“Will, you want to go, don’t you?” Fordham said, watching him with an uneasy expression.
He really didn’t, but he’d be damned if he showed it. “Cheers to that,” Will said. He’d go to White’s and drink himself stone-cold drunk. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so damn guilty about getting exactly what he wanted—her fifty thousand pounds.
The next day
Amy busied herself with her sketches in Hester’s Egyptian drawing room, but her nerves threatened to rattle her. She just had to do something to help control the anxiety. She felt more in control of her life while drawing designs for gowns. For short snatches of time, she could focus on something other than her impending marriage to a man who was almost a stranger to her.
Soon Will would arrive to escort her to Ashdown House. Hester had left earlier to call on a friend and would meet them there. Now that they were engaged, they no longer required a chaperone.
Today he would present her as his fiancée to his family. Even though she had met his mother and sisters, she was anxious to make a good impression. She hoped they would approve of her, but part of her wished she could suddenly transform into a petite blond-haired beauty. As soon as the thought entered her head, she let out an exasperated sigh. She mustn’t let those old feelings of inferiority take over again. Her new life was beginning, and if she were to find any happiness, she must start by believing she deserved it.
The butler entered the drawing room and announced Mr. Darcett. Amy pinched her cheeks and rose. When Will entered, she curtsied. He crossed the room with his hands behind his back. In shock, she noted his eyes were bloodshot. Oh, dear God, she’d known he was a rakehell, but seeing the proof shook her. But what was there to be done now? She’d accepted his proposal. If she cried off, the gossip would hurt her family and his as well.
He handed her a posy. “Roses from my mother’s conservatory.”
“Thank you,” she said.
She walked to the bell. “I’ll ring for a maid to bring a vase.”
He strode over to the glass case with the faux mummy. “My aunt has a fondness for anything strange. She and my grandmamma are my favorites. I especially like that Hester doesn’t mince words.”
“She is plainspoken, but she is also very wise,” Amy said. “She has been a great deal of help to me.”
“It is all a little unsettling, isn’t it?”
So he was feeling at sea as well.
The maid arrived and promised to put the flowers in a vase. Will offered his arm, and Amy clasped his sleeve. He looked at her as he led her out of the drawing room and down the stairs. “My friends wanted to celebrate my engagement last night. I fear you’re seeing me after a night of revelry.”
He was no stranger to it. She wondered if this was what she could expect from him every night. She doubted he would give up his wicked ways simply because they were forced to marry.
“If I were half as dissipated as the scandal sheets intimate, I doubt I could crawl out of bed each morning,” he said.
She wondered how many beds he’d crawled out of over the years, but she would not voice the words.
“I like your green jacket,” he said.
She smiled at the term he used. “It is called a spencer.”
“You look very well in it,” he said, leading her through the great hall.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It’s perfectly molded to your figure.” His eyes danced.
“You are unseemly,” she said under her breath. He was flirtatious.
He leaned his head down. “Guilty as charged.”
“You’re pouring on the charm today.”
“Well, I was hoping to be rewarded for it.”
She lifted her brows. “I beg your pardon?”
They reached the foyer. He retrieved his hat and gloves while she put on her bonnet and gloves. Then he led her out.
He looked at her with a mischievous grin the entire time they walked toward the carriage. She couldn’t help but return his smile. His innate ability to charm made him seem entirely frivolous, but she’d discovered another side to him in the wine cellar. He’d understood her guilt about the way she’d treated her friends. She’d been surprised by his advice and hadn’t thought he would care enough to offer it, but then she didn’t know him well enough to make those assumptions. If this marriage were to stand a chance of succeeding, she would have to look past her perceptions of him and discover the man behind the rakehell façade. She could only hope there was more to him than what she’d seen on the surface.
When they reached the carriage, he helped her negotiate the steps. Then he climbed in and sat next to her. She caught the faint scent of sandalwood, and something else, something male and primitive.
When the horses started, he set his hat aside and turned to her. “Now, about that reward.”
“You’re impatient.” She let the bonnet partially hide her from him.
He plucked the bow loose and took the bonnet off. There was something arresting and exciting about a man untying a bow and removing a bonnet. She felt a little vulnerable without the bonnet, but when he nuzzled her cheek, she found herself mesmerized by the scent of his skin and the soft way he feathered his finger along her jaw and the shell of her ear.
Her pulse sped up. She moistened her lips. He angled his head and kissed her. When he deepened the kiss, she kissed him back, because she liked kissing him, and he was her fiancé.
Her fingers threaded through the crisp strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His dark hair was thick, wavy, and silky to the touch. He parted his lips and touched his tongue to her mouth. Without hesitation, she opened for him, and this time, he tasted her in a leisurely manner. She surrendered to his slow siege and gave herself up to sensation: the ragged sound of his breath, the scent of sandalwood on his skin, and the warmth of his big hands cupping her face.
When he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. His breath was coming faster. “I’ve started something we cannot finish.”
Her face flushed. He meant… oh, heavens.
A smile spread across his face. Then he tickled her waist. She shrieked.
“Hush, the driver will think I’m tupping you in the carriage.”
