Rushed to the Altar (5 page)

“I prefer these arrangements to be exclusive,” he agreed. “And that, my dear Nan, brings me to the point of this visit . . . not, of course, that your company alone isn’t incentive enough.”

She laughed. “Such pretty words, m’dear; you always did have a smooth tongue, even as a stripling.” She reached for the decanter beside her and refilled their glasses. “So, to the point.”

“I came across one of your young ladies in the Piazza a short while ago.”

“Oh?” Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware anyone had left the house thus far today. For the most part they’re either still abed getting their beauty sleep or preparing themselves for the evening. Only Anna and Marianna are entertaining in the salon.”

“This is a rather unusual young lady,” Jasper said slowly, taking a sip of his wine. “Rather plainly dressed,
but far from a plain countenance. By the name of Clarissa, I believe.”

Nan Griffiths’s face was abruptly swept clear of all expression, something Jasper remembered from the past. When it came to discussing and negotiating business, Nan Griffiths had the ability of the most gifted gamester to conceal her thoughts.

“Clarissa,” she murmured. “Yes . . . very fresh . . . a newcomer . . . a country girl.”

“So she said.”

“You spoke with her at length?”

“I tried to, but something I said offended her.” He glanced ruefully at his hand. An ugly bruise was developing around the two tiny pinpricks of the oyster fork. “I’m not sure whether it was
what
I said, or the manner in which I said it. Either way, she reacted somewhat vehemently. I had been intending to make her a proposition but she ran from me before I could begin. I followed her here.”

“Did she . . . did she say she worked here?”

He shook his head. “Not in so many words, but as I said I followed her. I saw her come in and assumed . . . unless . . .” He stopped, frowning. “Is she in domestic service . . . a maidservant?”

“No . . . no, not that.” Nan tapped her painted fingernails against the wooden arm of her chair. “You wished to make her a proposition . . . what kind of a proposition?”

“I would prefer to make that directly to Clarissa,” he
said. “Forgive me, Nan, but it’s a rather delicate matter. I would, of course, pay your usual commission.”

“And her services would be exclusively yours.”

He nodded. “Without question.”

Nan rose to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, Jasper.” She sailed from the room, her loose train flowing behind her. She went upstairs and into the small chamber that served as her office, closing the door firmly. She sat down at the secretaire and gazed into the middle distance. She had never turned down the opportunity to make money and she didn’t intend to turn down this one. But the girl in the garret was not one of her employees.

Nan was well aware that that astonishing beauty compounded by a fresh-faced innocence would attract the very highest bidders. It was inevitable, of course, that she would lose the innocence, but there were plenty of sophisticated buyers who would then pay a small fortune for an experienced courtesan with that elegance of form and beauty of countenance. Mistress Clarissa could have a satisfactorily long career if she played her cards right. But Nan had sensed that the girl was not alone in the world, for all the vulnerability of her present position, and natural caution had kept her from attempting to persuade, or coerce, her into the harlot’s life until she had found out more about her.

But this put a different complexion on things. Jasper St. John Sullivan, fifth Earl of Blackwater, was the kind of protector any girl would be lucky to have. He had no
deviant appetites, unless he’d developed them in the last ten years, and he was known to honor his commitments. He would pay the procuress well, and the girl would be well looked after for the duration of whatever arrangement Jasper had in mind.

Nan made her decision. She left her study and climbed the stairs to the attic. She knocked once sharply on the door to Clarissa’s chamber and entered on the knock. “Ah, good, you’re here.” She closed the door and regarded the startled Clarissa with an assessing eye. “How old are you, my dear?”

Clarissa had jumped to her feet at the sound of the knock. Startled, she stared at her visitor. “I have twenty summers, ma’am, but what is that to do with anything?”

“Quite a lot,” Nan stated. “It means you’re no child, for all your countrified innocence.”

Clarissa flushed with mingled embarrassment and annoyance. “I may be innocent in some things, ma’am, but I can have a care for myself, believe me.”

“Well, we shall see.” Nan went briskly to the dilapidated armoire in the corner of the room. “Do you have another gown, something a little less plain?”

