Beverley Kendall

by Sinful Surrender (lit)

  She shook her head furiously, finally holding his gaze for a length. “No, you mustn’t think that of him. He would never do such a thing—not for anything, not for any money. I am with child. I did not lie to you about that. It is what has me in this untenable position.”

  “Did anything occur between us that evening?”

  He saw the truth in her eyes before she responded. “No.”

  So he hadn’t even bedded her. “How then, did I come to wake up in my bed, my head stripped of any memory of the evening events?” he asked through gritted teeth as his ire began to climb.

  Her eyes flickered and he saw the fear there.

  She swallowed convulsively. “You must remember I was desperate,” she implored, dashing a lock of white-blond hair from her face that had been loosed by a gusty breeze. She inhaled a deep breath and continued. “I added some laudanum to your glass when you were pouring my drink. That was why you succumbed to sleep so quickly.”

  James exploded to his feet. “By God, you used opium on me. You could have killed me. My system has no tolerance for the drug.”

  That his parents had learned when he was but twelve years old and had broken his ankle. A draught of laudanum had put him to sleep so long his mother had feared he would never wake up. He had the following day with barely any memory of the fall from the tree.

  If he had struck her, she couldn’t have looked more horrified. “Oh, God. I added a very small amount. Just enough to make you sleep. Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you.”

  He gave her a look. A look that silently said wouldn’t forcing him to marry be hurtful in its own way. A guilty blush stained her cheeks. “I mean, cause you any physical harm,” she amended.

  He grunted and subsided back onto the hard chair. “Now you’re going to tell me why you did this,” he demanded, regarding her coolly, his brow arched as he awaited her explanation for embroiling him in this grossly affair.

  Her hands trembled as she smoothed her skirt nervously. The flush had receded from her face, her composure trickling back. “My mother is not an easy woman.”

  James snickered. So she was going to tell him things he was well acquainted with.

  “As you have probably seen, she values rank and money above all else, and insists on a grand match for me. If she discovered I carry George’s child, I fear my fate would be the same as Lillian’s.” Her eyes darkened at the mention of her sister, causing her countenance to appear haunted and distressed.

  “I thought your sister married a French count and moved to France,” he said.

  Lady Victoria’s mouth lifted in a faint, sad smile. “That is what my mother would have everyone believe. In truth, Lillian resides there in an asylum for the insane.”

  His brows climbed sky high. “Good Lord, why?”

  “She became pregnant in her first Season by the son of a local tradesman in Kent. My mother absolutely refused to allow her to wed David. She sent Lillian away until the child was born, and then forced her to give the child away. Lillian was so distraught at the loss of her daughter and David, she attempted to drown herself. Our gardener was able to pull her from the pond in time but my mother didn’t want to risk another occurrence so she had her sent away to the hospital.” The story seemed wrenched from her, her breathing quickened, her eyes welled with unshed tears.

  James sat stock-still. He remembered the year her sister had all but vanished from Society. If he remembered correctly, the entire family had been gone for a month in the midst of high Season, which at that time had been quite odd, knowing how the marchioness veritably lived for such things. The explanation given and accepted was they had all left to attend her marriage, which had been held in France.

  He had been resolved to maintain a cold, hard disposition; after all, Lady Victoria had tried to trap him into marriage with her lies, and pass another man’s child off as his own, but at her reasons, an inkling of compassion nudged its way into the corner of his heart—a small part.

  “So you fear your mother will force you to give up your child?”

  “My mother will not allow a marriage to George and she will not allow her remaining daughter to shame her as my sister did, so…yes, I know she would force me to give my baby away. The only possibility of me keeping my child is to marry someone she would approve of.”

  And sadly, James could see that is where he’d been the perfect dupe. Unfortunately for Lady Victoria, though, he had no intention of being sacrificed for her indiscretion with Clifton.

  Almost as if she’d read his mind, she said, “You needn’t fear I still expect you to go through with it. And I certainly will not put you in the unpleasant position of refusing me if I were to beg you to do so. I would not expect any man to marry me under these circumstances.”

  “I’m fairly certain Clifton will marry you.” When he remembered the condition he’d found the man in, he thought if she had the ability to reduce him to that, his feelings for her had far from dissipated. She need only make an earnest and heartfelt plea for forgiveness.

  Pain flared vividly in her eyes. She slowly shook her head, swallowing hard, blinking rapidly as she appeared to desperately fight back tears.

  “I think you underestimate yourself as well as Clifton. You are a woman of twenty-two. I imagine you can marry anyone you choose so long as you will not require the assistance of your parents. The Queen herself knighted Clifton for his valor during the war. I hardly think you will find a better man among the ton.”

  She regarded him and a tremulous smile emerged as praise glittered in her eyes. “I believe I have. You are an exceedingly kind man, James Rutherford. I wish everyone felt the same as you.”

  “I am of little consequence here. What is important is how you feel, and what you think of the man.” He sensed the war raging inside her as she battled fear and hope in a dueling round.

  She laid her slender hand on the back of his. “I would not blame you one bit if you despised me for what I have done to you.”