“You’re what?” she cried. She wouldn’t tolerate foul language.
“Sorry. Poor choice of words.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?” she said, her voice rising.
“I cannot read your mind. What do you think it means?”
“You’re bad,” she said.
“Wrong answer. Try again.”
She laughed. “I should scold you.” Oh, he knew how to use charm to get what he wanted. She imagined he also knew how to escape what he didn’t want, with the notable exception of having to marry her.
“But you won’t,” he said. “Because I think you secretly like it.”
“I will not tolerate crude language.”
“You must admit I diverted you.”
“That was not your aim,” she said. “You wanted to shock me.”
“No, I wanted to kiss you,” he said, his deep voice rumbling.
She caught her breath at the heated look in his eyes.
The carriage rumbled along for some time, and then it turned. He looked out the window. “Ah, there is Ashdown House in the distance.”
Her mouth dried, a bad omen, for she would be tongue-tied and judged harshly for her inability to converse. This first meeting was critical, because she was meeting them as his fiancée. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but if she allowed her anxiety to overwhelm her, she would embarrass him.
He reached over and clasped her hand. “Don’t be nervous. You know almost everyone. They will adore you.”
“How can they, under the circumstances?”
“You worry for nothing. My female relatives are delighted I’m getting leg-shackled.”
She looked at her lap, hating that he’d used that derogatory expression. He probably hadn’t even thought
twice about it.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m not looking forward to facing your father,” he said. “I fear he’ll plant me a facer.”
Her jaw dropped. “My papa would never hit you.”
“You’re his only daughter, and I’ve got the devil of a reputation, if you’ll pardon the bad pun. He’s likely to cut up nasty over what I’ve done to his little girl.”
“In my letter, I told my parents it was an accident,” she said.
Will shook his head. “He’s not going to care.”
“My father is a very gentle and amiable man,” Amy said.
“Does he own a pistol?”
“He has guns for shooting birds.”
Will released an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not long for this world. Kiss me before I die.”
When he reached for her, she laughed and put her hand on his chest. “No. The carriage is slowing, and you will observe the proprieties.”
He winked. “For now.”
Will escorted Amy through the foyer and into the great hall. He squeezed her hand, because she was as skittish as a doe.
He stopped at the stairwell and decided a bit of humor would help ease her anxiety. “Behold Apollo, my mother’s naked statue. Aunt Hester threatened to clothe the ugly thing in a toga if my mother didn’t get rid of it. Mama accused Hester of having revolting taste, because of the faux mummy. Everyone was in an uproar over who had the worst décor.”
“You’re jesting,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. My family is rather eccentric.”
“William, why are you dawdling?” Patience called out.
He looked up at the landing. “Hello, sister.”
“Everyone is waiting,” she said, beckoning him with her hand. “Hurry along.”
“We’ll be there momentarily,” he said. “Amy wishes to admire Apollo.”
Patience rolled her eyes and walked back to the drawing room.
“Patience has four boys, including Peter, who helpfully waters my mother’s hothouse flowers.”
Amy smiled. “He uses a watering pot?”
“No. Peter is like a dog—only he prefers his grandmother’s flowers rather than trees.”
Amy laughed. “Will I meet the infamous Peter?”
“He’s in the nursery with the other children, all of whom are probably terrorizing the nurse.”
Running footsteps sounded above. “Uncle Will!”
“Speak of the devil,” Will said. “Peter, go back to the nursery before your mother sees you’ve escaped.”
When Peter climbed on the banister, Amy gasped. “Oh, dear God, he will hurt himself.”
“He does it all the time.”
Peter slid down backward on his stomach. “Wheeee!”
“You must catch him,” Amy cried.
Will laughed. “Watch.”
When Peter reached the bottom, he flipped off like a monkey and ran back upstairs. “Again,” he cried.
Will ran after him. “Peter, stop!”
The drawing room doors opened. Amy recognized Montague, Patience’s husband. He hurried out and tried to grab his son, but Peter ducked, spun around, and ran in the opposite direction.
“Peter, come back here!” Montague roared.
The boy’s laughter rang out.
Patience and Hawk came out of the drawing room.
“He’s headed for the back stairs,” Will yelled as he took off after Peter.
“I’ll catch him coming up from the kitchen if he escapes you,” Hawk shouted as he ran down the main stairs. He paused at the base and bowed. “Welcome to the madness, Miss Hardwick. Do watch out. We have a wild boy loose.”
Soon everyone spilled out onto the landing. Julianne walked to the rail with Emma on her hip. The babe was grinning, as if entertained by all the commotion. “Amy, please come upstairs,” Julianne said. “Will and Marc will catch Peter eventually.”
“That boy will be the death of me,” Montague said. “Where is that nurse?”
“Probably writing her resignation letter as we speak,” Hester said. “Who can blame her?”
“Oh, dear,” the dowager countess said. “What must you think of us, Miss Hardwick?”
Hester ambled to the rail and looked down. “No doubt she thinks we’re all dicked in the nob.”
“Hester, please mind your language,” the dowager countess said.
“Bah,” Hester said. “Come along, gel. We don’t bite. Well, one of his Patience’s brats does, but I forget which one. They’re all horrid.”
