‘Oh, no, Lord Chadwick. I never lark about, as those who know me will tell you.’
Gazing at her directly, Julius searched her face for some indication that she was joking, but her expression was completely unemotional. The soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved, vaguely smiling. It stirred his imagination no small amount.
‘Despite what you say, I think this really must be some kind of charade you play. You are asking me to do the impossible.’ She remained silent, holding his gaze, and the fire that had sprung in her eyes convinced him that this was no charade and that she was deadly serious. ‘Good God!’ The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise he simply stared at her. Then the corner of his mouth twisted wryly in a gesture that was not quite a smile. ‘I suppose I left myself wide open for that.’
As everyone looked on with shocked, incredulous expressions, he smiled coolly. ‘You must forgive me if I appear shocked. Naturally I am flattered by your proposal, Miss Fanshaw—in fact, I am quite blown away by it. Well—if this isn’t the most peculiar marriage proposal I have ever heard. You are without doubt a most shameless, impulsive creature.’ He was now amused. ‘You expressed admiration for my horse earlier. Will you not take him instead?’
Beatrice shot him an indignant look, straightening her back. She recognised that her impromptu proposal had taken him completely unawares, but she played the game on. She shook her head, tossing the curling tresses that had become loosened by the race enticingly.
‘Please have the good sense to take me seriously. Am I so ugly, sir, that you would prefer to rid yourself of your precious horse than to be wed to me?’ His bold gaze stirred something deep within her and the sensation was not unpleasant.
‘On the contrary,’ he answered with an apparent ease he was far from feeling, ‘your beauty so blinds me, I fear I must be led to the altar by the hand—should I accept your proposal. Now, about my horse. What do you say?’
Disregarding the sarcasm in his tone, Beatrice pinned a brilliant smile on her face. ‘But I couldn’t possibly take your horse. I recall you saying that you could not possibly part with him, in which case I would not dream of taking him from you. So I will settle for you instead. Come, Lord Chadwick? What do you say?’ She flicked a glance around the bystanders within earshot. They were waiting to hear what he had to say with baited breath.
Julius let them wait a while longer as he faced the open challenge and measured the power of her will in her green gaze. There was plenty that he wanted to say, but not here, not now. In her resentment, if this young hellion thought to make a fool of him and believed she had him cornered, then she didn’t know who she was dealing with. She would find out, but in the meantime he would play along with her game—for knowing how she held him in absolute contempt, that’s all it could be. However, he was intrigued, all his senses completely involved with her. There could be worse things than being married to this beautiful, feisty firecracker.
‘Then what can I say except that I consider myself fortunate to find myself betrothed to the most beautiful young lady in Essex.’ Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, and in so doing played the forfeit, as if young ladies proposed to gentlemen in this way every day of the week.
After a good deal of laughter, disbelief and hesitant congratulations, Julius and Beatrice, accompanied by a thoroughly bemused George, rode back to Standish House.
Clattering into the stable yard, the two men swung from their saddles and Julius tossed the reins to George, who led both horses away. Beatrice turned in the saddle, but before she had a chance to dismount, Julius’s hands closed, strong and sure, about her waist. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a child, lowering her slowly until her feet touched the ground.
Beatrice felt a blush tinge her cheeks—it was all she could do to meet his gaze fleetingly. It was the first time a man had touched her, had dared take such liberties.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said tightly, ‘but the time has not yet come when I cannot get off a horse without assistance.’
Julius looked down at her, his tone slightly acid. ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Would you deprive me of that?’ He stepped away from her. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘Now would be as good a time as any.’ His eyes held hers. His face was a taut mask of controlled anger. For an instant he thought she would argue—he was relieved when she tightened her lips and inclined her head in apparent acquiescence. ‘Come, let’s take a walk.’
With studied calm Beatrice allowed him to place his hand on her elbow and escort her out of the stable yard and into a quiet part of the gardens. There was a controlled alertness in his manner, like that of a large cat, its strength ready to explode, but for the present docile. She was reminded of a large black panther she had seen on her visit to the zoo at the Tower of London with Astrid. In repose the panther’s sinews had flexed and stretched in a fantastic rhythm of life that mesmerised. Julius Chadwick was slim, yet sturdy, and moved with almost sensuous grace. There was a sureness in his stride as if he carefully planned where to place each foot. At the moment he appeared relaxed, but Beatrice knew that he was aware of her and everything around him.
His grip felt strong and steely. A host of unfamiliar sensations passed along her nerves and her heart turned over distractingly. Such unexpected susceptibility was not, to her mind, a helpful development. She had never before been so afflicted—she hoped the effect would fade quickly. To her chagrin it did not go away when he removed his hand.
‘I don’t think we’ll be disturbed here.’
His tone, clipped and dry, had Beatrice shifting her gaze to his face. He was a towering masculine presence in this quiet corner of the garden. ‘What is it you want to say?’ she asked, beginning to feel the first pangs of discomfort with the dark way he was regarding her, his gaze narrowed and assessing.
The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I don’t intend to harm you.’ Looking down into her wide eyes, Julius saw speculation leap in their depths only to be replaced by wariness. His gaze locked on hers. ‘I believe it’s time for a little plain speaking.’
