“It sounds almost plausible.”
“It is very plausible, and covers all the public facts. I should be writing novels, the plot is so neat.”
“I do not suppose you could rewrite it just a bit? The marriage part. I would prefer the story unfold differently. Perhaps, after the shock of almost being abducted, I found my nerves so unhealthy that I decided it would be unfair of me to allow you to marry such a sickly woman.”
“I hope you are not saying that you find the idea of marriage to me so revolting that you would prefer to live your life pretending to be an invalid.” He did not miss how she had made herself very noble with this change, while leaving him the scoundrel who seduced his friend’s sister.
“Maybe I would not have to pretend forever. Perhaps I could go to the Alps for a year and regain my health. That might work, don’t you think?”
She glowed with renewed hope. He had never thought to find himself sacrificed in a marriage of obligation to save a woman from ruin, least of all to Southwaite’s sister. However, he had definitely never expected, should that happen by some perverse twist of fate, to have the woman in question so resistant.
“You do understand that I am speaking of a legal marriage, don’t you?” he asked. “You would be a duchess.”
“Of course I understand. A legal, unbreakable bond. As for being a duchess—everyone will know who I am. Everyone. I will be watched by the world. Even what I have known thus far will look like reckless freedom in comparison. And, let us be honest, you do not want this either. We will have one of those dreadful marriages of duty and strained patience with each other. Of brief couplings in dark beds and ritualistic family life. If you would be content with that, you would have married years ago. You deserve better. You really do.”
She spoke earnestly. And honestly. Perhaps more honestly than she ever had with him, he guessed. Her insight at the end impressed him. In a few sentences, he came to know her much better.
He wondered if there might be another way out of this for her. He could not think of one.
“It is good of you to worry about my contentment, Lydia, but do not concern yourself. I was born for duty, and you have become a part of that now. Pretend I proposed, and you accepted, and leave it at that.”
The sphinx gazed at him for a solid minute before speaking. “I would have never agreed. Not ever. I am more sure of that than anything in my life. You murdered a man who was your friend, and mine too. My brother may have forgiven you, but I have not.” She stood. “I am suddenly much affected by the day’s events. I will retire and rest now, to prepare for our meeting with Mr. Trilby.”
• • •
Lydia allowed the hotel’s maid to redress her hair, then sent the woman away. She washed herself, and the water, although warm, felt like a shock. A chill had entered her in the card room. Almost at once the cloud had tried to engulf her again.
The only way to put that year in the past was to leave it alone. Yet he had stirred it all up again, with his talk of marriage. Now the old emotions plucked at her heart, and poked at her composure. She washed and washed, because once she stopped there would be nothing to do.
A light knock on her door startled her. She opened it a crack, expecting to see the maid. Instead Penthurst stood there.
He did not ask to enter. Instead he gripped the door’s edge and simply moved it back and stepped inside. He did not move from that spot, but she backed away as if he did.
“We did not finish our conversation, and I do not think it can be put off to your liking,” he said.
His audacity in coming here astonished her. A welcomed warmth spilled through her as her mind snapped alert to the danger and assumptions attached to his presence in her chamber.
“I am quite done with it. I promise you that you will not like the rest if you demand it.”
“I do demand it, however. You hold that duel against me, and judge me harshly, you have made clear twice now. Almost two years have passed, however. Others have reconsidered their judgments, and under the circumstances, it is time to put your anger aside.”
“The circumstances require it, or do you?” She heard her voice rising. Felt her heart bursting. “You killed him. Over some stupid, little point of honor that probably could have been ignored.” Her eyes stung, but she refused to wipe them, refused to admit her anger had led to tears. “So I cannot pretend you proposed and I accepted. I would have never, ever, listened to talk of marriage with you, even if somehow I could set aside that I have never liked you, that your manner toward me has always been superior and proud and you have always spoken to me as if I am a child to be instructed. That my choice should be ruin or you is a cruel joke.”
His expression hardened under the onslaught of her fury. “I am, as always when that day is discussed, at a disadvantage, Lydia. There is much I could tell you, but little you would want to hear. I am not inclined to explain myself either, for what is done is done. I will say this much, and hope you hear it. First, I never intended to kill him. Second, it was not over a small, stupid point of honor. And, third, for all that we knew him so well and so long, we did not know him at all.”
“Will you now try to destroy his memory too?”
“You can remember Lakewood as you choose, but I will not allow you to sacrifice your life and future out of misplaced loyalty to him. You may have never entertained a proposal from me in the normal course of events, but you will have to accept the one I make now.”
“I do not.”
He came over and looked down at her. She almost jumped out of her skin. “Let me be as blunt as you, Lydia. You do not have a choice. Do I have to exact payment for that debt, in order for you to see the rightness of it? Once I have seduced you, there can be no other honorable conclusion of the affair except marriage.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He strode to the door. “We will meet Trilby at five this afternoon. And we will set off for Scotland in the morning.”