“Hester, they are my children and your great-nephews,” Patience cried.
“Not by choice,” Hester said.
Amy lifted her skirts and started up the stairs. Hope met her halfway. “Do excuse us. I wish I could tell you that this is not the normal state of affairs, but I don’t wish to mislead you.”
Amy laughed. They perfectly fit her vision of the large family she’d always dreamed about. “I’m sure it is not always quite this chaotic.”
“Yes, it is, but you’ll grow accustomed to it,” Hope said. “We might as well have tea. Who knows how long it will be before they corral Peter?”
When they reached the landing, Harmony offered to check on the nurse. “She is no doubt quivering in fear for her position.”
“It’s a miracle the woman has lasted this long,” Hester said. She regarded Amy. “Patience’s youngest brat, Thomas, tried to scalp her last week.”
“He did not,” Patience said. “He only cut a small lock.”
“We should have named him Mischief,” Montague grumbled.
“Let us all return to the drawing room,” the dowager countess said. “We left Grandmamma sleeping on the sofa.”
Everyone turned when a voice rang out.
“Success! One naughty boy caught,” Will called out.
Amy looked over the rail. He was marching the glum Peter across the great hall. Will met her gaze and a dazzling smile spread across his face. In that moment, she envisioned him with their son one day. Something flickered in her chest like a feeble candle flame.
“Are you Scottish, dear?” Grandmamma shouted.
Will smiled as Amy shook her head. Grandmamma thought anyone with red hair must be Scottish.
“I always liked those kilts the Scotsmen wear,” Grandmamma hollered.
“What she really wants to know is what they wear or don’t wear underneath those kilts,” Hester said.
“Oh, Hester, we do not speak of such things,” the dowager countess cried.
Hester snorted and adjusted the tall feather in her turban.
Amy’s shoulders shook with laughter. She seemed completely at ease as she petted Poppet, who sat on her lap purring.
“Miss Hardwick, I understand your parents will arrive soon,” Patience said.
Amy lowered her eyes. “Yes, I have not seen them yet.”
Will reached for her hand and squeezed it. He suspected that Amy would remain anxious until they arrived.
The butler, Jones, entered. “Mr. and Mrs. Hardwick and Mr. Crawford.”
Amy gasped and looked at Will. “I had no idea Mr. Crawford was coming.”
“Have no fear,” he said. “I can dispense with him.”
Amy leaned toward him. “What do you mean by dispense?”
Will arched his brows as he helped Amy rise. If her former suitor intended to make a claim on her, he was in for a startling surprise.
“What could he possibly want?” she said.
“William, who is Mr. Crawford?” the dowager countess asked.
“My rival, I suspect,” he said.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my goodness,” his mother said.
All the color had drained from Amy’s face.
“Steady,” Will whispered. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”
A portly gentleman with a bald spot and unfashionable gray whiskers escorted a tall lady inside. Like Amy, the lady had red hair, though hers was not as bright. Then a short man dressed
in clerical garb entered, regarding the surroundings with a slightly patronizing smile. Will presumed this man was the famous vicar and wondered what he wanted.
Amy’s eyes were a bit misty. He offered his arm. “Will you introduce me to your parents?” Will murmured.
She nodded.
As he led her to them, he could feel her hand trembling on his sleeve.
“Mama, Papa, I wish to present my fiancé, Mr. William Darcett.”
Mrs. Hardwick curtsied. Her husband bowed.
Amy went into her mother’s arms. “I missed you.”
Will met her father’s eyes and offered his hand. Mr. Hardwick’s grip was strong, but he looked more than a little careworn.
“On behalf of my family, I wish to welcome you and Mrs. Hardwick to our home,” Will said. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Mr. Crawford cleared his throat.
Will put his hands on his hips. “We weren’t expecting you, Mr. Crawford. To what do we owe your visit?”
“I am here in a spiritual capacity.”
“Really? I find that interesting, given that no one in my family requested your spiritual guidance.”
Crawford’s face mottled. “I am here to advise Miss Hardwick.”
“Mr. Crawford, I understand that at one time you courted my fiancée,” Will said. “I’ll be honest, since you are a man of the cloth; I rather suspect spirituality is not your reason for journeying to my family’s home—uninvited I might add.”
“You presume to know my reasons,” Crawford said, “but I wonder at yours.”
“Let’s get to the point, shall we? Why are you here?”
“I wish to speak to Miss Hardwick privately,” he said.
Will narrowed his eyes. “If you wish to speak to her, do so. But there will be no private meetings.”
“I only want to ensure that she knows she has a choice. Miss Hardwick, you do not have to marry this infamous rake. I will overlook your lapse in judgment.”
“What lapse of judgment are you talking about?” Will asked, frowning.
“The one that landed her in a compromising position,” Crawford said. “I want Miss Hardwick to know that I am still willing to marry her under these less than satisfactory circumstances.”
Amy frowned at him. “Mr. Crawford, I am engaged, and even before that, I made my position clear. I do not wish to wound you, but I do not wish to marry you, either.”
How to Ravish a Rake Page 14