They met Lady Tyndale coming out of Spencer’s box, but Spencer didn’t even pause for her explanation of where she was going. He just dragged Abby inside and shut the box’s door in Lady Tyndale’s face.
Evelina glanced up as they entered. “There you are. We were wondering—”
“You and everyone else.” Spencer dropped Abby’s hand to pace the limited confines of the box. “If people would only mind their own business, the world would be a better place.”
When Evelina flinched at Spencer’s harsh tone, Abby hastened to reassure her. “Don’t mind Spencer—he’s not angry at you. We just overheard some unsettling gossip, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” He whirled on her with face alight. “Half the world thinks you’re my brother’s mistress, for God’s sake!”
Nothing how Evelina paled, Abby said quickly, “I think you disabused them of that notion by kissing me in the corridor.”
“You kissed her. Evelina sounded surprised.
“Yes, I kissed her. What of it? She’s my wife, isn’t she?” Spencer sucked in a shuddering breath, then stared at Abby, a frown carving his brow. “But I didn’t intend—Forgive me, Abby. I never meant to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me.” He’d shocked her, thrilled her, and turned her world upside down, yes. But he hadn’t embarrassed her. She hadn’t had time to be embarrassed before he’d hustled her back to the box like a madman.
“You’d think people would have better things to do than speculate about matters beyond their concern,” Spencer grumbled, though he seemed calmer.
Stepping up close, Abby lowered her voice. “I told you that this wouldn’t work. They’d be fools to believe that a viscount—”
“They’ll believe what I tell them to believe. And it’s time I tell them what that is.” He held out his hand. “Come, my dear, I will introduce you as my wife to everyone I see. That should put an end to this nasty gossip.”
Lady Tyndale entered, her face pale. “I wouldn’t go out there just now if I were you. I heard some ladies saying—”
“That Abby is Nat’s mistress?” he snapped. “Don’t believe a word of it.”
“Uh…no. Actually, they’re saying that she’s your mistress.” A dainty pink rose over the matron’s cheeks. “It seems that you…well…really, my lord, most men do not kiss their wives so…and in public, too.”
Apparently he understood the vague Lady Tyndale’s babbling, for he squeezed Abby’s hand in a crushing grip. “I am not ‘most men,’” he retorted. “I will kiss my wife wherever and however I please, and I do not appreciate having idiots speculate about her simply because I…got carried away.”
Lady Tyndale stiffened. “From what I understand, you did more than kiss your wife. And that would rouse comment no matter who you are.”
Remembering the heat of Spencer’s hand on her breast, Abby blushed furiously. No wonder they thought she was his mistress. Though that gave her an idea.
“Would you excuse us a moment?” she told Lady Tyndale and Evelina, then pulled Spencer aside and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Maybe you should just let everyone go on thinking I’m your mistress. Then when I leave, you won’t have to maintain the farce of an estranged wife, and everything would be easier.”
“For whom?” His eyes gleamed like polished steel. “My brother has taken enough from you—I will not have him take your reputation as well.”
“My reputation in England won’t matter once I return to America.”
“It matters to me now.” His eyes darkened. “I refuse to compound my brother’s crimes by letting society heap calumny on your head while you’re London.”
His staunch determination to protect her warmed her so thoroughly that all she could manage in response was a tremulous smile.
“Now come with me.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, he walked toward their companions, who were also whispering together. “I’ll make sure it’s understood that you’re my wife, even if I must introduce you to every person here.”
Evelina looked up. “Please don’t act so foolishly, Spence.”
He scowled at the young woman. “How I act is not your concern, Evelina.”
“No, but your wife is.” Her soft smile included Abby. “We’re soon to be sisters, and I shouldn’t like to see a sister maligned. Given what those gossips saw, I can’t believe you’d want to subject your wife to the vile comments they’ll undoubtedly make.”
