‘I knew you rode well, but that was magnificent,’ a female he recognised as Miss Henley was saying.
The gentleman nodding at her words was Lord Theo. ‘Indeed it was,’ he said and laughed. ‘Wendemere looked as shocked as he was disgruntled to have been bested—though it was a near-run thing. If your mount hadn’t summoned that last burst of speed, I believe he would have beaten you.’
‘Had Arion not been recovering from a sore hoof, it wouldn’t have even been close,’ Temper said, smiling—until she noticed Giff approaching and her whole body stiffened.
‘How neatly you dispensed with the annoyance of dealing with him,’ Miss Henley said.
‘Masterful,’ Lord Theo seconded. ‘Having agreed before all of us that, should he lose, he would never approach you again, he’ll not be able to go back on his word—not if he wants to hang on to the precarious foothold that remains to him in the ton.’
‘Even his friends would snub him if he cheated on a wager,’ Miss Henley said.
Just before he reached them, two riders on side-saddle halted beside the group, trailed by a groom. The Misses Avery, Giff saw—and, despite his pique, he nearly had to smile at the expression of distaste that crossed Temper’s face before she schooled her countenance into a polite smile.
‘What’s this—a wager?’ Miss Avery said. ‘Not with Lord Alfred, whom we just passed, looking to be in a tearing rage!’
‘Miss Avery, Miss Mary,’ Lord Theo said, ‘good morning to you.’
‘And to you, Lord Theo. How pleasant to encounter you this morning!’ She gave the Marquess’s son a charming smile before offering a tiny nod to Temper and Miss Henley. ‘And you, too, ladies.
‘But you must tell me, Miss Lattimar,’ she persisted, turning to address Temper. ‘Did you truly make a wager with Lord Alfred? How...shocking! You are even more outrageous than I thought.’
‘Indeed,’ Temper replied coolly—but the militant spark in her eye told Giff she was working hard to curb her annoyance. ‘I expect I can be far more outrageous than you thought.’
‘So what were the terms? Come, you must tell me.’
‘Really, Jane,’ Miss Mary protested, looking embarrassed by her sister’s persistence.
‘She might as well, Mary,’ she replied, brushing off her sister. ‘After all, Lord Alfred will surely bandy them abroad. The news will be all over the ton by this afternoon.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Miss Henley said, irony in her voice. ‘But I doubt Lord Alfred will be telling the story.’
Just then, the rest of party noticed his approach—or rather, Miss Avery did. ‘Mr Newell,’ she trilled, giving him the same coquettish smile she’d turned on Collington. ‘Come to collect your naughty charge? I don’t envy you, trying to keep a lady as...spirited as Miss Lattimar in line!’
‘I’m sure curbing a spirit—or a tongue—would be impossible for you,’ Temper said sweetly. ‘Come to hurry me home, Mr Newell?’ she said, her guarded tone telling him she was preparing for a confrontation.
His momentary humour over her riposte to the Avery girl evaporated as he recalled the very real confrontation that must come. ‘Yes. Mrs Moorsby is waiting for you.’
Miss Avery laughed. ‘I imagine her poor chaperon is always awaiting her return from some scrape or other! We will leave you to your task, Mr Newell. Miss Lattimar.’
With a dismissive nod to Temper, she turned back to Collington. ‘Would you care to join my sister and I for another turn around Rotten Row, Lord Theo? It’s such a lovely morning!’
Lord Theo looked less than enthusiastic about accompanying the sisters, Giff thought, but there was hardly any way he could refuse Miss Avery without being rude. ‘I’d be delighted.’
‘Shall we go, then?’ Miss Avery said, signalling her horse to start.
‘Thank you for meeting me,’ Temper said to Miss Henley as the others trotted off. ‘Newell, have you time for me to see Miss Henley home?’
Seeming to perceive the tension between the two of them, Miss Henley shook her head. ‘No need for an escort, Miss Lattimar. I have my groom. Shall I see you at the Witherspoons’ dinner and musicale tomorrow?’