Clarissa stiffened. “No, but what if I had? Why does that interest you, ma’am?”

“You have a visitor, my dear. A very important visitor who is most anxious to have speech with you. I believe you met him in the Piazza this afternoon.”

Clarissa swallowed, drawing herself up to her full height. “I met a gentleman certainly, or at least he appeared
to be a gentleman; his behavior indicated otherwise.”

“The Earl of Blackwater is a gentleman in every respect.” Her landlady contradicted her briskly as she riffled through the scant collection of garments in the armoire. “And he is downstairs waiting to speak to you about a proposition he would make you.”

“But I stuck an oyster fork in his hand,” Clarissa exclaimed. “Why would he want to talk to me now?”

“You did what?” Nan, who was rarely surprised by anything, could not hide her astonishment. She spun around to stare in disbelief at Clarissa.

“Well, he insulted me,” Clarissa stated, trying not to sound apologetic. She had nothing to apologize for. “It was instinctive . . . I didn’t think. Is he here to haul me off to the justice of the peace for assault?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s what his lordship has in mind.” Nan chuckled, turning back to her examination of the contents of the armoire. “Vindictive he is not. But perhaps, to make amends, you should listen to his proposition. No one will compel you to accept it.” This last was said into the contents of the armoire and Clarissa barely heard it.

“This is a mite prettier than that dull old thing you’re wearing.” Nan brought out a simple gown of bronze muslin. “Change into this, dear, and then run along downstairs and talk to him. You owe him an apology at the very least.”

“Maybe I do, but I don’t need to change my dress
for that,” Clarissa declared. “And neither do I need to listen to any proposition. But I will, in courtesy, apologize for hurting him.”
Even if it’s just to prove that I am more mannerly than an earl.
But that she kept to herself, adding instead, “He owes me an apology too for being so insulting. And so I shall tell him.” She sat on the cot to put her shoes on again. “Where is he, ma’am?”

“In the small parlor to the left of the front door.” Nan wisely gave up any further attempt to work on her lodger, sensing that it would be useless at best and put up her defenses at worst. She followed Clarissa out of the chamber and downstairs.

Clarissa ran lightly down the two flights of stairs, in a hurry to be done with this awkward business. She had no desire to be always looking over her shoulder for a vengeful earl at her heels, so a quick apology for the injury, and it would be over and done with. She tried to ignore the flicker of curiosity about the proposition. What did a man in the earl’s position offer a harlot? It would be interesting to know in a general kind of way. But then, ruefully remembering the old adage about curiosity and cats, she reflected that her curiosity had always been a besetting sin and had led her into more trouble than she cared to revisit.

She laid a hand on the latch of the door, telling herself that she was safe enough here, much less vulnerable in the house than on the open street, and there was a certain sense of security, whether false or not, imparted
by the presence of Mistress Griffiths and the steward, standing sentinel in the hall behind her.

Jasper stood up as she entered. His first thought was that her hair, no longer hidden by the kerchief, was every bit as magnificent as he’d expected. It swept from a widow’s peak above her broad forehead in a glistening red-gold cascade to her shoulders, and his fingers itched to run themselves through the luxuriant silken mass. She stood with her back to the door, and her green eyes, fixed upon his countenance, held a distinctly militant spark. Her mouth was set in a firm line and a frown creased her forehead between fair, delicately arched eyebrows.

“I understand you have something to say to me, sir.” Her voice was cold, and there was nothing about her posture that indicated she accepted any differences in their social status, nothing that indicated she was the seller and he was the buyer, she the commoner and he the aristocrat. Jasper was intrigued. He had never before come across a Covent Garden denizen who behaved as if she was anything else.

“You left me somewhat abruptly earlier.” He moved a chair forward for her. “I would like to renew our conversation. May I offer you a glass of Madeira?”

She shook her head and remained standing by the door. “No, thank you. If I didn’t feel guilty about hurting your hand, I wouldn’t be here at all. So, as a form of apology I will hear you out, but please don’t take long about it.”

