Gayle Buck (22 page)

“As charming as you appear, dear lady, perhaps it would be best if you tidied your appearance,” he said insultingly.

Mary felt heat rush into her face. With trembling fingers she swiftly did up her pelisse and smoothed her clothing. She felt battered and bruised and thoroughly frightened. “Where-where have you taken me?”

Sir Nigel laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Gather your packages, Lady St. John. I shouldn’t think that you wish to leave them on this filthy floor.”

Mary shot him a scorching glance before bending to retrieve the tied packages.

The hackney stopped and Sir Nigel opened the door. He jumped down and then turned to offer his hand to her.

Mary ignored his hand, preferring to descend under her own power even though one arm was full of her purchases. When she was safely on the pavement, she glanced around for familiar markers. Then she stood rooted to the spot.

She was standing outside her own town house.

The door had opened and Mr. Underwood emerged onto the top step. He gave a visible start upon seeing Lady St. John standing so cozily with a gentlemen known to him to hold the viscount in intense dislike. In that unguarded moment his expression was very plainly read and Mary knew that what had happened in the hackney would not end there on the sidewalk.

She turned a stricken gaze onto Sir Nigel. “What have you done?” she whispered.

He smiled down at her. “Why, I have but escorted you home, Lady St. John.”

For the first time in her life, uncontrollable fury coursed through Mary. She drew back her hand and slapped Sir Nigel full across the face. Then without a second glance she trod up the steps and swept past the stupefied Mr. Underwood.

She had given her packages to a footman and was removing her bonnet when Mr. Underwood appeared beside her. He took her elbow and waved away the footman. “My lady, I’d be grateful for a word with you,” he said, leading her into the drawing room.

Mr. Underwood closed the door, then turned to regard the viscountess. There was a grim look in his eyes. “What happened with Sir Nigel, my lady?”

Mary bit her lip. Her face was burning with embarrassment. She knew from Mr. Underwood’s slightly accusing tone that she could not sidestep the question, as much as she would like to do so. She sank down on the settee dejectedly. “I had gone to visit my father. When I left there, I went to the shops. Sir Nigel accosted me and insisted upon sharing my cab. He-he made unwelcome advances.” Unwillingly recalling those turbulent minutes, she covered her face with her hands, shuddering violently.

Her wrists were caught in iron grips and her hands were dragged down. Mr. Underwood’s furious brown eyes stared down into hers. “Lady St. John. You must tell me at once. Did you take hurt from Sir Nigel?”

She stared up at him, uncomprehending for a split second. Then the mists in her mind cleared and she understood. She went paper-white. “No! I thought at first that he meant— But he let me go when the hackney stopped.”

Mr. Underwood released her and slowly straightened. His expression was very tight. “Sinjin will have to be told.”

Mary flew up, catching at his arm with both hands. She felt sick panic. “Carey, no! He must not know. Pray do not tell him! He would be so very angry.”

Mr. Underwood gave a short, sharp laugh. “That is a mild understatement, my lady. You have not yet seen Sinjin in a wild black temper, have you? Believe me, you do not wish to.”

“Then you must not say anything! Promise me that you will not,” said Mary urgently. “Oh, you must see! I-I could not bear it if he were to turn on me like that.”

Mr. Underwood covered her hands with his own and squeezed her fingers. There was a pitying expression in his eyes. “My dear lady, I have no choice. Which do you think will do the most harm—hearing the tale from me or from some tattle on the town?”

If possible, Mary turned whiter. She whispered, “Surely Sir Nigel would not—”

Mr. Underwood smiled grimly. “Who might have seen Sir Nigel get into your hackney?”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice.” She pressed her hands against her cheeks. “You are saying that anyone could have done so. Anyone could carry the tale to my lord at any time.”

“Sir Nigel meant to ruin you in Sinjin’s eyes, at least, if not in the eyes of society,” said Mr. Underwood brutally.

“What am I to do?” she whispered, her face stark in its despair.

