"Indeed?" Marcus was only half listening. Belle had been joined by Lord Berwick, and they appeared to be having an animated conversation.
"Yes, but I wouldn't lick my lips in eager anticipation if I were you. The lady has become a fast friend of my wife's, and you must know that means she is a bluestocking."
Marcus managed to tear his gaze away from Belle long enough to give the viscount a puzzled look. "Why should that matter?"
"That desperate, are you?" Alex shook his head. "I'd best not tell Pip, else she'll send for Lilian on the next coach."
"No," Marcus corrected, "I meant why do you think it should matter to me whether or not a lady is an intellectual? I've no use for empty-headed females."
"I thought you despised the race," Alex said, defending himself with wide-eyed innocence. "I seem to recall your making any number of pithy remarks when I was courting Phillipa. What else was I to think? Oh, and I should also warn you my beloved wife has been polluting Miss Petrie with her political radicalism. The last thing she gave her before we left was a rather well-thumbed copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Women."
"Where is your wife?" Marcus asked, deciding to ignore the provocation of that last remark. "I haven't seen her."
"She wasn't feeling well, but she insisted I come without her," Alex said, an odd glow turning his eyes to purest blue. "You may be the first to know, Marcus. I will be a father by year's end."
"Alex!" Marcus turned to his friend with delight. "That is wonderful! My congratulations!" And he extended his hand to Alex, clapping him heartily on the shoulder.
"We're pleased," Alex admitted, still dazed with happiness. "I only wish the minx might have told me sooner. I'd never have exposed her to the London air if I'd known."
"Why didn't she?" Marcus was curious. "I hadn't thought your wife was so interested in society."
"She's not, but you must be mad if you think she'd allow me to miss a single session of Parliament. I've married a harsh taskmistress, Colford, and she is determined to keep my nose to the grindstone."
The foolish grin on his face indicated he obviously considered this no great hardship, and Marcus was about to tease him about that fact when he added, "I thank God their original scheme failed and I didn't find myself shackled to Miss Portham. I shudder to think what my fate might have been then, for I doubt she'd settle for her husband reaching anything less than a minister post."
"What?"
Alex closed his eyes, uttering a word he'd learned from one of his top sergeants. "Damn," he said, opening his eyes and shooting Marcus a guilty look. "Upon your life, you must never utter a word of this to anyone. Phillipa would have my head if she knew I'd broken her confidence."
"Of course you may rely on my discretion," Marcus promised, shaken by the image of his friend and Belle married.
"Precisely what I said to Pip," Alex grumbled, and then leaned closer. "Do you recall last year when I got involved in that bloody wager to escort Pip to Prinny's ball?"
"How can I forget? The whole damned thing was Toby's fault!"
"Don't remind me. At any rate, what I did not know until much later was that Pip and Miss Portham also had a wager of their own . . . a wager involving me."
Marcus wasn't sure he cared for the direction of the conversation. "What did the wager involve?" he asked.
"It involved Miss Portham marrying me so that she could become my political hostess."
"The devil you say!" Marcus exclaimed in outrage.
"It makes a certain sort of sense when you think of it," Alex replied calmly, his eyes resting on Miss Portham. "By marrying me, she would gain the access to the political power she desires. And there is no denying that she would make the perfect wife for such a politician: beautiful, poised, and of course, her fortune wouldn't go amiss, either. Certainly Berwick seems to think so," he added with a cynical laugh.
Marcus stood as if turned to stone, his jaw clenching as he watched Belle and the marquess. "She can't seriously be considering him," he said, his voice harsh even to his own ears.
"No, but I would say it is obvious he is considering her," Alex answered with a shrug. "And why not? It sounds a perfect base for a marriage to me: her gold for his power."
"It sounds as cold-blooded as hell!" Marcus exclaimed, horrified by the viscount's cool observation.
"And your courting of Lady Bingington is any different? Her money for your title?" Alex demanded, them grimaced with regret. "I'm sorry, Marcus, I should never have said that."