Jasper rubbed his hand reflectively, contemplating her in silence for a minute before asking, “What did I say that upset you so?”

She shrugged impatiently. “It matters little now. Could you please say what you came to say and then go?” A thought suddenly struck her and she wondered irritably why she hadn’t thought to ask as soon as she walked into the room. “How did you find me here?”

“I followed you.” He smiled, and again it was as if a lamp had been lit behind his eyes, it so transformed his expression. He extended his hands palm-up in a gesture of surrender. “My dear girl, could we cry truce? I beg your pardon for insulting you earlier, although I have to confess I don’t quite understand how I did. I was merely drawing an assumption from the obvious.” He moved an expressive hand around the room. “You’ll have to forgive me if I point out the obvious, but you do live here, under the protection of Nan Griffiths.”

And the sooner she moved out the better, Clarissa thought grimly. Without revealing her true circumstances, and she couldn’t possibly do that, she had no choice but to leave him with his assumptions. “Can we conclude this conversation now? I have things to do.”

“You still haven’t heard my proposition,” he pointed out. “Would you please take a seat?” There was a touch of impatience in his tone now and his eyes had lost their earlier warmth. He indicated the chair he had brought forward for her, and Clarissa, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down.

“Now, we will drink a glass of Madeira together and begin afresh.” He handed her a glass and resumed his seat in the corner of the sofa again. “To come straight to the point, I need you to marry me.”

Clarissa choked on her wine. She just managed to set down the glass before it spilled everywhere, then succumbed to a violently spluttering fit of coughing. She fumbled in vain for a handkerchief in the wide lace-edged sleeve of her gown.

“Take this.” An elegant square of Mechlin lace was dropped in her lap and she mopped at her streaming eyes.

“Thank you.” She dabbed her mouth with the handkerchief and then crumpled it into a ball in her hand as she raised her pink face and stared at him with damp and reddened eyes. “I must have misheard you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sure you heard me correctly, but if you promise not to choke again I’ll repeat it if you wish.”

She held out a hand as if to ward him off. “No, don’t do that, I beg you. What an absurd thing to say.”

He seemed to consider the matter before saying, “I can see how you might think that. But you haven’t heard all the details as yet.”

“Spare me the details.” Clarissa began to get up. “I don’t see why you should wish to make game of me, but now you’ve amused yourself so thoroughly at my expense I will take my leave.”

“Sit down, Clarissa.”

The peremptory tone was so unexpected she dropped back into her chair and stared at him again. “I don’t understand.”

“No, of course you don’t. But if you’d give me a chance to explain I hope to enlighten you.”

Clarissa continued to regard him with all the fascination of a paralyzed rabbit with a fox. She remained in her seat, unsure which of them was mad but certain one of them was.

“I wish you to play a part for a few months. It will enrich you beyond your wildest dreams if you can play it convincingly enough, and I can safely promise you that you will never have to earn your living in places such as this again.”

“But I d—” Clarissa closed her lips firmly on the denial. Some devil prompted her to hear the full insanity of this scheme. She clasped her hands over his handkerchief, then let them lie easily in her lap and tilted her head in a composed invitation for him to continue.

Jasper chuckled. “Oh, I can see you playing the part to perfection,” he murmured. “I had the feeling from the first moment of our meeting that you were rather more than you appeared.” He leaned forward. “Listen carefully.”

Clarissa listened in incredulous silence. In order to claim a fortune for himself the earl needed a harlot who would pretend to be in love with him, give up her evil ways, and embrace a life of strict convention and morality in order to marry him. In return, after the wedding
the earl would settle upon her a munificent sum that would enable her to live her life exactly as she chose.

“It would probably be better if you chose to live abroad, at least for a time, after the formalities are concluded,” Jasper finished. “As I said, you will have an easy competence that will enable you to go anywhere you choose.”

“Is this marriage to be legally binding?” Clarissa was so fascinated by this rigmarole that she found herself responding as if it was a proposition to be seriously considered.

“It will have to be.” Jasper spoke briskly. “But after a certain length of time we will have the marriage annulled.”