“Oh, really?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then this explanation of your had better be very, very good.”
Chapter 4
If an American should visit your employer, do not expect him to behave like the average Englishman. Americans are a breed unto themselves and must be treated with caution.
Suggestions for the Stoic Servant
The morning after the dinner fiasco, Spencer sat at the breakfast table, waiting for the servants to fetch Miss Mercer. The Times sat at his elbow, his coffee was hot and strong, and his buttered eggs were perfectly cooked, yet all he could think of was that bloody female and how she might react to the proposition he meant to put to her this morning.
Surely she would be relieved to have her financial situation so well settled. Then again, the woman was not like an Englishwoman. She had a decided streak of American independence in her.
But he’d considered every other way out of their current predicament, and nothing else sufficed. Evelina had already jumped to strange conclusions. Soon others would, too. So he must act quickly to avoid a scandal.
Whatever happened, the truth must not come out. It would harm too many people—Evelina, her mother, Miss Mercer, him. Nat, too, of course, but at present Spencer didn’t much care what that rascal suffered. Especially since the idiot had vanished, leaving Spencer to pick up the pieces.
Fortunately, Spencer excelled at that. And his solution to this dilemma was eminently workable.
So it was a pity that he hated it. He could only hope she didn’t hate it, too.
McFee entered the breakfast room, his composure ruffled for a change. Worst of all, he was alone.
“Well?” Spencer demanded. “Where’s Miss Mercer?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but…you see…we don’t know where she is.”
A kernel of unease sprouted in Spencer’s gut. “What do you mean—you don’t know?”
“The lady is not in her chambers. And that harridan she calls a servant will not say where she’s gone or even if she’s gone.”
He rose from his seat. “But you’re sure she’s not in the house. You’ve checked all the rooms, searched the kitchens, looked in the street.”
“The search is currently under way, my lord. I merely thought I should inform you that we are having trouble locating her.”
Devil take it, now what? Surely Miss Mercer wasn’t the sort to strike out on her own to look for his brother. And even if she did, would she leave her servant behind? He thought it unlikely.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” McFee went on, “American women are a great deal more independent than Englishwomen. Perhaps she went for a morning walk.”
“Alone, in the streets of a city she doesn’t even know? She better not have done such an idiot thing. I won’t have it.” Refusing to wait for his staff to find her, he strode for the doorway, only to be nearly knocked over when a footman rushed in.
“We found her!” the young man cried, then paled when he saw his master. “Begging your pardon, my lord. We…um…found your guest. She’s in the garden.”
Of course. Where else would a wild American rose go? “Thank you,” he said as he hurried off in that direction. Now he felt foolish for worrying. But the thought of Miss Mercer wandering London alone with no money…
He was being absurd. She’d never do such a silly thing. She might be naive and overly optimistic about life’s prospects, but she wasn’t an idiot.
Thank God. Because if she accepted his proposition, the two of them would be in each other’s pockets for some weeks, and he couldn’t tolerate stupidity.
When he strode out into the garden, he didn’t see her at first. He’d paid a great deal of money for the luxury of gardens that were more substantial than those of the average London house. But as he stalked the pebble paths, glancing under trees and down pleasure walks, he was startled to come upon her where he least expected—in the portion of the garden reserved for the kitchen.
Bonnetless and still clothed in that ghastly black, she bent over a patch of greenery, tenderly moving stalks of plants aside in a methodical manner. Sunlight glinted off her jet hair, and her cheeks looked as satiny pink as rose petals, but it was her uptilted derriere that most tempted him. He had to tamp down a violent urge to lift her skirts and see if her other cheeks were as soft and pink as rose petals.
“What the devil are you doing?” he snapped, annoyed at the effect she always had on him.
When she looked up and saw him there, she straightened, a smile breaking over her face. “I’m looking for rosemary.”
“Who’s Rosemary?”
She chuckled. “It’s a plant, my lord. You know—like thyme and borage?”
“Ah, yes. A plant. And why are you looking for a plant in my gardens at this time of the morning, pray tell?”
Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Where would you suggest I look for a plant? Maybe in your study? Or your dining room? Though I suppose—”
“Miss Mercer,” he said sternly, “you know what I meant.”
He regretted his sharp words when the light died in her face. “Yes.” She brushed dirt off her gloved hands, her tone turning practical. “I need rosemary for the Mead. My personal vial of it went missing last night after you used it on me. I have only one other bottle, so I need to mix up some more. I brought all the ingredients for it with me, but the rosemary is best if it’s fresh, so I decided to see if your kitchen garden had some.”
“And you didn’t think to ask one of the servants?”
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me talking to the servants. So I figured I’d find the rosemary myself and avoid bothering them.”
He couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’d have been better off talking to them, considering that they’ve been searching for you for the past half hour.”
A tiny frown graced her eloquent brow. “Whyever for?”
