Beverley Kendall

by Sinful Surrender (lit)

  For the next hour, Missy chatted with a number of the guests, a solicitous James firmly planted by her side. He carried on one rather lengthy conversation with Lord Stanton who, as a prominent peer in the House of Lords, had recently set forth a bill to reassert the Corn Laws almost a decade after they had been repealed. James clearly did not agree with such an action but Lord Stanton seemed just as intent on attempting to change his position. The discussion ended cordially, though in a stalemate.

  In those twenty minutes, Missy learned more about Corn Laws and the plight of the working poor than she could have had she read some dry article in the London Times. James impressed her with his passion and thorough knowledge of what he spoke. She had no idea he so strongly sympathized with the plight of the working class nor that he had influenced his father to vote to abolish the Corn Laws nine years before. It appeared there was more to James Rutherford, heir to one of the richest earldoms, than most saw on the surface.

  The next time the orchestra struck up a waltz, he swept her into his arms and commenced to sweep her off her feet. He danced as elegantly as he moved. To be led by him was to enjoy an effortless, fluid movement of the body and soul. He had eyes for no one else in the room but her and didn’t appear reticent to let everyone know. His face lit up when he gazed down upon her and if she hadn’t known it was merely a show put on for the members of the ton, she was certain she would have fallen completely under his spell…once again.

  Lord Feathersby caught an unsuspecting James just as they left the dance floor after their second dance. The way he sprang on them, it was as if the man had been laying in wait. He then embarked on a discussion regarding the ongoing Crimean War. Missy took that opportunity to escape to the ladies’ dressing room and remind herself that what was between her and James was not real—at least not on his part.

  Upon her return, Missy spotted Thomas. He stood alone on the edge of the dance floor nursing a glass of punch. Missy followed his stare to the opposite side of the room and encountered a slim brunette, resplendent in a breathtaking gold gown. Missy had never seen her before, but Lord Bradford, the man at her side, was one of Thomas’s business partners.

  “Thomas, who is that?” Missy asked, once she had reached his side. The fact that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the young lady since she’d entered the room on the arm of the marquess piqued her curiosity.

  Thomas shook his head, obviously distracted, but managed to tear his gaze from the dark-haired beauty long enough to pay her some mind.

  “Pardon?”

  A sly smile curved her mouth. “I said who is the lady you’ve been staring at?”

  “Harry Bartram’s daughter, I imagine. He indicated that he would be escorting her this evening.”

  “She is very beautiful.” Her eyes probed his for a response.

  “Quite, but she’s young.”

  Missy gave the woman another assessing look. “I would hardly call her a child. She looks to be about nineteen.”

  “A year younger,” he said.

  “Well, then, there you have it. You can hardly call her a child.”

  Thomas said nothing, continuing to stare at the tall brunette.

  “And what exactly are your business dealings with Lord Bradford?”

  Thomas’s gaze still fixed across the room at the pair—or more importantly, Lord Bradford’s daughter. “We both have part ownership in Wendel’s shipping company.”

  Another quick glance over revealed the marquess had spotted Thomas and he and his daughter were now headed in their direction. As they advanced closer, Lord Bradford’s daughter revealed herself to be even a greater beauty than she’d appeared from afar. Her hair hung thick and lustrous, brushing her shoulders, held in an elegant twist by a flowered pin, and she had a creamy, flawless complexion.

  “Thomas,” Lord Bradford said, closing the distance between them, his right hand extended in greeting.

  “Nice to see you in attendance, Harry.” Thomas gave his hands two firm pumps. He then turned and reintroduced Missy, which was met by the marquess with the kind of exuberance she didn’t often find in the aristocracy. Of medium height with a slender frame, the man exuded a joviality that made him hard to resist.

  After Thomas finished his introduction, Lord Bradford turned to his daughter. “And this is my daughter, Amelia.”

  Thomas flashed a smile. Her brother had probably never met a woman he could not charm with that very smile.

  “Your father speaks most highly of you, Lady Amelia. I’m delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

  Lady Amelia acknowledged Missy with a nod and then shot a look of askance at her father causing him to flush. She then turned her attention back to Thomas and replied, “Is that so? And I’ve heard you are considered, at best, a rake about town, and at worst, a debaucher of women and maiden sensibilities. I certainly hope you are not going to ply your trade here this evening.”

  The marquess inhaled a gasp, Thomas choked on his next breath, and Missy swiftly covered her laugh with two rather unconvincing coughs. Never in all her years had she ever witnessed such a setdown. Quite the opposite in fact. Most women fell over themselves trying to gain his attention and affections. This was a most gratifying experience.

  Lady Amelia, however, appeared unruffled by the whole thing and not the least apologetic. Who could ever have imagined an eighteen-year-old miss with this much self-possession and nerve?

  “Amelia, you will apologize to Lord Armstrong at once,” Lord Bradford said, recovered from his momentary lapse of composure.

  Eyeing Thomas directly and unflinchingly, she said, “I do apologize my lord that you felt the need to lie to me. My father could never bring himself to speak highly of me but, perhaps, that is something you were not aware of, making the lie you just told me quite innocuous. I, however, did not lie, and for that I do apologize. As I have found, there are certain truths that should never be voiced in polite society.”

