by Sara Ramsey
He wasn’t a gentleman. But he’d done everything he could to make himself look like one.
He couldn’t change his face, though. When she looked up to meet his eyes again, the look there couldn’t be described as gentlemanly at all.
And her stupid Briarley heart beat faster.
“So, you would help me to become Lord Maidenstone,” he finally said. “What do you get in return?”
“If you’re the earl, I would be a countess. And I would get to keep Maidenstone.”
“You’d have to share it with me. Do you really want that?”
“The only way I can have it is to marry. I might as well share it with you. We could even arrange it so that I remained here while you stayed in London at Briarley House — have you seen it? It’s quite lovely.”
A shadow passed over his face. “My father often had business there while I was a child. Can’t say I ever expected to live there, despite the stories he told me.”
“Then you know that it’s quite large and well-situated. Once the marriage is arranged and the inheritance settled, we needn’t interfere with each other at all.”
“It would take ten Briarley Houses to equal the size of Maidenstone.”
“But you can’t run your shop very effectively from Devonshire, can you?”
Vale frowned. “When I’m the earl, I won’t have a shop.”
“When you’re the earl, you can do whatever you please. But I would prefer to arrange our lives so that we may have separate spheres.”
“You’re ashamed to be seen with me.”
His voice was mild, but she sensed that his agreement depended on her giving him the correct answer. She shook her head quickly. “Shame isn’t what makes me suggest separate spheres — merely that I have no desire to live in London, and you surely don’t want to live in the country. If we happen to be in the same place, I have no objection to appearing together in public.”
“Rather hard to do one’s wifely duties if you’re in Devonshire and I’m in London.”
She pretended that the way he drawled his words didn’t make her heart speed up. She hadn’t expected him to care about that, at least from her. Beyond the need for an heir, she wouldn’t have expected him to want anything of that nature from her at all.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone else to warm your bed when I’m away. That’s the way of it with most marriages, isn’t it?”
“Not any marriage I’ve imagined,” he said.
“Most aristocratic marriages,” she amended. “You’ll grow accustomed to it, once you’ve had time to learn our ways.”
His frown said she’d miscalculated. He reached for the decanter, but then dropped his hand as though he’d thought better of it. “You’re a damnably confusing woman, Miss Briarley. Not that I should use such language around you.”
“And you’re a bloody liar, at least about your inheritance,” she said, her voice as pleasant as if she were discussing the weather. “Language is the least of our concerns, isn’t it?”
“If you believe me to be a fraud, why would you want to marry me?”
She shrugged. “You’re not all that ugly. I could do worse.”
She meant it as a jest, but his frown deepened. “That makes no sense. You’re an heiress. You can do much better than someone whom you believe to be a charlatan.”
Lucy had already had her fill of charlatans with Chapman. And she’d hoped — more than she cared to admit — that if she ever fell in love again, it would be with a decent man. The kind of man who asked her opinion, and offered her help, and cared about something more than bedding her.
Vale had listened to his sister’s opinion. He acted like he had come to Maidenstone for her sake, not for his. He might have been lying about everything else, but those moments had rung true. Lucy could do worse than a man who cared about his sister’s feelings.
Still, a man who lied about being the heir wasn’t the ideal choice for security — far from it. But knowing that he was a charlatan was far better than assuming the best in a man — and falling in love with him — only to find he was something else entirely. By knowing what he was, she could manage him accordingly.
She couldn’t act too desperate, though.
“If you don’t want to marry me, I’ll leave,” she said. “But if you don’t want my help, I shall do everything within my power to prove that you’re not the heir. I will spend the rest of my life at Maidenstone, one way or another. So I strongly suggest that you marry me. Otherwise, it won’t be Ferguson who’s eager to see you swinging from a noose.”
He stared at her. “People frequently underestimate you, don’t they?”
“If you really were a Briarley, you’d know that we’ll do anything for this place. Marry me or hang — take your pick.”
He set his glass aside and adjusted his cravat, as though his neck had started to itch from a phantom rope.
And then he took a step toward her.
Lucy held her ground. But that meant she had to tilt her chin up as he got closer, and then closer still. She was only four inches over five feet, and he must have been at least six feet — tall enough that he should have felt threatening when he stood so near.
But it wasn’t his height that felt threatening. It was the determined look in his eyes — as though, now that he’d made his choice, he was the one in command.
He dropped to one knee.
“Miss Briarley — Lucretia, is it?”
“I prefer Lucy,” she said.
“Lucy,” he said. He took both her hands within his, enveloping her in warmth — and making her realize, dizzyingly, that she hadn’t merely miscalculated.
She had no bloody clue what he would do.
He smiled up at her as though entirely at ease. “My dear Lucy. My life hasn’t been the same since I first saw you, and I find I cannot continue to live safely without you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”
The proposal was honest to a fault. And, in some ways, it made her sad. How would it have felt if he had proposed because he loved her, and not because she’d threatened him into it?
“Mr. Vale…Maximus….”
