Good Earl Gone Bad
Page 10
At least she hoped she might. Leonora was newly wed, but she would surely allow Hermione to stay in the guest room of Craven House for a short time until she could make other arrangements.
“This has nothing to do with the countess,” Lord Upperton said haughtily. “I simply thought it time for you to wed and I made arrangements to that end.”
“Who is it?” she asked, unable to keep the tension from her voice. Please let it not be some crony of his from the tables, she prayed silently. Marriage to a gamester would be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
“I’ve promised him to let him break the news himself, my dear.” Her father’s gentle tone was even more difficult to endure than his bluster. “Do not worry. I think you’ll be quite pleased. He’s accounted to be a handsome fellow. And I feel sure you’ll rub along well enough together.”
One rubbed along well enough with an acquaintance one didn’t find particularly entertaining. One rubbed along well enough with the anonymous maid provided by an inn for an overnight stay.
A husband—the very word made Hermione’s gut clench in objection—the man who would be able to forbid her from keeping horses at all if he chose; who might decide to deposit her in some country backwater to molder; who had the right to use her body whenever the mood struck him …
This last sent a shot of fear through her so strong she had to keep from crying out.
“I promise you I would not have agreed to the match if I thought he would mistreat you, Hermione,” Lord Upperton said, as if the very idea that she thought him capable of marrying her off to a monster were painful to him.
A brisk knock on the study door heralded the arrival of a guest. Her prospective bridegroom, no doubt.
“Lord Mainwaring to see you, my lord,” said Greentree with a bow.
Mainwaring? What was he doing here?
She’d been expecting her future husband.
Not Mainwaring.
But he might have some news of Saintcrow’s murder, she thought with a gasp. Maybe he even knew what had become of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
“Send him in,” her father said with a nod.
Which reminded her that Greentree had said Mainwaring was there to see her father.
He likely had some questions to ask about Papa’s dealings with Saintcrow.
She stood. “If you don’t mind, Father,” she said with a brisk nod, “I’ll just leave now before your guest—”
But the sound of the doorknob behind her said she was already too late.
“Lady Hermione.” Mainwaring said, stepping into the room. “I hope you are well.”
He didn’t mention her shock earlier in the day, which was just as well since she’d not mentioned finding Saintcrow’s body to her father.
“I am well enough, thank you, my lord,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. For some reason she found herself feeling nervous with him. Which was foolish since they’d seen each other just that morning.
“I’ll just leave the two of you to chat,” Lord Upperton said, stepping out from behind his desk and making a hasty retreat.
Hermione stared at the door, which her father had closed behind him. Why had he left her here alone with …
Suddenly the reason was all too apparent.
“You!” she said, pointing rudely at Mainwaring. “It’s you?”
“I had asked your father to let me tell you,” Mainwaring said with a shrug. “Though it would appear he told you about the betrothal but not the identity of the prospective groom.”
“No, he most certainly did not,” she said harshly. Her heart was beating with a speed that made her fear it would burst from her chest. “How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” he said, thrusting a hand through his untidy curls. “At least, I think we are. And I don’t think you quite understand how this came about.”
She was angry, but not too angry to miss the import of his words.
“What do you mean?” she asked, a premonition of dread making her spine tingle.
“Did your father not tell you the circumstances in which our agreement was made?” he asked softly, as if speaking too loudly would frighten her off.
It was just like him to spare her feelings when what she wanted was the unvarnished truth.
“I’m sure you know by now that he did not,” she said tartly.
He looked as if he would like to be anywhere but in her father’s library at the moment. Still, he pressed on. “I won you in a game of cards,” he told her baldly.
Hermione felt her stomach drop, and as if she could stop the scream trapped in her throat, she clasped her hand over her mouth.
When her knees threatened to buckle, she collapsed into the chair she’d so recently vacated.
Mainwaring crouched beside her, and pressed a crystal glass into her hand. “Drink this,” he said firmly.
She hadn’t even been aware of him searching out the decanter, she realized with a start. Taking the glass, she sipped the whisky.
“Drink it all,” he ordered, and she found herself obeying, though some part of her brain knew that in any other circumstances she’d reject his demand.
Something about the alcohol brought her back to awareness. Like a sharp noise, or a slap in the face.
“Better?” Mainwaring asked, taking the empty glass from her. There was concern in his dark blue eyes, and something else. Shame?
He might well be ashamed for accepting her father’s bet.
To know Lord Upperton had been so far gone at the tables that he’d wagered his own daughter’s hand in marriage was as abhorrent to her as if he’d sold her to the highest bidder. She’d known her father was not overly fond of her. He thought her mannish because she enjoyed driving and horses and eschewed the gentler pursuits of most other ladies of her class. But she’d never considered that he might be so lost to paternal concern that he would do a thing like this.
