by Ingrid Hahn
“I’m not sure what to think. First that nonsense about a false engagement.” Between two fingers, Lady Phoebe held up the card he’d sent up. “Now this.” Leveling him a steady look, one which she might well have practiced just as much as he’d practiced his own, she set it on the side table beside her.
Max spoke quietly. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that.”
“What do you mean?” The tone she used was without a hint of wariness. “What does my sister have to do with anything?”
“She’s my leverage.”
Her brows went up. “Leverage?”
Surprise jolted him. Good God, she knew, didn’t she?
Inwardly, Max wavered. A thread of trepidation lurked in his gut, waiting to strike.
But she had to know. Something of this magnitude might have been one of the best kept secrets in all of England, but what Lady Phoebe’s sister Lady Isabel did, what she was, who she was…it couldn’t have been a secret from her family.
“I hope it doesn’t have to come to that. I’m hoping you’ll choose to help me of your own accord.”
“By pretending to be engaged to you?”
The tea service arrived. In a pointed silence, Lady Phoebe poured. Max watched. Her fingers were long and lovely, and every move she made was pure elegance.
Max let himself enjoy one hot sip and a bite of a sweet delicacy—mmm good, cinnamon and apple, not prune as he’d expected from the less-than-perfectly-appetizing shade of brown filling between the two layers of yellow cake—before continuing. “I’ll start at the beginning.”
She gave him an arch look. “I do wish you would.”
He kept his facts straightforward, his tone exacting. “My late sister, Juliet, left behind a small son. Young Thomas lives with his grandmother, my mother, and I want him to live with me. She doesn’t believe me responsible enough so, until I prove myself to her, she won’t let me assume guardianship of the boy.”
“Oh. I’m so terribly sorry for your loss, my lord.” Lady Phoebe’s brows pulled together as she studied him. “And I must say, it’s not often anyone takes me by surprise, but you certainly have.”
“You see why I need you.” The tea was fragrant under his nose, a familiar comfort in unfamiliar terrain.
“Not precisely.” She hesitated, intent upon him. “Actually, no, I don’t see.”
“You’re the perfect lady to play my intended. My mother wouldn’t believe for a second if I were to—and believe me when I say I mean you no insult—if I were to present to her some perfectly shining, upstanding gel who represented the picture of some silly notion of idealized womanhood. You, with your family’s history of scandal, have everything: breeding, status, and just enough of a smudge to your name to throw her off the scent. As you are the sister of Corbeau’s new wife means nobody will suspect a thing when we announce our engagement.”
Phoebe bristled at the implication. “I’m so terribly pleased my family’s scandal works to your advantage. How long do you propose we uphold this charade?”
“Six weeks. Eight, maybe. You’ll do it?”
“No, I won’t do it. You haven’t given me a single reason why I should, nor could you possibly induce me to want to. I can’t bear the thought of lying to everyone I love.”
He would be lying, as well. Were it not for wanting to attain everything in his nephew’s best interests, Max wouldn’t dream of undertaking such a charade. “That I have no easy answer for, I’m afraid. You will be lying. But—think of how relieved people will be when we break the engagement. And everyone will be relieved, mark my words. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of your family and friends try to talk you out of the arrangement. None of them will be happy, I promise you that.”
“But you’re missing something: The last thing I want is to involve my family in any more scandal. An engagement to you would be…well.” Shaking her head, she gave a little laugh. “Breaking an engagement with you would be still worse, no matter who it might or might not gratify. And I have no intention, none whatsoever, of finding myself at the altar alongside you.”
“You wound me, my lady.” Max’s tone was dry. He hadn’t the least intention of finding himself at the altar either—not with her, not with anyone.
“I’m sure you would say the same of me, my manifold charms that you so indecorously hinted at, notwithstanding.”
“I told you—”
“Yes, yes.” Phoebe waved a hand and took a sip of tea. “You meant no offense, I’m sure. Funny what people think they can get away with when they preface their remarks in such a manner. But my opinion of myself doesn’t in the least hinge upon you or whatever you think of me, so you may rest easy.”
Oh hell. I do like this woman. Quite a lot, in fact.
Phoebe spoke again, incredulous. “So your mother is supposed to believe what, exactly? That I’ve reformed you?”
“It’ll work. Trust me.”
“It’d better work. Were I to join you in this scheme—and I won’t—it wouldn’t do to sully me in this business only to have you fail.”
“Sully you?”
Her lips pursed. “You do realize that breaking an engagement would spell the end of any hopes of me marrying well, don’t you?”
“I don’t believe that for a second. A woman like you? Crook your finger at any man you please and he’ll be yours to command.” Max was coming closer to revealing his private thoughts, but he’d let it lie—for now.
Lady Phoebe sent him a sly look. “Does that apply to you, my lord?”
Good God, no. It does not apply to me. Not in the least.
But of course, her look said she knew that, and that she was playing with him. Minx. “Any man but me, of course.” His throat was tight. “And you should count yourself grateful, too. You don’t want the likes of me. I’d make a rubbish husband.”
Her teacup poised just below her lips, she gave him a blank look. “Are you speaking of yourself in jest or are you speaking in earnest?”