“Because I wanted to speak with you.” He gestured to the garden path. “Come, walk with me. After we’ve had our discussion, I’ll tell Cook to get you all the rosemary you require. All right?”
Removing her soiled gloves, she stuffed them into one apron pocket. “As long as you don’t mind if I eat breakfast while we talk.”
“Breakfast?”
She drew a pear out of her other apron pocket and brandished it before him. “I stole this from your breakfast room. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. You’re my guest, and hosts generally do feed their guests, you know.”
Her natural ebullience returning, she flashed him an impish smile. “Even when their guests have landed them in a most delicate predicament?”
“Especially then. Well-fed guests make less trouble.”
Biting into the pear, she walked off down the path. “Do you get a lot of guests trying to make trouble for you?”
He followed beside her. None as fetching as you. “Not recently. And about our particular trouble—”
“Before you say any more, let me assure you that I’m not going to fight you over dissolving a clearly nonexistent marriage. I want nothing from you but the money your brother took.” She stopped to pluck a lilac from the shrubs lining the path, then tucked it behind her ear. “You don’t have to pay it all right away, but if you could give me a little now, I can wait for the rest until you find your brother.”
Giving her money and watching her trot off God knew where was not in his plan. But he was curious to know what was in hers. “And what will you do with the money?”
“Why, I’ll produce the Mead, of course, and sell it.” Lifting the pear, she bit into it again with such gusto that his pulse quickened at the sight. By God, she was a piece of work—fearless and impetuous and so bloody American she fairly glowed with it.
He forced himself to ignore her winsome charms. “So you mean to take over your father’s business.”
“Oh, no, I can’t.” She cast him an arch look. “Technically, you’re still my husband, so my half belongs
to you. All the papers have your name on them.”
“What papers?”
“The ones Nathaniel has, of course, that deal with the business. He took them for you to ‘review.’”
One more little surprise, courtesy of his brother. “Nat certainly thought of everything, didn’t he?”
“It seems that way. Lying must not be the only thing that runs in your family.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He gritted his teeth. “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with this…this fraud.”
She sighed. “I suppose not. But you’re both profiting from it. He gained my dowry and now you own half my father’s business. With your brother owning the other half.”
“I don’t want your father’s business, I assure you. I’ll happily sign it back over to you when I get my hands on the papers.”
One of her dark eyebrows lifted a fraction. “And when will that be?”
“I don’t know.” Staring at the not yet blooming rose bushes lining the garden walls, he thought how sad they looked compared to wild ones. “I sent two of my most discreet investigators out looking for Nat, and what they learned was little help. Except to confirm that he did have somebody at the docks.” Spencer began walking again. “They questioned the lad, but he knew only that he’d been paid to watch for your ship and send a message here. He had no idea where Nat might have gone.”
Abby kept pace easily with him despite his longer strides. “You don’t think anything horrible happened to him, do you?”
Her concern for the rascal after how he’d treated her amazed Spencer. “No. More and more it appears that he left town, taking your dowry and those papers with him. Apparently he grew tired of frittering away his own allowance and has started working on your money.”
When she halted abruptly, he did, too. She looked ashen-faced, holding her half-eaten pear poised in the air.
He eyed her in alarm. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”
She shook herself, then dropped her hand to her side. “I-I…no, of course not. I don’t usually faint, you know. It was just the tight corset, that’s all.”
“Right,” he murmured, though he stayed close all the same. “My men will find him, I assure you. But it may take some time.”
“Enough time for him to spend all my money.” She stared up at him accusingly. “You can’t possibly expect me to wait here penniless until he’s found.”
“You can’t gain the business free and clear until we find him.”
“I don’t need it free and clear,” she protested. “Just advance me enough to pay for my return to America, simple lodgings, and a few supplies. Then I’ll produce the Mead myself. I’ll call it…Miss Mercer’s Medicinal Mead or something.”
“There’s more to running a business than producing the product.”
“I’m not an idiot, my lord. I realize it won’t be easy. But I knew many of Papa’s customers and all of his suppliers of ingredients. Though it might take me a while to get things going again, I’m sure I can manage.” With an air of defiance, she lifted her pear again and bit into it.
“Running a business is difficult even for a man, much less a woman. How do you know your father’s business associates will deal with you? They might decide that Miss Mercer’s Medicinal Mead can’t possibly be as effective. They’ll wonder why you changed its name. They might even assume—and rightly so—that your father didn’t support your efforts.”
She thrust out her chin. “I’ll convince them they’re wrong. I’ll explain what happened and win them over. I don’t see why I can’t.”
When she wiped pear juice from her lush lips with her bare fingers, the blood beat savagely in his temples…and lower. He cursed his uncontrolled reaction. Time to stop dallying, before he changed his mind. “I have a better suggestion.” He gestured to a nearby bench. “Come, let’s sit a moment.”
A decidedly suspicious expression crossed her face, but she did as he asked.