Even when he’d wagered with her horses, it hadn’t occurred to her that there was a degree further he might go.
And what was worse, he’d given her hand to a man who spent just as much time at the gaming tables as he did. She wasn’t sure what she’d wanted in a husband but it certainly wasn’t someone just like her father. Even a man as kind and handsome as Mainwaring.
To her horror, she felt the sharp sting of tears behind her eyes.
“Here,” Mainwaring said, handing her a pristine white handkerchief. “I know it’s a shock. It was certainly not what I anticipated of an evening of cards.”
Wordlessly she dried her eyes and blew her nose.
“Nor was this how I anticipated passing the afternoon,” she said once she’d regained her composure. “First he loses my mother’s estate in Lincolnshire and now my hand. I suppose I should be thankful that the Upperton estates are entailed.”
“I might have a bit of good news regarding the Lincolnshire property,” Mainwaring said, rising. “My man of business has contacted Saintcrow’s heir with an offer. And if all goes well I’ll make a wedding gift of it to you.”
“There’s that, I suppose,” she said wryly. “But honestly, Mainwaring, do you not think that we might find some way out of this? After all, you weren’t intending to marry me. Much better that we should simply agree to let this matter drop and go on with our lives.”
If he was offended by her dismissal, he didn’t show it. Instead, if anything, he looked even kinder.
“That’s impossible, I’m afraid. You see, it’s a point of honor. Your father cannot renege on his agreement. And I certainly won’t agree to give up my…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “That is to say, it would be unthinkable for me not to accept the things your father wagered. It’s simply not done.”
“Then make it done,” she said haughtily.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” said Mainwaring. “There were witnesses. There’s nothing for it but for us to marry. And the sooner the better.”
&nb
sp; She made a noise of impatience. “Will you not see reason? I don’t wish to marry you! And I very much doubt you wish to marry me. Look at the scrape from which you had to rescue me this morning!”
Hermione stood up from her chair and began to pace.
* * *
Jasper supposed he should be pleased she hadn’t tossed the whisky in his face.
Well aware of the uphill battle he faced, he stood up from where he’d crouched beside Hermione’s chair and watched as she strode over to stare out the window.
“It is true that I was not best pleased to find you in a dead man’s house this morning,” he said reasonably, “but that has little bearing on the agreement between your father and me. I know you find it difficult to accept right now, but make no mistake. We will be married. There will be no ‘way out of this’ as you put it. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can begin to move past this.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” she said, turning to glare at him. “You haven’t had your entire world upended by the turn of a card.”
He raised a brow and stared at her until she looked up, and realizing what she’d said, blushed.
“Perhaps you have,” she said heatedly, “but you will be able to go about your life in much the same way as you’ve done before. It’s different for men.”
Something he was heartily glad of, though he would not say it aloud at the present moment.
“I do understand it is quite a lot to take in,” he sympathized. “Truly I do. But given your father’s propensity to wager away the things you value, do you not think it will perhaps be a bit more … stable in my household instead of his?”
That was clearly not something that had occurred to her, and he watched as she mulled the prospect over.
“You are at the tables almost as frequently as he is,” she said thoughtfully. “How am I to know you won’t do the same thing? Won’t wager away my belongings, my horses?”
“I am not the same sort of player as your father,” he said reasonably. It hadn’t occurred to him that her objections might spring from what she perceived as his similarity to her father. He supposed from the outside they did seem to be cut from the same cloth. “I am not compelled by some inner need to play, for one thing. I do so merely for the competition. In much the same way you drive your curricle.”
Clearly she had never considered that one might play cards for the sport of it. Which was not surprising since she’d lived her whole life with a man who was as addicted to the tables as some men were to whisky.
“What is the most you’ve ever lost in one night?” she asked, as if the answer would tell her something about his character.
“Two thousand pounds,” he said without hesitation. It was not a small amount, he knew. And it wasn’t something he was proud of. The fact that he’d won that back and more afterward was beside the point, he knew. She wanted to know and he’d told her. He would make no excuses for himself.
She blanched, and lowered herself to the settee, as if in shock. Still, she didn’t hesitate to ask another question. “Have you ever wagered something belonging to someone else? That didn’t belong to you?”
No secret where that one came from.
“No,” he said firmly. “I do not wager with things that are not mine. In fact, I do not wager with things at all. I play for money only. And I win more than I lose, though that is likely not what you want to know.”
Something about what he’d said had reassured her, however. At least that’s what he thought as he watched some of the tension fade from her eyes.
“Why do you not drive?” she asked suddenly, her brow furrowed as if she were trying to understand so foreign a concept.
Not wanting to tower over her, but not quite sure it was safe to sit beside her again, Jasper folded himself into the small chair next to the settee.
“It’s no great secret,” he said with a shrug. “But my father died in an accident while he was driving a high-perch phaeton. I was with him.”