• • •
Panic swelled. Lydia stared at the door after the duke left, and wondered if she should try to move a heavy chair against it.
Forcing some composure, she took a long look at her situation. Penthurst spoke of scandal as inevitable, but with a little fancy dancing, could she avoid it, and also this marriage of obligation he proposed?
She feared that nothing less than the full truth would stand against the image of Trilby trying to force her into that carriage. Since the full truth meant explaining that stupid novel, and the blackmail, and her agreeing to meet Trilby in order to cheat Buxton visitors at cards, she did not think even the truth would put her in a better place.
This was all Penthurst’s fault. If he had not followed her here . . . Lydia sighed. If he had not followed her here, she would have been at Trilby’s mercy once she was in that carriage. Who knew what he might have done to ensure she exchanged vows in Scotland?
Nor could she ignore the fact that Penthurst had only followed her because she had gone to his house and forced his hand on that wager.
She really wanted to hold someone else responsible for her impossible situation, but no matter how she viewed it, the finger of blame pointed right back at her. Even that novel that had started it all—what had she been thinking?
Try as she might, she could not put herself back into her state of mind during those months when she wrote it. Between now and then there existed a murky period that swallowed memories and time. She thought that a good part of her had taken refuge in a walking sleep, because being truly alive brought too much pain.
And now she was faced with marriage to the man who had killed all of her dreams.
She could not stop thinking she had dared the devil in demanding the wager go through, and now the darkest powers laughed at her.
Hardly becalmed, and not at all at peace, she turned her attention to horrible Mr. Trilby, who still possessed that damned manuscript of hers. Perhaps she could use his outrageous behavior to demand a final agre
ement this afternoon, so he did not complicate her life even more than he had thus far.
• • •
Algernon Trilby had the brass to appear aggrieved when they met him at five o’clock that afternoon near the wells. Lydia wanted to hit him, but she instead greeted him formally. Penthurst did not. In fact, the duke managed a cut direct while standing right in front of the man.
Nothing else was said until Trilby spoke. “I apologize sincerely for my behavior this morning. It was inexcusable.”
“By inexcusable, do you admit that you had no cause to believe I would journey with you to Scotland, or to anywhere else? I cannot allow your claims of an engagement to stand, let alone be aired in court,” Lydia said. “If your apology does not include that admission, I do not accept it and you can have that duel or stand down as a coward.”
Trilby’s expression twisted and twitched. He appeared a man taking the worst-tasting tonic against his will. “Since you now demand it, I will add that I may have misunderstood your intentions.”
“And there was no engagement. Say it outright, sir, lest you later claim you never said it at all.”
Trilby glared at her, then at the duke who would serve as the best witness in the world. “I declare without qualification there was no engagement,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Then I think we are done here,” Penthurst said.
“If you will indulge me, I would like to speak to Mr. Trilby alone for two minutes. No longer, I assure you.”
Penthurst eyed her with curiosity, but shrugged and stepped aside. Lydia walked to Mr. Trilby and kept on pacing, trusting the scoundrel would fall into step with her. Side by side, she guided Trilby out of the duke’s hearing.
“You have created a fine mess, sir. Except for my willingness to hear your apology, the duke would be cleaning his dueling pistols right now.”
Trilby’s mouth thinned. “His challenge was excessive under the circumstances.”
“He found you twice with your hands on me. Furthermore, you are a despicable blackmailer. Ongoing avarice led you to devise plans to cheat at cards, then force me into marriage. Just thinking about my list of grievances against you makes me think I should not have interceded with him on your behalf, but let you face him at his worst.”
Trilby’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “You may have a duke as your protector, but I still have that journal. That is why you accepted my apology, and let us not pretend otherwise.”
“How good of you to mention that. I am quite done with the trouble it has caused me. I brought twenty-five hundred with me, as I told you. I have packed it up, and given it to the manager of the Crescent. Your name is on the package, and he will hand it to you when you apply for it. I suggest you take it, and let it suffice for a good, long while.”
It was the plan she had brought with her to Buxton to start. After all she had been through, and would go through, he had better accept it.
He paced a good dozen steps before nodding. “It will have to do. For now. However, you will not receive the journal until I get the rest.”
“And I will expect proof you still have that manuscript before you get another shilling.”
She stopped walking. They had moved about fifty yards from Penthurst. She looked back to see him watching, ready to move if necessary. “We are well done. I do not expect to see you, or have communications from you, again for at least a year if not more.”
They faced each other. “Good day, Lady Lydia.” Trilby bowed, and continued walking in the direction they had been going.
Lydia walked back toward Penthurst.
He stood amid trees almost barren of leaves, a tall dark form with eyes concentrating on her almost invasively. He appeared very separate from the town, his hair whipped by the breeze and his stance commanding the landscape.
She looked at him hard. Looked at him objectively as she had not in years.
He was very handsome. He always had been, but she had been loath to grant him that quality, since she wanted to dislike all he was. She admitted now that nature had more than favored his face and form. If she were any other woman, she probably would be breathless at the thought of being his wife, no matter what his station might be. A lively little warmth began dancing in her chest as his gaze locked on her own.