A lump caught in Abby’s throat. The woman who had every reason to distrust her was championing her. Abby hated to repay her trust with deception, but what choice had Spencer left her?
Spencer went rigid beneath her hand. “They would not malign her to her face, not with me at her side. They know better.”
“Perhaps. But they might give her the cut direct before you can introduce her. Then you’ll have forced the issue and lost, because after snubbing her before their friends, they won’t easily turn around and support her.”
“You have a point,” Spencer admitted tersely.
“I’m not sure what the ‘cut direct’ is,” Abby put in, “but I’ve probably endured worse countless times.” Apparently even Spencer’s high station couldn’t save her from humiliation. She forced nonchalance into her voice. “Really, the two of you mustn’t worry. I have a thick skin.”
Spencer’s hot gaze searched her face. “Do you? I seem to recall a certain discussion in my garden that implied otherwise.” When she dropped her eyes from his, he added in a low voice, “I promised to spare you that. I’ll hold to my promise.”
He left her to head to the top of the box where he stood with his hands braced against the balcony rail. As he surveyed the bustling theater, his jaw tightened. The chandeliers were going up—any minute now the fifth act would begin.
Spencer let out a deep sigh. “Evelina, how do you suggest we solve this?”
Evelina started. “You’re asking me?”
Spencer turned from the rail with a tight smile. “Why not? Tonight you’ve shown you have a good head on your shoulders and an astute knowledge of London society.”
Evelina’s astonishment gave way to a pleased smile. Clearly Spencer had never asked for the young woman’s advice before. Given how he spoke of his family—and his family-to-be—that was no surprise.
“I think you should present her formally.” The fifth act began, so Evelina lowered her voice. “Mama is already having that ball tomorrow night to celebrate my betrothal. Why not make it a celebration of your marriage instead?”
“But Evelina,” Lady Tyndale protested with a scowl for Abby, “that ball is supposed to be for you and Nathaniel.”
“I know, but if Nathaniel is recuperating in…Essex, we can’t celebrate our engagement anyway. So we might as well use the ball to help Spence.”
Evelina’s hesitation before the word “Essex” gave Abby pause, but she didn’t dwell on it. She was too busy panicking over appearing at a ball tomorrow night. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t. My gowns won’t be finished and—”
“At least one of them will,” Spencer put in. “I already paid the dressmaker an ungodly sum to make sure one was ready right away.”
“But I’m not ready. I haven’t been to a ball in years.”
“You’ll be fine. Evelina is right—you should be formally introduced to society, the sooner the better. They can hardly claim you’re my mistress if Lady Tyndale holds a ball to celebrate our union.”
For heaven’s sake, this was getting out of hand. “Really, Spencer—” Abby began.
“Thank you, Evelina,” he said, ignoring Abby. “I told you that you have a good head on your shoulders. I couldn’t have devised a better way to handle this myself.”
“As for tonight,” Evelina said, “you should probably not stay until the play is over. After you’re gone, Mama and I will spread the news of your wedding and talk about the ball tomorrow night, just to prepare people. We’ll say you’re so much in love that you couldn’t re
strain yourselves and went home rather than embarrass anyone.” A smile lit her face. “It’s the truth, anyway, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” Spencer spoke the lie with perfect ease, curse him. Then he offered Abby his arm. “Come, my dear. I’m sorry you’ll have to miss the rest of the play, but we’ll attend another time.”
She hesitated, but arguing with him about the ball in front of Evelina and Lady Tyndale was pointless, since she’d have to watch every word she said.
So she took his arm, murmured her good-byes, and let him lead her out to the waiting carriage. She held her tongue only until they were situated inside and headed home. “Spencer, I can’t possibly be presented at a ball. I still have too much to learn about London society.”
“It’s not that different from American society.” Drawing the shade up, Spencer stared out into the London street. “You said your father had you tutored in social graces and such—you won’t need more than that. And if you do, just follow Evelina’s lead. She always behaves correctly.”