Marcus gave a bitter laugh. "Why not?" he asked, turning bleak eyes on his friend. "It is the truth."
"You are trying to save your inheritance, blast it! There's not a man here who would fault you for what you are doing!"
"No?" A terrible pain filled Marcus as he watched Belle and Lord Berwick leave. "Perhaps I blame myself."
"A babe? Oh, Pip, how wonderful!" Belle exclaimed, her eyes misting with tears as she enveloped the other woman in an exuberant hug. "I am so happy for you!"
"I can tell," Pip replied sardonically, although she returned Bell's embrace with equal enthusiasm. "And with that in mind, I have a favor I should like to ask of you."
"Anything," Belle promised, dabbing at her eyes as she returned to her seat. It was the afternoon following the ball at the Nottingtons', and Belle had called upon her friend to make sure she was well. They were sitting in Pip's elegant study, and the sun streaming through the mullioned windows filled the room with soft, golden light.
"I want you to stand as godmother."
Belle paled, her throat tightening painfully. "Godmother?"
Pip's green eyes were suspiciously bright as she took Belle's hand in hers. "You are my dearest friend in the world," she said softly. "Who else would I wish to act as my child's godmother?"
At first Belle couldn't speak, emotion making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Finally she found her voice. "I would be honored," she said, the words not quite steady.
"Good, I am glad that is settled," Pip said, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I hate this! I seem to dissolve into a watering pot without the slightest provocation these days, but Aunt assures me 'tis only to be expected, given my condition."
"I understand," Belle replied gently, aware of an aching, hollow feeling deep inside her. She'd never given children much thought, but now the very notion was enough to bring a fresh spurt of tears to her eyes. She was more than a quarter of a century old, and she wondered if she would ever know what it felt like to hold her babe in her arms.
Pip saw the wistful pain in Belle's eyes and quickly changed the conversation to another topic. "Where is Julia?" she asked brightly. "Is she spending the day with her brother?"
"No, she and Georgiana are calling upon some old friends," Belle said, grateful for Pip's tact. "As for Simon, he is spending the afternoon with Lord Colford looking at some overpriced piece of horseflesh. Only imagine spending ten thousand pounds for one animal . . . Men!"
"Ah, you must be talking about Gray Boy," Pip said with a wise nod. "Alex speaks his name with the reverence one usually reserves for royalty, but fortunately he hasn't shown any serious interest in either breeding or racing the wretched creatures . . . thank heavens."
They continued discussing masculine foibles while the maids bustled about them preparing a sumptuous tea. When they were alone once more, Pip turned the conversation back to Simon.
"If your cousin is spending the afternoon with Colford, I gather that you and he have made your peace," she observed, studying Belle over the rim of her cup. "You can actually say his name without throwing something."
Belle busied herself with her tea, unable to meet Pip's eyes. "I've never thrown anything in my life," she muttered, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.
"No, but you certainly looked as if you'd like to," Pip answered with a mischievous laugh. "But don't equivocate. Have the two of you settled your differences?"
Belle was uncertain how to answer. In many ways she
and Marcus had grown shockingly close, yet in others they were further apart than when they were the bitterest of enemies. She tried to find the words to explain this dichotomy, but none would come. Her feelings for Marcus were a Gordian knot of confusion, and she was beginning to fear she would never unravel them. "Yes," she said at last, "we have settled our differences."
Pip gave her a considering look, a smile of delight' playing about her lips. "Good," she said in satisfied tones. "That is what I thought."
His conversation with Alex was uppermost in Marcus's mind as he presented himself at Lady Bingington's home on Hanover Square the following afternoon. He'd spent most of last night wrestling with his conscience and his pride, but he was no closer to resolving his dilemma. The only thing he had concluded was that regardless of the consequences, he would be completely honest with Charlotte. He would not offer her marriage under the guise of undying love. If she accepted, fine. If not . . .