“Oh.” Her hand covered her lips, as if to keep further exclamations of horror from spilling out. “Lord Mainwaring, I am so sorry. I should not have asked, please excuse—”
“Do you not think we’ve moved beyond titles at this point?” he asked in a low voice. “Why do you not call me Jasper?”
Was it his imagination or did her eyes darken a bit?
“Only if you will call me Hermione,” she said, a raised brow daring him to argue with her.
“Very well,” he said with a nod. “Hermione.”
He liked the way it felt on his tongue. Like a little song. Or a poem.
Now he was being a sentimental fool, he thought to himself with an inward groan.
“Were you injured, Jasper?” she asked, not deterred from their earlier subject of conversation.
“Not really,” he said with a shrug. “A few bumps and bruises. I don’t remember any of it. My memory of that day stops just after breakfast. Almost as if my mind is shielding me from the pain.”
“Thank goodness for that,” she said with a shake of her head. “I cannot imagine such a thing. I must confess that I feel some degree of guilt over my assumptions for your choice not to take up the reins.”
“You were not alone in assuming it was because of some cowardice on my part,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s more because I wonder if my own skills or lack thereof would be as dangerous as my father’s were. I know of course that such things are hardly inherited, but I must confess that I am not eager to tempt fate by trying. And as an earl it has not been difficult to manage not to drive myself. Indeed, with a few exceptions I’ve never wanted or needed it.”
“It certainly puts your dislike of my own driving in perspective,” she said with pursed lips. “And here I thought you were simply being a typical male.”
“Oh, there is a bit of that, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “It does seem to me that ladies should not be so eager to ape masculine pursuits. But it has been a long while since I considered your skills with the ribbon as something to be hidden under a bushel. You are quite good. Even one as unskilled as I can admit as much.”
“At least you’re honest about it.” She shrugged.
“So,” he said, bringing them back to the matter that should be foremost in their thoughts. At least insofar as his body was concerned. “What do you say to this marriage business? Would it be so bad to be married to an earl with no driving skills? I cannot promise you a lifetime of bliss, but at the very least you will no longer be your father’s pawn to move about as he pleases.”
“I am still quite unhappy with the way you went about this,” she said, rising to face him.
Taking her movement as a sign that she was coming around, he moved to stand before her. Close enough that he could see the way her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks.
As if she sensed his gaze, she lifted her lids and locked eyes with him. “Why did you accept his wager?” she asked softly.
Unable to look away, he stepped into her, liking the way she held her own with him. “The truth is, I was afraid he’d lose you to someone else,” he admitted. “And I couldn’t have endured knowing you belonged to anyone else.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and unable to stop himself, Jasper covered her mouth with his.
Ten
This time when Jasper kissed her, Hermione thought with surprise, it felt inevitable. Gone was the tentative nature of last night’s kiss and in its place was something more primal. A claiming of sorts, and despite her objections to her father’s deal with Mainwaring, she found his kiss as intoxicating as the whisky he’d made her drink.
Opening her mouth beneath his, she welcomed his tongue with a soft stroke of her own. Something he liked very much indeed, if his groan of approval were any indication. And when she slipped her arms around his neck and slid her fingers up into the hair at the back of his neck, he responded by pulling her tighter against him. So that she felt the press of his arousal against her stomach.
She gave herself up to sensation as he kissed his way down her chin, over her throat, and down to where her bosom peeked out of her bodice. And when he slid the sleeve of her gown down over her shoulder, he followed the path of the seam as it slid down to bare her nipple.
The heat of his tongue against the taut bud of her breast almost was her undoing. With a mewl of desire she clasped his head to her, pressing herself forward as he suckled her. It was just as unthinkably arousing as it had been the night before, only this time, there was no one to disturb them.
When he lifted his head and pulled her to sit astride him in the chair before her father’s desk, she almost wept with relief that he hadn’t done so to stop.
This time, he pulled the other sleeve down and put his mouth on one breast while he stroked the other with his hand. With one knee on either side of his waist, she lifted up to give him better access to her, and discovered she was at the perfect angle to assuage some of the ache between her legs against the bulge in his breeches.
“Let me,” he said against her as he slid a hand down over her leg and pulled her gown up to where her garters held her stockings in place. With a gasp of anticipation, she lifted up and felt his hand slide over her hip and to the spot where her body ached to be filled.
And when he stroked his finger over the center of her, where she wept for him, she gave a sigh that was part relief and part excitement.
Wordlessly, Jasper returned his mouth to her nipple, and the combination of the pull of his lips and the stroke of his finger over her wet center was almost too much to bear. Unable to control herself, she moved her hips against his hand. Once, twice, she brushed against him, and when he pressed a finger inside her, she almost cried out with relief.