“I tolerated your speaking with Keswick during Lady Alicia’s recital because I knew he was a friend and you’d not seen him in a good many years. When I heard that you met with him in Hyde Park—alone—I overlooked the transgression.”
“It was hardly a transgression. I merely wished to convey to him the importance of attending a ball. We were in full view the entire time.”
“I’m aware of that. As those who reported seeing you made it clear that you were riding and that nothing untoward occurred. Still, you were there with him. Then at the ball, you spoke with him alone, near the fronds, without chaperone.”
“We had a hundred chaperones in that ballroom.”
He arched a pale brow. “And in the garden? How many were there?”
Feeling as though he had tricked her, trapped her, and willingly sought to humiliate her, she wilted against the seat.
“Yes, it has reached me that you and he had a tryst in the garden.”
“Good God, Mary!” her father exclaimed.
“It was hardly a tryst.”
“You deny kissing him?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“Mary?” her father barked.
She studied the pointed toes of her shoes. She wondered how she might go about kicking herself.
“So there is truth to these rumors,” Fitzwilliam said.
“After the mishap on the dance floor—” She gave him a pointed look. “—I wanted to ensure that he understood that it could happen to anyone, as you reassured me it was not done on purpose.”
Fitzwilliam knelt before her and took her hands. She couldn’t recall him ever being so near, not even when he’d proposed. They’d been sipping tea and he hadn’t even bothered to set his teacup aside. He’d simply taken a sip and then said, “I say, dear girl, I was wondering if you might consider marrying me.”
It wasn’t romantic or passionate, but still it had touched her heart. He was so endearingly reserved. Unfortunately with recent events, she had hurt him. She could see that as she gazed into his brown eyes.
“I suppose if you are guilty of anything, Mary, it is a charitable heart. But Keswick is not yours to worry over.”
“But he is my friend, Fitzwilliam.”
“He was your friend, when you were children. If he was your friend now, do you think he would do all these things that tarnish your reputation and mine?”
“It just happened. The kiss. I’m not even sure what prompted it. One moment we were talking and the next we were kissing. I’m sorry. I never meant to give you cause to doubt me.”
“Hence the reason I shall overlook it. This once. We shall attend the next ball together so that all of London shall see that you are mine. You are mine, are you not?”
Feeling the tears sting her eyes, she nodded. “Yes, without question.” Only she’d been asking so many blasted questions lately.
“Splendid. But you must promise me that you will not speak with him again.”
Startled, she stared at him. “You mean ever? Are you suggesting I give him a cut direct? Ignore him?”
“It is either him or me, Mary. If you write to him and explain the boundaries, then he should be gentleman enough not to put you in a situation where you must choose.”
“I’ve had twelve years of not seeing him, not speaking to him. You can’t deny me—” The pleasure, she’d almost said. Only it wasn’t a pleasure exactly. It was more of a challenge, more of a rightness. They’d shared so much in their youth. To never be able to share anything ever again was maudlin.
“What if I promise to never be alone with him? To only speak with him when you are there? Surely that should suffice.”
He brought her hands to his lips, pressed them there, squeezed his eyes shut. “I can tell that you are going to be a difficult wife.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
He opened his eyes, smiled. “Difficult because when you ask for something I find it very hard to deny you. I will be content if you are never alone with him and if you only speak with him in my presence. Or your father’s.”
Relief swamped her, and she smiled. “Thank you, my lord. I thought you would be done with me if you heard the rumor.”
“Two weeks from our wedding? It will take a good deal more than gossip to keep me from the church. But I should very much like not to hear anymore.”
“Perhaps I should lock her in her room until it is time to head to St. George’s,” her father suggested.
“She’s not a child, Winslow,” Fitzwilliam said. “I trust her word.”
She wanted to hug him near for that bit of trust. She vowed then and there that she would never disappoint him again. She would be an exemplary wife and give him no further cause to doubt her.
Releasing her hands, he stood. “One more thing. The necklace with the green stone you wore the other night—you’re not to wear it again. As a matter of fact I think it would be best if you return it to Keswick.”
She stared at him in muted surprise. “How did you know?”
“I asked your father about it. He asked your maid. I will not have my wife accepting gifts from other gentlemen.”
“I’m not yet your wife.”
“If you wish to be you will return it. Consider the action a token of good faith. I’ve been injured here, Mary. Am I really asking too much?”
Slowly, she shook her head. She’d even told Sebastian that she shouldn’t have accepted the gift. “No. I shall see to its return posthaste. Although you should know it wasn’t a gift from Keswick. It was from all three brothers.”
“A gift from three men? I can only imagine how that might be spun by the gossips. Even more reason to return it.”
Pleasing a gentleman was such a sticky web. He bid her and her father good-bye, then strode from the room, leaving her to wonder if she would indeed be happy married to him.
“You need this marriage, Mary,” her father said pointedly. “I need it. To know you are secure. If I fail you, I have failed in everything.”