“In earnest, of course. No, I will never have a wife. I’m never going to marry.”
“Never?” Her face changed into an expression he didn’t care to examine too closely. “Forgive the impertinence, my lord, but don’t you want a proper home? A family of your own?”
No. Yes. Sometimes.
But no woman would ever—should ever—make the sort of sacrifice necessary to wed the likes of him. And if there were any woman who entertained the idea of doing so, she wasn’t right in the head.
“I want my nephew.” He swallowed. This was more of himself than he wanted to reveal to so perceptive a person, but he was asking so much of her. He owed her the truth. “I want to give him the childhood I never had. And you’re going to go along with this scheme to make sure I get the opportunity to do so.” Max’s gut twisted. He’d never imagined this would become so hellishly difficult. But he had to think of what was best for young Thomas.
Oh, Max’s mother did right by the boy, sure enough. But she was getting on in years. A lad needed fresh air and country sunshine, to be taught to fish in the stream and to swim in the millpond come those long summer days. His mother never left town. Most importantly, a young boy needed a strong male influence in his life. Someone other than servants. Someone to show him how to be a good man.
Blackmailing aside, Max would be that for Thomas. He would be better. He would show the child what was proper and honorable in the world.
“My lord?”
He took a gulp of tea, scorching his tongue. He blinked away the welling water in his eyes. “You have to help me. You must help me.” If it sounded like he was begging…well, he didn’t give a hang.
Lady Phoebe spoke carefully. “My lord, I think your aims are admirable, but I’m afraid my answer is still no. I’m sorry.”
He took a breath. Of all the rotten things he’d done in his life, this was the worst. Maybe he really was as bad as he was reputed to be.
But…for Thomas, he’d do anything. Even this. “You’re f
orgetting Lady Isabel.” His voice was low. Almost too low. Deadly. Threatening. But not because he wanted to frighten Phoebe. No, he couldn’t control it. This was wrong, so very wrong. But he had no choice. This was the only way.
“Yes, what of her?” She spoke breezily. “What does my sister have to do with anything?”
“I know what she does.”
“She’s a paid companion to our aunt. What of it?” Lady Phoebe was perfect innocence. Too innocent, and that told him all he needed to know. She’d told him last night she did not care for telling falsehoods. But this one was important. Pretending to be ignorant protected her sister. The lie did not come without a price, though—that little strain in her voice that gave her away.
“Don’t toy with me, my lady. I’m not of a humor. I know what it is she really does. And I believe the truth of her occupation would be a far, far greater scandal than anything in which you and I might find ourselves enmeshed.”
Phoebe looked away a moment. Her lips parted. The way the sun angled in through the window cast her profile in a strong silhouette.
“The advantages all seem to be on your side, my lord.”
“Your sister’s secret stays safe.”
“That is an advantage, certainly, but I would put it down to myself as a disadvantage that her secret is known at all.”
“I’m not sure what you’re driving at.”
“If you discovered her secret, how safe is it, really? Who else might find her out?” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “Weightier is the fact that I will be thoroughly disadvantaged by having become engaged to you only to have the engagement broken.”
“Broken engagements are not such a mark against a person as you’re making them out to be.”
“It’s another disadvantage to me that you’re taking such frivolous care of my reputation, my lord. Men and women live by quite different standards.”
“And can you risk what will happen to your reputation when what your sister does—who she is—comes to be common knowledge?”
She glanced back, expression guarded. “Then it seems you are blackmailing me.”
“It would seem so, my lady.” Where is the charge of satisfaction? Where is the feeling of empowerment? I am going to achieve my aims. This is what I want.
Isn’t it?
Yes.
Chapter Four
It had to be said that Lord Maxfeld had accomplished the unexpected. Phoebe was no longer undecided on the subject of matrimony. Quite without having to ponder over an Advantage versus Disadvantage list, she now knew with perfect certainty that she did want to marry.
But she wouldn’t give Lord Maxfeld the satisfaction of knowing he’d helped her, even in so strange a fashion.
A layer of oily unease coated her insides. When her, er, arrangement with the earl came to an end, her choices would be further restricted. Engagements sometimes ended, true, but she was a Landon. And the Landon name had already sullied her. Becoming engaged to Lord Maxfeld and then breaking it off—there would be consequences.
“Then I suppose there’s only one thing to do.” The way she spoke was more as if arranging a picnic than agreeing to his scheme. “Agree upon the rules governing the parameters of this absurd arrangement.”
“What sort of rules did you have in mind, my lady?” His voice was velvety and dark and oh-so-evocative-of-meaning well beyond simple, everyday affinity.
It was unsettling—and why she’d avoided him for so long. She was used to being in complete control, in every particular.
She sipped the last of her tea and helped herself to another fine cup. Having one was still like reveling in luxury. For most of her life, the charity they’d lived on by the begrudging grace of Cousin Bickham had extended to no more than used leaves. Fresh leaves weren’t a great comfort considering the circumstance, but it was what she had for now. “First, this ruse will last no more than four weeks.”
“Eight. I mean to see the Season through.”
