She had been growing more and more agitated with each word. Thomas looked down at her pityingly for a moment. He always believed in telling the truth, but in this case it would be so dreadful that she might not be able to bear it.
Even if she believed him, which he very much doubted she would, it did not matter if he hurt her and deceived her, for Charlotte had no feelings for him. But to discover that the man she loved had betrayed her? Was a fiend, if not a murderer? It might well prove too much for the poor girl. She was spoiled and petted and vastly wealthy, with no more thought for common sense than any other girl of her age, but he thought she had a certain something.
Potential. That was it, she had potential. Given time, and the chance to discover the world of ideas instead of the world of fashion, she might prove a perfect companion one day. She was spirited, beautiful, and desirable. He had had a hard time maintaining his composure and subduing his passions when she had reacted to him so ardently in the carriage.
Truth to tell, he had admired her long before that. The never-ending bevy of swains all chasing her for her fortune, and then Herbert singling her out for his next victim, had left him with very little opportunity to be with her other than somewhere in the background watching, observing, and yes, aching for her too.
Perhaps it was a mistake to take a bride so young, and in such a seemingly cruel and opportunistic way. But even if they never came to care for each other, he simply could not let Herbert prey upon another unsuspecting victim. Too many had died at his hands already...
"My dear Miss Castlemaine, I am under no illusions as to what you were doing this evening. Nor was it in error that I drove off with you in the carriage. Nor was it an unfortunate coincidence that your father and cousins arrived when they did. I felt it incumbent upon myself to intervene. I shall not mention the other, er, gentleman's name, only that he does not deserve that appellation."
Her eyes flashed fire. "And yet you do, Your Grace? You, who, er, intervened, and molest-- er, manhandled me so in the coach?" she hissed.
"Please, call me Thomas. I will not have my wife speak to me as if we are strangers at an Assembly Ball. I can understand your confusion and dismay, my dear Charlotte, but I make no apology for my intervention. I believe in calling a spade a spade. I intervened because I want your fortune for my own. A sudden family embarrassment, you see," he lied.
Her face went white as her jaw dropped. "Wh-what?"
He attempted to clarify her stunned confusion with a ruthless lie. "I made sure your family would catch us, and gambled that they would want to hush it up by consenting to our marriage."
He mouth rounded into an O of dismay. "How could you--"
"As for my behavior in the carriage, I did not see you attempting to break off our kiss, for all your protestations that you are in love with another. So now that all our cards are on the table, so to speak, mark this well. I shall allow you whatever freedoms you choose within our shared household save one. I will not force you to be a wife to me in the physical sense, but in exchange, you will give me your word that you will never see your, er, gentleman friend again. Ever."
She had not been paying attention to the figure, and missed several steps in the dance. He had been holding her up under her elbow as he had spoken. His last sentence caused Charlotte's knees to buckle completely.
"Some refreshment, perhaps. You have overtaxed your strength with the excitement of the day," he said loudly enough for the other dancers in the set to hear.
He took her off into the small chamber where the punchbowl and ices had been set up, and pressed a cup of lemonade into her hands. She drank thirstily, while he kept one steadying hand around her waist.
"Do you want a drop of brandy in it?" he whispered.
"The better to dull the pain of what you've just said to me? I think not." She stared up at him through narrowed blue eyes which had turned from balmy ocean to deepest winter frost. "What kind of monster are you?"
He shrugged, looking for all the world as if her opinion of him mattered not one whit. "No better and no worse than any other man. I look after those I care about the best I can. 'Needs must' and all that."
"There certainly must be a Devil driving you for you to behave in such a manner. When my father hears about this..."
He looked almost bored with the subject, though in reality he was struggling hard to continue playing his detestable role. All he really wanted to do was kiss her and comfort her, and reveal his true feelings at last.
"Men, and women, I might add, marry for fortunes all the time. They dress it up with wooing and pretty speeches, but it is the same result in the end. One person fancies him or herself in love, and is doomed to disappointment and frustration, not to mention outright misery, or even cruelty.
"I know you're not in love with me, so there can be no disappointment. For my part, I give you my word I shall not be cruel to you physically or mentally. You look surprised, but there is such a thing as mental cruelty, I assure you. I know from your embraces that you do not find me utterly repulsive- No, no, temper, my dear," he cautioned, grabbing her wrist and holding it down to her side to stop her from slapping his face in front of everyone.
"So on the whole, Charlotte, we shall just have to muddle together to make the best of this."
She glared at him. "Make the best of a sham of a marriage to a beggar?"