“Max,” he said. “From now onward, I’m just Max.”
There was a quirk to his lips that said this was entirely too amusing — but his eyes were steady. His hands were firm, supportive but unyielding.
“You don’t have to propose on bended knee,” she said.
“Humor me. I’d intended to marry for love someday. You think I’ll be an aristocrat who seeks pleasure wherever he can find it — and maybe that will be true, once I’ve been an earl for a decade or two. But in the meantime, I cannot fathom agreeing to marry a woman without asking her to become my bride.”
She suddenly felt that there was something she had misunderstood. “You…you don’t intend to pretend this is a love match, do you?”
“I met you three hours ago,” he said pointedly. “I know nothing about you other than that you’re insane enough, or daring enough, to propose marriage to me.”
“As are you,” she said.
“As am I,” Max agreed. He stood, but he didn’t let go of her hands. “We’re both likely insane. If we succeed, we’ll be an earl and a countess, with the risk of having the unhappiest marriage in England. If we fail, we may still be married, but without an estate or anything else, and you’ll be a shopkeeper’s wife.”
“It won’t come to that. My dowry is big enough that I can live comfortably somewhere, even if you want to stay in London and manage your shop.”
He raised an eyebrow, only briefly, but it was enough to make her regret mentioning her dowry. But then he squeezed her hands. “Don’t say you’re thinking of abandoning me already.”
“No. If I take a vow, I’ll keep it.”
“I would offer you a ring, but I didn’t bring one,” he said. “This was entirely outside of my plan.”
Lucy laughed. “We can find a ring around here somewhere.”
He shook his h
ead. “I’m not here for the Briarley jewels. If you’re going to wear my ring, I want to choose one for you myself. But perhaps we should wait to announce our engagement for a few days anyway.”
She’d already had a “secret engagement” once — with a man who had never intended to marry her and had used the engagement to lure her into his bed. She narrowed her eyes involuntarily. “Are you as ashamed to be seen with me as you accused me of being?”
His eyes widened, and she saw regret there. “That’s not it at all, Miss Briarley.”
“Lucy,” she reminded him.
“Lucy,” he repeated. “I’m sure I could never be ashamed of you. But you don’t know me. And, frankly, I don’t know you. We might sleep on our decision for at least a night before announcing it. As long as it’s secret, no harm will come to either of us if you decide to cry off.”
He was right, of course. But Lucy had made a plan, and she always stuck with her plans. “I will not cry off.”
“Still. Let’s see what Ferguson says in the morning before we announce anything. I don’t want to hurt you.”
His voice sounded sincere. His hands were still steady as they held hers.
But it suddenly felt like she was making a mistake.
She pulled her hands away and took a step back. “I should go. Wouldn’t want to be caught here if you aren’t interested in marrying me.”
He closed the distance that she’d created. “Give me the chance to get to know you better. Give yourself a chance to get to know me better. You may wake up in the morning and regret that you ever thought of throwing your life away with a man from the East End.”
“And if we both realize that this is the best plan? Will you agree to make an announcement?”
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she saw unshakeable resolve — and some brief, fleeting shadow of remorse.
“I would be honored to marry you, if that’s what’s in the cards. But we shouldn’t say anything until we both agree.”
It wasn’t close enough to a promise for her tastes. But she held out her hand, like they had made a gentleman’s agreement. “I accept your terms, Mr. Vale.”
He looked down at her hand. He took it — but not as a man would shake another’s hand. He wove his fingers through hers, and suddenly everything was warm again despite her doubt.
“You don’t seal an agreement like this with a handshake,” he murmured. “And since I don’t have a ring to give you….”
She realized that she was holding her breath. But there was no time to breathe as he leaned down and kissed her.
His lips were firm, sure. His kiss was as confident as he was — he wasn’t in a rush. He lingered. He explored. His other hand moved to her back, gathering her closer as he deepened the kiss.
Her lips parted. It all felt right, even though it was so very wrong. Even though he was a liar. Even though he’d asked for a secret engagement.
She pulled back. She’d been here before.
She removed her fingers from his grip like she was escaping a prison, not giving up an unexpected pleasure. “We’ll find a ring tomorrow, if it spares me from this method of sealing an agreement,” she said.
It was a shockingly rude thing to say. But his smile was too smug to care. “Someday I’ll teach you not to be so proper.”
She almost laughed. If he only knew how improper she could be….
But she left instead, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. He hadn’t completely agreed to an engagement — but that kiss told her that he could be convinced.
Whether it was a good idea to convince him was another matter entirely.
Chapter Six
“You’re engaged?” Titus asked the next morning.
Then he laughed.
And kept laughing.
Max gritted his teeth. He’d waited to tell Titus until they were far enough away from Maidenstone that no one would hear Titus’s reaction. If Max really were Titus’s employer, he would have fired the groom for such inappropriate excitement.
He should fire him anyway. “Are you done yet?”