  Missy had another fit of coughing and Thomas stood frozen while Lord Bradford looked as though he would surely perish of shame.

  “Papa, I believe I have apologized. Are there any other gentlemen you wish to introduce me to?” She stood eye to eye with her father, making her taller than the average woman, but she held herself with the regalness of royalty, which gave her the appearance of possessing more height.

  The sarcasm in her soft tones was not lost on her father. The poor man, red-faced with embarrassment, ushered her away before another scathing dulcet-toned remark could pass her lips.

  Missy dared to peek up at her brother, her gloved hand hiding her laughing mouth. Thomas was gritting his teeth so hard she swore she actually heard the scrape of enamel against enamel, and his eyes were narrowed to slits. And if he could produce it, she swore she would have seen smoke coming from his ears.

  He turned his head, ever so slowly, toward her and pierced her with such a look, she finally understood the term to look daggers on someone.

  “I am hardly the one who called you a rake about town.” She was forced to stop at this point and contain the mirth that threatened to spill from her lips. After a moment, somewhat composed, she continued. “So please refrain from looking at me like you would like to see me walking the plank.” Her laughter spilled forth.

  “I would advise you to find more amiable company if you know what’s good for you.” The words were uttered too calmly, and with too much control.

  Lady Amelia Bertram had managed to get the best of her brother and that in itself was a rarity. Shooting her brother a mischievous smile, she said, “A truly charming young woman. Please make sure Lord Bradford brings her by for tea.”

  She then hastily started across the room still laughing softly, surveying the glittering ladies of the ton, hoping to find Claire returned from the dance floor.

  What she did find caused her to pause in her steps, for standing no more than twenty feet away near a large, white Greek column adorned with climbing ivy, were James and Lady Victoria Spencer.
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  They appeared deep in conversation, their visages quite sober, but not containing the kind of animosity one might expect given what had occurred between them. Truth be told, she was surprised to see Lady Victoria present. Rumors of her condition had made her the talk of the ton, and now that it appeared there would be no match between her and James, she’d become a pariah in many circles. But even knowing all of this, she could not stop the niggling feeling of jealousy from rearing its head as she watched James’s dark head bend to hers in close attention.

  Missy pivoted sharply and blindly made her way to the opposite side of the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “So what will you do now?” James stared down at Lady Victoria’s upturned face. He could hardly believe this was the same woman he had come to know over the past several years. Her countenance held the kind of warm glow that softened her already beautiful features.

  “George and I will be married by special license next week. He is currently in Bedfordshire readying the house there for our occupation. Once Parliament is in recess, he will join me.” Her blue eyes seemed to soften at the mention of her affiance’s name.

  “And your parents?” James had already heard that the marchioness had taken to her bed claiming every malady known to man. Her avoidance of Society was as obvious as the eyesores she called her bonnets.

  Lady Victoria’s smile slipped for an instant. “My mother is, as you can imagine, exceedingly disappointed.”

  James imagined that was the mildest of understatements.

  “However, Papa has been exceptional regarding the whole affair. He is determined that Lillian and I not share the same fate. As there is already a child on the way, he is willing to support my union with George.” A wry laugh trickled from her lips. “Also, I fear I was quite serious when I promised him that I would wed George with or without his approval. I believe he was shocked that I was willing to forgo my dowry to marry a man whom Mama refers to as a nobody and a pauper.”

  James shook his head in bemusement. Clearly, Lady Victoria had discovered she possessed a great deal more inner strength than she’d thought. “Well, it seems things have worked out well for you.”

  Her expression immediately sobered at his words. “That is why I came here this evening. I knew it would be the only occasion where I could safely speak with you. Despite repeatedly telling him we are not and have never been more than friends, George is still uncomfortable with our relationship.” She uttered a soft sigh. “But the truth is, without you none of this would have been possible. I am forever in your debt. You have been a true gentleman despite everything I’ve put you through. I acted in an utterly selfish manner, and I cannot blithely go on with my life with George without knowing whether I have ruined things between you and Miss Armstrong. But watching you tonight gave me some relief.”

  James blinked and his heart stuttered. What did she know about Missy? “I pray you will elucidate me on what you’re talking about?”

  She gave him a knowing look and an amused smile curled her lips. “My dear Lord Rutherford, don’t be coy. Are you not courting her? You have already danced twice with her this evening and your eyes practically devour her every move. But, rest assured,” she patted his arm lightly, “I was only able to recognize your reaction to Miss Armstrong because George is very much like you when it comes to hiding his emotions. Your interest is probably only obvious to those who know you more intimately.”

  James felt poleaxed. “I have no such feelings for Missy.” But even as he uttered the words, he knew he was lying. He had done the unthinkable and fallen in love just like his father. Now was he to follow in his father’s footsteps and let love lead him around by his nose—or more appropriately, by another part of his anatomy? Well, certainly not if he could help it, for he had no intention of letting on that he harbored such feelings.

