Rushed to the Altar (23 page)

“Nothing. I hope they do,” he said shortly. “It offends me to think of any one of us dancing to my uncle’s obscene tune. The only answer is to play him at his own game. Now, coming up along the drive towards us is a carriage with three ladies. I would like you to keep your eyes straight ahead while I bow as we drive past.”

“Very well.” Clarissa kept her eyes on the middle distance as the carriage came abreast, but she could feel three pairs of eyes scanning her even as they responded to Jasper’s bow with smiles from behind their fans.

“So, why could I not look at them?”

“Mystery, my dear. I wish to create mystery that will stimulate gossip. By this evening the speculation as to your identity will be running riot in the salons and around the dining tables all over town.”

“Are people so very interested in your doings, then?” She looked sideways at him. “Are you such an important person?”

“If that’s intended as a snub it went wide of its mark,” he informed her. “I don’t consider myself to be important, but a man of my age, lineage, and supposed fortune is an eligible bachelor in the eyes of every lady on the marriage mart and her mother. If
I’m seen with any woman, they’re going to wonder what kind of competition they have. Believe me, I will be glad when the notice of our engagement is sent to the
Gazette.
”

Clarissa frowned. “I thought you had no fortune, that’s why you have to play your uncle’s game.”

“That’s right. Without my share of Viscount Bradley’s estate, the Blackwater estates will go under. But most people are unaware of that, including, with the exception of my brothers, most of my own family, who are always expecting some kind of handout from me. Most people see only the title, the London house, the estates, and a wretchedly uncomfortable but impressive family pile in Northumberland and assume there’s a fortune to match.”

“If you put them right on that score, then surely you would no longer be plagued by matchmaking mamas and their debutante daughters,” Clarissa pointed out.

He gave a short laugh. “What a simpleton you are. If the truth about my lack of fortune were to become known, my dear girl, I would be hounded by every one of the long line of creditors I inherited from my father. I’d probably find myself in the Fleet prison by nightfall.”

Clarissa rather resented being called a simpleton, but it seemed in this case that she really was ignorant of life’s realities. “Have you never been tempted to take a wife, then?”

He cast her one of his sharp sideways glances. “I’ve
never felt the need to subject a woman, particularly one I might like sufficiently to share my life with, to that life of aristocratic penury.”

“That’s very noble.”

He shrugged. “Not in the least, and believe me, my dear girl, I have not suffered from the lack of a wife. There are substitutes, perfectly pleasant ones.”

“Mistresses, you mean?”

“That is exactly what I mean.”

She thought she could detect a faint note of warning in his voice. The conversation was over. She held her tongue and for the remainder of the drive they passed the bows, the waves, the smiling nods of acknowledgment from their fellow travelers without pausing. Jasper responded to the greetings with polite half bows from the driver’s seat and noncommittal smiles. Clarissa kept her eyes straight ahead and her tongue still.

When they drove out of the park an hour later, Jasper said casually, “We will dine together. I’ve a mind to advance my wooing a little.”

Clarissa swallowed.
What did that mean? Advance it how far?
But she couldn’t refuse to dine with him even if she wanted to. In this instance she was as much a bond slave under contract as any of the other women under Mistress Griffiths’s roof. Her company was bought and paid for. “If you wish it, sir.”

“I do most certainly wish it.” He frowned at her. “Do you not, Clarissa?”

She did, of course. And in her own world, nothing would give her more delight. Except that in her own country backwater, she would not have attracted the attention of Jasper Sullivan, fifth Earl of Blackwater. She would never have come within his sphere.

If her mother had lived, of course, it might have been different. Lady Lavinia would probably have insisted on a formal coming-out Season for her daughter in the hopes she would catch herself a good husband, but after Lavinia’s death the squire had mentioned such a Season only once, and when Clarissa had dismissed the idea, he had seemed relieved, and she had forgotten about it.

There was more than enough to keep her occupied with running the household and looking after Francis. She had inherited her father’s passion for all the country pursuits, hunting, riding, even hawking, and had thought herself content enough with the local County society. Now, however, she questioned that contentment. It seemed with hindsight that she had been drifting in some kind of trance, oblivious of the static nature of her life.

Somehow she had to find a way to keep her growing enjoyment and involvement in the game she had orchestrated separate from its final goal, a goal she must not lose sight of for an instant.

“Where will we dine?” she asked in neutral tones, as if it were a matter of indifference even though she was hoping against hope that he would select some other
rendezvous, somewhere less private, a chamber less redolent than her own of the activities that went on under Mistress Griffiths’s roof.

“Tonight we will dine in my house. Now that we’ve been seen in public, it’s time for your association with King Street to come to an end. I will no longer visit you there, and on Saturday you will move to Half Moon Street. Your position as my mistress will then be an open secret.”

His house? Was that better or worse than King Street? She didn’t know. But Clarissa knew she would find out soon enough.

Luke was dozing by the fire, sleeping off the last of his headache before going forth for another night’s entertainment, when Ed returned. The man stood in the doorway twisting his cap between meaty hands. “The boy’s there all right an’ tight, sir.”

Luke heaved a sigh of relief. Even though it seemed an impossibility, he had been plagued all day with the thought that Clarissa might have found her brother and spirited him away. “How’s he doing?”

“Peaky.”

“Ill?” His heart leaped.

“Not as such, sir. But he’ll come down wi’ summat soon enough. They always does.”