"Make the best of marriage to a nobleman who has taken the trouble to save your reputation and offer you a decent home and his protection," he said patiently, "and does at least deserve enough gratitude from you to warrant common civility. You are young, and full of romantic notions. 'Love will find a way,' and all that. Do not deceive yourself for a moment into thinking your father would have come around to the idea of you being wed to your other 'gentleman.' That's even assuming that man would have ever married you at all after he'd had a taste of what you offered me so freely in the carriage. No, temper," he warned again, as she once more lifted her hand to strike.
She glared impotently at him, feeling as though her whole world had come crashing down around her ears.
"I may be a beggar, as you say, Miss Castlemaine, but I am a beggar with a title, and that goes a long way in the circles you choose to inhabit."
She stared at him, taking in his dark emerald eyes, so without passion, his finely-chiseled, even features, as if he had been carved of marble, not made of flesh. She longed to smack the supercilious expression off his face. Or kiss it off...
But she also wouldn't have minded a soft word, a gentle demonstration of some regard, though she despised herself for wanting any consideration at all from a man who obviously held her in such contempt. She tried to puzzle out his words.
"And you don't inhabit the same circles?"
He shrugged the broad shoulders, and she could not help admiring his physique in his magnificently cut black evening coat. His handsome features were the model of cool control as he replied, "I don't believe in living my life according to what other people judge to be acceptable. I go my own way, do what I judge to be correct. It is correct for me to marry you, since I would like your money, and I compromised your virtue and position to get that money.
"In exchange, you will have an establishment of your own, and to all outward appearances, a husband who has great respect and regard for you. If you are willing to maintain that appearance in public at least, and in front of our servants, we shall get along well enough."
His hand upon her waist and the curve of her hip so intimately would have earned any other man a slap. But with his warm smile down at her, and his obvious concern, she found herself leaning into the caress for a brief moment before stepping away.
He was too seductive. Too tempting. How on earth could he make her melt so with just one light touch of his hand?
She struggled to find the words which would get Thomas to see reason. But just then her father entered the refreshment room, evidently impatient to begin his audience with the Duke.
"And now, my dear
, I must go. I shall see you shortly." He bowed over her hand, and planted a warm moist kiss upon it which caused her stomach to clench with nerves and desire. She realized with a pang of horror that she had actually been dancing without her gloves on. Her face flamed as she recalled how she had torn them off in the carriage, the better to touch the Duke....
At that recollection, she felt as though she could hardly breathe. Much as she wanted to run after the two of them, to tell them to stop all this madness before it was too late, the desire, fear, confusion and anger all warring within her rooted her to the spot.
God, he was right. She couldn't admit the truth, not now, not ever. Neither her father nor Herbert would ever forgive her even if she did dare tell the truth, and she would end up in far worse case than ever before. She had behaved like a wanton. Society would label her one, and her wonderful life as she knew it would be over forever.
Her friend and confidante Agnes came in just then, and looked as though she had seen a ghost. She exclaimed, "La! You look all done in. Whatever is the matter? I saw you talking to the Duke of Ellesmere for such a long time. Dreadful old stick, isn't he?"
Agnes cast a long look around the room from under her long lashes. "I say, is Herbert about anywhere? I thought you were with him before. In fact," she said dropping her voice to a more conspiratorial tone, "I felt sure you and he were going to come to an understanding tonight. Something about a bridle path, eh?"
Charlotte caught the speculative gleam in her friend's eye, and stiffened. She was filled with sudden misgivings even stronger than those she had experienced a moment before.
They increased tenfold as her widowed Aunt Margaret, still beautiful, if somewhat heavy-set, but worldly and clever in a manipulative sort of way which Charlotte had always found vaguely disquieting, came bustling up.
"And just what have you done with Herbert?" she demanded, scowling. "I felt sure I saw you on the terrace with him not long ago." She raised her quizzing glass to peer straight into Charlotte's face. "Goodness me, why do you look so pale? Have you had a falling out? Or can we tell everyone some wonderful news?"
Charlotte felt even more cornered than she had when she had been with her father and the Duke at the Market Cross in Brimley. She raised her chin haughtily. "No, Aunt, there's nothing to tell where Mr. Paxton and I are concerned. There never has been, and never shall be."
She would have flicked open the elegant ivory and gold fan the Duke had given her, had she been carrying it. Once again, she marveled at how the pattern on it had been an exact match to that of the embroidery on her gown.
"I can't think where the two of you got such a notion. Mr. Paxton is simply not the thing at all. He is as poor as a church mouse, and has nothing but his charm to recommend him. He is a great rattle, to be sure, but not a man with whom I would condescend to have my name connected as anything other than a passing acquaintance. Now, if you will excuse me, I must tend to my guests."
She swept away, her long train swishing behind her regally as she fought to remain upright. She wishes she had her new reticule for her smelling salts, and once again reflected that the Duke's gifts had truly been most thoughtful.
What would Herbert's gift have been...
And where was he? What would she say to him when he did arrive? And why did the words she had said to Agnes and her aunt seem so wrong, but so right as well?