“You will do nothing. You will go about your business as though nothing at all has happened. I have heard that Lady Caroline Eddington is in town to shop for her trousseau. I will send at once to her and she will put about the story that you were in her company this afternoon. She’ll do it, never fear, for she’s a lady who stands staunch beside her friends,” said Mr. Underwood, striding over to the desk standing in the corner even as he spoke. He pulled a sheet of paper toward him and scrawled a short note; then sanded and folded it. He yanked the bell rope and waited impatiently for a servant.

“But I have never met her ladyship. I am not an intimate of hers,” said Mary, feeling dazed. The dizzying speed with which he was ordering her life left her feeling stupid.

“I am, however. You will need to meet Lady Caroline as quickly as possible so that neither of you will give the game away by not recognizing one another if you should encounter her in public.”

The door opened and a footman entered. Mr. Underwood entrusted the folded note to the man with terse instructions for its delivery. As the door closed, he turned once again to his companion. “Now, as for the rest, you must trust me. I will wait here until Sinjin comes in so that I can break the tidings to him.”

“I cannot face him,” said Mary faintly. She actually felt unwell at the thought.

Mr. Underwood’s expression gentled. “You will not need to do so just at first. By the time that you do talk to Sinjin, the worst of his temper will have cooled. I give you my word on it.”

“Thank you, Carey. You are a good friend to him,” said Mary. Her smile wavered. “I hope that you will excuse me now. I must change before going out this evening.” She gave her hand to him, very briefly, before leaving the drawing room. Her carriage was graceful and proud.

The gentleman who watched her exit the room could not but admire her courage. He only hoped that it would be enough.

Lady St. John had already gone out, making up one of Lady Heatherton’s party, when Lord St. John returned to the town house. He was informed by Craighton that Mr. Underwood had been waiting for him in the drawing room since earlier that day. Lord St. John’s brows drew together in a frown. “Has he, indeed?”

He stepped across the hall and thrust open the door to the drawing room. As he entered, he said, “Carey, what is this? I had no notion that you pined so for my company. I swear that I am flattered.”

Mr. Underwood rose from the wingback chair in which he had made himself comfortable. “So you should be,” he retorted, grasping the viscount’s hand.

Lord St. John narrowed his gaze. “So what is the story, Carey?”

Mr. Underwood winced. “I wish you had not phrased it in quite that fashion, Sinjin. But since you have asked, perhaps you should close the door.”

Lord St. John glanced sharply at him, then snapped shut the door. “Well, Carey?”

During the next several minutes, Mr. Underwood proceeded to unfold the particulars of Lady St. John’s harrowing adventure. Halfway into the tale, Lord St. John turned away from Mr. Underwood to pour himself a glass of brandy. He lifted the glass from the occasional table, but he did not drink. He appeared oblivious to all but the rich color of the fine wine.

When Mr. Underwood at last fell silent, Lord St. John asked, “Did you believe her, Carey?”

Mr. Underwood reacted as though he had suffered a blow. “Of course I did! She was obviously in great distress. Believe me, Sinjin, I am too experienced with the intricacies of the female mind to misjudge such a thing. Your lady was the object of foul attentions.”

The stem of the wineglass snapped in the viscount’s fingers. He stared down at the blood slowly beading on his hand. Very softly, he murmured, “I shall kill him.”

“No, you won’t. Challenging Sir Nigel would only confirm whatever rumors do arise. I’ve already explained to you what I have set in motion with Lady Caroline. That ought to suffice in protecting Lady St. John’s reputation,” said Mr. Underwood. His tone altered and became harsh. “As for Sir Nigel, you may safely leave him to me.”

Lord St. John looked round quickly. What he read in Mr. Underwood’s expression caused a twist of a smile to come to his lips. “May I, indeed?”

Mr. Underwood nodded. His eyes were rather harder than usual. “I have to come to regard Lady St. John as a friend. I intend to have justice.”

“Good enough, Carey. Though it goes hard against the grain with me, Sir Nigel is yours.” Lord St. John paused, then said exceedingly softly, “Break him for me, Carey.”

* * * *

Mary did not encounter her husband until the following morning at breakfast. As Mr. Underwood had promised, Lord St. John did not appear to be suffering from the effects of a black fury. She almost wished that he was exhibiting anger, for then it would in a strange way have made it easier for her.