How disgraceful that this man could do that to her, with his eyes and kisses. She looked away to end the outrageous stimulation.
“I think we can bid farewell to Mr. Trilby,” he said. “After we are wed, he will not dare so much as claim to have known you.”
She looked up at his profile while they walked back to the Crescent. That irritating warmth danced again. Suddenly her problems with Mr. Trilby paled beside the enormity of becoming Penthurst’s wife. Perhaps she could at least put it off.
“Is Scotland really necessary?” she asked.
“My plot does not work without it.”
Probably not. Only his plot required a very hasty next chapter.
He took her arm, and angled off the path. He pulled her behind a tree that afforded some privacy. “I do not think it is only your anger over the duel that makes you resistant. I also think you are afraid of the consummation. You do not have to be.”
Afraid? She was a woman of the world, and they did not get the vapors over the notion of marriage beds. Had Cassandra been afraid of Ambury? Unlikely, from the little jokes that had been made about it ever since. Of course Cassandra really had been a woman of the world, while she, Lydia, only aspired to be. And her stomach churned whenever she thought much about this part of his plot.
“I am not afraid, but I may be sick.”
He laughed quietly. His forefinger came to rest on her lips. It proved a distracting and warm, exciting little touch. “I do not think any other woman would have said that.”
“I thought I should warn you. It seemed the polite thing to do.”
“Then I should be polite enough to warn you too.”
“Of what?”
He did not respond with words. Instead he lifted her face and bent to kiss her. It was not a very aggressive kiss. Rather a sweet one that lured more than ravished. She guessed he had a lot of practice kissing. She in turn had very little, so she allowed herself the curiosity of experiencing it. Under the circumstances, with marriage all but inevitable, it behooved her to decide how revolting it all might be.
The intimacy affected her more than the actual touching of lips, although an interesting pulsing began in hers and they became more sensitive. Nor did he just press his against hers. He prolonged the contact with gentle nips and movements that encouraged her lips to respond in a way that might be considered kissing back.
A pleasant heat flowed in her. Arabesques of delight patterned through her body. A desire to have the sensations continue woke in her, like a new voice whispering to her will. She did not object when he cradled her head in his hands and kissed again, more firmly. She sensed something in him that spoke to her instincts and urged a release of restraint. The conversation definitely dwelled on carnal pleasures.
She understood then—what was in him as a man and her as a woman, and how it had little to do with any human interaction she had known before, not even her love for Lakewood. Even when she had succumbed to her most emotional girlish fantasies, she had never guessed the potential for wildness that she sensed just beyond the edges of his kiss.
He looked down at her, his thumb caressing her lips. “Do you still think you will get sick on me?”
Strange tremors filled her. “Perhaps not.”
“I will make sure you are not afraid either.” He took her hand, and led her back to the path and toward the Crescent.
• • •
That night, with the memory of Lydia’s cautious lips still in his head, Penthurst sat down to write a letter. Southwaite should be informed of what was about to transpire, and why. In the least it would reassure him that Lydia was safe, should he have discovered her disappearance from Crownhill.
Southwaite,<
br />
If you do not already know that Lydia left Crownhill, you will upon reading this. She is with me, and we are on our way to Scotland to marry. I will explain all upon our return to town. Ideally such an event would be celebrated with family in attendance, but that delay was not wise. She has been compromised, and I fear you will hear the tales even before you open this missive. As you know, it does not matter if such talk consists of lies and exaggerations.
I would prefer privacy until we announce this when we are back in London. If in your judgment a quicker publication is necessary, do it. I expect the nuptials to be a fait accompli by Tuesday of next week.
Penthurst
He trusted the reference to lies and exaggerations would lead Southwaite to entertain the possibility, at least, that his friend had not ruthlessly seduced his sister, and only did the right thing now because some plan of discretion went awry.
After sealing the letter, he considered whether he should write to anyone else. His aunt? He pictured her reaction to the news. Whether it came through gossip or the mail, it would put her in rare form. He set the pen in its holder. Perhaps after the wedding, he would take it up again on her behalf.
Leaving his chamber and the Crescent, he went for a walk through the silent town. His boots made their rhythms against the stones. He strode with purpose and used the exercise as a replacement for a few hours at Mr. Gosden’s farm. He had insisted Lydia accommodate the inevitability of this marriage. It was time for him to do so as well.
When she laid her fury and blame in front of him today, he had been sorely tempted to explain that duel to her, and specifically that Lakewood was far worse than Trilby, the man who had just been sent packing. It had been wiser to hold his tongue, however. She would not believe anything he said now about that. Perhaps she never would.
He had no reason to feel either guilt or responsibility for her present quandary, yet he did. Furthermore, whatever incited the reckless behavior that brought her to Buxton, and he assumed it was something significant, she would be safer with him.
The Accidental Duchess Page 14