‘Mrs Moorsby hasn’t informed me of our plans, but probably.’
‘Good day to both of you, then,’ Miss Henley said. ‘And bravo, well done, Miss Lattimar!’ With a mischievous smile that rendered her plain face almost pretty, she signalled her groom and set off.
* * *
As soon as they were out of earshot, Giff dropped his cheerful demeanour. ‘Merciful Heavens, Temper, what in the world were you about?’
Before he could launch into full rhetorical flow, Temper held up a hand. ‘Enough, Giff! I know you want to ring a peal over me, but wait until we get back to Vraux House. I’d rather the whole of London didn’t hear you abusing me.’
He pressed his lips together for a moment, her calm paradoxically increasing his fury and annoyance. ‘Until Vraux House, then.’
In any event, the streets were now so crowded that riding side by side to carry on a conversation would have been impossible. With difficulty, Giff contained the anger and the questions, biding his time until they reached the privacy of Vraux House.
* * *
Some ten minutes later, they arrived and turned their horses over to the groom. Once they were in the house, Giff could restrain himself no more.
‘Good Heavens, Temper, what were you thinking?’ he demanded as soon as they’d crossed the threshold into the front parlour. ‘I know you don’t care about, indeed want to encourage, the image of yourself as fast and unreliable—but Wendemere? You can be sure that by this afternoon, the Avery chit will have spread the news throughout London that you wagered with the most amoral, dissolute man in the entire ton! Whatever possessed you to do such a crack-brained thing?’
She recoiled a little under his vehemence, then raised her chin. ‘If you must know, he caught me in the shrubbery at Trenton Manor yesterday. He wanted... Well, I suppose you know what he wanted. I...put him off by challenging him to the race. The terms, as you heard, being that, if he lost, he would leave me alone. And lose he did. So why are you taking me to task? Having the snide Miss Avery spread whispers confirming the image the ton has of me anyway, thereby scaring off any true gentleman, should help me accomplish my goal of ending this unwanted Season more speedily. I’ll not apologise for either of those achievements!’
Though Giff heard her, he was having a hard time getting past the appalling image of Temper all alone, trapped in the garden in the grip of a doubtless drunken Wendemere—whose only moral principle was gratifying his own desires. ‘You were caught alone in the garden with him? How did you get him to agree to a race—instead of taking what he wanted then and there?’
‘By telling him if he insisted, I’d comply, but think the worse of him. And by implying, if he won on my terms, he’d get more than a kiss. One can always count on a man to be ruled more by lust than logic. And to feel himself superior to a woman in any pursuit he considers “manly”. Like horsemanship.’
‘But you took a ridiculous chance! With Arion ailing, how could you be so sure of beating him?’
‘I concede, it was hardly a perfect scheme, but it was the best I could come up with in the heat of the...situation. And I admit, I was more than a little uncertain of the outcome. Under normal circumstances, I trust Arion to fly like the west wind he’s named for, but after his recent injury, there was a chance I’d have to fulfil the challenge on a job horse—and count on superior riding skill to make up for whatever the mount lacked. Huggins confirmed that racing wouldn’t hurt the hoof, but warned Arion might favour it and lack his normal speed. Fortunately, even less than his normal speed was good enough.’
‘Still, you took a ridiculous risk. And where was Mrs Moorsby? How could you have been foolish enough to walk alone with Wendemere in the garden to begin with?’ he dema
nded, anger over what she might have brought down on herself swamping the relief that she’d survived it, safe and unharmed.
‘I didn’t go off with him alone,’ she snapped back impatiently. ‘Miss Henley and I were walking together, discussing Lieutenant Williamson’s talk—and how wonderful that was, Giff, you can only imagine! Lady Henley sent Lord Theo to fetch us, but we passed by some marvellous carved Sanskrit stones on the way back, and I...lingered to study them. How was I to know Wendemere would turn up?’
‘If it hadn’t been Wendemere, it could have been someone else. Good L—heavens, Temperance, with your reputation, you should know better than to let yourself be caught alone anywhere! What were you thinking?’