"I am so sorry to keep you waiting," Lady Bingington apologized as she breezed into the parlor where Marcus had been cooling his heels. "But Bertie—he is my grandson—is staying with us, and nothing would do but his grandmama feed him his luncheon. I trust you haven't been waiting long?'
"Not long at all," Marcus assured her, carrying her hand to his lips. "Although I must say it sounds rather odd to hear one so young and lovely as you speak of grandchildren. You look scarce beyond childhood yourself."
"False flattery, sir, but after the morning I have had, I thank you," Charlotte said, her eyes bright with laughter. "But pray, will you not be seated? The duke and the others will be joining us shortly."
Marcus remained standing, feeling as if he were about to leap into a bottomless void. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment upon which his entire past and present rested, and now that it had arrived, he wondered what the devil he was going to do. Drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves, he met the duchess's candid gaze.
"I suppose you know why I have come," he said, his quiet voice giving no hint of his inner turmoil.
"I have a fair idea," Charlotte responded dryly, her lips curving in a slight smile. "You wish to marry me."
"Yes, that is correct," he replied, startled by her blunt reply. "Do you know why?"
"To salvage your estates, I should imagine."
Again her straightforward response left him feeling decidedly rattled. "And you do not mind?" he asked, trying to envision how Belle would have reacted to such a bloodless proposal.
Lady Bingington gave a cool laugh. "I am one and thirty, my lord; I lost my girlish illusions long ago. I know full well that people of our class seldom marry for something so self-indulgent as love. It is the way of our world, and I much doubt it will ever change."
"Then . . . you accept my suit?" Marcus pressed, his heart racing with fear. What he did not know was whether it was racing from fear she would reject him, or fear she would say yes.
"I didn't say that."
"I beg your pardon?" He frowned at her reply.
Charlotte rose from her chair and walked over to stand before Marcus, her expression serious as she gazed up at him. "I was eighteen when my parents told me I was to marry the duke," she said simply. "At the time I did as they asked, knowing it was my duty and that I really had no other choice. I won't pretend I was happy in my marriage, but I was . . . content, I suppose is the word. I did my best to be a good wife to George, and I like to think I made his final years happy ones.
"Since my husband's death, I have tried to be a good dowager; supportive of my grown stepsons, yet not demanding too much from either them or the estate. I am now learning to be a good grandmother to the children's children, and much as I enjoy the role, I have come to the realization that I want more."
"What more do you wish?" he asked, following her thoughtful explanation with intense concentration. "Children of your own?"
"Perhaps, but more importantly, I want something of my own, something for myself. Does that sound hopelessly selfish to you?" She sent him an anxious look.
"No," he denied, shaking his head. "It doesn't."
"I have thought about this a great deal," Charlotte said painfully, "and I have decided that to marry again, merely for duty or because it is expected of me, would be a folly." She raised her dark eyes to his. "My lord, may I ask you something?"
"Of course," he said, anticipating what her question would be.
"Do you love me?"
Now that the moment had arrived, he knew he could not lie. She deserved more than deceit, more than the half of a heart which was all he could offer her. The rest of his heart belonged to Belle. He loved her. Once he admitted that, the tangle of his emotions suddenly unraveled, and he wondered how he could have been so blind.
The truth of his love overwhelmed him, filling him with the wildest exaltation and the deepest despair. He wanted to shout it to the heavens, to whisper it to Belle in the sweetest of intimacies. But first he had to deal with Charlotte. He opened his eyes and met her steady gaze.
"No, my lady," he said softly, his expression filled with tender regret. "I do not."
"Do you love another?"
Belle's face filled his mind, and he gave a sad smile. "Yes," he admitted, savoring the sweetness of the words, "I do."
Charlotte hesitated, then offered him her hand. "Then I think it best that we not say another word," she said with gentle understanding. "I will tell my stepsons you were unable to wait. I am sure they will understand. And, my lord?"
"Yes?"
She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck."
Eleven
S imon was waiting when Marcus returned home, and after pausing only long enough to change out of his formal clothing, they were on their way to Tattersall's. Much to Marcus's relief, the younger man seemed as disinclined to idle conversation as was he, and they passed most of the short journey in companionable silence.
