He quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve been there, too.” Now he was beginning to look not only scornful, but highly entertained. “And I must tell you, I should rather starve in a ditch than live in Auld Reekie.”
“Then you are refusing me outright?”
He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “A quick wedding over the anvil, as it were, would call for a real wedding as soon as may be, or you would be forever ruined. You’d still suffer a scandal, I expect. Willing to face that, Clarissa?”
“Yes. Are you?”
When he did not answer immediately, she prompted him a little. “Be frank, sir. This is a business arrangement, not a plea for everlasting devotion. Will you or won’t you?”
“I have to ask this, Clarissa. Why go about it in such a way? If you are that determined to have me, I could approach your uncle and ask for your hand, as is proper. Have the banns called, dress to the teeth, marry in style, celebrate for days.” His eyes sparkled, catching the lamplight like polished amber agates.
She realized he still didn’t believe she was serious. Not at all. However, she continued. “And you would be promptly refused permission to pay me court. My cousin Trenton would persuade my uncle that a match between us would be highly inappropriate. Impossible, in fact.”
“Oh? Why would he do that?”
“Because Trenton wants to wed me, of course. And even if that were not so, you are a younger son with no title, property or means. Even though your brother is a peer, you would not be considered suitable.”
He inclined his head and grimaced. “Correct. Nothing at all to trade, have I?”
“Your name will do. And your solemn vow that you will not gamble,” Clarissa said. “Ten thousand pounds, sir. Your freedom to continue doing precisely as you like. Within reason, that is. No gambling, as I said. And I would require utmost discretion in any clandestine matters…of the heart.”
“I much doubt my heart would be what concerned you, Clarissa.” His nostrils flared and his eyes went a bit cold. “I, of course, would require absolute fidelity from any woman I marry.”
Clarissa shrugged. “Naturally.”
“And I would want heirs,” he added, rather pointedly, as if he thought she was proposing a marriage in name only.
He probably would be astounded to know that avoiding intimacy with him had never even occurred to her. Quite the contrary.
“Naturally,” she repeated, nodding, meeting his gaze, assuring him that she fully understood.
He looked away, sighed heavily, then faced her again.
For a long moment they stood there looking at one another, both at a loss when it came to the next move.
Then he closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “Clarissa, think. You would likely be cut from your circle of friends for such an infamous act. Your family would be furious.”
“That is entirely the point. And they—Trenton in particular—would be powerless to refute the marriage.”
“This is a mad thing you plan to do, Clarissa. I would not have expected it of you.” He gently squeezed her fingers as he said it. Though he sounded earnest, she could swear there was a touch of laughter in those eyes. This amused attitude of his was wearing exceedingly thin.
She jerked her hands from his. “If you wish to decline, Richfield, simply say so. Do not pretend it is the loss of my reputation that would trouble you. If you had rather not marry me, I shall choose someone else straightaway and we shall pretend this conversation never took place!”
“Who?” he asked, his taunting grin suddenly absent.
Clarissa tossed her head and flicked an errant curl off her cheek. “Oh, perhaps John Bernard. He seems to be fishing at the moment.”
“So any man of dire circumstance would do, eh?”
“Not any man,” she argued hotly. “That is an affront, sir!”
“I beg your pardon.” But he did not do so sincerely. He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced idly around the room, pretending nonchalance. He was pretending, she knew. That muscle jumping in his strong, square jaw indicated his teeth were clenched fair to cracking. He could not be piqued by this. What on earth did he have to be piqued about?
He drew in a harsh, deep breath as if to brace himself before pursuing the matter. “May I ask why you favored me as first choice?”
Too polite. Oh, he was entirely too polite. Butter wouldn’t melt…
Clarissa forced her sweetest smile and countered. “Who said you were first choice?”
A flash of anger crossed his features, so instantaneous she almost missed it altogether. Then he matched her expression with one every whit as false. “Then surely you will understand if I decline.”
“You are a beastly oaf, Richfield!” she almost shouted, flinging up her hands in frustration. “No gentleman at all! Oh, why did I ever think—”
“So find yourself a gentleman, Clarissa,” he said angrily. “One who will not mind chucking his self-respect to feed at your little trough of generosity!” With that he stalked past her and reached for the door.
Clarissa rushed after him and clutched at his sleeve. “Wait! Please!”
He stopped, his back still to her, his hand on the door handle. The rigidity of his stance spoke his fury as clearly as his words had done.
What should she say? Could she persuade him after speaking so recklessly? She simply had to. Despite what she had told him, she did not think she could bring herself to put her case to another candidate. Any man she wed would expect her to fully honor her vows. At least with Hugh, she could not view the intimate aspect of marriage as an onerous condition or a sacrifice. In fact, quite the opposite.
Images of sharing his bed flooded her mind and she ruthlessly shoved them aside. They had been intruding like clockwork for the past two days since she had formed this plan.
There would be no other chance. She could not let him go. “Please,” she said again and hurriedly insinuated herself between him and the still-closed door. Before she lost her courage, Clarissa stood on tiptoe, grasped his face in her hands, pulled it down so she could reach his lips and kissed him.