  James had never seen her this raw and open, and although he had been angry—explosively so—at her deceit and lies, he understood why she’d done what she did while certainly not condoning any of it. She had quite a battle ahead, and he hoped she proved up for the fight.

  “I don’t believe you could ever completely warrant my dislike, although I will leave you to tell your parents our courtship has ended and inform your mother it is not my child you carry.”

  She gave a rueful smile. “I assure you, Lord Rutherford, I will make doubly sure you will be seen as no less than the honorable gentleman you have proven yourself to be.”

  He stood. “If there is anything I can do for you in the future,” he stared pointedly at her waist, “any assistance you require in regard to your—uh, situation, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

  “Thank you, Lord Rutherford, you are too kind. I will keep your offer in mind.” Lady Victoria came gracefully to her feet.

  “If you don’t mind, I will exit through the gates. I think it best not to risk an encounter with your mother.”

  She smiled. “I quite understand.”

  James left the Spencer residence, a weight lifted from his shoulders, his bachelorhood restored. Thoughts of Missy immediately pushed to the forefront of his mind, for he could say she rarely left it these days.

  His current predicament would be a tricky maneuver. He had ruined her, there was no doubt there. He recalled in vivid detail exactly how exquisitely she’d been ruined. In fact, he had lived on those memories for the past two weeks. And much to his discomfort, a certain rampant part of his anatomy jumped eagerly to life, like present, when his thoughts veered in that direction.

  With a sharp tug at his trousers, he settled onto the black cushioned seat of his phaeton and then picked up the ribbons. A firm flick of his wrist sent his blacks off in a canter, their shoes creating a clip clop echo along the paved streets.

  He would ponder more about what he would do next. He required time to think. Time to
plot.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mr. Wendel was not at all as Missy had imagined him. He stood at least six feet and possessed a large rawboned frame, that of a pugilist, she imagined. He had a thick shock of light brown hair worn too long to be fashionable, and his face bore a maturity that bespoke a man in his forties, but his smile gave him a more youthful appearance. He was, in fact, quite a handsome man.

  Thomas stood by his side, chatting easily when she followed her mother into the library. Both men turned at their entrance but it was the look on Mr. Wendel’s face Missy found amusing. His gaze darted between mother and daughter, looking somewhat awestruck, before he settled a very appreciative regard on the viscountess. Then, as if he remembered where he was and who he gaped at like a boy with too little tact and too much appreciation for the fairer sex, he seemed to compose himself, his smile of greeting, polite.

  Her mother, long used to such avid male appreciation, sent him a warm smile and extended her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wendel. I hope I haven’t put you out with my request, however, I wasn’t aware you would be calling in person.”

  “Lady Armstrong, I saw no other way such assurances could be given.” He took her hand, shaking it slowly, gently, and if he lingered over long in releasing it, her mother was much too refined to comment.

  “And you must be the eldest Miss Armstrong,” he said, turning his chocolate brown eyes on her. “Your brother didn’t tell me that you were such a beauty.” He sent her brother a look of mock reproach. Thomas rolled his eyes. When Mr. Wendel returned his attention to her, his gaze held an admiration like that of an art enthusiast enjoying a particularly select objet d’art; it lacked the more manly appreciation he’d bestowed upon her mother.

  If not for the fatigue she had been suffering the last several days, Missy would have received him with much more enthusiasm but, as it was, she managed only a wan smile as she held out her hand. “Thank you, sir. Without your assurances, my mother would have forbidden this trip, therefore I am in your debt.”

  He gave her hand a solicitous shake. He didn’t hold it a second longer than propriety called for, as he had with her mother. With eyes twinkling, he said, “As I’ve told Thomas, I will be able to personally ensure your safety and comfort on this voyage. I must travel to America on business, so I will make the crossing with you.” His gaze sought out the viscountess’s.

  Her mother’s smile spoke volumes, her relief evident. “Mr. Wendel, you have no idea how that helps to settle my misgivings about Millicent taking this trip. I am in your debt as well. If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  Mr. Wendel grinned broadly, revealing even, white teeth. He was even more handsome than Missy had originally thought. She slid a glance at her mother and noticed a slight flush staining her porcelain cheeks.

  “I imagine you could start by calling me Derrick.”

  His response seemed to fluster the viscountess, leaving her at a momentary loss for words. Men and women simply did not call each other by their given names unless they were intimately acquainted. And even then, sometimes not even married couples addressed each other by their Christian names. But apparently either Mr. Wendel was not aware of this, or chose to ignore the fact. “Well—I, certainly if you wish…Derrick.”

  “Nothing would please me more, my lady.” Her address came out a caress.

  Thomas cleared his throat loudly. “Wendel, I didn’t bring you here to charm my mother.”

  “Thomas,” her mother said, shooting him a warning look. “Mr—Derrick was doing no such thing.” Mr. Wendel said nothing, which only served to reinforce her brother’s claim.

  Lightheadedness hit Missy with startling swiftness. Conversation resumed between Thomas, her mother, and Mr. Wendel but their voices grew muted. The room tilted wildly. She shook her head, trying to somehow halt the dizzying whirl, but the sudden move only served to make it worse. Then blackness engulfed her and she knew no more.