‘Actually, at the moment he accosted me,’ she said, her voice gruff, ‘I was thinking how much I needed to thank you for giving me such a treat. If I’d known you were going to rake me over the coals so...unhandsomely, I might have had s-second thoughts...’
Her voice breaking a little, with one quick, impatient gesture she swiped at the tears beginning to track down her cheeks.
His anger evaporated. Negligent she’d been, perhaps—but also brave and fierce. Instead of dissolving in tears, or offering what would have probably been a futile resistance at being restrained and threatened, she’d devised an ingenious plan to escape and had implemented it, knowing her tools to win the wager were compromised. All without any assistance.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing fierce, rebellious Temper in tears. Unable to stop himself, he reached over and drew her into his arms. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly into her hair. ‘It must have been terrifying.’
He heard the muffled sob she suppressed, sensed the trembling she could not and felt even worse for having harangued her. He was grateful that she’d accepted the comfort he’d felt compelled to offer her.
Fortunately, she pushed him away before desire could reassert itself.
‘It was...daunting,’ she admitted. ‘I think this time it shall be Gregory’s brandy instead of tea.’
Ah, Temper—frightened, desperately seeking escape—but ever defiant. As she went to the sideboard and poured them both a glass, he said, ‘I expect you’ve earned a portion of spirits. And you are right—I shouldn’t have scolded you. If anyone deserves blame, it’s me, for abandoning you. Had I accompanied you to Trenton Manor, you wouldn’t have ended up walking in that garden alone—and Wendemere wouldn’t have dared accost you. I failed you and Lady Sayleford, not providing the protection I promised.’
‘Nonsense, Giff, you mustn’t blame yourself! Heavens, you can’t dog my every step! I won’t apologise for the race, for I think that disposed of the problem of Wendemere quite tidily. He won’t dare approach me in public with his disgusting innuendoes, lest he lose face even among his dissolute friends. But you are right—I shouldn’t walk alone anywhere, in London or the countryside. I shall take great care never to forget that again, for though he might be compelled to avoid me in public, I doubt Wendemere would pass up an opportunity to take his revenge should he catch me alone. And I can’t count on tricking him again.’
‘Thank heaven for that! My apologies, too, for being so churlish, a mood for which—’ he gave her a wry grin ‘—you aren’t entirely responsible.’ He accepted the glass and took a deep drink. ‘I’ve been needing this all morning.’
‘Indeed?’ she said, tilting her head at him enquiringly. ‘Something incited your wrath before you discovered me playing the hoyden? Did the draft bill not go well?’
He heaved a sigh. ‘No, the wording of the bill is excellent and we’re moving forward with it.’
‘Bad news from Fensworth, then?’ She looked up at him, concern and sympathy in her face. Drat, did she have to be perceptive as well as fierce and brave?
‘Just another letter from Mama.’ He shrugged, trying to mitigate his anger, unease and the impending doom of duty. ‘More of the usual haranguing about funds, only more so. Maybe...maybe I ought to take you up on your offer to review the eligible females and recommend one you think might suit. I may not like everyone pressing me to find a rich bride, but even I admit Mama is right. I’ve been a man grown for some time, and ought to curtail my “private pleasures”—’ he grimaced at his mother’s dismissive description of not just his personal enjoyments, but of the work he was trying to do ‘—and assume responsibility for assuring my own finances. As she pointed out, I will not inherit the estate and the drain of my “increasingly expensive upkeep” robs my father and brother Robert of funds they need to invest in repairs, improvements and supplies.’
She was silent a moment. ‘That’s a rather harsh assessment. Does your mama have no conception of how important the work you do in Parliament is?’
He shook his head, not able to conceal all the hurt. ‘I don’t think she knows—or cares. Her focus is, as always, on Robert, the heir.’
‘As it always has been?’ Temper said softly.