His lips were open—to speak, she supposed—and she pressed her own against them, parting hers. The gesture felt far more intimate than she had expected a kiss to feel.
To her surprise, he slid his arms around her and angled his head, deepening the meeting of their mouths. He pressed her back against the door, his body flush against hers, hard and demanding…and wonderful.
A truly heady rush of sensation radiated through her like a sudden fever. The skin of his face glowed hot beneath her fingertips. She wished she had doffed her half-gloves. His scent surrounded her, a hint of spicy fragrance and brandy. He tasted of that, as well, intoxicating her senses as if she’d consumed an entire bottle.
He groaned, a deep, pleasurable sound that rose from the depths of him and invaded her from without and within. He could do this forever, she thought. If they were wed, it would be frequently done. Oh, she could not let him go. Not ever.
Slowly, as if very reluctant, he parted from her and held her by her shoulders, looking down into her eyes. His breath almost shuddered out. Then he dragged his gaze away and gave his head a small shake, perhaps to clear it if it felt as muddled as hers.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “My temper is not usually so high, but I find myself in dire straits. Could we discuss this further? Please?”
He looked down at her, then backed away, putting her at arm’s length. “Only if you tell me what has forced you to flout convention this way.”
Clarissa sighed and lowered her gaze to the turkey carpet beneath their feet. Perhaps if he knew the truth, he would agree to help her. “My cousin is determined to compromise me. If he happens to succeed, I should have no choice but to marry him in the event someone observed us. Or if there were, heaven forbid, results.”
Suddenly there occurred a stillness about Hugh that seemed ominous. “What has he done?” His voice was deadly qui
et and without inflection as if he deliberately controlled what might have been outrage.
Clarissa sighed and looked away.
“Tell me,” he insisted, giving her a gentle shake.
Though he need not know of the incident on the terrace, she had to tell him of Trenton’s plan. So she began at the beginning. “The Dicksons invited him here when we first arrived in town. Trenton was charming to our hosts, but behaved with me as though we knew one another much better than we actually did. I had only met him a few times at family gatherings before my parents died. He frightened me even then, he was always such a bully.”
She sighed at a particularly unpleasant memory of Trenton as a boy, then continued. “Two days ago, I went to visit our uncle who is not at all well. There at Uncle James’s house, Trenton stated quite baldly that he intended to marry me, that he always had done so. He said now I had no other option whatsoever and that I would be wise not to protest. Or else.”
“Or else what?” Hugh demanded, fists clenched, his control visibly slipping a bit.
Clarissa frowned. “That he would see to it I had no choice.” She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “I assure you I am not easily terrified, but his expression of determination gave me chills. He left no doubt in my mind that he means to force me into marriage with him.”
“Has he tried?” The amber eyes had darkened and his lips were firm with anger.
Clarissa shrugged and looked away, even now unwilling to admit how near Trenton had come to doing what he threatened.
“So he has, damn his eyes! I’ll call him out! No, wait. That won’t do,” Hugh muttered, worrying his chin with his thumb. “You would be ruined for certain if the reason became known.”
“And you would be arrested. Dueling is not legal,” she reminded him with a mirthless laugh.
He scoffed as if that did not signify. “Has he…has he hurt you, Clarissa?”
“Not yet,” she assured him, and wondered if she had perhaps said too much.
She had heard that gentlemen frequently settled matters with dueling despite the law against it. Given Hugh’s impetuous nature and daring ways, she sincerely hoped he was not one of them. But she should not risk giving him further impetus.
“Let me think,” he said shortly, pressing his fingers to his brow and beginning to pace.
“I have thought it out,” Clarissa declared. “And you can see my quandary. I must do something, and do it quickly, to prevent his pressing the issue.”
“Indeed.” Hugh stopped pacing and stepped closer, slid one hand under her elbow and his other hand beneath her chin, causing her to look up at him. “Clarissa, please tell me the truth. He has not actually…?”
“No, I swear it.” His concern warmed her as nothing had in a while. Clarissa added, “It is not really my person he wants, you see. How can it be when I am nothing but a plain and aging teacher?”
“Balderdash. You are quite beautiful and not above twenty if you are a day.” The way he assessed her with those golden eyes of his, she could almost think he believed it.
“Twenty-two,” she admitted. “But I have no doubt it is my inheritance he’s after. I will be damned to perdition before I let him have it.”
Hugh paced again for a moment, obviously giving all she had told him due consideration. Surely he would agree. He had to agree.
Then he stopped and shook his finger at her. “You chose me for this because I have soldiered and you want me to kill him for you.” His voice sounded flat. “You never had any real intention of marrying me, did you?”
“No! Yes!” she exclaimed.
“Which, Miss Fortesque? No or yes?” Oh, now he looked angry. Well, so was she!
“I am aghast you should think this of me. I merely want the protection of your name and I’m perfectly willing to pay you for it! I certainly do not require you to cause anyone’s death. Never did I think of such a thing!”
“Then why me in particular?” he demanded.