  Missy struggled to lift her eyelids. Someone held her hand tightly and she discerned her mother’s panicked voice and the raw concern lacing her brother’s. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” her mother said, bringing Missy’s hand up to her mouth, pressing the back against her right cheek. Worry etched fine lines on her forehead and around her mouth, but a hesitant smile tipped the edges of her lips at Missy’s return to consciousness.

  Thomas stood by her—Missy eyes darted quickly around the room—her bedside. The last she remembered, they had been meeting with Mr. Wendel downstairs in the library. She glanced back at Thomas, who hovered above her like an overprotective father. He offered a tentative smile but his green eyes remained dark and solicitous.

  “You gave us quite a scare, young lady.” He gently brushed stray wisps of hair from her forehead.

  “That will teach me to skip supper and breakfast,” she replied in a small voice.

  Her mother laid her hand back by her side, giving it several pats before removing her own. “Well, we shall have the physician take a look at you and then my worries can be put to rest. Thomas, please send for Dr. Schmitz.” Her brother vanished before Missy could protest.

  “Mama, honestly ’tis nothing. I’m hungry is all. There’s no need to send for Dr. Schmitz.” Food was all she required, and perhaps a bit more sleep than she’d been getting of late.

  “When did you last see your monthly courses?”

  The suddenness and the unexpectedness of her mother’s question rattled her, leaving her bereft of a response. Her mind scrambled for a date. It took what seemed a lifetime of frantic thinking and counting to discover she was indeed overdue for her monthlies. Shame suffused her face with heat and with it came the horror of the revelation, of what it might mean.

  “Please tell me you did not. Please tell me you are not.” Her mother’s plea was hushed and fervent, like a prayer but her eyes said she knew. “You have, haven’t you? You are no longer a virgin.”

  Missy didn’t even bother to deny the choked claim, lowering her gaze, unwilling to witness the look of disappointment and heartbreak in her mother’s green eyes. She shook her head because the words would not come.

  Silence held reign far too long. She finally dared to peer up at her mother. The countenance staring back at her could put dismay to shame.

  “Oh, Missy,” she said on a whisper-soft sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” Her voice was thick with tears.

  “Are you with child?”

  “I don’t believe so. I’m not certain.” Dear God, she prayed she was not.

  “But there is a possibility, is there not?”

  Missy dipped her head in a small nod.

  “And the father, who would that be?” her mother asked, blinking rapidly, her eyes shiny with moisture.

  Turning away, Missy gave a definitive shake of her head. How could she tell her the truth? James was like a son to her. It would ruin everything and her ruination was enough.

  At the muffled sniff, Missy turned back to her mother. The last time she’d seen her mother cry was at her father’s funeral, over ten years ago. After that, she had been stoic in her grief, tending to her children’s loss rather than her own. Now silent tears tracked down smooth, pale cheeks.

  “Millicent, this is hardly something you can keep to yourself. Of course you must tell me, and then I will have to tell your brother. This man has taken your innocence. He must marry you.” The viscountess reached for a handkerchief on the bedside table, then proceeded to use it to dab her eyes and cheeks.

  Panic widened her eyes as Missy bolted upright and grasped her mother’s free hand tightly. “Mama, you can’t tell Thomas. You know his temper. He will kill him or get himself killed. And we aren’t even certain of my condition.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Neither of them had heard Thomas’s arrival but his tall frame filled the doorway with the indomitable presence of a golden warrior. But no one could mistake the menacing tone in his quest
ion.

  Dread clambered up her spine, leaving her breathless. Her heart jumped into her throat making it impossible to swallow; she could not even blink, her fear was so stark.

  “Missy, if you are, this is hardly something you will be able to hide from him. I needn’t remind you that your brother is the man of the house and he has every right to know.” Having dried her tears, her mother’s sadness had been replaced by a look of calm, parental resolve.

  He advanced to her bedside, his brows drawn above his eyes like a thunderstorm. “What do I have a right to know?” he asked quietly, enunciating each word with excruciating exactness.

  Missy tried not to cower but she found herself shrinking back into the forgiving softness of the pillows. The viscountess rose from the bed to stand in front of him, her stance that of a mother protecting her young.

  “I fear Missy may be expecting.”

  “Expecting what?” Thomas’s bewildered gaze turned to her. It took another second for the full import of her mother’s words to sink in. His silence didn’t last long, nor was his anger slow to build or erupt.

  “I’ll kill him!” He slammed his fist against the solid mahogany frame of the four-poster bed, the force causing the bed to shudder, as well as its lone occupant.

  “Who is it?” he asked in a voice promising retribution of cataclysmic proportions.

  “She refuses to say.” The viscountess stepped closer to her son and placed a restraining hand on the broad expanse of his chest. “But you mustn’t do anything rash. We must all keep a level head.”

  Ignoring his mother, Thomas continued to stare at Missy over the top of the viscountess’s head. “You will tell me.” His command brooked no refusal.

  But Missy was too terrified to draw a breath much less speak. His anger, as potent as a deadly storm, struck her immobile and utterly speechless.

  The ensuing silence tested them both—her brother’s forbearance and her resolve.