He sat down beside her. “What if I offered to give you double the money Nat stole?”
“Why?” She arched one pretty brow. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”
“I’m afraid not. I’d want something in exchange.” When she looked stricken, he realized what she must think. Hastily he added, “I’d want you to continue here in London as my wife. At least for a while.”
“But I’m not your wife. Not legally or morally. Those papers are a farce. And since you didn’t authorize them—”
“Unfortunately, no one knows that. Several people, including a very persistent writer of gossip for the papers, have already heard you or your servant claim that you’re my wife. To deny it would mean either inventing another reason for your claim—and I haven’t found a plausible one—or telling the truth.”
“Then tell the truth,” she snapped.
“It’s out of the question. It would embroil my brother in a scandal that would tarnish not only him but his fiancée and her family. Not to mention ruin my own reputation. I can’t risk that. Besides, severing the marriage legally would require a trip to America, which I can’t make while Parliament is in session. It would also require countless meetings with solicitors, one whiff of which would also cause a scandal.”
“For a man who generally does as he pleases, you seem overly concerned about causing ‘a scandal,’” she said, mimicking his accent with amazing accuracy.
He wasn’t amused. “I told you, the government is in great turmoil. The home secretary recently resigned when people protested certain actions he’d taken.” Actions Spencer had rightfully opposed. “The new home secretary has everyone behind him, but a scandal involving his undersecretary and the defrauding of an American innocent would surely change that. I cannot risk it.”
She regarded him with surprise. “You’re so devoted to your country that you’d remain married to a woman you don’t want?”
“I’m not suggesting we continue this state of affairs forever. What I require is a temporary pretend marriage. You remain here as my wife while I locate my brother. Then you can go to my estate until Parliament is no longer in session and I’m free to leave England. We’ll tell everyone we’re returning to your home to settle your late father’s affairs. While in America, we’ll legally dissolve the marriage, and we’ll be free again.”
“Aren’t you worried about that causing a scandal?”
He shrugged. “It’s not as if anyone here would find out about a discreet legal maneuver taking place in America.”
“But how will you explain when you return here without your wife?”
“I’ll say you were so happy to be home that you chose to stay. You’ll be my estranged wife. It’s more common than you think and less likely to cause comment.”
“I guess so,” she said archly. “After being astonished by your marrying a vulgar American, your friends won’t be surprised when you want to get rid of her.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “You can wax on at dinner parties about how happy you are to have your highly unsuitable wife out of your hair.”
“I’d never say anything of the sort. And if I found you so unsuitable, why in God’s name would I suggest maintaining the marriage at all, even temporarily?”
“Because you have no choice. Apparently you prefer the scandal of having a common American wife to the scandal of having a thief and a fraud for a brother. Especially when the wife can be disposed of once she’s outlived her usefulness.”
The bloody wench insisted on viewing this as something that helped only him. “You’ll benefit from this arrangement, too. When it’s over, you’ll own your father’s businesswhich I might point out was never possible before—and have plenty of money to run it. And you’ll still be able to marry. I don’t know why you’re complaining.”
Her anger faded to sadness. “No, I guess you don’t.” Biting off more pear, she chewed it mechanically, her eyes staring blindly ahead. “Let me see if I understa
nd you correctly—after our ‘marriage’ is severed, I’ll be free. But you’ll be married, at least in society’s eyes.”
“Exactly.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
He could reveal that he never planned to marry, but then she’d plague him with questions he still refused to answer. Or worse, she might regard his determination never to marry as a challenge.
No, better to stick to his story about his busy career. Surely not even Abby would attempt to entice a man into continuing a marriage that might damage his future.
“But eventually you’ll want to marry,” she said, tossing her pear core into the daisies behind them. “What then?”
He thought fast. “I’ll tell everyone that you died. Who would know?”
“They could find out easily enough.”
“You let me worry about that. Since there’s no prospective Lady Ravenswood on the horizon at the moment, my first concern is to squelch all scandal.”
“By having me pretend to be your wife.”
“Yes.”
A hint of mischief touched her face. “Ah, but how will you fit even a pretend wife into your busy schedule?”
He shot her a quelling glance. “A pretend wife will not harangue me into dropping my activities to entertain her. A pretend wife will not divide my attentions from my work. A pretend wife will not turn my household upside-down in order to make it her own.”
“In other words, a pretend wife will be entirely under your control,” she said dryly. “What an appealing prospect for me.”
He bristled. “Will you do it or not? It’s a better prospect for you than any other.”
She pondered that a moment, with her face turned east like a bloom seeking the sun. Why must she look so perfectly at home in his garden, among the chirping lapwings and blossoming lilacs? It made him want—
“This pretend marriage of convenience,” she said. “What will it involve?”
“I won’t expect you to share my bed, if that’s what worries you,” he retorted bluntly, half for her benefit, half for his.
Married to the Viscount Page 6