“You’ve failed in nothing, Father.”
“I failed to produce an heir to watch over you when I am gone.”
She supposed the fault there rested as much with her mother as with him.
“You say that as though you are planning to leave me at any moment,” she told him.
“Life is precarious, Daughter. I would have thought the Pembrook lads would have taught you that.”
“Had you heard that someone tried to kill Sebastian?”
He nodded. “Terrible thing that. They say it was a soldier who believed him to be a coward.”
“Do you believe that?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “But you would be wise to keep your thoughts to yourself. Do not seek to help the Pembrook lords further. It can only lead to your downfall. Your loyalty now is to Fitzwilliam. It must be to him.”
“Yes, Father.” He didn’t realize what he asked of her. What Fitzwilliam asked. To abandon her friends. She knew the brothers would not find fault with her. Had Sebastian not encouraged her to keep out of harm’s way? Still it did not stop her from feeling like a traitor as she walked from the room.
My dearest Sebastian,
It is with a large measure of regret that I must return this lovely gift that you and your brothers bestowed upon me. I must also regretfully request that should our paths cross, you not speak to me. My betrothed believes that if I act in a manner above reproach that we may weather this storm of gossip that has made the Season most difficult for us all. Please know that I will always hold all of you in my heart.
Yours,
Mary
Lying in bed, Sebastian picked up the necklace that had slithered out when he’d unfolded the missive that his butler had brought to him earlier. He wondered why she’d had to return it. Who had made her? Was it because of the gossip about town: that they’d shared an illicit kiss in the garden?
Although it certainly hadn’t felt illicit. It had felt bloody marvelous.
Unlike his side that was burning
hotter than hell.
The fever had arrived sometime the night before. He should have expected it, he supposed. He hadn’t stayed in bed as the physician had advised. Not until today when he’d had no energy to get up. He should call on Mary to ensure all was well with her. He should visit Fitzwilliam and explain that he was no threat. He wanted only what was best for Mary.
Yes. Get up. Set matters to right, he ordered himself. That’s what he needed to do.
Instead, he succumbed to the lure of cool oblivion.
Chapter 17
The afternoon after the day that Mary had returned the necklace to Sebastian, she sat in the garden pretending to read. From time to time she even turned a page, just in case her father was watching her from his library window. She had not expected, but she had rather hoped, that Sebastian would return the necklace to her so she might have a chance to explain—
Only she wasn’t supposed to speak to him, so how would she—
But if he came here, etiquette required she be a polite hostess—
Only her father could send him away before she saw him—
And if he told Fitzwilliam—
She damned well wanted to pull out her hair.
The girl who had ridden over to Pembrook would not have allowed others to dictate her actions. When had that changed? Was it part of being a lady? Or a coward?
Did she so desperately desire marriage that she would not be true to herself? Or was it Fitzwilliam she so desperately desired?
And if she desired him, why was it that whenever they were together, she never once wondered what it might be like to have him press his lips against hers? Why could she not forget what it had felt like to have Sebastian’s on hers? Why the devil did she want him to kiss her again? Only softer this time, not quite so brutish—although it had certainly been exciting. Still, why did she think softer would bring back the boy he’d been?
That lad was long lost.
She doubted they would ever be friends as they’d once been. A friend did not look at one as though he was contemplating devouring her. But then he always looked as though he had no patience for anything. He wanted what he wanted and he wanted it now. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. He’d had twelve years of waiting. But his impatience would likely result in a harsh life for his wife. Always trying to anticipate his moods, his needs could very well drive her to madness.
Fitzwilliam was much easier to decipher. He was proper. His moods controlled. Even when he’d been angry with her, his words had lacked heat. He’d merely scolded, then insisted on proper behavior. Her embarrassment had come because she should have never engaged in any improper behavior that would require his correcting her. He had every right to be upset with her.
She disappointed herself.
She was not a child, free to run hither and yon, and do as she pleased. She had responsibilities now. Was required to act in a certain manner, to complement her husband and his station in life. Fitzwilliam was a viscount, one day to be a marquess. She understood why he didn’t want her speaking with men alone. That he had overlooked her previous lacks in judgment boded well for a future marriage of equanimity. He would not bully. He would not be unkind. They would not have upheavals or storms or adventures.
She sighed. She could very well be bored out of her mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She should not be entertaining these thoughts. They’d have never intruded if Sebastian hadn’t returned. Although she certainly couldn’t regret that he had. Because it meant he still lived. And she cared too much for her childhood friend to wish him ill.
“M’lady?”
She opened her eyes to find the butler hovering, a silver salver in his hand. She took the cards that rested on it. It seemed Ladies Hermione and Victoria were in wont of the latest gossip regarding the lords of Pembrook. How disappointed they would be to discover she could no longer serve as a source for their amusements.
