Armstrong snorted. “Ideal? Really?” he said, his tone growing dry with derision. “Who the bloody hell says he’s the only choice she has?”
James’s one good eye narrowed instantly. What the hell was Armstrong talking about? Of course he was the only choice she had. Who else would be willing to marry her now that she was expecting his child? Unless…
“What does that mean?” The left side of his mouth had swelled to such a degree his speech came out partially muffled.
“Exactly what I just said. She doesn’t have to marry you if she doesn’t desire. As far as my sister is concerned, you are as good as married to Lady Victoria, who incidentally is carrying your child.”
“Well, she’ll discover quite differently soon enough.” James bore the stab of pain every time he moved his mouth to form a word.
Cartwright, who drank infrequently—his father had a great affection for the bottle—moved to the sideboard during their exchange, and poured himself a tumbler of brandy.
James could have done with one himself.
“I’m sure Granville would take her without question.” One dark blond brow rose as if to challenge him.
James bolted to his feet, forgetting the pain in his back, his anger palpable. “I’ll be damned if I allow her to wed Granville.” Another kind of pain exploded inside him.
“She doesn’t require your permission,” Armstrong said, regarding him with disdain.
James shot a glance at Cartwright as if to compel him to intercede. But his raven-haired friend continued to sip his brandy, his expression excruciatingly neutral. A sound closely resembling disgust rumbled from James’s throat. He turned his attention back to Armstrong.
“It’s my child she carries.” He said it loud enough to reach the ears of the upstairs servants but at this point, he didn’t give a whit. He didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard—it might even force her hand and the hand of her very angry and obstinate brother.
“Do not remind me,” Armstrong bit out tersely.
James could see the futility in arguing with him. Armstrong’s emotions ran understandably high and his capacity to see reason was greatly diminished. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with this matter. At present, he required the attentions of his physician to ensure the blasted man hadn’t done him permanent damage.
“This is hardly the end of it.” James sent him a meaningful glance before he hobbled from the room.
Lord Rutherford to see you, miss. He’s waiting in the drawing room.
The footman’s words rang in her mind repeatedly as Missy made her way downstairs the following morning. They set her heart off in a wild gallop as she traversed the hallway and drew ever closer to the source of all her inner turmoil. James had called frightfully early, arriving at minutes to nine. What did he want? What could he want? And where was her brother?
Pausing just before the entrance of the room, she drew a deep breath, smoothed her hair, patted her carmine percale skirt, and then advanced another step. She stood framed in the doorway feeling as vulnerable as a chicken once the call for fowl had been made for supper.
Missy was surprised to find her mother seated on the chintz settee adjacent to James, who sat ensconced in the winged chair. There were no raised voices, which should have been a good sign; however, there was a severity to her mother’s countenance she’d never seen before. Conversation ceased abruptly upon her entrance.
James came immediately to his feet and when he turned to her, she nearly stumbled back in horror.
“Oh my heavens, your face.”
“You can be certain I will be speaking to Thomas about this,” her mother said, her displeasure evidenced by the firm line of her delicate chin.
“Even you cannot deny the man’s right to defend his sister’s honor.” Although his response was directed to her mother, his attention remained wholly focused on Missy. The corner of his mouth lifted—at least the side that still could—in a self-deprecating smile.
“I will allow you a moment alone with Millicent,” the viscountess said, preparing to exit. She turned just as she breeched the threshold to shoot him a look. “We will conclude our conversation before you depart.” Not a request, it had been a command. The scent of vanilla wafted behind as she swept from the room, her carriage regal and tall.
Missy still marveled at the damage done to his too-handsome face. His left cheek resembled an overstuffed sausage, puffy and misshapen. And his right eye sat amid swelled and discolored flesh. The sight alone appeared painful.
“We need to speak.” He made no move to take his seat again, continuing to pierce her with his steady regard.
She met his gaze calmly. “I had hoped Thomas’s anger would have cooled by the time he found you. It appears that was not so.” She was surprised that she could sound so self-possessed when his presence stirred feelings in her she’d hoped would be more muted since the last time they’d met. And despite the condition of his face, his looks drew her, still with the power to heighten her awareness of him.
He gave a dismissive shrug. Gesturing toward the seating area, he said, “I hope you don’t mind if we sit. My back is still rather sore.”
Missy took the seat recently vacated by her mother as James reclaimed his. He eased into the armchair with a wince of discomfort.
“Lady Victoria has ended our betrothal.”
Shock occurred first, and then a choir of angels began to sing a rendition of “Hallelujah.” But Missy managed to suppress any overt reaction. His regard became ferociously intent.
What had he expected, that she would swoon at his feet? She had more pride than that. He’d denied her enough times; she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to do so again.
“Do you expect an offer of condolences?” she asked with an arched brow.
She heard what she thought was an expletive uttered under his breath. “Why did you lie to me when I came the next day? You told me there was no possibility of a child.”
“What was I to say? It was apparent you didn’t want me. I certainly wasn’t going to force you to the altar.”