He shrugged. ‘He has an important task. Working with Papa to manage the estate and keep it as profitable as possible. Dropping prices for grain since the end of the wars has affected producers as well as workers. It’s been several years since Papa has been able to afford to let Mama rent a house here for the Season. I know she resents my living in town, when the estate lacks the funds for her even to come to London to acquire the gowns and bonnets she loves. To her great chagrin, she’s forced to make do with garments made up by the village seamstress from the fashion plates she supplies.’
‘An unforgivable offence,’ Temper said drily.
Giff grinned wryly, Temper’s understanding pouring a soothing balm over his anger and irritation. ‘It is, to her. Here I am, surrounded by theatres, shops, friends and entertainments, to say nothing of the pleasures of flesh, while she is stuck in the middle of marsh and fenland, with hardly enough funds to purchase new gowns to impress the neighbourhood.’
Temper shook her head and, after a brief hesitation, reached out to press his hand. Her turn to offer sympathy and, grateful, he squeezed her fingers in return. And held on, his chest swelling with a mix of affection and the delicious sensual pleasure evoked by the feel of her hand in his.
With her seated near him, her understanding gaze fixed on him, the sweet satin softness of her palm against his heightening all his senses, he felt more energised and fully alive than he had in weeks.
But then desire flamed hotter, firing him with the urge to lean down and kiss her. As if scalded, he sat back and jerked his hand free.
She rubbed at hers, as if she’d felt that sudden heat, too. It was a moment before she said, her voice a little unsteady, ‘Sounds like your mama has two admirable sons. It’s a shame she doesn’t seem to recognise it.’
Had his mother ever appreciated him? Giff couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t the second choice, the afterthought walking behind her, tugging at her skirts, while she showered all her attention on Robert. Pushing away the painful memories, he shrugged. ‘One gets used to it.’
‘Does one ever get used to being ignored? Undervalued?’ she asked softly.
She was thinking of her relationship with her father—and how she was treated by the ton, Giff knew. Whatever sense of being overlooked he’d felt with his mother was nothing compared to the void between her and Lord Vraux. He, at least, had society’s respect and a sense of doing important work as a standing Member of Parliament. Whereas she’d been labelled a wanton by many in the ton who’d never even met her. Looked like she was leading him on to me, Thetford had said.
Before he could think how to respond, she shook her head, as if dismissing the unhappy reflections. ‘So, you think you might be ready to yield to your mama’s promptings and find a rich wife? Though we must find you one who has more qualities than just a fat purse. A thrifty household manager, a gifted conversationalist and skilled hostess would be on the list, I think. At least a modicum of beauty and a good dose of common
sense.’
Even discussing the matter grated on him. ‘According to Mama, the financial situation is dire enough that I don’t have time to look for a paragon. A female with a fat dowry and no qualms about accepting a marriage of convenience is all I require.’
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, ‘You don’t want a wife who’s fallen in love with you?’
He grimaced. ‘Since it’s highly unlikely I’m going to fall in love with Miss Fat Purse, no. It would be...awkward, dealing with the excess of emotion, tears and tantrums that would ensue. I’ve had my fill of those, dealing with my mother all these years. Fortunately, I’m not in need of an heir, though I suppose, if she really wants them, I would be willing to give my wife children.’
‘So, someone who is rich—and would be happy enough to allow you to continue your pleasant association with the muslin company?’
Hearing it stated so baldly, he had to laugh. ‘Ah, Temper, trust you to reduce matters to their essentials.’
She smiled back. ‘It’s easier to proceed if one goes to the nub of the matter. If you require so little of a wife, Giff, why not marry me? I’m certainly rich enough, you could continue your exploits among the demi-monde with my blessing and, as long as you promise to set aside enough of my dowry to allow me to travel, I’d call it a fair bargain.’
A brilliant smile broke out on her face. ‘In fact, the more I think about it, the more perfect the idea becomes! We’ve known each other for ever, so there wouldn’t be the awkwardness of dealing with a near-stranger. We both understand what we each want and need. It could be a perfect partnership, Giff! What do you say?’
Chapter Thirteen
The Earl's Inconvenient Wife Page 14