His praise of Evelina gave her pause. “She is very elegant, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And pretty, too,” she said with an edge in her voice.
“Quite pretty.” His gaze swung back to her. “But so are you.”
Just not pretty enough. “Yet you think I should emulate her.”
He looked annoyed. “Only if you’re confused on some matter of correct behavior. Otherwise, follow your own instincts.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t have any instincts here. America and England aren’t the same, no matter what you say. And I haven’t even been to a ball since before Papa became ill. The dances have surely changed, not to mention—”
“Abby?” he interrupted.
“What?”
“You do realize why I kissed you tonight, don’t you?”
All thoughts of balls and dances fled Abby’s mind. Dear heaven, she didn’t want to talk about their kiss. He’d ruin it. She’d rather hug to herself the knowledge that for a few fleeting moments he’d found her desirable enough to forget she wasn’t the sort of wife he wanted. “You kissed me to squelch the rumors about me and Nat.” Please let that end the discussion, she prayed.
No such luck. “So you understand that the kiss was all a sham.”
Anger burned up through her. How dared he try to take from her the one sliver of satisfaction she’d had since her arrival? “It was not all a sham. I know enough about men to know when they’re…feeling things for a woman.”
She thought she saw bleakness in the steel-gray eyes, but it must have been a trick of the street lamps, for when she looked again, he merely appeared annoyed.
“All right,” he said tersely, “I’ll admit I felt desire. But surely you know that a man can feel that physical urge for many women. I would have reacted the same if you had been any other beautiful woman pressed up against me.”
Curse him for that. Why couldn’t he have just left it alone? Unshed tears burned the back of her throat, but she’d never let them fall. She’d never let him know how much he’d hurt her. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.” She steadied her voice. “That’s true for women, too. I daresay I would have responded the same to any handsome man with a talent for kissing.”
She gained some satisfaction from the anger rising in his face. But her satisfaction was hollow, since his anger only stemmed from his foolish male pride and nothing else.
“I see,” he bit out. “Then we understand each other.”
“Yes, what a relief.” She tipped up her chin with a bold smile. “I may be naive, my lord, but I’m not entirely without experience of the opposite sex. I’ve been kissed a time or two.” What a complete lie. “I’m well aware that men often kiss women without meaning anything by it.”
“Good. So long as you understand.”
He actually sounded irritated. No, she must have imagined it. Why should Spencer be irritated? As usual, he was getting everything he wanted.
Including her attendance at a ball, since clearly the arrogant scoundrel would drag her there no matter what she said. Fine, let him drag her. She’d hold her head high as she fumbled her way through it. And if it turned into a disaster and she embarrassed him before all his friends, so much the better. Let him suffer some humiliation for a change.
Chapter 8
The prudent servant heeds his employer’s commands even when they are wrongheaded, shortsighted, or utterly foolish.
Suggestions for the Stoic Servant
Spencer had spent the entire morning in the office of Sir Robert Peel, the new home secretary. He’d spent the afternoon in his own, dealing with urgent matters of state. So shortly after sundown he was relieved to see his friend and subordinate, Morgan Blakely, enter. He could use a diversion right now, and Blakely always provided one.
Unfortunately, this evening’s diversion was far from diverting.
Blakely dropped a folded newspaper onto Spencer’s desk and stabbed his finger at a headline—Viscount Marries Exotic American Beauty. “I can’t believe I have to hear about this from Lady Brumley’s column,” Blakely said, though his eyes twinkled. “You old slyboots, how dare you get leg-shackled without telling your friends?”
Spencer waved Blakely to a chair as he scanned Lady Brumley’s account. Though the Galleon of Gossip had dedicated the entire column to news of his marriage, she wisely hadn’t mentioned her suspicions about Nat.
But she’d vastly exaggerated his and Abby’s romantic connection. Spencer winced as he lifted his gaze to Blakely. How much of the truth should he reveal? All of it? Could he trust Blakely’s discretion?