The tightening of his jaw made it clear he was reining in his temper. “We will be married as soon as I can procure a special license.” His tone indicated he considered the matter not up for discussion. If his arrogance had not been so infuriating, she probably would have found some humor in his presumptuousness.
“While I do indeed find your order that I marry you romantic, I fear I will have to decline.” The nerve of him, telling her they would be married as if he was instructing a servant to a task.
Tears, James had been prepared for, even petulance. But the coolness she exhibited proved far more disconcerting. It was hard to discern whether it was her pride in action or, if in the course of several weeks, her feelings for him had altered so drastically. But given the situation, not even that mattered.
“Well given the circumstances, I thought you would have seen right through any romantic gesture, and as I have only just gotten myself extricated from one impending marriage, it would have been unseemly of me to propose while courting another. As it is, I only just learned of your condition from your brother.” If his tone and words conveyed an abundance of sarcasm, he didn’t much care. Missy was being difficult. He could understand Armstrong’s anger, but she had brought this on herself.
A fire lit her eyes and despite his anger, he instantly grew hard. Bloody sod.
“So that you understand this situation correctly, I have no wish to marry you, so please do not feel honor-bound to do so. I’ve already made arrangements to—”
With lightning quick speed, he was beside her, securing her forearm tightly with his hand. He leaned toward her until she could clearly see the blooded veins in the whites of his swelled eye. “If you think I will allow you to marry another man and sit idly by while he raises my child, you are very much mistaken. It would also be evidence that you don’t know me and all that I am capable of.”
She took a brief inventory of him
, from his boots right up to his neckcloth. At last she looked at his face. “You’re right about one thing, I never knew you. I loved a figment created by my quite vivid and romantic imagination.”
James stiffened at her words. While he had given little credence to her professions of love, hearing her affirm his sentiments caused the oddest ache in his gut.
With his other hand, he exerted just enough pressure on her perfectly rounded chin to meet his gaze. Sooty lashes lifted to reveal her stunningly beautiful blue-gray eyes. He swallowed and was forced to tamp down a rush of lust so fierce, he shook.
“Our marriage will not require we love one another. It is enough that we can sufficiently tolerate each other in and out of the bedchamber.” Never had words uttered been so understated as to be labeled ridiculous. “And as you are already expecting my child, I would say those reasons are more than many can claim.”
“Firstly, I do not know whether I am expecting or not. One fainting spell does not make me so, despite what my mother and brother would choose to believe. He should not have said anything to you until I was certain. And even if I were carrying your child, the kind of marriage you’ve just described might be fine for you and the kind you desire, but it is not the kind I seek.” She wrenched her chin from his hand and tilted it in an impudent manner that only further aided in depleting his small reserve of patience.
He released her arm and pushed to his feet. If he touched her now he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from shaking some sense into her—or at least trying to. She gave a whole new meaning to the word stubborn.
“Why didn’t you make that clear from the beginning?” Because she wanted him to look the fool, carrying on about a child that might not even exist.
“Because, whether I am or not is immaterial. I will not marry you.”
“I’m not going to beg,” he growled. “So if that is what you expect, you will be sorely disappointed.”
Missy rose to her feet. “What I expect from you is the exact thing you offered me when it happened. Nothing. It would appear the notion eludes you.”
James restrained himself—but only just. He took several deep breaths. “If you think you will marry another man, I can assure you I won’t allow that to happen. If I have to, I will claim the child publicly. You’ll find yourself immersed in a scandal the likes of which you’ve never seen.” He turned from her and stalked over to the fireplace, where he braced his hand against the intricate hand-carved black wood mantel.
He loathed that she’d forced him to resort to the level of such threats, but damn, she hadn’t given him much choice. And unfortunately, he didn’t have the support of not even one member of her family.
Her expression held one of shock when she turned slowly to stare at him. “You wouldn’t,” she said, her tone hushed in disbelief.
“I beg you, do not try me.”
“That is unconscionable.”
“Any more so than depriving me of my child—perhaps my heir?”
“I just told you I’m not even certain I am pregnant. And I have no plans to marry anyone else. What do you take me for? I am going to America to stay with my aunt. Anyway, what do you care? Yesterday you were to marry Victoria Spencer. Go back to her and convince her to marry you. She already carries your child.”
“She does not carry my child,” he all but shouted, advancing toward her, halting a foot away.
Instinct told Missy to retreat, which she did. He looked angry—or perhaps it was frustrated—enough to throttle her.
So the child Lady Victoria carried was not his. Obviously this had to be something he’d only recently learned and it explained why the courtship had ended so abruptly. It also suggested that it was he and not she who had initiated the break, and he had allowed her to cry off to save her from the disgrace of being jilted. But when her belly burgeoned with child in the months to come, surely the truth would emerge?
“So you will have me in her stead, is that how it is?”
“Think on what I’ve just said, Missy, and before you allow your pride to rule your head, at least consider the child you may carry. Doesn’t he deserve better than to be born a bastard without the name and protection of his own father? I hope your selfishness doesn’t extend to the sacrifice of your own flesh and blood.”