Titus reined in his horse. He held his gelding at a standstill as he took a few deep breaths and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m done. But you’re engaged. To a lady.”
He started laughing again.
Max sighed. It was far too early for fashionable gentlemen to be out of bed. But they kept country hours at Maidenstone. And anyway, Max had never grown accustomed to the luxury of sleeping late. He couldn’t laze about in bed — he had work to do.
That work involved getting Titus’s impressions of the servants before Max had to make an appearance in front of the other guests. But if Titus wouldn’t stop laughing, it would be hard to get his opinion.
“I don’t intend to marry her,” Max said.
That cut Titus off short. “Why wouldn’t you? She’s got a dowry or something, don’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then we can take that,” Titus pointed out.
“I can’t marry her and run away with her dowry. I still have some ethics. And she’s made it clear that she never wants to leave Maidenstone. Hard to run off to the Caribbean or New Orleans with a wife who won’t go.”
“Once she’s your wife, she’ll go where you tell her to.”
Max shook his head. “Lucy doesn’t strike me as the most biddable sort.”
“So it’s Lucy now?” Titus said shrewdly. “You’ve made quick work of her, Max. How in the devil did you seduce her this quickly? And why did you change the plan?”
“I didn’t seduce her,” Max said.
But it had been a near thing. He usually had no problem keeping his work separate from his other affairs. Lucretia Briarley should have been no different. But there was something about how forthright she was, and how courageously she came to him, and how determined she was to win Maidenstone….
She intrigued him. And it didn’t hurt that she was lovely, with enough warmth in her gaze to light a fire in him. She never would have looked twice at a man like him in London. But last night, she’d seemed incapable of looking away.
And their kiss hadn’t been nearly long enough for his tastes. He’d wanted to pull her back into his arms and see which woman she really was: the cool, proper lady who had greeted him in the receiving room or the daring woman who was willing to bargain life, body, and soul in order to win Maidenstone.
Lucy was a powerful temptation.
And he was a fool to spend even a moment longer than he needed to in her company.
Titus looked skeptical. “Your face says you thought about seducing her.”
“Our engagement wasn’t based on that. It’s a business deal. And she’s the one who offered it.”
He filled Titus in on the main details — that Lucy would help Max prove that he was the Earl of Maidenstone, in exchange for him marrying her and letting her stay at Maidenstone Abbey. When he was done, Titus gave a low whistle.
“You came to steal jewels, but you might steal a whole house. Two houses. And an earldom.” Titus gave the lowest bow possible while seated on a horse. “You are the best thief who’s ever lived.”
They were in a meadow on the edge of Maidenstone Wood, and Max hadn’t seen anyone nearby, but he still shushed his brother. “That’s still not the plan. We’re going to take whatever we can carry and leave on schedule, as we agreed.”
Titus’s face was too expressive for subterfuge — it was part of why he was playing a groom. And the expression now said that he thought Max had gone completely off his head.
“No one ever has the opportunity to steal a bloody earldom. You have to.”
Max shook his head. “There will be no stealing the earldom once the Duke of Rothwell investigates our papers. Your forgeries are good….”
“My forgeries are masterful,” Titus interjected.
“Masterful,” Max amended. “But they’re still forgeries. And I won’t see you executed for them because I got too greedy. We’ll s
teal the jewels, leave before we’re caught, and be satisfied with that.”
“But this Lucy…she wants to help you? Why would she do that?”
That question had kept Max up the night before, staring into the dark bedchamber of a man whose property he intended to steal. Lucy was well-born, well-bred, and quite capable of marrying well. She didn’t need a man like Max — at least, not for any of the reasons she’d given him.
If he were any more besotted, he might have convinced himself that she wanted him. But he wasn’t a fool. And even if he was a fool, his siblings’ lives were at stake — he couldn’t make the wrong decision just because Lucretia Briarley asked him to.
“I have no idea why she would help me,” he said. “Which is another reason why I can’t actually marry her. There has to be some trick to what she’s proposing.”
“But the aristocrats have rules,” Titus pointed out. “If you jilt her, isn’t that a problem?”
“I told her we should keep our arrangement a secret for a few days, in case she changes her mind.”
“And if someone finds out about the engagement? What will you do then?”
Max shrugged. His uneasiness seemed to disturb his horse — the beast shuffled sideways, making gentle huffing sounds. Max knew how to ride, but it wasn’t his favorite activity. There weren’t many opportunities to ride prime horseflesh as a boy on the streets, unless one worked as a groom. And Max had wanted to shovel manure less than he had wanted to ride a horse, so that had left him without a lot of experience in the saddle.
Titus, however, had worked as a stableboy for several years before being discovered by the man who mentored him in forgeries — and before Max had found him again. He sat easily in the saddle, eyeing Max’s form critically. “You need more practice if you’re going to be the earl,” Titus said. “It’s all fox hunts and races to Newmarket.”
“I’m not going to be the earl,” Max said sharply. “Lucy is not going to be my countess. That’s the end of the discussion.”