Tears blinded her, and she prayed they would not fall onto her cheeks and wash away her façade of cool aplomb.
What on earth had happened to her? In less than an hour, her whole world had tilted on its axis, and was now careening completely out of control.
She blinked and halted as she heard her name called. Her cousin Samuel stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
"Charlotte! Come, daughter," her father summoned her from across the room, gesturing emphatically.
Samuel took her elbow and led her forward to the foot of the hall stairs.
She stared up at Thomas, waiting patiently on the first landing of the grand marble staircase as if he had not a care in the world. How was it the interview in the study had come to an end so quickly? Was she about to be exposed, publicly disgraced?
"Your attention, please, everyone. I have a few words to say about my daughter which I would like you all to hear."
Charlotte cringed and tried to draw back. Samuel steadily kept the pressure on the small of her back, propelling her onwards.
The Duke reached down to take her hand, his green eyes glowing with-what? Mirth, desire, triumph?
Her stomach lurched, and she tried to pull away, but his fingers fastened over her bare ones, soothing and yet rousing her, sending a heated blush to her cheeks.
"I want to thank you all for coming to celebrate with me my daughter's eighteenth birthday. By rights she should come into her inheritance today, and be able to exercise her own freedom and discretion.
"But that is not to be. For a most unexpected turn of events has taken place, and as Charlotte's devoted father, I must do my duty, painful though it may be."
Charlotte's could feel her knees buckling, but the Duke noted her alarm and held on to her tightly.
"It will be all right," he whispered. "Trust me."
Trust him? It was all his fault! She was about to be denounced as a light-skirt in front of all her family and friends....
"It is my unhappy yet joyful task to have to give her over into the keeping of a husband. Ladies and gentleman, I am proud to announce the engagement of my daughter to a man you have all come to know and respect and admire over the years. Please take a glass of wine or punch, and drink to the health of Charlotte Castlemaine, and Thomas Eltham, the Duke of Ellesmere. Long life and happiness together, and many many children. Charlotte and Thomas."
"Charlotte and Thomas," came the astonished, but undoubtedly delighted voices.
Agnes gasped and stared in shock. Aunt Margaret choked and collapsed, her large frame tumbling into the arms of the hapless gentleman unfortunate enough to be standing near her, almost oversetting him completely.
The Duke pulled Charlotte into an intimate embrace, kissing her long and thoroughly, until her father cleared his throat and Samuel nudged him, while the guests tittered or gasped.
"Er, sorry, my dear, my emotions overcame me," he apologized audibly.
Once again, Charlotte felt as though the carpet had been pulled right out from under her. She trembled from head to toe, her breath coming in short gasps. She didn't know who to despise more, the Duke for his playacting, or herself for enjoying the kiss so much even knowing it was all a sham.
"Time to dance, my dear," Thomas said with a seemingly warm smile.
Her chin quivered. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly...."
Her father beamed at her, and even her cousin James was smiling.
"Go on, Daughter, enjoy the moment. Just remember that all pleasure has to be paid for sooner or later."
She blushed to the roots of her hair. Her father's message was unmistakable. He was not going to forgive her any time soon for having tried to elope. But nor was he going to expose her true character. She would have to make the best of the situation, and she had no one to blame but herself.
Well, she would blame the Duke if she wanted to, she thought with a huff as she accepted congratulatory kisses from James and Samuel, and then swept up her train and fastened its loop over her wrist. Thomas Eltham was not entirely guiltless in all this, though she wondered at her father giving in to a fortune hunter's demands so easily. Hadn't he been the one always harping on being careful, making sure she was not taken in by suave manners? Yet now he was shaking Thomas's hand as if he were a long-lost son.
She sighed, causing Thomas to urge her in an undertone. "It's your birthday. You're young, happy and wealthy. Smile, and enjoy the moment."
But she couldn't. For the sad fact was that she was certain now of something she had always suspected as she looked at the two men who had just decided her whole future in an instant. That her father ha
d always regretted her being only a daughter, not a much-loved son. It was not fair or just, but it was the way of her world.
Some women sought to change it, she knew. She had dreamt of it herself, freedom. She would have been in control in her marriage with Herbert, she imagined, in charge of her own fortune, responsible for buying his title, the estate she would purchase once they were finished touring the Continent and ready to settle down.
She had dreamed of even going as far as the Americas or India, though war these days made it hard to travel safely abroad.
Now she would be under the thumb of a complete stranger who cared only for himself. If she was lucky she would get pin money as he squandered the rest of her fortune on his own pleasures, which undoubtedly included wenching if his kiss was anything to go by. He was so stolid in company, he had to be a mass of seething corruption underneath, she thought with a shiver, recalling the remarkable sensations his hands had produced. And her hands upon him...
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