She wondered what she could possibly say to exonerate herself in her lord’s eyes, but the opportunity to explain herself was lost when he broached the unpleasant subject himself.

“I understand from Underwood that you underwent a rather unpleasant experience yesterday. May I suggest that in future you take your maid with you when you go driving about town.”

The expression in his gray eyes was unfathomable. She could not tell what he was thinking. “I shall do so, my lord.”

Lord St. John nodded curtly.

“My lord, I—”

He threw up a hand. “There is nothing more to be said on the matter. It is forgotten.”

Mary was silenced. She wanted so desperately to confide her fears to him and to be reassured that he believed her. But she could not approach him in the face of the mask he had withdrawn behind.

She was startled when he spoke again, very abruptly.

“You never cared that I was titled.”

“Not much,” she confessed, wondering why he should ask at just that moment. She braved a small smile. “It would have been much more comfortable to have wed a plain mister.”

“You did not care for my title and you were the one with a fortune to bestow. Why did you agree to become my wife, Mary?”

Mary sat very still. How very much she yearned to confide the truth to him. Her innate honesty compelled her to do so, but she was afraid to expose her vulnerability to him in such great degree. Her poise was in a fair way to deserting her. If he had reached out for her hand, or if his expression had lightened with his rare smile, she quite thought that she would have burst into tears.

The silence demanded an answer from her. With difficulty, she said, “I-I hoped to realize a dream, my lord.”

Lord St. John’s lips twisted. “And have you done so, my lady?”

Mary averted her face, pretending that she required a second cup of coffee. “I had thought so, at Rosethorn.”

“Rosethorn.” Lord St. John lifted his shoulders in self-mockery. “Shall I tell you the fevered vision of a fool? I envisioned myself returning there one day to find waiting for me in the doorway a beautiful woman holding the hand of a child.”

Her eyes flew to his closed face. There was such a frowning abstraction in his eyes that she wondered whether he knew just what it was he had said. Hesitantly, she whispered, “My lord, it is not foolish to dream of a home and family.”

He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. For a long moment their gazes clung together. He deliberately looked away. “For such as I, it is an impossibility.”

Mary rose from her place to go and kneel beside his chair. She laid her hand on his thigh, and felt the hard muscle contract beneath her fingers. “You are not undeserving, my lord. I believe that with all of my heart.”

He stared down at the earnestness in her expression. With a sudden movement he reached down and lifted her bodily into his arms. He kissed her with a ruthless passion.

As suddenly as he had folded her against him, he released her. Standing, he set her onto her feet. His hands still caressed her arms. “I think at times that you bewitch me,” he said hoarsely.

“If I do so truly, I am glad,” she whispered.

Lord St. John shook his head as though to clear it. He strode quickly from the breakfast room, leaving Mary with the distinct impression that he was fleeing from her.

Chapter 21

The following morning a calling card was taken into the drawing room for Lady St. John’s perusal. Mary felt her throat go dry. “Pray send in her ladyship.”

Mary waited to receive her first caller of the day with a sense of trepidation. The lady who was ushered into the drawing room was obviously of the first stare. She advanced with a smile and a quizzical look in her fine eyes. “Lady St. John, I am happy to find you at home. It might have been rather awkward otherwise.”

Mary responded to the lady’s wry humor. She laughed, her own tension dissipating. “Thank you, Lady Caroline. You cannot imagine how grateful I am that you have agreed to Mr. Underwood’s request.”

Lady Caroline sat down. “Truth to tell, my curiosity was running rampant. Carey’s note to me was very brief but extremely tantalizing. Perhaps you might fill in the gaps for me.”

After only the slightest hesitation, Mary decided to trust Mr. Underwood’s wisdom in making Lady Caroline privy to the situation and so she related all that had happened the previous afternoon. She ended by saying, “Lord St. John was very unhappy with me for my foolishness, of course. But he has not uttered a word in reproach so I suppose that I must count myself extraordinarily fortunate.”

“Fortunate, indeed.” There was a small frown between Lady Caroline’s winged brows, but it cleared when she smiled. “And so we come to my part in all of this. I think that we shall agree that you drove about with me all afternoon, in quite another part of town. It is fortuitous that you used a hackney. Your own carriage would have been too easily placed.”