Missy glared at him. How like him to use the club of reason to beat her about the head and leave her feeling the guilty party. Now if she ran off to America, she would indeed be the villain. Did her child not deserve to have everything being born to the heir to an earldom entailed? Could she in all good conscience deny her child its father and the benefits of such a life? Drat the man, he had succeeded in putting her in an untenable position.
As if sensing his words had started a war raging within her, he straightened to his full height. How he still managed to exude an air of command and magnetism with his face battered like the loser of a pugilist match was beyond her.
“I will be back tomorrow for your decision.”
“My answer won’t change.” Although she spoke bravely, she was not feeling at all as certain of the course of her future as she’d been when she awoke that morning.
“I shall summon my mother if you have said your fill,” she said, moving to the room’s entrance, ever conscious that his gaze followed her every step with an intensity that seared her. She fought and won the impulse to glance over her shoulder for one final look.
The viscountess had just exited the music room when Missy encountered her in the foyer. “James is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
“I take it by your expression, his proposal was not accepted.”
“If you mean his demand that I marry for the sake of a child we still are not certain even exists? I have declined. However, James is not a man who takes kindly to refusal.”
“And you are not a woman who takes kindly to being ordered about, of that, I am quite aware.” The viscountess’s mouth quirked in a sage smile.
“Yes, but he will be back tomorrow in hopes of a different answer.”
Her mother took Missy’s hand in hers, patting it lightly. “Then perhaps you should think heavily on this. Decisions made when tempers are still high as well as emotions are usually those we come to regret.”
Missy sighed wearily. “Not only must I think about my welfare and that of the family, but I may also have a child to consider.”
“No,” her mother said, her tone adamant. “Your foremost concern should be that of yourself and your child. Thomas and I are more than capable of taking care of this family. All of my daughters will have a debut.” The viscountess spoke in firm tones. The rigor with which she protected her children was a sight to behold. At least half of the ladies of the ton would be hesitant to make her an enemy, and cutting any of her children would assuredly do that. But an illegitimate child had the power to change things…
In a mesh of ruffled petticoats, silk, and muslin, Missy threw her arms around her mother and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “You are the best mother a girl could ever ask for.”
“Whatever your decision, my dear, I will try my best to do what is right by you,” her mother said, her voice slightly choked. “Now, enough of all this blathering. I imagine I have kept James waiting long enough.”
The warmth of her mother’s embrace remained with her long after she disappeared down the hall and into the drawing room.
Worse than the day she’d discovered she was expecting a child, was the morning Victoria had to tell her mother there would be no spectacular Spencer wedding to dazzle the ton. That all preparations would have to stop.
Perhaps she could tell her there was no child; that she’d made the whole thing up and duped Lord Rutherford into accepting responsibility. Then on the morrow, she’d book a passage to somewhere halfway around the world.
Victoria regarded her reflection in the silver-framed mirror in her dressing room. Her blue eyes appeared much too large for her narrow face and her mouth had that drawn look brought on by nerves. She pinch
ed her white cheeks and then slid from the vanity chair. Her rose morning dress also received a smoothing hand to eliminate nonexistent creases. She drew in a breath as if it were her last before she began making her way down to the breakfast room.
Rivers, their second footman and her co-conspirator to her torrid affair, stopped her at the foot of the stairs. He had a wide-eyed look about him that immediately alerted her already overwrought senses.
“Milady.” He spoke in a low, furtive voice, as would any good co-conspirator. “Sir Clifton begs an audience with you outside.”
Victoria stood stock-still. George had not come to call since his last ill-fated attempt five years ago when he had been turned away by their butler under her mother’s directive. He could easily have sent her a note to meet as they had always done in the past. Why would he risk coming here?
Victoria slid a cautious glance down the foyer, checking to ensure they were not being closely observed. “Tell him I will be out in a moment. I will make my excuses to my mother but I will need you to accompany me. I can hardly speak with him in such close proximity to the house.”
Rivers gave a crisp nod and disappeared through the front door. Victoria found her mother in the morning room partaking in a mid-morning meal. She informed her she’d need an escort for a brief shopping trip to Bond Street. The marchioness had no quibble with that, her spirits high with how smoothly preparations for the betrothal party were coming along.
Donning her gloves, bonnet and silk shawl, Victoria met Rivers by the front door and they took the carriage precisely two blocks up the street where George’s landau sat parked on the side of a dead end street. The Thompsons owned the house on the left, but they were presently in France.
Victoria alighted, too eager to wait for the footman’s assistance. The door to the landau was opened from within and she cautiously approached to peer inside.
In an interior illumed by only the hazy light let in by the open door, George sat tall and straight like a seasoned soldier. He looked terribly good to her famished senses, his beard and mustache not quite as closely cropped as he usually kept it. His face appeared leaner, his brown eyes set deeper in their sockets, and his attire, consisting of a dark brown overcoat, navy trousers and waistcoat, and a tan cambric shirt, hung looser on his frame.
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