~*~*~
After slipping back inside, Elizabeth was met by Missy. She attempted to excuse herself from the remainder of the ball pleading a headache but her cousin insisted they speak privately because she knew something was troubling her. As Elizabeth knew Missy would ruthlessly wear her down with her compassion and concern, she‘d acquiesced without another word and led Missy to her bedchamber.
Five minutes later, Missy paced the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed, her slender fingers twirling a lock of chestnut hair she’d pulled from the pins securing it into an elegant coiffure, her smooth brow furrowed in fierce concentration.
“Well, I would definitely say you have managed to get yourself into quite a bind,” Missy stated after a lengthy silence that followed Elizabeth’s recount of the evening’s events.
At least she hadn’t told her how utterly thoughtless and foolish she‘d been to have put herself in such a situation. Elizabeth had already berated herself up one side of Hyde Park and down the other.
“What am I to do?” she asked, doing her best to tamp down a wave of panic that seemed to ebb and flow depending on who, the viscount or the dowager, her thoughts centered upon.
Her cousin’s expression immediately became contrite. Holding out her hand, she motioned Elizabeth to the large canopy bed. “Come, sit down. You look like a bundle of nerves. Don’t fret so. All will be well, I promise.”
Missy angled toward her once they were seated on the edge of the bed and looked Elizabeth in the eye. “Lord Creswell must marry you. I can see no other way.”
Difficult as it was, Elizabeth had to face the truth of her words. And that wasn’t to say she herself abhorred the thought. Her distress stemmed from the unfortunate circumstances and her one glaring omission. She had to tell him who she was.
“He is going to be angry.”
Missy’s back went straight as a board and a steely glint entered her blue-gray eyes. “Then he should have been more circumspect in his dealings with you,” she said her voice cooling several degrees.
As much as Missy admired the viscount, Elizabeth knew her cousin would have no problem taking him on to defend her honor. Elizabeth dropped her gaze to her lap. Never had she felt so unworthy of such unstinting loyalty.
“I will speak with James tomorrow, you best get some sleep.”
Elizabeth’s face blistered with heat. Good Lord, what would he think of her? And worse yet, what would he do? “James will not-not—”
Missy’s countenance softened and a teasing smile transformed her beautiful face to nothing short of breathtaking. “Don’t worry, my dear, my husband is not a violent man. Moreover, he is terribly fond of Lord Creswell, as are we all.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean—”
The soft lilting sound of Missy’s laughter cut off Elizabeth’s stricken protest. “Be assured, James will know precisely how to handle this situation. He’s a very gifted arbitrator. Jason and Jessica are as malleable as clay in his hands,” she said, speaking of her and James’s two-year-old twins.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. She could well imagine. The earl had that kind of effect on people.
“But I don’t want him to be forced to marry me if he is opposed.”
“The viscount should consider himself very fortunate to have you as his wife.”
Now would be the time to tell Missy about the less than amiable past they shared, but after seeing the hope and confidence in her cousin’s eyes, Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to heap yet another bit of misery upon her tonight. Perhaps, when the morning dawned clear and bright, her future wouldn’t appear quite so miserable and gray.
~*~*~
Gray skies and a misty rain greeted the morning. Derek didn’t so much mind the gloomy weather for he hadn’t any pressing plans that required him to leave his residence that day.
He was taking breakfast in the dining room when he heard the doorbell chime. Surprised, he shot a glance at the cherry, long-case clock by the far wall. Nine o’clock. Like many of his peers, he owned a well-appointed flat in Mayfair, but he did not normally receive callers before noon. On Sundays, no one called.
A minute later his manservant entered and inquired if he was in for Lord Alex Cartwright and Lord Windmere.
Curious but not alarmed, he instructed Paulson to have the men await him in the drawing room.
When he joined them, ten minutes later, Rutherford prowled the room. Cartwright stood in front of a narrow paned window that stretched the length of wall, his back to him, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets as he looked out into small yard at the back. Both men turned at his entry.
Taking in the grim set of Cartwright’s mouth and a somber Lord Windmere, Derek immediately evinced this wasn’t to be a pleasure call.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I can see from your expressions you aren’t here for the want of my company.” Derek smiled in an attempt to ease the sudden tension in the room. Surely whatever the news, it couldn’t be all that bad.
Cartwright shook his head, a move that held suppressed fury. “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone could you? Damn it man, why couldn’t you leave her alone when I expressly told you she isn’t the type to dally with.”
Bloody hell, they obviously knew about the kiss. But how? Miss Smith hadn’t seemed the type to run and tell tales the moment his back was turned.
While Derek grappled with just how he should respond, Rutherford stalked toward him, his footsteps muffled by the rug underfoot. He looked menacing and severe. He halted in front of him.
Was he sizing him up? He and Rutherford were approximately the same height, an inch above six feet, and possessed similar frames. In a fight, neither would have an innate advantage.
“You must marry her,” the earl said evenly.
What the devil had she told them?
“She’s demanding I marry her because I kissed her?”
“Your embrace with Miss Smith did not go unobserved,” Cartwright practically growled from behind Rutherford.