  Lady Victoria tipped her head back, still wearing that amused, knowing smile. “I am quite certain that is exactly the same thing George convinced himself of before he went off to the Crimean peninsula.”

  James’s scowl only deepened.

  Missy should have been riddled with relief when her monthlies came especially given the promise she’d made to James at the Langley ball. Only she wasn’t as relieved as she should have been—would have wanted to be.

  On that morning, she’d sat on her canopied bed feeling a bottomless emptiness. No baby meant no life with James. It was only then she’d admitted to herself how she’d yearned for a living, breathing link to the man she loved. Would undoubtedly always love.

  That morning, though, had come and gone a week ago. Since then they had attended two more balls, one musicale, one opera and supper party. She’d known a whole week and had not said a word because she’d still been clinging to a dream.

  One whole week of pretense. Oh, they might have fooled the ton, but Missy could scarcely say things had progressed better in terms of their relationship than the day they’d made their pact.

  James acted the perfect gentleman in the presence of others. He smiled that roguish smile, charming even the ladies who were thought to be immune to the most handsome visages—which he could claim in abundance. Many times, even she’d succumbed to his feigned expressions of adoration and an attentiveness that had the ladies simmering with envy. And although she’d been loathe to admit it to herself, a secret part of her had desperately wanted to believe something there grew; that his behavior was more than an act worthy of a royal audience.

  But the moment they were alone, his mien changed. He kept her at a distance that put arm’s length to shame it was so vast. The smiles vanished quicker than bats in daylight, to be replaced by a straight severe line, and that grimness was reflected in the rest of his inscrutable features.

  She had been such a fool to give her heart to this man but now she was more than ready to wave the white flag. Men like James never changed. The only reason they married was to acquire an heir; a son to pass on their legacy. And now she knew she wouldn’t be the mother to that child, or for that matter, any child of his.

  For a week now, he had been appearing on the front door step to escort her on a leisurely sojourn through Hyde Park and today was no different. He was, as usual, unbearably polite but cool, and once they were both seated in the open carriage, his attention turned inward and he’d all but ignore her until they made the turn down Rotten Row, encountering a crush of carriages, horses, and ladies and gentlemen on foot. Only then would he make an attempt at idle conversation, which tended to be stilted at best.

  Today she would allow none of that. This pretense would come to an end this very day. She had lost. She was admitting defeat on the grandest scale. She surrendered.

  “I am not with child.” No preamble, just a flat, toneless declaration.

  His head snapped to her, his blue eyes flickering with an emotion—surprise, perhaps? He stared at her for what seemed an interminably long time, his eyes searching.

  “I imagine this comes as an enormous relief to you,” she continued, putting on a brave smile. “As I do not want to cause any more problems between you and Thomas, I will make it well understood that you still would like us to be married but it is I who am unwilling.”

  James just continued to stare at her with not one blink of an eye and not a twitch of a muscle. But his scrutiny grew more and more intense until she was forced to look away.

  Disappointment seared him like a newly sharpened sword. And it rendered him mute as he tried to find some counter argument he could rally that wouldn’t have him appear as desperate as he felt inside.

  Regardless of how this had all come about, he’d long since accepted that she’d be his wife. More than accepted, he now anticipated with a certain possessive relish. She will be mine. She would be the woman who would bear his children.

  Her family now believed they would marry—even Thomas appeared to have thawed, now not storming from the room when James entered. And the ton was eagerly anticipating an announcement before the end of
the Season, which was only days away. Yet at the present time, she looked the farthest thing from an eager bride. Quite the opposite, for he sensed a relief there, as if she truly didn’t want to marry him.

  Did not want to marry him?

  Missy?

  He wasn’t the type of man who went for all that boasting—he really had no need of it as others did the job for him well enough—but the simple fact was that as long as he’d known her, she’d wanted him. Worshipped and adored him. Loved him.

  Although there had always been the possibility they had not created a child after that one time, he’d somehow never envisioned it playing out like this. That she would be so keen to give him an out. He didn’t want an out. He loved her, but that was something she could never know. The knowledge would leave him crippled. Disadvantaged.

  When he finally broke the silence, his voice was raspy. “That will hardly appease your brother.” He cleared his throat.

  Missy shook her head, her expression impassive. “Don’t worry over much with Thomas. As I said, I will make certain he knows it is I who has denied you.” A smile tinged with sadness touched the corners of her cherry lips. “You did try to do the honorable thing.”

  He bit back a rather coarse reply about his damn honor that was being continuously flung in his face. He didn’t feel the least bit honorable, he felt adrift and empty.

  God, he needed to think. And he didn’t think well or with any great result with her near. Her proximity skewed everything in his, until recently, tidy life.

  “Then I guess there is nothing left to do but take you home.”

  Missy gave a brief nod before turning her attention to the lush landscape of Hyde Park. Not that she had expected him to utter even a token protest. No. She had known relief would reign paramount in his response. Then why could she not rid herself of the sense of disappointment stabbing at her already tender heart? She’d prepared herself for this. She’d accepted her love for him would remain forever unrequited, so his response—or lack thereof—should not have the power to hurt her. Nearly cripple her.