Upper hand be damned. He didn’t have all of it. He needed her. And he was going to be made to feel exactly how much. “Four.”
He frowned. “That isn’t how negotiations work.”
“No? Well, I won’t tell if you won’t. Four weeks.” It took all her energy to remain still. To keep in control—to display to him she remained unperturbed. He wouldn’t move her. He wouldn’t have that control over her.
“Six.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. Four. Unless…” She caught on a notion that might salvage something of this situation—something for herself. “Unless you might be willing to grant me something in exchange for the additional two.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll keep it in reserve—an obligation.” She smiled, her tone dropping to silken depths. “And you won’t be allowed to deny me.”
“Something tells me you’re turning this situation to your advantage, my lady.”
If she didn’t know better, she saw admiration in his eyes.
“And something tells me, my lord, that I’m not the only perceptive one in the room. Are we agreed? Six weeks in exchange for one obligation which you cannot refuse?”
As if it cost him nothing, he offhandedly waved his agreement. “And nobody shall know our engagement is false, nor shall ever know. I won’t have it coming back around to my mother at a later time.”
“I concur wholeheartedly, my lord. This is only between us.”
“Good.”
Phoebe couldn’t remain seated any longer. She rose and went to the window, pulling back the drapery to peer out. The quiet square was as it always was. Empty. Unassuming.
If only they knew what was happening here and now in this very room.
She turned, her spine straight, her chin high, her shoulders drawn back in a perfect display of strength. Or so she hoped. “Now. Something terribly important—my sister.”
“Lady Isabel, I presume? What of her?”
“I will have your utmost silence on the subject.” Ever since she’d learned Isabel’s secret, it had been pressing upon her. And now somebody else knew.
“Of course, my lady.”
Phoebe stared into the earl’s eyes. Could he be trusted? A rakehell like him?
She wanted to trust him. Despite the fact that he was blackmailing her. Perhaps I am going soft in the head.
Then again, she had little choice but to trust him. “No matter what, you will not, under any circumstance, say what you know about her. Not even to my family. Aside from my Aunt Landon, I’m the only one who knows. If my mother were to find out, it would crush her, and I would rather burn in all the worst scandals that London has ever seen, than inflict that upon her.”
“You have my word as a gentleman.”
“I think we’ve already established that you are no gentleman, my lord.” She tossed a shoulder, at no more ease on the subject than she had been before he’d given her his word. “But I suppose it will have to do.”
His expression remained unaffected by her slight. “I suppose I deserve that. What else?”
What a mystery it was that this man was so great a friend to Grace’s husband, Corbeau. They were so different. One so reticent and upstanding. The other forthcoming and disreputable.
Coming back to stand behind the chair, she folded her hands over the back and tried not to grip too tightly. She was not discomfited. She was not. Neither would she give him the impression that he’d made her so.
“I have more conditions, and there is no way of putting this delicately.”
“Then don’t try, my lady.”
Phoebe took a breath. She’d never before been given so bold a license to speak her thoughts with anyone outside of the family. Yet nothing seemed more natural than she should do exactly that. “No other women. No flirtations, no innuendos, no afternoon rides in the park, chaperoned or not, no flying down the streets in some glossy new high-flying phaeton. If you have a mistress, you won’t by nightfall.”
“I don
’t, in fact, keep a mistress.”
“No?” That made her take pause. Lord Maxfeld not keep a mistress? “You must mean to say that you’re not currently keeping a mistress.”
“I’ve never kept a mistress, nor will I ever keep one. Nor do I go for rides in the park, so long as we’re establishing my habits.”
Phoebe only looked at him. Didn’t keep a mistress? This was unexpected. He was a renowned rake, surely…
Oh. Of course. It had to be that a man like him wouldn’t remain tied to only one woman. For all she strove to avoid gossip, she’d caught the suggestion that Lord Maxfeld was a man with robust appetites.
Innocent in the ways of the world, she was not. A virgin, to be sure, to be anything else would be to risk far too great a scandal. And besides, with whom would she have wanted to do such a shocking thing?
Lord Maxfeld smiled at her in that way of his—with just enough self-awareness of his depravity. “So it’s settled then. To my eyes, you are the only woman in existence.”
A flash went through Phoebe’s mind of what it might be like to lose her virginity to such a man as Lord Maxfeld—a thought for which she had no particular pride.
She busied herself with a slow and deliberate sip of tea, lest he see her shiver. The way he spoke in those low tones…why, she could almost believe what he’d professed. Worse, those shocking things that had only just crossed her mind…
There was a reason this man had the reputation he did. Better women than she had fallen under this scoundrel’s spell, to be sure.
Which brought her to a final point. “One last thing, my lord. Whether within the bounds of our agreed timeframe or beyond it, you will not be making a conquest of me.”
He looked at her as if he wasn’t sure to trust his ears. “How’s that?”
“No seduction. No…” Dash it all, but her mind had gone blank again. And two times in as many days, too. Maybe she had an affliction. The only thing she could imagine was Lord Maxfeld pulling her into a dark corner and stealing a kiss.
Or perhaps not stealing a kiss, so much as finding her eager to plunder him right back.