Beatrice stiffened. ‘On what subject?’
‘On the subject of your ridiculous forfeit—our future.’ In an endeavour to disguise the tension that had gripped him and the way her nearness was affecting him, how he found it nigh impossible to look away from her golden hair lightened by the sun, her unfathomable green eyes and beckoning fragrance, he took a couple of steps away from her and gazed over the gardens. ‘Am I honestly supposed to take you—I mean, this proposal—seriously?’
‘I assure you, I am completely serious.’
‘Then do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’
‘Ask me anything you like.’
He tilted his head to one side, his face a mirror of bewilderment and disbelief. ‘Are you, by any chance, under the influence of drink, Miss Fanshaw?’
‘Absolutely not. I rarely drink anything stronger than watered-down wine.’
‘Then am I supposed to believe that at some point you might have fallen in love with my larger-than-life reputation? That is what it would have to be since, to my knowledge, we have never met.’
‘That scenario is as ludicrous as the one before it.’
‘Then it can hardly come as a surprise to you to learn that I might have some objections to the proposal.’
‘It wasn’t a proposal.’
Julius’s contemplation was steady. ‘What was it, then? An order?’
‘No.’ The word was out before Beatrice had considered it. She tried to erase the admission with a casual wave of her hand. ‘That is…’
‘Plain speaking I believe I said. I don’t like being forced. It goes against my grain. It is a most unwise thing for you to do. Most unwise. How dare you compromise me in this manner?’
Beatrice lifted her chin. ‘I had hoped you were too much of a gentleman to renege on your word.’
>
‘I don’t have to be a genius to work out that you planned this. What concerns me now, what we need to discuss, is what comes next.’ Leaning against a low stone wall and resting his arm on the top, letting his hand dangle limply, he caught her glittering gaze and held it. ‘Tell me. When do you want the wedding to take place?’
‘Why, I…’ Feeling heat wash over her face, she faltered, taken off guard.
‘Come now,’ he pressed. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it out. One day? Two days? A week—a month? How long?’
‘As soon as possible was what I imagined.’
‘Well, imagine again. If you imagined I’d meekly consent to this madness, you were far off track.’
‘If you recall, my lord, you did consent to it. Very well, we will wed at your convenience, I suppose.’
‘And I suppose that would be never.’
‘You mean you will go back on your word?’
‘You can bet your damned life there is nothing that would please me more. But were I to do that, I would blacken my reputation. The short of it is, Miss Fanshaw, I don’t want to marry you—and if you know what is good for you, you wouldn’t want to marry me either. Which is why I am leaving it up to you to cry off.’
She gaped at him. It was her turn to be nervous. ‘Cry off?’
His eyes mocked her. ‘That’s what I said. It’s very simple. You can let it be known that your forfeit was a joke, that you did it for a laugh, that you had no intention of holding me to my word. You will have to be the one to say it. Everyone must hear it from your own lips.’
‘But I can’t do that.’
‘No? Pray tell me why not?’
‘Because it would be a lie.’
‘You mean you actually do want to marry me?’
She looked at him surreptitiously. ‘Yes,’ she replied—not that she had any idea what marriage to him would entail once she had caught him. ‘I will not withdraw the forfeit.’
She would not beg him to wed her. Nor would she back down. But what a disaster she had made of it. She must have been out of her mind to think she could manage this. With that characteristic recklessness with which she tackled everything in her life, she had rushed to accept his wager without much thought to how he would react should she win the race and request his forfeit. But it was too late now. She had set the ball rolling, so to speak, and she would not back out now.
‘When I named the forfeit, why did you concede by going so far as to announce our engagement?’
‘Because at the time I did not take your proposal seriously. I thought you were playing some kind of mischievous game—that it was some light-hearted jest, that in some twisted way you were trying to get back at me for what you accuse me of doing to your father. I merely entered into the spirit of things. Naturally I believed you would withdraw your ridiculous proposal and it could be laughed off with no ill feeling.’
Beatrice met his look squarely. ‘You do not know me. You were wrong to think that.’ She glared at him. ‘It was no twisted, mischievous game, Lord Chadwick. I have thought long and hard about this. Perhaps now you will realise that I was being deadly serious. Besides, after asking you to marry me in front of an audience, the scandal will be being broadcast throughout London as we speak. If you refuse to marry me, I will have ruined any chance I might have had of making a suitable marriage.’
‘That is unfortunate for you, but it is entirely your own doing. It does not concern me.’
‘I accept that, but you could do a lot worse than marry me. I have nothing of my own to bring to a marriage, but both my parents were well connected. I meet a gentleman’s criteria of youth, good health, breeding, I am reasonably pretty, or so I’ve been told, and I have an unblemished reputation.’
Julius raised a sardonic brow at her self-praise and contemplated her wickedly gleaming green eyes. ‘I am impressed, but you failed to mention problematical, as bold as brass and as determined as they come.’
She smiled. ‘I admit that I can be troublesome on occasion, but on the whole, you can have no objections to my suitability.’