They were just approaching the exclusive establishment when he said, "How is your sister this morning, Mr. Dolitan? I recall Toby mentioning she and Mrs. Larksdale were calling upon some friends. He seemed cast down at the thought he'd not be able to see her until this evening."
"You should have seen Julia," Simon replied sardonically, his lips curving at the memory. "She sighed and moped about like a character out of a second-rate drama until Belle threatened to have her purged. She brightened considerably after that."
"I can imagine," Marcus replied, and then cleared his throat. "And Miss Portham? How is she? Last night's exertions didn't prove too much for her after her unfortunate accident?"
"She is fine," Simon assured him, his blue eyes enigmatic as he studied the other man. "Belle told me about the kidnapping," he said bluntly, "and I want the names of those men involved. No one touches a member of my family and escapes unscathed."
The icy menace in his deep voice made Marcus look at him with renewed respect. "They didn't escape unscathed," he said calmly, fixing him with a cool look. "I have seen to that."
"Perhaps, but Belle is my cousin, and therefore my responsibility. If you won't tell me what I wish to know, I will simply find out on my own."
Although Marcus could understand his need for vengeance, he couldn't allow Dolitan to ferret out the truth. Not just for Toby's sake, he realized, but for Belle's as well. She had suffered enough, and he was determined to protect her as best he could. "The matter has been resolved, Dolitan," he said, his voice every bit as cold as Simon's. "Quietly and without a breath of scandal. If you go poking into matters now, that could well change, and it will be Belle who pays the price. What is more important to you—your cousin or your need for revenge?"
Simon glared at him, and then heaved a heavy sigh. "You are a hard bastard, Colford," he said, his expression sulky. "And curse it, you are right. Not that I intend letting the matter drop altogether," he added, shooting him a warning look. "One of these days I shall have the truth, and when I do, I'll take my revenge in such a way that Belle won't be touched."
Marcus gave him a respectful look that was slightly tinged with curiosity. "It sounds as if the anger that provokes revenge is a familiar emotion to you," he observed quietly. "But a man needs more than vengeance to live, you know."
A glacial sheen turned Simon's eyes to blue ice. "You are wrong, my lord," he said, his tone lacking all inflection. "Sometimes revenge is the only reason to live."
Marcus digested the other man's cold observation in silence. He sensed there was far more to the story than those cryptic words indicated, and for a moment he considered offering Simon his counsel. In the next moment, however, he was rejecting the altruistic impulse. Not only did he suspect such an offer would be firmly spurned, but he'd have felt like a damned hypocrite offering any advice. Only look at the tangle he had made of his own life, he thought bitterly, and then turned his head to gaze out the window.
They spent the rest of the day at the Turf Club, examining horses and enjoying each other's company in the quiet way men have. Their odd conversation was never alluded to again, not even when Simon paid fifteen thousand pounds for the colt they had come to see. The other man bidding on the horse seemed to take his loss as a personal affront, but Simon accepted it coolly in stride.
While they walked about admiring the horses, Marcus's mind kept going back to his meeting with Lady Bingington. Now that she'd put an end to his hopes for a manage de convenance, he knew he should begin looking about for another prospect, but he did not see how that could be possible. Now that he'd admitted he loved Belle, the thought of marrying another woman was profoundly distasteful. He wondered if he would be able to do it, even if by failing to do so, he could lose his estate.
God, what a tangle, he thought, his face expressionless as he listened to Simon's occasional remarks. Once, Colford had been all the world to him, all the cared about, but now there was Belle. If he could have her, he would sacrifice his estate without another thought, but the bitter truth was that he would lose both. He wasn't so foolish as to think she would consider his suit for a single moment. Like Lady Bingington, he'd lost his illusions long ago, and he doubted Belle would be willing to offer her fortune and her hand to a penniless lord. Perhaps if she loved him, it would be different, but as she did not . . .
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