Luke nodded. “All right.” He waved a hand in dismissal before remembering something else. “Have there
been any strangers around there, anyone asking questions?”

Ed shook his head. “No one in particular, sir. No one who didn’t have business there. Landlord at the Eagle and Dove had a woman in—”

“What woman?” Luke sat up abruptly.

“Pregnant girl, sir. Lookin’ fer somewhere to dump the child afore she loses her place. A maid of some sort, landlord reckoned. Bertha didn’t think nuthin’ of it, she gets ’em all the time, girls in trouble.”

Luke bit at his thumbnail, staring into the fire. It didn’t sound remotely like Clarissa. No one in their right mind would ever believe Clarissa was a maidservant. And besides, she wasn’t pregnant. Anyway, how could she ever from the depths of the Kent countryside have heard of a baby farm in Wapping? She led such a sheltered existence, she probably didn’t even know such establishments existed.

No, he decided, there was no possibility that such a description could fit his ward. Clarissa had not been seen around Wapping Stairs. He spat a piece of thumbnail into the fire and glanced up at Ed, who was still standing there. “Why are you still here?” he demanded of the burly figure.

“Took me three hours from me work, sir, runnin’ that errand.” Ed didn’t move. He had had the measure of Luke for some time and knew him for the skinflint that he was. If you wanted fair play from him you had to fight for it.

Luke sighed heavily and heaved himself from his chair. He unlocked the drawer in the desk and felt in the coin purse it contained. “Here . . . for your trouble.” He tossed the shilling across the room.

Ed caught it deftly, glanced at it, and then gave a scornful grunt as he pocketed it. He left, the door slamming behind him.

Luke stood for a moment chewing his lip. He couldn’t afford to antagonize his accomplice. Ed could turn on him in a blink. He’d have to pay him off more substantially. Maybe if he won at the tables tonight he’d have sufficient to part with a decent sum.

The curricle drew up outside a double-fronted mansion on Upper Brook Street. Sconced lanterns on either side of the double doors illuminated the railed steps leading up to the house. Lamplight showed in the long windows on either side of the doors and in the fanlight above them. Such a quantity of light was an expensive business, Clarissa reflected. It was difficult to believe the earl’s tale of penury.

She stepped down to the pavement, looking up at the handsome building. “It’s very grand, my lord.”

“Suitably so for an earl’s residence?” he responded with a quizzically raised eyebrow.

“Certainly, but is it suitable for a poverty-stricken earl, I ask myself?”

“I am living on my expectations,” he declared in a
lofty tone. “Come into my parlor, Mistress Clarissa.”

A butler opened the door before they’d mounted the last step. They walked into a marble-floored hall, lit by a massive chandelier, the crystal pendant drops sparkling and dancing in the light of myriad candles. A grandly ornate staircase rose in a graceful curve from the center of the hall.

“I think champagne is in order.” Jasper handed his caped driving coat to a waiting footman. “Bring it to the library, Crofton. And we’ll dine in an hour in the small dining room.”

“Yes, m’lord.” The butler moved in stately fashion across the hall to open a set of double doors at the rear. They opened onto a pleasant, book-lined room, candlelit, filled with comfortable, well-worn furniture and warmed by a brightly burning log fire.

It was a room rather similar to the library at home in Kent, Clarissa thought, finding the space instantly comforting and reassuring. There was none of the chilly grandeur that the outside of the house had led her to expect.

“What a cozy room.” She went to the fire, drawing off her gloves, bending to warm her hands at the blaze. “I expected something a little more formal.”

“Oh, there are those rooms too.” Jasper took the gloves from her and set them aside. Slowly he untied the ribbons of her hat and set that beside the gloves. He smoothed her hair, twisting the ringlets around a finger, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Then
he took her hands in his, and a glint had replaced the thoughtfulness.

“I use only those parts of the house that meet my needs. It’s a way for a poverty-stricken earl to economize without broadcasting his condition. Most of the reception rooms are shrouded in dust covers and except for an annual spring cleaning never see the light of day.”

“That seems a pity,” she said lightly, trying to slide her hands out from his. “I’m sure they’re beautiful.”

“They are.” He tightened his fingers. “Don’t try to wriggle away, Clarissa.” He was smiling, but there was a hint of determination in the dark gaze. “I agreed to seduction, and I will honor my promise. But you must honor yours.”

When she said nothing, leaving her hands limp in his grip, a frown darkened his gaze, and his voice was suddenly harsh. “If you find me repulsive, if the thought of being touched by me disgusts you, then tell me now.”

She shook her head. “No . . . no, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it? If this is a game to increase your price, I’ll tell you straight, it will not work. It’s been tried many—” He broke off at the horrified expression on her face. “It’s not that, is it?”

“Of course not. How could you think such a thing?” Taking advantage of his momentary distraction she snatched her hands free. “What kind of loathsome person would—”

“You’d be surprised,” he said with a cynical smile.
“But let us agree that you are not of their ilk.” He turned as the butler came in and in the quiet bustle of opening and pouring the champagne, Clarissa steadied her nerves.

Crofton left the room as discreetly as he’d entered it, and Jasper handed Clarissa a glass of straw-colored wine. “Let’s begin again.” He raised his glass in a toast and took a sip, then sat down on a worn upholstered sofa at one side of the fire, patting the seat beside him.