Julius’s expression was one of disbelief. He looked her over carefully, as if to judge her for her worth, and appeared dubious as he crinkled his brows. ‘No objections—’ he retorted sharply, then bit back the rest of his words, clenching his jaw so tightly a muscle jerked in the side of his cheek. ‘I have plenty, Miss Fanshaw, and I can imagine Lady Standish will have some of her own to add. How will your esteemed aunt receive your outlandish proposal to me?’
‘She will be livid, I expect. You see, where my aunt is concerned, as an impoverished orphan she has never had any regard for me. I am a duty she is forced to endure. In her world, marriages are arranged for consequence and money. She has you in her sights for Astrid. Not only are you outrageously wealthy, but you are also a marquess and we haven’t had one of those in the family before, so she sees it as advancing the family cause.’ She cocked her head on one side and looked at him steadily. ‘Would you have offered for Astrid? Did my aunt read your attentions toward Astrid correctly?’
‘Good Lord, no. Miss Standish is exquisite and quite charming, but she is not to my taste.’ Julius meant it. To anyone with experience, Astrid Standish’s mere prettiness could not hold a candle to Beatrice Fanshaw’s raw kind of beauty. Miss Standish could prove troublesome in her own way, but she was very definitely not the same sort of trouble Miss Fanshaw would be. He would never be bored with her, that was for sure. ‘In any case, you have spiked your aunt’s ambitions well and truly with this outrageous escapade.’ Suddenly curious to know more about this self-contained young woman, although he couldn’t for the life of him think why, he said, ‘Why does she resent you?’
‘I think she sees me as some kind of threat to Astrid. Against her wishes, my uncle took us in when my mother and I had nowhere else to go. To add to our difficulties my mother was very ill. Her illness began immediately after my father died. Aunt Moira didn’t go out of her way to make us welcome. When my mother died she would have turned me out were it not for my uncle.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Julius said, his tone suddenly sympathetic. ‘That must have been an awful time for you when you lost your mother. I am not unacquainted with death and loss,’ he said, thinking of the loss of his own mother. ‘I have not forgotten the pain of it. How was your relationship with your uncle?’
‘He always treated me kindly. Before he died he made Aunt Moira promise to do right by me: to maintain me as one of her own children, to bring me out into society and to ensure that the man I married was suitable. I suppose she considers she has kept this promise as well as her nature will permit, but as soon as my uncle died she made it plain that I should not think myself on an equal footing with my cousins. How could she like or accept an irksome alien, someone inferior and unconnected to her by any tie, an intruder on her own family?’
The softening of her manner enhanced her beauty and Julius boldly and appreciatively stared at her hard for several moments. There was a forlorn, lost look about her and he sensed she bore a deep inner pain and bitterness that had driven her to where she was now. In fact, he saw in her that which was in himself, and that something stirred, something moved that had not moved in a long time. It came unbidden, unexpected, born of the bleakness of his own life. Over the years he’d stifled that feeling as best he could, but it had been there just the same, telling him how he felt, and it was ridiculous, totally ridiculous, for with so much to do his life was full. But always there was something not quite right, something missing from his life.
‘I can see your life at Standish House has not been easy and that you do indeed need rescuing,’ he said softly.
‘I have become accustomed to it.’ She gave him a sideways, almost coy look. ‘Will you be my rescuer, Lord Chadwick?’
He considered her remark in silence. Perhaps he should rescue her from her predicament. After all, if it wasn’t for his father, she wouldn’t be in this position, so maybe he should accept her marria
ge proposal. ‘Tell me. Why do you want to marry me so badly?’
‘You know why. Because you own Larkhill.’
‘Yes, I thought that might have something to do with it,’ he remarked drily.
‘But I have no money. I can’t afford Larkhill. I have nothing save what my aunt chooses to give me, which is very little, therefore it is up to me to provide for myself. I will no longer be a burden to my aunt. I can no longer submit to her opinion as a matter of course. In short, Lord Chadwick, I have decided to be my own advocate and make my own case.’
‘Will that be such a hardship for you?’
Beatrice detected a mild concern in his voice. ‘I hope not. I am indeed at your mercy. After this I cannot stay here. My aunt will cut me off from all connection with her family because I dared ask you to marry me. If you refuse to do this, I shall have to find somewhere else to live and an occupation to support myself.’
His eyes held hers in an enquiring glance. ‘What you really mean is that your pride won’t let you show defeat.’
She bristled at his light, mocking tone. ‘After this I shall be regarded as low as a fallen woman—a helpless and defenceless female.’
Her words were so inappropriate he laughed out loud. ‘Helpless and defenceless be damned. A woman who can ride as you do and beat me at my own challenge, a woman who can ask a man to marry her and when he rejects her can still lift her head with fire in her eyes, is not what I would call helpless or defenceless. I salute your courage and your boldness, Miss Fanshaw. You are undeniably brave—and reckless. But you are being selfish in throwing your desirable self at me, daring me to take advantage of you because you want something badly enough. You are playing with fire and it is inevitable that at some time you will be burned. I am unwilling to satisfy your wicked schemes and am most reluctant to take advantage of you—though God knows I would like to and you fully deserve it.’
Beauty in Breeches Page 6