Clarissa cast about for a reason. Any reason that would convince him. Other than the real one, of course. She could scarcely admit she wanted him for his immature inclinations to go sporting through life instead of settling down to manage a wife and her money.
So she ducked her head again, looked up coyly from beneath her lashes and mumbled, “Because I have always found you handsome?” To her dismay, it emerged more question than statement.
He all but snorted with disbelief. Then he tipped up her chin again. “Now how could I refuse such forthright honesty?”
“Then you will do it?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Sacrifice and profit our substitutes for love. I daresay we should suit quite admirably, you and I, the desperate and the greedy locked in unholy wedlock.”
For a long moment Clarissa looked up at him, bemused by his ridicule and the fact that he caressed her chin with his thumb as if he already owned her face. After that kiss of theirs, he probably thought he did. So much the better. “I allowed you to kiss me quite thoroughly, as a fiancé might do. You’re not going to be a cad about this, are you?”
He sighed. “If I am, at least I’m a more amenable cad than your cousin. You should know me well enough to realize I would never frighten you or force you to my will.”
“Yes, that I know or I should not have permitted you such familiarity. And I certainly never would have asked you to be my husband,” she declared, watching him intently.
He paused, stared at her for another moment, then answered. “In serious answer to your proposal, yes, Miss Fortesque, I would be honored to marry you.”
When he looked as if he might say something else, Clarissa backed up a step and offered her hand. He took it, but when he would have raised it to his lips, she resisted and shook hands the way a man might do to seal a bargain. “Thank you. I consider your word our contract, both for the betrothal and the financial terms agreed upon,” she said calmly. “Now if you will excuse me, I must go and arrange for a coach.”
How she was to complete that particular chore, she had no notion. Where did one come by a conveyance to transport them the length of England at near midnight?
“No.” He clasped her wrist, loosened his hold on it, then carefully placed her hand through the crook of his arm. “I will see to that detail. I know someone to hire. Watch your clock closely. I shall arrive precisely at three and it will not do for me to hang about with horses stomping and awaking the household while you stuff your valise with last-minute items.”
Now he sounded as if the whole thing were a terrible inconvenience to be borne. Perhaps she should have kissed him again and put him off balance. But then, she, too, would have been affected and they needed their wits about them at the moment.
Suddenly he reached for the door handle, slowly opened the door and looked out.
“What is it?” she whispered, clutching the edge of the door frame and peering into the semidarkness of the deserted corridor.
“Thought I heard something,” he murmured as he turned to her. “Hmm. No one there.”
“Someone was listening?” she gasped.
“More likely my conscience kicking up a fuss.” He took out his timepiece, glanced at it, snapped it shut and returned it to the pocket of his waistcoat. “For the moment, we should join the others. When everyone is abed, bring your things and meet me at the back gate. We should be able to travel some distance by daybreak or before they discover you are missing. In any case, too far for anyone to interrupt our journey and prevent the marriage. Be sure to leave a note so no one will worry.”
Oh, so now he was to become all business-minded, was he? Giving orders as if she were one of his soldiers. Clarissa highly resented his taking over the venture and bidding her about the way he was doing. His commanding manner did not bode well and she must set him straight immediately if she planned to remain in charge.
“I shall leave no note,” she declared, asserting herself. He need not know that Phyllis would im
mediately guess her plans and reassure everyone that Clarissa had not been kidnapped. Though she and Phyllis had never discussed the possibility of the marriage taking place in Scotland, the Dicksons would surely deduce that fact when no issuance of a license was discovered.
So long as Trenton was not notified, no one would trouble to follow them, anyway. Who was there to mind whom she wed? No one but her dratted cousin and he would find out too late to do anything about it.
“As you wish,” he said with a shrug as he gestured for her to precede him. “But I think you should.”
They marched along the dark hallway, Clarissa lengthening her steps to match his.
“I will allow you to arrange transportation,” she said, granting the necessary compromise in a near whisper. “But you are to be at the outer gate of the garden at precisely two o’clock, no later.” Though she did not raise her voice, she demanded that in her most imperious way, in a tone she used to control unruly students. “If you are one instant late, Richfield, my offer is null. Are we understood?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowed and his lips quirked to one side. “Two, it is then.”
Clarissa almost heaved a sigh of relief. She had done it. The unthinkable. She had proposed and been accepted. As soon as she reached the border of Scotland and spoke the necessary words, neither her uncle nor Trenton would have any right whatsoever to interfere with her life. And the man beside her would be too occupied with his own flighty pursuits to present her any problems. She was safe, or soon would be.
They reached the ballroom and he paused. “Mind now, you should act as though there is nothing out of the ordinary when we go in. If we are to carry off this enterprise without a hitch, no one must suspect what we’re up to until the deed’s accomplished.”
“Will you please stop giving me orders?” she argued, teeth clenched, shoving her elbow into his ribs. Either he was quite solidly built or encased in a corset for it had absolutely no effect on him. His body felt as impervious as the rocks at Stonehenge. “That is precisely what I’m trying to avoid, Richfield! Someone directing my life, my very existence. Can you not understand that? You must promise to stop it!”
The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman Page 20