His friend sat back with an expectant smile. “Spill everything, mon ami. Clara sent me to ferret out the details, and she won’t be satisfied with less than the entire story, from first meeting to wedding.”
Spencer frowned. “You should tell your nosy wife to mind her own business.”
“I already did. She ignored me as usual. She figures you owe us inside information after how you threw us together three years ago.”
“I was under the impression you were both happy about the marriage that resulted from my machinations. Is the bloom finally off the rose?”
“Hardly.” Blakely grinned smugly as he folded his hands over his belly. “Clara is enceinte again.”
“Ah.” Spencer managed a smile through his sudden stab of envy. “Then congratulations are in order. And do tell your wife how much I admire her willingness to bear children to a rascal like you.”
Amazing how calm he sounded. That came of years saying whatever the situation warranted, regardless of his feelings. Not that his congratulations weren’t genuine. But he couldn’t help his resentment—this would be Blakely’s second child, no doubt one of many. Some men led charmed lives.
Which reminded him…“Sir Robert said to tell you that testing is complete on your brother’s pistol design. Let Templemore know that the Home Office intends to have pistols made to it for all the officers.”
“That should please him,” Blakely said. “He’s inordinately proud of his designs.” He shook his head. “Though I think these days he’s even more proud of his burgeoning family. Juliet is enceinte again, too—can you believe it?”
Devil take the man, he seemed determined to stay on the subject of children. “I’m sure it was bound to happen given the way those two go on. Now about those pistols—”
“And since you’ve finally gotten around to acquiring a wife,” Blakely cut in with a conspiratorial wink. “I suppose we’ll be hearing a similar announcement about impending children from you before long.”
The blow came too suddenly for Spencer to prepare himself, and the subsequent pain that lanced his chest knocked the breath from him. He hadn’t even considered that people would expect him and Abby to be thinking about children.
But of course people were expecting that. He was getting on in years. Most men of his rank and wealth took wives for precisely that reason—to bear their
heirs.
Some of his distress must have shown in his face, for Blakely frowned. “Sorry, old boy, I forgot that you don’t much like children.”
“It’s not that.” His farce of a marriage was suddenly too painful to endure. Perhaps he should tell Blakely the truth. He trusted the man with his life. Besides, Blakely already knew about the subterfuge with Nat. Spencer had sent word to him about it the first night of Nat’s defection so that Blakely could handle the magistrate. He might as well hear the rest. “Actually, ours is not that sort of marriage.”
Blakely’s smile faded. “What sort do you mean?”
“It’s not a love match, despite what Lady Brumley wrote. It’s not really a match at all.”
Spencer told Blakely the entire sordid tale, leaving nothing out except why he dared not make the marriage a real one. And he certainly didn’t mention his persistent physical attraction to Abby. That was merely the normal reaction of a man who’d been without a mistress for too long. Yes, surely that’s all it was.
“Thankfully,” he finished, “Miss Mercer has agreed to play my wife until I can find Nat. It’s very good of her, considering that Nat stole her dowry. And that I’m blackmailing her into it.”
“It’s not blackmail when she’ll come out of the scheme twice as rich as before.” A frown touched Blakely’s brow. “Take care, my friend—hasn’t it occurred to you that you have only her word about the dowry?”
He bristled at Blakely’s implication. “Apparently you were a spy longer than was good for you. Not everyone is sly and deceitful.”
“Apparently you were not a spy long enough. How do you know she’s not some fortune hunter seizing this opportunity to become a wealthy viscount’s wife? Or even cheat you out of five thousand pounds?”
“She wouldn’t. It’s not in her character, trust me.”
Blakely looked unconvinced.
Spencer planted his elbows on his desk. “You’ll meet her tonight. After that, if you can still tell me she’d use deception to gain a man in marriage or steal what doesn’t belong to her, I’ll eat my hat.”
Married to the Viscount Page 10