“Observed by whom?” Derek would not begin to panic just yet. Things may not be looking altogether rosy but surely they couldn’t have already reached the catastrophic stage.
“At present, Lady Danvers doesn’t know it was you with Miss Smith in the garden,” Rutherford said grimly. “Despite her advancing years, her hearing is still as sharp as ever and it would appear you failed to keep your goings on strictly between Miss Smith and yourself. I don’t believe I need to tell you how much this has distressed my wife.”
Derek suppressed the groan that had built up in his throat and the string of curses that sprang to his lips. The whole bloody thing was a mess.
While he admitted Elizabeth Smith heated his blood like no woman had in quite some time, that didn’t mean he wanted to take her as his wife. To be forced to do so was even worse.
“I don’t even know the woman.” It was a weak argument but was all he had to offer.
“Well it appears you’ve received enough intimate knowledge of her to see her ruined.” Cartwright ran his hand through his hair. “In any case, whether you know her sufficiently or not, you have to marry. She’s in this fix because of you.”
Like hell she is!
“I’ll have you know, she was the one who followed me out to the garden. She was the one who sought me out. She is—” Derek broke off.
She’d set out to trap him.
Following him out to the garden. Crashing into him. Although, he’d known she had deliberately sought him out, he hadn’t known how far she intended to take it. She must have known the dowager had been there, ears primed to hear all Miss Smith had set in motion.
The last time he’d had to deal with a female this treacherous and conniving, it had cost his father one thousand pounds to avoid the threat of a scandal. What would this one cost him today? His freedom?
“I did not pursue her. She pursued me.”
“Whether she pursued you or you pursued her is irrelevant. What matters is that you have a d
uty to her now. She is my wife’s cousin and under our care while she resides with us.” It was clear Rutherford would not countenance a refusal, his voice firm and final.
The unwelcome and unfamiliar feeling of helplessness made his limbs feel heavy and useless. He’d prided himself as being a man who solved problems, a man who remained level-headed in trying situations. At the moment, he felt as if he’d been knocked sideways and then pushed into a corner as the walls closed in around him.
Without saying a word, he crossed the room, picked up a glass tumbler from the sideboard and poured himself two fingers of whiskey. He downed it like a man who’d walked the length of the Sahara Desert without a drop of water. The burn in his throat remained when he turned back to face Rutherford and Cartwright.
“So where am I to find my dearest betrothed?”
Chapter Four
As good as her word, Missy had immediately informed her husband of the situation. Precisely what had occurred thereafter, Elizabeth wasn’t certain. No doubt it entailed a talk with the viscount, and it appeared the earl had wasted no time about it because Lord Creswell arrived at the house just before midday the following day requesting an audience with her.
With more than a little reluctance, Elizabeth entered the morning room. The windows were abundant there, permitting lots of natural light. Truth be told, she was terrified. Her terror grew along with an engulfing dismay when he turned from the window to acknowledge her.
Her mind went blank for an instant. Her breath hitched at the sight of him. She had only seen him in his evening black and whites. She hadn’t imagined less formal clothes would come close to doing him—his body—justice. She was wrong.
Clad in tan trousers, a cream waistcoat piped around the hem and collar and a sage single-breasted jacket, the term dashing was too staid a word to describe the viscount. Everything about him was male; his broad shoulders, the breadth of his chest, the sheer strength of him that one didn’t need to witness to know he possessed in abundance.
While she tried not to be obvious in her admiration, he watched her, still and silent. Elizabeth had never been on the receiving end of a stare like the one he submitted her to. His attire may have consisted of warm soothing neutrals, but his eyes—said to be mirrors to the soul—were the cold of icebergs and north England winters.
Elizabeth shivered feeling his glacial freeze to the very marrow of her bones.
How things had changed since they’d kissed. Then, his attention had excited her, had brought out the wanton in her. Today, he indicated with just one look how much he despised her.
“Be honest, you followed me out onto the terrace did you not?” he said, cutting to the quick without even the pleasantry of a greeting.
Last night the fact had amused him. Today he intended to force an admission from her so he could bludgeon her with it.
It wouldn’t do her any good to lie. But she certainly wouldn’t confirm it with words.
He moved with an unhurried grace and crossed the room to her. His half foot height advantage seemed more so when he halted an arm length from her, no longer allowing her clarity of mind his distance had offered. He looked down at her, his mouth twisted in scorn. “Come now,” he jeered softly. “Admit that you orchestrated the whole production—the meeting, the kiss and Lady Danvers’ timely presence.”
Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. The latter two things he’d enumerated with such mocking disdain she would not accept the blame for. “My lord, you are forgetting one important fact, it was you who kissed me.”
He emitted a dark laugh. He was not amused. “I am a man. Who was I not to succumb after being barraged by the signals you’ve been sending me the past month. Every time I turned around, there you were peeping at me with that come hither look in your eyes. But you were cleverer than most, never approaching because you knew that would pique my interest even more.”
Her? Set out to beguile a man?
