. Or that Blythe had fallen in love with the footman who had played the role. “No, I…”
“You have, haven’t you? Well! I cannot pretend it wouldn’t be wonderful to see my daughter become a princess. And Prince Nicolai is quite the dashing rake.” Mrs. Crompton made another dainty stitch in her embroidery. “However, you must put all thought of the prince from your mind. Your father prefers that you remain in England, rather than go off to some faraway land. It is your duty to obey him.”
But I’ve been ruined.
Blythe couldn’t bring herself to voice that confession. Anyway, she didn’t feel ruined. Making love with James had been a private joy, and she didn’t want to sully the memory with horrified recriminations from her mother. “Am I to have no choice in the matter, then?”
Mrs. Crompton gave her a fond smile. “Oh, darling, it’s perfectly normal to harbor doubts. Just keep in mind what you’ve always wanted. To become a duchess. To be the grandest lady in society.” She pulled her needle through the fabric. “This alliance will make your father and me so happy and proud.”
With every word spoken by her mother, Blythe felt as if a weight were crushing her. The burden of obligation. She owed her parents the honor of making a good marriage. She had always been the dutiful daughter. It wasn’t their fault that she had changed.
The sound of measured footsteps came from the doorway. A footman—not James—entered the drawing room and bowed.
“His Grace, the Duke of Savoy.”
Panic flashed through Blythe. There had to be a way to escape this ordeal. Could she pretend illness? It would not be a lie, for her stomach churned with tension.
The duke walked into the drawing room. He leaned on a cane today, which meant his gout must be bothering him. Nevertheless, he made a stately figure with his neatly combed dark hair with hints of gray, tailored maroon coat, and perfectly tied white cravat beneath his haughty chin.
Like a marionette controlled by strings, Blythe found herself rising to her feet and then curtsying to him alongside her mother. He and Mrs. Crompton exchanged a few pleasantries. Then Mama said, “I’ve a matter I must check on with the housekeeper, Your Grace, if you’ll excuse me.”
Mrs. Crompton aimed a secretive smile of encouragement at Blythe before hurrying out of the drawing room. How silly to keep up such a pretense, Blythe thought. They all knew why Savoy had come here. Why not just say so and be done with it?
The duke waved his ringed hand at a chaise. “Will you sit with me, Miss Crompton? There is a matter of importance we must discuss.”
The urge to dash out of the room made her sway. She wanted to run as far and as fast as possible. But in the end, there was nothing for her to do but comply.
She lowered herself to the cushions and laced her fingers in her lap. As the duke took his seat beside her, he seemed an utter stranger, a middle-aged lord who thought too highly of himself. She could scarcely bring herself to meet his eyes. There was nothing whatsoever about him that interested her anymore.
A gambler! How little she had known of him.
Savoy afforded her the benign smile one would give a child. “I have just spoken to your father,” he said, his fingers curled around the knob of his cane. “If you will forgive me for speaking plainly, he has given his consent for me to pay my addresses to you.”
Of course Papa had done so, Blythe thought in despair. She had told him weeks ago that the duke was her ideal husband. Then last night in the coach, when her father had informed them of the duke’s scheduled visit, she had been too shocked to voice any objection.
But now, she could not keep silent. All her frustration and despair demanded to be released. “I will speak plainly, too, Your Grace. It would seem you are in dire need of my dowry.”
His pale blue eyes blinked in surprise. “The state of my finances is neither here nor there. It can be of no concern to a young lady such as yourself.”
“It is of concern to me. My father works hard to earn his wealth. Now it will be squandered to pay your gambling debts.”
Savoy’s lips tightened. “By Jove! You’re a cheeky girl. I would remind you of how greatly you and your family will benefit from an alliance with me.”
He was right, Blythe knew. Her spark of anger died, leaving the ashes of bitter desolation. Mama and Papa would be elevated in the eyes of society. And she herself would wear the tiara of a duchess. That was what she had wanted. But now, such a life seemed so cold and empty.
“As you are aware of my purpose,” he continued, “I see no reason to belabor the moment.” He reached for her hand and clutched it limply. “Miss Crompton, will you agree to become my wife?”
The proud tilt to his chin conveyed his unshakeable belief that she would accept. This was merely a formality to him.
Savoy cared nothing for her wishes, nor would he ever care. By marrying him, she would be forever bound to a man who believed himself superior to her, a man who lacked the ability to love her as she yearned to be loved.
But James had that ability. James had displayed his warmth and affection for her many times, most notably during the night when they had engaged in such tender lovemaking. Oh, she knew she could win his heart. With James, the future held radiant possibilities.
The truth of that washed through her like a balm to her battered emotions. She couldn’t wed the duke, not even for the sake of her parents.
“Your Grace, I…”
A movement drew her attention to the arched doorway. A tall man strode into the drawing room as if he owned the world.
Prince Nic
olai.
Blythe’s heart did a wild leap. Without conscious thought, she stood up and pressed her hand to her mouth. James!
Dear God, what was he doing here? She wanted to laugh and weep all at once. She hadn’t ordered him to don the costume. They had agreed it was no longer necessary.
Yet he was here.
Prince Nicolai walked straight toward them. He wore his full regalia, the crimson sash with the glittering medals, the sword at his side. His black hair glistened from the rain, and his handsome face bore a look of gallant resolve.
And with him, he brought all of the light and color that had leached from the room. Everything turned bright again—most notably, her spirits.
The duke levered himself to his feet with the aid of his cane. By the rigid set of his face, he appeared none too pleased at the interruption.
He bowed to James. “Your Highness.”
“Savoy. I see you have managed to corner the most lovely lady in all of England.” Prince Nicolai reached for her hand. While he raised it to his mouth and kissed the back, his dark eyes held a devilish gleam. “Have I interrupted something important?”
“No,” Blythe said.
“We were engaged in a private discussion,” Savoy corrected with a hint of irritation. “Perhaps you will be the first to congratulate me. Miss Crompton was about to accept my offer of marriage.”
“About to? Then there is still time for her to reconsider.” James dropped to one knee before her. Lacing his warm fingers through hers, he looked up at her with grave earnestness. “Miss Crompton, we have known each other for only a short time. Yet I must confess that I fell madly in love with you at first sight.”
Her heart squeezed taut. His stirring declaration fulfilled all of her romantic dreams. She searched his dark eyes for the truth. Why was James saying this right now? Why had he not done so last night?
Unless he was merely playacting now. Because he believed Blythe needed rescuing from a life of unhappiness with the duke.
“See here!” Savoy objected. “I must ask you not to speak to my betrothed in so familiar a fashion. I’ve obtained her father’s consent. We have worked out a dowry agreement.”