“I shall entertain them here,” she said. “Have someone bring tea and cakes.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
She closed her book, set it on the table, and rose to await their arrival. Two more weeks and she would be receiving guests at Fitzwilliam’s. Well, perhaps a bit longer than that as they would be taking a month in Italy after they were married. She was quite looking forward to it as she’d never left England’s shores.
Spotting the ladies scurrying up the walk, she forced herself to smile. Hermione reached her first, and to Mary’s surprise, placed her hands on her shoulders, drew her near, and touched her cheek lightly against Mary’s. “My dear girl, how horrible for you. I do wish you’d told us everything.”
What the devil was she talking about?
Hermione pulled back, but did not release her hold, her brow furrowed so deeply that Mary feared she might forever wear the frown. “I must confess, regrettably, that Victoria and I did not keep your confidence regarding the kiss—”
“I never expected that you would. Terribly juicy bit of gossip, I’m sure.”
“—but had we known that he had forced you, that you had to fight your way free of him—”
Shock rippled through Mary. “What? No, what are you talking about?”
“That Keswick behaved as a complete blackguard and gave you no choice in the matter.”
“Who told you such nonsense?”
“It’s all over London. He and his brothers are to be refused admittance into any proper residence. And it’s not fair. It’s simply not fair.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It shan’t be tolerated.” Lies! Lies running amuck over London. How had they even started?
“Thank the Lord that you see the truth of the matter. So you will speak out in favor of Lord Tristan so that at least he can be welcomed into homes?”
“Lord Tristan?” Mary felt as though she were trapped in a whirlwind of words that were slamming together in no logical manner.
“Yes. He should not be made to suffer—I should not be made to suffer—because his brother is a savage.”
“But Keswick is not a savage. He did not force me. Where did these awful rumors start?”
Hermione finally released Mary’s shoulders, stepped back, and gave a light tug on her gloves. “Where all rumors start. With the truth.”
“The truth is that we shared a kiss in the garden. A kiss that we both—or at least I—welcomed.”
Lady Hermione arched a fair, delicate brow. “You invited him to take liberties?”
“I did not invite him, and no liberties—” Her words would be misinterpreted, twisted about. “He kissed me. It was no more than that. Lips exploring—” Again she stopped. Anything she could think to say in way of explanation would only worsen matters.
“They say he ripped your bodice in his eagerness. The seamstress admitted to repairing your gown.”
Mary could only stare in stunned disbelief. This madness resembled a parlor game she’d once played where one person whispered to another and around the circle it went until when the whispered words finally made their way to the originator, they barely resembled the original phrase. It had been a fun game at the time. Everyone laughed. She certainly wasn’t laughing now. “Who is they who are spouting these ridiculous claims?”
“Well, everyone, of course.”
“I returned to the ballroom after the kiss.”
“I didn’t see you, but I heard you left rather quickly.”
“Your hair was askew,” Lady Victoria added. “I saw Lord Tristan straighten it. On the terrace.”
She had spent so many years with no one paying any attention to her at all, no one noticing that she had come of age for a Season but failed to appear in London, and suddenly it was as though everyone had their spyglass pointed her way. “This whole matter is ludicrous.”
What must Sebastian be thinking? Had he heard these rumors? Had Fitzwilliam? What a colossal mess!
“Your tea, m’lady.”
She glanced over at the female servant holding a tray that contained the china an
d small cakes. So civilized, so proper. She could not possibly sit down and sip tea as though nothing were amiss. “Return it to the kitchen.”
The girl curtsied and hurried away as though she recognized a storm brewing within her mistress. Hermione apparently was not so intuitive.
“But I would like to have a bit of tea while we talk further. If you would provide us with the details of that night perhaps we can set matters to right so Lord Tristan may again be welcomed into homes.”
Lord Tristan again? How could Lady Hermione not understand that Lord Tristan was the very least of Mary’s worries at the moment? “He was never welcomed. Not even into yours. Your parents didn’t want him there. How can you be so dense, so focused on only your own wants?”
Lady Hermione drew herself up. “No need to get nasty here.”
“If you will please excuse me, I must pay a call on Lord Fitzwilliam. He will be terribly upset by these rumors.” What if he challenged Sebastian to a duel? Sebastian with his military training would make short work of him. No, with his hindered vision it was very likely that he could no longer properly sight a target. Fitzwilliam could come to incredible harm.
“Fitzwilliam didn’t seem terribly upset when he spoke to Father about them,” Lady Victoria said.
“Why would he discuss them with your father?”
“He said the gentlemen needed to ensure that Keswick was not allowed near any of the women. He said his cowardly behavior on the battlefield apparently extended to his treatment of ladies. They want him out of London.”
It made no sense. No sense at all. Why would Fitzwilliam speak ill of Sebastian? With questions tumbling through her mind, she began marching toward the house.
“What are you going to do?” Lady Hermione called out.
But she didn’t answer them. She just left them to stare after her.
She Tempts the Duke Page 17