Good Lord, if he knew her the slightest bit, he’d know she hadn’t the faintest notion of how to play those sorts of flirtatious games. If she was guilty of anything, it was the crime of finding him handsome and captivating—much to her cost.
“You made your interest obvious from the start. At all those balls and soirees, I could feel your gaze upon me. When I looked, you would look away. God, you certainly had me fooled. I actually believed you were an innocent, too shy to look at me direct. I convinced myself I should leave you alone, that you were too well-bred for a dalliance. But even then you’d already set your sights to loftier heights. Not a mistress, you wanted to be my wife.”
“You could not be more wrong.” Yes, he had his charms but she was not that desperate to find a husband. Even one who would undoubtedly be every girl’s dream.
His nostrils flared and a dull shade of red slashed his cheekbones. He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his voice low and fierce. “I will not be forced into marriage. I certainly won’t be forced into a marriage with you.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help an inward flinch. His words stung. Did he think she had no pride? Not the tiniest bit of self-respect as to thrust herself upon a man who made it so obvious how much he didn’t want her?
Pride saved her from being thrown against the rocks at his disavowal. “This isn’t what I wanted,” she said in a firm voice refusing to crumble beneath the storm of his accusations. “But the truth of it is, I have very little choice in the matter. The damage a scandal like this would do to my family would be irreparable. I have a younger sister who will debut in two years. I do not have the luxury of thinking just of myself.” That she’d realized during a fitful night of sleep. As much as she didn’t want to force a marriage if he opposed it, the reality of her situation begged to differ.
Lord Creswell straightened to his full rather intimidating height so he could, no doubt, look down his nose even further at her.
“So you don’t want this marriage any more than I? I would think that places us on the same side of this divide.”
“Unfortunately, what either of us wants is immaterial. We both have our families to consider. I hear you also have a younger sister. Think of what a scandal could cost her.”
His jaw tightened as if she’d struck a sore point. “Do you realize what it will cost me to marry a woman against my will and better judgment?”
“And do you know how it will affect me to marry a man who thinks so ill of me? I no more relish the prospect than you.” She’d known he would be angry but hadn’t been prepared for his vehemence. And it would only get worse…
“Yes, you may not relish it, but you will gladly take on the title of viscountess and all that goes with it.”
“I have no need of your money.” Of course he would cast her in the role of the gold-digger. “And although it may seem very gauche and naïve of me, I planned to marry for love.”
For a long moment he didn’t speak, merely watched her, his eyes intense and more green than blue. His expression was wiped clean of mockery and disdain, now an inscrutable mask. “Miss Smith, I do hope you’re sure about this course on which you are about to embark. I am a man who does not like being taken for a fool.”
Tell him. Tell him now.
Elizabeth knew she should heed the voice in her head urging her to be done with it, tell him everything. But in the face of his anger, his contempt, her courage failed her. If he was this furious now, she couldn’t imagine the full extent of his fury if she told him before he had an opportunity to calm down, which given his reaction, would require days.
Yes, it would be best to allow him to get over his initial bout of anger. Surely when he got to know her, he’d see that she wasn’t capable of the deceit he’d accused her of. She would try to win him over, smooth the forbidding lines bracketing his mouth and furrowing his brows.
“I did not set out to trap you into marriage.” She whispered the weary refrain at a loss of what else to say. “This entire situation is just as painful to me as it obviously is to you.”
So
me indiscernible emotion flashed in Lord Creswell’s eyes. Resignation? It was hard to tell, he appeared to be able to mask his emotions at will.
“I am in an untenable position. I am damned no matter which path I take. I will be vilified should I not marry you and my family will be forced to endure the scandal. Should I marry you, it won’t be of my own accord. At the very least, I assumed I’d be at liberty to choose my own wife.” Much of the anger had dissipated from his voice.
“Obviously, this situation isn’t ideal, but I hope we can make the best of it.” Given the kiss that had landed them in their current predicament, they would be compatible in at least one area of their marriage.
Just the thought of the kiss made her warm all over. His gaze lowered in a slow perusal of her body and his eyes darkened as if in that moment, they shared the same thought and reaction to it. In the same leisurely pace, he tracked his way back up to her face. And lingered on her mouth.
“You did not set out to trap me?” There was no accusation in his voice, just a genuine desire for the truth.
That she could give him. “You have my word, Lord Creswell, that I did not set out to trap you.”
He continued to stare at her and like a seedling struggling to take root in unruly soil with scant little water, something in that look acted upon her like a drenching rain. Hope flickered in her heart. After a grievously long silence, he appeared to accept his fate and acquiesced with a curt nod of his head. His words confirmed it. “I cannot marry a woman I do not know. I suggest we spend some time getting better acquainted.”
Well, perhaps not complete acceptance, but close enough.
Elizabeth was nearly light-headed with relief and giddy with anticipation. It would work out. It had to work out. As she nodded, she could barely believe this man standing in front of her might—would one day be her husband. Hers. She would have the right to kiss those lips, caress that chest and touch those muscled shoulders. Her gaze followed the trail of her thoughts.
All's Fair in Love and Seduction Page 3